#and she wants to do it after I move in but before she does

[reiding-writing]

i love ur writing sooo much, kicking my feet giggling as i reread your entire cold!reader masterlist

i think it'd be interesting to see some sexual tension between them 👁️👁️

THE CONVERSATION. — SPENCER REID!

after the hotel incident, you and spencer avoid the inevitable conversation until you can't anymore.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 2.4k | ?? | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — not really sexual tension, but definitely tension

The flight back to Quantico is suffocating.

Spencer sits across the aisle, book in hand, but you know he’s not really reading. His eyes flick over the words too slowly, the way they do when he’s using them as a shield rather than taking them in.

You don’t blame him. You’re doing the same thing—staring at the report in your lap, eyes skimming over the same paragraph for the fourth time, pretending you don’t notice the weight of his silence.

He’s quieter than usual. That alone is enough to unnerve you.

You should say something. A joke, maybe. Something dry and dismissive to shove things back into place, back into before. But your body betrays you, tense and unwilling to bridge the gap.

So you sit in it. The not-quite silence, the too-loud hum of the jet’s engines, the unspoken weight pressing into the space between you.

But things have changed.

It’s in the way he looks at you—just a second too long, like he’s cataloging every flicker of your expression, waiting for a signal he’s not sure will come.

It’s in the way you look at him, catching yourself watching the way his hands move when he flips through case files, when he tugs at his tie absentmindedly.

You hate it. The awareness, the sharp pull in your chest when he leans forward to adjust his bag and his knee barely brushes yours. The warmth that lingers too long. The way your own body responds before your mind can shut it down.

He doesn’t push. Of course he doesn’t.

Spencer is patient, careful in the way only he can be. He’s waiting—for you to say something, anything, to acknowledge what happened in that hotel room. But you don’t. You can’t. Because if you start, you don’t know where it ends.

And then there’s the team.

Emily teases, because of course she does. Some offhand remark about how you and Reid have been acting weird ever since the case wrapped up. JJ gives you quiet, knowing glances that make your stomach twist.

And Morgan—well. Morgan just smirks and says, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s something you two aren’t telling me,”

You brush it off. Pretend you don’t see the way Spencer stiffens beside you, or the way your face feels unnaturally warm.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Except it isn’t, and you both know it.

There’s an awareness between you now. A charged undercurrent in every glance, every movement, every second you spend in the same room.

It starts small. The way you feel his presence before you even see him. The way his gaze lingers when he thinks you won’t notice. The way your body tenses when he gets too close—not in fear, but in anticipation, in something unspoken and unbearable.

So you do what you do best: you bury it.

Your tone stays sharp, clipped, practiced in its indifference. You keep the distance, keep the edge, because that’s easier than acknowledging the way his fingers linger when he passes you a case file. The way they brush against yours, fleeting but deliberate, like he’s testing the boundaries of whatever this thing is.

You pretend it doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It does.

He doesn’t push. Spencer never pushes. But you know he’s waiting.

Waiting for the moment you slip up. Waiting for you to let the mask crack, even just a little. Waiting for you to admit what he already knows—that you feel it, too.

And the worst part?

You almost want to.

The tension is worse when it’s just the two of you.

It sneaks in during the in-between moments—when the rest of the team is occupied, when there’s no buffer, no reason to pretend the air between you isn’t thick with something unspoken.

In the conference room, you hand him a report, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second. He inhales sharply, a quiet thing, barely audible over the rustle of paper, but you hear it. Like it’s the first breath he’s taken all day.

You ignore the way your own breath catches.

In the break room, you’re pouring sugar into your takeout coffee when he walks in. You don’t look at him, don’t acknowledge the way his presence shifts the entire atmosphere of the room. But you feel him. Standing just close enough to press at the edges of your space, just far enough to keep it appropriate.

When he speaks, his voice is softer. Careful. “You should try decaf in the afternoons. Too much caffeine can increase cortisol levels, and you already don’t sleep enough,”

You roll your eyes, sip your coffee anyway. “Noted.”

It’s clipped, controlled. Everything about you is controlled.

But the silences are getting longer.

The pauses between words stretch too thin, stretched tight like a wire pulled to its limit. Every unspoken thought, every question neither of you dares to voice, hangs between you.

One day, something’s going to snap.

—

A week passes, and the tension becomes unbearable.

It’s everywhere. In the hallway, when you walk past each other just a little too close. In the team meetings, when your eyes meet across the table and neither of you look away. In the casual brushes of hands—when your fingers touch for a fraction of a second, a spark you both feel but don’t acknowledge. Every accidental touch lingers too long, and every word is too charged with meaning, too heavy with what’s unspoken.

You hate it. You hate how easily you fall into this strange, uncharted territory with him, how you can't seem to escape the gravity of what happened. And yet, every time you think you’ll address it, every time the words almost slip out, something pulls you back into the silence.

It’s late, way past normal office hours. The rest of the team has long gone home, but you’re still here, hunched over case files with Spencer.

There’s a strange, muted quiet to the space between you, and for once, it’s not just the weight of all the cases you’ve been working on. It’s the weight of this—the silence that surrounds you both, thick enough to choke.

Spencer doesn’t say anything for a long while. You’re both too immersed in the reports, in pretending to focus on the paperwork instead of whatever's hanging between you. But then he puts the file down, leans back in his chair, and the words come, simple and deliberate.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?”

It’s quiet. Too quiet. And the air in the room shifts. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard. Your mind instantly races to shut it all down, to run from the conversation you’ve been avoiding for days.

You open your mouth, prepared to deflect, to push it all back into the vault of things you don’t talk about. But then you meet his gaze.

His eyes are earnest, softer than you’ve ever seen them. There’s hope in them, and maybe something else—something fragile, something vulnerable. He’s not pushing you, not demanding anything. Just waiting.

And suddenly, you realise that you don’t want to run anymore.

You feel it in your chest, that sharp pang of wanting to bridge the gap between you, to close the distance that’s grown between you both over the past week. Maybe you don’t have the right words. Maybe you never will. But for once, you’re not afraid to try.

You swallow hard and finally speak, your voice quieter than usual, rough with the weight of everything unspoken.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Let’s talk.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s thick with everything you’ve been holding back. And then—something shifts. The air between you crackles. You both lean in slightly, but neither of you makes a move. Not yet.

And then, without another word, Spencer stands, stepping toward you with that same quiet intensity. It’s a move you didn’t expect, and for a moment, you freeze. But then he’s closer, his breath warm against your skin, and you realize that he’s waiting for you.

Your heart races, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you let him close the distance, and this time, there’s no hesitation.

The kiss is slow. Tentative at first, like both of you are afraid to shatter the fragile moment. But it deepens quickly, and it’s everything—everything you’ve been feeling without knowing how to express it. His lips are gentle but insistent, a soft pressure against yours that makes your pulse spike.

You kiss him like it’s the only thing that matters, because in this moment, it is.

The kiss lingers in the air, charged and unresolved, as you both pull back just enough to catch your breath. You’re still close, too close, your faces a breath away from each other, and the space between you hums with something different. Something new.

You break the silence first, your voice tinged with that familiar edge of sarcasm that you use to shield yourself. “That’s not exactly us talking.”

Spencer freezes for a moment, his expression shifting from confusion to a slight grimace. He knows you’re not exactly serious about it, that the tone you’ve carried throughout the whole exchange has been more about self-preservation than actual disappointment.

But the weight of it still settles on his shoulders, and he winces at the mild reprimand, even though he understands it’s more a defence mechanism than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters quickly, the apology falling out of him without hesitation. His eyes are a little wider than usual, like he’s bracing for something more, but he also knows it’s not really warranted. You’re not angry with him. You never were.

But the words are enough to make you exhale sharply, and you roll your eyes as you shift back slightly, breaking the proximity just enough for your mind to catch up with everything that’s just happened.

You study him for a moment, watching how his hands twitch slightly at his sides like he’s trying to keep himself together. His eyes are wide, darting between yours, looking for some kind of confirmation.

“I like kissing you… sorry—” he blurts, his voice cracking slightly as the words tumble out in a rush, and then he keeps talking, his words pouring out like he’s finally letting go of the tight grip he’s been holding on everything.

“I’ve wanted to for so long, but I was scared that you wouldn’t be into it. I mean, I’ve seen how you act with me, and I get it, I do, I just—” He stumbles over his own thoughts. “I didn’t want to ruin things between us. You’re—well, you’re you, and I’m me, and I didn’t know if you’d even want that, you know?”

You blink at him, trying to process the flood of words, and for a moment, it’s overwhelming. He’s still standing too close, so you take a step back, crossing your arms defensively as you try to steady yourself.

“Spencer,” you start, your voice gentle but firm, “you need to breathe.”

His eyes flicker at your words, and you see the immediate tension in his face relax a fraction, but only a fraction.

“Listen,” you continue, your voice steady now as you push past the weight of the awkwardness. “I’m not exactly a romantic person, okay?” You can feel the vulnerability creeping in, but you don’t let it overwhelm you.

“I don’t—” You sigh frustratedly. “I don’t know how to do this, or what I’m supposed to say, but… I don’t want you to think I’m rejecting you. I just— I need to know where we’re going with this. And I need to know what you want.”

Spencer opens his mouth to say something but falters, clearly still unsure of how to navigate this strange, new territory with you. You take a deep breath, feeling the space between you growing thicker with every second.

“I need you to be straightforward, Spencer,” you say, softer now. “Just— tell me what you want from this,”

For a moment, Spencer just stands there, eyes fixed on you, as though trying to read between the lines of what you’ve said. And then, finally, his shoulders relax as he nods.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he says quietly, his voice earnest, “but I do want this. And I want you to know that, even if I’m nervous and all over the place, I’m not trying to make things difficult. I just want to— be with you. If that’s something you’re open to.”

You chew on his words for a moment, and the weight of them hits you all at once. He’s not asking for anything more than what you’re willing to give, and he’s not rushing you, either. The idea of having someone like Spencer—someone who isn’t expecting perfection from you, who’s patient enough to understand your walls—feels almost… safe.

You take a deep breath.

“I’m not good at this. But I don’t want to screw it up either.” You step forward a little, trying to meet him halfway. “I can’t promise all the right words or the grand romantic gestures, but if you’re okay with that…” You pause, meeting his gaze squarely. “I’m willing to try.”

Spencer exhales slowly, his eyes lighting up just slightly, the weight of relief crossing his face. He doesn’t move closer, but the air between you feels a little less tight, a little less heavy.

“That’s good enough for me,”

The words settle between you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no tension—just the quiet understanding of what comes next.

[damneddamsy]

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

summary: Joel’s delicate attachment to Leela and baby Maya deepens along with—her resistance, his denial, and the slow, inevitable way he’s always finding his way back to them. As they navigate a freak accident, Ellie sees it. He does too. Almost.

a/n: ah-woohooooo more of Joel being a thickheaded numpty, so enjoy! I would love to hear all your unhinged, lovely thoughts!

It had been a quiet few weeks for Joel.

Not the kind of quiet he liked—the stillness of early mornings, with the wind rustling the trees and a guitar strumming in his hands. No, this was the one that came after a storm, when the air was dense with the scent of rain and the world felt... upside down. Unsettled. The kind of quiet where the damage had already been done, and all that was left was to pick through the wreckage.

The kind of quiet that made a man think too much. It pressed into him, heavy and suffocating.

Since that night in the car, since he’d seen her unravel in real time, the tacit MO had changed. On more welcome news, Mal had stopped coming around. No thanks to him, of course.

Joel saw him through the window the first morning he returned to Leela's place. Mal was coming up the path with the same easy stride, hands in his pockets like he had a right to be there. God, just once, he wanted to knock the teeth off that goddamned kid.

Joel set down his hammer and exhaled through his nose. Bless Tommy for leaving the fun part to him. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stepped out onto the porch before the kid could even knock. The heavy door groaned on its hinges behind him, and he let it.

Mal spotted him and gave a lazy wave, stepping forward. “Hey, man. I’m just here to—”

Joel shifted in front of him. Not aggressive. Just there. An immense wall of quiet warning.

Mal stopped short, blinking up at him.

Joel wasn’t even trying to stand taller, but he didn’t need to. He just crossed his arms over his chest, let his shoulders square out naturally, let his stance say everything. He wasn’t fucking moving.

The kid hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. “Uh—is there a problem?”

“I’ll take it from here,” Joel said, voice even.

Mal frowned. “What?”

“I said, whatever it is, I got it.”

There was a pause. A moment where Joel could see the gears turning in Mal’s head, where the kid was piecing things together a little too slow for his liking.

“Okay, but Tommy said—”

“Yeah, well.” Joel leaned forward, just enough to be felt. Watched Mal’s jaw tighten, and watched him shift back on instinct. “Not anymore.”

That finally landed. Mal thankfully rocked back on his heels and rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced past Joel, toward the house, then back, brows knitting together, trying to make sense of what was going on. What he'd done wrong.

"Uh... do you want help, at least?" he offered, cautious.

Joel let out a slow breath, something close to a laugh—if you could call it that. There was nothing warm in it. "You run along now."

Mal lingered for another second, like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. And like a kid being told off, he tucked his tail and left.

Joel didn’t bother to watch him go. Just turned on his heel, grabbed the door, and went back inside. “Fuckin' pest,” he grumbled under his breath.

The house was quiet—only the soft creak of the stairs, followed by the sound of careful, steady footsteps.

He looked up and saw Leela was making her way down, one hand carefully bracing against the railing. She was in sweats and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled into a low-hanging bun. There was something different about her face today—sharper, cleaner, blanker maybe. Or maybe he was just seeing her in a better light now.

She caught him staring. "Was that Mal?"

Joel simply lied, "No."

She pressed her lips together. Not quite disappointment, not quite relief. Something in between. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Maybe later.”

Joel hooked a thumb through the loop of his tool belt, retrieving the hammer he’d slung there. He twirled it once, catching the handle in his palm.

“Don't worry about it. He’s a busy guy,” he said, keeping his voice light as he crossed her on the staircase. “Lots of shit to fix around town.”

More importantly, Leela didn’t ask why or how. Soon enough, she stopped looking for Mal. Didn’t even question when Joel started showing up every day instead with his old tool belt slung over his shoulder, standing at her door like it was the most unassuming thing in the world. She just looked at him—one glance, one unreadable flicker of those dark, tired eyes—and then moved on like it didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t there at all. Stiffing him, essentially.

And Joel knew that kind of distance. This gaping rupture, widened between people when something sore and hideous had been exposed. When someone had seen too much; known too much. Leela knew she’d overstepped, and now she was pulling back.

Joel knew that feeling. He’d done it plenty himself. That instinct to retreat, to pull the shutters down, to make yourself small. Hell, he’d lived it. Had become it.

So he let it happen. He let her pretend again. Didn't push, didn't say anything. He simply worked.

The nursery was coming together, slowly but surely. The pendant lights were fixed, casting warm pools of gold over the room. The shelves stood straighter, stocked with whatever Maria had been sneaking in—baby books, folded blankets, onesies, wooden toys. And the old fuchsia rug he’d found in Leela’s storage? It tied the whole damn thing together, like a relic of a forgotten life, all lived-in and warm for the baby girl.

Joel stood in the centre of it all, Maya cradled in his arms, rocking slightly on his heels. Not that she could appreciate any of this yet. A safe space of her own.

He had never been the kind of man who cooed at babies either. Hadn’t been that way when Sarah was small, hadn’t been that way in the years since. There was something about them—so soft, so fragile—that made him cautious, like he had to hold back, keep himself in check.

Maya made it easier.

"Hi," he whispered to her after her naps. "Did you sleep well? Huh, pretty girl? C'mere."

She made tiny, thoughtful expressions like she was really listening to him. Her little hands were always reaching, always curious. Right now, she was watching the lights with those big brown eyes, mesmerized by the slow shift of the shadows on the ceiling, her mouth parting slightly in wonder. Her fingers curled absently in his shirt, barely grasping, like she just liked knowing he was there.

She’d been a fussy one lately—tired, restless, wanting to be held more often than not. Lonely. And with a mama like Leela, who drifted too easily and got lost too deep in her own head, Joel figured it wasn’t a bad idea to show her around. Give her something new to look at.

“What do you think, baby girl?” he murmured, shifting her closer, his palm smoothing down her tiny back. “Did I do okay or what?”

Maya blinked up at him, her whole body stilling for a second before she let out a soft, breathy coo.

Joel grinned. “Yeah?” he chuckled. “That a yes?”

She wiggled in his hold, that gummy little smile coming alive, kicking lightly against his ribs, and Joel felt himself exhale—deep, easy, something loosening inside him. She liked it. The nursery. The lights. Him. Maybe none of it mattered in that little head of hers, but she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t fussing. She was looking at him like she trusted him, and God help him, but he wanted to deserve that.

He took her toward the shelves, kneeling carefully with her in one arm, balancing his weight as he pointed to the row of paint cans. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s pick a colour. What’s it gonna be, huh?” He tilted them slightly, exposing the faded labels. “We got white. Some kinda blue. Green.”

Maya reacted immediately, tiny fist stretching out, fingers grazing toward the muted green.

Joel huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? That your favorite?”

Her fingers brushed the side of the can, fascinated by the cool metal, a quiet coo slipping from her lips.

Joel hesitated for a second, then gave in. He really couldn't help himself. At that moment, he just had to. Slowly, carefully, he shifted her closer, lowering his head and pressing a kiss to the soft crown of her unsteady little head.

She smelled faint and sweet as always, like baby powder and fresh linens, and he let himself linger for a second longer than he should have, feeling the heat of her through his shirt, the tiny weight of her against his chest.

Maya wiggled in response, not in protest, but excitement, legs kicking slightly.

Joel exhaled, something breaking loose inside him.

Before he could stop himself, he pressed another kiss to the side of her head, then another and another, half a laugh escaping him when she wriggled in delight, her little fists stretching open, her eyes squeezing shut like she could feel the warmth of it sinking in.

Maybe she could. Maybe she knew, in that small, primal way babies knew things, that Joel was someone safe. That he wouldn’t let her fall. That he really fucking loved her.

A rustle at the doorway made him glance up from a kiss. Leela stood there, her hand lightly braced against the frame, watching him.

Joel was caught off guard, leaning away from Maya a bit, settling her lower against his chest. “Hey,” he greeted, voice low. “Just givin’ her the lay of the land.”

Leela’s expression didn’t change. She only flashed a tight, fleeting smile before stepping forward, arms extending toward Maya. “You wanna take a bath with mama?”

Maya twisted in his hold, cooing eagerly now, little hands reaching for her mother. Even after everything, her mother was still her favourite person.

Joel let her go, careful as he passed her over to Leela. Their hands brushed, warm skin against warm skin, and he ignored the way it lingered, how her fingers barely curled in his before she took Maya into her arms.

“She’s been good,” Joel muttered.

Leela nodded, running a gentle palm over Maya’s back. “There’s lunch downstairs if you’re hungry.”

Joel studied her for a beat, his fingers brushing idly against his tool belt. “…Did you eat something?”

She hesitated. Too long. Then nodded, slow.

He didn’t call her on the lie. Instead, he nodded back, watching as she turned on her heel, shifting Maya closer against her shoulder. She left him with another tight, fleeting smile before disappearing down the hall.

