#he is going to carry her one of these days'

[sacredsorceress]

Mocha / Bob Reynolds

PAIRING: bob reynolds x cafe owner!reader SUMMARY: yelena decides to make it her mission to set up bob with her close friend. WORD COUNT: 2.6k A/N: not beta read, and named mocha after my favorite coffee! I am also realising I struggle with meet cutes so next fic is probably an established relationship whew. hope you enjoy!! WARNINGS: just insecurities, a beef mention of bob's drug-fueled past and fluff

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“Get dressed, Bob.”

Yelena tossed a pair of jeans and a sweater into Bob’s lap before placing her hands on her hip.

Confusion twisted his face.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Bob asked.

Truly there wouldn’t be anything wrong with what Bob was wearing if he hadn’t already been wearing it for three days straight.

In the months since… the incident… as they all now referred to it, Bob had made significant progress. He had stayed sober, gained a healthy amount of weight back, and worked on his mental health to a degree that even John had to admit that he was impressed by it. However, all this progress had been made inside the Avengers Tower.

Not that Yelena didn’t enjoying being around Bob, but she’d like to wonder where he was for once instead of being able to turn her head and see him curled up in his book nook every single time, without fail. At times she wondered if his skin had merged with the fabric of the seat.

“You are not going out like that.” She said matter-of-factly. “And you are starting to smell.”

Bob placed his book to the side and pulled himself up to look at Yelena.

“Going… out?” He asked.

“Yes, we are going out.” She said with a huff. “I cannot watch you sit on this floor all day again. So get dressed… and do not forget the deodorant.”

Yelena left without another word, leaving Bob to his own devices. Lifting up his arm and taking a sniff, he cringed and shuffled towards the bathroom toting the clothes Yelena had given him in hand.

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"Where are we going?"

Bob stumbled after Yelena as she effortlessly weaved her way through the busy Manhattan street. It was 5:30 pm and it seemed that all of New York were leaving their offices, on a mission to get home which, to Bob's understanding, seemed to all be in the opposite direction from where he was heading. With rushed apologies and too many elbows in his ribs for his liking, Bob had begun to miss the comfort of the tower.

"For coffee." Yelena replied without looking at him.

"Coffee?" He asked, glancing at sun setting between high rises. "Isn't it.. isn't it a little late?"

"Never too late for coffee, Bob." She said, rounding a corner. "Besides, it is quieter at night."

Bob bumped into Yelena's back as she slowed her pace.

"Here!"

Yelena opened her arms towards the café in front of her. A warm glow poured out through its windows and onto the sidewalk as if it wanted to sneak up their ankles and pull them through the doors. Through the glass, Bob could catch a few people doing work on their laptops or catching up with friends, lounging on the couches or curled up in the booths alike. What truly caught his eye, though, were the filled bookcases that covered every square inch of the walls.

Yelena, observing his fascination, smiled.

"I knew you'd like it." She said, grabbing his arm. "Now come."

In an almost cartoonish fashion, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans reached Bob's nose the second he stepped inside and carried him to the counter.

The barista's face lit up at the sight of them and Bob felt himself grow warm under her gaze. Her smile, warm and inviting- not like the polite ones Bob often got thrown by underpaid workers to evade the scrutiny of their boss- made him brush his tussled hair from his face.

"Lena!" You laughed, leaning against the counter. "Fancy seeing you here. Want your usual?"

Lena? Bob thought. Did she know you?

Bob glanced from Yelena to you.

"D-do you guys know each other?" He laughed awkwardly.

The blonde raised her eyebrow.

"Are you surprised that I have friends, Bob?" Yelena asked pointedly.

"N- no!" Bob said, shaking his head and crossing his arms. "I was just wondering-"

Then you piped in: "Oh are you Bob?" You asked, your gaze falling on him. "I've heard so much about you. It's so nice to meet you!"

God, he thought, it's hot in here.

You were pretty and kind- the first confirmed by his eyesight and accompanying heart rate and the second, by your friendship with Yelena.

If there was one thing that Bob was not used to, it was receiving warm attention from strangers. With a past riddled with crime and self-seclusion, he couldn't remember the last time someone had actually been happy to meet him. Even his current team had been mildly annoyed by his presence the first time they met.

But you had heard about him. That couldn't be good, right?

Bob pulled at the neck of his sweater and smiled.

"That's me." He answered timidly. "I'm sorry, Yelena's never mentioned you-"

Waving her hand in his face to cut him off, Yelena turned towards you.

"I'll have my usual." She said before turning to Bob. "What do you want?"

Suddenly it occurred to Bob that they were at a coffee shop. Hyper-aware of your gaze, Bob shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from nervously fiddling with them.

"Oh I- I've never had coffee." He said.

He said it in the most innocent way in the world, so much so that you couldn't even find it in yourself to make fun of him for it. If anything, you wished you had super speed to be able to fly out the doors, get ingredients for whatever Bob did like to drink, and whip it up in seconds so you'd never have to see him disappointed.

Yelena however, did not share the same sentiment.

"You are embarrassing me." She whispered.

Seeing the shame in his eyes, you cut in.

"I can surprise you if you want?" You offered. "I'll just come bring it to your table when it's done."

Pretty and kind.

"Y-yeah," He smiled. "That sounds nice."

With their orders sorted, Yelena wrapped her hand around Bob's arm and pulled him to a nearby table. Nestled in an alcove between bookshelves, Bob settled into his chair and glanced around him.

"This place is nice." He observed, peeking over the side of the bookshelf to catch a glimpse of you at the counter.

Yelena, following his eye-line, smiled.

"Good." She said, crossing her legs. "Because we will be staying here until you ask her out."

And there it is: why Yelena actually asked him to come out.

He should've known by her attitude- how she demanded he get dressed, how she weaved through passerbys without a second glance, how she stopped him from fumbling over himself in front of you... she was on a mission.

Bob would have been lying if he said he wasn't attracted to you. In the past, he had barely experienced attraction- his attention consumed more by illicit substances and how to get them rather than the affection of a woman. But he knew by the warmth that creeped up his neck and onto his cheeks and the way his heart seemingly flipped in his chest when you spoke to him that you had him.

However, that didn't mean that he could have you.

"Yeah- Wait." Bob said, tearing his eyes from you to look at Yelena. "W-what. I'm not- I can't... I don't know her."

"No," she said, folding her hands. "But I do. You two will make cute couple."

She said it as if it were simple. As if she could flip a switch and make him the perfect boyfriend.

"But-"

As if on cue, you strode over to the table with a tray in hand.

"One flat white for Lena," You said gifting the mug into her waiting hands. "And for Bob, a mocha: decaffeinated. I figured you might want to be able to sleep tonight."

You said the last part with a wink as you gently placed the mug down in front of him.

The warm drink sat in an orange mug with a foam heart on top and although he was sure you did them for everybody, Bob's insides felt like mush all the same. He couldn't remember the last time he had something that didn't come from a drive-thru window.

"And I know you didn't ask," you said, placing down another plate. "but I also brought over a chocolate donut to go with the coffee. I thought you might like it."

If Bob didn't know any better, he would have thought you were nervous because once the tray was free of any beverage, you tucked it behind your back and shifted on your feet as if you were finding any excuse to stay.

"Oh this looks really good," Bob groaned.

Careful to not burn himself, Bob gingerly brought the mug to his lips. The drink, filled with notes of chocolate that overpowered any bitterness of coffee while maintaining the taste, warmed him to his core. Feeling the temperature of the drink spread throughout his body, Bob sank into his seat and moaned.

A real, actual moan in front of the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

It was only once he opened his eyes that he realized they had ever been closed in the first place.

"I think he likes it." Yelena chuckled.

Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, he cleared his throat.

"S-sorry." He apologized, "it's really good."

The weight of your gaze bared heavily on him as he avoided your eyes, too afraid to feel the judgement they no doubt held at his reaction.

Instead you smiled.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Bob." You assured him. "That's the best compliment I've ever received."

A silence hung in the air then as the three of you stood at an impasse. The radio flicked between songs as it did, leaving the rhythmic clicking of a keyboard across the room the only escape from becoming intimately familiar with each other's breathing.

Yelena glanced between the two of you. She rolled her eyes and kicked Bob underneath the table.

"Ow!" Bob yelped. "What was that-"

"Didn't you have a question you wanted to ask her, Bob?"

Fuck, now you were really looking at him.

You were like the sun. As tempted as he was to stare at you, his eyes darted anywhere but your face as if it would hurt him just to look.

"Uh, um yeah..." Bob said nervously, "I wanted to... I was going to ask..."

You eagerly leaned forward.

"Yeah, Bob?"

Bob could listen to you say his name forever. A once held insecurity, dissipated like cotton candy in water.

He cleared his throat.

"Uh- what kind of milk did you use?" Bob said, drumming his fingers on the table. "Because I'm uh... lactose intolerant."

The end of the sentence dragged on awkwardly and although he was internally beating himself up for embarrassing himself in front of you, he was clouded by how much more humiliating it would have been to ask you out in front of Yelena.

Any hope you had in you that he would ask you something more personal faded as you physically deflated.

"Oh uh, oat."

Yelena thought she could kill him. She really could.

"Well uh," You said. "Enjoy."

And with that, you were gone.

The second you were out of earshot, Yelena leaned over the table.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I- I don't know!" Bob whisper-shouted back. "It just came out-"

"That you are lactose intolerant?" She argued. "You are suppose to ask her out and instead, you tell her you have tummy problems!"

Bob slammed his face into the table and groaned.

"You put me on the spot-"

"Because she was looking at you with the heart eyes!"

That picked Bob's head up.

"N-no. You're just saying that." He argued. "She doesn't like me"

Yelena rolled her eyes and jammed her pointer finger into the table.

"Listen to me, Bob." She said. "I know my friend. She likes you, okay? So we will sit here until you ask her out."

"But-"

"No buts!" She shouted, flicking her hand. "You will ask her. Now, I will enjoy my coffee before it gets cold."

And that's how Bob and Yelena ended up sitting in the coffee shop until close.

It wasn't that he didn't try, because he did. After a hype up session with Yelena he would stroll up to the counter with the intention of asking you on a date, but the second you smiled at him, he psyched himself out and just ordered another coffee instead.

As minutes turned to hours and the patrons began to file out of the cafe, you, Bob and Yelena were the only ones left- unless you counted the elephant in the room.

"Hey so," You said saddling up to the table. "I'm gonna start closing up. Don't worry about the bill or anything, I put it on Yelena's tab. Just head out when you're ready."

You hesitated.

"Oh, and it was nice to meet you, Bob."

Yet, as you turned to leave, you felt a clammy hand wrap around your wrist, holding you back.

Your eyes trailed from the hand up to Bob's face where his cheeks had been painted red. As if his lips had been sewn shut, he said nothing, but instead longingly gazed up at you, taken aback by your features so close.

"Oh for God's sake." Yelena said slamming her hand on the table.

Bob yanked his hand from your touch as you your attentions ricocheted towards Yelena.

"Lena-"

"I cannot keep watching this." She said, gesturing towards Bob. Her eyebrows had knitted together and a sigh escaped her lips. "Y/n, will you go on a date with Bob? Please? I cannot do the puppy dog eyes any longer."

If there was ever a moment Bob wanted to crawl into his own skin and let the Void consume him, it was right then.

Yelena meant well, he knows she does, but no matter how much she thought she knew her friend, what Yelena was not aware of was the clinical aversion that women seemed to have to him. The most Bob would be lucky enough to receive was a platonic fondness, never the affections of a woman so pretty and kind and warm and-

"I'd love to."

Pulling himself out of his own self-pity, Bob's mouth flew open.

"Y-yeah?"

You smiled at him.

"Yeah," You said with a laugh. "I thought you'd never ask."

Were you sure you didn't put caffeine in his coffee? Because Bob felt the sudden urge to throw himself out of his seat and run around the coffee shop.

Instead, he settled on handing you his phone to let you type your number in and allowing Yelena to usher him out of the coffee shop- him longingly looking over his shoulder at you until he physically couldn't anymore.

With a renewed pep in his step, Bob pulled out his phone and smiled.

Bob: Hi, this is Bob :)

Bob: From the coffee shop.

Bob: Yelena's friend.

Bob: I'm not really lactose intolerant, you're just really pretty. :)

And although Yelena couldn't see what he was typing on his phone, seeing the content smile that painted his face was more than enough for one to reach across her own- rolling her eyes fondly at the idea of her two friends in love and a mission, accomplished.

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[pascalissmoked]

Sweeter Than Summer

Summary: It starts with helping Sarah. It ends with her dad looking at you like he can’t breathe without you. Soft smiles, stolen glances—until it’s not so soft anymore. Word Count: 8K Warnings: fluff, age gap (reader is 22 and joel is in his mid 30s), joel being the hot neighbor and a frienc od your dad's, tommy being a little shit to his older brother, team plotting from sarah and her uncle, blood (not gory though), joel not knowing how to take care of Sarah becoming a woman, food consumption, nervous!joel, texas!joel, no outbreak!joel, unprotected sex, A/N: I kinda let myself go with this one. But you can never have too much of dilf!joel anyway. I hope you enjoy xx

Sweat clung to your skin like a second layer, tracing hot trails from your neck to the hollow of your collarbone. Texas, in the dead of summer, had become less of a state and more of a furnace—an open-mouthed oven blasting dry, merciless heat at everything that dared to live in it. No breeze, no shade, not even the patchy ceiling fans in your father’s house could fight it off.

So you escaped to the only place with the illusion of relief: your old man’s rust-bitten Ford truck. The air conditioning groaned like an old man with bad knees, struggling to push out even a whisper of cold. Mostly, it just wheezed in competition with the faint melody of Avril Lavigne’s Complicated playing from a scratched-up CD.

That CD had been a gift from Sarah—the wild-hearted twelve-year-old next door with a halo of curls and a grin full of mischief. She’d handed it to you like it was treasure, wrapped in a scrap of pink paper with your name spelled in glitter pen. Babysitting her had started off as a favor, a quick yes when your father mentioned that Joel Miller—Sarah’s dad—needed someone to help out now and then. You’d barely met Joel, only knew that he worked with his hands, often gone at odd hours, and that he carried the kind of quiet sadness you didn’t ask questions about.

You were a high school senior back then, just counting days until freedom. But somehow, that little girl made you want to stay.

Your evenings slowly stitched themselves into a patchwork of Disney marathons, popcorn burned in the microwave, Sarah’s giggles echoing through the halls of the Miller house. She’d curl up beside you, head resting on your shoulder like a sleepy kitten, cookies half-eaten and forgotten on the table. She became something sacred—a bond, a heartbeat, the closest thing to a sister you’d ever have.

Even after you left for college, you kept coming back. Not out of duty, but because her tiny arms still wrapped around your waist when you walked through the door. Because her eyes still lit up like fireworks when you pressed play on The Little Mermaid. Because somehow, she had become your person.

You leaned back in the cracked leather seat, your legs sticking to it, the AC making a sad attempt at survival. You shut your eyes and let Avril’s voice carry you, half-lost in memory and heat-induced haze, until a sharp knock on the passenger window startled you.

Sarah.

She was grinning, as usual—her curls pulled into a wild ponytail, a Popsicle in one hand, and a look that said she was up to something.

You rolled the window down. “What’s up, bug?”

She climbed in before you could stop her, dragging a wave of hot air in with her. “Dad said we could go get ice cream if you’re up for driving.”

“Did he now?”

“Okay, I might’ve said you were bored and needed to get out. Same thing.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. She shoved the melting Popsicle into your hand and snapped on her seatbelt with dramatic flair. “Let’s go. Before it gets hotter. I think I saw a squirrel burst into flames on the sidewalk.”

You laughed and turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed to life, the truck rumbling beneath you like an old beast waking from a nap. You caught sight of Joel on the porch as you pulled away—arms crossed, watching with that unreadable expression he always wore. You gave him a two-fingered wave. He nodded once, and that was enough.

Sarah chattered all the way to the ice cream place, asking about college, about whether you had a boyfriend yet (she asked this every time), and whether she’d be tall enough to ride the big coasters at the state fair this year. You let her talk, let her words fill the space like music.

When you finally parked in front of the ice cream shop, the sun had started dipping low, turning the sky into a hazy peach-orange watercolor.

Inside, the cool air hit like salvation. Sarah ran to the counter, already debating between cotton candy and cookie dough. You trailed behind more slowly, letting the change in temperature settle over your skin like a blessing.

As you waited, your phone buzzed in your pocket. A message from your dad:

“Joel asked if you’ll be home later. Said he could use help with something at the house.”

You stared at the screen for a second longer than you needed to. Joel didn’t ask for help. Not unless he meant it.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah looked up from her ice cream conquest.

You smiled. “Nothing. Just your dad being mysterious.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s always mysterious. He builds things all day and listens to music no one understands.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” you teased.

“I’m not mysterious,” she said, scooping her choice—cookie dough, of course—into a bowl. “I’m an open book.”

You paid for the treats and led her outside to a metal bench half in the shade. The breeze had picked up slightly. It carried the scent of pavement, crepe myrtles, and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. Something shifting.

The sun was beginning to slip behind the rooftops by the time you and Sarah returned to the Miller house, both of you sticky from melted ice cream and heat. The air had that golden hue of a Texas evening—dust motes glowing in the sunlight, cicadas beginning their slow song. The drive back from the ice cream shop had been quiet, but not in a bad way. Sarah had rolled the window down and was humming absently to herself between licks of her cone. You stole glances at her in the rearview mirror. She looked tired but content, her face a little flushed, her curls sticking to her temples.

You knew something had shifted. She’d been quieter than usual on the ride back, a little distracted. Not sad, just somewhere far off in her head. You didn’t push it. You’d learned a long time ago that Sarah always circled back in her own time.

When you pulled into the driveway, Joel was out front, leaning against the porch rail with his arms folded, like he’d been waiting. He looked up as the truck came to a stop, one brow lifting slightly in a kind of wordless check-in. You gave him a nod, just enough to say she’s okay.

Sarah climbed out of the truck slowly and stretched. “I’m gonna shower,” she mumbled, already heading toward the front door.

“You eat dinner?” Joel called after her.

“Ice cream counts!” she shouted back, disappearing into the house.

Joel huffed something like a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He scratched the back of his neck, eyes still on the screen door even after it swung shut behind her.

You shut the truck door and walked over to him. “Everything alright?”

He looked at you then, really looked. Not with panic, exactly, but something close. Hesitation. Worry. Maybe a little guilt.

“You got a minute?” he asked. “Need to run something by you.”

You nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Joel gestured toward the backyard with a jerk of his chin. The porch boards creaked beneath his boots as you followed him through the kitchen and out the back door, into the thick, humid air. The sun was low now, bleeding orange across the fence line. Crickets had started up in the grass, and you could hear a neighbor’s sprinkler ticking faintly in the distance.

Joel didn’t speak for a while. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring out across the yard like it might offer him a script to read from. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and a little rough around the edges.

“Found somethin’ earlier,” he said. “In the bathroom. A, uh… towel. One of hers. Had blood on it…”

“Oh,” you said, gently. “Her period.”

He nodded, cheeks reddening, clearly trying to keep his voice level. “Yeah. That. She didn’t say a damn word to me. Just shoved a towel in the laundry like nothin’ happened and then asked if she could go out for ice cream. And I remembered… her mom used to—well, she always wanted something sweet on her bad days, so…”

You felt your chest warm. Not from the heat. From him. From this big, quiet man who looked like he could wrestle a bear but stood there now like a deer in headlights, wringing his hands over his little girl.

“She’s twelve,” he added, like that somehow made it more tragic. “I don’t… I didn’t grow up with sisters. Only Tommy. We were a disaster even on good days. I don’t know what to say, or how to—hell, I don’t even know what kind of… supplies she’s supposed to use.”

He fell quiet again, then sighed, long and slow. “I didn’t know who to call. I almost called Tommy, but you know, he’s as useless as I am when it comes to this kinda thing. So… I figured, maybe you’d know.”

There was something in the way he said it—maybe you’d know—that felt less like a request and more like a quiet surrender. Like this was his way of admitting he was scared, and he didn’t know how to say it out loud.

You stepped closer, your voice soft. “You did the right thing, Joel. Giving her space, getting her out of the house. That was smart.”

“She didn’t even tell me,” he muttered. “That’s what kills me. She used to come to me for everything. Now she’s just—dealing with it by herself. Like she had to.”

“She’s twelve,” you said gently. “She’s embarrassed. Doesn’t know how to talk about it. Maybe she’s scared you’ll think she’s different now.”

Joel blinked at that. “Why the hell would I think that?”

“Because that’s what girls worry about when they start this. That people will treat them differently. That their body’s changing and it makes things weird.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were on the fence again. “Her mom used to say stuff like that. About how she hated how people treated her like she was fragile just ’cause she was bleeding.”

There was a rawness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Not just nervousness—grief, too. That quiet, familiar ache of someone trying to parent without the other half of the puzzle.

“I’ll take her to the store tomorrow,” you said. “We’ll get her what she needs—pads, whatever she’s comfortable with. Maybe some tea. And chocolate. That always helps.”

Joel nodded slowly, like each word you said was another burden taken off his shoulders. “Thank you.”

You hesitated, then placed your hand lightly on his arm. “She’s not trying to shut you out. She’s just figuring it out in the only way she knows how.”

He looked at you then, really looked—tired, grateful, full of a quiet kind of worry that had nowhere to go.

“I feel like I’m messin’ it all up,” he admitted, so low you barely heard it.

“You’re not.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure.”

A long silence settled between you. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just full. Full of the things left unsaid, of the weight of love and responsibility and the kind of fear that comes with being someone’s whole world.

Joel rubbed a hand over his face and huffed a short laugh. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

“I think you’re doing your best,” you said. “And that’s more than a lot of kids get.”

He let out a breath, slow and steady. Then, after a pause: “You’re good with her.”

“I love her,” you said. “She’s like a little sister to me.”

Joel looked at you again—something unreadable in his expression. Maybe surprise. Maybe something else.

“I’m real glad you’re still around,” he said quietly.

You smiled. “Me too.”

From inside the house, Sarah called out, “Are we watching a movie or what?”

Joel didn’t take his eyes off you, but there was something softer in them now. Something unguarded.

“I guess we’d better get in there,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said, letting your hand fall from his arm. “Before she starts without us.”

It was the first time you'd stayed this late at the Miller house. Usually, your evenings with Sarah ended around sunset—movie paused, cookies half-eaten, Joel pulling into the driveway with dust on his jeans and tired thanks in his eyes. But this time, things were different.

Sarah had asked you to stay. She’d clung to your arm, eyes wide and wheedling, and Joel, surprisingly, had said yes.

“I mean… if it’s no trouble,” he’d added, rubbing the back of his neck, trying not to meet your eyes.

You’d said it wasn’t. And you meant it.

Now, the three of you were gathered in the living room. The lights were dimmed, the TV humming with the opening credits of Holes. Sarah had insisted on it—“It’s a classic, don’t even argue”—and had spread every pillow and blanket she could find across the floor like a DIY fort.

She was nestled into the middle of it, legs tucked under her, one of Joel’s flannels hanging off her shoulders. You sat on the edge of the couch, nursing a soda, while Joel took the armchair, one ankle propped lazily over his knee.

The movie started, and for a while, it was all popcorn rustles and Sarah quoting her favorite lines before they even happened. Joel chuckled at her enthusiasm, and you found yourself watching them more than the movie—how Joel’s eyes softened every time Sarah laughed, how she leaned toward you like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Somewhere around the third lizard sighting, Sarah moved to sit on the couch between you and the armrest, leaning against your side like a sleepy cat. You didn’t even notice when her breathing evened out and her head rested on your arm.

Joel noticed though.

His voice came low, amused. “She out?”

You glanced down. “Dead to the world.”

“She’s like her mom that way. Could sleep through a tornado.”

It was the second time he’d mentioned her. His voice was gentle, a little distant, but not painful. Just remembering.

You both sat quietly for a while after that. The soft flicker of the movie lit his face in blues and golds. He looked… peaceful. More relaxed than you’d seen him at those neighborhood barbecues, where he always kept a beer in his hand and one eye on Sarah like he didn’t trust the world not to fall apart.

Now, she was here, asleep beside you. And you were here, beside her.

When the credits finally rolled, Joel stood up slowly, stretching with a soft groan.

“I’ll carry her,” he said, and you nodded.

He moved carefully, gently scooping her up in his arms. She stirred just enough to murmur your name and Joel’s, then went limp again against his chest.

You watched them disappear down the hallway, the quiet creak of her bedroom door closing like the final note in a lullaby.

When he returned, he found you curled up on the couch, clearly half-asleep yourself.

Joel stood there for a moment, just watching you.

He thought about waking you. He really did.

But then he sighed, rubbed a hand over his jaw, and muttered, “Alright then.”

A few minutes later, he was spreading a clean blanket over you in his room and stacking an extra pillow beside your head. He lingered there, eyes soft, before turning off the light and closing the door behind him.

The smell of coffee nudged you awake before sunlight did. For a few seconds, you lay still, half-dreaming, until the stiff cotton sheets and unfamiliar quiet reminded you—this wasn’t your bed. It was Joel's.

You blinked at the wooden beams above you, the smell of frying bacon drifting in through a barely-cracked door. Joel's room was neat but lived-in. The flannel shirt hanging off the bedpost, the guitar case by the closet, the worn boots by the door—it all felt very him.

