#but on the other... it's not the same without it

[luna-azzurra]

Writing characters who don’t know they’re in love

(PS: but literally everyone else does and is so tired)

These characters aren’t clueless, no, they’re not walking around like, “love? never heard of her.” They know something’s going on, they just won’t admit it (not to themselves, not to anyone.) Maybe they’re scared of messing it up, or maybe they think the other person doesn’t feel the same. Maybe they’ve stuffed the feeling so deep even a NASA rover couldn’t dig it out.

Whatever the reason, they’re not avoiding the truth as much as they’re…rebranding it. Calling it “friendship” while giving each other their only jacket and dreaming about each other’s voices like it’s totally normal behavior.

ꕤ They don’t realize it’s love, but they notice everything else. They clock every mood shift, every absence, every little thing. They definitely  know when something’s off.

⇢ “You changed your hair.” ⇢ “You looked upset earlier.” ⇢ “You didn’t text me back and I panicked.” ⇢ “You weren’t at lunch and it felt weird.” ⇢ “Are you cold?” hands over jacket without a second thought

They don’t say “I love you,” but their actions scream it constantly.

ꕤ they get weird when someone else gets close They’re not jealous. No, how dare you think something like that… they’re just keeping an eye out. For safety... Or whatever."

⇢ “Who was that?” ⇢ “Oh, you’re hanging out with them again?” ⇢ “I just think it’s interesting how you never cancel on them.”

They don’t say it, but they hate the idea of being replaced. It stings more than they’re ready to admit.

ꕤ they make excuses to be around each other.

Literally inventing reasons to be in the same space.

⇢ “Wanna study together? I’m struggling with this topic.” (They’re not.) ⇢ “Oh, I was just in the area.” (They weren’t.) ⇢ “You forgot this.” (It’s a single pen.)

They’d rather lie badly than admit, “I just wanted to see you.”

ꕤ  Their friends are so over it Everyone around them is either rooting for them or trying not to scream.

⇢ “You’re in love with them.” ⇢ “That’s not friendship, and you know it.” ⇢ “You made them soup. FUCKING SOUP. Just say you’re married already.” ⇢ “If I have to hear you talk about them one more time, I’m charging rent.”

Friends are the Greek chorus of this situation, like, brutally honest and endlessly tired.

ꕤ  There’s always a moment they almost figure it out That one soft, unspoken beat where the truth almost breaks through.

⇢ Watching them laugh like it’s the first time. ⇢ Seeing them cry and wanting to fix it more than anything. ⇢ Realizing no one else makes them feel like this. ⇢ Thinking, God, they’re beautiful.

Then they blink, panic a little, and go, “Huh. Weird.” And move on. Like absolute fools.

ꕤ  When it finally hits, it’s not cute, it’s catastrophic. Suddenly everything makes sense and feels like too much.

⇢ Flashbacks. ⇢ Internal screaming. ⇢ “Oh no.” ⇢ “OH MY GOD.” ⇢ “Has it always been this obvious??” ⇢ “Wait. Everyone knew?!”

Yes. Everyone. The friends, the neighbor’s cat. You were the only two who didn’t get the memo...

[shen-jius-zoloft-prescription]

Expanding on my other post about Shen [Yuan] Qingqiu wearing his hair in the Dead Anime Mom side ponytail: SQQ just keeps on planting death flags without even realizing it, especially of the Fridged Woman variety, and Shang Qinghua is pulling out his hair over it.

SQQ is in his depression post-conference and stops taking care of himself? "Okay, yeah, I get that you're in your feelings and all, but bro, can your bare-bones depression beauty routine not include the Dead Mom hairstyle?!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. It's obviously not the same, I'm a man."

"Cucumber-bro, can you please stop ending every conversation with, 'Oh, I have something important to tell you. We'll talk when I return'?!"

"What, I do have something important to talk to you about, I just don't want to get into it right now. Chill out."

"You cannot keep going on night hunts with Liu Qingge that involve you walking through meadows or beaches, bro, you are building a Dead Wife Memory Montage. The only way this could be worse is if you find a way to giggle under some blankets with him."

"... Okay, it's not like that and you know it, but now that you mention it, we did get attacked by a Joyful Hypnosis Silk Net Spider a few weeks ago..."

And so on and so forth.

[reasonsforhope]

"In a new study, University of British Columbia researchers set out to answer the following question: Would you rather have 10 cents in your pocket or a 1-in-10,000 shot at $1,000?

Their findings indicate that they may have figured out a way to get people to recycle more. 

The researchers, whose work was just published in the journal “Waste Management,” tested the idea of offering people who return used bottles a small chance to win a big cash prize, instead of the standard 5- or 10-cent deposit earnings.

The result? Participants recycled 47% more bottles for the chance at a $1,000 prize.

“This small change in how we reward recycling made a big difference. People were more excited, more engaged, and they brought in more bottles,” Dr. Jiaying Zhao, associate professor in the department of psychology and senior author of the study, said in a statement for the university.

“It turns out that the thrill of possibly winning a big prize is more motivating than a small guaranteed reward. It’s the same reason people buy lottery tickets; That tiny chance of a big win is exciting.”

The researchers ran three experiments in British Columbia and Alberta, where bottle deposit systems already exist. Despite the fact that these deposit stations give people a small refund when they return their recyclables, many bottles still end up in the trash.

In the first two experiments, people could choose between a guaranteed 10-cent refund or a chance to win a larger amount, ranging from $1 to $1,000. Even though the odds of winning were low, many people chose the lottery-style offer.

In the third experiment, participants were randomly assigned to either the guaranteed refund or the lottery-style refund. Those given the lottery-style option brought in almost three bottles for every two returned by the control group. 

The researchers found that people even felt happier when they had a shot at the big prize, even if they didn’t actually win — a feeling called “anticipatory happiness” — that made the act of recycling more enjoyable. 

All of this is modeled after an existing scheme in Norway.

“Norway is the only country in the world that has a similar recycling lottery, and their bottle return rate is close to 100%,” Dr. Zhao said. “The probabilistic refund could be their secret sauce. We hope Canada can adopt this innovative idea as well.”

In Norway, the bottle recycling lottery was implemented over a decade ago, and now, approximately 97% of all plastic beverage containers are returned across the country. 

Here, the model is choice-driven, giving people the option to choose between the guaranteed refund or the chance to win anywhere from 5 to 100,000 euros.

“The system also doesn’t encourage gambling,” Fast Company reported, “because there’s no way to enter with cash, and there are no ‘near misses’ like with other kinds of gambling.”

Norway has also implemented a program where some of the lottery’s proceeds go to the Norwegian Red Cross.

“Instead of 10 cents back to you, what if the proceeds go to a food bank or charity?” Dr. Zhao asked Fast Company. This is also part of her team’s research, with results soon to be published. 

It’s important to note that the lottery-style refund wouldn’t cost more than the traditional system, with both options sharing the same average payout. Cities could adopt this approach without spending an extra dime.

Additionally, Dr. Zhao mentioned that it’s important for cities to consider the choice-based model, giving people the option to get the regular 5- or 10-cent returns, alongside the new lottery initiative, to help canners and binners who rely on this kind of income.

“We don’t want to take the short gain option away,” she told Fast Company. “Instead, we want to give people the option to choose.” 

Aside from the valuable psychological insights of the study, Dr. Zhao and her colleagues are optimistic about a future in which more people are engaged in recycling. 

“Creating new bottles comes with a lot of carbon emissions, and not recycling bottles also comes with a lot of pollution,” Jade Radke, a lead author on the study, said. “So it can be a meaningful way to decrease all of those things.”

According to the UBC press release, if this approach is widely adopted, it could help recycle millions more bottles and reduce greenhouse gas emissions equal to taking one million cars off the road each year."

-via GoodGoodGood, June 25, 2025

[pichichuu]

At The Same! Damn! Time!

abby x reader x jinu self indulgent smut hehe

mdni!!!

tags: thréesome (obv), unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), porn without plot, close friend dynamic between the two of them, abby degrades you, jinu is still a loser <3, singular instance of spanking

"don't stop moving, doll," abby groans from behind you, big hands groping the fat of your ass as he watches you grind on his cock. it's hypnotic how it slides out a little each time only to disappear again between your sopping folds. he spreads the skin gently, the new sensation making you whine around jinu's length.

he winces at the vibration in your sweet mouth, hips bucking reflexively. his hands held the back of your head in a vice-like grip, seemingly more to steady himself than to help you take him down your throat.

you met his eyes through your lashes, decorated with tears from trying to supress your gag reflex. you teased the back of his tip with your tongue, lust dripping from your gaze. he hissed through clenched teeth, need seeping through his stare. he but his lip, canines pinching into the flesh as his he threw his head back, rolling his hips into your mouth and making you take him deeper.

your hips moved languidly on abby's girth all the while, spelling their names and gently bouncing, but admittedly jinu's reactions had you a little... distracted. your slick walls fluttered around abby as your hips slowed, focus shifting to jinu's pleasure.

you gagged on jinu's thick cock, abby's sudden thrust jolting your body forward.

"s-shit baby- don' do that," jinu groaned, hand sliding through your hair. "throat squeezin' the shit outta me enough already."

which, of course, makes abby thrust into you harder, hips snapping up to meet yours and sending you lurching forward onto jinu's dick. it reaches new depths in your throat, your lips wrapped tight around the hilt and nose pushed into the soft skin of his groin.

"look at that, taking me so well," abby croons, thumb prying open your folds to see himself sink into you. with his other hand, he dips a finger in, your arousal connecting you two with strings when he pulls away. addressing jinu, he tries and fails to hide the groan in his voice. "should see how she's sucking me in. so sloppy too, made a mess on me like a fucking slut."

jinu tucks lose strands of hair behind your ear, hands traveling to your shoulders as you suck harder, tongue writing your name in playful licks on the underside of his throbbing length.

"nngh- hard to imagine it feels better than her -hah- mouth," he whines as you pull him out, suckling on his tip. you blink up at him innocently as you litter his shaft with sloppy kisses, tongue tracing his veins in thick stripes. he moans, pretty and broken, and you swear you can feel abby smirking behind you.

hands back on your ass, he slams your hips into his relentless thrusts, your hold on jinu's cock tightening as you try to stabilize yourself.

"fuck her throat. slutty girl's gonna make me cum soon-" he groans through gritted teeth. "fuck- that feels so good- won't be able to -hah- keep doin' what she's been doin',"

jinu looks like he's been hit by a train.

can he really do that??

fingers catch under your chin as he lifts your face to meet your eyes. your eyes are glossy, lips and chin messy with his precum and your own saliva.

you look so fucked out.

and so beautiful.

"'s that okay?" he asks, no, pleads– he sees how ruined you are but he needs this. he's afraid to hurt you but his cock aches, balls heavy and desperate for release.

you give a shy nod, straightening your throat and opening your mouth, tongue stuck out, inviting him in.

"shitttt," he groans, tapping the tip on your tongue before sliding his length in steadily. the rough snap of abby's hips makes it harder for you to not gag, and it's getting harder to stay in control of your own body as you get absolutely ruined from both ends.

jinu's pace gets rough quickly, hips frantically rutting into your face, balls smacking against your slick chin. you're being pushed brutally back and forth between the two men, back sinking deeper into an arch and your legs shaking as you approach your own high.

a sharp smack! resounds in the room, a familiar stinging spreading like fireworks across your ass. abby gropes the skin after, his squeezing soothing yet rough, his thrusts getting sloppy. heavy balls hit against your sticky clit, wet noises mingling with heated breath and labored moans.

jinu's pace as he fucks your throat pushes you down further onto abby's length. you feel so full, so utterly fucked out. the overstimulation and pretty moans from behind you are enough to send you hurtling into your own high, vision going dark as you shake, walls spasming around abby.

"fuckkkk-kk-k," he groans, burying his fat cock in you to the hilt, giving small thrusts to try to reach impossible depths in your poor, weeping pussy. his balls tighten as he cums, hard, heavy cock twitching inside you.

he shoots thick ropes in you, hands grabbing desperately at your skin. his eyes roll back, head thrown against the pillow. his hips slow, but he keeps fucking you, making sure you milk him good and take every drop.

jinu doesn't even see the two of you coming undone together, his own head tilted up with eyes screwed shut and brows knitted tight in pleasure. his jaw slacks, gentle whines slipping from his throat.

you swallow around him absentmindedly, still recovering from your orgasm. he spills into your throat, hot load coating your throat. abby's hand weaves into your hair, pulling your head back from jinu's cock as he spurts one last time, mouth releasing from his tip with a lewd pop!

you fall back on his chest, jinu laying beside you two in the bed, all three of you panting. rolling you onto your side, abby whispers into your ear.

"catch your breath, baby, round two is coming soon,"

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 4

A/N: Hello all of you. Wow, you all keep popping out of the kpop woodwork but thank you for all the support! I love reading your comments! I decided to post this today since I was able to squeeze it out tonight.

Reminder for people, I can’t tag more than fifty people so the tag list is closed. But, feel free to share outtake ideas in the comments or dm me!

TW: Self mutilation (just scratching on the arms), insecurity, and toxic mentalities (Thanks Celine)

Word Count: 4,457

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, and Abby = Kwan)

That night, as the Saja Boys laid outside the venue for Huntr/x’s fan sign event, there was nothing for them to do but scroll on their phones or talk to each other. Each had a single sleeping bag and only Jinu had a chair to get more comfortable so the boys were a little miserable. But, needs must in war.

“Sooo… who else has been hardcore simping for (Y/n)?” Kwan suddenly asked to fill the quiet.

“Hardcore.”

“Yeah, same.”

“Yes.”

“Obviously.”

There was just something about you that called to them. Maybe it was the way you smiled or the way you laughed without restraint? The way you treated them with normal kindness despite knowing that they served Gwi Ma? The way Gwi Ma’s voice quieted when they were around you? The way you made them feel more human than they had in centuries?

There was more to say between them. Of course there was, they were fond of this half human, half demon girl and they were plotting to destroy her world and kill her sister and her friends. And the moment you told them your weakness, they would have to exploit it to make the Honmoon and the Hunters shatter.

The Saja Boys felt a creeping feeling of despair.

~~~

That morning, you had gotten the girls up and made them something to eat then let the wardrobe and makeup team up. Their outfits were already set out in the living area along with the girls' makeup. The girls hated this part, usually doing their own makeup but it kept appearances up when there was a team doing final checks on their appearances. And pampering them. It also gave more people more jobs.

It was totally chaotic and you caught yourself scratching every now and then before your focus was drawn to something else.

“Okay okay okay, girls, team, everyone down to the cars! Gotta get the venue set up!” Bobby ushered everyone toward the elevator, the girls and you going down first and Bobby would follow with the rest of the team. You were so thankful for a private garage. It kept rabid crowds of fans trek crowding them.

When they got there, they set up the tables and the posters quickly, you making last minute adjustments to their appearance. For fan sign events, you stood behind the girls to get them anything they needed and to take care of gifts the fan gave them to keep room on the table.

Bobby set the last of the posters in front of them as the girls did final stretches and settled into their seats. “All right, team, I know everyone is all Saja, Saja, Saja, but we’re gonna turn it into Huntr/x, Huntr/x, Huntr/x! Yay! These fans slept on the sidewalk, overnight!” He did his best to hype them up.

“And I got all the fuel you guys’ll need to get through the next few hours,” You told them, nodding your head to the box of drinks and snacks you had for them.

The girls did their little circle, cheering each other with their pens, “Happy fans, happy Honmoon!” They whispered.

You took your place behind the girls as the doors opened and the fans flooded in, spearheaded by five people in sleeping bags, “Let’s bring them in! Welcome!”

The five sleeping bags eagerly waddled up to the table despite Bobby’s urging to go in a single file without pushing. You couldn’t help but giggle, it reminded you of the sleeping bag Mira had you design for her for the Met. Maybe they were Mira fans…

“And who should I make this out to?” Rumi greeted them.

“‘To our biggest fans.’”

‘Wait. You knew that sly, antagonistic, pretty voice.’

The sleeping bags dropped and the Saja Boys smoothly posed. Your jaw dropped. Did they really spend all night on the sidewalk just to mess with the girls? Were they that petty? Apparently, yes. Yes they were.

Bobby moved quickly, greeting the boys respectfully despite the interruption and the girls' complaints as they snapped their pens, summoning another table for the boys. But as soon as half the line split to line up in front of the Saja Boys’ table, Rumi stood, “The Saja Boys will sit with us!”

Zoey and Mira protested but the half of the crowd swiftly rejoined the original line as Bobby teared up at Rumi’s genius. The girls rearranged themselves, spreading out though Mira and Zoey clearly didn’t want to.

You couldn’t help the frown you had as Chungae and Kwan sidled up to Mira while Zoey fawned over Hyeon. And Jinu was whispering with Rumi. You did your job, grabbing five more waters from your box to pass out to the boys. It kinda… hurt when they didn’t acknowledge you, you knew they couldn’t, not with the fans and the other girls here, but still. It stung.

You couldn’t help but giggle when Kwan started passing out signed sketch outlines of his abs though.

You blinked and then sighed fondly when Hyeon started barking at a fan for some reason. You bit your lip, you wanted to pull him back but you couldn’t make any contact with the boys like this. You scratched at your arms in stress.

“No!” Zoey hit him with her pen, scolding him, “Bad Saja Boy!”

Hyeon backed down unhappily, pouting as he bit back a growl at the girl. He crossed his arms, sulking. ‘She hadn’t noticed how the fan’s eyes kept flickering up to stare behind them, at you,’ Hyeon mentally growled.

At the same time, Kwan, Mira, and Chungae started fighting over who would sign a fan’s leg cast first. Seeing the huge problem, you grimaced and quickly rushed over since no one else was doing anything.

“Woah, woah, woah,” You waved your arms over them, smiling tensely down at them, “Good idols don’t further injure their fans,” You hissed pointedly though your customer service smile didn’t waver. You shoved Chungae’s pen in his hand and slid the man’s leg over to him first.

”So sorry about any discomfort sir, they were just so excited to sign for you,” You bowed to the fan and scurried back to your place. You made sure to keep a watchful eye on them.

‘Why couldn’t they be like Jum? Jum was just quietly signing the posters and whatever the fans asked to be signed—within reason. Jum is being perfect. Be more like Jum guys.’

Speaking of Jum, he waved you over and you leaned down to offer your ear when he crooked his finger to the squeals of some of the fans. “Do you have any energy drinks? It was a long night on the sidewalk…” He whispered. Your face heated at the sensation of his voice in your ear and his breath fanning over your skin.

‘No! Bad thoughts (Y/n)! Focus on the boy, he wants an energy drink!’

Straightening up stiffly, you didn’t dare say anything because you knew you would stutter and stumble and make a mess of yourself. You smiled and nodded your head, hurrying over to your drink and snack stash. You were not running away from the hot maknae.

Jum couldn’t help but smirk and chuckle fondly as he watched you scurry away to get an energy drink for him. The back of your neck was flushed so he could imagine the flustered look on your face. He hadn’t even meant to, he was just really tired. But your reaction definitely gave him a little bit more energy, at least enough to smile at fans and send hearts at them every now and then. Jinu would owe them big time for this one…

“Here you go, Jum,” His name slipped out without you meaning to but, thankfully, no one seemed to hear you.

Jum took the can with a smile, making sure your fingers brushed as he did, “Thanks (Y/n).”

And then he cracked it open and took a long drink, his throat bobbing with every swallow.

‘Was this fan service!? Run (Y/n)!’

You got out of there as fast as you could. You scurried back to the safety of your drink and snack stash so you could bury your face in your hands until your face cooled down. ‘In front of the fans too…’

You looked up in time to awe over the cutest little girl ever going up to the table with a drawing, her eyes on Jinu. You couldn’t see Jinu’s face as he slowly took the drawing, other fans shouting about how much they loved Jinu.

You blinked, cocking your head in confusion when Rumi suddenly stood, her arms held out to gesture at Jinu, “Isn’t he great? Woo! Jinu, everybody! Yeah Jinu!” Rumi cheered. It set off the crowd of fans, cheering and clapping wildly as they threw bouquets of flowers to each of the Saja Boys.

“‘Woo, Jinu’?” Mira echoed in disbelief. You grimaced, she didn’t sound happy at all…

Jinu then stood, “Unfortunately, the Saja Boys have to run. Thank you, everyone.” The rest of the boys followed his lead.

You stood at attention when Bobby suddenly waved to you, “(Y/n), can you show them to the back exit and call one of the cars around?” He trailed off into muttering about how the boys never had any managers or employees with them, a little disgruntled.

You started to nod when Rumi’s protective streak flared anew, “No!”

Everyone was looking at her.

”Uhhh, I mean, I was gonna ask (Y/n) to get me a, uhhh…” Rumi trailed off, her mind blanking on what to say. The Saja Boys already kidnapped her sister once and put her in danger, she didn’t want them doing it again.

“Some more water! You wanted some more water, right Rumi?” Zoey chimed in, her smile strained as she tried to help.

“Yeah! Yeah, I need some more water!” Rumi agreed quickly. All eyes went to the half full water bottle on the table. She quickly snatched it up and chugged it down. Aggressively.

“Okay… I’ll get you some more water, you can go ahead (Y/n),” Bobby reassured and you smiled awkwardly. There was no getting out of this. Not that you really wanted to get out of it…

“It’s fine, I’ll be right back Rumi,” You reassured your sister before leading the boys to the back as they waved to the fans, “This way.”

As soon as the boys were out of sight of the fans, they sagged with exhaustion, tossing the bouquets out.

You grimaced, and fished them out of the garbage, “Come on guys… I know you guys are tired but, just take some pictures with them later or something, the fans’ll like that…” You knew they were exhausted and probably aching from sleeping on the sidewalk all night but you couldn’t just let them do that right in front of you.

Jinu was quiet behind you, staring thoughtfully at the girl’s drawing in his hand.

“Tired…”

“Too much effort…”

“Can’t do it…”

“Nghhh…”

You shook your head at them, leading them to the back exit as you juggled the flowers in your arms to get your phone and text one of the drivers to come around to the back door.

“Okay, wait right here and one of our drivers will come and take you guys wherever you need to go,” You told them, shoving your phone in your pocket.

You almost fell over when someone’s body weight was suddenly on top of your shoulders, their face resting in the crook of your shoulder. “So tired…” Hyeon groaned. You blushed but couldn’t move before Chungae and Kwan plopped on the ground to lean their back’s against both sides of your legs. Jum pouted, settling with just leaning his head against your arm as all four boys tiredly closed their eyes. You were stuck.

It was like when a cat or a dog deigned you with the honor of them laying in your lap so you didn’t dare shift even a millimeter in the horrible case of you disturbing them. Your muscles were tense and you felt like your legs were going numb but you didn’t dare move.

You looked up flatly when you heard Jinu snickering to himself. “These are your children, shouldn’t you take them?” You hissed at him.

Jinu held his hands up in surrender, “Hey, they like Mama more, that’s not my fault,” He smirked.

The cluster of five people all looked at him in deadpan. Did this guy really just insinuate that he and you were their parents? “Ew.”

Your phone chimed and you slowly shook the boys off, “Alright, car’s here guys.”

They whined but released you and got to their feet. Chungae took your hand in his, swinging them back and forth as he pleaded, “Come with us, wanna cuddle…”

‘Okay, so Chungae got childishly clingy when he was tired. Noted.’

“I can’t, you guys can’t keep kidnapping me. I gotta stay with the girls for this event,” You told him and started herding the boys outside and to the car.

“Fine…” Chungae huffed, mindlessly giving you a kiss on the cheek before he shuffled into the car first, “Bye darling…”

‘Was he really that tired?!’ Your face combusted.

Looks like they were taking turns.

Hyeon was next, taking your hand and pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it before he followed after Chungae, “‘Till next time, princess.”

Kwan wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you in a tight hug and oh gosh. You can feel all his muscles. “See you later, babe.” And then he was climbing into the car too.

Jum approached you with a cool air, but his eyes didn’t meet yours as he took your hand in his and gave it a soft, shy squeeze, “Thanks for the drink earlier, beautiful.” You opened your hand as he climbed into the car to see your favorite candy. Was this gift-giving…?

Jinu tried to hide his chuckle at how red and flustered you were as snores started sounding from the car already. You pouted at him. “You look like the co-host from ‘Play Games With Us!’ after the spicy challenge,” He quietly cackled.

Was your face really that red? You pressed your hands to your cheeks to cool them down, tossing the flowers into the car after the boys. “Shut it, pretty boy,” You grumbled petulantly.

Jokes on him, now he was flustered and blushing. Jinu could dish it out but he couldn’t take it when the flirting was directed at him apparently.

Jinu cleared his throat, looking away from your little smirk as he fumbled with his hands. “Okay, uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Okay. Bye Jinu,” You waved as he fumbled to get into the car as you walked back to the door.

“Uh, byeee, ugh,” he cringed at the way his voice came out. You didn’t get to hear him mutter and groan at himself as he quickly closed the car door behind him and the car soon took off.

You shook your head in amusement at the boys and went back inside to finish the event with the girls.

It was hours later of Rumi glancing worriedly at you out of the corner of her eye until the event finished, Bobby grinning happily at the success of the event.

“Great job girls!” He cheered, circling the table as employees cleaned up the venue. He showed his phone to Mira and Zoey joined to see what it was, “The internet loves this, and the internet is never wrong!”

You looked over their shoulders as Mira snatched Bobby’s phone to go through the stories, “Rujinu! That’s genius.” It was a picture of Jinu and Rumi’s feet touching under the table with the caption, ‘Rujinu?! Playing footsie?!’

Mira tapped through to a drawing of Zoey with a glowering baby Jum in her arms and Hyeon at her side with a beaming smile, “Zoeystery. Where did they come up with that?”

And an edit of Mira with Chungae and Kwan on each side of her, the three surrounded by hearts, “Miro-mabby?” Mira tried to sound out the poly ship name as her fist clenched.

“Aw, you’re so cute together!” Zoey cooed lightheartedly.

Your eyes widened when Mira clicked again and this time it was a collage of Jum whispering in your ear earlier, drinking the energy drink, and you burying your red face in your hands with the caption, ‘(Y/n) is literally us, same girl! I hardcore ship it tho! (Y/n) + Baby!’ With plenty of hearts.

Zoey gasped excitedly, “They even did you, (Y/n)!”

You bit your lip, flushing as Mira turned her head to look at you, “You were blushing over them?” She asked you incredulously.

You stared flatly back at her, “I don’t wanna hear it when you kept watching Abby make those sketches of his abs.”

She shrugged, “Point taken.”

Zoey nodded, “Yeah, fair enough.”

~~~

Rumi didn’t know what to do.

