#and full of love bursting at the seams

[maidjor-organ-failure]

girls night has really just turned into seeing how many tgirls we can fit on a single couch and im proud to report we have begun resorting to having one strewn across all our laps <3

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

casually spending the evening breaking my own heart by writing a baby milex france fic

[strbrrygashes]

i may feel everything too strongly, but what is the point of having a heart if not to feel everything deeply. i know love is real because i exist and i am full of it.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Mini-Charles | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: He’s used to fans, but something about this tiny one in Suzuka hits different, and Charles can’t stop smiling. Mini-Charles 2026 pretty-please? you'd make such an amazing maman mon amour-

A/N: Chat I fear I cooked with this one. Mini-Charles literally made my ovaries almost burst, so I present thee with this little blurb.

CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

One of the best parts about the Japanese Grand Prix was always the fan stage. Rain or shine, Suzuka fans showed up in full force, enthusiastic, respectful, and often wildly creative. Charles had seen all kinds of things over the years—handmade banners, fans in full Ferrari suits, even one guy who brought a cardboard cutout of him as a saint to every single event. But this time, something, or rather someone, really stole the show.

It started when Charles was doing the fan Q&A alongside Lewis. He was mid-sentence, answering one fan’s question, when he noticed a flash of red near the front row. Not the usual Ferrari cap or flag, but something... smaller.

A child, maybe five or six years old, standing perfectly still with his hands on his hips in what could only be described as an exact replica of Charles’ fireproofs. Down to the logos. Even the custom detailing on the sleeves. He was wearing a mini version of Charles’ helmet too—full visor, the matte red and white colors perfectly matched. And the stance. God, he was standing exactly like Charles does when he’s focused in the garage.

Next to him were two girls around the same age. One was decked out in Max’s navy fireproofs and helmet, and the other had gone all out in papaya orange, even painting freckles on her cheeks like Lando. But it was the little Charles clone that made him pause mid-answer.

He leaned slightly toward Lewis, nodding subtly toward the kid.

"You seeing this?"

Lewis squinted. Then grinned. "Mini-you? Yeah. That kid's got your whole aura going on."

Charles laughed softly, eyes still glued to the boy. "He stands like me. That's terrifying."

"He's probably got the hand gestures down too."

Charles kept glancing at him throughout the session. Every time he looked, mini-Charles was looking back up at him, visor slightly tilted, tiny hands on his hips like he was part of the team.

It didn’t take long before a Ferrari PR staffer approached the boy’s guardian and arranged for them to come into the garage. Word traveled fast, and before Charles had even finished his media rounds, he heard, "Little Leclerc's in the garage!"

The name stuck immediately.

She found Charles in the Ferrari hospitality area a few minutes later, practically bouncing as he pulled her by the hand.

"You need to come see this kid. I swear to God, it’s like someone shrunk me."

She raised an eyebrow. "They cloned you in Japan?"

“I just wanna see him up close,” he said, glancing back at her with the giddiest grin. “He had the little visor, chérie. The visor! And the gloves. Like mine! And he even did the pose. Did you see that?”

She laughed. “Yeah, I saw. You’ve been smiling like an idiot ever since.”

He didn’t even deny it. “I love him. He’s my favorite person here.”

By the time they reached the garage, mini-Charles was standing between two engineers, who were enthusiastically showing him how the pit boards worked. His fireproofs were real. High-quality replicas down to the seams, probably custom-made. Even his boots had the little CL16 logo printed on them. He was soaking it all in with this quiet, intense focus that looked way too familiar.

Charles crouched down and called softly, "Hey, champion."

The boy turned instantly, visor flipped up to reveal a round face and wide brown eyes. He didn’t speak—just lit up with a shy grin and ran the last few steps into Charles’ waiting arms.

Charles caught him effortlessly and stood, the kid now perched on his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. His tiny gloves clutched the front of Charles’ polo, and the smile Charles gave him was soft, full of awe.

"You see this?" he asked her quietly. "I mean, come on. Look at the gloves. The detail. He’s even got the sponsor patches."

She stepped closer, smiling as she took in the sight of the boy.

"He’s better dressed than you."

Charles crouched beside him. “Tu es magnifique. You look better in my suit than I do.”

The boy just stared up at him in awe. “You’re my favorite driver.”

Charles clutched his chest, looking like he was about to melt into a puddle any second. “Mon coeur. I’m done for. You are adorable.”

They took photos—a lot of them. With the engineers, the mechanics, even Fred Vasseur came over to see what all the fuss was about and ended up holding the boy for a photo. The engineers joined in. The boy was passed around the garage like a VIP guest, posing with everyone, giving high-fives, and pretending to check tire pressures with an air of serious professionalism.

She stood nearby, arms crossed loosely, watching Charles with a fond smile that she didn’t even try to hide. He was fully enchanted. There was a softness in the way he bent to talk to the boy, the way he smoothed the kid’s hair when it stuck out from the helmet. She hadn’t seen that side of him in a while—not since their last trip to her home when he spent a whole afternoon playing pretend race car with her nephew in the living room.

Then Charles was waving her over, grinning. “Come on, chérie. You have to be in the photo too.”

“I’m not in uniform,” she said, gesturing to herself.

“But you’re part of the team,” he insisted. “We need a proper photo. Mini-Leclerc needs his whole crew.”

The three of them posed together—Charles, her, and the tiny version of him in the middle, clutching the helmet proudly.

"Smile!" someone called. "We need a nice family photo of the Leclercs!"

She froze slightly at the comment, but Charles just grinned, looking between her and the boy with a soft, far-off, dreamy expression. He didn’t correct them. Didn’t even blink.

After the photos, someone jokingly put mini-Charles on the scale, and the number made Charles nearly choke.

"Sixteen point sixteen kilos? Are you kidding me? That’s... that’s my number! Twice!"

He was laughing, absolutely delighted, holding the boy’s hand as the mechanics lost it behind him.

Later that night, back in the hotel, he was still grinning.

"Did you see how he stood by the car? Like he was about to jump in and drive it. I swear, it was like watching a tiny version of myself."

She sat on the bed, watching as he opened his phone and showed her photos from earlier. "Look at this one. Look how he’s holding my visor like it’s sacred. This kid gets it."

"You were smitten."

"Can you blame me? I mean... that could be our actual little Leclerc one day."

She looked up slowly. "Oh, we’ve moved on from 'mini-me' to actual mini Leclerc now?"

He leaned into her side with a sigh. “He was perfect. Did you see how serious he looked when I let him sit in the simulator? Like a little pro.”

She smiled. “You’re obsessed.”

“I am,” he admitted easily. “I want one.”

She blinked. “A simulator?”

“A Mini-Me. Like… a real one. Ours.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You want a kid now?”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t, like, wake up thinking that. But then I saw him, and—mon dieu—he looked exactly like me. It was so weird. And he had the little gloves and the fireproofs. I swear, he had the same little fold in the elbow. I didn’t know kids could look that cool.”

She laughed. “Charles.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “I already found a onesie online. Look.”

He pulled up his phone and showed her a Ferrari red baby onesie with a tiny number 16 on the back.

“Stop.”

“There’s a mini balaclava too,” he said, completely ignoring her tone. “And look—this one has a hood shaped like a helmet. Isn’t that cute? I mean, come on. This baby looks ready for a race.”

“Charles. You're literally in the middle of a championship fight. You don’t sleep enough as it is. Not to mention you travel all year. When would you even see this baby?”

“‘I’d make time obviously.”

“And babies cry. And don’t sleep. And poop. A lot.”

“I can handle poop.”

She stared. “That’s your strongest argument?”

“No, my strongest argument is that I would make an amazing dad,” he said proudly. “I would be so fun. Like, I’d teach them how to race little go-karts and read them bedtime stories in three languages. And make the best sandwiches for school lunches. And if they wanted to wear their race suit to preschool, I’d let them.”

She bit her lip to hold back a laugh. “Max is having a baby,” he added after a pause.

“Oh no. You’re not doing this.”

“Why not? I’m just saying. Max is having a baby.”

“And?”

“So why can’t we?”

“Charles, this isn’t a competition.”

He pouted. “It’s not not a competition.”

“Unbelievable.”

He sighed and slumped against her, his fingers drawing aimless shapes on her arm. “You’d be such a good maman. You’re warm and patient and you already take care of me and Leo. It’d be easy.”

“Charles Leo is a dog. You’re talking about an actual real life baby here!”

“I’m not saying now now,” he said quickly. “Just… soonish. Ish. I’m just planting the idea. Watering the seed. Like a gardener.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can the gardener sleep now?”

He grinned. “Can I fall asleep while showing you just one more video? It’s this baby in a chef outfit trying to flip pancakes and he throws them on the dog.”

She groaned. “Bed. Now. It’s not the right time for this conversation.”

He followed her into bed, still murmuring about Mini-Charles and tiny helmets and kids in the paddock.

As she lay down, he slid in beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "What if I just... keep showing you baby videos until it becomes the right time?"

"That’s not how this works."

"I found one earlier of a baby eating spaghetti for the first time and just losing it. It reminded me of you."

"Charles No."

"Or the one with the baby who keeps saying 'no' to everything? That one’s also very familiar."

"Go to sleep."

“I’d call him Jules,” he whispered against her neck. “If it’s a boy.”

“Go to sleep, Charles.”

He pouted into her shoulder. “Fine. But at least think about it. Just saying, Little Leclerc has a nice ring to it."

She turned off the bedside lamp and rolled back towards him, burying her face in his chest. "Sleep now. Babies later."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and sighed.

"Fine. But just you wait. One day, I’m putting that onesie in my shopping cart."

And she couldn’t help but smile.

Because if today had shown her anything, it was that Charles Leclerc would make a very cute dad. Just... maybe not this season.

“Bonne nuit, future maman.”

“Stop!”

He grinned against her shoulder and didn’t say another word. But she could feel the way his fingers gently traced circles over her stomach, and she didn’t stop him.

Maybe one day. Just not today.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (2/2) | orange theory

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, yuki tsunoda, isack hadjar, and liam lawson + special feature franco colapinto and lance stroll (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : quiet moments where love is tested through the smallest acts because sometimes, peeling an orange says more than 'i love you.'

୨ৎ : genre : fluff & romance ୨ৎ : word count : tbd

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : race weekend <3 also if you guys liked the addition of franco and lance pls lmk and i will keep them in my one-shots <3

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you ask him to peel an orange for you one afternoon, not thinking much of it.

he blinks, looks at the fruit in your palm like it personally insulted him. “…you can’t?”

“i can. just asking.”

kimi rolls his eyes but takes it anyway, wordless. you assume he’s doing it just to get you off his back.

except every time you glance over, he’s still quietly focused. thumbs working carefully along the seams, jaw tight in concentration.

when he hands it back, peeled neatly, he mutters under his breath, “don’t make this a thing.”

but then the next day, there’s an orange in your bag. already peeled. wrapped in a napkin with a tiny corner note that just says: eat something.

he never says it outright, but you catch him keeping extras in the fridge. watching when you reach for one, subtly grabbing it first.

once, while traveling, he grumbles, “the oranges here suck,” and spends ten minutes trying to find the sweetest one at a random airport kiosk.

kimi’s love isn’t loud. it’s in the things he does without asking. in the way he makes space for you in his routines. and he never lets you notice until it has already become a habit.

ʚ・ollie bearman

“peel this for me?” you hand ollie the orange and grin.

“easy,” he says, like a man who has peeled maybe one orange in his entire life.

cut to him ten seconds later, absolutely struggling. peel halfway off, juice everywhere, face a little too serious for citrus duty.

“you good?” you ask.

“babe, i got this. trust the process.”

by the end, it looks more like orange chunks than slices, and your kitchen towel is a crime scene.

he hands you the peeled mess with proud eyes. “there. gourmet.”

you bite into a piece and smile. “tastes like chaos.”

ollie smirks. “tastes like love.”

you think it ends there, but later that week, he walks in with a little plastic orange peeler from the grocery store. “look what i got. so i don’t suck next time.”

you stare at him, stunned.

he shrugs. “i googled it. i’m evolving.”

ollie might joke and make a mess of it, but he’s the kind of boyfriend who learns for you. who sees the meaning behind silly little gestures. and yeah, maybe he can’t peel an orange like a pro yet, but he’ll try every time. that’s what makes it perfect.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

you hand him an orange with the simple request: “can you peel this?”

yuki doesn’t even blink. “what? why can’t you do it?”

you grin. “just testing something.”

“testing what? this isn’t school. i’m not peeling oranges on command.”

he rants for two minutes. hands flying, eyebrows furrowed, pacing like this is a full-blown debate. then he snatches the orange and goes at it like it personally offended him.

you watch him peel with furious focus. lips pursed. intensity unmatched.

when he finishes, he tosses it on the table. “there. happy?”

you burst out laughing. “yuki… you passed.”

he blinks. “wait, what?”

“it was a tiktok thing. a love test.”

“you’re insane.”

but after a few seconds, he shifts in his seat. picks up the orange again and starts pulling the white bits off.

“still kinda ugly,” he mumbles. then softer, “next time, just ask for fruit. no tests.”

the next day, he peels you one again. this time without a word, just places it in front of you like it’s nothing.

he complains. he yells. but he also listens. learns. and peels your oranges like you matter, even if he grumbles the whole time.

ʚ・isack hadjar

you hand isack an orange and ask him to peel it.

he squints at you, suspicious. “why? is it poisoned?”

“no. i just want to see something.”

“oh. it’s a bit. i hate your bits.”

still, he takes the orange. peels it slowly, deliberately, while muttering, “can’t believe i’m falling for this again.” then hands it to you with a flourish. “there you go, citrus royalty.”

you laugh and take a bite. “that was the orange peel theory,” you say. “you passed.”

he stares at you. “the what?”

you explain. he shakes his head. “you realize i’d do it even if it was poisoned, right?” then casually adds, “don’t make that weird.”

later, he sends you a meme of a guy peeling 40 oranges at once with the caption: me proving i care about you.

he’ll mock your tiktok love tests. he’ll call them dumb. but he’ll do them anyway. every single time.

because behind the sarcasm and chaos, isack hadjar is actually a big softie. if peeling an orange earns your smile, he’ll keep doing it. with flair.

ʚ・liam lawson

“peel this for me?” you ask, tossing the orange into liam’s lap.

he blinks at it, then up at you. “…sure,” he says, no questions asked.

and he does. carefully. quietly. thumbs working slowly along the peel. no mess. no grumbling.

when he hands it back, he even splits the slices for you. “don’t eat the bitter part. i got rid of it.”

you’re stunned. “that was fast.”

he shrugs. “you wanted it.”

simple as that.

the next time you reach for an orange, he just takes it from your hand and starts peeling. like it’s muscle memory now.

liam doesn’t turn it into a moment. he doesn’t overthink. but he remembers how you like the slices stacked. how you hate the white strings. he even keeps tissues in the glove box of his car just in case you bring snacks again.

he’s that kind of boyfriend. quiet. thoughtful. constant. the type who peels oranges without needing to prove anything.

and it always makes your chest feel warm.

ʚ・franco colapinto

you ask franco to peel an orange for you and he lights up like you asked him to co-host a cooking show. “of course. one sec—should i get a knife? do you like wedges?”

you blink. “whatever works…”

five minutes later, your kitchen is a michelin-star performance. orange peeled, pith removed, segments arranged like art on a napkin. and a glass of water beside it.

“there. rehydration included.”

you stare at him. “it was supposed to be a tiktok thing.”

“a test?” he repeats, looking betrayed. “wait, i crushed that.”

and he did. franco becomes obsessed. peels oranges for you daily. puts them in your bag. posts stories like: she’s well-fed, folks.

franco turns fruit care into a full-fledged love language. he’s proud of his peeling skills. starts competing with himself over neatness and speed.

and every time he hands one to you, he says something like, “nothing but the best for my love.”

it’s not about the orange. it’s about how happy he is to give something to you. how he turns a silly test into a part of how he loves.

ʚ・lance stroll

“can you peel this for me?” you ask.

lance looks up from his book, then at the orange. he nods once and sets his bookmark down.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t make a joke. just peels it, slowly and carefully. removes every bit of the pith before handing it to you with a quiet, “here.”

you almost expect more. but that’s it.

he goes back to reading.

when you tell him about the trend, he raises an eyebrow. “you know i’d do anything for you, right? not just fruit.”

after that, he just starts doing it. no asking. orange? peeled. banana? peeled. strawberries? washed and in a bowl.

it’s not a big gesture. he doesn’t make it a production.

but he listens. he shows up.

and you start to notice how often he does things without being asked. like quietly plugging your charger in at night or packing snacks before a long drive.

lance loves in peaceful, reliable ways. no spotlight. just presence. and that’s exactly why it sticks with you.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Super happy, puppy dog yandere boyfriend that’s happy to have sex with you for the first time

afab reader ; nsfw

You look so beautiful in bed, all dolled up and pretty just for him! And only for him! He’s so excited that his pants feel way too restrictive, and if he had a tail you bet it’d be wagging a mile a minute. 

He looks at your soft curves, your bashful, oh-so-cute-eyes, and the rosiness of your adorable cheeks with so much love. Because he loves you. And he really REALLY means it. And wants to show you how he really feels tonight. He was so happy that you’d agreed to go all the way with him. 

When he undresses and leans over your body, hands squeezing your hips and inner thigh, you feel him trembling with anticipation. You giggle at the sight, and he swears your voice is like an angel from above singing holy scripture into his ears. 

You unclasp your bra, throwing it to the side of the room. He imagines smothering his face between your tits until you slowly peel your laced panties out from under you, revealing a perfectly pink pussy that has him practically drooling, all sense of self restraint bursting at the seams.

He’s all over you before you can even say a word, face between your legs, boyish hands keeping a vice like grip on your thighs to keep you open as he laps and laps away until he’s satisfied. Which in the moment, he thinks he’ll never be with how good you taste. His drool gets everywhere, coating your already wet cunt with his own juices. He apologizes for the mess and eagerly goes to clean it up with his tongue, sucking on your mound like a dog gobbling over a chew toy. 

Did he already say your voice sounds like an angel? Because your moans are so immaculate he can just listen to you say his name and ONLY his name all damn day. Just you and him. Together forever and ever and ever and ever —

The thought of spending eternity with you puts him over the edge, and he practically whines for you to let him put his cock inside. 

“Please, baby? I promise I’ll make you feel good. I promise! I wanna feel you so bad. I can’t take it anymore.”

You find his begging cute, but would be a cruel woman to tell him no when he’s staring at you with such puppy-love, lust ridden eyes. When you say yes, he’s over the moon, already covering your body with sloppy kisses and thank yous, muttering promises of how he’ll make you feel oh so full, oh so good, and that he’ll take care of you forever. 

He knows you’re not a virgin but he doesn’t care. He would have loved to be your first but that doesn’t matter now, the only thing that matters is making you his right this moment and making it to where you’ll never want another man ever again, just him. 

When his cock plunges into you he moans just as loud as you, if not more. You feel his heart pounding like crazy and reach to kiss him, sending him into a frenzy of ‘I love you’s and ‘Mine, mine, MINE’. He latches onto your tits like they’re a lifeline, feeling so high with adrenaline that he almost zones out and ignores your moans. Uh-oh, can’t do that! He wants to hear every noise you’ll make for him tonight. 

He’s fucking you so fast and so good you can barely think straight, and your fucked out expression just sends him over the moon. He squeals at your adorable face and holds you tighter, biting into your neck and laughing when you gasp at his actions. He hasn’t bothered counting how many times you’ve come. He just knows it’s been more than three. 

You ask him to take you from behind, doggystyle, and he happily obliges. He fucks you deep, slamming into you as hard as he can, gripping your ass and giving one cheek a nice smack. With a pull of your hair, he’s got you on both knees pressed flush against his body. He gives you another hickey on your neck, but not before another bite. 

“Oh you’re doing so good for me baby. Just like that! Yeah. Go ahead and cum for me.” He encourages. 

Boy, does he want to come inside you so bad, make you his and mark you, but he knows how you feel about that and opts to come outside instead, all over your perfect ass. 

When he finishes, he flops into bed next to you and holds you tight, looking at you with concerned but hopeful eyes. 

“How was that?? Was it good? You won’t leave me know will you? I know I liked it, but did you? We can go another round if you want. I wanna make you—“

You hush him with a reassuring kiss on the lips. 

[rafesangelita]

♡ rafe and pogue!sweetheart!reader reevaluate their living situation now that she’s carrying a little baby in her tummy.

warnings: babydaddy!rafe, pregnancy, soooo much fluff, crying (mostly happy tears! no worries), rafe is so reassuring :(

a/n: introducing rafe’s condo to my blog.. but tanneyhill will forever be my go-to :( also just a reminder: pogue!sweetheart!reader is only pregnant in this fic alone. meaning any other works i create with her are not correlated with this one UNLESS stated so <3 you could keep up with this little universe under the ‘₊˚⊹♡ babydaddy!rafe x pogue!sweetheart!reader’ tag on this post!

“why do you look so sad, baby?” rafe joined you outside, bringing you a cold glass of water as he urged you to sit down on his lap. you were growing teary-eyed again, your gaze falling on the pink and white camper in front of you. taking a small sip, rafe held onto the glass for you while you wiped at your tear stained cheeks. “it’s just,” you sniffled, “i know we can’t raise a baby here, but this little thing— it’s all i’ve ever known..” you rested your head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh. rafe studied you for a moment, stroking the side of your face.

“i’ve been meaning to talk about that actually,” rafe cleared his throat, “what if we didn’t go house hunting?” his words drew your attention, a hum falling from your lips. “and stay here? i would love that,” you shook your head, “but i know it’s for the best. we barely fit in there ourselves.” rafe laughed. “yeah, i know.. someone is always bumping their head when we have sex.” your cheeks heated as you slapped his arm playfully. “well to be fair, it was just me in there before you came along,” you sighed, “i can’t even imagine that now.” you pecked his cheek.

“at first, i thought maybe we could check out some houses on figure eight..” your eyes widened, your lips parting to reject his suggestion. “but,” rafe interjected, “i know that’s not really your scene.” he reassured you. “so i want to propose something else,” both of you looked at each other, “i’ve been working on this blueprint, m’thinking we just get our house built out here. you could design the kitchen however you want, whatever would be best for you and your baking, we can put the nursery together, do the whole thing y’know. go the whole nine yards.” you swallowed thickly, tears pricking your eyes.

“you have a blueprint?” you smiled, your vision becoming blurry as rafe nodded. “yeah, you wanna see?” you whispered a ‘yes, please!’ before he guided you inside. he reached for a spot you couldn’t reach in your cabinet, unraveling the blueprint in question. “see, right here? i thought you’d like the kitchen to have big window facing the backyard, oh, and right here!” he pointed a finger, “we could have shelves built into the walls for the baby’s room, we could even have a reading nook for bedtime stories..” your heart felt so full right now, you swore it could burst at the seams.