You sat up slowly, pushing hair out of your face, squinting toward the hallway. It felt intimate in here. Like you were somewhere you weren't quite supposed to be. And yet, the warmth in your chest told a different story.

The floorboards creaked softly as you padded toward the kitchen, feet bare and cautious. Joel stood at the stove, t-shirt wrinkled, hair a little messier than usual. He was flipping bacon, one hand holding a spatula, the other nursing a coffee cup.

He turned when he heard you, and for just a second, there was something caught in his expression. Not surprise. Something softer.

"Mornin'," he said, voice low and a little scratchy.

"You gave me your bed?"

Joel shrugged, turning back to the stove. "You were out cold. Didn’t wanna wake you. Couch ain’t so bad."

You glanced over at the couch, then back at him. "That couch is shaped like a capital 'L'. No way your back's okay."

He smirked, sliding bacon onto a paper towel. "I'm tougher than I look."

You raised an eyebrow, settling onto a stool by the counter. "You mean grumpier."

Before Joel could reply, Sarah wandered in like a hurricane with the battery drained. She wore a hoodie zipped halfway and socks slipping down her heels. Her face was twisted in dramatic agony.

"It feels like a war zone in my gut," she moaned.

Joel tensed. "You need Tylenol? Heating pad?"

"I need ice cream," Sarah said. Then her eyes landed on you. "You're still here?"

You smiled. "Yep. Joel gave me his bed."

Sarah blinked. Then grinned like she’d just won a prize at the fair. "Ooooh."

Joel, behind her, quietly muttered, "Sarah."

She leaned in close to you like you were co-conspirators. "Did you sleep in, like, his bed? Like with the plaid sheets and the pillow that smells like sawdust and... man soap?"

You tried not to laugh. "That very one."

Sarah's eyes glittered. "I knew it! Dad always acts weird around you."

Joel nearly choked on his coffee. "Alright, that's enough. Go sit down."

Sarah plopped onto the couch, cradling a heating pad Joel must have already warmed up for her. Despite her cramps, she looked content. Radiant, even. You noticed her eyes drifting shut, the tiniest smile playing at her lips.

"We should probably go grab her a few things," you murmured to Joel.

He gave a quiet nod. "She said she used the last pad yesterday. I just... didn’t wanna get the wrong thing. Didn’t know there were fifty types."

You touched his arm lightly. "We’ll take care of it."

Just then, the back door creaked open with that familiar screech that only old hinges and a Miller brother could make.

"Hope I’m not too late for bacon," Tommy called, strolling in like he owned the place. He wore his Sunday-best version of casual: jeans, a button-up rolled to the elbows, and a grin that could get him out of any ticket.

Sarah brightened at the sound. "Uncle Tommy!"

"Hey, sweetheart," he beamed, ruffling her curls gently. "Heard you had a bit of a rough morning."

She held up a thumbs-up from under her blanket. "I’m surviving. Thanks to the ice cream and the guest star who stayed overnight."

Tommy's eyebrows shot up, and he turned to look at you, then Joel. "Guest star, huh?"

Joel stiffened where he stood. "She crashed after the movie. I gave her the bed."

Tommy leaned on the counter, eyes twinkling. "Your bed?"

Sarah giggled. "With the plaid sheets and the soap smell and everything!"

Joel let out a breath like he was trying not to combust. "Can y’all stop announcin' that to the whole neighborhood?"

Tommy laughed, clearly enjoying himself. "I’m just sayin’—breakfast smells like affection, and you’ve got your flannel lookin’ a little less grumpy today."

"She’s good with Sarah," Joel said gruffly, pouring another cup of coffee. "That’s all."

"Sure," Tommy said, nodding slowly. "And the way you’re hovering near her like a guard dog in flannel, that’s also ‘just good with Sarah’?" he whispered.

Joel shot him a warning glance, but Tommy only grinned wider.

"Uncle Tommy," Sarah said sweetly, suddenly conspiratorial, "do you think Dad has a crush?"

Joel nearly dropped his mug. You buried your face in your hands, laughing helplessly.

Tommy gasped theatrically. "Sarah! I think you might be right. Look at that blush—he’s turning redder than my truck!"

Joel groaned. "Jesus Christ, I should’ve stayed in bed."

"Too bad someone else was in it," Tommy teased.

Joel turned to you, his voice dry. "You wanna take her to the store now? Might be safer."

You, still laughing, nodded. "Before Sarah starts handing out wedding invitations."

Sarah waved a hand from the couch. "Too late, I already made a vision board."

Tommy threw his head back, howling. Joel just stared at the ceiling like it might open up and swallow him whole.

You grabbed your bag, still chuckling, and gestured to Sarah. "C’mon, let’s get you the fancy kind of pain relief. Maybe even a heating pad shaped like a llama."

Sarah sprang up with unexpected energy. "This is why you’re my favorite."

Joel muttered, "You weren’t sayin’ that when I was up at 2 a.m. gettin’ you ice water."

She kissed his cheek and skipped toward the door.

As the two of you left, you heard Tommy say behind you, "You know, I really am happy for you, big brother. But I’m gonna keep messin’ with you just the same."

Joel replied with a grunt, but his voice, softer now, said more than his words ever could.

He was grateful.

And he was in trouble.

The store's fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as you and Sarah wandered down the aisle lined with shelves full of period products. The “feminine care” section was a riot of pastel colors, cryptic labels, and brands that somehow managed to sound both comforting and clinical.

Sarah stared up at them, arms crossed, mouth slightly open. "Okay, so... what's the difference between ultra-thin and ultra-thin with wings? Is it, like, flying powers?"

You snorted. "No flying powers, sadly. The wings just help keep things in place."

"Disappointing," she said with a sigh. "I was hoping for at least a little magic."

You crouched to scan the lower shelves. "Do you want the same kind you had last time, or do you wanna try something different?"

Sarah shrugged. "Whatever you think’s best. I trust your judgment. You’re clearly a seasoned professional."

You tossed a box into the basket. "The seasoned-est."

Sarah peeked up at you, slyly. "So... speaking of judgment."

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh?"

"Do you like older guys?"

You blinked. "That’s... a jump."

She grinned, clearly proud of herself. "No it’s not. It’s an investigative segue."

You tried to stifle a laugh. "Sarah."

"What? I’m curious! You’re, like, a woman. With... grown-up tastes."

"You’re twelve."

"Exactly! I need mentorship."

You paused, holding a box of heating patches. "Is this about your dad again?"

"I mean, not entirely. But also: yes."

You gave her a look.

"I just think you two would be cute. You both make weirdly good pancakes. And when you were sleeping in his bed, I swear he was, like, standing in the hallway checking if you were still breathing. Like some kind of lumberjack angel."

You put the patches in the basket. "Lumberjack angel?"

"Don’t mock the poetry."

You walked toward the checkout, and she practically skipped after you despite the heating pad she clutched like a teddy bear.

"Okay but seriously—" she continued, lowering her voice dramatically, "—do you think he’s cute? Like, if he didn’t have the whole ‘dad’ thing going on?"

You sighed, amused. "Sarah, I’m not talking about your dad like that."

She smirked. "That means yes."

You gave her a mock glare as the cashier started scanning your items. Sarah, never missing a beat, leaned on the counter like she was discussing secret spy business.

"Also, Uncle Tommy said you could do better. I told him to hush. I think my dad is the best you’re gonna get."

"Wow. Brutal."

"I'm in pain. Let me live."

As you bagged everything up and started walking toward the exit, Sarah looped her arm through yours and leaned against you.

"Thanks for coming with me. It’s way less awkward with you. Dad would’ve had an existential crisis in the tampon aisle."

"I believe it."

"And also... thanks for not making this whole thing a big weird deal. I was really freaked out yesterday. Thought I was dying. You were cool about it."

You softened. "That’s what I’m here for."

She looked up at you, a little more serious now. "And I really hope you end up my stepmom. But, like, the hot kind."

You blinked. "SARAH."

She cackled. "What? Just planting seeds."

Outside, the sun was warm on your face. You shook your head, laughing as you loaded the bags into Joel’s truck.

And somewhere inside that little gremlin of a girl was the biggest heart you’d ever met. Even on her worst day, she was matchmaking and joking and holding your hand.

God help Joel.

He didn’t stand a chance.

The sun was angling low by the time you pulled back into the driveway, the kind of orange Texas glow that made everything look a little too golden and a little too unreal. Sarah was humming to herself in the passenger seat, clutching the drugstore bag like it held state secrets.

You climbed out of the truck, stretching, only to freeze halfway through.

Joel was out front, shirt sticking to his back in the heat, kneeling beside a crooked section of the fence. A small toolbox sat next to him, half-open, nails scattered in neat little rows. His shirt—dark blue and worn—was clinging to his frame in all the right places. Sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Forearms dusted in sawdust.

He looked up as you shut the car door, and for a moment, all you could do was blink.

“Hey,” he called, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Y’all make it okay?”

Sarah jumped out of the truck and held up the bag. “We conquered the period aisle!” she declared, marching proudly inside.

Joel chuckled. “That so?” Then his eyes flicked to you, and something in them softened. “Thanks. For takin’ her.”

You nodded, but your voice caught somewhere in your throat. “Of course.”

He bent back down, hammer in hand, and you stood there a beat too long watching the muscles in his arm flex with each nail he drove in.

It’s just because of what Sarah said, you told yourself. That’s all. She put it in your head.

But that wasn’t entirely true. The man looked like a Calvin Klein ad shot in a lumber yard.

You forced yourself to turn toward the house before your brain made it worse.

Inside, Sarah was already curled up on the couch, heating pad in place, water bottle in hand, victorious and slightly smug.

Joel followed you in not long after, wiping his hands on a rag. He glanced at the clock, then at you.

“You hungry?” he asked. “I was gonna grill a few things for dinner. Nothin’ fancy.”

“Stay!” Sarah added immediately, perking up. “You helped today and you’re, like, family. Dad even makes real food when you’re here. It’s a rare event.”

Joel gave her a look but didn’t argue. His eyes landed on you again. “You’re welcome to. Honestly.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Joel grilled something—probably out of guilt for the frozen waffles breakfast. It smelled amazing. Burgers, seasoned fries, sliced watermelon, the works. You sat across from Sarah while Joel set everything out. Just as he was bringing over a dish of pickles, the back door swung open.

“Smells like a cookout for three, but I count four plates,” Tommy drawled, letting himself in like he always did. His jeans were too tight, shirt a little too fitted, like he was contractually obligated to flirt with the universe.

Joel gave him a side glance. “Don’t you have a house?”

“Sure do. But yours has food. And company.”

Tommy’s eyes slid to you, and his grin grew. “Well hey there.”

You smiled. “Hi, Tommy.”

Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically. “Don’t even, Uncle Tommy. She’s my best friend.”

Joel muttered, “God help me,” under his breath and passed you the ketchup.

Halfway through dinner, Tommy was in rare form. He elbowed Joel mid-bite. “So. When’s the last time you cooked like this for anyone?”

Joel didn’t look up. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just sayin’. I visit and get leftover chili. She visits and it’s gourmet.”

You were trying to hide your grin behind your water glass.

Tommy pointed his fork at you. “He always gets like this when you’re around. All tense and upright like he’s bein’ evaluated by the food network. You got the man sweating over burger seasoning.”

Joel groaned. “I swear to God, Tommy.”

Sarah giggled. “He did check the grill temp like, five times.”

You caught Joel’s eye. He looked exasperated, but his ears were red. Very red.

Tommy wasn’t done. “You know, Sarah’s got a good eye. She’s not wrong. This whole thing”—he gestured vaguely between you and Joel—“feels domestic.”

“Tommy,” Joel warned.

Sarah added, “We’re basically a sitcom now. One where the hot dad doesn’t know he’s in love.”

Joel dropped his head into his hands.

Tommy raised his glass. “To sitcoms. And slow burns.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or run.

Joel caught your eye again. And this time, he didn’t look away.

It wasn’t a big party. That had never been your dad’s style. But the backyard looked sweet under the string lights he’d looped between trees, casting a soft gold hue over the old lawn chairs and the fold-out table covered in mismatched paper plates and bowls of chips. A CD player in the corner hummed the tunes of old country and early 2000s radio hits, the kind your dad thought “young people liked.”

You’d just turned 22. Most of your college friends were scattered across the state—too far to make it for a casual Sunday night cookout. So it was just a few neighbors, your dad manning the grill, and a soft breeze that hinted at the edge of summer’s peak.

Joel showed up just as your dad was tending to the barbeque, Sarah at his side, her curls bouncing in a way that made her look like she was floating toward you. She held out a card like it was a trophy.

“Happy birthday!” she beamed. “I made you a masterpiece.”

You laughed and took it carefully. The card was covered in glitter and tiny doodles: a birthday cake, a sparkly dinosaur wearing sunglasses, and a poorly drawn but heartfelt portrait of you, her, and Joel standing under a rainbow.

“I love it,” you said, genuinely. “I’m framing it.”

“Good,” she grinned. “It took me forty-five minutes and three glitter glue explosions.”

Behind her, Joel gave you a small smile. He was in a dark gray button-down rolled to the elbows and jeans that didn’t look new, but still somehow looked good. Really good. You’d never seen him dressed like this—like he tried, just a little. He was holding a six-pack of Shiner Bock and a small rectangular gift wrapped in brown paper and string.

"Happy birthday," he said, voice quieter. “Didn’t know what to get, so…”

He handed you the gift and scratched at the back of his neck.

You gave him a curious smile as you took it. “Should I open it now?”

He shrugged. “Up to you.”

You peeled back the paper. Inside was a well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. The corners were softened from age, and the inside cover had a note in Joel’s neat, deliberate handwriting:

“You mentioned this was your favorite once. Figured you should have a version that’s seen a few years too. —J”

For a moment, the backyard went quiet around you—music, chatter, all of it faded. You looked up and met his eyes. Warm. Kind. Embarrassed, maybe. But also something else. Like he saw you in a way that you hadn’t let yourself imagine too much.

“Thank you,” you said, and meant it more than he probably realized.

Sarah was watching the two of you with her arms crossed, smirking. “You two are so obvious.”

Joel cleared his throat and turned toward the food table. “Burgers should be ready soon.”

You followed, your cheeks flushed.

Later, after burgers and sides and Sarah’s overenthusiastic attempts to pin the tail on the inflatable donkey, which your dad found hilarious, the grill was cooling and the sky was a bruised violet. You were inside the kitchen, trying to find a knife that wasn’t dull to slice the birthday cake. Your dad had disappeared, muttering something about “checking the propane line,” which you were 99% sure was code for “giving you space.”

Joel came in behind you with a tray of empty cups. “Need a hand?”

You turned, knife in one hand, cake staring back at you. “Yeah. Unless you wanna watch me murder this thing.”

He smirked, stepping beside you. Close. His shoulder brushed yours as he reached for a stack of plates.

“What kind of cake is this, anyway?” he asked, leaning just enough to read the label on the box.

“Chocolate with strawberry filling. Sarah picked it out. Said it was ‘romantic birthday vibes.’”

Joel laughed softly. “That girl’s gonna run a matchmaking business one day.”

“She already is. We’re just her test subjects.”

You looked up to find him looking down, his eyes flicking to your mouth just for a second. Just a second—but it was enough to knock the air sideways in your lungs.

You turned back to the cake, hoping your hands weren’t shaking. You started to cut, and Joel leaned closer, one hand resting on the counter beside you.

“Need me to steady the plate?” he asked.

Your hands were a little clumsy, distracted by the warmth of him next to you. “Maybe. It’s a two-person job.”

He chuckled, and you could feel the laugh more than hear it—like it buzzed through the space between your arm and his.

Then—

“You guys are standing really close,” Sarah’s voice rang out behind you, making you jump. She was leaning on the doorframe with a smug little grin.

Joel jerked his hand away like he’d been caught stealing.

“I was helping,” he muttered.

“With cake?” Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“Cutting’s an art,” Joel said, deadpan, making her giggle.

You just shook your head and passed her a plate. She skipped off with her prize, leaving you and Joel blinking in the soft hum of the kitchen.

“Thanks,” you said after a beat. “For everything today.”

Joel nodded, still a little red around the ears. “Wasn’t much.”

“It was,” you said. “And the book… I mean it.”

He smiled, shy but genuine. “Glad you liked it.”

And then neither of you moved. The air hung between you like a stretched-out string.

Until Sarah called from outside, “We need cake now!”

Joel exhaled. “Duty calls.”

You followed him out, but something lingered behind in the kitchen—the warmth of him, the nearness, the feeling that this thing between you wasn’t just in your head anymore.

The backyard had emptied. The last of the neighbors had waved their goodbyes. The string lights were still glowing, bugs dancing lazily in their warmth. Your dad had gone to bed after mumbling something about “too many burgers, not enough bourbon,” and the house was quiet now — quiet in a way that left too much room for your thoughts.

You were in the kitchen rinsing out plates, the hem of your party dress damp from leaning too close to the sink, your hands wrinkled and smelling like lemon soap. There was half a chocolate-strawberry cake left, the one Sarah had insisted on, and somehow you couldn’t just toss it.

She would’ve protested. Loudly.

You dried your hands, boxed the leftover slices neatly, and stared at the little pink-and-brown cake box for longer than you needed to.

Your feet moved before you could talk yourself out of it.

It was pushing 10:30, but Joel’s porch light was still on, casting a dim halo around the faded welcome mat. You knocked lightly, the box balanced on your hip.

A few seconds passed. Then the door creaked open.

Joel stood there barefoot in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, looking tired in the way only dads could be — soft around the edges but still solid, still present. His hair was tousled, and he looked like he’d only just sat down for the night.

“Hey,” he said, surprised but not unhappy. “Everything alright?”

You held up the cake box like a peace offering. “Didn’t feel right keeping it. Sarah picked it. Thought she might want it.”

He stepped aside, motioning you in. “She would’ve. She’s at Tommy’s tonight, though. Asked to sleep over.”

You paused on the threshold, your heart thudding a little louder. “Oh.”

“Come on in,” Joel said gently. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, stepping inside. The house smelled like clean laundry and cedar. Familiar and warm. Lived-in. You followed him into the kitchen and set the cake down on the counter.

Joel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Long day?”

You smiled faintly. “Fun day. Weird, too. Turning twenty-two in your childhood backyard while your babysitting kid gives you love advice.”

Joel chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. She’s... somethin’.”

You leaned back on your elbows against the counter. The room was dim — just the small lamp over the sink on — and the silence was comfortable at first. But then it turned charged. He hadn’t moved. Neither had you.

Your gaze drifted. His jaw was stubbled, his hair slightly damp, like maybe he’d just taken a shower. He looked... good. More than good.

You caught him watching you back, just a second too long.

The moment thickened.

“I, uh,” you started, voice catching slightly. “I meant what I said earlier. About the book. It was... really thoughtful.”

Joel looked at you then — really looked — and whatever wall he’d been holding onto, the one made of age difference and neighborly boundaries and the awkwardness of being Sarah’s dad... it cracked.

He pushed off the doorway slowly, walked toward you, stopping just close enough to make your breath hitch.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said softly.

The space between you was a livewire.

“I keep trying not to think about you like this,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

His jaw tightened — not in anger, but in restraint.

“Me too.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then — softly, carefully — Joel reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek, lingered.

“You’re too young for me,” Joel said, the words barely more than a gravel-edged whisper.

You looked up at him, your chest tight, heart thudding in your throat. “I’m not a kid.”

His eyes darkened, like you’d struck a match in the middle of a dry field. He swallowed hard. “I know.”

The silence between you turned into something electric, something living. The only sound was the quiet hum of the fridge and your own uneven breathing.

Joel took a small step forward, just enough to close the last of the space. He stood so close you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint crease between his brows like he was warring with himself. His hand came up—slow, hesitant—and hovered near your face before he finally gave in and touched you. His thumb skimmed along your jaw, rough fingertips brushing the soft edge of your cheek.

“Been tryin’ real damn hard not to want this,” he said, voice ragged.

Your breath hitched. “Then stop trying.”

That was all it took.

He kissed you.

But it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was weeks, maybe even months of unspoken glances, quiet admiration, long nights with Sarah between you, laughter over coffee, shared space, and now, finally, just the two of you.

His mouth found yours like he’d already dreamed it. His hands were sure now, cupping your face, sliding into your hair, then down—down to your waist, your hips—pulling you flush against him. You made a quiet sound against his mouth and that undid something in him. He groaned, low in his throat, and kissed you deeper, lips parting, tongue brushing yours, slow and deliberate.

You didn’t realize you’d moved until your back hit the counter behind you. His hands braced on either side of you, caging you in but never pressing too hard. Just close. Just real.

You slid your fingers into his hair, damp from a shower or maybe just the heat of the night, tugging lightly. He leaned into your touch, one hand sliding beneath the hem of your shirt at your back—his palm hot against your skin, callused but careful. The contrast made your knees weaken.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours, his breathing fast, uneven. You could feel his heart pounding through his chest, matching yours like a drumbeat in sync.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said again, but this time it sounded like a confession. A regret that wasn’t real.

“But you did,” you whispered, lips still tingling, hand still curled into his shirt like you couldn’t let him go just yet.

Joel’s eyes searched yours, something stormy flickering in their depths. “If you stay... if we do this... it ain’t casual for me. You understand that?”

You nodded slowly.

A beat passed. Then another.

His hand slid to your cheek again, and he kissed you once more—slower this time, a kind of reverence in it. His lips pressed to yours like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. Like he didn’t quite believe it was real.

When he pulled back again, there was a trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Tired. Hopeful. Hungry.

“You wanna stay?” he asked softly.

You looked at him, really looked. His bare feet on the kitchen floor. His hair mussed. That tiny crease between his brows. The way his eyes had gone soft, all guarded affection and barely restrained want.

“Yeah,” you said. “I do.”

Joel’s breath was still shallow when he stepped back just enough to look at you, like he was double-checking that you were still there, still real. You didn’t let go of him. Your fingers were still hooked into the front of his shirt, still pressing against the solid warmth of him.

His voice was quiet, low and careful. “If we go upstairs…”

“I know what I’m saying yes to,” you interrupted softly.

He hesitated, studying you like you were a question he’d never been brave enough to answer until now. But something in your face, in your voice, seemed to break whatever final restraint he was holding onto.

Joel nodded once.

Wordless, he took your hand.

The walk through the house was quiet, heavy with tension—not the awkward kind, but the kind that hummed in the air like a string pulled taut. Each step up the stairs felt like it carried weight. Anticipation. Choice.

His bedroom door creaked softly as he pushed it open.

In the dim lighting, it felt intimate. Lived-in but not messy. Clean but unpretentious. The scent of him lingered in the space—cedar soap and sawdust, fabric softener and something deeper, something unmistakably Joel.

He turned to face you in the doorway, fingers still twined with yours.

“You still okay?” he asked, voice rough, eyes searching yours like he was afraid to blink and miss something.

“Yes,” you whispered, breathless. “More than okay.”

Joel looked at you for a long moment. Then he leaned in and kissed you again — deeper this time, with more certainty, like the last of his resistance had slipped loose.

Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned softly against your mouth. He tasted like something rich and dark and slow. His hands roamed, reverent and careful, touching you like he was trying to learn you by feel — every curve, every sound you made under his fingertips.

When you gasped as his hand skimmed lower, he paused. “Tell me if you need me to stop,” he murmured into your skin.

You shook your head. “Don’t stop. Please, Joel.”

He kissed down your throat, down your chest, leaving a trail of warmth wherever his lips touched. Your back arched instinctively, your body aching to be closer. There was nothing rushed in the way he undressed you — every movement was measured, like he was unwrapping something he’d wanted for a long, long time but never thought he’d be allowed to have.

And when you were bare beneath him, laid out in the soft hush of his bedroom, you felt more seen — more wanted — than you ever had before.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Joel murmured, his hand brushing along your waist, your hip, your thigh. “Don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You reached for him, found the hem of his shirt, and he let you lift it up and over his head. He was solid and warm and real beneath your palms, and when you kissed down his chest, he hissed through his teeth — a sound that made heat curl deep in your stomach.

The rest came off piece by piece — not rushed, but not slow either. Just… inevitable.

And then he was over you again, skin to skin, his weight pressing you into the mattress, grounding you. His nose brushed yours, like a silent request.

You cupped his cheek. “I want this. I want you.”

He kissed you again — not soft this time, but sure, open, claiming. His hand slipped under your thigh, lifted you to him, and you felt him press against you, heavy and warm.

You both gasped as your bodies joined — not all at once, but slowly, carefully, like you were fitting puzzle pieces together. Like your bodies already knew the rhythm even if the rest of you hadn’t caught up yet.

Joel’s breath stuttered as he sank fully into you, and for a moment, he just held there — his forehead against yours, both of you trembling, trying to hold on.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”

You didn’t have the words to answer. Just the way your hands clung to him, the way your body opened for him, welcomed him in.

He moved slowly, deliberately — not just fucking you, but feeling you, like this meant something. Like he was afraid to miss it.

And you met him, movement for movement, every breath shared, every sound caught in the dark like a secret.

There was something tender in the way he whispered your name when you cried out his — something reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have you like this. And when your body tightened around him, shuddered beneath him, he caught you through it, kissed your cheek, your mouth, your neck — whispered that you were perfect, that you were his.

He followed soon after, his voice breaking into a groan as he pressed as deep as he could, shaking with the force of it, with everything he’d been holding back.

When it was over, he didn’t move far. Just enough to roll you gently to your side and pull you close, your bodies still tangled together, still warm and slick with each other.