On one hand, she had Zoey and Mira with this diss track, racing towards their goal of destroying all demons and trapping them in the demon realm with Gwi Ma for eternity.

On the other hand, she had Jinu and the constant niggling in her head that not all demons deserve to suffer.

And below it all, the protective determination to protect you, her sister. The faster she completed the Honmoon, the faster her and your patterns would be gone so you both could live normal lives. That’s what she wanted for you.

Rumi couldn’t talk to you about what was going on, you wouldn’t understand. And she didn’t want to freak you out over Jinu knowing about her—and by extension—your patterns.

But she did have to talk to Jinu. Maybe there was hope for him. And if there was hope for him, then there must be hope for you and her.

That’s why she gave the note to Derpy to give to Jinu.

So, early in the morning as the sun was just barely about to come up, she saw Jinu waiting for her. “She wants to meet, and she’s late?”

Rumi couldn’t help but sneak up behind him and land on the wall, making him shriek and flail as he turned and saw her suddenly crouched behind him. “You made me come all the way out here so you could jump-scare me?!” He panted, gripping his chest as he felt his heart slowly come down from the hummingbird speed it had jumped to. (Y/n) would never treat him like this…

Rumi jumped down smoothly, ignoring his question. “Follow me.”

He did. “Well, I’m glad you’re finally ready to talk. Although, you could’ve picked somewhere nicer for a date.”

Rumi faltered, “‘Date’? No! Ew! What are you talking about?”

Jinu pointedly held up the invite she had sent him, reading, ‘Save the Date.’

“That doesn’t mean—“ She sighed frustratedly, “You’re so old. This is strictly a business meeting.” She snatched the invite from him, going back to her walk as he trailed after her.

“Right… I thought you were into your friends. Glad it’s not me,” Jinu mused as he followed the purple haired girl.

Rumi blanched again, “What?! No! No way! I— They— We— Just, just keep your nose out of my love life, okay?! Business. Meeting.”

Jinu held up his hands in surrender, “Okay, loud and clear,” He agreed and the two resumed walking, Rumi with much redder cheeks than she had arrived with.

“What if I told you there’s another way to get your freedom?” Rumi asked him, her face serious and solemn now.

“Go on.”

“Help us win the Idol Awards. Because when we win, the Honmoon will be sealed,” Rumi explained, hopping up onto the wall with a touch to the Honmoon so it glowed out over the city. “And that will guarantee your freedom. Gwi Ma will be permanently cut off, and all the demons will be gone from this world. My sister and I will finally be free of these patterns. No more hiding. No more secrets. You can be on this side when the Honmoon is sealed. Away from the demon world, away from Gwi Ma. You can be free from those voices forever.”

Jinu looked away in consideration. Rumi didn’t know his true story, she thought he had made a deal for his family, when in reality, he made the deal for himself. Besides, her thinking was flawed, even he could see it. She was telling herself comforting lies.

“But I am a mistake.”

Jinu frowned at her words, looking up at her.

“Have been since the moment I was born. So, I have to believe. Because if there’s no hope for you, what hope is there for me?”

After a moment, he couldn’t help but ask, “And your sister? Is she a mistake too?”

Rumi looked down, conflicted. “(Y/n)… I don’t want to think so, I love her. But… if we weren’t born the way we were, maybe she would’ve been able to use the Honmoon like us…” Rumi trailed off softly, unsure and bitter over her own conflicted thoughts and emotions on her sister.

They were interrupted by a middle aged woman offering a bracelet to Jinu to give to his ‘girlfriend.’ The two flailed, stumbling over their words until the woman gave Jinu a flat look and Rumi the bracelet with the advice to find a better boy since Jinu was hopeless.

“Well, there’s your answer. Hopeless.”

Rumi gave the bracelet a soft, thoughtful look, “That’s the funny thing about hope. Nobody else gets to decide if you feel it. That choice belongs to you.” She held the bracelet out to offer him, “Here. Think of it as a… friendship bracelet.”

When Jinu took too long to think about it, Rumi turned away to leave with a sigh. “Wait.” He told her, holding his hand out for the bracelet when she turned. She smiled softly and slid it into his hand.

Looking at the bracelet in his hand, he couldn’t help but say, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you or your sister are mistakes.”

