#they love each others space so much and need to be there

[withwritersblock]

Mistakes Like This

~Mistakes Like This by Prelow~

Author's Note: Requested! I've rewritten this like four times, I'm sorry :( Summary: Besties to lovers/situationship (you know how much I love this trope) Warnings; brief smut scene Word Count: 9,215 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

The friend group was one of the ones that happened by chance. One of the ones that spark from picking a random day for college orientation. Most of them were from the hockey team and soccer teams while Y/N and her newly found best friend, Zoey, both played on the lacrosse team. 

They spent every possible day together after school started. They all lived on the same dorm floor and were constantly hanging out in each other’s room. A lot of the time, they would all hang out in Y/N’s room. She was the only one with a single room. 

Tonight was no different as the eight of them were all crowded in her room. She was sprailed out on her bed, an ice pack behind her thigh. She pulled her hamstring last night at practice and it was getting more sore as the day went on. 

Zoey was sprailed out on the floor with Ethan, Mark, and Dylan. Miles and Chloe were on the spare bed in her room laying on opposite sides of the bed. Luke was sitting beside Y/N, pressing his back against the wall. 

He was absentmindedly toying with the blankets that were laying over his lap. It was draped over Y/N’s legs too. Everyone was shouting loudly towards each other, laughing and talking about their weekend plans. Except Y/N and Luke. They were both sitting quietly. Y/N wouldn’t look at Luke, her heart was pounding hard against her chest.

It wasn’t weird for the two of them to be the quiet ones in the group. They were the only ones that seemed to have a social battery. It was common for them to be social for days at a time before they needed alone time. 

Sometimes they could be alone together. Normally not close, enjoying each other’s company and quiet. Right now, they were enjoying each other’s company in the sea of loudness that was their friends. Every so often, their eyes would connect and small smiles would form on their lips. 

He looked towards her, tapping her hand delicately. Turning her head to the side, she met Luke’s soft gaze. “How’s your leg?” he asked quietly. She shrugged while she swallowed harshly. He nodded as his lips fell into a small pout. 

“Anything I can do?” he questioned as he looked over her features. She was tired, probably in a lot more pain than she was letting on. She shook her head slightly as she tilted her head back against the pillow. He took a deep breath, looking towards the rest of the people in the small space. 

“Hey guys, let’s move this party to my room,” Luke expressed as he began to climb off of the bed, readjusting the blanket over Y/N’s lap. All of them looked towards him expectantly, “She won’t tell you guys this but she wants to be alone and nap,” Luke said as he stared towards her. She fought off a grin on her lips. 

“I didn’t say that,” she offered.

“But your face tells all,” Luke teased as he waved his hand in front of his own face. Rolling her eyes playfully, she pursed her lips forward. “Come on guys, leave Y/N alone to her beauty sleep,” he teased again. Everyone soon stood up, mingling amongst themselves. Shouting goodbyes towards her. Luke waited near the door, watching everyone leave. 

Their eyes connected. The corner of his lips curled upward as he continued to look towards her. “Thank you,” she whispered while bringing the blanket closer to her face. He nodded before he snuck out of the room, letting it shut behind him. She winced slightly as she adjusted her body with the ice pack beneath her leg. A sigh left her lips before she slowly let her eyes shut.

~~~

The following night, there was a huge frat party that the eight of them were supposed to attend. She initially promised that she would go. But her body was still aching, it seemed like it was getting better. She sat at her vanity, a Truly can beside her and her flat iron in her hand.

She has yet to start doing anything to her hair, still not sure what the best look would be. She rested it down on the vanity again as she felt her posture straighten. 

There was a knock against her door, she forced her gaze towards the door. She let out a sigh, “Come in,” she muttered. 

Luke poked his head into the room, a grin formed to his lips before he stepped inside. “Do you wanna go to this thing?” he asked quietly. He pressed his back against the door as he scanned her frame. He cleared his throat as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“No,” she said through a small chuckle. 

He grinned while pushing away from the door. “Me neither,” he let out with a shrug. “I have a taste for frozen yogurt, wanna come with me and ditch this thing?” he questioned. She fought off a smile as she unplugged her flat iron. Quickly, she stood up from the stool and met his gaze.

“Please,” she said, “Spin around, I have to change first,” she said as she slowly motioned for him to spin around. He let out a sudden laugh as he spun on his heels and shoved his hands into his pocket. 

“Yes ma’am,” he teased while he pursed his lips forward. 

Once she saw that he was completely facing away from her, she slipped her skirt from her frame and kicked it away from her frame. Instantly, she took a hold of a pair of shorts folded on top of her dresser. It took a few seconds before she pulled it up over her frame.

“Did you tell anyone that we’re ditching?” she asked as she unzipped her tight corset top from her frame. She dropped it to the floor as she walked toward her closet. Reaching inside, she pulled out her zip up hoodie. 

“I told Dylan, sorta implied that you were joining,” he let out quietly. She chuckled as she zipped up her jacket.

“Was he mad?” she asked as she walked towards him, tapping her hand against his shoulder. Luke spun around, meeting her gaze. He shook his head slightly as an answer. She took a hold of her phone and her keys. “Good because I have been craving frozen yogurt for days,” she let out as she began walking past him. 

He rolled his eyes playfully as he began to follow after her. “I think Zoey’s going to be pissed that I missed another party,” she said as she stepped outside of the dorm room. Luke slid out of the door as he waited beside her. 

Quickly, she locked the door and began walking down the hall with a small limp to her step. “If you tell her you’re still hurting, she’ll get over it,” he offered as he began walking side by side with her. Their eyes connected, a small smile formed to his lips. 

“She can’t know I’m still hurting. I can’t play if she knows,” she explained as she pressed the down button on the elevator. 

“You shouldn’t be playing if you are hurting,” Luke offered as he rested his hands onto his hips. She rolled her eyes as a breathy laugh left her lips.

“Says the hockey player that played a rivalry game with a busted up shoulder earlier this season,” she shot back while meeting his eye.

“And then I was out for six weeks,” he said as he smiled knowingly. Her lips parted as she looked into his eyes. Swallowing harshly, she forced her gaze towards the elevator doors opening. “So you should definitely let it heal,” 

“It’s a pulled muscle,” she said as she walked backwards into the elevator. He scoffed as he shook his head. 

“Pulled muscles can tear, Y/N,” Luke let out while looking into her eyes. 

“I’ll take it easy,” she said while she watched his eyes squint slightly.

“You better,” he teased as he pointed his finger towards her. She pushed his hand away from her face. She leaned past him as she pressed the lobby button. Their eyes remained connected as he let out a small laugh. 

“I promise,” she mumbled. He smirked as he nodded slowly. “I promise!” she drew out the word as she smiled softly. He grinned while rolling his eyes. 

“My car is across the lot, if you want I can jog down there and pull up to the building,” he offered as the elevator doors pulled open. He began walking backwards as their eyes remained connected. Slowly, she followed after him. 

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered while fighting off a smirk. “I can walk, Luke,” 

“I mean I can carry you, if it hurts too bad,” Luke said teasingly, still walking backwards. Every few seconds, he looked behind him to make sure he wasn’t running into anything. 

“Oh shut up, Lukey,” she said through a giggle. He grinned while spinning around and waiting for her to walk beside him. “So what excuse did you give Dylan on why you didn’t want to go to the party?” she asked softly. 

He pushed the door open and they both stepped out of the dorm building and began walking towards the parking lot directly across from the dorm building. 

“Didn’t need to give him one, just said I didn’t want to go,” he expressed while raising his eyebrows. 

“Wish my best friend was that easy to bypass,” she mumbled.

“You still haven’t told her that you aren’t going yet, have you?” he asked teasingly. She smirked while shaking her head. 

“She’s a textbook extrovert, she doesn’t understand,” she explained while bumping into him slightly as they walked. He nodded as they continued to walk through the smal grass divider before the parking lot. 

“Well, let’s enjoy our Friday night with some quiet, right?” he offered. She nodded with a small smile. 

The walk towards his car only took a few more minutes. The drive to the frozen yogurt place took ten minutes. The entire drive it was comfortable silence mixed with soft music playing. No matter who was driving, Luke always let her play the music. He never cared what music they listened to and most of the time she played songs that he enjoyed too. 

They were always good at sitting in comfortable silence. Their other friends hated silence, always needing to fill the room with something. But they were always good at being just them. They have been that way since they first met. 

Everyone else was asleep. The overnight orientation trip was dedicated to meeting new people and making friends. She didn’t realize that also meant staying in the same room all night long. The dorm room was a suite that was split in two. Each room had two beds. 

Chloe and Zoey were sharing a bed while the rest of the boys were sharing reluctantly. Even though they all had the option of going back to their own dorm room they were assigned for orientation. 

Luke and Y/N were the only ones that were awake. They were sitting on the floor, their backs pressed against the giant dresser at the center of the room. Their shoulders would brush every few seconds. 

It was past two in the morning, they all had to be awake by seven in the morning. All of the festivities began again at eight. Y/N was exhausted, her entire frame felt like a weighted blanket was draped over her body. 

She could tell he was tired but sleep was hard to come by. This was technically his room, he had nowhere to sleep. But Dylan told everyone they could crash in there and he was not happy.

She clenched her jaw as she stared ahead, watching Ethan roll away from Dylan. She tilted her head back against the dresser, clenching her jaw slightly. Luke tilted his head to the side, looking over her side profile. 

She was like a painting. Everything about her was so beautifully handcrafted. She was perfect in every way. Her humor was unstoppable and her smile was intoxicating. His legs went weak the first time that she smiled towards him. Her laugh instantly became his favorite sound. 

He swallowed harshly as she shifted her gaze towards him. Their eyes met once again, he watched as her eyes softened while looking towards him. “Wanna crash at my dorm? I don’t have a roommate,” she whispered. He furrowed his eyebrows as he pulled his head back. A breathy chuckle fell from her lips, “I mean you could use my spare bed.”

“I didn’t think–yeah, let’s go,” he whispered back as he began to stand up. She followed in pursuit as they stood directly in front of one another. Their faces were only a few inches apart. Her breathing picked up as she looked over his features urgently. He pressed his lips together as he pointed towards the door. 

Nodding, she followed after him. She was careful to walk over Miles who was sprailed out on the center of the floor. Luke waited for her by the door as he slowly pulled it open. 

She smiled towards him as they began to sneak out of the room together. Luke pulled the key from his pocket and spun around to lock the door. He followed after towards her room which was on the opposite side of the hallway without any hesitation.

They walked side by side as they walked up towards the somewhat sketchy frozen yogurt shop. It was the only business that had lights on in the suspiciously dark parking lot. Although, she was okay with it because Luke was walking protectively close to her.

He took a hold of the door and held it open for her. She smiled towards him as she stepped inside. They were instantly greeted by the people near the register. Luke and Y/N smiled politely towards them as they walked directly towards the table that had the cups. 

Luke instantly took a hold of the largest container and smirked towards her. She rolled her eyes playfully as she happily took a hold of the medium. She followed after him towards the frozen yogurt. 

It didn’t take long for either of them to stack their container full of frozen yogurt and toppings. Luke rested his onto the weight thing, staring towards her expectantly. “It was my idea, put it down,” he said, letting out a dry laugh. She shook her head slightly as she placed down beside his cup. 

The girl at the cash register glanced between them before she began to calcuate the total. Luke happily handed her his card as he glanced back towards her. “Thank you,” Y/N let out quietly. He nodded as he waited for the girl to hand his card back towards him.

“Thanks for joining me,” he leaned down towards her, whispering. After handing his card back towards him, the girl’s eyes widened as she fought off a grin. She continued to shift her gaze between the pair. 

Y/N smiled towards him as she shyly took a hold of her container again. She took a purple spoon as she began to walk backwards away from the register. He quickly followed after her, instantly bringing a spoonful towards his mouth.

She slammed her body into the door, pushing it open as a giggle fell from her lips. “This was probably my best idea I’ve ever had,” he offered teasingly. 

“Oh please,” she let out sarcastically as she began walking well in front of him. He rolled his eyes playfully as he brought another spoonful to his mouth. After a few seconds, she brought her own spoon towards her mouth and took a dramatic spoonful of her own frozen yogurt. “I fear you might be right,” she offered teasingly.

“I knew it,” he said with a smirk. She fought off a grin as she took a fast step towards his car. He reached into his pocket and unlocked his car. She took a hold of the car door handle and climbed inside of the car. Luke followed in pursuit. After he sat down in the seat, he rested his container in the center council. He put his keys into the ignition and turned the car on. 

“I’ve missed chocolate,” she mumbled before she brought another spoonful towards her lips. “If my coach found out I was eating this, I would be dead,” she expressed. He nodded as he handed her the charger to play some music. Her eyes widened as she urgently connected her phone to it. 

“My coach will not find out,” he let out with a teasing grin on his lips. She selected the playlist that was dedicated to Luke. It was all songs that she knew that Luke liked. It was every song that she’s heard him hum along to or even sing the lyrics to. He didn’t know that she had a playlist like this, but that was the whole point.

Her phone started vibrating in her hand instantly. A sigh left her lips as she reluctantly took her phone off of the charger. She brought it towards her ear. 

“Where the hell are you!?” Zoey shouted loudly into the phone. Y/N pulled the phone away for a second before she put it back against her ear. 

“I changed my mind about coming, I’m sorry I forgot to tell you,” Y/N said softly, she glanced towards Luke. He shifted his body to face her while resting his head against the window. He kept swirling his spoon around the frozen yogurt, slowly. 

“You seri–ously ditched again! What are you doing!?” Zoey asked loudly. The music at the party was so loud, Luke could even hear it. 

“With Luke getting–”

“Suprise! Surprise! You two always ditch the fucking parties! I’m s–so over it!” she shouted into the phone before hanging up. Y/N carefully pulled her phone away from her ear, a sigh leaving her lips.

Luke adjusted his body as he scanned her frame. Y/N reached toward the charger and plugged her phone back in. The playlist she dedicated to Luke started playing again. A soft country song started playing. The corner of his lips curled upward at the song.

“So Zoey’s mad,” she let out softly before she brought a spoonful to her mouth. Luke tilted his head to the side as he watched her avoid his gaze. He would never admit it out loud but he was not Zoey’s biggest fan. If Y/N wasn’t always at her beck and call, she would be so mad. 

“Let her be mad,” he let out softly. A small scoff left her lips before she tilted her head back against the headrest. “I’m serious, she’ll be fine,”

“She’s mad at you too,” Y/N said while looking towards him. Their eyes met as she felt her heart jump into her throat. He smiled softly towards her as he adjusted his sitting position. 

“Yeah, well Zoey’s always mad at me so,” Luke said with a chuckle leaving his lips. She fought off a smirk forming to her lips as she rolled her eyes playfully. “This is so much better than a fucking party.” 

“Is it?” she asked teasingly. He nodded dramatically. “Definitely a lot better,” she agreed. He smirked before he brought a comically large spoonful towards his mouth. 

It didn’t take long for them to finish their frozen yogurt, he jumped out of the car with the empty containers and tossed them in a nearby trash can. He quickly bolted back into the car. His body straightened as he reached for his seatbelt. 

“Ready to head back?” he asked quietly. She nodded as she took a hold of her own seatbelt and covered her own frame. He reached towards the volume button and turned it up.

The drive back to the drom building didn’t take long. They only listened to about four songs in the process. She sang happily to every song that played and Luke would look towards her every few seconds; just to get a glimpse of her smile. 

He was able to get a closer parking spot and they both jumped out of the car. They did not say anything while they walked back towards the dorm building. Again walking side by side in comfortable silence.

Although, his mind was busy. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. It’s been months almost a year since he’s thought about her as more than a friend. It was during a party and he kept watching her dance from afar. 

He loved watching her move so effortlessly. He loved the way her hair moved and the way her smile would light up the dark frat living room. Their eyes would connect and his heart would jump into his throat. He would watch her smile widen and he needed to be close to her but he was afraid.

He never wanted to ruin the perfect little friendship they created. Beautiful comfortable silence and enjoying each other’s company. He never wanted to ruin that. But right now, he was starting to think about her lips. Her perfect lips. 

Clearing his throat, he realized that they had already reached the elevator to their floor. He pressed his back against the wall of the elevator, he tilted his head to the side as he looked towards Y/N. Their eyes connected and for a second Luke thought she was thinking the same thing. But he shook his head slightly as he dropped his gaze towards the floor.

She tilted her head back against the wall while she stared towards the numbers climb. He did the same thing as he felt his body tense. His mind was still wandering, trying to figure out what it would be like to kiss her. He wanted to know what it was like to feel her lips against his. 

Slowly, the elevator doors pulled open. Their eyes connected while he held his hand up. She nodded with a small grin on her lips. He stepped out of the elevator first as he quickly began to walk backwards away. She followed after him, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. 

They began walking towards her dorm room. Their arms bumped into one another as they stopped short in front of her door. Slowly, she pulled her keys from her pocket. Meeting Luke’s gaze for a second before she unlocked the door. She unlocked the door, feeling Luke step closer towards her.

She pulled the key from the door as she shoved it back into her pocket. She glanced towards him before she turned to stand directly in front of him. He scanned her features as he pressed his lips together. 

“Do you want to stay for a bit?” she asked quietly. He nodded as his gaze flickered all over her features, lingering on her lips. “Luke,” she mumbled. He took a deep breath before he reached towards her, taking a hold of her cheek. He pulled her towards him, stopping just short of kissing her desperately.

Her eyes widened as her hands landed onto his chest. He dragged his thumb across her cheek as he looked into her eyes. He saw her eyes dilate while looking into them. Slowly, he ran his hand from her cheek towards the base of her neck. 

He leaned towards her, pressing his lips against hers delicately. He waited for her to pull away. He was hesitant with the way his lips pressed against hers. 

Her entire body erupted in heat, her shoulders relaxed as her lips parted allowing him to deepen the kiss. He slipped his tongue into her mouth as she tugged him closer to her. Their lips moved in perfect sync as Luke took a hold of her hips and pressed her back against the door. 

Luke pulled her body closer to him, their bodies instantly pressed together. Her heart was slamming against her chest as she felt drunk with his lips desperately locked against hers. 

Quickly, she took a hold of the door handle and opened the door. They stumbled inside, their lips still attached as Luke slowly guided her inside.The door slowly shut behind them, slowly he pressed her body against the door. He pulled her hips towards him as her hands landed on the base of his neck. 

He pulled back slightly, needing to take an urgent breath. He watched her eyes flicker open. Luke reached behind her, carefully twisting the lock. Their eyes remained connected as a thousand words were being shared between them. 

Their noses bumped into one another, a breathy laugh left her lips as she ran her hand down his chest. He leaned towards her, tilting his head to the side. He brushed his lips against her ear.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he questioned breathily against her ear. Without hesitation she took a hold of his strong jaw and pulled his gaze back towards her. Their eyes connected as the corner of her swollen lips curled upward. 

“Please don’t stop,” she whispered as she dragged her thumb across his jawline. He smirked before he leaned towards her, kissing her urgently. He took a hold of her hips and began to guide her through the small dorm room. Both of them were stumbling back towards the bed. 

They both began to kick their shoes away from them, giggles falling from their lips as they continued to stumble towards the bed. Slowly, she pulled her lips away from his as she sat down on the bed, looking up towards him. He looked down towards her, watching her look up towards him through her eyelashes.

Luke let out a huff of air as he took a hold of his t-shirt and pulled it up off of his frame. She pursed her lips forward as she felt her breath get caught in her throat. Slowly, she slid back on the bed with their eyes connected. 

“Can I?” he asked as he stepped closer to the bed. She nodded as their eyes continued to remain connected. Biting her bottom lip, she nodded allowing him to climb on top of her. His gaze dipped towards her lips for a second before he looked back into her eyes. He watched her nod slowly before he leaned towards her, kissing her desperately. 

After a few minutes, he slowly began to trail his lips down on her neck. He continued to climb down her frame while slowly tugging at the zipper of the zip up hoodie. It fell against the mattress, exposing her chest. Arching her back up into him, he smirked as he slowly began to lower his lips down her stomach. He sucked and slowly swirled his tongue. 

She pressed her lips together as she tilted her head back. He smirked as he looked up towards her. She sat up slightly, pulling it completely off of her frame. She tossed it onto the floor.

Slowly, he dipped one finger beneath her waistband teasingly. The small motion sent a shock of electricity through her frame. Luke began to climb up her frame, trailing wet kisses up her frame. Grazing his hand up her side. 

Biting her bottom lip as she forced her gaze back down towards Luke. Their eyes met and a grin formed to his lips before he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers urgently. A soft hum fell from her lips as she arched her back into him. 

Their tongues connected instantly, swirling perfectly in sync. Her hands glided through his curls, tugging at the strands. He reached down and took a hold of her thigh, pulling it up towards him. 

“Luke,” she mumbled against his lips. He pulled back, their noses bumping into one another. His eyes slowly flickered open, meeting her gaze. A soft smile formed to his lips as he looked over her.

“You okay?” he asked softly, watching her eyes dilate. 

“More than okay,” she mumbled as she took a hold of the base of his neck as she pulled him towards her again. He giggled against her lips, kissing her again. Her hands began to glide along his upper back, desperate to feel more and more of his skin. Craving his touch, his lips, his everything.

He took a hold of the bra strap, letting it pull away from her skin. He toyed with it before he let it snap back in place. Tilting her head back, she allowed him to press his lips down the center of her neck. Leaving wet kisses in his place. Her breathing quickened as she bit her bottom lip. 

Arching her back into him, she let her arms fall beside her head. Luke leaned back, tugging at his pants; desperate for some release. Her eyes lit up as she watched him stand up from the bed, tugging his sweats from his frame, letting them drop towards the floor. 

Their eyes connected as if communicating through their longing gazes. A soft smile formed to his lips as he took a hold of the backs of her legs, parting them open as he climbed back on top of her. She wrapped her legs around his hips as a grin was on her lips.

She was drunk. It was rare for her to drink, let alone be so lost in her thoughts she probably would barely remember her actions. He was drunk. It was rare for him to drink, let alone be so lost in his thoughts he probably would barely remember his actions. 

She saw him from across the sea of the party, her body was pulling her towards him as if it was a magnet. She never saw him as more than a friend. He was just Luke. The guy that she could spend every waking moment with and never get annoyed or tired. Her social battery could be in the negatives and she could never get tired of being around him.

Her body was only covered with a tight black dress. An outfit she would never be caught dead wearing but she promised Zoey that she would dress up. Y/N would never tell Zoey that she was right but Y/N has never felt hotter. She sauntered towards him, their eyes connected.

He didn’t move while tilting his head back against the wall. Their eyes stayed connected as she continued walking closer and closer to him. He had a red solo cup in his hand, it was practically full.

Well, not anymore. The moment their eyes met and his mind started wandering to places he hasn’t been for months; he needed to drown his thoughts. Except the three shots of tequila Dylan gave him in one cup was making it worse.

Y/N stood in front of him, looking up towards him with so much desire pouring from her gaze. She took a step towards him, reaching her hand up and taking a hold of the base of his neck.

Leaning into him, she turned his head to the side while gliding her thumb along the side of his neck. “Dance with me right now, Hughesy,” she whispered into his ear. Her lips barely brushed against his ear but he clenched his jaw. His entire body practically jolted as she leaned back, their faces nearly an inch apart.

“Let’s get it, Y/N,” he whispered towards her as he rested the cup on a small table beside them. He looped his arm around her waist, guiding her towards the center of the dance floor. She pulled her hair away from her shoulder, allowing him to hover his lips over her neck.

Instantly she pressed her back against his chest and they began to move in sync. Breathy giggles and laughs fell from their lips. Ttheir drunken minds guided them to paths they promised themselves they would never dare to cross. But they were toying with the line of more. Something more, desperately craving something more.

~~~

The following morning, he was awake well before her. His heart was slamming against his chest as he looked over her sleepy features. He ran his fingers through his hair as he slammed his head against the pillow while taking a deep breath. 

His mind was quickly thinking about how every aspect of his life is different now. All because of one impulsive decision. If this goes badly, all of his friends will be gone. Or at least the friend group they know would be gone. Everything will be different, he knows that. 

His mind pictured her, how beautiful she looked. Her body was everything and more. She was perfect. He squinted his eyes shut, feeling his body heat up in the memory of each moan that left her lips. Each breathy whisper of his name, with her lips pressed against his ear. The way her hands glided along his skin, leaving faint scratch marks in their place.

It was as if their bodies were made for one another, desperately craving each perfect touch. Knowing the exact moment when to quicken and slow the pace. It was no practice run, pure perfection from the moment their lips connected.

Until this moment. The morning after the probable mistake they shared. He didn’t want it to be a mistake. He hoped she didn’t want it to be a mistake.

She began to stir beside him, she rolled over as her eyes slowly flickered open. Her lips parted as their eyes connected. “Hey,” she whispered as she pulled the blanket closer to her face. He took a deep breath as he scanned her features. She closed her eyes harshly for only a second before they opened up again. A small smile formed on her lips before she pursed her lips forward. A shaky breath falling from her lips.

“Hi,” he let out barely audible before he swallowed harshly. 

They laid beside each other, letting silence fill the room. He tapped his fingertips against the top of his hand. She squeezed the comforter as she rolled onto her back, letting it drap over her chest perfectly.

She thought it was a mistake that’s what he concluded. She was a shy person, not really talkative in general. But she was always open and comfortable with him except right now it was the furthest from him she’s ever been. And she is laying right beside him, their shoulders nearly brushing one another’s.

He nodded as he stared towards the ceiling. His mind began to replay every moment from the night before. His skin instantly flushed red as he thought about how different everything was going to be between them now. He hated that. 

“I’m gonna go,” he let out quickly.

“Yeah that’s probably good,” she muttered as she rolled on her side to face the wall. Luke instantly stood up from the bed beginning to cover his frame with his clothes as he practcially stumbled towards the exit of the room. He was hopping as he was pulling up his pants, practically jumping towards the door.

He awkwardly stumbled back towards the bed as his phone and keys rested on the nightstand. He muttered out a collection of curse words as he walked quickly towards the door; awkwardly holding his shoes in his hands as he wanted out of the room as instantly as possible. 

Her eyes were squinted shut as she pressed her lips together, muffling a small laugh fighting to leave her lips. It was the most awkward morning she has ever had after a hookup. Not that she had plenty of experiences of a moment like this but this was definitely the most awkward. 

Luke awkwardly slammed the door shut while walking out of the room. 

A giggle fell from her lips as she fell onto her back and stared towards the ceiling. It shouldn’t have been awkward. It was Luke. Everything was always so perfect and normal with him, but now she could feel it being off. 

Her phone vibrated beside her, she was hoping the message to be from Luke asking to talk about what happened; but it wasn’t. A sigh fell from her lips as the text message was from Ethan to the eight person group chat. 

Ethan: Breakfast???

The text seemed to be a popular response as nearly everyone but Dylan, Luke, and Y/N replied to it stating they’ll be at the dining hall in twenty minutes. Her eyes progressively grew wider as each person replied, knowing that now it would be weird if she didn’t go. 

Especially after ditching last night, it was important that she went. Making her rounds of apologizes for not going, it was important to Zoey more or less. She liked the message that Chloe sent stating she would be there in twenty minutes, agreeing that she too would be there in twenty minutes.

Luke stood outside of his own dorm door, staring at the notification that Y/N would be joining. A sigh fell from his lips as he shoved the phone into his pocket before he began to shove his key into the door. He pushed open the door aggressively. 

Dylan jolted up at the sound of the door opening. His face was scrunched together, a groan fell from his lips as he smashed his face down into the pillow beside him. “Where the hell have you been?” he let out loudly as his face was still pressed into the pillow.

Luke stopped short as he dropped his shoes near the pile of his other ones. His mouth fell open while he shook his head. He didn’t know how to say it without telling Dylan what they were up to all night. 

“Hello!” Dylan let out as he reluctantly lifted his head from the pillow. Squinting his eyes shut, he held his hand to the side of his head. After a few seconds, he slowly began to open his eyes and shut them again.

“I fell asleep at Y/N’s,” Luke let out as normal as he could. He sat down on his bed, a huff of air leaving his lips. Dylan looked towards Luke, looking up and down his frame. Luke watched Dylan’s eyes slowly open and get wider and wider. 

“You couldn’t walk three doors down to your own bed?” Dylan questioned while reached towards the Advil bottle on his nightstand. 

“We were watching that reality show she likes and I fell asleep. She let me stay,” he explained, completely avoiding eye contact. The second their eyes would meet, a smirk would fall on Luke’s lips. He was horrible at keeping secrets, especially with Dylan. There was nothing that was secret between them, especially with girls.

But Y/N wasn’t any girl. She was someone that Luke’s has had on and off feelings for, for months. Dylan knew that which meant he couldn’t know. 

“She hates when people stay the night in her room being that we all live on the same floor,” Dylan let out, egging him on. 

“Well I’m her favorite of any of us so,” he let out as he flopped onto his back, holding his hand against his forehead. Dylan hummed dramatically before he dropped the pill onto his tongue and took a long sip of water. Dylan’s eyes widened as he stared towards Luke.

“Well with that hickey on your neck, I’d say so,” Dylan said with a smirk toying his lips. 

“With what?” he muttered. Luke reached his hand up towards his neck, as if he could feel it against his skin. He pulled his phone from his pocket. Instantly, he pulled up his camera app to check. Tilting his head to the side scanning his own features and neck through the camera app. 

He didn’t find anything, not even a hint of a hickey. He clenched his jaw as he fought off a smirk. He tilted his head while meeting Dylan’s gaze. “You’re a fucking dou–”

“I knew it! You guys fucked last night!” Dylan teased, his hangover seemingly disappearing the second the words left his lips. Luke couldn’t even deny it. He sat up, swinging his legs off of the bed. His cheeks flushed red instantly as he reluctantly met Dylan’s gaze. 

“I hate you,” Luke mumbled as he ran his fingers through his curls.

“How was it, Hughesy!?” Dylan asked excitedly.

“We’re not talking about this and you don’t know anything,” Luke said while pointing his finger towards Dylan. Luke stood up reluctantly walking towards his bathroom, to get ready to head for breakfast.

“Oh come on! Now you don’t give me any details!? I had to hear about you and Y/N dancing together at that party three weeks ago for like an hour. But when you two have sex, I can’t know a single detail!?” Dylan begged while standing up from the bed. 

“We didn’t even talk about it yet, so no you don’t get details until I figure out what the hell this means,” Luke expressed before he rounded the corner towards the bathroom. Dylan’s mouth fell open as a scoff fell from his lips.

