#have a bug that messes with your memory

[glitchgh0sty]

No real context,, just messing around with the Decepticon Prowl design 😌🫶

Imagining that he might be able to integrate himself into the databases and tech almost like an extension of his conscience or body,,

Hol up,, what if he was able to move it as well!? As in, maybe the advancements Shockwave gave Prowl allow him to connect to any database, and just, move it around?? From security cameras, to artillery,, he could fight from a distance! Quietly, but effectively? All sharpshooter like!? 🤨,

Imma just let that thought rotate around for a bit,, don’t mind me, 🙌TuŤ

The nonexistent context ✨

[bitchdafuqyousay]

sometimes I think the ghost hanging around, peering over your shoulder while you go about day to day isn't always bad. sometimes they're not a malevolent thing, or even an annoying one. but maybe you shouldn't just shrug n let them hang around; even if they aren't bad, if you let 'em loom too much for too long they might get too big, n then their shadow will eat yours, n then they'll eat you too. even if they didn't want to, didn't mean to

[not-neverland06]

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, ��Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[drgnflyteabox]

ghost x fem!reader

simon finds a reason to live // stalking, depression, disassociation, simons past child abuse, body horror imagery, you're a single mom, minor sexism-kindaish

Simon's humanity is an external thing, amorphous and disconnected. He might've had a tether as a child, a distinct human softness necessary for survival, but it's since been deadened.

It's not so much a lack as it is a shrinkage. Empathy, emotional intelligence, they come natural at first but terrorize someone, neglect them? They'll turn black and rot as any limb without oxygen.

His father is long dead, he knows this, has read the obituary (full of lies) and pissed on his grave (twice).

And yet his father has the power to strike lightening through the only soft part of him left on any given day, at any given time, at any given place–

His father lives in the way that his heart nearly stops at the shop when the child beside him knocks down a full display of four cheese tomato sauce, glass and red slop crashing to the floor.

Run.

He freezes but his eyes snap to the sound, startlingly loud, mind racing and yet thinking of nothing at all as he feels the fear of god race through him.

Dad's gonna fucking kill you, Tommy laughs raucously.

Simon's never really blamed Tommy, but his voice echoes in his head sometimes too. It does again now, dad's got two tickets for the weekend.

The child takes two steps back, shocked at themselves and the mess and the loud loud sound that has quieted the rest of the store.

He thinks of all the ways he'll step in when the father rounds the corner. Then it's you and his breath goes thin.

"Awe, honey," you say softly. Kindly.

"Oops," the kid says, not a trace of fear in their face.

"Did'ja knock these over, Bram?" you crouch down, careful of the glass, and gently move the boy to the side, "that's okay. Do you remember what we do when we break a glass?"

Simon is still frozen– dumfounded, really. Your patience throws him off.

Fucking moron, his father screams in his head, useless! before he hurts Simon so bad the memory loops and loops, restarting just to torture him.

Fucking moron, fucking moron, useless, fucking moron–

And then you smile sheepishly up at him, eyes crinkling in the corners, and that soft human part of him eternally drifting sticks back to his skin and spreads like a rash.

They don't make you pay for any of the jars, nor do they make you clean up the mess. Still, you crouch again beside your son and explain to him again what to do when he breaks a glass.

Make sure you have shoes on. Don't use your bare hands. Call a grownup.

He's addicted to the sound of your voice. The softness of it, how gently you make sure to speak so that the message is taken in without any kind of fear.

Simon follows your car like the sound of your voice is the warm smell of pie on the windowsill and he's Mickey Mouse floating after it.

Awe, honey, loops through his head. Awe, honey. Awe, honey.

He doesn't make himself known just yet. All he does is note down your address for the next time he's on leave, tells John he's met someone and she's a sweetheart.

When he's back on leave he watches you struggle, and it tears at the new growth of softness.

You work, dropping Bram at school and then spending the day at the office. Then, when Bram is asleep and you've cleaned the house, you open your laptop back up and work a second job.

That just won't do. It takes everything in him not to kick your door down at the weak spot and have you whisper in his ear for a living.

Not yet. Not yet. He tries to loop that, but all he can hear is your sweet voice pleading with the electricity company and it becomes harder and harder.

Please, you say through the bug, I just need four more days. Then I get my paycheck.

Simon thinks about putting his hands around the answering voice's neck when they deny you–

But that's a bandaid solution.

It'll be better to eliminate the problem altogether.

Not the piling bills on your kitchen table that you tuck away when the child goes to school, nor the boss who shouts at you 'til he's red in the face.

No, he'll eliminate the real problem. The way he's seen John do, the way he's seen Gaz take example.

He'll be the man in your life, soon.

[whorelaud]

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (06)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content fluff, suggestive (sorry...) unresolved tension, a slight panic attack (nothing too serious!), confrontation, lil angst?!?!

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 05 ! 06 ¡ 07

rafecameron

WY@ - brent faiyaz 

liked by sarahcameron, ryanontop and 1,982 others

rafecameron Doing shit I really shouldn't do for real 🤷🏼‍♂️

view all comments 

yourusername nice post g ↳ rafecameron Thanks g ↳ yourusername you're welcome homie 💯 ↳ rafecameron I’m not your homie ↳ yourusername alr bro 😎 ↳ rafecameron 🤐 

yoursername rafe cameron is never beating the slut allegations ↳ rafecameron I'll take that as a compliment thank you! Learned from the best 😊 ↳ yourusername Are you slut shaming me right now ↳ rafecameron WHAT NO I’m just saying like you know ahah Ahaha fuck ↳ yourusername yeah right ↳ popeheyward This is gross by the way ↳ yourusername shut up

sarahcameron put that cigarette down little boy ↳ rafecameron Did bug give you the ‘little boy’ virus… ↳ yourusername it's not a Virus. Embrace it 💜 ↳ rafecameron Okay 💜

sarahcameron you forgot the #aimed ↳ rafecameron Shut up Sarah ↳ yourusername LMAO

yourusername watchu know about brent ⁉️ ↳ rafecameron I love Brent ↳ yourusername hmm 🤔 ↳ rafecameron Are you doubting my music taste right now? ↳ yourusername Yes

ryanontop Shii baby you look fine asl 😍 ↳ rafecameron Stawp! 🙊 ↳ jjmaybanks Awh fawk nah

popeheyward Yooo 🫡 liked by rafecameron

user1 Nah who got my dawg posting song lyrics ☠️

user2 Bro’s pussy whipped

user3 who hurt you bae ❤️

user4 may god bless me with your genes ↳ user3 ?? what ↳ user4 im saying iw ant to have his kids 😊

user5 bismallah my body had a reaction to the third slide ❤️

user6 this is fucking insane go fucking kill yourself you fucking manwhore stop fucking posting shit like this ↳ yourusername this is so real you go user6 ↳ user6 thank you 😇 someone needed to say it ↳ rafecameron Uhhh

user7 i told my parents about us

kelc3eee Fit is hard 🔥 ↳ rafecameron Thanks

It’s been three days since you last kissed Rafe, and yet, you still couldn’t get the thought out of your head, reminiscing over the memory each time you strived to distract your mind from it. 

Waking up the next morning was like a punch to your stomach, your hopes of it being a dream instantly destroyed with the harsh reality of kissing Rafe. You ended up practically locking yourself in your room, too afraid Rafe might say something, address the said kiss and stupid mistake of reaching for his face in the first place. 

To your surprise, Rafe did not bring it up, greeting you with a sheepish grin once you joined them downstairs. It puzzled your brain, as it filled with a million questions over why he didn’t make an effort to bring it up. It was slightly disappointing, even if it was a mistake, he had every right to sort out the situation, pull you to the side and remind you how wrong it was to kiss him, knowing well aware that he was forbidden to the touch. 

But he didn’t, and if he did hint it, you definitely chose to look past it, brushing it off everytime you found yourself alone with him, choosing to avoid the situation and feign ignorance to the way your heart would stupidly flutter.  

Now, three days have passed, and things are, well, they’re normal. Your friends were surfing, while you sunbathed on the shore, not in the mood to get yourself wet. Rafe, of course, never left Ryan’s side, messing around with your brother to get him riled up, knowing how mad he easily got. 

Their giggles echoed through the distance, tugging a faint smile on your lips as you admired from afar, squinting your eyes due to the bright sun beaming through your skin, blocking your vision even with the pair of sunglasses you had on. 

Your arms plopped up against the towel beneath you, supporting your body from giving out, even after maintaining the same position for over a while now. The smile on your lips faltered at the sight of Rafe exiting the water, straightening up when you noticed him strolling in your direction. 

Heat flushed your face as you caught sight of his bare chest, waterdrops running along the sunkissed flesh, leading down to his drenched shorts, as they hung low around his hips. Your throat ran dry when your gaze halted just beneath his bellybutton, the trail of hair leading to under the fabric of his bottoms leaving little to the imagination. It drove you crazy, eager to see where it guides, head wandering with sinful thoughts every time you caught sight of it. 

You cleared your throat, busying yourself with something else, fearing Rafe would catch you practically thirsting over him. The latter however, didn’t say much, dusting the sand off the towel beside yours, before he sprawled himself next to you, crossing his legs to mimic your position. 

“Why aren’t you joining the rest?” Rafe questioned, cutting through the comfortable silence. 

“Not in the mood.” You replied, keeping your answer short, afraid your voice would crack if you further spoke. 

“‘S that so?” He shot back, nudging your foot with his knee. “You’re boring.” 

“Boring?!” You muttered with defense, offended by the remark. “Take that back.” 

“Hmm…” he trailed off, squinting one of his eyes, blinded by the scorching sun. “No.” 

“You’re such an idiot.” You scoffed, stifling out a laugh. “Are you not going back in the water?”

“I am,” he exclaimed, now turned in your direction. “Can I borrow these real quick?”

“Borrow what?–” Your question was cut short, as Rafe’s hand came in view, not giving you a chance to process his action as he snatched the sunglasses off, causing you to yelp with surprise. “What the hell?!”

“Oh, these are nice.” He mumbled, adjusting them around the bridge of his nose. “A bit small, but ‘s fine.” 

“You’re stretching them out!” You gasped, reaching for them back, merely for the boy to dodge your hand, tilting his head down with a mischievous grin smeared all over. “C’mon, Rafe, don’t be like this.” 

“Like what?” He cocked his head to the side, observing you through his now tinted vision. 

“Rafe!!” You cried out, fully sitting up now. “I spent my hard earned money on these, I’ll kill you if they break.”

“Your hard earned money?” He repeated, further teasing you with his comments. 

“Okay, my dad got them for me, but–” you started, growing a bit embarrassed at the admission. 

“I’ll give them back,” he hummed, taking them off and folding them in place. “Only if you join me, though.” 

“I’m not going in the water.” You refused, dismissing his attempt with a nod of disbelief. 

“Why not?!” He cooed, “Come on, it'll be fun.” 

“Are you crazy?” You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “I’m not getting my hair wet.” 

“Please?” He further pleaded, jutting his lips into a pout. “Ryan left, who am I gonna be with, now that he’s gone?”

Your head shifted back to the water, merely to confirm his statement. And true to his words, Ryan was no longer in sight, having probably disappeared back into the house in the short while you and Rafe were arguing. 

“Hang out with the rest.” You shot back, addressing your friends, as they messed around with each other. “They’ll keep you company.” 

“Have you seen them?” Rafe’s face twisted with disgust, his lips forming into a frown. “They’re eating each other’s faces, God knows what they’re doing in that water.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” You replied, disregarding his statement, and looking past the last sentence he muttered. You saw your chance, and took it, contemplating before you snatched the pair of glasses from his hold, muffling your next words with haste. “I’ll kill you next time you steal my stuff.” 

“Is that a yes?” Rafe perked up with excitement, taking your silence as a yes before he shot up, instantly offering you a hand. “Let’s go.” 

“What?” You angled your head back, locking your gaze with his, slightly taken aback by the hand he offered. “I don’t recall agreeing to this…”

“Well, you’re obligated to join me now; don’t give me false hope then back down when I urge you to do it.” He started, his words somehow foreshadowing a deeper meaning to the teasing statement. Rafe bent down, just enough to take his hand in yours before he pulled you up, a screech of surprise rattling out of your throat. 

“Rafe!” You chanted with disbelief, stumbling over your own feet in the process of running, unable to catch up with Rafe, who hurried his way to the water. “Slow down!”

He replied with a chuckle, a rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins as the water touched your feet, engulfing your legs with each step you took, halting when it was just above your knees. 

“Wait– fuck, it’s cold.” You started, hands grabbing Rafe’s forearm for support, a mere attempt to stop him. And it did, with the boy pausing to steal a glimpse in your direction. “Let me get used to the water temperature.” 

“You’ll get used to it in no time.” He rolled his eyes, though he slowed down his pace, walking leisurely for you to adjust to the cold. 

Rafe chuckled as a wave came crashing against your bare torso, stiffening in your spot as a shiver ran down your spine, causing goosebumps to break out across your arms. A deep sigh tumbled past your parted lips, finger nails practically digging into Rafe’s arms everytime a wave would hit. 

Your friends greeted you from afar, not questioning the fact that you were alone with Rafe, a big distance separating you from the rest. Deep down, you speculated the fact that they knew, choosing to avoid the topic every time Sarah would ask about Rafe, or whether there was any progress in whatever you had; which you’d dismiss, telling her it was nothing. 

“Can we stop here?” You questioned, when the water barely reached your chin, now standing on your tippy toes to keep yourself steady with the flowing water. 

“Here?” Rafe repeated, brows knitting with confusion. “Why, are you scared?” 

“Slightly, yeah.” You admitted, pursing your lips into a thin line to avoid water from entering your mouth. “This is the deepest I’ve been without a life jacket.”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Rafe’s expression coiled with concern. 

You nodded, angling your head up, not risking how rocky the waves get. 

“Don’t worry,” Rafe suddenly spoke, earning your attention when his arm sneaked around your waist, ceasing some of the distance separating you from him. “I got you.” 

“Nope, that’s it, I’m getting out.” You muttered, turning in his arms, in an attempt to walk back out, merely for Rafe to tighten his hold around you, with your back now pressing firmly to his broad chest. 

Your breath caught in your throat, suddenly very aware of his presence, and the mess you got yourself into. For some reason, this felt oddly intimate, despite the boy’s pure intentions, striving to convince you to continue on with him, in spite of you refusing to. 

“I’ll hold you.” His voice dropped barely above a whisper, turning you back around, all while keeping himself steady. “Don’t be scared.”

“But I am scared,” you replied, emphasizing the ‘am’ in the process. “Sure, I know how to swim, but what if you get a cramp, and I try to save you, then both of us drown?” 

“Come on, I’ll be your life jacket.” He grinned, deliberately dragging you deeper into the water. “Are you doubting my skills?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” You uttered, eyes widening when your feet could no longer reach the ground. “My parents will kill you if something happens to me, I swear to god.” 

“Then I’d have to get rid of both of us.” He joked, halting when you were far enough from the shore, stilling you with the arm sturdy around your waist. “How is that? Wanna go deeper?” 

“No!” You quickly shot back, hands flying to his shoulders, holding onto them to keep yourself from sinking. “This is good.” 

“If you say so.” He chuckled, ignoring the way his pulse quickened when your hands made contact with the skin around his shoulders, your nails lightly dragging over the flesh. He rubbed soothing circles to your side, the gesture a mere attempt to ease you up. “Relax, nothing is gonna happen to you.” 

“I’m relaxed.” You lied through your teeth, avoiding Rafe’s gaze, and instead admiring the view surrounding the rocky path leading to the mountains. “It’s so pretty from here.”

“It is.” Rafe mumbled, attention fixed on you. “Super pretty.”

Your lips tugged into a smile at his words, head shifting back in his direction, where he was shamelessly staring at you, not even failing to hide it. You dusted your face with your fingers, flashing Rafe a confused look, as to question why his gaze burned through you. 

“Is there something on my face?” You asked, coming to a halt when he shook his head. “Then what is it?” 

“Nothing,” he stifled out a laugh, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re jus’ pretty.” 

“What?” You choked through a breath, growing flustered from the sudden compliment. “What was that for?” 

“What?” Rafe’s tongue darted out, coating his lips with a glossy layer of spit. “I said, you’re pretty. Is that not allowed?” 

“Shut up.” You shoved his shoulder, laughing off your embarrassment, though your ears burned with heat. 

“You know,” Rafe swallowed, admiring your surroundings. “I heard there were sharks in this area.” 

“What? Where?” You shouted, heartbeat quickening as panic settled in. “Don’t fuck with me, Rafe!”

“I thought you liked sharks.” His voice lowered with suspicion, eyebrows arching in a teasing manner. 

“Not as they’re about to fucking eat me.” You replied, fully ceasing the distance as you wrapped your arms around Rafe’s neck, pressing your chest close to his. “Get me out of here.” 

Rafe took your horror as a chance, the hand on your waist trailing up your back, until it settled just beneath your bikini top. “Relax, it was a joke.” 

Your head turned to face him, ready to scold him before you noticed how close he was, nose tulling to brush over yours. A shaky exhale stuttered out of your throat, shivers running down your spine when you caught Rafe’s gaze flickering to your lips, the action so subtle, you would’ve looked past it if he wasn’t mere inches away. 

Rafe’s lips slightly parted, tongue fidgeting with the roof of his mouth, fingers squeezing around your side, striving to hold himself back, and not kiss you right then in there. You were close, a little too close for comfort, he wanted nothing but to fuck the barrier Ryan created for you two, dive in and hope for the best. 

His thoughts were interrupted when you shoved his shoulders, eyebrows furrowing as your lips jut into a pout, one evidently displaying your distress. “That wasn’t funny! Why would you joke about that?!” 

“Chill, I’m messing with you.” Rafe snickered, eyes glued to your face, well aware he’d betray himself if he let his gaze wander past your neck. 

“By telling me I’ll get eaten to death by sharks?!” You huffed, pausing as you angled your head to the side. “Wait– how’d you know I like sharks?”

“I have my ways.” He cooed, pupils dilating with glint. 

“Mhm, yeah right.” You rolled your eyes, figuring it was either Sarah, or your brother. “Let’s head back.” 

“But we just got here!” Rafe protested. 

“I don’t trust you.” You defensively shot back, shuffling around in his hold. 

Rafe chuckled, abiding to your order. He swam back, with you clinging to him for dear life, not daring to risk it and let go. Though, of course, that wasn’t the end, as Rafe suddenly froze, groaning while his face twisted in pain. 

“What’s wrong?” You immediately asked, concern washing over your expression. 

“I think– fuck.” He groaned, arms loosening around your waist. “I think my leg is cramping.”

“Wait what?” You frowned at his statement, eyes widening with shock when his figure disappeared out of sight, suddenly struggling to level himself with you. “Are you serious, oh my god, should I call for help?!” 

You nearly submerged under water when your arms reached for the latter, struggling to drag him up as he sailed down, your hold the only thing keeping him from sinking further into the deep sea. 

Wasn’t it easy to drag weights in the water? So, why was it so difficult to get Rafe to the surface?

“Don’t fucking drown on me, Rafe, please.” You muttered with frustration, heart welling with fear, as your vision blurred, the corner of your eyes brimmed with tears. “Somebody help! Please! It’s an eme–”

Your words cut short when Rafe came in sight, water splashing everywhere with the force of him exiting the water. Your mouth gaped to speak, met with utter silence in return, observing as Rafe chuckled at your reaction, feigning ignorance to your panicked state. 

“Did that get you?” He erupted into a fit of giggles, wiping the water from his eyes. 

“Are you serious?” Your tone washed with disbelief, heartbeat so loud you could hear it thumping through your ears. “Why would you joke about that?”

“Take a joke, it’s not that serious.” He stated, the smile smeared on his lips fading when he noticed how upset you visibly looked. 

“A joke is supposed to be funny, dickhead.” You fluttered your eyes, unable to manage the tears rolling down your face. “What if something actually happened to you?” 

“Wait, are you crying?” His breath hitched as he let realization sink in, chest swelling with discomfort at the consequences of his actions. You weakly punched his torso, fleeing from the touch when Rafe attempted to inch closer to you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His hands cupped your face, resting just above the curve of your jaw as his thumb wiped away your tears, now mixed with salt-water. He repeatedly rubbed his finger over your cheeks, striving to calm you down with the subtle gesture. 

“It won’t happen again,” he started, tilting your head with the hands engulfing your face. “I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously.” 

“Whatever,” you dismissed his apology, though deep down it softened your heart. “It still wasn’t funny, I was scared you’d actually die.” 

Rafe’s lips twitched into a smile at your statement, unable to contain the laughter bubbling through his chest. You looked absolutely adorable, leaving him speechless as his action spoke for his affection. He moved forward, leveling your head down before he ceased the distance between you two, and capturing your lips in a soft peck that lasted a near of five seconds.  

Your body stiffened at the gesture, so taken aback you almost choked on your own spit in the process. The plush of his lips brushing over yours felt like feathers, as the warmness of his mouth engulfed your skin. It made you yearn for time to stop, enjoy this while it lasted, even if it was for a short moment. 

“There, it’s completely my fault.” He whispered once he pulled back, face mere inches away from yours, you could feel his breath fanning over your nose. “Does that make up for it?” 

Your gaze seeked his blue eyes through the small distance separating you, finger nails lightly grazing over his arms. Silence heaved the air, as the atmosphere filled with unresolved tension you’ve both been avoiding for the past few days, weeks, even. 

Rafe kissed you, and it’s not some stupid joke to get you riled up, or mess around for a reaction out of you. He did it because he wanted to, completely looking over the fact that you were his best friend’s sister, let alone someone he craved in the dimness of the night, somewhere hidden, where no one would judge him for it.  

Rafe has been dying to confront you about the kiss, turning into a giddy mess every time he would reminisce over the memory of your lips softly brushing over the corner of his mouth. And though it was small, barely a peck, it drove him insane. 

That night, Rafe chose to ignore the guilt rising through his chest as he got off to the thought of you; being able to touch you though he knew you were far out of his reach, not for his gaze to admire. His chest burned with forbidden desire, growing aroused every time he caught you in none but your sheer sleeping shorts, covering nothing and leaving little to the imagination. 

“You know,” Rafe muttered through a ragged breath, “About that ni–”

The palm of your hand instantly found Rafe’s mouth, covering it before he could further speak. You knew exactly what he was planning to say, but you weren’t ready. Not right now, still flustered by the kiss he so casually planted to your lips. 

Addressing the kiss from three nights ago in the middle of the water, mind you, in an area secluded from everyone else? Yeah, no. That wasn’t quite what you had in mind, Rafe left you no choice but to shut him out. 

“Hmm?” You hummed, trying to change the topic.

“What?” Rafe muffled, lips barely moving due to your hand covering his mouth.

“We should leave,” you fluttered your eyes at him, “The sun is setting.”

“Right,” he spoke, eyes shifting down to your digits yet engulfing his chin. “You can let go of me now.”

“Oh,” you swiftly retrieved your hand, clearing your throat as you turned around to avoid meeting his gaze. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Rafe scoffed, following in your steps as you struggled to swim back, breaking into a grin when your arms pushed through the water, slightly splashing the latter with the gesture. “Here, let me help you.” 

“I’m good!” You dismissed the suggestion, letting out a sigh of relief when your feet eventually reached the ground, ultimately approaching a safer zone. “I can handle myself.”

Rafe’s giggles seeped through the silence, watching with a glint of amusement as you aimed for the shore, running your way back to the house when you did so. You gave him no chance to confront you about the situation, though the suspense was killing you, it was just not the right time, nor a good place to do it. 

Freaking out felt like an understatement for your emotions, letting out a silent scream as soon as you approached your room. Fuck, this wasn’t the first time you’ve been kissed, so why did it feel like you were in middle school, sneaking around the playground to kiss your crush? 

It was humiliating, to say the least. Rafe kissed you, and it did nothing but make you grow more fond of him, increasing your affection for him. Butterflies seeped through your stomach, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips, letting yourself go now that you’re alone. 

Your shower filled with giddiness, as you sang along to the lyrics playing in the background, too caught up with the act to realize you’ve spent the majority of the evening in there. You continued getting ready, doing your skincare, and technically everything you would do on an everything-shower day. 

A loud ping caught your attention as your gaze trailed down to your phone, eyebrows knitting with puzzlement when it continued buzzing with notifications. You adjusted the pearl necklace around your neck, fastening your pace when curiosity got the best of you, as you instantly aimed for your phone, heart skipping a beat when you read the contact name of the sender. 

It was from Rafe, multiple messages, at that. 

rafe 👍: Hey

rafe 👍: Come eat

rafe 👍: We got takeout 🥡 

A laugh bubbled out of your throat at the emoji, the invitation silly, yet tempting. 

You: im not hungry! go ahead and eat without me :)

rafe 👍: No

You: boy… wdym no 

rafe 👍: Come down and eat

Your eyes quirked with suspicion, puzzled over why he was insisting despite you refusing. 

You: did you poison my food

You: why are you insisting…

rafe 👍: Damn… I can't even invite you to eat without you making me out to be a dick

You: i mean you are what you eat 😇

rafe 👍:😐 Quit it

You: mb boo

You: is this a date

Rafe’s bubble appeared and disappeared off the screen, the amount of time he took concerning you for a moment. 

rafe 👍: Could be one

rafe 👍: Only if you want it to be

Your fingers hesitantly hovered over the keyboard, staring at the message, as if doing that would make the keen in his statement disappear. You swallowed around your dry throat, setting your phone down, merely to process your emotions. 

A date. 

He can’t say shit like this and expect you not to like him. 

At this point, he was playing with your feelings, and that thought alone had your heart breaking to pieces. It’s only been a month, and yet, you were this infatuated with him. Bearing to cross the line for Rafe spoke to you like no other, breaking the unspoken boundaries you set for each other. 

You don’t know when it started, from lingering gazes turned into subtle touches, eventually oscillated to heated moments smeared with desire. Wanting each other, not being able to do anything about it because it was wrong. It all fuzzed up your brain. 

Rafe was testing you, with each time he threw a hint in your direction. Hell, he should know not to confuse you, as he already went down the rabbit hole of why he couldn't date you, with Ryan warning him every time he’d joke about being into you. 

Enjoying it wouldn't hurt, right? Choosing to push the guilt down and let your heart bloom with joy every time Rafe is around was okay, right? Because it’s human nature, how were you supposed to ignore him when his mere presence was so tempting, making you nothing but crave him more. 

Guilt was temporary, but regretting this? It was going to haunt you forever, tulling you with decisions you hesitated to commit, afraid they would hurt others, fully abandoning how you felt. Those were your emotions, though, your needs, you had every right to take the risk. 

With that, you typed a playful ‘shut up’ back, before heading downstairs, instantly letting puzzlement settle in when you spotted only JJ and Kiara, sitting along with Rafe, who perked up at the sound of your steps.

