#i've spent too much time thinking about this and i will continue for a while longer

[softeasun]

Not necessarily directed at OP here, but my long and completely unsolicited advice to anyone thinking about going into family law is to talk to many family lawyers before deciding to practice in that area.

I went into family law for a lot of reasons. I grew up in a single parent household. I saw the impacts of family violence on my family. I wanted to help people navigate a very difficult and traumatizing point in their lives, hopefully help them come out the other side with the resources they needed to build a healthier and happier life for their children. I care about kids and I wanted to be able to help families going through similar issues that mine did.

Sometimes - at its best - family law does feel like this. I have wept with joy at this job. I do child protection as well as traditional family law, and the privilege of being part of a family's reunification is breathtaking. So is hearing a client weep with relief when you tell them that a settlement has been reached and they can finally close that chapter of their life.

But this job has also devastated my mental health.

Vicarious trauma is real. I've seen things i can't unsee. I've listened to mothers weep while they relay the sexual abuse their children have suffered. I've seen clients forced to abandon legitimate claims for support or protection because they no longer had the financial or emotional resources to continue to litigate. I've held a clients hand through a panic attack after seeing her abuser again in court, only for her to be murdered by that same man. This last one broke me.

I've also spent 5 years in constant conflict. In family law, you are in conflict with everyone. Opposing parties and counsel, the registry staff, the courts, even you own clients much of the time. Because of the financial structure of most firms, if you are soft hearted like I am, you will probably find yourself in conflict with your firm too. I could never bill enough because I often wrote down my time to lessen the impact on my clients. I've let arrears accumulate on files where I know a client can't afford to pay but I cannot bear the thought of leaving them without counsel. This has put me at odds with my firm at various times.

The sad reality is too is that the legal services industry is absolutely fucking broken. The billable hour is terrible for clients but it is also terrible for lawyers. It reduces your life and your value to 7 minute increments.

Often, it feels like justice exists behind a pay wall and being part of that system fucking hurts. I care about my clients. I want them to be safe, happy, secure. The structure by which legal services are delivered prevents me from actually helping them in the way I want to. (And that's leaving aside the many issues with the courts themselves that drive up client costs and deny my clients justice. Probably a topic for another post because..... I have a lot to say)

I am on an unpaid mental health leave right now and I am doing some hard work of thinking through whether I can sustain this career.

I don't want to discourage people who care from going into family law. God do we ever need people who care. But i also see so many kind hearted people hurt by this field.

Anyways, my advice remains to talk to people that practice family law and look directly at the ugliness that accompanies practice in this area. If you are going to so it, go in with open eyes. Be extremely discerning about the firm you join. If their primary goal - like most firms - is to turn as much profit as possible, they will grind that soft, kind heart under their boot.

Sorry to be a bummer. The whole system needs to change. I'm pretty full of bitterness right now.

My dad is a defense attorney and I’d considered studying law too at a certain point in my life. I’d love to be a family law attorney specializing in alimony and child support. Suing these guys for back child support would be so cathartic that I’d do it pro bono just for the thrill. Who needs therapy when you can make somebody’s baby daddy’s life hell on earth? I love to argue. She might run out of the strength to deal with him but my evil petty ass would not. Saul Goodman levels of insane to get this $8k in back child support for the hell of it.

[k-ast]

frank castle thinking you'd left in the morning

suggestive, smidge of angst, fluff, gn

he's not the kind of guy that has sex just for fun. it's not a one time thing to him.

he had been so used to spending mornings alone. he'd spent days since he met you thinking of not having to wake to an empty space next to him.

but the truth hits him kind of hard. the truth that there is no one by his side this morning, and there probably won't be for a good while.

so maybe you only wanted sex. that's fine. frank respects that.

doesn't help the hole in his chest though.

he thinks maybe it was something he did. tries to recall every interaction, every fleeting touch of your hands, your fiery lips on his, how he cradled you afterwards, carrying you into the bath.

it was more than just fun to him. it was intimate, it was loving. he was ready to make you his new life, practically planning how everything would work out as he gently cleansed you.

so maybe it was the sex. wasn't good enough? guess it wasn't your thing. again, he respects that.

he wishes you would've stayed to tell him. he'd promise to fix it, whatever it was.

frank just sits, his back against the headboard, picking at the sheets. completely zoned out.

if he had been more focused, he would've had the gun in the nightstand drawer (that he hid so you wouldn't see) pointed at you the moment you turned bedroom doorknob.

instead, he stares at you, kind of shocked.

you peek into the room, dressed in his t-shirt.

not noticing his surprise at your presence, you push the door open with your elbow, revealing the two mugs of coffee you're holding.

"hi!" you whisper. "i made coffee! you drink coffee, right?" you ask with a sudden frown.

"uh," is all he gets out. frank immediately tries to amend, "yeah- yeah i drink coffee." wow his nose is suddenly runny. "uh, thanks."

you beam, and the soft "yay!" you murmur as you pass him a mug makes warmth in frank's heart bloom.

you sit criss-cross next to him, sipping your own coffee contently. he wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms and kiss your pretty face over and over and over.

but he doesn't. he's way too cautious about doing something that might scare you off.

instead, frank starts small talk. "you sleep okay, sweetheart?"

"yeah, great!" you say, shifting a little to hide your blush at the pet name. "probably best sleep i've had in months."

he feels pride at that. ignores how your movement made him worry the question was making you uncomfortable.

he feels safe enough to say, "thought you went home. when i woke up."

your face falls slightly as you look him in the eye.

"i mean, that's okay," he continues, "i just... i'd have offered to give you a ride home, you know? make sure you get home okay."

"oh. i'm... so sorry about that," you say as you fidget with the mug handle. "i mean, i've never... i didn't think much of it. most people wouldn't miss me."

"i did," frank says softly. you smile at that.

"i just wanted to do something for you. like, i don't know, as a small thank you or something. for being so kind. and coffee's, like, the only thing i could do in someone else's house, so..."

frank blinks at you. "wh- you think you have to thank me? i just did what any man should do."

"ha, um, no. most guys, or anybody really, don't do, like, aftercare that was basically a spa."

"they fuckin' should."

"guess i'm lucky." you smile sheepishly at him. "sorry, i- i probably broke your heart for a sec, huh?"

he scoffs. "oh, yeah. it's alright, though. coffee's good so, i forgive you."

your laugh is so sweet, he looks down into his cup to hide the smile rapidly forming on his face.

when your laughter subsides, you pick at your mug before saying, "uh, frank, can i kiss you? would that be weird?"

he's already taken the mug out of your hands to set it on the nightstand along with his own. his hands then find your cheek and your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck.

frank pauses before he kisses you. you're sharing the same breath, your lips grazing and noses touching as he hovers above you, legs on either side of your hips.

and when he leans in to close that last centimeter, it's a soft but still firm kiss, quiet and not too long. his thumb continues drawing circles on your wrist long after your lips have parted.

"stay," he murmurs. "please."

so you do. you spend that morning together, as well as the one after that, and the one after that, until lonely mornings are nothing but a distant memory.

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

Hiiii how are you doingggg??? I was wondering if you could do a hawks x reader fic where reader is an anti-hero and they're like a super criminal that's searched all over Japan but deep down Hawks knows they're not a bad person! The rest is up to you !! :3

Omg yes I love this! Keep the requests coming y'all <3

Pairing: Hawks/reader

Warnings: cursing, slight injuries, Hawks is Lowkey whipped, sexual tension

Word count: 0.9k

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

It had been a long ass day, the longest one you'd had in a while.

Of course, you loved your job. There were some obvious downsides, but it was more fulfilling than your other careers in the past. Not exactly in a 'my work doesn't matter kind of way,' (as a previous customer service worker, you could attest to the fact that they were the real heroes of modern day society), but in a more so 'there's a lot of scum in the world that I can't take care of properly behind a hostess desk' type of way.

So, yes, you very much enjoyed your job.

What you didn't appreciate, however, was the fact that the number two pro was tailing you, after you had spent hours of energy decommissioning a CEO who had decided to lovingly start investing his money into a human trafficking ring, now less.

More than deserved, in your opinion.

Fatigue was beginning to overtake the adrenaline of today, yet you continued to run and jump between buildings, only stopping when another body rammed straight into you.

Letting out a grunt, you shielded your head with your upper limbs, fighting back a curse when the skin of your forearms scraped against the pavement, leaving tiny droplets of scarlet in their wake.

A pair of hands wrapped around your arms, forcefully pulling when away from your face as another duo of small, soft, and presumably red, objects wrapped around your ankles, easily keeping you contained.

A smirk, irritatingly more arrogant than it had any right to be, met you when you looked up.

"I've been looking for you, ya know."

This time, you did let out a curse.

Hawks was undeniably annoying.

For some reason, he had decided to make himself a big old pain in your ass since your first run in with the police. His cocky comebacks vexed you like no other, and you had made the point to stay away from the man whenever possible.

However, he seemed to be dead set on making himself a constant in your life.

"Funny. I've been trying my best to avoid you."

He scoffed. "You could try to be nicer to me. I'm the only thing standing between you and jail."

"Why wait? I figured I'd already be handcuffed by now." Your irritation at the situation shown through, but it definitely wasn't too dire. In fact, the quicker you could get this whole thing over with, the quicker you could make your quick escape.

"It's a shame, actually. I forgot them at home." Two pieces of scarlet plumage floated up behind him, the inaniment items almost taunting you as they hovered. "Though, I think you'd look just as good wrapped up in these."

That was another thing you absolutely hated about the number two; he was infuriatingly attractive.

And somehow, by some evil, cruel twist of fate, he had figured out that you thought so.

The bastard had the nerve to laugh when you looked away, trying to ignore the heat blooming in your cheeks. "You're cute."

"And you're an asshole."

"Aww, come on. And here I came hoping to make a truce."

That sure had you pausing. "Excuse me?"

"Yep. Which is pretty damn thoughtful considering the Commission is wanting to stick you in Tartarus for the rest of your life."

"That's only if they can catch me." Regardless of your confident retort, the information sent fear shooting down your spine. "And my charges can't be that bad."

One golden eyebrow cocked upward. "You've killed heroes."

"Only the ones that deserve it," you muttered. "Now are you gonna get on with it or what?"

"I want you to join me."

Silence was all that followed his answer.

"You're bullshitting me." And yet, a simple glance at his face told you it was farther from the truth. "Why?"

Another flirtatious grin was all he offered. "Maybe I just don't want to see such a pretty thing have to rot behind bars."

"I don't believe you."

He slowly lowered himself, the warmth of his breath echoing over your skin, his lips practically skimming your face as he whispered, "Why don't you let me prove it then."

The words had your legs weak and self-respect weaker. It was almost unconscious when you found yourself moving, mouth centimeters from his.