You felt him kiss your shoulder, then your neck. “You okay?” he asked again, voice softer than ever.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Joel…”

He pulled you tighter. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

You tucked your face into the space between his neck and shoulder, listened to his heartbeat.

And that’s how you stayed — wrapped in warmth, in quiet, in something neither of you were ready to name, but both of you felt all the same.

A/N: Should i make a part two for this? Idk how i would continue it, so if you want drop some ideas in the comments. Thanks for reading hun xx

[mwphisto]

How many children I think the LaDs Men would have (realistic edition)

A/N: no hate to any of the TikTok creators that have posted their head canons but as someone who works with children three and under every day?? Raf is not surviving 7+ children, Caleb is not having MC carry 9 kids…

Xavier

⭐️Xavier is a one and done type of man for sure

⭐️You don’t have kids until later in life, when you’re in your late twenties early thirties

⭐️I feel like Xavier can go either way, boy dad or girl dad but personally think he’d have one boy who is the spitting image of him and even has all of his traits… did your genes even try? You ask yourself this often.

⭐️I can also see Xavier being a one and done and lucking out with twins — fraternal not identical

Rafayel

🎨Rafayel is having three children maximum

🎨Your first is a boy who looks just like their father but acts just like you. The second is another boy, who looks like you and acts just like their father, and the last is a girl who is the perfect mix of you both.

🎨You had your first in your early twenties, Raf was around 26 at the time. Your second came three years later, and your third came a whole five years after that… she was definitely a “let’s try for a girl one more time.”

🎨Rafayel booked a vasectomy after your third btw

Zayne

🩺Zaybe has two children and that’s his limit

🩺One was supposed to be the limit but his first baby girl was such a sweetheart he figured one more couldn’t hurt. And luckily for him? It didn’t! Your baby boy was born three years after your daughter and he too was an angel.

🩺Zayne was thirty when you welcomed your daughter. The sweetest mix of you both — his hair and your eyes. She was a quiet but witty little thing and you knew right away she’d need a sibling to be her partner in crime.

🩺It took a lot of convincing, but Zayne couldn’t be happier with his decision to have a little family.

Sylus

🍷Sylus is a one and… oh oops… okay three

🍷You and Sylus welcomed your son a year after marriage. He was the most darling little baby, with his father’s carmine eyes and your smile. Sylus was content with one, and for the longest time so were you.

🍷Then, sometime around your son’s 7th birthday, you accidentally got pregnant and, well, nine months later your twin little girls were born and all three of you were smitten.

🍷You and Sylus’ eyes nearly bulged out of your heads when the doctor said identical twins… sounds familiar!

Caleb

🪐Caleb only got you pregnant twice and just so happened to strike gold… you have four children total.

🪐Your first baby was welcomed into the world around your mid twenties. A little chunky boy who looked just like his daddy. So sweet and charismatic that you and Caleb were absolutely ready to have another by the time your son was eight months old.

🪐Well, shortly after your son’s first birthday you got a positive test. And one trip to the doctors later revealed you were not pregnant with one, not two, but three babies.

🪐Caleb and you agreed that he’d get a vasectomy and you’d get your tubes tied… double security because HOW?

Heart/star banners are from @cafekitsune

[starsinthesky5]

what position joe and songbird in rn

a/n: oops ;)

word count: 1.1k

series: you are in love || warnings: NSFW, smut, mdni.

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

they were tangled up in that soft, sleepy mess of nighttime. the crisp white sheets kicked down, warm vanilla candles flickering low, the whole house humming with stillness. the kind of quiet that begged to be broken. joe had come home late from practice, sweat clinging to his tan skin, smelling like cut grass, orange gatorade, and something sharp and masculine she could never quite name. her scent was different—warmer, earthier. she’d spent the whole afternoon in their garden, her skin sun-kissed and flushed, hair damp from the bath she took after, still carrying traces of lavender, rose, and something so her it made his knees weak.

and when he walked into the bedroom, that low golden glow hit her just right. laid out on the bed in one of his old gray LSU t-shirts, no panties in sight, legs freshly shaved, bare, and pillow-soft, all tangled lazily in the sheets like she’d been waiting for him. like she knew what he needed before he did.

he didn’t say a word at first. just let his eyes drag down the length of her with the kind of heat that made her breath catch. and she knew right then, she wasn’t sleeping anytime soon.

now she’s straddled over him, thighs spread wide around his hips, his cock buried deep, so deep she swears she can feel him in her throat. her hands are braced on his thick, muscular chest, his skin slick with heat and sweat, and her movements slow, calculated, riding him in long, smooth rolls of her hips. like she wants to take her time ruining him, drawing out every delicious inch, grinding her clit down against the base of him with practiced, sinful precision.

his hands are locked around her waist, thick fingers pressing bruises into her hips, thumbs stroking the curves of her belly, dipping down every now and then to tease where they’re connected. his touch is reverent and filthy all at once. “look at that,” he groans, one hand pressing flat to her lower stomach. “fuck...can feel myself right here, baby. you’re takin’ it so good. so fuckin’ deep in you,”.

he watches the way she bites her lip, the way her lashes flutter with every deep grind of her hips, the way her slick drips down onto his thighs, sticky and warm. and he can’t help it, his voice drops, low and rough and curling with possessive heat. “you like that?”.

her moan is immediate, breath catching in her throat as she rocks into him with more purpose. “yes...fuck, yes, joe. so good. feels so good,”.

“yeah?” he grits, thrusting up into her so her thighs tremble, cock dragging against her walls in a way that makes her clench. “this cock feel that good, baby? that why you’re so fucking soaked for me? gettin’ yourself all messy just sittin’ on me like this?.

“god, yes,” she cries, nails dragging down his chest, leaving faint, angry red trails in their wake. she comes down harder, needier, grinding in tight, desperate circles that make him hiss through his teeth. every nerve ending inside her lights up like fire.

“you gonna fall apart for me like this?” he growls, thumb brushing over her swollen clit in slow, cruel circles. “fuck, i can feel how close you are. so tight, like you can’t let go of it. you want it that bad, baby?”.

her head tips back, hair wild from his hands, breasts bouncing softly with every thrust as she picks up the pace—wet skin slapping against skin, the sound of it echoing lewd and perfect. the room is filled with breathy gasps, broken moans, quiet whimpers of his name. he can’t stop looking at her, can’t stop groaning her name like a prayer every time she squeezes him just right. “shit, baby, you were thinkin’ about this in the garden, weren’t you?” he pants, biting his lip as she grinds down harder, rougher. “knew you’d come in lookinh like this and make me lose my fucking mind. hm?”.

“thought about it all day,” she breathes, leaning in until her mouth hovers over his, her lips brushing his with every word. “couldn’t stop. kept getting wet thinking about you coming home, bending me over that table, or pulling me into your lap and fucking me stupid like this,”.

he groans—loud and raw—and thrusts up into her so hard she cries out, nails curling at his shoulders, the rhythm stuttering into something deeper, messier. he’s so deep it’s dizzying, each thrust pressing right up into that spot that makes her sob, her hands scrambling to hold onto him, forehead resting against his as she trembles. “fuck, joe…i’m gonna—,”.

“let go for me,” he whispers hoarsely, lips dragging along her jaw. “ride it out. come on, baby, show me how pretty you look when you cum for me. let me feel you fall apart,”.

and she does. hard. clenching tight around him with a cry that echoes through the room, her whole body shuddering as she breaks apart. her release gushes down around him, soaking his thighs as he keeps fucking up into her, chasing his own high with a broken curse.

“that’s it…fuck, you feel that?” he growls, voice wrecked as he grabs her hips, driving up into her through her orgasm. “so fuckin’ tight, baby. milkin’ my cock like you want every last drop,”.

he finishes with a sharp gasp, hips jerking as he spills deep inside her, burying himself to the hilt, holding her there with a bruising grip. he floods her full, hot and thick, while she moans into his neck, both of them trembling, their bodies wrecked and slick and shaking.

his hands smooth down her spine, soothing where they’d once gripped her hard, even as his cock still twitches inside her, their bodies locked together in sweat and heat and everything they can’t say out loud. and still, even now, he can’t stop whispering against her skin, “so fuckin’ perfect,” he breathes, lips pressed to her temple. “mine. all fucking mine,”.

they stay like that for a while, still connected, her body slumped against his, his arms tight around her waist like he can’t stand the thought of letting go. eventually, she rolls off him with a sleepy sigh, curling into his side, sticky and warm and utterly wrecked. he strokes her spine in slow, lazy circles, kisses her hair. “tomorrow,” she mumbles, half-asleep, “i’m planting tulips. specifically orange ones,”.

he hums, eyes already fluttering shut. “i’ll dig the holes for you,”.

and yeah. she’ll take that over a bouquet any day.

[curvfie]

I wonder how would the beasts or ancients react to darling have a deep soft spot for kids. I mean, they do still care about other cookies but baby fever hits differently.

I would imagine darling spoil all the child cookies there like feeding acorn for pancake cookie, giving gumball cookie a whole ass art supplies, etc etc.

Beasts/ancients : the kids, or us?

Darling : my children (aka gingerbrave and his friends)

Beasts/ancients : *watches darling leaves while carrying them* man, they didn't even think about us.

Who would you think would have beef with them or would be understanding?

I’m definitely going to hell I read “darling” as “dild0” 😭🙏

TW: Death, Trap Baby, S/A..?

part 1

The beasts [I’ll do ancient later]

Mystic Flour Cookie

Mystic Flour Cookie consider such affection towards a child meaningless..

To her it’s nothing more then just another distraction towards the path to the apathy that she wants YOU to also seek.

she would often give you the gaze that says ‘I’m not mad.. I’m just disappointed.’ Whenever she sees you engage with other children’s including Cloud HaeTae Cookie.

Even if Cloud HaeTae Cookie assure you that it is just her behaviour now.. you can’t help but to feel distance, she really did change huh?

Burning Spice Cookie

He despises children’s.. he consider them weak pathetic and waste of dough..

Although he did enjoy crushing those numbskulls back in the days when he wasn’t sealed and he wasn’t scared to do it again considering how bored he feels..

If it entertains him he might also slaughter them right in front of you, he always consider your such affection as a waste of your own time.

But then again if you really do have soft spot for these weaklings.. why not make one with him? He sureeee.. can give a strong breed.. beside you wouldn’t mind it now would you..?

Shadow Milk Cookie

he LOVES and HATES children’s.. he feel like vibing with them at the same time he consider them annoying..

But once he learn about your soft spot for those little monsters.. he will definitely brag about it, heck even suggesting that you and him should have one that will bring beautiful deceit into this world!

Why of course you rejecting his advances as usual.. but hey he’ll do anything to get your attention/affection [he definitely didn’t steal a kid from orphanage..]

Eternal Sugar Cookie

oh boy.. once she learns about your cute little sweet soft spot.. she’ll definitely DEFINITELY tease you about it, she loves seeing you flustered after all

Whenever you’re passing by she’ll definitely try to cover up the fact she makes her angel’s do her chores why? Cuz the angel’s almost are identical to literal children’s which is why she doesn’t wanna upset you or.. make you think she’s enslaving them..

She’ll often discuss about the future or maybe how’ll your and her’s baby look if you two had one.. of course she’s tryna get you flustered but.. she mean her words..[Take care of your little pp chat 👋 /Jk]

Silent Salt Cookie

they.. have no opinion.. over children’s.

If you likes children’s or have soft spot for them, they’re okay with it as long as they aren’t bothered about it themself.

Despite the silence the only thing I think they can do is to tolerating the children’s little cry, they hate that only thing.. but regardless they don’t really care.. so you’re cool.

[envy-of-the-apple]

pt 2 cuz so many ppl asked!

Part one

ok fine so maybe he isnt adverse to lavender BUT you still have a demon problem on your hands! sure he hasn't hurt you, yet, but all demons are waiting for their chance and you needed to strike back first!

you happen to see her outside. maybe you were doing yardwork or something when you see a blur of red stumbling about in the bushes. Naturally, you help the woman out, along with getting out that weird jagged contraption she insists on carrying around with her. she thanks you happily and is more than happy to tell you that her name is Grell and she was currently on her way to see 'bassy' but these days he had been hiding from her.

"Hiding?" You repeat. "wait...you’re saying he's scared of you?"

"Yes!" She strikes a pose. "He's terrified that my dashing looks might charm him."

you're not sure if thats the reason...but it is very odd that he hasn't turned up yet. the demon hates intruders, you know what he's done to the last guy who tried to get into the estate. Yet, grell is just fine waltzing around.

No way...he was avoiding of her.

She was your charm!

You take her hands in your own and passionately declare how touched you were by her commitment to winning ("...bassy" ugh it was so hard to say it without gagging) over, and you want to help her. Absolutely delighted, she agrees and you two instantly become 'best friends'.

You invite grell over all the time. she's your friend after all. you two do everything together, practically connected at the hip. You two even have sleepovers together (you're not a big fan of those, considering all what she does is go on and on about how much she loves that terrifying demon).

Your master does agree for Grell to keep visiting when you ask him. He's up for anything that might piss Sebastian off.

"Though, I'm elated this vexes sebastian...are you sure about this? that women is insane." He tells you after you tell him about your 'new bestie'.

And yeah, he's right. its clear that Grell isn't human, but she isn't a demon. and you'd prefer that over Hell.

Much to your delight, Sebastian does stay away. he is no longer lingering around when you're cleaning rooms cuz Grell is right next to you, blabbering about the hot men she saw on the way over here. You dont feel his presence right by your door at night anymore because Grell is in bed beside you...hogging all the blankets that bitch. still! it's working! you feel peace.

until....things go wrong.

eventually Grell starts to slowly put some pieces together. If she's being completely honest...she's not too sure what she ever saw in sebastian. he's hot but...he's also a bastard who has tried to kill her numerous times. and the thrill of lusting after him was starting to get a little old...but you're new.

You care about her. When she's rambling about things, you're humming and nodding along. You laugh at some of the jokes she makes. You tell her how pretty she is...you're just a thousand times better than that nasty demon who nearly got her canned.

"We should get married!" Grell declares.

"Ah," you say, not really listening. "You and Sebastian?"

"No, silly. Me and you!"

...what?

Suddenly your charm becomes yet another supernatural entity that's obsessed with you.

She chases follows you around the manor, telling you the flower decor she wants and what kinds of music she wants to be played. You try to dissuade her with multiple excuses: she's a paranormal entity ("thats alright! i love you for who you are<3"), you're too young to be getting married ("we can wait!"), but each one is just chopped down.

Eventually, you're forced to hide in a broom closet to get away from her. When you glance over, Sebastian is right next to you.

Oh...he was hiding too.

when you ask for a truce…he agrees. You two were in the same boat after all.

"Can't you just...get rid of her?" You plead.

He smiles, but it looks pained.

"Unfortunately, the young master declared that unless that woman specifically bothers him...she is not to be harmed."

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

You should've stuck with the demon butler.

[kxsagi]

we love blue lock men with biceps BUT what if their girlfriend ALSO had biceps. yukimiya and karasu would ABSOLUTELY LOVE them omg. and whoever else you want as well. happy request opening day 😚

“𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲”

a/n: THIS REQUEST ATE

GIRLS WITH MUSCLES YES GAWDDD

LIKE I AM SO DOWN BAD (this is what i go to the gym for, to have big biceps and make men cry)

ft. yukimiya kenyu, karasu tabito, mikage reo, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

yukimiya kenyu

he tries so hard to act chill. like “yeah, her arms are pretty nice i guess,” but then he’s literally taking pictures of your flexed biceps at dinner. 

“sorry darling, you were just holding the fork so beautifully. the forearm tension? poetic.” 

the first time you picked up a suitcase for him, he went dead silent, stared at you like you were the moon, and whispered, “i’ve never loved anything more in my life.” 

refuses to do anything involving heavy lifting now. “no no, i wouldn’t want to rob you of your passion.” 

once accidentally called your biceps “works of god’s architecture” during an interview and now it’s a fan meme. 

“you’re like aphrodite, if she benched 200 pounds. i love you. i’d get your arm veins tattooed on my own arms.” 

karasu tabito

is openly and proudly obsessed. 

sees you doing cable rows at the gym and audibly says “YESSSS MA’AM.” 

posts thirst traps of you. literally just you tying your hair back in a tank top and he’s captioning it, “i would let her snap me in half like a glowstick.” 

asks you to flex and pretends to faint every time. no exceptions. he once did it on the subway. 

literally sulks when you beat him in an arm wrestle. not because he lost, but because he didn’t get to stare at your arms longer. 

“i’m not saying i want you to carry me into battle but– wait no, that’s exactly what i’m saying. pick me up. now.” 

mikage reo

“my girlfriend? oh, she doesn’t need security. she is the security.” 

started lifting just so he could “match you.” he’s been stuck curling 30’s for three months and you’re casually deadlifting his bodyweight. 

brings you to fancy events just to show you off. “hi, this is my girlfriend. she’s hotter than everyone here and can bench-press your dad.” 

melts when you carry him. giggles. literally giggles. 

asked you to crush a watermelon with your thighs as a party trick and then had to excuse himself. 

“you know what’s sexy? dominance. and lat spreads. you have both. please never leave me.” 

isagi yoichi

so supportive. so lovestruck. 

took one look at your arms and whispered, “yo... she could actually beat me up and i’d say thank you.” 

holds your hand at the gym and pretends it’s because he’s romantic but really he’s just trying to feel your forearm muscles. 

gets visibly nervous when you wear sleeveless shirts. like, “please god don’t let me get a nosebleed in public.” 

one time you opened a pickle jar for him and he just stared at you like you were the chosen one. 

“hey um. love. quick question. how do i politely ask you to crush me?” 

kaiser michael

so smug about dating you, but also on his knees. 

walked past a mirror, saw you flexing, and squeaked. actually squeaked. 

you challenged him to a pull-up contest and when you won, he said “do it again. for science.” 

has a pic of your arms as his lock screen and when mess saw it he just nodded solemnly. 

calls you his “golden muscle angel.” you said that was weird and he doubled down. “NO. I STAND BY IT.” 

posts gym couple pics and zooms in on your biceps every time. his captions are like, “me and my goddess 🛐 pls don’t arm wrestle her, she bites.” 

shidou ryusei

this man took one look at your biceps and started foaming at the mouth. 

“bro, what the hell are you made of? steel?? mama mia.” 

asked you to arm wrestle him and then moaned halfway through. you weren’t even trying yet. 

you opened a jar of pickles with one hand and he fell to his knees. 

“hey babe, quick question. how many men have you bench pressed? would you like to make it one more?” 

tries to outlift you, fails, then begs to be your gym pet. 

“you’re so hot when you ignore gym rules. choke me with a resistance band.” 

once barked at you mid-set and then claimed he blacked out from admiration. “i think i saw god. she had traps.” 

itoshi sae

he pretends like he doesn’t care. always the deadpan, too-cool act. 

“you’re not even that strong.” (immediately gets flustered when you flex. quietly takes a sip of his drink to hide it.) 

but one day you picked him up bridal style as a joke and he had to literally leave the room to collect himself. 

when you're in tank tops, he won't make eye contact with you. stares directly at the wall behind you instead. 

has this look on his face like he’s annoyed when you open jars, carry furniture, or deadlift his teammates, but he’s actually fighting for his life. 

“i don’t like when people show off.” you: casually flexing to wipe sweat off your forehead. sae: swallowing hard “… do that again.” 

his toxic trait is thinking he’s hiding how obsessed he is. meanwhile he’s got a private folder of candid pics of your arms labeled “study material.” 

itoshi rin

rin’s the type to scowl at you for being too strong, then quietly take a picture of your arms and stare at it in bed at 3 AM. 

“that’s too much muscle for a girl,” he mutters. you flex at him. now he’s redder than a tomato and walking into traffic. 

you beat him at arm wrestling once and he refused to speak to you for a week. not because he was mad, but because he was embarrassed at how much it turned him on. 

once caught himself zoning out while you were stretching. when you asked what he was looking at, he short-circuited and said “geometry.” 

you wore a sports bra to work out and he almost cried. like actually had to sit down and “breathe through it.” 

“stop carrying me like a princess. it’s emasculating (he says, as he nuzzles into your chest and pretends to be asleep). 

deep down? he wants you to ruin his ego and bench press it. he is just too tsundere to admit it. 

“shut up. flex again. no one’s looking. except me. obviously. gosh, i hate you.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[yestrday]

( passive su*cidal tendencies, slow-burn yandere, mydei insulting u??!?, cooould be a bit ooc on mydei's part, dead-inside reader )

thinking about... yandere! phainon and yandere! mydei having lost your affection and trust.

ever since the three of your crossed paths under the great tree of cerces, you had always shared a strong bond despite your many differences. people could understand mydei and phainon, who despite being on the opposite ends of the temper scale, were both great warriors that bore the prophecy of the chrysos heir. but they could not comprehend their attachment to you, a mere scholar under nousporism.

you don't understand it yourself, but you were happy for their affection nonetheless. you didn't mind being tended to by two handsome scholars, even if the questioning stares made you uncomfortable. but the chrysos heir journey is arduous, and you had always insisted that they focus on that rather than you, which had always received complaints from them. that is, until they finally heeded your words.

you're not that familiar with chrysos heir business, but you had assumed they had stopped talking to you because they were busy with their work. it's okay— so were you. but that didn't stop you sending letters to okhema in hopes of knowing about their conditions. none were replied to, and even one was sent back to you after being... rejected.

you bit the inside of your lip, looking down at the wax-sealed letter in your hands. that's... okay. maybe they didn't want anything to bother them at this moment in time.

so you eased up on the letters. but hyacine oftens go to and fro okhema and the grove for business, so you'd pass off trinkets to her to gift your friends. they may not hold the grandeur that the prince of castrum kremnos was used to, but they held your love and affection for them. alchemical products that, though not life-altering, could slightly increase their combat speed and power. you thought they enjoyed it, seeing as hyacine had always told you they received it, till one day the cleric came back to the grove with a scowl unfitting her gentle face.

"don't give them anymore gifts!" she huffed. "they don't deserve it. they don't deserve you!"

the meaning of her words were lost on you. but that's alright. professor anaxa— er, anaxagoras has tasked you on retrieving important research references from a middleman in okhema, so you were bound to see them anyway. research is nice, but it was lonely not having the two rowdy boys around to brighten up your life. surely they must have missed you as well—!

"o- oh, you're here?" phainon looks surprised, but not pleasantly. he awkwardly shifts his weight from his right leg to the left, scratching his back. "i thought you had some research at the grove to do...?"

you do, but this is not how friends who haven't met in a long time greet each other. still, you carry the conversation with forced lightheartedness, if for the sake of maintaining civility. you watch as phainon soon cuts off the conversation short and scurries off, dejection laying heavily on your heart.

you go out of your way to see mydei. he's not the type to be mingling with the crowd like phainon does, so you try and catch him training with the other kremnoan soldiers. you're happy to see him, but you soon grow timid when he approaches you with a scowl. mydei has always been unapproachable but not with you... before.

"you shouldn't be here," is the first thing he says when he's finally standing in front of you. now you understand why people keep their distance, because never have you felt more scared for your safety than you are now standing in front of him.

"professor anaxas sent me on an errand and i– i..." your words falter, now feeling stupid when you're clearly unwanted here. "i... wanted to see you." you watch as his face shifts slightly, before going back to its usual state.

"well, finish it and go back."

your face burns as you watch the nearby kremoans stare at you and whisper to each other. some of them assume that you're some whelp wanting to seek a bed with their prince and shame settles so deep in your stomach that you feel like throwing up. maybe... maybe mydei is just having a bad day. surly and grouchy as he is, mydei would never brush off you like that. and phainon probably had a prior arrangement to attend to, being a chrysos heir and all that. surely after things have settled you three can chat and laugh over cups of coffee.

"nikador's blood, you really don't get it do you!" phainon is trying to stop mydei, but he's towering over you with the angriest look you've ever seen on him. "when i say you go back, you go back!"

"mydei, that's enough," phainon pleads. "they're hurt and bleeding badly. now isn't the time—"

the prince ignores him, doubling down on his words as he continues, "instead you go running off trying to save some kids when you can't even save yourself!" you can barely hear anything, the lack of blood is making your head faint, but the only pain you can feel is the squeezing in your chest. "for titan's sake, [y. name], must you always be this stubborn!"

"mydei—"

"go back to the grove, [y. name], and never come back here." mydei glowers at you from above, the blood on his body and the glowing ire in his eyes making him look madder than the titans. "i already have to shoulder the weight of an entire city. i don't need another burden."

you haven't registered that you've started crying until you realize that mydei's retreating form is blurred by your tears. phainon only sighs and shakes his head. mydei perhaps might have turned his back on you, but phainon, the flawless chrysos heir, surely he wouldn't—!

"i'm sorry [y. name]," he whispers, regret in his voice. his smile is soft as he wipes away your tears. "he was rude about it, but mydei's right. you should go back. it's safer in the grove."

"safer in the grove, or because i'm just a burden?" you bite, spite yet heartbreak in your voice. phainon looks taken aback, never having heard you talk with such bitterness before. he looks torn up about it, but he doesn't answer. he smiles that awkward smile again and calls over a medic to help you with your wounds. soon, he joins mydei's body in the distance.

you can't even see them anymore, sight too blurred by the torrent of tears.

the grove has been attacked by the black tide. professor anaxas has been missing in action ever since and so have you, his dear student who’s been with him ever since. that was the first news they’ve had of you in a long while.

phainon is worried. he’s been asking the survivors about your whereabouts ever since they sought refuge in okhema. they've always been fond of you, saying that anaxas didn't deserve having a student so soft-hearted and understanding, but today their faces twist uncomfortably at the mention of you. they recount how you've evacuated them out of the grove and they're grateful for that but...