“Where’s the others?” You questioned, wrapping Kiara in a swift embrace, before you seated yourself next to her. 

“John B and Sarah went out for dinner, and I saw Ryan leave with your dad.” She explained, chewing down the mouthful of food. “I have no idea where Pope and Cleo are, though.” 

“Oh, they said they’re grabbing booze.” JJ stifled out a laugh, eyebrows quirking in a teasing meaning. 

“For what?!” You asked, offering Rafe a tight-lipped smile when he passed you your plate. 

“Shut up, JJ.” Kiara rolled her eyes, fixing her attention back on you. “He’s messing, don’t listen to him.” 

“I’m not lying–” his words cut short when Kiara kicked his knee, the gesture earning a breathy grunt out of the latter. “What was that for?” 

“To keep your mouth shut.” The girl replied, forcing a fake beam across her lips. 

Rafe snorted as they continued bickering throughout the whole time you joined them. He flashed you an apologetic smile, not aware of the chaos awaiting you two. Fortunately, JJ and Kiara excused themselves once they were done, informing you they’d be chilling by the shore for the night, leaving you all alone with Rafe.

The air heaved with tension, the atmosphere filling with unspoken confessions you both oughted to address. Rafe’s been full, using the food as an excuse to enjoy your presence for a little longer. 

“‘You ignorin’ me?” Rafe started, scraping his fork against the veggie pieces splayed on the plate. 

“What?” You shot back, frowning at the sudden assumption. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, it’s just that,” he tilted his head to the side, putting the utensil in his hold down. “You seem uncomfortable.”

“Well, I’m not.” You mimicked, playfully rolling your eyes. “Besides, we don’t even speak for me to ignore you.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” He nodded his head, gaze glued to his arm plopped on the table. “You’d rather kiss me instead.”

“What?” A choked cough barely exits your throat, eyes widening with shock over Rafe’s statement. That caught you off guard, even more when Rafe maintained a blank expression, offering you a glass of water to down the rest of your food. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, “Do you need more water?” 

“Why would you bring that up?” You brushed off his concern, his words echoing over and over in the back of your brain. 

“You kissed me,” he repeated himself, stating the obvious. “Did you not?” 

“I did, but–” you stammered, face flushing with heat. “I didn’t mean to?–”

“You grabbed my face, leaned forward, then proceeded to kiss me.” He muttered, reminiscing back to the memory. “What about that did you not mean?” 

“It was a mistake!” You hurried to respond, stumbling over your own words in the process. “I was drunk, out of my mind–”

“Oh, so it’s a mistake?” He snorted, straightening up in his seat. “You go around kissing people when you’re drunk?” 

“Okay, why are you being a dick?” Your nose scrunched with frustration, exploding in the latter’s face. “And if I do? Then what, you’re gonna do something about it?”

“I’m trying to make sense of the situation here,” he shot back, his arm moving in front of his chest. “I’m not fucking around, okay? I’ve been dying to speak to you, but you never gave me a chance to explain myself.” 

“What’s there to explain, Rafe?” Your voice lowered in tone, taken aback by how fast the conversation took a turn. “I’m like Sarah, huh? Then you go n’ fuckin’ kiss me?”

“Why are you switching the–”

“No, let’s discuss the incident from earlier, since we’re fucking talking.” You cut him off, jaw clenching to prevent yourself from breaking down. “You keep pulling these stunts on me– first in the grocery store, then in the car, and earlier in the water– what is it that you want? You know Ryan won’t be happy if he found out, so why do you keep– why do you keep fucking confusing me, Rafe?” 

“I–” Rafe’s words caught in his throat, hands clenching into fists. 

“Forget it.” You clicked your teeth, grabbing your phone as you stood to your feet, streaking your way past Rafe, with the intentions of reaching the stairs. 

Rafe called out your name, voice breaking with despair. “Where are you going?”

The way your name rolled off his tongue made your heart skip a beat, letting your eyes force shut as you feigned glancing back, afraid you’d give in if you caught sight of his expression. 

You entered one of the guest bathrooms, locking the door behind you before you immediately dialed Cleo’s number, impatiently clicking your fingers over the phone as you waited for the girl to pick up. 

A sigh of relief escaped your throat when she did, a bit of shuffling going on her end. 

“Hey Cleo,” you muttered through a breath, taking a deep inhale, as your thumb pressed to your bottom lip. “I– sorry, I know you’re out with Pope, I jus’ really needed to talk to someone and I–”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Cleo spoke, interrupting your rambling. “Take a deep breath, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be here.” 

“Okay,” you nodded, though she couldn’t see you, obliging to her orders. “Sorry, fuck–”

“Why are you apologizing, girl?” She shot back, attempting to soothe away your worries. “Now slowly, tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“I kind of, uhm…” you trailed off, fidgeting with the ring hugging your finger. “I fucked up, Cleo. I got ahead of myself, and ruined everything.” 

“No you didn’t.” Cleo assured, “What happened? Don’t panic, okay? Everything will be alright.” 

“Alright, I didn’t mean to keep this from you, I thought it would be a fleeing moment, but I guess not?–” You hesitated, nervously biting your lip as you prepared yourself for the confession. “I kissed Rafe, and while it was somewhat, he tried to confront me about it, and I panicked!” 

“Okay, woah, woah.” Cleo uttered, disbelief visible through her tone. “When did that happen?” 

“Three days ago, after the party.” You huffed, angling your head back with a pout. “I’m such an idiot, why am I acting like something happened between us? I lashed out on him and stormed off, what if he regrets it?” 

“Well, you’re the one who kissed him.” Cleo clarified, “Why would he regret it?” 

“Actually– something sort of happened earlier…” you mumbled, clearing your throat. 

“Don’t tell me he fucking kissed you, Bug.” Cleo took a guess, making you freeze in your spot, not denying her suspicions. “He did? What the hell, and you didn’t say anything?” 

“Listen, I barely got time to process it, I was planning on telling you eventually.” A sigh stuttered out of your throat, crying out loud. “I’m so dumb, why did I get mad at him? It’s not even his fault!” 

“Calm down, baby, it will be alright.” Cleo secured, “I’m sure he understands, this is probably bothering him as well.” 

“What if he thinks I’m childish?” You questioned, “I felt so guilty, Cleo, I don’t want his friendship with Ryan to fall apart ‘cause of me.” 

“That won’t happen, trust me.” Cleo advised, her tone soft. “It’s obvious that you’re both attracted to each other, Ryan will have to accept it, he can’t interfere jus’ cause he doesn’t want you dating his friends.” 

“But he’s right,” your shoulders relaxed with disappointment, already imagining the scenery Ryan would put out. “And Rafe doesn’t like me, trust, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure he doesn’t.” 

“Ninety-nine?” Cleo cooed, earning a chuckle out of you. “Okay, come on, have you seen him? Pope told me about what happened on the way back, don’t tell me this man is not head over heels for you.” 

“Why’s Pope snitching?!” You scoffed, sniffling as you rolled your eyes. “Okay, maybe he might like me, he keeps dropping hints, but I don’t know?” 

“What hints?” Cleo’s tone glinted with curiosity, waiting for you to further speak. 

“He texted me earlier, and I was messing around but instead of brushing it off he went with the flow?” You explained, your words coming off as a question. “Maybe I’m misreading the situation, but let’s say he did like me, then what? What do we do, will we keep things a secret because of Ryan?” 

“Why are you thinking about that?” Cleo giggled, ridiculed by how much you were overthinking this. “Enjoy it, okay? You like him, go for it, don’t hold back.” 

“And if he doesn’t like me?” You stifled out a laugh, leisurely fluttering your eyes shut. “I don’t know, it started off as a joke, but I’m starting to for real like him, Cleo. I’ve never felt this way about someone before.” 

“Okay, there you go, you got your answer.” Cleo chanted, making you shake your head. “Now, I don’t mean to be nosy, but it’s your fault for mentioning it.” 

“God, what is it?” You rolled your eyes, already expecting what she was about to say.

“What did he say in those messages?” She asked, earning a chuckle out of you, as you moved the phone from your ear, already pulling up Rafe’s contact. 

You screenshotted the conversation, Cleo’s voice muffling through the speakers of your phone, her words fully incoherent. “Hold on, I can’t hear you.

Cleo remained silent, waited while you cropped the screenshot, before bringing the phone back to your ear. “Alright, what did you say?” 

“I said hurry up!” She chimed back. 

“Okay, someone’s curious.” You teased, pressing on the photo icon, before you selected the image and sent it over, waiting for Cleo to receive it. “There.” 

“You sent it?” She asked, humming as she pulled up your messages. “I don’t see anything.” 

“What? But I sen– oh.” you halted as you let realization kick in, immediately reaching for your phone, hoping your suspicions might be wrong. “Fuck, Cleo, I sent it to Rafe.”

An audible gasp escaped Cleo’s lips at the statement, words going unnoticed as Rafe’s text bubble appeared on the screen, not giving you a chance to delete it before he saw it. 

rafe 👍: ???

“Oh my God, he saw it.” You whispered, “Wait, let me go back to my room.” 

You creaked the door open, instantly shutting it when Rafe came in sight, heart thumping loud with panic. Your eyes widened a bit, when footsteps echoed through your ears, knowing the owner behind the noises.  

“He’s heading upstairs,” you informed Cleo in a hushed tone, “What do I do?” 

“Where are you?” She asked.

“I’m in the upstairs bathroom, the one down the hallway.” 

“Okay, wait ‘till he leaves, then go back to your room.” 

You nodded, even if the girl couldn’t see you, too nauseous to comprehend normal words out. Hell, that probably weirded him out, what will he think now? 

However, despite how nervous you grew, Cleo stayed on call, assuring you that it would be alright, even though you knew deep down, it wasn’t. 

“Alright, I’ll go now, it’s quiet,” You sighed, breath shaky with anxiousness. “We’ll talk when you’re back, I’m sorry for taking up your time.” 

“Are you sure?” Cleo questioned with concern, “I can stay on call until we’re back, I don’t mind.” 

“No it’s okay,” you insisted, “Besides, I’m tired, I’ll see about this tomorrow, it’s too much to process right now.” 

“Alright,” Cleo exhaled, “Let me know if you need anything, we’ll be back in a bit.” 

You bid your goodbyes, putting your phone down as you aimed for the door, peaking your head out to check whether the coast was clear. Your shoulders relaxed when Rafe was nowhere in sight, tippy toeing your way back to your room, making sure to be as careful as physically possible. 

Barely escaping the situation, your heart sank to your stomach when you unlatched the doorknob, now greeted with Rafe seated on the edge of your bed, perking up when you made your presence known. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumbled, feeling your throat run dry. 

You wanted the ground to split and swallow you whole, unable to bear the embarrassment of facing Rafe, now a few feet away from you. 

“You know…” He trailed off, getting up with a groan. “I was plannin’ to give you space, talk things out when you’re ready, but…”

Your fingers clutched to the doorknob when Rafe walked in your direction, towering over you and cornering you against the door, as it leisurely closed within each step you took back. 

“God, you’re killing me.” He whispered, gulping as his gaze flickered to your parted lips, coated with a faint layer of spit.

His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, hesitating before pressing his hand to your hip, his hold burning holes through your flesh. Your eyes remained on his face, watching as his expression changed into something serious, stirring up your insides with a rush of adrenaline.

You stiffened under the touch, slightly taken aback by the bold move, even as your body leaned into it, chasing after the sensation of his fingers marking your skin. , 

“You know how much you’re affecting me, don’t you?” He hushed out, digits dragging up your side, and tumbling just beneath the material, his touch welcoming the warmness of your skin. “The amount of times I had to control myself, and respect the boundaries I set with Ryan.” 

“Rafe.” Your tone lowered to match his, an inaudible gasp exiting your parted lips when he pinned you to the door, fingers squeezing the plush of your flesh. “What are you doing?” 

Rafe stuck to answering with his actions, bringing his other hand to your face, and taking the curve of your jaw in between his fingers. His thumb pressed to your chin, using it to angle your head up, striving to study your face up close. 

“You’re breathtaking, you know that?” He whispered, smearing your glossed lips with his thumb, the gesture causing you to part your mouth in a sigh. “God, you know how difficult it was? Telling myself you’re off limits; when you’re all I think about, twenty-four, seven; always on mind.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” You exhaled through your mouth, vision going blurry as Rafe leaned his forehead against yours, his hot breath fanning above the bridge of your nose. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Rafe.” 

“I was barely holding myself back,” He muttered, trailing light, open-mouthed kisses to your lips. “It’s your,” a kiss, “fault,” and another, “for tempting,” he paused, “me.”

That was the only sign you needed as you moved forward, letting your guilt wash with new found desire when you captured Rafe’s lips in an eager kiss you’ve both been dying for.

Rafe’s arms sneaked to your sides, locking you in place as he ceased the distance separating you two, though that felt impossible, as he licked and nipped at your lips, suddenly feeling drunk on your sweetness. 

You tasted amazing, way better than what Rafe had imagined, leaving him craving more as he angled your head to the side, with the intent of deepening the kiss. 

In that moment, you didn’t care whether this was a dream, or reality. In fact, you wanted to wake up the next morning with the same giddiness filling your insides, Rafe being the reason behind it. 

You wanted Rafe, the kiss merely proving the yearn tulling your insides, till you no longer were able to bear it. 

Fuck it, you chose to take the risk, let yourself enjoy this while it lasts, knowing that eventually, you’d need to put an end to it; hence Rafe is off limits.

a/n all support is v much appreciated! pulling my hair out i forgot how to write. SORRY ik i didnt do the kiss justice but i just wanted to get the kiss out of the way... dont get bored of me yet i promise theres so much more to squeeze in the next four chapters theyre just entering their situationship era 🙈 ALSO IK I SAID THERE WILL BE TEXTS BUT I LIED next one 100% though!!! anyways yeah i hope you enjoyed, lmk ur thoughts!!!

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[inbabylontheywept]

I went to summer camp as a kid. Six times, actually. I have many fond memories, and even more terrible ones. Here's one that's a mixture of both.

To set the stage, I had just spent the night in the infirmary due to a big fight I had with almost my entire tent. They never wanted to sleep, and were always obnoxiously loud with a lantern dubbed "the sun" that let me see movement around me with my eyes closed from the shadows passing over it. I was sleep-deprived, overstimulated, autistic-but-unaware-of-that, and twelve years old, and I already disliked these girls because they talked shit about me behind my back and took advantage of naivety. This unfortunate combination lead to a blowout meltdown in which I said some things I regret, so the counselors decided it'd be best if I spent some time away.

Now, this had the unforeseen consequence of putting me in a place with less supervision. This place also had some strange bugs. They were small, about the size of my pinky fingernail. Most of their bodies were in their tails, which curved downwards like a reverse scorpion. They were black and white, sort of striped, with six legs and no wings. Their fangs were very thin, but long, extending out from their faces like brownish parentheses. They had a propensity to bite.

Perhaps you can see where this is going.

While messing around with these bugs, I noticed that when they bit, they didn't just chomp and leave. They sunk their fangs in and they kept them there for a long time. Naturally, I decided to see what would happen if I let them, nay, encouraged them to bite me, as an experiment. When would they extricate their incisors from my flesh? Would my reaction to the bites vary depending on the amount of time each bite lasted?

I let these bugs bite me four times, once for about 13 minutes, once for about 5 minutes, once for about 1 minute, and once for 45 seconds (I didn't have a watch, so these are estimates). Then, I forged a peaceful resolution with my tentmates and we went to watch the beginning of Color War.

Except, turns out it's stupid to let unidentified insects taste your blood. The bites swelled up huge. I got chills. My stomach hurt intensely. My counselor took me back to the infirmary to get them checked out.

Needless to say, this was not easy to explain to the nurse on duty ("WHY" "For science!"). His first thought was we needed to figure out what bit me. If only it were that simple.

We combed through the databases for insects in the state. We expanded our search to arachnids, even, although it certainly wasn't one. I drew a little mock-up on a Post-It to show him. There was not a single match. To this day, I have no idea what it was that I let bite me. I was given orders to come back tomorrow to get them checked by a doctor, and also return every morning and night for a week to put warm compresses and medicinal ointments on the bites, and a strong directive to never do anything like that again, with a side of "What the hell were you thinking????"

A couple of months later, after camp, I went to my friend's bar mitzvah. The woman in the row behind me tapped my shoulder. She asked me how the bug bites were. It was the doctor from the infirmary.

-- @dr-robert-chase-apologist

That was a beautiful ending. I have a similar story, but less gruesome than letting bugs bite me. My family used to go up to trips to the Mogollon Mountains two or three times a year. The woods were where my dad always felt the most at peace.

My dad used that time to hike through the trees. And I grew into that eventually, but when I was very little, I felt a particular kinship to the small things of this world. Worms and beetles and woodlice and those peculiar Arizona grasshopers with wings the size of jellybeans and tummies the size of my thumb.

And on one trip, there was an incredible number of these beautiful, fuzzy caterpillars. Picture below.

I went a little crazy about them. They were fluffy, and they were had pretty colors, and they had the cutest, softest, stubbiest little suction cup feets that I'd ever seen. Watching them climb up stalks of grass or over fallen branches was enchanting.

So I caught, like, twenty of them, and most got put in a little terrarium where I could watch them do cute caterpillar things. Mostly eat fresh pine needles and wriggle gregariously. But some I kept out just to play with. I'd put them on my palm, and I'd watch them crawl all the way up to my neck, then I'd move them somewhere else. They tickled, and I was charmed to be their jungle gym.

But apparently, those little hairs break off like fiberglass, and they have some kind of venom on them, so I had these strange, wriggling, almost tattoo like rashes all over my arms up to my neck. Very embarrassing to explain to my parents.

There was an entomologist on the street that I grew up on named Freddie. And he wasn't just a bug expert, he was specifically a caterpillar expert. He had a garden in his backyard that was specifically tailored for butterflies, he'd always draw in clouds of Monarchs during their migration. My parents asked him about the mysterious itchy caterpillars, and he said they were lophocampa ingens, and that I was lucky that I didn't inhale those hairs. They can stick inside your throat and make it swell closed. Scary little bastards.

I'd still see them after that, but never in such numbers. And while I appreciated them, I always tried to keep a few feet of distance. Just to be safe.

(Also, just wanted to clarify that I didn't remember the name for 20 years, I googled "irticating caterpillar Mogollon", and saw the picture. It wasn't until I read the caption that I was like oh yeaaaaah, that's what he called them. But it was one of those memories I could never have pulled at will.)

[prettieinpink]

HAVING AN INTENTIONAL ROOM

Your room is the most important place in your life. You sleep, wake up, heal and experience many emotions just in your room. You have to take care of your room, so it is spiritually the ideal place to grow into the best version of yourself. 

KEEPING YOUR ROOM CLEAN 

Keeping your room free of mess is an act of mindfulness and self-discipline that supports your overall journey and connects you with your higher self. It helps with promoting clarity, and cultivating inner balance and is an everyday self-care ritual. 

Make your bed every day. You have to respect the place in which you sleep and heal.

Hang up clean clothes after the day or put any dirty clothes in your laundry hamper, avoid tossing them on the floor. 

Find a place for everything, and know where everything is. If you do not know where each thing in your room is located, you either have too much clutter or you’re disorganised. 

Tidy up your room daily, neatly putting everything away in its place. If needed, buy a few organisers. 

Don’t leave rubbish for extended periods. Treat your room like a temple, don’t disrespect it, and pick up after yourself. 

Try to avoid eating meals in your bedroom. We forget the dirty dishes over time, and it stinks and attracts unwanted bugs. 

Change bed sheets regularly. Once a week at the most, for more hygienic reasons though. 

Remove unwanted items on your bedside table. Keep it minimal and intentional with anything you want to place on it.

Regularly clean up the dust in your room, using a duster or a damp microfiber cloth on all of the surfaces. 

ENCOURAGING GROWTH IN YOUR LIFE

A room designed to encourage inner growth serves as a physical reminder of your commitment to self-improvement, personal development, and overall well-being. It creates an environment helpful to improvement, self-reflection, and positive change.

Keep specific areas of your room designated to one task in your life. For me, my desk is for productivity, my bed is for resting or relaxing and my bedroom floor is for mindful activities. 

Throw away any items that do not serve a purpose to you anymore. Avoid keeping items that bring you painful or harmful memories.

Minimise the presence of technology in your room. I suggest having zones in your room which is device-free or having a time of day in which devices are not allowed in your room. 

Create a vision board poster in your room that you can see every day, which helps to visualise and motivate you to create your dream life. 

Place meaningful quotes, affirmations, mantras or prayers as reminders of the values, mindsets or intentions you wish to cultivate in your life.

Display personal achievements. If you won any awards or certificates, place them in a way in which you can view them every day. If you have done something in your life that you think is an achievement but have no award to display, just simply create your own. Buy some balsawood and glue it together to create your own medal. 

Place items that align with the habits or routines you want to cultivate in your life so that they are easily accessible. Put a workout mat in the corner, always have your journal on your desk or have a cold water bottle ready to go when you wake up. 

3. DECORATING YOUR ROOM TO REFLECT YOU

Decorating your room in a way that reflects your true self brings a sense of authenticity and comfort. It creates a nurturing environment that allows for self-expression, reflection, and personal growth which ultimately contributes to your journey of inner development.

Make a mood board or vision board of how you would want your room to look, how it supports you and how it makes you feel. Choose a colour scheme in this process as well.

Add candles or incense that you think embodies who you are, or who you want to be. For example, if I want to be a cleaner person, I would choose a candle that smells like fresh linen. 

Put up posters of things that you like, people who you look up to or anything that expresses who you are.

Add a canopy to your bed while you sleep. So cute, and I believe it helps protect you from any unwanted energy entering through you while you sleep. 

Add a rug, even if you already have carpet, to enhance the cozy ambience of the room. 

An ottoman at the end of the bed can elevate your room to look more expensive, if needed, it can also be an organiser for your extra things. 

Put life in your room, adding low-maintenance plants or flowers can liven it up. A little extra, research some plants or flowers meaning’s and pick one that resonates with you. 

Display any of your favourite jewellery, bags, clothing pieces, or make-up around your room. A nice way to appreciate what you have, without actually using them. 

[damneddamsy]

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

DECOHERENCE—Meaning disperses, and the pieces no longer make a whole.

summary: Joel's been left to deal with the wreckage of a choice before, now he lets an important decision run him over once more.

a/n: MDNI, smut, rated 18+ and It's Christmas in March! you are simply not ready for this chapter. seated? tissues? fingers at the ready? alright, let's go.

“You haven't changed one bit, you dumb old fuck.”

Here’s the thing about being a pillar hermit: people leave you alone until they don’t. They let you be—until moments like these, where the whole damn town is out, where everyone is watching, where people expect you to participate in something you don’t much care for.

Joel had always been like this—off to the side, out of the way, hands tucked in his pockets while the world spun around him. He didn’t dislike Christmas. Hell, he wasn’t that much of a grouch. He could appreciate the little things: the smell of pinecones in the air, the bright ribbons and ornaments draped around a jewelled tree, the crackle of a good fire, the steaming mugs, the soft hum of carols carried by the wind. He had good Christmases once. With Sarah. And then there were twenty years of nothing but ruined memories.

But this Christmas?

Well, this great Christmas marked the birth of his miraculous little ray of hope.

Maya. She was over by the tree, bundled up in two layers of coats on Joel's insistence, the little white bunny-ear beanie on Leela's insistence, bathed in the golden glow of the twinkling string lights, big, curious eyes reflecting the light like they were seeing magic for the first time. Tommy was crouched beside her, pointing out different ones, probably spinning some grand tale about the meaning behind each that made her giggle, her tiny fists wrapped in thick mittens, reaching for the lower ornaments. Joel’s heart did that stupid and fragile twist in his chest.

She was the best thing to ever happen to him. A love so profound, so damn big, he didn’t know how to hold it all sometimes.

And this morning had been one of those times.

Joel had barely finished his coffee before she was yanking at his pant leg, a determined little thing, dragging him outside, dragging him toward that swing he and Leela had built for her birthday, right under the big old oak in their yard.

Leela had painted flowers into it, just to make it look pretty, but Joel? He had been thinking about something else entirely. The kind of things fathers do. The quiet things. The ones no one notices—the ones meant to keep her safe. He’d spent hours carving the wooden seat just right, smoothing it over, free of splinters, making sure it was perfect.

Little feet thumping against the wood floor, her whole body vibrating with barely contained energy, her curls a wild mess from sleep, she had practically screeched it, beaming up at him, eyes wide and expectant—“Swing, Da-da!”

“She’s not gonna let you breathe until you do it,” Leela noted knowingly.

He'd laughed with her as he set his cup down. He scooped Maya up with ease, pressing a smacking kiss into her belly just to hear her squeal, her laughter bubbling out, wriggling in his arms.

“Alright, birthday girl. Your wish is my command. Go, get your jacket.”

None of that safety shit mattered because once Maya climbed up on that swing and he pulled her back, the little girl in front of him—his daughter—was nothing but delight. Carefree. Head tipped back, breathless, laughing. Joel had long since forgotten this kind of joy.

He had been gentle at first, keeping his hands right there, afraid to let go, afraid she’d slip. Joel chuckled, kneeling beside her, his fingers tightening around the ropes. “Hold on tight, bug. Can't let go.”

She hummed, her nose scrunching, her mittened hands gripping tight.

At first, he was cautious. Careful. He barely pulled her back, only giving her the softest push, his hands staying by her, just in case—but Maya wasn’t having that. She rocked her body forward, letting out an impatient, “Up, Da-da! Up!”

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Bossy little menace,” he muttered under his breath, but he was already pulling her back before she could whine again.

Then, he let go. And she went soaring like those birds she loved so much.

Not too high—he’d never let her go too high—but high enough that she tipped her head back, high enough that the wind kissed her soft curls, high enough that her giggle rang out in the crisp morning air, a song he didn't want to stop hearing.

He watched how her whole face lit up like a new lightbulb, watched the way her cheeks bunched under her eyes, how her little boots kicked out with each swing, how she laughed so loud, so bright.

She was his. His heart. His whole goddamn world.

Maya tipped her head back again, her little golden giggles turning breathless. “Da-da!”

He took a deep breath in, grinning.

And then he pushed her forward again. Again, again and again.

Until all he could hear was her laughter, all he could see was her so fragile and infinite at once, all he could feel was this. This big, big thing that definitely wasn't grief.

Now, standing here, it was that same feeling. That same terrible, wonderful thing inside him—so big, so damn big, he still didn’t know how to hold it all. But maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe it was okay to just feel it.

“You haven't changed one bit, you dumb old fuck.”

His gaze flicked past Maya and landed on the next best thing in his life.

Another pillar hermit, just like him, though Leela never quite knew it.

She stood with Maria, who was introducing her to some couples—faces Joel recognized but didn’t care to remember. And Leela, well… she was trying her best—her polite, careful best.