Then they went their separate ways.

~~~

It was all getting to be too much for you.

The girls were at the venue for the Idol Awards since early this morning, practicing their performance for Takedown. You had asked Bobby to deliver snacks to girls for you because you were busy running errands in the city. Bobby had reassured you that he would do that while you did your errands—i.e. getting some air.

Since the fan sign event, you had been scratching at your patterns more and more. The Idol Awards were tomorrow and it seemed like you couldn’t escape Takedown whenever you were in the apartment with the girls. It always seemed to be playing, whether the girls were changing lyrics, working on choreography or just rehearsing singing the song.

And the more time you spent with the Saja Boys, the less you wanted the Honmoon to be completed.

Jum pretended to be aloof but he liked to give you little things that reminded him of you. He often found you while you were out running errands just so he could follow you while you did, no matter how boring it was like getting groceries. The both of you had gone back to the cat cafe the other day and had taken selfies on his phone with the cats. He had a whole album of them now.

Chungae came to your balcony most nights to whisk you up to the tower roof balcony. You two would sit and look out over the city, just talking. He would insert a flirty line every now and then to see you blush and rile you up but would always smooth it over with a fond smile.

Hyeon was more of a wildcard. He would find you while you were getting a breath of fresh air at the park or just in the city. Like he had a built in radar for you, he would find you when you felt stressed and he would distract you. He was a little protective though, growling at people he felt were too close to the two of you.

Kwan was starting to make a foodie out of you. He would barge in during random parts of the day when you were alone to drag you off to a new food place he had found or heard about. No matter how bizarre it seemed, he would always try it and you somehow ended up trying it too. He would draw you into little debates, getting you wound up in your bickering until you were laughing with your eyes passionate as you argued your point.

And Jinu was like a ghost fading in and out between all these different interactions. He was probably the calmest besides Jum and Chungae—it was a little weird that those two were the calmest when they were the two youngest of the group. Jinu introduced you to Derpy, his tiger and the little demon bird that always accompanied him. You laughed when he explained that he had made the hat for Derpy but bird kept taking it. Jinu and you bonded over music. You shared modern music with him, not just modern kpop, but jazz, rock, punk, pop, classical, everything you could think of. The two of you would sit under the night sky, an earbud in each of your ears as you listened to music.

You didn’t want to lose the five boys that had somehow wormed their way into your heart, not when they made you feel more safe and seen than even Rumi did. Besides, if even the five boys who were so kind and comforting to you ended up trapped on the other side of the Honmoon, then what hope was there that you would get to stay? In your stress, your patterns have progressed more than Rumi’s has. She could still wear shorts and skirts if she wanted to, even if her arms and neck had to be covered. But you?

Your patterns have progressed well onto your legs to the point where you couldn’t wear shorts or anything that showed your legs at all. The stress was making you scratch so bad despite you taking Jinu’s advice and trying to keep your nails short, that you had to start bandaging your arms under your sleeves to try and mitigate the harm you were unintentionally doing to yourself.

“(Y/n)?” You looked up at the call of your name. Oh yeah. You were trying to get some air so you went for a walk.

Who is it?

(A/N: Vote for who it is here! Can’t post anything until the poll is over!)

Outtakes:

*Before the Series*

You: “You completely wrecked your private jet?!”

Huntr/x: “It wasn’t our fault! It was the demons!”

You: *Pulling your hair out* “That is literally your excuse for everything!”

…

Jinu: *Resting semi-comfortably on a chair* “So…How you guys doing?”

Saja Boys: *Laying on the cold hard cement sidewalk, plotting Jinu’s death* “Shut the f*** up.”

…

Random Fan: “Awww, Mira, Romance and Abby get along so well, it’s so cute!~”

Mira, Romance, Abby: *Currently trying to kill each other*

Other fan: *side eyeing their friend* “Yeah…so well…”

Random Fan: *Manically whispering* “I will die on this ship.”

…

Jinu: “So, you like those other girls, right?”

Rumi: *Bipanic mode activated, blue screen mode activated* “Uhhhh…”

…

Rumi: “Yeah…me and my sister were born as mistakes.”

The Saja Boys, Mira, Zoey: *Ready to fight* “I’m sorry, what?”

Tag list: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374

[cameronsbabydoll]

BASIC TRAINING — CHAPTER TWO

WARNINGS — power imbalance, suggestive comments, physical touch (shoulder, hair, guiding), age gap tension, gaslighting-style manipulation, rafe being icky/possessive, grooming-adjacent behavior, internalized guilt

You weren’t supposed to be alone.

Your dad gave you rules. More than rules, really—an entire itinerary. You were supposed to read for your summer classes, organize his files, avoid the barracks, and “keep to the other officer’s kids if you need friends.”

Except the other officer’s kids are twenty-somethings with active duty assignments or civilian lives far from here. They don’t sit at mess. They don’t linger by the soda machine. They don’t stop and say hi.

But Rafe does.

You don’t know his name yet. Not officially.

You just know the way his eyes linger. How his shoulders stretch his t-shirt. How his dog tags swing low when he jogs past you in the mornings—shirtless, dripping with sweat, smirking when he catches you staring.

You hadn’t meant to stare.

But it’s hard not to.

He’s… tall. And mean-looking. He has a buzzcut that makes him look even meaner. You’re not really into tattoos, but he’s got one on his arm you keep thinking about. A snake winding around a dagger.

You’d only noticed because he caught you looking. Again.

And then he winked.

It’s been three days now since you arrived on base. Your dad is swamped. The heat is unrelenting. You’ve reread the same chapter of your textbook six times and still don’t understand what Plato’s Allegory of the Cave is even about.

So you get up early.

You walk the perimeter road.

You grab a Coca-Cola from the machine outside the barracks. Sit on the shaded curb. Watch the soldiers run drills in the distance, far enough away that you don’t feel weird about it.

That’s where he finds you.

“Didn’t peg you for the early morning type.”

His voice startles you.

You twist around fast, can already feel the pink rising in your cheeks. It’s him. The man from the jogs. The tattoos. The stare. He’s not in uniform this time. He’s in a white shirt and gray sweats, both clinging like they’ve earned the right to his body. You hate how that thought even forms.

“I—uh. I didn’t know anyone else came here this early,” you manage, gripping your drink tighter.

He smirks.

“And here I thought this base was crawling with rules.”

There’s a beat. “But I guess that only applies to the rest of us.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He crouches a little, elbows resting on his knees. Close, but not too close. His eyes flick to your soda.

“You know there’s coffee inside, right?”

You shrug. “I don’t really like coffee.”

“Right.” He squints like he’s just realized something. “Sugar rush, not caffeine.”

He says it like he knows something about you that you don’t.

Then: “Makes sense. You’re a sunshine type of girl.”

“A what?”

“You know,” he grins. “The kind that wakes up humming. Writes in a pink notebook. Says stuff like ‘golly.’”

He leans closer. “Am I wrong, sugar?”

You feel like your brain short circuits. You try to laugh, but it comes out awkward. “I don’t say ‘golly.’”

“Yet.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

He just keeps looking at you. His gaze feels heavier than it should. You shift in place. His eyes follow the movement, pausing too long at your knees before flicking back up to your face.

“I’m Rafe,” he says finally. “Staff Sergeant. Been here too long.”

You nod. “Nice to meet you.”

“You got a name, princess?”

You tell him.

He repeats it. Quietly. Like he’s tasting it.

It shouldn’t make your stomach flutter.

After that, he starts showing up more.

He always has a reason. Always casual. Always calculated.

You’ll be carrying a box of your dad’s reports—he takes it from your arms without asking.

You’ll be at the vending machine—he guides your hand to press the right button.

You’ll be reading alone—he sits just close enough that you can smell him: sweat, cologne, something like cedar and anger.

Every time he calls you princess or sugar, you go still.

He’s so much older. More experienced. Bigger. His voice is always low, like he knows you’ll lean in to hear it better. And you do. Every time.

One afternoon, he catches you by the printer in the admin hall, struggling to staple a stack of papers. Your dad asked you to file them, but the staple keeps jamming.

You hiss softly, shaking the thing out. That’s when a broad hand appears behind yours.

“Move,” he says. You do, startled.

He fixes it in seconds.

Then he looks down. You hadn’t realized how close he’s standing. You’re basically against the wall. His hand is still on your shoulder, firm.

“You gotta be careful with these,” he says, low. “They bite.”

“Yeah.. I-I noticed,” you whisper.

He leans in, his mouth next to your ear.

“You ever been bit before?”

You don’t answer.

Your cheeks are burning. Your eyes drop to the floor. You know he’s watching them water.

When he finally pulls back, he taps your chin once with his finger.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

You try to avoid him the next day.

But it doesn’t work.

You’re walking back from the mess hall, still chewing a bite of banana bread, when a shadow falls across the path in front of you.

It’s him.

You stop. So does your breath.

He raises an eyebrow.

“No ‘hi’ today?”

You look down. “I didn’t see you.”

He hums. “That’s a lie.”

He steps forward. You step back.

But it’s just one step. Then he sighs and hooks his fingers into your bag strap.

“Relax, sweetheart. I just wanna walk with you.”

You’re not sure why you let him.

But you do.

He walks slow. Leisurely. His hand brushing yours every few seconds, like he’s testing to see what you’ll do. You don’t pull away.

When you reach the main building, he tugs your strap again—just a little.

“I ever make you uncomfortable, you tell me.”

You blink. Look up at him.

“No,” you say. “You haven’t.”

That smile again.

The one that makes your chest feel weird.

“Good girl.”

You can’t stop thinking about that for the rest of the day.

Not the words. But the way he said them.

Low. Rough. Possessive. Like it meant something.

Like you meant something.

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (9) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F ! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael now live parallel lives—close in distance but distant as strangers. After a school field trip to the zoo, you get injured and are rushed to the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, straight to Michaels ER.

Word: 4971

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/Early 50s), Head Injury (Factured Skull), Bleeding from the ear, and Vomiting

Authors Note: Hello! Thank you for all the love on the last part. Lol I love seeing your guys comments and reactions. They crack me upppp. Couple more parts and this fic with come to a end🥲. Depending on season 2 maybe I'll write a spin off/Continuation of some sort 🤨??? or maybe I'll leave a good thing be. Idk this is all up in the air and just ideas. If I did continue it won't be until next year YIKES. Long way from now. But if you guys want it i'll prob do it lol very much a people pleaser 😭 also determined to finsihed eyes on me lol okay anyway. enjoy!!! - ryn

3 Months Later

Since that day—that morning where it ended—you and Michael had kept your distance. It wasn’t easy. Living across the hall meant you still saw each other constantly. You crossed paths in the elevator, passed in the lobby, caught glimpses through cracked doors. But it was different now. Cautious. Careful. The warmth was gone.

It was like reverting back to how things were in the beginning—only worse. Not acquaintances. Less than that. Strangers.

There were no more lingering glances, no more easy conversations or shared errands. No more moments where he helped you without being asked, like he just knew. Now it was all stiff nods and the occasional muttered “hey” or “hi,” as if everything between never happened or existed.

Your lives—once a single, tangled line—had split. Still running close, still crossing the same thresholds, but no longer connected. Now they moved in parallel. Close enough to feel, never close enough to touch.

You missed him. Not just being around him—but him. The version only you knew. The one who stayed late, who looked out for you, who let his guard down when it was just the two of you.

Now, it was like he barely looked your way. Just quick hellos, if that. And even those felt heavy.

Still, every time you saw him, you wondered if he missed you too.

And maybe—just maybe—you knew he missed you too.

But neither of you said a word.

Michael had been the first person to remind you what it felt like to be truly cared for. Losing that connection hurt deeply. But even without him, you were learning how to stand on your own. You are in a better place

After years stuck in a toxic, neglectful relationship with Aiden, you finally chose yourself. No more waiting to be seen or heard. You were rebuilding, piece by piece—stronger, quieter, more certain.

It was something Michael said the last time you saw him that stayed with you. His voice was calm but firm: “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

Those words gave you the push you needed to walk away.

After breaking up with Aiden, the silence was deafening at first. No shouting, no blame, no empty promises—just quiet. And for once, that quiet felt like space you could breathe in, not suffocate.

You weren’t completely free yet. There were days when memories clawed at you, when loneliness crept in like a shadow. But with each morning you woke up without him, you felt a little stronger. A little more whole.

And Michael? Seeing him after everything—it wasn’t easy. There was a tension, a distance between you that hadn’t been there before. You still felt guilty for how things ended with him. But beneath it all, you knew one thing: his words had helped you find yourself again. Even if your connection had changed, that truth remained.

—

This morning, you had left your apartments at the same time, walking side by side in silence. No words. No eye contact. Just the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway—too close, too quiet.

He let you step into the elevator first, then slipped into his usual corner—like always. The space between you felt heavier than it should’ve in such a small box.

And every time you rode the elevator with him now, your mind drifted back to that morning. The one where everything shifted. The one where he had looked at you like he couldn’t wait another second. Where his hands trembled on your skin and nothing else existed. That morning where—for a moment—you both stopped pretending.

Now, you only pretended. Pretended not to miss it. Pretended not to look at him out of the corner of your eye. Pretended he wasn’t right there, close enough to touch, but choosing not to.

Then, suddenly—you don’t know why—you turned your head and glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a small, uncertain smile on your lips.

Michael stood there, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, AirPods in. He didn’t respond. Didn’t nod. Normally, he’d say hello—or at least acknowledge you—but today wasn’t one of those days.

Maybe he hadn’t heard you.

But he had.

Because the truth was, he missed you. Every time he saw you, felt your presence so close yet unreachable, it tore at something inside him.

But talking—to break the silence—meant opening a door he wasn’t sure he could close. It meant risking everything he’d been trying to hold together.

The silence in that elevator was suffocating.

The doors slid open.

You stepped out first, heart pounding, words caught in your throat. By the time the two of you made it through the lobby and out to the street, you found yourself saying, “Have a good day.”

Still, he ignored you.

Without a word, he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

—--

It had been a good day.

There was a field trip to the Philadelphia Zoo, and the fifth graders had been buzzing with excitement since they got off the bus. They darted from exhibit to exhibit in loose clusters, calling out animal facts they half-remembered from class, pointing at the gorillas, giggling at the flamingos, and dramatically gagging when they passed smelly enclosures. 

You smiled through the chaos, constantly scanning the crowd, reminding them to walk—not run—while answering a steady stream of “Can we go there next?” and “Do we have to stay with our buddy?”

By the time the group began gathering near the exit to prepare for departure, the kids were hot, tired, and still somehow full of energy—trading animal facts, snacks, and complaints about the long walk back to the bus.

You turned to check on one of your students—and your foot caught on a backpack left sprawled across the pavement.

You didn’t even have time to brace yourself.

You went down hard.

Your head hit the ground with a sickening crack.

Everything went black for a moment.

You passed out for a few minutes before slowly waking up. When your eyes opened, your other 5th grade teachers and your students gathered around you, worried. 

A sharp pain pulsed through your head. When you touched the side of your face, your fingers came away wet—your ear was bleeding.

You tried to sit up, but your body felt heavy and unsteady. Panic flickered in your chest.

“Are you okay, Miss?” a student asked, voice trembling.

You forced a small, shaky smile. “I’ll be okay,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure.

One of the teachers noticed the blood coming from your ear when you touched it. They knew something was wrong—you needed to get to the hospital.

You tried to protest, insisting you were fine, but the other teachers wouldn’t hear it. Their concern was firm—they knew you needed medical attention. They called an ambulance, and took care of your kids as you headed to the hospital.

“Okay, we’re headed to PTMC,” the driver said to his partner in the back with you.

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. No. You didn’t want to go there. Michael worked there.

“What? N-no, can’t you take me to Allegheny?” you asked, your voice shaking as you glanced up at the paramedic trying to stem the bleeding from your ear.

“Miss, PTMC is closer. Allegheny is too far,” the paramedic replied, his tone calm but unyielding.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit you hard. Before you could stop it, you threw up—your body reacting to the pain and shock.

The paramedics quickly handed you a bag, their expressions gentle but focused. Your head throbbed fiercely, and the thought of seeing Michael at PTMC made the room feel even more overwhelming.

You swallowed hard, gripping the stretcher tightly as the ambulance doors shut and the vehicle started moving. Outside, the world blurred past the windows, but inside, your mind spun with pain, fear, and an ache far deeper than the injury itself.

—-

It was busy in the ER today—loud, chaotic, the usual blur of motion and noise. Monitors beeped steadily in the background, gurneys rolled down hallways, voices called out orders and vitals in clipped tones. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the sharper tang of adrenaline and urgency.

Michael worked hard and efficiently, his hands steady and his voice calm as he checked charts, issued instructions, and answered questions. Every task was precise and practiced. But despite his focused exterior, his heart wasn’t fully in it today. Beneath the surface, his mind drifted elsewhere.

For some reason, you were heavy on his mind—ever since he saw you that morning in the elevator. Though he went about his work with his usual efficiency, every time he glanced up or caught a quiet moment, his thoughts slipped back to you. That brief encounter stirred something beneath his calm exterior, making it harder than usual to focus.

Even as he moved through the chaos of the ER, you lingered in the corners of his mind—a quiet weight he couldn’t shake. Each task felt automatic, mechanical, like he was running on autopilot 

At the nurses’ station, Dana glanced toward Michael as he passed by, pausing briefly. His eyes scanned the triage monitor for a moment before he continued on his rounds.

“What’s his vibe today?” Dana asked, peering over the top of her glasses as she flipped through a stack of charts.

Jack didn’t look up from the computer. “Full-on rain cloud.”

Dana let out a quiet laugh. “That bad?”

Jack finally glanced up. “Yeah. Barely talking. Just doing his rounds like a ghost.”

Dana frowned slightly. She hadn’t had a real catch-up with Robby in a while.

“I don’t think I’ve heard him say anything beyond patient loads and charts in weeks,” she murmured.

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. He’s been keeping things tight. You can tell he’s holding something in… and it’s not just stress.”

Dana sighed, looking up from the computer. “It’s been—what? Three months since they stopped talking?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, watching Michael enter an exam room. “He’s doing okay. Better than a few months ago, for sure. But I think today’s one of those days where he’s really missing her.”

Jack added quietly, “It’s hard to tell with him sometimes. He’s always been good at hiding what’s really going on.”

Dana didn’t respond right away, distracted by the faint sound of sirens growing louder in the distance.

“Looks like a bus just pulled up,” she said, glancing toward the ambulance bay.

Jack turned, following her line of sight. Through the glass doors, he spotted the rig backing in, its lights still flashing. The paramedics moved quickly, unloading a gurney from the back, getting ready to wheel someone inside.

“I got it,” he said, already moving toward the doors.

“Alright, what do we got?” 

Jack reached the stretcher as the paramedic began briefing him. 

“Mid-20s female, teacher on a zoo field trip. She tripped over a backpack and hit her head on the pavement. She lost consciousness briefly after the fall. There’s blood coming from her ear. She vomited on the way here and reported dizziness and nausea and is currently somewhat disoriented.”

“Exam Room 13’s open!” Dana called out as she overheard part of the paramedics’ briefing.

The gurney rolled past the nurses’ station in a blur of motion—wheels rattling, footsteps fast. Dana glanced up from her charts and files to get a quick look at the incoming patient… and froze.

Her eyes widened, recognition flickering across her face as she stood up straighter, instinctively stepping out onto the floor. Her heart skipped. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

It was you.

You looked pale, out of it—a plastic bag clutched in your hand, vomit on your shirt, and a smear of dried blood trailing from your ear. But it was unmistakably you.

The same woman she’d seen, playing around with Michael in aisle 9 of the grocery store fighting over cookies. 

Jack was already directing the paramedics to Exam Room 13, calling for trauma supplies as he moved alongside the gurney.

Dana stood abruptly, eyes darting around the ER. Looking for Michael.

Shit. Where’s Robby? Which wing did he go? She thought.

“Jack!” she called, rushing after him. She fell into step beside him as they wheeled you. 

“What?” he asked, not slowing.

“It’s her!” she hissed, voice low but urgent.

“Who?”

“The friend-neighbor-almost-something-—her,” Dana said, eyes wide. “Robby’s girl.”

Dana watched as Jack’s head whipped to face her. His expression shifts—from confusion to clarity, then to something dangerously close to dread.

Jack stopped short, turning just in time to see the gurney disappear into Exam Room 13. His expression changed instantly.

He looks at Dana again “That was her? Are you sure?” 

“Yes!”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“What do we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jack didn’t hesitate. “We need to tell him.”

Dana’s brows knit. “Are you sure? After everything… you know how torn up he was…well still is” she trailed off, uncertain. “I mean, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “He still cares about her, still feels things for her. You know he does.”

Dana hesitated, lips pressed into a line.

“He’s not over her, Dana. Not even close. No matter how messy the fallout was, he’d want to know. And if he finds out she was here and we kept it from him…”

“He’d never forgive us,” Dana finished, already nodding.

Jack’s jaw was tight. “Exactly.”

“Look I’ll take care of her, find him as soon as you can and tell him. Okay?” 

“Alright” they quickly went off in different directions. 

—

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead felt like too much—too bright, too sharp—cutting through the fog in your skull. Your stomach churned again, sour and unsettled. You’d already thrown up in the ambulance, the evidence smeared across your shirt, and the nausea still clung to you, heavy and unrelenting. It was like your body couldn’t decide if it was in pain or panic.

The nurse—Princess, according to her badge—helped you onto the exam table from the gurney, guiding you gently as you sat down.

“Let’s get you settled,” she said calmly.

You nodded, though the movement made your head throb and your stomach turn.

Princess moved with calm precision, wrapping a cuff around your arm to check your blood pressure and attaching monitors to track your vitals. She was already prepping the IV, her hands steady, practiced.

“Pressure’s a little low,” she murmured, mostly to herself, then offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You closed your eyes as the needle slid into your arm, trying to focus on her calm voice instead of the pounding in your head.

She grabbed a damp cloth and gently began wiping the vomit from your shirt, doing the best she could to clean you up while keeping you comfortable.

“You’re doing okay,” she said softly. “Just stay with me.”

Princess noticed the shift in your expression—the way your face paled. Without a word, she grabbed a plastic basin and placed it gently in your lap.

“Just in case,” she said softly.

A moment later, the door opened and a man stepped in, wearing navy scrubs and a calm, focused expression.

“I’m Dr. Jack Abbot,” he said as he approached. “I’ll be taking care of you today.”

Jack

The name stood out. Michael’s friend—he’d mentioned him a couple of times. Quick stories, casual references. You never met him, but the name stuck.

Now here he was, standing in front of you. And suddenly, it all felt just a little more real.

To Jack, you were more than just another patient. You were her—the neighbor, the teacher, the one Michael couldn’t stop thinking about. The one who shattered him.

He was torn. Part of him wanted to resent you. Another part couldn’t help but feel sorry—for both you and Michael. It hurt watching Michael suffer in silence, burying his feelings under layers of composure. But there was sadness for you too—because Jack knew you were still clinging to something broken. A relationship that should’ve ended long ago.

But none of that mattered now. He needed to take care of you—not only because it was his job, but for Michael. 

You and Jack locked eyes. Neither of you spoke, but something passed between you—an unspoken recognition. You both knew each other through Michael, even if you’d never met before. And in that silence, there was a quiet acknowledgment of everything that wasn’t being said.

“Let’s get you checked out,” he said gently.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He pulled on a pair of gloves and waited patiently as you gathered your thoughts.

“I tripped over a student’s backpack. I fell… hit my head on the side,” you said, your voice a little shaky.

Princess, at the computer nearby, typed quickly, capturing every detail.

“You passed out? For how long?”

“I don’t know. No more than 5 minutes?”

“And you feel nauseous?” Jack takes notice of the dried blood from your ear. 

“Yes” He brought his hands up, feeling your head, and then he felt it. A squishy part on the side of your head. 

Shit. 

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he gently pressed around the swollen area, careful not to cause more pain. His mind raced—without a CT scan, he knew the injury was serious. How severe, though, remained uncertain.

“Okay, stay still for me,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We need to get a CT scan to find out exactly what we’re dealing with.” He says to the Princess, but also to you.

You nodded, swallowing hard, the dizziness and nausea pressing harder with every breath.

Princess looked up from her computer. “I’m alerting neurology and radiology now.”

Jack forced a steady breath, trying to stay composed though inside, worry tightened its grip.

Your stomach lurched, and you vomited into the plastic basin Princess had handed you earlier. Jack stepped back slightly, giving you room but keeping his eyes locked on you, watching for any sign of worsening condition.

Princess moved quickly to help, she handed you a clean towel and quietly assured you as you wiped your face.

Princess stepped over, grabbing a pair of gloves and a warm saline wipe.

You flinched as she dabbed gently at the dried blood near your ear, trying not to let it sting. 

“Sorry,” Princess murmured, careful and quiet.

Jack watched closely but because the signs were impossible to ignore. The dried blood near your ear, the squishy spot on the scalp, the nausea and dizziness—they all pointed to something serious. Possibly a skull fracture.

Until the scan came back, there wasn’t much he could confirm. But in his gut, he already knew this wasn’t minor.

He reached for a chart from the counter, flipping it open and beginning to write. His pen scratched quickly across the paper, but he kept looking up every few seconds—checking your breathing, your pallor, the way you struggled to keep your eyes open.

Princess adjusted the bed slightly, propping it up so you could sit comfortably. She hands you a new plastic basin. She takes the used wipes and throws it in the trash along with her gloves and goes to wash her hands. 

You glanced at him, searching. “Did… did Michael send you?”

Princess moved to gather the extra materials they hadn’t used, placing them neatly on the supply rack. Her movements were quiet, efficient, but her attention never strayed far. She listens closely. 

Jack shook his head. “No. Robby doesn’t know you’re here… at least not yet.”

At that, Princess froze for just a moment. She didn’t know the full story, but it was clear you and Michael were connected. Her eyes flicked to Jack, widening slightly. A silent exchange passed between them—brief, but unmistakable.

Jack sighed inwardly. He knew exactly what she was thinking—the bet she and several other staff had made a few weeks ago at the bar about Michael having a girlfriend. Now was not the time.

His eyes locked onto hers, sharp, silently warning: Don’t even think about it. He shook his head slightly.

You hadn’t noticed the exchange. Your eyes closed, feeling dizzy, your head throbbing. The words slipped out before you could stop them. “That’s the last thing I want.”

Princess gave an innocent, almost playful raise of her eyebrows, but beneath it was something calculating. She grabbed a chart out of Jack's hands and scurried out of the room, leaving a faint echo of footsteps behind her.

Jack remained still, watching her retreat. His jaw tightened, mouth pressed into a hard line. In the ER, whispers traveled faster than code blue alarms—money and rumors would be swirling in less than a few minutes. 

Jack exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief second. He’ll deal with it later he tells himslef.

Jack leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you—pale, clearly worn down.

You swallowed hard, the dizziness still buzzing faintly at the edges of your mind.

“I don’t want to make things harder for him.”

“He’ll know,” Jack said quietly, his voice flat with certainty. “He’ll come rushing in here once he finds out—I guarantee it.”

“He likes you—a lot, cares for you deeply” he said, matter-of-fact, like it was the plainest truth in the world. “I’ve seen him talk about people before—patients, colleagues, even exes. But never like this.”

Your eyes flicked open. Jack wasn’t looking at you anymore.

You didn’t interrupt. His words caught you off guard—soft but heavy.

“With you… it’s different,” Jack said. “He’s not the guy who makes big declarations. But his actions? Loud as hell.”

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours—not confrontational, just honest.

“That day—after everything fell apart—he barely said a word.”

Jack’s voice dropped. “He didn’t say much. But I’ve known him long enough to read between the lines. Michael’s the silent type. Shove it down, suffer alone. That’s always been his way. He doesn’t fall easily. And he sure as hell doesn’t bounce back quickly.”

And didn’t you know it—you ruined what you two had. You looked down at your hands.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you said.

Jack finally met your eyes. There wasn’t anger—just a tired kind of clarity. “Maybe not. But it still happened.”

There was no heat in his voice. No judgment. Just the truth.

“He’ll handle it. He always does.”

He backed toward the door.

“My instinct is to tell you to continue stay away from him... keep the distance. To protect him.”

A beat.

“But even with all that… there’s a part of me that still hopes it works out between you two.”

He held your gaze.

“If there’s even a small chance you feel the same—don’t waste it.”

Then, firm again, “But don’t show up in his orbit unless you’re sure.”

“I’ll be back to get you for the CT scan. If you need anything, press the call button.”

And with that, he was gone.

—

Dana had spent the last several minutes searching—looking for Michael. The constant rush of the ER had kept her moving nonstop, priorities shifting by the second as new cases rolled in. Between the noise, the pages, and the demands of back-to-back emergencies, she hadn’t had a spare moment—until now. Finally able to look, she peeked into each exam room as she passed, also scanning for Michael.

Finally, she spotted him. 

Standing in the doorway, she called out, “Dr. Robby?”

Michael was looking up from the chart he was filling out while Victoria Javadi, the med student currently shadowing him, checked the patient under his supervision.

“Can… I talk to you outside?”

Michael glanced at her, then back at Javadi.

“Hold it down here. I’ll be right back,” he said, giving her a nod before stepping out into the ER floor with Dana.

“What’s up?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest.

Dana swallowed. “Robby, she’s here. Exam Room 13.”

“Who’s here?” His brow furrowed, clearly not understanding.

“She’s here,” Dana said again, slower this time, her eyes locking onto him.

Then it hit him.

His stomach dropped.

You’re here.

“W–what?” he said, hard and sharp, disbelief cutting through his voice.

“The bus pulled in a while ago-"

“How long ago?!” His voice rose, sharp.

“Half an hour—she hit her head. Took a fall during the field trip—”

Michael’s heart skipped, then kicked into overdrive. He didn’t wait for the rest.

He turned on his heel and bolted, weaving through the ER, past gurneys, staff, and startled patients.

He barely registered people calling his name.

Didn’t care about the chart he’d left behind, the patient waiting for him at 7 with Victoria, or the conversation he’d been having seconds ago.

All he could hear was Dana’s voice echoing in his head.

She hit her head.

His hands were already trembling. Thoughts circled like vultures—loud, fast, frantic. He didn’t know how bad it was. Was it minor? Maybe. But probably not—Not if the ambulance brought her in.

And then another thought struck—hard and bitter.

He’d ignored you this morning.

You’d smiled at him. Said, “Good morning.” Told him to have a good day.

And he hadn’t said anything back.

He’d brushed past you like you didn’t matter. And now—now this.

His chest felt tight. His feet moved faster.

Room 13. Room 13. Room 13.

Nothing else mattered. Not now.

Because you were here.

And you were hurt.

 He rounded the corner too fast, nearly slipped—caught himself—nearly crashing into Jack as he stepped out of Exam Room 13.

“WOAH!” Jack exclaimed, throwing an arm out to steady them both.

“Robby—”

“I gotta get to her—I” Michael said breathlessly, trying to push past him.

Jack grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place. “Stop, she’s gone.”

Robby froze. His heart plummeted, eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face. He couldn’t breathe—he just stood there, stunned, like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

Jack’s eyes widened as he realized. “Oh—shit—no! Gone as in, not in the room! I took her to her CT scan!”

Michael’s breath shuddered out of him. He stumbled back a step, dragging a hand down his face.

“FUCK, Abbot!” he snapped, voice hoarse. “Next time, maybe lead with that!!!”