"you've been best friends ever since, right, my boy?" a senior researcher tugs on the hero's sleeve. "if they ever come back, please help that poor child... they begin to resemble their mentor more and more everyday and, well." phainon is eager to rush to the grove, to find you and puzzled about the senior's warning. aglaea sends the trailblazer, castorice, and trianne instead, and so he's forced to play the waiting game and wonder what might be going on with you.

the trio come back from the grove with anaxas but no one else. hours later, hyacine rushes past him with a team of medics, pushing someone on a gurney. it doesn't take him a second before he recognizes the face beneath all that blood. how could he, when that was the same face crying for him and mydei all those years ago?

phainon and mydei (after being near-tackled by the panicked deliverer) rush to the place where you're being held. hyacine and a doctor is performing vital surgery on you, so they wait the long arduous hours outside your room pacing back and forth and barely saying anything. phainon watches mydei's face go from barely restrained anger to regret to quiet self-loathing as he finally stops pacing around and defeatedly slump on the seat.

hyacine finally comes out from the room, looking exhausted. hyacine's anger at them has simmered quickly— she's not the type hold grudges, after all— but she still looks hesitant to let them in. working with you closely, she knows better than anyone about the rift between the three of you. but looking at their desperate faces, she sighs and holds the door open. she only a mutters a plea to be kind to the patient, before leaving and taking a well-deserved nap.

mydei enters the room with the intent to keep you a piece of his mind until he sets his eyes on you. you look near-dead, like a walking corpse, and possibly... insane? rather than eating the porridge set for you, you're busy scribbling in your notebook. you're deeply invested in whatever you're writing, muttering incomprehensible and inane things to yourself. phainon tamps down the rising alarm within him. professor anaxas always holds himself to a high degree of self-confidence and collection, so your haggard looks can hardly be compared to him... but he can see it. that dangerous obsession with research, tiptoeing the line of self-harm...

he clears his throat. "[y. name]," he softly calls out. you flick your eyes to them and he flinches at how you don't even bother to hide your annoyance at being disturbed. he's never seen you look so... bleak. you were always shining in his eyes, full of curiousity and eager to purse the new and wonderful. "are... are you okay?"

you let out a noncommital grunt and go back to writing. it's a heavily bookmarked journal with loose paper peeking out. the two warriors watch in silence as you continue on, obviously ignoring them. mydei clicks his tongue.

"say something," he demands of you, coming out gruffer than he intended. it's hard, but he has to remind himself that you just survived a near-death experience. you sigh and put down the journal for good.

"i'm okay, my lords." dry and sarcastic, you look like you'd rather do anything than be talking to them. "thank you for paying attention to a mere researcher like me." you jut a thumb to the door. "now, exit's that way."

phainon looks like he's been stabbed in the gut. "[y. name], i know we've hurt you, but still—"

you crack a dry smile. "hurt? why would the chrysos heirs ever hurt me?" you look like you're thoroughly amused by your own act, while phainon and mydei look like they can barely control themselves. "so long as the flame-chase journey continues, you are heros who protect our homeland. how could you possibly hurt me in anyway?"

you've certainly inherited your professor's backhanded compliments, phainon thinks, but mydei grits his teeth and steps toward you. "cut this act," mydei snaps. "what the hell has gotten into you? we're here because we're worried and you just...!"

"snub you? disregard you?" you offer, smiling ruefully. "oh gee, wonder how that feels."

"we were doing it to protect you—"

"let's not mince words here, son of gorgo. we all know i'm just a burden for you heroes, i've long come to terms with it. now—" you pick the journal back up and give them a pointed stare. "— i have observations to write."

mydei clenches his fist and grits his teeth. there is a moment of hesitation, certainly not satisfied with this conversation, but he throws you a glare and stomps out of the room. phainon, meanwhile, stands still. he looks at you with the face you used to cherish, soft and boyish yet matured at the same time. "... [y. name]," he calls your name again, sweetly like the ones in your memories. "what... what happened to you?"

you don't even bother smiling anymore, staring back at him with those discompassionate eyes. the answer is reflected in them.

"do they not understand anything at all?!" mydei's voice booms throughout their private bath. the golden-haired prince always seems angry, but today he is furious. "they've always been the weakest one out of us three. they're not even a chrysos heir! it makes sense that we protect them!"

"we... we were too harsh on them," phainon says, thinking back on the day they turned their back on you. "we said all those awful stuff. even declined their gifts. it... it makes sense that they were hurt."

mydei scowls. despite it not being in his nature, he always made a point to exercise patience with civillians, but you just seem to drive him insane. "scholar," he scoffs. "they should be smart enough to figure it out on their own. the council of elders are on our every move and things could get worse if we continue fraternizing with them. can't they see that?!"

it's times like these that phainon is reminded how different the two of them are. mydei expects due diligence and perfection from you, while phainon is eager to claw his way back to your side. he furrows his brow and stands. "i'm going to apologize," he announces resolutely. "even if i have to beg on my knees. i didn't want any of this to happen in the first place."

"i knew you were pathetic, deliverer, but not like this." mydei stares disapprovingly at him from across the room. "don't you have any shame?"

"can't you see!" phainon's voice grows louder. "look at them! don't you know what the other scholars are saying? they grow more and more like the profesor each day, their experiments are near-fatal, heck, they don't even look alive!" his blue eyes waver as the picture of your gauntness passes him. "how can you just stand there and let it be!"

"because every day for the past years i've been training and honing myself so that no harm could come their way," mydei snarls, approaching phainon. his friend glares back at him as the two men meet face to face, not willing to back down from anther. "while you've been sighing and daydreaming about them this entire time. all this was for them."

"and yet they nearly died," phainon spits right back. "some protector you are, prince."

stubborn and prideful like the young men that they are, it takes more than a few moments before mydei's face softens and he backs down, turning away from phainon. "i'm not apologizing. grovel all you want, but i don't care. i did nothing wrong." phainon's face contorts back to anger and he opens his mouth before the prince cuts him off. "i've done everything i can these past few years to protect the grove and in turn them. this black tide was an oversight on my part, but i've protected them to the fullest extent that i can."

"and i know you have too." mydei turns to phainon. "i know the secret talks you've been having with those council of elders' lackeys. you persuade them to avoid the grove. you deter them from ever looking into [y. name]. you protect them in ways i can't."

"... they'll never understand. not now. not after what we've done."

"no," mydei admits. "and yet for all the protection we've done, they've still gone and gotten themselves in trouble. if not the black tide then this near-suicidal tendencies they exhibit."

they call mydei a prince bathed in blood. history books talk of the cruel and oppressive traitor who heartlessly murdered his father. phainon has never once seen this side of him before... except now.

mydei looks downright tyrannical.

"you agree, phainon, don't you?" mused the prince, golden eyes awaiting his agreement. "they can't be trusted with themselves."

phainon swallows the dryness in his throat. "they hate us now."

"like they said, we're chrysos heirs. it's in our nature to get what we want." red crystals form on the palm of the kremnoan, sculpting themselves into a carving of his desire. "i know you're not daft. we've known this for a long time, you and i."

he stretches out his palm. a cage of blood red. phainon averts his eye.

"come, deliverer. i've always liked that greedy part of you."

[karaaeilish]

۶ৎ DARE b. eilish

✦ smut(-ish) ౨ৎ synopsis; truth or dare is always more fun when you have to call your best friend 'daddy'

"okay, your dare...call billie ‘daddy’ when she gets back" 

oh shit.

"gosh, come on" you look at your friend and her overly pleased expression, then at the six other people sitting in a circle on the floor, and then at the door where billie’s gonna appear in a matter of minutes. you already regret asking her to get the soda from the fridge.

quite room fills with whispers and giggles as you sheepishly hide your face in your hands.it was unbearable.

well, everyone in this room knew how much you both were in love with each other. except for yourselves. 

two minutes dragged on like an eternity, before billie finally walked into the room, humming a tune to herself. you just knew you were fucked.

ava nudges your shoulder and you put a shaky mask of confidence on your face.

billie hands you the can of cola zero with a soft smile, your fingers brushing lightly. "here you go, babygirl."

you bite your lip before daring to answer her. "thank you, daddy."

at that moment, no one knew which of the two of you was blushing harder. your face remained casual, but billie froze with her hand outstretched in the air. poor girl took a few more seconds before she sat back down in the circle, shifting awkwardly and adjusting the fabric of her pants as if there was actually something there that would give away her instantly growing arousal.

you try to take a deep breath as discreetly as possible, directing your gaze anywhere but at billie. but damn, you wish you could see her face right now.

ava moves a little closer to you until your shoulders are touching. You immediately start to shake. "keep calling her that for the rest of the day."

years of your life flash through your head as you try to figure out what you did to piss her off so much that she's taking it out on you and your stupid crush.

you're brought out of your thoughts by nat's voice, which has apparently been trying to reach you for a minute now. you hum, finally looking up at him. "your turn."

there was actually one silver lining to all this chaos. you knew perfectly well that nat was in love with billie just as much as you were. and damn, it was nice to see his face twist in jealousy when he saw the effect your words had on billie.

"okay..." you gather up the courage to look at billie again, keeping eye contact. "truth or dare, daddy?"

she nearly choked.

"is this... is this—?" she glances at everyone present, but you immediately catch her attention again. "i asked a question."

the sharp confidence in your voice surprises everyone. including yourself. "truth or dare... daddy?"

and she snaps.

"you" billie stands up abruptly, closing the distance between you with one big step. it doesn't take much effort for her to lift your figure into her arms, and carry you away from prying eyes. behind the closed door are all the giggles and whistles of your friends, who think they've successfully accomplished their mission.

billie shuts her bedroom door with her foot and sets you down on the floor, forcing your roles to reverse, because not a drop of your confidence remains.

"daddy?" she steps forward, slightly returning above you. "okay princess, i'll show you daddy."

[inseobts]

Pretty please could I request a scenario/imagine with Ace where the reader is from Drum Island and lost someone or something during Blackbeards raid and the reader swore vengeance vengeance on the guy.

So when she's tracking Blackbeard down, she keeps running into Ace and it grows into a friendly rivalry to see who's gonna get Blackbeard first and they compare notes and information

How this all ends on Banaro id leave up to you, I'm not pressed on a happy or angsty ending and I'd like to see your spin on this! I like your writing a lot.

Chasing Fire and Shadows

portgas d. ace x fem!reader

poll for part 2

a/n: the islands I name are random tho lmao loved writing this so much btw

words count: 4.6k

tags: slow burn, enemies to allies, shared revenge, adventure, angst/drama, light humor

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Snow falls hard on Drum Island the night Blackbeard attacks.

You remember the fire, the screams, and the way the cold didn’t matter because rage kept you warm. Blackbeard’s crew swept through the town like wolves through a sheep pen, lighting homes, laughing through gunfire. No mercy. No reason.

Your brother had gone to help put out the flames. He never came back.

All they found was part of his coat. Burnt at the edge. Blood at the seam.

That night, in the silent wreckage of your village, you dug your hands into the snow and swore two things:

You would find Marshall D. Teach.

You would kill him yourself.

After all that.

“Vengeance won’t keep you alive.”

That’s what Dr. Kureha says the morning you tell her your plan.

You stand in the snow, fists clenched, scarf whipping in the wind “Then I’ll make sure strength does.”

Kureha narrows her eyes “Strength without control is just chaos. What are you gonna do? Run around with a kitchen knife screaming his name?”

“No,” you say “I’m going to train.”

And you do train, for months, you fight your own limits. Early mornings. Weighted runs in deep snow. Hand-to-hand combat with heavy gloves. You work under the mountain monks for endurance, under ex-hunters for reflex, and under Wapol’s leftovers for grit.

One of the monks, old and blind, says something you never forget “Pain will make you sharper, girl. But only love will keep you human.”

You don’t know how to feel about that.

Six months into your training, you find something in the wreckage of a smuggler's den near the coast. A Devil Fruit. Rotating, pale silver with jagged navy streaks, looking like a storm frozen mid-sky. You remember your breath catching, your hands shaking.

You don’t know its name. No one does.

But you eat it anyway.

It tastes like battery acid and regret.

Three days later, lightning shoots from your fingertips during a sparring match. You black out. Nearly burn down a hut. But you feel the power, deep and electric, coiled in your blood like a storm waiting for a trigger.

They start calling you the Thunderborn after that.

You learn to control it, piece by piece:

Charging your body to move faster than the eye.

Electrocuting your punches for impact.

Using static fields to sense motion behind you.

Eventually, you learn to “blink” short-range lightning jumps.

Now — Alabasta

You walk into the Nanohana bar in a sand-stained cloak, hair still carrying bits of static.

And there he is again.

Portgas D. Ace.

At the counter. Shirt open, freckles out, drinking like he owns the damn place.

He doesn’t see you at first, but you don’t say anything.

You just sit beside him and order something cheap.

Then he turns “Well, well, if it isn’t Drum Island’s sparkplug.”

You smirk “If you call me that again, I’ll fry your eyebrows off.”

Ace laughs “You’ve gotten funnier. And sparky. Did I hear lightning outside earlier?”

You sip your drink “Might’ve been me.”

“Figured. You light up when you’re mad.”

You glance sideways “Why are you always ahead of me?”

“Because I don’t stop to make dramatic entrances.”

“Jerk.”

“Aw, come on. You missed me.”

You roll your eyes “Only thing I miss is good intel. Got any?”

Ace shrugs “He’s headed west. Some say Jaya. Others say farther.”

You slam your notebook on the counter.

He lifts a brow “Still writing everything down?”

You flip through pages of hand-drawn maps, bounties, and coded rumors “Unlike you, I don’t rely on luck.”

Ace grins “I rely on fire.”

“You rely on being reckless.”

“You rely on overthinking.”

The two of you stare at each other. Then both laugh just a little.

There’s something about him you can’t hate, no matter how frustrating he is.

He taps your notebook “We should compare notes.”

You raise an eyebrow “Are we teaming up now?”

He smirks “Nah. Just wanna beat you to him fair and square.”

You lean in “Then good luck keeping up, Hothead. I’m faster now.”

Ace tilts his head “I like a challenge.”

He finishes his drink, drops some coins, and walks away, but then he pauses at the door.

“I’ll see you at the next dead end, Lightning Bug.”

“Say that again and I’ll roast you.”

He laughs and disappears into the heat.

You stare after him, heart thudding like thunder in your chest.

You're not here to cause trouble. You're just passing through Scorpio Island, a busy port with cheap food and a decent information network.

It’s humid. Loud. Smells like salted fish and sweet rice. You’ve just finished questioning a dockworker who “might’ve seen a man with a weird black beard” which isn’t helpful at all.

Then the air shifts.

You pause mid-step. Hair lifts slightly from your skin. Not from your powers but from instinct.

You’re being watched.

When you look up, Marines start stepping out from the alleys. One, two, six, then ten. Boots clinking. Guns half-drawn.

You blink.

“What…?”

The nearest officer, a man with a square jaw and too many medals, steps forward.

“Y/N, right?” he says like he already knows “You’re coming with us.”

You take a step back, palms up “I don’t want any trouble. I’m not a pirate or anything—”

He tosses something at you.

A bounty poster.

It floats through the air and lands at your feet, face-up.

Your face. Your name. Wanted: 82,000,000 Berries. Alive or dead.

“What the—?” You crouch to pick it up. Your fingers spark from the shock of touching your own damn bounty “This has to be a mistake. I didn’t do anything.”

“You took down the Captain of the Blackjaw Pirates in Loguetown. Witnesses saw lightning. Saw you.”

Your jaw drops “I wasn’t—! That was self-defense! He tried to rob a ship I was on!”

“You blew a hole in the harbor.”

You groan “He exploded first! I exploded back! It wasn’t like I was trying to—!”

“Doesn’t matter. You attacked a pirate with a bounty. You fought on public ground. That makes you a threat.”

You clench your fists. Static dances around your knuckles.

“I don’t want to fight you,” you say again, slower, sharper “I’m not your enemy.”

But they don’t listen.

They raise rifles. They step forward.

And you flinch, not from fear, but from frustration.

“DAMN it,” you mutter “Why is everyone so STUPID—”

Suddenly, there’s a gust of hot wind and a blur of orange and freckles.

“Oi” says a voice you recognize, just before your feet leave the ground.

“What the—!”

You're lifted off the street in a flash of fire, bridal style, and the world tilts.

Portgas D. Ace is grinning, even as flames flicker at his shoulders.

“She said she doesn’t want a fight,” he calls to the stunned Marines, like he’s announcing a party “So back off.”

And then he’s like flying. No, blasting forward in a burst of flame, carrying you over rooftops, streets, and screaming civilians until the port becomes a blur beneath you.

After making sure you got far enough, he sets you down gently. Too gently.

You slap his arm.

“What the hell, Ace?”

“Ow.”

“You could’ve dropped me!”

“Sure, but then I’d have to carry you again. This way saves time.”

You glare. Sparks flicker from your hands “I had that under control!”

“Yeah, I saw,” he says, flopping onto a patch of dry grass like this was a walk in the park “Totally calm. Not shouting at all.”

You kick a rock “They’re saying I’m some kind of threat now. I didn’t even mean to take that guy down! He attacked me!”

Ace lifts a brow “Big guy, metal jaw, kinda ugly?”

“That’s the one.”

“You melted his sword.”

“It was instinct!”

Ace whistles low “That’s why your bounty’s that high. Not many people take down a guy like that without trying.”

You fold your arms, seething “This is so stupid.”

Ace looks at you for a long moment “You okay?”

You sit beside him “No. I’m not. I’m not even close.”

“...You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

You shove his shoulder “I will electrocute you.”

He laughs “There she is.”

You look out toward the ocean, your anger slowly cracking “I didn’t sign up for all this. I just wanted to find Blackbeard.”

Ace’s smile fades “Yeah. Me too.”

You don’t say anything for a while. The wind brushes past, carrying sand and silence.

Finally, you ask, “So. What now?”

Ace stretches his arms behind his head “We keep chasing. And maybe next time, I’ll let you save me for a change.”

You side-eye him “...You just want to get carried.”

“I’m just saying it’s only fair.”

It’s late afternoon on Mira Island, a laid-back little place known for its wind chimes, lazy bars, and fishermen who talk too much.

You’ve been here two hours and already heard five versions of “a pirate with a black beard stole someone’s boat.”

Typical.

You’re sitting outside a bar near the water, boots up on the railing, pretending to enjoy a bland cocktail. The sun hits the sea just right, and for a second, you forget the bounty, the chase, the Marines...

"Nice poster, Sparkplug."

You freeze mid-sip. That voice again.

You lower the glass slowly and turn.

Ace stands there, grinning like always, flipping something between his fingers.

He slaps it down on your table.

Your new bounty poster.

It’s the same damn thing from Scorpio Island… but worse.

Now it says:

WANTED — Y/N Dead or Alive — 142,000,000 Berries

And the picture?

You groan “Where the hell did they even get this photo?”

Ace leans on the table, chin on hand “Looks like a surveillance shot. Pretty high quality for Marines, honestly.”

You glare “I look good in it. That’s suspicious.”

He snorts “Right? I mean, hair’s all dramatic in the wind, eyes glowing. You look like you're about to declare war on God.”

You squint at him “Did you come here to bully me?”

“Nah,” he says “Came here to drink. Saw your face first thing at the port. Figured I’d come ruin your day.”

You grab your glass “Too late, it was already ruined.”

Ace sits across from you and signals the bartender “Then let’s make it worse.”

Two drinks later you're both laughing. You’ve moved on to shots.

It turned into a challenge somewhere between the third insult and the first real smile.

You’re trying not to slur. He’s trying not to fall off his stool.

“This island’s too quiet” you mutter, pouring another.

“You’re just mad it doesn’t have Marines to shock.”

“You’re mad I can outdrink you.”

Ace points at you “That’s not true. You’re just shortcircuiting, so the alcohol hits faster.”

You gasp “Did you just insult me?”

He nods “Twice, actually. You missed the first one.”

You slam your glass down “One more round.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

You roll your eyes “Fine. One more round… idiot.”

He grins “There it is.”

Later on, you're both quieter. Buzzed, but not spinning.

You stare out at the sea, feeling the calm before the next storm. Because there’s always another storm.

You speak first “You know… maybe we should just make it official.”

Ace lifts a brow “What?”

You look at him, serious now “An alliance. You and me. Find Blackbeard together.”

He pauses.

Then he shakes his head, just once “Can’t.”

You frown “Why not?”

“He’s dangerous.”

You sit up straighter “You think I don’t know that?”

“He killed someone I cared about.”

Your breath catches “...Same.”

Ace doesn’t look at you when he says, “I can’t risk someone else.”

You stare at him, heart suddenly heavier “So what, all this time… you were just playing nice?”

He blinks “No.”

“Then were you feeding me fake info? Sending me in the wrong direction to keep me out of it?”

His expression hardens “I don’t do that.”

You cross your arms “Really? Because it kinda feels like I’m chasing a shadow and you’re chasing the real thing.”

“I gave you everything I had. Every rumor, every tip. That’s my style. I don’t lie to people I respect.”

You scoff “Respect?”

Ace leans in a little, face calm but serious “Yeah. You’re strong. Smart. Brave. You deserve better than chasing a monster into hell.”

You meet his eyes.

“I’m already in hell beacuse of him” you say.

Ace doesn’t respond. Just looks at you for a long time.

The silence between you is sharp. Electric.

And then he says, “...I’ll see you around, Sparkplug.”

He leaves before you can say anything else.

You sit there, staring at the table, fingers twitching.

The poster flutters in the wind, your own face looking back at you.

Wanted. Alone. Again.

It’s too damn hot.

You're holed up in an abandoned fishing shack on Gulliver Island, nursing a half-broken fan and peeling off your jacket like it’s trying to kill you.

Outside, the jungle hums with heat and insects. Inside, it’s just you, a damp rag, and one tall, shirtless idiot leaning against the doorway.

“Thought you’d be gone by now” you mutter.

Ace smirks. He’s barefoot, towel slung over his shoulder, sunburnt collarbone on full display.

“I was,” he says, stepping in like he owns the floor “But then I heard about a lightning girl terrorizing a squad of Marines a few miles up the coast.”

“I didn’t terrorize them,” you snap “They cornered me. Again.”

He raises both hands “Hey, I believe you. I just figured you might need a break.”

You glare “So you brought yourself?”

He grins “Thought you’d enjoy the view.”

Your eyes flick over his bare chest before you can stop yourself “Please.”

“Caught that.”

You toss your rag at his head. He catches it with one hand and chuckles.

Later, you sit across from each other at a short wooden table. There's barely enough space for two people, and your knees touch every time one of you shifts. You blame the heat for the sweat on your neck, not the way Ace’s eyes linger too long when you lean forward.

He slides something across the table.

Your bounty poster. Again.

You groan.

“They upped it,” he says casually “You’re at 170 mil now. Guess the lightning show made an impression.”

You snatch the paper “Why do they keep using this photo?”

“You look too good in it. Makes you more dangerous.”

You shoot him a look “I’m already dangerous.”

“Oh, I know.”

His tone is low. Too low. You feel it in your spine.

You set the poster down.

“So,” he says after a beat “What now?”

You shrug “Still chasing him. Still alone.”

Ace’s fingers tap the table. His knee bumps yours again and doesn’t move.

You meet his gaze. It’s hot in here, and not just because of the island.

“You ever get tired of being on your own?” you ask, voice soft.

He doesn’t answer right away.

“I’ve got reasons” he says eventually.

“I know. You told me.” You lean in a little “Doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

Ace watches you for a long moment. There’s tension now, real and pulsing. It builds between you like a charge in the air, like your own devil fruit is reacting to something deeper.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt” he says, quietly.

You look down, then back up at him “I don’t want to see you die chasing him alone.”

Your foot brushes against his under the table. Neither of you moves this time.

You could lean in. He could close the gap.

But neither of you does.

Instead, he stands, too quickly. His hand runs through his hair, like he’s shaking off whatever just passed between you.

“I’m sleeping on the roof,” he says “Too hot in here.”

You watch him leave, jaw tight, pulse racing.

The door creaks shut behind him.

You're left alone with the heat… and a storm you’re not sure you can keep holding back.

Weeks later.

The storm rolls in fast.

One second you're arguing with a stubborn trader about a Blackbeard sighting, the next you're sprinting through sheets of rain, your jacket clinging to your skin like a second, colder version of yourself.

Lightning flashes above. Loud. Familiar. Yours, or maybe not.

You duck under a hanging sign and shake out your soaked sleeves. Behind you, heavy footsteps squish through the mud.

“I told you to wait” Ace says, breathless.

You turn, rain dripping from your hair “I told you to keep up.”

His freckles are speckled with raindrops. His hair’s a mess. He looks unfairly good for someone drenched head to toe.

“Nice weather” you mutter.

“I swear, you summon this stuff on purpose.”

You smirk “Oh? Fireboy scared of a little water?”

He gives you a look “I’m not scared. I just respect the enemy.”

“What's that even supposed to mean.”

Thunder cracks above. You flinch slightly, but Ace notices. He steps closer, that infuriating grin back on his lips.

“Shouldn’t you be used to this?”

“Not when I’m stuck in it with you.”

He gestures to a shed nearby, half-hidden behind a fruit stand “There. Shelter.”