Joel breathed out a sigh, glancing back at the half-finished room. Maya’s soft, content coos still lingered in the air. The green paint sat on the shelf, waiting.

And for some damn reason, he felt lonelier than he had in a long, long time.

It had taken him eleven days. Too long for a man like him. But he hadn’t rushed at all. He should’ve, but he didn’t. Had he been the same old Joel—good ol’ Texas Joel—this would’ve been a job done in a heartbeat. A blink, and he’d be out of her way. He wouldn’t have noticed things. Wouldn’t have lingered like a moron.

Maybe it was because of the way Leela barely spoke to him anymore. Or that she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she checked on his progress in clipped words and hums, wouldn’t even glance his way when she passed Maya to him like clockwork, a silent, wordless thing between them.

Maybe because when she leaves him standing at the porch at the end of the day, the door closing shut in his face, it didn’t feel like closing a chapter. It felt like a fucking wall going up.

Joel found her in the kitchen that evening, standing by the counter, wrist-deep in soapy water. It was late, Maya was snoozing her little head off upstairs, the house dim except for the overhead light humming low above them.

She didn’t stagger when he entered, didn’t look at him either. Just kept scrubbing the hell out of a plate, though he was pretty sure it was already clean. He dawdled near the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing.

He should’ve left. Should’ve let the silence settle. But he couldn't just leave it alone.

Instead, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, leaning a hip against the counter. “Y’know, you got a dishwasher. It's half the effort,” he pointed out.

Leela gave a small huff. “Electricity’s scarce.”

Joel snorted. “So is water, darlin’.”

She finally glanced at him, just a flicker, then back to the sink.

He tapped his fingers against the counter, searching for something—anything—to keep her in this moment with him. “Made good progress today,” he said. “Maya... she tried to turn on her side. The nursery; well, I just need to fix up that dresser and—”

“Look, thank you. But I’m really tired, Joel.”

She said it without looking at him, her voice level, no bite to it. Just a statement. A locked door. He should’ve expected it, should’ve shrugged it off and moved on. Instead, something about the words, directed at him, sat wrong inside him. All that hurt-people-hurt-people-drivel that Maria used to say came back to bite him in the ass.

He hesitated, shifting his weight onto his feet. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I should get going.”

She said nothing. Just shut off the faucet, dried her hands on a towel, and walked past him, close enough that the damp heat of her skin lingered for half a second longer than it should have. And despite fighting the urge to glance back at her as she left the room, he watched her disappear down the hall.

Joel stood outside her door for a long moment, which he had conscientiously locked, staring at the chipped paint of the doorframe, jaw clenching. His eyes flicked to the porch swing. It swayed slightly in the cold breeze.

Was it juvenile to think maybe she’d prefer his company? Was it fucking brainless of him to crave somewhere to belong? A purpose? Was he meant to die alone in a strange house and surrounded by empty whiskey bottles? Maybe. Probably. But hell if he didn’t wish it anyway.

Joel didn’t want to admit it—not directly, not even to himself—but he wanted to talk to her. Not about anything in particular. Not about that night in the Maranello, or how her little, breathy laugh was possibly the best thing to hear after those roars and clicks of the world beyond, or why she’d started looking at him instead of through him.

He just wanted something. Because before, there had been something. It wasn’t like talking to most people, where you had to pick your words apart before they even left your mouth, where you had to navigate bullshit small talk or forced pleasantries. With Leela, it had been... easy. Unspoken. A warm kind of quiet, the kind where he didn’t have to think too much, where he could just be.

He'll admit it, just this once—he liked that about her. He liked that a moment didn’t have to be forced. That he didn’t have to overthink, that they had a rhythm, a delicate system between them, one that made sense even if neither of them ever put words to it.

But now?

Now, she barely looked at him. Nowadays, when she passed Maya to him, it wasn’t with that quiet, knowing ease or a friendly grin, no matter how tired it had been—it was mechanical, transactional, like handing over a set of keys. Like a reminder that he wasn’t supposed to be here, and he didn’t know what to call that. Didn’t like the way it made his instincts turn over, uneasy, in his chest.

All that lingering had finally paid off, and Joel had found his way in. He wasn’t going to show it, of course—wasn’t gonna give himself away like some fool—but damn if he wasn’t relieved.

After days of unending cold shoulders, after all that stiff distance, this was the first real opening he’d gotten. An excuse. A way to talk to her without forcing it.

He had been fixing a flickering wall lamp that had been bugging him for some time now, in the second-floor hallway, standing on a step stool when—

CRASH.

The whole house plunged into darkness. The light he’d been working on blinked out, along with the rest of them, and then—a groan. A pained, breathy, hitched groan from below. His entire body tensed before his brain caught up.

Then came the wailing. Maya.

Joel’s heart stammered, caught between two instincts. The damn near gutting sound of the baby girl's frightened cries and that groan—that voice—he'd distinctly heard from the basement.

Fuck. His feet moved before his mind did. He leapt off the stool, tools cluttering to the floor, ignoring the protesting ache in his knees as he tore down the hall to Maya’s room. She was red-faced, eyes squeezed shut, fists curled as she screamed, trembling from the shock.

"Hey, hey, Maya," Joel hushed, scooping her up into his arms, and pulling her against his chest. "S'okay, sweetheart. I got you. I got you."

He shushed her, palm stroking warm circles over her back, bouncing her lightly in his arms. His heartbeat was loud, hammering in his ears, drowning everything out but the damn groan still hanging in his mind.

Leela.

She was down there, in that cursed basement, alone. And that sound had been awful.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his lips to Maya’s head before pulling back. More for himself rather than her.

“I'm right here, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of.” His voice was steady—measured—but his hands weren’t. His grip on her was a little too tight. They trembled a little.

Maya sniffled, her cries quieting just enough to slow his pulse, and he took that as his chance. Keeping her tucked to his chest, he made his way down the stairs, near flying, boots thudding against the wood.

His breath hitched as he reached the basement door. “Hey, you down here?” he called, shoving it open with his shoulder, jogging down to the dim space below.

Then he saw her.

Leela was slumped against the wall, obvious that she had been tossed into it, her silhouette barely lit by the glare of an emergency lamp in the corner. She was gripping her shoulder fiercely, rubbing it like she was trying to erase the pain. Her fingers dug in hard.

The remnants of her little "science project" upgrade lay scattered around her. Loose wires, metal scraps, a circuit board still humming with life. The main plug socket was connected. Was she fucking stupid? There was a baby upstairs, and she was ready to risk her home for that dumbass machine.

And her face—Fuck. She had gone pale. Eyes squeezed shut. Her chest rose and fell like she was working through an intense wave of pain.

“Christ.” The word came out more like a breath than anything. Joel took a step forward, but when his eyes landed on the tangled wires, something burned under his ribs.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” His voice came out rougher than intended, fear clawing at his throat, disguising itself as frustration.

Leela’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but sharp. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” She held up a hand to stop him before he could kneel down beside her. “Just a bit of bruising. Maya first.”

Joel clenched his jaw.

She was right. Damn it, he hated that she was right. Maya, now hiccupping soft little breaths against his chest, was the priority.

“Right,” he muttered, though the reluctance in his voice was clear. He cast her one last look, making sure she was still upright, still breathing normal, before turning back up the stairs.

It took ten whole minutes to get Maya settled, and that was a miracle in itself. He'd resorted to pleading under his breath, but she had continued to watch him, eyes wide, refusing to let sleep take her like she knew something was wrong. She was perceptive. Just like her mother.

Finally, finally, her little lashes fluttered shut, her tiny hand still gripping onto his shirt.

Joel exhaled, relief going awash his tension. “Good girl,” he murmured, before unfurling her fingers from his collar, brushing a kiss over them and laying her back down.

Then he was sprinting again. Back down the stairs, faster than he should have been, hand gripping the railing tight.

Leela hadn’t moved much. She was still slumped against the basement wall, her breaths deep and restrained—like she was trying to breathe the pain away.

Joel came down to a crouch by her feet. “Hey.”

“I'm fine, Joel, really,” she assured quietly.

Though, he could tell she was pissed at herself. She hated being like this—vulnerable, hurting, unable to brush it off and acting like it didn’t happen. But Joel saw it. He saw her. How she'd tilted her head against the wall, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Leela truly was fine. Bruised, rattled—but fine.

Joel had checked her over once more, ensuring nothing was broken, no serious harm done, and he had to force himself to believe her when she said she’d be okay.

But her hands. Oh, Christ. The dim glow of the emergency lamp cast a dull shine over her skin, and that’s when he noticed—the raw, reddened patches along her fingertips. The unmistakable burn marks where the electricity must’ve bit into her.

"Shit." He exhaled sharply through his nose, scraping a hand down his beard as he stared at her fingers.

She must’ve seen the look on his face because she tucked her hands close to her stomach like she could make them disappear. “Seriously,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “I’ve had worse.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. She wasn’t wrong. And that made something in him burn even hotter.

“C’mon,” he muttered, nodding toward the stairs. “Up.”

Leela hesitated, but the way he stood—the way he waited—made it clear he wasn’t asking. So she sighed and pushed herself upright, and Joel stayed close, arms extended safely around her, watching the way she moved, the way her body reacted.

She didn’t stumble. Didn’t wobble. That was good. No concussion or broken bones. A knot in his chest loosened instantly.

Once they made it back upstairs, Joel had her sit at the kitchen table, lit up from the sunshine filtering through from the afternoon sun. He set a bowl of warm water down in front of her, the steam curling into the space between them. He grabbed a small tin of ointment after a bit of rustling through the cabinets, then a roll of gauze, then paused, eyes flicking to her.

She was watching him. Still. Silent. Waiting.

Joel breathed out, slow and even, then came back over, pulling a chair beside her. He reached for her wrist, gently, carefully, lifting her hands into his own. A silent ask. Permission. Lesson learned from the last time he'd touched her.

Leela tensed for half a second before sighing, letting him take them.

She was trying to play it off like it didn’t hurt. Like it was fine. But as soon as he dipped her fingertips into the warm water, she sucked in a quiet breath through her teeth.

Joel’s grip tightened just a little. He tried to squeeze everything he had felt these past few days into a single word—“Sorry.”

He worked, taking it slow, gently swiping away the dust and grime, watching the way her skin flinched under the heat. His thumbs moved gradually, steadily, like he was afraid to make it worse.

“Y’gotta be more careful,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Damn wires ain’t worth all this. Remember, you’ve got someone countin’ on you.”

Leela let out a soft, tired laugh. “I didn’t know I had a nanny now.”

Joel shot her a look. “You don’t. You got me.”

She blinked at that.

Her lips parted slightly, but whatever she was about to say, she thought better of it. Instead, she let him work, let him take care of her, and trusted his instincts, and that felt like something neither of them was ready to acknowledge just yet.

Once her hands were cleaned, he dried them carefully, mindful of the more sensitive spots, before smoothing ointment over each burnt fingertip.

Leela twitched. “Ow.”

Joel grunted. “Ain’t gonna feel good, but it’ll keep it from blisterin’ too bad.”

He finished wrapping the gauze around her fingers, slow and precise, making sure they weren’t too tight. Leela stared down at her hands when he was done, flexing her fingers slightly, testing the bandages like she wasn’t sure what to make of them. Three fingers on each hand.

Joel blew out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face as he took in the house.

It was quiet. Too damn quiet. God, he hated this. That unnatural kind, where something had been cut short too suddenly—like the whole place had been stunned into silence. The shot-out lights overhead blinked weakly before finally dying out for good, leaving nothing but the cold creeping in from every corner.

It was already setting in. The draft slithered through the cracks in the windows, curling around his ankles, and sinking into the wood beneath his feet. The thermostat had shut off along with the rest of the power, which meant no heat. Not with how damn cold it got out here. Jesus, he'd forgotten to tuck some extra layers around Maya.

His eyes swept the room. A busted power grid. A rattled woman nursing bruises. A two-month-old baby upstairs who didn’t know a damn thing about survival, who didn’t understand that warmth wasn’t something she could just take for granted.

And this woman—this stubborn, frustrating woman—was already trying to stand up like she hadn’t just been thrown into a wall.

"I'll go check it out. Don't worry, Joel, I know what to do," Leela offered, pushing herself up.

Joel shot out a hand, firm, stopping her before she could get any further.

"You ain't fixin’ shit, you hear me?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, but hell if he cared. "Sit your damn ass down. You're stayin' at my place till I get this sorted."

The prospect did not sit well with her. He could see it in the way her jaw clenched, her eyes flicking to the window like she was already searching for another solution.

She shook her head. "I can't—"

"That's not an option."

She looked at him then, her brows drawing together. And he knew what she saw—knew she saw that hard-set determination in his face, the part of him that had already made up his mind.

What she didn’t see—what he’d never let her see—was the way his chest was burning with something too tight, too damn close to fear.

Because he’d walked into cold houses before. Knew what happened when the temperature dropped too low. Had seen bodies frozen stiff in the middle of the night, curled up as if that had been enough to keep them warm. Had seen what happened when people thought they could tough it out. He'd rather never see or smell that ever again.

Now, Leela thought she could tough it out. But he wasn’t about to let her gamble with a baby’s warmth just to prove a damn point. And if she thought this was some kind of negotiation, she was dead wrong. Because he wasn’t giving her a choice.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself, softening the edges just enough so he wasn’t barking orders at her like some kind of drill sergeant.

“Just for a while,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Till I can fix whatever the hell you fucked up down there.”

Leela didn’t answer right away, lips pressing into a thin line. But she wasn’t stupid.

She glanced up toward the stairs, toward where Maya was still sleeping. Then back at him. Joel could see the exact moment she gave in. Her shoulders slumped as she relented.

He nodded, standing up, already running through what needed to be done. “Good. I'll go bundle up the kid.”

X

Joel hasn't exactly planned to have company. Ever.

Maria and Tommy showed up sometimes. Ellie, too—though not without complaint. She claimed the place smelled like old people and swore visiting would tank her cool factor. But even when they came around, he never let them stay too long. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before he was ushering them out the door with a gruff, Alright, get on, and some excuse about needing to be up early. It wasn’t that he didn’t like having people around. It was just—his place wasn’t made for that. He hadn’t made it for that.

It was single floor, nice and compact. He slept on the pullout couch in the living room. Not because he didn’t have that one really sweet bedroom, but because it was easier nowadays—closer to the door, closer to the window that faced the big white house across the street. His sink was a mess of dishes from last night, crusted over and rotting in the stale air. His cabinets weren’t stocked with food so much as they were with whiskey and coffee.

He came home. He ate. He slept. He woke up. Showered. Left. That was it. That was his life. It was enough and to spare.

So when Leela and Maya showed up at his front door, he wasn’t prepared. Not in the slightest.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on, then.”

Leela ducked inside first, shaking the cold from her coat, eyes flicking around the place as if she were already judging him for it. And maybe she was. Hell, Joel sure as shit would. Because this—this eyesore—was how she was gonna see him. As some tired, deadbeat old man who hadn’t even tried.

Maya stirred against her chest, her little hands fisting in the collar of Leela’s coat.

Joel cleared his throat and reached for her automatically. He needed his calm here. “C’mere, baby girl.”

She squealed at the sound of his voice, squirming, her small fingers flexing, gripping the fabric of his flannel before she finally settled against him, warm and soft. Joel let out a quiet breath through his nose, a strange kind of tightness unwinding from his ribs. He hadn’t even realized he’d been bracing for something.

“She can stay with me,” Leela said softly, slipping out of her coat.

Joel shook his head. “Nah, you get some rest. You’re takin’ the room down the hall.”

Leela blinked, surprised. “And you?”

Joel busied himself with Maya, playing catch and release with her tiny fists, letting her grab onto his finger before slipping it away. “I’ll be fine. Got the couch.”

She frowned. “But you’ve got that bad back.”

Joel sighed, jaw twitching. “Yes, ma'am. Thanks for noticin’.”

Leela’s mouth quirked slightly, just a little, but enough that it softened something in her expression. “You should take the bed, Joel.”

He hummed, shaking his head, shifting Maya a little higher against his chest. “You just shot into a wall and burned yourself, darlin’. I think you’re entitled to a bed.”

She tilted her head at him, her brow pinching together like she was trying to figure something out.

Joel stared back, more stubborn than apprehensive, his grip tightening just a fraction around Maya’s small body.

He wasn’t sure what it was, that look of hers. But damn if it didn’t make him feel like he was seen in a way he wasn’t used to. Like she was really looking at him—not the grumpy bastard everyone in Jackson thought he was, not the fixer, not the old guy sleeping his way through life—but him.

Joel shifted on his feet, clearing his throat. “Look, you’re takin’ the bed, that’s that. Maya can sleep next to you, so she’ll be closer.”

Leela was still staring at him, quiet for a long beat.

Then eventually she sighed. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but it felt like that little something Joel had wanted. Like an inch of the cold between them had finally cracked, let some warmth in.

Look, of course, Joel had always known his house was too damn small. He just hadn’t felt it until now.

There was no privacy to be had, not really. The pullout couch in the living room faced the bedroom door, left cracked open just enough for him to see the gentle rise and fall of Maya’s little body curled against where Leela would sleep later. The bathroom was the only one in the house, meaning if she needed it in the middle of the night, she’d have to walk past him to get there.

Not much space. Not much distance.

So when he heard the soft shuffle of her feet against the wood floor, he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even have to look up from the guitar in his hands to know she’d wandered further inside, drawn toward the small corner of the living room where he kept his workspace.

It was a cramped setup—a shabby studio table shoved against the wall, two half-finished guitars resting on stands nearby. He’d only just started working on them, but it gave his hands something to do, something to create.

Leela’s fingers grazed over the unfinished wood, her touch featherlight. “I didn’t know you were this talented. A luthier.”

Joel chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Layin’ it on a bit thick.”

She ignored him, curiosity guiding her hands as she thumbed over the strings. A quiet hum vibrated through the air, not a real note, just a sound. She tilted her head, listening.

“Would you make one for me when you have time to spare?” she asked, glancing up. “I’d love to learn.”

Joel almost laughed, because—yeah. Yeah, he’d drop dead before refusing that. “‘Course,” he said, voice low but certain.

Leela’s eyes found it too easily, drawn in like a moth to an old light. He almost wished he'd hid it away.

The picture that had survived time and death, sat on the corner shelf, tucked between a coil of guitar strings and a worn-out rag, the frame dull with dust he never bothered to wipe away. The glass was cracked, a thin vein running through the top left corner, but it didn’t matter. The image was still there. She was still there.

Sarah, grinning wide, her curls bouncing as she leaned into him, arms slung around his shoulders. Joel remembered that day. He’d taken her out to some shitty little carnival on the edge of town, and let her sucker him into one of those rigged ring toss games. She’d won a stuffed bear—cheated, more like, because the booth worker had taken pity on her—and held onto it the whole night like it was the greatest thing in the world.

She looked happy. They looked happy.

And it hit him—like it always did, like it always would—how long it had been since he’d last heard her voice. Since she’d called him 'Dad!' in that exasperated, teasing way of hers. Since she’d looked at him like he was the safest place she’d ever known.

Leela didn’t say anything. She didn’t even reach for it, didn’t let her gaze linger too long. Just acknowledged it, felt it, then moved past it, like she understood that some ghosts weren’t meant to be disturbed. Let them rest.