“what’s this empty space right here in the backyard?” you held up the paper, pointing to a spot where a little white heart was drawn. “..that would be where your camper goes.” your head shot in his direction, your eyebrows knitting in confusion. “what do you mean?” you put the blueprint down, turning around while he caged you between his arms. “i think we should build the house just right out front, you don’t have to move anything, relocate the camper, none of that. i could start getting the brush cleared out as soon as next week.” you blinked, your brain trying its best to piece everything together.

“you thought of all of this in the two weeks since we found out?” your hands snaked up his chest until your arms wrapped around his neck. rafe embraced you, his eyes shutting at the sweet scent of your perfume. “i told you, you have nothing to worry about, sweetheart. i’m taking care of everything.” you breathed him in, both of you rocking softly as the wind chimes sung outside in the light breeze. you two stayed in a comfortable silence, the image of watching the sunset together on the porch of your own house with a baby on your hip flooded both of your minds.

“it’s perfect.” you looked up at him, smiling when he pecked the tip of your nose. “the three of us, huh?” rafe loved the way that sounded rolling off of his tongue. “mhmm,” you let out a shaky breath, “the three of us.”

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 18th. lorenzo berkshire — time out.

lorenzo berkshire x fem reader

summary ; sometimes, it’s just obvious how badly your boy needs a small punishment. words ; 2.3k warnings ; smut, face sitting/riding, oral f!recieving, handjob, edging/orgasm denial, nudity

navigation ficmas masterlist

He could be insufferable. A tease. Neglectful. An absolute bastard when he wanted to be. It was his greatest talent—knowing exactly how to worm his way under your skin, leaving you simmering in irritation one moment and utterly weak for him the next.  

Today, however, he’d crossed a line.  

A brush of his hand over your waist in the morning, a kiss to your temple, murmured promises of later, love whispered against your neck. He'd teased you endlessly, winding you up until you felt like you were bursting at the seams, only to abandon you entirely.  

For his friends. His boys.  

You’d walked into the living room, hoping for his attention, only to find him sprawled across the couch with Theo and Blaise, laughing like nothing else in the world mattered. You’d even lingered, leaning against the doorframe, waiting for him to notice. He hadn’t.  

And now, here you were—stripped completely bare, walking through the house like you didn’t have a care in the world. Now he was trailing behind you, as if the guilt had finally caught up to him. You could feel his eyes on you—burning, desperate, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. He was on time out.

“Come on, babe,” he said, his voice a mixture of exasperation and apology. “How long are you going to ignore me?”  

You didn’t answer. Instead, you kept walking, bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor as you made your way into the kitchen. His footsteps followed close behind, his breaths quickening every time you passed through a beam of sunlight, your bare skin glowing in the afternoon light.  

He groaned audibly, and you caught a muttered, “Bloody hell,” under his breath.  

You opened a cabinet, pulling down a glass like he wasn’t even there. The cool air from the fridge kissed your skin as you grabbed a pitcher of water, still refusing to acknowledge him.  

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” he tried again, his tone shifting to something softer, almost pleading. “I messed up. I’m sorry, alright?”  

Nothing. You poured the water slowly, taking your time, knowing full well he was watching every movement.  

“Don’t do this to me,” he continued, stepping closer. “You know I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.”  

You took a sip, savoring the coolness of the water before setting the glass down.  

He sighed heavily, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You’re killing me here.”  

Finally, you turned to face him, leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed. His gaze was instantly on your chest, his lips parting slightly as his eyes drank you in.  

“What do you want, Lorenzo?” you asked, your tone sharp but calm.  

His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and almost innocent, like he hadn’t been caught ogling. “I want to fix this,” he said quickly, stepping closer.  

“Fix what?” You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “You didn’t do anything wrong, remember? Just spent the whole day ignoring me like I wasn’t even here.”  

“That’s not true—”  

“Isn’t it?” you interrupted, raising a brow. “Go on, tell me what I wore this morning.”  

He hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled for an answer.  

“Exactly.”  

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’re right. I was a shit boyfriend today. But I swear, I didn’t mean to—”  

“Didn’t mean to what?” you asked, taking a step closer. His breath hitched, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as you closed the gap. “Didn’t mean to leave me here all day while you laughed with your friends? Didn’t mean to tease me and then walk away like I didn’t matter?”  

He shook his head, his curls falling into his eyes. “No, I—”  

“Save it.” You stepped back, and he immediately reached for you, his hand brushing your wrist.  

“Please,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me how to fix it.”  

The corner of your mouth twitched, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “Anything?”  

“Anything,” he repeated, the word carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken.  

You studied him for a moment, taking in the way his chest rose and fell, the tension in his jaw, the unmistakable desire burning in his eyes.  

“Alright,” you said finally, your voice soft but firm. “Then you can start by keeping your mouth shut.”  

His brows furrowed slightly in confusion, but he didn’t argue.  

“And,” you continued, leaning in close enough that your breath ghosted over his lips, “if you’re good, maybe I’ll forgive you.”  

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his body practically trembling with anticipation. “I’ll be good,” he said quickly. “I promise.”  

“Good,” you murmured, brushing past him. “Then go sit down. I’ll tell you what to do next.”  

He didn’t hesitate. At your command, he sank to the floor, sitting back on his heels with a soft groan, eyes locked on you in a mixture of longing and obedience. His hands rested loosely at his sides, but the tension in his fingers was palpable.  

“Good,” you said, your voice dripping with authority as you surveyed him. “Now, on your back.”  

He swallowed, a slight shiver running through him at the coldness in your tone, but he obeyed. Lying flat on the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes never leaving you.  

You smirked as you walked toward him, every step deliberate, making sure he could see the sway of your hips, the slow roll of your muscles as you moved.  

“Hands where I can see them,” you ordered, your voice firm as you knelt down beside him.  

His hands shot up instinctively, palms open, placed carefully on the floor by his sides, where you could keep an eye on them.  

“Good boy,” you purred, but the praise was laced with a teasing edge. “You’re learning.”  

You straddled him then, positioning yourself slowly on top of him, your body hovering just above his. His breath hitched at the proximity, but you didn’t let him move a muscle.  

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, eyes narrowing as you met his gaze. “I’m in charge here. You don’t touch me. You don’t touch yourself.”  

His lips parted, but no words came out—just a needy sound that made you smile darkly.  

“Do you understand?” you asked, your tone a sharp contrast to the sweetness of your words.  

“Yes,” he breathed out, his voice barely audible but filled with an unmistakable edge of desperation.  

“Good.” You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Then stay still. If you can be good for me, maybe I’ll reward you later.”  

His body stiffened under you, a silent promise hanging in the air, but you didn’t let him say another word. This time, you were in control—and you had every intention of keeping it that way.

Your words seemed to paralyze him. As if suddenly realizing his position, his eyes widened, and he gave a subtle nod of understanding. He remained perfectly still, hands at his sides, body tensed in anticipation beneath you.

You shifted your weight, moving upwards until you hovered directly over his face. The heat of your core radiated onto his skin, eliciting a muffled gasp from below. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't dare move a muscle, obeying your strict command.

"Remember," you murmured, your voice stern yet laced with a seductive undertone. "Not a single touch. Not unless I give you permission." You emphasized the last word firmly, ensuring he understood who held power in this moment.

With deliberate slowness, you lowered yourself onto his waiting mouth.

The moment you made contact, a low moan escaped him, vibrating against your sensitive flesh. His tongue flicked out tentatively, seeking permission, but he held himself back from fully tasting you.  

"That's it," you cooed, grinding down ever so slightly. "Just like that."

His breath grew ragged as he fought to maintain control, his restraint evident in the way his hands clenched at his sides. But despite his efforts, small whimpers of need slipped free with each pass of his tongue along your slit.

"You're doing so well," you praised, your voice thick with approval. "Such a good boy for me."

His response was muffled but enthusiastic—a desperate sound that sent shivers racing up your spine.

Your words seemed to embolden him further. Despite his earlier hesitation, now there was a newfound determination in the way he explored you with his mouth. His tongue swirled around your clit before delving deeper, stroking your inner walls with fervent precision.

Your moans echoed throughout the room, spurring him on as he devoured you hungrily. His nose brushed against your sensitive nub each time you ground down onto him, adding an extra layer of stimulation that left you gasping for air.

As much as you wanted to succumb to the pleasure coursing through you, you maintained control—your grip tightening on his hair as you guided him exactly where you needed him most.

"Yes," you hissed between clenched teeth, feeling the pressure building within you. "Right there...don't stop."

His movements became more frantic, driven by a primal urge to please you. Each stroke of his tongue was punctuated by a low growl of satisfaction from deep within his throat, as if he couldn't get enough of your taste.

Your thighs trembled around his head, your grip on his hair loosening slightly as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy. Every nerve ending felt electrified, every inch of skin hypersensitive to even the slightest brush against it.

"Fuck..." The curse fell from your lips like a prayer, your body arching into his touch as you chased after that elusive peak. And when it finally crashed over you—an intense wave of pure bliss that left you breathless and spent—you cried out his name like a mantra.

Your breathing was uneven as you finally lifted yourself off his face, his cheeks slick and his lips parted as he gasped for air, his pupils blown wide with a mix of arousal and desperation. You could see the faintest glimmer of relief in his expression, as if he thought the punishment might finally be over.  

Poor thing.  

Without a word, you turned around, shifting your legs to straddle his head again—but this time facing his body. His gasp was muffled as your thighs enveloped him once more, his tongue automatically seeking you out like the obedient little toy he was.  

“Don’t stop,” you ordered, planting your hands on his firm chest for balance.  

He groaned in response, the vibrations sending a pleasant jolt through your core. The angle allowed you to see every twitch of his body, every small shift in his hips as he sought any kind of friction against the unrelenting tightness of his jeans.  

Your gaze drifted lower, to the tent in his pants that looked almost painful. His cock strained against the fabric, the tip undoubtedly sticky with pre-cum by now. A wicked smile played on your lips as you leaned forward, fingers deftly working to unbutton his jeans.  

His hips bucked slightly, and you tightened your thighs around his head in warning. “Ah, ah. Stay still,” you chided, glancing over your shoulder.  

A muffled whimper escaped him, and you couldn’t help but grin as you slid his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock.  

“Look at you,” you purred, your fingers wrapping around his length. He twitched in your hand, the needy sound he made muffled beneath you. “So hard, so desperate. Is this what happens when you spend the whole day teasing me? Neglecting me?”  

You swiped your thumb over the tip, spreading the slickness there as he groaned against you. His tongue faltered for a moment, but you gave a sharp roll of your hips, reminding him of his place.  

“Focus,” you demanded, tightening your grip slightly on his cock. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”  

He doubled his efforts, his tongue working frantically as you began to stroke him with slow, deliberate movements. His hips bucked again, and you clicked your tongue in disapproval.  

“What did I say about staying still?” you asked, your tone low and threatening.  

He whimpered, his hands fisting against the rug as he fought to keep himself in check.  

“Good boy,” you murmured, speeding up your strokes just enough to make his hips jerk involuntarily. You could feel the tension building in his body, the way his thighs trembled and his breath hitched as you worked him closer and closer to the edge.  

And then, just as his body went taut and his cock twitched in your hand, you stopped.  

The strangled sound he made was almost pitiful, his hips bucking uselessly as he tried to chase his release.  

“Did you really think I was going to let you cum?” you asked, your tone dripping with mockery. “Not after the day you’ve put me through.”  

He whimpered again, his hands flying to his sides as if begging for permission to touch you, to do something, anything.  

“Ah, ah,” you chided, swatting his hands away. “This is a punishment, Lorenzo. You’re not supposed to enjoy it.”  

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. And yet, despite his desperation, his tongue never stopped.  

“Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before teasing me,” you said, your voice sharp and commanding. “And maybe, just maybe, you’ll remember who’s really in charge here.”  

You began to rock your hips again, grinding against his face with renewed fervor. He moaned against you, the sound sending a delicious shiver through your body as you chased your own release.  

His cock throbbed in your hand, still achingly hard and dripping with neglect, but you didn’t so much as glance at it.  

“Stay still,” you reminded him, your voice breathless as you felt yourself hurtling toward the edge.  

And when you finally came, your thighs clenching around his head and your moans echoing through the room, you knew he was entirely and completely yours. 

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[the-bi-space-ace]

sorry I’m currently crying over the idea of Rex as a dad to baby Fives and Echo. It has entirely consumed my thoughts.

[chiumii]

fucked silly ~ bff satoru gojo x inexperienced reader ౨ৎ ♡

satoru is your best friend, and he has been since the first grade. he's never trusted anybody the way he trusts you, apart from get of course. its also abundantly clear that you have the biggest crush on him, its written all over your face; especially when he takes you out somewhere expensive, whenever he compliments you, and especially when he teases you. in true gojo fashion, he want's to tease you until you're bursting out of your seams with pent up frustration, he can't help it when his cock hardens whenever you make that cute pouty face at him whenever he does so! , and today is his lucky day, when he teases you just enough for you to finally come undone. word count: 7000 (whoops) inexperienced! sub! reader x Dom! Gojo. Lots of sweet talking, praise, orgasm control, oral sex, gentle choking, very soft corruption. gagging very very gentle sex. beginning of a relationship tehe. mutual love, confessions.

"gojoooo, my feet are starting to hurt" your face flushes for the nth time as the man behind you pushes you into yet another clothing store. the two of you had been walking for 3 and a half hours around the local Shibuya shopping center since 12 pm. Gojo insisted the two of you go shopping as your birthday was next week, but he couldn't join you on the day because he was busy. so, to make it up to you he decided to take you on an unlimited shopping spree. 

"but we haven't gone in here yetttt, come on there are so many cute things in here" the white headed man squeals as he pushes you at lightning speed, almost causing you to trip over yourself one too many times. 

As you walk into the store, your eyes widen at all the cute articles of clothing the shop carries. you instantly throw all your bags full of other clothes and jewelry right into gojo's arms and he happily stumbles to grab them out of your hands with an amused chuckle, readjusting his blindfold. Suddenly, the pain in your feet disappears when you run around the store, looking at everything they have. 

After shopping around the store for another hour, your eyes land on a gorgeous pastel blue dress with white lace tracing the hem. you turn around, eyes landing on gojo who's walking around in the mens section of the store. 

suddenly, a sneaky idea pops into your head and before you can even second guess yourself, you grab the dress off the hanger and hide it in the pile of clothing you had already picked out around the store and walk towards satoru. 

"you ready?" he senses you before you even say anything, turning around so his body faces yours. with a cheeky smile on your face, you grab his arm and pull him towards the check out area without saying a word. 

"You are one expensive girl, you know that?" his legs spread apart slightly in the back of the bmw his private export is driving the two of you in. you feel your face heat up at his action and quickly punch his arm with a scowl.

"and you're the one who puts up with this expensive girl, you know that?" your snarky reply causes satoru to laugh, throwing one of your many plushies right into your face.

As you arrive back at your apartment, gojo directs the driver to pull into a parking spot and wait for him to return. Just like the man he is, gojo is whining the entire way to your apartment, complaining about how heavy all your bags are. 

"oh shut up, I know you can carry so much more than that so stop complaining" you jokingly snap at him, resulting in a whine coming from behind you. You grab your keys from your purse and unlock your door, setting your purse on its designated hook and walking into your humble abode. Gojo walks into your room and sets all your newly bought items on the bed, you following in his footsteps. 

"its around 5:30 now, what time did you say the reservation is at?" you ask the white headed man and walk towards your closet, looking at all the clothing you have yet to wear from your last shopping trip. 

"I set the reservation time to 8, but if you need more time to get ready I can call them and have a time change arranged" he says, turning around to face you. You hum to yourself, debating on if that's enough time to do the makeup and hair styles you want to do. 

"That should be enough time, that gives me 2 hours to get ready." you turn around to speak to him directly. 

"okay, I'll be back in a couple hours, dress nicely, I'm taking you to the best restaurant in Shibuya for my best girl" his flirting sends a dagger straight to your heart, not knowing he was being 100% serious. 

"get out of here, you're taking up my precious time" You spin him around and push him towards your front door, ushering the man out of your apartment. 

"UH, as if im not worth your time, why do you heart me so, y/n?" you roll your eyes at him for the millionth time today and push him out the door, locking it behind him. 

it takes you a second to regain yourself,,, especially after spending half the day with this stress case. before you're running into the bathroom to take a shower, shaving every nook and cranny of your body. 

Your makeup and hair take up most of the time you have, giving you only 15 minutes to get dressed and put on your perfume. You dig through all your freshly bought clothing before yanking out the beautiful blue and white dress. You set it on your bed, looking at it. You even have an internal debate with yourself on if you should even wear it or not. 

he doesn't see me like that, there is no point in trying to impress him. 

You begin to overthink, your mind racing a million miles per minute. The two of you have gone out to fancy restaurants together before, so how is this time any different? Suddenly, gojo's words ring through your head, reminding you that he told you to dress nicely. The dress is on you in an instant, hugging you in all the right places. Your curves are more prominent and your boobs sit so nicely. You take a look at yourself in the mirror, noticing how good the dress makes you look. the blue makes your face pop and your eyes shine, confidence radiates off of you like there is no tomorrow. 

Just as you are about to grab your shoes, you hear a knock at your bedroom door. You roll your eyes with a smile on your face before opening it. Satoru stands in the doorway, a smile on his face and a dozen of your favorite flowers in his hands. 

"thought I would let myself-" he cuts his sentence short. You tilt your head in wonder as the tall man in front of you raises his free hand from his pocket to grab the top of his blindfold, pulling it downwards so he can get a good look at you. 

His eyes trail up and down your body slowly, making your thighs clamp together and blush rise to your face.. and satoru notices your actions, but decides not to comment on it.

"give me a spin" a smile creeps onto his face as he brings his index finger into the air, signaling you to spin. You giggle to yourself before spinning around slowly, making sure gojo gets a good look at you. Your eyes lock onto his, and you can't help but smile up at him before shaking your head, another laugh forces its way out of your throat. 

"stop staring at me satoru, we're gonna be late" you walk towards him, grabbing the flowers out of his hands and walk past him and into the kitchen, placing the pretty flowers onto your kitchen table. you make a mental note to yourself to put them into water before you go to bed tonight. All gojo can do is clear his throat and brush a hand through his hair, trying not to mess it up too much before pulling his blindfold back over his eyes. 

suddenly, a realization hits him-

"hey wait, I don't remember buying that for you"

The restaurant is beautiful, it's one neither of you have gone to before. there is a big fish tank that compliments the side of the wall as you walk in. the lighting isn't too bright, which is nice since you don't normally like any sort of overhead lighting. The tables in the place are very nicely placed, and there are more private areas in some of the corners of the restaurant as well. Gojo does all the talking for the both of you as you look around at the place in awe. The smell in the building is phenomenal and your mouth waters at the sight of a waiter bringing out someone's dish. 

The hostess takes the two of you into one of the mentioned private corners, placing two menus onto the table before turning her body to gojo to talk to him. 

"im sorry, I'm aware this is very unprofessional of me but.. are you satoru gojo?" she asks and your ears perk up with interest. Gojo doesn't turn his head to face her as she speaks and answers the woman with a blunt

"yes I am" leaving no room for much small talk, but that doesn't seem to shake the hostess very much. 

"oh my god, I just wanna say you're so handsome... blah blah blah" you then decide to tune the two of them out, not wanting to accidentally upset yourself. You can tell by the way gojo moves that he's enjoying the attention, but isn't flirting back, which isn't really like him, but you don't complain. 

a minute goes by of the hostess rambling before gojo shuts down the conversation by asking for the waiter, leaving the hostess to shut her trap in embarrassment before walking off to grab the waiter, her cheeks red. Your ears turn back on as she walks away. 

"done flirting?" you ask, only half joking. He looks at you with a smirk before he responds, taking the fork out of the napkin and plays with it. 

"jealous?" you don't respond to him, all you do is roll your eyes and look down at the table. 

"don't be." it takes you a second to register the man's words before your head shoots up, your eyes widening in question. 

"what does that mean?" gojo laughs at your reaction and shrugs. truth be told, he's known of your little crush on him for a while now, and to say that he's flattered is an understatement. In true gojo fashion, he's been playing with you. not with your feelings, of course not! he cares way too much about you and would rather die than to hurt you in any way possible,,,, except when you're writhing underneath him as you scream his name. he's been letting the pent up frustration you have build over time until you're just about ready to burst. 

He wants you to be the one to confess first. 

"I'm just telling you that there is no need to be jealous!" his voice sounding hurt and his arms dramatically fall onto the table

"do you not trust me? im offended.. and I thought we were friends!" gojo over exaggeratedly look away from you, crossing his arms over his chest, causing you to laugh out loud, covering your mouth in the process. 

"oh stop it, we are! I was just wondering" you bring your hands out and reach over the table, grabbing one of gojo's arms and pulling it down, trying to stop him from making a scene. 

A little while later, the food the two of you had ordered is halfway gone and you're both talking each other's ear off. A comfortable silence clouds the table as you both stare at each other.. kind of, your head in your palms. Gojo doesn't want to ruin the comfortable atmosphere the two of you have created, but he has to tell you.

"y/n, I have to tell you something" his words instantly make your stomach drop and your palms sweat, your head tilts, signaling him to continue. 

"I'm leaving for a couple months on a mission, so I wont be able to see or talk to you for a little while" your smile falters and your palms move from your face to your lap. You look down, thinking of your next words to say. You understood that his job as a sorcerer was dangerous, which causes him to disappear for a long amounts of time, but with your growing feelings, it gets more and more difficult not being able to see him when he has to leave. 

"when will you be back?" your voice is small when you speak, signaling that you're somewhat upset. Gojo crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, getting more comfortable before breaking the news to you.

"this mission could last up to six months at the most, I leave in four days" the more you spend less and less time together the stronger he gets. you feel selfish for even thinking it, but you wish that he could spend more time with you instead of having to go out and exercising cursed spirits and saving people. of course you don't want him to quit saving people, but you just wish you could see him more than a couple times every 3-4 months. 

"just come back safe, that's all I care about" you say, looking back up with a smile, trying your best not to seem upset. an awkward silence looms over the table. 

"im fulllll I can't eat anything else ugh, we're gonna have to come back here some time" you say, trying to push aside the tense atmosphere. gojo completely ignores your sentence

"your dress, I got that for you today, right?" he says, leaning forward to get a closer look at you. You look down at your article of clothing as he mentions it. 

"yeah, you did! I thought it was a pretty color, so I just threw it in with everything else I got" you run your hands over the fabric of the dress, you look back up at the man across the table. 

"it is a very beautiful dress, but" his sentence is cut short. you tilt your head to the side in question as he grabs his glass of water, drawing it to his mouth. 

"hm?" you question in a hum. Before he can take a sip, he speaks. his words shifting the atmosphere in the entire building. 

"it would look better off of you" he says, proceeding to take a sip of his drink. all air was sucked from your lungs and your face instantly changes color into the deepest shade of red. your wide eyes stare at the man in front of you. up until now, he has never flirted with you, let alone anything remotely dirty, and his words have your thighs rubbing against each other within less than a second. 

there is absolutely no way he just said that to me

"stop messing with me," you tell him, completely trying to ignore what he just said to you, looking away from him, trying to focus on something else- anything else. 