And then a scream echoed across the city, barely loud enough to overcome the screeching blare of car engines.

Taking the opportunity, you wrapped a leg around his own and slipped out from his grasp, jumping to your feet in an instant. "Better go get that. Duty calls, right?"

And with that you took off sprinting, using the slight moment of rest Hawks provided to overcome your exhaustion from the day.

"Just give it some thought, yeah?" He yelled, chuckling when you offered nothing more than a middle finger his way.

Even as you disappeared into the shield of darkness night provided, he just sat and watched.

He knew you would be back.

Who could say no to him?

[almost-fully-life-size]

i am so unwell about the xavier-sarah-jeanluc character constellation actually

xavier is genuinely such a well written improvised villain character. he's such a perfect representation of the persuasiveness of facism when it comes to men specifically and how it caters to them, considering how strongly facism is also rooted in sexism and an entitlement to women. and how it manages to make its victims defend it, like, facism comes hand in hand with a bad economic situation, and we know that xavier can't afford new clothes due to the occupation and that his job pays badly. i know during my first time watching i found the switch from him critiquing the occupation in that way to him revealing himself as a nazi quite the 180 turn, but it only showcases how facism manages to successfully sell itself as the solution and reflects the true problem away from itself - the problem is not the facism, it's the emancipation of women. taking the dominant role above women means reclaiming power and control and agency and that's an appealing prospect if you're economically struggling.

which is why it's so hilarious to me and yet so fitting that he'd choose to pursue sarah. because sarah is definitely economically better off than xavier (i'm inferring that from the main three points that: 1) going by "von ponte, one house, one pond" i'm inferring a countryside residence, as opposed to a farm 2) she can finance her chainsmoking 3) she can afford to employ a cleaning lady). which just goes to show how deep that entitlement to women runs because sarah would have no solid reason to be with a man who's economically worse off. especially because she's a pow wife. but it's also because she's a pow wife that xavier might have had a real chance of being successful, preying on the loneliness that comes with it which i'd say he is very much explicitly doing ("you don't want to become lonely, do you? You don't want to rot away, cold and alone. You need a man, I am a man.")

there's also a certain inconsistency in ideology wherein facism advocates that women become properly submissive to their husbands again (see xavier's villain reveal speech) while xavier is actively trying to get sarah to cheat on her husband. considering how emancipated sarah is (relative to the time period anyway), that doesn't fit the facist idea either and the first idea, of suppressing her, takes priority.

now jean-luc is the antithesis to xavier. man's so loyal he feels it in the breeze that something's wrong with sarah from over 1300 km away and makes that his primary reason for attempting a prison break, then beelines straight back home with zero awareness of time and place. considering that he initially seems to believe that sarah was about to cheat on him, he's incredibly quick to forgive (if that kiss and dip are anything to go by), so sarah's explanation of just being a flirty person must've convinced him. what i'm inferring from that is that he knows her to be just like that and trusts her enough to know she'd not actually cheat on him.

on a side note, it is also hilarious to me how xavier thought he could win in that knife/sword fight, considering jean-luc was in the army while xavier avoided service.

on another sidenote, apart from struggling with loneliness because her husband's away and in captivity - and this is a big inferral on my part -, there is also this small, overlooked confrontation with the fact that sarah's friend is extremely dismissive of jean-luc (the "oh well, xavier will have to wait until jean-luc's 'officially dead' then" line, which is a fucked up thing to say about your friend's husband if you think about it). so apart from the societal pressure that comes from the image of the ideal woman, that sarah fails to fulfil, there's an additional point of hurt because very apparently the people around you don't even want your husband, who you love, to return and make that sentiment known to you. like, "aww your husband was captured, well i hope he dies"???

anyway, i think xavier is an excellent example of a character embodying the insidious attractiveness of facism in how he has this very confident, sensual presence but ultimately nothing to show for it. a representation of how persuasive facism is for men specifically.

[realcube]

CONNECTED!

desc ;; how can two best friends be connected forever?

tws & tags ;; best friend ! atsumu, nsfw, food sharing, vaginal, degredation, praise, impact play, slight daddy kink, breeding kink & begging

it started with an innocent question..

you're sprawled out upon his bed, laying on your stomach and scrolling on your phone, while best friend! atsumu does the same, except he is sat with his back against the headboard, and one of his arms stretched out behind his head, drawing attention to his flexing bicep in his black MSBY t-shirt.

you've spent the majority of the day hanging out, which you rarely get to do because he's so busy with practise and his contract with the jackals. but today was like a blast from the past, as you went on a run through the neighbourhood, talked shit and played videos games for hours like you used to. now you were both tired out and waiting for your delivery from onigiri miya to arrive.

but you were feeling peckish so you had a small bag of chips with you on the bed. plucking another one from the bag, you idly took a bite, and you were about to pop the rest into your mouth until atsumu leaned forward and snatched it right out of your hand and gobbled it up himself.

you gasp in horror, " 'tsumu! gross, you realise i already bit that one?"

atsumu quirked an eyebrow, but didn't avert his gaze from his phone screen. "so?" he grumbled through a mouthful of chip.

you saw his point. the two of you have been friends for so long, since before you could even properly remember. and he's been stealing and eating your food since the very beginning — and vice versa. without a care in the world as to whether the other's saliva was on it or not. usually you're quite weary about other people's germs, but with atsumu it was different since you're so familiar with each other and you know that neither of you have any oral illnesses. so what's the big deal if you eat something that's his mouth has already been on? you've already done so hundreds of times before.

but considering the sheer length of time you've known each other, the situation sparked a query in your mind. "we must share a lot of dna, huh?" you thought aloud.

atsumu halted chewing, and hesitantly looked up at you. "... what?"

"not in a genetic way! i just mean that we've been sharing food for so long. surely some of my dna must have incorporated itself into your system by now. maybe that's why you're so good at volleyball.." you suggested.

atsumu just stared back at you, dumbfounded. while you prattle on.

"i probably don't have as much of your dna in me, since i'm not a greedy food-stealer like you are." you tried to make a comment about his thieving habits, but atsumu seemed to be focussed on the wrong parts.

"that's not fair, is it?" he purrs with a smirk.

"what's not fair?"

"that you've not got any of me in you. like you said. even when we aren't together—"

"like when you are on the other side of the country competing in volleyball tournaments!" you add.

"yeah," he replies softly, "we're not really apart; i've still got a lot of you inside me. 'cos of that chip i just ate." you nod hesitantly in agreement, since he's got a good point but you can tell by the sinister glint in his eye that he's plotting something strange.

"but," he continues, "you've not got any of me in you. so how can we be connected?"

you blink. slowly, you take a chip from the bag and hand it to him. he takes a bite then gives it back to you and allows you to finish it with a smile. as you gulp, you declare profoundly, "there! now you're a part of me too."

atsumu tilts his head in amusement, and leans forward until his lips are mere inches from yours. "i think you can do better then that."

before you can even respond, his lips come crashing down against yours, and he captures you in a heated kiss. you're stiff at first due to this unexpected behaviour from who you thought was your friend, but there's something so addicting about the way his skin feels against yours. you let him guide you and soon you're melting into his touch, allowing your lips to weave together rhythmically, a small moan even slips past your defenses and rumbles against his mouth.

your basically sucking at each other's faces like deprived animals until he yanks himself away and rasps, "want something else inside you? something you can keep, angel?"

the moments after the faintest mewl of 'yes' escapes your mouth was a blur of atsumu lunging off the bed, readying himself at the other end and flipping your skirt up to rip your panties clean off in a matter of seconds. conveniently you were already in the perfect position, laid on your stomach with your ass hanging off the bed. all he really needed to do was spread those pretty legs and fix himself between them.

he rubbed at your folds with his fingers, and relished in your growing wetness. you could hear him groaning and thankfully for him, you couldn't see his obscene expression as his pupiled were stuck to your pussy. "fuck, such a pretty girl. where've you been hiding this?" he bit his lip, the mere sight of your delicious cunt alone was enough to get his cock throbbing his pants.

with no time to waste, he unzips his fly and smears his leaking tip across your hole, lubricating it further with his own precum. then, without warning, he thrusts himself inside your tight hole and gasps at the constricting sensation of your cunt suffocating his length. "damn, knew you'd be tight but— this is— fff.. fuck." he can barely get his words out. his thoughts were scrambled by your sweet walls clamping down on him like there were trying to keep him there.

his hands held onto your waist and his fingers dug into your soft skin. looks like he was giving you scars to keep too. due to his inability to move while your pussy was gripping onto him, your were allowed some time to adjust to his absurd length.

his girth shoved at your sensitive walls and it felt like he was pushing against your stomach too. he was just too much for your insides to handle, but it's not like there was anything he could do about it. plus, it didn't help that the stretch of your cunt to accomodate him was so euphoric and overwhleming, leaving you unable to form any more than a couple of slurred sentences, " 'tsumu, you're so big.. it's too much.."

"just need to take it, baby. i know you can." he reassured you in a low voice. you've never heard him quite so hoarse before; it was only feeding the growing pool of arousal between your thighs. his dick twitched eagerly within you and as soon as he bottomed out, he began to vigoursly thrust into you. piercing into your sopping hole at a rapid speed, despite how your walls desperately clung to him.

"atsumu!" you gasp, arching your back against the mattress as your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you, trying cope with the ecstasy coarsing through you from his thick girth. you weren't certain as to what was going on; a part of you still thought this was all one big overwhelming dream because of how surreal it felt.

you didn't understand what had overcome him. the two of you have been best friends since forever, and yeah, there was maybe a little bit of chemistry and flirtation before he left to join the black jackals, but any lingering feelings were shut down by the distance seperating you. never did you think he'd randomly get up and start frantically rearranging your guts on his bed. but fuck, it was a long time coming, you could feel the pent-up emotions behind each and every brutal thrust into your cunt. amplified by the lewd slapping of his balls against your sticky folds.

still, it confused you as to why he chose now to act on these feelings, and that manifesting through your feeble cries of, "why.. nghh— what're y'doing?" so weak and delicate, if it wasn't for your moans of delight and your hips instinctually rocking against his, atsumu might've thought you wanted him to stop (but that couldn't be any further from the truth.)

"sorry, (y/n).. couldn't— shit, hah, couldn't hold back anymore." he huffed out with his teeth grinding together, lips pulling into a wide smirk as he watches your tits bounce from the force of his cock. "gettin' too old for these games. and you're gettin' too hot for me to— mmph, to not do something 'bout it."

if it wasn't for the fact you were choking on your own moans from the way his length was splitting your poor pussy in half, you would've chuckled at his previous comment. you were both only in your twenties but he was claiming to be 'too old' for games.

but you kinda understood what he meant. being coy and play-flirting was cute in high school, but now it was time for you to come to terms with your feelings and act on them. you couldn't be more relieved that he took action; atsumu's dick working your needy insides was akin to receiving a long awaited massage, and finally undoing an strenuous knot that's been irrating you for ages. years, even.