You glance at it. Small. Barely big enough for one of you.

“Great” you deadpan.

Inside the shelter it’s even worse than expected.

Dark, creaky, barely more than a shack. But it’s dry. Mostly. Except the roof drips in two places.

You stand awkwardly close. Too close. The space smells like rain and sweat and wood. His arm brushes yours when he adjusts his belt. You try not to react, but your skin’s already warm from the charge of the lightning earlier.

“You’re shivering” he says quietly.

“No, I’m not.”

He looks at you. Long. Serious.

“Come here.”

You stare “What?”

“I’m warm,” he says, and yeah, his Devil Fruit does give him an advantage here...

You hesitate. Just a second.

Then you sigh and step closer. He pulls you in gently, an arm around your waist, casual like it means nothing. But it does.

His skin radiates heat. His breath brushes your temple. You stand there, half-mad from how close his mouth is to your ear.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, voice low “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

You feel his smile before you see it.

Then, softer “You know… I wasn’t trying to push you away. Lat time we met.”

You glance up.

“We’re not allies” you say.

“We’re more than that,” he answers “Aren’t we?”

The silence grows thick. Your heart pounds so loud it nearly drowns out the rain.

You tilt your head “You always this forward when you’re wet?”

He chuckles, low and slow “Only when I like the person I’m stuck with.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Your lips are inches apart.

And still… neither of you moves.

Not yet.

But the storm isn’t the only thing building.

The rain pounds the roof, wild and heavy. The wind howls through the cracks in the walls, but inside the shack it’s still.

Your breath hitches.

Ace hasn’t moved and neither have you.

Your fingers curl slightly into his shirt. He’s too warm. Too close. Too good at looking at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“Say something” you whisper.

His voice is rough “You want honesty?”

You nod.

“I think about you too much.”

You blink “That wasn’t the kind of honesty I was expecting.”

He grins but it's softer than usual “Then maybe you should stop expecting the worst from me.”

You don’t have a smart reply this time.

You tilt your face up. You’re done pretending the heat between you is just because of your devil fruits, or the jungle, or the shared goal of revenge.

This is different. And it’s real.

You lean in.

So does he.

The kiss is slow at first. Testing. His lips brush yours like a question.

Then it deepens.

Your fingers fist into the front of his shirt. His hand finds the back of your neck, thumb grazing your skin in a way that sends a sharp bolt of need straight through you.

You shift, pressing closer... hips brushing, mouths moving. The shack feels smaller. The air tighter.

You gasp when his teeth graze your lower lip.

He pulls back just enough to speak, voice hoarse.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first island we met at.”

“You’re late” you murmur, tugging him back down.

This time, the kiss is rougher. More desperate. His hands on your waist now, yours sliding up under his shirt, fingers trailing over warm skin. He swears under his breath when you do.

You only break apart when a roll of thunder shakes the shack.

Your foreheads stay pressed together.

You’re both breathing hard.

Still wrapped around each other.

“Storm’s not letting up” he says.

“Guess we’re stuck.”

A small smile “Yeah. Real shame.”

Time pass and you’re curled up beside him, his jacket draped over you both like a blanket.

You trace a small burn scar on his shoulder lazily with one finger.

“You still want to find Blackbeard alone?”

Ace’s jaw tightens for a second.

Then he exhales “I don’t know anymore.”

You nod. You understand.

But for now, in this moment, neither of you are alone.

Weeks pass.

You and Ace keep crossing paths. At first, by accident. Now? You’re not so sure.

You bicker like rivals. Fight like friends. Flirt like something more.

“Lightning for brains” he mutters when you zap open a locked door instead of picking it.

“Matches-for-hands” you snap back, shoving past him.

But you don’t go separate ways this time.

It’s hot again. The island of Kota is all red dust and thick air. You’re sitting outside a half-crumbled tavern, nursing something too bitter to drink, when a kid, skinny, sunburned, eyes too sharp for his age, runs up to your table.

“You’re the lightning girl, right?”

You pause “Who’s asking?”

He glances around, then whispers, “I got news. About the man you’re hunting.”

That gets your full attention.

Ace looks up from his drink across the table. His whole body shifts, not much, but you feel it. Tension behind the ease. He’s worried, and trying to hide it.

“What kind of news?” you ask the boy.

“Blackbeard passed through Southshore two days ago. They say he’s headed to the mountains on Harka Isle. Big crew. Real big.”

The kid slips a folded paper into your hand and bolts before you can ask more.

You stare down at the message. Your pulse picks up. The handwriting is frantic. Names you recognize. Places that weren’t supposed to exist anymore.

“Let me see.” Ace says, reaching for it.

You snatch it away “No.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know if it’s real—”

“I’ll decide that.”

He leans back in his chair, jaw tight “You’re not thinking straight.”

You stand “And you’re not listening.”

The fight doesn't end when the sun sets.

You’re pacing your rented room above the tavern, lightning buzzing faintly under your skin.

Ace leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You’re acting like you’ve already decided to die.”

You spin “And you’re acting like I don’t have a reason!”

He walks toward you “I never said that.”

“But you think it.”

Silence.

His voice drops “I think you’re carrying something too heavy. Alone.”

You look at him.

And something breaks open.

“You want to know exactly why I’m doing all this? Fine.”

You walk to him close, but not touching.

“He killed my brother,” you say “During the raid on Drum Island. Not with his own hands... Blackbeard’s a coward. But it was his chaos. His madness. My brother bled out in the snow, calling for me, and I was too far to reach him.”

Ace’s eyes darken. He doesn’t move.

“I don’t care what it costs,” you whisper “I don’t care if I burn out, or if I die with him. As long as I take that bastard down into hell with me.”

He exhales slowly, like your words hit something deep.

And then he steps forward.

“I hate this,” he says quietly “Because I get it.”

You don't say anything else.

You just reach for him.

Later on, the sheets are twisted. Your skin still hums, but not from lightning. You’re pressed against Ace, legs tangled, his hand stroking slow circles on your spine.

Neither of you says much.

You don't need to.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t fast. Not this time.

It was everything unsaid, poured out in touches and breath and the way he looked at you like you were more than vengeance.

You break the silence.

“You really think I can’t do it?”

“I think you can,” he says softly “I just don’t want you to lose yourself doing it.”

You stare at the ceiling.

Too late for that. But you don’t say it.

You just stay there, in the dark, skin on skin.

Storms can wait. But not forever.

The sun is cruel when it wakes you.

You turn over, reaching across the bed.

Cold, empty sheets.

Your stomach drops.

You sit up, frowning “Ace?”

No answer.

You scan the room. His shirt is gone. So are his boots. His dagger. His hat.

You rush downstairs barefoot, wild with sleep and fear “Ace?!”

The barkeep doesn’t even look up “Left before sunrise. Didn’t say much.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears “Left where?”

No answer.

You push out into the sun-drenched street. A headache builds behind your eyes “Damn it. Damn it, Ace—”

“Hey” a voice says. It’s the kid from yesterday, standing near the edge of the alley. Same nervous energy. Same sharp stare “He left you something.”

You rush over “Where is he?!”

The boy just hands you a folded piece of paper.

You open it with shaking hands.

I had to go ahead. I know you’ll try to follow me. I hope you don’t. If I can end this, maybe you won’t have to. Don’t hate me for this. I’m not trying to leave you. I’m trying to save you.

You reread the words five times.

They don't sink in.

You press the page to your chest, breath shaking. But your mind grabs onto one thing.

He didn’t say goodbye.

He didn’t say he wouldn’t come back.

You chase every whisper. Every rumor.

Lightning burns under your skin as you cross sea after sea.

Someone saw smoke on Banaro Island.

Two men, one made of fire, one of darkness.

You go there.

You go to Banaro.

The island is scorched, like lightning and death danced a waltz across its surface.

Ash coats the wind. Trees splintered, rocks cracked down the middle.

Your stomach twists but your hope is louder.

“Ace won,” you whisper to yourself “He had to.”

There’s no body.

No blood.

You search until your knees ache. You find his hat, not burned, just buried under some rubble. You hold it to your chest and close your eyes.

Maybe he left it on purpose.

Maybe he’s coming back for it.

You smile.

You believe that.

You have to.

Three Days Later

You're in a small port town, hair damp from rain, scarf pulled tight as you sit in a dusty inn with a cup of bitter coffee.

There’s a newspaper crumpled on the table beside you. You’re not even looking at it.

Until you see the name.

“Portgas D. Ace: Captured. Now held in Impel Down.”

Your chest goes cold.

The mug slips from your fingers and shatters.

People glance over, but you don’t notice.

You just stare.

Captured.

Alive.

But for how long?

The newspaper says nothing about the fight. Nothing about what’s coming next.

But you know.

The World Government has him.

They’re going to make an example out of him.

You press your palms to your face and sit still for a long time.

Hope is still in your chest... But now it’s shaped more like panic.

You have to get to him.

You have to do something.

You will.

Because you can't be too late this time.

But you might be, if you don’t move... now.

[yoiisa]

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

true form! sukuna, vaginal sex, dirty talk, toxic feminization, concubine! reader turned "wife", praise, dirty talk, mentions of injury (non-sex related)

genuinely cannot explain how this started, but for the past month i've had the worst crush on ryomen sukuna ever oml!!

no because like genuinely picture this: heian era, true form sukuna, living in a home where concubines are always coming and going. some of them he kills, some of them just run away when his violence becomes too much. he can hardly keep track of them all.

then one day, he's walking through the courtyard when he spots you, kneeling next to a tiny pond, feeding the koi some of your food. your hair falling in front of your face, your kimono sleeves brushing up against the water and getting wet. however, the main thing that attracts sukuna's attention is the tiny smile you have on his face. it appears when you catch him staring at you, and is accompanied by a deep bow.

he's a violent man, so he's practically never been met with any kind of grace such as yourself. just like that though, you've earned his favor. it only grows the more time he spends with you. you are soft and gentle, you bloom under his attention like a flower in the sun, and you're so eager to please. he brings you more often to his chambers where he takes his fill of your every night, imagining you as his wife.

"yes, fuck, yes," he groans, tossing his head back as you bounce on his length. "feel it? deep inside of you?" he slaps his other cock on your ass as you ride him magnificently.

"yes my lord!" you gasp, digging indents into his shoulders. "ah~! 'ts so deep!!"

the night after he firsts claims you, he requests that uruame move all of your personal belongings into his room, and he gives you direct orders to live and sleep in his rooms from now on. of course you oblige, being the obedient thing that you are.

he's a prince to you. where he is crass and cruel to the other concubines, he is silent and soft with you. his hands are gentle as they pat you when you pour him tea, or pull you into his side as he eats his meals.

there's one time when an attack on his home starts, and rioting villagers set the building on fire. sukuna disposes of the men as quickly as they come and he's relatively unconcerned with the damage done to any of the other women there, but that all changes the minute he notices you're missing.

the rage that ensues is enough to the put the fire of the rioters to shame. he slaughters women by the dozen, screaming at them for their lack of accountability.

"how could you not keep track of one of your own?! Oh, no, she's not one of you pathetic whores! FIND HER NOW!"

eventually uruame appears, carrying you on his back. he sets you down at sukuna's feet, your body injured and covered in soot. sukuna shuts himself up in his new room with you for a week, refusing anyone but uruame to come in to tend to you and him.

"my flower, can you hear me?" he asks, feeding medicine to you in a tiny cup. when you nod, he breathes a sigh of relief. he kisses your forehead and rests you down on the futon to get some sleep. "my brave girl. do not fret. whoever caused this shall pay ten fold."

eventually his favor with you grows to be so powerful that he completely neglects all his other concubines. he has you why would he need them? they trickle out of his house one by one in search of another man, but he does not care in the slightest.

he barely even notices their absence because every night, he finds himself buried deep inside your heat, pounding into you like there's no tomorrow. his four hands splaying across your flesh, groping your breasts, pulling your hair, and squeezing your hips. his stomach tongue licking the salty sweat from your skin, relishing in a sensation that's so uniquely you.

"m-my lord," you whine as he pulls your chest flush against his.

"ryomen, my flower," he corrects. he growls, his hips snapping into yours. "fuck- this pussy . . . how can you be so tight still, even after i've plucked every petal from your innocence?"

you writhe in his arms, the pleasure mounting. "I . . . I . . . mmmmm, haaaahhh~"

"my little wife is close, isn't she?" he chuckles as you nod vigorously to his question. "then come."

you explode, your back arching as his lips trail across your collarbone and neck.

a/n: what can I say? A girl must goon every now and again

[writeriguess]

request/idea

katsuki x reader where reader gets really depressed and doesn’t leave her bed for days and doesn’t really eat

Only if you want of course!

When the Fire Goes Out

It starts slow. At first, it’s just a heavy feeling in your chest, a weight that makes everything feel harder than it should be. Getting up, eating, showering—it all takes too much effort. And then, one day, you just stop trying.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in bed. The curtains are drawn, but dim light still leaks through, enough to remind you that the world is still moving outside, even if you aren’t. Your phone buzzes somewhere on the floor, probably another message from Katsuki, but you can’t bring yourself to check.

It doesn’t take long for him to show up in person.

The first time he knocks, you ignore it. The second time, he pounds on the door, the sharp, angry raps rattling the walls. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping he’ll go away.

He doesn’t.

“Damn it, I know you’re in there,” Katsuki’s voice is sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Open the damn door, or I’m kicking it in.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Even breathing feels like too much effort.

A moment later, there’s a loud boom, and the door bursts open, swinging on its hinges. You flinch at the sound of heavy footsteps stomping toward your bedroom.

“Oi,” his voice is closer now, laced with something that sounds almost like panic. “The fuck is this?”

You don’t turn to look at him, but you don’t have to. You can picture him perfectly—wild blonde hair, crimson eyes burning with frustration, arms crossed in that defensive way he always stands when he’s feeling something he doesn’t know how to express.

He storms to your bedside, the mattress dipping as he sits down heavily. You still don’t look at him.

“Hey.” Katsuki’s voice is softer now, but still firm. “You gonna tell me what’s going on, or am I gonna have to drag it out of you?”

You swallow thickly, but say nothing.

You hear him sigh, the sound uncharacteristically unsteady. “Shit… how long have you been like this?”

When you don’t answer, you hear rustling—he’s checking your nightstand, probably noticing the untouched water bottle, the empty snack wrappers from who-knows-how-long ago. Then he’s moving again, probably checking the trash can, the floor, maybe even the bathroom. You don’t have to look to know he’s putting the pieces together.

“Have you even eaten?” His voice is lower now, almost too quiet.

You shake your head once.

“Dumbass.” There’s no real bite in the word, just a strained kind of frustration. “You think you’re just gonna lay here and waste away? Huh?”

You don’t have an answer.

Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose, then stands up abruptly. “Alright, that’s it. Get up.”

You don’t move.

“Not fucking around, babe. Up. Now.”

Still, nothing.

Then, suddenly, the blankets are ripped away, and a burst of cold air rushes over your skin. You curl in on yourself instinctively, but Katsuki is faster. His arms hook under your body, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s lifting you up against his chest.

“K-Katsuki—” your voice cracks from disuse, barely above a whisper.

“Shut up,” he mutters, adjusting his grip so you’re secure in his arms. “You really think I’m just gonna let you rot in here? Hell no.”

He carries you out of the bedroom with ease, his strength making it seem effortless. You want to protest, but your body is weak from days of neglect, and part of you doesn’t even mind.

He sets you down on the couch, then disappears into the kitchen. You hear cabinets opening and closing, the sound of water running. A few minutes later, he returns, holding a glass of water and a small plate of food—something simple, toast with butter, a banana, and a protein bar. He sits down beside you, shoving the glass into your hands.

“Drink.”

You hesitate.

“I swear to god, if you don’t drink that, I will force it down your throat.” His glare is unwavering, but there’s something softer underneath it—something almost desperate.

You take a sip.

His shoulders relax just slightly.

“Good. Now eat.” He breaks the toast in half and holds out a piece to you. “Don’t care if you only take a couple bites. Just eat something.”

You take the toast with shaking fingers. The first bite is hard to swallow, your stomach protesting after being empty for so long, but Katsuki doesn’t look away, doesn’t let you stop. Slowly, you finish it.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You sit in silence for a while after that. Katsuki doesn’t push you to talk, doesn’t ask for explanations. He just stays there, close enough that his warmth seeps into your skin.

After a long pause, you finally whisper, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Katsuki clenches his jaw, staring at his hands. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he mutters. “You’re just… struggling.”

You blink at him, surprised. He sounds almost guilty.

“I should’ve noticed sooner,” he says, voice rough. “Should’ve been here before it got this bad.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault.”

He scoffs. “Like hell it isn’t. You’re my girl. It’s my job to take care of you.”

You feel something tighten in your chest—something that feels dangerously close to relief.

Katsuki shifts closer, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “I ain’t letting this happen again. From now on, you eat, you drink water, you move—even if I gotta drag your ass out of bed every morning.”

A small, tired smile tugs at your lips. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah, well, you’re worth the trouble.” His gaze softens, and for a moment, there’s nothing but quiet understanding between you.

It’s not a solution. You know you’re not magically better just because Katsuki showed up. But right now, in this moment, you don’t feel so alone.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to hold onto.

[itsnesss]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 | lando norris × fem!reader

summary | you confront lando about his new girlfriend, accusing him of replacing you. he admits he still feels for you, but you demand he prove his love by choosing you fully, not as an option

warnings | emotional manipulation, angst, heartbreak, unresolved tension, rebound relationship dynamics, betrayal

word count | 2.2 k

🖇 sctw album 🖇 more ln4

You see it from afar.

His laugh, the way he runs a hand through his hair, that same sidelong glance that used to be yours.

And her...

She’s wearing your coat. Well, not literally, but it looks like it. Same cut, same worn-out beige tone, like she stalked your old photos and built a Pinterest mood board with your name on it.

"Y/N?" your friend whispers, nudging you. "You okay?"

You’re not. But you smile. Of course you are. You’ve had months to prepare for this. To see them together.

Lando and the watered-down version of you.

She laughs a little too hard at something he barely said. Her hands reach for his like she has something to prove, like she’s marking territory.

And the worst part...

Lando doesn’t even notice.

Or he does. And he likes it.

"You look incredible," he says later, when fate decides to put you face to face. Charity event, lots of familiar faces, lots of cameras.

"Thanks," you reply, smoothing your skirt with a grace you didn’t have when you were with him. You don’t try to be cool anymore. You just are.

She shows up two steps behind, with a rehearsed smile and a scripted comment:

"I love your shoes! I literally saw them at Zara the other day and thought, this is so Y/N."

You look at her.

It’s not just the shoes. It’s your perfume. Your hairstyle. Your way of saying “literally.”

It’s creepy. And honestly, kind of pathetic.

"Yeah?" you say with a thin smile. "Well, not everyone has their own style."

She laughs, like it’s a joke. Lando doesn’t. He frowns. Because he knows you.

And you know he knows.

"It was a joke," she clarifies, but the tremble in her voice betrays her.

"Sure," you reply. "I just didn’t find it funny."

Hours later, you're on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand and a faint song playing in the background. The breeze carries memories, ones you'd rather not invoke. But there they are.

Your fingers laced with his, a broken promise, a fight in Monaco, tears in an airport.

"You shouldn't have said that," his voice comes from behind.

"Which part? The style thing? Or the not everyone part?"

Lando sighs.

"She’s not you."

"No. But she tries to be."

You turn around. He’s closer than you expected.

"Does it bother you?" he asks.

"What bothers me," you say calmly, "is that you let it happen."

Silence.

"You let her step into my place. What did you expect? That she wouldn't try to fit the shape I left behind?"

Lando doesn’t answer. But his jaw tightens.

And for the first time in a long time, you see something in his eyes you didn’t see when you were together:

Doubt.

And that’s when you understand.

Maybe she’s copying you because he’s still looking for you everywhere.

Lando doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at you with that intense stare you once could read with your eyes closed. Now, it’s all noise.

"You don’t have the right to be mad," he finally says.

"And you had the right to replace me so quickly?"

"I’m not replacing you."

You laugh, dry.

"Right. It’s just a coincidence that she likes the same movies I do, drinks her coffee the same way, and has the same ringtone I used to have. What a coincidence."

Lando takes a step toward you.

"She’s not you, okay? No matter how hard she tries. And I’m not the same since you left."

Your eyes lock with his. You see it: the regret, the confusion, the restrained desire.

"I didn’t leave," you whisper. "You let me go. Don’t forget that."

Days later, the universe plays dirty again: a private event, a small guest list, and of course, she’s there. Like a shadow. Like an echo. Wearing a skirt you used to wear and a hairstyle he once complimented… on you.

But this time, you’re done playing nice.

"Can we talk?" she asks when Lando gets distracted.

You raise your brows.

"Now you want to talk to me?"

"It’s just that..." she bites her lip. "I didn’t know it bothered you so much."

"What? That you copy me or that you’re dating my ex?"

She stays silent.

"Look," you add, your tone unchanged. "I don’t care that you’re with him. What bothers me is that you think copying me is the only way to make him like you. That says a lot more about you than it does about me."

She blushes.

And you walk away. Because you don’t have time for imitations.

Later, as you’re picking up your bag at the coat check, Lando appears behind you. Again. Always him.

"What did you say to her?"

"The truth," you reply without turning around. "Isn’t that what you used to like about me?"

"I still do."

You freeze. Slowly, you turn.

He’s close. Too close. Same scent, same chaos.

"Don’t say that."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re nothing now."

"Then why are you still hurt? Why do you look at me like that every time we’re in the same room?"

Your breath catches.

"Why are you still looking for me in other people, Lando?"

And that’s all it takes.

The tension bursts into an unplanned kiss — fast, furious, full of unspoken words. No cameras, no witnesses. Just the two of you, trapped in a corner where you still exist.

His hands hold you like you’re still his. Your fingers cling to his jacket like no time has passed. It hurts. But it feels good. It feels real.

"This doesn’t change anything," you whisper against his lips.

"It changes everything," he replies.

And for the first time, you don’t know if that gives you hope… or scares you.

Lando doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you with that intensity of his the one you used to read with your eyes closed. Now, everything is noise.

"You don’t have the right to be angry," he says at last.

"And you had the right to replace me so quickly?"

"I’m not replacing her."

You laugh, dry.

"Right. It’s just a coincidence that she likes the same movies I do, that she now drinks her coffee the way I used to, and that she uses the same song as her ringtone. What a coincidence."

Lando takes a step toward you.

"She’s not you, okay? No matter how hard she tries. And I’m not the same since you left."

Your eyes lock onto his. You see it: the regret, the confusion, the restrained desire.

"I didn’t leave," you whisper. "You left me. Don’t forget that."

Days later, the universe plays dirty again: a private event, a small guest list, and of course, she’s there. Like a shadow. Like an echo. Wearing a skirt you used to wear and a hairstyle he once complimented… on you.

But this time, you’re not here to play nice.

"Can we talk?" she asks when Lando gets distracted.

You raise your eyebrows at her.

"Now you want to talk to me?"

"It’s just that…" she bites her lip. "I didn’t know it bothered you so much."

"What? That you copy me or that you’re dating my ex?"

She stays silent.

"Look," you add, your tone unchanged, "I don’t care that you’re with him. What bothers me is that you think copying me is the only way to make him like you. That says more about you than it does about me."

She flushes.

And you walk away. Because you don’t have time for imitations.

Later, while you're grabbing your purse at the coat check, Lando appears behind you. Again. Always him.

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth," you reply without turning around. "Isn’t that what you liked about me?"

"I still do."

You freeze. Slowly, you turn.

He’s close. Too close. Same scent, same chaos.

"Don’t say that."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re nothing now."

"Then why are you still hurt? Why do you look at me like that every time we’re in the same room?"

Your breath catches.

"Why are you still looking for me in other people, Lando?"

And that’s all it takes.

The tension erupts into an unplanned kiss—fast, furious, full of unspoken words. No cameras, no witnesses. Just the two of you, trapped in a corner where you still exist.

His hands hold you like you still belong to him. Your fingers cling to his jacket like time never passed. It hurts. But it feels good. It feels real.

"This doesn’t change anything," you whisper against his lips.

"It changes everything," he replies.

And for the first time, you don’t know if that gives you hope… or fear.

The hallway lights flicker. In the distance, you hear laughter, music muffled by the thick club walls. But you’re still there, caught between yesterday and now, with his lips still brushing yours.

"This shouldn’t be happening," you murmur, without conviction.

Lando looks at you with a storm in his eyes.

"But it is. It always happens when we’re close."

And then, as if the universe demands immediate revenge, she appears.

"Lando?"

Your body freezes. Guilt crashes over you like ice.

Lando takes a step back, his lips still red, his breath uneven.

She sees you. She doesn’t need an explanation. The pieces fall into place—your lips, his rumpled jacket, your guilty eyes. It says everything.

"Seriously?" her voice trembles. "Here? With her?"

No one replies. There are no excuses. What could you say? That he kissed you first, that it wasn’t your intention, that you’re confused too?

But you don’t.

Because you’re not confused.

And that makes it worse.

"Since when?" she asks. "Was it always like this? Since we started dating?"

"No," Lando says, still looking at you. "But I never stopped feeling it."

She laughs. A hollow, wounded sound.

"Of course. How could I compete with her ghost if you never let her go?"

You feel awful. Not for confronting her. But because deep down, you always knew this would happen. That he was with you in body, but with her in memory.

She turns to leave. And for a moment, you almost go after her.

But you don’t. Because he doesn’t move. He doesn’t run after her.