"how much did everything come to anyways, I feel kind of bad for getting so much" you question, trying to get onto a different topic. 

"who says I was messing with you.. and as if I would tell you that. it wasn't even that much. even if it was, the price would be worth it" he finishes his drink, his voice making your head spin. 

after gojo pays the bill, the two of you head out of the restaurant, taking his private escort back to your apartment. the car ride consisted of the two of you singing karaoke at the top of your lungs with the windows rolled down. a few passer-bys saw you two going crazy singing TGIF by Katy Perry. 

after arriving back at your apartment, gojo decides to walk you inside, grabbing your purse from out of your hands and unlocking the door for you. You step inside the apartment, taking your shoes off and kicking them by the front door. 

"god, today was so much fun, thank you for taking me out satoru" you stretch your arms above your head, popping your back. the sound of the front door closes. turning around, you notice gojo's hands are in his pockets. he shrugs at you, a small smile adoring his face. 

"anything for you" the silence is awkward again, the clock ticking a quarter passed 10. you play with the hem of your short dress, attempting to think of something to say. 

"I should probably head out, i'm pretty busy these next few days so.." his sentence trails off. you nod your head in response, still not able to come up with anything to say to him. 

Gojo takes his hands out of his pockets, throwing you the most adorable peace sign, his smile growing bigger. 

"i'll try and stop by before I leave okay?I'll see you later, y/n" his hand wraps around the knob, and the sound of the creaky door snaps you out of your haze. just as he's about to close the door behind him on his way out, you call out to him.

"toru!!" you speed walk to the front door, grabbing the frame and push it open so you can see him. 

"hm?" he turns around, facing you fully, all ears on you. 

"I have something I need to tell you" you look down towards the floor, too embarrassed to say it directly to him. 

satoru knows what's coming, he can feel it. his heart skips a beat as his cock starts to twitch slightly. even though he can't actually see it, your face looks so innocent and nervous, he almost feels bad for making you confess first. he knows how shy you get when it comes to feelings or anything that involves sexual activities. and he lives off of teasing you. seeing how red your face gets whenever his body is too close to yours or how you shy away from him whenever he compliments you. it never fails to make his dick hard whenever you get so shy. 

gojo grips the top of the door frame, leaning onto the side of it. you can't seem to get your thoughts to form a coherent sentence, so you say the first thing that comes to mind.

"I really like you satoru.." your voice is so silent, you could barely hear it your self. of course gojo heard you, but he teases you anyways. 

"I like you to y/n" your frustrated huff almost makes him bust out laughing, you're too adorable. Your hands form fists as you shake your head from side to side. 

"no, that's not what I mean." 

"oh? how did you mean it then?" his voice is mesmerizing and it feels like you're going to explode trying to tell him how you feel. 

"god this is so stupid. gojo I love-" your sentence is harshly cut short as the freakishly tall man bends down and cups the back of your head, forcing your lips to collide. you gasp into his mouth before wrapping your arms around his shoulders. with his free hand, he softly grips your waist, pushing you back into the apartment, slamming the door closed with one of his feet. 

Gojo moves his hand from your waist, pressing it against the wall behind you before gently pressing you into it. your hands find their way into his hair, tugging gently. Satoru groans into your mouth at your action, pressing his body into yours. Your face feels hot and your clit begins to throb as you feel every part of his body against your own. Satoru moves his hands to your waist, making you grind your hips into him. You sigh into him, but all of a sudden your mind starts to go into overdrive as you pull your lips away from his.

Gojo takes this opportunity to move his face to your neck, kissing down sweetly at your skin. His lips feel so soft and warm, but you instantly let out a partially loud yelp when starts to suck on the spot behind your ear. Your eyes close on instinct, your hands remaining tangled in his white hair. 

You feel his hands slide from your waist, down to your thighs and all of a sudden everything seems overstimulating and fast. 

"wait wait wait-" your voice laced with heavy breaths. Satoru instantly detaches from your neck, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek in worry.

"what's wrong love? did I hurt you?" his concern makes you smile softly. You trail your hands down to hold his face, reassuring him that you're okay. 

"I've never- I mean I haven't experienced, or had... I feel so dumb" you sigh in-between sentences, embarrassment laced in your tone of voice. one of your hands comes down to play with the tie of the suit he's wearing, fidgeting with the cloth. Gojo chuckles under his breath, biting his bottom lip slightly. 

"I know baby. Do you want me to go slow?" His words make you lightheaded. 

"if that's okay, i've never done anything with anyone so I don't really know what i'm doing.." you whisper the last bit of your sentence, looking at his face. He smiles at you, grabbing your hands and kissing your fingertips. 

"come here" he says, lifting you into the air like a princess, one arm under your knees, the other behind your back all in one swift, quick motion. You squeal in surprise, your arms wrapping around his neck. 

"toru what about the carrrr" you kick your legs in his hold, giving his cheek and jaw light kisses

"I waved him off before I got out of the car, don't worry about it hun" he turns his head, giving you a quick kiss on your lips before pushing your bedroom door open with his foot. Gojo gently sets your body down on the bed, crawling over you, both of his hands planted on the sides of your body. You giggle again, reaching your hands out to wrap around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

"you're so beautiful" he whispers right before his lips meet yours, soft and warm. your fingers find their way to his hair, gently playing with his locks as he presses his body into yours. his tongue finds its way into your mouth, exploring it. you sigh deeply into him as he presses his body against yours, slowly grinding his hips into your core. your sigh turns into a hushed moan as the grip in his hair turns into pulling. 

His tongue leaves your mouth as he looks at you with a sly smirk. his face moves down towards your neck, leaving sweet kisses along your jaw and neck. one of his hands comes up to cup your cheek, caressing it with his thumb before trailing his lips down in-between your collar bones. with every gentle kiss, your breathing gets heavier and heavier. 

Satoru reaches the top of your dress after kissing every nook and cranny of your neck and collar bones. He sits up and your hands fall to your sides while his warm palm leaves your cheek. He smiles down at you. 

One of his hands comes down to your thigh, sliding up and under your dress slowly to meet the hem of your underwear. you sniffle a whine with the back of your palm. 

"let me hear you baby" he says, his thumb finding your clit through your damp underwear, tracing tender circles. you move your hand away from your mouth to cover one of your eyes, obeying his words. His thumb presses down a little harder, giving you the friction you need. With every circle he traces, the louder your whines get. He takes your growing whines and removes his thumb from your clothed clit. 

You sit up on your forearms, trying to see what his next move is. He uses both of his hands to grab your panties, looking up at you before removing them. 

"is this okay?" he questions, pulling them down just a hair. your mouth doesn't move, so your head nods up and down for an answer. He pulls your underwear down and below your ankles, taking them completely off and tossing them to the ground next to your bed. then, he hovers back over you, using one of his forearms as leverage to hold himself up right above you, the other hand tracing up your thigh once more before finding your bare pussy. 

Two of his fingers resume massaging your clit, this time with more force. You moan louder this time, looking directly at gojo, wishing you could look into his eyes. 

As if he read your mind, he leans his head down slightly so that he can slide his blindfold up and over his head with the arm that's holding him up, slipping off his blindfold, revealing his crystal blue eyes that stare into yours deeply. 

"wanna see your pretty face" he says and just like that, his long fingers slide into you, curling up and hitting your sweet spot instantly. Your back slightly arches off the bed and your hands fly to his back, nails digging crescent moon shapes into his skin through his suit. 

"oh my god toru" his fingers gently pump in and out of you, curling up to touch your g-spot over and over again. you shut your eyes, pulling him closer to you.

"yeah? you're so adorable, can't wait until you're screamin' underneath me" 

he watches your face contort into one of pleasure with a smile gracing his. his fingers work faster inside you, the only sounds being heard were your moans and the wet noises coming from your pussy, and gojo loves it. He loves hearing all the pretty noises you make just by fucking you with his fingers. One particular press down onto your sweet spot has you much louder than you already were, and he can instantly tell it was your orgasm approaching. 

he kisses your forehead and takes his fingers out of you. before you can protest, he's forcing your body to sit up straight. the sudden change from being gentle to somewhat forceful has you turned on even more. He moves your body to partially sit on his lap, his hands finding the zipper on the back of your dress and pulls it down, unhooking your bra right afterwards. 

You help him take off your dress and bra by reaching your arms above your head. He slips it off with ease and tosses it onto the floor next to your forgotten panties. His lips are on yours in a heartbeat, his pace quickening in the most tender way possible. His hand finds its way to the back of your head, lowering your body back down on the bed and breaking the kiss before you can fully lay down. He takes in the sight of you bare. As he's staring at you, he loosens his tie and takes off his suit jacket and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his dress shirt. 

After he partially undresses himself, he grabs one of your knees and pulls it away from the other, lowering himself directly in your center. He comes down for another kiss, this one hungrier than the last. You reach for him, putting your hands inside his halfway undone shirt and wrapping them around his back, feeling his muscles under your fingers. He grinds his growing bulge into you, a moan erupts within the back of your throat. The hand that rests on your knee moves quickly towards your waist, forcing you to grind on him the way he's doing you. A small wet patch forms on his pants the more your bodies grind together. Satoru bites your bottom lip softly before breaking the kiss, only to start lowering his head down to your chest, never breaking eye contact with you, his hair covering a little of his face. 

He opens his mouth and licks one of your perky nipples. He does this a few times before wrapping his lips around it, sucking the bud in-between his teeth. Your moan sends shivers down his back, only fueling him to suck a little harder. His hand on your waist comes to fondle your other breast, pinching and massaging your other sensitive nipple. You throw your head back as your nails dig into his skin, sliding up into his hair and tugging on it rather hard. The action causes satoru to groan, shaking his head back and forth slightly with a cunning smile. The man above you then lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, moving in-between your breasts and trailing wet kisses down your sternum and passed your belly and abdomen before he stops right in front of your clit. 

His hand on your boob retakes its place on your knee, pushing it down on the bed so you can't close your legs together. 

He looks into your eyes, and without having to say anything, as if you read his mind, you nod your head quicker than you can even think. giving him the answer he needs. With your silent words, he presses a chaste kiss on your clit before darting his tongue out and licking a stripe up your already wet pussy, your bundle of nerves pulsating. 

His lips wrap around your clit, beginning to suck, eating you out. Your head feels light as his mouth works wonders on you. you instinctively tug his hair, slightly grinding your core onto his face. Your moans of delight have him groaning the vibrations ringing throughout your entire body. 

He laps at you as if you were the sweetest thing he's ever tasted, his hand on your knee moving to slide two of his long fingers inside your hole, curing them upwards to that familiar spot that has your back arching off the mattress and right into him. Even though you aren't looking at him, his blue eyes don't falter from watching all the pretty faces you make while he gently tears you apart. his fingers pumping in and out of you, caressing your sweet spot over and over while he eats you out.

Your walls squeeze his fingers. it's to be expected really, since you've never been touched before. but gojo is still pretty shocked with how tight your pussy is, and it's making him so much more obsessed with you. 

"fuck, you're so tight, how on earth are you going to take my cock if you can barely take my fingers, hmm?" he doesn't even move his mouth away from you, his breath fanning your heat.

"oh fuck, please-" your jaw slacks open and your eyes squeeze closed. Gojo creeps back over you, his thumb coming to rub on your clit. Your pussy is beginning to sound wetter, and your hole tightens even more around his fingers. 

"look at me sweetheart" your eyes have never flown open so fast in your life, immediately looking straight into gojo's. A sly smile grows as he looks at you. 

"you about to cum? You're squeezin' me so tight" his sentence ends in a chuckle. you nod your head in response, but that doesn't cut it for the white haired man above you. 

"words love, wanna hear you say it" 

"yes toru, im so close please let me cum please please please" your high pitched whines while you speak make him just about bust in his pants, but he keeps his cool. 

"hold it." you shake your head at his command, trying to hold in your fast-approaching orgasm. your palms trail towards his back once more, digging your nails into his skin as leverage to keep you grounded, as if you were going to float away. his fingers are ruthless, your wetness coming to leak down your ass cheeks and beginning to pool onto your bedding below you. 

an overstimulating feeling comes rushing over you, and it feels like you're going to spill over

"please let me cum I can't- hold it, I need to please toru ple- please" your hiccuped moans become louder.

"you can cum now baby, let me hear you" with his words, you tip over that edge and his fingers make one last thrust inside you, massaging your g-spot over and over as you cum. your juices squirt all over his hand and down into the mattress below you, your knees attempt to close around his body as you finish with a particularly loud whine. 

"good girl, you did such a good job for me" you take a minute to calm down, holding his body close to yours as you finish around his long fingers, it's almost like he's trying to rip you in half. his fingers slide out of your dripping hole as he wipes his fingers on his nice dress pants before cupping the back of your head, coming down to have his lips meet yours. 

The kiss is hungry; desperate as he sits up, you follow after him trying not to break the kiss. your hands move to work on the remaining buttons on his shirt, fumbling with the fabric. Gojo's hands come down to work on his belt, unfastening it quickly. you finish unbuttoning the last button and slide his shirt off of him as he takes his belt off, the both of you throwing the articles of clothing elsewhere in the room. you break the kiss as he goes to stand up off the bed, unbuttoning his pants and taking them off, only leaving his boxers. you come up and loop your fingers under the last article of clothing he has on, looking straight up into his eyes. You wait a second before pulling them down, his hard cock coming up to slap his abdomen. your mouth dries at the sight of it. 

He really wasn't joking when he asked how you were going to take his cock huh?

Gojo looks down at you as you lean back, so he takes this opportunity and leans down, planting both his hands on the bed and stares at you. he slowly creeps towards you on his hands and knees, your back hitting the bed frame as he towers over you. 

"come here" he says, grabbing your thigh and pulls you to lay down on the bed underneath him. gasping at his action, you look up at him, noticing how much taller he is than you, taking in how big his hands are as they wrap around your thigh. 

Gojo then moves his hand to his cock, gripping it in one hand and pumping it a couple times. He looks into your eyes as he does so, taking in your appearance. Your hair is slightly messy and tangled, your eyes looking at his full of love and admiration, his eyes telling the same. 

"toru?" his name twirling off your tongue

"yes pretty girl?" he puts the head of his cock up to your pussy, dragging it across your slit as he coats it in your wetness. Your face heats up in a pretty pink. your eyes locked onto one another as you finally let out the words you've been meaning to for the past couple years

"I love you" your hands are on his shoulders as he pushes his tip into you, hissing as he stretches your hole and stills.

"I love you too beautiful" you feel like your heart is going to burst at his words, pulling his body down into yours, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Gojo starts to push inside you slowly, more painful hissing coming from you is the only thing being heard. 

"deep breaths baby, doing such a good job for me" you grip onto him tightly as he pushes the remainder of his dick inside of you, his hips on yours. his free hand finds your waist as he keeps you in place. your breathing is heavy, but he decides not to move his his yet, waiting for you to get used to the stretch. a couple minutes go by as the pain subsides and your hips start to move against his

"toru.. please" he takes your words and starts grinding into you slowly, letting you adjust a little more before moving his hips, taking his dick out of you slowly. he turns his head and looks into your eyes and kisses your nose, cheeks, and then your lips. suddenly, he thrusts back into you, fast, bottoming out inside you as your shriek of pleasure goes straight into his mouth. 

chuckling, he begins to thrust his cock in and out of you at a medium pace, keeping a steady rhythm as he fucks himself into you. 

"fuck you're so tight" you whimper at his words, his thrust never faltering as your arms and pussy squeeze him tightly. you move your head to the side, giving him the opportunity to suck deep, purple bruises into your neck and collar bones. Your breasts jiggle with every thrust. one of your hands comes down from his back to the side of your head to grip the sheets next to you. Gojo sees this action and decides to move his hand from your waist to interlock his fingers with yours, holding your hand as he fucks you into the mattress. 

his hand swallows yours as he grips it. 

one thrust in particular has you screaming, crushing his hand as you throw your head back, your mouth open as you moan his name over and over again. a chant that is music to satoru's ears as he moans into your neck. 

"so much, feels so good please toru' don't stop" you choke out, moaning louder and louder. 

"Yeah? tell me all about it sweet girl" satoru praises you, edging you to continue

"so big, m' so full, it's so much oh my god" your back arches off the bed as you continue to moan. satoru lowers his face to your ear and bites your lobe, breathing heavy and letting out husky, low groans that have your pussy getting wetter. 

Your legs start to shake, opening wider for him to thrust deeper inside of you, and it works, his cock brushes your sweet spot in the most delicious way, and it has you screaming, writhing underneath him. 

Your walls squeeze him impossibly tighter, if that's even possible, resulting in louder moans erupting from the back of his throat and directly into your ear. he lets go of your hand and out of nowhere, his blindfold appears in his hand as he stuffs it in your mouth, muffling your sobs and cries. 

"don't want anybody to hear how much of a dirty girl you are, do you, takin' my cock so prettily?" he taunts, your eyes meet his as you cup his cheek, feeling his skin under your fingertips. his palm comes down to the base of your neck, wrapping around your throat ever so lightly, barely even choking you. 

satoru's hips snap against yours rhythmically, but he can barely control himself before he grips the headboard above you, fucking you deeper and your eyes squeeze shut as your whole body starts to shake and your arms are wrapping around his waist. 

You start to nod your head, the words “yes" and "please" being heard through your makeshift gag. gojo feels you flutter around his cock and he himself has been holding back his orgasm so the two of you can finish together. He looks down at you, making eye contact as he speaks. 

"you gonna cum sweetheart?" you nod your head, your eyes begging for release. 

"cum baby, you can do it, i'm right here I got you." your nails dig into his back, scratching his skin over and over again. you close your eyes and turn your head. Gojo's hand comes down to cup your face, turning your head to face him.

"look at me baby, cum with me, such a good girl huh?" your eyes meet his as you flutter around his length, creaming all over his cock as he thrusts into one last time, shooting warm ropes of cum into you so very deeply. 

"fuck, feel's so good " he throws his head back with a loud groan only for a second, then he's hovering back over you, taking the blindfold out of your mouth. he's quick to press his lips onto yours, kissing you so softly compared to earlier. he kisses you a couple more times before painting your entire face in kisses that are so light and gentle, it makes you wonder if this is the same man who was just fucking you into the mattress and forcing his blindfold down your throat. 

you giggle at his actions as he pulls his softening dick out of you. he grabs your thigh and spreads your legs, watching his cum spill out of you. 

"fuck, you're unbelievable y/n" he praises you again, a smile growing on his lips, his eyes filled with admiration. 

"I'll be right back love, don't move" he says suddenly, getting up off the bed and running into the other parts of the house, his butt jiggling as he runs and you can't help but laugh. He walks back into the room with a damp washcloth, a glass of water and a towel. You pout as he hands you the glass of water and starts to clean you up, making sure all the wetness and cum is cleaned up off of you before drying you off. 

After he's finished, he ushers you up, taking the first and second blanket off your bed and throwing them into the corner of the room to be washed later, going into your closet and pulling out two blankets. 

Satoru wraps you in one of them, and wraps himself in the other. the two of you lay down next to one another, your limbs tangled and sore as you stare into each other's eyes. He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in and giving you a kiss filled with so much love, you swear you can die on the spot. 

"I wasn't lying,, about what I said earlier." you tell him, not breaking eye contact. 

"I know angel, neither was i." 

[strbrrygashes]

i take up space and that is okay. i take up space and that is okay. i take up space and that is okay. i take up space and that is okay. i take up space and that is okay. i take up space and that is okay.

[damneddamsy]

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

SOFT INFINITY—Not endlessness, but the gentle refusal to end.

summary: As Joel entirely embraces new fatherhood, it becomes glaringly obvious that it isn't what it was cut out to be—it's harder, messier, and terrifyingly real.

a/n: oh yeah, this one's got it all. it's biiiiiig. you want cowboy joel? you got it. you want flirty joel? you got it. you want a daddy joel? you. got. it! might be one of my favourites until now, can't wait for you to read this one! WARNINGS this time, alcohol abuse, substance abuse, light smut.

Joel realized, maybe too late, that raising a kid meant surrender. Not in a way that made him feel small, but in a way that made him feel like everything he was, everything he did, mattered. Really mattered.

Who you were, what you believed, what you let your kid see in you—every single second of it meant something. It was stamped onto them in ways you wouldn’t even notice until you caught a glimpse of yourself staring back. And God, did he see it in her.

Months passed in a slow, golden stretch, summer giving way to autumn. The heat receded, but the sun still burned, casting everything in deep amber, draping the world in honeyed light. The days, despite their quiet toil, had taken on a kind of sweetness. He didn’t think much about it at first, but one evening, as he watched Maya toddle across the porch, her curls catching the last of the light, he felt it sink in.

His days were sweeter because of her.

Maya was at the age, where she knew what she wanted with no second-guessing, what she liked and what she didn’t, and it wasn’t a surprise that she was turning out just like him. Stubborn in one way, expressive in others, passionate to understand the world in her own little way.

And—well, it felt like a miracle, but she liked his guitar. She liked his music. She liked to sing with him.

Whenever he let out that familiar grunt as he lowered himself onto the porch swing, Maya’s ears would perk. From wherever she was—inside, out back, tucked into Leela’s arms for a story—she’d drop everything and make her way to the front door.

He’d hear her small, eager footsteps pad against the wood floor, and then—there she was, peeking around the big front door, wide-mouthed and grinning, her four little teeth on full display.

And then the clapping. Always the clapping.

“Yeah, yeah, trouble,” he’d grumble, settling the guitar on his lap. “I’m gettin’ to it.”

He’d strum a chord, throwing in an extra flourish, and she’d giggle, her small hands patting at the strings, feeling them hum beneath her touch.

“Maya's here to see me play her favourite song,” he'd first idly sing in tenor, and strum the strings, leaning down to push a kiss on her soft curls.

And her favourite song of the moment? Handy Man. He fucking loved that song now. And damn if she didn’t know the words already. Well, sort of, whatever her baby brain could comprehend. When he hit the chorus, she’d push close between his knees, mouthing along, all serious concentration, her tiny fingers gripping at the air like she could pluck the notes right from his hands.

“Come-a, come-a, come-a, come-a, come, come,” he would sing to her, and she'd tune with him with that big, pretty smile, “Oh, now, they'll come runnin' to me.”

“Comma, comma, comma, me-hee!” she'd laugh after the song was over, plucking the strings herself.

And Leela—she stood in the doorway, watching all of it. Always watching, never interfering. Sometimes, when Maya was wrapped up in his arms, conked out, she’d reach over, smoothing a hand over Maya’s growing curls, meeting Joel’s eyes with something so complete, so warm, it made his entirely too at home.

She didn’t say much, not with words, but she didn’t have to. He saw it in her face, in the way she touched their daughter, in the way she looked at him.

She loved him. She loved him in the same quiet, unconditional way that Maya did. God help him, he loved her too. He loved her 'til he was bursting at the seams.

And by that same front door, Maya waited for him. On the dot. Four o’clock sharp. His very own homecoming.

She’d perch on the porch step, her toy horse clutched tight in her hand, rocking back and forth, big brown eyes fixed on the street like a tiny sentry. And when she did spot him—dust-covered, exhausted, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders, pack in hand—she didn’t run straight for him. Not at first.