She was smiling, nodding, fielding whatever questions they threw at her, but he knew her shorthand by now. The subtle language of Leela-isms. The way she kept tapping the back of her left toe—nerves. The absent scratching at the top of her ear—overwhelmed. The way her eyes flicked to Maya every ten seconds—ready to get the hell away. She was forcing herself to be here.

She needed rescuing. And Joel was waiting with his charger, white horse at the ready.

He exhaled through his nose, pushed off the post he was leaning on, and made his way to her, feeling that all-too-familiar clench in his stomach. That pull. That ache. It happened every damn time since that night in bed heaven—like a part inside him just locked into place, a restless nerve finally settling. It was instinct now, the need to reach for her, to touch her, to keep her close.

Because this girl—this woman—had torn down every damn wall he had ever built to keep him safe. And he had never, not once, been so glad to be ruined.

And tonight? Goddamn. Tonight, that girl was trying to kill his soul.

She had listened to him. That little suggestion he had made, all casual-like, about those unholy leather cowgirl boots? The ones that gave her just enough height that she could tilt her chin up at him all playful, stubborn and cute? The ones that made those fine legs look long as hell, in the long gypsy-inspired dress, hugging the curve of her ass, the adorable swell of her thighs under her coats?

She was all his. Not in the way that meant ownership, no—Leela was too independent for that, too herself to be possessed. No, he needed her to belong. Like a home does to an owner.

He eventually flanked her side, letting his palm rest at the small of her back, and it took everything in him not to let it slide lower, not to give her a squeeze that said exactly what he was thinking.

“Howdy, darlin',” he murmured, voice dipping into something only she ever got to hear.

Leela shot him a look, and he knew—knew damn well—just how much that molasses-smooth drawl affected her. Hell, if he didn't use it on her at home, just when he wanted to get something his way. Very proud of it.

But she melted into him all the same, her slender palm pressing against his chest, a quiet reassurance, warm even through his jacket. “Hi, Joel.”

And then she rose onto the tips of her toes and pressed the softest kiss to his jaw. That? Yeah. That would undo him every time, even if he hated to flaunt.

“I was just talking to, um…” Leela glanced at the man beside her, struggling to recall his name.

“Greg,” Joel filled in, giving him a curt nod, his fingers hooking into the belt loop of his jeans. He saw the guy out on patrols, too.

The conversation went on, but Joel had stopped caring about Greg the second he noticed the shift—the way the conversation turned into something else. Looking between Leela and him, and his arm on her, and her hand on him.

And then, there it was. The thing people always noticed.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Greg asked, clearly dancing around something.

Leela glanced at Joel, as if waiting for him to answer. When he didn't, she went ahead. “A long time now. Right, Joel?”

“Over a year,” Joel fixed smoothly.

“Huh.” Greg nodded.

He smiled, though a little too amused, something Joel recognized before the man even opened his mouth. “Didn’t take you for a cradle robber, my man.”

Fucking what? The laugh that followed was casual and easy, but Joel felt Leela stiffen against him, confused more than anything. And that was what really did it. Because she didn’t get it—not in the way Greg meant it.

Joel’s gaze flicked up, controlled and unbothered, but there was something else underneath it—slow, mindful, dangerous. The kind of look that made a man rethink his next words.

Greg’s smile faltered just a little.

Joel tipped his head slightly, like he was genuinely considering the statement, then let out a low, thoughtful hum.

“That right?” His voice was calm. “Well, I guess that makes you the poor bastard dumb enough to say it to my face.”

Greg let out a short, uneasy chuckle, shifting on his feet. “Just messin’ with you—”

Joel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure you were.”

He let the undeterred silence sit solemn between them just long enough before tilting his chin up, slipping a little smirk into his tone.

“You have a good Christmas now,” he wished well. Because he was gentleman on top of being a asshole. Or so he thought.

Then, with a gentle squeeze at Leela’s waist, he steered her away—leaving Greg standing there, watching, knowing damn well who had the last word.

“You haven't changed one bit, you dumb old fuck.”

She let him, followed without protest, but once they were far enough from the crowd, she looked up at him, brows drawn together in quiet confusion. “What was that all about? And what's a cradle-robber?”

Joel sighed, ran a hand down his face. Of course, she wouldn’t understand. Leela had never been on a real date, never had anyone whispering about what was ‘appropriate’ or not when it came to love. She had spent most of her early life just surviving, just trying to make it from one day to the next. Just like him. The idea that someone might see something wrong with what they had? It wouldn’t even occur to her. Precisely why she thought he hung the damn moon on her sky.

He stopped, turning to face her fully. His hands found her waist, thumbs tracing over her jacket. “Nothin’ worth wastin’ your time on.”

She studied him for a long moment, searching his face. “But it was about you, wasn’t it?”

Joel shook his head, one hand reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear. “People like to talk. Doesn’t mean they got any sense.”

He knew her well enough by now—knew that look. Knew she wouldn’t move on until she’d made sense of it, turned it over in her mind, figured out what it meant.

He exhaled and tipped his head toward the tree where Maya was still marveling at the lights. “C’mon. Walk with me.”

Leela followed easily, slipping into his space the way she always did, like it was second nature. And maybe it was. Maybe she had never really known anything else.

They walked in step, but then, finally—softly—she said, “Just so you know, I don’t mind that you’re older.”

Joel glanced down at her, a little caught off guard. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her breath curling in the cold air. “It’s… more familiar to me.”

His brows pulled together, and she must have seen the question in his face because she clarified, “I was raised by older people. My parents, my aunties and uncles… the few people who really looked out for me? They weren’t young.” She paused, glancing up at him. “You remind me of that. Of home. I feel safe.”

Safe. She found that in him. And she wasn’t saying it the way other people might, wasn’t calling him stable or dependable or anything that felt like a backhanded compliment. She didn’t just believe the words she said, but lived them.

Joel swallowed, the muscle in his jaw working. He wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure if he should say anything.

His hands flexed at her waist, gripping her just a little tighter, just enough that she might feel it through the layers. A silent answer. I got you. I always got you.

Only then—

“There’s my best girl! C'mere, come to auntie.”

Maria’s voice sliced clean through the moment, and just like that, it was gone.

Leela turned, her expression softening instantly, instinctively. And Joel—well, he exhaled like someone had cracked open a high window. Maybe he was grateful for the interruption. Possibly he wasn’t ready for what had just started.

A few feet away, Tommy was spooning Maya up, tossing her into the air just enough to make her squeal before catching her against his chest. She let out a high-pitched giggle, kicking her feet, nose twitching from the cold, mittens clutching onto her uncle’s coat.

“Kiss-mas, unca. Kiss-mas twee,” she chirped.

Tommy grinned, bouncing her once. “Yeah? Kissmas?”

Maya giggled, cheeks puffing out more steam.

“Alright, c’mon. Kiss-mas, I'll show you kiss-mas.” Tommy made a show of pressing a dramatic, smacking kiss to her cheek, loud enough that Maya shrieked in delight, kicking her feet in his arms.

Maria was standing beside them, arms crossed. “Y’know, if you rile her up too much, her daddy is gonna be the one stuck dealing with it.”

Joel arched a brow as they approached. “Damn right I am.”

Tommy turned back to Maya, brushing the snow off her coat. “You excited, peanut? It’s your birthday and Christmas. You got double the presents.”

Maya sucked in a breath, as if she was just now realizing. As if she understood every word Tommy had told her.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. Baby girl was ridiculous.

Leela finally spoke, leaning in, playing along. “It’s all downhill from here, sweetheart. Next year you’re getting socks.”

Maria grinned, reaching out to tug on one of her tiny boots. “Mama’s just messin’ with you. I'll make sure you entire your terrible twos with a bang.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Let’s get this birthday girl inside before she freezes.”

Tommy pressed one last kiss to Maya’s curls before plopping her down onto her feet, letting her waddle toward Maria, arms stretched high, exactly like a baby bear.

“Leela!”

Joel heard the voice before he saw her.

A familiar call over the hum of the crowd, cutting across like a bullet through a fog. A name spoken in a voice he hadn’t heard in quite some time—every muscle in his body locked up.

“You haven't changed one bit, you dumb old fuck.”

“You haven't changed one bit, you dumb old fuck.”

“You haven't changed one bit, you dumb old fuck.”

He never thought he’d have that reaction to hearing her. Not Ellie. Not the kid he’d sworn to protect, the one he’d fought for, bled for, lied for. And yet, here he stood, rigid, his fingers curled into fists at his sides, his stomach pulling tight like a knot looped too thin.

Leela had turned, glancing through the parting bodies, a big grin blooming on her face. “Hi, sweetie. Over here.”

She pushed her way forward, shoulders squared with that defiant set he knew too well, wind in her short hair, face unreadable.

Joel felt himself stop breathing. It was like looking at a ghost now. A taller, older phantom. A little sharper around the edges, he realized so late. The baby fat in her face had hollowed out, and her eyes—God, her eyes—looked at him like they didn’t know him. Like she was seeing a version of him she couldn’t place.

For a moment, the world just stopped.

Then, Ellie’s gaze shifted. To the arm Joel had around Leela. To Leela, standing there with that confused tilt to her head, the one she got when she knew something was wrong but hadn’t put the pieces together yet.

Ellie’s mouth parted, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

Joel felt his throat close up. “Ellie.”

X

“You haven't changed one bit, you dumb old fuck.”

Jackson’s winter wind pierced into Joel’s jacket that night, growing through the seams and biting at his skin like something flesh-eating. The sky was rife with the promise of snow, greying clouds roiling over the town. However, Jackson was still awake in its quiet way—candles flickering behind curtained windows, the faint hum of conversation drifting from the mess hall, boots crunching against frostbitten dirt.

Joel should’ve been heading home. But Ellie was waiting.

She sat hunched on the steps of her porch, hood up, arms folded tight across her chest. He knew that posture. Knew the stubborn set of her shoulders, the tension in her limbs like a wound coiled too tight. Not just stubbornness—something else. A truth held in too long, stagnant enough to choke on.

Joel slowed as he approached, hearing those vindictive words aimed at him, boots scuffing against the wood. He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, letting the frigid snows settle between them.

Ellie didn’t look up. Not at first.

“So you gonna tell her already?”

Her voice wasn’t sharp. Not yet. But there was an edge to it, dangerously close to fury, quiet and simmering.

Joel’s small smile tightened. “Tell her what, kiddo?”

A breath of laughter escaped her, humourless, cold as the wind slicing through the space between them. She shook her head.

“C’mon, man. Again with the bullshit?”

Joel barely had time to exhale before she turned, looking up at him, and there it was—that look. The one that saw straight through him. The one that didn’t need words to say I know exactly what you’re doing.

“How long were you planning on keeping this from her, huh?” she said. “Were you ever gonna tell her? Or were you just gonna let her—I dunno, let her live in the dark forever, like you did to me?”

The words landed like a strike to the ribs, but Joel didn’t flinch. Just breathed slowly through his nose. What could he say when she was looking at him like that? Like she already knew every goddamn thought running through his head. Like she’d seen the exact shape of the things he’d never say aloud.

She had every right to say what she’d said. But that didn’t mean he could let it go unchallenged.

“You don't know shit about this, kid.”

X

Snow still clung to the edges of Joel's new boots, leaving prints on the mat, but the second he crossed the threshold of the big, white house that now smelled of birthday cake and cinnamon, it was like stepping into something softer, something that held. Because, for once, he realized—he wasn’t leaving. This was his home.

His arms were full—Maya, slack-limbed and snoring against his shoulder, her tiny fingers curled into his shirt collar even in sleep. And Leela, tucked against his side, her hand warm within his jacket pocket.

It still hadn't fully sunk in. This house—this big, white house, the one he’d stepped into so many times before—was his now. Not a place he’d visit and have to leave before the night was over. No more boots set by the door only to be laced up again with that knot in his chest. No more catching glimpses of Leela through a window, of Maya’s tiny hands pressed against the glass, tearfully watching him go.

He got to stay. He got to wake up here. With the quiet creak of the floorboards beneath his feet and the knowledge that when he kissed Leela and Maya goodbye before heading back to patrol or another morning in the barracks, it would only be until he came home again.

Joel sighed, adjusting Maya in his arms as Leela reached past him to flick on the lights and lamps as they went in, the glow catching in her dark hair. “Baby girl out cold?” she asked, laughing under her breath.

“Like a rock,” Joel murmured, pressing a kiss to Maya’s temple. “A pretty cute rock.”

They had spent the whole afternoon celebrating Maya’s first birthday in the kitchen, and the remnants of the day clung like echoes of laughter and warmth—twinkle lights looped around the large island, the fraying, browning “Happy Birthday” banner Leela had strung between the cupboard handles, slightly askew now, edges curling where the tape didn’t quite hold.

And the cake—his cake. Tommy would have a field day if knew about Joel's little baking endeavour. Wouldn't let him live it down.

The half-eaten thing sat beneath the lights, pink frosting uneven, green letters smudged where he’d tried to fix his mistakes but only made them worse because his hands had never been made for finesse. He had busted his ass working on that cake— hours. Spreading, smoothing, wiping away, cursing, and starting over. Terrible.

But Maya hadn’t cared.

She’d smacked her tiny fist right into the centre, the second he’d put it down, giggling so hard she nearly tipped over the counter where he'd safely stationed her. And Joel—Jesus, he hadn’t even been mad. Just laughed, caught up in her sweet joy, snapping blurry Polaroids while Leela tried, through her own laughter, to salvage what was left of it.

“Maya, what did you do!” Leela gasped, half-laughing, half-scolding, already reaching for a towel.

Joel just stared for a second, his hours of effort reduced to a pink, squashed mess. Maya, unfazed, lifted her frosting-covered fist and squealed, “Da-da!”

He blinked, shaking his head with a huff of laughter. “Well, hell. Guess we ain’t needin’ a knife now.”

Leela let out a breathless laugh, nudging Joel’s arm. “Go on. You worked so hard on that cake, might as well capture the moment.”

Joel sighed, reaching for the Polaroid camera, but not before swiping a little frosting onto Maya’s nose. “Smile, sugar.”

She squealed, squirming.

The flash went off just as Leela threw her head back laughing, and Maya’s dimpled grin shone through the mess, knowing already that these would be the photos he’d keep close. Now, under the glow of the twinkle lights, the cake sat there, still dented, still messy, a perfect wreck of a memory.

And whilst in the living room—his gaze flicked over, quieting—Where there had once been blackboards stacked against the walls, books scattered across the coffee table, and notebooks stuffed with numbers and theories—now, all gone. Packed away.

It was so... empty. Not a trace of Leela's endless pursuit in evidence. If it weren't for the pencil stand and textbooks of Analysis in Euclidean Space and Ordinary Differential Equations on the mantlepiece, he wouldn't have known what Leela was really capable of.

A week ago, she'd done the purge herself. She’d sat cross-legged on the carpet, on purpose, flipping through each notebook, running her fingers over the faded scrawl of her father’s handwriting, the precise lines of logic and numbers her mother had etched into the pages. She’d held them to her chest, laughing softly at the curvy doodles and the scribbled notes left for her, the little photographs tucked between the pages—her parents, young and bright-eyed, caught in moments before the world had turned hostile.

Joel had sat on the staircase behind the living room wall that night, out of sight, listening to her sniffles, hands curled around his knees. He had let her press her forehead to her knees and cry through the quiet. This wasn’t a grief he had any part in. There was no fixing this, no way to take away the ache.

So he’d waited. Ready, if she needed him. She never called for him, never reached out—but he was there. Always. Even as she boxed it up, put a pin in it and sent it off.

And in the morning, when he woke up, it was to his home strongly scented of pine. In the place of numbers, a big Christmas tree stood by the wide windows, draped in ornaments and tinsel. Elegant, decorated like something straight out of a home magazine, all soft gold and deep red, twinkling lights woven through its branches. She’d strung the garland around in perfection that screamed Leela, hung the star at the top, and—most importantly—placed a single red stocking over the fireplace for Maya.

There weren’t any gifts beneath it—things were tight, and the world wasn’t what it used to be—but that didn’t matter. They had made do. They had done their best. And, goddamn it, it had been enough.

They had made it suffice for themselves, making sure her first birthday and Christmas were perfect. And Leela—she’d done all this. After everything, after the long, aching week of packing away the past, she’d still done this.

All for him.

She’d made his favorite lamb koftas, the ones he used to effuse about to her in passing, but she remembered. An overflowing casserole, those roast potatoes that he loved, a Christmas pudding so rich he swore he’d never eat again—only to go back for seconds and leave no leftovers. She’d done all that, while he’d figured old ham and ruined birthday cake would’ve been enough.

He’d said as much, somewhere between scraping the last of the pudding off his plate and leaning back with a groan, patting his stomach.

“You say that now. But you nearly cried eating those koftas,” Leela teased.

He snorted, tipping his head back. “I’m a simple man. Meat and love. That’s all I need.”

She laughed softly, leaned forward to brush a crumb from the corner of his mouth, and said, almost like it wasn’t anything at all—“Good. ‘Cause you’ve got both.”

Joel had made sure to capture everything and didn't leave anything out.

The camcorder had been rolling all through, his hands quick to snap photos, catching every moment, every laugh, every flicker of candlelight on Leela’s face as she smiled at their daughter. He’d flicked through the Polaroids already—some of them sat on the coffee table now, beside the two unfinished glasses of mulled wine sitting where Leela’s feet had been, curled up in his lap hours ago whilst his hands worked circles over her sore calves and aching heels. He had wanted to take care of her, needed to. After all the effort she had put in today, for them.

She had sighed when he’d started, a deep, bone-weary sound, the kind that told him just how much she had pushed herself today.

“Really, you didn’t have to go all out,” Joel murmured, his thumb depressing slow, steady strokes into her arch. As if this wasn't enough, he lifted to give her instep a kiss.

Leela hummed, eyes half-lidded as she set the glass down after a little sip. “I wanted to. It's my baby's first Christmas. Our first Christmas.”

“Still,” he huffed. “Shoulda sat down, let me help you more. Or you coulda just… let it be another day. No big deal.”

She cracked a tired smile. “You did plenty, Joel.” He really hadn't, but she held his gaze for a moment, searching. Then, gently, “You think I don’t want to do this for you?”

“What, be my wifey? Take up all my jobs around here?” Then, mumbled, “Should be callin’ me wifey.”

“Take care of you,” she snickered.

Joel worked his jaw, looking away. He didn’t know how to answer that without saying too much.

Leela shifted, pulling herself up, close enough that he could feel her breath against his cheek. “I love you,” she murmured, with a surety he could never say aloud. “And I love what we have together. That’s why.”

Joel let out a breath, nodding. Then, gruffly, a bare breath, still not used to hearing it—“Yeah, I um. Love you, too.” His fingers traced one last, slow pass over her ankle before he hauled her closer, tucking her in against his chest. He stroked a few fingers down her back. “But next year, you’re sittin’ your ass down, lettin’ me do the gruntwork.”

Leela smirked against his shirt. “We’ll see.”

And for all that Joel had ever wanted with her—the longing, the ache, the terrible, quiet craving—he never thought he’d get this. Not just the heat of her body beside his. Not just her palm clutching his when the night got too dark. But, this.

A rhythm. A routine. A system that ran like a slow-beating heart. Something sacred, lived-in. Something built—not struck like lightning, not born from a single moment—but grown, cultivated like a garden in drought, fed by every mundane minute. It was ivy creeping up the big, white house's walls—imperceptible until, before you knew it, the whole damn thing was covered.

It was normal. And, god help him, he loved it. The predictability. The predictability. The soft domesticity. The way she moved in sync with him, like they'd been together a lifetime. Like muscle memory.

He’d step into the shower last, warm water would run out halfway through, but he didn’t mind—he’d stand beneath it anyway, working out the aches in his back, the stubborn stiffness in his knees, and by the time he stepped out, shaking out his soaking hair, she’d be by the sink, brushing her teeth, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, her long hair damp, clinging to the curve of her spine.

And she'd hold out his towel for him, saying something to rile him up on purpose, like, “I think Maya prefers owls more than sparrows. You know what a group of owls are called, Joel? A parliament. They're so cool.”

Sighing, he tied the towel around his waist, rifling through the drawer for a Q-tip. He'd been feeling deaf as a post with this weather. “I told you, we're not getting an owl.”

She frowned around her toothbrush. “Dull.”

“If you want a pet that bad, get one that's big and furry. Eats all the leftovers. Sticks to its business.”

She reached up to pat his damp chest, toothbrush now hanging off her lips, muffling her words. “I already have one of those. He's quite handy, too.”

That earned her a sharp smack in the ass. “Wiseass.”

And he’d put Maya to bed—pressing one last kiss to her forehead, cheeks and palms, smoothing her curls back, tucking the blankets snug around her little body—he still couldn’t stop himself from doing that, even now, the same way he did the first night he had slept in their home—while Leela went through the house, turning out the lights one by one, checking the latches, rearranging things no one else would ever notice. It was her way of making peace with the night. Her version of prayer.

And sometimes, when the noise in her head got too loud, she settled into her own space—the basement, where her tools were, her projects, the half-assembled parts she liked to fidget with, or fixing up whatever had caught her interest that night—and he’d find her.

He never rushed her. Never told her to get up and come to bed. Just sat nearby, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the soft furrow of her brows as she worked, how a single curl escaped her braid, which she'd tuck behind her ear every now and then. If she muttered to herself, he listened. If she was quiet, he let her be. If she needed help, he'd be there, rolling up his sleeves.

And when she was finally done, he’d take her hand—always her left, where her knuckles were a little more sore, where he'd thoughtfully rub her ring finger and imagine a gold band resting—and walk her upstairs, one foot in front of the other, like he was guiding out of a storm.

Up to their space. Their bedroom. Amber-lit. Warm. Enormous but quiet. Soft shadows stretching long across the wooden floor. Hers in a way that made it his, too. Her notebooks were stacked neatly on her nightstand, pages folded at the corners. The book he’d been “reading” for the past weeks was on his, barely ten pages in. A jug of water beside her lamp, which he refilled every evening, without fail.

And now, watching her in the bedroom—seated at the vanity, running a brush through her hair—it hit him, like it always did—how easy it had been to fall into this life. How damn natural it felt. He was sure he'd been waiting, failing, outliving for this his whole, long life.

And how hard—how impossibly hard—it would be to let it go when the time came. When something came knocking again.

And yes, it already did.

Now, his love wasn’t loud. It was this, soft, unremarkable intimacy. The brushing of hair. The warmth of a towel passed to him. The sense of a playful baby curled between them in the morning.

And Joel knew—deep in his gut—that he’d claw through the earth to keep it. To keep them.

X

“We have a life together. A family, a baby, a future. I... It ain’t that simple right now for all this.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Ellie shot back, shoving up to her feet. Her breath curled in the air, hanging between them. “You know some people’d want to hear what she’s got to say. People who could actually do something with what she’s figured out. The right people.”

The right people. Those do-good fucking cunts.

Joel knew exactly who she meant. The Fireflies, or what was left of them. The idiot ones still searching for remnants of the old world, still clinging to the past like stubborn weeds, for answers to questions that didn’t matter anymore—not when the world had already moved on without them. People who hadn’t let go of the idea that something better could still exist.

Leela had never been one for fairy tales. But this was the closest thing she had to one. And she’d chase it, no matter the cost.

He could already see it playing out. The way she’d set out on some wild chase across the country, searching for ghosts in the ruins. The way she’d throw herself into danger, into unknown places, into hands that might not be as kind as she expected.

And for what? For a world that was already done for? For parents who weren’t here to see it? For something bigger than herself, because Leela never knew how to put herself first?

He couldn’t let that happen. Not as long as he breathes.

Joel folded his arms, gripping the thick fabric of his sleeves, ready to return like for like. “Enlighten me, kiddo. And how do you know they’re still out there?”

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. “I hear things. You think I don’t listen?” She gestured vaguely toward the town. “Maria’s got scouts. People come through. Fucking Eugene. And maybe the whole world isn’t what it used to be, but not everyone’s given up trying to fix it.”

Joel let that sit in the cold air between them. But that didn’t mean it was real. And even if it was—

He sighed, running a rough hand over his beard. “Ellie, you don’t—”

“Don’t what?” she snapped. “Understand?” Her voice had teeth now, cruel, sharp ones. “I understand just fine. I'm not a kid anymore.”

Joel clenched his teeth. His patience was fraying, unraveling at the edges.

“You have to stop,” he muttered.

Ellie let out a breath, shaking her head. “Jesus. She deserves to know, Joel.”

His throat worked up. “And what if there’s nothin’ out there?” His voice was quiet now, but firm. “What if she goes searchin’ and doesn’t find a damn thing? Or worse—what if she does?”

Ellie stilled. Joel stepped forward, yielding the words into the space waiting between them.

“What if she finds the wrong people?” His voice was almost a growl. “You ever think about that? About what happens if it gets her helpless, in front of a gun? If she leaves everything good she’s got right here and doesn’t come back? Have you thought about Maya? Our kid who depends on her... delusional mama? Will you answer for her?”

His voice caught on those last words. The thought of them was objective in his throat, scraping raw on the way down.

Ellie’s jaw twitched, but she didn’t look away. “Whatever it is, that’s not your choice to make.”

Joel inhaled sharply through his nose.

Not his choice, yes. But wasn’t it? Hadn’t it always been? Hadn’t it always been him, standing between the people he loved and the things that would take them away? Hadn’t it always been his job to make those choices—ugly, unimaginable choices—because someone had to?

Hadn’t it always been him who paid the price?

Ellie took a slow step forward, voice quieter now but cutting deeper than anything she’d yelled. It dropped ten-tonne stones in his stomach.

“You did it to me. Not this time, Joel.”

X

Joel watched Leela in the mirror for a long moment, one hand braced against the frame, taking in the endless pull of the bristles through her dark strands, the way her mouth softened in concentration. How she winced when she smoothed over a particularly large snarl, and manoeuvred it in little pulses of the brush.

Then he stepped behind her, crossing the room, steeling his palms against the vanity, on either side of her, lips against the back of her head—

“Darlin’?” The word was muffled in her hair.

She hummed softly, big, dark eyes flicking up to meet his in the glass. And goddamn, she looked pretty. Undeserving of him. The golden light from the lamp traced over the delicate curve of her cheek, the slope of her nose, the deep, dusky gleam of her skin.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look?”

Her mouth curled, amused. She dragged the brush down again, glancing at him through the mirror. “Including now? Seventy-three times.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh. “You keep count, dork?”

“I keep count of everything.” She spun on the leather stool, ticking her fingers off. “How many times you walk up the stairs in a day, times you kiss me, times you call Maya with endearments or her name, times you use the bathro—”

Joel groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ. Stop.”

She simply grinned at him, all innocent. “It’s a pattern. Symmetry. Helps with the theory.” A beat, then softer—“Well… helped.”