He’s still there. With you.

"You’re not going after her," you whisper, more surprised than angry.

"I can’t."

"Why?"

Lando swallows.

"Because she’s not you."

Hours later, you’re in his car. No destination, just familiar streets and the radio playing low. Not much talking just breathing the same air. But something has changed.

"So now what?" you ask.

"I don’t know," he admits. "But I know what I don’t want."

You glance at him sideways.

"What don’t you want?"

"To lose you again."

And that sentence… it stays with you like an invisible scar.

But the problem is, this time, you’re not the one who has to stay. He has to prove he’s changed.

You stay at his apartment that night, but not out of love. Not out of habit. Just because you don’t have the energy to run… yet.

The city sleeps, but you don’t.

You’re sitting at the edge of the couch, a blanket over your legs. Lando stands by the window with a glass of wine he hasn’t touched.

The silence is heavy. He’s waiting for you to say something. You decide it’s time.

"You know what hurt the most?" you ask, without looking at him.

He turns slightly.

"What?"

"That you made me feel replaceable."

You say it slowly, like each word is a punch.

"Like everything I was to you could be copied, shaped into someone else. Someone younger. Easier. Less complicated."

Lando closes his eyes.

"I didn’t go after her for that."

"It doesn’t matter why you did it. You did it. And not only that. You turned her into me. You gave her everything you used to give me… just without the love you had for me."

"Don’t say that," he replies, hurt.

"Why not? Does the truth bother you?"

You stand, the blanket falls. Now you look him in the eye.

"Or does it bother you to realize you were never honest with yourself?"

He puts the glass down. Walks toward you.

"Y/N… I loved you. I love you. I swear."

"Don’t swear it. I don’t want empty promises."

Your voice shakes, but you don’t.

"Do you know how hard it was to rebuild myself after you? You were in everything. My coffee, my playlist, my Sundays. And just when I started to breathe without feeling you, you decide to kiss me."

Lando swallows hard.

"I didn’t plan that."

"But you did it."

You pause. Swallow the lump in your throat.

"And she saw it. You know what’s worse? She hates me, when you’re the one who dragged her into this. Just like you dragged me."

Lando lowers his gaze.

"You’re right."

"Of course I am."

You inhale deeply.

"And that’s why I’m not falling again. Not unless you’re willing to do what you never did."

He looks up.

"What’s that?"

Your voice is firm. Steady.

"Choose me."

Silence.

"Not as an option, not as an escape, not as comfort. Choose me fully. With the consequences. With the ugly parts. With the real stuff."

He nods.

"Then give me the chance to prove it."

"No."

Your words hit him hard.

"No?"

"Prove it away from me. Change without me as your excuse. Be better without needing to kiss me to remember why you loved me."

You take a step back.

"And if after that you still choose me… then we’ll talk."

[applejusue]

Imposter Syndrome ── Ellie Williams ౨ৎ˚₊

tldr; immunity is a blessing, but infections adapt cw: dissociation, intrusiveness, grief, angst, violence, sexual themes, comfort, love, slow-burn, illness, blood, gore descriptions, mature themes w/c: 13.2k

a/n: I put a lot of love into this one, and I kind of want to do more of this longer styled writing. I still want to feed everyone though, so please do send requests that I can fill in between bigger works like this ♡ Let me know what you think!

Prologue;

Seattle wasn't so bad, even if nobody knew her name. Ellie tried to blend in with them, keeping her head low. After giving up on the hunt for Abby, she found herself at a loss for moving forward. Without another home to go to, Ellie made one herself here. A dingy one-bedroom apartment just off road of the main street. The place was small, but it was cheap. Walls so thin she could hear her upstairs neighbors fucking most nights. Ellie was exhausted lately; sleep a valuable commodity these days and not just because of the noise. She just never felt safe, no matter how many locks she put on that door.

The migraines had started not long after moving in, a skull-splitting ache that no amount of painkillers seemed to fix. She'd taken to turning off the lights and burrowing her face between two stained pillows. It helped, sometimes. When Ellie lay there, teary-eyed and not a soul there to encompass her, it felt like a rotting tooth that refused to fall out. She'd made this bed when she left that farm, thinking that if she took Abby's life, it would make her feel whole again. She wasn't angry anymore; that's what she told herself, at least. She still thought about how it felt to hold Abby beneath the harsh current, even if it made her feel sick to the stomach.

The thoughts never seemed to leave, especially with the influx of headaches. Her dark eyes would linger on the dusty carpet, consumed by how things could've been. Would she have felt better? If Abby's warm blood had coated her hands. Joel would've done it. She shuddered. She still carried that resentment, that bitterness at the lies she still didn't fully understand. There was so much about him that she didn't know, that she'd never know now. He was dead, and she was still alive. She hadn't figured out yet what that meant to her.

Still, she wanted to fit in, to go to the store and get groceries even when it felt like the whole world was staring. Her crooked fingers would twitch in the milk aisle, the screeching of the rusted trolley wheel irritating her to no end. It felt like her arms were too long for her body, did people notice? Maybe it was her wrinkled clothes or her marred cheek. She filled the cart with stuff that didn't take half a brain to cook. Instant noodles, pre-made burgers, beer. Ellie managed to afford these luxuries with a small part-time gig she'd picked up for the council. It was sort of like volunteering, fixing up the rougher areas of the city or delivering supplies to shelters. 'A better Seattle'. That's what the contractors seemed to think anyway.

Ellie couldn't give a damn, as long as she got a crumb of conversation and a way to put her hands to use. The truth was she'd gotten worse at speaking lately; maybe it was the way she'd locked herself away from people or the fact that her thoughts were too loud. Still, she often stumbled over her words, her brow twitching in mild irritation whenever she couldn't spit out a simple sentence. The workers didn't care, they were just people like her with no family or friends to compare her to. It was grounding to crack a cold beer on site with them, nobody ever talking about much in particular.

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

Ellie was reading over her list of duties, sometimes it was relatively few. Today it seemed she had to head downtown to the foster center to fix a broken heating unit. She felt a dampened sense of unease at the idea, her own time in the system not exactly pleasant. She shoved the sheet down into her backpack along with her toolkit, slinging her lanyard around her neck. The breeze bit at her ears as she headed down the street, hands stuffed into her coat pocket.

When she arrived at the center, she stood dumbfounded to see a colorful building with murals of rainbows, flowers, the thing even had a little playground to the side where kids where battling it out on top of a slide. A small toothed smile tugged at her lips as she watched one of the supervisors trying to split up whatever territorial dispute seemed to be happening between the group. She felt an odd sense of amusement tinged in with a slight jab of envy, even if she knew it was misplaced. As she walked through to the reception, there were paintings and drawings splattered all over the walls along with plants that cuddled some of the furniture.

Ellie could hear giggles from down the hallways, a rather controlled chaos with young volunteers chasing after toddlers and toddlers chasing after each other. After sliding her ID into the reception, she stood idly waiting for the care director to bring her 'round to the unit. Her speckled gaze traced over some of the drawings on the wall, many with chicken scratch signatures or blotchy fingerprints. Cute.

When the director arrived, the last person she expected to see was you.

It all seemed to go quiet when you walked in, a child clinging to your hip and a binder in your arms that you were desperately trying to keep from the little one's nosy hands. You looked different, certainly much older than the last time she'd seen you. Draped over you was an oversized sweater with a smiley-face pin and your name, jingly bracelets covering your arms with similar lining your earlobes. When she'd known you, you were just a kid, thrown into the system like she was. Your face was the same, just with lines that showed your age and a warm smile that softened the edge you used to have. You looked happy.

"Ellie? Oh my god, I didn't even recognize you.."

She wasn't surprised; with her scruffy short hair and marred cheeks, it was a wonder you'd even identified her at all. The little kid seemed to grow bored of being in the presence of two grown-ups, quickly tumbling back to where all the action was at in the playroom. Before Ellie could even attempt to say something, you were pulling her into a hug. Your warm arms came around her like you'd known each other forever, but there was a lifetime between you now. Her body stiffened, but you smelt like warm memories and midnight stories.

When you pulled back, she finally managed to get some of that courage back, even if she felt like the two of you couldn't be more different. You'd grown softer. Ellie wasn't like that; she'd hardened.

"You look older.."

It was all she could think of saying, and the awkward laugh you gave in response made her sink inward just a little. In truth she hadn't expected you to be here or anywhere. That was the feeling in the system; people you'd known would vanish, and that was the last you would hear about it.

"You aren't getting away with it either.."

Your voice was warm, patient. The tone that must come natural now that you work with young children. Even at her age you instilled a sense of calmness in her, your familiar sarcasm working a small crooked smile onto her lips as Ellie glanced away bashfully. You held your binder to your chest, still little miss control freak.

"This place.. s'nice.."

Ellie's voice came softer than she'd expected, the hint of a stumble in her tone making her cringe. You didn't seem to notice, or if you did, you didn't mind. She watched your hair bounce as you nodded your head, your earrings jingling from the motion.

"Thank you. I didn't expect to settle down here.. was just a rundown building when I got her, now I couldn't imagine leaving."

That was so.. you.

Ellie had grown used to the constant moving around within the system, being pushed from family to family and usually ending up right back where she started. You, on the other hand, found it more difficult. She'd hug you when you got sent back, wondering why the new family didn't want to keep you. No matter how often she tried to soothe you, it seemed too personal for your young mind to comprehend. It made sense that now, as a grown woman, you still craved those roots, that commitment to somewhere.

It was difficult for her to not just stare at you, an imperfect habit she'd developed over time. Fumbling for straws, she adjusted her belt, staring at the ground for a moment. You seemed to pick up on her awkwardness; it drew you in. This wasn't the confident, smart-ass kid that used to sneak you in games for your 2Ds that she'd stolen from a foster home. It'd been a decade, sure, and you could tell that the years had been unkind. Her once bright hazel eyes were dark, hidden under a firm brow that bored lines onto her forehead. Her freckled cheeks had faint scarring, mostly obscured by dead-end bangs. A warm smile graced your lips, and you took her cold, calloused hand into yours.

"Right.. the AC unit.."

Ellie offered a wordless nod as you began to lead her through the hallway with more murals painted up the walls. It sent a flush of nostalgia through her hazy mind, a weird déjà vu that she couldn't shake. Still, your smaller hand was warm, and she felt strangely transfixed by it. She could feel every line, every brush of your fingers as though her senses were working overtime. Ellie didn't let it go until you brought her into one of the main playrooms. It was a flurry of arts and crafts, babies banging pots together and some older kids trading sweets by the window. Her ears twitched a little at the noise, one that she'd forgotten after all these years.

You led her to the unit that was tucked up in the corner of the room, it looked ancient and covered in purple crayon. No wonder the thing wasn't working anymore.

"I know that look.. it is old, but we get it serviced pretty regularly so I'm not sure what the issue is.."

You mused with a soft chuckle, flipping through your binder to where the last check was done a month ago. There were no notes from the last inspection, just that all seemed to be in working order. When you glanced up again, Ellie was already standing up on a plastic chair and unscrewing the front grille to get in at the filter, her toolbelt slung across her hip. Your eyes widened at the way she precariously leaned upward on a chair built for a 4 year old.

"Careful Els.. you're giving them ideas.."

Your voice was a teased murmur, and Ellie pulled her head back from the unit to notice a small gathering of curious children on the floor who were watching her tamper with the AC. A hint of red embarrassment tinged at her cheeks, unsure on what to make of the little observers. In the end she just gave you a gruff nod before pulling back the grate and lowering it onto one of the small desks.

You were needed elsewhere when an out of breath volunteer stumbled in saying that one of the kids in the playground pushed the other off the slide. Little bugger, Ellie thought with a small smirk.

As you got whisked away, Ellie was left with big eyes watching her every move. Some of the kids had taken to holding her tools for her, just happy to be helpers. She rummaged through the broken unit, lifting one of them up to see the inside as she gestured at all the little moving parts in there. That of course led to all the other kids wanting to see too.

Eventually she deduced the issue. The unit had a faulty air compressor, likely stemming from some dirt or oil build-up within the refrigerant. After making sure the AC was empty, she loosened the compressor belt with a small screwdriver before unplugging the electrical wire. After unbolting the damaged part she carefully extracted it from the unit, holding it up so she could examine it. It seemed busted up, whatever maintenance guy checks it out each other month was clearly a bit useless.

She disconnected the unit so it couldn't be turned on, before screwing back on the grate to keep out prying hands. The little group of observers scurried closer when Ellie stepped down off of the brightly colored chair. A soft huff of laughter left her lips when they all wanted to know what was wrong. Some of them reminded her of how she used to be, nosy and wanting to learn more about how things worked. Ellie crouched down between them, letting them all get a look at the broken air compressor.

"When things like dirt n' stuff build up in the unit, it can make the parts go faulty.."

She mumbled, gesturing to the slight staining along the edge of the part.

"What is that, ma'am?"

One of the kids spoke up, a small boy with a flurry of red curls and a dinosaur t-shirt that Ellie would unashamedly wear as a grown adult. The other kids nodded in agreement, looking up at her expectantly to explain it. She fumbled for a minute, not entirely sure how to explain a compressor system to a bunch of children.

"..s'Sort of like, it takes the warm air into the vent unit, and it.. turns it into cold air and spits it back out.. and visa-versa.."

She scratched at her head, yeah that was pretty much it.

"So what do we do now? Are you gonna fix it?"

A slightly older girl with dark hair and bangs that she'd very clearly cut herself spoke up, her hands toying with a small stuffed bunny rabbit that she held to her chest.

"Well, nothing.. right now anyways, I'll have to take this with me and see if I can find a replacement for it.."

"Are we gonna freeze?"

Someone spoke up from the back, causing a flurry of questions and worries that she wasn't exactly equipped to handle. She raised her hands trying to get their attentions, waving her wrists and trying to convince them that no, they won't freeze. However, before she could, you were walking back in with another supervisor. Frantically, one of the little ones ran to you, tugging at your legs with eyes of great distress.

"Miss! Miss! What are we going to do? I don't want to freeze.."

The little boy began to tear up, and you could only raise a brow at Ellie who was knelt down with a bunch of panicked toddlers crowded around her. You bent down to scoop him up onto your hip, patting down his hair.

"Don't be silly, nobody's going to freeze.."

You mused with soft amusement as you approached the group. Ellie looked at you with red tinged cheeks smeared with dust from the vent. She quickly stood up, patting down her trousers and offering up the broken component.

"..there's your problem sweetheart, broken compressor, I'll have to try find a replacement for it.."

Ellie murmurs, scratching at her scruffy hair as the little ones nod along in agreement.

Once back out in the hallway and alone with you, Ellie stood idly. She shifted on her feet while you signed her contractor sheet and took a copy for your maintenance folder. Her eyes lingered over your face as you scribbled your name and handed it back with a warm smile. She couldn't help but return that smile, though hers was a little tight lipped.

"I'll see you around, yeah? Give me a call if you find that part, these kids will be tropical once it starts getting hot.."

Your voice whipped around her ears, and she found herself nodding like an idiot. When she eventually did find her words, it was just before you were about to walk away. Maybe it was the fact that you were old friends, or maybe it was the fact that she liked having a purpose, but she'd get you that damn compressor if she had to raid a car engine for it.

"Yeah.. yeah don't worry I'll find you one somewhere.."

Her crooked fingers tugged at her sleeve, but her sullen eyes bore into yours like she couldn't look anywhere else. You smiled at her, liking that she still kept some of those same mannerisms that used to be so familiar to you. Unable to help it, you pulled her into another gentle hug, one she returned this time. She didn't mean to smell your hair, but it practically invaded her bloodstream once you got close. A more genuine smile pulled at her lips when she let you go, giving you a small wave as you walked off. She stood there for a minute or two, cheeks rosy.

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

Ellie barely batted an eyelash as the person next door punched numbers into their microwave, the humming faintly pulsing through her walls. Ellie was pitched up on the kitchen counter, where the yellow tinged-light was the brightest. She held your damaged part up, working away at it with a screwdriver. A moth was clinking around in her lightshade, something that made her fingers' twitch in irritation. For a split-second, she felt a flush of anger, considered ripping the damn bulb from the socket and smashing it against the wall. The thought in it's intensity unsettled her, and she tried to regain her focus on the small object.

She'd searched all over town yesterday, badgering in auto part shops and checking out car-boot sales, but to no avail. While she did find compressors, they were too new for that hunk of junk you had in that wall. Still she had continued to search, even when the rain dampened the back of her collar and splintered through her scruffy hair.

Eventually though she was forced to give up, so here she sat. 2.47AM, half-naked, fucking around with an AC part that was older than her. The microwave next door dinged. That thing went off at all hours, and with the stench she was assaulted with whenever she walked past that door, it was no surprise that he got the munchies.

She waved her hand as it started to cramp up, her eyes tracing over the rim of the small metal device. She'd cleaned most of the oil and dust out of it, along with tightening up the bolts along the edge. The moth continued to flutter around the lightbulb, occasionally getting burned. Ellie's gaze flickered up to it, then down at her arm with a soft huff.

She was a moth.

She slid down off of the counter, padding to the bedroom in old socks. Her room was essentially a void, those black-out curtains she'd found in a garage sale like a blessing, considering the street-lights that flashed all hours just outside her window.

Ellie had even gotten used to it, changing in the darkness and sometimes even showering that way. It was somewhat relaxing, though sometimes you could clearly tell by her outfits that she couldn't see herself. Some blend between southern grandpa at a barbeque and closed off junkie, however that worked. She tugged her sports bra up over her head and onto the ground somewhere, stumbling towards the bathroom along the way. The sound of water hitting the tiles filled the room, warm steam surrounding her in the darkness as she moved in. Hot beads trickled down her neck and shoulders as she lay her head back against the current, a heavy breath of relief drifting from her lips.

A few minutes later Ellie dragged herself out, pale skin damp as she ran a towel through her hair. She could faintly catch the sound of soft moans and thumping from above her, rolling her eyes as she continued to dry herself off. The noise was louder as she left the bathroom, a towel draped around her loosely as she shuffled into her bedroom. Ellie rummaged through her nightstand in search of her retainer, letting out a small grumble of annoyance when she couldn't find it. After a minute or so of feeling around in the dark, she admits defeat, turning on her small bedside lamp. She squints at the soft bulb, glancing around and seeing her retainer amidst her dirty bedsheets. Gross.

After splashing some water over them and pushing them in, Ellie padded back, glancing around. The room was.. a mess, to say the least. Clothes hung over every corner, to-go cups and empty beer bottles lining what used to be a desk. Her brow furrowed a little, that was another reason why she liked the darkness, it made it easier to ignore what was right in front of her. The ceiling continued to rattle above, exaggerated cries that definitely didn't match the pace of whoever was up there with her. Poor thing. Ellie reached over her bedside to turn off that lamp when she caught a glimmer of her reflection in the mirror.

Moving closer, she let her eyes gaze over her speckled skin, old bruises still fading. She looked like a mess. Unkempt hair, a towel still hanging from her hips and dark circles under her eyes that looked more akin to smudged eyeshadow. She cocked her head slightly, eyes roaming over the small cleavage that was still rosy from the shower. With the stranger's whimpers in her ears, she let a hand trail over her firm breast, exhaling back through her lips as she held herself.

Ellie's eyes drooped shut as she slowly traced along her ribs, up to her collar and around her neck. With a slight squeeze her hips swayed forward gently, mimicking the creaking of the floorboards. She rolled her head around limply before settling her half-lidded gaze back on her own reflection.

Her hands drifted back down to the white fabric that concealed her lower, unwrapping the towel gently and letting it sink to the floor. Her body grew rigid as it dropped, her blood running cold. Along her upper thighs were faint greenish-yellow veins that crawled along her skin and up across her abdomen like a soft pulse beneath her skin. Her crooked finger traced over one of the lines, a slight tremor in her own touch. She swallowed deeply.

She slowly tilted her body to the side, seeing that some of the veins ran up her back, curling around her waist like dying plants. As her gaze flickered over her body she grew paranoid, now up close and personal with the mirror as she examined every inch of her skin. Aside from the veins she seemed relatively normal.

Her eyes were a little darker than before, though that could be from hiding herself away in unlit rooms and the lack of sleep she'd been getting. It was normal, she was normal, just a strange reaction. Might've been a bug bite or a kidney infection or something. She'd pick up some over the counter drug and be fine.

After all, she was immune, right?

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

The weather was just as awful the next day, heavy rain splattering down on her coat, beads of water rolling down her boots with every step as she shuffled down the street. Her teeth were gritted at the whips of wind. Eventually she made it down to the foster center, the playground drenched and muddy with no sense of life. Rolls of thunder brewed behind the clouds, electrical wires dancing in the harsh winds.

Moving up to the entrance she rapped on the door, loud enough that if there were people inside they'd hear. Though, where else would they be? The lights were shut off, the place likely short on power in the storm. Ellie had initially left her place with the intention of returning your compressor, not noticing the severity of the clouds until it was too late.

The door swung open, and your eyes widened to see her there. Ellie, soaked to the skin with a crooked smile and muddy boots. She bit back a chuckle as you ushered her in quickly, shutting the door behind her.

"What the hell are you doing here? Are you crazy?"

You were wearing a teddy-bear colored fleece with baggy jeans and brown boots, your hair in two messy braids and eyes wide set with concern. You looked cute.

"Came to fix the vent, bad time?"

She teased with a soft chuckle, considering there wasn't a single light on in the building. Your cheeks were red like you'd been rushing around. She wondered if you were still afraid of thunderstorms. You used to be. You scoffed in mild irritation, folding your arms and starting to walk away from her. Ellie clambered after you with a shit eating grin.

"Hey don't be like that.. I can probably get your generator working too.."

She called out after you, trudging down the hallway and peeling off her coat to hang up. You waited for her with an expression of subtle amusement and relief, letting her follow along with you back to the playroom. Inside was all the little ones curled up together by the supervisors who were holding candles and trying to keep everyone calm. There was puffy eyes, tears, and anxious faces. Ellie had to bite back another laugh, covering her mouth before you jabbed her in the side with your elbow. She nudged you back almost childishly, this time leaning down to speak to you.

"It's not chemical warfare outside you know, you got them all huddled together like a nuke's about to drop.."

She mused against your ear, chuckling as you batted her away again with your hands. Ellie rummaged through her backpack for a flashlight, heading back down the hallway where you had said the generator was. When she pried open the old cupboard, the thing was covered in a matte layer of dust, her brows furrowed as she searched for the fuse 'round the back. Eventually it clicked in, but the generator simply let out a chortled chuff of smoke before shutting off again. Damn.

As she got a closer look, she felt a sudden rush of unease flood her. However, it didn't feel like her unease. Pulling her head back from the dirty closet, she glanced side-long down the hallway. Ellie noticed you at the end, staring out of the window with those worried eyes as the thunder shoved against the small building. She remained crouched on her hind, eyes soft for a moment.

She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt attuned to you, it was like she could smell how uncomfortable you were. Scooting herself up, Ellie padded down the corridor, coming up behind you and carefully placing her dusty hands on your arms. Your body went rigid at the unexpected contact, but when you moved your head back to see Ellie, you relaxed slightly, lowering your head sheepishly.

"..Still don't like the thunder huh?"

Her voice was soft, low, she almost didn't even recognize it as her own. She studied your expression, stress creased into the lines on your forehead and that stain of redness on your cheeks. Ellie could tell it still bothered you, it's why you were out here instead of in with the rest of the tots. You didn't want them to be scared, and they certainly wouldn't be reassured by seeing you scared too. You swallowed, turning to make up some sort of half-assed excuse for why you were out here when there was another bang of thunder.

Before she could register it, you were against her chest. Her arm's hovered in the air for a moment, those veins pulsing beneath her clothes in a way that made her heart sink. She hoped you wouldn't notice. Her arms slowly lowered themselves around you, a sigh drifting from her lips as she patted your head and gazed out at the lashing rain. Ellie's felt that warm nostalgia floating around her, holding you close again. You were kids then, it felt different now.

"s'Just rain.. just noise sweetheart.."

Her voice came soft against your ear, tucking some strands of hair back into place as you continued to hide away against her chest. She didn't like that you were so tense, that such a brave woman like you was still so wary of things beyond your control. You tilted your head up to look at her, and that puffy face of yours damn near broke her heart. Ellie gazed down at you, her crooked fingers still adjusting your braids. She didn't like seeing you upset, and she couldn't fathom why she could feel you being upset.

Your eyes lingered on her face, freckles splotching across her cheeks and heavy bags under those dark eyes. The way she adjusted your hair made your heart flutter, a hint of heat creeping up the collar. Ellie was feeling something similar, her finger's burning against your skin and your perfume practically invading her nose. Then she felt it again, that pulsing under her skin, and her hand dropped. She took a guided step back from you, not entirely trusting her own body no matter how badly she wanted to be close to you.

Her rejection stung, a subtle ache that swirled around your gut. It was typical of Ellie, to push you away when she got nervous or scared. You wished she wasn't like that, wished she'd pull you closer instead.

"Els.."

You began to speak, your voice a guarded whisper. Before you could even finish the thought though, the lights flickered back on, the busted generator churning loudly like an old fan. There was lots of excited chatter filling the air now, squeals and little claps. The air between you though still stayed thick, your eyes searching hers. They were dark, a hint of clarity in them that was unfamiliar to you. Ellie's heart was thudding in her chest, her fingers twitching. She avoided your gaze, distant.

"Ellie?"