"please keep going. i need you so fucking bad." you whined.

"drivin' me fucking crazy with this perfect pussy.." his jaw is clenched yet he spits onto his fingers and draws sloppy circles over your clit while he continues to ram into you. however, his pace grows sporadic and begins to faltered with each staggered breath he inhales. his eyes squeeze shut, "shit, angel, what've you done t'me? 'm close already.." his voice trails off, almost like he's losing steam until a final surge of lust-fuelled adrenaline shoots through him.

his eyes shoot open as his hips pick up the pace, piercing into your aching cunt even faster than they were previously, slamming all the way into your cervix repeatedly. "almost there. gonna fill up this little hole with all of me. that's what you want, huh?" deranged ramblings fall from his lips, while his brows are knitted together and his energy is focussed solely on ploughing into you, "you want me to leave a big mess in ya? so you keep apart of me forever. that what you want, slut? my cum dripping out of ya?"

your eyes screw shut at the intense sensation, and you bite down on the blankets in attempt to cope with it all. that is, until he delivers a harsh slap to your ass, which causes you gasp and squeal, "yes, 'tsumu! leave it inside me, please. all of it."

"you sound like such a whore." he chuckles, but only to conceal how badly that turns him on. he knows it's perverted, but there is just something so sexy about hearing his sweet friend beg for it like a desperate slut. it was humorously uncharacteristic. "ask again, baby. let me hear you, scream for daddy."

"i need you to— nghh, fuck! oh my god, i need you to cum in me. pleasee~." you pant, head spinning as he relentlessly pounds into your cunt, not faltering for even a split second. "i want you so bad.."

and that'll do it. your final breathless comment was enough to send him flying over the edge of his climax. one hand gripped your ass while the other held your thigh, and he heaved out a deep sigh as his thick load released from his tip and spurted into the safe confines of your pussy.

the warm sensation spread throughout your insides, like a sticky blanket coating your walls. it was beauitful, and there was no way he was going to let go just yet. not when your cunt was still gripping onto him; he wanted to savour it for as long as possible.

he leaned forward, and pressed gentle kisses across your spine and the nape of your neck, "you did so good.." you could feel him smile against your skin, as he whispered, "can you promise me something, doll?"

"mhm.."

"gonna keep that inside you?"

"of course." you hum, amused that he was still attached to what you were discussing earlier, "now we're connected."

"yeah." he nods, resting his head against your upper back and relaxing his frame against yours, "for a week, at least. then you'll have to visit me in osaka, and we can do this all again."

[tetsumie]

"𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘" 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

read part 1 here!

pairing: kuroo x reader & bokuto x reader

genre: hurt/comfort

content: the boys call you clingy but they don’t mean it

a/n: hello ahhh it's been awhile since i've posted but i'm trying to get back into the habit of writing again! someone in my inbox had requested me to add bokuto to this list so i tried my best but i hope you all enjoyed this and feel free to stop by my inbox to leave a comment, tell me your thoughts, or just lmk how it's going hehe :,)

kuroo tetsuro

"i'm home," a mumble echoed out into the empty living room.

at the sound of the door opening, you make your way out of your shared bedroom to greet your overworked boyfriend, kuroo.

"hi baby," you replied with a tired smile on your features.

the door closes and kuroo slides off his slacks, loosens his tie, runs his fingers through his hair, and sighs in exhaustion.

"hey."

"have you eaten dinner yet?" you start to ramble. " i can warm up dinner and we could maybe share a meal together?"

"we haven't spent much time together in a while so you know.. i was just thinking... we could do something small together?"

you continue to ramble about how you spent all evening trying a new recipe you saw on tiktok that really fascinated you.

but kuroo is not having it.

all he wants to do is just go to bed and forget the past couple shitty days he's had at work. today, especially, was stressful considering how nothing had gone his way and the higher ups just wouldn’t stop giving him a hard time.

he kept his frustration, tiredness, anger all bottled up for the past couple days and they were all about to boil out.

on top of that, your constant rambling isn't helping. you keep talking and talking and talking and his mind is beginning to get cloudy and his anger is about to boil over.

his voice rises and he finally speaks, "god y/n.. can you just shut the fuck up and stop being all up in my space? you're so fucking clingy just leave me alone."

oh.

you mouth shuts up mid sentence and you're looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to even look him in the eye after hearing his true feelings.

"sorry, i just wanted to spend some time and talk and relax with you..." your voice goes quiet. "you've been out really late for the past couple days so i was just hoping-"

however, kuroo's outburst isn't over yet. if anything, your little comment voicing your concerns seems to have make him a bit more upset.

"yeah, i've been out late because of how suffocating it is here at home with you. god, it's like you just can't take a fucking hint! just leave me the fuck alone!" he says and your eyes go a bit glassy.

"r-right," you say as you're turning around so he doesn't see the tears forming in your eyes. "sorry, i'll respect your wishes and give you your space."

seeing your hunched figure walking away brought him back to his senses.

what the fuck did i just say to them? oh my god.

"y/n wait i'm sorry-" he begins but is cut off.

"kuroo, i think you've said enough tonight."

the sound of his last name coming out of your mouth leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he knows he's fucked up immensely. the door to the bedroom closes, indicating that you're clocking out for the night and you can't deal with this conversation any bit longer.

kuroo sits himself on the couch with his head in his hands, shaking his head.

what the hell did i just say to them? it's not even their fault... i just... how the hell do i make it up to them?

kuroo walks to the door and places three subtle knocks on the door, begging for permission to enter. he's greeted with no acknowledgement or response.

he turns the knob and to his surprise it opens. there, he sees you fast alseep in your comforter in a fetal-like position. he goes into the closet, changes into his pajamas, and immediately climbs into bed.

he brings you close to his side of the bed, specifically putting your head on his chest. he begins to stroke your hair and places gentle kisses on your head, mumbling soft "i'm sorry's" and "i love you's."

he's praying to whatever deity out there that this would blow over by tomorrow morning or something.

but kuroo wakes up the next morning to his worst nightmare: you're not in bed with him. he feels his blood run cold and he's running the worst case scenarios in his head.

he rushes out of the bedroom to see that you're nowhere in the apartment. he sees a bright colored post-it note stuck on to the fridge with a note scribbled in your handwriting.

"i'm staying at a friend's house for the next couple of days. i just need time to think for a bit. there's some leftovers from last night in the fridge so make sure you eat those.

love u always, y/n"

kuroo's hands shake as he's holding your post-it note.

of course, they'd leave. i treated them like shit and hurt them so badly of course they want to leave. but even after everything, they still love me… i don’t deserve them.

kuroo begins to spiral and the next couple of days aren't any easy for him.

every attempt at texting or calling you has lead to no response. he goes to sleep without you next to him, holding back tears every time. every morning without fail, he pats the vacancy next to him in hopes that you'll be there but to his demise, every time, you're not. work feels even more lethargic than usual. before, he used to look forward to coming home to you but now you're not even at home so what's the point in even trying. counting down the hours until he gets to leave his cubicle has become futile.

i just really want them back. please come back home.

but when he comes home from a pain achingly long day of work, he doesn't find you and his mood plummets even more.

that is until one day, kuroo is able to leave work early where he comes home and hears the familiar noise of the coffee maker brewing. his eyes shoot up from his slacks to look over at the kitchen where he sees you in all your beauty, fidgeting with the knobs on the coffee machine. your eyes both lock and you immediately look away.

kuroo thought you were gone for good. and the fact that you were only a couple feet away from him made his heart swell and his eyes water. there's so much to say but his not a single word is escaping his mouth.

"you want some coffee? i just started a new batch," you finally say to fill up the silence of the room.

he gulps, "sure yeah."

you grab a coffee cup and pour him a fresh cup of coffee and slide it to him across the kitchen counter, avoiding getting too close to him.

too nervous to even touch his drink, he begins to address the elephant in the room, "y/n, i'm so sorry for what i said that night. i had no right to speak to you in the manner."

"it's okay," you say in a curt manner. "i get it."

he shakes his head and tries to get closer to you to convey his feelings but is stopped when he sees you take a step back. his heart cracks.

"no it's not okay sweetheart. i've been so busy with work and i just got super overwhelmed with everything and-"

"kuroo, you know you don't have to make any excuses right?" you interrupt his train of thought.

he's confused now. "excuses? y/n what are you even talking about- "

"just end it with me already... i know you want to," you say, looking down at the fresh cup of coffee in your hands. "you made that very clear."

his world freezes.

the world becomes completely silent.

his mouth is slightly open, caught off guard. he doesn't know what to say.

however, you interpret his silence as him putting down the excuses finally and admitting that he doesn't want to put effort into this relationship with you anymore.

hell, he doesn’t even want this relationship with you anymore.

"right, if you won't i will so it's easier for the both of us. i think we should-"

"don't you dare finish that fucking sentence," he moves close to you all of a sudden and his familiar lingering cheap cologne smell takes up your senses. the gears begin to click in his head before you can respond to him.

kuroo's arms envelop you in his embrace. "i want you. only you. i'm sorry i made you think otherwise."

the tears you've been holding back for the past couple minutes standing in front of him overflow and you feel like the world is about to end.

you push kuroo off you slightly. "i know you've been busy with work and i just wanted to spend some time with you. i never meant to come off as clingy but clearly you thought so so-"

"i'm just a complete douche,” he interrupts. “you were trying to help me out and make me feel better and i was so caught up with work, i couldn't appreciate that."

"i never want to ever make you feel that way again. you never deserved to hear any of that from me and everything i said couldn't be far from the truth. your presence has never been a bother and if anything, coming home to you is the best part of my day.”

“i shouldn't have let my emotions get the best of me and i'm so sorry that it did and that i hurt you in the process. i hate that i’m the reason behind your tears and i’ll do everything to make it up to you to show you how much i love you."

the tears from your eyes continue to flow and he delicately wipes every single one from your eyes kissing your cheek every time without fail.

"are you sure you don’t find me suffocating? you said that you hated being home with me though so i just thought-" you start to say.

"i will spend my entire life reassuring you that it isn’t true. i promise you are never suffocating me and your presence never fails to make me feel better on a shitty day. i will do anything to regain your trust and faith in me,” he adamantly speaks with his hands in yours.

hearing his determined resolve, the tears flow even more.

"i love you so much, tetsu."

"i love you too baby," he smiles and delicately kisses your lips. "now let's go out. how do you feel about going out for dinner? i’ve got a lot of making up to you to do."

"i'll never say no to that."

bokuto koutaro

the msby jackals lost 2-0 sets and the entire team was taking the loss hard but no one as hard as bokuto.