Jack winced, “Yeah. Okay. Fair. Sorry!” He says quickly.

Michael looked like he was about to break. Without hesitation, Jack grabbed his elbow and pulled him inside your exam room, closing the door behind them.

Jack softened. “You want to sit for a second?”

Michael shook his head, jaw tight. “No. Just… give me a minute.”

His chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He turned away from Jack and leaned heavily against the wall, one hand braced flat against it while the other gripped his thigh. For a long moment, he stayed like that—bent slightly at the waist, eyes squeezed shut—trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

Then, with a trembling hand, he reached under his scrub top and T-shirt and pulled out the gold Star of David necklace he always wore—small, worn, and mostly hidden. He rubbed it between his fingers, clutching it tight in his calloused palm like a lifeline.

With his eyes still closed, he drew in a shaky breath, as if trying to summon strength from somewhere deep inside—something steady, unyielding.

Jack said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched, quiet and still, letting Michael have the space to come back to himself.

Michael straightened slowly, collecting himself.

“She’s okay?” Michael finally forced out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s conscious. Talking. But I’m pretty sure she has a skull fracture—I just don’t know how severe yet. We’re gonna have ro wait on the CT to tell us more.”

Michael’s face went pale. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Jack softened his tone. “Listen, Robby… I know this sucks. It’s scary, but you’re not alone here. We’re doing everything we can, as fast as we can. She’s tough, and she’s got the best care possible.”

He paused, then added, “It’s us. This team, this hospital—we make it work. You know that. You’ve been part of holding it together more times than I can count.”

Michael’s jaw twitched, but his eyes flicked up—just for a second—as Jack continued.

“She’s in good hands. Our hands.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.” But there was no real conviction in his voice. 

Jack glanced at Michael, his expression firm but not unkind.

“There’s nothing you can do right now, Robby,” he said quietly. “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

Michael’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw still tight, hands flexing at his sides.

Jack’s voice softened. “And as much as I hate to say it… you’ve got to pull it together and do your job. For now. Until she comes back from CT. We’ll know more soon.”

Michael closed his eyes for a beat, breathing through the heaviness in his chest. Then he nodded—barely.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

Jack glanced around. “It’s busy today. You know how it is—we’ve got to stay on top of everything, keep things moving.”

Michael knew Jack was right. As much as it tore at him, there was nothing more he could do right now.

So he did the only thing he could—he took a deep breath, straightened his spine, and began to shift the panic into focus. Into control.

He would see you when you came back from CT. Until then, he’d do his job. Just like he always had.

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess @nah2991 @interestellarprincess @laurensfilm @peachjellyy @aj3684 @sorryimstupidrn @escapingjune

Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

[gojoest]

a shape that could be ours — gojo satoru

synopsis: newlyweds are always asked the same question: “when will the babies come?” sometimes, the questions are harmless. other times, they get under your skin. you start to think and you start to imagine. maybe you tuck a pillow under your shirt one time, just to see. and maybe… your husband, gojo satoru, sees it too.

warnings: f!reader (she/her), established relationship (you are newly married), pregnancy/baby talk, pet names (pretty, baby), domestic fluff, not proofread, wc: 2.6k, dividers by @/cursed-carmine

“what? don’t you want a baby with me?” satoru asks as he sets the plates down on the counter and walks over to you. his voice is low and teasing. but not teasing in the usual carefree way; there’s something softer threaded through it, something almost serious. like it isn’t really a question he’s asking at all, but a quiet hope. a request. one he’s afraid to say out loud too often.

you blink up at him, unsure whether to be flustered or frustrated.

dinner had just ended. it was the first time you invited family over since the wedding. a small gathering, really, that still somehow managed to feel like a full-blown event. everything had to be perfect. you spent the whole day cleaning, organizing, cooking. and not just because you’re a perfectionist, but because…

…his clan is, well, intense.

polished and traditional in all the wrong ways where every smile hides a critique, every compliment is laced with a condition. you knew it wouldn’t be easy to deal with them tonight but it mattered to you for the dinner to go well.

and in many ways, it did. except for that constant baby talk. family pressure.

“so, when are we going to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“you two are married now. it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“i give it three months.”

‘three months? i’m hoping to get good news by the end of this month. the gojo blood is impatient.”

the laughter at the table was warm and lighthearted on the surface. but all of it made you want to disappear into your bowl of rice. every eye was on you and satoru — some amused, others expectant. as if you two were a machine that could be activated at any moment to start producing the next generation.

throughout the entire dinner you could barely take a sip of your drink without actually chocking on it.

meanwhile, satoru was just grinning like the menace he is — relaxed, smug and completely unfazed as always.

“we’ve been practicing”, he said brightly, “when the time comes, you will all know. it will show”, while caressing your belly shamelessly.

you nearly dropped your chopsticks. that idiot.

no matter how many times you jabbed his elbow, perhaps at times hard enough to leave a bruise, he kept chuckling, leaning over to kiss your temple like the world’s most supportive husband, and carried on with his antics. entertaining everyone with far too much confidence and far too many innuendos. not embarrassed at all, not for a second trying to avoid the topic when it was brought up. in fact, he kept leaning into it. perhaps because he enjoyed the idea a little bit too much and loved making it known since it involved the two of you becoming even closer. or perhaps as a subtle way of signaling you that he’s ready even if you aren’t. either way, he was absolutely in his element.

you, however, were ready to crawl under the table and stay there until the end of time, embarrassed.

by the time everyone was finally saying goodbye, you could barely fake another smile. several relatives winked on their way out, whispering things like “go work on that baby now” as if they didn’t already do enough damage to your nervous system, but now this too.

hours later, you’re standing in the kitchen rinsing plates, trying to scrub both the dishes and your embarrassment clean.

satoru is still watching you. he tilts his head, eyes a little softer now, like he’s peeling back the layer of jokes he wears so well. he steps closer to you and reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. then his hand tilts your chin upward, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“i mean it”, he says quietly. “don’t you want a baby with me?”

as a reflex, you try to turn away, but his hand holds you steady. not forceful, but firm enough, like he’s not ready to let you run from the question again.

“i…” you mumble. “i never said i didn’t want that.”

and that’s all he needs. a slow smile spreads across his lips. not a cocky one, but soft. almost relieved. he lets you go, brushing his fingers along your jaw as he pulls back. “good”, he says. “because i already think about it way too much.”

indeed, satoru has been imagining this, fantasizing even, for far too long, before you even got married. and all of his earlier teasing wasn’t just for show.

but on your end, it starts slowly. quietly. like how you start noticing flowers blooming only after winter has begun to fade.

a toddler’s giggle catches your attention in the park. you weren’t even really looking, just sipping on your coffee and scrolling mindlessly on your phone. but the sound draws your eyes up. a little girl in pink overalls is running after bubbles, squealing with laughter. her parents sit nearby on a bench, watching with contentment.

you don’t even realize you’re standing until the bubble pops and the girl turns to look at you, grinning. you smile back.

and just like that, you find yourself looking more often. at playgrounds. at babies wrapped in slings. at tiny shoes lined up in store windows. at couples who walk slowly because they’re pacing themselves with the unsteady toddle of their child between them.

you tell yourself it’s just because everyone keeps bringing it up. that your brain is on autopilot, stuck on a topic you never gave much thought before.

but then, you catch yourself lingering in the baby aisle at the store. just a second too long and just enough to picture what it might be like… a tiny hoodie with a little bear face. a pair of miniature sneakers that could fit in your palm. but alas, you shake your head and move on like that’ll erase the softness creeping in.

of course, satoru doesn’t help.

in fact, he seems to notice the shift in you immediately, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. one night, while you’re brushing your teeth, he appears in the mirror behind you, eyes sleepy but still, mischievous.

“if it’s a girl”, he says softly, “i want her to have your eyes.”

you pause, toothbrush still in your mouth. you look at his reflection in the mirror, he’s smiling. he says it so casually, like you’d been in the middle of that conversation all along.

pulling the toothbrush out, you gasp. “…what?”

“i mean it, pretty”, he says, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “your eyes. she’ll have me wrapped around her tiny little finger, obviously. but if she takes your eyes? i’m done for.”

you blink at him, unsure if your heart is skipping a beat from his words or because you brushed a little too hard… “satoru—”

“and i want to teach her how to fight”, he adds, grinning now. “so i can pretend i’m cool and strong before she decides i’m not.”

you stare at him. “looks like you’ve put way too much thought into this”

he shrugs, utterly unbothered. “of course i have. i think about it all the time.”

you turn away, rinsing your mouth, pretending your hands aren’t a little shaky from how serious he sounded underneath all the teasing.

another time, you’re curled on the couch, scrolling, when he flops next to you and plops a tiny onesie in your lap. it says: strongest baby alive!

“what— how— why do you even have this?” you ask, holding it up like it might detonate.

he grins. “came across it online. couldn’t resist. look, it’s perfect!”

“satoru.”

“what? just prepping for greatness”, he chuckles. but there’s something in the way he watches you after. like he’s waiting. measuring your reaction. seeing if your fingers linger on the fabric. and when they do — just a second too long — his smile falters. softens and turns quiet.

he doesn’t push it, though. doesn’t mention it again. instead, the next morning, you find your favorite mug already filled with coffee, and beside it… a baby spoon.

you roll your eyes. but you also don’t throw it away.

and that night, while helping your friend babysit her toddler, you let the little boy climb into your lap. he has chubby fingers and impossibly soft hair, and he tugs at your necklace while babbling nonsense. at one point, he rests his head against your chest and sighs. you feel something in your chest flutter, crack open…

when satoru comes to pick you up, the boy doesn’t want to let go of your hand. satoru says nothing on the ride home. but he doesn’t let go of your hand, either. one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on yours, warm against your thigh.

a few days later, satoru was abruptly called by the higher-ups about something last minute. nothing new. he kissed your cheek, told you not to wait up and vanished with a sweet little wink before putting on his blindfold.

now hours later, the silence he left behind still lingers. there’s no hum of his laughter, no echo of his dramatic commentary from the hallway, no footsteps chasing you down for one more kiss. just you.

you’re folding the laundry — a pile of shirts, a few of his socks that somehow always get lost in pairs, and then… a pillow. an extra cushion from the couch that ended up in the wrong basket.

you pick it up absently, ready to toss it aside, but… your hands hesitate. your eyes lower, thumb smoothing across the fabric. your heartbeat shifts a little and almost without thinking, you press the pillow against your stomach. a little too high at first, then you adjust it lower. tuck it in and pull your shirt over it.

just to see, to feel.

you walk to the mirror, barefoot, and look at your reflection. the shape is awkward and lumpy. not real. but the illusion is enough. your hand rests on the makeshift bump and then, slowly, one starts to move, caressing lightly over the curve.

you know it’s silly, but something within you responds. your face warms. you start to imagine satoru’s hand covering yours. you imagine him kneeling in front of you, placing a kiss against your stomach, whispering some ridiculous name idea he’s already picked out. you imagine tiny clothes, sleepless nights, holding something small and warm that’s half you and half him… you let yourself smile.

fingers brush gently over the fabric again. this could happen — you think — it’s possible. it’s real — and for the first time, the idea doesn’t make you want to run and hide. in fact, it makes your eyes sting a little. you lose yourself so deeply in the fantasy that your ears don’t catch on the sound of the front door open.

satoru didn’t mean to get home this quietly. usually, he makes a noise on purpose — jingles the keys, sings something stupid in the hallway, says something lovesick as soon as he opens the door just to hear you laugh.

but tonight, something stops him. he’s got that feeling. a pull.

the house is dim, soft with the kind of stillness that suggests you’re somewhere in thought. then he hears the faint shuffle of feet — yours — and he follows the sound like a thread, guiding him toward a barely cracked bedroom door.

he’s halfway through taking off his blindfold when he sees it through the narrow crack. you, in front of the mirror. a pillow under your shirt. your hands on it like it’s real.

he doesn’t move at first. his eyes track the curve of your body with something close to awe and he forgets how to breathe, or perhaps he’s afraid that if he breathes the moment will vanish. something primal and visceral hitting him all at once. you’re not smiling in the mirror like it’s a joke. you’re dreaming. touching the false belly like you’re already connected to someone that doesn’t exist — but could…

he thinks he might die on the spot. this is the future he’s been aching for in silence. this is the image that’s kept him up at night, one hand over his eyes, the other gripping the sheets, wondering when (if) you’d want the same…

and then, you see him. in the mirror just beyond your shoulder. startled, you turn. your hands fumble the pillow, cheeks heating up from embarrassment. “i— i was just… you know—it’s nothing. i was just being silly—”

he opens the door fully now and steps in slowly as if he’s approaching a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“stop”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper. he walks over to you like he’s being pulled by something magnetic. his hands are warm when he places one over the bump. even if it’s fake, it doesn’t matter. his fingers tremble anyway.

“you look beautiful. so beautiful, baby”, he murmurs, eyes not leaving you. “like it’s already real”, he swallows hard.

god, what i wouldn’t give to make it real, he thinks. to watch you grow round and soft with his child. to see the way your body would change — carry the weight of something made by both of you. to feel your skin stretch under his palms, life blooming inside you because of him.

he would worship you. he already does. but like that? pregnant with his child? he wouldn’t survive it.

he plants a soft kiss to your temple, hand curling protectively around your back, the pillow pressing between you. “i want to give you everything, you know that?” he whispers, but his voice sounds strained like he’s holding back too much all at once.

you nod against him. but, it’s not enough. not when you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror like that, not when you’ve imagined it too…

“say it”, he breathes against your hair. “tell me you want it too”

you look up at him, eyes vulnerable. that same look you gave your reflection.

“i want it”, you whisper. “i want a baby with you”

…and that’s it. that’s the thing that unravels him. letting out a shaky breath, he presses his forehead to yours. eyes fluttering closed as he cradles your face in both hands. he’s barely holding himself from dropping to his knees and pressing his mouth to your stomach, kissing it until you forget every reason you ever hesitated.

“let me give you a baby”, he says it now. clearly. openly. reverently. “let me make you a mother”, his thumb stroking your cheeks as his voice falls like a prayer and a plea all at once. “i’ll take care of everything”, he promises. “you’ll never lift a finger. just be mine. just carry ours.”

his lips find yours into a kiss, slow and aching, full of thousand nights he spent dreaming of this exact moment. and in the back of his mind, there’s only one thought echoing over and over.

she wants it. she wants this. she wants me. she wants us.

…and that’s enough to break him, rebuild him, and start everything new.

he gently scoops you into his arms, carefully — like you’re already carrying something precious inside you. your hands fly to his shoulders, your face closer to his. and it’s one of those rare moments where there’s no teasing on his features. only something quiet, something tender. something that longs.

he carries you to the bed like he’s bringing you home, and when he lays you down, he takes a moment. just a moment, to look at you. the fake curve of the pillow under your shirt, the way your hands settle over it instinctively. the way your eyes never leave his.

satoru sinks to his knees beside the bed, presses a kiss low on the fabric over your belly. one hand slides over the curve gently, and then, looking up at you through his lashes, he murmurs,

“i’m going to make this real now.”

[vasito-de-leche]

I love, LOVE your characterization of the Saja Boys, and while I know you’ve only written complete dating hcs for Baby and Abs, I was hoping if it was okay if I could request something with the Saja Boys (separately) where it follows the prompt “you're about to argue but you're so pretty that his brain short circuits”? If you don’t want to write for all of them, then maybe you could do Baby and Abs (separately)?

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS SAJA BOYS - "Too Pretty"

Saja Boys (separate) x Reader 2.5k words silly, fluff Being a demon's soft spot has its benefits. Who would've thought?

i'm so glad you like the way I write them!! this prompt sounded so fun, I just had to try my hand at it, thank you!

this also served as a way for me to slowly figure out how I'd like to characterize the other members o7 I tried to keep the relationship vague enough to be read as whatever people want, so hope that comes across well enough. also also, dont let these dramatic edgy idols fool you, all drabbles end up being silly and cute

JINU

"Are you even listening, Jinu?"

He is, of course. But he'd rather not, especially when you're getting worked up over nothing; so much for escaping an endless cycle of torture in the underworld, he now has to deal with a brand new mess, pacing behind him like a madman. By now, you've probably noticed the monotonous and non-committal answers he's been giving on loop.

"Uh-huh," Jinu's eyes never stray from the notebook in front of him, attempting to come up with a better verse for an upcoming song. And he knows he's fucked up when he hears you groan, stomping towards him.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I stopped listening abooout ... five or ten minutes ago, who's counting, but--"

Your hand comes into view, fast as lighting, and he can only look as you snatch the notebook away from him. Great, awesome.

There goes the perfect verse in his head. He remains frozen for a moment, the hand holding a pen still hovering over the now empty spot on his desk until your voice reaches him once more.

"If you're not going to listen, at least tell me so I don't waste my time talking to you."

Jinu slouches in his seat, raising both hands to cover his face, before sliding them upwards to slick back his hair in a feeble attempt at regaining his composure. You can't even see him from this angle, his back turned to you, but he still rolls his eyes.

You want to argue? Get it out of your system? Fine, he can give you the fight you want.

In one swift motion, his position changes; now he's straddling the chair, a powerplay he's come to master after bickering with his own band for so long, eyes closed as he prepares to deliver a devastating comeback to rile you up. But when he looks up, the golden glow in his eyes wavers--you're standing so close in front of him, looking down at his seated form with your arms crossed, as if daring him to speak.

He doesn't, and you tilt forwards, hair cascading over him so that the only thing he can focus is your face in this one-sided glaring contest.

Jinu has seen you at your best and your worst, but this is the first time he's found himself at the other end of your undivided attention and anger. It is as intimidating as it is alluring. What are you doing to him? Is this allowed? His neck feels hot, his face feels hot. The room feels like it's on fire, but not the same type of hellfire he's grown used to; it's a different sort of warmth, equal parts shame and pleasure as he takes in the sight. His lips part without him noticing, whispering ever so gently.

"Pretty ..."

"What was that?" Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Shitty. I said you look. Shitty. As in, you look like shit. Being angry isn't doing you any favors, you know? You should get some rest, okay. Byeee."

Without giving you any time to react, Jinu fumbles over his words, trips over your furniture and he stumbles out of your apartment in a rush, almost breaking into a sprint for the elevator. It's only when the doors close that he allows himself to breathe in and out, finally noticing the extra passenger inside with him. His bird companion chirps smugly, and Jinu groans into his palms.

"I don't want to talk about it."

ROMANCE

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Romance scoffs at your words, still refusing to leave his room. All the heart shaped decorations seem to mock him as he leans his full weight against the door, easily preventing you from entering no matter how hard you try to rattle the doorknob.

Both of you find yourself at the edge of an argument, and the decision to escalate things lies solely on his hands. He knows this because he can practically hear the affection in your words, even as you whine and tell him to get over himself to talk to you, face to face. That alone is enough to make Romance's chest tighten--no matter how many times he does this, this game of push and pull, you still make sure to chase after him time and time again.

Surely you must be reaching your breaking point; nobody is strong enough to withstand this much heartbreak. Maybe if he tries a little harder, you'll realize that there's nothing good in a future with him.

All he has to do is stay silent and wait for you to leave.

"Then what did you mean?" His voice is whiny, it always is. But you always insist that you love that about him, the way he feels so deeply about everything.

"You really want to argue about something like this?" You're right, you usually are--he's making things difficult when he's not even officially yours. "Well, I don't. So you can call me once you've cooled off."

And just like that, it's quiet; there's no more pressure pushing against him from the other side of the door, no more cutesy nicknames and attempts at coercing him out. Romance's heart drops, and he practically claws his way out, torn between cursing you out for proving him right and leaving, or begging you to take him back and sort everything out as if he hadn't been the one to start this. He's taken only a single step out of the threshold of his sanctuary when your smile greets him--you're leaning casually against the door frame, pretending to inspect your nails.

"So, are you done brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

That playful grin renders Romance speechless; the contrast of your casual attitude against his frenzied panic is impossible to ignore, he's gone through all five stages of grief in under a minute while your trust in him never wavered. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder because there's a glint in your eyes that tugs at his heartstrings, wild strands of hair that he'd love to twirl in his fingers and kiss ever so gently. Romance knows that you'll let him if he asks for permission, and a knot forms in his throat, face flushed bright pink.

"No." It's all he manages to squeak out before closing the door once more.

"Rommie! Are you mad at me or not?!"

"I don't??? Know??? I need a moment! Just stay there!"

ABBY

"That's the last time I take you anywhere. You can't just pick a fight like that, Abby!" Abby sinks even deeper into the plush cushions of the couch as you continue to scold him, as if his sulking and his silence could single-handedly help him win this argument.

He's already found himself a comfortable spot, but you're still fussing about the living room, throwing your shoes to the side, sending your jacket flying onto the backrest of the sofa, pausing to drink and slamming the glass on the counter a little harder than necessary. Abby knows better than to try and stop you, so he stays put, waiting for his opening.

"What if anyone saw? Did you even think about that? The amount of trouble you'd be in?"

Those are all very good questions that he never bothered to consider; in fact, he still refuses to think about the consequences. There's no point in doing so when you managed to pull him away before he could do any damage to anyone, or to his own reputation as an idol.

"Like they'd even care," Abby huffs, trying to blow a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Just catching a glimpse of us outside is enough to make everyone turn a blind eye, it's almost too easy to work the crowd. One flex of these guns and any broken noses will be totally forgotten."

He makes an attempt to flex said guns, but he finds you looming over him from behind the couch, your grasp on his wrists as steady as death. There is a wild look in your expression, one he can't quite understand, but he finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from you. Getting to play the part of guard dog for you comes as easy as breathing, Abby can't get enough of the little tells that give you away, letting him know that you enjoy his antics--but it never crossed his mind that the tables could be reversed like this.

"Fine, let me put it this way! What if you got in trouble or worse, what if you got hurt? Ever thought of that one? Just because you're an all mighty demon doesn't mean you're--"

"You're hot when you're mad." He blurts out.

"I--What?"

A chance to rectify his mistake is presented to him, and he immediately pivots away from it when you blink your pretty eyes at him in confusion. "I said that you're hot when you're--"

"I heard you the first time, Abby. It's just--were you listening to what I was saying?" Okay, this is his chance to steer the conversation back on track. It's very easy, he just has to--

"If I say no, will you scold me some more?"

"Oh my God. Abby. Nevermind."

MYSTERY

Arguing with you is a rare occurrence.

But so is speaking to you, or engaging in any sort of conversation at all with anyone. This is one of the many perks that came with his role as the cool, mysterious and aloof member of the Saja Boys; anything he didn't feel like addressing could be easily swept under the rug and left ignored for centuries. This had been Mystery's modus operandi for years, and he wasn't planning on changing it any time soon.

You, on the other hand, were the opposite, filling the silence he often sought so desperately, until your voice became background noise in his life, a constant, confusing and somewhat comforting presence that simply followed him around.

Mystery still remembers the first time he deigned himself to reply, something off-handed that didn't matter at all, and yet you clung to his every word and went the extra mile to include him in your one-sided talks. It took a long time for the demon to get used to this, and an even longer time to acknowledge the fact that he enjoys the sound of your laughter, way better than the miserable voices crawling in the back of his mind.

Which is why the claustrophobic and oppressive silence lingering in the room irks him to no end. You're supposed to be talking, not playing hard to get or ignoring him over a stupid argument; the way you brush past him, barely acknowledging his existence as you go about your day is getting under his skin in ways he never knew were possible.

And then, for a fleeting second, you meet his gaze--this moment lasts for an eternity in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak, to seize the opportunity and break the ice, but before he can get a single word out, you turn around and begin to scroll through your phone. That's the last straw.

Mystery stands up and forces himself into your peripheral, hands firmly planted on the wall, trapping you in.

For the first time in forever, he wants to scream, to bark, to growl and give you a piece of his mind. But when he sees the way you awkwardly avoid his gaze, fiddling with your hands and standing at your tiptoes, Mystery relents and his frustration is replaced with something else; endearment. You're still wearing his merch, one of the very first shirts the Saja Boys released long ago with his name written on it, you're still attempting to hide from him despite knowing there's nowhere in the world you could go without him finding you.

Slowly, Mystery raises a hand towards you, enjoying your half-hearted attempt at shaking him off, pretending to bite the air near him.

And then he pinches your nose. "Cute."

After that, he leaves. You'll come around when you feel like it.

BABY

"You went too far this time, there was no need to get so personal back there."

"That's the entire point of dissing someone, duh. So, was it good? Did you like it?" Baby kicks his feet, hands cupping his cheeks to make himself look as innocent as possible. "I didn't know I could rhyme that many words with 'cunt' but it was soooo fun! Right, right?"

"Baby!"

Tsk. Guess it's the hard way today. That cute expression quickly turns into a scowl and he makes a bee-line for the fridge, if only to find something to drink and distract himself with.

He blows bubbles into the silly straw, sulking in the kitchen. "What? They got what they deserved. What kind of idiot would challenge me to a rap battle if they can't take the heat? Hellooooo, it's Baby Saja we're talking about."

"But it was a friendly thing, you turned it into a massacre for no reason."

"Heh," he knows he shouldn't, but he snickers to himself anyway. "Guess I did, huh? What, do you wanna have a go in their place?"

This is how Baby likes to play, to earn a reaction and entertain himself if only for a little--but you always know better than to play into his shenanigans. And you also know how to get a message through his thick skull, something that continues to astonish him to this day.

Baby continues to sip away on his drink as you busy yourself, fully believing himself to be the victor of this round. But dread starts to make its presence known deep in his chest as he sees you slowly gathering your things--this isn't how things usually go, you always stay the night at his place to keep him company, watching horrible romcoms, eating snacks and falling asleep at 5 a.m.

So why were you leaving?

"Hey, hey. Woaaah! Are you really going to ditch me because I got a little mean to some rando? That's so unfair." The look you give him is enough for his act to crumble, and Baby groans dramatically before hurrying to your side, tugging onto the hem of your sleeves. "Stay here! Pleeeeeeaase? I'll behave next time!"

It doesn't work; you pinch his cheeks and pull, stretching them like mochi. Your voice is stern, even after you let go. "You're old enough to know that what you have to say is 'sorry,' Baby. But if you want to beg for forgiveness, you'll have to try a little harder than that."

Shit. So much for being unfair, the tone of your voice and that look in your eye are more than enough to get all the thoughts in his mind twisted up--Baby hates when you don't indulge him, but even he has to admit that he loves that stubborn streak in you.

"What? Cat got your tongue? I know you well enough by now, there's no way you have nothing to say."

You never waver, meeting his eyes with the same intensity, running a hand through your hair. Baby's mouth turns into a fine line, followed by a pout. If he says anything right now, he'll most likely end up digging his own grave. You look SUPER hot right now, is that good enough to make up and get you to stay? Something like that would most likely earn him the silent treatment for a week.

"Sssssssorry ..."

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it--"

"...for being soooo damn good at my job. Like it's my fault?"

"I'll see you tomorrow Baby."

"Aw, c'mon!"

[very-merry-birthday]

Gluttony

Lust Gluttony Envy Sloth Greed Pride Wrath

Summary: You help the brothers out of tricky situation, and Dean thanks you the best way he knows how.

Warnings: Smut (car sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms)

A/N: Yes, this has been a seven deadly sins series all along!

You picked at your fries lazily as you relaxed against the grimy booth of the diner, watching the place carefully. You'd been following the same man for two days after a string of murders had landed you in a town not far from home. You saw as he began to stand up, making his way to leave.

Your phone began to buzz in your pocket, a number you didn't recognize. Normally you wouldn't answer calls like that, but you were waiting for some information, and wanted to end this hunt as quickly as possible.

"This is a prepaid call from "Hey Sweetheart", at the Washington County correctional facility, all phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring, to accept this call press one now."

You could instantly tell it was Dean, his voice just as deep over the phone as in person. You pressed #1 as you wedged your phone between your ear and your shoulder, standing to follow the man as you gathered up your belongings.

"Hey darlin', you picked up!" He seemed almost surprised on the other end, but kept his cool.

"What's going on, I'm in a rush." You pushed the door open, following him from a distance.

"Awe- I just thought a booty call might be fun right now?" His voice was laced in sarcasm.

"I'm being serious, Dean, what do you need?"

He sucked his breath in through his teeth, "Ya see sweetheart, we might have found ourselves in a bit of trouble over here and... well we need someone to come bail us out."

"I'm busy..." You sighed, finally grabbing the phone again in your hand.

"We'll see you soon!"

The line clicked, going dead as he hung up. You wanted to leave him there, teach him a lesson, but you knew you just had to see him. You looked over at the man walking away, letting out a deep sigh before turning on your heel, returning the way you came.

-

You pulled up around the corner from the tiny jail- more just a police station- checking your face again in the mirror before climbing out of the car, your heels clicking against the sidewalk. It wasn't often that you dressed professionally, the tight button up and skirt feeling claustrophobic against your body, but you knew it would work far better than your usual jeans and flannels.

You made your way in, the afternoon just starting to break into evening as a chill hit the air, and walked to the front desk, a young cop on the other side barely making note of you.

"I'm here for the brothers."

"You posting bail or you their lawyer?" He didn't look up from the screen in front of him.

"Their lawyer."

He nodded, "Take a seat, someone will come get you in a minute."

You did as he said, sitting down as you took in the room. You swallowed hard, you lied for a living, that bit was easy, but having to see Dean after three months without him- that would be slightly harder.

After what felt like too long you saw a cop approaching you, reaching out his hand to shake it, "You here for those boys?"

He was an older guy, barely any hair left on his head, a small coffee stain on his shirt that looked fresh. You weighed up your approach in your mind. Seductive felt odd, this guy was old enough to be your father, possibly even grandfather, and he wasn't trying to hide it. Relentless seemed wrong too, he clearly had a knowledge of the job and you knew clamping down on him would only cause him to fight back. So instead you stood, shaking his hand with a warm smile spread across your face. The friendly approach.