Luke stood in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. A sigh falling from his lips as he stared towards the dramatic red color cascading over his cheeks. Instantly, he reached over and took a hold of his toothbrush.

It didn’t take long for the both of them to be ready to walk over to the dining hall. The entire time Dylan was asking questions but Luke refused to answer. It was easier to just walk silently, mentally replaying every second from the night before. He didn’t even know what to tell Dylan, he didn’t even know exactly what it meant.

Luke and Dylan walked into the dining hall at the same time, spotting the group already sitting down and talking. All of them already had food in front of them. Y/N was the only one that was missing. 

Dylan proudly walked towards them, resting both of his hands onto his hips. “Cannot believe we’re all up before ten, truly a miracle after last night,” he announced before he dapped up Ethan before he wandered around the table.

“You’re oddly not hungover,” Miles muttered before he shoved a dramatic bite of bacon into his mouth.

“Oh boys–gals,” he paused as he glanced towards Zoey and Chloe, “I am just in an amazing mood, aren’t you Hughesy?” Dylan teased.

Luke’s eyes widened as he nodded, “Yeah–yup,” he muttered before he walked away towards the food stations. 

Ethan furrowed his eyebrows harshly before he shrugged his shoulders. “We’re heading to the bars tonight, you in Duker?” Ethan called out. Dylan dramatically nodded his head, regretting his choice as he covered his face with his hands. 

“Y/N here?” Dylan asked. 

“She’s grabbing food,” Zoey muttered. Dylan nodded, staring towards the two empty seats in front of him. Instantly plotting to stay sat until they’re forced to sit beside one another. “Are you not eating?” she questioned, meeting his eyes. 

“I’ll wait till Lukey’s back,” he said simply while he pulled his phone from his pocket. He began to scroll and click different apps simply to keep himself occupied. 

It didn’t take long for Y/N to return and sit directly across from Dylan. Her head was buried in a hoodie as she reluctantly stared towards the very minimal amount of food on her plate. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” Dylan offered with a smirk on his lips.

“Morning,” she muttered before she pushed a piece of cantaloupe around on her plate. Dylan’s smirk fell from his lips after he saw her, something was off. 

Luke wandered back towards the table, slowing down after realized the only spot available was beside Y/N. He looked towards Dylan, realizing that he set that up on purpose. 

Y/N lifted her head up, looking towards Luke. Without fully realizing it a soft smile formed to her lips. Luke took that as a good sign as he wandered towards her. He put his plate down and sat beside her. Dylan instantly stood up after Luke sat down, deseprate for his own plate of food.

Luke and Y/N’s eyes connected for a few seconds before Luke scanned her features for a few seconds. “That’s all you're eating? Don’t you have practice at like 10:30?” Luke asked her.

“Oh shit, I forgot,” she mumbled as she looked back towards her plate. Rolling her eyes, she straightened her body. Reluctantly, she brought the piece of cantaloupe towards her mouth. Luke took a bite of his food as he fought off a soft laugh.

~six days later~

The group was all hanging out in Y/N’s room like usual, except Y/N was more quiet than normal. It was as if subconsciously they decided to pretend nothing happened and be as normal as possible. 

But Luke’s head was rested on her thigh as he was sprailed out on her bed. A position the two have been in countless times before; nothing suspicious about it. Except the fact that her body felt like fire with him laying on her. 

Dylan was watching them from afar, not noticing much of anything different between them. Except he could tell that they were doing everything in their power to ignore what happened. Especially after Luke refused to tell him anymore than it  happened. 

“Y/N, how long are you benched for?” Zoey announced towards the room, almost as a punishment for not going to the party on Friday.

Luke lifted his head, looking towards Y/N. All of them were staring at her, she hated being the center of attention. Zoey knew that and always pushed the button. 

“Two weeks. Coach found out I was pushing through an injury,” she explained simply. Looking down, she met Luke’s gaze, her hearrt jumping into her throat. 

“That’s probably smart,” Luke muttered. She nodded while looking back towards Zoey. Squinted her eyes slightly, taking in a deep breath.

“What about you Zoey? Benched for five games because–”

“Y/N!” she scolded while shaking her head. 

“You brought attention to it, Zo. Why are you benched?” Y/N let out, clenching her jaw slightly. The closer she’s gotten with Luke over the last several months, the more she realized how much Zoey put Y/N down. She didn’t know why, but she was tired of it. Her heart was slamming against her chest as her eyes remained connected with Zoey.

“What are you doing Y/N?” Zoey asked, her lips quivering slightly.

“You brought it up. I’m benched because I have a pulled hamstring. You got benched because you smoked and Coach found out,” Y/N explained. Everyone around them began to subtly scold Zoey. “You wanted to make yourself feel better and our situations do not even compare,” 

Zoey instantly stood up from the floor and she stormed out of the dorm room. Chloe and Miles bolted after her without hesitation. Ethan, Dylan, Mark, and Luke stayed behind awkwardly shifting their gaze towards one another. 

Y/N scooted back away from Luke, pulling her knees towards her chest. “I gotta go apologize,” she muttered as she reluctantly began to climb out of the bed. Luke reached towards her, taking a hold of her forearm. She spun her head around, meeting his gaze.

“How many times has she said worse shit to you?” Luke offered as he delicately let go of her arm. 

“Yeah, she’s kinda a–” Ethan started but Mark smacked his hand against Ethan’s back; stopping him. Ethan cleared his throat as his body straightened. “She just has to be the best all the time, it’s annoying,” Ethan recovered.

“She thought you were going to keep her shit secret, so that’s on her,” Dylan said as he stood up from the bed as he glanced towards Luke. He took a deep breath as he looked towards Mark and Ethan.

“Yeah,” Y/N let out quietly as she awkwardly sat back down beside Luke. Out of habit, she looked down at her watch to see it was close to three o’clock. “Don’t you boys have a pre-game nap to take?” she asked with a breathy awkward laugh leaving her lips.

Ethan dropped his gaze towards his watch, his eyes widening. “Shit, yeah–you going to the game?” he asked as jumped up to his feet. Mark and Dylan were quick to follow in pursuit. 

“I’ll be there,” she offered as she met Luke’s gaze. She felt her heart jump into her throat as she took a shaky breath. He squinted his eyes slightly as he pressed his lips together. 

“Alright, see you tonight,” Dylan said as he rested his hands against Ethan and Mark’s upperbacks. He began to push them out of the dorm room.

“What about Hu–” Ethan said before Dylan interrupted him.

“Just walk away,” Dylan whispered as he began to push them further out of the room. 

The door swung open almost as quickly as it slammed shut. For the first time since it happened, they were alone. Alone in the exact same spot they were in almost a week ago. 

Luke watched the three boys leave the dorm room before he leaned back on his hands. He shifted his gaze back towards her, taking note that she was already looking towards him. He watched as her eyes flickered upward towards his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be–”

“I’m not going to pretend it didn’t happen anymore,” Luke said simply as he watched her lips part slightly. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she scooted closer to him. Their shoulders bumpinb together. 

“I wasn’t pretending, I just thought it was a one time thing,” she mumbled, avoiding his eyes. Luke felt his heart jump into his throat. He pursed his lips forward while tilting his head back. 

Staring towards the ceiling he felt his body erupt in heat as the memory of the night flashed in his mind. 

The way she looked down towards him, her hair cascading over her bare beautiful frame. His hands glided along her thighs, slowly before he tossed her down onto her back. The breathy, desperate moans falling from her lips. He loved the way she said his name, barely audible. 

The way his body reacted to her, almost as if he craved her from the moment their lips connected. He needed her and nearly a week later, he hasn’t stopped needing her or craving her.

Luke lips were sloppy pressed wet kisses against her jawline as his grip on her thigh tightened. He began thrusting faster into her, hearing her short whimpers falling from her lips. 

“Luke,” she muttered out, barely audible as she glided her hands along his upperback, leaving faint red scratches against his skin. He never thought he would hear her say his name like that. So desperate and so innocently against his ear.

A grunt fell from his lips as he felt her tighten around him. “That’s right, baby,” he mumbled against her jawline before he pressed his lips against hers, muffling her moans into his mouth.

She rested her hands against his cheeks as she fought off the moans starting to fall from her lips. “Oh god,” she mumbled as her entire body tensed as an overwhelming amount of pleasure began to course through her veins. Squinting her eyes shut as she continued to ride out her orgasm into Luke’s.

After another thrust into her, he felt himself reaching his own. A low moan fell from his lips and escaped into her mouth. A gasp fell from her lips as he continued to ride out his own orgasm; feeling his entire body begin to tense. 

Her hands held his head in place, their eyes connected as he pulled his lips away from hers. A heavy breath leaving his lips as they continued to look deeply into one another’s eyes. 

Slowly, he pulled out as he gently laid beside her, resting on his back. He stared towards the ceiling, breathing heavily. She did the same, slowly covering them both with the comforter.

Luke purposely left it hanging low on his body, his entire body was wet with sweat. “Oh my god,” she let out as she turned her head to the side. He followed in pursuit, meeting her gaze. A grin formed on his lips.

“I was gonna say that,” he let out teasingly.

“We were sober, Y/N,” Luke expressed as he shifted his gaze back towards her. Their eyes connected. She swallowed harshly as she scanned his features. “That has to mean something,” he said softly.

“Mean what, Luke?” she asked breathily. 

“I don’t know,” 

“Mean what, Luke?” she asked again as her gaze dipped towards his lips.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled as he took a hold of her neck, pulling her towards him. Desperately, he kissed her. Their tongues met instantly, swirling in perfect sync. Without hesitation, never parting their lips, she climbed onto his lap straddling his frame. He took an immediate hold of her waist as her hands rested on his cheeks.

“Luke,” she mumbled against his lips. He tilted his head back, meeting her eye. Slowly, she dragged her thumbs along his jawline. “What are we doing?” she asked as a breathy laugh fell from her lips.

“I’ve got no fucking clue,” he let out a small smile on his lips, “I just know I don’t want to go another week without kissing you,” he mumbled while dipping his hands beneath her shirt. Slowly, he rested his hands on her skin. 

“Yeah?” she asked softly. He nodded instantly as his gaze dipped towards her lips. A soft giggle fell from her lips before he kissed her desperately. “You have a game later,” she mumbled against his lips. He hummed as he twisted the end of her t-shirt.

“That I do,” he muttered.

“Shouldn’t you go take your pre-game nap?” she offered while raising her eyebrows. He squinted his eyes as he looked over her features. He shook his head slowly, “You can’t blame me if you suck later,” she offered teasingly as she tried leaning towards him to kiss him.

He tilted his head back and barked out a laugh. “Okay well now you got me all nervous,” he said while giggling. She rolled her eyes playfully as she glided her hands across his jawline. “Do you wanna nap with me?” he asked softly as he scanned her features. 

She nodded as he slowly fell onto his back, a giggle fell from her lips as she rolled away from his frame. Luke instantly looped his arms around her waist, pulling her towards him. He pressed his lips against her shoulder as she pulled up the comforter to cover both of their frames.

“Should we talk about it?” he questioned barely above a whisper into her ear. 

“I think we know, Luke,” she mumbled. He smirked as he pressed his lips against her shoulder once more. 

“We know, huh?” he asked teasingly. All she could muster up was a hum as he began to absentmindedly run his hand along her stomach. Slowly, shutting his eyes in the process. 

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

longer aftercare with quinn after a particularly heavy intense session with him where ur deep in sub space and take longer to get out of it>>

i’m so soft for him, please i have so many other thoughts with Q and aftercare

“Did so good, so so good.” He’s mumbling as he presses slow, soft kisses against your tear stained cheeks.

“Daddy,” he cut you off.

“Nuh huh, just Quinny right now.” His hands rubbing soft circles on your reddened thighs. “Need you to look at me, baby.”

He’s sitting on his heels when your half lidded eyes meet his. “I’m gonna run into the bathroom okay? Gonna go grab the lotion for your wrists and some ibuprofen. 5 minutes and i’ll be back. I love you.”

He’s not even gone for 2 minutes. He can’t stand to be away from you after a rough session. Especially a rough session you’re barely speaking after.

Body so overwhelmed with the pleasure he was ripping from you. Brain just stuck on the mantra: daddy, daddy, daddy.

His hands brought relief to your worn skin, aches easing with each gentle touch he gave. Never letting the cold of the lotion hit you.

Once he finally looked down at you again he was quick to notice your lips perched up, chuckling to himself.

“Whatcha doing there, precious?”

“Wanna kiss.” Your strained voice let out.

“Oh yeah? Right here?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

Noticing the shake of your head, he moved up to your cheek. “Here?”

“Nuh huh.”

“Oh! Here then?” As he pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Quinny.” You whined, dragging out his name.

“What baby? Gave you what you wanted.” He’s teasing now, he knows what you want. He always knows.

The sounds of you kissing the air made his heart flutter and his cheeks flush.

He leaned in, “oh, you mean right here” as he pressed his lips to yours. Warm, and welcoming. Moulded to him, just like you were made for him. All of you, was just for him.

“I love you so much, pretty.”

[damneddamsy]

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

summary: Winter rolls into Jackson once more, but things are heating up in the big, white house across the street.

a/n: 18+ MDNI smut, but are you ready for the most wholesome smut you've ever read in your life? also update -> so, heh, I'm not really great at smut per se, this one, I've really tried to capture the luuurv, the physicality of it, and I really hope I've done it justice. also, happy earth day people!

There came a time in Joel’s life when he grew so used to boring bullshit that he actually preferred it. He didn’t know if that was old age creeping up on him, dragging him toward the inevitability of doing absolutely nothing, or if he was just plain tired of a life spent running from one disaster to the next. Either way, he found himself appreciating the small mercies. His own simple pleasures.

Going to bed without whiskey clawing its way down his throat. Waking up without his head feeling like a busted canteen. Fresh, warm socks straight from the laundry. Knuckling down and figuring out how to cook something that wasn’t just oatmeal or meat cooked to leather, not because he had to, but because he wanted to get it right.

At some point, he realized he didn’t care much to keep busy anymore—except for when it came to Leela and Maya. But it was strange how a simple life could still surprise him, could still land a punch straight to the ribs with five little words:

“Why don’t you stay here?”

It had caught him mid-sip, a few days after Leela’s little weed trip, while they were eating dinner. He’d had to set his cup down and stare at her. Make sense of it for three seconds. Even though the answer had already been waiting in his gut, inevitable as sunrise, he had smiled:

“Why not, darlin’?”

And yeah, he loved the big, white house. It was Jackson's history, with old black-and-white pictures lining the walls—Leela’s parents, grandparents, ghosts of people who had walked these halls before him. And maybe, in some small way, he was stitching himself into its bones with his work, care, and name. All the little fond memories in every nook of the home. His hands had worn themselves raw winterizing the garden, keeping the fences up, and scraping, painting, hammering, and patching up Maya’s nursery when she got naughty enough to climb right out of the crib. Light fixtures, floorboards, leaky pipes—he’d wrenched his calf muscle twice trying to fix that goddamn water heater.

Now, as Joel sat at Tommy’s dining table, peeling peas like a goddamn housewife, shoulders hunched, fingers working on autopilot, he continued sneaking glances at them—stuck on them. On all the ways it wasn’t working—on all the ways it was. Why not him?

Maya was perched on Tommy’s arm, fiddling with the salt shaker like it was some great mystery waiting to be solved. Tommy, for all his grumbling about how much of a menace she was, held her tight. That kid had him wrapped around her tiny little finger, and everyone knew it. He’d drive her nuts—hide her favourite toy just to get a rise out of her, tease her until she was practically throwing hands at him—but she’d always come racing back, tossing her arms around his neck, giggling as he swung her up high.

Joel’s hands stilled into peeling the peapod.

It was impossible not to notice how Maria and Tommy moved like two parts of a well-oiled machine. He watched them in the kitchen, just weaving in and out of each other’s space without thinking. Like those buzz magnets Sarah used to stick on the fridge from the capsule toys, repelling, colliding, but always snapping back into place. A hand passed a spoon without looking, a playful bump of the hip, a shared smile that needed no words. Tommy smoothed a hand over Maria’s forehead as she ducked too close to a sharp corner, and she didn’t flinch—just trusted.

Maria smirked at him. “Baby, you hover worse than Joel.”

“Please,” Tommy scoffed, stroking up her back. “Joel’s got me beat by a mile. He’s like a damn watchdog with our kid.” He bounced Maya on his arm, glancing at Joel. “Ain’t that right, big brother?”

Joel rolled his eyes, focusing back on the peas. “She’s one. Anybody with a brain watches a toddler.”

Tommy tsked. “You hear that, Maya? Your mean ol' daddy just called me stupid.”

“I mean, if the shoe fits,” Maria teased, setting a pot on the stove.

Maya giggled, still turning the salt shaker in her hands, getting salt everywhere. “Stew-pid.”

Tommy let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded. “Et tu, Brute?” He kissed her cheek anyway, undeterred.

Joel shook his head, hiding a smirk. He didn’t say it, but Tommy wasn’t wrong. He was like a watchdog when it came to Maya. Couldn’t help it. That little girl had carved out a place in him that he didn’t even know was still open. His little girl. Maybe not by blood. Maybe not by title. But she was his. Just like Sarah had been. Just like Ellie was.

But maybe that’s why watching Tommy and Maria hurt in a way he wasn’t ready to admit. Because what they had—this effortless, built-in kind of love—wasn’t something he’d dreamt of. Now he wanted it.

It wasn’t even physical, not really. It was just… love. Uncomplicated. Reciprocated. A year ago, he would’ve grunted something about getting a room. Tommy would’ve shot back about owning the whole damn house. But now—

He swallowed, shifting in his chair, wondering. Did he and Leela look like that in their home?

No, hell no. No, he wasn’t the type to put effort into how they were perceived. He barely liked acknowledging it himself, how he softened around her, how he let himself be someone else—someone better—when she was near. But it happened anyway, didn’t it? Without him meaning to. Made him want things.

And ever since he wholly made his home at their big, white house, he was sinking into it.

His love for her wasn’t flashy. He didn’t know how far to go beyond small things. He wasn’t the romantic kind of man, the kind to pick flowers or whisper pretty words. He wasn’t great at it, and wasn’t sure how far to go beyond having her coffee ready by her bedside in the morning. Beyond making sure that when he washed the dishes, hers were the first ones he cleaned, every time. Beyond leaving all the hot water for her and Maya, even if it meant stepping into a freezing shower himself when the temperatures were dropping fast.

She never noticed.

Or maybe she did. Because she had her own ways.

He wasn’t proud of how stupidly fond he got over the little things. The times he’d find his old boots, the ones he refused to part with, sitting by his bed freshly polished, patched up with rubber cement like new. Or how the busted projector in the dusty TV room—the one he’d given up on fixing—suddenly worked one night, humming quietly, waiting for him to indulge in some shitty action flick. She never made a big deal out of it and never expected anything in return. She just did things, because that’s how she loved.

God, the damn dopey grin he let out every time he caught on.

But they didn’t move in sync the way Tommy and Maria did around their home. here were rituals and rhythms, but they were dominoes—Joel would pick up where she left off.

Hell, they didn’t even sleep in the same bed. There was always a line. Physical. Emotional. Always a line, a place where he had to stop, where he had to get off.

He hated that fucking line.

He thought they’d been getting somewhere. That all the careful comforts, the small reassurances, the time—that it had chipped away at whatever was keeping her so guarded. Then there was that night.

That late night played back in his mind like a bad dream.

Leela, pacing back and forth, frustrated noises slipping past her throat, her blackboards covered in endless scribbles, eyes darting too fast, too desperate. Her hands shook as she wrote, erased, and rewrote. Then, suddenly, she just… crumpled. Joel found her there like that at two in the morning. Collapsed to her knees. Silent sobs racked her whole body, hands gripping at her hair, shoulders curling inward like she was trying to disappear into herself. The kind of cry that tore her apart, that was meant to be hidden.

It was like a jagged blade to the ribs, seeing her that way, and trying to ignore it. His Leela. His tireless, self-sufficient, do-everything-alone Leela, folded in on herself like a wounded animal.

He’d been on his knees before he even thought about it, hands reaching for hers.

“Hey, baby—” He cupped her palms, kissed them, trying to soothe her out. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’ll come to you.”

And then—she shoved him away. Like he burned her. Like she couldn’t stand him being there. “You don't know anything.”

“No,” he murmured, setting his palms on his knees, “but, talk me through it. I'm right here.”

And he tried to stroke the back of her head now, just to ground her to him, but before he could touch her, she'd jostled his hand off her.

“Please just leave me alone, please,” she’d choked out, voice small, broken. Final.

She might as well have reached into his chest and crushed his heart with her bare hands. He swallowed everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to do, and stood up, silent. Left her there like he was the one who had misstepped.

And ever since that fucking breakthrough—the discovery she had been chasing for years on end—it had been like this. Slipping. Slipping deeper into whatever obsession had taken hold of her, staring past her own life's work like there was another world hidden behind it. Like she’d solved the last goddamn piece of the puzzle but couldn’t stop staring past it, searching for something else. A prisoner to her mind, a slave to her intellect—and he had no clue how to save her from herself.

He thought a discovery meant solace. That she’d finally rest. Kick back and focus on raising her perfect kid. Instead, she was spiralling. Faster. Harder. And he was left standing there, watching her slip through his fingers.

And maybe he should just let it happen. Let her go. Let her chase whatever was in her head, let it take her, let it swallow her whole. Ignore it, let it blow up in his face, pick up the pieces, and move on. It seemed like the easier option.

Because he sure as hell wasn’t dragging her on some death trip to L.A. to get a bunch of scholars’ rubber stamp of approval. And for what? To hear a bunch of stuck-up assholes tell her what she already knew? To chase after something that might not even be there anymore, past the patrol trails that promised nothing but death?

It wasn’t happening. Not on his watch.

“Joel, can you take this out to the kids, please?” Maria’s voice cut clean through his thoughts. He blinked, glancing up just as she pushed a bowl of garlic knots toward him. “Don’t want them starving before dinner’s done.”

Kids. How the hell Leela had ended up in that category was beyond him. But she’d started hanging around Ellie and her friends more, all of them messing around with her, out of good heart or the fuck of it, he did not know. They’d even managed to rope her into their little hijinks late into the night, like right now.

He’d seen Ellie dragging her outside earlier, that same oversized stack of star charts that Leela had gifted her tucked under her arm, Dina and Jesse trailing right after her with waves, and practically buzzing with excitement. He’d heard snippets of the invitation—something about mapping the constellations, something about seeing the stars “like they used to be.” And, to his surprise, Leela had actually gone along with them.

From inside, he’d catch the sound of laughter floating through the backyard. It wasn’t much, but hell, it was a little relief, knowing she was out there, around some good spirits, instead of pacing around those goddamn blackboards like she was trying to solve the meaning of life.

He stood to take the bowl out, but before he could even make it past the table—

“Da-da.”

Joel stopped in his tracks. Maya had her hands stretched toward him, little fingers grabbing at the air, grinning mouth already open in expectation.

“Pease gimme,” she demanded.

He snorted, reaching over to pop his finger between her lips instead. “Nice try, baby girl. Dinner first.”

“Pease, pease! Aw, da-da!” she whined, brown eyes big and pleading, nearly changing his heart, wriggling against Tommy’s chest in an attempt to get to him.

He just shook his head, slipping away toward the hallway. “Gotta do better than that.”

Tommy was already distracting her with a spoonful of tomato soup that was bubbling away by the time he stepped out the back door.

Outside, the kids were alright. Dina and Jesse were off to one side by the fences, heads bent together in their own little world. Joel should’ve broken them up, should’ve told them to leave some damn space between them, but—

His eyes flicked to Ellie instead.

She was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, staring at the happy couple long and hard. And the second she felt Joel watching her, she snapped her gaze away, clearing her throat and focusing on Leela instead. He tried not to dwell on it, though his brows shot right up in question.

Leela, on the other hand—she wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

She had her head tilted up, her gaze tracking the sky, that damn star map spread open in her hands. She was muttering under her breath, tracing something invisible in the air, her brows drawn together in deep concentration. That look she got—the one where her whole world shrank down to whatever puzzle was in front of her—alive, glowing.

It was the same look she had when she worked through some problem scrawled across her blackboards. The same look she had when she was fixing something—quiet, focused, all sharp edges and restless movement, pulling things apart just to put them back together again. It was amazing how much Maya looked like her mama, she had that exact same look when she tried to decipher the chords as he played guitar.

And god help him, he loved Leela like this. Loved the way she got lost in things, the way her mind worked like a racecar engine. Loved the way she’d get so caught up in the details that she’d forget the rest of the world existed, forget to eat, forget to sleep—loved it, even when it pissed him off.

Loved her. Jesus, it was amazing how his old ass could still get hooked on a girl like this.

Ellie barely had a second to react before he shoved the bowl into her chest. “Haven’t missed the boat just yet, kiddo,” he teased.

Ellie shot him a glare. “Oh, fuck you, Joel.” She shoved a garlic knot into her mouth. “I know Leela’s only tolerating your ass.”

Joel chuckled, stepping forward.

Leela was still lost in the map, tapping a finger against her temple, muttering under her breath as her eyes darted between the lines and symbols. Joel quietly came up behind her, lowering just enough to brush his lips against her ear.

“Lookin' up at your own kind?” he murmured.

Ellie, mid-chew, made an exaggerated gagging noise.

Joel, grumbling, kicked a lazy leg in her direction. “Get outta here. Go on, git.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, snatching another garlic knot from the bowl before slinking off into the house.

Joel, though—he stayed.

Leela finally glanced up from her map, blinking at him like she’d just realized he was there. The slight furrow of her brow softened, the haze of focus giving way to a quiet, warm smile. “Hi, Joel.”

That smile. His name shaped like a hymn on her lips. Subtle. A thing most people wouldn’t catch if they weren’t looking for it. But Joel was always looking, listening. And God, he loved catching her like this. Unaware, until she wasn’t.

He smiled back, slow and knowing, waiting for her to say something else, maybe acknowledge the way he’d lowered his voice just for her, the way he’d leaned in close enough for his breath to stir a few strands of her hair—

But she didn’t. She just turned back to her damn star chart, completely disregarded his sorry attempt at flirting, as if he was nothing more than a passing shadow.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. The only thing worse than flirting with Leela was getting ignored by her.

The air had shifted before he had even noticed. Not by much—just enough that he could feel it. The barely-there stiffness in her shoulders, all the implicit everything sinking in the inches between them.

Because this was the first time he’d properly approached her in two days. He hadn't crossed past the courtesies or bare necessities, this time, he felt like it had soothed over.

The last time being her breakdown. And she was here now—outside, breathing, looking up at the sky like she hadn’t spent days holed up in that house, tangled in her own mind. Like she was okay.

But Joel knew better.

Leela clucked her tongue, rolling up the chart in frustration. “It’s like I’m wasting my potential.” A sigh, thin and frayed at the edges. “I can’t think straight. I can’t find the stupid… star. Something’s wrong with me.”

Joel nudged his shoulder into hers, trying to shake something loose. “There ain't nothin’ wrong with you. You just need to get out of the house a little more.”

She shook her head, already brushing him off. “I’m not teaching at the school, Joel. I told you, it's not for me.”

There was something automatic about the way she said it—premeditated. A flicker of irritation behind her eyes, like she’d already decided where this conversation was going before he even had the chance to take it there.

Joel just lifted a brow. “Not askin' you to.”

Leela blinked, lips parting slightly. Like maybe she’d expected an argument. But he wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t anyone else. He wasn’t trying to fix her.

Leela ran a hand down her face, rubbing at her eyes. “I just… it’s so incomplete.” Her voice wavered slightly, barely above a whisper. “I know I’m done, I ran the numbers a hundred times, but I—” She bit her lip, frustration flickering across her face. "I can’t stand the fact that I don’t have anything else to work toward.”

Joel studied her for a long moment.

This wasn’t just about the damn star chart. She needed something. A goal, a project—something to occupy her hands, her mind, something to pour herself into. Because without it, she was stuck in her own head. Stuck waiting.

He reached out, sliding a hand to the back of her head. His fingers traced slow, absentminded strokes before his arm draped heavy around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

“You need a break, darlin’.”

Leela let herself sink against him, nestling her nose against the worn fabric of his shirt. Her hands slipped against his sides, resting at his ribs, tentative, like she hadn’t touched him in a while and wasn’t sure if she still could.

“And do what?”

“Help me fix up that swing for Maya’s birthday.”

Joel felt the small hitch in her breath before she even lifted her head.

“Maya’s—” She gasped, cupping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, her birthday. I completely—” Her voice broke slightly. “How did you know?”

Joel shrugged. “Did some mental math. She was barely a month old when we first met. Figure it’s comin’ up soon.”

Leela closed her eyes. “Yes. Christmas.”

“Holly jolly Christmas baby,” he said, snickering. He didn’t know if it was hard-luck or fortuitous that their baby girl’s birthday overlapped with a holiday.

Leela groaned softly, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “I’m a terrible mother.”

Joel made a derisive noise, picking her hands off her eyes before cupping her cold cheek. “Nah, just a scatterbrained one.”

And when she finally laughed—light, breathy, warm—it was as if he’d struck gold.

He let himself look at her then. Her long hair was a mess, spilling around her face from the loose braid, wild and tangled from where she’d been tugging at it in frustration. The stars flecked in her big, dark eyes, dim and soft, like the whole night sky had been stitched there just for him.

Christ, he loved her. It hit him in strange moments like this. Not in the middle of some grand declaration, not when they were on the brink of tragedy. Just here. Just in the way she folded against him, breathing slow, in the way she trusted him enough to let her guard down.

Joel brushed his thumb against her temple. “You’re alright, you know that?”

Leela blinked. “What?”

“You,” he murmured. “You’re doin' okay. I've got you now.”

A breath. Then she smiled—small, almost imperceptible, but there. And Joel, stupid, old fool that he was—he fucking melted.

Because he’d said nothing special. Just a handful of words, low and gruff and barely above a whisper. And yet—there was something in her eyes now, reassurance, like she needed to hear it, and she hadn’t let herself believe it until now. Until he said it. Until it came from him.

She tiptoed, her forehead leaning into his, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her breath, feel the way she hesitated for just a second, like maybe she was unsure—

But then she kissed him.

Slow, soft, uncertain, and God help him, but he could’ve crushed her right into his bones. “Right now?”

“Just a little one,” she whispered against his lips.