No, she’d squeal loud enough for the street to hear, all shy excitement, and scurry back into the house like she couldn’t bear to face it head-on.

That never lasted long. By the time he reached the porch steps, there she was, barreling into him at full speed, arms open, curls bouncing, calling for him in that desperate, earth-shattering little voice that never failed to gut him. His little shadow.

“Da-da-da-da—”

Joel never grabbed her up right away—not yet, not until he wiped every last trace of the day’s grime from his hands and face. She’d linger by his boots, gripping at his pants, all but vibrating with the need to be held.

“Hey, now, hold on, baby girl.” He held up his hands, palms out, dirty from the day, trying to walk his way around her. “Lemme—hey, hey. I'mna squish you, Maya, jeez.”

Maya bounced on her toes, impatient, grabbing at his pant leg with a whine. “Up, up, up—”

And she followed him all the way to the kitchen sink, opening and closing her fingers, teetering on her tiptoes, tugging at his pants like she could climb up his leg if she tried hard enough.

“Alright. What’d you do today, sunshine?” he’d ask, crouching down, draping the kitchen towel over his shoulder.

Maya, thrilled to be heard, would babble a response, half-gibberish, half-words, expressive as anything. One day about her clothes, one day about the fruits in the garden, one day about her lunch.

“Mm-mm…” she hummed this time like she was keeping secrets. Then, suddenly, “Mama ‘n me,” more incomprehensible gibberish, pointing out the window, “...bird.”

“Yeah?” He pushed a ringlet behind her ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You saw a bird?”

She flapped her arms, mouth forming a perfect little ‘O.’ “Biiiig bird.”

And he’d nod along, utterly rapt, hanging onto her every word. Every single time. Ever since she started to talk, he couldn't go a moment without hearing it.

And Maya—she was far more interested in his hands than her own stories. She grabbed at them, little fingers poking into his palm, inspecting. He chuckled, letting her turn them over, palms up, palms down.

With a knowing smirk, Joel reached back into his jacket pockets, bringing his fists between them, closed tight. A familiar game. One she never got tired of.

Her eyes lit up instantly. Excitement fizzled through her tiny frame, her little fists curling at her sides like she could barely stand the suspense.

Joel pulled his lips to a smile for her. “Which one?”

Maya let out a high-pitched giggle, practically thrumming, as she tapped her tiny fingers against his fists. She took her time, bottom lip jutting out in concentration, brows knitting together, her nose scrunching. Then—she tapped his right hand.

Joel uncurled his fingers. A small handful of blackberries spilled out of his palm, violet, ripe and plump.

Maya perked up. Letting out a curious sound, she carefully plucked one between two tiny fingers, examining it like it might reveal a secret if she looked close enough. She turned it over, squishing just a little before deciding it passed her test.

Joel popped one into his mouth, chewing slow.

Without hesitation, Maya followed, mirroring him like she always did, stuffing the berry into her mouth. Her cheeks rounded out as she chewed, her tiny jaw working. Then, as if suddenly remembering something important, she tilted her head back and grinned. Berry-stained, toothy, pure delight.

And by that same front door of her house grew the one thing she despised—to watch him go as the day came to an end.

Some days, she was content to wave from Leela's arms. Tiny hand flapping in the air, so dazed, until he crossed the street and closed the door behind him.

“Say 'bye,'” Leela coaxed her.

“Bye,” Maya echoed, watching him go, although not with that sweet spirit that always laced her voice.

And those nights—strangely, selfishly—were his favourite, even though the hardest. Because as much as it ached to walk away, it meant something. It meant she loved him in a way he could feel in his bones.

That carried him through the door, through the long hours, through the world beyond this big, white house of his. And when he returned—when he stepped onto that porch and saw her waiting there, chewing on her breakfast, beaming at him with her whole little heart—he swore, there was nothing on earth that could ever feel better.

Other nights—God, those nights—Maya wept like her whole world was caving in.

She’d stand at the door, fists rubbing furiously at her eyes, her lip trembling so hard she could barely get the words out. But she tried anyway, between big, shuddering breaths. “No go, no go, da-da.”

Again and again, like a prayer, like a plea, like she thought if she said it enough, it’d undo the fact that he had to leave. She’d cling to him, her small fingers curling into his shirt, her whole body pressed against his legs like she could anchor him there, keep him from slipping away.

And every single time, Leela would murmur knowingly from the doorway, arms folded, watching him with those calm, dark eyes.

“Guess you’re staying over tonight.”

And every single time, she was right.

He wouldn’t dare sleep in her bed—his courage only stretched so far—but he found his place in the nursery. The expensive memory foam mattress was properly equipped for a man of his size, but even then, he always woke up aching, every knot in his back a little worse than before. Not that he minded. He liked being close. Liked that if Maya so much as moaned in her crib in a sudden bout of loneliness, he’d hear it, could reach for her, could whisper, Shh, I’m here, and she’d settle instantly.

Some nights, he ended up in the basement instead.

Just to be near Leela.

She was always down there. Gloves rolled on, hair tied back, brow furrowed in concentration. Fixing something, building something, welding something—whatever it was, she did it with that singular focus, hands steady, mouth set, utterly in control.

And he was always there too. Hovering, passing her tools, handing her protective glasses, lifting the heavy things when she needed him to.

He told himself it was enough.

It was enough just to be close, just to hear her murmur thanks when he tightened a bolt for her or held a panel steady. It was enough to watch the way the glow of the welding torch lit up her face, how she wiped the sweat from her temple with the back of her hand, and how she chewed absently at the corner of her lip when she was thinking. It was hard to find common ground in the way he did with Maya—he didn’t have the brainpower for her technobabble, the same way she didn’t have the patience for guitar.

He told himself that. Over and over. It was totally enough.

“Y’know,” he muttered one night, leaning against the workbench as she tightened a bolt, “I got no goddamn clue what you’re doin’ half the time. S'like watching Top Gear. Can't understand shit, but it's fun as hell.”

Leela huffed a quiet laugh, not looking up. “I figured that out when you handed me the wrong pliers three times in a row.”

Joel rolled his eyes but smirked anyway. That was entirely her fault; those little shorts of hers were a daily nuisance and blessing. “Still doesn’t stop me from helpin’, does it?”

She finally glanced up, the corners of her mouth tugging upward in that soft, knowing way. “No,” she admitted. “I like it when you're next to me.”

Except—except sometimes it wasn’t.

Because every time he was near her, every time she was just within reach, he had to force himself not to touch her. Not to brush his knuckles down her spine. Not to stroke the delicate dip of her lower back. Not to slip his fingers just under the hem of her crochet top and feel the curves and planes of her skin against his calloused hands.

She was just so—beautiful.

It hurt sometimes, looking at her.

The smooth lines of her body, the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the effortless way she existed like she belonged in the world in a way he never had.

Sometimes, helpless to his wants, he'd reach out—slow, testing—just to brush the backs of his knuckles along the bare, soft skin of her thigh. Not much, just enough to feel the heat of her, just enough to see if she’d let him. God, he wanted his mouth there, he wanted to sink his teeth in, let his tongue taste what it was like there.

She didn’t move at first, and that was enough to make his breath catch—maybe, maybe—but, just as quick, she effortlessly shifted away, like she hadn’t even noticed. Like she hadn’t felt it.

She reached for a pen instead, silently scratching down something on a paper, brows furrowing in concentration.

Joel let his hand fall, flexing his fingers once before he curled them into a loose fist against his thigh. He told himself it didn’t sting. Not really.

Instead, he forced out a rough chuckle, trying to cover the way his heart still hammered up his throat. “You always this cruel, or am I just special?”

Leela hummed to herself, lips quirking like she might actually be amused. “You’re special, Joel.”

Joel grunted, shaking his head, but he couldn’t quite fight the smirk tugging at his own mouth. Damn tease, this girl.

It was getting maddening, waiting for her comfort. Waiting for her to want him.

Yet, here they were.

On his birthday, side by side in the Maranello, seats reclined all the way back, hood rolled down, the garage door cracked open behind them while the car lingered out on the huge driveway, the night breeze blanketing them. The scent of rain lingered from an earlier shower, mingling with the faint, distant burn of woodsmoke.

The sky stretched wide above them, endless and dark, stars scattered like someone had dragged their fingers through a bowl of salt. Crickets hummed, a lazy song against the quiet, broken only by the occasional clink of their beer bottles. A perfect, warm night.

Joel sighed, lifting his bottle to his lips. His gaze drifted over the dashboard, over the leather interior, over the sleek frame of the goddamn Lambo he was sitting in.

He still couldn’t believe it. Leela had gifted him this thing. Useless in the apocalypse. But fucking cool.

A snort rattled from his chest, and he thumped a fist against it to cover a burp. His stomach was full from his birthday dinner, grease and sauce still coating his tongue. Cheeseburgers, french fries with the little holes in them, cold beers. Classic. Having a grinning Maya pass him the glistening keys in the morning at breakfast? Adorable. Leela had outdone herself big-time.

“Burgers were top-notch, sweetheart,” he muttered, tipping his beer toward her in a lazy toast. “I 'preciate it.”

Leela pulled the bottle from her lips, raising a brow. “I believe the word you used for the burgers was 'gut-busting'.”

Joel huffed a laugh, shifting to glance at her, fully amused.

“Gut-busting, greasy-ass cheeseburgers,” they stated in unison.

Leela giggled, a hand over her mouth. His grin lingered, slow and easy. “A fast car and a fat burger. Hands down the best birthday I’ve had in twenty years.”

And just like that—just those few words—it struck him. Twenty damn years.

Joel rolled the bottle between his fingers, staring up at the sky, watching the way the stars flickered in and out of the clouds, how they dimmed and reappeared, shifting, changing—like they were alive. Like they had always been there, even when the night felt too dark to hold anything at all.

Twenty years.

This day had been a gaping wound for so long, torn open year after year, over and over, until it barely bled anymore. Just a dull, aching thing, carved into his ribs. A black hole that seemed to conquer him, again and again.

Twenty years ago, the world had ended. His world had ended.

He could still feel it if he let himself—the heat of the pavement. The smell of fire. The deadweight of her in his arms. The desperate, shaking press of his palm, Stay with me, baby, please stay with me—The silence after. The void. Sarah.

He swallowed hard, taking a slow sip of beer. Let the taste settle on his tongue, rich and bitter, grounding him to the moment.

Now. Now. Stay here.

Joel blinked, staring up at the stars, at the dark stretch of sky.

Because somehow—somehow—he was here. Sitting in the front seat of a convertible. Beer in hand. A belly full of hot food. A beautiful baby girl waiting for her goodnight kiss. A woman at his side, stunning and easy in her skin, fulfilling his dreams.

For the first time in twenty years—this day didn’t feel like hellish grief.

It felt like something else. Lighter, better, easy.

Funny how life does that to you. How it yanks you under, pulls you apart, spits on your face, leaves you with nothing—and then, somehow, years later, it gives you this.

Because if it weren’t for them—if it weren’t for Maya or Leela—he wouldn’t have left his house. Wouldn’t have stepped foot outside that goddamn pullout. Would’ve let himself rot in it, hollowed out and mourning, still letting the world pile itself on top of him until he disappeared beneath it.

But she had given him this. Not just the car or the amazing dinner. The moment. The peace. Hope in himself.

“I planted onions just for these burgers. They don't usually last the winter,” she mused all of a sudden, pulling him back to reality.

Joel turned his head, blinking and eyeing her. “You did?”

She nodded. “Can you believe that? And now you just belch it up like it's nothing.”

“Chrissake.” Joel groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes. Only she could make him sound that disgusting.

Leela laughed. A real laugh, warm and taunting, something she saved just for his ears. “But hey, you know what?”

Joel peeked at her from under his arm, and—shit. Shouldn’t have done that.

Because she’d rolled onto her side, head propped up on her palm, body stretched out, long legs draped lazily over the seat, the hem of her pretty yellow top riding up just enough to show a teasing sliver of skin. His gaze caught on the curve of her waist, the faint dip of her stomach, and the soft swell of her breasts pressed against the fabric of her top.

He had to collect his jaw back up and clear his throat. “What?”

She didn’t try. That’s what got him. Didn’t preen or pose. Didn’t shift under his gaze like she knew what she was doing to him.

She just was. Existing in the way she always had—effortless, untouched by his wanting, yet somehow still the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Best fucking birthday ever.

“We missed something crucial,” she murmured, eyes gleaming in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

Joel swallowed thickly. “That so?”

She nodded. “Sodas. My favourite was—”

“Cherry Coke,” he finished, tongue-in-cheek.

She rolled her eyes. “Good to know I've become that predictable.”

He grunted, shifting onto his side too, trying—but failing—to move as smoothly as she did. “Well, actually, I missed a birthday kiss.”

Leela’s lips curved. Slow. Knowing. “I can fix that.”

Then she leaned in, putting his heart in overdrive.

Not hesitant. Not rushed. Just sure. Soft, just a brush of warmth against his mouth, so fleeting it almost didn’t happen. A whisper of heat, a promise more than a kiss. One more soft kiss on his nose before she pulled away.

“Only because you asked nicely,” she said, wiping a thumb over his mouth.

And that just pulled the rug right out from under him. He managed a smile as she leaned onto her back, head resting back over her arm.

She'd only kissed him because he wanted it. God, what a fucking joke he was.

She liked him. That much he knew. She liked his presence, liked that he was there, liked the easy simplicity between them. Liked just being with him without expectation or pressure. And yeah—after everything she’d been through, that was a good thing. A great thing. She saw him as someone she trusted. Someone she felt safe with.

But sometimes—sometimes, it almost felt like she didn’t see him.

Not as a man. Not as someone she wanted.

Look, he wasn’t some goddamn heartthrob. Wasn’t James Dean or Paul fucking Newman. He wasn’t expecting her to look at him like that, wasn’t expecting her to ache for him the way he ached for her. But was it so much to ask that she did look?

That she saw him, really saw him, as more than just Maya’s dad?

Because he saw himself. And what was there to want?

He’d caught his reflection in the mirror earlier. Stared at it longer than he should’ve, cataloguing everything he hated.

There was a paunch in his stomach, slight sagging muscles beneath the too-tight flannel, a scatter of age spots across his forehead, deepening creases in his brow, endless white creeping into his beard and temples, and years settling into his skin like old grief.

He gave his chest a scratch. Jesus. Ancient, worn down, unexceptional. Maybe that was why she didn’t kiss or touch him much. Perhaps it was easier to see him as something safe and constant—because there was nothing desirable about him anymore.

Once, he found an old packet of men’s hair dye while rummaging for an electric razor, set on plucking away those stubborn white hairs from his beard.

He’d held the dye packet, turning it over in his palm, giving it more thought than he wanted to admit. Wouldn’t hurt, right? Just to try?

But before he could shove it away, a voice.

“Are you going to use that?”

Leela stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her mouth twitching like she was holding back a laugh.

Joel gritted his teeth, fisting the pack so tight his knuckles went white. “No.”

She hummed, stepping closer, and Christ—he wanted to die right then and there. Or flush the damn thing down the toilet.

But instead—she reached for him.

Her fingers dragged through his hair, combing it back, nails barely grazing his scalp. And fuck—he sighed, head tipping forward, catching her wrist in his palm, pressing a slow, reverent kiss against her pulse. Felt it flutter beneath his lips.

“I really like this though,” she murmured.

Joel lifted a brow, not trusting himself to look at her fully. “I’m gettin’ old, darlin’. Nothing left to like.”

She nodded, her smile small, a little shy. “Oh, I don't know.” A pause. “I know I can’t wait for my hair to get like that.”

He frowned. “Like what? A zebra?”

She gave him a look, like are you really making me spell it out?

So, softly, she said, “So we’ll look the same, Joel.”

His chest caved in with a tight breath.

She didn’t just see him. She wanted to be like him.

His heart felt like it was too big for his ribs, pressing up against the inside of him, aching in a way that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with love. He was the king of the fucking world, alright. Jack Dawson had nothing on him.

He swallowed hard, gripping her wrist a little tighter, as if maybe—if he just held on long enough—he’d finally figure out how to put it all into words. How to tell her that she was everything. But all he could say was—

“You've got a long way to go,” he said, teasing.

She pushed her lips out to a pout. “Another few years?”

Joel huffed. She wasn’t even American. Her hair wasn’t going grey any time soon. He figured she had a good decade before she had to start worrying about it.

“Longer,” he said.

She hummed, tilting her head a little, studying him like she was trying to figure something out. And then, before he could process it, she leaned forward on her toes, pressing her lips to his. His hands instinctively came to settle on her waist.

Soft. Warm. Unhurried. Her fingers brushed along his jaw, the pad of her thumb stroking over the rough bristle of his chin. She lingered there for just a second before pulling away, pressing one last kiss to his cheek, like she was sealing something in place.

Because that single statement from her, that simple act, changed it all. Made him braver. Made him feel like maybe she did see him the way he wanted her to.

And come morning, he had his answer.

She was there at the kitchen island, waiting for him at breakfast, greeting him with another kiss—this time at the white hair on his temple, fingers curling into the curls at his nape as she slid a piece of toast onto his plate.

Yeah. He got the message.

X

There were bitter, darker days.

Less frequent than before, but still there, waiting beneath the surface. Days, where the loads settled too heavy on his chest, pressing him down, making the simple act of breathing, feel like a goddamn effort.

Yesterday had been one of those days.

From the moment he woke up, he'd known it, a dull, aching fog clouded his mind. His limbs felt sluggish, his body unwilling, his muscles all crumbs. He’d barely moved from bed, save for dragging himself to the kitchen, only to stand there, staring at nothing, gripping the counter's edge like it might keep him from drowning.

Sarah’s birthday. And he’d forgotten.

The realization had hit him out of nowhere, sucker-punching him in the ribs, making his breath catch.

How? How the fuck had he forgotten?

For years, her birthday had been a bare, uncleaned wound, a day spent drowning in liquor if it was nearby, in silence, in the unbearable pricks of memory. He’d counted down the days every year. Her age, had she been by his side. What she would've been doing.

And now?

Now he had let it slip past him, let it fade into the haze of normal days—just another morning, another afternoon. He had laughed yesterday. Laughed. He had eaten, spoken, kissed, sang, loved—without realizing what day it was.

A sickness had curdled in his gut. That painful guilt of living came unbidden. It made him disgusted with himself. So much, so that he couldn't dare face anyone around him. Not even Tommy.

So he did what he used to do.

He grabbed a bottle from the bar, kept his head down as he left, and took the back route home before Maya could spot him from the porch. He had seen her there, though. Tiny thing, peering down the street for him, waiting.

And he hadn’t wanted her to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

He had shut the door behind him, the bottle clinking against the wood as he sank onto the couch, letting the liquor do what it always did—burn through the hollow parts, dull the sharp edges, and take him somewhere else.

And still, it hadn't been enough.

When evening crept in, it came slow. Shadows stretched long across the walls, the last of the day bleeding out in streaks of dull orange, then fading to blue.

He barely heard the knock at the door. A soft pat-pat-pat. And then—a voice. Small. Muffled through the wood.

“Da-da.”

Another knock, more rigid and insistent. “Joel?”

Joel barely moved. Didn't even turn his head. He wanted to, he really did. His body felt leaden, pinned beneath—this day, this year, all the years before it—pressed too deep into his bones, sinking him down into the mattress. His head throbbed, a slow, punishing ache, that faded at the edges but persistent. And that wound—the one no one could see—still wouldn’t close.

He couldn't face them like this. This broken shell of a person. What if they never came back after this?

“C’mon, Maya,” Leela murmured, gentle but firm. Obviously attempting to tuck Maya back into her side. “He’s probably tired. He’s sleeping.”

A beat of quiet. Then—Maya, in that soft, curious little voice— “Sleeeeepy.”

“That's right,” Leela hummed, warmth threading through her words. Like it was the easiest thing. Like sleep was something you could just slip into. “We’ll come back later.”

“Da-da dinna’.”

Something rustled outside. A soft thud. Joel blinked slowly at the ceiling, tracking the sound.

“Very good. Put the lid on top.” A pause, that gentle patience he had seen in her when she was with her daughter. “Do you want to go back home, and Mama will put some music for you?”

A clap. Small hands smacking together. An excited squeal. “Comma, comma, comma, Mama.”

A breath of laughter. Light and soft. “Yeah, baby. Let's go.”

The warmth of their voices drifted away, their footsteps fading down the porch, swallowed by the quiet of the night. He wanted to walk out, stop them, follow them, hold them—but he imagined how his ribs might crack, or the lead in his lungs might choke him.

So, Joel stayed where he was, his gaze unfocused, tracing the cracks in the ceiling. Leela wasn’t wrong. He was tired. But not the kind of tiredness that sleep could fix. Not the kind that ever really went away.

Time blurred. Hours, maybe. Minutes. He couldn’t tell. Nothing made sense in the darkness.

The whiskey had burned low in his veins, leaving behind only the ache, the hollowing out. Everything hurt, but not in the way anything could soothe away.

Eventually, exhaustion took hold. Not rest. Not peace. Just a slow descent into the depths, dark and familiar.

At last, he dreamt.

Of Sarah. Of her arms around him, small, warm, clinging tight, her face buried in his chest, breathing deep. Of her laugh. The way it used to sound—radiant, uninhibited, lighting up the spaces inside him that he hadn’t even known were empty.

For a second, he could almost believe it. Almost feel her again.

But then—the cold came. Took it all away.

Cold that seeped into the marrow, nailed in deep, wrapped tight around his ribs and never let go. The kind that pulled him under, again and again, no matter how hard he fought it. And fought so goddamn hard.

And yet—somewhere, in the edges of that darkness, something else lingered. Something little.

The echo of a laugh. Not Sarah’s anymore.

No, this one was lighter. Younger. Breathless. He liked it. It didn't hurt to hear it as much.

A weight against his chest—but different this time. Not loss, not emptiness. A little palm, splayed over his ribs, forming a fist into his collar. A warm, sleepy body curled into his chest, tap-tap-tapping away like she was making sure he was still there.

Maya.

Joel’s breath stuttered. Even in sleep, his body knew before his mind did. The warmth of it, the shape of it—what he had now. His reality.

And for once—for just a glad moment—it kept him from sinking. A life vest in his raging ocean.

Morning came too late, in slivers of light through the blinds. Pale. Reluctant. Afraid for him. Like even the sun wasn’t sure if it was welcome here.

Joel blinked, groggy and slow, rubbing a heavy hand over his face. His throat felt raw like he'd screamed too loud for too long, his mouth dry, the taste of stale whiskey clinging to his tongue. His head was thick, his thoughts sluggish, and beneath it all—beneath the crusted-over exhaustion and the dull throb of his skull—the hurt was still there.

That same old invisible bullet lodged somewhere deep, that never fully dislodged, pressing into the places he didn’t like to look at too closely. The kind of wound that never fully closed, never let him forget it was there.

Still—he pushed himself up like he always did.

Didn’t know why. Didn’t know what the hell was pulling him forward, keeping him upright, but he moved. Swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Dug his palms into his knees. Breathed through it.