Joel swallowed. It wasn’t often that someone gave him that kind of space—left his past untouched, let him sit with it without trying to crack it open.

She leaned back against the edge of the desk, brushing her fingers through her hair again—one of those little habits of hers, nervous and absentminded. The strands were overgrown, frayed at the ends, and he knew she probably didn’t have the time to fix it, or maybe just didn’t care enough to. He should tell Maria to give her a trim.

But, she wasn’t wearing that pearl-buttoned nightdress tonight. This one was blue. Smooth. Loose-fitting. The frilled sleeves barely touched her shoulders, and it wasn’t anything special, not really, but—he liked it. That colour looked pretty on her skin.

The thought settled in his chest like an itch he didn’t know how to scratch.

Leela watched her fingers trail absently over the wood grain of the desk. “I owe you an apology, Joel,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Joel listened and didn’t speak, just let the words settle between them.

“For how I’ve been treating you.” She swallowed, gaze flicking up to him, uncertain but steady. “You’ve only ever helped me, and you're so good with Maya. I know it wasn’t fair of me to just… shut you out.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

But she wasn’t convinced. She hesitated, jaw tensing, lips parting slightly before pressing shut again. There was something she wanted to say like it was dislodged deep, festering, in her chest.

“That night in the car…” She took a breath like it might help balance her. It didn’t. “It wasn't you. I had—before Maya, I was—there was—”

Joel knew that look. The way her throat bobbed, her fingers curling against the desk like she needed something solid to hold onto. Holding herself together. He didn’t let her unravel, just not tonight.

“Stop,” he said, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to explain.”

Leela blinked at him, studying his face, like she was trying to decide if he meant it. So he shrugged, forcing a small, easy grin.

“Perks of havin’ me around. I don’t care for the details.”

A small breath of laughter escaped her. Real, unguarded, softening the edges of her face. He loved to see it on her. “That's a relief.”

Joel leaned forward, rubbing his palm over his knee, the dull ache settling in from the long day.

His voice was lower when he spoke. “It’s just nice to be there, y’know?” He wasn’t good at this—saying shit like this—but it began to get easier with her. “With Maya. And you. There's more purpose than just shooting things beyond the fence.”

Something flickered across Leela’s face.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk, and her knuckles paled with how tightly she gripped it. “You’re welcome home anytime, Joel. My door’s always open for you.”

Joel’s chest pulled tight.

He looked at her. And he thought about that damn oak door, how she never locked it, how he’d always given her hell for it in his head. And how, for the first time, it didn’t feel like carelessness.

It felt like trust. Not in this boring town of survivors. But in the neighbour across the street who'd ferreted his way into their lives.

Leela took a slow breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “So, you don’t have to come around just to fix things next time.”

Her voice was softer now. And then—something else. A small, almost shy laugh slipped past her lips, barely there, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say this next part out loud.

“Come to eat. To talk. To see Maya.” A beat. “And me.”

Joel felt it then—the shift. It wasn’t big, wasn’t some grand, earth-shaking thing. But it was there. He felt it.

"Maya loves you so much."

Joel glanced at her, unable to hold back the sympathy. He should’ve just let it sit. Should’ve just nodded, grunted something, and let the conversation move on. But instead, he said, low, “That bothering you?”

Leela hesitated, but only for a second. Then she sighed, rubbing a hand over her neck. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

Joel stayed quiet, watching her.

She let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “It’s just... I don’t feel like her mother. Not really.” Her voice was even, but he could hear the strain underneath, the sharp edge of something she didn’t want to say aloud. “I do everything I’m supposed to. Feed her. Hold her. Change her. But it’s just... a list to get through.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I thought it would be different. I know it's such an awful thing to say.”

Joel felt that like a punch to the gut. He knew what she meant. Knew how goddamn isolating it could be—to go through the motions, do the right thing, and still feel like you’re on the outside looking in.

“She’s yours, darlin',” he said after a moment. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing—at making sense of feelings, at giving comfort. He was trying. “That’s what matters. Sometimes it's not a magic switch, you can't just flip it on and feel it. Sometimes, you grow to love someone. Over time, energy, effort.”

Leela scoffed, quiet, barely there. “That all it takes?”

“No,” Joel admitted. “But it’s good enough.”

She finally looked at him then, something cautious in her expression, something raw. He didn’t push. Didn’t try to say anything else. Just let the silence stretch, easy and open, not asking for more than she was willing to give.

Leela swallowed, nodding slightly, like she was tucking the words away, considering them.

The space between them, once weighed down by hesitation, by careful sidesteps and unspoken rules, felt… lighter. Like the tension that had settled into the cracks between their words was finally easing, letting some warmth slip through.

And that? That did something to him.

His throat worked around something unspoken, and he rolled his shoulders back, shifting from feet to feet, like he could physically shake whatever the hell was loose inside him. The words that wanted to come didn’t.

Instead, he settled on something simpler. Something safer.

“You should get some rest.”

Leela’s gaze lingered, searching, like she was trying to read something in his face. Then she nodded, flashing a grin. “Sure,” she murmured. “Goodnight, Joel.”

Joel held her gaze for a moment longer. His fingers flexed at his sides, a familiar itch settling in his chest, the kind that always came when he stood in doorways when someone was walking away and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow or stay put.

He watched her retreat into the room, disappear behind the cracked door, and stand there for a moment before finally turning away.

The door was open again. And that was the thing about doors.

They worked both ways.

X

While on the road, Joel had spent years sleeping in places that barely counted as beds. Hard ground. Rusted truck seats. Creaking, sagging mattresses in abandoned buildings where one wrong turn meant waking up dead. Even now, safe inside these walls, inside this town where people thought fences and routine were enough to keep the bad out, behind homes with locked doors—well, should have locked doors—he never truly slept deep.

Always on alert. Always half-ready. Even in the comfort of a home he could call his.

Joel lay on the couch, stiff as the thing itself, staring into the rough fabric. He wasn’t asleep—he never really was—but he kept his back turned anyway. It felt like the right thing to do, a courtesy or some form of privacy in a house too damn small to actually have any.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Long enough for the warmth of the fire to ebb. Long enough to hear the wind pick up outside, rattling at the windows. Long enough to wonder if Leela had finally managed to fall asleep.

He exhaled through his nose and, without really thinking about it, rolled over onto his side, eyes shifting toward the bedroom.

Leela was out cold.

Her hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, but strands had escaped, curling softly against her cheek. One hand dangled into the mattress as if she’d fallen asleep patting Maya and never quite finished. He could see the slow rise and fall of her chest, deep and steady, her body given over to exhaustion.

Joel frowned as his eyes drifted lower. The blanket had slipped, barely covering her waist, her legs left bare to the chill of the night. One knee peeked out, the curve of it catching the dim, murky light of the bedside lamp. He felt his jaw tighten, his fingers flexing at his side. Wasn’t she cold?

But then his eyes landed on the baby in front of her, and the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding eased right out of him.

Maya was not asleep. Flat on her back, legs kicking sharp, barbed movements, her tiny fingers flexing in the air, opening and closing like she was trying to grab something invisible. Every so often, she let out a soft little coo, her breath light, testing, careful not to wake her mother.

Joel squinted. Lifted his head a little. Maybe she was just shifting in her sleep.

Nope, the kid was fully awake. Big, round eyes blinking up at the ceiling, mouth open in a little round ‘o’ of discovery, her hands reaching for her own damn feet, like she’d only just realized they were attached to her.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. He could just leave her be. She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t fussing. She'd fall asleep on her own.

But then she spotted him.

Her entire little body bucked, like the excitement was too much for her tiny limbs to contain. A bright, panting laugh bubbled from her mouth, and her hands curled, fists flailing like wanted to launch herself toward her.

Joel sighed. That was it. No walking away now.

Ignoring the slow, persistent cramp in his back, he shifted, pressing his hands into the pullout and pushing himself upright. His knees popped when he stood, and he winced, rolling his shoulders as he made his way into the bedroom. The floor groaned under his feet, but Leela didn’t stir. She was too far gone, too lost to the bruises and the exhaustion pressing her under.

Maya, on the other hand—beamed up at him, wiggling harder, completely unbothered by the late hour, her tiny hands batting at the air.

Joel sighed through his nose and crouched down beside the bed. He held up a finger to his lips. “Ssh, ssh,” he murmured like she had any damn understanding of the concept.

Her fists continued to flail, little feet kicking the air, and he sighed, leaning down to scoop her up. She fit into his arms easily, the way she always did—small and naming the nook to herself, all warm skin and bundled sleepiness. Sleep fired right out of his system.

“You're gonna wake your poor mama,” he whispered to her.

Shifting Maya against his chest, he glanced at Leela again. She hadn’t moved a muscle, fast asleep. But the blanket had slipped low, barely covering her waist, her arms left uncovered to the cold.

Joel hesitated for only a second before leaning over, taking the edge of the comforter and tucking it around her, careful not to wake her. The fabric pooled at her shoulder, and she sighed quietly in her sleep, sinking into the warmth of the bed, but not waking.

Good. She was finally catching up on sleep. When was the last time he'd seen that girl rest? Never. She'd always woken up the earliest, wandering between her papers and blackboards in the living room.

Maya let out a content little hum against his shoulder, and Joel blew out a breath, stepping back out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit living room. He wasn’t going to bother putting her back on the bed. She was too awake for that.

Instead, he plunged back onto the couch, settling into the cushions and adjusting her against his chest. She curled into him easily, her featherlight weight pressing against his ribs. She hummed again, a soft, breathy little thing, and then—one of her fists landed against his sternum with a dull thump.

Joel huffed, peering down at her. “You tryin’ to knock the wind outta me, trouble?”

Maya lifted her head to blink up again, dark eyes round and glassy in the dim light, looking like she had something important to say. Then her fist lifted again, this time smacking more of a lazy pat than anything with real intent.

He narrowed a playful glare on her, shifting her a little higher against him. He poked at her cheek. “We got some problems, or is this just your way of lettin’ me know you’re still awake?”

She didn’t answer—fucking obviously—but she did something close to it. Her mouth rounded in a small, exaggerated ooh, and her fingers fumbled against his shirt before one of them caught onto his.

Joel felt the soft, clumsy pull of her grip, then the unmistakable wet warmth of her mouth closing around the tip of his finger.

He grimaced, but not in any real discomfort. “Great, there you go. You're lucky you're so beautiful.”

Maya suckled lazily, brows furrowing like she was concentrating really hard on the task, and Joel exhaled, letting her gnaw as much as she wanted.

Joel stared at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, careful circles against her back.

She was a happier baby now. Not screaming. Not crying as much. Just there. Comfortable and safe.

He swallowed against the feeling mashing against his ribs. His jaw unclenched, let his head fall back against the couch, eyes slipping shut. And he let out the longest breath known to man.

It had been years—years since he’d felt this weight, this warmth, this need pressed against him. It was a different life, a different world, but somehow, it wasn’t. His body still knew this, still remembered the rhythm of it, the quiet intimacy of a baby trusting him enough to just be here, curled up against his chest, with no fear, no hesitation.

And goddamn him, but he loved it. Loved the small breaths puffing against his collarbone. Loved the way she looked up at him, slow and sleepy, tapping her tiny knuckles against him like she was checking to make sure he was still there. Loved that he didn't have to think about anything, not feel like the whole world was closing in.

Loved this.

He wasn’t thinking about the past. No, he wasn’t. But if he was, he sure as hell wouldn’t admit it.

The sound of the front door unlocking jolted him.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing for a fight as his hand instinctively curled around Maya’s small back, protective, ready. His other hand curled into a loose fist at his thigh.

The door eased open with a quiet creak, and a familiar silhouette stepped inside.

Ellie.

“Joel?” she whispered, peering at him in confusion.

Joel just stared at her. Not because she was here—she was always stopping by when she damn well pleased—but because for the first time in his life, he was the one who forgot to lock the damn door.

Maya shifted against his chest, making a soft noise, her tiny fingers still curled around his. Joel gave her a small, reassuring bounce as if she’d needed one.

Ellie, meanwhile, was still standing there, taking in the sight of him on the couch, a whole baby in his arms, and the bedroom door cracked open just enough to hint at the woman asleep inside. The pretty neighbour that had Joel all riled up.

Her eyebrows lifted and mouth twitched as she crossed her arms. “This isn’t a hostage situation, right? Am I an accomplice now?”

Joel sent her a flat look. “Whatever gave that away?”

Ellie then continued to stare at him and at Maya.

It was the kind of look Joel had gotten used to over the years, the one where she tried to figure out if she was hallucinating. Because she’d seen Joel Miller do a lot of things—wrangle Clickers, nurse a cold one, fix up a rifle—but sitting on his couch, cradling a whole-ass baby like that? It was a new one. Like unlocking a new character in a video game.

Her lips pressed together, eyes still flicking between him and the kid, and then—she snorted.

“Oh, man,” she whispered, shaking her head, a shit-eating grin spreading over her face. “I wish I had a camera to capture this gold.”

Joel sighed. “Alright, get on with it.”

Grinning, Ellie plopped herself down beside him, the whole couch shaking, immediately leaning in close to peer at Maya. Almost as if she was the first infant she'd seen in her life.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice going all high-pitched and ridiculous. “Hiiii.”

Maya blinked at her, unmoving, her fists curled safely in her mouth, her tiny brows furrowing as if she were trying to figure out just who the hell this new person was.

Ellie wiggled a finger in front of her. “Here. Go on, grab it.”

Maya did not. She just kept staring, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, utterly mystified by the sudden intrusion.

Joel huffed. “Guess she ain’t impressed.”

“Guess she’s got taste, you dick,” Ellie shot back. Then, her face softened, a little smirk curling her lips. “She’s fucking adorable. Look at those eyes, damn.” Joel barely had time to process the warmth that spread through his chest before Ellie tacked on, “So, definitely not yours.”

His scoff came out before he could stop it. “Oh, real funny, kid.”

Ellie chuckled, finally settling back against the couch, still watching Maya like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “How come they’re here?”

Joel didn’t go into the details, never liked to. About Leela’s bruises, about how she’d been too damn stubborn for her own good, about how he’d practically had to drag her in here to sleep in his bed.

Instead, he just muttered, “Blackout. Gonna head back in the morning and check it out.”

Ellie hummed like she knew there was more to it but didn’t feel like prying.

For a while, they just sat there in silence, and Joel simply let himself watch. The room was dim, the fire in the hearth burned low, throwing flickering shadows across the worn wooden floors. The cold pressed against the windows, creeping in through the cracks, but in here, it was warm—quiet, steady. Both in him and around him.

Ellie leaned in closer, her breath puffing softly against Maya’s round little cheek as she wiggled her fingers in front of her face. “What about this? You like this?” she murmured, tapping her tiny nose, and making a series of stupid clicking sounds.

Maya blinked, floored by this, her wide eyes tracking Ellie’s every move like she was watching the most fascinating thing in the world.

It took another few moments, but then—finally—Maya’s tiny fingers reached out, wrapping shyly around Ellie’s outstretched one. Not tight, not possessive, just curious. Testing.

Joel felt that feeling again, twisting deep in his ribs, imperceptive and calm and unnameable. He could get used to that feeling. It plugged every scar, physical and mental, until his shoulders felt ten times lighter.

The kid he’d sort of raised, playing with the baby he was yet to.

And for the first time in a long time, that muddle just… settled. It was late, too late in life for this kind of thing. But hell, cut him some slack.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring into the last of the fire, watching as the embers pulsed and flickered, struggling to stay alive. His hand absently smoothed over Maya’s back, following the slow rise and fall of her breathing, feeling the tiny weight of her against his chest. She was still. Not fussing. Just there.

Ellie shifted beside him, stretching her legs out, resting her arms against her knees. She wasn’t in a hurry to fill the silence. She just sat there, watching him in that way of hers, like she saw more than she let on.

“So,” she finally said, voice casual. “How’re things between you and…?”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Just flicked her chin toward the bedroom.

Leela was still dead to the world, sunk into the kind of sleep that didn’t let you turn over, didn’t let you dream. Her hand had slipped out from beneath the blanket, fingers curled loosely against the mattress. He wondered how long it had been since she’d let herself rest like that, without one ear open for some threat, without her body coiled tight, waiting for the next hang-up.

Joel looked away. He shifted slightly, adjusting Maya, keeping his voice even. “There’s nothing between us.”

Ellie hummed like she wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, no shit.” She stretched her arms behind her head, smirking. “She’s way out of your league.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head. “No argument here.”

He didn’t need Ellie to tell him that. He was thickheaded, but he wasn't blind. Leela was… Leela. Stunning in that exotic way, compassionate as a human, insanely intelligent. And him? What was he exactly, a cut-throat? A fighter? A relentless fucking human who just refused to die? Twenty years ago, a woman like that wouldn’t have given him the time of day, much less a second glance. A girl like her, back in the world before, would’ve had a whole life ahead of her, a whole set of possibilities. Not this. Not him.

And maybe that’s how it should’ve been. Maybe that’s why this didn’t make any sense.

He tensed his grip on Maya and felt the way she instinctively burrowed against him, curling her little fingers into the fabric of his shirt. She cooed again, watching his mouth move to form words.

He could be something for her. If Leela wanted it, he could carve out a space in Maya's life, be her constant, be her safety net. Hell, be this baby girl's father. He would compromise in a blink. That was different. That was right.

But having Leela herself? That was something else entirely. That was dangerous. That was selfish. There were too many ways it could go wrong. Too many ways it would end badly.

Not because of him, or her, or anything either of them did—just because that was the way life went. He wasn’t made for this kind of thing anymore. Wasn’t built for it. He was too damn old, too set in his ways. And even if she—somehow—wanted this, wanted him, what then? How long until he fucked it up? How long until he lost it?

The way he always did.

He swallowed hard. “I’m too old for her,” he managed to mutter.

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You're fucking kidding. The world ended. There is no standard. And you still care about what, an age gap? Brownie points? Jesus, Joel. You've been through too much to care.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just kept his gaze on the fire, jaw tight.

It wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about how it looked or what people would say. Hell, no one would care. He wouldn't care. They were past that kind of bullshit.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t still impossible.

Because Joel knew himself. He knew what it was like to want something real, to care about someone so much it hollowed you out from the inside. And he knew how fast it could all go to hell.

It was about the fact that she still had so much time. That she could still find someone real, someone better. That she deserved more than a haunted, greying man, who could barely sleep through the night, combing through his days, who lived waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

And she deserved better than a man too tired, too worn down by life, to give her more than what little he had left.

Ellie sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Y’know…” she started, then stopped.

Joel glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly.

She didn’t go on right away. Just drummed her fingers against her knee, staring into the fire, her face unreadable. For once, she wasn’t running her mouth, wasn’t making a joke to cut through whatever was settling between them. She was thinking. That alone put him on edge.

Finally, she said, “It’s different. These last few weeks. Even Tommy sees it.”

Joel frowned, not at the words themselves, but at the way she said them—slow, cautious, like she wasn’t just talking to him but trying to make sense of it for herself.

Ellie had always been good at reading him, sometimes better than he wanted. But this—this was different.

She flitted her gaze toward the bedroom, where Leela was still out cold, her body barely stirring under the blankets. Then to Maya, curled up against him, tiny fingers tangled in his shirt, her soft weight pressed into his chest. Finally, she looked back at him.

She didn’t spell it out. Didn’t need to.