“Killin' me.”

Because it had been too fucking long since he had her like this—since she let him have her like this. And for weeks now, ever since that weed trip of hers, he’d been holding himself back, watching her from a distance, all while within their house, twenty-four by seven, just waiting for the right moment.

His large hand found the curve of her throat, his thumb pressing gently beneath her jaw as he tilted her into his smiling lips, deepening the kiss. She tasted of him, of her, a blend of them both, and Joel wanted to drown in it.

She made a soft noise against his lips, barely there, but felt, and he was already stretching for her ass, already—

“Mama!”

Joel flinched, eyes still half-lidded, mind heady with her, with them, but—Leela broke away immediately, her head snapping toward the deck.

And there stood Maya. The little menace herself, gripping the railing for balance, two entire garlic knots stuffed in her tiny fist.

Joel sighed sharply, tilting his head back toward the sky. Just on time, the peanut-butt cockblocker.

Maya’s attention wasn’t on them, though. No, she was too focused on her real struggle—getting herself down the stairs while holding onto both knots, because apparently, letting go was out of the question.

Joel huffed, already moving. “Hey-ey—now, who the heck gave you those?”

Because Maya didn’t just find food. No, that kid knew exactly who to ask and how to ask. A little manipulator before she even hit two years old.

Maya just grinned at him, all teeth and mischief, one cheek puffed out with the stolen bread, and Joel didn’t even have to guess which poor soul had caved under that wide-eyed, baby-faced con job.

He reached for Maya's hand. “Gimme that. Didn’t I tell you no snacks before dinner?”

And because she was, without a doubt, his worst nightmare—she twisted away from him with a high-pitched squeal, shoving another bite into her mouth as she waddled to the other side of the deck.

Joel sighed. “Goddamn it, trouble.”

Behind him, Leela laughed with her daughter, already climbing up onto the deck. “Alright. C’mere, baby.”

Maya didn’t fight her. Just beamed up at her mama, eyes bright and full of adoration. Leela crouched before her, brushing at the curls on her forehead.

“Can you feed Mama one?”

And just like that—without hesitation—Maya held one out. Anything her mother said, she followed. Anything at all. It was Joel she was coming to rebel against with her little cheekiness. And Joel being completely susceptible to her charms, fell for it constantly.

Leela leaned in, mouth open, and Maya giggled before pushing the knot between her lips.

Joel shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, watching them. Leela, the master Maya manipulator, struck once more.

She hummed in approval, chewing theatrically. “Mmm, so good. One more, please?”

And Maya, delighted, shoved the other half-eaten, slobbery garlic knot into her mother’s mouth.

Joel made a noise. “Jesus.”

Leela, struggling through a laugh, wiped her mouth, grinning. “Thank you, baby.”

Maya clapped her hands together, voice piping up—“No-mo.”

Leela licked some garlic butter from her thumb, grunting as lifted Maya onto her hip. “Let’s get something real to eat before your poor dad pops a vein on his head.”

Joel scoffed, following them up the stairs, feeling every damn step in his knees. “Pop a vein—psh, yeah, you wish.”

Dinner with the Millers' was always a big thing nowadays. Joel, finally, had found himself growing used to the way the table felt a little more complete now, moored closer to one of his own.

Back in the old days—hell, even when it was just him and Tess in Boston—meals were quiet, nothing but the clink of cutlery, the scrape of bowls, the occasional grunt of acknowledgement if someone asked for the last bite. Food had been something to get through, not something to enjoy.

But here? This? It was a whole damn production.

It seemed like Leela, Maria, and Tommy were trying to outdo each other on every dinner occasion. Joel never saw them outright say it, but the evidence was all right here—plates filled to the brim with roasted vegetables and some sort of braised meat that smelled damn near decadent. There was even fresh bread, sliced and golden, butter melting into the soft notches. Warmth, everywhere—lamplight spilling golden across the table, the faint crackle of the fireplace, boots nudging against each other under the table.

And noise. So much noise.

Jesse had ducked out early, leaving Dina to make herself at home beside Ellie, and it didn’t take long for them to get into it.

“Okay, but that is not how you use a fuckin' knife,” Ellie was saying, waving her fork in Dina’s face.

Maria sighed. “There's a talking toddler at the table.”

As if on cue, Maya smacked her little hand onto the table. Ellie showed her teeth at her, sheepish. “My bad.”

Dina rolled her eyes, all dramatic. “Well, excuse me for not being a serial killer, Miss ‘Lemme Show You The Proper Stabbing Technique.’”

Joel smirked at that one, chewing on a piece of trout.

It was a different kind of comfort. Something he still wasn’t used to—this abundance after a long time.

And then there was Leela, stealing his heart, piece by piece. The way she’d always scooted her chair a little closer to his. The way her knee brushed his under the table. The way she let him rest a hand over her thigh, stroke it when he was tense like it was all his. The way she’d laugh when someone cracked a joke at his expense—which was often—squeezing his shoulder like he was some goddamn kicked puppy before turning back to her plate.

Didn’t even take long for that to happen. Joel knew Tommy had that look in his eye—that look, the one that meant he was about to open his dumbass mouth. And sure enough...

“So,” Tommy started, all innocent-like. “How's shackin’ up in the big house treatin’ ya, Mensch Miller?”

Joel wanted to put his fork through his brother’s skull. Right between the eyes. So, he barely spared him a glance. “Go to hell.”

Tommy snorted. “C’mon now, ain't no shame in it. We're all real proud of you for finally gettin’ over your fear of commitment. Folks?”

A round of agreements circled the table—Maria, Dina, even Ellie with a smirk and a nod, like they’d all been waiting for this exact moment. Joel sighed through his nose, already regretting every life choice that led him to this.

Dina leaned in, grinning. “Oh my God. Joel, did you finally put a ring on it?”

Ellie snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause there’s so many jewellery stores open these days.”

Joel shot her a flat look. “Could always carve one outta bone.”

Dina sighed with literal heart eyes. “Aww. So metal.”

Ellie recoiled instead. "Dude—what the actual fuck?"

Tommy wheezed at that one. But Leela didn’t react much at all. Just blinked at them, her expression blank, like she had no idea why the hell they were making such a big deal out of it. Then, casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—

“We’re partners,” she said simply, reaching up to his jaw, nails scraping at his scruff. “Right, Joel?”

Joel damn near choked on his own tongue.

Because—what the hell? She wasn’t one for casual touches, wasn’t one for public anything, really. Wasn't some joke, not a passing comment—she just said it, plain as anything. Like it was a truth she’d already made peace with.

Partners. Not a maybe. Not a half-measure. A fact. Halves. Two mates. And it knocked the wind right out of him.

Because Joel had spent so damn long waiting—waiting for her to say something, to define this thing between them, to give him even the smallest indication that she saw him as more than just a man passing through her life.

And here she was, not making a big deal out of it. Not afraid of it, simply stating the obvious. Because fuck, she was right. They were partners now. He had a partner now.

A slow sip of his drink was the only thing that kept him from making an absolute fool of himself.

Dina cackled, slapping the table. “Look at his face. I frickin' love you, Leela.”

Ellie groaned, shoving a bite of food into her mouth. “Jesus, you two deserve each other.”

Maria smirked. “So when’s the big day?”

Dina hummed. “Mm-mm, she'll have to wait, Joel promised to make the ring out of bone.”

Ellie gagged. “Oh my God, Dina—could you please stop with the bone talk?”

Tommy snickered, elbowing him. “Never thought I’d see the day. Big brother all wrangled up.”

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I got a gun, right?”

Tommy waved a hand, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. But you ain't shootin’ me ‘cause our baby girl would be real mad at you.”

And then, of course, there was his baby girl in the midst of all this. It had become second nature by now—the back-and-forth of it all, alternating between holding Maya, fending off his teasing family, and feeding her.

Not that it was much of a competition with her. Most of the time, she quietly ended up in his lap, legs dangling over his thigh, picking curiously at the old scar on his forearm as he spooned food into her mouth.

Leela swore she’d grow out of that habit, but Joel wasn’t so sure. He’d seen that girl study the mark like it held the secrets of the universe since she was a few months old. Tiny fingers tracing the jagged edges, soft and intent, like she was mapping him.

Didn’t matter what he put in front of her—if he ate it, she ate it.

Thank God she wasn’t a picky eater like her mama. He still remembered the first few months of trying to get Leela to eat like a normal person—always picking at her food, losing her appetite, always eating just enough and nothing more.

But Maya? Shit. She was his. His perfect little girl—but nothing like him. Loud, expressive, always moving, always talking. She loved to babble, loved to laugh, loved to feed him right from his own damn plate.

“Da-da, aah.”

He moved his head away. “Nuh-uh. Sit your little butt down.”

“Dinna, da-da.”

“I can eat my own dinner, thanks.”

When her adamant whine pierced through the noise on the table, he gave up. Joel barely glanced at her, already sighing as he opened his mouth.

Sure enough, Maya balanced her pudgy feet on his lap and shoved a forkful of fish into his mouth, giggling like she’d just accomplished something huge.

Joel chewed slowly, unimpressed. “Real nice.”

And then—just to add insult to injury—she reached up and patted his forehead, all delicate and reassuring, just like her mama did to her whenever she did something right.

Ellie snorted. “She's just teaching you manners, old man.”

Dina smirked. “Yeah, ever heard of ‘em?”

He shot them both a look but swallowed the bite anyway. Maya squealed like she knew she was being funny, then reached out for his plate again.

Joel sighed, nudging her grabby fingers away. “Alright, move it, baby girl. Ain’t no way you’re finishing my plate before I do.”

The conversation rolled on around him, blending into laughter and stories. Joel drifted in and out of it, shifting his focus between indulging Maya’s antics and half-listening to Tommy and Maria trade jabs about whose turn it was to cook next.

At some point, the conversation took a turn.

“So,” Tommy started, leaning back in his chair. “What’s next, Lee? The last big thing was that lightning harvester. Then you set up the new water filtration thing.” He gestured vaguely as if the list of things she’d accomplished was casual, nothing major. “You always got somethin’ cookin’. What’s next for Jackson?”

The table quieted just a fraction, all eyes shifting toward Leela with a familiar kind of expectation.

Joel felt her stiffen beside him. She didn’t answer right away, just glanced around at them—Dina, Ellie, Maria, Tommy—all waiting for some brilliant, world-changing answer.

But only Joel knew the sleepless nights, he’d seen her try to redo the math, rework the impossible, just to feel like she had something left to solve. So all he’d been able to do was let her at it, leave her to her circles and theories, and go back to bed, waiting for her to wear herself out. He knew that math of hers had wrecked her—driven her to the edge of exhaustion, of obsession.

And now, sitting here, she looked like she wanted to vanish.

So before the silence could stretch too long before they could push her for something she wasn’t ready to say—Joel spoke for her.

“She actually solved the Riemann hypothesis,” he said, casual as anything, like he was commenting on the weather. A little smug, too.

A beat.

Dina blinked. “The—what?”

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “You just made that up.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Nah. It’s a real thing.” He reached for his water and took a slow sip. “Some math theory. Big deal, apparently. Heck if I knew.”

Tommy, to his credit, pretended like he was just hearing about it for the first time, looking between Joel and Leela with exaggerated surprise.

Dina scoffed. “You don’t know?”

Joel gave her a look. “Do I look like someone who spends his time thinkin’ about math?”

Ellie snorted. “Okay, but you can’t just say it’s a big deal and not even try to explain it.”

Joel sighed again, this time more dramatically, because this truly was exhausting him. “Alright. Uh… somethin’ ‘bout numbers. Division. Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He absently stroked Maya's curls. “S’got a lotta squiggles and letters. But little miss genius figured it out.”

Ellie’s face twisted to a shit-eating grin. “Squiggles?”

Joel turned to Leela, mortified at himself, seeking some reprieve. “Tell ‘em.”

Leela, looking a little like she wanted to shrink into the floor, tucked her hair behind her ear and gave a small nod. “I um, did prove the theory. Took my family a really long time to complete.”

“Wait, actually. I've read about Riemann,” Dina went on, straightening in her seat. “That’s the whole—prime numbers thing—no one’s been able to solve that, right? And if you did, you get like a million dollars or something?”

Leela barely glanced up. “Yes, actually. Millenium Prize problem.”

Joel, watching her carefully, felt the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants under the table.

Ellie leaned in. “Okay, but like—now what? You can’t just—sit on that, right? Don’t you have to tell someone?”

Leela exhaled, slowly. “It’s… complicated. Our world isn't the way it was.”

Joel saw it—the way her shoulders went tight, the way her face shut down.

Dina wasn’t getting it. “How? This is, like, huge. You should—”

Maria, sensing the tension, jumped in smoothly. “What about you, honey? You got any idea on this?”

Tommy, still side-eyeing Joel, shrugged. “Nah. Not a clue.” He sipped his drink. “I was more into the rabble-rousin’ with the Fireflies. And these FEDRA shits wouldn't care about all that.”

Joel let out a tense breath.

Dina groaned dramatically, throwing herself back in her chair. “Man. Would’ve been so cool to have your name in a book. Or somewhere. Professor of Mathematics, Leela.”

Leela managed a small smile, but her gaze had gone distant.

And Joel hated it. Hated that look. That quiet, almost-accepting disappointment.

He hated that she knew this world didn’t have room for her name in a book. That she’d spent years solving a problem no one would ever see, ever care about. And that should’ve been fine, right? Should’ve been something she could accept. But it wasn’t, because despite everything, despite how much she pretended not to care, she did.

And Joel, he wished like hell there was something he could do about it. That tiny drop of hope snuffed out in her eyes. Like for half a second, she thought—maybe there was a world where what she’d done actually mattered.

And it did. Just not in a way that’d ever change a damn thing.

Joel clenched his jaw, staring down at his glass like it might hold an answer.

There weren’t any. Not for this.

Because he knew how he could help her. Knew there were people—out west, in LA—who might care, who might listen, who might actually do something with what she’d done. There were still Fireflies, still remnants of old-world thinkers, people scraping together the last bits of science that hadn’t been buried under blood and ruin.

And if he told her—if he let her know they existed—she might go.

Leave him. Leave their perfect baby girl. Leave home. And that—he couldn’t let happen.

He needed her here.

Call him selfish? Monomaniacal? Maybe. But he didn’t give a fuck.

Joel had lived his life losing. Lost Sarah, lost Tess, lost whatever scraps of himself made him good once. And now—now, he had her. Had Maya. Had a reason to come home at the end of the day that wasn’t just the routine of it. He had that little vestige of trust and faith back in him, even if the ghosts lingered. He slept knowing he was going to wake up with purpose that wasn't just behind the flare of a rifle or the scent of blood. He had love, a warm home, all this food, these people.

And if Leela left—No.

He wouldn’t think about that. Not ever. He'd give up his breath before she risked it like a fucking idiot.

So he’d keep his mouth shut. Play dumb. Let the world stay small for her, even when she was meant for something bigger. Even when he saw the ache of it in her eyes. Even when he hated himself for it. But that was fine, he'd grown used to his hate.

So he did the only thing he could do—he raised his damn glass.

“To Leela,” he said, confident, eyes warm when they landed on her. “For doin’ the impossible.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes widening just a fraction. Under the table, her fingers curled tight around his knee, firm—don’t.

She wasn’t the type to bask in praise, wasn’t one to revel in attention. But Joel wasn’t gonna let her disappear into the silence. So instead of backing down, he just smirked, pried her hand off his knee, and brought it to his lips.

His mouth was rough, the scrape of his beard even rougher, but the way he kissed her knuckles—gentle, slow, promising. A prayer he wouldn’t say out loud.

She froze up, breath catching just enough for him to notice, just enough to make his heart slam against his ribs. This was good. She was okay.

The table had gone quiet.

Then Tommy grinned, lifting his glass. “To Lee.”

Maria followed, then Ellie and Dina, voices echoing the words, raising their drinks. “To Leela.”

And then—clap, clap, clap! Maya, grinning wide, smacked her little hands together, delighted by the sudden chorus of voices, as if she had any clue what was happening.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You like that, baby?”

Maya just kept clapping, giggling as she looked between Joel and Leela, as if she understood this was about her mama, and that meant it was something right.

And Leela—God, she was looking at him now, like he was impossible, like she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him. Joel just held her hand tight, letting his thumb trace slow circles into her skin.

“You deserve it,” he murmured in her ear, meant just for her.

Leela let out a soft breath, almost like a sigh. Then, with barely a beat between them, she squeezed his hand right back.

X

Joel knew he had it good because the thought of reality was the only thing keeping him awake. After all, it felt like his dreams had come true.

But of course, nowadays, when Joel slept, he closed his eyes and he fell deeply, just as he did in love and loss, displaced of his path back. When he did ultimately open his eyes once more to the old patterned ceiling, tucked up in a disgustingly comfortable bed, within a house you could hear the wind slide under the eaves, the soft creak of the old floors settling, Maya’s soft little snores down the hall, the occasional rustle of sheets when Leela moved on her bed, he wasn’t sure when life had slowed down like this, when the days stopped being about surviving and started being about living.

Whatever it was, it was all Leela. She had insisted he take the biggest room when he moved in, and she wouldn’t hear a word otherwise. Stubborn as a damn mule, she’d just stared him down when he tried to argue, and—hell. It wasn’t like he minded. The room was ridiculous, the bathroom even more, with more closet space than he’d ever need, but the real saving grace was the football-field-sized bed.

Probably a thousand silky white pillows, freshly washed and dusted, stacked against a plush leather headboard, spilling over a white duvet. Bed to end all beds. Big enough to sink in between. Lonely enough when it got dark. Close enough to Maya’s nursery that when she woke in the middle of the night, whimpering softly in the dark, he was already moving, already lifting her up before she got too lonely.

Outside, winter had crept in slowly. Mornings turned from golden to white, breaths corkscrewing in steam ribbons against the cold. The sky was that sharp, steel-grey that told you snow wasn’t far behind, and Joel had started waking up to a frost-lined world, rooftops silvered, trees edged in ice.

December now, and Jackson was easing into the Christmas season and spirit—garlands strung between shop corners, lights winking from one lamppost to the next, a huge tree going up in the square, handmade ornaments showing up on doors. He had his own big efforts for Maya's first birthday and Christmas.

And then—just like the night before—it hit him.

Maya was turning one soon. The thought still knocked something loose in him. This tiny thing, this impossibly small, impossibly bright piece of his world who barely reached his knee. Who stumbled around in her little boots like she had somewhere really important to be. Who giggled like it could undo every bad thing in the world, cutting straight through the cold, through the ache in his bones, like it was nothing.

His girl. God, that was still a hard thing to wrap his head around. That she belonged to him. That he belonged to her.

He lay back against the pillows, an arm resting behind his head, and let his fingers graze the stack of Polaroids and photographs scattered across his nightstand. He flipped through each one slowly like one of Maya's bedtime stories, but only this one was real.

One of him and Ellie, captured by Leela, sprawled out on the porch swing, their boots propped up against the rail. Ellie mid-laugh, a cup of iced lemonade dangling from her fingers, frozen in time. He could almost hear her voice, thick with dry humour, and see the way her nose scrunched when she got to the best part of whatever story she was telling.

Tommy, Maria and him, once again captured by Leela, arms slung around each other at the hoedown, cowboy hats tilted over their heads, two of them tipsy and flushed. A night of music and good beer and warmth—the kind of warmth that had been rare for too long. The kind they hadn’t thought they’d find again.

And then—his fingers slowed.

One of them. Pretty sure it was Ellie who took this one. Maya, wedged between him and Leela, four little teeth showing, curls and eyes shining, a fork clutched in her fist, attention stolen by something off-camera. Leela, so beautiful under the flash, one hand curled protectively at Maya’s back, the other resting lightly on the table. And Joel, beside them both, his smile unsure, caught between trying to look natural and trying not to think too much about how unnatural it still felt—being in a picture like this.

But when he looked at it now—it looked so real. The family aspect of it.

He held the photo at arm’s length, studying it, the three of them together.

Though he looked apart from them. Incohesive. Hell, anyone would say it. The rougher, older edges of him, the shade of his skin and theirs, the texture of his hair and their black locks, the way his eyes weren’t the same big, almond eyes. Maya had Leela’s delicate features, her wide dark gaze, and her gentle intensity. And him—well, he was just there. An outsider, a man slotted into the frame, but not quite of it.

Except… that wasn’t true, was it?

Because if he looked long enough, he could see it. The shape of familiarity, how lived-in he seemed.

The way Maya leaned toward him in the picture, just slightly, even distracted as she was. The way Leela’s fingers curled gently toward his wrist, even unconsciously. The way he fit there, in the space beside them, not because he forced it, but because—somehow, without realizing it—he belonged there.

It made sense. Anyone who looked at this—anyone who knew—they’d know exactly what they were to each other.

He swallowed thickly, staring at the picture like it might shift in his hands or it might tell him something new. He wanted to keep it that way, within this frame, the three of them, until the time was up. God, how long would that be? Another few years?

A knock at his door pulled him from it, and he blinked, turning his head.

Leela pushed the door open slightly, peering inside. “Sorry. Do you have some time?”

He had his whole life for her, even if it was overkill. Joel cleared his throat, setting the Polaroids aside. “Always.”

She stepped inside, and Christ.

She was barefoot, those thin gold-chain anklets winking at him in the low light. The soft curve of her calves disappeared beneath the loose folds of that goddamn pearl-button nightdress—the one that never failed to drive him insane. It was slipping off her shoulder just enough to make his life miserable, the bare silhouette of her body teasing at the edges of his vision, itching his palms with the worst kind of temptation.

Joel sat up, rubbing a slow hand down his face, across the scruff along his jaw, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more awake.

She didn’t hesitate, swishing the fabric under her as she perched on the edge of his bed, legs dangling off.

“I was just on the swing set before it started to snow,” she told him, her voice all wistful. “I think I might love it more than Maya does.”

Joel chuckled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how baby girl’s gonna feel about sharing.”

It hadn’t taken him long to put together the swing set that stood proudly in the front yard—just a hell of a lot of effort, some cursing under his breath, and more muscle than he cared to admit. Sturdy wood, painted deep green, with painted pink and yellow flowers curling along the edges. The seat hung from two thick ropes, knotted tight, built to last. All safe and ready for his little girl.

Leela had helped, like she promised—though if her irritated grumbling was anything to go by, woodworking sure as hell wasn’t her calling. She hadn’t complained once about the splinters, but he caught her wincing every time she flexed her fingers, scowling down at the stubborn bits of wood lodged in her skin.

Joel, now, watched the way her gaze flicked to the photographs near his pillow, her expression shifting—soft, thoughtful. He didn’t move, just waited, letting her take her time.

Her brows furrowed slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “How are your feet?”

Joel smirked, sinking back onto one elbow. “They're toasty, thanks.”

She pulled one knee up to her chest, resting her chin on it, fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her nightdress. “Mine too.” A grin flickered across her face. “I feel like my parents around you nowadays.”

That had him raising an eyebrow. “How's that now?”

Leela hesitated, her fingers stilling. Then, almost cautiously, she said, “You know… a couple. Partners. Married.” That last word barely even made the breath.

Joel stayed quiet, processing that for a moment. Shit, he couldn't. He almost blacked out.

“They were so crazy in love, Joel. Even at eighty.” A fond laugh slipped from her. “Dad would have her coffee ready every morning, help her tie her shoelaces, and open doors for her. Dance with her every night before bed. Never let her raise a finger around the home, even after the whole world came crumbling down around us.”

She smiled to herself, the memory a gentle thing.

“I’m gonna make you the happiest, fattest, laziest wifey in Jackson, sweetheart,” she recited, voice taking on a deep, playful lilt, like she was echoing her father's exact words.

Joel huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like a stand-up fella'.”

Leela nodded, then faltered, her lips parting like there was something else—something she wasn’t sure she should say. Joel waited, his fingers twitching against the blanket, patient.

Then softly, quietly, “He would've liked you.”

Joel looked away, to itch at his temple, hiding a grin. The thought of this man—the man who had made Leela feel safe, loved—looking at him and thinking he’s good enough for my little girl? No, he would've given him a hard time. Especially since no one stood to compare to Leela, much less a man like Joel, hitting sixty and greying. Her father would've come at him with his expensive shotgun.

Leela’s gaze lifted to his, eyes foolproof. She took a breath. “I feel like that with you.”

Joel's throat worked tough. His body had already moved before his mind caught up, his hand reaching out, fingers trailing along her temple, dipping into the thick waves of her hair.

“Like a fat, lazy wifey?” he murmured.

Leela let out a tiny, breathless laugh and immediately covered her face with both hands, her shoulders curling in. “Yeah. Is that bad?”

Joel’s grin pulled at his mouth, satisfaction sitting right on his bones. His thumb brushed over the curve of her cheek, a little more deliberate now, a little more his. “That’s the goal, sweetheart.”

Leela peeked at him through her fingers, then, as if gathering herself, slowly reached out and took his hand from her face. She held it in her lap, turning it over, tracing the rough lines of his palm. The callouses, the broken skin, the deep grooves time had worn into him.

She ran her thumb along the ridge of a scar, a flash of quiet passing through her expression. Not pity—Leela never looked at him like that. Just knowing. Understanding.

“Do you remember what you told me?” she murmured, still studying his hand, watching the way her fingers disappeared against the breadth of his palm. “That night after the bar?”

Joel exhaled, a deep thing, pulse hammering up his veins. “Do you?”

She squinted, like she was trying to piece a puzzle together, like it lived just at the edges of her memory.

“I don’t remember much. It's hazy.” Her voice dipped even quieter. “You told me you love me.”

Joel swallowed. His fingers flexed against hers before curling, his palm pressing lightly to her own like she might slip away if he didn’t hold onto her properly.

“And I’ll say it again,” he assured.

Leela finally looked up, meeting his gaze fully. Her fingers curled tighter around his hand, holding him there.

“I want to feel you now, Joel,” she said, soft but sure, like it was something she had already decided. “Loving all of me.”

A deep and molten flame uncoiled in him at her words, cracked something wide open.

Because she remembered. And he remembered the way she had trembled under him that night, high and reckless and desperate for something he wouldn’t give her. And he had whispered the only inevitable promise that he had ever felt—

“One day, when I’m deep inside you, I am all you're gonna be thinkin' of. Just me, loving all of you.”

And now—now Leela was here, in front of him, sober and clear-eyed and asking him for the very thing he had promised her.

Joel didn’t rush. He just reached for her, wanting and calm, his fingers trailing from her wrist, up the length of her arm, to her chin. He tilted her face toward him, waiting. Giving her the space to change her mind.

Leela stared at him, eyes, lips, eyes, lips, and it had him in agony. A prolonged soon enough, she simply lifted her lips to his like an offering.

And he took.

He kissed her like a man who had gone without for too long, hands crushing her closer to him, like a man afraid to break the very thing he craved. Worshipping her was softer than before because now he knew she wanted this. He knew she was choosing this. Choosing him. Out of all the sick, sorry bastards in this world, she picked him. Him.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he promised between kisses, hungering forward for more. “I'll make you feel like a queen, baby. I'll give you everything.”

Her fingers trailed up, skimming the scruff at his neck before splaying over his chest. The warmth of her touch shot straight through him, and he exhaled against her mouth, pressing closer. Mad, so mad for this.

Then, gently, he guided her hands to his shirt buttons.

He wasn’t in any hurry. This wasn’t about taking—this was about letting. Letting her have control, letting her set the pace, letting her know she could stop whenever she wanted.

Leela pulled away just enough to glance down at his shirt, her breath catching.

“Go on then, help me out,” he urged.

That’s when he saw it—the hesitation. The clear-cut hysteria that hadn’t been there last time, numbed to the effects of weed. With her clarity came everything else. Every dread, every old wound, every aching recollection, every scar she carried in places he couldn’t see.

Joel stayed still, barely breathing, watching the way her fingers hovered over the buttons, how they trembled as she carefully popped the first one open. Then the next and next.

She pushed the fabric from his shoulders, her hands mapping him quietly, tracing it all. She touched everything—the pale scars left by unseen blades, the sealed bullet wounds, the old burns, the places where life had carved him up and forced him to heal around the damage. Her dark gaze lingered on the fine scruff dusting his chest, palms gliding lower, following the path where dark hair thinned down his stomach before vanishing beneath his waistband.

She wasn’t just looking. She was memorizing. Good, let her. This was all hers anyway.

“Ruined,” he mumbled.

“Survived,” she corrected.

He slid the sleeves off his arms, balling his shirt up in his hands before tossing it aside. Joel leaned back against the headboard like a king waiting on a feast, his legs spreading slightly, the muscles in his stomach flexing as he breathed. His gaze was heavy-lidded, thick, deep and everything unspoken.

Then, slowly, he stroked a palm over his thigh. “Come sit, darlin’.”

Leela hesitated. He could see it in the way her fingers curled and uncurled on the duvet, like she was feeling her way through the moment. But she followed, just like he knew she would, crawling over until she was straddling him, the seam of her legs spread over his zipper, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.

Joel felt the warmth of her, the light press of her thighs against him, the way her breath hitched when her hands came to his shoulders, fingers curling lightly over muscle and scar.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You're just perfect, aren't you?”

She nodded. Then blinked in realization, then shook her head, sighing. “Shut up.”

“Psh. Look at you. I ain't gonna.”

His own hands found her waist, steadying her, tracing slow circles over the fabric of her nightdress. This girl was made to be loved.

Then his fingers slid up, tracing her figure, until he was right over those goddamn pearl buttons.

He wanted to take them apart with his teeth, but that wasn’t the way to do this—not tonight. So he traced the cool surface of each one before carefully slipping them free, one by one, big fingers graceless over the little buttons.

The moment the last one came undone, he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face. The anxiety, the confusion... the curiosity way beneath it. Observing him.

And then he sank his teeth into the delicate skin on her sternum.

Leela sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening on his biceps.

Joel groaned against her, dragging his lips over the mark, spreading slow, open-mouthed kisses over the same spot, soothing it, claiming it.

He let the thin sleeves slide off her shoulders, watching the way the fabric slipped down her arms, pooling at her midriff.

Joel exhaled sharply, his grip tightening just a fraction before smoothing over her skin again like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Because Christ, how was she real? Where had that lonely, grey fart upstairs been hiding her all this time?

She was all honey-warm skin and soft, dusky curves. Her breasts rose and fell with each uneven breath, her ribs tautening, beneath the subtle dip of her waist. His gaze traced the gentle flare of her hips, the little softness at her love handles, the way her toned stomach tensed as she held herself still, waiting—watching him with those deep, knowing eyes.