Joel eyed her. That sadness, the loss. The piece of her that was still grasping at things that had slipped through her fingers long ago. He wasn’t about to let that take root.

Then—clearing his throat—he shook his head, voice wry. “I was workin’ up to somethin’, and now I’m just creeped out.”

Leela tilted her head, curious. “Working up to what?”

He leaned in, voice dropping, little rougher, little lower. “Well—” His eyes flicked to her mouth. “I was gonna kiss you real hard.”

A flicker of something crossed her face—delight, fondness, maybe a little bit of shyness. That part he loved. Her lips parted slightly, nevertheless.

His smirk deepened. “How many of those am I at today?”

She let out a quiet, breathy laugh, gaze lowering. “Seven.”

“Hm. I can do better.”

Joel reached for her, fingers curling under her chin, tilting her face up as he kissed her—incredibly soft lips brushing his, building and deep, taking his time, savouring the sweetness of her. She sighed into him, her fingers grazing against the explosive pulse on his wrist, slipping up into his hair, her body melting just a little.

Then—just as she did—he moved.

With a swift movement, he shifted, dipping down, hands gripping firm before he hoisted her up, throwing her over his shoulder like she weighed no more than a feather.

“Oh—Joel!” She yelped and earned himself a swat at his back along with a girlish giggle. “Put me down!”

Joel just grinned, gripping the back of her thighs as he carried her toward their bed. “No can do. Seven kisses, my ass. I'll make that seventy tonight.”

She was laughing. Laughing like she couldn’t help it, like it just spilled out of her, like it bubbled up from somewhere deep, warm, and real.

And shit, Joel thought—if this was his life now, if this was what he got to end his days with—then he was the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

Leela was still giggling her head off when he set her down on the bed, mattress dipping with her weight, her legs hanging a little off the edge.

Joel stood over her for a beat, his large hands dwarfing her thighs, squeezing into the warm, smooth skin. His heart was thudding that fierce, familiar rhythm—like it always did when he was close to her. Just like this.

Christ, she was unfairly beautiful. Her freshly combed hair tumbled wild over her shoulders, her nightdress slipping a little at the straps as if knowing what was coming, teasing the soft swell of her collarbones. And her legs—bare beneath the hem—were parted just enough to accommodate his broad form and step between them.

He did, dropping down to his knees, like a man come to confess, knowing damn well he was about to sin a hundred times more.

And from here—from this angle—he could see everything. His whole world condensed to that space between her legs. The way her nightdress pooled over her lap, the black fabric of her panties peeking out just beneath it, the little white bow at the waistband that always drove him insane.

Leela only hummed, slender fingers buried into his hair, combing through the damp, silver-brown curls, another reminder of how too fucking old he was for her. Joel exhaled, tilting his head into her touch. Her fingertips dragged lazily over his scalp, nails scratching just enough to make his skin prickle.

God, he loved that. The way she touched him, she was allowed to now. Like she wanted to. Like she owned him. Because hell if she didn’t, every damn broken shard, every scar, every weary, blood-worn inch.

He let his eyes slip shut under her touch, sinking into it, jaw flexing slightly with the effort it took not to simply fall apart in her hands. She noticed. Of course she did.

Her mouth curved knowingly. “You want to…? I thought today is a godly day and all that.”

Joel huffed, eyes blinking back open. “You know what the Bible says?”

Leela smoothed his hair back from his face. “What does it say, Joel?”

His hands squeezed her thighs. “To be fruitful and multiply.” He let his lips ghost over her knee, just barely touching. “From one godless person to another—I say we fuck seven ways til Sunday and call it worship. Just like the big man intended.”

Leela laughed, hands hiding her face, and Joel felt it like sunlight cracking through old stone.

She wasn’t always like this with him—so easy, so light. It had taken time, so much time, to bring her here, to let her settle into herself with him, to let her know she didn’t owe him a damn thing. Not her body, not her trust, not her affection. That he’d still want her, still love her, no matter what her body could or couldn’t do.

But now? Now she sat before him, knees fallen open, fingers tangled in his hair, looking down at him with fondness. His, in the way someone chooses to stay.

He ran his hands down, slow, tracing the gentle slope of her calves, the dips and hollows of her knees, until he reached her feet. He rolled her socks off one by one, tossing them over his shoulder.

Then he groaned. Because right there, around the delicate bones of her ankles, were those thin gold chain anklets. Wrapped around the bones of her ankles like they were made to live there.

He swallowed, fingers trailing over the fine metal, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the bone. “The shit you do to me.”

Leela bit her lip to fend off a smile, fingers playing in his hair. “I make you very, very happy?”

“Absolutely. And,” he pointed to the goddamn rock-hard monument in her name, right between his legs, “there's your proof.”

Leela’s laugh was still in the air when Joel pushed her knees up, folding her into the mattress, urging her onto her back. He gave those pretty gold anklets a kiss.

She didn’t just let him. She rose onto her elbows, watching him, that playful little grin still tugging at her lips.

Joel let his hands slide up her thighs, tracing a path over warm, bare skin before pulling back just long enough to grab the back of his shirt. Then, in one motion, he yanked it over his head. Didn’t care where the damn thing landed.

When he looked down again—her lips had parted, awed, curious, fingers already reaching for him.

He knew where she was going before she even touched him.

Knew the exact path her hands would take—starting from the thick, angry scar slashed deep into his torso, the one that never quite faded, the one that should’ve killed him all those years ago. Her cautious fingers traced along the pale, ragged edge of it, weightless, lingering—because she knew. Knew how close he came to never having this. Her.

Then—down. Lower. His stomach caved as her touch skimmed over the soft plane just below his ribs, down to where the trail of little tufts of hair disappeared beneath his waistband.

“Still got a thing against underwear?” she whispered, mocking.

“Knock it off. You have your patterns, I have mine.”

Joel wasn’t sure what had him losing his breath first—her touch, maybe it was the way she looked at him right now, lips parted, waiting, as if she already knew exactly what this was doing to him. Just a whisper of pressure before she hooked one single finger into his waistband—one. Didn’t even tug, just held him there, wanting permission.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, lips twitching slightly, instinct kicking in before he could even think about it.

“My turn first, darlin’.” His voice was collected, low despite the heat winding through his blood. “I wanna take a nice look at my stakes tonight. You mind?”

A hesitation—just a beat. And, slowly, she shook her head.

Hands sliding back the hem of her nightdress, he dipped his head to claim his said stakes, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh.

He took his time; he was about to taste every last bit of her tonight. Let his hands smooth over her hips, his thumbs skimming under the elastic of her panties, catching at the sides. The fabric worn soft against her skin, and he dragged it down, inch by inch—savouring the reveal of her, the friction, the soft unveiling of something that was already his.

And then he leaned down, eyes never leaving hers—flattening his tongue right into her belly button, teasing, hot, wet, possessing, before rolling it there like he was stamping himself into her, telling her exactly what the fuck she was in for.

Her head fell back, exposing her throat, as his stubble scraped at her, the delicate skin of her hipbones fluttering.

Joel knew it before he could venture downward, awaiting what was fit for a king.

The hesitance. The way her body reacted before her mind caught up, old ghosts whispering, instincts catching up—the quick snap of her knees closing, her fingers curling into the sheets, like she could hide, like she should.

Like she expected him to pull back, turn away, confirm whatever she’d already convinced herself was true.

“It's all ruined, Joel,” she whispered, too quiet, barely cupping his cheek. “It really isn't worth it. Just come up here and kiss me.”

A firm reminder of the patience he had to hold, no matter how much his control slipped past him, replacing it with something hot and aching and furious, because—who the fuck put that in her head? Who made her think that the resilience of her body, the proof of what it had endured, made her less than?

Who made her believe that change was a goddamn loss instead of something earned?

Although he knew what she saw now when she looked in the mirror. Knew the way her fingers traced over her own skin with careful, detached curiosity—like she was separate from herself, like she was still trying to understand what had happened to her.

So, he had to be careful now. Temper himself. Had to remind himself to slow down, hold back, not push, not snap with the heat—even though every part of him wanted to touch, to hold, to make her feel what he saw.

He ran his hands over her thighs, slowly warming her back into him, into this moment. Let her feel him. Let her know he was still here.

“Let me in, sweetheart.” His voice rough, full of something he didn’t have the words for but needed her to feel. Reassurance. A truth. “'S'okay, I promise.”

She was quiet. Fingers still tight in the sheets, body torn between wanting and fearing.

And Joel hated it. Hated that she was waiting for something bad to happen, for him to hesitate, to pull away, to confirm whatever bullshit lies had been inside her, planted deep and rotting.

And the marks left behind? The softening, the lines that claimed her, the change, the things she thought had broken her?

That was proof. Proof that she’d survived something brutal and still held onto love. That she’d carried something beautiful—someone—through pain and blood and numbness and came out the other side still standing. Hell, Joel had never been prouder of anyone in his whole miserable life.

So he did what he always did when words failed him—he showed her.

He spread her open again—took his time, no rush, no pressure, his fingers dimpling into the flesh of her thighs, easing, coaxing, waiting.

And she let him. Her breath wavered, shaky—but she let him.

So, he took her in. Saw everything he called his now. Jesus, and he wanted everything.

He dragged a hand slowly over the soft heat of her, his palm molding to her curves, his thumb brushing carefully along her folds—warm, wet, waiting for him. Felt the little stuttered breath as he traced his fingers along the slit, that dewy, sensitive nub of her clit, anticipating like the mother of pearl, parting through the folds, and he treated it like a man committing scripture to memory.

All his. He'd burn the fucking world, the goddamn galaxy, twice over for this.

He curled his fingers into the soft crease, just enough to feel her reflexively dig her feet into the mattress, anklets clinking, to feel her shiver and melt, just a little, into his fingertips.

And then he looked up at her from above her hips. Held her in place with nothing but his eyes, voice rough, gaze burning.

“Ain’t a damn thing ruined, darlin'.” His fingers flexed, his grip tightening, close to worship. “All I see is you.”

All he ever fucking wanted.

She brushed her thumb across his chin. “Joel.” As if that was the only word she could make out from her lips right then.

“Jus’ look at you,” he murmured, like gravel soaked in honey. “Fuckin’ made for me. Starvin’ me all this time.”

Joel didn’t rush a goddamn thing, as was his catchphrase for life these days. Didn’t tease. Didn’t press fleeting kisses or featherlight touches—no, he gave her everything.

Firm, unrelenting, deep.

He wasn’t fumbling, wasn’t searching—he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what she needed. He’d learned the way her breath hitched when he latched his lips there, on the pearly bud—where she was warm, where she was soft, where she trembled at the first graze of his tongue.

Surrounded her with his mouth, covered her with the heat of him, and Leela broke beneath it. Shivered with his name on her lips, her breath catching, her thighs tensing just a little before she softened, liquefied for him.

God, that sound—that soft, choked little whine. Like she didn’t know whether to hold on or fall apart.

It hit him low, somewhere in his gut, aching, wanting, that had his own hips going off on a tangent, grinding right into the mattress beneath him. Fucking embarrassing, but he couldn't help himself. One-track mind here, and she was all of it.

He lingered this time, slower, mouth dragging over slick, sensitive skin, his nose brushing the hollow of her hip, right down to her warm slit, as he breathed her in, that scent, let himself sink. Wasn't news, but he was fucking done for.

And when his tongue flicked out—light, teasing, just enough to make her breath stutter—he felt her body jerk, spine curving toward him, soft, shaking, helpless as her elbows buckled, trying to hold herself together, trying to brace against what she already knew was coming.

“Joel—” She sounded ravaged already—close to a whimper, pleading.

“‘M right here, baby, ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he murmured over a mouthful. His fingers dimpled over her perfect ass, holding her close, spreading warmth in their wake.

Like hell he was about to fucking let up.

She was trusting him. Letting him touch her, take her apart piece by piece with every lave of his tongue, every twist of his fingers, breath by breath. He wasn’t about to let her regret it.

And then—he felt it. That quiet, beautiful surrender. Her body arching toward him, not just allowing, but asking. Needing. Her fingers carding through his locks—not to push, not to pull, just to hold.

And fuck, he wanted this for her. Needed her to have it.

So he gave it all to her.

He had the work cut out for his mouth, relentless, coaxing, toying. Soft when she cried, firm when she begged. He mapped her with lips and tongue and teeth, bit, rolled, traced her open with his fingers, worked her under, spreading out her soaked folds, wringing out every last breathy moan from her throat, every sweet little gasp, every sweet, desperate, whispered Joel. Music to his fucking ears.

And when his fingers traced down, teasing, ring and middle fingers easing inside—pressing, curling, giving her just enough, just right—

“Oh, my god—Joel—” and some nonsensical sounds for which there was no right spelling, which made him chuckle right into her.

She choked on the words, hands flying to clutch his shoulders, nails digging into healed wounds, breaking skin, breaking him. Good. Let her. Let her take a chunk of his flesh. Sink right in and pluck out his heart, bloody and beating. Take a piece of me, sweetheart. It’s yours.

A wicked little thrill curled in his gut when she whined his name, echoing off the walls. “Mm,” Joel hummed right into her, tongue working her through the vibrations, rasping, “there she is… That’s my good girl. Let me hear you, baby.”

Her body was shaking, her glistening thighs trembling, toned stomach tensing, hips rolling idly into the convex slope of his nose—chasing it, taking it. And he was simply watching her, an avid fanatic, drinking her in.

She was so close. He could feel it in the way she clenched around his fingers, suckering him in, in the way she tasted so much sweeter, in the way her voice went soft and shattered, in the way she whispered his name, over and over, a prayer for him, like she was half-lost, falling apart.

Yes. He wanted this for her. Wanted her to have this, to take it, to know—that he was here, that she was safe, that this was hers. All of it. Him.

So he pushed her higher, higher, dragged her right to the edge, pushed himself in, in, in, unstopping—until she crashed.

“There's my girl,” he rumbled, unfathomable. “There you go, baby.”

Held her up, took her in, eased her apart, let her come hard against his mouth, his hands, all over him. Let her shatter—hard, helpless, fucking beautiful—until she was unraveling all over him, gasping, crying out, tears in her eyes, curling around him.

“Joel!”

And he didn’t stop. Not yet.

So licked it through, sealed it with a kiss, worked her open, dragging her down, down, down—until she rode out every last tremor on his tongue, his fingers, sure hold of his hands. Tasted her, lapped her up, let the sweetness linger, soaked his nose and beard.

When she finally sagged back against the sheets—loose-limbed, trembling—he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh.

He lifted his head, and looked up at her—past her swollen lips, stomach tensing and caving, sweating, wrecked, absolutely fucking ruined—Joel swore he’d never seen anything more perfect in his life.

Leela stared unseeingly back at him, blinking the wetness from her lashes. Joel grinned at that. Smug, slow, feeling too damn good about himself.

“Wow... that was...” She trailed off, breathless. Then she blinked again, locked eyes with him. “I don't know what that was.”

Joel chuckled, pressing his mouth to her thigh again, scratching his beard against sensitive skin, loving the way she twitched beneath him.

“Somethin’ good, I’m hopin’. You happy?”

She let out a weak, disbelieving laugh—then gasped as her gaze landed on the state of him.

His hair was a mess, thick curls sticking up where she’d yanked at them. His shoulders bore the sharp crescent moons of her nails, blood beading in little spots where she'd really lost herself.

Her eyes went wide. “I did that?”

Joel looked down at himself, at the evidence of her all over him—his skin, his lips, his stubble, his fucking soul.

“Technically,” he mused, meeting her gaze, making her squirm a little, “I did you.” That grin of his was pure sin. “Mark me up all you want, darlin'. Next time, plant those pretty nails right on my neck, I want the whole fuckin' town to know.”

Leela was still blinking at him, looking stunned, lips parted like she was trying to find words but couldn’t quite pin them down. Her chest rose and fell in sharp little breaths, the aftershocks still working through her limbs, loose and boneless beneath him.

She swallowed hard. Then—

“I liked feeling that. Felt so... liberating,” she admitted, almost in awe, like she was holding some shimmering thing in her hands and turning it over in the light.

His fingers traced the sharp dip of her waist, a promise to himself. “Get used to it, then,” he murmured. “Plan on givin’ you plenty more of that.”

Leela let out a contented little sigh, stretching her arms over her head, her ribs shifting beneath his touch. That lazy smirk curled at her lips, all pleasure and mischief.

“Don’t wanna overwork my machine,” she teased, with the comfort she only let herself have with him.

Joel smirked right back, tilting his head over her thigh, watching her through the low burn of hunger—the kind that never really left him, not when it came to her.

“Nah,” he muttered, dipping down, dragging his mouth over the taut skin of her belly, letting his teeth scrape against muscle, feeling the shudder ripple through her. “You promised to fix me up. Hundred-and-twenty years guarantee, remember?”

Leela quieted a laugh, sighing as he nipped at her side, her fingers sliding lazily into his hair again. “Might’ve exaggerated the warranty terms.”

Joel grunted into her skin. “Figures. You rich girls are all charm and no fine print.”

She hummed, running her nails over the back of his neck, aimless. “Don’t lump me in with your admirers.”

“You ain’t in the same class,” he said without hesitation, lifting his head to look at her. “They’re just noise. You’re the whole damn signal.”

Leela closed her eyes, her smile too soft. “God help me.”

“Don’t need god, baby,” he rasped, mouthing against her hip. “You’ve got me.”

X

“You took away my choice. And now you’re doing it to her. I won't let it happen.”

Joel hated when Ellie did this. When she carved him open with words and left him standing there, raw and exposed, with nothing to hold onto. When she infected the space with silence, the kind that didn’t just sit in the air but sank into his bones, into the spaces between his goddamn heartbeats.

Ellie exhaled, eyes burning, breath curling white in the cold air. Her fingers twitched at her sides like she wanted to ball them into fists but hadn’t quite committed. “You always say it’s about protecting people,” she murmured. “But maybe it’s just about you. About what you can’t handle. About how you're too fucking scared to admit it.”

Joel clenched his jaw so tight it ached. It would’ve been easier if she’d just screamed at him. If she’d thrown a punch. Cursed him out. Told him she hated him.

Instead, she looked at him with those sharp, unforgiving eyes and waited. Waited for him to give her something real, to use against him.

Joel swallowed, his voice rough. “It ain’t like that.”

Ellie’s eyes flashed, a cold, sharp flicker. “Okay, what the fuck else is it, Joel?”

His jaw flexed, the muscle jumping. But the words wouldn’t come.

Because what the fuck else was it like? That was the goddamn problem.

It was too much and not enough all at once. It was him waking up every morning with the gnawing fear that something would take this life, his love, all of it away from them, that all this peace was just borrowed time. It was the ghost of what almost happened to Ellie still sitting in his ribs, a wound that never really closed, and he never bothered to check. It was looking at Leela and seeing someone else teetering on the edge of a choice she didn’t fully understand—one that could swallow her whole, just like it would’ve swallowed Ellie.

It was knowing that if he let it happen—if he stood by and watched—he wouldn’t survive it.

Joel sighed, like he could push it all down. “It’s just different.”

Ellie let out a sharp, breathless laugh. “Bullshit.”

His eyes snapped to hers, and something in his expression must’ve shifted, because she stilled. The fight was nonetheless in her, but she was really watching him now.

He wet his lips. His mouth was dry. “I ain’t doin’ this to hurt her.”

Ellie’s face flickered, something cracking just beneath the surface. “Yeah?”

Joel nodded once, firm. “Yeah.”

She tilted her head, voice dropping quieter. “And when you lied to me?”

The ground might as well have been yanked out from under him.

Joel felt it in his gut, the way his stomach twisted all that time back, the way his hands twitched at his sides under her stare. The brutal memory slammed into him, relentless.

Salt Lake City. The cold, sterile hum of machines. The blinding white of hospital lights. The dripping consequence of innocent blood on his hands. The drive back. The silence in that goddamn car. Ellie looking at him, uncertain—Swear to me. And him, looking right back, the lie already fixed in his throat.

Joel’s mouth opened, then shut. There was no answer he could give her. Not one that wouldn’t taste like ash on his tongue.

Ellie sighed, shifting. “You know what this fucking means to her,” she muttered. “You know, better than anyone else, how long she’s worked for this. How much she’s lost for it.”

Her voice wavered slightly. But she caught it, swallowing it down, steadying herself.

“If you take this from her—if you make that choice for her...”

Joel’s hands flexed at his sides, then curled back into fists. Whatever was at the end of that sentence, should she finish it, was a bomb to his nerves. And he wasn't ready for the explosion.

Ellie wasn’t angry anymore. No—this wasn’t just anger. This was something old. Something that had never left her, no matter how much time had passed.

She wasn’t fighting for Leela. Not just for her.

She was fighting for herself. For the girl she used to be. The one who had woken up in the backseat of a sedan, stitches still fresh, lungs surging with breath she hadn’t agreed to keep. The one who had been fed a lie, one meant to protect her, but a lie all the same.

The one who had never gotten to decide.

Joel swallowed hard, his throat working against the lump rising there. This was fucking agony.

He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t the same. That this was different. That he wasn’t making this choice out of selfishness, but love—a love so deep it bordered on terror. That he wasn’t trying to take anything from Leela—he was trying to keep her safe, keep them safe, because for the first time in years, he had something he couldn’t bear to lose.

But he knew it wouldn’t matter. Not to Ellie. Not after what he’d done.

She’d already made up her mind. And maybe the worst part—the part that chewed at him—was that she had every right to.

Ellie wasn’t waiting for an answer. She took a slow step forward, eyes locked onto his, and there was no hesitation in her voice when she said, “If you won’t tell her, I will.”

He took a step forward before he even realized he was moving. “Ellie.” His voice was low, edged with warning. “Don’t even think about it.”

She didn’t back down. Didn’t even blink. “Try and stop me.”

Joel clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. His nails pressed deep into his palms, fists tightening like he could squeeze the fear right out of them.

Yeah, she goddamn meant it. Stubborn kid.

Ellie had always been a storm—a force too wild to be controlled, only barely tempered by the years between them. She was his unfortunate mirror. But this? This was her line in the sand.

She wouldn’t ask again. She’d do it. She’d tell Leela everything. She’d make sure she knew exactly what Joel had been trying to keep from her. She’d rip open the truth and let the chips fall where they fucking may.

And Leela—she would leave him. Leela would walk right out of Jackson, surrender herself to death for bullshit science, just like Ellie almost had. Just like Sarah would’ve, if she’d lived long enough to grow up and push against him like this. Just like every goddamn person Joel had ever loved. And maybe Leela wouldn’t come back.

And fuck—maybe the kid was right. Maybe he was a coward, or selfish, or just too goddamn scared of losing the people he loved to ever let them make their own choices.

But wasn’t that what love was? Protecting them? Keeping them safe, no matter what it costs? Even if it meant they’d never forgive him when he made the hard choices for them.

X

Leela's little giggles carried through the warmth in the glow, squirming under Joel, fingers threading into his hair, gripping without thought.

And that sound—he fucking loved that sound. He grinned against her skin, bit again, firmer this time, just to hear it again, to feel that little flash of light and joy in her, like she was finally letting herself be wanted. Letting herself be held.

And then he climbed, nosing up her ribs, her sternum, pressing his mouth over her heart, sensing it hammering against his lips, wild and unhidden.

Her hands smoothed over him, like testing the strings of a guitar, gliding through his curls, down his jaw, tracing the rough plane of his throat, over his shoulders, his chest. Touching him the way she knew he liked, the way that made him feel like something more than a man with rough hands and too many ghosts.

“Joel?” His name, soft, uncertain. Almost shy.

He lifted his head, finding her eyes, finding the way she watched him, the way she wet her lips.

She smoothed a hand down his chest, fingertips feather-light, following the rise and fall of his breath, tracing each ridge, each scar, committing them to memory. And then, quieter—hesitant, but knowing.

“Do you want to—um—put it inside?”

Christ above. That should’ve been an innocent few words. Put it inside me. Something to smirk at, something to tease her over. But God, the way she said it—soft, like she wasn’t sure she should be saying it at all, but wanted to. The way her lips parted, how her voice went quiet, how her fingers dragged over his ribs, winding into the fuzz there, down, down, trailing heat in their wake.

She reached for her nightdress, carefully plucked the buttons open, so much more sexier when she did it, lifted herself up a little, yanked it over her head and draped it aside.

His stomach tightened, his cock twitched, already aching from just looking at her like this—glistening everywhere, a dusky miracle, warm and ready, legs parted beneath him, wet and waiting.

Joel nodded—too fast, too eager, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not when it came to her.

“Sure, honey. Yeah,” he rasped, voice rough, barely there, already fumbling with unbuttoning his fly. His hands were shaking, actually shaking, Christ, but he got it undone, got his zipper down, freed himself.

Hot, hard, already leaking against her stomach.

Leela’s breath caught, a small, instinctive sound in the back of her throat. Her lashes fluttered as her gaze flickered downward, wide-eyed, her lips parting, breath turning shallow.

“Please,” he tried, hoping she would take the hint.

She hesitated for just a second before her fingers wound around him—delicate, cautious, still learning him, still getting used to the stiffness and heat of him in her grasp.

Joel sucked in a sharp breath, his hips jerking into her fist, completely out of his control. The touch wasn’t even tight, wasn’t even sure, but fuck, it was his goddamn girl, and that did it for him. His fingers tightened against her waist, digging in, as if grounding himself in her, in this moment, in the softness of her skin around him.

And then she looked up at him—a little sceptical, but wanting him anyway. Wanting him.

That hit him deep. That did something worse than arousal, worse than need. It twisted through his ribs like a fish hook, unaware and sharp, leaving him breathless.

He leaned in, urging their foreheads together, drinking her in like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“You with me?” A plea as much as a question.

Leela nodded, her nose stroking his, breaths soft. “Always.”

And that was all he needed.

He kissed her then—deep, slow, sinking into her like he could crawl inside, like he could get closer than skin, closer than breath. His hands roamed over her, memorizing her like a man starved, like she was holy, transient, and he had to push her into his hands, his mouth, his memory before the moment slipped away.

She was all his warmth beneath him, quiet sighs and tremors, fingers tracing slow, aching patterns over his back and shoulders, waiting for him.

And Christ, he wanted to give her everything.

Joel settled between her legs, powerful thighs bearing up hers that bracketed his hips, and the heat of her—the sheer, impossible heat of her—made his head spin, made his pulse hammer in his throat, made his grip tighten against her like she might evaporate if he wasn’t careful.

The last shreds of restraint in him frayed, pulled apart by the way she looked at him, by the way she breathed him in.

His heart was a battering ram in his chest, slamming against his ribs, a rhythm only she could pull from him.

He wanted to remember this. Not just the way she felt beneath him, soft and warm and willing, but the way she looked at him—like she trusted him, like she wanted him, not just in this way but in a way he didn’t know how to name.