"bokuto-san, what do you think went wrong today's game?" an interviewer asks with his notepad out, scribbling notes.

"er, uh, well, today was just a rough day and i had a tough time keeping up with the opponent's plays today... it just was not a good day."

"i have one more question," the interviewer asks.

"go ahead," he gruffs out.

"you are known for your infamous line shots especially during deciding moments of the game. you missed multiple of these shots during today's game. were you distracted during this game? is it because of your new relationship status or were-"

bokuto is now riled up. who the hell does this interviewer think he is to corner me and bring in my personal life???

"i'm leaving, fuck this shit," he spits out, trying his best to maintain his composure.

in frustration, bokuto storms out of the press conference room, slamming the double doors, heading towards the locker room to grab his stuff but is stopped by you, running after him.

"kou! wait up!" you say from a distance and he stops in his tracks to look at you. he's still internally raging from the provocative behavior of that interviewer and he feels like he just might lose it.

"what do you want," he says in an aggressive manner that catches you off guard.

you’re aware of the recent loss of the msby jackals. you know that's probably taking a toll on his confidence as a player so you're trying to be as supportive as you can.

"you wanna come back to my place? i was thinking we could watch that one disney movie you like and we could bake something together too? what do you think?"

"why do you always want to fucking hang out?" he says in the lowest tone of voice you've ever heard from him.

it sends shivers down your spine.

"huh?" you're just confused at this point.

"why are you so fucking clingy all the time? it's always 'kou come over!' or 'kou let's watch a movie!' or 'kou let's take a nap together!' like don't you fucking get that i have a genuine career that i'm working really hard to be successful in?"

so that's what he thinks of me.

"i know you want to be a pro volleyball player and i want to support you the entire way. i was just trying to be there for you and help you relax..." you trail. "i get today was really rough for you.."

"that's the thing you don't get it, y/n!" he says exasperatedly. "if you did want to be supportive for me and my career, then you would stop being so all up on me and give my space!"

he walks into the locker room, slamming the door, shaking you up.

in defeat, you begin to leave the stadium with tears brimming your eyes. as you get in your car, you put your head on the steering wheel and suddenly, the tears start to stream out.

"i'll give him his space. i'll just stop everything. i'm nothing of importance to him or his life so it's best if i just stop." you convince yourself.

bokuto, on the other hand, is in the locker room, holding back tears of frustration as he punched one of the lockers.

fuck, what am i even doing right now...

"bokuto-san! let's head out for the night," shoyo's voice can be heard before he can be seen in the locker room. "we're gonna go get drinks and dinner at that new barbecue place that opened up."

he looks up from the bench and smiles at shoyo along with the rest of his teammates that are nodding along in support.

"yeah, sure. fine with me," kou responds with a small smile on his face.

as bokuto and the rest of the jackals are out and about, he keeps looking at his phone in hopes of getting a message or something from you but you're completely radio silent after the spat between the two of you.

he knows you both had a disagreement but he thought you knew that he was just frustrated and upset with the game. he didn't think it was a reason to just go silent on him.

he sends a text to test the waters.

kou <3: babe, we're good right?

he puts his phone down and engages back in the dinner with the rest of the jackals.

an hour has passed yet still no response. it's starting to make him fidgety so he decides to spam you.

kou <3: hello?

kou <3: baby wya???

kou <3: where is the loml at :((

kou <3: BABYYYYYYY

kou <3: POOKIE PLS TXT ME BACK :(((

y/n is typing...

y/n: sry i was getting ready for bed.

you sounded distant. you clearly were upset but was it still about the argument? c'mon you knew he didn't mean what he said... right?

kou <3: ITS OKAY BABY! can i come over? i wanna spend the night with u :,)

kou <3: i miss you

y/n: maybe not tonight... i think it's best if we're by ourselves for a bit

bokuto's hair significantly drooped down, seeing as how he got rejected to hang out with you for the night.

as bokuto heads over to his apartment for the night, he stares at the bedroom ceiling with his thoughts. he misses laying next to his baby. that's when he starts to replay everything that went down between the two of you.

he genuinely can't figure out what went wrong.

he prays that this whole thing will just blow over by tomorrow because he misses you incredibly and just wants to spend time with you.

unfortunately to his demise, you kept shutting down all of kou's efforts to come over. you refused to pick up his calls, resorting to half assed texts.

this whole argument was festering and bokuto had to fix it immediately.

you, however, want nothing more than to spend time with your boyfriend but his words kept running through your mind on loop. anytime you would be sitting alone with yourself, his words kept playing themselves on loop in your brain, making you overthink the post couple months you’ve spent together.

has he always thought of me as clingy? have i always been a bother to him? have i always been super annoying in his eyes?

that was until you heard a knock on the door.

you open the door and see kou standing there in a hoodie and a pair of khakis with a large bouquet of assorted flowers in his hands. his eyes lock with yours while yours widen in surprise.

"k-kou! what are you doing here?" you say in surprise.

"what, i can't see my partnet now?" he retorts lightheartedly. "let me in."

too stunned to even reject him, your hand inherently finds its way to the knob, widening the door so bokuto can fit through into your apartment.

he tries to hand you the flowers but you stand there, hands refusing to move from their sides. "c'mon babe, i got them for you! do you not like them? man, i knew i should've gotten the roses instead."

"no no! thank you so much kou.. i'm just surprised that you even got this for me..." you trail off looking away from him.

he sets the flowers on the kitchen counter and tilts his head in confusion. "what do you mean, y/n?"

"listen, i know you don't really like spending time with me and that you feel obligated to but honestly, we really don't have to hang out or anything like that," you begin to say. "i know i can be a lot sometimes and i'm really working on trying to give you space."

that's when it all clicks in his head for him.

"baby, is this about what i said that day in the gym?" he questions.

you turn away, refusing to even look him in the eye because you know the moment your eyes lock with his, the tears will start streaming down your face.

"baby, no, please," he goes over to you to give you the warmest yet tightest hug possible. "i’m also a very clingy person so i should've known how much my words must have hurt you. i've been so stupid to not see how badly my words must have impacted you, my love. i'm so so sorry for saying and acting the way i did. it's unexcusable."

"no kou it's fine i just-" you say but are interrupted midsentence.

"no, y/n it's not," he says, tears brimming his eyes ever since coming to terms with how hurt you must've been feeling this entire time. "i'll do anything to get your forgiveness and for us to just... be close again. i'll do anything, i mean it."

tears are streaming down both your faces and you can't help but form a wobbly smile on your lips. "pinky promise?"

"pinky promise," kou says as he locks pinkies with you and kisses the top of your head. "now let's cuddle because i've missed being near the love of my life."

© tetsumie 2024 all rights reserved 

[hamliet]

Adolescence Review (by someone who used to work in child protection)

Recently watched Netflix's Adolescence and it was probably the best TV series I've seen. It's superbly acted (how was this Owen Cooper's first role?), fascinatingly filmed (every single episode is shot in one take), and brimming with empathy and nuance.

It also resonates personally with me. Once upon a time, I worked in child protection for a year. I've worked with kids like the main subject of the series, Jamie Miller. I can't and won't give details, but this series probably captures the heart-wrenching, soul-crushing reality of what it's like to work with kids who do horrific crimes.

Episode 1 is an excruciatingly detailed account of the dehumanization of arrest and imprisonment, and that's even with everyone doing their best to be kind to Jamie because he's a child (13, but looks younger). I guarantee you most cops don't try to be nice to most intakes.

There's really only one moment where a cop is cruel until the interrogation, and that's when Jamie's being strip-searched. The man conducting the search tells his father, who asks, in essence, "how would you feel if you were thirteen and strangers wanted to do this to you?" that "I was never accused of a crime." Well, bully for you, jerk-face.

Yet the viewer also understands the cruel necessity of having to conduct such a search, while also wanting to throw up. I do think a lot of the discourse around juvenile criminals resorts to "throw away the key" without considering what that means, and what humiliation and abuse kids go through when they're arrested (rightfully or wrongfully). The show following each and every motion and forcing the viewer to observe the father's face rather than the actual search forces the viewer to face their own thoughts on juvenile justice (especially because, at this point, you don't know whether Jamie did it).

But at the same time as Jamie is dehumanized in this way, you're confronted with the reality of how much he's dehumanized his victim at the end of the episode, when you see that he absolutely, 100% did do it. This thread of how Jamie dehumanizes women in particular continues in Episode 3.

Episode 2 is easily the weakest of the series. It's still great and offers, via a chaotic school with checked-out adults who can't care anymore and adults who do care completely overwhelmed and limited by their own humanity, a symbolic picture of what teenagers face. How can they learn when they aren't willing to listen? At the same time, how can they learn when no one is teaching? How can people teach when they are drowning themselves?

My criticism here is that the school appeared not exactly unrealistic, but also slightly hyperbolized. I think they could have stressed the struggles of trying to care when there's too much to care for even more than they did via an additional episode, an episode I think the second one almost introduced and then left dangling--one that focused on Katie's loved ones.

We hear about Katie's mom, and we meet Jade and see her rage over losing her best friend. We even see one detective voice how frustrating it is that Jamie will be remembered but Katie won't be. I wouldn't quite call this lip service because I do think the aim of the show isn't quite about this, but I do think the show should have spent an episode on Jade and/or Katie's family.

We know Katie isn't perfect as a victim, but that doesn't mean in any way that she deserved to be stabbed to death (or to have her pictures leaked). In fact, the show makes this emphatically clear. But I still think they missed a chance to make her more human, to show the loss through her loved ones.

If Episode 2 is the slightly-less-than-the-others episode, Episode 3 is the standout. The psychologist examines Jamie and he vacillates between inappropriately flirting with the psychologist to childishly requesting more hot chocolate to terrifyingly screaming in rage to sobbing in fear like a child in a nightmare to condescendingly mocking her like a rabid fan of Elon's would to desperately trying to wrench away the reality of what he did and trying to talk himself out of facing reality. And Owen Cooper, the child actor, makes all of this believable.

The reality is that the cruelty of what Jamie's done sinks in during Episode 3. He tells his psychologist that most other guys who have assaulted their victim, but he didn't, so he's better, right? And then he screams and sobs minutes later begging for someone to tell him that they like him, anyone. I found myself wanting to grab the psychologist and beg her to say that she "cared" (something I said in a similar moment during my work doing child protection). But I also understand why she didn't--not just professionally, but in terms of Jamie having to realize that he can't be entitled to people liking him when he's so cruel to women.

The psychologist also asks Jamie if he understands what death is. While he says all the right words to show he does, everyone over the age of 20 knows that he doesn't, and the show knows it too. I genuinely think that, until you get older, you cannot fully understand what it means for someone to be gone from this earth.