“Joel?” she whispered.

“You're...” He blinked twice. “You're so beautiful.”

For a terrible lack of words, he wasn't exactly a fucking poet. He really wanted to tell her that she was the Powerball lottery in his life, that even her smartass brain was sexy, and that when she breathed, he was pretty sure a flower bloomed right under her damn feet.

But she managed a quiet laugh. “Oh-kay.”

And Joel had never believed in God much, but if there was one, he’d have to offer up a damn prayer of thanks. Only took thirty whole years.

He let his hands roam, rough fingertips skating over the curve of her waist, following the soft lines of her body. She was delicate, strong, warm, and hesitant, all at once, and beneath the tension in her shoulders, he could feel the slight tremble in her limbs.

She trusted him with this. With herself.

Joel wasn’t about to fuck that up. So he took his time.

He smoothed his palms over her ribs, feeling the way her bones flexed beneath his touch. His thumbs brushed over her perfect nipples, the peaks stiffening, drawing the softest sound from her throat—a breathy little whimper that damn near destroyed him.

His control hung by a thread as he ducked his head, finally taking her into his mouth.

His lips closed over her, hot and slow, his tongue flicking, tasting, teasing. He lavished her with attention, spreading kisses across the swell of one, then the other, loving them equally, thoroughly.

“Fuckin' don't deserve any of this,” he said through his teeth, clutched on a nipple.

“What are you...” she whispered.

He was surrounded by Leela, arching into him, encouraging his lips where she wanted him, and he didn't spare a thought to her instincts. If she wanted him, she'd have it. Her fingers trembled before they slid into his hair, sweeping back through the silver-streaked strands, holding him there like she was trying to commit the sight of him—eyes half-closed, mouth on her, glorifying her—to memory.

Then, without thinking, Joel bit down—just enough to pull a sound from her throat, her grip on his hair tightening, nails scraping against his scalp.

Didn’t think she’d like that. But she did. Nice.

“Joel,” she whispered.

His smirk was slow, lazy, drawn out against her flushed skin as he let his tongue wander over the reddening mark he’d left before sealing it with a leisurely, possessive suck.

“Shit, baby,” he muttered, voice gone husky. “If this is what you taste like here, can’t imagine what you taste like down there.”

Leela’s breath hitched hard. “Down what…?”

The way she said it—uncertain, like the thought had never fully occurred to her—lit a fire in his gut. Primal, claiming, wanting. Frantic.

She wouldn’t know. Of course, she wouldn’t.

It wasn’t like there had been time for teenage exploration when the world had gone to hell. No fumbling hands in the dark, no stolen kisses at parties, no whispered giggles between sheets. Sex was a free-for-all in QZs obviously, and he sure as hell doubted porn had been a practicality when she’d been at that wonderful age of curiosity.

Which meant this—the way she looked at him, the way her breaths stared back up when he so much as hinted at what he wanted to do—was something else entirely.

Yeah, Joel had never been more careful in his damn life.

“Christ,” he rasped, dragging his hands slowly down her back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine, the delicate lines of her body. "Well, at least a little touch. Lemme feel you.”

“Feel,” she murmured, confused.

He showed her his hand. Then two fingers. Then his thumb. Hoping that was enough for her to get the message across. “Feel.”

She hesitated for only a moment, but then—God help him—she nodded. That was all the permission he needed.

“Let's get this off you,” he muttered. “Wanna see you.”

He eased the night dress up and over her head, watching the fabric pool around her before slipping off completely. Her thick braid slapped softly against her back, and then—there she was.

All herself. Just Leela.

She sat before him in nothing but those little white linen panties, tied into thick knots at her hips—ruffled edges, sweet, soft, so goddamn cute—and his. Yeah, his. All mine.

And then his hands were on her again, slow, reverent, like he had the luxury of time. Because he did. Because this was about her, about her knowing she was safe, knowing she was loved, knowing he'd go wherever she liked him to.

His longest finger wandered closer and closer from her hips, and brushed beneath the edge of her panties, a featherlight bump against that warm, soft groove. Just to let her know.

His jaw clenched, muscles locking as he willed himself to go slow, to savour every second of this, to feel her breathe against his cheek as he did it.

Her eyes flickered up to his, eyes locking. Wide. Waiting. Knowing this wasn't over.

He held her gaze as he pushed further in between her folds, just enough to feel the heat of her, the damp silk of her against his fingertips—aching, perfect, warm.

Her lips parted. A little gasp, barely a sound.

And then her eyes fluttered shut.

He felt it the second she let go, the second she allowed herself to slip into it, to trust what he was doing to her.

His coarse fingers carefully traced, explored, and learned. A decade out of practice, but instincts were instincts. And he knew how to listen—how to really listen. The way her breaths stuttered when he circled just right with the pad of his thumb at the little bud of nerves, the way her body clenched when he curled deeper inside where he needed to. When his fingers worked her low and slow, in loving accuracy, how she completely arched into him, warm walls pressuring around his fingers.

Then, a tiny sound. Soft. Desperate. “Joel, please.”

Fuck. Every person needs to hear that once in their lifetime. Their whole other half just falling apart while clinging to your name.

His stomach tensed, heat surging through him so sudden and hard he had to close his eyes, had to bite down hard on his own restraint before he did something stupid—like buck against her like a goddamn teen and blow a load into his jeans.

Because of the way she moved into his palm, the way her hips found the rhythm like instinct, like something she’d always known but never had the chance to learn—Jesus Christ, his frail heart was going to fail him.

“I know,” he breathed, voice gruff. “I know. Goddamn it, you’re so beautiful. So perfect f'me.”

How unoriginal. Cliché as a bitch. But what the hell else was he supposed to say? Write haikus? Sing praises? He would, if he had any sanity left. She was carved from silent fire and untouchable grace, delicate and untamed, something that had no damn business ending up here, in his ruined hands.

Her fingers dug into his back, ravaged by sensation, nails sinking in, breaking the skin, drawing blood—maybe. Didn’t fucking matter. Even that was sexy. That pain was welcome, something he'd carry with him like a brand, a scar he’d look at in the mirror tomorrow with a lazy smirk and think, yeah, my girl did that.

And then—he felt it. That old familiar twitch against his fingers, the way her body tensed, breath shuddering, forehead dropping against his.

She was close.

And if she was going to come, it wasn’t going to be on his marred hands. No way in hell. He needed to feel her come on him everywhere. Needed it to hit him so deep he felt pinpricks behind his goddamn eyes.

“Baby, hang on. Fuck, honey, gimme a second,” he rasped, voice wrecked, dragging his fingers out from her, savouring the heat, the slick. He popped them into his mouth, groaning low at the taste, the perfection of her. Wasn’t about to waste a single drop.

Leela only watched him, unusual, confused. “So strange.”

He wiped his mouth. “Unreal, baby. Taste so good.”

Then, shifting back against the headboard, he pulled her closer onto his lap. His hands slid up her thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles, coaxing, calming.

He nodded at his pants. “Wanna help me out of this?”

She nodded, still flushed, and reached down. Soft, slender, long hands worked the button loose, nudged the zipper down, knuckles grazing his stomach, fingers tracing down the happy trail, lower, lower—

She sucked in a breath when she laid eyes on the good stuff that sprang free.

He saw the flicker in her eyes, and he prayed to whatever was looking over him that he was in all right proportions, that he was to her liking, that he was good enough for her. But the way she seemed to assess, hesitating... Curiosity? Oh, good—anything other than disgust.

Then she glanced up at him, brow pinched. “You’re not wearing...”

He blinked, momentarily lost in his own haze, until he realized. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. God bless America.”

The laugh that burst out of her was sudden, real, pure, like she hadn't expected it. She did a double-take, covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

“Omigod, Joel. You’ve been walking around without underwear this whole time?”

He smirked, gathering her back into his arms, hands already working at the ties of her little knotted panties. “Alright, get your judgy ass over here.”

Two tugs, and they were gone, joining the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. He gave her tight behind a nice squeeze. “Y'know, you've got the perkiest butt I've ever seen. All that lifting and stretching—you drive me crazy with those teeny little shorts.”

She twisted his ear playfully. “So that's why you're always messing up with the tools.”

“Oh, yeah. Prettiest pussy, too,” he whispered, winking.

“Joel!” she hissed.

And then—finally—she was straddling his lap, stripped, all soft thighs and tough calves, muscles flexing as she adjusted, aligned over him, and found her balance, fingers curled into the headboard for support.

A little smile tugged at her lips. And it killed him. “Hi.”

“Hi, honey,” he murmured.

She was stunning—lean, strong, effortless. A goddamn supermodel. That hair, those muscles, those striking eyes, she had him by the balls and he wasn't complaining.

He held her hips, warm, smooth skin beneath his rough palms, a thumb tracing the soft, wet seam at her legs. He pushed a testing finger in, and she shivered.

“You ready for me?” he murmured.

She exhaled softly, before her hand came down, sliding into his hair, down his ear, his cheek—thumb brushing over his lips like she was memorizing him like he was something sacred.

And then, so quiet, so sure—“I want to feel all of you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Not fair. Not fucking fair. That should’ve given him a second, a moment to react, to curse, to do something—

But then she moved. And finally, finally, she took him inside her. Right where he’d been aching for her.

Heat. Tight. Unreal.

“Fuuuck.” A deep groan ripped out of his chest as she plunged down onto him, enveloping him in pressure so impossibly hot, impossibly incredible, that his head kicked back against the headboard.

Strain. Resistance. So much love.

Her body rebelled, not used to this stretch, this fullness, and when a sharp, quiet cry slipped from her, she buried it against his cheek. “Please.”

His breath stilled. Instinct flared hot in his veins—not desire, but protection, care, a tethered restraint that warred with the desperate need to move, to feel her completely.

His arms circled around her, strong. His lips found the edge of her eye, feeling the trail of tears, murmuring against her skin, “I'm right here, baby. You're doin’ so good. Take me so well.”

“It hurts,” she cried out sharply.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You want to take a breath for me?”

And she did. A nice, long, deep one into his neck. The hot air ghosted around his nape. Then two more, until it felt like her breaths were finally stuttering back into her.

He kissed her eye. “That's a good girl. You got this. Eyes on me.”

She nodded shakily, holding his gaze.

“Only me, alright?”

He tightened his hold on her hips, not to force, not to move—just to be there, to keep her close as he raised up, his back protesting with a pricking ache, meeting her halfway, easing her down inch by inch, a motion as old as time, gentle, ready, his.

“Feel like a dream, darlin’,” he whispered against her skin, voice barely holding together.

A shiver. A squeeze around him, tight and sweet, like a pulse, a welcome. This was his home.

And he felt it—this wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just something done to her, wasn’t something she was just letting happen.

She wanted every inch of him. And Joel was going to move fucking mountains to give it to her.

Joel moved with her, for her, matching the slow, hesitant rhythm she set. Each slide into her was deep, measured—he wasn’t chasing anything except her, wasn’t losing himself in the feeling of her wrapped around him, not yet. No, this was about letting her take what she needed. About making sure she knew, in her bones, that this was hers. He was hers.

“Joel, is this okay?” she panted.

He looked up at her and sighed from numb lips, “Baby, how the hell are you real?”

Because Jesus, if she wasn’t the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever seen—the way her brows pinched, the way her pretty mouth parted, the way her breath hitched when he hit that spot.

The way her body crashed above him, her hands clung to the headboard, his shoulders, nails gripping, grounding—she was giving him everything without even realizing it. A little gasp left her lips each time he lifted his hips, rocking against hers, pushing her just a little bit further, testing the limits of what she could take.

His fingers smoothed down her spine, following the curve of her back, his lips finding her throat, the little hollow just beneath her ear.

“That's my good girl,” he encouraged, voice rough, rasping into her ear. “Feels nice, don’t it? Feels real nice.”

She shuddered, a little whimper catching at the back of her throat. Her thighs tensed around him, gripping tight around his neck, but her movements faltered. A stutter. A hesitation.

Joel slowed. Just enough to feel her, to see her, to be sure.

And that’s when he knew. That she wasn’t quite there. No matter how wet she was, how ready and tight she was around him, something in her body held back.

But it wasn’t fear or pain or shyness or any of that bullshit. It was just unfamiliar. A wariness just under her skin, something holding her back, keeping her from letting go.

And Joel understood.

His gut tightened, hurt pulling at his chest, but this—this wasn’t just about fucking. It wasn’t just about getting her to some peak, some finish line, some goal he had to chase.

It was about unlearning. It was being with her. It was about replacing whatever fucked-up pain in her, whatever taking had come before, with something soft, small and theirs.

And if she didn’t come or if she didn’t even know what that felt like—hell, that didn’t change a goddamn thing. Didn’t change the way he was making love to her, how much he loved her, loved feeling her move on top of him, for him.

It also didn’t change the fact that he was already hanging by a thread, already wound too tight, already gritting his teeth to keep himself from losing it, because she felt too good, too right, like she was made to be wrapped around him, to take him this deep.

He wasn't going to last very long, he was pushing his limit here, his prime of life was to blame for that. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold onto the moment, hold onto her—but it was too much, too perfect, too fucking good.

His hands flexed at her hips, gripping, steadying her, his own control unravelling fast.

“Jesus—Leela, I'm—!”

“Joel?” she called, concerned almost.

He wanted to wait as long as he could. Wanted to hold off, wanted to take her there with him, to let her feel all of it, but this old fucking desperate body—

But then she moved, sinking down, rolling her hips against him in just the right way, and he broke.

“Oh, shit!”

A deep, guttural sound tore from his throat, his arms snapping tight around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he spilled deep inside her, every muscle in his body seizing up. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, breath ragged, fingers flexing against her slick skin.

He stayed like that for a moment, ears ringing, buried in her, completely wrung out, slumping into her, breathing her in, feeling her heartbeat pound against his own. Oh, but he was currently in orbit, in fucking space.

And then—when his thoughts returned back to planet Earth, back to Jackson, back to this home, when the haze started to clear—he pulled back, just enough to see her.

She looked… confused. Like she'd gone wrong somewhere. Lips parted, eyes hazy, looking between them, like she was waiting for something, like she wasn’t sure if this was it.

She blinked. “I...”

Joel watched her, studied the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her body still trembled around him, the way her fingers curled gently against his throat.

She didn’t know, of course. Didn’t realize. That she hadn’t come.

And he didn’t feel bad about it—not in the way a man might, not in the way that turned it into some failure, something to gnaw on, to carry like a weight. Shit, she'd gone as far as to relive this for him.

But still—he wanted to give that to her. Wanted her to feel it, to know what it meant to be shattered and held together all at once.

“One more try, okay?” he rasped, barely breathing it into her skin. He kissed her shoulder, collar and throat. “Gimme one more. You can do it. Just hold onto me.”

A small smile came alive on her lips. “Okay.”

Joel bore down again, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her closer, pushing deeper—trying this time, rather than feeling.

His breath came wild, strained, body shaking with the force of it, sweat splashing lazily onto her breasts, in the effort of making her feel it. His heart was hammering, his arms flexing, his thighs burning as he surged up into her, chasing that high for her, something he needed to give her.

And still—still—Leela just watched him. Soft, quiet, moving with him, letting him take her, feeling his strength beneath her, stroking his cheek, his hair, her fingertips whisper-light against his damp skin.

No gasping desperation, no frantic, uncontrolled unravelling. Just… this.

And Joel—fuck—he didn’t know what to do with that. She wasn’t pretending. Would be nice if she did. She wouldn’t know how to fake it, would she? Wouldn’t know the right way to move, the right way to sound, the right way to let a man know he was making her come undone and get this over with.

And the realization punched him in the gut. Blindsided him completely.

It wasn't about to happen. He'd just have to let go.

But Joel couldn’t stop. Not now, not when he was this close. When he was teetering on the fucking edge. When his body was demanding release with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Sorry, I can't. I can't.”

“Joel, it's okay, it's okay,” she coaxed.

So he held her down, his grip firm, desperate. Feeling so fucking selfish as he pushed and pushed harder. Broke a sweat. Gave it everything he had left in him, one last time—until his muscles locked, until heat ripped through him once more, until he spilled deep inside her again with another ragged, shuddering groan.

And Leela—sweet, accepting Leela—just cradled him through it. Breathed against his cheek, kissed his ear, smoothed her hands over his hair, and ran her fingers along the tense lines of his back, comforting him.

Because Joel had never felt more fucking helpless in his life. He buried his face in her neck, his arms locking tight around her, his body wracked with aftershocks, his chest rising and falling hard against hers.

“Joel,” she said, a softness behind his name.

His throat was tight. He swallowed. “You have to—you haven't—”

“I feel really good,” she whispered. “Really good.”

Joel breathed in deep, exhaled slow. She meant it. She felt good. It wasn’t some half-truth, some lie to spare his feelings. Leela didn’t lie to him—she didn’t know how to, not in a way that mattered.

So he let it go. Let himself believe her. However difficult and excruciating it was.

“Do you wanna lie down?” he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers over her jaw. “Lemme clean up and hurry back to you, alright?”

“Okay.”

She nodded, watching as he rolled out of bed, buckled up his pants, and stretched his sore back with a quiet grunt. That pleasant ache in his muscles, he could get used to this. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, then disappeared into the bathroom.

The second he flicked on the light, he set both hands over the sink, bracing himself. His reflection stared back at him, every line on his face a little deeper, slick with sweat, his greying scruff a little rougher, hair a Leela-made mess. His body was still running hot, his ears still rung, still a little shaky in the aftermath.

But under all that? Confusion. Loathing. Every i had been dotted, every t crossed. So what the hell went wrong?

His fingers turned the tap on, ran cool water over his palms. He splashed some onto his face and neck and chest, let it dribble down to his throat, rinsed his mouth and took another breath.

“You goddamn dud,” he muttered to himself.

Maybe it was him. All those years of nothing. Years of his body belonging to no one but himself. Years of only touching for a release. A ferocious protector, sure, but it made him an incapable lover. He never knew a damn thing about the female body, how to work it, how to please her. Should've let her come on his hand when he had the chance. Stupid, greedy asshole.

With a final splash of water to his face, he scrubbed a wet hand through his hair and stepped back into the bedroom. Time to face the music.

Leela had already slipped her nightdress back on, the straps falling just slightly off her shoulder, her hair combed back a little neater. She was curled up against the pillows, drowsy, waiting for him.

Joel didn’t hesitate to slide into bed beside her, sinking into the warmth of her body like he belonged there. Like they’d been doing this forever.

She nestled in closer automatically, her breath soft against his cheek. His fingers trailed down her face with a slow, lazy kind of affection, committing the shape of her in this light to memory..

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

She smiled sleepily, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “You said that a lot.”

“Mean it every time,” he said, voice rough. “You’re my dreamgirl.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, low and teasing, but her fingers curled into his chest, holding onto him like she didn’t quite believe it.

“So I’m supposed to come, is that it?” she mused, drawing out the words.

Joel had spent most of his life keeping things simple. Straightforward. No fuss, no questions, no goddamn talking about it.

He let out a long, suffering sigh, pressing his forehead to hers. Jesus, he could just roll over and fix this. He would—happily. But for once, he didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to miss the quiet, golden stretch of time between basking in the afterglow and sleep.

“It amazes me that you don’t know that,” he muttered.

She shrugged, unbothered. “I did feel nice.”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, I couldn't give it to you.”

Her eyes softened. She turned her face into his hand, pressing a deep, lingering kiss into his palm. He swallowed around it, around the way it made him feel—too big, too much, too good.

“Don't be. I had a lot of fun,” she admitted.

Fun. Sex had never been fun. Not for him, Not in his whole goddamn lifetime. It had been a release, a need, a way to forget or feel an ounce of freedom. But fun? Especially from someone who'd been through hell on this?

He looked at her like she’d just rewritten the entire world in front of him.

“I could get used to this with you. Just... slowly.”

His brain short-circuited. “Used to this with me?”

She nodded, pushing half her face shyly into the pillow, a single, shining brown eye peering up at him.

Jesus Christ. He really was about a pop a vein in his forehead. “Right back at you,” he managed.

Then she lifted onto her elbow, hovering over him, her fingers trailing slow, aimless patterns over the fuzz on his chest. Her touch wasn’t meant to start something—to tease or demand. It was just her, touching him because she wanted to. Because she could.

“Don’t look at me like that, darlin’,” he grumbled, already feeling the heat creep back into his body. “I can barely see straight anymore. There’s three of you in front of me.”

She grinned, leaning in so close her lips almost brushed his. “It’s usually the one in the middle.”

He let out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head. “I ain’t one of your damn machines either. If I am, well���I need big repairs. Gotta oil my gears, tighten some screws.”

She kissed his cheek with a soft giggle, once, twice—then a third time to his lips, slow and sweet. A silent promise. A quiet goodnight.

“I’ll take twenty years off you in no time,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against his. “You’ll be living till you’re a hundred. Goodnight, Joel.”

She nestled back into the cold pillows, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, guiding him close until his face was tucked between her neck and the soft swell of her chest.

Joel breathed out, letting himself sink into her. His arms slung over her waist, pulling her close until there was nothing between them, his leg tangling with hers.

“Till I’m a hundred, my ass,” he muttered, already halfway asleep. “You keep ridin’ me like that, I’m kickin’ rocks at sixty.”

She gasped, appalled. “Joel!”

He grinned against her skin, pressing a kiss to her throat. “G'night.”

X

Joel felt that night in his bones for three days straight.

The delicious ache, the lingering burn, the way his body still hummed like it was catching up to itself—he felt every damn bit of it. Like walking about with a brand on his chest, her name in big, fat capitals, burned into his skin that wasn't ever going to fade. If he let his mind wander, he swore he could still feel the imprint of her nails on his shoulders, the scratch of her breathy moans against his throat.

It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this kind of soreness, since he'd let himself have anything that good. And now that he had—Christ, it was all he could think about.

Sure, his stamina wasn’t what it used to be. He wasn’t some young buck anymore, wasn’t out here trying to prove anything. That kind of energy belonged to a different lifetime. A life where survival meant running, fighting, bleeding, and losing.

But now?

Now, his life was slow. Lazy. Boring. And fuck, if it wasn’t the best goddamn thing in the world.

Every morning, he woke up in what he could only rightfully call the bed to end all beds—wrapped up in a too-soft duvet, which made it near impossible to leave. Sheets tangled around his legs, pillows propped just right. But the best part?

Leela. His girl. Partner. Whatever the fuck. Just call her his.

Sleeping right beside him, fingers still loosely twisted around his from sometime in the night.

He wasn’t a man prone to sentiment. But every single morning, without fail, he’d lie there for a minute, blinking slowly at the ceiling, feeling her warmth beside him, and he’d think: what the hell evil did I destroy to deserve this?

Because he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to wake up slow, wrapped in her warmth. Didn’t deserve the way she just let him have this—her body, her trust, her time. But she gave it anyway.

And if he was weak, if he was pathetic, well—he wasn’t strong enough to just lie there and not touch her.

So he’d roll onto his side, push his face into her shoulder, into her hair, breathe her in, feel the strength of her long legs beneath his palms. Because, deep down, some stupid, aching part of him needed to make sure she was still real. That she hadn’t just vanished into steam.

“Mornin’,” he’d murmur, voice gravelly with sleep, lips brushing over the soft skin of her neck.

And she’d hum, still mostly asleep, shifting closer without thinking, tucking herself against him like she knew. Like she knew she was his, and he was hers, and they had time—all the time in the world to wake up slow and warm in each other’s arms.

Joel didn’t know how to handle that. Didn’t know what the hell to do with the way it made him feel, all thick and too much in his chest.

So he did what he did know how to do. He kissed her. Once. Twice. Again. And again.

Unhurried and soft, against her shoulder, her arm, her cheek, wherever he could. Until she grumbled, barely audible, something along the lines of Joel, let me sleep, swatting at him half-heartedly.

He never listened. Not when he had her like this. Not when she was somewhat awake, turning over onto her back, peeking up at him with those bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“Last one before I get your coffee,” he’d lie, pressing a slow, lingering kiss behind her ear.

And it was never just one. Soon enough, Joel would drag himself up, forcing himself to leave the warmth of their bed, of her, if only for one thing.

His next favourite part of the morning.

His little girl. Maya.

The second Joel stepped into the nursery, flicking on the dim light, the world felt right. Scented in warm linens and baby powder, as the soft morning glow bled through the curtains, it painted everything in muted greens and pink.

And there she was. His baby girl curled in her little nest of blankets, fists rubbing at her groggy eyes, her dark curls sticking out every which way like she’d been fighting sleep all night.

Then she saw him. And the second she did—

“Da-da-da-da-da!”

Joel barely had time to brace before she shot straight up, balancing on the tips of her toes against the crib bars, hands clapping, a little bouncing bean of excitement.

And that damn sweetheart grin. All toothy and wide, like she’d been waiting her whole life to see him again. It got him every time, that overwhelming sense of sweet defeat. He'd take a knife in the heart for her.

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head at her, at the way her tiny face was all lit up with him simply showing up.

“There’s my baby girl,” he rumbled, stepping forward, and scooping her up into his arms in one smooth motion, raining kisses on her cheeks.

Maya let out a squealing little giggle, tiny hands immediately going for his face, his beard, her favourite thing to grab early in the morning. She clutched two greedy handfuls, tugging at the scruff like it was hers.

He brushed a hand down her curls. “Did you sleep well?”

“Sleeeepy,” she said around her fist.

She babbled against his shoulder—nonsense, tiny sounds he swore had some kind of meaning only she knew—her chubby little arms tightening around his neck in a hug that damn near melted him.

Then—of course—she went right back to attacking his beard, tugging with all her tiny might.

Joel winced, letting out a mock grumble, “Yeah, alright. You just want Daddy for the whiskers, huh?”

Maya let out a high-pitched giggle, and he felt her breath, warm against his neck, little fingers wandering up to pat his cheeks.

Joel, of course, pretended to eat her fingers instead, lips smacking, making exaggerated chomping sounds. Maya screeched, all wiggly and squirming, kicking in his arms with laughter so wild and free, it made his whole day before it even started.

He sighed, pressing his nose against her cheek, breathing her in. Baby powder. Warmth. His baby girl.

“Alright, trouble. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He carried her over to the little bathroom by the nursery, got her washed up, and changed into one of the tiny little sweaters that had once belonged to her mama. Maya, of course, made it an ordeal—wiggling, talking to him, playing with her own toes.

Joel took his time. Didn’t rush a damn thing.

A normal, mundane morning—waking up next to the woman he loved, starting the day with his baby girl. That was his whole rhythm now.

Some days their mornings went quick—too quick for his liking. Early in the morning, shovelling down his breakfast alone, yelling goodbye to his girls, and heading out for patrol, only to spend every second waiting until he could get back to them. Waiting for that first breath of home, that happy squeal he would hear from Maya ten yards out, that first kiss again.

The house was still half-asleep when Joel clattered his plate into the sink. Maya let out a soft whimper from her mother's arms, travelling across the kitchen, getting his attention first, and Leela—half-awake, hair mussed, sweater slipping off one shoulder—murmured, “You’re being loud.”

Joel grabbed his jacket off the chair, shoving an arm through one sleeve. “Ain’t got time to be quiet. Tommy's gonna blow a fuse.”

Leela huffed, rubbing a hand over her face. “You ever think about waking up ten minutes earlier?”

Joel snorted, already at the door. “You ever think about wakin’ up with me?”

That earned him a half-hearted glare over her shoulder. “I'm a night owl. I need the dark to think.”

Maya stirred, a tiny, bleary-eyed thing, her hands stretching toward him. Joel hesitated, foot already over the threshold.

Leela, catching the way his shoulders pulled tight, sighed. “Go, Joel.”

“Don't work yourself too hard while I'm gone,” he warned.

Leela just hummed in accord, adjusting Maya against her shoulder.

Joel hesitated. Then, before he could think twice, he ducked back in, pressing a long, deep kiss to her lips, holding her chin tight between his palm, just until he fought for breath.

She startled when he pulled away, blinking up at him. Then playfully shoved at his chest to get him out the door. “Go already.”

But some days—the best days—mornings were slow. Breakfast on the island or out on the porch, the intense scent of coffee thick in the cold air, his hand curled around the mug that curled out steaming ribbons into his face, while Leela sat beside him, legs tucked up under herself, grinning at him over the rim of her cup.

Joel tipped his mug toward his lips, letting the heat of the coffee melt into him. Watching her.

She tilted her head, nudging his thigh with her knee. “Are you always this quiet in the mornings? I never noticed.”

Joel glanced at her. “Ain’t got much to say with you around.”

She raised a brow, taking a small sip of her own coffee. “That so?”

Joel smirked, sipping slowly. “Just like listenin’ to you talk.”

Leela scoffed. “That’s funny. ‘Cause last time I checked, you like cutting me off halfway.”

Joel pursed his lips, considering. “Only when you’re talkin’ nonsense. Y'know, your little nerdspeak thing you do.”

Her mouth parted in excessive offence. “Oh, so my technicalities are nonsense?”

Joel blew into his coffee cup. “Mm.”

She gave him a slow, evaluating look, then nudged him hard enough that coffee nearly sloshed over the rim of his cup.

“Goddammit, girl.” He shot her a glare, but it was ruined by the way his lips were twitching.

The mornings when snow blanketed the whole town, and he’d bundle Maya up like a little marshmallow, watching her waddle out into the white, her excitement vibrating through every inch of her tiny body. He’d stand there on the porch, arms crossed, watching her vigilantly as she threw herself into the snow, chubby hands slapping the ground, kicking her little legs while Leela laughed beside him.

Sometimes, mornings like this used to feel like a chore. Errands. Town. A list scrawled on his palm, running through daily tasks that he used to do alone—back when it had just been him and Sarah, back when Saturday mornings meant grocery runs, when her tiny hands would have been in his, tugging him toward whatever caught her eye.

Now, it was Maya, and she was a whole different kind of trouble.

Leela had gone off to meet Maria at the dam—something about some loose wiring, an issue that she was insisting she could fix, even though Joel had very strong feelings about her doing anything that required standing near running water with electrical tools. But that left him here, alone with Maya, tackling grocery shopping.

Joel let her wander, let her explore at her own level, tiny squeaky boots padding against the wooden floorboards of the trading post, soft little oohs and ahs slipping from her lips whenever she spotted something that intrigued her. He kept one eye on the list, the other on her, reaching out every so often to keep her from knocking into someone’s knees or tugging on a coat that didn’t belong to her.