His hand slipped between their bodies, guiding himself, the other cradling her face, thumb sweeping slow over her cheek, tracing the corner of her mouth.

Joel clenched his jaw, swallowed thickly, and let himself memorize her. Because he had to remember this. He didn't know when he'd do this again.

And then—he pushed in.

Gradually. Painstaking. Inch by inch. Sinking into her. Into that breathtaking heat, that unbelievable tightness, into all of her.

A gasp tore from Leela’s throat, sharp and caught, her nails biting into his back, dragging up, her whole body tensing beneath him.

Joel groaned, rough, broken, the sound shuddering from deep in his chest.

His forehead dropped to hers, breath uneven, harsh, like he’d just been knocked off his damn feet. Because, no, not even after a decade into this would he get used to it.

He felt everything. The heat, the softness, the cushioning stretch around him, the way her body clung to him, wrapped around him, pulling him in. Taking him in, welcoming him in.

“Goddamnit, baby…” His voice came out strained, barely there, just breath and heat.

Leela shuddered, exhaling in a stuttering breath against his lips.

Her fingers curled into his hair, gripping tight, and he could feel her trembling beneath him, every little hitch in her breath sending him to a free fall. But she didn’t pull away.

No—she arched into him instead, drawn to him, pressing herself closer, holding onto him like she needed him just as much as he needed her.

Joel clenched his jaw, forced himself to still, to breathe, to let her adjust. His hands soothed over her, one stroking slow along her hip, the other slipping into her hair, cradling her, holding her.

Yeah, he wasn’t some young buck anymore. And Christ, he felt it now. Felt it in the deep-set aches in his joints, the dull protest in his bad knee, the slow burn in his lower back where years of hard labour and harder living had left their mark. Felt it in the way his breath came harder, rougher, how his body was slower to catch up to the fire in his blood.

It wasn’t new. Wasn’t something he complained about—because what was the use? His body wasn’t what it used to be. That was just a fact.

And Leela—well, she was younger. Not some girl, not by a long shot, but still, there were nights he glanced at her beside him, and caught himself wondering—what the hell was she doing with him? With a man who hurt more than he moved, whose reflexes weren’t what they used to be, whose hands bore the years in thick, rough calluses.

Joel didn’t know how to explain it—what was happening to him in that moment. What was settling deep in his chest like a slow, burning ember, lighting him up from the inside in a way that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with her.

No person on this shitty planet deserved any of what she did for him.

The way Leela moved beneath him, not with urgency, but with a kind of quiet knowing—like she understood him down to the marrow.

It wasn’t just the way she adjusted her body so his weight wouldn’t bear down too hard on his back, accommodating him to rest on her, or how her legs curled tighter around him, drawing him in, deeper, to give his knees something solid to press into. It was how she didn’t make it a conversation, or a concern, or some goddamn mercy.

She simply… let him be. Let him be a man with age in his bones, with pain in him and knots in his shoulders, and still, still, looked at him like he was the only man she wanted. He was enough for her, making her feel this.

More than the fucking, this felt a lot more like love.

Joel grinned a lazy one, nipping a kiss to her jaw, murmuring against her skin. “How’d you know?”

Leela’s fingers curled against the back of his neck, threading into the softer curls there. “I just felt it.”

Of course, she did. She always did.

Joel groaned against her throat, his thrusts growing deeper, surer, like he was trying to carve himself into her, leave something of himself behind. He wanted to thank her in the only way he knew how.

He kept to the tempo. Circle, push, circle, push.

Until Leela gasped, nails biting into his back, her body rising to meet his. Her breath was uneven, her voice the barest whisper.

“Joel—!”

Right there, yeah. He found that sweet spot. He breathed her in with a victorious grin, nose tracing against her shoulder, low and ragged, his chest pressing to hers, his hands wandering in adoring sweeps—over her hips, her waist, the curve of her spine.

“Wanna give you everything. Everything, take everything,” he said, the words rough and meant only for her.

At that exact spot. Circle, push, circle, push, circle, push.

Because he knew what it took for her to open up like this. Knew what kind of ghosts she’d had to stare down just to let someone in—to let him in. She wasn’t a woman who gave herself lightly. She didn’t owe him this. She didn’t give because she was afraid of being alone or needed something to fill a space.

Joel—God help him—he felt like his heart couldn’t hold all of it.

His lips brushed against her cheek, the bridge of her nose, slow, reverent, until their mouths met, and he kissed her—tongue roaming, teeth knocking, like he was trying to pour something real into the space between them.

“Feel so good,” he murmured into her mouth, voice frayed, like barbed wire catching on skin. “So damn good, baby. You don’t even know.”

A gentle pull at his curls and an echoing moan had him reeling. He groaned, forehead pressing to hers, sweat beading at his brow, spine screaming at the strain—but he didn’t pull away. Not yet. Not when she felt like this, sounded like that.

Circle, push, circle, push, circle, push, push, push—

Joel could feel her getting close. Best damn thing in his life, that's for sure.

He could feel it in the way her breath hitched, in the little shudders that ran through her body, in how she clenched around him—tight, fluttering, like she was right there, teetering on the edge. This might just be it.

And this time, this time, there was no pulling back. No hesitation. No slipping out of reach like before—where her body had tensed and her eyes had gone glassy and distant, that wall confusedly sliding back into place, shutting him out without a word.

No, tonight was different.

Tonight, she stayed with him. Held onto him. Let him see her.

And Joel felt his own climax building—not just in himself, the tight, coiled tension in his spine—but in her.

He slowed, deepened his thrusts, each one thick with ache and purpose, his breath coming hard and uneven, gruff voice encouraging. “You gonna come for me, baby? You feel that?”

Leela nodded, fast, her mouth falling open, a whine catching in her throat. Her hands were in his hair, holding him close, her thighs locked around his hips, skin slick, hot, quivering.

“Say it f'me, now. Need that smartass head of yours to know. Tell me.”

She started in a whisper. “I'm gonna—” one greedy slam of his hips and she cried out, “gonna come!”

“Yeah, you are. Gonna make a mess all over me.” Joel gritted his teeth, a fresh wave of heat breaking over him. He was sweating hard now, the kind of sweat that came with effort, with strain, with love like this—not frantic, not desperate, but fierce. Devoted. He had this in the bag.

A bead of sweat slid down his temple, another dripping from his jaw, splashing hot against the swell of her pulsing breasts. God, so fucking sexy. Unfairly sexy.

She gasped—not from discomfort, but from how deeply he filled her, how close she was, how it all felt.

Her body arched, and he felt the tension spiral tight—so tight—under his hands.

“Thaaat’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, “come on, let go f'me. Such a good girl.”

The air between them was thick, the rhythm of their bodies like a heartbeat, their skin slapping softly, wet and warm and intimate, it felt too surreal. The sounds were bare, natural—Leela’s tiny gasps, Joel’s deep grunts, the slick slide of skin on skin, the creak of the bedsprings beneath them.

“You’re doin’ so good,” Joel rasped, his hand cradling her cheek, thumb brushing under her eye, “that’s it, darlin'. I got you. Come on.”

And then—she broke.

“Joel!”

Her body seized around him, back arching, a high, wrecked whimper tearing from her throat—raw and real and so damn incredible it hit him like a freight train. Joel felt her come apart underneath him, clenching, fluttering, her limbs trembling, thighs tightening, fingers digging into his back like she didn’t know how else to stay tethered to the earth.

Her release hit hard around him, rolling through her in wave after wave, hips jerking, breath catching, chest pushed tight to his. And Jesus, she held on. Clung to him like she wasn’t afraid anymore.

All it took was that. Joel was undone.

The way she came for him, the way she gave him that—trusted him with that—a broken, breathless sound ripped from his chest as he followed her over the edge, everything tightening—his thighs, his spine, the aching stretch of his lower back—and he spilled into her, wrung all of him out, deep, full, trembling like a man who hadn’t known softness in years. He held her close, rested his forehead to hers, breaths harsh, the kind of release that didn’t just steal his strength—it stripped him down to the bone.

There was no disappointment this time. No silence. No turning away. No false promises.

Just Leela, breathless and dazed beneath him, her arms still around his neck, her heart thudding wildly against his chest.

Joel stayed there, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin, his hand smoothing down the side of her thigh. He couldn't let go; if he did, he’d lose the one good thing he still had. Within him, he felt raw, scraped clean. As if something old had finally broken open and something new had taken its place.

He was feeling the burn right in his bones, alright. Worth it. Every slow ache, every deep pull of soreness? Worth it.

How was this time much better than the first? Maybe it was how he knew the terrain of her body, all the dips, the curves, the valleys. Maybe this was the way it was going to be, the next one always besting the first. Good, he could use a bit of that excitement from time to time.

“Goddamn,” he mumbled. “That's my girl.”

And she smiled—barely there, exhausted and dazed and flawless. One of those little Leela-smiles that barely tugged at her mouth but said everything.

Her eyes blinked open slowly, gaze hazy and warm. She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

For the first time in too many years, Joel didn’t feel like he was chasing something he couldn’t hold. He didn’t feel like he was trying to fix what had already broken. He didn’t feel like he was failing someone.

He felt like he’d given her a new reality. And she'd taken it. Held it. Come apart with it.

Her thumb lingered at the edge of his mouth, tracing over the rough bristle of his beard. Joel let her, watching her through half-lidded eyes, too damn comfortable—too damn content—to move just yet.

Then, deliberately, he dipped his head and caught her thumb between his teeth. Just a little pressure, just enough to make her giggle.

Leela shifted beneath him, her fingers still trailing over his jaw, drifting down the column of his throat, tracing absent-minded shapes into his damp skin.

Then, her gaze flicked downward. He watched her, half-lidded, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as her brows lifted just a little. He could practically see the realization dawn on her face, could feel the way her body tensed just slightly beneath him.

“Why are you still inside?” she whispered.

“Wanna keep feelin' you. Best nook in the world.”

“Nook!”

And then—she dropped her head back and laughed. A real big laugh, one that could've woken Maya right up. Breathless and unfiltered, shaking both of them right where he still was—deep inside her, buried in the heat they’d made together.

Joel propped himself up on an elbow, watching her with the kind of fond disbelief that had been sneaking up on him more and more lately. The kind that made him feel like he was standing too close to the sun, and somehow, it wasn’t burning him alive.

Her laughter fizzled into breathless stupor, and she reached down between them, fingers grazing her own skin, the slick mess he’d left inside her. She was flushed and glowing and completely disarmed—this beautiful, brilliant creature half-dazed from how thoroughly he’d loved her.

“I am so wet,” she giggled, almost amazed—like she was taking inventory, like she was cataloging the sensation, her big science brain working even now. Marveling at her own body, her own pleasure—his doing.

Joel huffed a laugh, watching her hand linger where he was still seated inside her. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, hoarse. “That’s ‘cause I filled you right up. Feel that?”

He slid his hand over hers, guided it lower, toward that soft pressure, until she felt exactly where they were joined—her swollen, sensitive folds stretched around him, the sticky heat dripping out around his length.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t,” he added, lips brushing her jaw, his voice dark and a little smug now, all gravel and honey. “Felt you take every drop. My girl.”

She shivered.

He was still hard, still inside her, and now he rolled his hips just once—willful, greedy as fuck—letting her feel the way she squeezed around him, the aftershocks still rippling through her.

Leela moaned, body twitching with oversensitivity, but her eyes fluttered open—glassine, gentle and loving. And fuck if he didn’t want to sink back into her all over again.

He liked this quiet after with her. The comedown. The afterglow. Oh yeah, he was luxuriating. It wasn't silence—not really—but that comfortable kind of quiet, where everything was still warm, where he could just be with her, where their breath was still slowing together, tangled up in something that felt more real than anything he had words for.

Leela turned her head, sighing, meeting his gaze, brow furrowing slightly.

She was thinking. And fuck. Joel knew that look.

That faraway gleam in her eye, the way her mouth twisted like she was mid-thesis. It meant she was about to crack the entire moment open with some clinical, over-intelligent monologue that would have his brain short-circuiting—turning this molten, messy, perfect aftermath into a goddamn science lecture.

And he just couldn’t have that. Not now. Not when he was still inside her. Not when she was glowing and flushed and breathing like that.

So he cut her off the only way he knew how—his mouth, slow and unhurried, trailing down the delicate column of her throat, dragging over the heat of her skin, still damp with sweat. Let his mouth roam over her breast, tongue flicking lazily, tasting the salt on her skin, leaving a wet track, the warmth still lingering there, and he groaned against her. Possessive. Content. Still hungry.

“Oh, Christ, you’re gonna start talkin’,” he muttered, words muffled by the perfect weight of her in his mouth.

She ignored him, playing with his curls absently. “You know what? I think I finally understand the physiological means at play—”

Joel growled, deep in his throat, rolling his tongue around her nipple. “Don’t do it,” he warned.

She kept going. Of course she did. “Listen, it’s not just blood flow, Joel. Amazing, right? It’s the whole nervous system—my body registers stimuli—”

He bit her.

Not hard. Just enough to make her yelp. Just enough to leave a little mark. A love bite. A warning. She swatted at his head, already giggling as she squirmed beneath him.

He grinned against her skin, running his tongue over the spot in apology, soothing the mark. “Thought I told you to knock it off.”

Leela huffed, exasperated but smiling, palm flat against his chest like she might push him off of her. But no, never. Not really.

Joel caught her wrist, slow and firm, and pinned it to the mattress beside her head. Brought his mouth back to hers, hovering just above.

“Next time you start talkin’ again,” he rasped, brushing the words against her lips, “I’m gonna make sure you can’t get a single word out. Just like this.”

He dipped his hips, just enough to remind her he was still there, thick and deep, still throbbing inside her.

“Sounds fair to you, smartass?”

And the look in her eyes when she nodded? Had him grinning like a damn fool. Another open-mouthed kiss to the underside of her breast before he was going easy on her, pulling out of her and back, bracing himself above her again.

Leela let out a contented sigh, stretching like a purring cat beneath him, and he just took a second to look at her. All sprawled out. All soft, spent, smelling of him and filled with his come. Why would he ever move when his view was this good?

But he should probably move. Should probably clean her up, maybe get some more food in his system. He was utterly sapped, but when he felt her curious fingers drifting, absently over his shoulder, his back, tracing back up to his jaw, the trail of hair down his chest, stroked across his ribs then—

“Don’t start with me,” he murmured, preemptively, because he knew that look in her eye.

Leela blinked, all too innocent. “What?”

“At least let me grab somethin’ to eat before we get to the clinic.”

Leela propped herself up on her elbows, anxious eyes flicking over his face. “Oh my god. Did I send you into cardiac arrest? Was it that intense?”

Joel snorted, rolling onto his back beside her with a tired grunt, relieving the pangs up his spine. “Figure of speech. I’m not dyin’ with ‘killed in orgasm’ on my epitaph.”

Leela dropped her head against his shoulder, shaking with laughter again. She exhaled against his chest, still grinning. “Why do you talk about death so much after...?”

Joel groaned. “I do not—”

“You do.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Christ.”

Leela lifted her head off him, her fingers skimming absently over the scar on his stomach, delineating a slow, thoughtful path on the uneven edges.

Joel shot her a look. “Leela.”

She blinked up at him, all naïveté, though her fingers were still moving.

“I just think it’s fascinating,” she mused. “Is it because of the endorphin drop? Or maybe it’s more of a psychological—”

Joel rolled them, pinning her beneath him again with a huff, pressing his forehead against hers. If she wanted a third, she was getting a third. It was Christmas, he'd give her a fourth and fifth, too, and face all the consequences in the morning.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, dropping an unhurried kiss to her lips. “Now, you've really done it.”

X

“You don’t have to lose this, Joel.”

Ellie saw it in his eyes. All of it.

Saw the way his shoulders had gone tight, the way that darkness, so raw, dashed behind his eyes. The way his whole body coiled like he was bracing for a blow he couldn’t take.

And for a second—just a second—she softened. The anger didn’t vanish, not completely, but it damped the edges. Beneath the frustration, the hurt, the sheer stubbornness of it all, there was understanding.

Because for as much as she wanted to push against him, for as much as she wanted to be right—she still fucking cared about his ass. About him. About the life he’d built here. About every step he'd taken to give himself that. And she knew he cared, too. Too much. That was the problem.

Ellie exhaled, her breath curling in the cold. The space between them stretched, thin and brittle, like the ice that formed along the edges of the rooftops in winter—one wrong move and it would crack, and there’d be no stopping the fall.

She tipped her head slightly, studying him. Like she was trying to see inside his head, figure out how the gears turned, how the walls had been built so damn high.

His jaw clenched. The muscles ticked, the tension burning through him like a slow, smoldering fire. “Kid, I don’t need you to—”

She shook her head, cutting him off before he could finish. “No, I know. You think if she finds out, she’ll leave you.” Her voice wasn’t unkind. Just certain. “And maybe she will. But maybe she won’t.” She hesitated. “You don’t know that.”

Joel swallowed hard, his throat working against the lump rising there. His hands flexed at his sides, clenching and unclenching, like they needed something to hold onto. Like they were looking for a fight, but there was no fight to be had.

His voice came out rough, hoarse. Quiet. Like he was afraid saying it too loud would make it real. “And if she gets herself... killed?”

Ellie’s gaze flickered.

There it was. Not just the stubbornness. Not just the fear of repeating the past.

The grief. The bone-deep, gut-wrenching terror of watching someone else die for something they believed in. Joel had been here before. She knew that. She also knew it didn’t change the truth.

Ellie let out a slow breath, shoulders shifting with it. When she spoke, her voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t even particularly strong. But the firmness couldn't be denied.

“Then you trust her to make the right call.”

Joel’s pulse thundered in his ears.

Trust. That was what she was asking for. Not just for Leela. For him. To trust that if he let go—even just a little—the world wouldn’t fall apart. That not every choice had to be his.

He couldn’t breathe.

Because the truth was, he didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust himself.

He knew what happened when you let go. When you left things in someone else’s hands. The Fireflies had proven that. Salt Lake had proven that. He’d come too close to losing Ellie—to losing everything—and he couldn’t. God, he couldn’t ever.

Fear had constructed a home inside him a long time ago, and he’d let it stay. Let it bow into his bones, let it keep him moving, keep him surviving, keep him from making the kind of mistakes that got people killed.

This was not about survival. It was about choices. And he was stealing it from her.

His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling, uncurling. His breaths came quick, his whole body was coiled, taut, like something about to snap.

Ellie studied him a moment longer. And then—quietly—she gave him an out.

“You tell her, Joel. I don't care when, but you're gonna tell her before I do.”

She didn’t say it cruelly. Didn’t wield it like a weapon. Just a fact.

A choice. A small, simple one. But a choice, all the same.

She turned for her door before he could answer, before he could say a damn thing at her, leaving him there—standing in the cold, alone. Watching the space between them widen

Pushing him away. Again, again, and again.

X

Joel felt every damn inch of last night in his body.

His back ached, deep and determined. His thighs burned like he’d run halfway across Texas. And his arms—hell, they’d felt strong enough to hold up the whole damn world last night, but now? Large. Leaden. Like he’d spent the night hauling lumber instead of ploughing his girl down into the mattress and making her moan.

Still worth it.

He pushed a hand into his eyes, scrubbing sleep out before Leela's aggravated exclamation pierced the stillness like an ill-timed cuckoo clock.

“No, no, no—don't make me wake Daddy up!”

Joel winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. But still, that stupid smile bloomed on his lips.

Maya had her own shrill objection in return. “No, Mama!”

“Then get in here and finish your breakfast right now.”

Oh yeah, their baby girl had definitely slunk off into the blackberry brambles outside the kitchen door. It hadn't taken him too long for them to sprout once he set them in the beds a few months ago, especially after he found out it was Maya's favourite snack.

Joel eventually forced himself upright, taking longer than he wanted to admit, shoving the covers off with a grunt, rolling his complaining shoulders until his back gave a nice, satisfying crack. That was how he knew he was sleeping better. Real sleep—the kind he hadn’t had in decades. His ears didn’t ring, and he didn’t have to sit there for ten full minutes, waiting for the will to drag himself up.

It still felt strange, some mornings. Waking up without the usual dread clawing at his throat. That didn’t mean he took it for granted.

Eventually, he hauled himself into the shower, knees popping, let the water beat down on him, sadly washing away all the sex, sweat and Leela off him. He dragged on something half-decent, and while combing a rough hand through his damp hair, he crossed the room, caught movement outside his window.

Maya, right where he thought she'd be. That little menace. Out in the yard, barefoot in the snowed down grass, thoughtfully picking at the blackberry bushes like she wasn’t covered in scrapes from doing the same thing yesterday. He knew those nasty thorns. Knew her damn stubborn streak even better. And, sure as the sun, before he could even get the window open to warn her—

“How many times do I gotta tell you? Wait for me. Honey, you’re gonna get—”

“Ow!”

Joel sighed, hanging his head. “—hurt. Goddamnit.”

But she didn’t cry. Didn’t run inside calling for her mama. Just sucked at her scratched-up fingers, picked the thorns off her jacket sleeves, and went back to stuffing her mouth with berries—ripe, unripe, no difference at all to her.

“Yum-yum-yum,” he heard her whisper.

Leela was gonna have her ass if she came in covered in scratches again. And he was going to be the one to clean her up.

Joel shut the window and took off downstairs, shaking his head. And nearly swerved right into the wall at the kitchen entrance. Because—damn.

Would he ever get over this? Over her?

Leela stood at the stove on the island, in front of a sizzling griddle of bacon, dark hair twisted up in a towel, skin fresh and bare, scented with lemons.

The nightdress she wore today from her usual rotation was soft grey, thin-strapped, slipping from the curve of her shoulder. Matched his shirt, the one he’d buttoned on this morning without thinking. And her face—

Jesus, there were a thousand ways to love her, but this? This was the one that got him in the gut. When she was just that sleepy, persistent, clever girl. Stripped of all the careful edges she carried through the day. When she was still shower-warm, soft with sleep, her face stark and beautiful in the morning quiet. He was a lucky, lucky bastard.

She glanced up and caught him staring. A slow, lazy, heart-breaking grin. Her voice warm as honey, came out with, “Good morning, Joel.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, smiling. “Mornin’.”

He made it to her side, hands finding her hips, pressing close, pressing in, letting his nose graze against the damp skin of her nape before kissing the spot, slow and deep. He saw her skin prickle up when he did, bowing his neck to hide a smile.

“What's our number now, hm? Five? Six? Damn near broke me last night.”

Leela bit her lip, trying to hide a smirk.

“And I said I'd fix you,” she said, flat, not an ounce of sympathy in her voice. Casually flipped the bacon over. “See? I'm fixing you a big, fat breakfast.”

Joel gave her ass a playful squeeze. “So wifed up for Daddy.”

He leaned in again, lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. But then—she whipped the spatula up between them, blocking his next move, eyebrows arched. “Joel.”

He deadpanned. “Leela.”

She smacked his chest lightly with the spatula. “Hands off, please.”

Joel hummed, letting his teeth scrape lightly along the shell of her ear. “You loved my hands last night.”

She turned back to the stove. “I love not burning breakfast.”

Joel reached past her and plucked the spatula from her fingers. “I got this,” he murmured, tugging her even closer. “You just take it easy.”

Leela glanced him up and down, assessing. Gave him one last suspicious peek before backing away. Joel shook his head, grinning to himself as he took over the stove, the sound of bacon sizzling beneath his hand.

She smothered a laugh, already reaching for the coffee pot. “Look at that—Joel Miller making something that isn’t coffee for once.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “You’ve been around Tommy way too much. Sounding like that little fucker.”

Not that Joel was showing off. But—yeah. He was. Look, he'd been practising for weeks just to impress her.

He cracked two eggs, smooth and clean, and whisked them up quick with a fork. Salted them good, peppered them up. Poured them into the pan, waited just long enough for the edges to set, then, wrist flick—cue the flip. Boom. Scraped them right onto her plate, firm, perfectly golden, just the way she liked them. Unlike the way he liked them—over-easy, yolk spilling out over the toast.

Leela, however, unimpressed, lifted a brow.

Joel leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, chin ticking up. Go on. Say it.

She just smirked, cutting into the eggs. “Do you want a medal for making eggs?”

He reached up to brush a thumb over her bottom lip. “A gold one to bite on.”

She rolled her eyes. But the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying her.

Joel turned away, glancing out the screen door behind him. A fresh dusting of snow was still coming down in slow, lazy drifts.

Maya was still tangled in the blackberry brambles, completely ignoring the fresh scratches blooming on her wrists and a tiny cut on her cheek. She was in deep, reaching further, wincing every now and then, but never stopping. Stubborn little thing.

“Maya, get your peanut butt in here before you freeze,” he called.

She turned to look at him, grinning wide, cheeks puffed out, berry-stained. “Mmmmno.”

Joel clicked his tongue. “Mm. Fine.” He reached for the screen door lock and latched it shut. “Stay the hell outside.”

For a second, she just blinked at him, unbothered. But then—realization. Her little fingers flexed in the air, and suddenly she was moving. She ran to the deck, curls bouncing, using all her might to clamber up the three little steps, baby boots thunking, hands full of berries.

“Da-da?” she called like she'd just been betrayed.

Joel ignored her, reaching for the coffee pot instead. Poured himself a slow cup, breathed deep, and let the steam curl up in ribbons into the morning air.

“Da-da!” Maya exclaimed. Then, for backup—“Mama, mama!”

Joel barely glanced up. “Mama's on my side. You got yourself into this, baby girl. Shoulda listened to me.”

Joel hid his smirk behind the rim of his mug, watching from the corner of his eye as Maya tiptoed, huffing and whining, arms stretched high, teeny arms attempting to stretch for the knob. Not a single bit of regret.

“Oh, Joel, open the door. Poor thing,” Leela murmured to him.

He pointed at her from his mug-holding hand. “Don't fall for that. It's what she wants. Goddamn spoilt for trouble.”

But he was weak. Weak and pathetic. But it was about to happen, like the countless other times before.

Maya had made a calculated decision: push Daddy’s patience right up to the edge. Dangle her toes over the line, and make eye contact while doing it. Then—the grand fucking finale.

A full-bodied, betrayed-to-their-core meltdown. Bottom lip trembling, berries angrily tossed to the wooden boards, brows screwing together, a cry pulling straight from her little belly. She was a genius little manipulator. Joel could practically see the gears turning in her head—how long she could hold out, how fast she could weaponize those big, Bambi-brown eyes.

And, she won. Every single time.

Joel sighed, already defeated, and set his coffee down. He reached for the lock, slow, resisting, but really? He was already gone.

The second he nudged the door open, Maya barreled inside, practically collapsing against his legs, her whole little body shaking with the effort of her Oscar-worthy sobs.

She clung to his jeans, damp little fingers curling into the fabric like she’d just narrowly survived the harshest winter known to man.