"I am indeed, sir."

"Names Officer Branning, I'm gonna get you to follow me."

He led you down a series of florescent flooded hallways until you were stood outside and interrogation room. You'd seen your fair few before, but normally you were in the same position as the boys. The officer pushed open the door and Dean looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you walk in.

"You should've told us you called your lawyer, son." The officer moved to sit opposite him, taking a sip of his coffee.

You saw Sam shift in his seat, looking between you and his brother, clearly confused.

"And can I ask what exactly my clients have been arrested for?" You took your own seat next to Dean, you could tell he was still gawking at you out of the corner of your eye.

"Well your boys here have been convicted of section A1 of the Burglary Statute. A house downtown, we get a phone call about suspicious activity and who do we find when we turn up, these two, both in possession of guns, which I don't have to tell you is of course a felony."

You turned to look at them properly for the first time, both of them shifting awkwardly in their seats. You knew that Sam would have already tried every trick in the lawyer book- and at least he had the Harvard experience compared to your Breaking Bad and Law and Order qualifications. He turned back towards the officer, not wanting to seem suspicious. Dean, however, couldn't care less, his eyes raking your body.

He'd never seen you dressed like this: all office siren, your hair pulled back, heels on. He had to admit he liked it, almost as much as he enjoyed you in your hunting gear, covered in grime and blood and sweat... Almost.

You turned back away, his gaze sending heat to the back of your neck. The officer looked behind the three of you, another sip of coffee, he was clearly already checked out for the day, his eyes on the clock above your heads. Sam might have the knowledge, the actual lawyer skills, but you were starting to think your pop culture education might be more likely to get you all out of here.

"Look I'm not gonna sit here and say these two men haven't been foolish, of course they have." You glanced over at them, Sam's eyes going wider, Dean clearly not listening as he watched the way your lips moved, "Entering a dwelling that doesn't belong to them, sure, that looks bad, I'm not denying that. But I do think it's important to note that they didn't use their guns, no one here got hurt, right? And is that not the most important thing?"

The officer nodded slowly. Sam looked between you and him, unable to understand how this actually seemed to be working.

"No one killed, no one injured, gosh not even a paper cut! Secondly, burglary, sir-" you chuckled lightly, "Do you have any proof of that? That they were actually intending to steal anything? Do we even have proof that they broke into the property? As far as I can tell these idiots most likely walked into a house that didn't belong to them, merely out of confusion!"

"I'm not sure-"

"Officer Branning, was it?" You smiled at him warmly, trying to put forth your least threatening expression, "You and I both know the perils of this system. A day in court, those uncomfortable seats they'll make you sit in as you wait to speak, only for what, all of five minutes!?"

He chuckled lightly at your apparent exasperation, "Less than that!"

"Less! A whole day wasted just because these two idjits don't know their own address! And I'm sure the jury will see that- just look at them they couldn't organize a back yard grill let alone a burglary!"

Sam put on his best puppy dog pout and Dean grinned from ear to ear as the officer looked at them both.

"I really don't want to waste your time, and I don't think you want to waste mine either. These are good boys, good god-fearing folk, they've just made a mistake. Surely a slap on the wrist and we can both go home happy?"

"These boys committed a crime-" he looked above your head again, eyeing the clock.

"Who've you got at home, Officer Branning?" You leant back in your seat, smiling at him.

"I'm not sure how that's important?" He questioned, his face flushing with confusion.

"You keep looking at the clock, sir, you got someone worth rushing off for?"

He smiled back, looking down at his coffee, "My wife. It's our anniversary, I was supposed to be home three hours ago but got stuck sat with these two-"

"How many years?" You leant forward. Dean eyed you carefully. He liked seeing you confident like this. He thought back to the last time he'd seen you, the church, your mouth pressed against his ear speaking sin. You'd finished that hunt only a few days later, Sam finally relenting in the knowledge there was no way he'd be able to keep you apart. But that was three months ago, and he hadn't expected to see you this soon. And yet, looking a you now, he realized just how much he'd missed you. He watched as your mouth curled into another warm smile. It made his stomach flip as he tried to suppress the thought.

"Forty-four." He sighed, taking another sip of coffee, "Feels like yesterday we got married, not that I'd ever tell her that."

You reached out to his hand, holding it gently, "Officer, I know it's been a real long day, and I'd hate for it to become an even longer night. I'm sure she deserves you home by now?"

He swallowed hard, looking between the three of you. "What the hell, fine!"

Sam almost fell out of his seat in shock. Dean had to hold himself back from kissing you there and then.

--

Dean's arm was wrapped around your waist before you'd even left the station. You knew he didn't care about who saw, but you also knew you had to get out of there before anyone stopped you.

You all skipped out, keeping your heads down, a smile plastered on all of your faces. Once you were far enough away Dean finally broke, loud laughter coming from his lips.

Sam shook his head with a smirk, "How the hell did you manage that?"

Dean pulled you in closer, lazily kissing your shoulder as you and Sam spoke.

"What, Harvard boy can't understand what an expert lawyer looks like?" You laughed. You knew ignoring Dean's advances was only riling him up more.

"Thought you were only coming to bail us out?" Sam shook his head again.

"If you think I'm spending a dime on you two you're more stupid than I thought." You started to walk back to your car, "Come on, both of you, let me give you a lift."

Dean broke away from you, looking over to his brother, "Go for a walk, Sam."

"Dean it's-"

"Go for a walk." His face turned stern.

Sam rolled his eyes, giving you another baffled smirk before walking away again, his hands sliding into his pockets. Dean pulled you into him again, his mouth attacking your neck. You dragged him towards your car, your hand combing through his hair.

You lifted his face up to look at you as you pouted, "That was mean..."

"He knew the deal the second you walked in wearing that get up." His hand reached down to your ass, inelegantly squeezing it.

"You still shouldn't leave him out in the cold like this."

"Be quiet sweetheart," he kissed you jaw heavily, "just let me show you how thankful I am."

He pushed you against the side of your car, his hands wandering over your body as you scrambled for your keys. You broke your face away from him for a moment as you put your key in the lock, your eyes looking into your own car through the window.

You hadn't really thought about the fact he'd be here, climbing into your car. Even if his mouth wasn't fixed to your neck, you'd still offered him a lift, he'd have seen it one way or another, but it still felt weirdly intimate. Car sex- that was normal. More normal for you two than sex in a bed. But it was always the Impala, a car you had to admit oozed seduction. It had space to move around, to stretch out on the plush vinyl seats. Your car was small, beaten up, only just big enough for you to sleep in on cold nights when all the motels were full. And yet here you were, welcoming him into a space normally reserved only for you.

He didn't seem to care, though, as he guided you into the back seat, pressing himself against your body as he moved to lay above you. You shifted awkwardly, trying to fit your bodies into the small space, a blanket stuffed under your back, old takeout containers on the floor next to you.

He kisses your neck, grazing it with his teeth as you softened into the shape of his body. He tugged at your clothes, his hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt up to your hips. You were suddenly very thankful for the dark descending outside.

You pushed your body up slightly as he continued his movements down, his fingers finally pressing against the middle of your underwear, "Tsk- thought I'd get another pleasant surprise."

He gently circled your clit through the fabric, sending gentle warmth through you, "I got you out of there, didn't I?"

He smiled, "Oh yeah, I was showing my gratitude wasn't I?" He kissed the inside of your thigh, "What's our record, sweetheart?"

"Three..."

He shook his head with a smile.

This had long been a point of contention between you. He insisted that since he'd been able to make you come five times in one day, your record should be five. You contended that since you'd split between a session first thing in the morning and another one in the evening, where he'd made you come three times, your record should be three. Of course, he'd also promised you if he had a full day, and an actual bed, he'd make you come so many times you would pass out.

But he wasn't in the mood to argue.

He hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear, dragging it down your legs as he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes fixed on you.

He pressed his tongue against your clit without any warning, your hand reaching out to grab hold of his hair as you steadied your breathing.

"Fuck darlin, you always taste incredible."

He spit hard, using his saliva as lube as he dove back in, his tongue lapping you up. You rolled your hips into him, needy for his friction. No one knew you quite like him, knew just where to touch you to bring you to the brink.

He pressed his mouth against you, alternating between pushing his tongue inside you and circling your clit in a steady rhythm. You could barely breath as you felt his tongue glide through your folds, savouring your wetness, his mouth curling into an amused smile as he listened to your gasps.

Right when he felt you tensing up he focused all his attention onto your clit, sending you over the edge as you gripped onto his hair, rolling your head back in a pornographic moan. He kept his movements quick as you came, your body shaking as he kept up the stimulation.

Your body sunk back against the seat, your head pressed against the inside of your cardoor as you tried to shed the pounding in your ears. He pulled away, kissing along your leg.

"You got a pen anywhere in here sweetheart?" He looked around, you were suddenly aware once again of the state of your car.

You leant down, rustling your hand on the floor without looking until you landed on the marker you knew you'd left there, handing it to him.

He held the lid between his teeth, popping it open and drawing a short line on your inner thigh, "That's one."

You bit your lip as you looked down at him marking your skin, taking you as his own.

He began to kiss up your leg again, making his way back towards your core.

You let your hand comb through his sweat ridden hair, breathing hard, "Just give me a minute, yeah?"

"What, and ruin this gorgeous high you've got going on? No chance, darlin'." He pressed his tongue against you again, slower this time, gently stroking it through your wetness.

You groaned, rolling your head back as he sucked lightly at your swollen clit. He knew how sensitive you got after you came, and he fully intended to use it to his advantage.

He teased the tip of his finger at your entrance, feeling as your pussy pulsed around him. He moaned against you, sending the vibrations through your body. Pushing his finger into you, you bit your bottom lip again, swallowing down any other noises.

He began thrusting into you slowly, even one finger filling you as his tongue sped up its movements. You arched your back into him, a second orgasm rising quickly. He pushed another finger into you, stretching you out, your breath shaking as you shut your eyes again.

He sucked on your clit again, pushing another desperate wave of pleasure through you. You reached out, seeking stability on the seats around you as you felt your body clench again. And then release. He slowed his movements, only just, as you came again on his tongue, your legs tightening up around him.

"Dean- fuck-" you couldn't stop your sounds, your body quaking.

You guided his face away from you as you let your body relax again into the seat, his movements almost to much to bare as he gently pulled his fingers out of you, sticking them in his mouth to continue savouring your taste.

Without a word, he reached down for the marker he'd thrown to one side, wetting his lips as he drew another line next to the first, "That's two."

He went to press his mouth against you again but you stopped him, cupping his cheek to get him to look at you, "Really, baby, can't take much more."

Baby wasn't a nickname you used. Not for him, not ever. But as your mind stayed fogged from your pleasure you didn't even realize you'd said it. And he didn't mind- his face tingling with secret enjoyment.

He lifted himself off of you, pushing the marker behind his ear as he moved quickly, his hands wrapping around your waist as he moved to sit, pulling you on top of him in a straddle. You slumped against him, your body exhausted, your forehead pressed against his.

"We'll never break our record with that attitude, sweetheart."

"It's just your tongue, Dean, i's'too much-" you kissed him lightly, his lips plump against yours.

"Well why don't we go at your pace then, darlin'?" He held your hips, lowering you down onto his leg. You bit your lip as you felt you pussy come into contact with the jeans on his thigh, rough against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He pushed your hips gently, getting you to rut against him. You held his shoulders to keep yourself steady as you began moving, harsh pleasure hitting you instantly.

"Dean- fuck- it's too-"

He kissed you, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your hips, "That's it, nice and slow, keep yourself steady for me."

You focused on his voice as he guided you through it, grinding against his thigh with your breath held.

"Good girl, that's it." He moved one hand to your stomach, commanding your movements, "You're doing so well for me, darlin', that feel good?"

You collapsed your body into him, your head leaning against his shoulder, "Oomf- fuck- yes-"

"Good girl, good girl, keep moving, keep your pussy on me. Fuck- I can feel how wet you are even through my jeans-" he chuckled lightly, kissing the top of your head, "You look so good grinding on me- gonna get you to do this every time if you're not careful."

You gripped your hand around his bicep, your fingers pressed into him as you felt another orgasm rising inside you.

"Keep yourself steady, sweetheart- focus on your body. You feel that? Feel that sweet spot- you're screaming out for more, I can tell- let it fill you up, that excess, darlin', let it consume you. Keep moving, there's a good girl, you want to come again, don't y'? You wanna come on my thigh?"

You nodded into his shoulder, a small whimper falling out of your lips in desperation.

"Be a good girl for me, sweetheart, be good." He spoke softer as he pressed his lips against your skin, "Come for me."

You did as he commanded, your body quaking as you rutted against him, your fingers digging into him, letting out a loud cry, another orgasm taking control as your body quaked. Your movements began to slow but he kept his hands tight on you, keeping your grinding steady as you rode it out.

He pressed his mouth into your neck, soft kisses as you lifted yourself off his thigh, straddling him properly again, your body still shaking slightly as you tried to come back to reality, blinking hard. He leant back, carefully checking your face for confirmation you were okay, before kissing you again.

He pushed you backwards slightly to give himself better access as he took the pen from behind his ear, once again pulling off it's cap with his teeth and placing it between your legs, drawing another small line, "That's three, darlin'."

"Jesus, Dean, you'll be the death of me!" You sighed, coming to your senses.

You looked down, watching as he carefully palmed the bulge growing in his pants, "You think you can take one more?"

You nodded slowly, however spent you felt, you still wanted his cock buried inside you.

You watched as he quickly undid his belt with one hand, pulling at the top of his pants as his other hand gripped your hip tight again. His cock sprung free, solid and throbbing, watching you come so many times already pushing him to the edge. He guided you above him, lining himself up with you, before gently lowering you down, his cock sinking into your already sensitive opening.

He held your hips still as he began to thrust into you from below, watching you carefully. He pressed his mouth into your neck, small kisses across your skin as you moaned into him, your body shaking with pleasure.

Once his pace was steady he began moving his hands over you, ghosting your curves with the pads of his fingers, gentle movements, his digits hot against you, sending soft tingles all over your body. He let one hand slide under your shirt, brushing over your breast, his thumb grazing your nipple only slightly.

"You feel so good, sweetheart." He sped up his thrusting, his own heartbeat stuck in his throat as he felt your pussy tight around him.

You began to roll your own hips in time with him, pushing him deeper until he was completely filling you, your sensitive clit colliding with him on every pound. You moved your hands to his chest, steadying yourself as you both moved, the small car filled with hot breath.

He groaned, desperate, his fingers dancing over your nipples, sending shivers through you. He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on yours, "You close?"

You bit your lip, nodding in response as you felt another orgasm rise in you, his cock stretching you out.

"That's it, keep going, wanna feel you coming on my cock, darlin'."

His words send another spike of pleasure through you as you continued to roll your hip, his thrusting from below only becoming harder. You screwed up your hands in the fabric of his shirt, the tension filling you once again. You couldn't focus on anything but your dam about to burst.

"Dean, I'm gonna-"

He pressed his lips against yours as you came, a moan escaping your lips flowing into his mouth as he pushed into you, hard, your pussy contracting around his cock. Stars danced behind your eyes as you continued to move your body, your climax skewering the coil in your stomach.

The moment he felt your movements falter, Dean pulled out, his own orgasm spilling out of him without warning, his cum plastering your thigh. He let out a groan as your hand reached down instinctively, stroking him through his completion, your thumb pressed against his tip.

You both sat panting, your bodies covered in sweat and each other, as your movements slowed, both of you twitching in relief. After a moment you rolled off of him, taking your seat next to him as you pulled your blanket up to wipe his cum off of your leg. He watched you carefully before reaching back out to you, pen in hand, and drawing the final tally mark on your leg.

"That's four, new record." He smiled at you, hooking his finger under your chin for a kiss.

You shook your head, smiling as your bliss started to slump again, "You shouldn't have called, Dean, I was busy..."

"Oh yeah, hot date?" He pushed his cock back into his pants, beginning to buckle them back up as he chuckled.

"Yeah, smoking hot, tall dark and handsome." You watched as his expression faltered slightly, doubt creeping in. "A murderous demon with an appetite for murder, what's not to love!"

He relaxed again, lowering his shoulders and swallowing hard.

You waited a beat before opening up your door again, climbing out as you pulled your skirt back down. He followed your lead, stepping out into the cold night air, trying to pull himself together as he watched you do the same. Both of you were messy, clearly sexed out, the pen tally, although now hidden, still burning into your thigh, a small patch on his jeans from where you'd ridden him.

You slid back into the driver's seat, letting him clamber into the passenger side, a position neither of you were used to when around each other.

"Come on," you sighed, "let's go find your brother."

"He'll've reached the motel by now, sweetheart, we weren't exactly quick." He eyed you carefully, "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Let's get burgers."

"What, just us?"

"C'mon sweetheart, my treat, give you a proper thank-you."

[forthelorewick]

Another one couldn’t hurt…. right? Pt. 2

WC 7.5k - daddy joel, but not in that way… is very persistent in his pursuit to get what he wants.

NSFW 18+ MDI !!!

- Warnings / content: explicit sexual content, no outbreak!au, husband!joel x wife!reader, domestic fluff, smut, pwp, unprotected p-in-v sex, breeding kink/ pregnancy kink/ impregnation kink, soft dom!joel, size kink, praise kink, possessiveness, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mentions of going off of birth control, mild mention of a itty bitty lactation kink… after care, fluff, established relationship (reader & Joel are married), age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is late 40s), mentions of past pregnancy, results of pregnancy, etc.

pt 1 |

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

It’s been about a month since you and Joel started trying again, a month of him keeping you filled to the brim every moment he had you alone, and oddly enough… it seemed to be happening more and more.

Since the birth of your first, you’d both made a promise, spoken late one night over the soft snoring of a newborn tucked between you. A promise to choose each other, again and again, not just as parents, but as husband and wife, best friends and lovers. So every second Friday of every month, you carved out time to be just that. To have dinner alone, touch base, breathe each other in without any distractions and the ability to unapologetically be all over each other. Whether the kids stayed with your parents, your sister, or Tommy… who’d moved back in with Joel’s dad after their mom passed, it was your ritual now. Your rhythm.

Lately, though? It had become every Friday. Joel started arranging the hand-offs himself, and the moment the house was empty, he’d have you in his arms… pulling you close, whispering promises into your skin, leading you out the door with his hand low on your back.

He’d take you to dinner, always somewhere dim and romantic, with candles and wine… but recently only mocktails for both of you, and that look in his eye. The one that made your whole body ache with anticipation. The one that said, ‘You’re mine, and I’ll never get enough of you.’

He was never this intense about the other pregnancies. Never this deliberate. You figure it’s because you both know it’ll be the last. So now… it’s different. You swear the dinner’s just foreplay. Not in the way that it’s only the means to an end, but in the way that he uses it to tease you and work you up in a place where you can’t do a thing about it.

The restaurant is dimly lit, the kind of place with soft jazz playing under the low hum of conversation. It smells like rosemary and something slow-cooked. Joel’s thumb rubs lazy circles against your hand across the table, your fingers loosely threaded as he watches you with that infuriatingly smug, endlessly soft look on his face.

You roll your eyes at him, though your smile gives you away. “You gonna eat that steak or just make heart eyes at me the whole time?”

Joel doesn’t flinch, “Can’t do both?”

“You’re the worst.” You don’t mean that in any true sense of the word, and he knows that.

He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles slow and deliberate like he’s got all the time in the world to worship you in tiny touches. “Well, you’re wearin’ that dress, so that’s on you.”

Your stomach flutters, heat pooling low in your belly.

Every Friday, it’s the same game. The same sly glances, the same brush of his shoe against your ankle, the same way his eyes dip to your lips when you lick butter off your fingertip. The way his eyes drink you in every moment you’re preoccupied with your food or taking a sip of your drink. The way he tilts his head, and the low hum in his throat when your knee brushes his.

“You’re just mad I order better than you,” you murmur, lifting your fork to steal a bite from his plate anyway.

Joel watches you chew with a grin that you think he does just to show off his dimples which drive you mad, “You touch my potatoes, you get consequences later.”

You click your tongue thoughtfully and return a lopsided grin, “Promises, promises.”

He groans quietly and shakes his head, like he’s physically restraining himself from hauling you to the bathroom right that moment, “You’re a goddamn menace.”

You sip your drink, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve known that since you bought me that coffee on that fateful morning,” You bite your bottom lip and stifle a laugh at the thought of it.

He leans back in his chair and chuckles deeply in kind, you loved reminiscing over your life together. On how it all came to be. “You were such a young thing… so eager, y’just couldn’t help yourself. Had me wrapped around your finger from the moment I met ya,” his gaze travels over you, to describe it as him ‘drinking you in’ wouldn’t be too far-fetched. Not with the way you see his tongue peeking out to moisten his lips as if in anticipation of tasting you… you could see that look in his eyes where he was mapping out exactly how he’ll do it.

You have to snap yourself out of that thought as he tilts his head and clocks your body language immediately. But he doesn’t push, he just lets it simmer. But just like you knew him… he knows you. Somehow, likely, even more.

“And I’d do it all again. Every side eye in public, every dollar I spent on coffee from that overpriced café… to every sleepless night with the kiddos, every goddamn blowout, every tantrum… Just to end up right here.” He presses his finger onto the table between you to emphasize his point.

A life chosen and never regretted. Every version of you and every version of him, every turn and every choice that led to this. Joel never says anything he doesn’t mean, when he gives you something, it’s because he needs you to know it. And that’s what makes every word of his so impactful and that hazy arousal caused by just him such an issue on a daily basis. But he loved it, loved the game of getting you all worked up over seemingly nothing, but he always knows exactly what he’s doing.

You press your napkin to your mouth, not to wipe it, but just to give yourself a second to breathe, the man was so well-versed with you and you with him, but he still never failed to take your breath away, to make you so desperate for more of him in every way.

You knew you’d never tire of him, of the way he makes you feel, of just everything about him. You loved him so much that the anticipation of him coming home every day felt like you were only half awake until he wrapped those strong arms around you and planted his lips on yours.

You settle into the heat of his gaze, let it wrap around you like the warm candlelight dancing in his big, brown eyes.

And then you say it, too casual for what it means, but with your heart pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it across the table, “I missed my period.”

Joel stills mid-bite, fork suspended, “Yeah?”

You nod, slow. “Wasn’t sure at first. Thought it might just be late. But… there was some light bleeding last week. Not like a period. Just… spotting.”

His jaw ticks, eyes narrowing just a little in focus, “Implantation?”

“Could be.”

There’s a long pause like the air itself is holding its breath.

Joel sets his fork down gently, like he’s grounding himself. Then he exhales through his nose and gives you a look so full of love and want and need… like you hung the moon and he’s already cradling the possibility in his hands. It makes your ribs ache.

“Well, holy shit,” he says softly, his breath shakes for a singular inhale, then evens out again, “Guess I better keep doin’ what I’m doin’.” A flash of heat flickers in his eyes as his eyes slowly trail down your body and settle on the place a baby, your baby, his baby could be growing right that very second. It’s like the moment is suspended, his breath is slow and shallow like he’s really letting it settle.

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. “You’re not gonna say anything else?”

He tilts his head, eyes locked on yours again like he’s seeing straight through to every part of you, heart, body, and soul. “You want me to say somethin’ other than I fuckin’ love you? That I want this?” He shrugs slightly, eyes going soft and dark all at once. “’Cause I do. And I just… I’m trying to process it but goddamn, this is big news.”

Your throat tightens, “I know,” you say quietly.

And you do. Because even across the table, even after years and kids and everything life has thrown your way, Joel Miller still looks at you like he’s choosing you for the first time.

You reach across the table again and trace his wrist with your fingertips, “You ready to not sleep for who knows how many more years?”

Joel’s lip twitches. He sets his drink down without looking away from you, “I wasn’t gonna sleep anyway. s’what coffee’s for, darlin’.” He eyes you up and down again as if imagining the changes already, “Worth it to see you all swollen and glowin’ again and I’ll be too goddamn gone for you. I’ll be at your every beck and call.”

You watch him for a beat, the curve of his forearms under rolled sleeves, tan and strong. The way the fabric strains just a little where it buttons over his chest.

He looks back at you, head tilted, “What?” he asks, his eyes studying yours, a toothy grin on that handsome face of his.

You shake your head, “Nothing. I just really like you.”

Joel’s smile deepens, but there’s something shy in it now, boyish almost. “Yeah?”

You rest your chin in your hand and nod, “Yeah. Like a lot. Think I’m falling in love all over again.”

He lets out a quiet exhale, like he can’t quite handle that, like no matter how long he’s been yours, you still catch him off guard too, “Think I’d say the same happens to me nearly every day.” His foot shifts under the table, nudging yours again.

You look at him with those doey eyes you never realize you’re doing until he points them out.

Joel clocks it immediately, and you see the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his fingers tighten slightly around the base of his water glass like he needs to ground himself.

“There they are,” he murmurs, a little dazed, a little wrecked. “Those damn eyes.”

You open your mouth to play dumb, but he just leans forward, elbows on the table now, voice low and reverent.

“You look at me like that, baby, I start thinkin’ about forever all over again.”

The words settle between you like silk, weightless but impossibly thick with meaning. The air grows warmer, heavier, humming with something unspoken and ancient and so sure. That love that doesn’t need proving, just noticing.

You reach for his hand again, and he lets you lace your fingers through his like it’s instinct. Like it’s muscle memory. His thumb rubs along yours, slow, steady, and then he brings your hand to his mouth again, kissing the inside of your wrist this time.

“You nervous?” he asks, more serious now.

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek, “Not really nervous. Just… aware. Like I’m scared to get too hopeful too fast, y’know?”

Joel nods slowly. “I get it.” He leans forward again, his voice soft. “But I’m already hopin’, baby. Been really hopin’ since I came inside you that first week you went off your birth control.”

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, “Jesus.”

“Don’t ‘Jesus’ me, you knew what you were doin’,” he grins, those brown eyes lighting up and sending butterflies through your chest then… straight down, “You bent over the dryer that time, I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

You pull your lip between your teeth as you smiled, a blush spreading on your cheeks.

“Knew it…”

You break into quiet laughter, warm and completely at ease. “Okay, fair.”

He lets the moment breathe, then reaches across the table again, hand warm over yours.

“We’ll be okay,” his eyes flicker in the candlight, almost golden. “However this turns out. You and me, we always figure it out.”

You nod, squeezing his hand, thumb brushing over the calluses that showed just how hard he works to provide for his family, for you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The restaurant hums around you, soft clinks of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, the gentle flicker of candlelight casting amber shadows across Joel’s face. He’s watching you the way he always does, like you’re a sunset, a firelight glow he can’t stop reaching for.

His gaze drops to your joined hands, then leans back slightly, just enough to really look at you. He takes his time, he always does. His eyes trace your face, every angle, every familiar shift of expression, “I just… I feel lucky, y’know? That we still get to do this. That we want to. That I look at you and know with everything I am that I want you, that I need you, and that you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

The tone shift sends a shiver down your spine as his grip on your hand tightens and that flicker in his eyes darkens.

You see it hit him again, the possibility and the reality that you might be carrying his child. You see the realization in the tick of his jaw and how his thumb brushes against the back of your hand like he’s memorizing the rhythm of your pulse. He’s watching you, studying you as if he’s trying to comprehend it, to let it settle deeper, and you can tell the thought is consuming him by the way his tongue glides across the front of his teeth, a telltale sign he’s deep in thought.

You swallow, pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips.

His eyes dip to your stomach with a hungry, awed sort of longing. Like he’s picturing it, picturing the swell and the glow again.

And when his eyes return to yours, there’s no mistaking what’s behind them. You see his eyes flare with possession and devotion, with the unmistakable glimmer of ferality.

“You alright, baby?”

Joel shifts in his seat, shoulders tense like he’s holding something back, he nods once. “Can’t fuckin’ think about anything else right now, sweetheart.”

He leans forward again, eyes flicking to your lips. “Want you round and glowy and needy again. Want to take care of you every minute. Rub your back, kiss your belly, hold you at night with my hand right where the baby’s growin’.”

Your throat goes dry.

He huffs a quiet breath, shakes his head, “Ain’t right how bad I wish I could just keep ya pregnant, just round and full of my babies forever.”

But the way he’s looking at you says he doesn’t care if it’s right or not, because it’s real. And it’s clear to you that the moment he gets you home, he’s not going to be able to hold back. He never can and you truly hope he never does.

—

By the time you make it home and the front door clicks shut behind you, you’re already pinned.

Your back hits it with a soft thud, and Joel’s mouth is on yours before you can even catch your breath. His hands bracket your hips, possessive and warm, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your dress like he’s seconds from tearing it in half.

You moan into his mouth, and he swallows it whole.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” his voice is frayed at the edges. His thigh presses between yours, forcing your legs apart, rocking into you like he can’t get close enough. “All fuckin’ night I was sittin’ across from you, starin’ at your mouth, your fuckin’ eyes, thinkin’ about you soakin’ and needy for me, thinkin’ about you pregnant again…”

“I know… I was there..” you tease him as your fingers find purchase in his soft, greying curls at the nape of his neck. “You know what you do to me?”

He stills for a beat, his chest rising fast, eyes locked on yours like he’s clinging to every breath you take.

“What do I do to you?” he asks, his voice a rasp in your ear, wrecked and reverent all at once. His lips brush your cheekbone as he speaks, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a groan, and his hips jerk forward slightly like he needs the friction, needs your answer just to hold it together.

“You make me ache,” you whisper, breath warm against his jaw. “All day. All the time. You walk past me, and I forget what I was doing. I watch you roll up your sleeves and I’m wet. I hear your voice and I’m, god, Joel, I’m fucking gone for you.”

He exhales hard and his forehead drops to yours, and for a moment he’s still again, just holding you like he’s trying to regain some composure that was rapidly slipping away.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost a plea. “Can’t get enough of ya.”

Then his mouth crashes into yours hungrily again and he walks you backward toward the couch without letting go of you for even a second.

“Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering closed as his mouth trails down your neck, biting gently into the soft flesh there, marking you as if you could be anymore his. “We should, we should go to bed…”