But the second she drifted too far—too quick, too small, lost too easy in the crowd—he was on her.

A sigh deep in his chest, scooping her up, tucking her under his arm while she squealed and huffed, little hands batting at him in protest. Little gremlin.

“Don't gimme that, baby girl,” he muttered, setting her down just long enough to grab the last thing on his list.

Potatoes. Should’ve been easy. Joel let go of her hand for two damn seconds to grab the bag from the shelf—and when he turned back, she was gone.

His stomach dropped.

“Christ, not again,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his basket to his hip. “Maya?”

No answer. Just the quiet squeak of her boots, quick little steps padding away.

“Maya!”

Joel pushed past people, scanning, breath already working too hard through his nose. It wasn’t panic—not exactly—but it was something close. He had to remind himself that she wasn't made of glass and this was Jackson, yet that was still his baby.

His eyes locked on her in an instant. “Fast fuckin' menace,” he muttered.

She was standing a few feet away, tiny and oblivious, playing with the tab of a can of beans, flicking it up and down with rapt fascination. Didn't even bother looking at him.

Someone was crouched in front of her, blocking her from view. “Where’s your mother, sweetheart?”

Joel already knew who it was before he even reached them.

“Eugene,” he called.

The man glanced up at him, eyes narrowing for a beat before recognition settled in, mouth stretching into a knowing grin. “Miller.” He stood with a grunt, rolling out his shoulders. “Hey, help me out here. This kid’s parent—”

“Is me,” Joel muttered, already reaching for Maya, plucking her up onto his hip like she belonged nowhere else. “C'mere, trouble,” and a firm kiss to the top of her head, his fingers pressing into her tiny back.

“You?” Eugene questioned, thrown off balance.

What, had he been living under a rock? Maya had been the talk of the town since she'd been born. Who speaking off, squealed, giggling, smacking a hand against his cheek—some little game she’d apparently decided was hilarious.

“Me,” Joel confirmed, levelling Eugene with a look. “We got a problem?”

Eugene made a low sound in his throat, eyes flicking between them, like he was sizing up a damn prize mule. Then his mouth curled up once more.

“Oh yeah, I see it,” he said, nodding. “She’s got your big-ass nose.”

“Fuck off.”

“Calmeth thy tits,” Eugene grinned, “I’m tryna be polite.”

“Don’t need it.”

Eugene raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. “So this is why you’ve been copping out of patrol a lot lately. Got Tommy's panties in a twist.”

He nodded toward Maya, who had now taken to tugging on Joel’s beard, testing its durability like she had every right in the world to grab at her old man’s face.

Joel sighed, prying her fingers free one by one. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Guess it is.”

“Yeah, by the looks of it, she's a handful. Cute as shit, though.”

And Eugene—he just stood there a second. Looking at Joel, smelling strongly of weed, basket in his grip, a box of food from the canteen and a bottle of whiskey sitting inside.

Joel saw it then. The difference between them. An old ghost of himself.

Eugene—the kind of man he might’ve been had it not been his instinct to quiet a baby's cries from next door. A year ago, maybe even less, he would’ve been the one with the bottle of whiskey in his cart, the one picking up meals from the canteen instead of making them. The one going home alone.

Eugene exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Huh,” he muttered. Then, a nod, a flash of grudging pride behind his eyes. “You came through. Good for you, Miller.”

Joel didn’t have the words for it. Didn’t know how to put into words what this was, what it felt like to have this, to have them—after years of nothing.

So he just cleared his throat and adjusted Maya in his arms. Eugene just chuckled, slapping a hand on his shoulder before stepping past him, humming under his breath.

Eugene didn’t walk off right away.

Joel could feel him there—still standing at his side, still weighing the words on his tongue. It set his teeth on edge, the way Eugene hesitated. Like he was debating whether to say what was already burning behind his lips.

Then, finally—

“You wanna tell me why Ellie and Dina are so interested in the Fireflies all of a sudden?”

Joel went winded. The Maya's little weight in his arms was suddenly the only thing keeping him upright, keeping him tethered. He barely blinked. Barely breathed.

His voice bit out dangerously low. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Eugene tightened the basket in his grip. Shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. But his eyes were sharp when they cut to Joel, measuring.

“She’s been askin’ these ex-Firefly folks like me and Tommy,” he told him. “Came to me couple nights back—askin’ if I knew anything. If I’d heard anything about ‘em regrouping.”

Joel swallowed, throat dry as dust.

His grip on Maya didn’t tighten—he made sure of that. Kept his hands gentle, careful, even as the rest of him braced. But inside—inside, he clenched up like a fist.

Ellie. Asking about the Fireflies.

It wasn’t panic curling up his spine. Worse.

Because she’d known. She’d gone back to that hospital. She’d walked through the bloodstains, the echoes of gunfire, the remnants of what he’d done. She’d seen the truth laid bare, stripped of all the justifications he’d tried to wrap around it. And she’d spent months—years—dragging herself through the wreckage, trying to make sense of it.

Trying to make peace with him.

He’d watched her try. Seen it in the way she forced herself to stay, even when the silence stretched too long between them. In the way she looked at him sometimes, like she was still searching for something, still waiting for an answer he could never give. He thought—he hoped—that with time, she’d let it rest. That the scars would settle, and they could leave that part of their lives buried where it belonged.

But now—now they were here again.

And Joel didn’t know if they could come back from it this time.

The walls of the room felt like they were creeping in closer, like if he stood still too long, he’d get swallowed whole, but Joel forced his breath steady. In. Out. In. Out. Kept his shoulders loose even as something behind his ribs coiled tight, wound like a spring.

“And?” He made his voice even, ironing out the edges. “You tell her anythin’?”

Eugene huffed, shaking his head. “Nothin’ worth tellin’. Just old stories, y’know? Old bases, old rumours, old movement. And about that research base over at Caltech. I don’t know what she’s lookin’ for, but maybe keep an eye out for your other little girl, too, yeah?”

Joel stared at nothing. His heart pounded heavy, like a fist banging against a locked door. Ellie had stopped asking a long time ago. Or at least, he’d thought she had. Maybe she’d just stopped asking him.

But why now? After all this time?

Not unless—

His mind snagged on the past few weeks. The time Ellie had been spending across the way. The quiet conversations, the way she lingered at their porch, shifting her weight like she was waiting on something. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Leela kept to herself, and Ellie wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Two closed-off people drifting toward each other, not expecting much in return.

But that wasn’t it.

Ellie was digging.

And Leela had handed her the shovel.

Of course she had.

Joel’s stomach twisted, that sourness settling deep. He should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve recognized the signs.

Leela—the girl with something ripped from her before she ever had the chance to claim it. A name that couldn’t be rooted in history. A life that had been rewritten for her before she could write it herself.

Ellie had always been drawn to ghosts. The lost, the forgotten, the ones who didn’t get a choice. She saw herself in them. Clung to them. And Leela—she was another reflection in the glass.

Another kid who could’ve been something more.

Another wasted potential.

Another shot at redemption.

Joel clenched his teeth. He should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve stopped it before it got this far. Because this wasn’t just curiosity—not for Ellie. It never was. She was always looking for meaning in the wreckage. Always chasing the answers that would rip her open in the end.

And now she was looking again.

For the Fireflies. For Leela. For something she thought she’d lost. For something Joel had taken from her. Taken from them.

His chest tightened, breath coming sharp through his nose. He hadn’t just lied to Ellie all those years ago. He’d tried to close the door. To bury it, deep enough that she’d never claw it back to the surface. But maybe that was never the way it was going to go. Maybe it had just been a matter of time.

Eugene must’ve caught something in his expression, because he turned fully then, brows knitting together.

“You alright, Miller?”

Joel blinked. Swallowed. Got a hold of himself

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, scraped raw. “M’fine.”

Eugene didn’t look convinced. “You take care now.”

And maybe—for the first time in a long time—Joel wasn’t either.

But Eugene didn’t push. Just cleared his throat, nodded once, winked at Maya, and finally stepped away, boots heavy against the floorboards.

Joel stood there a second longer, the world shifting around him. It was a feeling he despised. The sensation of something slipping just beyond his grasp.

Then he looked down at Maya, small and soft in his arms, her tiny hand curled into the fabric of his coat, trusting. “Da-da, go. Go.”

The only part of his world that still made sense. He focused on that. On her warmth.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in. “Yeah, baby. Let's go.”

Then turned, stepping toward the door, already knowing—

He needed to find Ellie. Now.

X

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[yelenabemylova]

birthday - jeong yunho x fem!reader

summary: celebrating the clock hitting midnight on your boyfriend's birthday with dancing (suggested listening), and cake, 1.6k wc

warnings: so much tooth rotting fluff, suggestive ending, calling yunho 'pup', he cries a little (of happiness)

latest yunho fic // ateez masterlist

yunho had been performing on stage tonight, which gave you the perfect opportunity to go shopping for his birthday. even though he assured you over and over he didn't need you to get him anything, you wanted to show him how much you loved him regardless.

unfortunately, he had another concert scheduled on his birthday, so you wouldn't get to spend much of the day with him, but you promised you'd make it up to him afterwards. this was your first time celebrating his birthday together, so you wanted it to be special.

as the door to your apartment opened, you jumped a little, not expecting yunho and yeosang to be back so early. scrambling to hide the wrapping paper and presents under the kitchen table, you greeted them both with a hug, and gave your boyfriend a quick kiss on the cheek.

“so, how was the show?” you asked the pair, who looked utterly exhausted. “yeosang got me a birthday cake!” yunho perked up as he lay his bag down on the counter, pulling out a white box. “only a little one, for tonight. i didn't want to interfere with any official plans,” yeosang was glad he bought the smaller size, noticing your visible sigh of relief.

“ah, ah,” yeosang swatted yunho's hands away from the knife block, “it's not your birthday yet,” he pointed to the clock. the blonde sighed dramatically, sitting on one of the wooden chairs and pretending to faint, the back of his hand covering his forehead.

giggling at his antics, you took his hand in yours, gently brushing your lips against his fingertips, causing the tips of his ears to blush a dark red. “i’ll be back at midnight, don't cut the cake without me!” yeosang went to go shower, giving the two of you some space.

yunho walked over to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water as you jumped up to sit on the counter. he tilted his head back as he drank, his throat bobbing each time he swallowed. slowly, he made his way over to you, gently parting your knees to stand between them.

“hi,” his voice was but a mere whisper, tickling the inside of your ear. “hi,” you suddenly felt shy under his gaze, looking down instead. frowning, he placed his finger under your chin, tilting your head up and admiring your bashful grin, subconsciously mimicking your expression.

the atmosphere in the kitchen felt almost fuzzy, the clock seemingly frozen in time as you studied the details speckled within each other's irises. you noticed the light from behind you highlighting the flecks of different colours in his eyes, shimmering as though magic was attempting to escape them.

suddenly, the cuckoo clock startled the two of you, announcing that it was now midnight. “happy birthday, pup,” you pressed your lips against yunho's, feeling his cheeks heat up at the pet name.

“thank you, jagiya,” he rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath. “should we call yeosang in to cut the cake?” you asked him, glancing towards his closed door. yunho shook his head, “not yet, just want to be with you first.”

you were quick to pull your phone out, connecting to the speakers and playing ‘reflecting light’ by paloma fellowes, a tune he recognised from the first few notes, “it's our song,” he muttered, feeling his heart burst. jumping off the counter, you held out your hand, “care to dance, jeong yunho?”

the smile that took over his face was endearing, the tilt of his head nothing short of adorable. he placed his hand in yours, resting his chin atop the crown of your head as he pulled you into him. his arm around your waist was secure, and he held your hand close to his chest.

yeosang walked out of his room momentarily, spotting the romantic moment and snapping a quick picture. he turned off the lights, allowing the window to be your only source of illumination.

together, you swayed in the moonlight, giving yeosang a quick smile of appreciation before he disappeared back into his room, allowing you to have your moment with each other. “i love you,” you rested your head against your boyfriend's chest, hearing his heartbeat speed up at your confession.

no matter how many times you told him, he'd still feel as lovesick as he did the first time he heard you say it. “i love you, pretty girl,” he responded, just as he did when you initially declared your feelings for him. never had he felt such a strong pull to someone before, and the feeling only intensified with each passing day.

as the song drew to a close, you picked up the vase from underneath the table, taking out the bouquet of flowers and handing it to him. his eyes immediately filled with tears, and panic coursed through your veins at the sight.

“i’m so sorry, i don't know what i was-” he interrupted your nervous rambling with the most passionate kiss you had ever shared with him, every ounce of his heart being poured into this one moment, quieting your racing thoughts. “nobody has ever given me flowers before, thank you,” he grabbed your shoulders and kissed you again, “thank you.”

his reaction was touching, and you couldn't imagine why nobody had given the most romantic loverboy flowers before. “i picked an assortment of your favourites,” you grinned up at him, admiring the way he looked between you and the arrangement in his hand.

carefully, he placed them into the vase now back on the table, and cupped your face in his hands, “this is the most thoughtful gift i’ve ever received,” he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, a tear slipping from his eyes and landing on the side of your face.

you stood on your tiptoes to gently wipe his tears from his wet cheeks with your thumbs, brushing his eyelids with your lips. the gratitude you both felt for each other in that moment radiated throughout the room, and it felt as if pure feelings alone could cast a spell of eternal adoration.

the lights blinded you momentarily when yeosang turned them back on, yunho instinctively raising his hand to cover your eyes and giving yeosang a stern look. the younger of the two raised his hands in silent defence, giggling at yunho's fake air punch.

your boyfriend removed his hand from your face, giving you a soft peck between your eyes before skipping over to the fridge to pull out his cake. yeosang offered him a knife, but yunho shook his head, allowing him to cut the cake for him.

“wait, we need to put candles on first,” you remembered, rushing over to the cabinet and pulling out a small box. placing the numbers on the cake, you lit the wicks and watched yunho make his wish before gently blowing over the flames.

yeosang cut you all a piece of the cake, walking over to answer the door to see who had knocked at this hour. “what did you wish for?” you asked yunho as he pulled you into his side, cheering as the six boys walked into the kitchen, wishing him a happy birthday.

“i can't tell you, or it won't come true,” he winked at you, before walking over to hug all of his fellow group members. you chuckled to yourself, also going over to greet the boys, “you're all just in time for some cake!” they all immediately flocked around the table, begging yeosang to cut them each a slice.

yunho was staring at you from across the room, and when you noticed, the both of you blushed and looked away, embarrassed. “hey! birthday boy first!” you told yeosang, shooing the others away from the cake until your boyfriend claimed his piece.

he sat down on a chair, pulling you into his lap. holding up his plastic fork to your mouth, he offered you some cake, “for my beautiful angel, who has already made this the most special birthday of my life.” you felt your cheeks burn at his words, quickly accepting his offer, you ate the cake on his fork, before burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“i’m so glad you're happy, pup,” you gently scratched the back of his neck, feeling the blood rush to it as you spoke. he offered you a strawberry from his plate, a little cream on the edge of it. the mischievous grin on your face went unnoticed by him as you quickly darted to scoop up the cream with your finger, dabbing it on the tip of his nose.

his fake pout caused your heart to melt, and you gently kissed away the cream, yunho seizing the opportunity to place some on your nose instead. “jeong yunho!” you exclaimed, for he misjudged the amount on his finger before he swiped it onto you, dropping a considerable amount onto your t-shirt.

“oh no,” he drew out his words, “now you have to take it off.” lightly hitting his arm, you climbed off of his lap and went into his room, looking for a clean shirt of his to change into. you pulled the dirty one over your head, discarding it into the laundry basket before rummaging through yunho's wardrobe.

a pair of arms circling around your waist made you jump, but your boyfriend's touch was familiar enough to you to recognise it. “hi, jagi,” he turned you around in his arms, his grip on your waist strong. “hi, yuyu,” you stared up at him through your lashes, feeling a little shy when his eyes darted down to glance at your bra-clad chest.

he licked his lips, and his pupils were slowly darkening his previously vibrant irises as he took in your figure, “can i have my wish now?”

please reblog, it really helps us authors !!

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men as Stages of Love

AN: Rumi held my hand and made me write this. Blame him, the centuries old poet. Ughhh I love this concept so much. Also their ranking mean nothing. Love can't be measured.

Pairing: LaDS boys x reader

Ingredients: 69% poetry, 31% drama

My Fav: Rafayel, my man 👏🏻

Caleb: Attraction/infatuation

His love is attraction. Seething desire to be with you. A fragile and wanting thing. Young and fresh to the world. It is restless. Changing. Digging its roots into the stages yet to come.

This is the stage of seduction. Of longing. Of unending touches and breathless confessions. The stage where you both learn the shape of love before it truly becomes love.

You empty your hearts with bubbling confessions, to make space for the tempest to come.

It’s unsettling. But it’s the beginning of all.

Sylus: Love

His love is the trade of hearts. Affection given and wanted in return. It is the contract of mutual devotion. The act of falling deeper than what lies beneath the skin.

It is confusing, yet rewarding. Addictive in its vulnerability. The terrifying joy of losing yourselves to each other.

This is the stage poets write about. Where the world becomes sharper, more beautiful. Where the fall is not feared, but craved.

Xavier: Faith

His love is faith. A plunge into disintegration, to become something new. A leap into worlds unknown, seeking the tug of the heart through the dark.

It is a test of fates, to deem him worthy of what comes next. It challenges and sears. But it is sweet nonetheless, because the pain is shared.

Faith demands sacrifice. But Xavier knows that loving you is already the reward.

For that reward, he the wanderer beyond space and time.

Zayne: Worship

His love is when the beloved becomes god. When the world ends, and you are the last thing standing.

It is unchanging. Unmoving. Carved in stone.

After trials of loving you, Zayne does not seek reciprocation. His devotion is beyond requital. The act of loving you completes him.

He has defied gods for you. And he would do it again because to Zayne, worship is not submission.

It is the quiet surrender of belonging.

Rafayel: Insanity

His love is unmaking. A madness without bonds, without care, where self becomes undone to become the beloved.

Rafayel shattered his kingdom in the desire for you. Burned down the legacy written into his blood, because madness has no reason, only need.

When the world becomes too loud, when the noise of existence strips everything away, all that remains is you.

When you have become him, and he is you. Your heart is his. His beats inside you.

This is the insanity of love.

You: Death

Beyond madness, worship, and faith, there is death. The last stage of love.

For every love story to become a legend, it is death that seals the fate.

You are this stage. The ending and the rebirth. The consequence of love’s excess.

In the cycle of birth and rebirth, you are love itself, carved into their hearts with your presence. The ruin that comes with loving too much.

To love you is to be undone.

[stellarsturniolos]

━━ ⟢ ‘good in bed’ ╰ C.S.

・ ˖  ✦ ⋄ . in which.. you and chris drive each other mad. but that's what makes you good in bed.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, riding, light dirty talk, i think that covers it !

A/N: reblogs and likes are appreciated! i do NOT give consent for my work to be copied or uploaded to any other platform. thank you. for @bernardsbendystraws music writing challenge. divider by rose also !

got me thinkin' it'd be better if we didn't stay together. then you put your hands up on my waist. the apartment is silent, a raging mix of anxiety and tension filling the minimal space as you sit on the couch and wait for chris to come over.

you haven't seen him or heard from him in almost a week. you're used to your boyfriend, if you can even call him that anymore, being busy. filming with his brothers, preparing for their tour, working on his brand.

but you've never gone this long without at least hearing his voice. and you don't like it.

you know you need to talk to him. you need for him to understand that he's messing with your head. you need him to know that he's hurting you.

you know exactly what you're going to say to him. you've practiced, time and time again, in the mirror. you've got it all scripted and memorized, every syllable has been perfected.

you perk up when you suddenly hear a key turning in the lock and the harsh thunk of the latch, and then your apartment door swings open. and there he is. as frustratingly handsome as ever.

you stand up and walk over to greet him. you open your mouth to speak, but you don't get the chance.

because chris plants his hands on your hips and gently tugs your body closer to his. he captures your lips and it's immediately hungry. frantic. you gasp as his tongue explores your mouth. he licks at your teeth, the roof of your mouth — like he's trying to devour every inch of you that he can.

his mouth travels down to your neck and his lips linger on your skin, warm and inviting, sucking gently behind your ear and making your knees go weak.

"chris," you want to pull away but you're entranced. you can't do it. "we need to talk."

he lets out a dramatic huff against your neck. "later. s'been so long since i've had you, baby. just wanna make my girl feel good. please?"

and you've never been able to tell him no.

we drive each other mad, it might be kinda sad, but i think that's what makes us good in bed.

his hands roam all over your body, and as much as you don't want to want this, you do. you crave his touch the way an addict craves their next fix.

you swallow hard, trying to push past the lump in your throat, and your hands unconsciously slide up his chest and loop around his neck.

a quiet hum rumbles deep in his chest and he grabs your hips even tighter. his voice is rough when he speaks again. "c'mon. bedroom, now." you pause for a moment, trying to remember everything you wanted to say to him. but your mind is blank. all you can think about is how much you need his touch.

so you push aside your hesitation, ignore the angel on your right shoulder and listen to the devil on your left. you let him lead you into the bedroom.

he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside before reaching for the hem of yours. "want y'to ride me, baby. that okay?"

you nod dumbly. he takes your shirt off and his mouth immediately latches onto one of your nipples. for an ass guy, he always loved to tease your tits.

you slip out of your pajama shorts and peel your damp panties off before shoving him down onto the bed. you pull down his jeans and underwear in one go and then climb onto his lap. you grip his cock with one hand and rub the tip over your puffy folds. he hisses and you whimper as his dick brushes against your clit.

you don't want to waste anymore time. you settle on his lap, lowering yourself slowly as his cock slides between your folds and sinks into your heat. you whimper as he stretches you. he was right, it's been so long since he's had you. too long.

your gummy walls squeeze around his cock as you slowly rock back and forth, carefully grinding against him.

"fuuuuck," his voice is gruff, his hands move down to squeeze your ass as you ride him. "so fuckin' good, baby. so tight. so wet f'me."

an airy whine slips from your lips as you bounce, picking up the pace, sinking back down to the hilt before repeating the motion again and again.

one of his hands slides up your body to play with your hardened nipple. pinching and massaging your breast as his eyes darken further. "shit, baby. jus' look at you."

sweat glistens on your skin as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock. "you're s'big, chris. fuckin' me so good."

you bounce up and down wildly. your pussy clenches around his cock. you feel so full.

"m'gonna cum soon," he says, his voice strained. "gonna fill you up so fuckin' good, baby."

"please.." you're panting as you look down at him, locking eyes. "fill me up. i need it."

you cry out as chris thrusts upward and tugs you down at the same time, fucking into your harshly. you can feel his cock pulsating as he spills inside of you, filling you to the brim. you whimper as his release triggers your own. your inner walls spasm as he continues to pump his hips and thrust into you.

you tremble and shudder, collapsing against his chest. his fingers trail up and down your sweaty back as you both try to catch your breaths.

he drives you mad. but at least he's good in bed.

we don't know how to talk, but damn, we know how to fuck.

[writesvani]

coming down | 06

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to-enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): drug use, substance abuse, addiction, toxic relationships, betrayal, manipulation, self-sabotage, emotional abuse, mental health struggles, emotional distress, anger, guilt, anxiety, depression, past trauma, self-harm, family issues, parental conflict, feeling unloved, verbal abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, power dynamics, control, emotional tension, abandonment, toxic behavior, emotional neglect

comment HERE for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M.LIST

— previous chapter | next chapter (pending)

wc: 5,3k // date: 24th of March 2025

CHAPTER FIVE - The Knowing; proceed with caution...

AN: alright, listen up, you emotionally masochistic babies—this chapter is not for the weak. i am begging you to have a sip of water, take a deep breath, maybe even say a little prayer before diving in because this one? this one HURTS. like, "question your entire existence" levels of hurt.

also, my note goal is 150 notes. next chapter drops the second we hit that. i’m still testing the waters with Coming Down, and i need to know—who’s really reading? who actually gets it? because trust me, i’m watching. and if you’re just skimming through this like some casual sunday read, shame on you. pay attention. every word, every pause, every breath MATTERS. let’s see who’s actually built for this.

— love, vani

Ren’s gentle snores fill the apartment, each rise and fall of his breath stretching through the quiet like a slow, steady metronome. It should be comforting. Should make you feel grounded. Instead, it only amplifies the silence pressing in around you.

You’re too aware of your own breathing—shallow, uneven. Too aware of the fact that you are not alone.

Satoru is still here.

You can feel him without even looking. His presence snakes through the room, thick and suffocating, curling around you like an  invisible thread pulling tighter and tighter. He doesn’t have to say a word. Doesn’t have to move. He’s just there, heavy in the air, refusing to be ignored.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, restless. Your toes curl against the floor, seeking some kind of grounding, but there’s none to be found.

You stare at the walls. At the scuffed wooden floor. At the way the dim glow of city lights filters through the window, casting faint, shifting shadows. You let your gaze drift anywhere, anywhere but toward the one thing that has been taking up too much space in your mind for far too long.

But Satoru Gojo is like a gravitational pull, and no matter how much you fight it—

You know you’ll lose.

You glance towards Ren a few times, watching the way his body rises and falls in deep, drunken sleep. As soon as Gojo and you brought him back to the apartment, he collapsed face-first onto the couch and never moved. No shower, no change of clothes—just out cold, occasionally mumbling something incoherent.

He shifts a lot in his sleep. Arms twitching, legs stretching, body curling in on itself before sprawling out again. You sit next to him—or more accurately, at his feet—your body stiff despite the softness of the cushions beneath you. The television flickers in front of you, playing something you can’t focus on, something your heart refuses to catch up with.

Not when he is sitting right there.

Gojo Satoru, draped over a chair far too small for him, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, completely at ease like he owns the room. Like he always does. The dim glow of the TV casts shadows across his face, his features sharp, unreadable. His long fingers tap idly against his knee. His muscles flex beneath the fabric of his jeans, taunting, teasing—inviting.

You don’t dare look at his face, but you don’t have to. You can already picture the way his lips are curled into that infuriating half-smirk, half-smile, like he knows something you don’t. Like he always does.

And his eyes.

You can feel them.

Bright and sharp, gleaming under the dim light, locked onto you with an intensity that sets your skin ablaze.

You can feel him watching you. It's almost suffocating, the weight of his gaze pressing into your skin, a constant reminder that he’s there—still here, when you thought he’d be long gone. He didn’t leave after helping you settle Ren. No explanation, no words, just that eerie quiet between the two of you.

By the time you’d pulled off your shoes and hung your jacket, he had already taken off both his and Ren’s, draped Ren across the couch like a lifeless doll, and then he sat down in that small wooden chair. Not a word. Not a movement. Just… sitting there.

Like a ghost.

And it’s been 28 minutes. Not that you’ve been counting. But in the heavy silence, it’s impossible not to. 28 minutes of not speaking, of not acknowledging the tension that swirls thick between you both. You’ve never been good at this—the silence, the waiting, the not saying what’s actually on your mind. But Gojo? He thrives in it. He always has.

Your teeth graze the flesh of your cheek, the dull ache of tension spreading from your jaw as you focus on the task at hand. Your breath is shallow, coming in quick bursts as you pull out the weed you saved for the moment you’d get home. Your fingers move with practiced ease—weed. Tobacco. Mix. Paper. Roll. You’ve done this a thousand times, and each motion is second nature, a rhythm you’ve come to rely on.

The joint finds its way to your lips easily, the flame from the lighter catching on the tip before you inhale deeply. Smoke curls in the air around you like an old friend, familiar and comforting, and for a moment, you lean into it. It helps clear the haze in your mind, but it doesn’t stop the pounding in your chest when your eyes accidentally lock with his.

And god, it’s insanity.

His gaze feels like a slow burn, digging through you with a force that makes your insides clench. It’s maddening. Even worse is that he doesn’t need to say a word—because somehow, you already know everything he’s thinking about. The way his brow quirks up, just slightly, and the glint in his eyes—it's like he’s known you for more than a lifetime, reading you like an open book.

“You didn’t get enough earlier, huh?” His voice is low, teasing, and his eyes trail to the joint dangling from your fingers. The question lingers in the air between you, thick and heavy, and all you can do is refuse to reply. Because answering means acknowledging this moment, whatever it is. And you’re too drunk for that. Too overwhelmed.

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of a victory, not again. Not when everything inside you is already at the edge of something you’re not ready to face.

So you just hum, a half-hearted “Mhm,” slipping past your lips. It’s a simple sound, but it’s all you can offer, and it leaves you wondering if he knows exactly how much it means.

He leans back in Ren’s chair, the smug smile never leaving his face as he watches you. “Tsk,” he murmurs, a sound laced with amusement and something darker beneath. “You still have no self-control.”

Your eyes betray you—almost involuntarily, they roll, and you know, without a doubt, that he caught it. He beams, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you.

“You’re the one to say that,” you mutter, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice.

“What do you mean, I was always in control,” he quips back, and you feel your mouth dry up. It’s not because of Gojo or his teasing—it’s the effects of the weed starting to seep into your system, making everything feel a little too warm, a little too slow.

Gojo notices, of course he does. He always notices. You feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the way his gaze sharpens, and then—his arm darts out.

He snatches up a bottle of water that’s been sitting on Ren’s table for God knows how long. You watch, your eyes narrowing in on it, longing for the refreshing coolness of it. And just when you think he might, for once, be decent enough to hand it over, he does something entirely different.

He doesn’t just hand it to you.

Instead, his other hand moves with deliberate slowness, unscrewing the cap.

Your heart skips a beat as he brings the bottle to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. You blink a few times, trying to process what’s happening. He’s drinking the water you wanted—your water, the one you’ve been craving ever since you started feeling the pull of the green.

And to make matters worse, small specks of it drip down his chin, falling messily onto his shirt. The sight makes something inside you tighten, and you swear—you swear he lets out a low, almost indecipherable moan as he swallows it. Salivating, or maybe savoring the moment.

It’s cruel, the way he drags it out, the way he tortures you with something so simple. Because if Gojo Satoru loves anything—it’s making sure you never get what you want most. Not without some kind of twisted game attached to it.

You watch him, almost frozen, as he finishes drinking the last drop, wiping the excess off his chin with the back of his hand, all the while still staring at you. It’s a look that’s too knowing, too intimate, and it drives you mad. You shift in your seat, uncomfortable, your body still buzzing from the weed and the lingering effects of alcohol. It’s almost like your skin is too tight, everything feels too sharp, and your brain refuses to shut up, racing at full speed.