“Da-da,” she wept, mouth wide, tears wetting her cheeks, dramatic as hell.

Joel sighed, rubbing a rough palm over his face before scooping her up. “C’mere.”

The second she landed in his arms, Maya melted. Like the tragedy of the last thirty seconds had never even happened.

She sank into him, berry-stained mouth pressing into his collarbone, curls tickling his neck, those sticky little hands smushing his face between them, kneading at his scruff and cheeks like he was made of playdough.

Joel sighed, tilting his head back against the fridge. “You’re playin’ me every time, baby girl.”

Maya beamed up at him, all wet cheeks and gap-toothed triumph. It was disgusting, the absolute glee. She hadn’t just won—she’d obliterated him.

Leela, across the kitchen, was no help whatsoever. Just sipped her coffee real slow, entirely too pleased.

Joel huffed, shaking his head, but pulled Maya closer anyway, pressing a grumbling kiss to her curls. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t even say it.”

Leela smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she lifted her cup to her lips. “Didn’t have to.”

Soon enough, he'd ushered himself to the breakfast nook, settling back, bench creaking softly beneath him. The cushion had lost some of its firmness, the corners curling, fabric rubbed raw from the times Maya had clambered across it in her little socks, chasing sparrows like a puppy.

Leela paddled close behind, carrying her breakfast and Maya's, baby girl at her feet, clutching her dress, face wiped clean now, and coughing a little from the cold.

Joel shifted, noticing that cough, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Heater’s kickin’ on kinda slow again.”

Leela set the bowls down, gave him a look. “You mean the one you said didn’t need fixing?”

“Didn’t need fixin’ last week,” he muttered.

Grabbing his fork, ready to dig into his plate, piled high with a nice strip of sausage, two still-warm eggs, bacon crispy the way he liked ot, and a slice of sourdough toast, butter melting into the notches.

An arm outstretched behind Leela, he took in his surroundings.

His kitchen ahead, he singled out as the best space in the house.

Leela's favourite room, even if she spent half her time holed up in that damn basement of hers. He loved how neat she kept it, how it spoke of her quiet rituals and the neatness that came from knowing where everything was. Labelled jars and boxes stacked just right in her lazy cursive scrawl, the intricate little mushroom motif on the backsplash tile, the clean knives slotted in by height, the copper pots and pans hanging scratched and gleaming from the rack above the island.

And his favourite—the wall of ceramic cups, all different colours and shapes, none of which she ever used, but kept up there like some kind of shrine. Collecting dust in their cubical brackets.

He had his own, though. A deep green mug, wide enough to sit firm in his palm, heavy enough to make him feel like he had a real grip in the mornings. She always made sure it was there for him, even if she never said it outright. Just like how she never touched his coffee spoon when she was rearranging the drawers, or how she was working on fixing up that old, fancy cappuccino machine for him.

Their things sat together now. His mug was next to hers on the rack, the dark red one with the tiny chip at the rim, the one she never let go of. His plate stacked alongside hers—hers finer, older, precious, from a set that had belonged to her mother.

Maya’s, though, had their own space. Lined up tidy and sterile, like Leela wanted to keep them untouched by the rest of the house. Kid-sized bowls and ceramic cups, all in soft, neutral colours, because Maya didn’t like anything too bright.

His plate sat untouched. The coffee had gone lukewarm. But he couldn’t take his eyes off them—his girls.

Leela sat across from him, knees drawn close under the table, her nightdress brushing her thighs. Her face was turned down toward Maya, and her hands moved steadily—one curled around a little ceramic bowl, the other bringing a tiny silver spoon up to Maya’s mouth.

Blended porridge. A morning essential for baby girl. With blackberries smashed into near-purple. He winced internally—so many seeds. Maybe he shouldn't have planted those things, it could hurt her little stomach. But Maya took it all. Obedient for once, chewing thoughtfully, her sticky fingers tapping against the wood of the table as she babbled to her mama between bites.

She was pointing to her scratches. “Ow—... mm-mean be-lli-es, Mama. See, see. Ow.”

“I know, baby,” Leela murmured, brushing a thumb across Maya’s cheek where a thorn scratch had already crusted over. “You were so brave. But you’ve got to wait for Da-da.”

“Wait fo' da-da,” Maya repeated dutifully, even as she reached for another bite.

Joel grinned into his mug.

He wanted to take a picture. Not with a camera—Christ, no. That’d be too easy. He wanted to etch it with a chisel. Burn it straight into his soul. Freeze this one sliver of morning like amber, hold it somewhere eternal, so even when time came clawing, when the world turned crueller—this would still be there. Untouched.

The light was soft, pouring in through the frost-laced window, silvering everything it touched. It kissed the slope of Leela’s cheekbone, caught the copper in her lashes. And Maya—God, Maya. Her curls were lit like a halo, tiny nails still carrying the stains of her berry mischiefs, lips sticky as she babbled away.

The record player crackled from the living room, some funky rap tune threading through the air, not to his taste. Yet, everything felt warm. Real. Good.

It was so much. Too much.

And he knew, with that dull ache behind his ribs, that it wouldn’t last forever. Mornings like this—soft, slow, untouched by worry—were the rarest kind. The kind the world didn’t let a man keep. So he held onto it. White-knuckled.

He watched as Leela licked the corner of her thumb and gently wiped a smear of berry from Maya’s chin. Watched as Maya leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded, content as a cat in the sun. No resistance. No fear. Just easy love.

Joel leaned back slightly, coffee cooling between his fingers, the other hand resting low over his stomach—where the echo of last night still thrummed. Her. All her. He would die for that trust if he had to.

“Eat your food, Daddy,” Leela warned, not looking up, voice lilting with that dry affection she saved just for him. “You’ll be a shell of a man by noon.”

Joel grunted, winking when that little honeyed nickname hit him. “You sucked the life outta me, girl. Least you could do is let me sit here and suffer.”

Leela huffed a sigh, but her smile lingered, tucked in the corner of her mouth like a secret.

He finally dug in, scooping a forkful of still-warm eggs, letting the bite settle on his tongue. The bacon was perfect—salty, crisp, just the way he liked it. Maya was halfway through her toast, now telling her mama some long, winding tale about a squirrel she saw yesterday, and Leela listened with full attention, humming at the right parts, dabbing honey from the corner of her mouth with a towel.

Joel soaked it all in, and he didn’t want to move.

Didn’t want to breathe too deep, like the air might shift and knock it all loose—the quiet, the sweetness, the warmth bleeding in through the windows.

But Joel wasn’t the kind of man who got to stay still for long, was he?

Eventually, he set the mug down carefully, as if the sound of it touching the table might wake the morning from whatever fragile spell it was under. Then he pushed up from the bench with a grunt, his hand bracing the table as his knees cracked under him.

“Joel? Want me to get something for you?” she asked, confused.

He waved her off. “Nah, carry on, sweetheart. I'll be right back, gonna check on this damn heater.”

She smiled at him, knowing. “I'll do it later. Come, sit, relax. Sun's so nice today.”

He swallowed, shaking his head. “I got this.”

He crossed behind Leela, brushing her shoulder as he passed—just enough to feel the slope of her bones under his palm—and slipped down the hall, heading for the closet under the stairs.

The latch always stuck, just a little. Had to lift it from the bottom and pull at a slant. He didn’t turn on the light. Just let the shadows welcome him in.

The pack was right where he’d left it, tucked behind the empty storage crate of Christmas stuff they hadn’t gotten around to putting back in the attic. He dragged it out, careful not to let the canvas scrape the walls or alert Leela to check on him.

It was already half-packed. It had been for weeks now.

He crouched, fingers moving over the supplies like a checklist he’d memorized. Water tabs, ammo, and the last map Tommy drew for him. Flashlight. Spare batteries. A couple of cans of rations to last him a few weeks.

Joel lingered, fished in the side pouch for the small tin of oil he used for the revolver. Checked it, capped it, slipped it back.

It wasn’t that he wanted to leave. But he didn’t know what waited for him in LA. Didn’t know if there was anything real left to hope for at all.

And if it went bad… he wouldn’t let it come back here. Wouldn’t let it bleed into his house. Into Leela’s clean little kitchen, or the sound of Maya’s laugh echoing down the hallway.

He tugged the zipper closed and stood. Paused, just for a second. Just to look around. The light from the kitchen reached a little down the hall, spilling across the hardwood. He could hear Leela’s laughing voice, trying to follow the lyrics to the rap song while Maya jabbered along with her.

He squeezed his palm to the wall, breathing in, breathing deep, breathing through, breathing out. He rubbed at the space near his heart, feeling that invisible crack, soothing it.

No turning back now.

Then he turned, and quietly tucked the bag back into place.

X

Joel hadn’t slept. Hadn’t even laid down. There was no use pretending.

Behind his shaking shoulders, the house was still.

That rare kind of stillness that only came in the dark hours before dawn, when even the wind didn’t stir and the world felt like it was holding its breath, suspended, waiting for someone to move first.

Joel didn't.

He stood by the front door, dressed head to toe, gear strapped and jacket zipped. Boots laced tight. Holsters fitted snug, a silent verdict. His pack was full—every inch packed with supplies he might need, every pocket loaded with things he couldn’t risk forgetting. His rifle was slung across it, waiting.

He wasn’t.

His hand flexed at his side, then curled into a fist. He looked at it like it belonged to someone else. Now, if he picked it up, he wouldn’t be Joel anymore. Just a man on a mission. Just another ghost on the road.

He should’ve been gone already, nearly an hour ago. Hell, he told himself he’d leave before the light even touched the windows. He’d promised himself it’d be clean. Sharp. One quick motion. No dragging feet. No second thoughts. No lingering.

But his boots didn’t move.

Instead, he turned—slow, heavy-footed, drawing himself down the hallway, deeper into the house. Like his body was already mourning something his mind refused to name.

He didn’t need to count doors and stairs. His feet knew where to go. He’d walked this very path a hundred times—midnight walks with a bottle in one hand and a wailing baby in the other. The boards beneath his feet creaked like they remembered him.

The nursery door sat half-open, the smallest sliver of the blue blush of pre-dawn bleeding out from the crack beneath. He paused just outside, staring at the grain of the wood like it might rise up and stop him.

His hand hovered over the doorknob for a long time. Too long. Like the wood was hot. Like if he opened it, he wouldn’t be able to walk back out.

Then, with a soft creak, he pushed it open.

The room was quiet but not silent. The hush of the old white noise machine whirred low, and the radiator let out the occasional soft ping, heating the small space with its familiar rhythm, the faint scent of powder and old baby soap. Warm. Lived-in. Gentle.

And in the center of it, curled on her side beneath a blanket patterned with little stars, was Maya.

Joel's heart cracked wide open, giving a low throb.

She was chaos and peace, both at once—one sock halfway off, curls sticking up in every direction, her pacifier lost somewhere on the mattress. Her tiny hand was balled into a fist near her face, her mouth slightly open as she breathed in soft, fluttery snores.

His little miracle.

He stepped in quiet, like the floor itself was sacred, like the air around her might shatter if he breathed too loud. He crouched beside the crib, elbows resting on the railing, just watching her.

A full year of her. Not enough time, not nearly enough. A whole year of firsts and fumbling through fatherhood again. Every moment—her first laugh, her first steps, the first time she reached for him—etched into him like blotches.

And now he might miss the rest.

He wouldn’t see her walk to school with her funny backpack. Wouldn’t hear her say daddy like she really meant it. Wouldn’t see her sing, or scowl like her mama, or run barefoot through the summer grass without holding his hand.

And just like that, the consequences came crashing down.

All the things she’d never know.

If he didn’t come back… she wouldn’t remember him. Not really.

She’d grow up with photos from the Polaroids, old videos on the camcorder. Stories Leela would try to tell—how he always smelled like cedar and flannel, how he was the best singer in Jackson, how he played her favourite ‘comma, comma’ song every night on the porch, soft and slow, until she was giggling her head off on his lap.

Maybe she'd even recall the scratch of his beard when he kissed her cheek goodnight. The feel of his calloused thumb brushing her palm as she fell asleep. Remember how he had brushed her teeth with the gentlest fingers, even when she hated it, or how she liked to hold the clippers when he trimmed her tiny nails, so she felt like she was helping.

But not him. Not the way he knew her.

Not the way he knew how she loved the blackberry brambles behind the house. How she'd squeal and wiggle when he pretended to eat her fingers. How she'd copy everything he did—from the way he wiped his mouth after a sip of beer to the way he said goddammit when he stubbed his toe.

She'd grow up. Learn to read. Learn to argue. Learn to sing. Maybe pick up a guitar like he always swore he’d teach her. And she'd be brilliant. Smartass like her mama. Strong like her too.

And maybe… maybe she’d find bits of him in the quiet moments. In her love of old country songs. In the way she counted the stars. In the way she looked at her hands and wondered where she came from.

He reached down, brushing her tiny fist with his fingertip. None of that would be him.

Her palm twitched, then curled her fingers around his in a soft, instinctive squeeze. Still asleep.

Joel closed his eyes when he felt them sting. “Hey now,” he murmured, barely a whisper. “Don’t do that.”

He leaned down, nose brushing her cheek, and pressed the gentlest kiss to her skin.

She made a tiny noise in her throat, face scrunching as she rolled away, curling into her blanket again.

Goddamn it all. Goddamn this world. Already, his baby girl had carved a place so deep into his soul he couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.

He wiped at his face with the heel of his hand, stifling a chesty cough, then reached down, rolled up her sock again and gently tucked her foot back under the blanket.

“Be nice to your mama ‘til I get back,” he whispered, voice thick, broken down to gravel. His throat closed around the rest. The part he couldn’t say. If I don’t come back.

He went on quietly, breaking. “You hear me? Be good, baby girl.”

He slowly stood back up, bones aching from more than just age, shoulders screaming beneath the weight he hadn’t even picked up yet.

Back at the door, he paused. Turned for one last look. Maya, curled up safe. Unknowing. A piece of his heart he couldn’t take with him.

He stepped back into the hall and turned his eyes toward their bedroom.

The door was wide open. It was worse, somehow. If she’d closed it, maybe it would’ve hurt less. Of all the times he despised open doors...

Leela. His partner. His wife. The smartest goddamn person he’d ever known. And she didn’t even know he was leaving. Didn’t know that he was taking her work—the most beautiful thing she’d ever made, apart from their daughter—and walking it straight into the fire.

Yet there she was—sound asleep on her side, arm resting in the warm, empty space he should’ve been. Her braid trailed over the pillow, thick and unraveled, like a line drawn he couldn't cross. The curve of her waist beneath the blankets rose and fell with every slow breath. Her hand twitched, like it always did when she was dreaming.

He didn’t go in. He didn’t kiss her goodbye.

It was too much. Too cruel.

If he kissed her now, he wouldn’t leave. If she opened her eyes, if she asked him to stay, he’d give up everything. Just to crumble and crawl back under those sheets and pretend the world or these fucking Firefly shits in LA didn’t exist. Pretend the world hadn’t started turning again, like it always did—hungry, relentless, cruel.

The responsibility of the decision sat in his chest like a millstone.

He couldn’t tell Leela.

Because if he did, she’d go. She’d insist. Perhaps, fight back. She’d kiss Maya goodbye and pull her braid back, swing on a measly backpack, and look him in the eye and say, “If there’s a chance to make the world better, I’m going.”

And he’d never stop her. Couldn’t stop her.

So he didn’t give her the choice in the first place.

He’d take the burden instead. The road. The fire. The chance of death. Whatever waited in LA.

If the Fireflies were even real. If this wasn’t just another cruel lie—bait strung up on rusted faith. If all of this wasn’t just another fucking false hope strung up like bait.

But Joel had already seen the ending. He'd already stood in that surgery ward, gun in his hand, red lights flashing, Ellie bleeding somewhere behind a locked door while surgeons prepared to carve hope out of her brain.

He wasn’t doing it again. He couldn’t.

That’s why he didn’t tell Leela.

Why he packed the notebook in secret. Wrapped it in cloth and slid it between rations and bullets, behind the photo of Maya with jam on her cheeks.

Because this wasn’t just numbers. It was her life's work. Her mind. Her goddamn heart, her family's legacy, scrawled in ink—proof that she’d cracked something open the world had long given up on. Proof that she could change everything.

He didn’t know what was left anymore. All he knew was that he couldn’t let the two people he loved most take that risk.

So it would be him. Not Ellie. Not Leela. Him.

If someone was going to carry that discovery to L.A.—risk being gutted, betrayed, used—it was going to be him.

Not the girl he’d once saved. Not the woman he loved. Not his baby girl.

Because they deserved to live. Deserved to wake up in warm beds. To feed Maya mashed pears and read her books, and braid her hair. Deserved time and softness and mornings without fear.

The man who started it. The man who lied to keep Ellie safe. The man who couldn’t bear to see that look on Leela’s face if she had to choose between her family and her fight.

He’d choose for her.

If Leela found out—if it broke her, if she hated him for it, if she never forgave him—so be it. At least she’d be alive.

Accepting that, however half-hearted, Joel stepped out, easing the door shut behind him until it clicked. He stood in the hallway for a second, just breathing deep. Eyes on the wood.

Then he bent down, shouldered the pack, swung the rifle into place.

And without another sound, with the first breath of dawn just starting to warm the sky, Joel Miller walked out into the dark, leaving behind the only thing that ever made him believe the world might still be good.

X

Leela darling,

I’m sorry. I had to go. It’s something I need to do. NOT you.

I took the notebooks and the recorder. I know you’d want to be the one to carry it. I know you’d try but I can’t let you. Not with Maya. Not after everything.

I - I lo - I wanted to find the right -I wish things were -Don't hate -I

This isn't about not trusting you. It’s about loving you too goddamn much to let you die.

If I don't make it back - If I die - If -

I can’t risk you. Not again. I’d rather it be me. So let me do this for you.

Please keep our baby girl safe. I’ll find my way back to you in a bit. I promise. I love you.

—J

X

taglist 🫶: @darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid , @bumblepony , @legoemma , @chantelle-mh , @heartlessvirgo , @possiblyafangirl , @pedropascalsbbg , @oolongreads -> @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious } - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

[lacydollette]

HIS FAVORITE PERSON ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: bsf!rafe x fem!reader

warnings: angst, rafe having a breakdown, mentions of a dead body, trauma, ward, comfort, slight fluff, kissing, cuddling, inspired by season 2 ep 2 of obx

Rafe’s room was a storm of chaos, just like his mind. His chest heaved as he sat on the floor, back pressed against his bed frame, fingers tugging at his hair like he could somehow yank the thoughts out of his head. His palms were clammy, his heart slamming against his ribs. The body, the ocean, his dad’s cold commands—the images were crushing him. He could still hear the splash, still feel the sick churn in his stomach as they drove away from the scene like nothing had happened. Like it was normal.

But it wasn’t.

“Fuck,” he hissed, slamming a fist into the floor. The pain grounded him for half a second before the panic resurfaced again, boiling over. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t be alone in this house with its suffocating walls and memories of what he’d just done. He couldn’t stay under one roof with Ward right now.

Without thinking, Rafe grabbed his car keys and stumbled out the door, the night swallowing him whole. The only place he could go was yours. You were the only one who could calm the chaos, the only one who made him feel like he wasn’t falling apart.

You were deep in your slumber when you were jolted awake by a loud knock at the door. Tired, you checked the time—2:37 a.m. You frowned, your sleep deprived brain struggling to process who would show up at this hour. Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the door, your favorite oversized t-shirt, one that you stole from Rafe, hanging loosely around your figure. And when you opened the front door, your confusion turned to worry. “Rafe?”

He stood there, his shoulders hunched, his hair a complete mess, and his blue eyes wild with something dark and unhinged. He was pacing on your porch, his breathing uneven, and his hands were shaking. “y/n,” he said, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “Sorry for bugging you this late, I just—I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Rafe, what’s wrong?” You asked, stepping forward. He looked up at you, his expression haunted. “I did something. Something bad. Really bad.” Your heart sank, eyebrows furrowing, “You’re scaring me.” Rafe was always intense—impulsive, reckless—but this was different. He looked broken, like he was barely holding himself together. You reached out, grabbing his arm to steady him.

“Come inside,” you urged, but he shook his head violently. “No. I can’t—I can’t breathe in there. I can’t breathe anywhere.” His voice cracked, and he backed away, running a hand through his hair as he began muttering. “He’s insane, y/n. My dad is insane, and now I’m—I’m just like him. I helped him. I didn’t want to, but I did, and now—”

“Rafe, slow down,” you said firmly, not understanding a single thing before stepping in front of him. “You’re not making any sense. Just talk to me. What happened?” He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto yours. “A body,” he said, his voice barely audible. “We got rid of a body.” Your blood ran cold. “What?”

He let out a hollow laugh, his hands trembling as he pressed them to his temples. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done. I did it. I helped him dump it into the ocean like it was nothing. Like it was trash.” His voice grew louder, more frantic. “And now I can’t stop hearing it. I can’t stop seeing it. It’s everywhere.” You stood there, stunned, mind racing to catch up. Rafe was unraveling in front of you, and you had no idea how to help him. “Rafe—”

“I’m a monster,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “I’m just like him. I didn’t even hesitate, y/n. What kind of person does that? What kind of person—”

“Rafe, stop!” You snapped, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you. His breathing hitched, his wild eyes meeting your comforting ones. “You are not a monster. You’re—” you faltered, unsure what to say. “You’re you. And whatever this is, whatever happened, we’ll deal with it.“ You nodded, saying it more to yourself than him.

Rafe shook his head, his voice breaking. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what I’ve done.” His whole body was trembling. “Then tell me,” you said, your voice softer now. “Tell me everything.” He stared at you, torn between fear and desperation. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you too.”

Your heart twisted painfully. You’d never seen Rafe like this, so vulnerable and raw. And yet, there was something else—a connection that had always been there, just right beneath the surface of your friendship. You’ve been best friends since forever, sure, but you weren’t just friends. Not with the way you looked at each other, the way you touched and held each other like it was normal.

Without thinking, you closed the gap between you two and kissed him. You’d kissed before—dozens of times, maybe more. It had always been casual, something you would do to calm each other down or just because it felt natural. It was soft and deliberate, a reminder that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere.

When you pulled back, Rafe’s breathing slowed, his hands coming up to rest on your waist like he was grounding himself in you. He leaned forward, stealing another kiss, then another, his lips brushing yours with a quiet desperation while tears fled the corner of his eyes. Trying to shut up the voices in his head, and you didn’t mind. You never did. That’s just how things between you were and neither of you had questioned it before.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.“You don’t need to thank me, Rafe.” you whispered back. “Now come inside.”

In your room, you pulled Rafe onto your bed, wrapping the blankets around the both of you as you settled in. He curled into you, his head resting against your chest, as you tried to give him as much comfort as possible, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his back.

You held him close, your arms wrapped tightly around his body as his breathing finally began to even out. The storm of his panic had calmed, but his weight against you felt heavier than ever, like he was carrying something too big for either of you to handle. You didn’t know what to say—what could you say? His words kept ringing in your ears. A body. Dumped it in the ocean. You shivered, though the room wasn’t cold.

Rafe’s head was tucked under your chin, his breath warm against your collarbone. He was silent now, but his body still trembled faintly. You tightened your hold on him, resting your cheek against the top of his head. You’d always thought of yourself as his anchor, the person who could pull him back when he started spinning out. But tonight felt different. Tonight, it felt like you were trying to piece together an already broken vase.

Your fingers absentmindedly combed through his messy blonde hair. You’d been best friends since kindergarden, your lives so deeply intertwined it was hard to tell where one of you ended and the other began. But your friendship wasn’t normal, and you began to acknowledge that as time passed. Friends didn’t kiss to calm each other down. Friends didn’t fall asleep in each other’s arms, your touches lingering in a way that always felt like it meant more.

You weren’t just friends, you thought, the truth settling heavily in your chest. But whatever you were, figuring it out had to wait. Rafe needed you now, more than ever, and you couldn’t let him down.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, the faint scent of saltwater and his cologne clinging to him. “You’re going to be okay,” you whispered, trying to convince both of you. You wanted to believe it, but the fear in his eyes earlier had shaken you to your core.

He didn't say anything, but his arms tightened around you, his head pressing harder against your chest. You didn't push him to speak. You just stayed there, holding him, trying to give him the comfort he so clearly needed. But the storm in his head wouldn't stop. He needed more—needed to feel you, to ground himself in you, to find something real in his world that suddenly felt like it was falling apart.

Without thinking, Rafe shifted, pulling you down to him. Before you could process what was happening, his lips were on yours again, and for a moment, he could escape reality. At first, you thought it would be like the kisses you’d shared earlier—soft and grounding, something to pull him out of his head and bring him back to you.

So you started to respond instinctively, heart beating a little faster. But it wasn't enough for Rafe. The panic clawed at his chest, and his kiss grew desperate, frantic, as if he could pour everything he couldn't say into you. Rafe thought maybe this was what he needed. Maybe you were what he needed. Because it had always been you. The only person who saw him, who really knew him.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't deny what it did to you—the way your stomach flipped, the way your hands instinctively gripped his arms as his lips moved against yours. You couldn't ignore how your feelings for Rafe had grown into something far more complicated than friendship. But this wasn't right. Not now. Not when he was like this.

"Rafe," you murmured against his lips, hands coming up to his shoulders to gently push him back. He resisted for a moment, his desperation endless, but then he pulled away, his eyes wide and glassy as they searched yours.

"y/n," he whispered, his voice cracking. For a moment, Rafe just stared at you, your hesitation hitting him like a punch to the gut. You weren’t rejecting him, not really. He could see the worry in your eyes, the care. You were right, but it still shattered something inside him. This wasn't what he needed right now. And it wasn't what you deserved, either.

"You need to rest," you said softly, stroking his cheek with your thumb. "You're not doing fine right now, and that's okay. But this—it's not right like that."

He stared at you, his expression crumbling as the reality of your words sank in. He'd come here hoping to escape the weight of what he'd done, hoping that you could fix him the way you always had. But nothing could fix this. His chest heaved, and then, all at once, he broke.

A raw, heart-wrenching sob tore from his throat, and he dropped his head into his hands, his entire body shaking. Your heart ached at the sound of his sobs, and you reached for him immediately, pulling him into your arms again. He clung to you, burying his face in your shoulder as his cries wracked his body.

“I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice muffled and strained as his chest felt heavy. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have-"

"Stop," you interrupted gently, your hand threading through his dirty blond hair. "Don't apologize. You're allowed to feel, Rafe. I'm here." Rafe tried to believe you, tried to hold onto your words, but the guilt was suffocating. “I shouldn't drag you into this," he said, his voice breaking. "I shouldn't have put this on you.”

"Shh," you whispered, holding him tighter. "You just need to breathe, okay?” Rafe let out a shaky breath, his tears soaking into your shirt as his sobs began to calm.