Got the hell on with it.

He dragged himself to the sink, and planted his hands on the cool porcelain, gripping it hard, like it might hold him up if his legs finally gave out. His reflection stared back, hollow-eyed, lined with years and misery, the past carved deep into every crease, every shadow. He despised himself with every inch of his being. He hated it all.

He brushed his teeth with patience he didn’t have.

Splashed water on his face, cold and biting, shocking his skin like maybe that could shake him loose from the bullet pressing into his ribs.

It didn’t.

Still, he moved.

The morning light hit harder here, slanting golden through the windows, indifferent to the man standing in it. The world had the nerve to keep turning, to keep moving forward.

Joel squinted against the sunrays, his gaze landing on the coffee table.

The bottle sat there, emptied, toppled on its side, amber remnants clinging to the bottom.

And by the bottle—a sandwich. Small. Wrapped neatly with careful hands. He'd evidently bit into it and left the rest to rot overnight.

Joel exhaled, dragging a hand over his jaw.

He didn’t remember drinking. Didn’t remember setting the bottle down. Didn't remember walking to the door. Didn't remember staring out the window, across the street at the big, white house that had gone dark now. Didn't remember breaking down right there, feeling like a fucking failure to the dead and the living. Didn’t remember eating. Didn’t remember closing his eyes, or dreaming, or waking up.

Didn’t remember much of anything. Except for the pain.

But even that felt faded now—like an echo of something sharper, something that had already done its damage and left him to sit in the wreckage.

Still—he moved.

Stepped outside.

Joel blinked against the morning light, the world stretching wide and clear around him, washed in pale blue, moving on without him, uncaring, like it always had, and then—his body betrayed him.

His knees bent before he could stop them, hanging onto the rails, and he sank onto the porch steps, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Winded all of a sudden.

Count to ten, he recalled. Slow. Even. One, two, three.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

His ribs ached. His skin felt too tight, like it was trying to hold in something too big, something pressing outward from him.

And still—he counted. Four, five six...

By the time he looked up, the knot in his chest hadn’t loosened, not really, but—they were there, too.

Them. Across the street.

Leela and Maya. Standing in the wide front lawn, bathed in the softness of morning.

Leela had clearly been sidetracked—again—always halfway between duty and distraction. He knew how much she hated these chores. The clothesline stretched out, strung with damp sheets, but the laundry basket at her feet sat untouched, still full of what she’d meant to hang.

She wasn’t folding anymore.

Instead, she was holding up a long, white bedsheet, grinning at Maya's small hands curled into fists of excitement.

Joel watched as Leela ducked behind the sheet, disappearing—Maya’s breath hitched—and then—

Leela reappeared, hands lifting, fingers wiggling. “Boo!”

Maya shrieked, her whole body jolting in surprise before she collapsed onto the grass, giggling so hard she lost her balance, tumbling onto her little butt. Her laughter was bright, high-pitched, breathless, shaking her tiny shoulders.

Leela laughed too, full and warm, head tipping back just slightly.

And Joel just sat there. Breathing in, breathing out. Eight, nine, ten. Barely thinking about it anymore.

Because fuck.

After last night. After the whiskey. After the emptiness. After the memories had clawed their way out of their grave and wrapped around his throat like they wanted to drag him back under—

Here he stopped.

Watching this. Warm. Real. Close enough to touch.

Something that hadn’t been there twenty years ago, but was here now, right in front of him.

And he still didn’t think he deserved it.

But really—maybe he didn’t need to.

He didn’t move. Not right away.

Just sat there, hands braced on his knees, watching. Letting it settle into him, this moment. Something to dig his heels into while he caught up with the world again.

Leela exhaled, dramatic, hands on her hips. “Phew,” she huffed, glancing down at the still-full laundry basket. “Still got to hang these up.”

Maya, fresh off her giggling fit, sat up, rocking forward onto her hands and knees before clambering to her feet. Her dress—soft cotton, faded at the edges, patterned with tiny yellow flowers—was rumpled from rolling in the grass. A few strands of dark curls stuck to her forehead, but she barely noticed, too busy eyeing the basket with newfound purpose.

Joel could see it happen—that little shift.

The way her expression turned serious, brows knitting in focus, her lips parting like she’d just discovered the most important job in the world.

She reached down, fingers barely big enough to grasp the edge of a sheet. She grunted, giving it all she had, but it didn’t budge.

Leela glanced down. “Hm?”

Maya huffed, squared her tiny shoulders, and tried again—both hands this time, using her whole little body to tug at the fabric, little theatrical 'hng!' of hard work escaping her chest.

Still nothing.

“Mama.” She stomped her foot. “Up.”

Leela’s mouth twitched, amusement flickering in her eyes. She crouched beside her daughter, resting her hands on her knees. “Oh, I see. You’re helping me, huh?”

Maya nodded. Firm. Determined. “Gimme, gimme.”

Joel palmed his mouth, hoping the world didn’t take his smile away too soon.

Leela reached into the basket, fingers brushing lightly over Maya’s before gathering up the sheet properly. “Thank you, baby,” she murmured.

Maya beamed. Like the baby girl had just been handed the keys to the kingdom.

She toddled after her mother as Leela walked to the line, big eyes fixed on the way the fabric billowed like a cloud as it caught the light.

Joel exhaled. Sat frozen, watching.

The simple rhythm of it. The way Maya—so small, so certain—kept reaching down, picking up the next thing, both hands now, learning from last time, lurching after her mama with that same eager little voice.

“Mama, up.”

And every time—every single time—Leela patiently answered the same. “Thank you, baby.”

Again, and again. Again, and again.

Joel swallowed. His throat no longer felt tight. His head still ached, still held the despair of last night, of everything before it. But right now, here, with the cool air on his skin, the smell of damp earth in his lungs, the sound of Maya’s tiny voice chirping “Mama, up” over and over—

He could breathe. Really breathe.

And when his feet finally moved, when he finally pushed himself up from the steps and started walking toward them—it wasn’t some grand decision. It wasn’t something he had to force himself to do.

It was simply inevitable.

Leela didn’t hear him approach. Too focused on her daughter, on the task at hand, on the rhythm of their little world.

His fingers moved, apart from his control, found the frayed waistband of her shorts, just there, and hooked in. A gentle tug, a slow pull toward him.

Leela flinched—not much, just a hitch in her shoulders, a half-second's worth of instinct before she recognized him. Still unlearning old habits. Before she softened right against his chest.

And when she laughed, soft and knowing, she reached up without hesitation, fingers brushing along the side of his bristly cheek, a gentle, familiar warmth.

“G'morning,” she whispered.

Joel didn’t care anymore.

Didn’t care about the ghosts still clinging to his ribs. Didn’t care about the way exhaustion stretched him thin, about how last night still loomed in the back of his mind, dark and swollen and waiting to be acknowledged. Didn’t care that he probably looked half a corpse, standing there in yesterday’s clothes, smelling like whiskey and relapse.

He only cared about this. Only this.

The strings of her top tied at the nape of her neck, the curve of her spine beneath his fingertips, her skin warmed at his touch as he leaned in, pressed his open mouth against it, and let himself taste her where he could.

Leela sighed, tilting just slightly, like she always did—like her body always made room for him, even before her mind caught up.

His fingers slid forward, skimming beneath the loose hem of her top, smoothing down, trailing slowly over the smooth plane of her stomach.

A reminder. That she was here. That he was here. They were here. And that some things in this world were still good.

“Mornin',” he murmured into her skin.

Leela blinked, only half-registering the words. Then—

She sniffed and grimaced at him. “Jesus, Joel,” she muttered, nose wrinkling, “did you drink?”

Joel let out a quiet breath, pressing his forehead to the curve of her shoulder.

He shook his head. Not a yes. Not a no, not really. Just not now. “I don't wanna talk about it.”

Leela didn’t push. She only turned, facing him now, studying him like she was flipping through the pages of a book she already knew by heart.

His sunken eyes. The pallid, drawn look of him. His hair, a complete mess. His shirt, wrinkled like he hadn’t even bothered taking it off before collapsing somewhere.

He felt the attention in her stare. Not pity, she just understood. She knew because this had been her for some time, minus the alcohol.

So, all she said was—“Do you want to wash up?” Her voice was quiet. Only there for him. “I’ll make you some coffee and you can sit by the garden. Get some fresh air.”

Relief punched through him, sharp and unexpected. He nodded. Squeezed at her waist. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Leela didn’t look away, still watching him. Seeing if he needed anything else. Not even when he tried to smooth his voice out, tried to make it sound like he was okay.

“I'm alright, darlin’,” he promised—lied. “Had a rough night. Thanks for the sandwich.”

She patted his cheek before her lips curved into a meaningful smile. He really needed her with him, like the air he breathed.

“Maya,” Leela called, her eyes still anchored on his. “Look who's here, baby.”

Maya, busy untangling the last set of laundry from the basket, glanced up at her mother. Then her company.

Her face lit up, her mouth opening wide with a smile. And then she was off like a shot, legs pumping through the grass, a firecracker of squeals and giggles and wild, uncontainable joy.

Joel barely had time to brace himself before she crashed into his legs, clinging to him with all the strength her tiny body could manage.

“Da-da!”

Fuck.

He shut his eyes for half a second. That little voice, that little word, scraping a five-fingered claw so raw inside him, into something that shouldn’t be touched. But when he opened his eyes again, when he looked down and saw her, saw the absolute unsought delight written across Maya's face—

He couldn’t refuse her. He never could.

“Hi, baby girl,” he rasped, hoisting her up with one arm. “C'mere. Gimme a kiss.”

Maya fit perfectly against him, the way she always did, all carved in for herself, her arms impossibly small where they wrapped around his neck. And Jesus, the way she grinned at him—then leaned forward to smack a tiny, wet kiss on his cheek.

“You're breakin' my heart in that dress,” he told her, brushing a thumb over the little yellow flowers. “Did you pick it out?”

Maya gasped and pointed at them for him. “'S-h-f—s’flowers, my f-d-dwess,” she stammered, words tumbling over themselves in the excitement of seeing him.

Joel huffed a laugh, tucking his chin against her head. Christ, how did she get sweeter every goddamn day?

But then she started squirming, leaning right out of his arms, stretching her little fingers toward the clothesline as far as they could go. “Hang!”

Joel caught her before she toppled, laughing despite himself. “Woah, yeah, I know you did.” He glanced at Leela, who was watching them with that quiet, knowing expression. “Biggest little helper in the world.”

Maya nodded. Like it was a fact.

Joel pressed a kiss to her temple, still holding her close. “Listen, sunshine, I gotta hit the shower, okay? 'Cause your mama said I stink, and I can’t have that.”

Maya wrinkled her nose, scrunching up her whole face. He pinched at it.

Leela arched a brow. “Mama's only concerned,” she murmured.

“Mama ain't gotta be, yeah?” Joel shot back. But his voice was softer than before. Not so hollow.

Leela studied him for a second—like she knew that wasn’t true. Knew exactly what had happened last night. Knew exactly what he’d been trying to drown. But she didn’t say anything or call him out. She only did what Leela always did—she helped. Without condition. Without question.

“Now,” Joel cleared his throat, adjusting Maya in his arms, “which one of you pretty ladies is gonna fix me up a nice breakfast?”

Maya clapped her hands, a little burst of glee. “Yay!”

X

It started with Ellie. Because of course, it did.

That kid had a way of getting under his skin, of digging her nails into the parts of him he didn’t even realize were still soft. Poking. Prodding. Needling. And she’d done just that—smirking, goading, dangling the bait in front of his face like she knew damn well he was gonna take it.

“Well, sourpuss, Leela’s coming,” she'd convincingly said to him as they were returning their horses to the stables after patrol.

Joel had laughed at her face. Scoffed, even. And, what? His Leela? At the Tipsy Bison? At a goddamn party? With all the noise, all the music, all the drunk, sweaty fools two-stepping on the wooden floor? No chance in hell.

Yet, Ellie went on.

“I dunno how Tommy convinced her,” she had said, grinning like she’d already won, shoving her hands into her pockets. “But—yeah. She’ll be here with Maya.”

And that was all it took.

Which was how Joel found himself here. Stood stiff by the bar, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass of beer, the other clenching and unclenching at his side. His leather jacket felt too damn hot under the press of too many bodies, the heat of the string lights, and the music—Christ, the music. That twangy, knee-stomping, boot-scuffing, banjo-heavy bullshit rattling through the rafters—loud enough to set his damn teeth on edge. He'd hated it back then, and he hated it now.

The annual hoedown at the Tipsy Bison.

The world couldn’t give him a break. How in God’s name had he ended up here? How the hell had he let this happen?

This was not his scene. And it sure as hell wasn’t Leela’s. They would've been at home, curled up for dinner, amusing themselves with Maya like she was their favourite show on the television.

All it took was to establish that Leela was going to be there.

Because now, here he was—standing in the corner like a goddamn joke, cleaned up like he had any business being out on a Friday night, his boots polished, his hair combed back, his leather jacket slung over a shirt he actually bothered to button properly. Dressed to the fucking nines, he was.

And for what? To sit in a sea of drunken idiots and wait? Wait for her to walk in, looking like she was some kind of myth, some rare, elusive thing, something too glorious to be real? Wait for every goddamn person in the room to notice?

Because they would. Of course, they fucking would. Even the straightest of women would be turning their heads for her if they'd seen what he'd seen. Those never-ending legs, that face, that smile—shit, yeah, he was in big trouble.

Because fucking Maria had gotten her hands on Leela, and Maria was up to no good.

He’d tried. Lord knows he’d tried. He had stomped up the stairs at the fifteen-minute mark, knowing damn well this whole thing was taking too long, and had called, “Alright, well—sweetheart, nothing too showy, right? Y’know, these people don’t ‘preciate that as much as—”

“Oh, get the fuck outta here, Smeagol!” Maria had shouted him off.

Now, he was here... all because of her. And she wasn’t even here yet.

Joel exhaled sharply, jaw ticking, eyes darting to the door for the tenth time in five minutes. Nothing. He dragged his fingers along the rim of the bottle, still scowling at the bar like it owed him an apology.

Because the longer he stood here, the clearer it became what was really getting to him.

It wasn’t that Leela was coming.

It wasn’t that she’d let Maria fix her up—touch her pretty face, brush out her hair, maybe even put her in a pretty little dress.

No. It was the eyes. The way they were gonna watch her.

Hell yeah, Joel was jealous man. One of the many sins he had the privilege of bearing. He could get territorial as fuck, no doubt about it. All that sharing and community crap was bullshit. He had what he had, and it was splendid. Perfect, even. It was his because he kept it that way. He wasn't about to flaunt it to everyone in this town, have everyone poking at the green-eyed monster. And now was not the right time to test it, especially with his shocking self-esteem at an all-time low.

Damn it, this was his Leela.

She wasn’t just pretty. She wasn’t just easy on the eyes. She was—God, she just was. Unknowable. Untouchable. Something soft and sharp and utterly fucking stunning—and worst of all? She didn’t even realize it.

But they would. And Joel—fuck, he was pissed. Not at her. Never at her.

At them.

Because they didn’t get to see her the way he did.

Not in the morning, curled up and soft, her voice all husky and groggy. Not when she was tired in the afternoons, tucked into the couch with Maya, absentmindedly stroking her little girl’s hair. Not at night, in the flickering warmth of the fireplace, barefaced and undone, tucked between her blackboards and chalk pieces, humming the rhythm of equations under her breath.

They didn’t get that. They didn’t get her. But that wouldn’t stop them from looking. From trying.

Joel was still scowling at the door when Ellie appeared at his side, grinning like a fox. Before he could say anything—something landed on his head, slumping into his eyes. A ritzy, cowboy hat.

His whole body went rigid.

“Hat-asaur, yeah!” Ellie whooped, slapping the brim.

Joel exhaled sharply. The Lord was really trying him tonight. His hand went up automatically, ready to rip the damn thing off, but—

“Wait, Joel, c’mon!” Ellie slapped his hand away. “You look good, Maya will love it.”

Joel sighed and dragged a hand down his face. Then—begrudgingly, muttered, “Fine.”

Ellie whooped again, nudging him hard enough to make him stumble a step forward.

He grumbled something under his breath, eyes still glued to the damn door. Because any second now—she was gonna walk in. And already, it felt like his ass was on fire.

He flexed his fingers, shifting on his feet, too aware of the way the hat sat a little too low over his eyes, the way his collar felt like it was choking him. He wasn’t nervous, alright? Not nervous. Just—

Shit.

The door opened. At first, it was just a blur of movement, people shuffling in and out, but then—there.

Leela stepped inside. And Joel was simply a man who’d been gone a long time and just found his way home.

Her head was tilted slightly down, eyes lowered in that way of hers, like she wasn’t sure if she clicked in a place like this. Maya was tucked close to her side, her little hand securely fastened within her mother's, but she was already wriggling, already whining, ready to tear herself away and make her own little discoveries around the place.

Little thing was decked out in tiny denim overalls, small curls pulled into two bows, soft white boots barely keeping up as she stomped at the floor, still fighting against Leela’s hold, squealing her frustration, saying, “Mama, go, me go!”

And well—thank you, Maria. Because Jesus Christ. Leela wasn’t wearing anything particularly more catering to her strappy tastes, nothing that showed more skin than usual, but somehow, it was worse—because of course it was.

The soft brown dress unevenly swayed at her calves, the deep plunge of it down to her sternum until it nearly blended into her skin, the measly beaded strings tied around her neck. Her black hair all loose and wild around her waist. Effortless as anything.

And those goddamn embroidered, leathery cowgirl boots. Stopped his goddamn heart. Sexy as hell. All he could think about now was having them over his shoulders, that dress pulled to the seam of those arch legs, lips tasting, moving against that sweet, sweet—

He closed his eyes to collect his scattered wits for a second. Oh, Christ, he was already losing it.

See it didn’t matter that the dress was modest, that she wasn’t trying to draw attention to herself. People were still fucking looking, alright.

Leela hadn’t spotted him yet, her focus on a sniffling Maya as she crouched low, murmuring something in her ear, pressing a warm kiss to her palm, before handing her off to Maria with a soft, “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

She searched the crowd, weaving carefully between bodies, until she looked up and spotted him. No other flicker in her eyes, just recognition, as she didn't waste another second and made her way straight to him.

Joel barely had time to say anything before she reached for his hand, cool fingers slotting through his as she dragged him aside, away from the crowd, away from the noise, into a quiet corner near the stairs.

“Come with me,” she murmured to him.

He could feel the eyes burning through him, the silent stares pressing in from every direction. And for a split second, he had the strongest urge to make it known. To push her against that wall. To kiss her. To stake his claim, loud and clear for the whole damn bar to see.

But before he could do a thing, Leela was stopping.

She was unfolding something. A piece of paper, scrawled with numbers and symbols smoothed out between trembling fingers.

Her eyes darted to his, wide and glowing with something almost feverish.

“I did it,” she said, voice a mere breath and almost shaking. “I solved it, Joel. The Riemann Hypothesis.”

Joel blinked. The who-what now?

“Took me ten whole years,” she whispered, hands trembling slightly as she held up the paper. “And my dad’s entire life. I-it’s a milestone in the field of mathematics. I just solved the biggest unsolved problem out there, Joel. Oh, I—I don’t know what to do—I don’t—Omigod—shit, I can’t breathe—”

“Hey, hey.” Joel reacted before he could think, his hands reaching up, long fingers networking at the back of her head, cupping her face, grounding her to him.

“Daggum, girl, you're incredible,” he murmured, close to her ear, pressing a kiss there. “You make me proud every damn day.”

Leela let out a breath, squeezing her hands to her mouth, eyes bright and almost disbelieving. “Thanks.”

She exhaled again, shaking her head a little, like she was still trying to wrap her mind around it.

A thought hit her. Then—her gaze snapped back to his, sharp and alive. She held his elbows tight.

“Do you know someone we can tell?” she asked, the words tumbling out. “This is really revolutionary, Joel. Would Tommy or Maria know? Someone outside of Wyoming maybe, a professor or a student? Radio them? Or someone who—um, can get this notarized?”

Her words started rushing out, full of hope, full of expectation—but Joel had nothing. He just stood there.

He was a man used to thinking practically, used to reading the world for threats, for weaknesses, for what mattered in the immediate sense of survival.

This was out of his hands, out of his understanding. Leela’s excitement, the breathless urgency in her voice—it’s not something he was used to handling. It’s not something he can fix with his fists, with a gun, with a little death. This was bigger than him, bigger than Jackson, bigger than this world they’re barely holding together.

And that’s the part that was eating at him.

Because she cared about this. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the way she shook when she pressed that crumpled piece of paper into his hands. This wasn’t just numbers to her. This was ten years of her life. This was her father’s legacy.

And all he could do was stare at it.

Because what the fuck was he supposed to say? What could he tell her when there’s no one left to hear it? Anyone worth anything was gone? When there’s no university, no award, no history books to remember her name?

It made him angry in a way he couldn’t explain. At the whole fucking world. At the way it had stolen so much from her already—and now it was going to take this, too.

She saw it in his face before he even spoke. He tried to think, tried to come up with something, but he was taking too long.

And that was the worst part. Because that spark, that glow in her eyes—it was already dying.

She swallowed and managed a faltering smile. Folded the paper back up, like it was nothing. Like it was just another thing she had to let go of.

“So silly,” she mumbled.

Joel wanted to stop her. To tell her it mattered that what she’d done was worth all the awards, golds and notaries in the world. But what would that mean coming from him? What the hell does he know about numbers or legacy? He'd shit all over his own.

So he just watched as she tucked the paper away. That familiar, bitter rage simmered at the back of his throat.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, stroking the back of her head.

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine,” she said quietly, running a hand through her hair. “I just—I don’t know what I was expecting. World's different now.”

Joel clenched his jaw. She should’ve expected more. She deserved more.

The world was too small now, and she was too big for it.

A moment passed, heavy and quiet, and Joel really tried to work his mouth, distract her, pull her out of her head. He didn't need to.

So softly it barely made a sound—

“I like your hat.”

Joel blinked at her, and felt something in his chest ease, just a little, at the quiet humour in her voice. He exhaled a small laugh, tipping his head slightly, letting the hat slink a little lower, playing along.

“Yeah? Reckon you’ve never been hit on by a real cowboy before,” he drawled, all gravel and honey, emphasizing his accent, thumb hooking into his belt.

Leela let out a soft laugh, her fingers brushing her lips. “Never even been to a bar before.”

Joel whistled, low and slow, shaking his head like he’d just laid eyes on the Mona Lisa. “Damn shame for a pretty young thing like you.”

He really was trying, pulling out all the big guns. Laying it on thick, thicker than he had any right to, but goddamn—if she deserved the world, and he couldn’t give her that, at least he could make her smile. At least he could lift that weight off her shoulders, even for a minute.

So he leaned in a little more, let his voice drop to a slow, easy drawl, and let the heat of his gaze do half the work.

“Well, now,” he murmured, watching her just a little too long, letting his gaze drag over her like a slow hand, “lucky for you, darlin’… I got a real nice record of showin’ a lady a good time. My saddle ain’t the only thing gettin’ ridden hard if you said it.”