And therein lies the paradox of the show: Jamie doesn't fully understand what he's done. At the same time, what he's done has permanent, gruesome, irreversible consequences for everyone around him--and beyond that, because of the internet's influence beyond local boundaries.

Episode 4 is an episode I would call beautiful in a lot of ways, despite the fact that it's jagged and raw. We follow Jamie's family (dad, mom, and older sister) as they try to celebrate the dad's birthday about a year after the crime. We see how they're wrestling with the fallout and agony of knowing they raised Jamie--but they also raised Lisa, who is kind of an awesome kid.

And while Episode 1 actually has detectives musing that the parents might be abusive and that might explain it, this episode removes any doubts: Eddie and Amanda, Jamie's parents, are good parents. They are not perfect. Eddie has a temper. Amanda should have monitored his computer use more. But also? No parents are perfect. Arguably, the detective who interacts with his son in Episode 2 is a worse parent than they are. Yet his son is great, and Lisa is great.

There simply isn't a good explanation. Jamie was hurting, yes, but his pain can't be pinned down to a singular cause. The internet hurt him and gave him messages about masculinity that were harmful to say the least. But he also got those messages at school, even if he wasn't on the internet. And he got love at home, as well as some flawed interactions with his parents.

So who is responsible for Jamie's actions? Jamie himself. He chose.

Yet, the series also acknowledges that Jamie is a child, and he is not just "born bad." We see how other kids, like Jade punching Ryan, and Ryan loaning Jamie the knife, and Tommy joking around, and the bully leaking Katie's pictures--they have no comprehension of the extreme ramifications of their actions... but some of them also don't appear to care to learn. Normally, society would demand they care to learn, but that's not happening.

So then what? If society creates these kids, then what does society owe them? That's a question the series wants viewers to walk away contemplating, rather than giving a simple answer.

And there is some hope: Jamie deciding to plead guilty and accept responsibility. In that, we see how kids are supposed to be able to make mistakes and learn and grow. Yet Jamie's "mistake" is so shattering that Katie will never get to grow beyond it because of him, and to what degree Jamie can after pleading guilty isn't clear either. And in an era where their every action is captured online, can they ever really grow beyond?

I don't know that I have an answer to that. I've seen some kids I worked with grow up to be awesome. And I've lost touch with others, particularly those whose cases were more serious. There is no agony like seeing a child who has done something horrific and is suffering themselves and knowing you can't save them, and not knowing what the future holds for them. All you're left with is being able to hope that they'll learn to accept responsibility and grow, but in a system and society that makes that really impossible, is that even much of a hope?

[matt-is-me]

Mind Trick

cw:hypnosis,arousal

You and your friend are sitting on their couch, watching TV and unwinding after a very tiring day. You've both had a ton of work to worry about, and they think the best remedy for that exhaustion is to destress on the couch for a bit, then try out the trigger they gave you the previous day.

It was a Jedi Mind Trick suggestion, one that makes you mindlessly agree with them any time they wave their hand front of your face. You thought it was a very nerdy thing to use during a hypnosis session, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious of its effects.

You wanted to chill out for a bit, but there had to be a better way to do that. The TV was very boring. It was that dumb cooking show your friend always watches. You couldn't stand it, it was like watching paint dry.

"Can you please change the channel? You know how much I hate this show" , you asked, in a tired, grumpy tone.

They waved their hand.

"But you love this show, hun, you always have!"

Your previous opinion began to fade from your head, swiped away by the hand authoritavely swaying in front of you.

That.. that was true. It had always been that way. What were you complaining about? You loved to watch cooking shows! They offered a very relaxing, and informative experience, and suddenly it became impossible to take your eyes off the screen.

You continued watching with your friend for a while, excited with your newfound knowledge of how to prepare Steak au Poivre. It wasn't until both of you spent a little time relaxing your muscles that they suggested doing something else.

"Hm, I've chilled out enough. I'm in the mood for something.. diferent. Are you horny, dear?" They looked at you as they quizzed you on your arousal.

On one hand, you were a bit aroused, and it was the perfect way to destress. But on the other, you were pretty tired, and it was much easier to sit and watch the show. You needed a push, if your friend wanted this very lazy evening to end differently.

They waved their hand.

"You're incredibly aroused"

This time, you repeated their words, doing so without resistance. "I'm incredibly aroused" , you replied, the mindless tone of your voice quickly erasing your previous opinions.

That.. that was true. It had always been like that. Your tired expression morphed from sleepy to unfathomably horny. The thoughts that occupied your mind changed, from ones of curling up on the couch to sexual fantasies of your tist. Your mind grew aroused.

You began to absent-mindedly touch yourself. Nothing major, of course, but just enough to keep yourself worked up. Your friend watched your sudden shift in personality, content with how easy it was to make you agree with them.

They waved their hand.

"Your mind is extremely fuzzy"

"My mmind... fuzzy...", you replied, not even a tiny ammount of hesitation in your voice.

That was true. Your mind could barely keep a coherent thought inside your head. You began to drool your thoughts away as you touched yourself, the only noises escaping your mouth being giggles and moans. You were too dizzy to care about not being understood.

They waved their hand.

"You are really needy. You need me to tell you what to do. What to think."

"N..needyyy....", your voice trailed off, unable to repeat anymore.

That was true. You got closer to them, still touching yourself as you looked into their eyes. Your moans turned into a chorus of needy words, your mind looping the same fantasies of being blanked by your dear pal. You were begging. You had to beg.

"Pleaseee uusee meee,, nneed uu to tell me whhat ddoo.. wahhat too thinkk.. pleasepleasepleasepleaseepleasee"

"Aww, good toy!", your tist responded, a smile forming on their face as they watched your pretty head break from the pleasure.

They waved their hand.

"You're blank."

That was true. You were blank. Your mind suddenly stopped, no longer thinking anything. You froze in place, awaiting commands. You needed to be told what to do. What to think. And your tist had some great ideas~

"I am blank.", you mindlessly replied.

And just like that, with a few waves of a hand, you were gone.

[m4mmonthebest]

Cam's Jealousy

Once your friend leaves, you decide to first clean up the mess Cam made. You wonder what had gotten into him to even do that in the first place.

After tidying everything up, you decide to put on the Dateviators.

You find yourself with a crossed arm Cam, who's face is turned to not look at your face, instead looking somewhere else. Anywhere else.

"Hi Cam.

"Hi."

"Everything good?"

"Yup."

"...Are you sure?"

"...Yup."

"Can you look at me while you say it?"

He stays still and slowly turns his head towards you. His eyes then follow, although two seconds later he avoids your gaze again, an embarrassed blush coating his face slightly.

"...Can you look at me without looking away."

You can see a big pout, which you find extremely cute.

"..."

"Did you get jealous?"

Cam's eyes grow big and his blush deepens. He now looks at you directly, eyebrows furrowed.

"Why would I be jealous? No one can compare to me."

Bullshit. Obvious bullshit. Not the message in itself, he's perfect in all his trashy glory in your eyes. But you can sense the small quiver on his voice and on his pouty lip.

"You know it's okay to be jealous, right?"

His shoulder slump, and once again he looks away.

"Whatever. What do you want me to say? That it made me really jealous? That it makes me insecure seeing you with other people thinking you're just gonna use me and dump me? You know I'm not good with this emotion bullshit. I've never been, that's probably not gonna change."

"But I've dated other objects in the house and... you didn't seem worried."

"I'm very good at keeping things inside me. I'm a goddamn trashcan. And anyway, it's not the same."

"How?"

"... She's human." And for a brief moment you can see real sadness in his eyes. "...and I'm not."

You get closer to Cam and he sees to try and get as smaller as possible. But you don't let him, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"I don't care about that..."

"...Maybe you should. I- I can't be there for you. I'm just a trashcan. Don't get me wrong, love me. Love being a trashcan. Just- ugh. Whatever."

You kiss his cheek and rub circles on his hand with your thumb. You smell his hair. Smells like trash. You've gotten used to it though, and thanks to your habits it wasn't a horrible smell.

"Idiot. I don't even smell good."

"I don't care. It's your smell."

You stay like that for a while, with Cam positioned between your legs, back to your chest.

He lays his head on your chest. He seems less upset now, but not less pensive. He never considered himself an insecure person. I mean, he knew he looked great. He knew other people thought so too. Never had any issues being a trashcan, he loves being dirty. So he doesn't understand what he's feeling.

Except....he does. He has felt that before, and without thinking he utters:

"Do you love me?"

Fuck. He probably shouldn't have said that. His whole body is begging him to run away but all he does is close his eyes.

"...I do."

You immediately get he's not entirely content with the answer.

"Why do you ask?"

He brings your arms closer to him. You're now hugging him with your full body, legs included, as he rests his head on your shoulder. He sighs.

"I dunno."

You remain quiet, and he continues.

"Just. Uh. When I used to date before it was obvious they just liked me because I was handsome. Don't get me wrong, I am very handsome." He chuckles, not with much energy. "But...then the more time they spent with me they just...started to get tired of me? I don't know. They'd call me dirty, or just...mean things. Not sure what they expected considering I'm a trashcan. Doesn't make much sense to me."

"Fuck- I'm rambling-"

You kiss his knuckles, and while you can't see his face too well you feel the heat emanating from it, as the tip of his ears turn red.

"You're not. It's okay."

"Whatever. I just wanted to know if you...ugh. you know. Actually like me or do you just think I'm pretty."

He doesn't do it on purpose. But you can feel his body stiffing waiting for a response.

"...I like a lot of things about you. Hmmm....for example..."

You pass your hands through his tangled hair, making sure to detangle it softly.

"I really like your soft voice. And I really like how awkward you can get when I flirt with you and you don't have a response. Hmmm....I like how much you like being yourself, how you don't let anyone tell you you're less just for being who you are. I like...when you come up with sneaky stuff to say. Or when you do references even when I don't understand them. How you're so intelligent and interesting... how-"

"Okay you can stop-"

If you could look at his face you could tell he's smiling, but also incredibly embarrassed.

"... how you moan my name."

He almost lets out a whine. Almost. He catches himself last second biting his lip.

"But yeah. I like a lot of stuff about you."

"I love you."

You stay like that for a while longer, although you feel your Dateviators begining to turn off.

"Shit. Goodnight Cam."

He gives you a small hug.

"I do too."

"Huh?"

"I love you too."

The dateviators turn off. Leaving you in the kitchen looking at your trashcan with a blushed face. You kiss the cold metal. It heats up under your lips.

You hope Cam really understood how much you appreciate him.

[m3mento-m0rii]

Hello! I've discovered your blog and I must say, I've fallen in love with your writing style! I literally spent all night reading all your Saja Boy drabbles, HE'S, scenarios, etc! And I want to request one.

Reader is dating the Saja Boys, but they haven't gone public so that Reader didn't get harassed online by stans and fans alike. But when some girl gets just a little too close to their man, Reader gets a little jealous *ahem* possessive.