Joel swallowed, shifting slightly where he sat, adjusting Maya’s weight in his arms. His hand smoothed down her back, more out of habit than anything else. He glanced toward the bedroom too, toward Leela, who hadn’t moved an inch. Yes, it was different.

But Ellie wasn’t done. She hesitated, rolling something over in her head before finally letting it out.

“It’s… good, y’know? You having this nice thing.” She waved a vague hand toward the baby, toward Leela. “You don't usually let yourself have nice things. Something that’s not just me.”

Joel’s breath caught.

Ellie had always been his reason for waking up in the morning, the one thing keeping him tethered to whatever life he had left. And she knew that. Knew it in the way she carried herself, in the way she fought with tooth and claw to prove she didn’t need him to keep her standing. That he had his own life. But now, sitting there, she wasn’t mocking, wasn’t teasing. She was just… saying it. And she was goddamn right.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just pushing forward because he had to, wasn’t just surviving out of habit. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the axe to fall.

He had something to come back to. Something steady. Something small and warm and his, even if he didn’t know what the hell to do with it yet.

He looked down at Maya, at her tiny, trusting weight in his arms, at the way she twitched slightly in her sleep, lips parting around a breath. His hand smoothed over her back again.

Ellie saw the moment it clicked. The way his face shifted, just slightly. She smirked, satisfied. And that her good work here was done.

Then, just like that, she clapped her hands on her knees and stood up. “Well,” she said, voice slipping back into that familiar teasing lilt, “guess I’ll let you get back to your hostage situation.”

Joel rolled his eyes, settling deeper into the couch as Maya nuzzled against his chest. The kid was out cold now, her little fist still tangled in his shirt.

Ellie was already heading for the door when she threw out in a whisper, “Oh—almost forgot. Maria asked me to tell you to bring your girl by the dam sometime this week.” She smirked, holding up air quotes. “Said she’d like ‘inventor insight.’”

His expression deadpanned. “Maria ain’t letting her go anywhere near machines.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Ooh-kay. Controlling much?”

Joel gave her a warning look. “Ellie.”

She dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll just tell her myself.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, already seeing how that would go. If Leela knew Maria was interested, she’d want to help. She’d go, eager to prove herself, eager to be useful. And then she’d get herself hurt again, pushing past whatever limits she had, just like she always did. That wasn’t happening.

“She’s stayin’ away,” he muttered. “She’ll go, then want to help. Overdo it. Get herself hurt or worse.” He gave Ellie a pointed look. “Better not.”

Ellie let out a sharp laugh, all evil intent. “And you’re telling me there’s nothing between you two?”

“Ellie,” he hissed, too fast, too sharp—just as Maya stirred slightly against his chest, her little face scrunching. He froze, holding his breath, waiting to see if she’d wake.

Ellie’s smirk was damn near insufferable.

“Denial,” she sang out, drawing out the word like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day.

Joel sent her a flat look.

Ellie just wiggled her fingers in a wave and made for the door once more. “Night, old man.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone in the quiet house, the fire crackling low in the hearth. Joel exhaled slowly, his hand smoothing absently over Maya’s back again.

Denial. Maybe. He wasn't ruling it out yet.

X

{ taglist 🫶: @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @mojaveghst , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

And to those in the reblogs: thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

@darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid }

[littlelamy]

Hiii love your writing. I've never sent in an ask before because I wasn't sure if you might be comfortable writing about this but

How would you feel about writing about a reader who's recently been going to the gym and now looks really fit but gets really shy when Rafe compliments her because she isn't used to boys paying attention to her

Or maybe a reader who's sort of just your average girl but after going to the gym she looks really good and doesn't know it and when Rafe realises how different she looks and points it out she gets shy

lamy's note: aw you can send as many asks as you want! it does take a while for me to finish them but if i feel comfortable with it ill write it!

you don’t think much of it at first. the gym was just supposed to be something to do, a way to clear your head, to move, to feel strong. you don’t track progress, don’t check the mirror too often.

but rafe notices.

he notices the way your legs have definition now, the way your arms feel firmer under his hands when he pulls you close. the way your waist looks smaller, curves sharper, like you’ve been carved into something finer, more dangerous. and he notices the way you don’t notice any of it at all.

so when he sees you standing in front of your closet, frowning at your reflection, fingers grazing the hem of your shirt like you’re unsure if it fits right, he can’t help himself.

“you look so fucking good, baby.”

you freeze, eyes snapping to his in the mirror. he’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at you. dark, intense, like he’s ready to devour you whole.

“i—” your face warms instantly, fingers gripping your shirt tighter. “it’s just the shirt.”

“nah.” he pushes off the frame, steps toward you. “it’s you.”

his hands find your hips, thumbs pressing into the new muscle there, the strength you’ve built. he pulls you back against his chest, lips grazing your ear. “i mean, fuck, look at you.”

your skin is burning, stomach flipping over itself. you try to laugh it off, but it comes out shaky. “it’s not that different.”

rafe scoffs, turning you in his arms so you’re facing him. “are you serious?” his hands slide up your sides, slow, deliberate, taking his time. “you’ve always been beautiful, but now? baby, you’re fucking dangerous.”

he means it. you can see it in his face, in the way his hands tighten when they reach your waist, in the way his tongue flicks over his bottom lip like he’s trying to hold himself back.

and you? you don’t know what to do with any of it. compliments have never been your thing, attention from boys even less so. your instinct is to look away, to brush it off, to hide—but rafe doesn’t let you.

he tilts your chin up, makes sure your eyes are on his. “why do you get so shy when i tell you the truth?”

because you don’t know how to believe it.

but when he kisses you, slow and deep, hands gripping you like he’s never letting go—you think maybe you could try.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

[sillysiluriforme]

Planes pass by overhead in a milky tea green sky direction Charle de gaul airport.

She hasn’t been grounded for this long in 4 years now, not since the hospital. She tries to think about Zoey and her grubby little hands. The way she looks up at her. Her babbling.

It’s all futile, her third sex-on-the beach has rendered her brain mushy and uncooperative. She used to hate being drunk. She still does, so it’s particularly perplexing she finds herself inebriated so often.

A pair of perfect manicured fingernails grazes her shoulder.

“Audreeeeeey…” comes Emilie’s pitch perfect practiced whine.

“I’m talking to you !” She ends her sentence on a higher note, indicating playfulness. Her bronze skin, dusted with crystals of pool droplets, sparkles in the light of the terrace- curtsy of her fresh perfect tan.

She furrows her brows through Audrey’s sunglasses. The green of her eyes is exacerbated, almost comical. Like the warning label on a bottle of helium.

“Whaddidyasay ?” The slurred words slither out of her mouth like drool. Why do people even drink ?

She puffs up her cheek and readjusts her hold on the sleeping toddler in her arms clover- Chloe. Chloe, after her mother in law- not that she’d ever met her- Some gold digging cover girl with a strong stomach and very little shame, from what she gathered.

Maybe that’s what her Andre wants for her at the end of the day. A well-to-do husband, some kids, a big house and as little shame as possible… he’s boring like that.

“ Here I was getting sentimental and you just ignore me, how could you be so cruel ?”

Chloe doesn’t stir in her arms, somehow, despite the brat normally sleeping as sleep as light as a feather. The mass of perfect honey colored curls go up and down as she photogenically lays her restful little head on Emilie’s chest. It’s like she’s doing it on purpose.

Audrey, working at half the speed she usually would, languidly blinks at her. No point in playing her verbal games. Emilie always wins.

She sighs with all the gusto of a mistress of the silver screen and repeats herself.

“I was saying I used to wish I had met you younger.”

“…” the congealed remains of her mostly-fruit-juice-cocktails have seeped into the crevices of her synapses, the coughing machine chugs along. “Why ?” She says flatly, without too much interest.

“I didn’t know you actually had curly hair till the day we all moved out, did I ever tell you that ?”

Audrey goes to push her sunglasses up her forehead almost pokes herself in the eye.

“What did you think I was doing when I woke up earlier than you everyday?”

The perfect hand lurches like a snake to grasp her arm, like otherwise she’d run off and miss hearing her out. “You’re missing the point.” Audrey’s eyes roll in their sockets from the snake to the grass-green eyes.

“You wouldn’t let me in, ever, not of your own will.” Her mouth curves down and her brows curve up. “It… hurt me.” Her voice wobbles in a controlled manner not unlike a prop laminated metal sheet. “My first friend- my best friend, trapping me at arm’s length… so during lectures I’d try to imagine you,”

“And me…” and there’s something she manages to catch for an instant. Something soft and fidgety held in her gaze. “As schoolgirls- sometimes even younger, already friends, shared secrets and make believe memories.”

And with a sharp snap it’s gone, cold and still forever. Emilie’s gaze rises past Audrey, as it often does when she goes on a tangent. Her fingers tangle in the little girl’s curls.

“I missed you, you know. It’s not the same without you here. Im so happy you’re home now.” Glossy pink lips plucker into a heart shaped smile. The perfect snake coils through perfect yellow swirls to unearth Chloe’s sun kissed forehead before planting her lips on the unmarked surface. The glittering pink stain stands alone like a flagpole in no man’s land.

Audrey’s foot catches the leg of her deckchair and narrowly misses eating shit on the sharp white tiles when she stands up. Emilie still reaches out like it’d help in any way.

“I want another glass.”

[uhhlifeig]

Smitten - Feb. 17th - word count: 827 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Remus woke up, his head throbbing.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Lupin,” a woman said, hovering over him. “How are you feeling?”

“Where am I?” Remus asked, trying to sit up in his bed. The lady pushed him back down. 

She must be a nurse, he realized, since she was in a nurse’s uniform.

“You’re in St. Mungo’s. Do you remember?”

Remus frowned. “Remember what?”

“What’s the last thing you remember, Mr. Lupin?” she asked, pulling a notebook out of her pocket. 

Remus racked his brains. “Uh, not much,” he shrugged.

“And what does it feel like?”

He frowned, thinking of a way to phrase the sentence. “It feels like I’m supposed to remember something, but I don’t. Like there’s just… empty space and colors.”

“Interesting,” the nurse hummed. “Well, you must've been hit with something, since you still have practical memory, yes?”

“Yeah,” Remus sighed. “Yeah. I can do stuff, I just don’t remember how I learnt it.”

“And do you recognize faces?” she asked.

“Dunno,” Remus replied dully. “Are there any faces?”

“Oh, sorry. One second, Mr. Lupin.” The nurse left the room, letting the door click shut behind her.

A moment later, she returned, a gorgeous man in tow. 

“Er, hello,” he mumbled, feeling his face heat up under the steel-colored scrutiny of the mystery man. 

The man turned to the nurse. “Are you absolutely quite sure he’s alright, Beatrice? Has the confusion worn off?”

“Yes, Black,” the nurse said. “He’s just missing memories, that’s all.”

‘Black’ opened his mouth to speak, but the nurse cut him off. “No, Sirius,” she sighed. “It’s not permanent. It’ll be back soon.”

Sirius. What an interesting name, Remus thought. He’d heard that somewhere before…

“Good,” Sirius nodded, checking his watch. He cursed. “I have to go, the Curse-Breaking people need me. Sorry, I’ll be back.”

Remus frowned. He wanted to talk to the pretty man. He had such nice hair. Remus wanted to run his hands through the man’s hair. Would it feel nice?

Remus shook the thoughts out of his head. That man was probably off the market, considering the silver band on his finger.

~~~~~

There was a messy-haired man next to his bed, chattering on about his wife and son. 

He showed Remus the pictures from his son’s fifth birthday, and he also reminded Remus of a place called ‘Hogwarts’.

Remus didn’t remember too much, but he did recall a big, moving tree, and three animal-shaped figures trailing after him. When he told the messy-haired man (James, his name was), he grinned.

“You remember that? That’s great, Moony!” he exclaimed. “Do you remember the names? Of the animals, I mean.”

“It was…” Remus trailed off, thinking. “Prongs, Wormtail, and Padfoot, right? And I was Moony?”

“Yeah!” James cheered. “I was Prongs, of course, since, well,” he leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m a deer.”

“Yeah, and… there was a kid called Peter, right? Which was he?”

James chuckled. “Oh, Pete’s Wormtail. He’s a rat.”

Remus tilted his head ponderingly. “So who was Padfoot?”

“Oh, easy. That was Sirius,” James said, smiling.

Remus gaped. “Wait. Sirius? Sirius as in the man who came earlier? That Sirius?”

“Well, he didn’t tell me he’d stop by, but yeah,” James shrugged. “Why?” 

“Merlin, that man is so beautiful,” Remus sighed. “He just has the prettiest eyes, and his hair, and-”

“I’m going to have to stop you right there,” James frowned.

Remus’s eyes widened, head dropping to look at his sheets. “Oh, shit, right. He’s married, or engaged, or something. Sorry, I just-”

But James interrupted again. “No, no, shut it, Moony. I heard way too much of this from Sirius’s side during fourth year, and let me tell you-” he gave a full-body shudder. “I never want to go through you two pining again.”

Remus raised his head hopefully. “We were together?”

“Uh, yeah? Merlin, Remus, did you not see the wedding band on your finger?” James scoffed. “Smartest Marauder my ass.”

Remus elected to ignore the last comment and instead looked at his right hand, where a gold band was wrapped around his ring finger.

“Oh, shit, he’s my husband?” Remus asked, voice rising in pitch with every word.

“Duh.”

~~~~~

Remus sighed contentedly as Sirius curled into his side on their couch. 

“So,” Sirius began. “Prongs told me what happened.”

Remus felt a cold trickle of embarrassment down his back. “What?” he asked cautiously.

“When you were in Mungo’s that time, remember?” Sirius looked innocently up at Remus. “When you forgot that we were married?”

Remus groaned. “Shut it. He did not-”

“Oh, but he did,” Sirius said. “He called it cute how you were acting all smitten about your husband. And then he said that if one of us ever lost our memories again, he wouldn’t be there.”

“Oh, yeah. What did you even say to that poor man in fourth year?”

Sirius grinned. “Well, I’m pretty sure I started off with how good you looked, and then-”

“Dear Merlin.”

[sombrashe]

2 random relationship headcanons ∿ team thanos

suggestive

✐ᝰlets you take a hit of his vape in the middle of sex. doesn't matter if he's fucking into you or if you're bouncing on his lap. he's grabbing his vape off the bedside box and blowing smoke in your face

"Quit it, Choi."

"Harsh... want a hit? It's cherry lime."

"Sounds awful."

"You say that to everything."

"That's because blue raspberry is the only flavor."

✐ᝰrolls a blunt on your lower back as you're scrolling. swatting at your ass when you laugh too hard and shake some of the bud loose. he finishes it off by keeping his tongue out too long and licking a stripe from the blunt to your side.

"Ew, Su-bong. What have I said about the licking?"

"That you love it and want me to do it."

"I get enough weed stench on me being in your presence. I don't need it embedded into my skin."

"Boring."

✐ᝰbrings home random pills he's collected throughout his shift at the club and expects you to take them with him. you always question every little thing about the pill. all he has to do is taking a quick look and knows exactly what it is.

"That's ecstasy. It's an upper."

"So I'll get like super depressed after?"

"Yeah, but I'll be here. It's fun."

"I hallucinate, right?"

"That's one of the symptoms, yeah"

✐ᝰdoes your nails because he's dead broke. He wishes he could buy you those cute sets you always linger on when online browsing. He found some nail sets on temu and went to a beauty store to buy nail supplies. he kept these hidden while he watched video after video about how to properly do nails.

"Where did you learn this?"

"YouTube."

"Why?"

"Bored."

✐ᝰdyes your hair so long as you agree to go with her when she gets a new piercing. she loves seeing all the different colors you've gone through. she especially loves how you just make shit up, mixing emerald pixie and frozen cotton candy and naming the teal color frozen pixie candy. amazing

"What color are we doing next?"

"I don't know. Any ideas?"

"What about pink. You always look so cute in pink."

"Pervert."

"I didn't even say anything."

✐ᝰrants to you about her day, everyday. at first it was frustrating, it seemed like all she did was complain. the more you bit your tongue and listened you slowly came to realize she needed a new job. immediately. what kind of boss says those things??

"You need to quit."

"I can't just quit."

"I make enough to hold us over until you find another job."

"But we would have to cut down a lot."

"I will do whatever you need."

✐ᝰblushes when you offer to go down on him. you don't do it often since he normally initiates but the few times you do offer his face turns beat red. it always starts at the tip of his ears, moves over to the apples of his cheeks, and ends splattered across his cheat like a renaissance painting.

"You're so red, Min-su."

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not! I promise, I think it's cute. Sexy even."

"Uh-huh."

"No really, It shows how turned on I make you."

✐ᝰgenuinely giggles. anytime you get the upper hand during wrestling you stick your fingers right under his chin and start tickling. at first he lets out a sharp laugh. something harsh that is accompanied by kicks. when it really starts getting to be too much he starts giggling uncontrollably.

"Stop. Stop. Too much."

"Say it. Say I'm the champion."

"You're-."

"Min-su."

"You won. You're the champion. Now stop, please. I can't breathe."

✐ᝰwatches you whenever you're not looking. He feels like a creep doing it but you're just so gorgeous. Absolutely ethereal and he physically can't keep his eyes off of you. He does it so often he ends up spacing out and you have to raise your voice to snap him out of it.

"Gyeong-su? Gyeong-su!"

"What?"

"Have you heard a single thing I said?"

"What did you say?"

"Unbelievable."

✐ᝰhypes you up any chance he gets. just woke up and need nothing more than a shower? God, baby, you look so good. putting the finishing touches on your makeup before a night out? Wow, you're breathtaking. when you're facedown and his lips are inches from the shell of your ear? Amazing how I get to call you mine.

"Which shirt with these pants?"

"You look amazing in both."

"That's not helpful Gyeong-su."

"But it's the truth."

"Then lie."

[nomie-11]

Fight For Me - Part 3

masterlist! | Right Wing - Part 1 | The General - Part 2

synopsis: ellie never had anyone fight for her before, but hearing the way your teammates talk about you, she knows that maybe next time she won’t be alone

pairings: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

The locker room was alive with the familiar buzz of post-practice exhaustion. The sharp scent of sweat and cooling gear filled the air, mingling with the low hum of chatter and the occasional burst of someone’s laughter. Ellie lingered by her locker, fingers absentmindedly unlacing her skates as she listened to the others talk. She was sure what she was waiting for—maybe an excuse to leave, maybe a reason to stay. 

She found her eyes drifting toward you. You were across the room, leaning against your locker, laughing at something Vi had said. Even now, after an absolutely grueling practice, after putting everyone through hell on the ice, you barely looked tired. 

Ellie scowled. How the hell did you do that? 

Dina, sitting on the bench beside her, nudged her shoulder. “You’ve been staring for like, five minutes, dude.” 

Ellie snapped her head toward her. “What? No, I haven’t.” 

Vi, overhearing, smirked. “Yeah, you have.” 

“Fuck off,” Ellie grumbled, yanking her laces free with more force than necessary. 

Caitlyn, ever the observant one, arched a brow. “What’s your deal with Cap, anyway?” 

Ellie hesitated. What was her deal? She hated you—or at least, she wanted to hate you. But the problem was, she didn’t actually know you. Not really. All she knew was what she saw on the ice: a player who was better than she, a captain who commanded absolute loyalty, a strategist who made the game bend to her will. 