“Nuh-uh,” He lays you down like he’s handling something fragile, even as his body covers yours with a need that’s anything but gentle. His palm splays over your stomach again, whispering something indiscernible to himself, “Can’t wait, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he presses you into the couch, his weight settling above you, heat and need emanating from him.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail higher, pushing your dress up and over your hips, then off entirely as you lift accordingly to assist him in his task, he’s quick to undo and discard your bra on the floor next to the couch. His knuckles brush your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

“Gotta be careful,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Gotta be careful so I don’t—But I need, fuck, I need…” you don’t know what the hell he was trying to say, or maybe you did, but what you really knew was that you needed him inside of as soon as humanly possible and you couldn’t have that beautiful brain of his thinking too hard right now.

You tug him down to kiss you, one hand in his hair, the other already fumbling with his belt.

Joel groans low and deep like it’s being torn from his chest, his mouth finding yours again as he shucks his pants down just far enough and basically rips your panties off. His cock is hot and heavy, already leaking at the tip as he presses the length of it against your core, sliding through your slick with a sound that makes you both groan.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, forehead pressed to yours, voice rough but trembling. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth, the scruff of his jaw. “Always. Forever. I want all of you.”

Joel presses in slow, deep, and careful… but the grip he has on your hips is bruising, and his breath betrays the need that thrums beneath his skin as he pants against your skin, groaning softly when he finally bottoms out.

He stays there for a moment, buried inside you, one hand cupping your face, the other still gripping your hip in desperation.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs. “You, carryin’ my baby… Gonna take care of you. Gonna fuckin’ worship you forever.”

His words melt into your skin, heat and promise wrapped in every syllable.

You moan, soft and broken beneath him, your arms curling around his shoulders like you could somehow hold him closer than this. “Joel,” you breathe, “Please move.”

His hips snap forward, deep and steady, and you cry out, nails digging into the fabric covering his back. He groans again, louder this time, a sound that rumbles in his chest and spills into your mouth as he kisses you hard and messy and desperate. Every thrust is deliberate, full of something wild and possessive, like he’s branding this into both of you.

“I think about it all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, thrusting harder now, hand sliding up to cradle your head like you’re breakable even when he’s fucking you like he’s starving. “You round with my baby again. Knowin’ I did that. An’ everybody who looks at’cha will know I’m the one who fucked a baby into you again. The only one who ever will.”

“Joel…” You gasp his name, voice cracking on it, your thighs trembling around his hips.

He groans and shifts, angling deeper until you sob, his name the only word you remember. “Yeah, that’s it. Take it for me, sweetheart.”

His forehead drops to yours again, you can feel the slight dampness to his skin as he perspires. The heat of your bodies literally melting you together.

His hips begin stuttering with every squeeze of your pussy around him, “can feel ya squeezin’ me, sweetheart… gonna cum for me?”

Your body is unraveling around him, every nerve lit up and frayed. You nod, unable to speak, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it. You reach for him blindly, your fingers tangling in the damp curls at the nape of his neck, grounding yourself in the only thing that feels real.

Joel moans like the sound’s been punched out of him, his hips faltering for half a second before slamming back in even harder. “C’mon, baby,” he pleads, voice wrecked. “Need you to cum on me. Wanna feel you break on me.”

You let out a gasp that turns into a cry as you cum, your legs locking tight around him, walls clenching down so hard on his cock it forces a growl from his throat. His mouth crashing against yours, swallowing your moans like he needed to feel it in his bones. Then he’s picking up his pace again, breaking the kiss and panting hot against your skin.

“That’s it,” he breathes against your temple. “Goddamn, that’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.”

You’re still shaking when he presses in deep and stills, his own release hitting him like a wave, his hips jerk once, twice, and then he’s spilling into you with a broken groan, muttering your name like a prayer. One hand grips your hip so tight you know you’ll have an array of bruises to admire later, his other hand slides protectively over your belly again.

When he finally stills, when the tremors ease and his breathing steadies, he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder, his beard dragging rough over your skin leaving it flushed and raw. His hand grips your thigh, keeping your legs wrapped tight around him.

“Goddamn,” he rasps, voice low and trembling. “You fuckin’ ruin me.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he’s already moving again slow, instinctual thrusts that make you gasp and arch, oversensitive but needy still. He’s only half-hard inside of you as he comes down from his high, but you know he’s just making a point of fucking his spend deeper inside as if he needed to really solidify your potential pregnancy, as if it would change a damn thing if you already were.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, his nose brushing yours. “How full you are? That’s all mine, baby. I’m the only one that gets to do this to you.”

You pull his head back gently by the nape of his neck, eager to just look at him. You’ve always been obsessed by the way he looks after sex, that sleepy, dreamy look when he gets what he wants.

“You really think you’re pregnant?” He’s coming back to earth now, and you can see it in his eyes and the way they’re searching yours.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth again and nod.

He watches with apt attention, and you know how he reacts when you do certain things. Even when they weren’t always intentional on your part, you’re always aware of what you’re doing by his reaction.

“Goddamn, hun… can’t fuckin’ believe you’re makin’ me a daddy again,” his eyes light up in the way you’d known they would when he finally let it settle in his mind.

“A whole other person growin’ inside ya, darlin’, you’re a goddess… creatin’ life.”

“You’re part of this whole thing too, you know.” You run your fingers through his hair and he hums in approval.

“Thanks for the credit, baby, but I’m just the guy who got to fuck you raw until it took.”

You shake your head and laugh lightly, “a little underselling yourself, no?”

He just shrugs and gives you that toothy grin you never tire of, “just happy to be here.”

You smooth the back of your fingers down his cheekbone and cradle his face in your hands, memorizing this moment.

“I’ll be the best daddy and doting husband as I can be.”

“You already are. I'm so lucky to have your babies, I’d have a million of ‘em if I could.”

He peppers your faces with kisses and groans as you knead your fingers into the tight muscles of his back, “You spoil me, y’know that right?”

You grin and simply pull him into another kiss. He hums against you again and you feel a twitch of his cock which was still inside you. You squeeze around him in acknowledgement and he groans.

“Dammit, darlin..”

“What?”

He just shakes his head and smooths the hand that was gripping your hip up your body until it’s cupping one of your tits.

Joel’s voice is hoarse, reverent even as he mouths at your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. He leaves marks all over your neck, you can feel the sting of his beard over raw skin, it makes you whimper beneath him but he’s not done, he’s never done… “Been thinkin’ about your tits bein’ full again,” he rasps, breath fanning hot over your skin. “Leakin’ through your shirt, swollen and sore… mine to touch, mine to take care of. You, feedin’ our baby in the middle of the night while I hold you… rub your back… kiss that sweet neck, ease the ache of this needy pussy whenever you need it, alright?”

You whimper, arching into his touch as he palms your breast, thumb grazing your nipple, and he groans like he’s starving for you again.

“Fuck, look at ya,” he mutters, gaze flicking between your face and where his hand works your body then drags all the way down your body to look at where you and him are still joined, “You’re all flushed, still squeezin’ me tight inside like you want it again already.”

He rocks into you, slow and deliberate, just enough to tease, to feel that wet slide of his once again hardened cock still buried deep.

You gasp, the overstimulation starting to blur into need all over again, hips instinctively tilting toward him. “Joel, please.”

“I know, baby,” he whispers. “You spoil me so fuckin much. Every day you give me everything. Your body, your time, our babies, your love… you’re a fuckin’ gift, that’s what you are.”

You breathe his name like it’s holy, his words, his hands… his cock, you could’ve sworn you were in heaven. Your body and brain felt elevated like the only thing keeping you down on this earth was his body pressed into yours and his cock rocking in and out.

His hands keep you pressed into the couch cushions, the bead of sweat dripping down his neck and you pull him in, pressing his face to your neck so you have access to his, dragging your tongue up his pulse point like you’d been dying to do all night.

He groans and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, enough to leave a mark, he lavishes your skin with his tongue in what he calls “scenting you”. You’re a mess of moans and sweat-slicked bodies and his shirt being on still is driving you fucking crazy, you need his skin against yours, you need to absorb him into you.

He can sense your urgency as you finally unbutton his shirt and he chuckles, gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“Something you need, darlin? Use your words.”

Oh, he was a goddamn menace. All you could do was whimper as he rolls his hips against yours again, the coarse hair above the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit.

“Cmon, baby, tell me what you need.”

You look up at him and his eyes are dark and intense as they look down at your desperation.

“Need to feel you… please.”

He laughs, and it sounds so maniacal to you, like he’s drunk on your body and your need, the slick heat of you wrapped around him. Like he knows exactly how fucking desperate you are and he’s savoring every second of it.

“All that whimperin’,” he grits out, hips still rolling slow and mean, “and you tellin’ me you need me? Baby, I’m already inside you.”

You squirm beneath him, breath hitching on a sound that’s not quite a sob, not quite a plea. “Joel,” you whisper, your voice breaking like you’re right on the edge, “your shirt… please..”

His jaw flexes and that little muscle ticks in his jaw as he stares down at you. His hands release your wrists but only so he can sit up and shove the shirt off like it’s offending him. His chest is flushed and heaving, and the moment it’s bare, he falls right back into you, finally giving his sweat-slicked body to your hungry eyes.

“Christ,” he breathes as his chest meets yours, skin to skin now, your nipples brushing his chest hair, your legs locked around his hips like you never wanna let him go. “You’re fuckin’ insatiable.”

You whimper again, nails dragging down his now-bare back like you’ve been waiting all night to do it. “You make me crazy,” you gasp. “I swear to god, Joel, you—”

“Yeah?” he cuts in, voice ragged and so full of affection it hurts. He presses a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, your temple, one hand tangling in your hair to keep your mouth near his. “Been sittin’ across from you all damn night thinkin’ about this… about how warm you are inside, how you fuckin’ grab at me when you’re close, how you look when I fill you up.”

You cry out as he thrusts again, somehow even deeper now, sweat slicking your skin and your bodies sliding together with every movement.

“Wanted to fuck you in that dress, baby,” he groans. “Was thinkin’ about tearin’ the damned thing in half.”

“You should’ve,” you rasp, clenching around him, trembling now as that wave builds again, heat flooding through your core. “Should’ve ruined me in the parking lot.”

Joel grins into your neck, voice low and wrecked, “Don’t tempt me, darlin’. I ain’t above makin’ a scene for my wife.”

“Maybe next week,” you say, breathlessly, and that causes him to lift his head from where it was resting in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” his grip tightens on your hips as he continues his relentless pace, a curl of his grey hair falling in his face and your fingers can’t help but bury themselves in the damp curls. Your hands move to cradle his face between your palms, your thumbs trace the sharp edges of his cheekbones and his jawline.

His eyes meet yours dark and intense, with his pupils blown wide. There’s something feral beneath the softness, something possessive that flickers hotter every time you gasp, every time you tighten around him.

“Yeah,” you whisper again, weaker this time, and your voice catches when he shifts his hips just slightly, hitting that spot inside you that makes you clench and cry out.

Soon enough you felt that white heat building at the base of your spine and low in your belly, that simmering heat that has you arching into him involuntarily.

Joel groans, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “You say that like I ain’t gonna spend the whole goddamn week thinkin’ about it. Thinkin’ about bendin’ you over every surface in that house while the kids are outta earshot.” His lips brush yours and it’s barely a kiss, more of a taunt.

You whimper, fingers tightening in his hair again, and he growls as he slams into you harder, gritting his teeth as your back arches.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “you’re squeezin’ me so tight, baby. Can feel you gettin’ close.”

You nod, unable to form words, mouth parted and panting, completely wrecked beneath him. He’s everywhere, inside you, over you, looking at you like he owns you. Like he’s going to keep doing this until the goddamn stars fall.

Your eyes roll back as he thrusts deep again, and this time it hits that spot, that devastating angle, and your whole body tightens.

“J-Joel…” you stutter, voice strangled and high, your legs beginning to tremble. “I… I can’t—”

“Yes, y’can,” he growls, hips pistoning now, relentless and so fucking deep. “Cum for me, baby… That’s it—my good girl, takin’ it like such a good fuckin’ girl.”

Your body breaks apart beneath him, a guttural moan ripping from your chest as the orgasm slams into you. It’s white-hot, full-body, and you go limp for a moment, spasming around him, legs twitching as your back arches into the air.

He watches it hit you, feels it in the clench of your body, the cry of his name from your lips, and he loses it.

“Fuck, baby…. fuck yes,” he pants, and then he’s gripping your hips tight enough to bruise again, holding you still as he pounds into you once, twice more, then buries himself deep and continues gently rocking his hips into yours, chest pressing you into the mattress as he spills inside you with a deep, broken groan into your shoulder. With a few more thrusts of his hips to really fuck his cum as deep as it will go, you feel the throb of his cock inside you as he empties himself.

His weight crushes you in the best way, heat rolling off his skin.

Finally, after a moment, he pushes himself up on his forearms again, studying your face as he slowly slips out of you.

You whimper at the loss of him, and he lets out a quiet hiss as his softening cock loses its warm sheath of pure bliss.

“So beautiful, darlin’.” He leans back, his big hands swallowing your frame as he massages the muscles of your hips and upper thighs, “My fuckin wife.”

You blush under his gaze as if he wasn’t just emptying his balls inside of you, as if this moment wasn’t something people usually got used to. Every time was like the first time with him, his heat simmered just as hot as that day he kissed you for the very first time.

Your hands find the hair on his firm chest, the sensation was one of your favorites, and you know you can’t keep saying that because everything about him was one of your very favorite things in the whole world.

His eyes met yours again, the deep brown settling from its darkened state, softening at the edges as he looks at you.

“I love you,” his hands come up to cradle your face, rough palms and calloused thumbs brushing across your flushed cheeks with featherlight care. You melt beneath him, aching and full and blissfully undone.

“I love you too,” you knew that with every fiber of your being you loved this man. From his morning coffee breath and the way he leaves socks on the floor, to the way he holds you and your little ones, to the way he loves with everything he is and holds nothing back. And for a million things about the man you’re lucky enough to call yours.

He hovers there for just a second longer, then leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead first, then your nose, one kiss on each cheek. And finally… finally… he presses his lips to yours again.

It starts soft, the kind of kiss that feels like coming home. His mouth moves against yours with a hum of satisfaction, deep and lazy, the kind of kiss you feel all the way down to your toes. Your lips part for him automatically, and when his tongue slides against yours, it’s slower this time, like you’re both savoring the taste of each other.

You sigh into it, one of your hands sliding up the back of his neck, your fingers curling into the damp, soft hair at his nape. His body stays pressed to yours, chest to chest, skin to skin. You can feel the stickiness between your legs and the feel of his spend spilling back out.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss for just a moment, drinking in every small sound you make. His nose brushes yours, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again.

“I’ll never get enough of ya,” he breathes, barely more than a rasp of air against your lips.

You run your hands over his back, feeling every dip and line of him, mapping him with your fingertips as if you hadn’t already memorized every inch of him, your hands find his strong shoulders and trail your fingers up his neck and to the back of his head again, “I’m having your baby again, Joel.” As if you needed to remind yourself of the very real reality that neither of you could stop thinking about.

Joel lets out this soft, broken sound… half laugh of disbelief, half sigh… and presses another kiss to your lips, slower this time. Like he’s trying to write his love into you with nothing but his mouth and his hands and the way he keeps holding you like you’re something sacred.

His fingers trace the side of your neck, then down over your shoulder, slipping lazily along your ribs like he wants to touch every inch of you all over again.

Somehow, eventually, you both find the willpower to move.

Joel helps you up with steady hands, his touch still slow and lingering, like he hates letting you go even for a second. You’re both laughing softly, half-drunk on love and endorphins as you stumble your way to the bathroom.

The water runs hot and full, steam curling in the air as he sinks down behind you in the tub, pulling you between his legs like you belong there, because you do. His arms drape across your waist, his chest warm against your back, and you lean into him.

He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, then another, then another, lips trailing wet warmth across your skin as you hum in contentment.

You close your eyes as he pours warm water over your shoulders, his hands massaging your skin with gentle, soapy circles. Every now and then, he sneaks kisses on your neck, your temple, behind your ear.

You stay there like that for a while, tangled in heat and soft laughter, letting the water rinse away the sweat and the ache, but never the closeness.

When you finally climb out, toweling off and slipping into something comfortable, Joel’s pulling on a clean pair of boxers and getting the bed ready for the two of you to climb into.

“Gotta say it, I miss our munchkins,” you say softly as you climb beneath the sheets.

“Me too, darlin’. I’ll go get them first thing, okay?”

You nod your head sleepily, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as his arm wraps around you and pulls you in closer, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your arm. You hum softly against his skin, letting yourself melt into the weight and heat of him. His scent. soap and sweat and Joel, fills your nose and surrounds you in a blissful haze of him, grounding you in a way nothing else ever could.

“Think they’re drivin’ Tommy and your dad crazy yet?” you murmur, smiling against his neck.

Joel chuckles, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “Oh, no doubt. Bet they’re running the whole show.”

You grin sleepily at that, your fingers tracing lazy shapes over his chest. “They’re good kids.”

“Yeah they sure are, darlin’,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You and I make good kids. Can’t wait to see what this one becomes.” His hand slides protectively over your lower belly and you can’t help but sniffle and fight back a tear starting to form in your eye. Not from sadness, no, from the surreality that you get to have another little him growing inside of you. Knowing he’ll be there, right next to you through everything. Once again, you were reminded how damn lucky the two of you were to have found this love and to feel it so fully and so completely.

He pulls you closer and leaves a lingering kiss on your temple, his fingers trailing gently over the soft skin of your stomach.

For a while, there’s nothing but the soft hum of the fan in the corner and the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“First thing in the morning,” he says again, his voice already fading into that low, sleepy timbre. “Gonna go pick ‘em up… bring our babies home.”

You smile against him, already half-asleep yourself. “Can’t wait.”

Joel tightens his arm around you, holding you close, and you both drift off like that, wrapped up in each other, warm and safe and full of everything you’ve built together.

Tomorrow would be noisy and sticky and full of little feet and laughter, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

The morning sun filters in slow and golden, the birds chirp outside, the same ones who greeted you and your family every morning.

Joel stirs first, he always does, his arms tightening around you like instinct before he even opens his eyes. You hum at the feeling, half-asleep, nuzzling deeper into his chest.

For a while, neither of you says anything. Just slow breathing, tangled legs, and the kind of heavy, warm stillness that only comes after loving someone so thoroughly they’re written into your muscles.

“Think it’s late enough to go get ‘em?” he finally murmurs, voice still thick with sleep, lips brushing your hairline.

You smile against his neck. “It’s barely seven.”

“Still late,” he says, stretching slow, muscles rippling under your cheek. “Feels like I been missin’ ‘em for days.”

You chuckle, tilting your head back to look at him. “Didn’t you say you wanted just one quiet morning for once?”

Joel grins, eyes still sleepy and soft. “Yeah… and I got it. Now I want my kids back.”

You lean up to kiss him, slow and sweet and full of that same aching affection that’s been burning in both of you since you met.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both dressed—Joel in jeans and one of his old, soft t-shirts, you in a loose sweater and leggings, hair still a little damp from your quick rinse in the bathroom.

The drive to Tommy and their dad’s place is full of soft country radio and Joel’s hand rests on your thigh the whole way there.

When you pull into the gravel drive, you can already hear faint giggles through the screen door.

Joel’s barely out of the truck before Tommy’s opening the front door, standing on the porch with his coffee in hand and a grin way too wide for this early in the morning.

“Well look who’s here,” Tommy calls, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes flick between you and Joel, lingering just long enough to let the meaning settle, “have a good Friday night, kids?”

Joel shoots him a warning glare, but there’s no heat behind it, “Knock it off.”

Tommy just smirks. “Hey, I’m not sayin’ nothin’. Just sayin’ you’re lookin’ about ten years younger this morning, big brother.”

You snort, trying to cover your laugh with a cough, and Joel immediately reaches behind him to swat your hip, muttering, “Traitor.”

Before you can retaliate, there’s a loud shriek from inside, “Daddy!!!” and then all three of your kids come barreling out the door, socks sliding on the wood floors, feet pounding the porch as they rush straight for Joel.

He barely has time to kneel before they’re on him. Sarah clinging to his neck, Artie talking a mile a minute, Ellie squealing and trying to crawl up onto his lap.

And god… the way Joel holds them, the way he laughs low and bright like they’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, because you know they are to him… you swear your heart could burst.

You watch from the steps, smiling soft and full, and when his eyes find yours over their heads, warm and tired and still so full of love, you swear you fall for him all over again.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

I couldn’t stop myself, I’ve got some angst to write! I gotta balance myself out 😭

The baby fever is going crazy though thank god for my IUD or else i’d be making terrible decisions🙏🏼 that’s all I gotta say.

[heeluvv]

˗ˏˋ 07. FIRST TIMER ˎˊ˗

pairingᝰ.ᐟ yang jungwon x reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ masturbation, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 7/9 completed!

the late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds in slatted gold, painting the apartment floor in soft stripes of warmth that stretched toward the kitchen. the air was quiet, too quiet, filled only with the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the wood beneath shifting weight. sunoo leaned against the counter, his posture casual but his expression anything but, the curve of a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he twisted the cap on a water bottle absentmindedly. across the room, jungwon sat curled up on the couch with his legs folded beneath him, his brows slightly furrowed as he glanced between sunoo and jake, sensing something was off. jake hadn’t said much since jungwon walked in—his arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes unreadable as they lingered on the floor and then flicked up every now and then, like he was holding something back. jungwon couldn’t tell if it was tension or anticipation that made the silence stretch so long, but either way, he felt it crawling up his spine. finally, it was sunoo who broke it, sighing through his nose before speaking in a quiet but steady voice. “i’m just gonna say it—we’re all kind of losing our shit over the same girl.”

the words seemed to echo in the stillness, landing heavier than jungwon expected as he blinked, startled. he didn’t interrupt, didn’t even breathe for a second, just watched sunoo’s fingers trace along the ridge of the bottle like he needed something to do with his hands. “heeseung, jay—almost all of us and now me too,” sunoo continued, his voice softer now, tinged with something close to disbelief. “we’ve all worked with her. and i don’t mean just filmed with her—i mean something’s different. she’s not like the others.” jungwon stayed quiet, the room feeling suddenly too warm as the weight of their obsession unfolded in front of him, more real now than any of the quiet mutterings he’d overheard before. the tension that had been brewing in the background of their group dynamic now made perfect sense—the sidelong glances, the vague references, the sudden drops in conversation when he walked in. sunoo shifted then, the mood lifting slightly as he tilted his head, tone taking on a teasing lilt. “you should check her out, won. the subs have been begging you to collab anyway. might as well see what you’re missing.” something deep in jungwon’s chest stirred at the suggestion—not just curiosity, but something hotter, something restless. “maybe i will,” he muttered, barely above a whisper, before rising to his feet with a determined set to his jaw.

the hallway was cooler, dimmer as he padded quietly toward the room at the end, his heart picking up pace for reasons he didn’t want to name yet. he paused outside ni-ki’s door, knuckles tapping twice before he pushed it open without waiting for a response. the scent of fabric softener and faint cologne hit him first, followed by the soft glow of ni-ki’s laptop screen as he sat at his desk, eyes flicking up to meet jungwon’s with mild surprise. “i think i’m gonna do it,” jungwon said, voice quiet but steady, his fingers curling into the pockets of his hoodie as he leaned against the frame. ni-ki didn’t respond right away—just arched a brow, gaze narrowing slightly as he waited for more. “i want to collab with her,” jungwon clarified, and though he didn’t say your name, they both knew who he meant. “the guys are all hooked and… i want to understand why. i think it’s time i actually start doing this for real.” ni-ki leaned back in his chair slowly, a smirk playing on his lips, but his tone stayed calm. “you sure? that’s not just a toe dip—you’re diving in.” jungwon nodded once, resolve settling behind his nerves. “if anyone’s gonna get me to do it, it’s her.” ni-ki gave a slow shrug and turned back to his screen. “then go for it,” he said simply. “but let me know if she’s really as addictive as they say.”

—

jungwon lies in bed, the sheets rumpled beneath him, legs slightly tangled as he props his phone just above his chest, the glow from the screen casting a faint shimmer over his features. the room is quiet except for the low hum of his fan, and the soft golden light from his desk lamp spreads across the duvet, flickering every time he shifts his hand or thumb taps against the glass. he’s been thinking about it all day—about the way sunoo leaned back in his chair, half-sighing as he talked about you, about how real his words had felt even when said with a smile. it wasn’t just the teasing tone or the half-jokes about how you had all of them wrapped around your finger—it was something deeper, something that stayed behind long after the conversation ended. jungwon had seen it in their eyes too—that distant dazedness whenever you came up, like you were still in the room even after they left you behind. it haunted him more than it should’ve, the image of someone they all seemed unable to forget, someone they never even described in detail. it felt like they were guarding something, like they wanted to keep you for themselves, and that alone made curiosity bloom hot and anxious in his chest. he didn’t know why it was affecting him this way—but it was, and it wasn’t going away. so he finally gives in, fingers hovering only a second before tapping into his chat with sunoo, typing out the message quick and messy before the nerves could tell him not to.

“hey… what’s her username?” 

and before he even locks his phone, his response comes back in a blink. 

@babydollxo, just so you know her name is y/n

no hesitation, just the bare name like he’s handing him the last puzzle piece. his thumb hovers for a second before he clicks over to the site, breathing slowly through his nose as he searches the tag, chest already tight with anticipation. and when your page loads, it’s like something in him stills completely—no profile photo, no long description, just two videos and a name that shouldn’t feel this intimate, but already does. he doesn’t even realize he’s started biting his lip until he presses play.

the first video begins slow, barely lit, the frame hazy in a way that looks accidental at first—until he realizes every detail is intentional, curated to feel soft and close and personal. you’re on your back, hand between your thighs, the lighting angled low so that your skin glows in soft gold and pink, every part of you glistening under the faint shimmer of sweat. your voice is quiet but clear, breathy like you’re whispering directly into his ear, like he’s stumbled into something he shouldn’t be seeing, but now that he is, he can’t look away. your hips lift slightly with each circle of your fingers, your thighs trembling, and the camera stays still—clean, unshaken, perfectly steady as if it were made just for his eyes. his hand dips under your waistband without thinking, his fingers wrapping slowly around himself as the pressure builds low in his stomach. he strokes once, twice, syncing with the way your breath catches, matching your pace as you whimper something too soft to catch but loud enough to ruin him. he exhale shakily, eyes glued to the screen, and his hips twitch forward as you arches, moaning for someone that isn’t him—but still somehow feels like it could be. his thumb brushes over the head of his cock and he hisses, teeth gritting as he closes his eyes briefly, trying not to fall apart before he even gets to the second clip.he pauses, heart pounding, fingers slick with precum as he hovers over the next thumbnail, the preview showing just the outline of your thighs and the curve of your stomach. his breath is ragged now, chest rising and falling with a kind of urgency he doesn’t recognize in himself, and for a second he considers stopping—just waiting until tomorrow, until he’s more in control. but he can’t. not when he’s already this far, not when the tension in his body is wound so tight that it hurts to move slowly. he taps the screen again, the second video loading with a flicker, and this time your kneeling—closer to the lens, your eyes still out of frame, but everything else on full display. the way your fingers glide between your legs is slower now, almost teasing, like you know someone new is watching. he swallows hard, gripping himself tighter as your moans rise softly into the silence, echoing off the walls of his room like they were made just for him. his hips jerk into his palm and he bites down on a whimper, heat coiling deep in his stomach as your pace builds again, and he can’t stop the way his hand moves faster—matching yours, chasing the same high.

he can’t help it anymore—he whispers your name, not even realizing it had left his lips until the syllables echo faintly in the space around him, his body tenses and trembles as his orgasm builds fast, urgent, relentless. your voice breaks in the video just as his does in real life, and he fall over the edge with a gasp, head falling back against his pillows, hand still stroking through it as he rides the wave to its end. the screen starts to fade into black, the last frame frozen on the soft part of your lips, swollen and wet with the weight of your pleasure, and he feels dizzy—like he’s just stepped out of something too big for his chest. his breath evens out slowly, chest still rising, and he closes his eyes for a beat, letting the air settle before glancing down at your username again. @babydollxo. it repeats in his mind like a chant, like a craving, and even though he had just finished, his fingers twitch with the urge to open the messages. not for a follow. not even to tip. but to say something.

something that would make you look at him next.

—

the soft chime of your doorbell slices through the quiet of your apartment, jolting you from the stillness that had settled like dust around you. your laptop hums quietly from the couch, screen still open on a half-finished assignment, but your focus has already scattered as your bare feet move toward the front door with hesitant steps. when you pull it open, expecting maybe a neighbor or a delivery you forgot about, you’re met with an empty hallway—silent, untouched—except for the delicate bouquet resting against the doorframe like a secret left behind. your breath catches in your throat as you crouch to pick it up, fingers brushing over the velvety petals, the soft pastel shades blooming like a painting against the late afternoon light. it smells like warmth and something tender—roses, peonies, tiny sprays of baby’s breath—and nestled between the stems is a folded piece of paper, your name written on it in handwriting you didn’t recognize. you shut the door behind you as you step back inside, setting the bouquet gently on the kitchen counter before slipping your finger under the lip of the note and unfolding it with care. 

i didn’t think one night could do this to me. but it did. maybe it was the way you said my name. maybe it was the way you didn’t treat me like i was just another collab—like i was someone worth seeing, worth touching slowly, worth remembering. i’ve watched the video more times than i should admit. not for the content, but because of the way i felt in it. with you. i want to know what’s behind the camera. i want to see you again—really see you. not to film. not to fuck. just to feel whatever this is, for real.

yours truly,

heeseung.

you read it again, slower this time, your chest tightening with every sentence, your hand flattening against the cool counter just to ground yourself, because it’s too much—too beautiful—and you don’t know what to do with it.