Also, if its not taken yet, I'd like to claim 💋 as my Anon emoji please! And I'd also like a Buisness Class Airline ticket!

The Boy Is Mine—

2.4k words; Saja Boys x Reader

Masterlist | Requests paused!

Honestly? You would deal with the stan hate if it meant you could beat the fans off your boyfriend with a stick (metamorphically (probably)).

A/N: First of all . . . WELCOME kiss anon!! HI thank you so much for requesting. And I'm so sorry it took me this long to fill out your request. I was struggling a little bit with it and then I kept getting more and more so I took a break from yours to fill out Radio Silence and that took a while and—okay now I'm back. Still, I hope you enjoy.

Jinu—

You liked to think you were a forgiving person, sharing your boyfriend with the world and everything. At first, it was funny to know all the people that wanted him, and gratifying to know that you’re the only one that had him.

Then came the people that liked to push the envelope. Then it wasn’t so funny anymore.

As Jinu’s partner, you always had an invitation to their shows. Of course you did, why wouldn’t you? Always in the front, always able to watch him shine. And boy did you love it; you swear that every time he hypnotized the crowd, he was entrancing you again, too.

Well, this show in particular had a backstage event for some fans, and you watched from the wings after the show as a few fans swarmed about. It was amusing to watch them fawn and coo over the Sajas—well.

At least until one approached Jinu in a certain way.

“Jinu! hello,” she beamed, her fingers already playing in her hair. “You’re so much prettier in real life.”

Okay, not the strangest thing you’ve heard a fan say to him.

“Thank you,” he played his part; you smirked, knowing that the fans would never know how much of a dork he really was. “Do you want a picture?”

“Yes, please!” She posed with him, and Jinu smiled for the camera. Except he cringed a little because her arm wrapped around his waist. And not in the ‘light’ way.

You blinked, unsure if you were seeing this properly. Who did this girl think she was??

Still, Jinu braved through the photo, going to pull away; she let go. Though, she also leaned in, looking up at him like he was emitting sparkles and sunshine.

Jinu’s smile got a little tighter. Your eyes narrowed as she spoke quieter, and you were a bit too far away to hear the conversation. Still, she began to stand up a bit more, and Jinu took a step back.

He looked like he was ready to escape.

Okay. Time to intervene.

“Jinuu, hey,” you slid up to him, your arm dangling over his shoulder. He glanced at you, unsure of what you were playing at, but grateful all the same. “You know, Baby was looking for you.”

He almost visibly deflated in relief, his own arm snaking around you. “Oh, he probably wants to talk about that new song.” Riiiight. “It was nice meeting you! Thank you for your continued support. Okay, bye—”

Jinu practically dragged you along. You snickered as he made a quick escape, not even glancing back at the (likely fuming) girl. “You’re welcome,” you grinned.

“Yeah, thank you. Except you’re going to have the entire pride after you,” he huffed.

“Worth it.”

Abby—

His whole shtick was literally his abs, you should have expected this to happen eventually.

The both of you had been in public (incognito mode), walking hand in hand for a while, just minding your business; as a couple might do. But you were reminded of something that caught your eye—you had to double-check that storefront. You had already started moving, and Abby instinctively came with you, but you stopped him.

“No, it’s okay. It’ll just be second.”

He frowned, but let you go, anyway; the warmth of your hand lingered in his palm. “Be careful.”

“It’s a few yards away max,” you brushed off.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to be any less safe??”

You threw him a smile over your shoulder, waving as you approached the glass display.

Your eyes scanned it for a moment, looking at all the different items. Not what you were looking for, despite your hope. You popped into the store quickly just to make sure, and you were right; it wasn’t there. That was fine, you could just get it online.

As you walked back out, though, something else grabbed your attention. This random girl, talking to Abby. Obviously, you could live with that. You watched from a distance, letting the fan have her moment like they always got to, but you immediately zoned in when you noticed her getting a little too close.

Brushing his arm, laughing too close, that way she leaned in to ‘hear him talk’. You could just see it on her face. And you couldn’t even be mad, because Abby was fine and it wasn’t common knowledge that he was in a relationship with someone. With you.

But that didn’t make you hate it any less.

Especially when she had the audacity to reach for his abs.

Before anyone knew it, arms were curling around Abby’s waist, your hands conveniently placed against his abdomen. Your head rested against his shoulder blade in that way you knew always made him melt. “I’m back, lovely.”

You didn’t have to see him to hear the grin in his voice. “Hey. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No, but that’s okay,” you tilted your head, meeting eyes with that girl. 

The look in her eyes was nasty. It brought you great content. “Hey, you must be a fan, right?”

“Yes, but I was just finished, actually,” she casted a fake smile to the pair of you, and you could see the faintest eyeroll as she turned to walk away. “Nice to meet you, Abby.”

And she strutted away. Abby chuckled, pulling you back around to see him. “Don’t tell me you were jealous?”

You only shrugged. “‘Jealous’ implies she has something that I don’t. It’s the other way around, really; I prefer the term ‘territorial’?”

“Sure, that’s better,” he began pulling you along again, not letting go of your hand. “I wonder how many rumors just started.”

“Plenty, hopefully. I need them to know they can’t be on you like they used to.”

Mystery—

Honestly, Mystery was itching for an opportunity to not hide you.

Because no matter what it was, Mystery did not care about people’s opinions. Not when it came to his behavior, his nature, not even you. The only reason you were hiding it in the first place was because you didn’t want to be outed too soon.

Now, here you were, in public, holding hands. It was obviously Mystery—his hair is periwinkle? Lavender? And he just has a certain style about him that can’t be robbed. Anyway, it’s clear he’s with someone, and some girl came up anyway.

No biggie. They usually just asked for a photo and / or an autograph, or something. 

Not this one.

She immediately reached for Mystery’s face, going to brush his hair out of his face. You couldn’t even help it. Before you knew it, your hand had shot out to grab her wrist. “Huh?”

Seeing his face was your thing. You intended on keeping it that way.

“I know I didn’t just see you reach for his face, girl,” you sighed, the disappointment evident in your voice. It was clear she literally hadn’t noticed you, her gaze trailing up and down your form. Landing on your entwined hands. It was then that realization struck her.

“Please,” she murmured, “please, no.”

You had to swallow a surprised noise, not expecting the reaction. You dropped her wrist. “I’m . . . sorry for your loss??”

You gently pulled Mystery away, glancing back as the girl let out a choked cry. Damn. That’s tough.

She dropped to her knees on the middle of the sidewalk.

“Yikes . . .” you winced, feeling the slightest sympathy. It was that bad that she fell to the ground?? “That's kind of crazy.”

Mystery only followed, glancing back at the girl. “. . . Does this mean I don’t have to hide you anymore??”

“Is that all you took from that?”

“Well, you didn’t deny the accusation.”

You let him have his antics; he didn’t have to look at you to know you found him amusing. Still, he pulled you closer.

Romance—

One moment. You left for one moment to go to the bathroom, and now some girl was giving him goo-goo eyes. The funny thing? She was leaving the bathroom when you entered it. You smiled at each other.

Traitor.

At first, you just observed. You know, nine times out of ten it’s just a fan, and fans could be crazy, but he was used to handling that. You let her have her five seconds with him.

The illusion that they have a chance, etcetera. It was part of his brand, being ‘Romance’ and all.

But you didn’t like the way she was looking at him.

There was just something about the way she smiled, the way you noticed her eyes flicking over his face, the way she played with her hair, her little giggle that gave you the urge to check her. 

Romance’s eyes widened when he felt lips brush his cheek, a nice, sticky mark the shape of your mouth lingering on the skin there. You laughed, wrapping your arm around him.

“Hi! You’ve been busy,” you smiled at the girl, only getting more smug as her jaw dropped. Romance immediately caught on to your behavior and shook his head. You were jealous? How amusing.

“Yes, we were just talking about our last show,” he explained, his hand sneaking around your waist. Well, if you weren’t going to have any shame . . . “She caught some of the merch that was thrown by barricade.”

“Oh, maybe we saw each other,” you beamed. The woman only blinked.

“Um . . . yeah,” she nodded, in utter disbelief of the scenario she’d found herself in. She stared for a moment unsure of how to continue. “Right, it was nice to meet you, Romance.”

And with that, she had turned to leave.

“Wait, you don’t want a picture—?” He called out after her, but she wasn’t listening. Instead, she whipped out her phone, typing furiously at the digital keyboard to who knows what on whatever platform.

Romance let out a huff of a laugh, looking down at you through the corner of his eyes. “I never thought you could be catty.”

“Catty? I have no idea what you’re referring to,” you feigned innocence, continuing on your walk together with a satisfied pep in your step. Mission accomplished.

“You know all the fans are going to be after you, right?”

“I can afford to pay the piper this time.”

Baby—

You were out with Baby. Doing what? Getting food of course!

. . .

You don’t just sit and eat food all the time, you swear. But when people are hungry, they’re hungry. And why not enjoy something you need to live, right? So the pair of you were out and about, scouting for something to eat (hey that rhymed a little).

“We should get something . . . spicy,” Baby contemplated, his finger tapping against his chin. You gave him a concerned look. 

“All you do is eat spicy stuff. The bad kind. You’re going to burn a hole in your stomach lining or something.”

“That’s the goal.”

You flicked his shoulder, and Baby only snickered. The both of you approached a little street food section of the street, your mouth watering just slightly as your eyes locked on a specific stall, and you immediately started beelining towards it.

“Are you kidding? That’s not spicy at all!”

“I want to be able to taste my food, Baby,” you laughed, turning to face him for just a second. Just so he could see your grin, just so he could roll his eyes and smile back. “You go get what you want, and I’ll meet you back here at . . . that table,” you pointed.

He shrugged, drifting off to go find some food.

Fifteen minutes later, you were waiting impatiently at the table. Was fifteen minutes a long or short time? It depends on the food, but you’d think that because of the area it’d be quick. You wanted to eat before it got cold, and you needed to take a picture of your combined spread.

You know, like you always did.

It wasn’t long before you saw your boyfriend walking towards the aforementioned table, looking vaguely annoyed with that trained Saja expression on his face. Just as you were wondering what could have pissed him off, you noticed the girl in tow.

She was a pretty girl, and she seemed way too happy. You could tell it was a fan—the lovesick kind.

Great. You just wanted to eat.

Baby didn’t even bother to set his food down, knowing you were probably going to have to go after being spotted, anyway. The fan was practically radiating sunshines and flowers in his presence. You shot him a questioning look, and his only response was to give you that practiced, cutesy maknae smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh at him. The fan finally noticed you.

“Excuse me,” you said to the girl, trying to be as nice as possible despite your own slight exasperation. “Do you mind if you leave us alone? We’re just trying to eat.”