So instead of answering the question, Ellie deflected. “What’s her deal?” 

Dina and Vi exchanged a glance. Abby, who had been rolling out her shoulder with a resistance band, snorted. “The General?” 

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I keep hearing that. Why is that her nickname?’

Caitlyn smirked. “Because this is her team. She commands it and she built it.” 

Ellie frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Dina leaned back against the lockers, arms crossed. “Before Cap, the team was good. Like, really good. But good doesn’t win championships. Good doesn’t push you past the point where you want to quit. She made us great.”

Vi nodded. “She doesn’t just play hockey—she sees it. Lives, breathes, and eats it, too. The way she reads the game, the way she moves the puck? It’s like she’s playing five steps ahead of everyone else. When we got here, she made this team into what it is now. She made it better.” 

Ellie frowned, absorbing their words. She thought back to every practice, every game replay she’s watched. It was true—you didn’t just play, you orchestrated. Like a general in a command room, you saw the ice as a battlefield and your team as an army. 

Caitlyn added, “She took this team from a solid contender to a fucking dynasty. Three straight conference championships, frozen four appearances, and if we play our cards right, we’re winning the whole thing this year.” 

Ellie raised a brow. “And you guys just… let her take charge like that?”

Vi laughed. “Let her? You don’t let Cap do anything. She just does it.” 

Dina grinned. “Day one, freshman year, it was me, her, and Vi. She showed up to practice and ran everyone into the ground. Our seniors thought they were gonna humble her. They didn’t.” 

Vi chuckled at the memory. “Yeah, I remember thinking, ‘no fucking way this rookie is that good.’ And then she smoked all of us in suicides, outworked everyone in frills, and by the end of the first week, we all knew. She would lead. Be something different.” 

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She had spent the last few weeks resenting you, trying to fight against the way you led this team, when really—you were the team. 

Dina glanced at Ellie, as if reading her thoughts. “Look, I get that you and Cap don’t exactly vibe, but if you actually listened to her, you’d realize she’s trying to make you better, too.” 

Ellie scoffed. “I don’t need her help.” 

Abby smirked. “That’s cute.”

Ellie glared. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Vi leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “It means you’re playing checkers while she’s playing chess. She’s already figured out where you fit into this team. You just have to listen.” 

Ellie clenched her jaw, looking down at the skates discarded on the floor. The worst part? They were right, and she knew it. 

“Do any of you guys actually like her? As a friend?” Ellie questioned cautiously. 

Dina blinked at her like she had grown two heads. “Are you serious?” 

Vi let out a sharp laugh. “Ellie, she’s our fucking captain.”

”No shit,” Ellie muttered, rolling her eyes. “I mean besides hockey. Off the ice. Do you guys actually like her?” 

Caitlyn, who had been tying her sneakers, glanced up with a small smirk. “She’s intense as hell. Kind of a bitch, too.” 

“Super goal-oriented,” Abby added, stretching her shoulder with a wince. “Rides all of our asses like it’s her job.” 

Dina grinned. “Technically, it is her job.” 

Ellie felt something ugly twist in her chest. It was what she had been saying—you were too much. Too sharp, too demanding, too relentless. The perfect hockey player, maybe, but not someone anyone would actually—

Vi cut through her thoughts with a scoff. “But, yeah, dumbass. Of course we love her.” 

Ellie frowned. “Even though she’s—”

“A goddamn nightmare?” Caitlyn supplied. 

“A complete hardass?” Abby offered. 

“The most stubborn person alive?” Dina grinned. 

Vi leaned back on the bench, crossing her arms over her chest. “She’s all of that, yeah. But she’s ours.” 

Ellie stared at them. 

Dina’s voice softened, losing its usual teasing edge. “She fights for us, Ellie. Tooth and fucking nail. She’s been the first one in our corner since day one, even when we didn’t ask her to be. She’s had our backs through every shit call, every bad game, every injury.” 

Caitlyn nodded. “When I blew out my knee last season, she stayed at the hospital with me all night. Coach didn’t even ask her to. I woke up, and she was just there.”

Vi smirked. “She cussed out a ref so bad in our freshman year that Coach had to physically drag her off the ice.” 

Abby grinned. “When Dina got concussed, she carried her off the ice herself.”

Ellie blinked. “That’s not legal.” 

Dina snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah, and she bitched the whole time about how heavy I was.” 

Vi smirked. “To be fair, you were dead weight. You kept trying to tell us you were fine while your eyes were rolling back in your head.” 

“I was fine,” Dina said indignantly. 

Abby rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t even count to five.” 

Dina waved a dismissive hand, then leaned back against her locker with a grin. “Honestly, that’s nothing. You wanna know how I really knew Cap had my back.” 

Ellie arched a brow. “Spill.” 

Dina’s grin widened. “I’m actually a teen mom.” 

Ellie choked on her own spit. “What?” 

Vi snickered. “Yup.” 

Dina look way too amused at Ellie’s stunned expression. “Had my kid with Jesse our senior of high school. Just happened to line up with the end of the season and then summer, which, you know, lucky timing and all.” 

Ellie blinked, trying to process. “You—” she gestured vaguely, still thrown, “—have a kid?” 

Dina nodded. “Little dude named JJ. He’s three and a half now.” 

Ellie had absolutely no idea what to do with this information. “And—you still play?”

”Obviously.” Dina said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But BU almost tried to kick me off the team when they found out the little boy strapped to my soulmate’s chest was my kid mid-sophomore year.” 

Ellie frowned. “They can do that?” 

“They tried to,” Dina’s expression darkened slightly. “Tried to tell me I wouldn’t be able to keep up, that it’d be a distraction, that I needed to focus on my ‘future’—which, like, excuse me, this is my future.” 

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She could imagine it, the way schools and coaches could be—how quickly they’d turn their backs the second they decided you weren’t worth the trouble. “What happened?”

Dina smirked. “Cap happened.” 

Ellie blinked. “What?” 

Vi leaned forward, grinning. “Yeah, that was a fun day.” 

Dina laughed. “I thought she was gonna rip Coach’s head off. She stormed into his office and straight-up told him that if they kicked me off, she’d quit the team.” 

Ellie’s jaw nearly dropped. “She what?”

“Threatened to walk. No hesitation. Said she wouldn’t play for a school that didn’t have its players’ backs.” Dina’s voice was warm, fond. “And here’s the thing—this was right after we won our first conference championship. She was their golden girl, and they knew it. The idea of losing her scared them so much that they backed off.” 

Ellie was quiet for a moment, turning this over in her head. She’d spent weeks seeing you as this untouchable, ice-cold general who lived and breathed hockey, this was something else. 

What would Vermont have been like if she had someone like you to fight for her? Would they have still booted her at the first sign of real trouble?

Vi ran a hand through her short hair. “You think that’s bad? Try this one?” 

Dina smirked. “Smooth topic shift.”

Vi shot her a look but continued. “Middle of our sophomore year, I almost had to drop out.” 

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What? Why?” 

Vi sighed, her fists clenching. “My little sister needed me. Money was tight—worse than usual. Our dad dropped dead out of nowhere, and if I wanted to keep her fed and taken care of, I had to pick up more hours at work, which meant I didn’t have much time for school, much less hockey.” She exhaled sharply. “So, I told Coach I was quitting.” 

Ellie blinked. “You were just gonna leave?”

Vi shrugged. “Didn’t feel like I had much of a choice at the time. But guess who didn’t let that happen?” 

Ellie didn’t even have to guess. “Captain Perfect stepped in.” 

Vi nodded. “She would not shut up about it. Helped me find grants, financial aid, hell, even some weird-ass booster program for ‘exceptional athletes in difficult circumstances’—which, yeah, that’s a mouthful, but it covered two-thirds of my tuition alone. She even bullied Coach into giving me a small stipend from the team budget.” Vi huffed out a laugh. “And when I was still being stubborn about it, she just showed up to my job one night, tossed an envelope of cash onto the counter, and told me to pay my goddamn bills.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “Where the hell did she get the money?” 

Vi smirked. “Her own savings. Said she didn’t need it. Said ‘what’s the point of winning if we don’t all cross the finish line together?’” 

Ellie swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way it made her chest tighten, and the overwhelming guilt and jealousy she had for these girls. The Vermont captain was nothing like this—didn’t even fight for her even after they had played together for two years. And here you were paying Vi’s rent after a year and a half on the same team? Threatening your career just to keep Dina on the ice?

Caitlyn sighed. “I guess I’ll go next, then.” 

Ellie turned to her, and Caitlyn leaned against Vi with a small huff. “My mom didn’t want me to keep playing. Thought I wasn’t focused enough on my studies, that hockey was just a distraction.” 

Ellie frowned. “That’s ridiculous. You’re, like, insanely smart.” 

Caitlyn gave a humorless chuckle. “Didn’t matter. You’ve never met an asian mother on a mission. In her mind, I had to be better. She tried to pull me from the team.” 

Ellie clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking. “What happened?” 

Caitlyn smiled slightly. “Our dear captain happened?” 

Dina grinned. “This was epic.” 

Caitlyn laughed. “She learned my mother’s language of numbers and statistics. Launched a full-scale campaign to convince my mother to let me stay. Had the entire team sign petitions. Brought in my academic record and class statistics to prove I wasn’t falling behind. Got Coach to sit down with her and explain how crucial I was to the lineup.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t leave my poor mother alone.”

Ellie could picture it—your relentless determination, your refusal to let anything stand in the way of keeping your team together. 

“In the end,” Caitlyn said, “my mom gave in. She figured if I had a captain that determined to keep me on the team, I must be worth something.” 

Ellie didn’t know what to say to that. 

And then Abby sighed. “Alright. My turn.” 

Ellie glanced over. Abby had been quiet, listening, but now there was something hesitant in her expression. Ellie could feel the entire atmosphere in the room shift, as if everyone knew something she didn’t. Something bad. 

Abby took a breath. “Last year was rough for me.” 

Ellie didn’t move, didn’t respond, sensing the weight behind Abby’s words. 

“I had… a lot of pressure on me. To perform, to be the best, to live up to the expectations that came with being on her team.” Abby’s jaw tightened. “And I handled it like shit. Stopped eating right. Stopped resting. I thought if I just pushed harder, I’d b fine. But I wasn’t.” 

Ellie felt her chest tighten. “What happened.” 

Abby hesitated, then sighed. “I passed out. In the middle of practice.”

Ellie’s stomach dropped. 

“And Cap…” Abby exhaled, shaking her head. “She caught me. She was so pissed. But not in the way you’d think. She wasn’t mad at me at all—she was just mad at herself, like she was angry that she didn’t see it coming and felt like she should’ve.” 

Ellie swallowed hard. 

“When I was lucid—later that night—it was just me and her, and I totally broke down.” Ellie could see Abby blink back a tear from her eye quicker than it had showed up, immediately resuming her story. “I was so unhappy with myself. Unhappy with my body, with my performance, everything. I kept telling myself that I was fine, that I had it under control.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “And then, she just—looks at me. Really looks at me. And goes, ‘Abby, you need help.’”

Abby swallowed. “I tried to blow her off. But she didn’t let me. She got Coach involved. The team’s physical therapist. Even my dad. She forced me to go see a therapist. And I hated her for it at first.” 

Elli watched as Abby’s jaw clenched, but then her expression shifted, softened. 

“But she saved me.” Abby’s voice was quieter now. “She saved my career. Probably my life. And she never, ever made me feel weak for it. Just kept telling me that she needed me on her team. That we needed me on this team.” 

Silence settled over the room. 

Before Ellie could respond—before she could even process the weight of everything she’d just heard—the locker room door banged open. 

“Alright, dumbasses, listen up.” 

Ellie turned to see you stride in, a bag slung over your shoulder, your expression set in that signature no-nonsense look she was beginning to recognize. Without breaking stride, you reached into the bag and started tossing protein bars, apples, and electrolyte pouches at your teammates with the precision of someone who had done this a hundred times before. 

“You—” you pegged an apple at Dina, who caught it with a grin— “eat. You need more fresh fruits and vegetables in your diet.” 

Dina laughed. “Caught red-handed.” 

“You—” a protein bar smacked Vi in the chest— “drink some fucking water. if I see you cramping up in drills again, I’m making you run suicides.” 

Vi rolled her eyes but tore open the wrapper anyway. “Love you too, Cap.” 

“You—” you shoved an electrolyte pouch into Caitlyn’s hands— “I know you’re gonna be up late studying, so make sure you eat snacks. Also, I know you hate the cherry electrolyte pouch flavor, so I got you the blueberry.” 

Caitlyn gave you a smile, pocketing the packet. “You know me so well.” 

“And you—” you turned to Abby, softer now, pressing an apple into her hand instead of throwing it— “get some rest. No gym tonight.” 

Abby sighed but nodded. “Yeah, yeah.” 

Finally, your gaze landed on Ellie. For a moment, she thought you were going to skip her entirely, but then you tossed something her way. She barely caught it before looking down at her hands—a protein bar and an electrolyte pouch. 

“You looked like shit out there today,” you said bluntly. “Eat, sleep, and be ready to work in the morning.” 

Ellie bristled, instinctively wanting to push back, but then she caught the way the others were looking at you—like this was normal, like this was just how you were. Like this was caring. 

And then, for the first time, she saw the softness beneath the steel. 

This was you looking out for your team. This was you looking out for her. 

Ellie clenched her jaw, tearing open the protein bar just to give herself something to do. 

You nodded in approval before stepping back. “Everyone, get back to the dorms. Early morning practice tomorrow. I want all of you rested.” 

There were groans, but no one argued. They never did. You turned to leave, but just before you walked out the door, Ellie found herself calling after you. 

“Hey, Cap.” 

You paused, glancing over your shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah?” 

Ellie hesitated. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, just that she wanted to say something. Finally, she settled on, “you gonna get some rest too?” 

Something flickered in your eyes—surprise, maybe, or something else Ellie couldn’t quite name. Then, slowly, you smirked. 

“Worried about me, Williams?”

Ellie scoffed, stuffing the rest of the protein bar in her mouth just to avoid answering. 

You chuckled, shaking your head as you turned away. “See you at practice.” 

And then you were gone, leaving Ellie staring after you, a strange warmth settling in her chest. Shit. Maybe she didn’t hate you after all. 

——————-

The air in the Vermont locker room had been suffocating that night. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow over the silent team. Ellie sat at her locker, her fingers dripping the edge of the bench, knuckles white. The echoes of the final buzzer still rang in her ears, but it wasn’t the loss that made her sick—it was the fallout. 

No one was looking at her. 

Not her teammates. Not her coach. Not even her captain. 

Ellie swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat. She had given everything she had that night. Played her fucking heart out. And now—now they were throwing her to the wolves. 

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “That wasn’t fucking fair, and you all know it.” Her voice cracked, raw with frustration, but no one spoke up. 

No one defended her. 

Not after the ref’s bullshit call. Not after the fight broke out. Not after the other team’s defenseman got away with a dirty, knee-on-knee hit on Cat. 

Ellie had seen red. Had thrown off her gloves, grabbed the fucker by the collar, and put them on the ice before they could even blink. It was instinct, fueled by adrenaline and the absolute rage at seeing one of her only friends on the team taken out like that. 

But the refs didn’t care about that. They didn’t care about what had started it—only how it ended. And it ended with Ellie being ejected. 

Coach had gone ballistic. Not at the other team. Not at the refs. 

At her. 

By the time the team had shuffled into the locker room, defeated and exhausted, Coach had already made up his mind. 

“You’re done.” His voice had been cold. Detached. 

Ellie’s head snapped up. “What?” 

“You’re off the team, Williams.” 

Her stomach lurched. “Coach, I—”

“Save it.” He shook his head. “You’re reckless. A liability.” 

Ellie’s nails bit into her palms so hard she thought she might break the skin. “You’re seriously gonna kick me off over one fucking fight?” 

“One fight?” He scoffed. “This isn’t your first outburst, Williams. You don’t listen. You play with your emotions instead of your head. And tonight, you embarrassed this team.” 

Ellie looked around, desperate, searching for someone—anyone—to back her up. 

But all she saw were averted eyes. 

Cat was in the training room, still getting checked out, but everyone else was here. Her teammates, her captain. the people who were supposed to have her back. And yet, no one spoke. No one fucking said a thing. 

Her captain—Maddie—stood near the front, arms crossed over her chest, face unreadable. 

Ellie’s voice was hoarse when she spoke. “You’re just gonna let this happen?” 

Maddie didn’t look at her. 

Ellie’s stomach twisted. “Maddie.” 

Still, nothing. 

Ellie let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Fucking unreal.” 

Coach didn’t give her another glance. “Pack your stuff. You’re out.” 

And just like that, it was over. 

No fight. No argument. 

They let her go without a second thought. She was nothing to them. 

——

The drive back to the apartment was a blur. The world outside the window was streaked with rain, the streetlights glowing in smears of gold and white. Ellie could barely process it. One moment she had a team, a future, a fucking purpose—now? Now she had nothing. 

Joel was waiting for her when she stepped inside, fresh off a late-night flight in from Jackson. She was drenched from the rain, her bag slung over her shoulder like dead weight. 

He took one look at her face and sighed. “Kid.” 

Ellie dropped her bag and collapsed onto the couch, rubbing a hand down her face. “Don’t.” 

Joel ignored her, stepping closer. “What happened?” 

Ellie didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. Her throat felt tight, her chest even tighter. 

Joel sat beside her, silent, waiting. He was patient when he was waiting for her to be ready to talk. Always had been. 

Finally, Ellie exhaled, voice hollow. “They kicked me off the team.” 

Joel was quiet for a long moment. Then— “They what?” 

Ellie let out a humorless laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Coach said I was a liability. No one fought for me. Not even Maddie.” 

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That’s bullshit.” 

“Yeah,” Ellie muttered. “Tell that to them.” 

Joel was silent again, but this time, Ellie could feel the anger rolling off of him. He’d always had her back—always fought for her, even when she didn’t deserve it. And now, when she needed someone the most, he was the only one standing in her corner. 

Not her teammates, not her captain, just Joel. 

The thought made her sick. She had fought for that team. Bled for them. And they let her go without a word. 

Joel exhaled sharply. “You’re not done, kiddo.” 

Ellie scoffed. “Uh, pretty sure I am. No team, no scholarship, no—”

Joel cut her off. “You’re not done.” His voice was firm. Certain. “There’s still time to transfer. I’ll make some calls.” 

Ellie shook her head. “No one’s gonna want me.” 

Joel’s eyes darkened. “Boston will.” 

Ellie frowned. “BU?” 

“I know the coach—he owes me for something I did ages ago. They’re always looking for talent. And you, kid, are damn good. You just need someone who gives a shit.”

Ellie hesitated. The thought of starting over again—of going through another season of proving herself, of fighting for a spot she didn’t even know she wanted anymore—was exhausting.

But what other choice did she have?

Joel leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “My Ellie wouldn’t quit over something like this. I know you.”

Ellie clenched her jaw, staring down at her hands. 

She wasn’t sure if she had it in her to fight anymore. But Joel��he had enough fight for the both of them, and she just had to hope that was enough. 