Your voice was softer now, a little more worried at the lack of.. well anything from her. You bridged the gap yourself, gently taking her arm and trying to look up at her lowered face. You still felt warm, she felt colder now. Maybe it was the rain, you thought, she could be sick. Her skin was still clammy from the walk, her hair soaked through and you sighed softly.

"Hang around, yeah? I'll give you a ride home when the rain eases up.."

She looked up at you when you spoke this time, brows furrowed as that thudding in her chest continued. It was disorientating, your lips were moving but it was difficult for her to know what you were saying to her. Still, when you patted her arm and guided her to a comfy chair inside one of the playrooms she recognized that you wanted her to stay here. She watched you walk away, a strained sigh leaving through her teeth.

After some slow, measured breaths that pulsing beneath her skin started to calm, replaced by a deep hollowness on the inside of her chest. She fiddled with her shirt sleeve, her gaze trailing over the various activities that were kicking off between the junior inmates. Ellie knew she should get up, fix your vent like she came here to do in the first place but at the minute she was weighed to the chair. Her gaze flickered to a little girl sitting by herself in the corner, book in hand.

She had short-ish hair, splotchy cheeks and was reading about space with glasses pushed up her nose that were way too big for her. Ellie's eyes lingered, a bittersweet sense of familiarity circling around her. The girl did occasionally look up, watching what was happening around her but never being directly involved with whatever game was taking place. She felt too old. It was a feeling Ellie knew all too well.

Ellie swallowed that unease in her gut, slowly getting up and heading to the air unit. Now that the power was back, she could actually see what she was doing. She unscrewed the panel again, her brain on auto-pilot as she screwed the 'new' compressor back into place and re-attached the belt. Once it was all bolted back down, Ellie placed back over the grate, fiddling with some of the air-con settings to see if it was back in working order. When that gust of soft warm air hit her face she felt that flicker of satisfaction.

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

It was around eight when you eventually got back to Ellie's apartment, walking her to the door despite her insistence that she was fine. Her mouth was dry when you looked up at her, a soft expression on her face that only you seemed to get out of her. She was all too aware of how you smelled. It was like your perfume had doubled in intensity since you left the car, it made her brain foggy as she fumbled with her house keys. As she pushed the creaking door open she glanced back at you.

"..Wanna come in for a bit? I got beer.."

Her voice was quiet, vulnerable.

"I have to drive, Els.."

You let out a gentle laugh, but you weren't saying no to coming in.

Ellie led you to the living room, giving you the better cushion on her beaten-up sofa, a small grin growing on her lips. Ellie still felt.. off, even as you cozied up with some blankets and soda. It started off pleasant though, soft chatter above the TV as you sat close. She could feel how warm you were, her heart thudding gently in her chest. She played it off though, lazily scrolling through her contact list to search for the takeout number.

Her fingers twitched as she tried to pay attention to what you were saying. You'd started talking about how you'd eventually found a foster family here in Seattle, you got your certificate online for pre-primary teaching and childcare. She wanted to listen, she really did. But the TV was playing, the harsh blue light rubbing against her dry eyes. Whatever you were wearing was so strong she felt like she might cough it up, and your voice became a drone that made her head pound. Her left hand brought a cold beer to her lips, trying to keep contact with your pretty eyes.

There was a bit of peace when the food arrived, she could focus on the tastes swishing around in her mouth as it filled her gut. She liked to eat. Your arm was brushing against her side while you both sat there, your legs crossed as you snacked on some spring rolls. Her eyes flickered over to the way your mouth bit down onto them, the crunch and the way your neck bobbed with each swallow. It was more distracting than it should've been. Ellie wasn't sure if she wanted to be the one biting down, or to be the one that you sank your molars into. Her brow lowered, put-off by her own staring as she shoved some more rice into her mouth.

There was nothing in her that wanted more than to be closer to you, to hear those sweet sounds in her ear. But still somehow your voice was too loud, and your body was too close to hers. As she watched the bluescreen across from the two of you, she could feel that dull pounding in her head kicking in. She tried to ignore it, couldn't exactly shut herself in a dark room. She snapped at you. She didn't mean it.

"God could you just.. just be quiet for a second.."

Her voice was low, cutting you off while you told her some silly fact about the actor who was on-screen. She hadn't even expected to say it until the words were already out, and the look on your face made her feel like she'd been socked in the jaw. Ellie felt antsy still, her head aching now with the familiar bug of guilt that was chewing on her gut lining.

"I'm sorry.. I didn't mean that, s'just.. my head.."

She spoke out in an unsteady murmur, rubbing at her forehead with her cool palm in an effort to ease her mind. She wanted to be like you, or she wanted to be with you, she hadn't figured that part out yet. She figured you'd be fed up with her huffing, she'd been a dick to you all day. Her head hurt. Sweat had started to pool around her neck, dripping down her back in an unpleasant shiver as she crouched forward, the floor blurring. The TV continued to drone, her crooked fingers trembling against her face.

And then, softness.

Your hands were touching her arms, gently prying her hands from her pale face. She almost wanted to bark at you for taking away her brief relief, but then your small hand found it's way to her forehead.

"God Els.. you're burning.."

Your hands glided back into her scruffy hair, noticing the beads of sweat that'd gathered around her forehead and the way she looked at you with those lost eyes. Ellie had been quiet for most of the night, you figured she was awkward and nervous. Now it seemed something lay deeper under that skin, her hands coming up to grip onto your wrists. You rubbed her hair back for a few moments before letting go. After turning off the TV and gathering some cold water you held it to her dry, pink lips. She drank it down like a dying man. With the lights now dimmed she seemed to gain some of her focus back, but still that guilt persisted.

"I want you here.. don't know what's wrong with me.."

Her voice was a strained mutter, her fingers still twitching at her brow as she tried to focus on that pretty face of yours. She looked sick, maybe a fever from being out in the rain. You couldn't help but grow softer at the confession, figuring she was simply grumpy and overtired. It was sort of like the kids you'd deal with, throwing tantrums usually because basic needs weren't met. You continued to nurse that water into her, your hand resting on her upper back. Ellie wanted that hand everywhere.

She let her head hang low, deep measured breaths leaving her lips as her shoulders hunched over. Ellie tried not to think about the fact that she'd snapped at you, the fact that her teeth hurt and her stomach was covered in veins. She didn't want to think about it, and she certainly didn't want you to think about it either. The urge was there, to hide herself away and be alone, but it felt so nice to have a hand on her back, to have your palm holding her head.

Eventually the pain stilled, the world was a little quieter now. She looked up from her shoulders, her hazel eyes meeting yours almost sheepishly. Your hand was still on her back, the other smoothing down her hair as though she was a dog. It made her huff. Her eyes traced your features, the look of worry in your eyes.

"M'okay sweetheart, just get these migraines sometimes.. it's like my skull is being split open.."

You let out a soft hum at her words, mulling over her behavior. It made sense, you'd noticed the dark bags under her eyes so Ellie likely didn't sleep well. Her fridge was full of junk, and the sweat that beaded her skin was a cry for hydration. Not to mention the fact she'd spent an hour in the rain today. Your finger brushed a strand that had fallen into her face, both of you once again stilling at the intimate contact. To Ellie's disappointment, you were the one who pulled away this time, your hands falling down to your lap as you cleared your throat.

"Well it's no wonder, you look like a damn zombie Els, probably running on nothing.."

"Mm.. feels like it.."

She huffed out an uneasy laugh, her hand slowly finding yours. She felt a little calmer now, though her temper seemed to flutter under the surface of her skin like an elastic band that could snap. You let out a warm giggle in response, rolling your eyes as you held onto her cold hand. Your fingers idly traced her pointed knuckles, noticing the red and purple blotches that coated them. Your brows mulled together.

"You've been fighting?"

Your voice was gentle, it made her feel less defensive. She didn't withdraw from you, too engrossed by your fingers on her skin. Still, Ellie had no idea how to even explain what her life had been like this far. She knew you wouldn't judge her, even if you both grew in different ways. She nodded.

"Yeah, something like that.."

She chewed on her bottom lip, remembering how her hands had felt wrapped around Abby's neck.

"Sort of found myself a family like you, his name was Joel.."

Ellie hadn't planned on letting you in, but it seemed her heart had other ideas.

"He.. he raised me, in all the ways that mattered anyway.."

Her red eyes brimmed with salted tears that she didn't want to let fall. Her face was hunched over again, so one simply dripped straight down onto the floor. Your silent gaze conveyed empathy, she knew you were listening.

"But he was an idiot.. got himself killed and I couldn't-"

She swallowed deeply, his bloody beaten face looking her dead in the eye. She felt sick to her stomach at the image, at the squelch of the golf-club bludgeoning his skull. Her fingers started to twitch, that hollow ache in her gut that spread up to her kidneys.

"Oh Els.."

Your voice was a whisper, and you didn't even know if she had heard it over the sound of her own breathing. Shifting closer, your free hand hovered near her arm. Her tears were dripping down onto the carpet, and it felt like your heart was being squeezed tight. Ellie continued to stare at the ground when she felt your warm arm around her shoulders, holding her to your side. She wanted to be closer, to be under your skin. Ellie let her forehead press into your collar, but kept her hands to herself.

"I don't think you should be here.. m'not.. I.."

Her words didn't make much sense, her thoughts muddled and warm and confused. Your fingers continued to travel along her brown strands, unable to look away from those red-brimmed eyes, that dark look in them that stood stark against her pale skin. You cradled her face, your breath a ghost over her cheek as you let your nose nudge into the side of her ear. Ellie tensed, her head tilting ever so slightly before one of her cold, large hand finds it's way to your hair, pulling you in closer to her neck. That was always the way with her, her lips telling you one thing and her hands contradicting it.

Her shoulders were hunched, sweat dripping down the back of her neck. You could smell it the minute you hovered, a mix of cologne and petrol with that hint of sweat. Prying back her hair you tied it up into a bun, despite her grumbled protests about having the back of her neck exposed.

"You're too hot.. Trust me, I don't give a damn about the back of your neck.."

Your voice was almost exasperated, a hint of amusement sparkling in your eyes at her antics. Ellie liked to be particular about things, her hairstyle was one of them. If she got a haircut, good luck getting to see her do anything else for a few years. It was cute in it's own way, but that half-up half-down was doing nothing to cool her down.

Ellie refused to remove her sweats or her t-shirt, she couldn't let you see what was hiding under the fabric. You sighed, not pushing her on it but instead just coaxing her upward.

"Think you need to get some sleep honey, and take those sweats off when I leave, you'll cool down.."

Your voice was gentle as you guided her into what you assumed was the bedroom. Ellie winced when you turned on the light, exposing a dump ground of dirty laundry, stained bedsheets and a small country worth of bottle cans. She avoided your gaze as you set her over on the bed, crouching down in front of her.

"Didn't think anyone would b' over.. I would've cleaned it you know.."

Her voice was a vulnerable whisper, her fingers twitching at the drawstring of her sweats. She didn't like that you were seeing her this way, it was humiliating. Your eyes were understanding though, and you gently rubbed her knee.

"I know.. I get off this Sunday, if you'd like I have a stack of black bags and a bottle of Mr. Clean.."

Ellie's eyes shot down to your hand on her knee, then back up to your warm eyes. Your teasing yet caring tone made her heart flutter. Her mouth still felt dry, and as she looked around the room, she knew that she probably couldn't do it alone.

"Yeah, yeah okay.."

Her voice came quiet, the veins under her skin still pulsing. She leaned down so that her arms were resting on her upper thighs, your voices closer together. Her dark eyes searched your features, lifting a hand to gently trace down one of your messy braids.

The air between you was warm, eyes locked while you knelt between her legs. She leaned over you, fascinated with your knitted hair and your soft eyes. Up close she was still pretty, dark lashes that brushed over a sullen brow. The small glimmers of sweat still dripped down the back of Ellie's neck, a soft shudder leaving her lips.

Ellie leaned down closer, her exhales gently blowing against your cheek. You reached a hand up slowly, taking her fingers that were carding through your braid. Ellie flicked her tongue out over her dry lips, wanting nothing more than to lean down and press her face to yours. You held her gaze, watching as she began to lean down to you with half-lidded eyes and rosy cheeks.

As much as you wanted to give in to that, to see where this unexpected fling would lead, you knew it wasn't right. You gently took her cheeks before she could kiss you, and her eyes flickered open. Ellie felt a tingling of rejection in her gut once you stopped her, her eyes shifting from vulnerable softness to a hurt defensiveness. She slowly straightened up, avoiding your gaze.

"Still not into girls huh?"

A gentle smile tugged at your lips at her almost petulant response, the way she folded her arms and pushed you away like you'd just broken her heart. You shook your head with a soft laugh.

"I'm not into girls who aren't in the right headspace to make an informed decision.."

Your voice was knowing. As cute as this freckled girl was, she was clearly not in the right mindset to do anything with. You knew that she wasn't well, not right now anyways. When she continued to avoid your gaze, you gently pulled her chin back to face you.

"Not like this, okay?"

You spoke softer this time, the look in your eyes reassuring her that you did want her, it just wasn't the right moment for this to go any further. Ellie held your eyes for a few moments before nodding with a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping.

"You know you don't always need to be responsible.."

She grumbled, though there was a flicker of amusement tugging at her lips, pretending like she was still mad at you.

"I know, boring as ever.."

You murmured softly, still knelt between her legs with a gentle expression. You reached up to Ellie again, petting down the side of her hair as you studied those rosy freckles and dark eyes.

"You're beautiful.. you know that? Haven't changed a bit.."

Ellie almost short-circuited when you called her that, she almost didn't believe you. In her mind she had changed, no longer some greasy kid with braces and a plethora of facts about the solar system. She leaned her head against your palm, her face still warm. Her arms then sunk down to you, bringing you into a warm hug.

You jolted when she suddenly grabbed you with ease, surprised by the display of strength in her weak state. She was so sweet though, and you all but melted as she hid her face in your chest. You let out a chuckle, patting the top of her head and letting her hold onto you for a moment.

"I'm gonna head home now Els, get some sleep yeah?"

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

The laundry machine rattled against the floorboards in her kitchen, bundles of clothes sloshing around while others hung up on a small drying rack. You were still managing to find dirty bras and t-shirts stuffed under her bed, your nose wrinkling slightly.

"No wonder you always wear the same clothes, half your shit is buried.."

You teased, carrying another basket full of laundry to where Ellie sat by the counter, watching the clothes spinning around. She still wasn't feeling her best, but your company had her eyes sparkling even through the embarrassment of this 'early spring clean', as you called it. She slid down off of the counter, taking the heavy basket from your hands and sitting it down by the washing machine.

"I'm on a journey to a minimalist wardrobe.."

She shrugged, ruffling through some old band t-shirts that she'd forgot she even owned. Some of them were definitely more suited for the trash, with rips and stains that no amount of washing could fix. You tugged out a black laced bra from the pile, raising a brow. It was such a contrast to Ellie's.. everything, and you couldn't help but giggle as you lifted it up.

"Ellie Williams.. I didn't know you had someone to wear all that for.."

You spoke, a shit-eating grin on your face as you watched her go hot in the cheeks. Ellie was quickly moving toward you, trying to wrestle the bra out of your hands while you giggled and tried to squirm away.

"How d'you know it's even mine?"

She grumbled out in a fluster, cornering you against the counter and managing to get the thin garment out of your grip. You continued to laugh at her, a rosy tint to your own cheeks. The idea of it belonging to someone else did send a strange flicker of insecurity through you, but judging by how Ellie was currently red in the face and flustered you had a feeling that wasn't the case.

"That doesn't make it much better.."

You huffed, folding your arms as she stuffed it back into the laundry basket. Ellie stood back up, raising a brow at the way your tone had shifted ever so slightly. More focused on you now than her shyness, she moved closer, leaning against the counter playfully. You scoffed, pushing at her chest to try and get some amount of personal space back.

"That wasn't an invitation.."

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile that split through your teeth as you managed to escape her trap, heading back to the bedroom. You could hear her chuckling in the kitchen still, cleaning down countertops. After shaking the shyness from your cheeks, you got back to work stuffing all those dirty cans and beer bottles into a black bag. The place was already looking better, brighter. That might have something to do with the way you had forced all the curtains open as soon as you arrived, despite the protests of that vampire of a woman in the other room.

As you shoveled trash into the plastic bag, you noticed a small shoebox tucked beneath the bed. A hint of curiosity crept over you, but you hesitated. For all you knew that could be a box of porno CDs or genuinely an old pair of shoes. Still, your hand tentatively reached over to pull it out from under the bedframe. You glanced over to the doorway, where you could still hear Ellie moving around and clearing out her cupboards of expired food.

Still, the glitter covered box drew you in, a large 'E' plastered on with old glue stick and painted with stickers. It was cute, reminded you of how Ellie used to be. Your fingers traced along some of the stickers, the box painted messily in a pale lavender color with remnants of cardboard brown peeking through.

You set aside the lid onto the carpet, peering inside. The box was filled to the brim with photos, wristbands and tickets. A warm feeling swirled in your stomach as you lifted some of the polaroids, Ellie with a big grin full of braces as she held up a fish with an older man. Joel, you assumed.

Some of the other items caught your eye too, old drawings of her as an astronaut and one poorly drawn horse. You were beaming ear to ear without even realizing, feeling as though you were catching up on the life that she kept hidden so tight to her chest. Hidden amongst the memorabilia was also a photo of.. you. Truth be told you didn't even know this image existed, a little seven year old you with that choppy haircut and watching a film on tape.

You recognized that blurry sort of texture, that cartoonish watermark that came from those off-brand kid cameras. A rosy shyness dusted your cheeks as you found some more, one a selfie of you and her. You even found some photos of an older you, from the foster family you inevitably got adopted into. Clearly given to Ellie in a means of comfort while she was still in the system.

You weren't sure when you started to tear up, maybe it was the polaroid of Ellie and Joel that had 'love you babygirl' scribbled onto the back in messy sharpie or perhaps the drawing of you and Ellie holding hands in a crooked love heart.

It was a bittersweet feeling, and it near destroyed you to think about how this poor girl had lost practically everything. At the time you were a year younger than her, still not fully mature enough to realize the depth of her affections for you. A few tears dripped down your cheeks, staining the old notepad paper.

Ellie trudged into the bedroom, wondering why it had gone so quiet all of a sudden considering you'd been squawking all morning about how much of a mess her place was. Her heart dropped as she seen you knelt by her bed, a hand over your lips and eyes brimmed with tears. The next thing she noticed was the small lavender box on your lap, pictured scattered across the carpet. She felt that intense flash of anger at you for going through her stuff, though her feelings for you swallowed that heat.

You noticed her in the doorway, staring up at her tearfully like a deer in headlights. You knew you shouldn't have been snooping around, there to clean not go through her stuff. The allure of simpler times had gotten to you, and now your heart felt ten times heavier with guilt from the pain that Ellie was in.

"Els.. I'm so sorry.."

You weren't too sure whether you were apologizing for going through her things, for what she'd gone through, or for leaving her. Ellie watched as you hid your face in your hands, shoulders shaking subtly. Despite the haze that clouded her mind, her feet began to move of their own will as she sat down onto the floor beside you. She pried the box from your trembling hands, before pulling you gently between her legs and against her chest.

You weren't expecting to be cradled that way, and you hid your face away against her collar. Warm tears still dripped from your cheeks, Ellie's face brushing against your head. Ellie was still incredibly warm, and it was easy to relax. You slowly raised your head, batting wet eyelashes at her. Ellie watched as you held one of the pictures of you two together.

"I didn't realize.. I.."

Your voice was an unsteady whisper, your freehand still covering your lips as you sat between her legs.

"We were kids.."

Ellie muttered softly, patting along the side of your hair as her own heart burned from the memories. She'd spent so much time back then comforting you, soothing how homesick you were. Ellie hadn't even known what to do with herself when you never came back. Unsure of what came over her, Ellie leaned down to smell your hair again.

"I know that but I could've.. I didn't mean to leave you there.."

You let go of the polaroid, letting it sit back into the box and instead wrapping your arms around her so tight that you were surprised she didn't push you away. Ellie continued to rub down the side of your head, her other crooked hand tracing along your back. She almost lost herself in your hair, engrossed by the smells and textures. That cloud over her brain continued to worsen, a billow of frustration swirling in her gut that she couldn't stay present with you.

Sitting against her on the floor was surprisingly cozy, her arms keeping you close as you rested your head against her chest. You were used to her not replying by now, she got too caught up in whatever she was thinking about. Typically though, you didn't mind, not when she was holding you close like this.

You soon felt her mouthing at your hair, biting at strands like a kitten and couldn't help but let out a watery giggle, pulling back just enough to raise a brow. Her eyes were dark and lidded, her fingers still gliding down the side of your head.

"What are you doing?"

Your voice was soft, unable to hide the amusement in your tone.

"I don't know.."

Ellie confessed, holding back the urge to continue. The truth was it'd gotten worse, she'd gotten worse. The thoughts louder, the migraines harsher, the control weaker. You smiled at her warmly, before your gaze drifted down to her neck. A cold chill trickled down your spine as you noticed faint green and yellow veins peeking out ever so slightly from the collar of her shirt that faintly pulsed beneath her skin.

Ellie noticed your gaze immediately, trying to shift and tug up her shirt but she knew it was too late. You'd seen it.

"What the fuck is that?"

Your voice came a nervous whisper, not even wanting the answer.

"It's.. I don't know.."

She felt like a broken record, her thoughts looping around and around in circles in a way that almost made her dizzy.

"Take off your shirt.."

"..I can't, let me-"

"Ellie, take off the damn shirt.."

Your voice came strained, a raised tone that left zero room for argument. Tears brimmed in Ellie's eyes, her fingers trembling as she reached for the bottom of her t-shirt. Your hand flew to your lips as she exposed her chest, covered in veins and blotches of greenish yellow, her ribs pulsing like it had it's own heartbeat. For a moment you were stunned into silence.

"Jesus Christ.."

You spoke in a whisper, your warm fingers reaching out carefully to trace along some of the veins that fluttered gently at your touch. They covered all along her abdomen and across her breasts, crawling around her collar and down her back. Ellie was staring at you wide-eyed, her eyelashes growing wet with held back floods.

"Did you get bit? What-.. what is this?"

You looked up at her, wanting answers yet still fearing the answers that they might bring.

"I got bit.. five years ago.. I'm immune, or-.. I should be.."

Ellie spoke, a few stray tears falling down to the carpet as she avoided your gaze, feeling utterly exposed under your eyes. Her chest was a sore sight, covered in veins and murky colors that stood out grimly against her pale skin. Despite her fears she was still gripping your shirt tightly, she was scared.

You continue to look her over, before meeting her dark eyes again. It was all starting to make sense; the mood swings, the lack of concentration, the way she walked around like she barely knew where she was. Your heart sunk further as you wiped away some of her tears, your warm fingers rubbing against her marred cheeks. It was no surprise Ellie was immune, but infections adapt to their biome. What was more likely the case was that the fungus had sat dormant, taking hold of her and gradually spreading over time.

"Something's happening to me.."

Her voice was a watery whisper, her skin pulsing just beneath the flesh.

"I can't sleep, I get so-.. so angry all the time, n' I throw shit around.. can't even think straight.."

You held her burning cheeks, your own eyes glossy with worry as she finally confessed all that had been happening lately. Part of you was pissed off that she'd kept something so serious from you, but seeing her cry like that made it difficult to hold onto.

"..m' so damn scared.. sweetheart"

Ellie confessed, a vulnerability in her tone that she hadn't let through in years. You were quick to pull her to your chest again, feeling the heat of her skin and the strange textures of her back. Your heart was racing in your chest, and Ellie could practically hear it. Ellie mouthed at your shirt, trying to calm down as much as she could. She was afraid of how easy it was for her to lose herself these days, a little grievance or a memory dragging her beneath a heavy current.

"It's okay.. we'll figure this out.."

Truthfully, you were terrified. The look in her eyes though kept you grounded, you wouldn't leave her again, not like this. You brushed more of her wet tears away, unable to reason with yourself this time. You leaned down to her, your nose rubbing against her cheek and seeking the permission of her lips. Ellie shied away, afraid that somehow she'd transfer this gross bacteria to you. Her hand was braced against your hair still, her other sinking down to your hip.

"What if-.."

Her voice was a watery whisper, and you didn't need her to continue to know where her fears lay.

"I don't care.."

You confessed, stroking her marred cheek as you rested against her lap. The thought of her here all alone, suffering through whatever this was destroyed you. There wasn't anything in this world that could convince you to leave her. You pushed back more of her tangled hair, glossy eyes tracing over her pale face that had already begun to show signs of discoloring.

Ellie's gaze ghosted over your warm lips, soft and pink and all that she'd been able to think about since she found you again. Her trembling hand brought you closer, her movements disjointed. With your warm breath on her face and your wordless pleas, she all but melted into your promises.

The cluster in her head went silent the moment your mouth met hers, her heart syncing to yours as she pulled you closer. Your smell was once again diluting her bloodstream, strong and lovely. Her cold hands trailed up your shirt and against the warm skin of your back, a shiver trickling down your spine as your lips moved against hers.

Your hands traced the lines of her skin, feeling that softness while you could. The kiss was practically a warm cuddle, your legs wrapped around her waist as you molded together on the bedroom floor. Ellie could already feel it, the tremor in her hands and the way she'd lose a grip on something light. Her motor skills were deteriorating, slowly, but steadfast. She knew that soon, she might not be able to touch you, to hold you like this, and so she pressed you to the cold wooden floor, embracing this moment that she knew might never happen again.