You kept holding him, your heart breaking for the boy who had always seemed so untouchable, so invincible. You could feel all his shame, his guilt, his fear, and you wished you could take it away, even just for a little while.

Rafe shifted slightly, his arm wrapping around your waist like he was afraid you might disappear. “Don’t leave me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, stroking his back in slow, soothing motions. “I’m scared, y/n,” he admitted finally, sobbing into your chest, “Of what I’ve done. Of what I’ll become. That I’ll be like him.” You shook your head, “You’re not your dad,” you said firmly, your arms tightening around him.

He’s not like Ward. He can’t be. You didn’t care what Rafe had done or how messy his world had become. He wasn’t a monster. He couldn’t be—not the boy who used to sneak you ice cream when you were sad, who called you every time he was having a bad day because he trusted you more than anyone else in the world.

But as much as you wanted to save him, a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind whispered that this might be bigger than both of you, but pushed the thought away, pulling him closer. “We’ll figure this out,” you whispered. “Together.” Rafe didn’t respond, but his grip on you tightened slightly, his breathing slowing as he finally started to relax. He didn't deserve you—your loyalty, your care, your softness. But for now he let himself trust you.

You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing even as your body stayed still. You didn’t know what you were to each other, didn’t know what might happen after this night or what was up with Ward, and maybe you never would. But right now, Rafe was yours to protect, and that was the most important thing.

tags: @gibson-g1rl @beausling @rafesheaven @rafescokewhore @rafespreciosa @rafeysbunny @rafey-baby @rafesangelita @drewspinkbunny @whinyangel @nativegirltapes @cherrygirlfriend @moremaybank @littlelamy @rafesweetie @deansbeer

[thesimstree]

15 Best Sims 4 Photoshoot Lifehacks: Tips, Mods, Poses & Screenshot Editing

We’ve all been through situations with ruined photos because someone photobombed, we missed the perfect sunset, or had to round up party guests who wandered off... The list of little things that can go wrong during a photoshoot is endless. We already wrote a detailed guide on how to take pictures in The Sims, but now we want to share a collection of quick lifehacks to help speed things up.

1. How to make your sim look the right way for a photo

Want your sim to look right at the camera or at a certain spot? Here’s a simple trick:

1) Hit pause in the game

2) Switch to first-person mode with Shift+Tab

3) Turn your sim’s head with the mouse in the direction you need

4) Unpause so your sim turns their head

5) As soon as their head is turned, hit pause again

6) Exit first-person mode with Shift+Tab

7) Snap the screenshot!

Plus, it’s a great way to get more “alive,” imperfect shots :)

2. Better camera

Better Camera Overhaul-V6 by @sulsulduck fixes common camera issues in The Sims 4 gameplay: removes camera bounce off objects, tweaks movement speed on upper floors, lets you flip the camera upside down and bring it all the way down to ground level, makes movements smoother, adds click-and-drag movement, and fixes sim tracking bugs.

3. You can ask friends to lend their characters for photos

If a big event is coming up (a wedding, graduation, etc.), you’ll definitely need a lot of sims. Finding them for photos is, of course, no problem: you can always hit up Pinterest and download a bunch of decorative sims.

But if these characters need to be active participants in the shot, not just standing around in the background, the search gets a bit trickier. Especially if it’s not just a huge event, but something really important to you. Everything has to be just right :)

First off, we recommend looking for the right sims among your friends in the community – chances are some of them share your taste in aesthetics.

4. Looking for sims in themed groups

Another way to find sims is through various themed groups and channels. Totally obvious tip, but sometimes we forget about these huge archives. 

5. Lots for shooting in the street

If you need to do a shoot on a busy street, it’s definitely easier to find a ready-made lot. Even better if those lots don’t use CC content. We're sharing links to two great CC-free options for you. Perfect for city photoshoots.

Street without CC + Decorative Sims + Traffic Accident Location by LiZok

New York Street by emeraldstories

6. Separate save for photos

If you set up photoshoots for your sims a lot and often, you know that very often afterwards you need to shoot something else. In your main game, you might have already moved on from that scene, changed everyone’s outfits, and sent them home, but in a special save just for photos everything stays right where you need it.

We suggest getting everything ready for the event in your main game (dress the sims, place the lot, gather all the participants), then make a copy of that save just for screenshots.

7. Check out ready-made saves for cool lots

For your game, not every save from another creator has to be perfect: you can just save the lots you like and use them as locations for your shoots.

8. Slow down time in the game

One of the most important parts of a photo is lighting. While you’re searching for the right angle, moving things and posing everyone, the best light can be gone. Instead of messing with the in-game clock, you can slow down the passage of time using the Command Center.

Click any computer in the house – MCCC Settings – Gameplay Settings – Game Time Speed

Set it to 100–200 for comfortable shooting.

9. Don’t forget to take photos with the in-game camera too

Sometimes we take tons of screenshots, but forget that it can be nice to keep memories of certain events right in the sims’ own house. Use the in-game camera to take photos that’ll stay in your sims’ inventory. After that, you can turn them into fun home decor. You can make them into paintings, calendars, and more. For this, use the Photographic Memory 2.0 mod by @ravasheencc.

10. Clubs for background characters

Basic tip: group other sims into clubs. This helps keep them together so they don’t wander off. Plus, they’ll look great on camera in the background, doing something interesting and bringing life to your photos.

11. How to pose mermaids underwater

To figure it out, check out this clear video.

12. Make sure styles in the shot match

We’re talking about the characters, of course. If all your sims in the photo are made in Maxis style, one Alpha sim next to them will look odd. Try to keep the style consistent for each shoot. If everyone is styled the same way (doesn’t matter if it’s all Maxis, all Alpha, or a mix on everyone) – that’s perfect.

13. Adjusting character height

If you’re not happy with how the sims look next to each other in terms of height during a shoot, it’s easy to fix using positioning in Wicked Whims. Just turn on positioning and use the up-down arrows.

Click on the sim – Wicked – Actions – Enable Positioning

This also helps solve issues with poses that mess up the height.

14. Put sims in poses so they don’t wander off

If you don’t need certain sims in the shot at the moment, the easiest way to control them is to put them in a pose. This keeps them from leaving the lot too early, or photobombing the background. Once they’re in a pose, use Wicked Whims positioning to move them out of the way so they don’t get in the shot.

15. Post-processing screenshots

Screenshots done up like polaroids look super cozy. If you like that style too, check out the Photokako site. It really streamlines and speeds up the process.

For even more editing options, there’s the DAZZ CAM app. It lets you enhance screenshots right from your phone. By the way, that can be a lot more convenient for getting pics ready for social media.

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[sasahuaa]

Leona Kingscholar as an omega

Riddle - Azul - Kalim - Vil - Idia - Malleus

GN reader; sfw (kind of? subspace is not meant to be smutty but can be perceived as foreplay depending on the reader’s wants); word count: 2601; tw: inferiority complex, possessiveness

Sunset Savanna is a very inclusive and progressive land in terms of gender, women are held in high standard and the same is with omegas, it's considered normal to have kings that are alphas, betas or omegas. So Leona was always comfortable in his own skin, his nation never made him doubt himself in his second gender, and if he heard someone in NRC with conservative ideas about gender roles he would just scoff and roll his eyes.

Perhaps, in the middle of the night when his instincts are alert, his mind would conjure a memory of some nobody saying that alphas are born to be leaders. Maybe he was disqualified from birth, never meant to surpass Falena?

Still, he wouldn't entertain such nonsense, Sunset Savanna is what matters the most, and no omega is looked down there. So there's nothing wrong with him, it couldn't be! Right?

At least he hopes so, his signature spell already is dangerous, one that Leona avoids showing to others because of the fear it brings. He can't have anything more, anything that is an intrinsic part of himself, to be unfit.

Courting

Leona's first impression of you wasn't all that positive, to say that it was memorable would be pushing it. He really didn't pay attention (nor cared enough) to the entrance ceremony, honestly, the most exciting part was a fire cat causing terror to the other housewardens and newbies.

To him, your first encounter was in the botanical garden, an inconsiderate alpha stepping on him. Leona is still an omega that came from royalty, despite being lazy, he looks after his appearance, idiotic alpha, not only being a cause of a slight pain and annoyance, you also messed with the fur of his tail.

Leona may not be as prissy about his looks as Vil, but he is proud of image.

Like an annoying bug, this alpha was determined to destroy his plans for the upcoming spelldrive tournament. And they did, begrudgingly gaining his respect.

Spending time with you while Ramshackle dorm was being used as a collateral by Azul wasn't as bothersome as he expected. In the short time that you spent together he became fond of you, of your strength, wit and kindness. Leona enjoyed the conversations and playing with you, releasing a sounding purr with his words when he won against you or you did something that he approved of.

The lion beastman, above all, adored to lay on his bed and just observe you moving across his room, organizing his desk and cleaning, he admired your form from afar, averting his gaze just in time for you to not catch him, he enjoyed your form, Leona admitted to himself this, but he wasn't ready to let you in this secret of his. He hoped you liked his too.

Leona's room smelled of you both, the scents minging with each other in a delicious combination that almost made him crawl against his walls. He considered more than one time to just kick Grim out so the smoke smell of the little nuisance wouldn't sully it.

Weeks later, periods without your constant presence made him miss you more and more, and the scary realization that maybe what he feels for this diligent alpha wasn't just physical. He doesn't know what that means, he never fell in love before, and contact besides casual intimacy was unknown to him.

His experience comes from the occasional heat partners, usually beastmen that help him through his painful heats and he never talks with again later on, people he will never miss. He expected to be the same thing with you, ask for assistance and his weird obsession with you would disappear.

But had he ever felt this way before for any of his fleeting encounters? The emptiness when you are not with him, the clammy hands and fuzzy feelings when you are nearby, the need to claim and never let others touch you?

After the realization dawned on him, he avoided you for a few days. He is good at reading people, he is aware that you are the perfect mate for him. You never treated him as a second thought, held him in high regard, and dare he say, enjoyed his company as much as he is delighted by yours.

“You are compassionate and caring, Leona, did you know that?” your words did not leave his head during his isolation span. Leona never expected to meet someone that read through him, that could see right behind the thorns and thistles of his being, and reach a pure part of him that Leona didn't know existed.

You said you admired how he cared for his dorm, his dedication to guide pups like Jack and Epel and offer words of guidance or protection, in the guise that it was his duty as a housewarden. He was… happy that you saw him this way, the tenderness of such unfamiliar to him, but welcome.

With his mind made up, he ordered Ruggie to bring you to the botanical gardens, returning to his routine with you when you have free time to spend with him. Leona may be lazy, but he puts effort in the things he is passionate about, and he is very passionate about you.

You may not notice you are courting, he never brought it up, amused to the time you eventually will figure it out. He seeks time with you and sometimes follows you around the school when you are busy with your duties, he buys you food, brings you to his room (though most is with the excuse that you need to clean it for him) and slowly blinks in your direction, isn't that obvious enough?

Beastmen omegas are in control of the relationship, the alphas can’t do anything without their permission, so he orders you to give him time and affection, trapping your body beneath him for cuddles, and if you deny something to him? Be prepared to deal with a frustrated omega. He will relent if he asks something that is a boundary to you, not wanting you to be uncomfortable, he does respect you, after all, but if you are denying him to give attention to something else bothers him to no end.

Be it from him asking, or his dorm mates' admiration of him, some Savanaclaw student is always around you, to lend you protection or to report what you are doing to him. If they see someone bothering you, this is dealt with swiftly, if you want something, Leona makes sure to attend to your needs (within reason).

He would flaunt his neck and shoulders, turning his back towards you, feeling whole if you take this as an invitation to bury your face in his body. He hopes that you know what that means, you just accepted his courting, and he anticipates that his alpha will stay with him.

Growling

To hear Leona growling is not unusual, he is bothered easily and growls whenever someone gives him a task he doesn't want to complete or orders him around.

There was a time when he used to hold back his growls, when he still had hope of becoming king and for people to see that he was the better option. As a member of royalty, he knew how to play nice. but since the realization that for them he would always be second, he stopped holding back.

His homeland became suffocating since Cheka's birth, farthering him away from the throne even more. Attending NRC was his way of escaping his family, and despite him being less stressed than before, he can't say this place is perfect.

Towards you, he growls if you try to run from him, he asked for your time in the botanical garden and he expects for you to accept, and he will continue growling until he deems you gave him sufficient attention.

Leona releases guttural noises specially if he believes someone is stealing from him what is rightfully his. Despite being a prince, he doesn't have plentiful that he could call just his, he may be gifted in athletics, but Malleus is better, he is smart and has a sense of leadership, but his subjects would always choose Falena, material things can be owned by anyone with money, recognition is what really matters to him.

So Leona is ferocious if he finds another omega trying to seduce his alpha. But most of all, he expects you to reject them, to always choose him and reassure he is the only one on your mind.

Purring

Leona purrs loudly, though he is very private about them, only the people that have his favor are privy to this sound.

If he is feeling secure in your relationship, his purr hardly stops when you both are alone. His favorite times are when you are on his bed and he is laying on top of you, his vibrations traveling from his body to yours.

When he is playing chess, the match is exciting, forcing him to think deeply about his next moves. And if you don't know how to play chess, worry not, he will play with you until you learn it. His purrs are enough motivation for you to master chess.

Leona adores physical proximity, let him lay his head on your lap, his ears will twitch in invite, wanting your hands on his hair to caress his strands or to scratch behind his ears. Cup his face on your hands, he will smirk and rub his cheeks on your palms.

Look in his eyes while doing that, tell him you love him, his purrs will become louder than a machine.

Nesting

Leona's nest is not very organized, filled with expensive blankets and pillows, a soft mattress is the base. His nest contains color tones of brown, yellow and gray, most materials have the same texture and the pillows are large so he can hug them with his whole body.

He tucked his nest in a corner, he doesn't often use a privacy screen, but he does put it on when he is feeling vulnerable and in need to hide from the rest of the world.

Leona invites you to his nest very early in the courtship, he is sure that you are his future, so the wait isn't worth it when he could have his alpha in his safe space sooner, you would enter it in the future anyway.

The lion beastman makes you scent all his materials, since you did that, he spends even more time in his nest, especially when he is missing you. In the times he goes to Ramshackle he always comes back with an article of yours, and trades with another when your smell fades away, he is also careful when choosing his new piece, he couldn't let you without your essential items.

Sometimes, Leona would wait until your classes finished so he could whisk you away to his nest. If he is in the room with you, you don't need to ask for permission to enter it, but you do need permission to leave. Anytime you try to leave, to go to the bathroom or because you need to go home, he would bite behind your neck and pull you inside again.

“Oi, who gave you permission?” He would snarl with a low growl, his alpha must coax him gently, little persuasive words, being open to receive scenting and caresses to his neck and shoulders, all that combined and Leona might be convinced.

He just checked behind your neck before you were able to go, his bite apparent for everyone to see, it wasn't a mating mark yet, but for now, it was good enough for any of your other potential suitors to avoid approaching you.

Marking

You would be drenched in Leona's scent, the other students smell more of him on you than your own scent, to the point that some people think that the Savanaclaw housewarden is passing by even when you are alone.

Leona gets smug when he sees others averting their gazes from you, for everyone to perceive your place by his side.

Besides the omega scenting you to announce his claim, it's also for his comfort and reassurance. He is scared of you leaving him, of becoming a second choice for you too.

Smelling himself on you soothes his troubled mind, you are still by his side, you still haven't stirred away, he is still your beloved, his scent is proof of that. The scenting procedure is relaxing to him, to have you in his arms while he nuzzles your head, down to your neck and collarbones, reaching more parts of your body with his wrists’ glands. In moments like this he is assured of one fact, you are his.

Subspace

Although Leona isn't insecure about his second gender, it's a rare occurrence for him to enter subspace, compared to other omegas he has a more domineering personality, and he likes to have the upper hand with his alpha too. But he also likes to concede control from time to time.

Biting and licking his neck, shoulders and back are the way to bring him to cloud nine. Leona's body immediately relaxes and becomes pliant, his tail flicks up in a show of his excitement.

His purrs are unstoppable in this state, and quite lower compared to his usual tone. Any attempts to take your mouth away from him are met with a vicious hiss and nails digging on your back.

This is the only hard rule that he will impose in moments like this, don't leave. Otherwise, Leona would let you do anything when he is like this, his omega brain only demanding attention from his alpha, and he is pleased to provide.

☽ ☼ ☾

There's a gentle breeze in the air, but the ambient is too warm. It's weird, Leona is used to Savanaclaw's temperature, however, lately his instincts are haywire. Ever since he came to terms with his feelings for that alpha he has been feeling overwhelmed.

It's too hot, too suffocating. How long has passed since he started to avoid you? He is sure it's just a few days, and yet, his heart feels far too cold in displeasure. It was cozy when he was with you.

Leona wants to snarl at himself, he couldn't believe he is infatuated by someone. But it had to be you, you have been his only exception for many things, so he isn't surprised he caught feelings, even when he never thought he was capable of such pure tenderness.

He isn't elated, though. He knows you have a liking towards him, but is it romantic? Besides him, you spend time with many others, would you put him in second place too? He couldn't imagine you being so cruel, not after the many conversations you had, not after you saw good in him, even after you witnessed the worst in him.

If you did prioritize someone else…

Leona can't even fathom the thought, he could feel the flames of jealousy burning his stomach and his heart shrinking at the image of you holding a no face in your arms.

No, this can't happen, he refuses. The most shameful kind of loser is the type that doesn't even try. If he is doomed, if he is destined to never be the first choice, at least he will trail this path with dignity, he will go down at his own accord.

But Leona doesn't know if he could take another heartbreak, so please, choose him.

[deanstead]

Worth It

Pairing: Matt Casey x Reader

Requested: no

Summary: Y/N struggles with demands from a friend, and Matt solidifies the fact he will always be in her corner.

Word Count: 2.6K+

Warnings/Tags: toxic friendships

A/N: something bugged me recently so here’s a fic! This can be a bit of a controversial take based on the context but didn’t want to go full on in the fic so anyway~ just needed to get this off my chest.

“Baby, I’m…” Matt’s voice drifted off slightly before he completed his sentence, “…home.”

You could only imagine being Matt and coming home to this sight.

You were seated in the middle of the living room in the apartment you shared with Matt, surrounded by yarn, bits of fluff stuck in your hair, sheets of sketched designs strewn across the floor.

You could feel the panic rise even more as you took in the look on Matt’s face. Especially since you couldn’t read his emotions as the anxiety clouded your brain.

“Matt, I…” 

You couldn’t continue as you felt your chest tighten just a little, the anxiety and panic clawing its way to the surface and rearing its ugly head at you. 

This had all started with Amy.

Amy.

She was a friend you’d known for almost your entire life. You’d laughed together, cried together, dreamed about the future together and talked about those dreams. Along the way, you both had stumbled, you saw less of each other, and Amy reached out less, sometimes forgetting to respond to your messages. Despite what everyone told you, you convinced yourself that it was just how life was and you made excuses for Amy’s growing absence in your life.

Then, she’d reached out to tell you she was getting married.

You felt the excitement first, remembering it like it was yesterday, how you had both talked excitedly about how you would be each other’s bridesmaids. It wasn’t a conscious memory, but it was like your brain had pulled it up, triggered by the words Amy was saying.

You didn’t even feel any apprehension when she asked if you would make the flowers for the bridesmaids. You weren’t too confident because crocheted flowers weren’t really your thing. In fact, you’d only tried it out once. So you’d told Amy you’d give it a shot, make a prototype and see how it went.

You could tell Matt hadn’t been thrilled with the idea but he didn’t say much, only offering opinions when you asked for them and keeping most of his comments focused on the task rather than Amy. Yet, you knew he was holding back. You knew Matt didn’t feel great about Amy, mainly because of the things he’d witnessed, in particular, the way she blew back into your life when it was convenient for her.

But things had been going downhill ever since you’d made the first prototype. She kept changing what she wanted, and even you were getting a little frustrated, mixed with a desire not to disappoint her.

So, having Matt stand there with a surprised look on his face in the middle of an extremely messed up living room only added to your current panic.

You felt your breath quicken and very soon, Matt’s figure was clouded by the tears you didn’t realize had pooled behind your eyes.

Without saying anything, Matt dropped whatever was in his arms, heading straight for you and folding you nice and tight into his arms. 

“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Matt whispered quietly, and you felt the rumble of his chest before your breathing slowly evened out once again.

Matt didn’t move immediately, but his fingers brushed off the residual tears that were rolling down your cheeks.

“Sorry, I don’t…” 

Matt just tightened his arms a little and pressed a kiss firmly to the top of your head.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, scrubbing off the remnants of tears on your cheeks before glancing up at him.

Matt shook his head and leaned down for another kiss and you leaned into his embrace, temporarily forgetting about the mess in the living room.

By the time you woke up the next morning, there was barely a trace of the mess last night. The yarn was back in the boxes you had in the corner of the room and the half done flowers were laid out neatly on the kitchen counter.

No one else would have guessed what had happened the night before. 

Matt was almost on his way out, draining the last sip of his coffee and smiling as you walked into the kitchen.

He didn’t ask but just studied your face for a little longer than usual.

You smiled back at him and nodded. “Go on, I’m fine.” You assured him, even though you stepped toward him and nuzzled your face into his shoulder.

Matt pressed you lightly against him and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You know where to find me if you need me.” Matt whispered gently into your ear.

You smiled into his shoulder with a small nod before both of you pulled away and you let Matt go before he was late for shift.

Even as the door closed behind Matt, you felt it rear to the surface. This time, the feeling was different. It wasn’t even residual anxiety from the night before. You couldn’t put your finger on it but it was bugging you.

Deciding that it might be good to have a change of pace, you grabbed the materials you needed, slung the tote bag over your shoulders and left the house, figuring you’d find a nice cafe to work out of.

So you did and you had been right. A change of environment had done wonders for you and you finally had a final prototype for the new flower idea Amy had had.

You snapped a photo and sent it to Amy, quoting as reasonable a price you could for the materials and stitches. You even gave her what she called a ‘friend discount’. 

But for someone who sometimes took days to respond to you, her response was quick now.

It’s a little out of my budget.

Thereafter, she proceeded to give you a price she was willing to pay that was such a lowball, you almost dropped your phone.

It took you a moment and another few breaths to register that feeling bubbling up in your chest now. You recognised it as a more intense version of what you had been feeling that morning. Now, you could indeed put your finger on it - Disappointment.

It was disappointment that raged within you. Especially when you’d always treated Amy like a sister.

You felt it swell as you thought about the effort you’d put in all these years, even just the effort in designing flowers she would want for her wedding, and then you remembered the many times she’d blown you off, and when she’d been dating that toxic ex of hers and had cut you out of her life for more than a year until the break up.

Resisting the urge to send her a scathing reply, you stuffed the rest of your belongings into your bag and headed out the cafe, only realizing where your legs had taken you when you looked up at the firehouse in front of you.

The trucks were all parked which meant everyone was around. 

Now that you were here, you had second thoughts and you were about to retreat, thinking you’d talk to Matt during breakfast the next day when you heard an all too familiar voice call out to you.

“Y/N?”

Of course today would be the day Kelly came to get something out of his car.

“Hey, Kelly.” You greeted back, your voice sounding weird even to you.

Kelly either didn’t notice or chose not to mention it. He just smiled and nodded. “Come on, Casey’s in his office.”

You didn’t protest, letting Kelly lead you in as if it was your first time visiting the firehouse.

Everyone called out toward you with smiles and you waved back at them as you made your way through the common room and toward Matt’s office.

“Look who I found,” Kelly called with a casual rap at Matt’s door.

Matt sat up, glancing at you before smiling. “Thanks, Sev.”

Kelly winked, more at you than him, before leaving the both of you alone.

Matt got up to close his door and glanced at you. “Everything okay?”

After all, you rarely came to the firehouse without a call beforehand. Usually, you were worried about being in the way so you only came to bring them some food, especially when you’d heard it was a difficult shift.

You nodded. “Nothing big, I just…”

You held back a heavy sigh and just handed him your phone.

Matt’s eyes moved across your phone screen as he read the message and you could see the slight darkening of his expression, even though he was trying to keep it under control.

Matt looked back up at you and handed your phone back to you. “So what are you thinking?” Matt asked.

You shouldn’t have been shocked by Matthew Casey’s complete focus on your feelings, but you couldn’t help the little jolt of warmth that still filled you even though you and Matt had been dating for a long while.

You shrugged and Matt gave you a look, which just made you smile.

“Fine, I’m annoyed. It’s like every single moment with her has been flashing in my head since I got that message and the annoyance has been piling. That’s why I haven’t responded.”

“Go for it, babe.” Matt said, matter of factly.

You glanced at him with half a smile.

“You deserve to be treated with respect and I think it’s high time someone told her. And if you don’t want to do it, I’d be happy to.” Matt said, his voice laced with a subtle protectiveness.

You pulled him toward you, just so you can lay your head against him and smiled. “Thank you.”

The conversation had gone about as you’d expected. 

You tried your best to keep your side as light as possible while remaining firm, and ultimately, the decision had been for you to try to do little flower wristlets for Amy’s flower girls, instead of a large order of flowers.

You weren’t too thrilled to do it anymore, but a part of you felt obliged to, so you’d agreed.

It was only two days later that you had run into Amy when Matt had taken you out for dinner.

“Hey, I…” You greeted her even from a distance, trying to keep things as normal as possible.

But you didn’t miss the look on her face as she turned away, as if she was pretending not to see you.

Instinctively, you glanced up at Matt, your expression one of disbelief.

Matt just squeezed your hand but you could see the strain lines on his face which were a clear telltale sign he was using all his effort to hold back.

Matt was trying to reassure you, but the only thing you felt now was anger.

There was no more second-guessing on your part about whether you had been too harsh or too mean. You knew the answer. 

You were about to open a small side business for your crochet. All your friends, including Amy, knew that.

In fact, anyone who tried to ask you to make something for them had always offered you more than what you quoted, reminding you that friends didn’t take each other for a ride.

Amy was the exact opposite and what really grinded at you was the fact that she thought she was well within her rights to be angry at you.

You were a little confused but the anger had swallowed it all up.

“You want to go elsewhere?” Matt offered.

You glanced up at him.

If this had been anyone else, it might have made you avoid the situation altogether. But right now, the indignant feeling had turned into anger.

“Why should we? You put in so much effort into trying to get a reservation here. Let’s just have a good dinner.” You answered.

 This felt like a huge breakthrough moment for you, even Matt felt it - you could do anything you had set your mind to. 

You sat down with Matt in a corner of the restaurant, pretty sure that Matt had used one of his superpowers to get the both of you a great table and you turned your back on Amy, focusing all your energy and attention on the one person who was worth it.

Once the appetisers were served, you’d thrown Amy to the back of your mind, sinking into Matt’s company and enjoying the date night that both of you deserved. 