———

Now, sitting in the BU locker room, listening to her new team talk about you—how you fought for them, how you never let them fall without being there to pick them back up—Ellie couldn’t help but wonder…

What if Maddie had fought for her the way you’d fought for Dina or Vi?

What if someone had stood up for her like you did for Caitlyn, had given a shit beyond just what she could do for the team like you had for Abby? 

Would she have still ended up here? 

Would it have still felt like she was completely alone? 

Because even now, surrounded by her new teammates, part of something bigger—she still felt like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Waiting for them to decide she wasn’t worth it. 

Waiting to be left behind. 

But then—you tossed a protein bar into her lap, your voice breaking through her thoughts. “You looked like shit out there today. Eat, sleep, and be ready to work in the morning.” 

Ellie blinked, looking down at the bar in her hands. When she looked back up, you were watching her, expression unreadable. 

And for the first time in a long time, Ellie felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest. 

Hope. Hope that maybe, this time would be different. Hope that if push came to shove, she wouldn’t be alone on the ice with a chasm between her and her teammates. 

Hope that you would toss a rope bridge over the break and hold her hand as she crossed, and fight for her the way no one else had. 

This is part three of a multipart series!

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If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

Taglist: @vahnilla , @sevyscoven , @taurtel , @liasxeatt , @aliluvszs , @riiinnniiieeee , @dreamersbelieveinus

[katyswrites]

this love came back to me

PART 1 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, allusions to/discussions of smut, discussions of virginity, minor angst

Wordcount: 2.1k

Your sister is getting married - and you're thrilled for her. Yes, it means returning to Hawkins, years after moving away. But, as Maid of Honor, who are you to refuse? That is, until you run into Steve Harrington - an old high school flame. It's been over a decade, and a lot has changed - but in many ways, you're both still the same. And, as it turns out, he's invited to the wedding, much to your chagrin. Can you two keep it cool? Or will old feelings come bubbling to the surface?

First loves, broken hearts, and everything in between. A second-chance-romance, and the ultimate reckoning of two old friends. And, lots of champagne-induced antics.

PART 1 | it's been a while, i didn't mean to stare

July, 1997

The moment you walk into the bar, you instantly feel transported back in time. Despite being years since you last set foot in Christopher’s, the place is very much the same, in many ways. The lights are a bit too dim, the band in the corner isn’t terrible, but isn’t great, the patrons’ ages averaging in their 50s. Unless things have changed, you know that the later crowd will be full of high schoolers and college kids, coming for the DJ that will inevitably replace the cover band, and a bartender that places fast and loose with IDs. But for now, the dive makes you feel like being in high school all over again. You sigh, already knowing you need the strongest drink you can get. It’s only once you approach the bar that you see him, and it stops you in your tracks.

You can only see the slightest bit of his side profile, but he’s unmistakable - you’d know him anywhere. He’s a bit more filled-out, his hair a bit shorter, but it’s unmistakably -

“Steve?” you say, dumbfounded. The man turns, confused, and his eyes widen when he sees you.

“Oh - oh my god, hey -”

His voice is a littel deeper, but still so him. His jaw is broader, darkened by a little bit of stubble, and his eyes crinkle more than they used to when he smiles - but, it’s still Steve Harrington. He stands, taller than you remember. Before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you into a tight hug.

“Oh -”

It’s a little awkward, but you hug him back, unsure how else to react. It only lasts a moment, then he’s pulling away, taking a proper look at you.

“How long has it been?” he asks.

“Probably about ten years, if you believe it -”

“I - you look great,” he says. “I mean - you seem like you’re doing great -”

“Uh - yeah, you see -”

“How’s New York treating you?” he asks, sounding perhaps a bit too enthusiastic.

You pause.

“How did you know I was still in New York?”

“Oh - um - I ran into your mom in the grocery store a few months ago - she brought it up, I didn’t ask about you or anything -” he assures, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Right - I think she mentioned that,” you say quietly, recalling Steve’s name coming up on a phone call with your mother not too long ago. “So, uh - you still live in town, huh?”

It doesn’t come out the way you want it to, and his smile drops slightly.

“Yeah - I work for my dad -”

“Oh, that’s great!” you say, knowing it sounds a bit hasty and high-pitched.

He shrugs. “I mean, it’s fine - nothing like you taking on the Big Apple, or whatever -”

“Don’t be like that -”

He just shrugs again, and sighs.

“So - why are you back in Hawkins?” he asks, meeting your eyes again.

“Oh - my sister’s getting married, actually -”

His face lights up. “No way - Sarah, right?”

You nod. “Yeah - good memory.”

“So, it’s tomorrow?” he asks - it’s currently a Friday night, so it’s a fair enough question.

“No - next weekend. Tomorrow’s the bachelorette, actually.”

Steve nods, then furrows his brow in thought.

“Hey - the guy Sarah’s marrying - his name doesn't happen to be Peter, does it?”

You raise an eyebrow, taken aback. “It actually is… he’s - he’s a nice guy - uh, how do you know that?”

Steve stares at you for a moment, and laughs.

“What?”

“It’s just - I think I’m going to your sister’s wedding -”

You feel your stomach flip.

“What?” you repeat.

“Peter - he’s an old college buddy of mine. We honestly haven’t seen each other in a long time, but - he sent an invite, and I thought it was crazy that it was so close in Indianapolis, but I figured I had no excuse -”

“How - how the fuck did you not realize he was marrying my sister? We have the same last name?”

Steve shrugs. “I didn’t read the invite that closely -”

You roll your eyes, and drop your bag, sliding onto a barstool.

“Can I have a shot of tequila, please?” you ask the bartender, ignoring Steve.

“Make that two,” he says.

You sigh.

“C’mon,” he says, plopping down next to you. “You have to admit, this is kind of funny.”

“I’m glad you find it so hilarious -”

“Look, in a lot of ways, it’s good we ran into each other now - just to get past this… thing.”

You scoff, causing him to sigh.

“Look, there’s - how many people coming to this thing?”

“About 150 -”

“Okay, so - 150 people, it’s not like we’ll be hanging out all night. We probably won’t even be sitting together -”

“We won’t - I’m her Maid of Honor, and the bridal party and groomsmen are all sitting together.”

“Great! Hey, this doesn’t have to be weird -”

“It’s not weird - we’re both adults -”

“I know,” he assures. “I mean - it’s nice to see you.”

You exhale, and nod. “Yeah.. it’s nice to see you, too. I’m glad - you seem to be doing well.”

Two shot glasses are slid towards you, and you each take one. Steve raises it encouragingly. You give in, clinking your glass with his.

“To old friends,” you declare.

“And the happy couple,” Steve adds, his voice laced with a familiar cheekiness. You roll your eyes, and down the shot, grimacing.

“You were always shit at taking your liquor,” he comments. You playfully smack him in the arm.

“Glad to see you haven’t changed,” he laughs, slamming his shotglass on the bar.

“I like to think I have, actually.”

He stares at you a moment, and smiles. “Yeah, but in a good way, I think. You’re still… as cool as I remember.”

“I’m cool?”

“Yeah - you’re the only person who was always honest in high school - you were real. I liked that.”

“Oh, I know you did,” you murmur. His face goes a bit red as he chokes on his beer, and you realize how that sounded.

“Oh, I didn’t mean like that -”

“It’s cool - it’s fine. Like you said, all of that was a long time ago.”

The discomfort hangs in the air for a moment, and he clears his throat.

“Speaking of which… you bringing a date to this thing?”

“This thing being my baby sister’s wedding?”

He nods. You laugh to yourself, and shake your head. 

“No - um, I just went through a breakup not too long ago, actually. You?”

He just smiles - for a moment, he looks just like the teenaged boy you knew.

“Nah - flying solo.”

You nod, and signal for another round of shots.

“I kind of missed you,” he admits.

“Don’t do that,” you say, gently.

“I know I shouldn’t - I just meant, as a friend -”

“Were we ever friends, really?”

His face falls for a second, and he sighs. “I don’t know - maybe not.”

You both down the next round of shots in silence.

“Hey - um - maybe we can grab dinner this week or something,” he says quietly. “You know, not surrounded by the geriatric drunks of Hawkins.”

You let out a small laugh. “I don’t know - I’ll probably be so busy helping Sarah with last-minute wedding stuff, then we have to head to the city on Friday for the rehearsal -”

“Yeah, of course,” he says quickly.

“I should get going, anyways,” you declare, standing abruptly. You throw some cash on the bar, and sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Right - I guess I’ll see you next weekend?”

You nod, a bit more curtly than you intend.

“See you around, Steve.”

There’s a flicker of something unreadable across his face. You don’t linger, and just head out the door, not looking back.

Twelve years earlier - August, 1985

You stared up at the ceiling, pulling the sheets up enough to cover yourself. It was almost silent, minus the sound of heavy breathing, both of you unsure what to say.

Steve flopped down next to you, utterly spent. He wore a bit of a dopey grin, and turned to face you.

You met his eyes, and offered a small smile.

“So… that was sex, I guess,” you declared, laughing nervously. Steve grinned.

“Yeah… it was. That was fuckin’ great -”

“Mm,” you murmured noncomittally.

He got up for a moment, and you heard him throw the condom in the trash, before climbing back under the covers.

“Um - was it okay, for you?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow. “I - I didn’t hurt you, right?”

You nodded quickly. “Yeah! I mean - I figured it might hurt, and it did, at first -”

“Shit, sorry -”

“Not your fault - um - and the last minute or so, it - it felt nice -”

“Nice?” he echoed.

You sighed, exasperated. “Yeah - I mean -”

“So you didn’t finish?”

“I don’t think so, no,” you admitted. “But, I think thats normal?” you added, naively.

“Right - probably,” he agreed. He reached out, and awkwardly brushed some of your hair out of your face.

“Want me to - try again?” he asked. You shook your head quickly.

“No, it’s fine. I - we both wanted to lose our virginities before college, and we did. Mission accomplished, right?”

He just stared at you for a moment. “Yeah - I guess -”

“Cool - um, I should probably go -”

“Right -”

“It’s just - I’m leaving for school so early tomorrow - we’re driving to New York, with all my stuff -”

“Of course -”

You sat up, glancing around. He cleared his throat, and you looked over - he was holding out your bra to you.

“Thanks,” you muttered, snatching it quickly. “Um, do you mind - giving me some privacy?”

“Seriously? We were just -”

“I know, but I just - please?”

He rolled his eyes, and turned away. You clambered out of bed, finding your discarded clothes on the floor. You pulled them on quickly, and smoothed them out as best as you could.

“Okay, you can look now.”

He turned back over, sitting up - the comforter falls a bit, leaving his chest visible, and you felt your face get warm.

“This was fun,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze. The discomfort was tangible.

“Yeah,” he replied, staring down at his hands, fiddling with the sheets. “Um, let me give you a ride home -”

“That’s okay, I can walk -”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah - it’s fine, seriously.”

There was a beat of silence, the only sound being the ticking of Steve’s bedside alarm clock.

“So - see you around?”

He nodded.

“Thanksgiving break, probably. And hey - you’re gonna kill at Columbia.”

You laughed,and jokingly flicked your hair over your shoulder. “I know.”

He broke into a smile.

“And, um - you’re also going to kill it at Stanford,” you add.

His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “They only let me in because I can throw a ball into a net.”

“Don’t say that -”

“It’s true - whatever, it doesn’t matter,” he mutters. You didn’t really know what to say to that, so you just stand at the end of his bed, a bit uncomfortable.

“Thanks, by the way - for, uh, doing this,” he said, his cheeks tinged a bit red as he gestures between you two.

“I mean, it was my idea - I just wanted - I didn’t want it to be a big deal -”

“It wasn’t - I mean, it was good - you were great.”

“I know,” you said again, so matter-of-fact. Your cool, carefree demeanor was back, the very thing that made you ask Steve to do this in the first place. He chuckled, pulling his boxers on under the covers.

“Let me at least walk you to the door - I’ve got to lock it behind you, anyways.”

You decided to let him, bounding down the stairs, knowing the Harrington house all-too-well from too many rager parties over the years.

He opened the front door, and you both stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“Um -”

“Thanks,” you said. “I - I didn’t want this to be -”

“It’s not,” he jumped in quickly. “We’re cool. And.. I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t want me to.”

He actually sounded sincere, as far as you could tell.

You both stared at each other for a moment. Then, he slowly opened his arms, a clear invitation. You both embraced, the hug a bit stiff, and pulled away.

“See you around, Steve,” you said, voice a little softer.

You walked home in silence, not even wanting the distraction of your Walkman. Things would be weird with Steve now, you knew that. He was sort-of a friend, but - what was he now? It didn’t matter, you told yourself - you were going to college tomorrow, starting a new life. Aside from an occasional run-in during school breaks, you’d probably never have to really talk to him again… right?

author’s note: a new fic! I bet you thought you’d never see the day! I have lots of ideas for this one, so strap in. This is a pretty short chapter, but future ones will probably be longer. As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated!

[m-jelly]

hi jelly you don't have to do this if you don't want to, i just love all your levi fics soooo much!!!

can i request a smutty levi x fem reader in canon (she's a scout) where they're already in a relationship...and levi is a bit obsessed with her boobs? He is always pawing at her breasts, playing with them with his hands through her bra or shirt, suckling on them...during sexual moments he does that and sometimes he just plays and bounces them and sucks them casually in a non-sexual setting just for fun too...You can take the story line in whatever direction you please, as short scenarios with cuts, or continuous with plot, completely your choice!

Soft and squishy

Levi x fem reader

Canon world, being a couple, reader's chest is on the larger side, breast play, smut aspects.

Levi adores your chest so much, he just can't help himself and you love him touching it.

Had your straps gotten tighter? Was your shirt smaller than normal? Was your bra the wrong size? Whatever it was, Levi loved it. Your plump and big bouncing breasts were more incredible than ever, it seemed impossible for that to happen, but here Levi was eyeing your chest.

He slammed his fist against the wall making the cadets jump, it was so he could curb his desires for you. He clenched his jaw when you started jogging with your cadets, everything was bouncing and he just wanted to shove his face into your chest and bite.

"Team dismissed." He panted a little as the cadets sprinted off thankful that he'd let them go. He stormed over to you and sternly said your name causing your team to cower. "Meeting."

You eyed your wonderful boyfriend. People were scared, but you smiled brightly at him. "Sure!" You hurried after him. "Levi? Could you slow down a bit? You're moving really fast."

He turned, picked you up like a bride and then started racing to his room. He ignored your protests and questions. All he could think about was getting you alone. When he reached his room, he closed the door with a kick and sat you on his desk. He locked it and released a long sigh before repeating your name with a voice laced with arousal.

You shifted on his desk. "Everything okay Levi?"

He turned to you. "Explain yourself."

You frowned a little as you felt confused at his statement. "I don't follow?"

He raced over to you. "You know what I'm talking about."

You nibbled your lip. "I really don't." You looked up at him through your lashes. "I'm sorry if it's something bad."

He looped his finger around the strap over your breasts. "Your shirt is tighter than normal. Your bra doesn't fit you right like it's too small."

You whined a little. "You noticed." You laughed a little at your words. "Of course, you would notice." You sighed and looked up at him. "It's not my bra and shirt, that's why. I stayed over at my friend's house, remember?"

He nodded. "For a few days. I missed you."

"I missed you too!" You pulled at your shirt. "Well, I went in my gear and I helped her do some DIY, but unfortunately I got very dirty. She offered to clean my bra and shirt but it wasn't done before I had to come in today. She offered me her shirt and bra, but she's a smaller size than me. I had to make do."

He stared at your chest as he gulped hard. "Can I see?"

You undid the strap over your chest. "Sure."

Levi grabbed your hands. "W-Wait. M-may I?"

You pushed your chest out a little. "Of course, I know it's your favourite part."

He popped the button with ease and saw your breasts were threatening to fall out. He kept undoing more buttons to reveal your boobs being pressed and squished by the smaller bra. "Fuck..."

"Warned you it was bad."

He reached over and massaged. "Shit." He grabbed your shirt and ripped it open causing buttons to fly. "You are so sexy."

You gasped. "Levi, this is my friend's shirt."

He pulled your straps off. "I'll get her another one, it's fine." He pulled the shirt off you. He tugged on the bra, but it was on tight. "Damn thing." He pushed his hand under the band of the bra. "Your poor boobs must hurt."

You hummed in pleasure as he kissed and licked the tops of them. "They do. Could you help me?"

He unclipped your bra before you could fully get your request out. "Yes."

You moaned in relief as the bra slipped down your arms and your boobs were finally free. "Mm, better."

He lightly ran his finger over a red mark on your breast. "It marked you." He leaned closer and ran his tongue over the mark. "How dare it. Only I'm allowed to mark you."

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he began licking and sucking at your chest. You panted softly as your body began to tingle with pleasure. You shivered as he lifted your weighty breast allowing him better access to it. You mewled as his other hand gripped and squeezed your waist.

Levi pulled back with a pop. "More. I need more." He picked you up and sighed. "Come with me."

You held on tightly to him. "Levi, I'm too heavy to carry."

"You're perfection." He sat on the bed and put you on his lap. He nestled against the headboard before smiling at you. "Look at you."

You massaged your fingers in his hair. "You make my heart race."

"Good. I want you to love me and adore only me." He leaned closer and licked your nipple. "You're the only person I've ever deeply loved. You're my first in everything."

Your cheeks heated up. "Mine too." You hummed as he sucked on your peak. "I hope you don't grow tired of me."

He popped your nipple from his mouth and panted. "Are you kidding me? Never. Tch, silly brat." He gripped your left breast firmly and admired how it was trying to spill out between his fingers. "Look at you." He growled. "I fucking love you."

"I love you." You whimpered a moan as he pressed your boobs together so your nipples were close. You cried out in pleasure when he took both into his mouth. "Le-Levi."

He released them and began softly massaging. "Do you feel good?"

You purred. "Yes." You nipped your lip. "Can I touch you?"

He blushed. "Yes." He grunted and felt his heart racing when he heard you undoing his belt. His breath hitched when you grasped his erection. "Mm." He moaned your name. "You feel so good." He panted as you moved your hand up and down his smooth hot shaft. He moaned your name.

You kissed his cheek before kissing him passionately. You purred as you adored how hot and needy he was for you. You shifted a little causing Levi to growl. "Don't worry, my boobs are not going anywhere."

He grabbed your back and yanked you closer so your breasts were in his face. He dragged his hands over your body and pushed up your chest. He showered them with kisses and began massaging them again. He latched onto the top of your breast, his tongue moving against the soft delicate skin.

He flicked your nipple with his tongue and lovingly sucked it. He hummed in delight. He started panting against your chest causing your skin to burn with pleasure. His moans changed, he was close to the end. He was always so flustered when you doted on him. He grunted and shifted under you.

Levi moaned your name as he came against your hand, his stomach and yours. He released your breasts and hummed. He panted a moment as he came down from his high. He lifted you and laid you down. "Stay here."

You giggled as he ran to the bathroom before returning to you. You sighed as he started cleaning you. "Thank you."

He placed the cloth down before crawling over you. "I want to eat you."

You arched your back a little. "I'm all yours."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @dreamerofthewest @abiatackerman @minminroie

[sleepysunnyz]

[ 🔞; Sylus x MC ]

“Sylus… I don’t know how to say this…” she mumbled, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. They had been making out on his dimly lit bed, their laughter muffled by the closeness of their bodies.