“Better?” Gojo asks casually, as if he hadn’t just stolen your drink and somehow made the whole thing feel like a punishment. His voice is teasing, but there's something else underneath it—a challenge, a dare. His grin spreads wider, but there's no humor in it, only a sharp edge.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words don’t come out right. It’s like your tongue is too thick, the thoughts in your head swirling and crashing together in a mess you can’t untangle. Instead, you let out a breathless laugh, more for yourself than for him, a laugh that rings out in the silence, hollow and unsure.

“You’re ridiculous,” you finally manage, the words almost strangling you as they leave your lips.

Gojo’s smirk deepens. “You know, I think you're the ridiculous one,” he says, voice smooth like silk, yet laced with something that makes your stomach twist. “You’ve always been so much better at pretending you don’t want it. But we both know the truth, don’t we?”

You shift uncomfortably again, eyes briefly flicking to Ren, still out cold on the couch. His snores are soft, rhythmic, but distant compared to the tension that now crackles in the air between you and Gojo.

“I don’t—” you start, but the words feel empty. What’s the point? He knows. He always knows.

Gojo doesn’t let you finish. “You do,” he interrupts, his voice dropping lower, almost like a whisper. "And that's what makes this so much more fun."

His gaze is almost too intense, like he's peeling you apart with his eyes, like he's watching for every subtle movement, every flinch. It makes your skin prickle and your chest tighten. You want to look away, but you can’t. Not when he’s so close, when his presence fills every inch of space, a constant weight pressing down on you.

His eyes flicker to the joint still loosely held in your hand, the embers glowing faintly at the end. “You really think that’s going to make you feel better?” he asks, voice still too calm, too collected. “It’s pathetic, you know.”

You take a long drag from it, defiantly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your response. The smoke curls around you like a veil, and you breathe it in like it’s the only thing that can keep you grounded.

Gojo watches you closely, his gaze unrelenting. “You think it’s gonna fix things? You think it’s gonna make the truth go away?”

You exhale the smoke slowly, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach, trying to push everything back, push him back, because you know what’s coming. You’ve always known.

“I don’t need you to remind me,” you snap, voice sharper than you intended, but it’s all you have left to hold onto.

His smile only widens, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Well, you do need me, don’t you?” His voice turns soft, almost a purr, and for a brief moment, you feel like you're drowning in it.

You want to shout, to tell him to get the hell out of your head and you know better than to challenge him when you’re this far gone. But you can’t help yourself. 

“I don’t get it, Satoru,” you shoot him a look, eyes narrowing slightly, letting the sarcasm drip off your tongue. Your words hang in the air, mocking, and you can't help but feel a small, bitter satisfaction when you see his expression shift. His lips twitch into that knowing smirk, the one that dares you to keep going.

“Seriously. Why are you still so obsessed with me?” You raise an eyebrow, silently giving yourself a mental high five for landing that one.

For a moment, he freezes, and you see something flash across his face—maybe surprise, maybe something darker—but it’s gone before you can pinpoint it. His fingers brush lightly against the fabric of his shirt, almost as if he’s trying to ground himself. Then, with a scoff, he leans back, like he’s not bothered in the slightest.

“Mhm,” he hums, the sound laced with amusement, “If I remember correctly, you were babbling about how you’d ‘totally give it to me’ to some random stranger just a few months ago. And now you’re acting like I’m the obsessed one?”

You let his words float between you for a second, watching as they settle in the thick, hazy air. Then, you smile, and it’s not the playful kind. It’s a smile that says you know something he doesn’t.

“So what?” you shrug, a puff of smoke escaping your lips, the haze curling around you like a comforting cloud. “I know you’re hot. And you do too.”

The smoke swirls around him, clinging to his form like it belongs to him, drifting lazily over his white hair. The dim light from the TV flickers over his face, casting shadows that make him look all the more dangerous. It makes your heart skip just a little, but you’ll never admit that.

“Not even gonna try to deny it?” He cocks his head, his voice low and teasing, arms crossed as he watches you with that infuriatingly smug grin.

Your gaze flickers to his, and for a second, you almost forget where you are. Almost. You force yourself to look away, your body tingling from the alcohol and the weed hitting harder than you’d expected. The heat between you two is suffocating, but it’s also thrilling.

“I never said I couldn’t stand your looks,” you snap, words coming out harsher than intended. The irritation that’s been building up in your chest is now spilling over. “I just can’t stand you.”

For a second, he doesn’t react. His gaze shifts briefly to Ren, who’s still passed out on the couch, unaware of the simmering tension in the room.

But Gojo’s eyes flick back to you, unreadable, and that infuriating smile doesn’t leave his lips. He’s unbothered.

“Plus,” you add, a little quieter but no less biting, “I did, unfortunately, sleep with you when I was younger.” You let the words sink in, your own bitterness mixing with the smoke filling the air. “And honestly? My roster’s full of tens—at least when it comes to looks.”

It’s a jab, a way to push him back, but you can’t help the knot of regret that settles in your stomach right after you say it. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, as Gojo’s eyes linger on you, waiting for your next move.

Gojo's expression doesn’t change at first, and for a moment, you think maybe you’ve finally thrown him off balance. But then, that damn smirk creeps back onto his face, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his posture casual but full of that unsettling confidence.

“Is that so?” His voice is low, teasing, with just the right amount of challenge. The words dance in the air between you, and you can feel the tension building again. It’s like you’re both playing a game, but neither of you is ready to admit what the stakes are.

You try to ignore the way his presence fills the room, how his proximity makes your heart beat faster and your mind wander to places you really don't want it to. You focus on the heated edge of the joint in your hand, the weight of it grounding you, but it doesn’t help.

“Sounds like you’ve got a thing for me after all, huh?” he continues, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watches you, the light from the TV casting soft shadows on his face. His voice is almost too smooth, too effortless, like he’s toying with you.

You try not to let him get to you. You try to hold your ground, but it’s hard when he knows exactly how to push your buttons. Your throat feels dry, and you suddenly realize you’ve been holding your breath.

“I don’t have a ‘thing’ for you,” you snap back, the words coming out more sharply than you meant. “I just... I know exactly what you are.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, crossing his arms again, his eyes never leaving you. "And what is that?" he asks, his tone mocking but somehow still carrying that quiet intensity that’s so frustratingly captivating.

You pause, your mouth dry, your brain racing to find the right words. The tension in the room is thick, like you could cut it with a blade. You take another drag, the smoke filling your lungs and momentarily distracting you from his piercing gaze.

“You’re a…” you trail off, struggling to find the right word to capture what he is. Finally, it comes to you, simple and sharp. “A fixer.” You lean back, arms crossed, as if the words themselves might give you some distance.

Gojo lets out a small, almost amused chuckle. “A fixer? And what exactly does that mean?”

You glance at him, your eyes narrowing. “You want to fix people. You want to fix me.”

For a second, the room falls into a heavy, suffocating silence. His expression doesn’t change, but you can feel the weight of the moment. Then, without warning, Gojo bursts into laughter, loud and almost mocking.

You can’t help but look at Ren, a quick glance of concern—hoping the noise doesn’t stir him. If he wakes up, he’ll undoubtedly become a part of this madness, and you don’t want that. But Ren remains soundly asleep, lost to whatever dream world he’s in, leaving you trapped in this unsettling tension with Gojo.

The sound of Gojo’s laughter gnaws at you, each chuckle making your stomach sink. You feel a strange knot tightening inside you, something anxious, something unsettled. Gojo’s still here. Still laughing. Still taunting. And it’s all beginning to feel like a game you don’t want to play anymore.

“Oh babe, you still think that?” His voice drips with something almost playful, but there’s an edge to it. “I don’t want to fix you.” He leans forward, his eyes glinting. “I like watching you self-destruct. It’s… entertaining.”

The words land like a slap, but you refuse to let them hit you. You flick the remains of your joint into the ashtray, the sharp sound of it making the tension in your chest tighten. You look back at him, your eyes sharp with defiance.

“Doesn’t seem like it to me,” you mutter, your voice colder now. “Not when you’re still here, hanging around like some sort of unwanted critic, always pointing out what’s wrong with everything I do.”

Gojo shifts in his chair, smirking even wider, as if he’s enjoying this little verbal sparring match. “Oh, please.” He rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to watch you fail. Over and over again. It’s kind of my favorite thing, you know?”

It hurts. His words slice through you, effortless and sharp, like a blade gliding against bare skin. Your pulse quickens, each beat echoing in your ears. The air between you feels charged—too thick with things unsaid, too heavy with things that should have been left buried.

“And just so we’re clear,” Gojo adds, his finger lazily tracing the curve of his cheek, voice as smooth as ever. “Back then, I wasn’t trying to fix you.” His words linger, curling around the room like smoke. “I was just trying to help you. And even if you won’t admit it—I actually did.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You can almost hear it screaming between you, clawing at the walls, pressing into your chest. You swallow hard.

“Really?” Your voice comes out quieter than intended, but there’s an edge to it, a wound left raw. “By betraying my trust?”

You shift in your seat, but it doesn’t ease the weight pressing down on you. His eyes gleam with something unreadable, something dangerous. It grips you, holds you still. Locks you in place.

And worst of all—doesn’t let you escape.

“I didn’t betray your ‘trust,’” he repeats, the word curling off his tongue like a taunt. His voice isn’t loud, but it vibrates through you, unsettling, seeping into your bones, coursing through your veins like venom.

“I got you the help you didn’t allow me to be,” he adds, each word measured, deliberate.

Your jaw tightens. Heat rises up your spine, coils around your ribs. “I didn’t need your help,” you bite back, the words sharp enough to cut. “Or anyone’s help. I was just a high school kid who wanted to have fun.”

Your lips press together so tightly it hurts, your teeth gritting against each other as if you could grind the frustration into dust. But Gojo—Gojo just watches, expression unreadable, like he’s already heard this a thousand times before. Like he already knows exactly how this conversation will end.

“Really?” His voice drips with sarcasm, taunting, as if he’s enjoying every second of this. “Then we clearly have different definitions of fun.” His gaze shifts away, drifting to the window, caught by the city lights outside. You watch him, a knot forming in your stomach, unsure whether he’s looking at the lights or at you. You can’t shake the feeling that he’s toying with you, pushing your buttons, teaching you some lesson only he understands.

Slowly, his head turns back toward you, his eyes meeting yours once more—steady, unwavering. “Because I always thought there’s more to life than hitting nose candy in high school.”

And there it is. The truth. Out in the open.

Your heart stops for a split second, the words stabbing into you like a sharp knife. The weight of them is too much to carry. Nausea creeps up your throat, thick and bitter. You didn’t want this—didn’t want him to finally say it. To drag it out of the dark where you buried it, where it never should have been acknowledged.

You swallow hard, but the words come out before you can stop them. “And your idea of helping me was telling my parents I was blowing rails?” Your voice is icy, bitter. “You made my life hell. They acted,” you scoff, your hands moving wildly through the air, “they acted like I was an addict or something.”

Gojo doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. “Well, you were.” His words are blunt, sharp, and they cut deeper than anything he’s ever said before.

“No, I wasn’t.” You can feel the tension building, thick and suffocating.

“You literally snorted every weekend. Don’t fool yourself.”

The words feel like acid. They burn, they scald. But you’re not done yet. You clench your fists, fighting back the surge of frustration. “No, I only did it once or twice a month, and y’all made such a big deal out of it.”

Gojo’s eyes narrow, an expression of disbelief crossing his face as if he can’t quite wrap his mind around your denial. He leans forward, a dangerous calmness settling over him. “Once or twice a month?” he repeats, his voice dropping, each word heavy with the weight of his judgment. “That’s still too much for someone who swore they didn’t have a problem.”

You flinch, the sting of his words settling deep in your chest. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat, but even the pressure isn’t enough to calm the storm inside you. You can feel the anger, the frustration, boiling just beneath the surface. “You don’t get it, Gojo,” you snap, your voice shaky but resolute. “You weren’t there. You never saw it like I did. You just... decided for me.”

A shadow passes over his face, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I did what I thought was right. You were spiraling.”

“You don’t know shit about it,” you hiss. The words spill out, more vicious than you intended, but they’re too far gone now. 

He doesn’t back down, his gaze sharpening, his stance unyielding. “You were hurting. You needed help, and whether you admit it or not, I tried to give it to you. But you refused it at every turn. And then you kept running from everything.”

The room feels like it’s closing in, the air thick with every word that ghosts his lips, raw and unforgiving. Everything he says chips away at whatever wall you’ve been trying to build around yourself. The things you’ve convinced yourself were okay—the lies you’ve told yourself to get by—are unraveling in front of you, exposed and broken.

“Who do you think you are?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, bitter and harsh. “You think you can just swoop in and save the day like some fucking hero, but you can’t stand the idea that sometimes, people don’t want it.”

Gojo exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. His expression is unreadable, but something flickers in his eyes—something restrained, something exhausted. “You think this was about me playing hero?” he asks, voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “It was never about that.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Then what was it about, huh?”

He leans in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, and for a moment, the space between you feels suffocating. “It was about you,” he says simply. “You were hurting yourself, and whether you want to admit it or not, you needed someone to give a shit.” His gaze is unwavering, piercing straight through you. “And I did.”

Something deep in your chest twists violently at his words. You hate it. You hate that he’s saying these things, that he’s forcing you to face something you’ve spent years running from. “You ruined everything,” you say, but the fight in your voice is weakening, cracking. “You made me feel like I was broken.”

Gojo’s lips press together, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he says, “Maybe you were. And maybe that wasn’t your fault.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and deafening. Your breath catches in your throat, your nails digging into your skin. You don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to acknowledge it.

So you don’t.

Instead, you force out a laugh, hollow and sharp. “Wow,” you say, tilting your head. “Look at you, throwing around your profound wisdom like you have any right to talk about my choices.”

Gojo’s jaw clenches slightly, but his expression remains composed. “I’m not pretending to know everything. But I know what I saw. And I know what you were doing to yourself.”

You shake your head, suddenly feeling too exposed, too raw. The weight of his gaze is suffocating. “I don’t owe you shit, Gojo,” you mutter. Your limbs feel heavy, the remnants of alcohol and weed dulling your words, but you don’t care. “Not an explanation. Not an apology. Nothing.”

“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t owe me anything.”

The silence between you is suffocating, thick enough to choke on. It presses into your chest, wrapping around your ribs like vines, squeezing the air out of you.

“Yet, you stopped, didn’t you?” Gojo’s voice is quieter now, almost careful. But that’s the thing about him—he never does anything without reason. There’s always an edge, always an expectation.

Your throat is dry. You don’t know what he wants from you. Validation? A confession that he was right? Some proof that his interference actually meant something?

You let the silence stretch, the weight of his stare almost unbearable. Then, barely, you nod.

The second you do, his lips twitch, but the hint of satisfaction is fleeting. He shuts it down before it can settle, masks whatever flicker of feeling was there.

“I did,” you say, forcing the words out like they don’t belong to you. “But only because of my mom. Didn’t want her to look at me like I’m killing her anymore. Not because of you.”

There it is. The flinch he tries to hide, the subtle shift in his expression that most people wouldn’t catch. But you do.

His fingers curl against his knee. He exhales, slow, measured, as if weighing his words before letting them slip past his lips.

“You shouldn’t have stopped because of your mom,” he says, voice like a knife cutting through the space between you. “Or because of me. You should have stopped for you. But you never do anything for yourself, do you?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes gleaming, unreadable. “That’s why I don’t think you won’t go back to it again.”

It stings, the way he says it. The certainty in his voice, like he’s already decided that no matter what you say, he’s right.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Well, I won’t.”

“Good,” he says. But the way he looks at you tells you he doesn’t believe a word of it.

Frustration coils inside you, tightening until it’s unbearable. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”

He leans back, arms crossed, his face unreadable. And when he speaks, his voice is quiet, final.

“Well, I don’t.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “And that’s on you.”

The words cut deeper than they should. 

The weight of his words settles over you like a curse, seeping into the cracks you pretend don’t exist. You should fight back—should tell him he’s wrong, that you’re different now, that you’ve changed. But the thing is, you don’t.

Because you don’t know if you have.

The silence drags between you, stretching thinner and thinner, like a wire about to snap. The city outside hums—distant car horns, laughter echoing through the streets, life continuing as if this moment doesn’t exist, as if Gojo Satoru isn’t sitting across from you unraveling everything you’ve tried so desperately to hold together.

You reach for your lighter again, fingers twitching as you flick the flame on, then off. On. Off. Anything to keep your hands busy, to keep yourself from doing something you’ll regret.

Gojo watches you, his gaze sharp, dissecting. And then—he exhales through his nose, something bitter curling at the edges of his mouth.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your jaw tightens. “What the hell are you talking about now?”

He shakes his head, slow and tired, like he’s finally giving up on something he should’ve walked away from a long time ago. And for some reason, that makes you feel sick.

“I wanted you to get better,” he says, voice low, steady. “Not because I wanted to fix you. Not because I needed to feel like some kind of savior.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. ��I wanted you to get better because I fucking cared.”

The confession shouldn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t crack something inside you, shouldn’t make your chest tighten, shouldn’t make you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t control. But it does.

And it terrifies you.

“Then you shouldn’t have done what you did,” you bite out, clinging to the anger, because it’s easier than facing the truth. “You shouldn’t have told them. You shouldn’t have made my life a nightmare—”

“I did what I had to,” Gojo interrupts, voice cold, final. “And I’d do it again.”

The air between you shifts. Your breath stutters, and you realize—he means it.

You shake your head, standing too fast. The room tilts, the weight of the night pressing down on you. “I don’t—I can’t do this right now.”

You don't stop him. You don't say anything as he brushes past you, don’t move as he heads for the door. But just as his fingers curl around the handle, his voice reaches you one last time.

“You can hate me all you want,” he says, softer this time. “But at least I did something. At least I gave a shit.”

The door clicks shut behind him, but his words follow, lingering in your mind like a scar that refuses to fade.

taglist: @zeunys @charmstarr @ovela @kur0mii3 @dabisdolly @17362939 @krispywhisperswhispers @mintcheery @kazupop @heh123321 @hanakotateyama @choppersworlds-blog @eneiyri @suniloli @44ina. @s4ikooo1 @blushedcheri @dishs0pe @rhea-sylvea @eolivy @decadentcoffeecandy @4thansstuff @crankyarchives

[kinardsevan]

Ngl, I was so optimistic after last episode but the newest OS interview dumped my mood af… do you think there’s still hope for BuckTommy ending up together?

I’m gonna say the same thing I’ve been saying for months: yall gotta stop reading so much into those interviews. Oliver quite literally cannot tell you that a reunion is coming. In terms of storytelling, that would be such a major spoiler that it would defeat the purpose of bothering to tell it at all.

They are so limited on what they can actually say versus what they can’t, and I have also done myself the favor of not reading most of the interviews anyway. The video ones where we can hear context? Sure. Because tone of voice does a LOT for understanding what someone is saying. The only one I watched this week was the one in which Oli stated that Buck has both personal and professional hurdles to overcome in the coming weeks.

Realistically, we’ve just opened the door for bucktommy again. The fight we all so desperately want still needs to happen. They still need to hash things out. They both presented themselves at that bar as having gotten on with their lives just fine, when we know the reality of it (for Buck at least and I’m sure also Tommy) is not the case. Literally one episode previous to this one, he was saying to Eddie that everything was right in his world until he and Tommy broke up.

I will also specify (because I’m assuming this is the interview you’re referring to based on the one quote I’ve seen), where some people are taking his “I don’t know, I don’t think so” as he’s not still in the same place, I read it as, he hasn’t moved on. You can still very much be in the same place emotionally about someone but believe they aren’t coming back to you/that things are over. That doesn’t actually mean that they are.

We know that 814/15 is coming. I know some people are assuming LFJr is only going to be in one of the episodes. I’ve assumed he’s going to be in both, in some form or another. And given the assumption that the story is going to be based on Birds of Prey, my own inclination is to believe that they’re using these episodes as a soft launch of “if we give this character more of a story, will people care?”. We, the bucktommy fandom, have wanted him to stick around for a while now, but from a storytelling standpoint, all TM&Co know is that when they broke up, it upset the fandom and GA alike. In a perfect world with endless money and time, the answer would be just to make more space on the show to tell Tommy’s story. But I think the latter half of this season really has to go to the point of showing their work and being able to go back to the network and say “this is the impact if we give him a bigger role”, regardless of whether RG stays or goes after this season.

Beyond that, I’ve personally questioned if we won’t see some form of (at the very least Maddie) Evan’s people kinda giving Tommy the cold shoulder for how he ended things. I don’t think it’s lost on anyone that Evan isn’t over him, and how much the break up hurt him. But I could very much see the narrative as “you left and hurt him needlessly” without the full context of the fact that while we know they love each other and want a future together, we don’t know that anyone else does because we haven’t seen Evan actually tell anyone about the context of the breakup. I’ve also wondered if we won’t see some version of Maddie seeing Tommy and coming to that conclusion herself, and that softening the edges a little.

Another thing I’ve wondered about, especially as we’re moving into the latter half of the season, is if we aren’t moving towards a version of events where Evan finally tells people he gets to make his own decisions, and maybe even tells the team off a little for checking out on Tommy. They’re all supposed to be his friends, right? And yet we know Eddie stopped calling him. I get the whole “Eddie was busy, had stuff going on” of it all… except we know that Evan wasn’t doing well following the break up and er can infer Tommy wasn’t with his “resisting the urge to call”… and you’re telling me Eddie could send a text? When we know for a fact that even Tommy was thinking about texting Evan, but was likely too scared? It says to me even more that the only time Eddie cares about a friendship is when he can gain something out of it.

Ultimately, I don’t actually know how we get to the reconciliation, but I have zero issue in believing it’s coming. I’ve watched way too many romcoms, procedurals, and second season breakup stories to know how this ends. And it doesn’t end with Tommy walking off our screens single. Yall have to let the story continue to be told. Everyone thought after 806 that these two were dead in the water, and yet Lou was back in 811.

Let it simmer and marinate. We’ll get there.

[allfearstofallto]

do u think childe will let me occasionally write back home if im like obedient and shit🥺

Yes! He has no reason not to.

Yandere! Childe x Reader

Forced Marriage AU

Everything with Ajax comes with a set of rules, every permission with its own draw back, every incentive earned and still regulated like the military.

You can write your family. It'd be strange if you just vanished without a trace, and while possible, Ajax doesn't want to go through all the trouble of faking your death to them. He sees how down and upset you are when you truly miss them, a longing for others that he knows he'll never receive from you. A part of him feels jealous, your heart is too full. There's no space for him.

He pushes those thoughts away quickly though as he's aware that he too has relatives he loves and adores. Especially his siblings. So despite your lack of affection towards him now, the man is aware that you are capable of falling in love with him proper regardless of the others you care for. It just needs time. Everything needs time.

You can write to your family as much or as little as you so desire. Letters are sent out in the mornings and it takes about two days express for them to get to Liyue from the vast snowscape of Snezhnaya. Envelopes return just as quickly as well, meaning there's not much time in between what you say to them and what they reply.

Of course, with someone like Childe, there's always a catch. He has to read it. All of it. Each word, each heartfelt tender moment, each mention of love and confusion about your sudden withdrawal. Ajax is reading it, each and every desperate word.

Say too much and the pages tossed into the trash. Mention feeling like a captive, even though you really are, and your letter is ripped into tiny little pieces. Your communication with them, while being one of the few joys you have in your loveless marriage, is monitored by the same eyes that looked upon you in complete ownership.

[jaegeraether]

Unknown Territory (Alexia and Ridley) - 2

Sunsets and Footballers - ONE-SHOTS

(*1k*) - Lil one!

Masterlist (other parts here)

ALEXIA POV

As soon as they were in the car, Ridley took Alexia’s underwear out and twisted it around her wrist like a bracelet.

Alexia smirked to herself, knowing she enjoying this. Their little claims on one another. It’s something she never wanted or needed until that first moment she’d seen her in the bar, and at that moment, it had hit her harder than anything she'd ever experienced. The deep-rooted need she felt for her. And not only that, but the need for others to know.

Alexia was getting used to teasing Ridley at this point. She enjoyed it. In any other situation, in any other relationship, it would be a power-play. But it never was with them. It was just their way of expressing their feelings. Communicating.

As they drove, she saw the whites of Ridley’s knuckles as she gripped the wheel, knowing just how hard she was trying to be respectful and give Alexia her space.

But she didn’t want it.

They’d been apart for over a month, and only had a few days together. She wanted them to get as much of each other in during that time as possible. And both being so stubborn and lacking in the communication department, sex was the most pure way they could show their obsession for each other.

Alexia unclipped her belt and slid her dress as far up her thighs as she could get it, a little of her bare lower hip showing - the part that cut in where her underwear would usually be.

She held it there and looked over to Ridley who’d spotted it immediately, trying to cover a groan of frustration.

She sat there for a minute or so, letting Ridley really suffer while she admired her. Alexia was not at all the type of person to feel out of place in a relationship, but sometimes she did catch herself daydreaming at how it was possible that Ridley was hers. Even to the point where she was already thinking of their life and what it may look like beyond her footballing days.

She was completely and utterly hers. So why would Alexia just sit there needily, and not take full advantage of that?

“Nice bracelet.”

Ridley groaned, her eyes still very much pinned to the road outside to avoid Alexia’s body on show. “Lex..”

“I don’t think the wheel deserves to be strangled.”

Ridley rolled her eyes, but relaxed her hands slightly. Alexia reached over to claim one of her hands gently, lowering it to her thigh, just inside the knee.

"But I do."

“Lex..” This one was a warning. And that just made her want to push even further.

Alexia curled her fingers around the bicep of the Australian’s extended arm, her other hand over Ridley’s, ever so slowing dragging it down her inner thigh towards where she needed her.

“Alexia.” A harder warning now, but she didn’t stop. Ridley was hers, and she needed her… so she would take her.

Alexia continued to drag her hand down her thigh, her legs parting and without any pause, she guided Ridley’s hand and lifted her hips slightly, sinking down onto her fingers with a soft whimper.

“Fucking hell.” Ridley gasped in English, her eyes wide with surprise and lust. “Lex.. what the fuck are you-”

“You’re mine, and I need you.” Was all the explanation she gave as she started to rock onto her fingers, getting the penetration she needed.

Alexia closed her eyes and let her body follow its needs, her fingers tightening around her bicep and her face joining them, whimpering into the fabric of Ridley’s jacket.

She was slightly bouncing now, her hand ensuring Ridley’s stayed where she needed it. That pressure and angle just as she needed it.

“Lexi…fuck.” Ridley gasped, sending a tingle down her spine. She loved having such an affect on her. But she could also tell from the sound of her voice that she was looking at her.

Her head still pressed against Ridley’s bicep, she reached up to grab her by the jaw, twisting her head.

“Eyes on… argh.. the road. No spee…oh fuck… don’t s..peed.” She whimpered as she rode, the delicious sound of Ridley’s fingers in an out of her now louder than the tyres.

She braced her foot on the door and gripped onto her arm for dear life as she felt herself getting to the edge. She was only riding for a matter of minutes, but that’s all it ever took when it came to Ridley.

“….fuck…” she whimpered, her voice higher and more desperate than before as she reached the point where she knew she was about to cum. 

“You’re fucking perfect, Lex.” Ridley said, her voice strangled, her lips somehow finding her forehead to whisper. “Cum for me.”

Alexia heard herself agreeing desperately as she reached her end; the thrill of the car speeding down the highway, being in another country, seeing the woman she loved after a month, fucking herself using her hand. All of it contributed to her body tightening and pulsating around Ridley’s fingers. 

She was pretty sure she was breathing, most definitely crying out and even more certain that it was the best orgasm she’d ever had… in a car. She thrust a few more times, harder and deeper than the others just to drag out the feelings before her body relaxed into a state of bliss.

After a minute or so, she released her grip on Ridley’s arm, kissing her bicep and smoothly pulling her fingers out of her.

Sitting back in her seat, she clipped her seatbelt back on and readjusted her dress, meeting Ridley’s incredulous look.

“Where in the fuck did that come from?”

Alexia shrugged with a lazy, fucked-out smirk. “You’re mine and I wanted you.”

She enjoyed the look of Ridley’s mouth opening and closing, her jaw locking as they drove. Taking her hand, she sucked the taste from her fingers, watching her girlfriend’s eyes roll in need.

“Lee?”

“La Reina?”

“You can speed now.”

[garbean]

Why Lick Quills when you can Lick the Inside of my Mouth?

Gift for @vonlipwig in Miguya's Stobotnik Gift Exchange March 2025! Read under cut

Dr. Robotnik seemed to grow a large fixation on the space hedgehog. Originally it was because of the hedgehog’s seemingly infinite energy that could be used to power his babies, and then it changed to revenge against the alien. The doctor has fluctuating interests fairly often, the only consistent ones being robotics and dancing. Stone could recall when the doctor had been into poison gardening, and the many safety hazards he had to fix during and after the debacle. It seems his current interest however is the hedgehog or more specifically, the hedgehog’s quill.

It wasn't a far stretch to say it bordered on addiction at times. Dr. Robotnik had always enjoyed things that made him feel alive. Except instead of goat milk lattes and dancing, it became an unknown energy from a mysterious space organism.

The doctor seemed to be licking the thing rather often these days. Seemingly a few times every hour, when the shock seemed to fade. He'd act unsettled in between doses and his fingers would twitch towards the thing. Stone could see the calculations in his eyes as it darted from telenovela to the quill and back again. He could also see the moment he gave in. It would begin with the doctor wetting his lips, grabbing the quill with his fingers, before bringing it to brush the pink tip of his tongue. It would soon be followed by the spasm, then a state of invigoration with an undertone of euphoria.

It began to get more unsettling for Stone when the dosages got more frequent, and he felt something had to change now before it caused something permanent. Before it caused lasting damage to his beloved doctor.

—

Stone had few options to consider in terms of overcoming addiction. All the articles he read would mention something the doctor would need to sign up for which was difficult considering they were legally dead. It also mentioned socializing with others, but Dr. Robotnik would probably incinerate anyone who wasn't his agent. While a hobby is the most appropriate, it would be difficult to find one the doctor is amenable to, much less one to keep his interest for long.

Stone would need something the doctor would be 1. Interested in; 2. Have a consistent application, or alternatively, be easily administered by Stone; and 3. Be accessible inside the Crab. The agent considered rekindling the doctor’s love for robotics, but the doctor had been in a slump, and any failures or any reminders of past failures, may undo any progress it has made. He also thought of dancing but that had always been more about the release of energy, which the doctor was in a severe lack of and made up for it with a drug-adjacent animal spine.