It was just as the both of you had stepped out after paying the bill when someone grabbed your arm. 

“Food’s great here, isn’t it?”

You blinked back in disbelief at Amy, who was smiling as if nothing had happened.  

It would have been much better if you hadn’t met her in front of the restaurant earlier. Now, you were just wondering what the hell she was doing.

Matt didn’t say anything, just stood by your side and waited.

“What are you doing?” You asked, unable to hold it back any longer. There was a slight tremor in your voice that no one but Matt picked up on. 

The saddest part was Amy used to be able to. Now, she just didn’t care.

That realization hit you hard but also allowed you to look her straight in the eye.

Frustratingly, Amy was staring at you as if she was confused by your question.

When you didn’t offer her any explanation, she swallowed and spoke, “Come on, Y/N. I told you I was on a budget. You’re my friend, I didn’t expect you to try and profit off my wedding.”

You glanced up at Matt just a little and he merely nodded in encouragement.

“Profit? Amy, you agreed to pay! You are literally the only person that has lowballed me for anything crochet related. I’m not even asking you to pay me for the prototypes or the materials used for it. Have you looked up the prices online? I’m profiting nothing.” You paused and looked her directly in the eye. “Look, I think this isn’t a good idea. “

“What are you saying? You don’t want to talk about it?” Amy asked, and you could hear the tone in her voice change slightly.

You sighed. “I’m saying I don’t think I can make anything for your wedding, or be your bridesmaid. I’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

“Y/N, you… What am I supposed to tell my family?”

You couldn’t hold back the chuckle that escaped your lips. You shouldn’t have expected anything else but the fact that she was more worried about having to explain what had happened to her family members who had always treated you as one of their own, spoke volumes.

“You can tell them what happened, Amy. Just remember that if anyone calls me, I’m telling the truth.”

Matt smiled and slung an arm around you, turning to lead you away before he paused.

He glanced back at Amy before he spoke, “She cared. She really cared and you threw it back in her face. She deserves someone who treats her as a friend.”

You tugged at Matt’s arm and Matt sighed before taking you away with him.

The journey home had been pretty silent and Matt only broke it as he closed the door behind the both of you and hung both your jackets by the door.

“You okay?”

You glanced up at him and nodded before you pulled back again and shrugged. “Kind of, you know? I’m upset but like it also feels lighter? If that makes sense.”

“It just has to make sense to you. The only thing important to me is how you are feeling right now.”

You stepped into Matt’s embrace and smiled against him. 

“With you? Matthew Casey, I’m on top of the freaking world.”

Matt smiled, leaning back enough to take a look at you before pressing his lips gently to yours in a deep kiss.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

If you want to support me, buy me a coffee!

Character taglists are open, hit me up if you would like to be added!

[dulcet-aurora]

buddy holly . tim drake x reader ⸼ ࣪ ✿ ❛ i don't care what they say about us anyway. ❜

❪ in which. ❫ while beloved by the press, you and your boyfriend are an odd sight side by side. but ever since your world of pink chiffon and kitten heels met his of baggy zip ups and wrinkled track pants, the two of you have learned not to care.

⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. paparazzi being annoying, implication of the reader having long-ish hair, weezer references. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕. 0.7k. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔. @di-lucss, @ephemerensis, @dollishmehrayan, @aangelinakii. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓. i wrote this in geo instead of doing my assignment and now i have a pound of homework :( but unfortunately the tim x girly girl!reader agenda must be spread because we know tim has a thing for the fashionistas... steph + kon do not play with how they look and i fear reader won't either.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝒕im's eyes met yours in the bathroom mirror, the rim of fluorescent lights circling you and your boyfriend's reflection as he tied a satin ribbon into your hair. he gave you a cheesy smile, which you responded to with a small kiss motion of your lips. his nimble fingers brushed against your neck with care as his meticulous hands fashioned the strip of fabric into a bow. your freshly manicured nails adorned your hands, which cradled a gold pocket mirror as the other applied a sheen of glittery lip gloss to your plush lips.

a warm palm was gently placed on your shoulder blades as tim finished with the ribbon, laying a tender kiss on your neck. "all done, lovely," he mumbled against your skin. his hands slid down to hold your waist, his fingers pressing into your stomach clad in pink chiffon.

"thank you, pretty," you said back softly, closing your mirror with a gentle snap as your brush applied a final coat of gloss to your lips. tim's dimples dotted his cheeks as he smiled. the nickname made his cheeks flush a soft shade of pink, the same color of your dress dusting against his face.

he looked back up at the mirror, seeing the reflection of him and you in the mirror. there was you, his stunning, perfect, lovely girl who looked like a porcelain doll from the 1950s with your big eyes and fifty shades of pink, nails tipped with plastic bows resting on coats of pink. hair done in perfect pretty curls that fell down your chest tied with soft ribbons and fancy clibs. then there was him, hair tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed, wrinkled black jeans low on his hips paired with a collared shirt beneath a gray zip-up.

the media ate up the contrast between the two of you— in more ways than one. the tabloids loved to slam both of you with subtle insults, quietly criticizing your "obsession" with dressing up and accusing you of being eye candy, and tim's "unprofessionalism" and inability to look nice for his girlfriend.

"aren't we the pair," he said, his words tainted with sunshine. his smile made his eyes sparkle, the rim of light around the mirror reflecting in his deep blue irises.

"we're like lola and bugs," you giggled, your nails turning up to face the mirror as you cupped your hands over your mouth in a little pose.

"buddy holly and mary tyler moore," he added, kissing your temple as delicately as he could, not wanting to mess up your hair. "even though they were never actually involved. can you believe that, lovely? weezer might just be enemy propaganda for planting that into our heads."

your eyebrows furrowed as the gears in your head turned to understand, not knowing jack shit about weezer and their involvement with brainwashing but having an inkling about the song your lover liked. "really?"

"nope," he said, rubbing his fingers along your hip. "she was married and he died."

"oh," you blinked. "that one article was stupid, then."

tim chuckled at the memory of one headline that deemed the two of you "this generation's buddy holly and mary tyler moore". "wasn't it?" he agreed.

"it's refreshing," you said thoughtfully. "because you know i'm yours, and i know you're mine, and the press is stupid."

"three eternal things," tim whispered softly, spinning you around gently by your waist so you faced him. his eyes were like portals to his soul and he let you right in, gazing lovingly at your pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty cheeks, pretty hair, pretty lips. pretty, pretty, pretty. he cupped your jaw tenderly and pressed a soft kiss to your nose, one of the only spots on your face that didn't have makeup on so he didn't risk messing it up.

"but you don't need to worry about that. i don't care what they say about us, anyway," he said, his thumb gently rubbing against your cheek. "it's always been us. you and me. lola and bugs. just the two of us. the press doesn't have a place here."

"three's a crowd," you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself against him, leaving the media and opinions of others with no room between his cotton zip-up and your chiffon, the contrast becoming one as tim brought you in for a kiss.

© dulcet-aurora 2025.

[wileys-russo]

Hoy

"I challenge you to a duel "with pollito/barca femeni at the ikea/training ground

part of the pollito universe the duel II barça femeni

"ow! puta." you hissed, rubbing your shin where mapi had rammed it with the trolley, lunging at her before a hand grabbed the back of your hoodie halting you.

"behave kärlek, we are in a public setting." frido warned sternly as your eyes bugged in disbelief. "but she just-" you tried to defend yourself as the tall swede shut you down with a firm look, letting go of you as you mumbled you'd behave.

your eyes narrowed into a glare as mapi smiled smugly, walking side by side with ingrid who was clearly trying to plan out what was needed, pinching her girlfriend whose attention immediately returned to her.

"por favor can i-" you started to ask, spotting a cool looking lamp in one of the display sections. "no." frido answered right away, not even turning to look as she continued on ahead.

"frido!" you huffed, hurrying to catch up with her long legs. "alexia said you came here with them last week and you don't need anything else." the blonde chuckled with a smile, arm falling across your shoulders as you groaned.

"nobody lets me do what i want. i'm not a little kid!" you huffed making frido laugh. "of course not den lilla." the swede cooed sarcastically pinching your cheek rather sharply as you grunted and wrenched her hand away.

"well why am i even here if i 'don't need anything'?" you mocked, shrugging off frido's arm and shoving your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. "because they made me come, and i do not wish to be a third wheel all day, so i made you come to keep me company." the defender answered with a grin.

"frido! kom och titta." ingrid called, inspecting several different throw pillow options as the blonde pinched your cheek again and hurried off to catch up with the norweigan before you could hit her.

"so much for company." you grumbled to yourself.

mapi was across the aisle inspecting a large wooden bookshelf, clearly trying to measure its length using her forearm which was not working well as you made your way over, the opportunity presenting itself all too easily.

you kicked at the back of her knee, hitting it at the right angle to send her falling down to the ground as you snickered and she just caught herself, head whipping around to glare at you.

"get off maría!" you whined as she grabbed you in a headlock, messing up your hair as you fought to shove her away, swearing at the older girl under your breath whose arm only tightened its hold on you.

"hey!" you both paused, ingrid stood a few feet away with arms folded across her chest and eyebrows knitted into an unimpressed scowl. "pollito started it!" mapi protested, pushing you away and tutting as you swung at her and she ducked with a grin.

"i do not care who started it. act your age maría-" you snickered at that, whining as the girl rolled the trolley over your foot. "oh lo siento pequeña, un accidente." mapi cooed with a sarcastic pout as your eyes narrowed.

"vamos, i am not getting lost in here." mapi grabbed the trolley and nodded for you to follow, hurrying after the two scandi's who were already a good hundred metres ahead.

"whats on your list?" you asked a few minutes later, annoyance already forgotten as boredom had kicked in and you leaned your body into mapi hugging her who chuckled, tilting her phone toward you.

"dios mío your list is almost as boring as ale's." you rolled your eyes as she flicked your ear fondly. "we had to get photo frames, clothes pegs, a cutting board, a new blanket for the couch, a water jug!" you groaned at the memory, not even having been allowed to walk through the display section like you'd wanted to but dragged right to the shopping hall.

olga had at least taken pity on you and bought you all lunch at the cafeteria afterwards, and pretended not to notice when you tossed a few things that were not on her girfriends list into the cart, alexia a woman on a mission.

but that didn't stop the blonde from questioning the pair of you on every single choice despite already knowing in her mind which she preferred, sending you daggers every time you'd groan loudly and verbally express your boredom, catching the attention of fellow shoppers who looked on with disapproval.

"oye pollito, which one?" you slid your phone into your pocket and looked up at mapi's voice, eyebrows creasing as she held up two near identical coaster sets. "mapi...they're the same." you sighed with a shake of your head as she scoffed.

"no. look this one has stripes that go yellow, orange, red. this one has stripes that go red, orange, yellow!" the spaniard exclaimed as you rolled your eyes and grabbed one, turning it over and handing it back to her as she paused.

"oh. they are the same." she shrugged, tossing both of them into the cart as you wanted to pull your hair out but refrained, instead silently screaming behind her back as you dragged your feet and followed after her into the kitchen section.

"hey pay attention! this is important work." your phone was snatched out of your hand and slipped into frido's pocket as she passed, having stepped away to call her fiance before hurrying to catch up with ingrid and taking your phone with her despite your protests.

"nena." you looked over with a bored expression toward mapi who suddenly threw a wooden spoon at you, chuckling as you missed it by a mile and it clattered to the floor quite loudly.

"cata would have caught that." the defender tutted with a smirk as you flipped her off and picked it up. "no no, keep it. you will need it!" mapi warned as you went to put it down, giving her an odd look as she glanced around to make sure the two of you were mostly alone.

"why? i hate cooking and ale has like five of these." you frowned in confusion as mapi's cheeky grin only grew. "because, i challenge you to a duel." mapi held her own wooden spoon up as if it was a sword as your face lit up.

"oh you are on león." you grinned, matching her position as she counted down. "vaya!" she announced, launching at you as you laughed and smacked her wooden spoon away with her own, the two of you ducking and lunging at one another as your spoons clacked and smacked.

"bah! vale, match point." mapi huffed as your spoon poked at her chest again. "vaya!" she lunged again as you ducked and rolled suddenly, causing her to stumble forward not aware of her own momentum as she tripped and went flying into a crate of measuring cups.

the spoon fell from your hand as it hurried to cover your mouth, watching on with wide eyes as the walls of the crate shook and creaked before snapping, mapi sailing away on a wave of kitchen ware and an almighty noise thundered through the air as footsteps hurried and a crowd formed.

you held your hands up in defense and stepped back as a worker began to question what happened, acting as if you had no idea who mapi was or what happened as the defender gasped at your betrayal.

but you winced as hands fell to your shoulder and you knew who it was before she even spoke, ingrid appearing shortly afterwards as frido stood firmly behind you, hands gripping your shoulders in warning not to move.

"amor there is something you must know..."

mapi's mouth opened and closed trying to finish her sentence as fear set into her gaze at the withering glare coming from her girlfriends eyes as she held up a finger and pointed right at you.

"...this was all pollitos fault!"

[revelboo]

AND WE GOT ANOTHER ONE!! How many is that in g1 one? For the cons we got: the og loverboy mr thunders “i love my human” cracker himself, 2 of the thirds of the whatever the fuck polycule drama mama saga sans megan, waspy but its so one sided it hurts rip buggy doggy man. and actually i think thats it? rumble and frenzy are situationship but living together so i count that as more of fwb than actual loves. No shocky g1 verse unless the doomed sad senshock is a reveal which is very much doomed rip our ophelia. Skywarp is in denial. The constructicons are not there yet. Insecticons are out of bounds for the bug crimes. Vortex is also on the what the frag scale + sunstorm because holy shit what the hell of a situationship those two are. I think that’s it for cons. On the neutrals are grimlock, and Skyfire are barely meeting in the friendly threshold. Jazz, Wheeljack, And prowler himself are the confessions!!! Optimus is sidelined because his human knows but is denial rip the big bot. Jacky is eh, but its jacky so we’ll take what we can get. Hound and Teebs are *looks at the recent update* err. They are going slowly. Bee and Cliff aren’t there yet either. Neither is Ratchet or Ironhide. Bluestreak is loverboy but he also not there. The twins might or might not get some human valve, bit that doesn’t mean much for social skills are as bad jackies sometimes. That is also it i think for the g1 on earth cast. Lost light is next, but my break is about to end and i need to go to my meeting. Company makes a dollar, i make a dime, so that why i read transformers x readers on company time. Bye revel hope you feel better soon!

🤣 Most of them are pretty hopeless. Bluestreak and Waspinator will absolutely blurt it out/confess before their humans. Sunstorm will confess probably his next update, but he’s delusional

Everything Is Alright Pt 143

Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Venting raggedly as you stare at him with those eyes, your breath hitching when Megatron strokes you. Reaching for him in invitation, but he’s aware of Megatron’s optics on him. Predatory and calculating. Does the warlord even care about you or is this a power move? A new way to torment him? Had saved you when he hadn’t had to leading to their current mess. Megatron stealing his sparkling. Is that the game? To turn his own young against him? Can’t stop thinking of plots, maneuvers. Because no action can be actually innocent, he’s just not sure why Megatron had saved you and he hates this off balance feeling.

• Watching his servos curl under into fists, your breath catches knowing Star isn’t going to budge. That he can’t. Hates Megatron too much and his optics are tormented when they shift from the warlord watching him to you. And you understand it. Have seen in his memories, the good and bad. Feel Megatron shift at your back, the tip of his servo sliding against you over and over. Before pressing deep and you whimper, hearing his soft rumbling at your back. See Star’s jaw clench as his wings tremble faintly and you half expect an outburst. For him to lash out, but expression twisting, he turns and walks away instead, mass shifting and shutting the door behind him. Leaving you to Megatron. Did you just cross a line he can’t accept? “Star?”

• Hooking his other arm around you when you squirm against him as if wanting to go after Starscream, he curls his servo inside you. Feeling your wet heat gripping him and you’re so soft inside. Spike aching as he imagines how you’d feel wrapped around him. Tight. “Learn to pick your battles, little one,” he murmurs. “He needs time.” Time to accept he has no say in this, even though he’ll never truly accept him as one of your mates. Can’t. Too ambitious to stop trying to plot for more power no matter what he promises you. And he’s not sure why it bothers him that the Seeker is going to hurt you again most likely. That he can’t help himself.

• Denta gritting so hard it hurts, he’s trying to not imagine you under Megatron. His worst enemy touching you. Loving you. Part of him wanting to stay. To watch over you and make sure you’re not harmed, but the warlord is oddly gentle with you. But if there’s a single bruise on that soft skin? Gripping his helm as his back hits the wall, he wants to rage. Smash something. Like Megatron’s face. And a shadow falls across him. Optics narrowing, he vents to find it’s Shockwave, the scientist staring and unreadable. “What?” Head slowly turning so his single optic is staring at Megatron’s closed door, Shockwave doesn’t answer, but Starscream suddenly just knows. Knows that the scientist somehow knows. That he’s guessed what’s happening.

• Venting as he keys open the empty habsuite, Soundwave watches Frenzy drag their little human inside, grinning as he waves a hand at the space. Talking about everything they can have done to make it more accommodating for their size. Excited. And he studies their human as they look around and grin back at Frenzy. Beside him, Rumble sets a box down. Hopes this human cares about them, that they’re serious and this isn’t only a fling that will hurt them. Wants them to be happy so bad. They deserve to be after everything. “Everything okay, boss?” Rumble asks. Inclining his head, he’s not sure what to say. Because everything is changing and he’s not sure he can keep up.

• Lips brushing your neck, Megatron vents against you. Feeling the tension in you, that you’re not in this moment with him, worrying over Starscream. Could seduce you into his berth, with the bond between you working to his advantage, it’d be an easy thing. To coax you into giving in to him. And breaking your trust. For some reason that bothers him. Swearing softly in Cybertronian to make you startle, he slips his servo free of you. Tries to ignore his aching spike. Bending, he lifts you into his arms, those startled eyes of yours darting to meet his optics. Sitting with you across his lap, he tucks your head under his chin. “I thought-?” You venture, voice uncertain and soft and he smiles ruefully. Hating himself a bit.

• And he’s toying with your fingers, servos gentle as he vents to stir your hair. Not sure what to make of his about-face, except that he can tell you’re unhappy about Starscream. That it matters to him if you’re unhappy even if you’ve never been more to him than a burden. An annoyance causing him problems just by existing. Every time he’s gentle or considerate, it’s like seeing a glimpse of a whole different Megatron. Making you wonder what he’d been like before. When he was a miner who wrote poetry in his rare free time, who worked hard and took pride in it. Who hadn’t been disillusioned with everything yet. Hasn’t become bitter. “This is enough, for now,” he murmurs, sounding tired. How much of the way he acts around everyone else is an act? Is the casual cruelty and violence meant to keep himself safely in charge? Which is the real Megatron?

Previous

Next

[voidalism]

Shoutout to the BuckTommy discord server and @icestar663 for inspiring me to write this :)

BuckTommy | 1.5k | rated: G | Fluff | ao3 link

What if Tommy reveals that he used to have a crush on Chimney? Featuring Smitten Tommy and Bug Boy Buck

The new Grant-Nash backyard buzzes with the lively energy of a housewarming party, laughter mingling with the smoky scent of burgers sizzling on the grill. Bobby and Athena work in easy tandem, Bobby’s steady hands flipping patties while Athena nudges coals with a brand new poker. Across the lawn, Eddie and Karen are playing a heated game of cornhole with Christopher, Mara and Denny, hoots erupting as bags fly through the air and land with dramatic thuds.

Tommy lounges in his chair, his gaze drifting past Hen and Chimney’s squabble over the right way to eat corn on the cob, and Maddie who’s happily eating for two, to fix on something—someone—he couldn’t look away from even if he wanted.

Evan sits cross-legged in the grass, Jee-Yun settled snugly in the dip of his knees, her tiny hands gripping his wrists for balance. Sunlight catches the warm strawberry tones in Evan’s hair as he tilts a rock with exaggerated care, his voice dropping to an excited stage-whisper—the kind reserved for found treasures.

“Look, Jee. Roly-polies!”

There is as much childlike wonder on his face as there is on hers, as if uncovering those pillbugs is just as magical to him now as it is to her young, wide eyes. Her gasp floats through the air and from the way she squirms in Evan’s arms she doesn’t seem entirely sure whether to be excited by or suspicious of the small creatures.

Evan puts a comforting hand on her back and continues, “It’s okay, they’re friends. That one rolled up, see? They do that to protect themselves.” His soft voice brightens. “They kinda look like tiny watermelons, right?” Jee’s laughter bursts free, a squeal of delight. Evan’s grinning now, the kind of smile that makes him shine like the sun, but there’s a flicker of something earnest beneath the playfulness when he adds, “Don’t eat them, though, they’re not delicious.” A serious nod, the memory of a child’s regret underlines his next words. “I learned that the hard way.”

Every single nerve cell in Tommy’s body hums with warmth—golden and glowing—and he can’t tell what his expression is doing, but it must be something inherently unshielded, something raw and open enough for Hen to take note.

“You know,” she drawls, making Tommy blink, the backyard and all other people present snapping back into focus. “A lot of your behavior back then makes much more sense now.”

A frown creases Tommy’s brow, lingering for a moment, before it clicks—what she’s implying. He can’t help but scoff—not at her, mostly at the tangled mess in his own chest. “Does it?” The sarcasm is sharp and aimed at himself because, man, if coming out was supposed to make him understand his own cowardice and dickish behavior it failed spectacularly.

Hen hums, low and considering, her pause stretching just long enough for Tommy’s shoulders to tighten. He recognizes that look—the kind that once ended with him picking dried cake frosting out of his eyebrows for a whole day. She continues with a dangerous quirk to her lips.

“Did you have a crush on Gerrard?” No amount of bracing himself for impact could have prevented him from sputtering at the sheer offensive absurdity of those words.

“Wh-what the—where the hell does that come from?!”

The line of Hen’s mouth sharpens. “You followed him around like a puppy.” 

Tommy stares at her in abject horror, a full-body recoil rippling through him in a moment that feels way too long—until her poker face cracks. She collapses into laughter, the sound sharp and bright, and the tension snaps. Jesus, she’s just messing with him. Of course she is.

The circumference of his eye roll couldn’t be large enough to properly convey his exasperation. “That question doesn’t even deserve a reply and you know it,” he grumbles, shaking his head.

Now that the topic of past feelings has been raised, though, a memory buried years deep jostles loose—a stupid, secret thing his past self had sworn to take to his grave. It feels like such a ridiculous non-issue these days, something to laugh at in hindsight. Which is the only reason why he allows his mouth to be quicker than his brain with his next revelation. 

“I did have a crush on Howie.”

Hen’s brows rise in surprise and her eyes shift to the man in question. 

Howie, mid-bite into a corn cob, is frozen in shock. “Wait. Really?” A corn kernel falls from his open mouth onto his plate.

A split second of panic zips through Tommy, like it does every time he reveals something about himself, short and familiar enough that he knows how to ignore it. It’s out now, might as well own it. “Yup,” Tommy replies, deliberately casual.

“Huh.” Howie’s tone is a combination of intrigued and wary as he cracks, “And all it took was saving your life.”

Tommy could leave it at that. Let Howie think it was hero worship—admiration for the guy who carried his dumb unconscious ass out of a mall once. But the idea of Howie reducing his feelings to some grand gesture pity crush curdles in his gut. Howie deserves better than that. So Tommy doubles down, shovel in hand, voice calm and steady as if he’s commenting on the weather.

“No, I was already crushing on you before that.” 

The sharp edges of disbelief on Howie’s face soften into confusion. “But… you said you never thought about me. You avoided me.”

Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, I did,” he retorts. His tone stays even, but there’s a flicker of old defensiveness—the same instinct that once made him bolt from anything resembling tenderness. “You were the first genuinely sweet guy I’ve ever met. It was…” Terrifying. Dizzying. Impossible to ignore. “…a lot.”

Howie stares at him, eyes widening and mouth parting as understanding washes over him like the first rays of dawn. Memories flooding back—every time Tommy avoided eye contact, all the overly dismissive remarks, each attempt at putting distance between them, physically and emotionally—now seen in a new light. A slow, broad grin begins to brighten Howie’s face, a picture of pride as he breathes in delighted wonder, “You had a crush on me.”

Whatever anxiety still simmers in Tommy is washed away by fond amusement, causing him to raise an eyebrow at Howie and huff in laughter. Tommy has no idea why his past crush on Howie flatters him so much, but if it makes Howie puff up his chest and sit up straighter like that, then telling him about it could only have been the right thing to do. If there’s anyone who deserves to feel proud of himself, it’s Howie.

Maddie, who has been quietly following the exchange, begins to frown in feigned indignation at Tommy and Howie sharing a moment. “Wait, hold on,” she cuts in, her voice dripping with exaggerated suspicion as she raises a hand at Howie. “Can you be a bit less happy about that?”

Chimney barks out a laugh, both amused and baffled at his wife’s reaction. “Relax. You of all people should know I’m not gay.”

“This guy”—Maddie gestures with her fork in Tommy’s general direction, her tone teetering between jest and genuine wariness—“managed to flip some switch in my brother. I’m not taking any chances.”

Tommy’s grin widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, Maddie,” he soothes, “I did come to my senses.”

Howie nods along, focused on easing Maddie’s concern. “See? Nothing to wo—” His voice cuts off abruptly, grin faltering as Tommy’s words sink in. He spins toward Tommy, face twisted in mock outrage. “Hey!”

Tommy’s laughter explodes, loud and carefree. He shoots a glance at Hen across the table, tipping an imaginary hat her way as her earlier mischief is mirrored on both of their faces now. Roasting your friends is pretty damn fun.

The sound must have caught Evan’s attention, pulling him away from Jee and their new small friends. His voice carries across the yard, curiosity tinting his tone as he calls out, “What did I miss?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Maddie responds. She wiggles a finger between Tommy and Howie, mock-stern as she playfully warns, “Make sure not to leave these two alone for a while.”

“And that is my cue to check on my fiancé,” Tommy announces, patting his thighs as he rises with exaggerated purpose.

“Don’t walk past Maddie,” Howie quips dryly, jerking his chin toward her. “I’m not sure if the habit of ankle-maiming is hereditary.” His joke earns him a half-hearted slap to the arm from Maddie, the amused quirk to her lips betraying her.

Tommy veers dramatically around Maddie, arms raised in exaggerated caution. She glares at his antics, but the facade crumbles fast, both of them dissolving into soft laughter.

Evan beams with unrestrained affection as Tommy approaches, his smile radiating warmth and joy, an expression Tommy matches effortlessly. One arm still curled around Jee, he lifts his other in an eager wave that sends sunlight dancing across his engagement ring.

With the quiet comfort of his first love who helped steady his steps at his back, Tommy draws closer to Evan—the man he hopes, with every fiber of his being, will be his last.