Baby couldn’t exactly say that—not in the way he wanted to. So you had to do it for him. In about five seconds, you watched several expressions cross over her face; surprise, shock, realization??

Of course, as all fans do, she made assumptions. And in this case, her assumptions were correct. Even so, your request didn’t have the desired effect. Instead, the girl looked you up and down, then between you and Baby . . .

And blushed??

“Um, sorry,” she looked away, her gaze occasionally flickering back to you. Not Baby. You. “I just wanted a picture—”

“Did you want me to take it for you?” You offered, raising a brow. Usually the interaction would be over faster that way. She shook her head fervently, pulling out her phone to snap it selfie style.

“Could you come, too?”

You looked at Baby, Baby looked at you. The same perplexed look on your face. The fan backtracked. “Okay, not to be creepy or anything—! Can I just . . . you’re pretty, okay.”

The woman flustered a little more as you let out a little laugh, standing on her other side so she could take a picture. Her face was clearly a bit red, but she took the picture anyway and then shot off in some direction. “Bye, enjoy your food!”

Of all things, you . . . weren’t expecting that.

“. . . I guess you have your own fan,” Baby teased.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

A/N: Honestly?? I was struggling with this a few days ago, but it didn't come out so bad! I hope you enjoyed 💋 anon, and I hope to see you soon <33 Sorry again that it took so long!

—Captain Morii 🌤️

Morii's Business Class: @abby-himbo-truther @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof

[simplyreveries]

I ADORE YOUR WRITING!!

what about a reader who’s unknowingly flirting with the twst wonderland cast (specifically savanclaw, octanaville and diasomnia) because of culture differences and species differences?

e.g petting their ears, giving them gifts, smiling with teeth (bc for moray eels that’s how they mate 👀)

OR fem reader who has her period and some of the twst students can smell it I LITERALLY HAD A NIGHTMARE ABOUT THIS 😭😭😭😭

OMLL I APPRECIATE ITTT!!! sorry for the wait!!! i chose some from each dorm bc of my character limit btw!!

azul ashengrotto

despite how much azul continues to do his best to learn about life on land… relationships are certainly difficult for him to understand sometimes considering how long he has spent his life in the sea and though there are many similarities between merpeople… there are still some differences. once azul is rather close to you he does become unintentionally— clingy with you. (when you two officially get together that's another story) but he has a habit of wanting to lean close to you or have a hand on you in some way, like on the small of your back when showing you something in the mostro lounge.

so needless to say, he is in love with any sort of touch from you he takes that as some sort of hope and sign that you reciprocate how he feels haha. jade and floyd tease him ALL the time about it especially when he was struggling to keep his cool-headed composure after you once gave him a hug after he did something to help you once.

like I've said azul really doesn't think about it or even try to be this way around you he just does aljdfajdkhf. he’ll feel like a smitten fool as he sits in the vip lounge as he's doing papers and just think about how you playfully linked your arm around his to bring him somewhere. small things like that are actually quite big to him when it comes down to the differences.

jade leech

he's aware you probably don't know that you're unknowingly flirting with him, but he finds it amusing and plays along with you, nevertheless. he thinks it's cute that you don't know and all the more enticing, you’ll find him chuckling, trying to hide his grin with his gloved hand “oh my, I didn't know you liked me that much fufu” he’d say. you can't help but feel confused as to what he finds so interesting… like you literally just yawned.

it'll take him a while to actually tell you what it means since he finds the obliviousness to be quite cute. you only put two and two together when he tells floyd about what you did right in front of him and the two laugh about it. now you've got floyd teasing u about it..

like azul he is a little more affectionate just in a different more. in a less obvious fashion, though there definitely have been a few occasions where he likes to bring your hand to his lips and see your reaction, he finds it so amusing. he always has his teethy grin plastered on his face.

leona kingscholar

he hates the way he can always tell when you're wearing cologne or perfume and he hates that he likes it as well, he may or may not be a bit addicted to your scent. he literally can tell if you're near just because he knows the damn fragrance you use.

if you two are particuarly close... like him falling asleep around you and such. if you happen to pet his head and his ears, he immediately shoots you this look then mumbles something before being too tired to do anything about it or give you some retort. he just lets it happen... he does enjoy it anyway. slowly he kinda doesnt realize how clingy he can get with you because of it. he becomes a little needy and wanting more attention from you. he cant help it.... i mean you basically just showed him that you're fine with it anyways.

leona seems to be someone who can get pretty possessive, unintentionally too over you. kind of territorial, like if you're someone he has eyes for then he doesn't expect others to really get in the way of that.

malleus draonica

malleus is not only a fae but a pretty sheltered one too, I’d think he’d take almost anything from you as a sign of you being completely infatuated with him as he is with you. you could offer split your ice cream or invite him out somewhere, show any sort of interest in him as he talks about gargoyles as he’s doing single club activities. the one time you asked curiously and wanted to touch his horns, he’d be searching for the loveliest jewel to bestow you for your wedding day.

speaking of jewels… he gifts to you a lot especially after you give him anything first (it could be a cool rock you found) and he’d be so smitten and glad to reciprocate that by giving you earrings, rings, necklaces etc. and when you accept them even though you're not exactly fully understanding why he takes it even more as a sign of you accepting his advances.

after taking any of your little acts of being somewhat kind to him and he’s already so deeply into you, lilia would certainly be someone who hears just all about it. i think he would only feel happy for malleus, as it appears he must’ve found the right one. he is just supportive of malleus and is simply overjoyed to know he has some little human that makes him so happy.

lilia vanrouge

he has lived long enough and in different places to understands human courting's and more so than someone like malleus. he knows how different it is, trust me he is fully aware, but he thinks it's amusing. lilia pretends to take it the wrong way and watch you get all confused, when he's just being playful.

just cant help that he finds it so adorable when you unknowingly show him affections as a fae would in his culture. even just being slightly affectionate with him is enough to have him giggling and warning you to be careful to what fae you do that to. they do tend to take very kindly towards any affections and gifts!

lilia will straight up tell you though too, you could gift him and give him something neat you found or made, and he'd look up at you with a stupid grin like "kfufu... i accept your love, dear" NO???. he still holds onto anything from you with the utmost joy.

[lilhughesy]

A Lake House Love Story | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

warnings! mentions of insecurity and hints towards sex (nothing graphic). word count: 3.0k

summary: When you and Jack are at the lake house, it seems like there is something in the air that changes the dynamic of your friendship.

You were one of the many friends that were invited to the Hughes Lake House every summer. From his parents' lake house during your teen years to the lake house that Jack and Quinn bought together in Michigan. It was always a highlight of your year and something to look forward to. With being reunited with all of your friends, who all played in the national hockey league and were scattered across America and Canada during the year, alongside being able to take time away from the real world and simply relax.

Although you weren't a hockey player in the NHL, like the rest of the guys, you were involved in the sports world. From being a student athletic therapist and part-time student coach while studying at the University of Michigan to now being an athletic therapist for the Vancouver Canucks.

Your life was fast paced and it was busy. From the busyness of the Canadian city itself to constantly tending to the different hockey players on a daily basis. You loved it though, it was everything you could have ever asked for. Plus, it was a bonus to be working on the same team that your best friend played for.

The contrast in living styles in Vancouver compared to your summers spent in Michigan was evident. Where in Michigan, you got to spent time under the sunshine with different books that you'd been meaning to read throughout the year and you were fully relaxed. It was seen with everyone who attended the lake house. Everyone coming from the constant on-the-go lifestyle, to the more slowed down and chilled one. Everyone seemed happier, lighter, brighter, and content.

Another difference between your life in Vancouver and your life in Michigan, includes your love life. In Vancouver, you were too busy and didn't think much about dating, rather focused on your career. However, in Michigan, it seemed that the same love story that started when you were nineteen just continues onwards.

You sat in the passenger seat as Quinn drove the both of you to the lake house for another summer. The crisp summer breeze filled the car, with its sweet scent flowing through your hair as you drummed your fingers to the music.

"You have no idea how excited I am for this summer," Quinn said to you, briefly glancing over at you.

"So am I," You nodded, giving your best friend a smile, "Especially after that season... You deserve this break."

He lets out a light chuckle to your words, "Yeah, so do you though."

You only shrugged, "I'm excited to get through my TBR, one of my tote bags is just books that I've collected this past year."

"I'm definitely going to borrow a few of those," Quinn grinned, "Do you think that you and him will make it official this summer?"

Heat rushed to your cheeks, "Maybe... Who knows, I just can't see him as the type to date older."

Quinn rolled his eyes, "You're a year older than him, like nine months older than him."

"But still!"

"You say that yet you two still act the same every summer," He sighed, turning onto the driveway, "It's getting painful to watch, y'know."

You scoffed and lightly smacked his shoulder, "Shut up."

He flashed a teasing smile as he parked the car, "Luke and Jack are already here and I'm assuming that the rest of the guys are coming this afternoon."

You gave a brief nod before climbing out of his car, barely even having time to take in the sight of the familiar Hughes lake house before you were engulfed in your favourite arms.

"Hey you!" Jack mumbled into your hair, planting a kiss on the crown of your head, "'m so happy you're here."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, "Hi, J," You said with a little giggle, "I'm glad you guys decided to invite me again."

"As if it would be summer without you here," Luke joked, standing patiently next to his brother, "Alright, lover boy, let me hug her too. I haven't seen her since March."

Jack let out a complaint under his breath as he released you to allow Luke to greet you properly. You smiled at the curly headed Hughes brother, "Hey Luke."

"Hi Y/N, I hope Quinn didn't try to kill you on the drive here."

You laughed before the four of you made your way into the house. Both Jack and Luke helping Quinn with the bags, and you being responsible for carrying your tote full of books.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

Two weeks into the break and the lake house was in full swing, with Trevor competing with Ethan in shotgunning contests on the dock, Cole and Dylan belting their hearts out to drunken karaoke at night, and quiet mornings spent in Jack's room.

The morning sunlight brought a comforting softness and warmth to his room, peaking through the cracks of his blinds. You cuddled further into his mattress, letting out a content sigh at the weight of his arm lazily resting on your waist.

You felt him shift in his sleep, before pulling you closer to his bare chest. Jack's breathing was still heavy as you glanced over your shoulder to his eyelids flickering, indication that he was fighting to stay asleep. A small smile drew upon your face as you rotated your body to face him better.

"Good morning," You whispered to him, placing a delicate kiss on his jawline.

You watched as he tried to pretend he was still asleep with the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. Your hands slowly traced up the skin of his bare back to his hair, where you gave a light massage to his scalp.

"Mmm," He mumbled, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck, "Feels nice."

Jack's voice was raspy and low, with sleep prominent in it. He sighed as you continued to play with his hair, with your own eyes fluttering closed.