you stare at the flowers a moment longer, letting the scent and sentiment soak into your skin, before you’re pulled away by the buzz of your phone from the couch behind you. it vibrates once, sharp and sudden, and you move on autopilot, padding across the room with your heartbeat still fluttering against your ribs, unsure if you want it to be him again or if that would make it worse. but it’s not heeseung. it’s someone new—unexpected. your phone lights up with a new notification from a username that triggers something distant in your memory: 

@wonsodirty

 you stare at it for a second, blinking slowly as your thumb hovers over the alert, something curling in your stomach—not anxiety exactly, but something heavier, something curious.

 wonsodirty: “hey… i’ve been thinking about something. want to collab?” 

the words feel weightless and loaded all at once, the kind of casual that masks a storm underneath, and suddenly you're remembering the preview clip you watched when you first joined—him, soft-spoken but intense, his voice low and his eyes dark. you’d forgotten about him in the chaos of everything else, the whirlwind of heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon and sunoo—but now here he is, quiet and unexpected, slipping into your inbox with a tension that coils low in your spine.

you don’t open the message right away. your fingers linger above your screen as you sink into the couch, the petals of heeseung’s bouquet still within view on the kitchen counter, their colors glowing softly under the golden hour light. it’s too much at once—too many emotions curling around each other, too many paths tugging at your sleeve. you press your phone to your chest for a moment, as if stilling the beat of it might still your thoughts too, but your heart only stutters harder beneath the weight of it. eventually, you unlock the screen and reread jungwon’s message, the simplicity of it making your breath falter in a way you didn’t expect. it’s not forward, not demanding—just thoughtful, tentative, like he’s trying to enter without disturbing something delicate. your thumbs hover over the keyboard as you try to decide how to respond, caught between the memory of his voice in that short preview and the softness you’d always sensed beneath it. finally, your fingers start to move, slow but certain: 

“sure… i’d love to. when were you thinking?” 

you hit send before you can second-guess it, the air still thick around you, and immediately, three dots bounce on your screen like they’ve been waiting there all along.

his reply comes almost instantly, and you can practically hear his tone in the way he types, every message carefully spaced like he’s trying not to overwhelm you. 

wonsodirty: “is tonight okay?” 

he asks, then quickly follows upwonsodirty: “if not that’s okay too, i just… want to talk to you. maybe plan something?”

it’s the second message that tugs at you—gentle, unsure, like he’s afraid of getting it wrong. and there’s something about it that makes your chest ache, because it doesn’t feel like someone reaching for content, it feels like someone reaching for connection. you tuck your legs underneath you, blinking at the flowers on the counter again before shifting your gaze back to your phone, your breath catching slightly when you read his next text. 

wonsodirty: “i know this is random. but you’ve kind of been stuck in my head lately.” 

it echoes too closely to the letter you just read, the one still folded neatly on your counter, and you close your eyes for a second, wondering what the hell the universe is trying to tell you. but when you open them again, you’re typing your address, fingers trembling slightly, a small smile pulling at your lips despite the confusion bubbling underneath. 

“come over” 

—-

the knock is gentle, barely louder than the hum of your thoughts, but it’s enough to pull you back to the present. your fingers twitch as you smooth the front of your shirt, brushing down fabric that doesn’t really need adjusting, and you let out a quiet breath that feels more like a sigh. your heart beats a little quicker—not out of fear, but something closer to nerves, anticipation folding into curiosity. you cross the room in slow steps, every footfall padded against the floor, and when your hand turns the lock and pulls the door open, everything halts. he’s standing there like he wasn’t prepared to see you, like your face caught him off guard in the most disarming way. his eyes catch the light, wide and almost sparkling, and his mouth parts slightly—no greeting, no hello, just a soft stunned silence that says more than words ever could. “come in,” you say gently, your voice soft with amusement, and his gaze doesn’t shift even as he moves forward, as if he’s still processing the fact that you’re real. the door clicks closed behind him, and you can’t help the quiet giggle that escapes you when he lingers there, stuck in place like he’s forgotten what he’s supposed to do.

he clears his throat awkwardly, the sound small in your cozy living room, and his eyes flick from the couch to the shelves to the soft throw blanket hanging off the side of the armchair. it’s like he’s memorizing everything, like the details of your space matter just as much as the way you looked when you answered the door. “it’s just me for now,” you offer, your voice filling the silence with a kind of casual comfort. “my roommate won’t be here tonight.” he nods, once, then again a little slower, as if your words need time to settle inside him. there’s a flush on his cheeks, barely there but unmistakable, and when his eyes finally return to yours, they hold something fragile. “i’m sorry for the way i’m acting,” he says quietly, almost like it’s embarrassing to admit. “you’re just so… pretty.” the words land soft but heavy, and for a second, neither of you moves—like the air between you has thickened with meaning, like this is the start of something that neither of you can take back.

you feel the compliment land somewhere low in your chest, warm and grounding, like the way sunlight lingers on your skin even after you’ve stepped into the shade. there’s a breathless kind of hush in the room now, not uncomfortable, but charged—like both of you are waiting for the other to move first. “thank you,” you say softly, the corners of your lips tugging upward, and when he offers you the smallest, most earnest smile in return, it makes your heart stutter. “do you wanna sit?” you ask, your hand motioning toward the couch, and he nods a little too quickly, like he’s afraid you might take the offer back. jungwon moves carefully, like he’s trying not to disturb anything, his shoulders stiff with the weight of being in unfamiliar territory—but when he finally settles beside you, he exhales like he can breathe again. there’s a moment of silence as your knee brushes his, just barely, and you see the way his jaw clenches before he dares to glance at you again. “i’m a little nervous,” he admits, voice low, almost apologetic, as he tugs at the hem of his sleeve like it’s a lifeline. “but i wanna do this... with you,” he adds, eyes searching yours, and something inside you softens at how genuine he looks—like there’s no performance, no script, just him wanting to be seen.

you turn to face him fully now, folding one leg beneath you, and rest your hand gently against his arm, grounding him with your touch. “you don’t have to be anything but yourself, jungwon,” you say, and you mean it—it’s in your voice, steady and sure, wrapping around his nerves like a balm. he breathes in deep, then lets it go slowly, his eyes fluttering closed for half a second before he opens them again, this time steadier. “i’ve never done this before,” he confesses, the tips of his ears flushing red, but there’s no shame in it—just honesty, unfiltered and laid bare for you to take or leave. “then we’ll go slow,” you assure him, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles, and it’s that small touch that finally lets him lean into the moment instead of away from it. you lean in first, bridging the space between you without rushing it, and when your lips meet his, it’s tender and coaxing, like an invitation rather than a command. jungwon responds with the hesitancy of someone unused to being wanted like this, but his hands still find your waist, fingers pressing in as he starts to kiss you back, more sure of it this time.

you pull back just enough to see the soft flush blooming across jungwon’s cheeks, his eyes still heavy-lidded from the kiss, lips parted like he’s chasing the ghost of your mouth. “come with me,” you whisper, fingers curling around his hand as you rise to your feet, and he follows without question, the grip he has on you just tight enough to say he doesn’t want to let go. the hallway is quiet as you guide him toward your bedroom, each step thick with anticipation, the air between your bodies humming with the weight of everything left unsaid. once inside, you release him gently, letting him take in the space while you move toward the dresser and retrieve your small tripod, adjusting the angle to face the bed in soft lighting. he watches you silently, like every motion is a spell, and when you click the record button on, you glance over your shoulder to meet his gaze. “do you trust me?” you ask, voice soft but serious, and jungwon doesn’t hesitate—he nods, stepping closer, eyes steady as he says, “yes. i trust you.” the words settle deep in your chest, something grounding and intimate in the way he gives himself over to the moment without hesitation.

you walk to him slowly, closing the space between your bodies until your fingertips brush along the hem of his shirt, dragging upward with unhurried care as you ease the fabric over his head. his skin is warm beneath your touch, and when your palms glide up his chest, he shivers just slightly, breath hitching as your mouth finds his again—this time deeper, hungrier, filled with something that pulses between your ribs. jungwon kisses like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, the rhythm, the taste—his hands resting at your hips, not pulling, just holding like he doesn’t want the moment to slip through his fingers. your fingers trail down his sides, nails skimming gently along his waist, and the way he exhales against your lips makes heat curl low in your stomach. you press forward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he sits without protest, eyes locked on yours with something close to awe. “you’re doing so good,” you murmur, brushing his hair back from his face, and his lips part, pupils blown wide as he whispers your name like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth. you climb onto his lap slowly, knees bracketing his thighs, your lips grazing his as you whisper, “let me take care of you.”

your lips barely leave his for more than a breath before you're pulling him in again, letting the kiss grow slower, deeper, more consuming with every tilt of your head. jungwon trembles under your touch, his hands gripping your waist like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth, his breath hitching every time your tongue brushes against his. you can feel how hard he is through his sweats, the way he jerks faintly every time your body presses a little too close, and it only spurs you on—makes you kiss him harder, hungrier, your fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. his hips twitch up into yours without meaning to, and when you moan softly into his mouth, he breaks—his fingers digging into your sides, a stuttered gasp leaving him as he whines your name against your lips. you feel the sudden warmth through the fabric, the way his body jerks again, overwhelmed, as he finishes just from the way you kiss him like he means something. his breath shakes as it catches in his throat, chest heaving as his eyes flutter open slowly, dazed and glassy and full of disbelief. “i’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking with embarrassment, his cheeks flushing a deep, gorgeous red that creeps down his neck. but you only smile, brushing your nose against his and kissing the corner of his mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“don’t be,” you murmur, voice soft and warm as your hands cradle his jaw, grounding him. “that just means i’m doing something right.” jungwon swallows hard, blinking up at you like he doesn’t know what to do with himself now, but he still doesn’t let go—his hands slide up to your waist again, gripping like he doesn’t want you to move.

his brows twitch like he wants to say something more, maybe apologize again, but you hush him with a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another along his jaw. your fingers slide down his chest, slow and careful, feeling the way he shivers under your touch as you trail lower, past his stomach, to the waistband of his sweats. “can i?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, even though the room feels thick with tension already. he nods immediately, breath catching as he shifts his hips to give you room, his eyes glued to your hands like he can’t believe this is really happening. “i wanna make you feel good,” you murmur, and he swallows so hard it makes his whole throat jump, his body going still as your fingers dip beneath the waistband and tug gently.

he helps you out of your clothes as you help him out of his sweats slowly, letting them slide down his legs until he kicks them off the edge of the bed, his thighs trembling faintly with leftover tension. jungwon’s cock is already sensitive, the head flushed a deep pink and still glistening slightly from the mess he made earlier, and you lean down to kiss his inner thigh first, soft and slow. the sound he makes is quiet—just a shaky little exhale that leaves his lips parted, his head tilted back against the pillow as he watches you with wide eyes. your tongue traces a warm path up his thigh before you press another kiss just beside his length, and he twitches in response, his hand fisting into the sheets. “you don’t have to—” he starts, voice ragged, but you silence him with one look, your fingers wrapping gently around his cock. “i want to,” you say, firm and sure, and then you lower your mouth, letting your tongue flick over the head in one slow, teasing pass that has his hips jerking before he can stop them.

you hum softly as you take him deeper, your hand stroking what your lips can’t reach yet, and jungwon’s entire body tenses beneath you like he’s caught between pleasure and disbelief. “oh my god,” he whispers, his voice breaking on the edges of every syllable, his hand hesitating in the air before it finally lands on your shoulder, gripping softly. he’s trying not to move, trying not to buck into your mouth, but you can feel how hard it is for him to stay still—especially when your lips sink lower, your cheeks hollowing around him. his thighs tighten around your arms, his breath turning into these quiet, whimpering little gasps that make you want to push him even further. you bob your head slowly, keeping the rhythm steady, letting the suction drag heat up his spine with every pass. his fingers tighten against your shoulder, and his voice comes out broken when he breathes, “you feel—fuck, you feel so good.” and you glance up, eyes meeting his, just in time to see the way his lips part wider, completely undone.

jungwon’s hand trembles against your shoulder, fingers flexing like he’s trying to ground himself, to stop the overwhelming heat that’s rushing straight to his gut. you can feel it in the way his hips twitch beneath you, the way his thighs begin to shake as he whispers your name like a secret prayer, caught between panic and bliss. “w-wait,” he breathes, chest heaving as his voice cracks, “fuck, i’m gonna—” but the words never finish because your tongue swirls around the head just right and his whole body jolts like he’s been shocked. you ease up just enough to tease him again, letting your lips ghost over the tip with a hum, and his eyes roll back for a second before he clenches them shut. “i can’t… not like this again,” he stammers, his other hand fumbling to touch your wrist, to signal anything through the haze clouding his mind. “please… can i—can i be inside you?” he asks, the plea barely above a whisper but thick with yearning. you pause, blinking up at him as your hand strokes him gently, and the look on his face is one of pure need—desperate and soft and honest.

you release him with one last kiss just above his base, dragging your lips upward until they reach his stomach, pressing small kisses into his skin as you make your way back up to straddle his waist. jungwon’s hands rise automatically to hold your hips, his fingers splayed wide like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. you smile down at him, your hair falling over your shoulder as you lean in to kiss him, slower this time, letting him taste himself faintly on your tongue. he moans into your mouth, his grip tightening, and you feel the way his cock twitches again beneath you, brushing against your inner thigh like he’s barely holding it together. “you sure?” you ask gently, your voice brushing against his lips like silk, and he nods so fast it makes your heart squeeze. “i want it,” he whispers, breath shaky, “i want all of it—please.” your fingers trail down his chest, feeling the way it rises and falls beneath your palm, and you shift your hips forward, dragging your folds slowly along his length. jungwon gasps, his hands flying up to cup your face, and you swear he looks at you like you hung the moon.

his cock presses right where you’re wettest, gliding through the slick mess of your arousal like it was made to be there, and he whimpers when you start to grind against him. “god, you feel unreal,” he breathes, like he’s still trying to believe this is happening, like his mind hasn’t caught up with the fact that you’re not just a screen anymore. you reach down between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance, and his eyes widen when the head catches, parting you just barely. “breathe,” you whisper, watching him fall apart beneath you as you sink down, inch by inch, feeling him stretch you open slowly. jungwon lets out a broken moan, his nails digging into your waist, and his brows pinch together like the pleasure’s almost too much. “you’re so tight,” he groans, voice cracking again, “fuck, i don’t wanna cum yet, i wanna feel you.” you cup his cheek, grounding him, and start to rock your hips gently, letting your walls flutter around him with every movement. his lips part again, and his head tips back against the pillows, pure ecstasy painted across his features.

his hands tremble where they grip your hips, the pads of his thumbs stroking slow, reverent circles into your skin as if trying to memorize every inch. jungwon’s chest rises and falls with labored breaths, the softest little whines slipping from his lips each time your hips roll forward and back again. the heat between your bodies grows thick, humid, his hair clinging slightly to his forehead as his eyes flutter open and closed—completely dazed by how good you feel wrapped around him. “you’re… s-so tight,” he stammers, voice barely holding together, “it’s like—like you’re pulling me in more every time, fuck.” your hands press flat to his chest, feeling the wild pace of his heartbeat as you move slower on purpose, watching his brows furrow and mouth fall open in the prettiest kind of agony. his lips form your name again, this time dragged out between moans, and you can’t help but clench around him just to hear the way his breath catches. “god, i’m not gonna last,” he admits, biting down on his lip like it’ll help, even though his body’s already trembling beneath yours. “you feel too good… you’re too perfect, fuck—i’m never gonna forget this.”

you reach up to brush your fingers through his hair, smiling when he leans into your touch like he’s starved for it, his eyes dazed and glossy as they meet yours again. jungwon’s hands slide up to your waist, holding you tighter like he’s scared this will vanish if he doesn’t ground himself to your body. “i dreamed of this,” he whispers suddenly, so soft you almost miss it, “i’d close my eyes and try to imagine what being inside you would feel like… but nothing ever came close.” your heart stutters in your chest, but you keep your pace steady, dragging your hips forward so slowly it has his jaw dropping open with a choked whimper. “i love how you look like this,” he continues, his voice cracking at the edges, “on top of me… taking control… you’re unreal.” you can feel him twitch inside you, every movement of your body pulling another gasp or broken curse from his mouth as he tries so hard to hold on. your fingers curl around his wrists, encouraging him to just feel, to let go of the tension clinging to his limbs. “you’re so beautiful,” he moans, his grip tightening again, “fuck—i’m gonna say it a thousand times if you keep moving like that.”

his compliments pour from him like he’s lost his filter, everything he’s ever thought about you spilling into the space between your bodies with no shame. he keeps his gaze locked on your face as best he can, even when his eyes go heavy-lidded from pleasure, like he doesn’t want to miss a second of the way you ride him. “i’ve never felt anything like this,” he says again, breathless, “i didn’t know it could feel this good.” your hips slow just slightly, enough to grind down harder and deeper, and he gasps, his head tipping back as his thighs twitch beneath you. “please don’t stop,” he begs softly, the words trailing off into a whimper when your nails drag gently down his chest, “you’re driving me insane, but i want more.” you lean over him, lips grazing his jaw, and he turns his head to catch your mouth in a messy, desperate kiss, moaning into it when you roll your hips just right. his cock throbs inside you with every movement, thick and twitching and so achingly full, and you can feel how close he is already—like he’s trying so hard not to fall apart under you too soon.

you pull away from the kiss just enough to see his face, to watch the way his eyes search yours like he’s trying to hold on to reality. jungwon swallows hard, sweat glistening along his neck, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your waist again like he needs the contact to keep breathing. “you’re all i want,” he whispers, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud, “just you… right here, like this.” the admission makes your chest tighten, warmth blooming in your core as you move a little faster, taking him deeper with each thrust of your hips. his moans grow louder, more broken, as his legs spread wider, his toes curling into the sheets like he’s unraveling with every pass of your body over his. “fuck—please,” he pants, his voice pitching higher as he presses his forehead to your shoulder, “please, i’m so close.” you slow again just slightly, dragging it out, and the sound that leaves his mouth is so needy it has your stomach clenching with heat. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says between gasps, “but i’d let you ruin me every day if it means i get to feel like this.”

his body jerks beneath you, so sensitive and desperate, his hands now sliding up and down your sides as if grounding himself to the moment will keep him from flying apart. you shift slightly, circling your hips slower, watching the way jungwon’s head tilts back against the pillows, his lips parted in a soft, high moan that sounds like it’s being pulled from the deepest part of him. “please,” he gasps again, his voice trembling, “i’m gonna cum—i can’t—fuck, i’m so close.” but you don’t speed up, not yet, dragging it out just a little longer, watching his pretty face twist with frustration and pleasure so tangled they’re indistinguishable. your fingers stroke down the center of his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm, and he whines—an actual whine—as you tighten around him. “you’re so mean,” he breathes, but there’s no bite to it, only awe and heat and something that sounds dangerously close to love, “but you feel so fucking good, i’d let you do anything to me.” your lips find his again, slow and open-mouthed, your tongue curling against his in a kiss that has his hips jerking helplessly up into yours. he moans into your mouth, his entire body tightening beneath you, and when you finally start to move faster, his hands clamp down on your waist like he’s bracing for impact.

your pace grows steady again, rolling your hips down until you’re grinding into him just right—drawing out every sharp inhale and whimper that escapes his lips as he completely loses himself in you. jungwon’s eyes squeeze shut as his nails dig into your hips, his chest rising and falling so fast you can feel the heat radiating off him in waves. “fuck, fuck—i’m gonna—” he gasps, his words breaking off into a strangled cry as he presses his forehead against your shoulder, hips twitching beneath you. and then it hits him—his body arches, his mouth opens wide in a silent moan, and you feel him pulse deep inside you, thick warmth spreading as he finishes hard, completely undone beneath your touch. “oh my god,” he breathes, voice wrecked and trembling, “you—fuck, you feel like heaven.” his whole body stays tense for a moment before he finally slumps beneath you, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp with sweat. you brush his hair off his forehead gently, smiling when he blinks up at you like he’s still trying to process what just happened. “you ruined me,” he says softly, almost laughing as he says it, but there’s no regret in his voice—only wonder.

he blinks again, chest still rising and falling with shallow breaths, and you watch the way his lashes flutter like he’s on the edge of sleep already. “you didn’t even have to do anything crazy,” he whispers, his voice husky and slow, “just… kissed me. and i was gone.” you giggle under your breath, kissing his cheek before sliding your hand down his chest again, feeling the steady beat of his heart start to slow beneath your fingertips. he gazes up at you like you hung the stars, no trace of embarrassment—just awe, like he still can’t believe you’re real. “you’re amazing,” he says again, and this time it’s quieter, like it’s just for you. “i wanna do everything with you.” you can’t help but lean down again, your mouth brushing his as he sighs softly against your lips, completely soft now but still clinging to you like he never wants this moment to end.

his body is still warm against yours, his cheek resting on your chest as you both lie tangled together beneath the sheets, the room dim and silent except for the slow rhythm of your breaths. jungwon’s lashes flutter every now and then, like he’s drifting but fighting to stay awake, and you feel the rise and fall of his chest settle into something peaceful. your fingers thread lazily through his hair, combing back the soft strands that cling to his forehead, and he hums low in his throat—soothed, comforted, held. “i don’t want this to end,” he whispers suddenly, his voice thick with sleep but laced with something fragile, something real, as his arm curls tighter around your waist. you freeze just a little at the weight of the words, heart squeezing as your hand slows in his hair, your lips parting to respond but no words come out. he doesn't seem to notice your silence, only nuzzles closer, his nose brushing the space just beneath your collarbone before he lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. “you make everything feel calm,” he murmurs, quieter now, like he’s speaking into a dream, “like it’s okay to be soft here.” you press a kiss to the crown of his head, still unable to speak, because there’s something about the way he clings to you—not just with his hands, but with his whole body—that makes you want to hold him even tighter.

his thumb rubs slow circles into your side as his breathing evens out, and you stare up at the ceiling, your own thoughts unraveling like thread with every second that passes. you weren’t supposed to feel this much, not with any of them, and yet here you are—with your heart lodged somewhere between your throat and his sleepy voice echoing in your chest. you shift slightly, enough to tuck the blanket higher over his back, and he stirs only to let out a soft sigh, like your care wraps around him as much as the warmth of the bed. “you’re too good,” he says, almost inaudible now, and your eyes sting at the tenderness in his tone—because you know he means it, every word, every breath. your hand slides down to his back, fingers drawing idle shapes along his spine, and the comfort of it is mutual, grounding, like neither of you want to move or break the spell of this moment. but something inside you aches, because as perfect as this feels, you know it’s not simple—it’s messy and fragile and dangerous, and the more you try to pretend it’s not, the harder it hits. your throat tightens as the weight of it presses into your chest, tears prickling behind your eyes, and you don’t even know who you’re crying for—him, them, or yourself. so you close your eyes and hold him tighter, trying to memorize the feeling of this moment, even if you don’t know how long it will last.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ dare i say jungwon might be my fav >.<

taglistᝰ.ᐟ @starry-eyed-bimbo @vixialuvs @justaquarium @dark-moon-light02 @deobitifull @minjeong28 @wonzzziezzzz @wonsohl @psychicyouthfox @honeyfever @strayy-kidz @bloomiize @tunafishyfishylike @jaehaki @ihearteatingxo @songbyeonkim @sol3chu @mo0neng3ne @strxwbloody @hii01mii @merwdusa @dorrissakurada @lycxee @frequentlykit @heeenha6484 @sjakewrld @stwrlightt @parkjjongswifey @haneulhee @fr34k4c1dr41n @cozyre @vwricky @nyxtwixx @nuggets4lifers @yunkiconico @mynameis-rosie1 @leeknowslefteyebrow @babygguk98 @noiiny @horijiro @nshmrarki @delulumel @brooklyninawhitemustang @baedreamverse @stvrrylove @killedbycharlize @sehyojae @mylettterstoyou @metanoianlove @shaysimpss @kiokantalope @sanriwoozzz @mniwna @l1nn13 @gongyoorit @miszes @ineedheewoninmylife @seonhwastaar @ivyleyun @ari3ll4 @ssanhwatto @negin7 @koizekomi @enhaz1 @kittympirty @slayhaechan @semi-wife @tobiosbbyghorl @hoonsdrnkdzd @shy9-29 @heeenha6484 @heeseungsbm @kristynaaah @smlbch @kirinaa08 @millis-diary @kawaiichu32 @wonislife17 @minniesverse @k1ttyjwon @luvksnn @wondash @wooalt @sweetsoobie @nyxiebabyyy @jakezzgirlz @b1tem4rks @hoonneyyzz @mimimovv @hanjiversee @ch4c0nnenh4 @sarashusbandissunghoonfyime @tnafzi @bbypink @en-hoon02 @skzenhalove @azzy02 @sanchaah @planetmarlowe @miniw0nz @daisy-doo1 @femaholicc @cherryangel-coke @hooniesfvngs @kimsvtaes @mniwna @i-am-not-dal @star-hoon @wafflelyweddedmallow @certifiedjaeyunist @devouredyou @neogotmysam @nuki-riki @heesang07 @littlofang @simj4k3 @makgeolli-jw @ksnooppy @luvksnn @starryemiko @isagistar @nickiminajleftasscheek @jeonkaijoon @doveblackboat @haestuffs @srhnyx @azzy02 @bubblemoonclouds @diana021811 @wonuziex @blubb0 @choicila @nyfwyeonjun @neo-weareone @jooniesbears-blog @byshens @arourababy @dolliewon @shine1entertainment

[akeaaan]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

Jinu X fem.reader

And you taste so sweet Leave me wanting more soon as we get out the sheets

It was wrong. So wrong.

A demon hunter falling for a demon?

Unthinkable.

Yet, it happened.

Just like your mother—who once bore the same sin—you did too. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was a curse.

Lights are turned off Music is on Minds are unlocked This feeling is amazing

You remember the first time Jinu saw the marks blooming like fire across your arm. The room had fallen silent, but your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You’d never felt so exposed.

He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you, eyes soft but heavy with something unspoken. Without a word, he pulled a piece of cloth from his jacket and knelt down, gently wrapping your arm. Hiding the truth. Protecting you from the world, from your friends, from everything that would shatter if they ever knew.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, fingers brushing your skin. “Let me carry it with you.”

That was when the walls between you began to crack. Slowly. Dangerously.

You remembered the tension that buzzed in the space between you both, like lightning before the storm.

How he’d grin when you pouted over shared rehearsals— “You look like a kicked puppy,” he’d tease, flicking your forehead.

How he kissed you there, right between your brows, every time you got a move wrong in the studio— “You’re getting better,” he’d whisper. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

How your pinkies secretly interlocked backstage at Mnet when your group passed by the Saja boys. A forbidden moment buried in stolen glances.

And the kiss—

The first time his lips pressed against yours, desperate and trembling. You’d been wounded from an ambushed demon attack, blood on your side and your breath uneven. He held your face like it would shatter.

“You could’ve died,” he whispered, voice cracking. His tears clung to his lashes, unfallen. You kissed him before they could fall.

You remembered him yanking you into a quiet hallway during a fan sign event—risking everything just to feel your lips against his for a fleeting second. “Just one,” he’d said breathlessly. “Just in case we don’t get another chance.”

Liquor is all that we taste Your freckles lead the way I trace your constellations

Your fingers danced over the piano, notes rippling into the stadium like echoes of the life you once knew. The crowd roared. Your face flashed on every screen.

But your eyes searched for a ghost.

And then came the memory—

Now you're gone in the blink of an eye I try to remember what you look like

You remembered the scream tearing out of you, raw and broken, as Gwi Ma’s attack arced toward you. You remembered how powerless you felt, how small. And then—

Jinu.

He stepped in front of you without hesitation, the clash of impact blinding. Your ears rang. Your vision blurred. You didn’t realize you were crying until your feet ran.

“No!” You ran to him—he was already fading. Already slipping. “No, please... Jinu, please...”

He smiled, even then. His hand cupped your face with the last of his existence. “I’d do it again,” he said. “For you.”

Your hands trembled as you cradled his face, your tears spilling freely.

Orion's Belt in the sky Closest thing to you other than my mind

You traced the constellation on his chest, the one you always joked about.

Now it was all that remained.

He faded like a falling star— Gone before you could stop it. Gone before you could scream loud enough for the heavens to listen.

Now you're gone in the blink of an eye I try to remember what you taste like Replaying in my head The smell of your body still in my bed

You didn’t even realize the tear had slipped until it hit the piano keys — soft, but loud in your own ears — a drop of grief interrupting the silence between notes. It pooled in the tiny crevice between E and F, glimmering beneath the harsh spotlight, and for a moment, you just stared.

Then you looked up.

The stadium was glowing. Thousands of fans held up their phones, flashlights flickering like distant stars. Some swayed gently, others clung to their best friends, families, siblings… and lovers.

Lovers.

That’s what you two were — once.

His hands used to rest gently on your waist like you were something fragile, like you might break if he held too tightly. His breath always tasted like some awful mix of stage liquor and cherry lip balm. His freckles — you could never resist them — always reminded you of scattered stars. You used to trace them lazily, half-awake, half-drunk on him.

And now… all of it was just memory.

Hands on your waist Liquor is all that we taste Your freckles lead the way I trace your constellations…

You closed your eyes, pressing the tears back, though they fell anyway. Slipping past your lashes like everything else that had slipped through your fingers.

Your hands didn’t stop playing. Even when your chest ached, even when your throat tightened and begged you to scream instead — you kept playing.

Because this wasn’t just a song. It was the goodbye you never got to say. The apology you never got to hear. The version of love that died the moment he turned away.

I trace your constellations…

The final note rang out, long and lingering — like a heartbeat fading.

And then the crowd erupted.

Cheers swallowed you whole, but none of it felt real. Not without him beside you. Not without his hand reaching for yours in the dark.

He should’ve been here.

But he wasn’t.

And maybe he never would be again.

a/n: angst bcz i love you guys <3

[i-like-loserz]

breedable

pairing: husband!san x reader

cw: explicit (18+), raging breeding-kink, unprotected sex (no condom, yes other contraceptives), needy/whiny!san, cuteness/sexiness aggression (^^look AT THOSE ADORABLE PICS), not dub-con because you're not actually forcing san to have a child - its just a fantasy and san respects the responsible day dreaming -- oh, and this is NOT beta-read.

wc: 1.6k

note: reverse breeding kink turns my mind into a slushie

masterlist

---

you have a special type of aggression when it comes to your husband.

while there's the usual cuteness aggression that makes you want to pinch his cheeks and tickle him until he's a giggling mess -- or the alternative "awe-infused-aggression," that makes you want to crawl all over him and worship his body (because he's built like a god) -- but this special aggression is a mix of the two.

you call it the "i-need-to-pass-on-his-genes-with-mine" or the breeding-aggression. you see his perfect, docile face -- the cute way his brows scrunch together whenever he's feeling too much, the way his chiseled abs clench as he holds himself back -- and it sets a fire in your horny soul.

typically, when one describes a breeding kink, it involves someone wanting to impregnate the other person in an act of love and possession. of course, the other person is wholeheartedly egging them on because they, too, want to carry their baby.

in this case, however, you work hard to fuck him to get you pregnant.