Stone seemed to cycle through many solutions, and reached dead ends as many times. His thoughts seemed to drift in-between those moments. It would never stray away from Dr. Robotnik (and even thoughts that did always circled back to him) but rather focused on Stone’s… unprofessional views about him.

He would imagine scenarios which would never happen, scenarios where he'd been transported to the Mushroom planet with him, or where they'd bear each other's hearts to one another under the veil of night. Romantic thoughts that wouldn't be permissible had the doctor developed telepathic powers. He imagined mapping the planes of his face with his lips, before connecting their lips with the doctor seeming enthusiastic about it all.

Those thoughts seemed to be the only thing powering him through these days. Rewind. Powering him through. Power. Energy? Huh.

It was nighttime; the doctor was enraptured by the current episode of La Última Pasión. Stone discreetly typed into his search engine, benefits of kissing. The doctor didn't seem attentive towards what goes through his database these days, so it was unlikely he'd find out what Stone was searching. The first article that came up was from Healthline.

Kissing triggers your brain to release a cocktail of chemicals that leave you feeling oh so good by igniting the pleasure centers of the brain.

He skimmed through the article several times. This was a stupid idea honestly. 1. Dr. Robotnik may not be interested in this, 2. He may reject any advances from Stone, but it is accessible within the Crab. But now that the idea was sowed into his head, it seemed impossible to stop justifying it. The more articles and research papers he skimmed, the less insane it seemed. And really, the issues with it are merely hypotheticals and not certainties. Surely this would be fine, right? What's the worst that could happen?

—

It was early in the morning by the time Stone seemed ready to confront the doctor. He probably should have postponed it for when the doctor was in an amiable mood and Stone had a clear head, but he knew that if he took the time to think, he would back out. (He probably should back out, but he’s getting tired of pining for 9 years.)

The doctor was in the middle of an episode of La Última Pasión where Juan and Gabriella are preparing to elope. He seemed to be in a good mood which means the hedgehog’s energy must still be present in his system. It seems to be a good enough time to bring up The Proposal.

“Ahem, Doctor. May I-”

“No, Stone, you may not, will not, and never will! Whatever you have to say is null until Gabriella and Juan escape from Pablo and his mother-aunt.” Dr. Robotnik interrupted, anger lacing his tone.

“Doctor, I think it would be prudent-”

“Stone, when have I ever asked you to think?!” He finally turned around. He had a scowl clouding his face and Stone felt thrilled at the attention somewhere in his hindbrain.

“Never, Sir. However it would be in your best interest to hear out my proposal.”

Dr. Robotnik seemed to have a flash of surprise on his face which then became a quick flitting of his eyes, most likely analyzing Stone’s expression. Not a new habit by any counts as the doctor likes to take in as much information as possible.

“Now why would I need to hear you out, Stone? Pray tell, what could you possibly offer that could benefit me in any way shape or form?” The doctor seemed interested at least to hear him out.

“Sir, I’ve been noticing your growing habit of using the hedgehog's quill as a.. stimulant of sorts. I'm worried that excessive exposure to its energy may prove detrimental to your health.”

“Are you saying I am an addict, Stone? Do you think the great Dr. Ivo Robotnik has fallen so far down that he needs to resort to, what, self-medicating himself by relying on the very thing that destroyed him in the first place?” His fingers seemed to brush against the alien’s quill, most likely in a form of defiance against the agent.

“Not at all Sir, I just think that- maybe you may need to hold off on it. I’ve thought of a solution to help along with the process” Now that he's actually thinking about it, following up with his kissing-as-a-substitute plan may seem moronic. He probably should've phrased himself better though because soon after the doctor took the electric blue quill and pressed it to his tongue. His head jolted around spastically in many directions before slowing to a stop.

“What, Stone, would ever come close to the effect this quill has on me? Hm? What has your lesser-than brain thought of?” He tossed the quill to the side and stood up. Dr. Robotnik walked closer until Stone could feel the man's breath ghost his face from the proximity. The doctor grabbed his jaw and pulled it up.

“Well, Stone? I’m waiting.”

“Considering the parameters I thought of, I came to the conclusion that it would be best to substitute your fixation with another one that activated your endorphins. Because it's not feasible to go out so often and our limited resources and space in the crab, I thought it prudent that it could just be something… physical.”

“I don't think you're proposing I should play pickleball here in the Crab, right?”

“No Sir, I was thinking along the lines of… kissing.”

Dr. Robotnik’s grip on his jaw loosened before falling to the side. He had rendered the doctor speechless, it seemed. Not for long though because he followed with,

“What goes on in that inane, plebeian, mind of yours Stone? Let's say I agree, to whom do I join lips with? It's only you and me here, Stone, and I will keep it that way whether I'm some addict or not.”

“Well, I was thinking it could be.. me?” Stone really hoped his face didn’t look as hopeful as he felt. The doctor seemed to withdraw and processed the agent’s statements. When he reached a conclusion, he wrapped an arm around Stone's waist before pulling his chin up and pressing his lips against Stone’s.

Dr. Robotnik tasted of hopes, dreams, and guac. Stone let out a soft sigh, against the man’s chapped lips and fuzzy moustache. He couldn't tell if he was imagining the static electricity lacing his lips, and wondered if the doctor was as pleased about this as he was. He opened his eyes midway and saw Dr. Robotnik’s eyes staring back. It seemed as though he never closed them in the first place.

If it were up to Stone, he'd never stop, but the doctor soon loosened his hold and stepped back. He looked unfazed by the whole thing but Stone knew if he looked in a mirror he'd look a mess somehow. Dr. Robotnik looked pleased at his expression which seemed to bode well.

“Stone, you may be onto something here. I'll agree to your, as you called it, proposal, but I’ll be the one to dictate when it ends.” Oh. Stone didn't consider that it would have to end someday. He'd have to make the most of it while he could.

“Of course, Sir.”

—

The days following that, Dr. Robotnik seemed to perk up and slowly regain his old self again. While the telenovela would play in the back, the doctor would tinker with whatever materials he found in the Crab. It had been two years since his initial accident, so the doctor’s hair had grown out and reached his nape. He looked softer than he had in the previous years Stone worked for the man, and it looked good on him.

He took more care of himself as well. He took semi-regular showers, ate more than a burrito, and his mind seemed to run faster than ever. Stone hadn't seen the man like this in a long while, and he was feeling rather emotional. Not that he'd show it. Best to stick with praises, not feelings.

It felt best, however, when the doctor would pull him close to peck him on the lips. The frequency seemed to increase as the days went by but never seemed to breach anything beyond just a peck which was perfectly fine with Stone to be honest. He'd take whatever the doctor would give him, and there's not much to ask for. Hope for, though, that was a different thing.

Stone was feeling a bit pent up from the physical attention the doctor seemed to give him. This started because of the mixture of Stone’s worries and also his romantic feelings towards Dr. Robotnik. He knew the doctor wouldn't reciprocate it, but the physical affection would make him feel on top of the world before bringing him back to the hell that is reality. Stone wouldn't ask the doctor about his feelings, but it would be well within his rights to question their arrangement, right?

—

He walked over to the counter where the doctor was tinkering with an opened Badnik. It would be best not to interrupt him now as distracting him may mess with the Badnik’s wiring as well.

He considered asking the doctor as he chewed down on a sandwich, but it wouldn’t be a productive conversation if one side had to be chewing at this time.

The doctor was in the middle of watching an episode of La Última Pasión, but it was in the middle of the climax of the episode which would annoy Dr. Robotnik if he interrupted.

Scenarios like these seemed to build up until Dr. Robotnik himself seemed to notice.

“Stone, what on earth and beyond are you tiptoeing around?” He was tapping his foot against the floor, arms crossed, as he questioned the Agent. Stone was taken off guard and dropped the broom he was holding. He bent down to grab it and put it away and could feel the doctor's impatient stare over every inch of his body.

“I'm not sure what—”

“Stone, I’m going to be kind enough to give you one more chance to spit it out.”

“I've just been wanting to ask, Sir, if there was any reason behind your acceptance of this proposal of mine.” Stone’s fingers itched to fidget but the doctor had eyes like a hawk and latched onto any body language he showed. He still keeps his eyes open to watch Stone when they kiss.

“Do you have any compelling reason for me to answer this?” If Stone was as imbecilic as other people think he is, he'd say it's because he harbors an unprofessional interest in Dr. Robotnik but sadly he has an IQ of 301.

“Call it a personal curiosity, Sir.”

“I see no reason why I'd need to satiate your curiosity, but if it were attraction maybe I'd think otherwise.” Dr. Robotnik was definitely trying to coax it out of him.

“I’m afraid it's only curiosity, Sir.”

The doctor seemed dissatisfied and strutted towards the agent, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and joined their lips. Just as electrifying as the previous times sans any alien influences. This time, he pried open Stone's lips with his tongue. Stone almost short-circuited and he could feel his heart rate increase drastically. The doctor took this time to join their hands together for some reason which tugged at the agent’s heartstrings.

When they pulled away, Stone opened his eyes and came face to face with a smiling doctor. Not an uncommon phenomenon but it does increase in rarity when said smile lacks any evil forces behind it. Rather, it seemed to be a genuine smile for whatever reason. Stone felt himself smile too despite the tells it might show.

“This will be the only time I accept your lies, Stone.” Dr. Robotnik said.

“Pardon?”

“Elevated pulse, sweaty hands, flushed complexion, and that dopey smile, the evidence all points to one conclusion. That you, my dear barnacle, are in love with me.” This is a predicament. Stone was running through the damage control he could do despite knowing it's nearly impossible to change the doctor’s mind.

“Judging by that expression of yours, I think you've yet to realize something as well.”

Isn't that ominous?

“I'm sorry, Sir for-”

“-That! You, Stone, have received the greatest honor of having your romantic feelings reciprocated.”

.

..

…

Huh?

It seems he said that out loud because of the doctor's unimpressed face.

“Stone, do you believe that I would be kissing just anyone left and right? Have you heard the saying, your body is a temple? And really only one person has the right to worship it. That person being you, sycophant.”

Usually it's less that Stone is speechless moreso unable to speak for whatever reason but the doctor has seemed to defy any law the world has set forth. Stone should be taking this chance to do something but he was too shocked to be anything but gape.

Dr. Robotnik seemed to be getting restless though. Seemingly… unsure? An emotion that has never once ghosted his face before. It filled Stone with a feeling of fondness which in the moment gave Stone the will to pull the doctor down to kiss him with the force of years of yearning. Dr. Robotnik pulled him closer by wrapping his arms around Stone’s waist. It was almost hard to kiss because of the smile on their lips, but he wouldn't change a thing for it. All that ran through both their bodies was pure unbridled joy, neither a hedgehog nor emotional density could sway that.

[reidmindswrites]

Iris S.Reid

In which Spencer hears cup break in helps you get patched up . He’s noticed you been off for days .

Clumsy!fem!reader X Spencer Reid

Content : angst hurt comfort

warnings : Reader struggles with her own thoughts, she gets cut by a coffee cup small blood is mentioned no use of your name Spencer comforts reader , reader is clumsy . Both falling for each other .

Wc: 667

ꨄ: I love this so much .. my first writing fic please be kind I’m so shy when it comes to sharing my thoughts my writing. If you liked it could you reblog it

I hope it isn’t bad .. sorry for bad writing if it is

Ty :) 💕s

You've been in a daze for weeks. And of course, Spencer has noticed—he always does.

He watches you the way he does when he’s trying to solve something, quiet and careful. He hasn’t said anything yet, hasn’t asked, but you can feel it—the way his eyes linger, the way he picks up on every little thing. The way your hands shake. The way you get lost in your own head. He’s giving you space, waiting for you to say something first. But you know him. He’s already put the pieces together. He’s already gotten it figured out something’s wrong .

One evening, you were in the break room, trying to pour yourself a cup of coffee when the mug slipped from your fingers and fell, shattering on the floor. It wasn’t full, but just enough to splash onto your shirt.

You knew you probably shouldn’t have even tried for coffee this late, but you needed something to keep pushing through, to finish this file.

The break room was empty, the quiet only broken by the soft hum of the lights. Everyone else had already gone home.

"Great," you muttered. "Just what I needed."

With a sigh, you crouched down to clean up the mess, but the moment your fingers brushed a shard of glass, a sharp sting shot through your hand.

"Ouch," you hissed, pulling back instinctively. You stuck your finger under the cold water, but it only made it worse. "Ouch."

The crash must've been loud enough to catch Spencer’s attention because, within seconds, he was at the door.

"Everything okay?" His eyes flicked to the mess, then to your hand. The moment he saw the blood, his expression shifted. "I'll get the first aid kit."

"Spence, it’s fine—"

But he was already gone, because of course he was. No way was he letting you sit there bleeding if he had anything to do about it.

Spencer returned with the first aid kit, already focused. "How deep is the cut?"

"I'm fine, Spence, honest."

"How deep is it?" he repeated, more firmly this time.

With a sigh, you held out your hand. "Happy?"

"Not really," he muttered, inspecting your finger. His brow furrowed. "Looks like you might need stitches."

"What?" You gasped, eyes widening.

He couldn’t help the small chuckle that slipped out.

You playfully swatted his arm. "Spence! How dare you? That’s not funny!"

"Got you to smile, though, didn’t I?" He shot you a knowing look as he carefully cleaned the wound. "No glass stuck in there, which is good," he added, dabbing on some antiseptic before wrapping a Band-Aid around your finger.

Another small smile tugged at your lips.

Spencer caught it immediately. His voice softened. "I haven’t seen that smile in weeks... I missed it."

"I—" you started, but Spencer cut you off, his voice soft yet firm.

"You don’t have to explain," he said, his hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered for a second longer than usual, his fingers warm against your skin.

He paused, his gaze locking onto yours, and the weight of his words hung in the air. "I’m here for you," he said, quieter now, his voice intense. "You know that, right?"

"I'm such a clust," you muttered with a small laugh, and Spencer smiled—one of those rare, easy smiles. He hadn’t seen you laugh like that in a while, and it made something in him lighten.

"You agree?" you asked, catching his smile.

You shook your head, a small giggle escaping. "I mean—no. It’s fine, Spence. I dropped a cup, now I’ve got a stain and a cut. I’m a mess."

"You’re always helping me, you know that, right, Spence?" you said quietly. "I didn’t even ask for your help."

"I know," he replied, his voice soft. After a moment, he added, "I know you’ve been... off this week. Been observing you."

You shrugged, a tired sigh escaping. "I just—Spencer, I’ve been in this daze... I don’t even know."

"I know," he said again, his voice steady, offering more comfort than you expected.

You leaned into him, the weight of everything finally catching up. Spencer didn’t say anything at first, just wrapped his arm around you, offering the quiet kind of comfort only he could. His presence was steady, grounding, as if telling you everything would be okay without needing the words.

You could feel the tension in your shoulders ease slightly as he just let you be, his hand gently rubbing your back. No questions. No pressure. Just him, there, letting you breathe for a moment.

"Spence..." you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I care about you so much. I’ve always cared for you."

There was a pause as you tried to steady yourself, your words coming out a little softer. "Thank you... for being you. For everything—looking after me, even when I don’t ask for it."

You leaned in a bit more, your voice almost trembling as you added, "I feel like I’ll lose this moment if I don’t say it... and I don’t want to.

"I’ve got you," he said, his voice low and steady. "I’m not going anywhere. I’m here." He whispered, his words barely brushing against your skin. "I’m here. You can count on me."

"I know," you said softly, the weight of his words settling in.

He pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you like he’s trying to hold everything together. You feel the steady beat of his heart against yours, grounding you in a way that only he can.

"I’ve got you," he whispers again, his voice soft but firm. "You’re not alone."

[bumblesimagines]

Headcanon:

Dating Misty Quigley

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

CW/TW: it's Misty fucking Quigley.

~~~

Misty Quigley is an... odd girl, for lack of a better word. While she's not considered a total social pariah like Natalie, she's not popular like Jackie or Shauna. Misty Quigley blends in the background. Misty Quigley goes unnoticed. Misty Quigley is another face in the crowd nobody glances twice at. She knows it. She desperately wants it to be different. 

She's not quite a Yellowjacket, something she's reminded of whenever the team goes out to parties and she remains uninvited or when she pipes up with an idea and the girls exchange amused glances. Nobody takes her seriously and nobody really wants to be friends with her. Until you, (Y/N) Ibarra. 

You scope out the classroom as classmates shuffle around desks to ask their friends if they'd like to partner up before someone else snatches them up. Your attention settles on your sister first and then slides further down the row of desks to the blonde sitting by her lonesome. Misty.

"Hey," Mari leaned her hip against your desk, her lips quirking up into a familiar grin that tells you her part of the project will end up on your lap if you agree. "You wanna partner up?"

"I don't know." You reply, more focused on the way Misty goes utterly ignored by everyone walking past her desk. She perks up the moment someone steps by only to slump back into her chair when they keep walking. "I think I'll ask Misty." 

Mari makes a face immediately, her lip curling into barely disguised disgust. "Seriously?" Her eyes flicker to the girl. "You want to partner with four-eyes?" 

"I feel bad for her." You shrug, curling your hand around the strap if your backpack as you stand up and sling it over your shoulder. "She seems... nice." 

Mari arches a brow but throws her hands up. "It's your funeral." She mutters under her breath and spins on her heel to approach Akilah instead. 

You slip through the tight spaces between desks and step over fallen backpacks until you reach the desk Misty always sits at each day without failure. She doesn't look up this time, probably expecting to be working alone as always. It's a little pitying. 

"Hey, Quigley," You greet her, and her head shoots up so quickly that her glasses slide a little down her nose. 

"H-Hey!" Her voice is a pitch higher than usual, and her wide, brown eyes sparkle with hope. She nudges her glasses back to their former place and smiles tentatively. "D-Do you need something?" 

"I was, uh.. wondering if you had a partner yet? Mari's partnering with Akilah and David's out all week on that family emergency so.. I thought-" 

"Absolutely!" Misty perks right up, her smile widening before she blinks and clears her throat, a little blush dusting over her freckled cheeks. "I mean, no, I don't have a partner. I'd love to work with you." She giggles sheepishly. 

"Awesome." 

Misty has a habit of latching onto anyone who shows her even the slightest bit of positive attention. She can't help it, she yearns for it. She lives for it. So, the moment you come out like a knight in shining armor, it's over. She develops a crush then and there.

Misty isn't great at socializing. She rambles quite a bit when she gets nervous, stammering and backtracking constantly while she fumbles to get a grip. This heightens around her crush. She wants so badly to be your friend, to keep your attention. 

Of course, after the project is said and done, in her mind you're already her friend. I mean, why else have you stuck around so long? It couldn't be just for the grade, right? You even did your part of the project instead of coaxing her into doing everything like so many others have done! Obviously, you want to be her friend, right?

Once this assumption is locked in her head, she begins seeking you out. She learns your schedule, both school schedule and after school, so she can optimize as much time as possible. She's first out the door when classes end so she can walk beside you down the halls on the way to the next class. Don't worry if you see her pop up around your favorite hangout spots. She's just like that.

Misty can get just a smidge obsessive. She wants to learn everything about you: your favorite meals, your favorite bands, your favorite color, your favorite authors, everything. She wants to know how to appear interesting and appealing to you. This means occasionally badgering Mari, who definitely doesn't want to spend more than a second in her presence.

Mari isn't a fan of this bubbling friendship. She doesn't like Misty. She thinks she's a little weird freak like most people do. She's first to laugh at Misty's shortcomings or make a face when Misty says something she doesn't understand. It grates on Misty's nerves but for you, she'll put up with it forever if she has to. 

Misty's a big people pleaser and more observant than people give her credit for. She'll immediately pick up if you're stressed or in a down mood and she'll want to remedy that asap. There is no other option. Be it getting you some sweets or cracking jokes that make no sense 'cause they're full of references you can't quite understand, she's doing everything she can to make you feel better. 

Of course, Misty is a little... intense. When this intensity manifests with her emotions like jealousy or anger, it can make her act impulsive though she can be very meticulous about plans she forms on an impulse. God forbid she notices someone else flirting with you or hears about Mari wanting to set you up. It'll drive her crazy and when Misty gets crazy, people get hurt.

Misty isn't afraid to get her hands dirty or ruin someone's life. She'll form a plan to ensure you don't even consider the person she's jealous of, whether it's by sabotaging them or upright telling you 'rumors' she'd heard. Anything to make that person undesirable in your eyes. It's for your own good. Nobody will make you as happy as she can.

Of course, it's not hard being friends with Misty. She's generally pretty upbeat, caring, and she's always eager (and available) to spend time with you. She's always happy to listen to you talk about anything and everything, especially 'cause it lets her take mental notes of things you mention that she can look into later. 

Eventually, however, she gets tired of waiting around for you to up and realize how much she's meant to be with you. Of course, Misty's more than happy to take matters into her own hands.

Misty watches you explore her bedroom from her spot on the bed, her fingertip tracing the thread of her thick, floral-patterned comforter. Her room was naturally tidy but she'd taken time to triple-check that there wasn't a single thing out of place when you agreed to come over. 

All the good classics were propped up on display for you to look over and realize how smart she is. Most girls her age read the latest magazines or don't even read at all, but not her. She could whip out a quote from Allegory of the Cave or recite any line from the Iliad if you asked. 

She fixed herself up a bit for you. She dabbled on a little baby pink lipstick and dusted her cheeks with a pale red powder. She wasn't an expert on applying makeup; she had no friends to teach her and she didn't feel like suffering humiliation by asking one of the Yellowjackets. Her bouncy curls were tied back into a low bun with frizzy strands framing her face.

Her palms smooth over the lavender sweater she's wearing before coming to rest over her washed-out jeans. Her heart beats rapidly in her chest, and she awaits your opinion while chewing on the inside of her cheek. 

You finally turn toward her and smile sweetly, her nerves easing away at the mere sight of it. "I like it." You shrug and walk closer to the bed. "It's... homey." 

Misty nearly puffs out her chest in pride but instead, she bashfully tucks away a strand behind her ear and gives a shy smile. "I'm glad you like it."

"What'd you want to talk about?" You ask and settle down on the edge of her bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath your weight and the bedframe creaking softly. 

"Oh, just.." Misty trails off, the words she'd carefully chosen for this very moment refusing to leave her tongue. She fiddles with her fingers. "Uhm, I was just.. uhm.. I was wondering if maybe you- you'd like to go, I don't know, out with me... somewhere... like the- the diner." 

You blink at her. "We go to the diner all the time." 

"Yeah, but- but.. I mean, like, as a- a date." 

"Oh." You purse your lips a little, as if the idea of going on a date with her hadn't even occurred to you. She immediately wants to sink into the mattress. She can feel a desperate ramble coming on. "Okay." 

"Okay?" It comes out breathless. 

You shrug, looking a little amused. "Okay."

Misty is positively thrilled that you agreed to go out with her! She blabbers about having a date with anyone who engages with her (mostly teachers) and is practically on cloud nine leading up to the big day. She frets over her outfit a bit, messes with her hair until it's in a style she likes, and even manages to gather up the will to call Jackie for makeup advice. Jackie entertains her for the most part but Misty has a feeling Jackie doesn't fully believe she's got a date. 

She gets real nervous about the date. She doesn't want to ruin it but she whispers some affirmations to herself beforehand to keep her mind straight. She tries not to be too overly Misty but she can't help it when you make her so comfortable. She appreciates that she doesn't have to hide her quirks or tone herself down. 

Being in a relationship with Misty is... a whole different ballpark. She's clingy, clingier than before. Personal space? Never heard of her. PDA? Love it. She constantly wants to hold hands or lean against you or give you tight hugs. 

Mari flips a lid when she first hears about it. She freaks. She doesn't want Misty fucking Quigley in her house! She doesn't want to be anywhere near her! She rationalizes that it's a pity relationship, something you're doing out of the kindness of your heart. It's what she tells anyone who asks, too. 

Misty doesn't care what Mari thinks. She doesn't care about what anyone thinks. She's overjoyed that A) you are dating her and B) she finally gets to experience what she constantly hears about from other people. She's already planned how the wedding's going to go, fyi. She'll tolerate her future sister-in-law just for you.

Maybe a little surprisingly, Misty's almost the perfect girlfriend. Her obsession and desire to be wanted leave her trying and doing anything she thinks you'll like. Plus, she's made sure to know you like the back of her hand.

Every gift she gets you is something she knows you'll love, every time she goes out to eat with you she ensures the food is exactly how you like it, and every essay or homework paper is reviewed by her to make sure you get the best grade. She's practically every love language shoved into one. Just don't hurt her feelings too much. For your own sake.

Being intimate with Misty is... something. Once the idea of losing her virginity and being intimate with you gets put in her head, she's reading allll about it. Whether it's educational books and journals or straight-up dirty magazines, she's checking it out and keeping herself informed and prepared. When the time comes, she's likely the initiator and tries being subtle about it but it's not hard to pick up what she's putting down. 

Misty can go for whatever and whenever you want because she's nearly always ready. She definitely reads about things that would make middle-aged folks turn bright red and immediately wants to try them all out, though she'll understand if you're apprehensive (if not a bit pouty over it). She's naturally curious and being the way she is, she wants to experience as much as possible to level the playing field with her and the other people at school. She wants to be able to say she's done things after spending half her life being the late bloomer.

Of course, she's overjoyed to hear your parents are forcing you to accompany Mari to Nationals. She'd been fretting about having to be away from you for so long (a week) and had already decided on ringing up your landline every time she could to check on you. But now, with you tagging along, all her worries washed away. Until the plane crashes in the wilderness and she's worried for a little while... until she realizes how much everyone is starting to appreciate her and her medical knowledge. Things are better now, aren't they? Surely, you wouldn't mind if she destroyed the flight recorder, right?

[dionte-goethe]

ok, because I saw fantastic propaganda for MingCheng in the reblogs, which covered a lot of what I love about it, I'll submit some BingCheng propaganda instead. (also, while OG!LBH and SVSSS!LBH are separate characters, since they are the same person, I think they shed different lights on core aspects of LBH's characterization, so I'll use aspects of both's characterization for this.)

What existing problems does the ship solve?

When it comes to the cores of JC's and LBH's character, they both want someone to stay with them. They want someone to want them. LBH in particular, is desperately searching for someone who will accept him- as a heavenly demon, as a disciple, as a person. And JC wants someone to stay- he's let go of so many people, whether because they are seeking independence or they died. If we put LBH in WWX's position (and assuming he is close to JC), he would gladly give up a morally righteous path to stay in the sect. If we put JC in SQQ's position, (and assuming he is close to LBH) he would either jump into the abyss himself, or generally try to not push LBH into the abyss. And assuming LBH would end up in the abyss no matter what, I would assume his return would inspire the extreme relief and protectiveness that WWX's initial return did.

I think that they could fill the space of "the one who stayed" for each other and it would help them both. LBH is generally more chill and personable and could influence JC in that way, and JC is a loyal anchor once you earn it, and actually an effective communicator. When the other side, you know, is willing to communicate.

LBH is also very politically aware. OG!LBH was much more methodical, where I would say SVSSS!LBH was more brute force, but they both know how to hide their demonic origins to blend in with and charm humans, and they are incredibly intelligent. I think after WWX and given his struggles in general, this is something JC would really appreciate.

JC isn't rigidly "righteous", his hatred towards demonic cultivation comes more from it causing the deaths of loved ones than because he is a righteous cultivator/it's evil in the first place, so I think he would be more open and accepting of a half demon, which is something LBH desires/needs.

What new problems does the ship create?

There is the basic, LBH is a half demon and JC is a righteous cultivator. I think if it were discovered that LBH was a half demon, there could be some conflict there and in JC discovering that and how JC would present his acceptance of LBH to the other sects.

Given that a lot of LBH's power comes from his heritage, I wouldn't be surprised if other sects have the idea to try and fridge him to research him like WN. I don't think they could break BingCheng like they did WWX and JC, but I think an attempt would be made.

If LBH has Xin Mo, I think JC would draw comparisons between that and Chenqing and WWX's demonic cultivation, which is a crunchy conflict. I also think Xin Mo would draw the attention of other sects, much like the Yin Tiger Tally.

LBH is a jealous boy. I think JC's care for those close to him would rile some of those possessive parts of LBH sometimes, and I think JC might get overwhelmed being the center of LBH's affections. He's never really been someone else's priority, and when he was, they didn't let him make his own decisions.

You know LBH wants to be whipped. I don't know how comfortable JC would be about whipping him.

Heirs. But to be fair, I'm bringing a scum villain character into the mix and that's a world where anything can happen.

What in-law drama does the ship cause?

I think TLJ would love JC. He may try to sympathize with LBH in loving a bad/hardass righteous cultivator, and you know LBH would hate that. For JC, I think he would be uncomfortable because that's a demon and that demon is so much more friendly/positive than his own parents. He'd have some sort of feelings about it. (ZZL is just along for the ride. I think he and JC would be pretty neutral towards each other.)

YZY and JFM would hate that their son is with a half demon, (well, I think JFM would be disapproving but would say nothing and not try to get to know LBH, and YZY would start as vocally hateful, could be charmed by LBH being respectful and strong, and would end up always suspicious but permissive.) and I feel like LBH would have some issues because with YZY being similar to Shen Jiu, and JFM being similar to YQY. I think that would just rattle him.

I think JYL would just be happy that her little brother is loved, regardless of who it is (but her and LBH trading cooking tips makes me happy, and there may be some drama in whose cooking is better, haha) and I think WWX would be weird about it. Like, my shidi? With a demon?! I'm supposed to be one using dubious cultivation practices that he's obsessed with! (Also he accepts LBH? LBH fulfilled the promise WWX made? Yeah, I feel like that would fuck WWX up in some way) And JZX I think would be in the same vein as JYL, just not in a familial love sort of way, more because he would want to return the support/chance that JC gave him with JYL.

For JL, I think he'd be iffy regarding ANY ship with JC because no one is as cool as his uncle, hmph, and I think he's seen how everyone has treated JC previously. Obv, if it was "established" before or early in his life, I think there would be very little drama, but for newly established ships, I think a big factor in him coming to accept it would be if they piss JC off, (whether in jest or not) and I think LBH is more the pleasing/fawning type, so I think JL would appreciate that more than some other ships.

call for propaganda

looking to advance from the golden core brainrot stage to the nascent soul brainrot stage - in other words, looking to get into more jiang cheng ships lol

everyone please respond with propaganda for your favorite jiang cheng ship

for maximal propaganda effectiveness please follow this format:

what existing problems does the ship solve?

what new problems does the ship create?

what in-law drama does the ship cause?

imo an ideal ship has content for all 3 questions

please and thank yew

[lillaydee]

I'm Right Here

BFF!Joel Miller / F Reader

Sometimes the person we've been looking for has been right there all along.

@copperhalfcent, @demonsasss, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @peelieblue

WARNINGS: BFF Joel Miller, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Angst, Love Triangles, Miscommunication, Past Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel is a Clueless Idiot, Jealousy

SERIES MASTER LIST

You couldn’t get comfortable. No matter what you did you just couldn’t get comfortable. It wasn’t for the lack of sleep, or the aches of your tired bones. It was the fact that you were on a plane, flying back home.

You left the city for a college at the other end of the country and only came back once in the five years you were gone. Eddie flew to you for Christmas and birthdays. You flew home to him exactly one time. One year ago tomorrow.

It was always just you and Eddie. Since your birth giver’s womb. He was your big brother by a whole five minutes. Your parents were not the best people. They loved their drinks more than life itself. The two of you were neglected, often starving before one of them was sober enough to remember they had children, and that children needed food and care to stay alive.

As you grew older, their neglect turned into hatred. They hated that they needed to be responsible for the two of you. That they couldn’t live the carefree, alcohol-fuelled life they loved as freely as they wanted to. And that’s when the physical abuse started.

You were maybe six when it started. The first incident happened when you broke a cup while trying to wash it. It woke them up from their drunken nap. They were not happy. Your sperm donor pulled you up by the arm and flung you across the room, screaming what an ungrateful little brat you were. Who was gonna pay for that cup now? You think money grows on trees? Such a waste of space. Your birth giver watched with a satisfied smirk on her face as you wiped blood off your nose.

Eddie came home from next door then, shielding you from your sperm donor and took the hits instead, despite being half a head shorter than you were back then. That was his life since that day, his little body black and blue from all the beatings he took. At age six, he swore to you no one would ever touch you like that again. Ever. I promise Daze. I will protect you always, he assured you, his arms not even big enough to hug you properly.

Your parents were somehow experts at this from the start. No one knew. No one guessed. No one had any reason to suspect anything. They were careful never to leave marks, and if they did, the two of you were pulled out of school, kept indoors, hidden from the world. But for every single bruise you received, Eddie took on five, your body only marked because he had to make his way to you whenever that happened to take it off you.

And your sperm donor would double his efforts – Eddie’s a boy. Boys could take beatings twice as much as a girl could, he would say. After seeing Mrs Miller next door put a towel with ice on Eddie’s friend Joel’s bruise one day you learnt to do that for Eddie, icing his bruises, the two of you snuggling in the safety of each other’s arms until you fell asleep.

He protected you so much he ended up in the emergency room at age nine with a broken arm. Your parents ignored his painful cries, his sky high temperature, tossing a bucket of ice at you, telling you to ice his arm and head, refusing to take him to the doctors. You tried to get them to take him to the doctors, every single day you begged and begged, only to get a beating yourself. Eddie pleaded with you to stop, he didn’t want you hurt. He’ll be fine, he told you. As per usual, the two of you were sequestered in your room, but Joel, the boy next door, had an inkling something was not right – he hadn’t seen the two of you in days. So he climbed the tree outside and peeked in the window one night. He saw a shivering Eddie crying in pain, you icing his arm as best as you could, your own bleeding nose and split lip shocking him. He immediately told his parents what he saw. They called the cops for a welfare check and the two of you were brought in to the ER. The fever affected his heart. CPS was called then, and the two of you were placed with your Aunt Esther, who lived less than a mile away from your parents.

Your parents were brought in for questioning. They somehow convinced the judge that the two of you were lying, that the two of you were playing a bit too roughly and fell down the stairs, that Eddie had a penchant for drama, that they honestly, truly, didn’t believe the injury was that bad. The judge gave them a warning, but the two of you would be in your Aunt Esther’s custody until they could prove they could provide a stable, safe home for the two of you.

Not even a week after that, they were enjoying their children-free life a little too much and wrapped their car around a tree. Their blood alcohol level was five times the limit.

You honestly thought your life would get better, now that the two of them were gone. Turned out, just because Aunt Esther never laid a hand on you, didn’t mean she would love you.

She sold the house and took all the money, telling you two it was payment for taking you in. You basically became the live-in maid, doing all the household chores and cooking, Eddie forced to start working at the age of ten to contribute to the bills, and to make sure you and him would have pocket money. You distinctly remembered him coming home from washing dishes at the restaurant, all wet and tired, and immediately helped you mow the lawn, telling you to go rest.

When he got a little older, he started working for Mr Miller after school, doing some varnishing and painting for his construction company. He worked at the supermarket on the weekends, coming home with little presents for you. He refused to let you get a job too. You needed to focus on school, he insisted, let him worry about the money. When we turn 18, we will leave this house, Daze, I promise. I’m working on it.

He made good on that promise, renting a small room for the two of you the day you turned 18. He gave you the bed, taking the couch instead. He continued working for Mr Miller when school ended, not even bothering to apply for colleges, but insisted you did. When you got accepted to college with a partial scholarship, he made you go, despite your reservations. Go Daze, I will find the money to pay for everything. Go. Don’t worry about me.

So with a heavy heart, you left, determined to graduate and make a better life for yourself and Eddie. I will pay you back, Ed. I will make sure you live your life fully. I want you happy and free, Ed, you told him at the airport. He shook his head, told you to get on the plane already, and hugged you tight, as if he never wanted to let go.

It was daily phone calls and text messages since then, except for Christmas and your birthday, where he would fly up to you. He sulked that first year when he found out you took a part time job to buy him presents, despite the full bag of presents he got you. But he lightened up the next year, and those two times he visited every year were always the best times of your lives.

A year ago tomorrow, you received a phone call from Joel. The two had moved in together when you left for college.

Eddie, the one family you had, the only one who loved you unconditionally, collapsed at work. He was gone by the time the ambulance arrived. His heart just stopped beating. A cardiac arrest at 22.

Your world was gone. You flew home that very day. Joel took care of everything for you. He stood by you, steadied you when your knees threatened to give way, held your hand as you watched the simple coffin roll into the furnace, held you close when you couldn’t watch the glow of the flames any longer.

He left you everything he had. He had taken on yet another job, Joel said, he wanted to surprise you with a deposit for a house as a graduation present. Even after the threat of your parents were long gone, he was still thinking about you first. There he was, still renting, and he wanted to gift you the deposit for a house. You wondered if he had been feeling sicker all along and didn’t tell you. But you didn’t want to find out. He was not coming back either way.

You didn’t know how you finished your final year of college. What did you have to live for anymore? Your Aunt Esther didn’t even bother attending the funeral, despite living in the same town. You had no family left. Eddie. Eddie was all you had. And Joel and his very kind family. But after Eddie left, you felt like an imposition on them. Mrs Miller called you every week, checking on you. Joel texted you daily, not that you replied to him often. They had their own lives, you didn’t want to take advantage of their kindness. But they were unrelenting. Even Tommy took to calling, making sure you were alright.

You had your okay days and your low days. The okay days meant you could function like a normal human being, until you got back to your room. Nights were still filled with tears – missing the late night texts and phone calls with him so much you couldn’t breathe. And the low days would mean merely existing, but like a zombie.

It was during one of these lows that you looked at the message thread between you and Eddie, scrolling for ages as far back as you could go, reading the convo with the person you had been rooming with since conception. You laughed at the absurdity of it all. How was it that you had never gone a day without talking and texting him ever? What the fuck did you two talk about? Who talks to their sibling that much? You smiled, tears in your eyes as you read the exchange that started with a photo of a nervous Eddie holding three shirts, one in each hand and the other in his mouth.

‘Which one?’

‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Just answer. Please.’

‘Not until you tell me what it’s for.’

‘Come on Daze don’t be mean. I’m desperate here.’

‘Tell me what it’s for. Ooohhh… Do you have a date? Oh my God it’s a date. Who with?’

He got tired of your teasing and told you he was never speaking to you again, only to text you back minutes later begging you to tell him which shirt to wear.

So yes, the two of you talked and texted daily, which was shocking, seeing as the two of you had ‘cut each other off’ on a weekly basis. You kept scrolling, laughing and crying as you went along, until you finally reached the end of the thread, maybe three glasses of wine later. In your hazy stupor, you texted him.

‘Miss you Ed. I wish you were here.’

And the message was seen. Your phone rang, ‘Ed’ flashing on your phone.

Wait, you thought.

What?

You picked up, holding the phone to your ear, suspicious as hell, your sadness disappearing almost immediately, giving way to curiosity.

“Hey Daze.”

You heaved a sigh of relief. Much as you missed your twin brother, the idea that he called you from the grave was a bit much for you to handle.

“I’m fine Joel. I’m alive. Not drunk at all.”

“I’m sure you are,” he chuckled. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Uh… two?”

He guffawed. “Wow,” he said. “I’ve heard of alcohol turning people into drunken geniuses, but never heard of it making people see thousands of miles away without video call.”

You laughed, only then realizing you couldn’t actually see the fingers in question.

“What do you want Miller, and why are you calling me from his phone? What happened to your own?”

“I was holding it. It was easier than getting up to get my phone three feet away.”

“Why were you looking at his phone?”

“Just missing him.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you coming back for the one year anniversary?”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on Daze. Wouldn’t feel right if you’re not here.”

“I don’t know Joel. I would be done with college by then, I need to decide what I want to do, plan from there. I don’t know if I want to go back home. What would I do there? And after the anniversary? Where would I stay? I don’t know. I just…”

“Stay with me. My parents would be out of town so unless you want to stay at their place with Tommy, you could come stay with me. Ed’s room is still available, I’ve never rented it out. Doesn’t feel right to. And, if you’re worried about work, you could look for a job from here. In the meantime, my Dad needs someone to do the accounts. The guy we hired left town. You could help us out until you get something better. Please?”

You were quiet for a long time.

“I’ll let you know.”

He didn’t relent. He pleaded and begged you for the next two months, even getting the entire Miller family to coax you along.

You just didn’t know where you were going in life. You didn’t know if you wanted to be back in Austin without Eddie. Maybe a fresh start somewhere new was the better idea, as scary as that might be.

And then there was Joel.

Much as his family brought comfort and familiarity in your life, you didn’t know if you wanted him to be a constant in your life. Joel had been there since you can remember. The boy next door. Eddie’s best friend. Your best friend by extension. You missed him. He had always been good company. You were comfortable with him.

But you weren’t sure if being around him was such a good idea, not when he was a reminder of Eddie. Not when you were not sure how to behave around him now that Eddie was no longer around. To you, Joel Miller was not just another guy in your life.

Oh, and not that it was a big deal or anything, but there was also the small, insignificant, completely irrelevant matter that Joel Miller was your first crush. There was a time in your life where you knew for sure you were gonna marry him.

You remembered the day you saw Joel as different from the rest of the boys. It was that day, the day you dropped the cup. Your nose was bleeding, you were inconsolable. Your sperm donor had threatened to give you more reason to cry if you didn’t shut up. Eddie had taken you outside, himself in so much pain from the beating he took on your behalf. But he wanted to take you away from your parents, if only for a while, just to find a place to get away.

Joel was outside, waiting for the two of you. He had followed Eddie home to borrow a comic and caught the end of your sperm donor’s rant. So instead of going in, he waited, a panicked look on his face when the two of you came out, his eyes focused on you and the blood stain on your nose.

“What happened?” he asked.

You didn’t dare answer, too afraid of the repercussions. Eddie took Joel’s focus off your stained nose, telling Joel you just needed cheering up. And the two boys, aged six, one of whom was just as injured as you were, both smaller than you at the time, tried to figure out a way to cheer you up.

“Okay, what do you want to do? Let’s play a game. You want to play princess?” he asked, remembering his cousins who wanted nothing more than to play princess. That, or the other game, the one he often got roped into and hated with all his heart.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t even shake your head, still sniffling, trying to control yourself.

“You want to play weddings?” Joel tried again, cringing a little. He hated that game. His cousins always made him play with them. He always had to be the groom. And his cousins were bigger than him and made him stand on a stool so that he would look taller than them. They laughed at him when he couldn’t reach his ‘bride’. So he would sulk, and they always got angry when he sulked – no one likes a sulky groom, they told him. But even at his age, Joel could see you were really sad. He didn’t know why, but he knew you were sad, and all he wanted to do was cheer you up.

You shook your head, “I don’t have a boyfriend. I can’t get married,” you said, tears coming down your cheeks again.

“I’ll marry you, Daze,” Joel quickly said, wiping your tears away. “Come on, let’s go to the garage, let’s see what we can use,” he said, gently pulling your hand. He sat you down on one of the chairs in there that was less wobbly than the rest while he and Eddie planned the wedding. You sat there quietly sobbing, rubbing your shoulder from the pain that wouldn’t go away.

They got the small garage ready, dressed you up a little, and the wedding began.

You walked between the mismatched and mostly broken chairs, your Grandma's sheer scarf pinned to your hair covering your face, Eddie by your side, your hand on his arm. You were holding a dusty, sparse, almost faded bouquet of fabric flowers, some petals and leaves peeled off their plastic stems in your other hand. Your eyes wandered to the ratty, holey, torn and tattered stuffed animals sitting on the chairs on either side of the makeshift aisle, your sadness slightly lifting. Eddie squeezed your hand, his eyes motioning to the boy standing at the end of the aisle, his excited, dimply smile taking your sadness away, despite his missing front teeth.

Eddie stopped once the two of you got to Joel, kissing you on the cheek and handing you over to his best friend. Joel took your hand in his, squeezing it a little before letting go, stood on his tippy toes and lifted your Grandma's scarf off your face, revealing your splotchy, tear-stained face. He wiped your face with the scarf, telling you how pretty you looked, offering his arm to you. He remained on his tippy toes to seem taller than you throughout the ceremony.

Eddie put on the dark robe he had found from your Grandma's old chest, and stood in front of you and Joel, asking the two of you if you would take each other, be loyal to one another, even if tempted by all the toys and candies in the world, 'til death do you part.

Both you and Joel said I do, huge toothy (and toothless) grins on your faces. Eddie then declared you and Joel husband and wife.

When Eddie told Joel he could kiss his bride, Joel took you in his tiny arms and smothered your face in kisses until you squealed, causing all remnants of sadness to disappear completely from your person, telling you that no matter what happens, you will always, ALWAYS be his first wife, and that he will always, ALWAYS love you, that he will always, ALWAYS be right there for you.

And then he led you around the attic in a slow dance to Richard Marx on the old, warbly cassette player.

By the end of the wedding, you had forgotten the reason you needed cheering up in the first place, and knew one thing for sure, even at six years old.

That one day, when you're all grown up, you will marry Joel Miller for real.

It was the first time you realized that you were loved. Wanted. By your big brother and his best friend Joel Miller.

Of course, that feeling of wanting to marry him turned on and off throughout the years. He became the last person you wanted to marry when he laughed at your poor attempts at a wheelie. But you quickly wanted to marry him again when he came and kissed the boo-boo on your knee better when you fell not a minute later. And that was how it went all the way until you were in high school.

When he got his first girlfriend, you knew you had a serious crush on him. How you wished you were the girl he kissed between classes. That it was your bags he was carrying. That you got to wear his letterman jacket and not some silly girl in sparkly make-up. But you kept quiet. Joel was the most popular jock in school, and you were the daughter of the alcoholics who managed to kill themselves after abusing the living crap out of you and your brother. You were the orphan who was basically living off the charities of your Aunt and the Millers.

Those girls were not happy though. All Joel ever wanted to do with his time outside of school was spend time with you and Eddie. Of course, they only heard your name out of the two he mentioned. The snide comments would begin, followed by accidental shoves and eventually, full on, hair-pulling catfights would inevitably come. And every single time, Joel would come and pull his girlfriends off you and comforted you instead of them.

That certainly didn’t help. He dumped quite a few of them for bullying you, in fact. His parents treated you like the daughter they never had. You and Eddie were a regular fixture in any of the Miller’s family events. It became a thing among the Joel Miller Fan Club. Don’t piss off that Stevens girl. Joel will dump you for her. Too bad he will NEVER see her the way he sees the other girls, they had smirked.

Even with all the attention he was showering you, you couldn’t help but notice how different his touches were compared to those he gave his girlfriends. His arms were around your shoulder, not your waist. He pulled your hand by the wrist, fingers never interlaced. He kissed you on the cheeks, quick, chaste, closed lips. So unlike the ones he gave the other girls.  

That, and the fact that he never intervened when a boy paid attention to you. He even coaxed Eddie to let you go out for a few dates when he was at work, even going so far as chaperoning, sitting two tables away with whichever girlfriend he was with at the time.

So, no. It was never a doubt in your mind that he NEVER saw you as anything more than a friend. Even that, you weren’t sure if his friendship was forced or genuine. He told Tommy once that he had to hang out with you. Eddie wouldn’t let you out of his sight. You went home that day wondering if he would even be your friend if not for Eddie. But since Eddie left, you were glad for his friendship, forced or otherwise.

Not seeing him all these years helped with the crush, though. You only talked to him every now and again with Eddie on the line. When you saw him for Eddie’s funeral, you hadn’t seen the man in person for four years. You were far too deep in grief then, barely noticing the fact that he kept you by his side throughout, arm around your waist. He found you on Eddie’s bed that night, weeping like a child. He crawled into bed with you, cried with you, and held you until you fell asleep. When the two of you woke up the next morning, he held you as you cried some more. What the old you would have given to be held in bed by Joel Miller. But your grief hid that feeling from you, all you could think of was the fact that Eddie, the one person who had always been there for you was gone.

But there was also a huge possibility that you had moved on from your high school, teenage crush on him. You had a couple boyfriends in college, and you no longer thought of him in that way of late. You didn’t even feel anything when Eddie talked about him having yet another fight with yet another girlfriend. Heck, you even gave him advice on what to do at one point, when he screwed up, not that it helped. The girlfriend left a week later.

And let’s face it, the man changes girlfriends more often than he changed shoes. Not exactly husband material, regardless of what six year-old you had thought. So yeah, there was a bigger chance that you had gotten over that silly crush of yours.

Still, the man was an important presence in your life. And if there was someone who missed Eddie as much as you did, it was him. It made sense for you to be with him for this.

So you packed up what belonging you had and bought a one way ticket back to Austin. You would be spending a few nights at Joel’s and then maybe find a place that would take you in on a month to month basis. You would be doing the books for Mr Miller for a bit while you looked for a job. And then you would go from there, see where the road takes you.

You got yourself together as you prepared to step out onto your hometown again, your nerves threatening to leave your person through your throat, your eyes, feeling all sorts of emotions. Your skin felt hot, tingly, but not in a good way. Your throat was tight, your shoulder suddenly searing with pain.

This was a bad idea. You needed to get out of here. You couldn’t do this. No.

But then your eyes were drawn to a handmade cardboard sign with a crudely drawn daisy on it, the words ‘Welcome Back from Prison’ written above it, a grinning Joel Miller holding the sign high up above his head, his face the very definition of glee upon seeing you.

You couldn’t help yourself. You laughed and kept on laughing until he was right in front of you. “Welcome home, Daze,” he said, pulling you into a bear hug. You let him, hugging him back, all fear and anxiety gone just from seeing him.

Neither of you let go for quite a while, just holding each other, enjoying seeing one another again. You felt safe in his arms. Comforted. Loved.

And suddenly, you had to remind yourself to not snuggle your face into his neck. Do not go there. Say something, distract yourself.

“Thanks for picking me up, Joel,” you mumbled.

“Of course,” he answered, still holding you close. “I will always be here for you Daze. I’m right here.”

Part 2

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi Lumine! I’ve always wanted to send a prompt but never had any ideas I liked. But I was thinking about your ‘the bitter trap of truth’ verse and love the concept but then I was like you know what would be fun? if Alec was actually trying to kill him but like more as a way to get his attention? And everyone is like Magnus this shadowhunter just tried to kill you and Magnus is just like *heart eyes* and it was such a good attempt. Wherever you want to go with it really!

Nsfw/sfw

i'm so glad you took the chance and I probably had a little too much fun writing this. in my defense, Magnus is having the best time of his life and that needs to be respected.

i really hope you like it as much as I had fun writing it and enjoy <3

lumine

-

this deadly bouquet of love

”Shouldn’t you be a little more proactive,considering the Clave is actively trying to kill you?”

Ragnor loves Magnus, he truly does but it’s times like this that have him truly questioning Magnus’ lifestyle.  Purposefully baiting Clave assassins is just a bit too much, in Ragnor’s humble opinion.

“It irritates him when I go somewhere obvious, I think he feels as if I’m cheating on his behalf.” Magnus raises his glass into the air, tipping it in obvious salute in a direction that Ragnor once thought empty.  “So I thought a rooftop brunch at a fancy restaurant would be perfect.  I even rented the entire space since as much as I enjoy giving him an obstacle course, fatalities can be the worst distraction and mundanes are so clumsy.” 

“Why?” Ragnor desperately hopes that this isn’t going to go down the road he thinks it does.

“Well he has to prove his sincerity in wanting to go out with me.”  Magnus seems utterly bemused by Ragnor’s slowly increasing ire.  “If he just came up to show off his stately arms and wooed me like that, what could be said of my reputation?”

Ragnor takes a deep inhale of his pipe, refusing to even consider what kind of an answer Magnus expects given they both know exactly what Magnus’ reputation is.

“He’s not a Clave assassin at all, is he?”

Magnus’ titter filled with glee does not encourage Ragnor’s sanity at all.

“How exactly did,” here Ragnor makes a twirling motion with his hand, “whatever this is between you and a shadowhunter turn into him trying to kill you?”

“He’s going for maiming, not killing.” Magnus isn’t even trying to soothe him, the gleam in his eyes proving that he knows exactly what this is doing to Ragnor’s nerves and constitution. “Isn’t that so much better? I tried to convince him I’d take him more seriously the more deadly he tried.  However, apparently the mere idea of aiming something so accurate to my heart made him cry.”

Ragnor deeply regrets asking.

With a truly despairing sigh Magnus stares longingly in the direction of his earlier salute, “he’s so pretty when he cries. I wonder if I don’t dodge his next attack, how beautiful he’ll look after.”

Ragnor coughs and tries very hard to remind himself that while Magnus knows more than most about nephilim society and culture, it’s also outdated by anywhere from two to four hundred years.

“Duckie—” Lowering his pipe with a sigh, Ragnor looks at Magnus with tired eyes, “that kind of courting is considered rare and outdated by current standards.  Even the ones that do try to keep the traditions alive can’t keep them from being changed.  I’m fairly certain, duckie, that instead of assassination attempts they just all out brawl. Or challenge each other to demonstrations of skills.  I’m not sure your paramour quite knows what either of you are doing.  It seems to me like he’s just following your lead.”

Ragnor will later wish that he’d taken the time to keep his gaze on Magnus.  As it is, he was in the middle of re-filling his pipe bowl and missed the look of unholy and terrifying glee that crossed Magnus’ face.

—

Alec hasn’t seen a glimpse of Magnus in what feels like days.

It’s barely been a dozen hours but time apart from Magnus stretches across the divide of reality, making it pass too slowly.

It’s his own fault, however he’s hoping that at least this time, his sincerity will make it through. 

Poems written by warlocks long forgotten have been carved into the rosewood shaft of Alec’s arrows.  Each tip has been personally carved from magical gems, runes changing them from mere trinkets to artifacts.

Hopefully the reaction of passing through Magnus’ wards won’t cause these ones to explode, Magnus had sent him a rather scathing fire message after that.  Something about ‘having to hear about all the work Alec did and then not even getting to enjoy it’.

Magnus had spent seventeen hours tearing apart and relayering his wards, not to make it harder for Alec’s weapons but to keep them ‘intact enough to be saved’.

If Alec had ever been in doubt about Magnus' sincerity, it was hurriedly fed to the rabid flames of Magnus’ prideful obsession in Alec’s abilities. Alec still isn’t sure how Magnus got his number, but he can’t deny how much he enjoys waking up every afternoon to see a new picture of something Alec made on display in Magnus’ lair.  

Apparently — and while Alec is curious about reading it for himself he hasn’t had the time — trophy walls filled with courtship attempts were popular a few centuries ago.  It hadn’t really seemed all that interesting until Magnus sent him a picture, the first arrow Alec shot at him as the gleaming centerpiece of a magical sculpture.

One that Magnus had made by hand and magic, to cradle Alec’s accidental but sincere declaration of interest.

Since then, Alec has tried to be more careful and considerate of the weapons he uses to strike Magnus down with.  If these are supposed to be trophies, proud mementos to memorialize the start of their relationship, then Alec is all for it.

After he makes them perfect of course.

“What are you working on now, Alexander?”  Magnus’ voice is smooth even coming from the bluetooth Alec’s set up.

“If I tell you and they get ruined will you be more upset or less?” Alec actually wants to know, it’s important information that will affect the success and failures of his future projects. 

“Oh, so it’s for me then?”

“I’m not exactly hand-making threat displays for anyone else, Magnus.  Do you know how hard I’ve had to keep this hidden from the Clave? If we’re lucky everyone will just think I have a grudge.  A very deep grudge.” Alec really doesn’t want to be the one to explain that he’s using his personal adamas allotment to create love poems to someone he hasn’t even held hands with yet.

“Oh yes, because while the Clave will dilly-dally about one of their Commander’s trying to assassinate the local High Warlock, they’ll move rather fast when they realize it’s a traditional courtship to said warlock.” Magnus’ voice is as flat and unimpressed as any time they talk about the Clave and Alec nods, forgetting Magnus can’t see him.

“Legal loopholes and subterfuge, it’s the best way to tie them up in their own laws until it’s too late for them to do anything without breaking a bunch of their own laws.  And as you so brilliantly pointed out at me, the Clave raging bias and discrimination means that they didn’t write anything into the laws that doesn’t allow them to be used for and by downworlders.  Now we just need to get that far.”  If Alec sounds huffy then it’s entirely MAgnus’ fault.  They could have been official weeks ago, but as a warlock who hates nephilim and has lived centuries, Magnus often proves that he knows more than Alec about his people's own history. 

And while he doesn’t know much about nephilim culture — he still knows more than most — and most surprising is that Magnus seems to know everything Alec doesn’t about traditional courtships.  It’s a relief because while Alec is now interested enough to look into it someday, he really doesn’t have the time to be hunting down all this information that Magnus conveniently already knows and so helpfully shares.

Still, while he does want to indulge in and respect tradition, Alec finds it harder and harder to hold his patience.

“Most courtships are accepted after the first few tries, Magnus. Among the shadowhunters I know, none of them just get a kiss on the cheek and are given pointers on ‘how to try harder’.”

“Just because I’m most willing to be caught by you doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the chase.” There’s laughter on the line and Alec can imagine how Magnus’ lips would curve in a pleased smirk, how the amusement would brighten his gold eyes.

It really is a pity that Alec can’t be there to see it.

It’s with an agreeing sigh that he  keeps his last thoughts to himself.

He knows full well that this entire venture is just a game to Magnus. It’s not that Magnus is playing with Alec, but they’re both playing with the Clave in a way.  The minute Magnus gets bored Alec will no longer be after Magnus.  

He will just be had.  

By Magnus.

Despite knowing that he’s on the losing side of an unwinnable game, Alec is enjoying the entirety of it. 

Even if he wants to lose a little faster.

It helps that while he may not be able to be with and next to Magnus, they do talk and often.

At the beginning it was Magnus complaining about Alec’s lack of flair, the poor quality of his weapons — not the integrity, but the design — and even the fact that Alec had the perfect opportunity to throw a knife at him and he hadn’t.

— it was because the knife was used for a far more important purpose, actually killing the Circle member behind Magnus — 

Now Magnus creates accolades for Alec’s handiwork, murmurs lilting words of wonder and admiration through the phone, all praising the craftsmanship born of Alec’s hands.

Alec is used to not winning.  

He’s accustomed to fighting as hard as he can but never being good enough even when he’s at the top.

This is different.

Perhaps for the first time in his life he doesn’t mind the looming certainty of failure.

Never before has failure been accompanied by such a sweet reward.  It’s really only Magnus’ utter fascination with nephilim courtship and then insisting he wouldn’t think Alec was serious if he didn’t do the same.

Which again, Alec really wasn’t expecting the man of his interests — a warlock with bad blood between he and Alec’s entire race let alone the tensions between Magnus and Alec’s parents — to be so interested in having Alec try and kill him.

It’s not as common as it used to be, but in some of the more strict families — those based and pledged and bred for the code of a hunter — marriage was dictated by strength even over blood ties.

Alec still isn’t sure how Magnus found out this particular courtship but he’s relieved he knew or accidentally shooting an arrow at Magnus because Alec was so overwhelmed with his beauty could have gone quite differently. 

—

Magnus was in fact playing with alec. He already won his round with the clave.

Magnus and alec are like officially betrothed and practically married just without consummation by nephilim standards and Magnus is just like: wow, being the center of Alexander’s attention and devotion is something i’m not willing to give up yet.

—

Magnus mentally: ... did he just shoot at me???

Alec outloud but thinking mentally: aklejrfklaberlhfb i didn’t mean to propose so suddenly but i have no regrets but fuck i almost hit him

Magnus: ... oh it’s that ritual.... My, my aren’t i flattered. But also if he’s going to do it, he should do it properly (magnus heard about this ritual like in its beginnings and has forgotten that with time comes change. The ritual is a lot more lax than when he learned about it. Alec is like: he’s worth the effort

—

alec: I am tired of trying to kill you to appease your fucked up sense of humor.

magnus: you enjoy my humo, Alexander

alec: NOT WHEN ITS COMPETING WITH CUDDLES. I HAVENT EVEN HELD YOUR HAND YET

magnus without even trying to pretend to be sad: oh... am I not worthy of shadowhunters sincerity, Alec?"

alec: ... i'm polishing my best throwing knives

magnus: good boy. now, I will be taking a walk in Time's Park at dusk tomorrow. Try not to miss this time darling

(the true reason behind this all)

Alec: -apologized for shooting at him because while he doesn’t regrets the intent he’s horrified at the thought of hurting magnus-

Magnus: I will never forgive him for apologizing for his proposal! the audacity of men! regretting something important the moment its done.