“I want more… more than just kissing,” she locked eyes with him, her gaze searching his endlessly. He was momentarily taken aback by the boldness of her declaration, yet he had been yearning for those words for so long. Sylus smiled and gently took her face in his hands. 

“We can do whatever you’d like, Kitten. As long as you’re comfortable.” One hand gently cupped her face, while the other moved down her neck. He used the cupped hand to guide MC into his lips, the other traveled down her body, and finally, rested on her thigh.

MC eagerly removed her skirt, her shirt already heavily disheveled from Sylus’ roaming hands. With her undergarments exposed, the only thing separating them was her word. He paused repeatedly to ask, “Are you okay?” She always nodded yes before pulling him into their endless kiss once again. She understood the significance of her reassurance to him, and they both valued their own unique forms of communication.

 Not long after, Sylus had found himself behind MC, trailing gentle kisses along her neck and shoulders. His hands lowered to her warmth, finding her clit over her thin panties. She had sucked in a sharp breath as he circled her most sensitive spot. He alternated between leaving kisses and whispering soft praises in her ear just to keep her stimulated in anyway he could. 

 His large hand delved under her panties to her pussy; Her warmth quickly enveloped his hand and he hadn’t even tried inserting a finger. The room filled with heavy breaths and small whimpers from MC. She could feel how hard he was behind her which only fueled her desire for more. He kissed her temple, pausing to ensure her comfort; he gradually inserted one finger. She watched him with an open mouth, quietly panting as she's getting more worked up. One finger was already plenty simply due to the length of Sylus’ hands. He fingered MC slowly, slightly curving his finger to ensure his Kittens pleasure. MC’s moans were heated and loving. She leaned into his intoxicating touch.

 "Would you like more?" he whispered in her ear. She looked at his bulge, then to him and gave a quiet "Mhm."

 He softly smiled and kissed her again before removing his clothes which revealed him to her for the first time. MC felt intimidated by the sheer size of his cock and a worried look grew on her face. He wasn’t just long… but the girth.. and he knew how it made her feel considering his growing smirk.

 "Just tell me if you want me to stop.. You don't have to be ready." He said this while positioning himself between her legs, his frame towering over MC. If it were anyone else they would feel trapped but she felt helplessly aroused.

 He gently left a trail of kisses from her lips to her stomach before stopping to tease the head of his dick at her entrance. Her body tensed as he did this so he rubbed her thighs, leaning forward to kiss her more. Her body relaxed when she got more invested into the kiss, allowing him to slowly push inside of her. She let out a soft moan and looked at him, her face flushed from embarrassment.

 "You're doing great Kitten, don't worry," He cooed. Sylus guided himself deeper inside her, pushing to about half of his cock. MC lightly covered her mouth, afraid of being loud but the look on her face said everything. He sat up again and gently held her at her hips, thrusting the rest of his length into her. It was one quick motion that made MC yelp. She couldn't suppress a few whimpers from escaping which only turned him on more. He wants to treat her well and so he does.

 "Is it okay if I move?" he asked.

 "Yes, please." she moaned. With her granting permission, Sylus easily gained motion. His mind flooded with lewd thoughts of how he wanted her to scream his name. He fucked her with growing speed, her moans were less controllable. MC whined and often tried closing her legs but Sylus made that impossible. Sylus found a steady rhythm and leaned forward to kiss her neck, leaving hickeys along her collarbone. With those simple motions, she finally managed words.

 "S-Sylus, please!” she choked out. She reached her climax, feeling her walls tense around Sylus’ pulsing cock. Her arm covered her mouth as she loudly moaned out. Her sensitive body wanted to twist and turn but Sylus held her in place as he was sure to finish as well. Her moans turned into desperate cries as he continued to fuck her cunt. Her hands pushed against his abs, leaving slight divots where her nails were. He abruptly pulled out and his cum decorated her stomach. Sylus huffed, trying to catch his breath. 

 Sylus watched MC for a moment, “are you alright, Kitten?” She examined his cum briefly and nodded. He laughed in response and she felt flushed.

 She pouted as he left to bring a towel back to clean her off, apologizing for the mess in the process. His gentle touch contrasted their recent acts, giving MC butterflies. Sylus finished cleaning up and rested with her in peace. Their eyes both fluttering closed.

 "Sylus..." she said, breaking the silence. He looked at her and she immediately pressed her lips to his, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He gratefully took this and held her close, passionately making out until one of them got tired. In the end they slept close together, he held her all times.

Their bond now reached something new.

[bwat5-blog]

The Price Of Mercy, And The Weight Of Guilt: Caitlyn Kiramman

**SPOILERS FOR ARCANE**

How Do We Get Here:

Twenty-three year old Caitlyn Kiramman stands in the dark ruins of a Zaunite cannery. In the last few days, she has been beaten, shot at, blown up, abducted nude from her childhood home, and terrorized. Jinx, the person responsible, stands across from Caitlyn at gunpoint:

Jinx moves Caitlyn fires Vi shouts to stop and Caitlyn does, ordering Jinx to drop the gun Caitlyn raises the gun when Jinx doesn't comply and Vi begs- "Wait! She's my sister" Caitlyn keeping the gun on Jinx responds- "Vi, she's too far gone" Jinx lowers the gun. Caitlyn looks to Vi who begs- "no no no" Caitlyn still doesn't shoot. Jinx takes advantage of her indecision and attacks, seizing the weapon and brutally knocking Caitlyn unconscious.

And when Caitlyn is back on her feet, what is the cost of her mercy?

The death of her mother

The deaths of two other councilors

The maiming of two more (one paralyzed from the waist down)

The destruction of the council chamber

The memorial attack- You and I know Jinx wasn't involved but I stand by what I've always said, there's no way they don't think Jinx played some role after what she did

The unavoidable Piltovan response for what Jinx did coming down on Zaun

And we also must consider the crimes Jinx had committed up to that point that Caitlyn as someone who wanted to protect people would be considering as well:

She knows Jinx played a part in Silco's Shimmer operations

She survives Jinx's theft of the stone in which six enforcers were killed by Jinx using a fake childs voice, lighting a building on fire and blowing it up

She survives Jinx's attack on the bridge in which the admittedly corrupt Markus and several Enforcers were killed

Jinx infiltrates Caitlyn's childhood home and takes her while she is naked in her bathroom. She dresses her in her Enforcer clothes and takes her to Zaun. Recent sources from the Artbook seem to confirm she was held for a whole day. And there is some evidence to suggest Jinx tortured her although that is much more speculative

In The Aftermath:

It is with that in mind we can begin to discuss the subject of Caitlyn's guilt and how it impacts her story in season two. Now obviously, the immense trauma of all of those events I listed has a massive impact on Caitlyn, and we have to keep some things in mind regarding all of that:

She is an adult yes, but she is still quite young. Only twenty-three when all of that down and still only twenty-four by the end of the show She essentially has zero time to process/grieve/recover. There is clearly some degree of a time skip between the beginning of S2 E1 and the end, as statues had to be built, and we see progression in Salo and Shoola's healing in particular. But it really doesn't seem like very long. And it's hardly like she was resting. She is providing testimony on what she saw and went through, and taking over the leadership of her family. Despite the astounding felonious stupidity needed to arrive at such an idea, no. Caitlyn's wealth and privilege growing up did not somehow give her an emotional resilience to pain and death. In fact it makes it harder for her in this moment because she had never experienced such things. You cannot be used to a pain you have never felt. This is not complicated. Caitlyn's faith and belief in the system she always believed in has been completely destroyed:

That Caitlyn truly believed the Enforcers were a force for good before all of this is not debatable by anyone discussing this show in good faith. There is plenty of proof supporting this that I don't feel the need to go and pull right now. For any of you "she should have known" folks- Nope. She'd quite literally never been to the Undercity. And we see how the Enforcers behave when Topside repeatedly. No masks, smiling, waving, happy and cheerful. Caitlyn quite literally had lessons from the Sheriff herself on shooting, who spoke to her about protecting their people. We see her belief being chipped away little by little during her meeting Vi and Ekko both. They both make allegations against the Enforcers and logically and reasonably Caitlyn would have no reason to believe but after some resistance she is quiet and listens, processing. This all culminates on the bridge. Markus, who has not been nice to Caitlyn but is still the leader of The Enforcers confronts her and Ekko. She puts her trust in Markus, telling him they have prove and insisting Ekko show him. And then it all comes violently apart as Markus shoots Ekko, and the enforcers with him do nothing when he prepares to shoot Caitlyn.

SUMMARY: In a very short amount of time Caitlyn has her entire reality violently ripped away by the destruction of 4 fundamental parts of her foundation:

Security- Jinx violating the sanctity and safety of her childhood home by taking her at her most vulnerable

Stability- Her mother is violently taken from her leaving a massive hole emotionally and in society that she is expected to fill

Innocence- She is exposed to a tremendous amount of violence she is completely unprepared for

Faith- the system of law and order she dedicated herself to and believes in is ripped away from her and almost kills her

And she has no time to deal with any of it before the violence continues. No time to heal, to grieve, to rest. Ambessa orchestrates the attack on the memorial and we are off to the races. But first, we need to discuss my entire point with this, the impact of Caitlyn's guilt.

Obviously, Caitlyn does blame Jinx. I'm not going to bother with examples because they are beyond obvious. She also hates and is legitimately terrified of Jinx as well which is beyond expected given all that has happened. But I think what is even more damaging for Caitlyn is that she blames herself. We see this reflected in many ways:

1. The last lines of "I can't hear it now" as I pointed out yesterday:

 "I watched the door close for good Cause I couldn't keep it open"

Like I and several others have pointed out, these songs take us into the minds of the characters with their words and tell us important parts of the story (HINT HINT to all of you who complain about missing detail then proudly proclaim how you skip the songs)

This song takes us into Caitlyn's mind in the aftermath of her mother's death. All of the lyrics speak to her characterization in an important way but this topic look at those last two lines. This is essentially her goodbye to her mother, and she doesn't swear revenge. She doesn't proclaim her love. She blames herself.

She had to say goodbye to her mother, because she failed to keep her safe when she could have...

2. Talking with her dad

This one is much more obvious of course. But we get this very sad scene of Caitlyn talking with her father in S2 E1 after the intro song.

Caitlyn is sitting on a couch reading letters of condolence when her father sits next to her, clearly disheveled and not doing well. They are sitting quietly for a bit before Caitlyn tells her father "I had the shot", staring at the floor with glassy tear filled eyes. Her father doesn't say anything in response, just closes his eyes and accepts. Then when he gives her the Kiramman key, she says "I don't deserve it".

3. Talking with Vi

Her conversation with Tobias leads directly into this one. She and Vi share a touching embrace and Vi apologizes to Caitlyn, admitting Powder is gone and insisting if Jayce will fix the gauntlets Vi can take care of this herself with no one else being hurt. But Caitlyn refuses:

"No... No more rogue missions. No more reckless plans. My mother was right. My arrogance led me to take on more than I could handle, and she paid the price".

Again very plain and to the point. With all that has happened and all the factors that played into this situation, she is holding herself responsible.

She failed her mother...

She could have stopped Jinx and didn't...

She doesn't deserve the legacy of her family...

Her mother died because of Caitlyn's arrogance...

SUMMARY: So again sorry to sound like a broken record but I feel like I'm rambling a bit so this helps me to!

Caitlyn has lost her entire foundation for how she views the world in a rapid and extremely violent manner

Her arrogance lead to her mothers death and even given the chance to stop it she still failed her (she believes)

She doesn't deserve the role of leading House Kiramman but has no choice (she believes)

Not related to this (at this point) but its worth mentioning for consideration into her emotional state. Obviously, her relationship with Vi and by extension Vi being Jinx's sister DRAMATICALLY complicates Caitlyn's feeling in all of this

Losing Herself:

** Note it should be obvious moving forward Caitlyn would consider "If I'd stopped Jinx there wouldn't be a memorial because my mom wouldn't be dead" type of scenarios. You get the point. So I'm not gonna mention that kind of thing every time just new stuff**

So we know the memorial attack was orchestrated by Ambessa to exacerbate the conflict between the cities, in hopes of weaponizing Hex-Tech. But specifically we are looking for how this continues to show Caitlyn's guilt is impacting her.

In the aftermath of the attack, Caitlyn is understandable extremely angry and upset. She and Vi are talking and Vi tells her "You have to find a way to call off the invasion" regarding the Council's plan to send a full Enforcer invasion into Zaun to hunt Jinx. Caitlyn angrily says she has no idea how and she has no idea how to fill the hole left by her mother. She and Vi talk and comfort one another, and Caitlyn forms the idea for the small task force, with Vi agreeing to put on the badge to be with her and assist.

Remember:

Caitlyn partially blames herself for this entire mess to begin with

She doesn't feel she deserves to lead her family. To be who her mother was. because she failed her.

The woman she loves tells her SHE has to figure this out. And in Vi's defense she is not blaming or trying to make things harder for Caitlyn. Caitlyn has the status and the family name and all and is realistically their best chance at finding another way. Let's take a look at some other lyrics from I can't hear it now-

"Just tell me how to keep breathing while pretending I'm not drowning"

So Caitlyn turns to what was left behind by her mother. She discovers The Grey. And rather than a massive invasion of heavily armed Enforcers who won't care a lick for Zaunite lives, Caitlyn proposes her plan. A small, targeted team of people, hunting specific targets that are a danger to Zaun and Piltover alike. Using something that will prevent as much bloodshed as possible.

Because it isn't that it DOESN"T matter that she is shoving down her trauma trying to be what's expected of her, that using The Grey in this way is a perversion of her mother's work for Zaun, or that the woman she loves is wearing the badge of her parents killers to stay by her side. Its that it CAN'T matter.

Caitlyn had the shot

Caitlyn failed her mother

Caitlyn has to fix this

**SIDE NOTE BEFORE WE CONTINUE: No. Caitlyn did not make Vi become an Enforcer and I have zero clue where some of you are getting that. What I mean when I say it can't matter to Caitlyn in this state is that I think it's something that when she has had time to heal, and reflect, and just be for a bit, it will be something she wishes she hadn't done. She loves Vi deeply, and asking her to put on that badge and hunt her little sister isn't something Caitlyn would ever do under normal circumstances. And as a steadfast Vi fan, hear me now:

"VI CHOSE TO PUT ON THAT BADGE"

Anyway back to Caitlyn-

Losing Herself- HELLFIRE:

We know what happens from here. Caitlyn gives in more and more to her darker angels in the name of their mission. In the name of justice and making things right to protect people she becomes more violent and angry, to the point that Vi is so afraid of how she is changing we see their first kiss. Once again all we need to do for clarity here is to look into the lyrics that take us into Caitlyn's head:

"Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason? Is it bad that I'm making friends with my demons" (Hellfire)

It almost feels silly analyzing this because it is quite plain. But the amount of people just straight up making things up about Caitlyn's mindset during this time make it worth discussion.

The Strike Team's Objectives:

Dismantle Shimmer: Horrifying drug that turns addicts into monsters if it doesn't kill them first

Neutralize agents still loyal to Silco: Chem-Barons. Dangerous drug lords ripping Zaun apart for their own gain

Find Jinx: We have recapped her crimes enough. You get it.

Clearly these are all good things on their own, and resolving these threats to safety helps Zaun and Piltover. But Caitlyn and her team aren't riding in on white horses to save the day. Caitlyn is losing herself more and more to all of this mounting trauma that is slowly overwhelming her. But she can't stop. She has to fix this.

She had the shot...

Her arrogance killed her mother...

She doesn't deserve to lead her family...

If she'd stopped Jinx there wouldn't have been an attack so even the fact that they are down here at all is Caitlyn's fault as well...

This is her fault...

Caitlyn's Downfall:

And of course this all comes to a head when Caitlyn and Vi finally confront Jinx and Sevika. I have broken this fight down and everything that transpires more times than I can count so I'll spare you all that again. But continuing to tackle this thing through Caitlyn's guilt we can talk about this.

Take everything we have already considered. All of her guilt over mother, her feeling of not deserving her legacy, her guilt over Vi's involvement, and twist that all up with the grief, and trauma, and pain and rage, and fear she has been totally unable to heal from. That absolute shitstorm is rampaging through her entire being. And she is face to face with the living embodiment of all of it.

She is one rifle shot away from justice for everything she hates Jinx for, and blames herself for. A chance to slay her monster. A chance to make things right. And that is all she can see.

She can't see that little girl whose life she is risking

She can't see the woman she loves begging her to stop and standing her way. She even fires striking Vi's gauntlet once and fires again

And then as we all know. That resolution Caitlyn so desperately needs in her mind is taken from her. Vi was completely correct to stop Caitlyn but in her complete emotional and mental overload that just cannot get through to to her. And it all comes down to a moment that, when we consider the guilt of Caitlyn Kiramman, I sincerely doubt she will ever truly forgive herself for

The Commander:

Looking for specific instances for analysis, we really don't get a lot of moments where she is truly lost as "The Commander" to apply to this topic. There is one I will mention very briefly.

When Caitlyn is speaking with Maddie in bed, Maddie does the same sort of baiting we see Ambessa do. Telling Caitlyn she could call it all of, she has the power and so on. It's an ongoing conversation but there is one line particularly I want to mention:

"Not without Jinx"

Now this could certainly just be her continued obsession with Jinx. But if we take everything else into account it doesn't feel that way. She seems tired, and full of regret. If you will indulge a bit of speculation, I go back to the lyrics from Hamilton I quoted frequently in my early days on here when I wrote about Caitlyn's story:

"There are moments when your in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down"

I believe Caitlyn is full of regret, and guilt, and self-hatred for all that has happened. Her betrayal of Vi, her becoming someone she never wanted, all of it. But it has to be worth it. Because she has nothing else left. If she gives up, if she doesn't get Jinx, then at the end of the day it was truly all for nothing. And we get some proof of that when she speaks with Jinx later.

"I've hated you.. hated myself. I just don't have the energy for it any longer"

Conclusion:

Caitlyn's journey is influenced by so many things. And I feel like I ended up just sort of digging into her arc as I have done many times again to a point. But I hope you get something out of this. I certainly did by writing it as I always do, because I love this story. I wanted to try and dig into the part of her that is being driven by that self-doubt, and guilt, all born from a truly spectacular act of mercy. Caitlyn would have been well within her rights to obliterate Jinx then and there, and instead spares her. Changing her life forever in ways good and bad alike.

Thank you and take care!

[moonshynecybin]

any humble updates on airport au...

context. SURE man what the hell. i actually have a good ass chunk written after this but hey. this is right after vale shows up at PI post sex dream and marc nearly crashes his scooter. happy birthday to these two filthy animals

Vale, like a mosquito, shows up at his box later that day, just before Marc is about to head out of the paddock. Probably because it’s a flyaway and he can’t show up at Marc’s motorhome to plague him there, and because he doesn’t know what house Marc and Álex are renting on the island.

He also, as a man put on the planet to consternate Marc, brings a good bottle of Merlot. And what with all of the recently healed very public animosity, it’s not like Marc can turn him away.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

“What was that about, this afternoon?” Vale asks immediately, rummaging around in the cabinets in Marc’s rider’s room and conjuring two cups without asking Marc if he even wants a glass. He’s pretty sure that the mug that Vale is eyeballing to see if it’s dirty is Jose’s.