Leela raised her brows, sceptical but not immune. “...saddle? Oh.”

Joel felt it the moment it landed. The way her breath hitched—not much, just enough. The way her fingers tightened around the folded slip of paper in her hand.

And he wanted to feel it—wanted to feel that tension in her, the kind he swore he could taste in the air between them. It had been a long goddamn time since he felt this—since he wanted something enough to reach for it.

Slow, steady—like breaking a skittish horse. Like testing the waters, making sure she wouldn’t spook. His hand hovered, calloused fingers just inches from her skin, giving her the chance to move, to pull away, to tell him no.

She didn’t. So he took what she gave.

His fingers found her chin, the pad of his thumb barely grazing the plush curve of her bottom lip. He tilted her face up just a fraction—just enough to make her look at him, to catch that moment her lips parted on instinct, like she was already breathless.

Jesus. His control didn’t do much when she blinked up at him like that, lashes and lips fluttering—just asking to be pinned to that wall behind her.

His smirk came easy—lazy, dangerous, wolfish. Yeah, he knew that look. Knew it because he felt the same damn way.

He casually let go, and her eyes followed his hand down to his side.

“See,” he continued, angling his body toward hers, close enough to catch the way her pulse ticked at the base of her throat. “A cowboy’s got a duty, y’know. Gotta show a fine lady what a proper gentleman’s like.”

His fingers dipped under the brim of his hat, tipping it just so—shadowing his eyes, letting his gaze drop, nice and slow, just long enough to let her know exactly where he was looking.

Then, a slow shrug—broad shoulders rolling under his shirt, casual, easy—like he wasn’t laying a goddamn trap.

“Well,” he drawled, voice turning downright sinful, “‘d be mighty honoured to be called yours t’night.”

And there it was. And Joel knew right then and there—he had her. Because she didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t laugh or stop him.

That telltale little pause—like maybe, just maybe, she was picturing it. He knew he was.

Instead, she just stood there, watching him, lips parted like maybe she had something to say—something that got lost somewhere in the space between them.

And for one wild, reckless moment, Joel thought she might just lean in, kiss the crap out of him. But then—she blinked, and the moment was gone.

She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “You're funny.”

Joel grinned, even though he felt the shift. The retreat. “That so?” he drawled, still not letting up.

“You sound like you walked out of a Western.”

He smirked, tipped his hat lower, and let his voice drop just for her. “Now, sugar, that ain’t no way to talk to the man who’s about to teach you how to have your first bar fight. I quite like a girl with some fire in her belly.”

That got a laugh out of her. A real one. And Joel soaked it in, every damn inch of it.

Leela snorted, rolling her eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, now,” he teased, nudging her arm, his fingers just barely brushing against the soft skin there. “You’ve been missin’ out, angel, bein’ all locked away in that big house of yours.”

She raised her palm up in surrender. “Excuse me for having more pressing matters.”

Joel let his gaze drift over her, taking his time, dragging over the curve of her dress, the shape of her legs in those maddening boots. And then—he looked her right in the eye.

“Well,” he murmured, deep and sure, “maybe it’s time you stopped thinkin' about it.”

And just like that—the mood swerved again. Leela’s smile flickered, fingers twitching at her side.

She wasn’t looking at him anymore. Joel hated that he understood what that felt like. Hated that she deserved so much more than this world could ever give her. But before he could say a thing—

A little body slammed into his leg, nearly knocking him off balance.

Joel let out a breath just in time to feel Maya’s tiny arms latch around his calf, her face tipped up at him, all big eyes and a hopeful little four-teeth grin.

“Pease, pease, da-da,” she whined, hopping in place, her little hands patting at his jeans. “Up!”

Joel exhaled, running a hand down his face. Jesus Christ. Tic-tac-sized cockblocker, he was raising.

Leela laughed, faint and knowing, shaking her head as Maya demanded his full attention. But Joel couldn't even be mad. Baby girl was looking at him like he'd just walked straight out of heaven.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, already reaching for her. “C’mon up, trouble.”

Maya squealed, her little body kicking excitedly as Joel lifted her into the air, her arms flung out like she was ready to take off. He swung her once, twice, before tucking her close, and she immediately latched onto him, her tiny hands gripping at his collar like she owned him.

Hell. Maybe she did.

She smelled like baby powder and whatever sweet stuff Tommy had probably snuck her earlier, and her little curls were tickling his jaw as she wriggled against him. She was always moving, always vibrating with energy, her whole body alive with it.

Then, suddenly—her wide eyes locked on his hat. Oh, hell. Joel knew that look.

“Gimme, gimme,” she demanded, tiny fingers already reaching.

He playfully narrowed his eyes at her. “Gimme?” he echoed, raising a brow. “That how you ask me?”

Maya pushed her lips out—big, dramatic, a whole damn performance. All that, he had no idea where that came from. Then she reached again, ready to rip it off him if she had to. “Gimme.”

Leela sighed beside them. “Maya, you have to say plea—”

“Pease!” Maya cut in quickly, blinking up at him with too much innocence.

Joel shook his head, letting out a low chuckle. “Goddamn, you’re trouble.”

Then, without another word, he took the too-big hat off his head and plopped it right onto hers.

The thing swallowed her whole. She was just this tiny little baby, her grinning cheeks barely visible beneath the brim, only the tips of her fingers peeking out as she held it up with both hands.

Then—with all the theatrics of a seasoned performer—she bent all the way back, her whole body arched beneath the hat, peering at him, flashing him a big, toothy grin.

And when she let out that breathy giggle—sharp, bright, real—Joel felt his chest squeeze. Too damn much.

“You havin’ fun under there?”

Maya nodded so hard the hat nearly flew off, and she had to grab at it, still giggling.

Then, out of habit, he glanced up—toward Leela.

No, she wasn’t really there. Her body was, sure—standing right beside him, arms crossed, eyes aimed at Maya. But she wasn’t watching. She was elsewhere, stuck somewhere in her own head, her fingers twitching like she wanted to grab at something—her pocket, that damn folded-up paper, something to keep herself busy.

Joel’s grip tightened on Maya.

He knew that look, the feeling. The way the body stayed standing but the mind wasn’t anywhere close.

His mouth opened, but before he could get anything out—

“I’ll go get a drink,” Leela muttered.

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was her way of saying—don’t follow me. So, he just let her go with a quiet nod.

But the second she disappeared into the crowd—he moved. His jaw was already tight as he reached for Ellie, snagging her by the arm and pulling her away from whatever dumb thing she was about to get into.

“The fuck... Joel?” she snapped, yanking at his grip.

Joel ignored her. Nodded toward the bar.

“Leela’s out of it,” he muttered, voice low. “Get her with your friends. Make her relax or somethin’.”

Ellie’s brows pulled together, her sharp little gaze flicking toward where Leela had gone. “What, so you’re just pawning her off? Your precious darlin'?”

Joel shot her a don't-test-me-look.

Ellie rolled her eyes. Dramatic as hell, now he knew exactly where Maya was getting it from. “Fine, whatever,” she muttered. “I got it.”

And with that, she disappeared after Leela, not without giving Maya's nose a little affectionate boop.

Joel stayed put, jaw still clenched, a hand on his hips, gaze locked on the door.

A small, warm hand patted his cheek for his attention.

“Da-da,” Maya mumbled. Her tiny fingers gripped his collar again, her cheeks still half-swallowed by his hat, her dark eyes big and certain.

And just like that, his body eased.

Joel sighed through his nose. “Yeah, baby girl. I'm here.”

Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of her tummy.

“C’mon,” he murmured, shifting her higher against his chest. “Let’s get you somethin’ to drink, too. You want to share a beer?”

X

Maya had been swept away by the time Tommy had caught up to Joel with a bottle and a few guys, practically pried out of Joel’s arms before he could blink. Maria had her now, parading her like a carnival float, making a whole damn show out of her.

And why wouldn’t she? The smallest baby in dirt road Jackson. Hell, Maya was practically town property at this point.

Joel watched, a little amused, as Maria lifted her high, twirling her around like a prize before setting her on her shoulders. Maya squealed, fisting her tiny hands into Maria’s hair, kicking her little boots, having the goddamn time of her life.

“Miller baby’s gonna get spoiled rotten,” Tommy muttered beside him, arms crossed.

That name still rubbed at him wrong. “Already is,” Joel mumbled.

He hummed. “And she’s eatin’ this up, little peacock.”

Joel made a derisive noise in his throat. “Ain’t her fault everyone here treats her like the second comin’.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t blame ‘em. Cute as hell.”

Joel couldn't argue with that. Just watched Maya beam at the attention, watched Maria spin her like she was royalty, watched as people—grown adults—cooed and clapped like she was putting on a Broadway show.

Yeah. This kid had them all wrapped around her little finger.

Joel exhaled, rubbing his jaw, his fingers pressing into the rough scrape of stubble like it might ground him. Tommy stood beside him, his stance easy, but Joel knew his brother too well—there was a thought in the way he was standing.

And then—the nudge. So casual, it almost had him fooled.

“So, back to the point,” Tommy started, quieter now, like he didn’t want the words to carry. “Leela’s big breakthrough. Hypothesis or whatever. Shit, I knew she had it in her.”

Joel ran his tongue over his teeth, nodding, preferring to stay silent rather than give anything away.

Tommy sighed, bracing a hand on his hip, eyes lazily scanning the room before he went on. “Listen, man, there are—people. Some folks I knew way back. When I was with the Fireflies. Dunno if they're still around, but...”

Joel turned his head slowly, his jaw tightening like a steel trap.

Tommy met his gaze, serious now. “Way outside of LA.”

Joel didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“They’re still keepin’ the science goin’,” Tommy said, voice lower now. “Not a lot. Just—pockets of ‘em, doin’ what they can. Research and stuff. Pretty legit. The kinda thing she’d wanna hear.”

Joel’s fingers flexed against the worn leather of his belt.

He didn’t like where this was going. Or the thought of giving her something to hope for, just to rip it out of her hands when it all went to hell. He also didn’t like how much this conversation was starting to matter to him.

Tommy let out another sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“But we keep off the radar,” he said firmly. “No radio, no messages, nothin’ that could get the wrong kinda attention. You know the rules.” He levelled Joel with a look, voice final. “So, I won’t tell her a thing.”

Joel swallowed, his throat tight, something hot and sour curdling in his gut.

It was the right call, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He despised knowing that there were still people out there who gave a shit about knowledge, about discovery, about the old world. Knowing that Leela might’ve had a place there, if things had been different.

He grunted. “Good.”

Tommy exhaled, long and slow, like he’d been holding his breath. “Maria and I were thinking.... it'd be nice if she helped out at the school.”

Joel sniffed a, “What?”

Tommy shrugged, shifting his weight. “Y’know. Teach the kids.”

Joel furrowed his brows, fully turning to face him now. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“I mean, she’s sittin’ on all that knowledge,” Tommy said. “And she’s stuck in that damn house all the time.” He lifted a brow. “Might do her some good. Get her mind off…” He waved vaguely, eyes flicking in the direction Leela had gone. “Everything.”

Joel just stared at him.

Tommy shrugged again. “Think about it.”

Joel did. It wasn't the worst idea. But he didn't know if she’d be up for it or even consider stepping into that kind of role. He was about to say as much when—

A burst of murmurs and hoots erupted from the centre of the bar, cutting through the low hum of music. Chairs scraped, people turned, and a few whistles pierced the air.

Both brothers looked toward the noise. Tommy raised a brow. Joel narrowed his eyes.

“What in the...”

And then he saw her.

Leela. Right there in the centre of it all. She was surrounded—by Ellie, Dina, Jesse, and a few others forming a loose, laughing circle around her, dancing along. Encouraging. Egging her on.

She wasn’t two-stepping. This wasn’t a country song anymore. The band had taken a break, and someone had thrown on an old record—something slow, sultry, snappy, the kind of tune that slinked through the air, curling into the bones, pushed you to move.

And she was feeling it.

Joel had never seen her dance like that. Way too much for his heart to handle. Not his Leela, who never strayed too far from the walls, slipping between shadows, never let her guard down, never let herself be seen.

When Soft Cell sang about having the burnin', yearnin' feeling inside on Where Did Our Love Go, he felt that deep. Right now—she was a goddamn sight. Pure, wicked temptation.

Body swaying, hips rolling in slow, leisurely motions. Hands tangled in her own hair, then sliding down her neck—down—over her chest, grazing her ribs, curling over the curve of her waist.

She had no idea what she looked like right now—how that loose dress clung to her body with every billow, shifting and stretching with every movement. How the dim, golden light caught on her skin, illuminating her like some sort of deity.

How nearly every person in this bar had stopped to watch her.

It pissed him off.

And yet—he couldn’t look away.

Joel’s fingers twitched at his sides. Didn’t know whether to stop her or—pull her close.

Drag her against him, press his hands to her waist, and let her roll those hips against him, sink his teeth into her skin, deep enough to leave his mark. Hold her still, just for a moment, just long enough to feel her body fit into his—see if she’d let him.

So soft, willing, entirely elsewhere. Like she wasn’t in Jackson anymore, wasn’t in this old, rough-edged bar, but in some smoky club, where the lights were low, sequins danced off clothes, and the air was sweaty and nobody cared about pasts or promises.

The way her skirts fluttered as she moved, clutched loosely in her fingers, lifting just enough to show the lean muscle of her legs. The way she smiled—full, unguarded, head tossed back, a laugh cruising out, teeth gleaming in the dim light, unrestrained, a sound so full of life it hurt.

He’d seen her smile before. But never like this—wild, free, daredevil. Ellie must’ve really gotten more than three hard drinks in her.

Joel swallowed hard, forcing his feet to stay planted where they were.

Because something about this—about her—about the way her body moved, the way she felt the rhythm like it was something sacred, the way she tilted her head, eyes fluttering shut for a moment like the music sunk under her skin—

Something about it made Joel feel like his skin didn’t quite fit around his bones. Like something was gnawing at him. Feeding into his insatiate hunger. He curled his hands into fists, shoving them into his pockets. Because the way he wanted to touch her right now? Not fucking appropriate.

Tommy doubled up with a hoot. “Oh, hell, man.” He clapped Joel on the shoulder. “That’s a whole different Leela right there!”

Joel exhaled slowly, forcing his jaw to loosen. He knew he should be worried. Should be thinking about why she was drinking that much, why she was like this all of a sudden. Relaxing was different. This was goddamn spinning in outer space.

But she wasn’t reckless. She wasn’t stumbling, wasn’t out of control. She was just—happy. And how the hell was he supposed to take that from her?

Joel shook his head, mouth twitching into something dangerously close to a grin. “Just let her be.”

Tommy shot him a look. “Yeah?”

Joel exhaled, watching as Leela did something almost like a body roll, slow and smooth, skirts flicking as she spun. He dragged a hand over his beard. “Never seen her smile like that.”

And God. He wanted her to keep smiling like that. He wanted to keep her like that. That lightness. That freedom. That untouchable, golden, weightless feeling. She’d been carrying that unspeakable shit in her chest since the day he met her. And now?

Now, she looked free. Like she was burning it all away. Let her, the world owed her that much.

She threw her hair forward, fingers raking through the strands before she whipped it back, shaking it out, arms in the air, eyes half-closed, a small, lazy grin curling at her lips—

Joel was staring. Unblinking. Jesus, just look at her. All of that belonged to him. He really did all right for himself, didn't he?

And he wasn’t the only one watching.

“Holy shit,” Tommy murmured, his amusement barely contained. Joel didn’t have to look at him to know that stupid grin was plastered all over his face. “You lucky old bastard.”

“Shameless jackass.” Joel smacked him upside the head, but hell—he wasn’t gonna argue.

Because Leela was out there, a careless grace, hips swaying, head tilted back just enough for the dim glow to catch on the slope of her throat. She wasn’t dancing with anyone, not really—just herself, the music, the air around her.

And then—she spotted him. Their eyes locked.

Joel watched, not backing down, cocking a brow, casually lifting the rim of his beer to his mouth. Go on, then.

Her lips curled slow, teasing, teeth catching on the edge of a grin as she raised her index finger, a silver ring glinting off it—beckoning him. A clear come-hither look if he'd ever seen one. Dance with me.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose. She was being such a goddamn tease tonight.

Where the hell was this girl all along? He was halfway to forgetting himself, forgetting how his boot was planted firm against the bar wall, how he wasn’t the kind of man to drift into the thick of things, but hell if she wasn’t making it too damn tempting. His feet nearly moved on their own.

The little flirt brought the fingernail between her canines, watching him back through dark lashes, still swaying. Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing to him, drunk or not.

Then someone grabbed her.

It happened fast—a rough hand curled at her elbow, breaking that moment clean in two. Yanking her back, that playful grin dropped from her face as she stumbled back.

“You wanna fuckin' dance like that, you take it to the fuckin' streets where you belong,” the man sneered, his grip tight, stance aggressive.

Joel didn’t spare another thought, pushing past people, single-minded on one thing, one thing only. Fucking this guy up.

He was already moving, already cutting across the floor before Ellie’s sharp “Hey—!” had fully left her clenched teeth. Before Dina had raised her voice louder or Jesse had shoved his drink onto a nearby table.

Joel got there first.

His fist caught the guy’s collar, violent and hard, hauling him back so fast his boots scraped the floor. The man let out a startled grunt as Joel shoved him, sending him staggering.

“Get the fuck off me!” he barked, regaining his footing and immediately shoving back.

Big mistake—he might as well have tried pushing a brick wall. Joel barely moved a muscle.

That dark, familiar thing flared in his chest, searching for fuel, the way it always did before things got really bad for someone else. It thrived in moments like this. His jaw locked, teeth gritted.

Tommy got between them fast, hands up. “Alright, hey. Back off.”

The man’s lip curled, face twisted. “She’s makin’ a damn scene. Grown men tryna enjoy a drink, and she’s out here—” he waved a hand, scowling, “—doin’ that sleazy shit.”

“She was dancing, motherfucker,” Ellie snapped.

Dina stepped forward, unhesitant. “You got a problem with a girl having some fun?”

The bar crackled with tension.

Joel hadn’t looked away from the bastard. His chest rose slow, calculated, shoulders squared. He could already feel the heat of his pulse through every vein.

And the son of a bitch had the audacity to hold his gaze.

Joel was one word, one breath away from ripping his fucking teeth out of his head.

His fingers curled at his sides, hot with the need to do something, to wipe that smug look clean off the bastard’s face. It was an old, ugly feeling, one he knew too well—one that had kept him alive, carved into his bones like instinct.

“Don’t, Joel.” Tommy’s voice, quiet, firm. A name. “Maya.”

Joel’s breath hitched, like a hand gripping his collar, yanking him back before he could step over the edge.

He flicked his eyes past Tommy—past Maria—toward the far end of the bar. And there she was. His baby girl, small in Maria’s arms, being bounced in a steady rhythm. Distracted enough, but still watching. Big, dark eyes locked onto him, lips parted, fingers idly picking at her mouth like she did when something upset her.

Joel forced himself to breathe a calm breath in.

The man muttered something under his breath, took a step back.

Joel let him go. For now.

When he turned for Leela, she was stock-still, eyes fixed on the ground like she was trying to unsee what just happened. Her breath came shallow, uneven. Her fingers twitched at her sides, curling and uncurling, like they hadn’t quite gotten the message that the danger had passed.

Joel moved toward her without another thought, reaching for her. His hand found her face, a thumb grazing over her cheekbones. “Hey, we're done here.”

She blinked up at him. Swallowed. Lips parted like she meant to answer, but nothing came.

Joel didn’t wait, didn’t want to stand in this damn bar any longer with all these eyes on them and the sticky air pressing in. He guided her out—out of the noise, out of the murmurs, out into the cooler air beyond.

He barely heard the bar door swing shut behind them, noises within muffled by the night. His grip around Leela didn’t loosen until they reached the railings, and even then, he kept a steadying hand at her arm as she lowered herself to sit.

She sagged against the cool wood, breath coming uneven, gaze distant.

Joel inhaled deeply, trying to work the fire out of his blood. It only eased a fraction—just enough to let him think past the need to hit something. But something was still very, very wrong.

Dina, Jesse, and Ellie weren’t far behind. He barely registered them at first, too busy watching Leela.

Then it hit him.

This wasn’t just liquor. He’d seen it before, the unfocused sway, the way her pupils were just a little too blown, the sluggish, too-long blinks like her brain was catching up to reality in slow motion.

Joel had seen this before. Dealt with it before.

This stupid girl was high off her ass.

His breath came out sharp through his nose, and Jesse—fucking kid—must have caught onto his mood, because he held his hands out, cautious.

“Okay, Joel, before you lose your shit—”

Joel’s head snapped up, and the look he gave Jesse could’ve killed him right there. “The hell is wrong with you kids?”

Ellie threw up her hands. “You said to relax her! What else am I supposed to assume?”

Relax her. Joel almost laughed.

Because what kind of idiot was he, thinking they’d understand what he meant? He’d asked them to look out for her, to make sure she wasn’t overwhelmed—not drug her up and leave her swaying like a goddamn candle in the wind.

A headache started curling at the base of his skull.

The door opened again. “All okay out here?” Maria’s voice sliced through. She stepped outside, arms empty—Maya was with Tommy now. One long glance at Leela, and her expression sharpened. “Who got her high?”

Silence.

“I did.”

Dina, sounding less defensive and more resigned, shoulders dropping as she rubbed at the back of her neck. “Look, she was miserable, okay? I didn't want her to cry so... I just helped her out a bit.”

Joel pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, fingers digging in. A few months ago, he might’ve laid into the poor kid. Might’ve let his anger tear out of him in something sharp and punishing, because what the hell were they thinking?

But right now—now, there was Leela.

And she was leaning into him, forehead coming to press against his stomach, fingers loosely gripping the fabric of his shirt. Seeking warmth, steadiness. Him.

His hand found the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, stroking down in slow, absent motions. She was still warm, her breath soft against his stomach.

“Booooo-berries,” she slurred into him. It was the way Maya said it to them with that toothy smile, the one that never failed to get the two of them cracking up every morning.

Joel shook his head. “Christ.”

Maria sighed. “Take her home, Joel. I’ll take care of these three and send Tommy with Maya once you’ve got her sobered up.”

Joel didn't need to be told twice. He just nodded, tightening his hold on Leela, and braced himself for the slow, messy walk home.

X

Leela had surprisingly good depth perception for someone downright hopped up on drugs.

She’d asked him to dance with her to the music in her head five times, been refused all five times, attempted to spell some long-ass word while balancing on her tippiest toes, yelled that they'd lost Maya at least three times to which he'd assured her three times, and even showed off her ability to wiggle her ears like it was the greatest goddamn achievement in the world.

And well, Joel was having the time of his life.

Because everything about her at this moment was a person frozen in time, immature, stopped somewhere around nineteen, probably the same age her parents had passed. Like the weed had stripped everything else away, dulled out the grief, the hardship, the relentless millstone of responsibility.

Something she probably hadn’t let herself be in a long time. The Leela before Maya came along.