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆

The next few weeks were painful. Ellie had gotten worse by the day, puking blood and losing any sense of coherency that she'd had. She wasn't like anything you'd seen before, not exactly mutated but not herself either. You'd moved in a few nights after finding out, afraid to leave her alone in that apartment like this. You kept her keys now, locking her in the apartment whenever you had to leave to keep her from wandering. Not that she would, if anything she was even more of a homebody now.

Still it made going to work even more difficult, constantly checking your phone though you doubted she'd even think to call you if something happened. You were trying to push away the inevitable, knowing that soon it would get too hard to go to work. Already you had to re-explain to her every morning where you were going, why you were going, and the tearful tantrums that ensued. The worst part was getting home, most nights finding it in tatters or Ellie passed out in a pile of her own body fluids.

You'd have to lift her, cradling her by the head and trying to get her to wake up. She'd always try to escape you initially, to fight with you when you caught her off guard. Your arms often took the brunt of her anger or fear, holding deep scratches and bruises from where her blunt nails dug into your skin. It was the only way Ellie could express things to you, especially now that her vocal chords were mostly too tensed to make any coherent sounds. Some days were better than others, where sometimes you might get a poorly formed sentence or she'd let her give you a bath.

Those baths were a complete nightmare, especially at the beginning. Ellie often found it extremely distressing to have her body exposed to you, and to her own eyes. She was covered in those yellow-green face, rough textures and blotches of callouses sprouting along her back and inner thighs. You always tried to calm that insecurity she felt, saying she felt like the moon and how beautiful she was. Even still, her once hazel eyes were now dark and clouded, paranoid. During bath time you'd taken to just covering her eyes with a small scarf, like one might do to a travelling horse. It made her calmer.

When you did manage to get her to sit into the lukewarm water, her fist would be painfully tight around your wrist at every moment. The first few times you'd washed her you ended up soaked to the bone whenever she caught sight of some peeled skin floating in the water. Her wet nude frame had refused to leave your arms, drenching you in the process as you tried to soothe her, to remind her that her skin wasn't falling off.

You loved her, but you were exhausted.

The clawing at your arms, the sleepless nights and her unwillingness to detach from your body was slowly grating at your patience. Ellie didn't exactly recognize personal space anymore, she liked to smell your hair and be all over you like a slobbering dog. Her breath would stick to your face and neck, her bony arms usually too tight around your shoulders while she chewed on your hair or your earlobe. You knew she didn't mean it, but it still wore you out, especially on nights where you just needed to be alone for an hour.

You didn't have it in your heart to blame her, not when she was puking up clots in the toilet or hiding in the closet because something had frightened her. You were both stuck in this desperate cycle, wanting the other but suffering from this broken dynamic. You feared the day that you couldn't care for her anymore, and you knew she felt it too. You wouldn't leave her, you knew that. But it grew to a point where eventually, you snapped;

It'd been a long day at the center, an issue with adoption contracts that led to the foster families pulling out last minute from the arrangements. This led to you having to deal with children who had spent the day packing, crocodile tears and confused faces pulling at your clothes or getting angry at you. It was heart-breaking, and you were so worn out.

After getting home, all you craved was some quiet. One hour, even. As you trudged up the cold stairwell and turned your keys into the door, a breath left your lips at the state of the apartment. You'd gotten used to the mess, half the time you didn't even bother cleaning it because Ellie would tear into it a few hours later. But this was ridiculous. Pillows were strewn about the floor, and your favorite vase of flowers was lying in a million pieces by the kitchen counter.

With Ellie nowhere to be seen, you approached your broken vase. While you were trying to collect some of the pieces, your bag slipped from your shoulder and caught on your hair. You cut your hand on a shard, letting out a yell of irritation as you slammed the bag away, rubbing a shaky hand against your forehead. Ellie heard your voice, stumbling into the room with her janky sort of walk, eyes trailed on you.

Before you could even take a minute to gather your scrambled thoughts, Ellie was all over you. Her bony arms circled your torso tightly, cooing in her attempts at a soft greeting. She pressed her face into your neck, but you were so hot and vexed that it just made you feel another flare of anger. Ellie found it difficult to differentiate your moods these days, she couldn't tell that you were on the brim of exploding.

You didn't mean to shove her, but when you did your blood ran cold. You couldn't believe that you'd done it, her fragile body hitting the ground with a thump and a pained groan. Some of the broken glass on the floor dug into her arm, little trickles of blood staining her pale skin. The pain was sudden, and like a frightened cat Ellie started to claw at the floorboards, her voice coming out in loud garbled tones. You quickly tried to quieten her down, it was difficult enough as it was to keep her hidden from her landlord.

"Shit- Els.. I'm sorry-.."

You tried to get at her bloodied arm, to make sure she was okay but she wouldn't let you near her. When you tried to grab onto her shoulder she writhed, digging her blunt nails into your arm and sending a searing sting of pain through your already hot flesh. You let another exasperated shout, trying to get her to detach herself from your skin. Ellie looked at you with those wild eyes, her thoughts running half a minute to try and comprehend what was happening, why it was happening. You couldn't deal with this, you couldn't deal with her right now.

Once you managed to get her off, you made a bee-line to the bedroom. You needed some sort of space before you a blew a casket against your girl. The lock clicked as you shut yourself off behind the door, ripping out jewellery and tying back your hair in and effort to cool down. Ellie clawed at the door, groans of fear and frustration at being unable to get to you fleeing her lips.

Ellie wasn't angry at you though.

There was still that little spark of her there, that semi-awareness that haunted her skin despite the lack of control that she had over her body. She hated how badly she was hurting you, how frustrated you got with her inabilities. You tried so hard to be patient with her, and it made her well up at how much of a burden she was. She couldn't help it when her grip forcefully tightened and she couldn't get the muscle to relax, or the flush of anger that came whenever you tried to leave her alone.

Her motor skills barely functioned anymore, even when she did try to clean her mess it often just made the mess worse. There where nights when you'd come home tired, or upset and she wanted nothing more to take care of you. She wanted to brush your hair with a gentle stroke and not a harsh tug, she wanted to make you smile like you did whenever she could muster a sentence. Ellie couldn't fathom why you were still here, why you stayed with her despite what she'd become. Her blunt and cracked nails continued to dig into the wooden door, hot tears now streaming down her discolored cheeks.

"Ph..s.. s-..rr..y.."

Ellie's voice was disjointed, the vowels clinging to her throat and refusing to make it any further. There were so many things that she needed to say, she knew you were hurting in there and it felt like she had no way to reach you. It broke what remained of her soft fleshy heart as she slowly retracted from the door. Her arm still stung from the broken glass, and with a huff she shuffled to the bathroom to try and rid any remaining shards from her skin.

After a few minutes of fumbling with unsteady fingers, it was all out. Ellie bent her shoulder awkwardly to rinse her marred arm under the cool tap. It dried quick, a surface wound that would only leave a few scratches. It was you that Ellie was worried about, locked away from her and with feelings that she probably couldn't comprehend even if she wanted to. She wanted to be good to you, to be the girl that she knew you deserved. Hearing you crying in the bedroom made her antsy, and she fought down the urge to force herself in.

Ellie staggered to the living room, eyes drifting upon your broken vase. It was an accident, she'd bumped against it earlier when she was trying to smell one of the flowers. Her crooked fingers twitched, and she tried with the best of her ability to clean it up with a small dustpan. Her jerky movements made the whole ordeal ten times more difficult, grunts of frustration leaving her maw every time her hand went in the wrong direction. She got everything up eventually, her heart fluttering with pride.

Ellie noticed one of the roses laying on the ground, crouching awkwardly to pick it up. She then glanced back over to you, shut away from her behind that wooden door. She felt that urge again, to claw and shout and drag you out, but she bit down on that thought as hard as she could. Instead she shuffled towards the bedroom, nudging her cheek against the door. She couldn't hear you crying anymore, that at least was a relief.

She slumped down onto the floor, her back against the wall as she traced the petals with her crooked finger. You had so much patience with her, every single day. Ellie wanted so badly to be patient for you too. She'd wait for you this time, until you were ready for her.

You'd managed to cool off after tying back your hair and taking long measured breaths. As you sat on the mattress, the tension slowly drifted from your shoulders. Your eyelashes fluttered open, gazing around. The bedroom was perfectly clean, something you hadn't noticed before. Your laundry was messily folded in lopsided piles on top of your drawers. Ellie knew you didn't like the mess, she tried to keep this space nice for you.

You felt another stain of guilt at the folded clothes and the sloppily made bed, knowing how hard this was for both of you. Still you could see how hard she was trying, and it was impossible for you to stay angry with her. You let out a few more deep breaths, stretching out your body with a sigh as you approached the pile of clothes. You stripped off your work pants and blouse, instead pulling on her old clothes and letting her scent cuddle you.

It was the not knowing, that was the worst thing about it all. She would continue to deteriorate, you assumed anyways. However, Ellie's transformation was so slow, so unpredictable. You had no idea if one morning you'd wake up and she'd be completely gone. It scared you, and you knew it scared her too. She was a hollowed out version of herself now, an Ellie with nothing but basic instincts and functions. It was her memories that had kept her warm, unbearably loveable. She still knew you, still knew that she loved you and that kept her present even in her hardest moments.

Your shoulders fell as you rolled them back into place, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment of peace. It was silent in the apartment now, and you couldn't help but spark a flicker of worry again. It made you feel uneasy when it was too quiet, because at least when she was loud and babbling you could locate her. Wanting to know what she was doing, you moved from the bed. Your nerves now settled.

As you reached for the doorknob, you caught ear of some gentle sniffling, a sound so soft it near broke your heart. The lamp light illuminated the hallway once you cracked open the door. Your eyes grew warm as you found Ellie, sitting on the cold floor and crying as quietly as she could into her calloused palms.

Oh Ellie.

You sunk to your knees beside her, slowly bringing a gentle hand over hers. Your other hand moved to those scruffy strands of hair, caressing the side of her head. It took some coaxing to get her to come back to you, but when she did lift her head, her dark eyes were wet with guilt and worry. Ellie fumbled with the rose she'd gotten, managing to get it up to your face with an apologetic murmur. She wanted to kiss you, but she couldn't. There was that risk now, that maybe she'd bite down on your lip or cheek by mistake.

You met her halfway, leaning down to smell the rose. The soft scent of the flower kissed your nose, making a gentle smile creep onto your lips. She was too sweet, and you adored her. You carefully took the rose from her grip, setting it aside. You brought her into a tight hug, mimicking the ones that she suffocates you with almost always. She responded well, immediately running her cold hands along your shoulders and hair as gentle as she could manage.

Ellie spoke a different language to you now, but it was one that you would never stop trying to learn.

[baskinbucky]

tonight, I asked God a favor.

pairing: bob reynolds x reader

blurb: everyone in the tower knows how much bob likes you and everyone is trying to help him showcase his affection little by little—one of them hopes you’d return the affection before lovesick bob gives up on trying.

a/n: this might be short and narrative heavy, and is mostly focused on bob’s point of view!

warnings: random morning watchtower shenanigans. starlit yearning by bob. fluff! reader being insanely oblivious and everyone gets a bit frustrated to it (except bob)

note: no thunderbolts* spoilers! no proof read.

“Bucky did you just shave?” Yelena blurted out with a spoonful of cereal as she watches Bucky walks toward the kitchen, his eyes boring to Yelena’s. It was as if he wanted to scoop her eyeballs out.

“What’s my beard have to do with your breakfast?” Bucky responded as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot, taking a loaf of bread and loaded it within the toaster.

“I was just asking if you shaved!”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I thought i’m just drunk!”

“what?”

“what..?” Yelena responded in a hushed voice as she continue to take spoonfuls of her cereal instead of meeting Bucky’s gaze. It seems that he wanted to reprimand but this time of the day? He doesn’t feel that kind of energy fill him just yet.

Everyone was having a quiet breakfast, Ava’s eyes bore into the newspaper’s editorial section, huffing out comments and low profanities with its content. John seemingly occupied with doomscrolling on his phone, or visiting his now ex-wife’s profile. Alexei telling Bucky stories about Yelena’s childhood and how she manages to get into the team but benched her anyways. Then, there’s Bob who’s too preoccupied with his crossword to even notice that his warm milk went cold.

As if right on cue, everyone pauses what they’re doing when you entered the kitchen, your hair disheveled in all directions possible, your eyes still closed and it’s still such a wonder to everyone present in the room how you managed to walk towards the area without bumping and breaking something.

“Guys, what does it mean when they said that ‘tea’ is not actually hot tea but-” He was immediately cut off of his thoughts when you took a seat next to him, his pencil and crossword booklet held up as if he was being held captive.

“G-good morning, Y/N” He greets softly, like he’s greeting a hedgehog in a burrow, calculated actions and responses is on heightened alert for him because of how flustered he felt the moment you leaned your head on his shoulder.

You did not respond with full words but a nod sufficed from everyone, considering the fact that they might have convinced themselves you’re an episode away from joining as an extra for the clickers role in The Last of Us.

Bob felt your breathing to go slow and steady, it was as if you had only woken up to move places and sleep on his shoulder. While it is common knowledge for everyone to know that you can fall asleep anywhere whenever your body decided to shut off of any ludicrous activity there is to do in the tower—Alexei sometimes suggested to slip in Russian Vodka in your coffee to wake your system.

“Did she just wake up and sleep again?” Alexei asked while he gently itches his head in curiosity, his eyes then wandered on your sleeping figure, Bob’s hand on your shoulder–holding you closer and with such care.

You were knocked out of sleep to even feel Bob carrying you into the living room, gently placing you down on the couch, placing a soft pillow under and draping you with a knitted blanket that he learned making on youtube when Yelena brought crocheting kits for him to pass the time with her.

Everyone in the tower but you knew about how much Bob liked you, from stolen glances that he takes at every movie night and bookstore runs. From every subtle touch that you give Bob makes him blush and fluster—hell, even every time you call him by his name he blushes like crazy.

But Bob doesn’t want you to know, atleast not now.

“Bobby, why don’t you tell our little friend that you like them?” Yelena asked as if it was that easy to do. Like it was easy for Bob to do.

“I’m scared. W-what if she doesn’t like me back? what if she likes someone else! or… or what if I just don’t tell her? Maybe we’ll still be friends! but, but I don’t want us to be friends forever!” Bob rambled like his life depended on it, he began sweating profusely and takes a seat at the edge of the couch, making sure you weren’t disturbed of your slumber.

“You tried giving her the knitted flowers we made? We sprayed that with your cologne, right?” Yelena blurts out again, she says while showing the photo of the knitted flower inspiration they got from Pinterest.

“Did you try serenading her? Women in my days love it when they’re being serenaded or asked to dance.” Bucky adds.

“Have you tried telling her that you want to go out and grab a cup of tea?” Ava asks and everyone turns to her to look, “what? it works every time!”

Everyone was asking and telling suggestions to Bob, which all things mentioned and suggested by them are all waiting into fruituition. Not that Bob is getting impatient with it, but his attempts bring no good news and he is almost on the brink of giving up.

With everyone talking, he felt a bit overwhelmed, and for them to stop talking, it took you to stir a bit of movement in your sleep—was he thankful for your bodily shift on the couch? yes. but was he scared you might tell him to go away? definitely yes.

Everyone was startled, including himself, when you started mumbling incoherent words in your sleep, Bob freezing into his place when he felt your hand hug his.

“Uh, guys?”

“Please help me up or else I will combust and cry and…just please help me up.” He says pleading, his irises enlarged and his cheeks and neck flush pink.

It’s not that he doesn’t want your warmth in his body, but his sole worry was you pushing him away the moment you wake up. He will do anything and everything just to be held by you, but not like this, when it feels like he’s invading your space as you sleep.

When they helped him up, everyone left with words of affirmation and confidently urges him to tell you how he feels even if you’re in sleep—Alexei even mentioned how one can still hear talk to them while asleep and register the words when you wake up.

As he watches everyone leave the area to do their tasks and the whatnots, he remained in his seat at the edge of the couch where you lay, his fingers gently brush the stray hair that covers your eyes, mumbling to himself of how adorable you are while you sleep.

Bob decided to leave you in your place to do some chores while you sleep. He even hesitated for a while and contemplated whether should he kiss you on the forehead or not, to his surprise, he did so anyways. Bucky and Yelena was lurking at the area, hiding behind the pillars of the tower, watched how he kissed you on your forehead, yet still not shuffle to wake up at the gesture.

but oh boy, little did bob knew that you were already awake when he kissed your forehead.

Bob had grown accustomed to doing chores in the watchtower, he doesn’t complain as he had learned how to enjoy every bits of it—somehow helped him ease his worries and the thought of loneliness in his head too. With the amount of things he had done for the day, he did not notice that the sun is about to slip back to its horizons.

He immediately took his time to freshen up, wear the sweater you had given him when you both went out of your way past eight pm on a weekday to go watch movies in the mall.

Thoughts wandered on his head, thinking about the ways on what to tell you and how to tell you–frustration did keep up with him while giving himself a pep talk about how he should not stutter and create a dead air soon after.

As soon as he’s fully clothed, Bob made his way towards the rooftop and leaned forward against the balcony, watching the sun go down to the horizon, not noticing you had slipped in quietly next to him.

You noticed how he closed his eyes and mumbles something in his breath that only him and by all means, a deity to hear. He smelled like fresh flowers and powder, must’ve been the cologne you suggested he use.

If anything, Bob meant the whole world toy ou, as you mean the world to him.

“Oh! Uh—hi. I didn’t notice y-you were here.” He says, slowly mustering up the courage to tell you how he feels about you.

“They told me I’d find you here this time. I kept looking for you as soon as I woke up.”

Those words meant everything to Bob, he felt something at the pit of his stomach, trying so hard not to utter even a squeal.

“I need to tell you something, and it’s–it’s okay if you won’t take it, alright?” you told bob, and he doesn’t have no idea on what it is yet he wanted to jump out of where he stood. He could not find the words to speak so he simply nodded in response.

You slowly lifted your hands to cup bob’s cheeks, leaning against your touch while he kept his on you. You kept your gaze on his eyes, it was the perfect shade of blue and you’d be willing enough to get drunk on those orbs.

“I need you to promise me you won’t walk away after.”

In his head, Bob wonders why, asking so many questions and thinking about the possible things you might tell him. Have you finally set your heart to someone else? Someone better than him? Will you leave the tower because of him?

He was cut off of his train of thoughts when you planted a soft kiss on his lips, he was tense at first—not really registering what’s going yet. Soon enough, his hands trailed down your waist, pulling you closer to him, seemingly not wanting to let you go, nor stop the kiss.

His lips moved in sync with you like it was made solely to kiss yours perfectly. Nothing about kissing you felt rushed to him, it felt like he is floating under a bed of clouds. His lips elicit a soft whine the moment you pulled away from the kiss—yet him? Oh, you can describe bob as the most beautiful thing you have ever laid your eyes on. The lasting rays of the setting sun kissed his skin perfectly like the gods have decided it is time for you to see him the way he is meant to be seen for as long as he had lived.

And for Bob? Oh god, to him, you were his everything. Everything he had yearned and asked for, you embodied everything he wishes to love—to feel love.

“I…I loved you the first time I met you, outside the tower when you greeted the cat hello,” Bob says softly, his eyes wander around your features like he wanted to bore them in his memory.

“I love you not because you’re hot—I mean you are hot, but, I love you because of the way you made me realize I have so much love to give and share. I have so much love still in me that I could look past my flaws and embrace them for what they are. I love you because you made me realize I am capable of loving this way.”

His confession came right out, your eyes glassy and lips curling into a small pout as you listened to him. His emotions raw and true, and you can tell it by the way he looks and holds you ever so gently.

“I love you because you make me happy, and I hope by any means, I make you happy too.”

You hugged Bob and peppered kisses at every inch of his face gently—smiling widely, almost showcasing the crescents in your eyes.

“By all means, you make me happy in the simplest ways possible—even your smallest gestures. and everyday, I only ponder how I could give you the love you deserve, that we both deserve. I love you in the simplest days, and I love you even more at every gaze we slip past each other unknowingly.”

Bob’s lips curled into a soft smile, hugging and placing a kiss on your temple before rocking you back and forth. He heaves a sigh of relief rests his chin your shoulder.

“I’m not entirely religious but tonight, I asked God a favor.” Bob mumbles softly, a chuckle soon escaped his lips as he held you close to his body.

“Oh yeah? what was it?”

“If things go south, I want Him to make you happy, even if it means you won’t be happy with me.”

Those words slipped out of his lips like a sacred scripture, meaning everything he says from that moment on while he kept his warmth close to you. You and Bob have kept your stance on the rooftop, watching the bustling city below you and how the crimson in the sky had shifted into a much more serene shade of blue, littered with glimmering clusters of stars just above your heads.

If happiness needs a tangible evidence to prove its existence, he knew where to go and who to choose, and that will always be you no matter what.

[kxsagi]

hiiiiii, can you make reader giving the bllk boys a puppy or a kitten please? 🫶

(rin, bachira, reo, nagi, sae (+) maybe it’s their dream dog or cat :3

“𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞”

a/n: hiii ofc this is so cute ❤️

i, too, would name my pet yuzu

ft. itoshi rin, bachira meguru, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi

itoshi rin

rin does not ask for a kitten. rin does not want a kitten. rin receives a kitten anyway. 

“what the hell is this.” 

says that with a cat in his hoodie, purring on his chest, and his entire aura softened like a warm baguette fresh from the oven. 

it’s a tiny grey one you found abandoned near your apartment, and when you bring it to him, you expect him to say no. instead, he stares at the mewling fluff ball for 0.2 seconds before going: “it’s cold. give me your blanket.” 

cue you watching him spend 20 minutes constructing a blanket fort around it like a cat IKEA architect. 

names it something really blunt like kuro. or neko. 

says “don’t touch her too much. she’s scared.” like you’re the guest. 

she ends up sleeping on his face. you take a picture. he threatens to burn your phone. doesn’t follow through. 

bachira meguru

he almost cries when you show up at his door with a golden retriever puppy in your arms. 

“NO. WAY. is that my son? IS THAT MY FUR SON???” 

immediately drops to the floor and starts barking back. puppy’s barking. he’s barking. you’re filming. it’s a family moment. 

names him “chompy.” refuses to explain. 

goes on walks with him wearing matching jackets. even buys him goggles. 

they’re inseparable. the dog howls when he leaves for practice. bachira howls back through the window. 

teaches him stupid tricks like spinning in circles, headbutting people, and booping noses on command. 

one day you come home to find him and the dog in a pile of treats on the floor. “he deserved a little snack party!” sure. and now your kitchen’s a crime scene. 

mikage reo

reo stares at the calico kitten you brought like you stole her from a museum. 

“she’s... beautiful. what if i’m not good enough for her?” 

spoils her immediately. you are no longer his favorite girl. 

gets her a princess-themed litter box. orders organic, salmon-glazed kibble with prebiotics. hires a cat nutritionist. 

takes her to the vet in a designer carrier. wears sunglasses like he’s in a movie. 

starts saying things like “i think she has an eye for luxury.” no, reo, she’s literally biting a sock. 

names her something extra like lady caviar mikage III. 

every time she lays on his chest he looks like he just got knighted. 

she bit his finger once and he told you it was “because he deserved it.” 

nagi seishiro

stares at the puppy you give him for a solid minute like it’s a math equation. 

“... is it maintenance?” 

you promise to do most of the work. nagi: “okay. sick.” two days later, he’s carrying it in his hoodie like it’s his new spawn. 

puppy’s just as lazy as him. sleeps 22 hours a day. they nap together like matching plush toys. 

names it something weird like tofu. 

“don’t touch tofu, he’s resting.” he says, with tofu upside-down on his lap, tongue out like a slug. 

tries to train him by just looking at him. no commands. just vibes. 

when it works once (she sits), nagi gets so smug. “we understand each other. no need to talk.” 

takes him to convenience stores in a sling like a baby. asks if he can get a dog discount. you leave him outside on purpose. 

itoshi sae

gives you a blank stare when you drop the orange tabby into his arms. 

“... what’s this?” 

“love.” 

raises a brow. but the cat headbutts his chin and immediately starts purring like a chainsaw and you see the pixelation of his soul. 

acts cool and unaffected at first. until you catch him letting her sleep in his suitcase. and using a fake voice to talk to her. 

“what do you want, you little gremlin. yeah? food? yeah? you wanna destroy my couch again?” 

names her yuzu. pretends it’s random. actually named her after your favorite drink. 

goes full tsundere. “she’s not mine, she just follows me around.” she literally sleeps on his laptop keyboard while he works. 

lowkey checks his camera roll every night to make sure she’s in at least five new pictures. 

“if anything happens to her, i’m suing god.” 

isagi yoichi

when you surprise him with a shiba inu puppy, he screams. 

“IS THIS REAL?? ARE YOU REAL?? ARE WE MARRIED???” 

immediately puts him on his Instagram story with “me & my son 🥹” 

names him something super normal like mochi. acts like it’s the most creative name on earth. 

treats the puppy like a teammate. “good job, bud! way to poop outside!!” 

you walk in on him training drills with the dog. like. actual cone drills. baby shiba zooming through like a pro athlete. 

"he's got stamina. he could play for bastard in five years." 

buys a matching hoodie for all three of you. “family fit check!!” 

cries a little when the puppy licks his face for the first time. “he loves me.” 

sometimes falls asleep with him on the couch and mumbles in his sleep: “pass it here, mochi…” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