He folds his knees up on the little couch in his rider’s room, a small act of self protection. He’s directly post-shower, and his hair is wet, his skin overheated. It's all a little — exposed. Like Vale might happen across his guts if their conversation winds down the wrong path. “I have a race tomorrow, quali, too— maybe I don’t want any wine.”

“God, I am glad I retired before they made us do sprints,” Vale cranks out the cork, then sniffs the bottle and makes a comically considering face until Marc breaks into a smile. He raises an eyebrow in the direction of the couch. “Well, do you?” He asks about the wine.

They sit and Marc takes his glass. Vale has unsubtly poured him a humongous portion.

“You didn’t answer me,” Vale ponders, sipping like a cat. “You know, you are not as good at lying as you think you are, it’s just that no one has the balls to call you out on it.”

Marc privately thinks that Vale is actually historically very bad at telling whether he is lying. He does not share this, he just crosses his arms on top of his knees.

“Hah, you should see my mom— she always let me blame stuff on Álex when we were young, it would make him so mad, and I would always get away with it.”

Turning towards him, Vale twists out of his hoodie, and Marc catches a soft strip of skin as his t-shirt rides up. The band of Vale’s underwear. He bites his lip and looks away. This is embarrassing.

“Hm, a born criminal, then? Not a learned one?” Vale is saying, throwing his hoodie over the chair and settling back on the couch.

Marc really hopes Vale has enough grace to let this afternoon go. He doesn’t have a lie ready, really, that he thinks Vale will believe.

“No, please. Most of those tricks I learned from you.”

“Like what?” He’s looking at Marc with big, innocent eyes.

He knows exactly what, he just likes to hear Marc say it.

“Lots of things. It’s probably the reason I was second place at Jerez in 2013, instead of third.”

It works, and Vale guffaws. Marc knew that it would— He used to love it when Marc would do shit to Jorge. Marc used to love doing shit to Jorge for that exact reason.

“Marc, please, please. We are in Australia, you have to pay your respects to Mick Doohan for inventing that move. He’s probably only about twenty meters away.” He drops his voice into a whisper. “Be careful, honestly maybe he can hear you.”

Marc looks at the ceiling, responds gravely, “I’m not a Repsol Honda rider anymore, I can do what I want.”

“Cin-cin. Hey, me neither,” Vale says brightly, and clinks his cup (José’s travel mug that says LESS TALK, MORE COFFEE) against Marc’s (a protein shake bottle that is missing its lid).

He can do what he wants. Marc turns that over, chewing on the edge of a thumbnail. He’s always thought so, but this is a little bit different. He changes the subject.

“Álex wants to go shopping on Monday at the airport, before our flight home. His girlfriend— it is her birthday on Wednesday, and he wants to get her this at one of the stores there, you know,” Marc pulls up his phone, finding a picture Álex sent him of the necklace. It's— Marc doesn't like it, but Marc’s picky. “And I think it is such a bad idea. It is so ugly, too much. He’s going to scare her.”

Vale looks for a second at the photo, picking at one of his nails, and then looks over at Marc.

“You wouldn't get that for your girl?”

“I wouldn’t get her something like that.”

“Well, what does she like?” Vale takes another pull of his drink, a little more subdued now. His face looks– pinched, for some reason. “Your girl. Maybe she has some ideas.”

“Oh, um.”

Vale just stares at him until he breaks. “No, no girlfriend. With travel, it's hard, you know.” Marc puts down his wine, leaning down to grab his racing boot and fiddle with it. “So. Not really looking.” The strap won’t close. He might need to get one of his backups tomorrow, for the race.

After a moment he notices Vale is still looking at him.

“Hm.”

“Yeah,”

“It’s hard.” Vale agrees, and then goes silent. “Tell Álex that the necklace is not so good. Try simple. Expensive.”

After a taught second where the both sip at their wine, Vale looks like he wants to say something more, but when he starts talking it's bright, airy, unrelated. Some story about him and Mick and being a Honda rider at the tobacco money fueled turn of the millennium, hands moving in the air as he mimes some poor mechanic scrambling to switch a tire. Marc watches, and he can’t stop looking at his hands, his neck, the way his mouth curves around syllables, the slant of his posture.

The thing he is realizing, while Vale boyishly shakes his head in a disapproving impersonation of Jeremy Burgess, is that— this hot fixation he’s discovered, it isn't a one-off. It's not the past, it's here, and it's now. He’d thought a little space would clean things up, work the frustration out of his bones, but the lack of space is serving to be just as clarifying a force. He sits and he stares. It's not just a dream or being pent-up from a long season, he’s not even sure that this is new. It doesn't feel like it is, it feels a lot like when he was 15 and meeting him, like when he was 20 and friends with him. Like when he was 21 and at the Ranch. Like when he was 22 and feeling like he was going to throw up, boring holes with his eyes in the side of Vale’s neck and willing him to look at him.

Hero-worship, he’d thought. The thrill of being friends with Valentino Rossi. People usually grow out of that, don't they? Marc didn't, and now he knows why.

He can do what he wants, Vale had said, except that he doesn't know that he can. Because what he wants, what he thinks he wants, well. That’s not really an option.

He takes his first sip of the night, and the Merlot bursts earthy and light on his tongue.

[maddascanbe-blog]

Nice to see you again Ma'am. This is the only redesign I'm going to both posting new for and not just update the original picture. Some of this was simple changes in style, and due to resizing issues Chloé's line art got really grainy. But more importantly I want to change Chloé in terms of my re-write, and I want to acknowledge my improvment.

Before we get to that lets talk small design changes. I likes my Anti-bug design originally but it waned on me over time. Recently I did a doodle of Chloé with the actual Ladybug miraculous (a hypothetical heroic) if you would. And translating that to Anti-bug made me much more satisfied with her.

I gave Queen Bee rounded stripes on her OG-redesign, but after looking at cannon again, she just is better suited for sharper shapes. So I changed her legs to something closer to her cannon design, the thigh-high boots feel much more Chloé.

Similar with Queen Wasp, just small changes, this time with her leg stripes just getting wider. I also decided to change her wings back to blue albeit a much darker color than Queen Bee's

Civilian Chloé and Zoé are the same, I already updated kid Zoé a bit for her page so I was able to just keep that asset and move it here.

Re-write. I've changed my opinion on Chloé a bit since I initially planned her re-write. Put simply, the only way I could think to redeem Chloé before was to make her an entirely different person.

Well not anymore. We're gonna rebuild her story from the ground up. First and foremost, Chloé is still a bully. She wants what she wants and doesn't care who gets hurt to help her get it. Now, she's not a full blown villain, because she doesn't need to be. But she does need to be selfish.

Chloé has a very short list of people she cares about. At the moment that includes Adrien, her Father, and Sabrina. Specifically she needs to care about Sabrina for the sake of her downfall and turn around, and later this list would include Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Zoé. She cares about them, and shows it, but everyone else isn't worth her time. This Chloé wouldn't insult Sabrina for not wanting to go through with a plot but she would still go and steal Marinette's diary.

But she also isn't oblivious, Chloé knows the class doesn't like her, he just doesn't care. She can still get what she wants, Marinette's seat, the Class Rep position, Ms. Bustier's favoritism, without the class liking her. Oh uh- small change her though, Chloé was bad at the student complaints and suggestions on day to day school stuff but I head cannon she was good at event organizing. As much of a pain as she was to work with, the school dances 'til now were spectacular. Mostly because I think Chloé needs to be good at something, and event planning is probable.

The first time she realizes her actions may have consequences (at least ones she cares about) is when she gets akumatized. She likes Ladybug, and Chat Noir if not as much. Her actions, her tantrum, not only didn't get her what she wanted but actively hurt two people she actually likes. This doesn't super change her behavior, but it does trigger the realization that she can't get everything she wants, and will in fact do things she doesnt want and cant fix in her wake.

The next is Lila showing up. Because she's spent her whole life around businessmen and politicians. She knows a liar when she sees one. But hey, if her class are idiots its not her business to educate them, its a little frustrating that Sabrina doesn't believe her. She just makes sure Adrien knows, and is surprised to know Marinette also already figured it out.

Then Zombizou happens, and everyone in the class are refusing to leave her alone and are protecting her. On one hand, no she doesn't want to be a zombie. But two, she thinks their idiots for sacrificing themselves over and over. They aren't friends, so why would they care? Then in a split second decision, Chloé gets between the zombies and the heroes. At this point she's acknowledged she's more a burden than a help, and that the heroes will be able to work better if she's out of their way. It's fine, they'll save her anyway. And they do.

This is where her character arc is actually going to start. Not with just with Bustier, but with her just gradually getting less antagonistic. She has her low moments of course. Since she hasn't exactly gotten better, just quieter the incident with the fire department causes Adrien to break off their friendship. And Lila successfully pulls Sabrina away from her. Now Chloé has no one.

And this is when she meets Pollen. Unintentional, but Chloé still loves Ladybug, so of course she wants to help. She doesn't give Pollen back at first, but she wasn't stupid enough to reveal her identity. Chloé is specifically not an idiot. She's actually one of the few who seems to regard Hawkmoth with as much fear as the heroes. She isn't expecting Marinette to turn down the opportunity and for the first time, Chloé see's her mother the way everyone else does. Flighty and Vicious, and uncapable of loving anyone but herself. And at the same moment she realizes that's the direction she's going.

Chloé realizes she's got to change. And she'd going to have to do it alone. Ladybug can support her, but not carry her. Marinette still doesn't trust her has far as she can throw her, and Adrien has his own stuff to worry about.

Then Zoé happens.

[adrift-in-my-own-thoughts]

Yknow, what hurts me the most about Luka and Hyuna's relationship isn't even the fact that after god knows how many years without seeing her, Luka's first reaction to seeing Hyuna again is to smile. Because he's so in love with her that the literal gun against his head means nothing, just the fact that she's there is enough for him, allows him to feel truly happy, and his first thought is probably something along the lines of I missed you or I'm glad you're here or I want to hold you, to hug you again. Nor is it the fact that again, despite however many years it's surely been since she last saw him, Hyuna's immediate instinct to seeing Luka in potential danger is to throw herself into harm's way instead, sacrificing her own life just to make sure this boy with so many health issues, this puppet of the aliens, can live for a little longer.

No.

What saddens me the most about their relationship is the fact that Hyuna didn't hate him because she disliked Luka, she hated him because it was too dangerous to care about him. The only other person she ever loved that much was her brother Hyun Woo, and she watched him die in front of her eyes when they were all still children. This forced Hyuna to learn and accept that loving someone was too dangerous, risked both parties getting hurt whether with the intentions go hurt both or just as a side effect of one being hurt anyway. And so this other boy she loves, perfect, innocent Luka? What other choice does she have but to push him away to keep them both safe? She says at the end of Wiege that he was her only weakness, and I don't think that Hyuna meant because he was soft or weak himself (although that most likely is also true, judging from all his health conditions and etc), but because she couldn't possible bear the thought of losing someone else, and she couldn't let him get hurt from losing her like she was from losing Hyun Woo, either. She also said she had to keep moving forward, probably meaning she couldn't be held back by the fear or burden of caring about another as well.

So she's basically forced herself into hating Luka in order to protect them both, and I imagine she's managed to push him somewhere in the back of her mind for the last few years somewhat successfully, and yet. Yet she still rushes to save him when she sees that gun pointed at his head. She's injured and probably desperately needs medical care and is who knows how important a member of the rebels considering what we've seen her do for them so far and she still just runs as fast as she possibly can in that moment to move Luka out of the way and take the bullet herself. Luka probably wasn't even aware of what she was doing until the last second, when he was watching the life slowly leave Hyuna's eyes as he finally gets to hold her in his arms like he did when they were kids once more. And he will have to spend the rest of his life knowing that Hyuna's last action was to make sure he could live, knowing that her last breaths were spent telling him to forgive himself and live with love. And what do you do with that? When the one you love probably more than you even love yourself suddenly shows up out of nowhere and you can't even say a single word to them before they're just. Dead in your arms after literally giving more than they had to save you.

That's what hurts me the most about Luka and Hyuna's relationship. Despite everything, despite her best efforts, Hyuna still loved him so much that she sacrificed not only her own life, but potentially others as well if her role within the rebels or her knowledge was important enough. That Luka loves her so much he disregards his own safety to just rejoice in seeing her again. That he would've died happy knowing she was still safe, and yet she died instead so that he would be the one to stay safe, without even a second thought.

[thatbirdrestaurant]

A deeply unnecessary analysis of NaLu and Natsu's feelings

I'm as much of a sucker for insta-love NaLu as the next guy, but I do genuinely believe it took these two a while to fall in love. I can't deny that there was an immediate attraction, especially on Lucy's end, and I do think romantic feelings have been stewing between the two of them since as early as season one, but the realization took a really long time to hit.

We'll start off talking about Lucy, because I have the least to say about her. I've said before that I think Lucy didn't realize she had feelings for Natsu until she realized she was in love with him, which was after the events of the Eclipse Gate. I can pinpoint the exact moment she realized; the moment right after, when her and Natsu are standing in the rubble, and she just starts crying before running to hug him. I think that's the moment she realized that she loves him, and she has for a while.

I believe it took so long for Lucy to realize because she grew up in a very sheltered environment. Her only exposure to typical teenage experiences that didn't involve arranged marriages was teen magazines; she knew what it felt like to be superficially attracted to someone, when someone was objectively attractive, and she's had crushes before, but never really been in love.

We're moving onto Natsu now, because I have the most to say about him by a landslide. For immediate starters, I don't really recognize 100 Year Quest; even though I love all the GruVia development within it, I find it to be a very unnecessary spin-off that doesn't respect its characters, especially Natsu. It's done horrible things for his maturity as a whole, including all the development with Lucy.

Natsu loves Lucy, that's something I've believed for a very long time, and he shows it in his actions more than anything. He's protective of her, he loves spending time with her and he's upset when she isn't around, and he wants to move Heaven and Earth for her. He has since pretty much day one.

But he doesn't realize he has feelings for her until their fight with Kain, and he doesn't even realize he's in love with her until he watches her (future self) die.

That doesn't sound right, though, does it? How can someone watch a scene like Natsu putting the rainbow sakura on a boat, just so Lucy can see it bloom, and think he doesn't realize he likes her until much, much later?

Natsu was raised in an environment where you would cut off both arms and a leg for your friends and family. Fairy Tail is a guild that values familial relationships and friendships more than anything. I truly believe that, to Natsu, most of the things he did for Lucy before the fight with Kain, he did with what he thought were platonic intentions.

On top of that, I do headcanon Natsu to be on the aromantic spectrum. He doesn't feel romantic attraction as "easily" as other people do, and he very seldom actually recognizes it as such. He knows what it is - how could he not, when surrounded by it so often - but he's never really felt it himself. Maybe he had a bit of a childhood crush on Lisanna, but that's stretching it thin. She was his best friend, that's for certain.

Natsu thinks he and Lucy are as normal as friends as anyone else in the guild, until she has the chance to leave him behind for her own safety, and she absolutely refuses. I cannot watch that scene without feeling like I'm watching Natsu fall in love, realize his feelings at the very least.

Another NaLu trope I'm an absolute sucker for is that Natsu thinks, and has thought, him and Lucy have been dating for quite some time. Do I realistically believe so? No, I don't.

I think, to some capacity, Natsu knows that Lucy loves him, too, the same way that he loves her, and I think he believes that's a mutual understanding. To Natsu, they both know how they feel, that they're in love, but they're not in a rush to discuss it, to put a label on it.

He knows they act like a couple, that people who pass them on the street see a boyfriend with his girlfriend, and that's enough for him at the moment.

Natsu and Lucy's final conversation before the end of the series was a confession. Hiro Mashima can pry this belief from my cold dead hands. That was Natsu's way of confessing his love for Lucy, his way of expressing that he wants them to be together forever, but he's still Natsu, and he still thinks Lucy knows he loves her.

Lucy is a very shy person; she gets flustered just from Natsu standing too close, and Natsu is already content with the two of them just existing near one another. Would he like to hug and kiss Lucy? Of course he would, but he doesn't need it.

Where him and Lucy are is already more than enough for him, he just, unfortunately, doesn't realize that Lucy isn't on the same page. She would like to be, though she doesn't even realize it, but she doesn't quite have the courage for it.

While I do think Lucy is pining for Natsu, I don't think she's doing so painfully. She gets flustered when people insinuate her and Natsu are a couple, as anyone would, but she doesn't seem very torn up about correcting people. She loves him, yes, but she's completely fine with just being his friend. She's grateful enough to have him in her life.

They're in this weird limbo of 'not a couple, but not just friends' because while they're not oblivious to their own feelings, they're oblivious to the impression the other has about their relationship. Natsu thinks they're dating, but are taking things slow; Lucy thinks they're just friends, but would love to be more.

[pascalislove]

THE CALL: Han Jeong-Won x Fem!Reader~29

Summary: Your arrival would change everything, even if Jeong-Won didn't know it yet.

Warnings: female reader, piv, , age difference(unspecified), creampie, sex on the couch, unprotected sex.

A few weeks later, it was a quiet afternoon at home, but the atmosphere was far from serene for Y/N.

After days of feeling feveris (and not just from the recent cold) her body seemed to have lit up with an urgency that not even she could explain.

Since they had confessed their love two months ago and decided to continue with their marriage, something between them had changed: the passion was constant, intense and completely uncontrollable.

Jeong-Won was sitting on the couch, reviewing some work papers, completely oblivious to the storm that Y/N felt growing inside her. She watched him stand from the living room door, noting how his white shirt fit around his shoulders and how his steady hands turned the pages of a document. Desire invaded her strongly.

Without much thought, she walked towards him and before he could ask what she was doing, she straddled his lap.

—“Y/N…” he murmured in surprise, his eyebrows furrowed at the interruption, but with a spark of interest in his dark eyes.

—I want you,—she whispered, leaning down to kiss his neck, her soft lips leaving a burning trail on his skin.

Jeong-Won let out a low sigh, his control beginning to crumble. In one swift motion, he dropped the papers to the floor and grabbed her waist, pulling her even closer.

—"You're very bold lately," he commented hoarsely, his breathing already accelerated.

—Does it bother you? she asked, her lips brushing his in silent challenge.

—"Not at all," he responded before taking her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss.

Time seemed to stop as Jeong-Won's hands explored her back, slowly moving down to her hips. The couch creaked under the weight of their movements, but neither of them paid attention. Y/N felt the heat wash over her completely, the fever of desire consuming any trace of the cold she had felt during her cold a few days ago.

They took off their clothes urgently, they couldn't stop kissing and touching each other, when he finally entered inside, she began to bounce on top of him, until he realized that she was starting to get tired but he quickly grabbed her hips and began to thrust into her, they both came moaning into each other's mouths and when they finally fell on the couch, with the room filling with the echo of their labored breaths and their bodies intertwined, Y/N knew that something had changed. Maybe it was the intensity of the moment or the way Jeong-Won looked at her, as if he never wanted to let her go.

Unbeknownst to both of them, that afternoon would be the beginning of something much bigger: the life that was beginning to form within her, the fruit of a love that, against all odds, had been reborn to stay.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@anamiad00msday , @czarinera , @beebeechaos, @muchwita, @otakusimp1, @aori-aka03-blog, @preppyfella

THE CALL MASTERLIST