He sighed, steering her toward the house with firm hands at her waist, shuffling her through the door with the patience of a saint. She giggled at something—probably nothing—and the moment she was inside, she made a halfhearted attempt to kick off her pretty boots but ended up dropping onto the bottom step of the staircase with a huff, stretching out like a damn cat, arms over her head, smiling up at him like he’d just given her the world.

He shook his head, fighting the twitch in his lips. “Stay put, darlin’. Gonna get you some water.”

“Sure thing, darlin’,” she teased, stretching the words out, thick and syrupy. Her eyes glittered, mischief curling at the edge of her lips.

Jesus. Joel exhaled hard, rubbing a hand down his jaw as he turned toward the kitchen. He needed a second—just one—to get ahold of himself.

The faucet hummed as he filled a glass, and he let the sound drown out the heat still prickling under his skin. She’s just high. Just loose. That’s all. But damn if she wasn’t making it hard to remember that.

By the time he came back, she’d sprawled out even more, a lazy sprawl that had no right looking as ravishing as it did. Dark hair spilling like seaweed on the steps, one arm bent behind her head, the other resting just below her collarbone—fingers ghosting slow, absent patterns over the bare skin there.

His pulse ticked at his temple. He needed to look anywhere else.

He set the glass of water down, just beside her head, looming over her, leg stretched on a step, and patted her cheek. “Drink up, c'mon now.”

Leela blinked up at him, hazy and warm, and smiled like she was about to do something thoughtless. Oh, then she did.

Her hand lifted, fingers threading into the front of his hair, tugging through the strands before dragging down the rough line of his jaw. He exhaled sharply through his nose, caught between amusement and the low hum of shattering want.

“You're so hot,” she mumbled.

Pretty sure he'd blown a fuse. Now, it would be so easy to let himself sink into it, just let himself fall.

Instead, he huffed. “You’re so high.”

“I know,” she murmured, almost pleased with herself. Then, just as easily as she touched him, she let her hand drop. Then, like she’d been turning it over for a while, she said, “You know, Joel… if we got married, I’d be... Leela Miller.”

Joel froze, then—damn him—grinned his teeth off. He hadn’t ever married before, hadn’t even thought about it past the young, fleeting kind of love that got tangled up in dreams of a life he never really had. He was barely in college when he had Sarah, and after that, everything had been for her. Marriage, romance—it had been so far from his mind it might as well have been another country.

But hearing it now? So late in his life, in this broken, rebuilt world, and from a woman like Leela? It felt—strangely—like a promise. Her, standing there, hair tucked into a veil, teeth gleaming in a smile, a big white dress on a long aisle, walking towards him—it was what it was. A fantasy.

“Mrs. Miller,” he drawled, tasting the words. He shook his head. “No, actually—I like Dr. Miller more. First one in the family.”

Leela sighed like it was some faraway dream. “Dr. Leela, PhD.” She shook her head, biting down a smile. “Can you imagine that? I’d be published, be on planes, lecture students… maybe get tenure.”

He could imagine it, beyond question. Leela, all sharp intellect and sophistication, standing in front of a lecture hall full of wide-eyed students, knocking socks off with her brilliance. He saw her in crisp suits, red-bottoms clacking on marble floors, shaking hands with scholars, debating theories over glasses of wine, running circles around the best of them.

But then her expression shifted, something more distant creeping in. “But I think I’d rather take up my parents’ names. For legacy.”

Joel nodded. Made sense. If she wanted to honour where she came from, if she wanted that, who was he—

“Legacy,” she snorted, cutting through his thoughts. She carelessly patted at her skirt, fishing through her pockets, and pulled out a note—a small, crumpled scrap of paper, worn at the edges. She waved it absently in the air.

The numbers meant nothing to him, but he knew what they meant. The solution to one of the biggest unsolved mathematical problems out there. The kind of thing people used to kill themselves trying to solve. The kind of thing that would have her face and name splashed on headlines, maybe get her one of those Nobel Prizes. And she just held it like it was nothing.

“What’s the point anymore?” she muttered.

Then, before he could blink, she dunked it straight into the glass of water.

Joel lurched forward. “What in—” He snatched at the glass, pulling the soaked paper free. “The hell is wrong with you?”

“It doesn’t matter, Joel,” she dismissed him with a sigh. “There isn’t anyone out there who cares about this anymore. Just… let it go.”

Joel stared at her, then at the dripping remnants of her work. He pressed the ruined paper to his chest as if, somehow, he could will it back into existence, but it was too late. The ink had smudged, the numbers running into each other in unreadable streaks. The thin paper had started to break apart.

His jaw tightened. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Leela didn’t look at him. Her gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the walls of the house, out past Jackson, past whatever limits she had drawn for herself.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, rubbing at his face. He looked around the small space of the stairwell, the dim light catching the curve of her cheek and the sharp slope of her nose. She looked tired—and not just in the way that meant she needed sleep.

He leaned back on his haunches, resting his arms on his knees, watching her like he was trying to figure out the right words.

“Y’know,” he started, “I used to think that too. That things didn’t matter. That people—ideas… that they could just disappear, and the world would keep going like nothin’ happened.”

Leela blinked at him, somewhat interested. “And?”

“And I was wrong.”

She scoffed, barely there. “What changed?”

Joel tilted his head, brooding. He wanted to say Sarah. But that wasn’t the definitive truth. Losing Sarah had been the reason he stopped believing in things, in himself, in the good of the world. But finding Ellie, loving Maya, falling for Leela, learning to give a shit about anything again—that was what made him realize he was wrong.

So instead, he just said, “I did.”

Leela studied him, still in a daze. Then, she dropped her gaze to the water-stained paper. “It’s not the same, Joel,” she murmured. “No one’s out there waiting for this anymore.”

He shook his head. “That ain’t the point.”

He gestured vaguely at the note, at the numbers that were little more than smudges now. “You put your time and life into this.” He glanced back at her. “You cared. Your people cared.”

She didn’t say anything. Just sat there, shoulders drawn in, staring at her own hands.

Joel sighed, rubbing at his jaw. “Listen, I ain't some goddamn philosopher. I don’t know shit about legacy or what’s supposed to last. Or have one. But I do know—things don’t stop matterin’ just ’cause you’re tired of carryin’ ‘em.”

Leela swallowed, but her throat bobbed like it was hard work.

Joel reached down, nudging the damp paper toward her. “You wanna throw it away? Fine. But don’t tell yourself it never meant nothin’ in the first place. You wisen the fuck up and find somethin' else. Another big idea.”

Leela stared at the ruined note. He could see the war going on in her head, the part of her that wanted to believe him, and the part that had already convinced herself it was all pointless.

And he wasn’t sure if it was because she was thinking about it, or because she was already too far gone.

That being said, Joel barely had time to react when it began. The very first notch on his epitaph.

Leela lifted onto her elbows, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down over her until her breath ghosted over his lips—warm, teasing, heady. He could smell the impulse, the weed, the sweetness of her skin, everything that made up this living ideal. And then, just like that, she closed the distance and kissed him.

Slow at first, careful. Like she was figuring it out as she went, learning the way their mouths fit together, the way he tasted, tongue searching for his. And then something shifted—her hands slid up, fisting at the leather over his shoulders, tugging at him, voicing a small, needy sound in the back of her throat that just about undid him.

Joel breathed out sharply, his restraint unravelling like a frayed rope snapping under too much tension. Wrecking him, ruining him, pushing him, making him lose his head.

“Joel,” she murmured a plea.

“Christ, Leela,” he hissed against her lips. “We—”

We what? Can't do this? Are not ready? Need to do this on your big-ass bed so I don't throw my back out? Need to talk this through, and set some boundaries? What was he, an idiot?

She was fucking with him. Just had to be.

But, the joke's on her because he was fucked to begin with.

His closed, shaking fists found her ass, opening only to press into the softness there, mapping the curves and grooves he’d spent too goddamn long depriving himself of.

And then she was pushing his jacket back, fingers clumsy but determined, impatient.

He could tell, she clearly didn’t know what she was doing—not entirely—but she was following instinct, and it was killing him. She had no idea what it did to him, the way she was just handing herself over like this. Like she wanted it just as badly.

So, he let her work it off him, let it fall with a soft thump, not caring where it landed, his own hands greedy now, focused and unstoppable—sliding up her ribs, the dip of her waist, down to the soft skin between her thighs. She was supple beneath his touch, melting into every press, every slow drag of his fingers, his own callouses catching into her skin.

Joel wasn’t sure if he was breathing. Didn’t care if he wasn't.

He had to rip himself off her to kneel back on a creaking step to find his pace, unbutton his cuffs one by one and roll back his sleeves to his elbows, like a dedicated man about to knuckle down and give everything.

Because this was how he should’ve had her—how he’d wanted her from the start. All fingers and touch. Desperate. Awed. Like she was something he’d been dying to claim.

“You okay?” he had to pant out, that one last instinct pushing him to ask, but he couldn't stop himself to one more deep kiss into her neck. “Jesus, I can't stop. Fuckin' want everything... you alright, sweetheart?”

No response, but he was met with a quiet, feeble nod when he looked at her. It was all he needed.

“S'okay, I've got you. I'll make it good, real good for you, baby,” he made his promise, feverish.

Now utterly too immersed in her, trailing his lips, beard scratching a little too hard into her skin—on the thin, useless straps of that dress, slipping off her shoulders like they had no right being there in the first place.

He dragged his mouth down, nudging slow, deep, open-mouthed kisses against the inside of her arm, the slope of her shoulder, and the sharp line of her collarbone. He let himself linger, let himself taste—the wet, sweet, hot summer in the flesh, tongue flicking against the hollow of her throat, feeling the way she swallowed.

Fucking dress. Driving him insane, the way it barely covered her, how easy it would be to pull it down, to strip her bare, and—shit, he had to get his head in the game.

He let out a breath, hot and heavy, dragging his lips down lower, between her chest, kissing the bony little space there, hands smoothing over her breasts, squeezing them into his palm, pressing each one with a lingering, rolling, attentive kiss, revelling in the softness there. His teeth grazed the soft flesh, just enough to make her gasp, to feel her fingers tighten where they clutched at his arms. He soothed the spot with his tongue, tasting the salt of her skin, his hands roaming lower, gripping, kneading, pulling her deeper into his mouth.

She arched into him even, like her body was learning how to react, and he groaned, half-mad with want, barely holding himself together. “Oh, baby…”

His fingers found the hem of her dress, gathering it up, slowly pushing it up over the curve of her stomach.

He was like a goddamn kid opening a present on Christmas day.

The muscle there—taut, toned, fucking sexy. Deep stretch marks from pregnancy settled into her skin like the rings of a tree, or his own uncharted map, leading him down, down, to the space between her legs. From there, it was all long limbs and those maddening cowgirl boots—boots he had big plans to enjoy. He clenched his jaw and pressed his mouth against the dip above her navel, lips parting, teeth scraping, biting down just enough to feel the resistance of her skin against his tongue.

Then—his senile little brain caught up all at once, like a heart attack. “Gotta be kiddin' me. Look at you.”

Black. A little faded, like they’d been through too many wash cycles. A tiny white bow stitched into the hem of those soft, ruffled panties. He had half a mind to ask if she liked them—if she’d mind him tearing them off with his teeth. If she wouldn’t, well… he sure as hell wouldn’t.

He nearly felt a spark against his fingertip as he slid his fingers over the bow, over the fabric, his mouth watering, his longest finger pressuring in, feeling her slit through the softness, so warm, a ready little ridge in her body waiting just for him.

Well, fuck, if that wasn't a slice of heaven, he didn't know what was.

His breath hitched, and for a second, a strange dread twisted in his gut—tight and sharp, a visceral reaction to seeing her like this, vulnerable and unharmed in ways that had nothing to do with her body and everything to do with the way she just laid there.

Because she wasn’t here. Not completely.

Her hands were on him, but barely. Just resting. No urgency, no fire, no need that matched his own. Her fingers curled into his shirt like she didn’t know what to do with them. Like she wasn’t even thinking about what they were doing, like she was just letting herself be taken.

Her eyes—half-lidded, unfocused, watching him but not seeing him. Allowing him, not needing him. He couldn't tell if that was the weed or just her instinct.

And suddenly, all that desperate, consuming heat turned ice-cold in his chest.

No.

Not like this. This wasn’t how he wanted her. This wasn’t how he wanted them. Not when she might not even fucking remember it in the morning.

Joel blew out a sigh, pressing his forehead against her stomach, forcing himself to breathe, to reel himself in, to fight the fucking starvation clawing at him from the inside. His fingers twitched against her ribs, aching to keep going, to give in, to be selfish for once in this goddamn relationship.

But he couldn’t. He knew his own strength, knew how easy it would be to press too hard, take too much. He’d spent too many years being careful. Watching himself. And right now, it wasn’t just himself he needed to be careful of.

And he was in this for the long run.

He leaned back, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, forced his hands to loosen, to let her go.

She glanced at him, sluggish, blinking like she didn’t understand why he’d stopped.

Joel brushed her hair out of her face, his thumb stroking gently over her temple, his touch mindful now, like she might break.

“Hey,” he murmured, rough, still thick with want. Forced himself to smile, small and lopsided, like none of this was pulling him apart at the seams.

“Where’d you go, darlin’? You with me?”

And he hated how desperate it sounded. Because he wanted her here right by him. Wanting this as much as he did. But if she wasn’t, if she wasn’t entirely here, then he wasn’t going to fucking take it.

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him, half-there, half-somewhere else, something unreadable flickering in her expression.

Then—slowly, consciously—her fingers lifted, skimming along the stubble of his jaw, then lower, slipping behind her own neck. “It's okay.”

His breath hitched as she undid the thin strap at the back of her neck, her dress loosening, slipping ever so slightly. The curve of her shoulder, more of that smooth, bronze skin—fuck.

Joel closed his fingers around her wrist before it could go further, her pulse jumping beneath his fingertips.

And for a moment, there was only the ragged pull of their breathing, his harsher than hers, his mind a coil of need and restraint, and something dangerously close to guilt.

Without a word, he turned her hand over, brushing his lips to the centre of her palm. The way a man might kiss a cross before prayer.

Leela’s fingers twitched, then curled slightly.

She swallowed, then hesitated. “Did I do something—don't you...” Her voice was quiet, too careful. “Don’t you want to, um...?”

Joel's throat constricted. The words shouldn’t have made him feel like this—shouldn’t have sent something sharp and aching curling deep in his chest. But they did. They scoured against him, somewhere he hadn’t realized was still bleeding.

He exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes for a second, like he could rub out the frustration clawing through his chest. His jaw was tight, his pulse hammering—his whole body still wound too fucking tight from everything that almost happened, from everything he wanted to happen.

Then he dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head.

“Jesus, Leela.” His voice was low, rough-edged.

She just watched him, slow-blinking, her head tilting slightly—something indistinct crossing her expression. She looked… lost. Like she wasn’t sure how they got here.

Then, quieter now—“Don’t you want me, Joel?”

Joel inhaled. Exhaled. Fought it. Fought the goddamn instinct to pull her right back in, to let himself take, to let himself lose.

Instead, he pushed a hand through his hair, let out a sharp breath, and muttered, "More than you fucking know."

His voice came out hoarse, almost gutted. Because it was the truth.

He wanted her more than anything. More than he wanted to breathe, more than he could goddamn stand, more than he despised himself. He’d spent too many nights pretending not to, spent too many mornings waking up with her ghosted across his senses, still tangled in his bloodstream, in every part of him. He wanted her in ways he shouldn’t. In ways that scared the living shit out of him.

And she was right there. Warm, soft, half-lost in the haze of the weed, but still her. Still Leela. Still, the only thing he wanted.

But not like this.

He shifted back, forcing space between them—except her warmth was still there, still lingering, still wrapped around him like she hadn’t realized yet that he was trying to let go.

Leela blinked at him again. Slow. Fuzzy. Making sense of this. “Okay.”

She reached behind her, fumbling with the ties of her dress, shoulders shifting as she tried to fix them, needing to close the space between them with something more real.

But before she could—he beat her to it. His hands moved without thinking—secured the knot at her shoulder, fingers brushed against warm skin.

He sighed. “You are so beautiful. And smart. Make me so damn unworthy of you.”

And then—a pause. A moment he shouldn’t have let himself have.

Softly, he pressed his lips to the lune of her shoulderblade, just once. A slow breath against her skin. And then, finally, he pulled the fabric back over her legs, smoothing it into place.

Not because he didn’t want her. Because he refused to take her like this.

It was entirely too heartbreaking, the way she was looking at him now—lost and waiting, her fingers curling into nothing, like she wanted to hold onto something but wasn’t sure if she could.

Leela watched him, unmoving. Something flickering in her eyes, something deeper than the haze, something real trying to surface through the weed.

He cupped the side of her ribs, palm splayed over warm skin, then moved lower, pressing his hand firm against her lower stomach.

Leela inhaled sharply, lips parting slightly, something flickering behind her gaze. A breath hitched in her throat.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw working as he stared at her, his thumb stroking once over the fabric of her dress, over the smooth skin beneath. Trying to make sure she felt it.

Right there. Right where he wanted to be.

“But the truth is, I love you,” he rasped. A promise. A warning. He didn't have to force it out anymore, it was written all over him.

“So, one day, when I'm real deep inside you, Leela, I am all you're gonna think about. Just me, loving all of you.”

Her lashes fluttered. And for the first time in the last few minutes, she really looked at him. Like she was coming back. Like his words had cut through the fog and pulled her back down to him.

Joel’s breathing was ragged now, his self-restraint stretched thin, nearly breaking—but he didn’t move. Didn’t close the last inch between them, didn’t let himself pull her under.

Instead, it was she who moved. Right toward him.

Slowly, carefully, she shuffled forward, and slid down onto the step beside him. The movement was hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if he’d let her. Quietly curled into his side, slipping her arm around his bicep, the warmth of her soaking into him, settling beneath his skin.

Joel let out a slow, shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The muscles in his shoulders eased, just slightly, before he let himself lean into her, pressing his nose into her hair, breathing her in.

Her fingers found his, twisting together, small and warm and so fucking delicate.

Then she lifted his hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles, barely there—but she ravaged him.

Then, quiet—hesitant—

“You're good for me,” she whispered.

Joel closed his eyes for a second.

It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t a plea. Just a simple, quiet thing, like she’d finally let herself believe it. And maybe that was what ravaged him the most.

Because he wasn’t good. Had never been. He was a man shaped by hard choices, by regret, by suffering, by all the things he’d done just to survive. He was pretty sure the gears in his heart were rusted, black sludge pumped through his veins, merely broken in ways that time hadn’t fixed.

But for her—with her, with Maya—he wanted to be. God, he wanted to be. Maybe he already was. Maybe she saw something in him that he never let himself hope for before he ever did.

His fingers curled tighter around hers, like he could hold onto this moment, keep it from slipping through the cracks. His thumb traced slow, absent circles against her skin, memorizing the feel of her, in the press of his calloused hand against hers.

“You're good f'me, too,” he muttered.

She just leaned in closer, her body soft against his. Yeah, Joel let himself believe it now.

He's good for her.

X

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[togament]

I LOVE YOUR WRITING SM😭😭

Please could you do a fluffy thirst of how the boys (togame, sakura, kaji, ume maybe suo) treat the reader after they’ve gone a round 🥲 like their afterglow ❤️

ANON. You and your brain!!!!!! Yoinking it out of your skull to kiss it. Thank you for the kind words! This got me flying off the hinges I worked on this so fast. Locked in, I fear. I hope you don't mind me adding Endo in. He's like a stray cat atp. Don't mind him.

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

suo. sakura. kaji. ume. kiryu. togame. endo.

"ever wondered how it'd be like to just lay there with him, naked both physically and emotionally. So bare and vulnerable, skin reddened and raw, bodies aching. But with both hearts so full, it's almost bursting at the seams? I got it."

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Sakura was written with his character development in the most recent chapter in mind! (SOBBING), some language (I'm not exactly the best person to trust with keeping things clean and straight yk), mentions of sex, mentions of cuuuuum, GN!Reader but let me know if I made any mistakes--I'll rectify dat rq (edited Sakura’s!! Tysvm anon!!! Dw you didn’t come across as rude, promise), FLUFF OOEY GOOEY FLUFF, endo???? BEING A PROPER CITIZEN??? LOVER EVEN??????, kinda NSFW? not too spicy but still--MDNI!

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

Your room's dimly lit by candlelight and the moonlight shining through the blinds. Wafts of incense and patchouli caress your senses while your beloved wipes you down with a warm towel. "Good enough for you, my dove?" he pauses as he's looking up at you and you're met with Suo looking at you as though you've hung the moon yourself. Leaning in for a lingering forehead kiss, he mutters into your scalp, "my god you're absolutely ethereal."

✦ your apartment transforms into something damn close to a spa. Suo's big on scents so he has the cool breeze flowing in, incense lit, scented candles gently perfuming the air. It's magical every time. ✦ goes without saying that he loves, loves, LOVES spoiling you. Worshipping you, even. You swear sometimes his lips would never leave your skin with how often he's placing kiss after kiss on your body. ✦ scalp massages! Suo's an absolute beast at it. You always wake up to your hair smelling of some of his essential oils. It's a whole selection and he doesn't like sticking to just one scent. Hell, your body feels so moisturized and plump once you wake up in the morning.

══════════════════ 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

"Yer so pretty," Sakura's voice is soft, gentle. A far cry from his harsh and rough tone. God. He's looking at you with such reverence you feel like you're gonna melt. Leaning towards you, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. There it is. He's blushing again. "My baby’s so pretty."

✦ he's not blushing profusely anymore. Or at least, not as red as he normally is when he's around you. he's just laid there beside you, staring into your eyes with the softest expression on his face. Gratitude. Admiration. ✦ often spends most of the time staring at you like that so lovingly. So much so that you gotta remind him to wipe you down because god the cum's starting to make you feel uncomfortable with how cold it feels. ✦ is actually such a great cuddler. Especially after such a rough session. ESPECIALLY. Doesn't want to let you go the entire time.

══════════════════ 𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈.

"Let me clean you up," reaching beside you, your lover says with a slight groan as he grabs the tissues off to your side. Taking a few squares, he wipes you down wordlessly, the cautious speed ever evident. It's silent. Soothing. His other arm's never left your side, you notice. Gripping onto your hip ever so securely.

✦ not a huge talker after the fact. But he's quick to clean you up and attend to your needs. It's mostly just short, meaningful praises and reassurances with the both of you, basking in the afterglow. ✦ what he lacks in words, he makes up for in actions. He loves lavishing your body with kisses, caressing where you’re aching the most. ✦ Likes the silence since it's only with you where he doesn't need his headphones to put the world on mute, doesn't need a lollipop to censor his filthy, ruthless mouth. But of course, if it's assurance and praise you need, it's assurance and praise you'll get. His lips are devoid of sweets after all. Time for you to keep them busy.

══════════════════ 𝐔𝐌𝐄.

"Do you need anything else from me, baby? A massage? Some cuddles?" your lover asks you while he's wiping your inner thighs down clean from his cum that's been dribbling down them, always eager to cater to your needs at all times. Pressing a gentle kiss to the skin, he adds gently, "Whatever you need."