you may wonder, "is that not exactly the same thing as a normal breeding kink?," which will be responded with a, "no, because san is a smart boy and he doesn't want a child at the moment -- that is, not until you're both done achieving your dreams and settled into a family-friendly environment."

san is the sensible one in the relationship, while you play the role of a feral cat in heat. he always insists on a condom or some birth control while you immediately embrace your inner horny demon and cannot go a week without begging him to fill you up like a boston cream donut.

you often think he's just playing the role of the timid damsel, begging for mercy before getting thoroughly ravished because he always ends up giving in.

at first, this obsession started with an accidental and harmless mistake.

you forgot to get condoms.

neither of you realized it until you stuck your hand into the bedside drawer, only to come up empty handed.

san, the sweetheart he is, offered to run to the store to get some. but before he could leave, you pulled him back and convinced him that one time without it wouldn't hurt. you can always take the morning after pill. right?

and you thought that was that.

but once you saw the way his cute lashes fluttered as he entered you, eyes shiny from how lost he was in the pleasure -- maybe something clicked for you. maybe.

and maybe, when you felt how his body shivered, finally feeling your warmth without any barriers, and how his cock throbbed within you, you knew this would turn into an addiction.

a dangerous one.

then when he came inside, painting your walls in his warmth before pulling out to reveal his sloppy mess, your brain chemistry became altered in a way that would change the course of desires for the rest of your life.

and then, pushing his love back in so affectionately with his fingers, eyes glazed over in awe and hunger, you knew something changed within him as well -- as much as he'd deny it. he already started to get hard again from seeing how he dripped from your perfect cunt.

and so, after that fateful night, you tried to hold back, knowing that taking the morning-after pill often wasn't healthy (and, of course, you and san weren't ready for kids yet).

this didn't stop you from imagining how his cum would feel if there wasn't a barrier between you every time you fucked. or how pretty he'd be as your baby daddy, claiming you as his own as he gives you the perfect little family.

ok, and fine, maybe you 'forgot' to buy condoms a few more times after that. and maybe you made it a habit to make him cum a few times before fucking him so he'd be a little less attentive to the missing condoms just so you can feel him gushing out of you once more.

but that's neither here nor there.

...

ok, so, maybe it was here.

and there.

here, in the house -- on the couch during movie night, on the bed in the morning, on the kitchen counter when you saw him in that cute little frilly apron he borrowed from you, in the shower when he got back from the gym.

and there, outside the house -- messily in the car(s), in a tight dressing room, spontaneously in a lake, in a utility closet at his work (don't ask) -- so you had to find a sustainable solution quickly.

it finally got to the point where you made a doctor's appointment to get on birth control because you knew you wouldn't be able to hold yourself back anymore. the pull-out method wasn't going to work for long, and you knew san was struggling to deny your whiny begs to be filled.

now, you can say whatever you want and he'll be the obedient husband that he is.

---

"cum in me, sannie..." you whisper in his ear, rolling your hips and perfectly arching your back so you can press your hot body against his. "don't you want to make me a mommy?"

you admire how his cute face scrunches up as you speed up on top of him. he's flushed a pretty scarlet, from his chiseled chest to his cheeks -- a product of your merciless teasing and edging from earlier in the evening.

"b-baby," he meets your motions smoothly, eyes squeezed shut as his body struggles to bear with the sensations of your soft heat wrapped around him. "fuck, i-i'm..."

"...you're...?" you ask, mockingly. you lightly rake your nails against the back of his neck. the action never fails to make him shiver and buck against you. you let out a short gasp as the feeling of him suddenly fully thrusting into you nearly knocks the air out of you. he's hitting that sweet sweet spot inside of you now -- and it's making you almost as delirious as the man under you.

"p-please..."

"c'mon, hubby, i wanna feel it dripping out of me," you sigh dreamily. your lips barely brush over his neck as you speak, "then you can shove it back in and make sure it keeps, right~"

"yes, yes, anything--" he mumbles, head tilted back in ecstasy. his large hands grip around your waist, guiding your body like a glorified cock sleeve, up and down his cock just right. you swear you're starting to see white spots in your vision as he continues to use your body.

you love it when he's like this. tunnel visioned and desperate to reach that explosive feeling of stuffing you full of his cum. your eyes roll back as he continues to nudge against that soft spot inside of you.

"u-uh, san..." a familiar and addictive exhilarating heat blooms from your core and proliferates through every nerve in your body before you even realize it. you bite your lip to keep you from drooling as your body starts to shake in his hold.

the shockwave of pleasure makes you clench around him, making you impossibly tight around him as he continues to thrust into you.

"fuck," he groans at the feeling of you fluttering around him. he struggles to keep up his pace as he gives into his pleasure. you can feel his abs clench against you as his hips begin to stutter to meet yours. "take it, baby. i need you to t-take it all for me."

"give it to me. i need it."

he pulls your body down and gives one last punishing snap of his hips to press himself deep inside of you as he finishes with a broken moan.

as he cums inside of you, his body trembles, overwhelmed by his orgasm, the press of your perfect body against his, the heated air surrounding the two of you, and the panted breath leaving your precious lips.

his arms wrap around you, holding you close, as he nuzzles his face against your neck, pressing soft and sweet kisses to your sticky skin.

as you both start to calm down, san lifts his face from the crook of your neck to look up at you.

"baby?" he gently brushes some hair from your face so he can get a good look at your flushed expression, "i think i'm ready." he has such a cute little smile on his face as he stares up at you with adoring eyes.

"ready?" you ask, still trying to come down from the pleasure infused fog that has settled over your mind.

"i think we should start baby-making, for real."

a silence sits in between you as you stare at him in disbelief. you weren't expecting your sensible and responsible husband to suddenly propose such a life altering idea to you.

you're suddenly pulled out from your warm post-orgasm deliriousness.

"...san. are you sure?"

he looks down at your connected bodies, at your baby-less stomach and the sticky mess that's now dripping onto his thighs. and then you feel him twitch inside of you.

oh.

"i-- yeah."

not convincing.

(at least not in the state you're in)

"yeah, no." you shake your head, fully aware of his wandering thoughts. "let's talk about this when we're fully clothed, okay."

who knew you'd be promoted to be the sensible one?

[vingtetunmars]

A New Heartbeat

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel Miller never thought he'd get another chance at building a family—especially not at his age, especially not after everything.

Tags: Fluff, pregnancy fic, domestic fluff, birthday surprise, emotional feels, warm, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is 58-59), set between season 1 and 2, jackson!Joel Miller, soft joel miller. No physical description of reader. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Thank you @dedicatedfangirl2001 for inspiring me! So this is technically a continuation of this fic, but it can also be read as a stand alone. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3.3k

masterlist

You didn’t think much of it at first.

Between the early mornings at the stables and the evenings spent passed out on the couch beside Joel, days had started to blur into each other. Your body always felt tired this time of year—mud season clinging to your boots, cold air snapping at your fingertips even under gloves. You’d chalked the nausea up to bad stew from the dining hall. But when your headache lingered past the usual, when the scent of hay and leather turned sour in your nose, it hit you.

You hadn’t had your period.

You stood in the feed room, half-empty bucket of oats dangling from your hand, the realization sitting heavy in your stomach. The math rolled around in your head, tumbling over itself. It had been… what? Over a month? Maybe more. You weren’t exactly counting days when every morning looked the same—Joel sipping black coffee, Ellie stealing bits of toast, and you rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you layered up for work.

But now, standing there, the silence of the stable around you, something clicked. You set the bucket down on the ground a little too quickly, pressing your palm to your stomach. No pain. No bloat. Just… a quiet sort of stillness.

The horses shuffled in their stalls. One of the younger colts let out a soft snort. You leaned your back against the wall, heart hammering in your chest.

You weren’t sure. But something deep in your bones told you—you already knew.

You didn’t tell anyone where you were going that morning.

Said you had errands to run—needed new gloves, maybe stop by the library. Joel didn’t press. He’d kissed your cheek, grumbled something about checking in with Tommy about a busted water heater, and told you he’d see you for dinner.

You walked to the clinic with your hands jammed deep into your jacket pockets. The cold bit at your cheeks, and every step felt heavier than the last. Not from dread exactly, but from the weight of maybe.

The clinic wasn’t much to look at. Two rooms, patched-together equipment, and a nurse named Carla who used to be a vet before the world ended. She was kind, though, and knew how to keep her mouth shut. You told her you wanted to rule something out. She just nodded, handed you a cup, and pointed toward the bathroom.

You stared at the strip of plastic on the counter like it held your whole future.

Five minutes. That’s all it took.

Carla didn’t say anything right away. She just looked down at the test in her hand, then back up at you, her expression soft.

“Well,” she said, “you’re pregnant.”

The room didn’t spin. It didn’t crash down on you, either. Instead, everything went still—like the moment before a horse takes off into a gallop. Heart pounding, lungs full of something sharp and sweet.

You were going to have a baby.

Joel’s baby.

Carla asked if you were okay. You nodded before you really even felt it, voice rough when you said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

The walk back home was slower. Like you were afraid to jostle the news loose, or maybe afraid it still wasn’t real. But your hand drifted down to your stomach more than once, resting there in quiet awe.

Now, all that was left was telling him.

And with his birthday just a few days away, you couldn’t help but wonder how in the world you were going to tell him.

Joel didn’t like birthdays.

He never made a big deal out of them before the world ended, and now… well, now they just felt like reminders. Reminders of what he’d lost. Of how much older he was getting. Of how goddamn long he’d been carrying around all this weight.

He’d never forget waking up on that birthday—the one that split his life into a before and after. Many years later, the world had changed, but the ache hadn’t. Not really.

Still, this morning started like any other. The early light crept in through the crack in the curtains, soft and gray-blue. Beside him, you were curled under the blanket, one arm slung across his stomach, your face tucked against his shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Home.

He didn’t move at first. Just lay there, eyes on the ceiling, listening to the quiet. The muffled sound of someone in the street. A rooster off in the distance. You breathing slow and steady beside him.

You made it better—this day, this life. You had a way of pulling him back from the edge without even trying. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that, to deserve you, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Your fingers twitched slightly against his chest. You were starting to stir.

He turned his head just enough to watch you, that soft haze of sleep still in your features. He found himself smiling, just a little. The lines in his face stayed, though. The ones that came from time and sorrow and holding it all in for too long.

You blinked up at him.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered back, eyes warm and knowing.

He groaned, turning his face away slightly. “Don’t remind me.”

You gave a quiet laugh, but didn’t tease him for it. You never did. You just leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, fingers brushing along his ribs, gentle and grounding.

“I’m makin’ you pancakes,” you added softly. “Don’t fight me on it.”

He huffed, but it wasn’t real. “‘Course you are.”

He didn’t need gifts. Didn’t want anyone making a fuss. But if the day started like this—your warmth, your voice, your lips on his skin—then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Even if he still carried the ghosts, this morning... it felt different. Like maybe something was waiting on the horizon, and he wasn’t sure what—but he trusted you’d tell him when the time was right.

You flipped the last pancake onto the plate, steam rising as you added a handful of thawed berries—ones you’d carefully saved from the last supply run. They weren’t exactly fresh, but they were sweet enough, and they made the stack look a little more festive.

Birthday pancakes.

Joel would pretend to grumble about it, but you knew he appreciated it. The small gestures. The quiet kind of love. You’d learned early on not to make a big deal of his birthday. Not out loud, anyway. But that didn’t mean you’d let it pass by like any other morning.

“Damn, something smells good,” Ellie mumbled as she shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking up in five different directions, sleeves too long for her arms. She plopped down at the table, blinking slowly. “Is it somebody’s birthday or somethin’?”

You smirked as you slid a plate in front of her. “Could be.”

Joel followed behind her a second later, moving slower, like his body hadn’t quite forgiven him for being nearly sixty.

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he sat down across from her, eyes drifting to the plate you set in front of him.

Pancakes. Berries. A little dab of honey. No candles, no singing—just the kind of breakfast you didn’t make unless the day meant something.

He glanced at you, brow raised.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.

“I wanted to,” you replied, brushing your hand over his shoulder as you passed. “Don’t argue with me on your birthday, Miller.”

Ellie shoveled a bite into her mouth. “Holy shit,” she mumbled. “Are these the blueberries?”

Joel chuckled under his breath, fork already in hand. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he took his first bite. You saw the tension ease in his shoulders, just a little. Maybe the day still carried shadows for him, but right now? With a warm plate in front of him and people who loved him on either side?

He was okay.

You sat down beside him, resting your hand on your lap, feeling the thrum of nerves underneath your skin.

A knock on the door broke through the calm.

Joel looked up, chewing his last bite with a quiet grunt. You stood up to answer it, already guessing who it was. Sure enough, when you opened the door, Tommy stood there with a crooked grin and two hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

“Mornin’, birthday boy,” he called past you, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “You look real good for a hundred.”

Joel let out a groan, dragging a hand over his face. “You had to come by, didn’t you?”

“You think I’m missin’ the one day a year I get to remind you I’m younger and prettier?” Tommy grinned, clapping his brother on the back as he passed by.

“Debatable,” Ellie chimed in, still chewing. “And you missed the berries.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Berries?”

“Yup,” you said with an apologetic shrug, walking back to the stove. “Saved 'em for Joel. There’s still pancakes, though.”

Tommy sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “You spoil this man.”

“Someone has to,” you quipped, already grabbing another plate.

You served him a healthy stack—no berries this time, just a bit of honey and some leftover butter—and slid into your seat again. Joel was watching you, his eyes soft beneath the usual weight. He hadn’t said much, but you could feel it in the way his hand drifted to your knee under the table. Just a gentle touch. A quiet thanks.

Tommy shoveled in a bite and made a loud, satisfied sound. “Hot damn. You better marry her before someone else do.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You wanna lose a tooth today?”

You laughed, elbow resting on the table, chin in your hand. The teasing, the warmth, the way Ellie rolled her eyes and asked if she could have seconds—it all made the house feel full in a way you never took for granted.

Still, under it all, the secret sat in your chest like a fluttering heartbeat.

You’d give it a moment. Let them finish breakfast. Let Joel have this calm before you turned his world upside down.

In a good way, you hoped.

The house felt quieter once the door shut behind Ellie and Tommy. The laughter lingered in the walls for a moment, then faded, replaced by the gentle creak of wood and the soft clink of dishes as you rinsed them off.

Joel was still finishing the last of his coffee, sitting back in his chair, watching you. He looked more relaxed now—shoulders looser, lines around his mouth softened. Birthdays were hard for him, but this one… it hadn’t been bad.

You dried your hands on a dish towel, heart thudding steady but loud. You knew you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping toward him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

His brow knit slightly, but he nodded, setting the mug down. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” you breathed, sitting down across from him, your hands resting in your lap. “Not wrong. Just… big.”

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table. You reached for his hand without thinking, grounding yourself in the warmth of his calloused fingers.

“I didn’t know how to bring this up earlier. Didn’t wanna spring it on you in front of everyone,” you started, voice quiet. “But I’ve been feelin’… off. The past few weeks.”

His expression shifted—concern flickering behind his eyes, guarded like always. “You sick?”

You shook your head, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “No. I went to the clinic yesterday. Ran a test.” You swallowed, heart climbing to your throat. “Joel… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like dust caught in sunlight.

Joel blinked. Once. Twice. He didn’t say anything—just stared at you, eyes wide, unreadable. Then slowly, without a word, he stood up from the table and took a step back, hand resting on the edge of the counter like he needed something to hold onto.

“You’re… you’re sure sure?” he asked, voice hoarse. “I mean—are they sure?”

You gave a soft laugh, heart aching with affection. “Yeah. They’re sure. I’m late, the test was positive, and… I feel it. I know it.”

Joel let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. His shoulders dropped as he sat back down, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I just—I didn’t think—I mean, hell, at my age?” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes wide and almost dazed. “I didn’t think that was even possible anymore.”

You reached for his hand again, thumb brushing the top of his knuckles. “Well… apparently it is.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. And something shifted in his face. Like the ground underneath him had tilted, but he was choosing to stay standing anyway.

“You’re… you’re okay with this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I wouldn’t have told you today if I wasn’t. I know it’s gonna be a lot, but… yeah. I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Joel’s eyes started to glisten, and he cleared his throat hard, blinking fast as he turned his face away for a second. When he looked back at you, his voice was thick.

“Thank you,” he said.

It broke something open in you.

“For what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“For this. For you. For givin’ me a reason to think there’s still more life out there for me than just survivin’.”

He reached out, cupped your cheek with a rough hand, his thumb brushing just under your eye.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second chance,” he murmured. “Not with someone like you. Not like this.”

You leaned into his palm, smiling through the tears that started to slip down your cheeks.

“Well… surprise,” you whispered.

Joel gave a breath of a laugh, then leaned in and kissed you—slow, steady, reverent. The kind of kiss that said everything his words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that promised he would be here for all of it.

For you.

For the baby.

For the life you were building together, one quiet moment at a time.

Sunday dinner was loud in the best way.

Tommy and Joel had spent the afternoon repairing one of the water lines near the edge of town, and both were still rubbing their lower backs like old men. Maria was bouncing little Benji on her knee, spoon-feeding him mashed carrots between exaggerated airplane noises, while Ellie recounted an incident involving a runaway chicken and a pitchfork.

You’d always loved these nights—long tables, shared food, laughter that made the walls feel smaller in the best way. But tonight, your hands kept drifting to your lap, nerves curling in your stomach even though you’d done this a dozen times in your head.

Joel’s knee brushed yours beneath the table.

He glanced at you, gave a small nod.

It was time.

You reached for your glass and gently tapped your spoon against it. “Uh… can I say something real quick?”

The table quieted. Benji let out a soft squeak and tried to grab a carrot off Maria’s plate.

Joel cleared his throat. “We’ve got some news.”

Maria looked up first, brows raised. Ellie paused mid-chew.

You smiled nervously, heart thumping. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, no one said a word. Then—

“What?” Ellie blurted, voice cracking halfway through the word.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, his hand slipping onto your thigh, grounding. Ellie set her fork down slowly, blinking like she hadn’t quite heard you right.

“You mean like… an actual baby?” she asked, eyes wide. “Your baby?”

You nodded, leaning closer to Joel's side. “Yeah. Our baby.”

Ellie opened her mouth, closed it, then reached for her water like her brain needed a reboot. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Joel murmured.

“I’m gonna be a big sister?” she asked softly, blinking hard. And then her face cracked into a smile—wide and kind of watery. “I’m gonna be a big sister.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle, grinning ear to ear. “Joel, buddy. You still got swimmers at your age?”

Joel groaned loudly. “Tommy, I swear—”

“I mean, damn! You’re nearly sixty and still makin’ babies? What’s in the water over at your place?”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. Joel muttered something under his breath, but he was smiling, too, shaking his head as Tommy clapped him on the back.

Maria just laughed and leaned her cheek against Benji’s soft hair. “Honestly, I had a feeling.”

Joel looked at her sideways. “You did?”

“You turned down a glass of wine at dinner last week,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You. You never turn down wine.”

You shrugged with a grin. “Was trying to be subtle.”

“Well, I’m glad you told us now,” she said, smiling warmly. “Benji’s gonna need a little buddy to boss around.”

Benji cooed like he somehow approved.

Then Maria stood and crossed the space to pull you into a hug, tight and full of warmth. Ellie joined a second later, throwing her arms around both of you, mumbling something like “I’m not crying” even though she very much was.

Tommy wrapped an arm around Joel with a playful shake and muttered, “Old man,” while Joel just rolled his eyes and let it happen.

In the middle of it all—arms tangled, laughter echoing, and that familiar scent of home-cooked food still hanging in the air—you felt it.

Family.

Not perfect. Not always easy. But real. Rooted. Growing.

And you were bringing another piece into it.

Dinner had long passed. The dishes were done, the laughter faded into memory, and Ellie had gone back to her room with a final hug that lingered just a little longer than usual.

Now, the two of you were tucked beneath the soft quilt, the chill of Jackson’s night air kept at bay by Joel’s familiar warmth beside you. The house creaked gently, like it was settling in for the night too.

You lay on your side, facing him, his arm already around you. The bedside lamp was off, but the moonlight spilling through the window was enough to catch the faint lines on his face—the quiet, thoughtful ones that only ever appeared when he let his guard down.

He hadn’t said much since the others left. Not out of hesitation, but the way he always got when something mattered so much it felt sacred.

His fingers brushed your stomach lightly under your shirt. Slow. Careful.

There wasn’t much of a bump yet—just the slightest swell, barely there—but his touch was reverent, like he was afraid to miss even a second of it.

“That’s really ours in there,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Whole little person. Just... growin’.”

Your hand covered his. “Yeah. They’re in there.”

He shifted closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then just above your temple.

“I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up,” he murmured. “That this is some dream I’m gonna lose. But then I touch you, and it’s real.”

You turned your face to kiss the underside of his jaw, voice soft. “It’s real, Joel. You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

He nodded, throat tight. His palm stayed resting on your belly, like it anchored him.

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” he asked, voice thick with quiet emotion.

You smiled. “You show me every day.”

“Gonna say it anyway,” he whispered, kissing you again. “I love you, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

The two of you fell asleep like that—his hand over the life you were building together, your fingers laced with his, hearts beating steady in the dark.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Joel Miller didn’t feel haunted by his past.

He felt ready for the future.

[stargirlygirl]

Lads walkingvin on mc pleasuring themselves with sex toys they didn't know she had

star girl's initial words: thank you so much for requesting! hope you like this one. i've seen writers do this prompt before, so my apologies if i have nothing new to add. ALSO there's no raf as our relationship is tricky😔

they catch you during solo time

⭑.ᐟ caleb

i imagine you're sprawled out on your shared bed and caleb's been working a lot recently. when the colonel comes home, his sharp ears instantly pick up on your quiet gasps and moans.

he's in stealth mode as he creeps down the hallway and peers at you through the ajar bedroom door. pathetic. were you so needy you couldn't even close it? he thinks. but those thoughts fade as soon as he sets those tired sunset eyes on you.

oh, you naughty girl.

your lip is drawn between your teeth as you pump a pretty pink dildo in and out of your pussy. your slick glistens in the late afternoon light, covering your inner thighs and the lucky sex toy between them.

caleb groans low, palming his growing bulge through his too-tight trousers. he watches your back arch and hand stutter, burying the dildo deep in your cunt. the sweetest whimpers cascade from your lips, caleb's name slipping out amongst them.

he's already storming into the room before he can stop himself.

the colonel grabs your hand and wrenches it off the dildo. your eyes snap wide open, and your chest heaves.

"caleb!" you exclaim, trying to sit up, but you're still full of the toy. his other gloved hand presses the centre of your chest down, effectively pinning you to the mattress.

"what's this, pips?" letting go of your hand, he grips the base of the dildo and draws it out of your snug walls. you let out a soft moan, gnawing on your lower lip once more as you stare up at your partner.

"miss me, huh?" he asks cockily, sliding the dildo back in at an agonisingly slow pace. you nod energetically. his hand on your chest trails up, his leather-coated fingers tangling in your hair. he pushes your head up while kneeling on the bed, your foreheads touching while he fucks you with the toy.

he breathes out, "i missed you, too, honey. but this isn't fair. you can't do this without me." you whine as he pulls the drenched dildo out in one go. your arousal drips onto the bed.

caleb frowns. the dildo doesn't look anything like his cock. it's thinner and longer.

he asks, jealousy tinging his voice, "am i not good enough?"

"no!" you blurt out, reaching for the dildo, but he tosses it over his shoulder like a piece of trash.

"caleb!" you whine. but you don't have time to scold him before your massive boyfriend is climbing on top of you. shoes on the bed and everything, he cages you in.

"don't i make you feel good? are you bored of me?" he interrogates you, his eyes betraying his hurt. they look glassy in the sun's final rays.

you shake your head panically and insist, "no! that's not it, baby. i've-i've had this one for ages, i swear! n' i love how you make me feel. always make me feel so good, babe."

closing the distance between you, caleb catches your lips in a fiery kiss. he kisses you like he's trying to devour you and prove a point at the same time— that he can satisfy you in ways no one else can. especially wayyyyy more than some fuck ass dildo that doesn't even deserve to go near your sacred cunt.

all night long, caleb demonstrates just how attentive of a partner he can be. of course, while still in his uniform.

⭑.ᐟ xavier

you recently bought this new sex toy that you've been dying to try out. with xavier crashed out on the couch, you turn off the movie you two were watching and sneak off to your bedroom.

pulling the rabbit vibrator out of the box, you check the instructions and make sure everything is in working order before turning it on. it's low buzz echoes throughout the room, making heat pool in your tummy. stripping off your shorts and panties, you flop on the bed and start teasing yourself with the vibrator.

it's only been a few minutes of having the long part nestled deep in your cunt when the bedroom door softly creaks open.

in peers a sleeply xavier, one slender hand rubbing his eyes while he murmurs, "i heard a buzzing, love. is everything okay—" your eyes lock, and you frantically pull the vibrator out and turn it off.

"xavier!" you squeal grabbing the covers the hiking them up over your body. your poor boyfriend, he just stands here, wide-eyed in the doorway.

you grumble from beneath the quilt, "babe! go away!" it's quiet for another minute or so before you feel the space next to you sink with xavier's weight. you clutch the covers for dear life, but he pries them away from your hands.

your face is flushed as you stare up at your partner. his big eyes rest on you, his lips slightly pouty.

he says softly, "you could have told me you wanted my attention."

you shake your head and admit, "i wanted to try out my new toy, babe."

"oh," he mumbles, glancing away momentarily. feeling guilty, you place your hand on his bent thigh and squeeze it.

"xav," you call quietly. the only sound that can be heard is the rain pattering against the windows.

he gazes back down at you and offers, "why don't we try it out together?" sitting up, you fish around for the toy beneath the quilt.

"you sure you don't mind?" you ask, your hand closing around the handle. he hums in agreement as you pull it out.

grinning, you inform him, "it's a bunny, like you." he stares at the sex toy quizzically.

"what?" he asks. you laugh as you kick the covers off and shuffle over to him. he takes the toy from you while you spin around and sit on his lap, your back against his chest. grabbing his wrist, you bring the vibrator down to your pussy.

"let me show you how it works..."

⭑.ᐟ sylus

the crime overlord shows up at your linkon apartment unannounced, only to find you moaning his name with a bullet vibrator on your clit. your eyes are closed, head thrown back as the constant buzz takes you to a higher dimension.

sylus chuckles cockily, "what a warm welcome kitten." your eyes shoot open and immediately find your partner taking a seat at the end of your bed. you remove the vibrator from your clit and fumble to turn it off.

his deep voice interrupts your efforts, "please, sweetie. go on. pretend i'm not even here." you're too pleasure-drunk to come up with a witty remark to hopefully wipe that stupid smirk off his face. so you just lie back, eyeing him cautiously as you flick your vibrator back on and pick the sole setting every girl needs.

"you sure?" you ask breathily, spreading your legs wide for your boyfriend. he nods, still grinning arrogantly. you run the small vibrator through your folds, wetting it thoroughly before pressing the tip on your clit. a moan tears through your throat, jagged as your free hand cups your breast beneath your tank top.

sylus observes the slight tremble in your legs and how your back arches as you alternate between pinching your nipples. the vibrator never falters; it provides the kind of consistency men often struggle to.

nonetheless, you miss your partner's strong, rough hands on you. you miss those thick fingers curling up into your g-spot, and his hot mouth sucking on your sensitive bud.

"sy," you whimper, removing the vibrator from your pussy and switching it off.

"something wrong, kitten?" he teases, but you notice the strain in his voice.

sitting upright, you pout at him, "please, baby. 's no fun without you." he chuckles richly before standing up and making his way over to you. his black leather pants can't conceal his hardening length, that's for sure.

leaning down, you hold his cheeks and draw him into a loving kiss. you two haven't seen each other for days.

drawing back, you pant, "missed you, sy. need you." you cling to his leather jacket and pull him down onto the bed. his large frame engulfs yours as your lips and tongues dance the line between love and lust.

"please," you mewl into his mouth. separating, spit connects your swollen lips.

your boyfriend chuckles, "what do you need from me, sweetie?" the glittering ropes snap as you draw in a sharp breath, your eyes hungrily gazing at his lips.

"need all of you, sy. in me, till sunrise," you whine. he hums low, the sound caught in his throat. coming in close, he captures your lips in another heated kiss and vows to fulfil your every desire.

⭑.ᐟ zayne

pleasure shoots through your body, the clitoral suction vibrator doing everything and more to your swollen nub. you're unable to stifle your moans as the bedroom door is quietly pushed open.

zayne's head peaks in, his sleep-deprived hazels wandering over you. he gulps, his gaze narrowing in on the toy in your hand. heat flares in his lower tummy, your broken whimpers fuelling the blood rushing to his cock.

unintentionally, your boyfriend swings the door wide open. the hinges squeak, and so do you as you notice him standing there.

"zayne!" he strides in, seeming as calm and collected as ever while his eyes shift to the vanity.

"sorry, my love. i didn't mean to disturb you," he murmurs, undoing his beige waistcoat. reaching the wardrobe, zayne's back is to you as he starts undressing.

hearing the buzz stop, he urges you on, "please, keep going. i'll only take a minute." the sheets rustle and soon enough, your warm, bare body presses into your lover's from behind. your arms encircle his hips, fingers toying with his belt buckle.

"zaynie," you coo. he turns in your grasp and cups your cheeks, his white shirt half-unbuttoned.

you grin sweetly, "i missed you. will you please come to bed?" zayne's cool thumb strokes your cheekbone soothingly as he thinks over your proposal.

he clarifies, "don't you want some alone time, dear?" you shake your head while keeping your eyes on his.

"i want you," you respond breathily. standing on your tippy-toes, you pull your boyfriend into a hungry kiss. pushing your body flush against his, you giggle into his mouth at the hardness poking into your stomach.

breaking the kiss, you ask smugly, "how long were you watching me?"

pink dusts zayne's cheeks as he rasps out, "not very long."

"and you're already this worked up?" you tease. your lover sighs, but a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"i'm afraid you have that kind of effect on me, darling," he admits. chortling softly, you draw him into another tender kiss— one of many tonight.

masterlist

star girl's final words: random lore drop for today is that i love the sound of music, and sylus's line is inspired by/adapted from gayorg's when he finds maria sitting alone at night (just before something good).