✦ way sweeter than he usually is with you. Which is saying a lot because your man's the absolute sweetest around you all the damn time! Presses kisses everywhere, whispers the most heart melting praise while he's hard at work soothing your body.... BIG SIGH. ✦ likes making you laugh even when your body's aching from him practically going all in on you. Says it's the best way to distract you from the pain. Still, he's massaging you if you'd like him to. Happy to oblige. ✦ ugh the ASSURANCE he gives you every time. The PRAISE?????? ALL GENUINE. ALL FROM THE HEART. It happens every time you're both still awake after the romp. 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓.

══════════════════ 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐔.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin as he's trailing kisses down your spine, corners of his lips curled up into a gentle smile. You can feel it with each kiss he presses onto your skin. His skillful thumbs pressing soothing circles in your aching muscles, rubbing the soreness away. "How'd I get so lucky?"

✦ PRAISE IS THE ABSOLUTE NAME OF THE GAME.

✦ he's so good at massaging you omg the thought of paying him for it has crossed your mind a couple of times. You feel so guilty for being massaged and pampered this good FOR FREE. ALL THE TIME. ✦ likes talking you through everything, whispering assurances and checking in with you during the act and after. Never fails to make you feel like you're cherished. With Kiryu, you truly are. And more.

══════════════════ 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

"Need a massage?" he says as he's already flexing his hands, reaching over for the massage oil. Eyes so lovestruck as he gazes into your own, he coos at you gently, "Little reward yeah?" Pressing a gentle kiss right behind your ear, he whispers deeply, his voice ends with a slight grumble, "Did so good f'me, doll."

✦ Of course, always attentive to you. Slow with wiping you down but god is it soothing with how he's doing it so gently. Purring praises into it every time. If you're feeling peckish, no matter how tired he is, he's making something for you in the kitchen. ✦ can and would eat you out if you wanted him to help ride out your high again. Gentle with it again too since he knows how sensitive you are. Pretty easy to wrap into another round though. ✦ After all that, you both are out like lights as soon as your heads hit the pillow. He's got you close to him though, arms encasing you, breaths intertwined. Comfortable.

══════════════════ 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎.

"Fuck... ME," he says with a gentle chuckle, voice akin to a purr you can swear it rumbles, tone so honeyed and syrupy. Reaching over to your side of the bed, your lover cups a tattooed hand over your cheek, sliding his thumb over the apex of it ever so slowly. "You're gorgeous."

✦ Always, always at your beck and call. Need something? He's on it. Back aches from the diabolical backshots? He's already prepping your body with massaging oil. Need him to wipe the cum away? Of course he's on that shit ASAP (with his tongue). Would do whatever it is that you want him to do within a heartbeat. ✦ Often tries to get another round out of you. He genuinely, genuinely CANNOT get enough of you. Only if you're cool with him trying though. He's not gonna force things on you if you don't want it. ✦ lavishes you with so much love sometimes it's suffocating. It only ramps up in intensity after fucking. If you like them obsessively clingy, he's your man.

a/n: HOOOOOOO anon I hope this was alright!!!! These were all such fun to do oml. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THROUGH ALL THIS AHSDKHAKJSD more requests like these please!!!! aaaaa

[gain-stuff-eat]

i remember when you first started. just wanted to try it out, eating whenever and whatever you craved. thought not much would happen, that your metabolism would adjust, compensate. that not a lot would change, your clothes would still fit without much consequence. this was just a fun experiment in letting go

i remember how the weight snuck up. we... sort of forgot about your experiment, it becoming background, just part of the routine of our days—that is unless you got a big meal, ordered a feast for delivery that slowly became more of a regular occurence than either of us realized. it was just so natural, the way food disappeared around, how decadence and indulgence fit you. until your clothes stopped doing the same and it didn't stop you, if anything it made you want to eat more

i remember when the pudge on your stomach began to press against your shirts. then slightly hang over your waistband, the fat still new and only beginning to settle. the denial that you were barely even chubby. then, your belly starting to peek out when you moved a certain way, then slipping out of its own volition. then when it couldn't be contained at all and you had to size up

i remember where you grew the quickest: your love handles, your belly, your arms, your thighs, your chest, your hands. when your double chin showed when you smiled, when it stayed even when you weren't, or became more pronounced whenever you ate

i remember how your meals gradually grew in amount, how it became harder to make you full, keep your hunger at bay, always having just a little more each time. when regular-sized meals turned into snacks, when snacks became something you munched on as a reward for stuffing yourself so well, you rubbing your belly to make more room with your pants straining and your gut hanging out

i remember your first set of stretchmarks. your second. your third. every single one of your popped buttons in private, especially in public when you just couldn't help yourself. the way your seams strained, then would one day burst or something would finally refuse to cover you or close. and the piles of outgrown clothes that are still so hot to see you try and fit into

i remember when you realized what you've done to yourself, how out of control you are. the look of your pure hedonistic bliss on your face, the moans of pleasure as you rub your gut and say you'll never eat this much again, only to then do it again the next night or just a few hours later

i remember when you thought this wouldn't lead to anything big and now, look at you

you are big

[pullupinarari]

Blinded by your Grace [LH]

author's note: just a collection of domestic dad!Lewis moments because I felt like it. hope you like this!! 🩷 mwah

• masterlist

wc: 3964 - english is not my first language! feedback is always appreciated

This is it. Finally, a much awaited break, a much deserved rest is finally here. 

After all his final work duties with Mercedes, Lewis is finally back home, back to the comfort of his family, to the arms of his wife, to the hugs of his daughter.

Now, the man can make up for all the nights he got home late, when he had to tiptoe his way through the bedrooms - never going to sleep without kissing Grace’s and your foreheads, no matter how late he might arrive. 

For the next few weeks, he can dedicate his entire time to his family, clearing his schedule from all his other projects as well, truly wishing to have a peaceful vacation by your side, making up for all the time he was forced to be away. 

You have been by Lewis’ side for nearly ten years now - his life was already hectic when you met him, his schedule was already full, so you and him grew to learn how to manage the timetables, the distance, working as a team, always strung along by the love that wraps both of you. So, you’re used to making the most of the time you have together.

But now, you have Grace, your three year-old baby. The poor kid is a complete daddy’s girl, and she doesn’t quite understand the distance yet. She knows that her daddy is away for work, but her brain can’t comprehend why he has to stay away for so, so long, when she misses him all the time. 

There are days where the little girl is more fussy than others. There’s days where she would stay calm, enjoy her day with her mum without much complaints, but there’s times when Grace can’t stop her crying, desperate for you to facetime Lewis so she could see him - and beg him to come back home. 

Your husband’s heart breaks into a million pieces whenever this happens, wishing he could ditch every work responsibility, just to hop on a plane and go straight to his daughter’s arms. 

That’s why Lewis made a promise to the light of his life: “Gracie, no matter how much time might pass, no matter how long daddy has to be away for work… Daddy will always, always come back home” - his pinky finger intertwined with hers, making a glimpse of light appear in her chocolate eyes. 

And now, after so much time spent away for the season, he is finally home. The clock currently reads 11:45pm, the little girl having been asleep for a long time now, but still, Lewis makes sure to go to her bed, kissing her softly on the forehead before coming back to your shared bed.

Meeting your figure in between the sheets, your bodies immediately intertwine as you get to feel the warmth of his touch again. Your heart bursts at the seams at the thought that you have him home for a while now, entirely to you and your family - with no interruptions. 

- I missed you - you confess, before your husband’s lips meet yours, in a hungry, passionate kiss.  - Feels good to be back home - Lewis says with a smile, holding your frame tighter, wanting to feel you as close to him as possible. 

And with a content sigh, both of you fall asleep with a wave of relief washing over your figures - the relief of being together again, right where you belong: your head on his chest as he hugs you protectively. 

During the night, you wake up startled by the sound of your daughter crying. The clock reads 3:52 am, and as you remove the sheets from your body, Lewis’ hand stops you from getting up. 

- Let me go get her. - his soft voice tells you, landing a quick kiss to your shoulder before going to Grace’s room. 

Once he opens the door, the weeping coming from his baby sounds louder, and he reaches for her figure. 

When the toddler’s eyes mirror her dad, the crying momentarily stops, widening her gaze as if she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. Her daddy. Looking down at her. Lovingly calling her name as his arms reach for her tiny body, cradling her close to his chest, the way she had missed so much. 

Once Grace feels the warmth and protectiveness of her hero again, she can’t help but let out another cry, remembering the reason that woke her up: a bad dream.

Kissing her hair time after time, Lewis’ hand caresses the little girl’s back soothingly, in an attempt to calm her down. In return, his daughter wraps her arms around his neck, wanting to feel as close to her daddy as possible, and Lewis gets the message: he’s not letting go of her tonight. 

Walking back to your bedroom with a teary eyed baby in his arms, Grace sniffles quietly, burying her face on her dad’s skin. The sight is heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time, noticing how the kid finds comfort in Lewis’ presence. 

You know she misses him like crazy when he has to be away for work. You know that, as much as you try to compensate for it, giving her all of your attention and more, you could never truly make up for his absence - and Lewis knows it too. 

- What’s wrong, sweetie? - you ask your daughter, scooting near to the two of them as Lewis sits on the bed, still holding her close.  - A bad dream - Grace whines, letting a few more tears out of her body as she remembers what crossed her mind during her slumber. - There was a mo-monster, running after m-me - she hiccups while explaining what happened. 

Shushing her cries, Lewis kisses her curls a few more times, landing some kisses on the girl’s cheek and temple as well. 

- Everything is okay, love. Mummy and daddy are here, see? - Lewis tells her softly, while he moves a bit so both of you can look into your daughter’s eyes now. 

Putting some loose strands of hair out of her face, you kiss your baby’s features, wiping away some tears that insist on staining her cheeks. 

- And daddy will fight every single monster if they dare get near you, bubs - Lewis says truthfully, looking straight into his girl’s eyes, before gently nudging her nose with his own, finally earning a smile from the toddler. 

Grace reaches for your hand, her small fingers wrapping around yours as she finally speaks up. 

- Can I have a babyccino, please? - her little voice asks, and neither of you can say no - even if it’s 4 am already. 

So you nod your head at your daughter’s request. 

- Do you want some cookies as well, pumpkin? - you offer, seeing a sly smile crossing your kid’s features - of course she does. 

Following right behind you to the kitchen, Lewis and Grace are still glued to each other, smiling at one another while your husband whispers silly jokes to make the little one laugh, trying his best to lift her spirit.

Lewis hums one of the songs that your toddler used to love listening to when she was just a few months old, slowly reaching for his speaker and playing said tune at a low volume. 

A familiar feeling spreads through your chest as you see the two loves of your life dancing together in the middle of the kitchen - your husband holding his free hand for you to take, inviting you to dance with them as you hand your daughter a cookie. 

As the three of you sway your bodies to the tune that’s softly playing in the background, Grace’s laughs mix with Lewis’ complimenting words at the way his girls are dancing. 

You feel light, carefree, wanting to live in this moment forever as the stove light illuminates your dancing silhouettes, and Lewis wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you and Grace near him - there it is, your endless bubble of love. 

When the song ends, you reach to finally prepare your daughter’s babyccino, turning your back to the inseparable duo that continues giggling and dancing. 

When Lewis notices that you’re not watching, he opens the fridge, sneaking some whipped cream to his little girl’s delight. Putting a finger in front of his lips, signaling for the toddler not to say a word, he puts a small amount of cream in Grace’s mouth, taking the opportunity to have some himself as well - his sweet tooth never leaving him. 

- Do you want to see daddy doing a very cool thing? - Lewis whispers in the girl’s ear, seeing her nod excitedly. 

For the first time tonight, Lewis puts the toddler down, so she can see what he’s about to do: spraying some whipped cream on the back of his hand, the man hits his palm, so the ball can fly up and he catches it with his mouth - making it seem absolutely effortless to the little girl’s eyes.

Grace lets out a quiet ‘woooow’, and her dad sprays some cream on the girl’s hand, helping her repeat his actions. The girl gets it right at first, giggling when the topping lands on her mouth, but when Lewis goes to do it again, he fails the timing - and the cream falls to the floor. 

The sound of their giggles, alongside the whipped cream can and the splats of it falling to the floor erupt in your ears, and you don’t even feel the need to turn and look at the duo: you already know what’s going on. It’s Lewis, teaching your kid one of his - as he usually calls it, “hidden talents” - something that he always warned you about.

But right now, you don’t feel like getting angry at their antics. You missed the sound of your husband and daughter laughing together, taking part in the other’s jokes. Right now, this is one of those moments where you realize that you could have nothing at all, and it would still feel like nothing is missing. It’s just you and your family. 

And Lewis feels the exact same way. Tonight, he doesn’t want to worry about anything else, besides his daughter’s happiness. Tonight, Lewis doesn’t care about the fact that he is giving whipped cream to his daughter at 4 in the morning, he isn’t worried about the sugar high that she will probably have after all this, as you hand Grace her babyccino. 

Tonight, he just wants to make her forget about the thoughts that haunted her peaceful sleep, he just wants to see his baby smile, feeling like he is writing another page on his little girl’s life book - knowing, for a fact, that these are the moments that Grace will always remember during her life. 

Wiping the foam moustache from the toddler’s face once she finishes her drink, you kiss her cheek before the girl is stretching her arms - silently begging her dad to pick her up again, and to which he happily complies. 

Walking back inside your shared bedroom after throwing a party in the middle of the kitchen, you sigh as you sit on the bed. Your husband follows your movements, leaning his back on the bed’s headboard, kissing Grace’s forehead as the girl looks back at him with her big eyes.

- Daddy, I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. - the toddler says with a quiet voice, her lips already forming a pout. 

Landing another kiss to her head, Lewis leans his own face on her hair, allowing his princess to get more comfortable in his embrace.

- And I don’t want to let go of you, bubs. - the man admits, taking in the scent of her sweet shampoo as the little girl hides her face on the crook of his neck.

Opening one of his arms wider for you to join, your husband kisses your forehead as well, as you two share a smile - one of realization, of love, of feeling like you are right where you belong. 

When the clock reads 4:48 am, the three of you finally calm down enough to drift off to sleep. Contrary to what you and Lewis believed, Grace doesn’t seem to feel any effects from all the sugar she just had. Maybe, it’s because she is finally feeling relaxed enough to sleep again, forgetting about all the monsters. Or maybe, it’s the warmth of her dad’s skin, alongside his heartbeat, that calms her down.

And Lewis can’t deny that he sleeps so much better when he is cuddled with you and your baby glued to his frame, holding the lights of his life safely in his arms, feeling complete and at peace, like nothing could ruin him when he is with his family - his two girls being the only ones able to fix everything that might be wrong with him. 

However, the next morning, you are sure that Grace is definitely feeling all the sugar hitting her figure now. The three year-old is throwing a tantrum in the middle of the kitchen, stomping her feet around, making you arch your eyebrows at her attitude. 

Sighing loudly, throwing her arms in the air, she continues whining - making Roscoe tilt his head to the side, inspecting the girl’s behaviour before looking back at you and barking, as if he is asking what’s wrong with her. 

- Grace, come on, you need to put your jacket on - you try to convince her one more time, holding the small coat in front of her, trying to reach for her arms again, only to no avail. 

Lewis walks inside the kitchen, ready to drive his kid to preschool, as his daughter decides to start crying even more. 

- But I don’t want to go to school! - Grace stands her ground again, trying to run away from putting on her jacket. 

Your husband furrows his eyebrows at what he just heard.

- Why don’t you want to go to school, Grace? - he asks, receiving the toddler’s attention at the way he just referred to her. She knows that, whenever mum or dad call her ‘Grace’, instead of the usual pet names, they are serious. 

The girl ignores the question, trying to convince her parents to let her stay home. 

- I just don’t want to go - she pouts, calming down her loud tone now.  - But why? Did something happen? Did anyone hurt you or say something to you? Grace? - Lewis insists when the girl goes silent, his protective side showing in a matter of seconds, only to look back at you, seeing you shake your head ‘no’ at him.  - I just want to stay here with you and mummy - the kid sniffles, holding her head down.

Lewis crouched down, so he could be eye leveled with his daughter. 

- How about this: daddy is going to drive you to school, you play with your friends for a bit, while daddy does some grocery shopping, and then I promise I will pick you up again? - he offers, seeing a doubtful look on the toddler’s face, as if she needs more convincing.  - No? What if I buy your favorite cereal? - he playfully raises an eyebrow at the, now, smiling Grace that stands in front of him, knowing that he won this battle against her.

Finally agreeing to put on her jacket, Lewis’ mini-version finally gives you a kiss on the cheek, followed by your husband’s lips meeting yours, whispering a ‘be right back’ to you as they walk out the door. 

Keeping his word, your husband goes to pick up his daughter earlier from school, after running some errands. Handing her some strawberries for her to eat during the trip back home, Lewis ties the toddler’s seat belt, kissing her head before closing the door on her side, driving back to you.

A smiley Grace runs back inside the house once her dad opens the door, a half eaten strawberry still in her hand as she goes to find you in the living room, working on your computer. Picking your baby up, you seat her on your lap, wanting to hear everything she has to say. 

- I have a school project, mummy! - she says excitedly, biting down on the fruit she’s holding.  - Really? That’s exciting! What is it about, love? - you ask, while gently taking off her coat.  - We need to do a family tree! Can we do it now? - your child questions, and you are sure that she already told your husband all about this project as well.  - I am sure we can, pumpkin! Babe? - you call for Lewis, as he walks inside the living room in the same second.  - I am already looking for the photo albums - he lets you know, opening up the cupboard, grabbing some memory books in his hand, setting them on the coffee table.

The three of you sat on the floor, Grace kneeling in between your bodies as you absently start flipping the pages of the albums. On those pages, sat 10 years of history with your husband - from the very first moments, when you went on your first dates, to some more recent memories with Grace already. 

You open the most recent book, wanting to show your daughter how she looked when she was a baby, how life was for you and Lewis when she was born. But your child has other plans, so her hands reach for the other album - the older one, filled with pictures of you and your husband when you two met. 

Lewis helps his princess with the pages, as you see the way her chocolate eyes shine, curiously fixated on every detail of every picture. 

Pointing at a picture of you when you were younger, Grace looks like she just had an epiphany:

- Mummy! Mummy! Is that you? - the little girl asks, her mouth slightly agape at the way you nod your head ‘yes’ at her question. - Oh my! You are so beautiful, mummy.

Grace moves to cup your face with her tiny hands, making your heart burst with love while she keeps repeating “so beautiful, darling. My mummy is so beautiful”. 

Hugging her closer while kissing her cheek, you then point to a picture of you and Lewis, one of the first pictures that you got together. 

- And who’s this, baby? - you test your daughter, eager to see her reaction. 

Going silent, you can only notice the furrowed eyebrows on your kid’s face. 

- Come on, Gracie. You don’t know who this handsome man is? - her dad teases, a cheeky smile playing on his lips, displaying his adorable tooth gap while flattering himself.  - Handsome?! - your daughter reacts. - You had almost no hair, daddy! - your jaw drops, matching Lewis’ facial expression before you burst out laughing. 

Grace has never met Lewis without his longer hair. Without his curls, without the braids. So it’s definitely a shock for the three year-old to see how different her dad used to look before. 

- Don’t hurt daddy’s feelings like that, bubs. You don’t think I looked good? Look, in this other picture, my hair looks a bit better - Lewis tries to reason with the unfiltered child, showing her different photos now.  - It’s still awful, daddy - her thick, British accent in full display now, while she looks at Lewis with an almost disappointed expression on her face - which is almost bringing you to tears from laughing so much.

Her petite figure scoots over to meet her dad, now. Putting her hand over his own, she comforts him. 

- But don’t worry daddy, you look beautiful now. So much better than before - Lewis is the one letting out a loud laugh at her daughter’s antics now, silently cursing himself because she definitely got that from him.

With every page, you continue your familiar trip down memory lane. With every picture, you unlock a story to tell your daughter for the first time, about her parents’ love tale.

“This was the first time that daddy took mummy out for dinner” - your mind remembers it perfectly, like it was yesterday: the night when you and Lewis had finally given into your feelings. Both of you were in Italy for work - the reason why you met in the first place - and after a very late meeting, you found him on the hotel balcony. 

His mind was already thinking about you, your feet dragged you to where he stood, like a magnet. And the rest is history: 3 am, in Milan, walking around until you found a small place that, somehow, was still open - sharing some pizza until you ended the night kissing under the moonlight. 

With every picture, your daughter seems mesmerized by you. “Mummy looks so pretty here”, “I want to be like mummy when I grow up”, the compliments don’t stop leaving your toddler’s mouth - and it honestly makes you blush at her adorable words. 

- But you’re daddy’s twin, remember? - Lewis teases, nudging Grace’s shoulder as if to catch her attention.  - I don’t want to be your twin anymore, daddy. You had no hair, eugh. - the kid continues giving her parents a piece of her mind, not knowing what ‘filtered opinions’ are yet.  - Gracie, come on. Don’t be mean to daddy - you call her out gently, seeing how she goes to hug Lewis after your words.  - Sorry, daddy. You are beautiful. But mummy looks sooo pretty! And the dots on her face are so beautiful! Can I have them? I want them too - Grace refers to the moles that adorn your features, something that always made you feel a bit insecure about your appearance. 

Lewis knows the way you see your moles, so he hugs his baby closer, both of them looking straight at you. 

- That looks beautiful on mummy, doesn’t it? - your husband smiles at you when tagging along with Grace to compliment you, and the way your child nods with all certainty in this world, tells you everything. 

With your heart bursting with love, feeling warm in your chest, your husband grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles lovingly. 

- Daddy, how old are you? - your daughter interrupts the moment, her gaze still analyzing the pictures in front of her. 

Lewis’ face makes you laugh immediately, knowing that is a question that he would rather not answer right now, knowing how sharp his kid’s tongue is. But, not satisfied with the silence she gets from her dad, she insists. 

- Mummy, is daddy older than you? - she changes the audience to her questions. Suppressing a laugh in your lips, you just nod. - Mummy, why would you date someone old? Daddy is old but you’re not! - and Grace’s words are enough to make Lewis’ dramatic side come out, lying his body on the floor in a very exaggerated manner, closing his eyes as if he had fainted from the comments coming from his toddler. 

You can only laugh when your daughter goes to check on her dad, trying to shake his body. Once Lewis opens his eyes again, he pulls the little girl to his arms, attacking her features with an unstoppable load of kisses and tickles, making Grace’s belly laugh erupt through the room. 

These are the moments that make every sacrifice be absolutely worth it - the happiness of your family is the gasoline that fuels both you and Lewis, it’s the energy that would make you run around the entire world just to see that toothy smile on your daughter’s face. 

And Lewis just wants this to last forever - the connection that he has with his princess, the moments that you share and the memories that you keep writing together. He is absolutely blinded by his baby’s light, the most divine creation of your entire lives, the one that was sent to you with a higher purpose: to save you, to heal your hearts, to unite you two even more, in a love that will keep growing in the future.