"Good morning, baby," Jack said with multiple light kisses to your neck, collarbone, and shoulder, "We should stay here all day."

You let out a breathy chuckle, "You say that every morning, J."

"Do I?" He asked, pulling away to look at you. His blue eyes catching some of the morning sun, which only make them look brighter, "So why haven't we stayed all day in bed yet? I'm very convincing."

"Because we will get FOMO from whatever the rest of the guys are doing."

Jack rolled his eyes before placing a loving kiss on your lips, "I just like spending time with you."

"We should get out of bed," You told him as you start to pull away from his arms, "I'm sure everyone is waking up right about now."

He gave you the infamous Hughes pout as you slipped on his t-shirt from the ground over your previously naked figure before getting out of bed. You gave him another look, seeing him flop back onto the bed, "I think everyone is hungover, more like." Jack grumbled as you walked away from him and towards the ensuite bathroom.

You closed the door behind yourself, sighing as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You brushed your teeth, with a lazy hand on your hip while you dwelled on your thoughts with the typical question of 'What am I doing?'. Which has been bothering you more than ever, after Quinn brought up the fact that you and Jack had been doing the same routine of acting like a couple in the summer to back to friends during the year. At now being at the ripe age of 24, where you started considering looking for a more serious relationship in comparison to the occasional flings and situationships you had during college.

You tied your hair up before washing your face, massaging your cleanser into your skin when you felt Jack wrap his arms around you.

You gave him a weak smile in the mirror as you pat your face with a towel, "Whatcha doin' here?" You asked him.

He rested his chin on your shoulder, clearly admiring your in the mirror, "The bed got cold and lonely without you there."

"You're awfully clingy," You lightly joked, turning away from him to rehang your towel, "For someone who's not my boyfriend." You said under your breath while doing so.

You could feel him straighten, "What did you say?"

"I just said you're being clingy, more than usual." You tried to laugh it off, while avoiding his eye contact.

His thumb brushed under your chin, tilting your face to look at him, "I heard what you said after that though."

You swallowed, "Am I wrong? You aren't my boyfriend, Jack. Besides, I was just teasing your clinginess."

"Do you want me to be your boyfriend?" Jack questioned, his eyes and facial features being somewhat unreadable.

You hesitated.

Of course you wanted him to be your boyfriend. No other man has ever treated you as well as him. Jack knew you so well and could read you better than anyone (other than maybe Quinn). But did he want to be your boyfriend? Especially when there's hundreds of other beautiful girls that probably deserved him more than you?

"I- Um," You sputtered, "I don't know."

His face dropped slightly, "I thought we agreed to this being just for fun, nothing serious, and no strings attached."

His tone was a bit harsher than before, you nearly flinched at his words.

"Yeah, whatever Jack," You sighed, finally pulling away from him, "Like I said, I was just teasing you earlier. No need to take it seriously, 'cause this is just for fun, right?"

Jack's Adam's apple bobbed, "Yeah... Sure."

You rolled your eyes when you turned away from him before heading out the bathroom. You grabbed clothes from the dresser, changing out of just his shirt to a bikini with shorts and a tank top. You headed downstairs, in attempts of avoiding the building tension between you and the boy that you had woken up with.

The kitchen was filled with coffee and breakfast aroma, with Ethan and Luke on pancakes duty and Dylan cooking eggs for everyone. You approached them to grab a mug from the cupboard to make a coffee, "Morning."

Luke, Ethan, and Dylan all shared a glance before looking back at you.

"What?" You asked, noticing their shared looks.

"No, nothing." Luke mumbled, turning his focus back to his pancake-making and Dylan nodded along with him.

Ethan kept his gaze on you, "Trouble in paradise, sweetheart?"

You scoffed, "It's none of your business, Eddy."

"Did someone piss in your coffee?" Luke snickered, "I'm kidding, it was a joke,"

"I'm fine, okay?" You told the three, "Is Quinn awake?"

"Yeah, he's reading on the dock I think." Ethan answered, motioning to the back doors.

You thanked him before grabbing your mug and heading outside with your Birkenstocks on your feet. You walked down the grass, feeling the morning dew graze your skin as you made your way to the dock.

You sat in the empty chair next to Quinn, bringing your knees to your chest and resting your mug on your knees.

"Good morning," Quinn greeted you, closing him book carefully, "You okay?"

You shrugged, your eyes focusing on the lake in front of you and admiring how the sunlight sparkled on the water, "Jack and I kinda had an argument this morning."

"Did you?" Quinn asked as his eyebrows raised, "Over what?"

"I made a stupid joke about how clingy he was this morning considering that he wasn't my boyfriend and he asked if I wanted him to be and then it went downhill really fast." You explained to Quinn, "I shouldn't have said anything in the first place to be honest."

Quinn sighed, placing his book on the dock before readjusting his position to be more comfortable, "Well I don't blame you for saying something. I would also be fed up with him after multiple summers of acting like you're a couple when you're not."

"But do you want him to be your boyfriend?" He questioned, "Like genuinely, outside of just hooking up in the summer and shit."

"Obviously," You chuckled, taking a sip out of your mug, "I just cannot see him wanting to date me, I guess."

"You're being insecure again when you shouldn't be," Quinn told you, "You always get like this every time we talk about Jack, you always say some bullshit about not being pretty enough or skinny enough or how you're not a model or influencer or whatever. When in reality, if Jack actually were to care about those things, which he doesn't, he wouldn't still be waiting for you every summer."

"I guess so."

"He cares about you, Y/N. He's talked to me about it so many times. You just need to talk to him about it, like actually talk to him." Quinn emphasized, before picking up his book again, "I promise you, it will go the way you hope."

You nodded, looking away from Quinn and back to the water before getting up from the chair, "Thanks Quinny."

"You know I always have your back, Y/N."

You give him a smile and a squeeze to his shoulder. Multiple thoughts dance around your head as you made your way back inside, this time being greeted to plate loads of food in the kitchen. You saw Jack walk past Luke to sit next to Cole, him barely sparing you as second glance as you closed to door behind you.

"Breakfast." Ethan smiled at you while holding a plate towards you.

"Thanks, Eddy." You take the plate from him and sit by the kitchen island, away from the table where Trevor, Jack, Cole, Ethan, and Dylan sat.

Luke leaned against the counter in the space next to you, "Talking to Q helped?"

"Yeah," You said to the youngest Hughes, "He always knows what to say."

"I don't what you're going through but I can tell he cares a lot about you." Luke told you as he took a bite from his plate.

"Yeah, I care a lot about Quinn too, he's my best friend."

Luke rolled his eyes, "Not Quinn."

You gave a confused look at the boy before he motioned with his head towards his other brother. You sighed, glancing over to him to see him already looking at you.

"You should talk to him." Luke continued before pushing himself off the counter and walked to sit at the table with the rest of the guys.

You sat in thought, only poking at your breakfast now. You still contemplated exactly what you would say to Jack. Despite the reassurance from both Quinn and Luke, you were nervous on addressing the topic that the two of you had been avoiding for years.

You eventually made your way back to your shared room, in search of a book to bring onto the boat.

"Hey," Jack said from behind you, "You alright? You didn't eat much of your breakfast this morning."

He sat down on the foot of the bed, watching you flip through different books.

"I wasn't feeling too well."

"Luke said you went to talk to Quinn this morning," Jack added, "And by the way you've been avoiding eye contact since I entered the room tells me that you aren't sick, but rather something is bothering you."

With the lack of response from your behalf, Jack continued, "Was it something that I did? Was it this morning? I'm sorry if I have been too clingy, I can reel it back."

"Jack, I don't want to keep doing this thing we've been doing." You finally told him, looking away from your pile of books. You watched his expression drop,

'What?"

"I can't keep doing this thing where we act like we're dating when we're at the lake house but then act like different people when we're back to our normal lives," You explained to him, "Every summer its like we live the same lake house love story where we cuddle on the boat, go dancing at the bars together, and we share the same bed- Not to mention the hot mind blowing sex we have. But the second we go back to regular life, I'm just Quinn's friend to you."

"So what are you saying?" He asked, his voice cautious of the fine line he was dancing on, "Do you want me to stay in the spare bedroom?"

"Jack," You shook your head before moving to where he was seated to stand in between his legs, "You can stay in this room with me, but I want us to be together officially. Every summer we basically act like a couple, so why don’t we make it happen?”

He chuckled, his hands going to your hips, "I've been wanting to ask you for that for a while now."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I was scared that you would say no to being my girlfriend." He said, his cheeks tinted pink from his slight embarrassment.

You laughed, "So I had to be the one to ask?"

"Does it matter though? You're my girlfriend now." Jack grinned, standing up to kiss you, "So what were you saying about hot mind blowing sex that we have?" He repeated against the skin of your neck.

Your jaw dropped, "Jack Rowden Hughes!" You exclaimed, slapping his bicep.

"Why are you hitting me and why are you using my government name?" Jack laughed, kissing your jaw, "I'm just repeating what you said!"

"I'm going outside." You huffed jokingly, as you picked up a book from your pile.

He continued to laugh while he followed you outside to where everyone else was lounging and soaking up the Michigan summer sun. Before you knew it, you were upside down on his shoulder as he carried you towards the group. You let out a squeal, "Jack! Put me down!"

He placed you carefully on your feet, before swaying you to the music that Trevor had playing off the large speaker. Jack spun you around before dipping you dramatically, causing giggles to escape your lips.

Jack gave you a cheesy grin as he pulled you close to his chest, “I’m so glad that I can actually call you mine now.”

“We probably should’ve done this sooner,” You teased before pressing a kiss on his lips, “But better late than never.”

“My beautiful girl.” He murmured against your lips. Jack pulled away before leading you towards the docks, “I’m taking my girlfriend on a boat ride! Be back later!” He shouted to the rest of the guys.

"Well it seems like they fixed their problems," Luke said to Quinn, who hummed in agreement.

"They're good for each other." Quinn chuckled, leaning into his chair as he watched the way you and Jack practically skipped down towards the boat.

[writerinthewoods05]

Hellooooo! I've never really sent a request before so I hope I'm doing this right. I saw that you write for adult Nyx and NO ONE ever really writes for him so I was wondering if you could write Nyx x reader based off of the song "not like I'm in love with you" by LEW. Basically just them being like older teenagers maybe and just acting like pining idiots. Maybe if you could do some smut too🥺🙏 I just I love your stuff and I've had this idea in my head and I can't write it myself so... Also I love shadows and snow angels!!!! So cute!!!

Oh my gosh Lovely, your brain! I love it! This was so fun to work on and I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~

We're just friends, right?

Nyx Archeron x Fem Reader

Here's the Spotify code if anyone wanted to listen while reading, just screenshot or download it and scan it in the app.

Ever since Nyx turned 18 he was always flirting a new female. He hardly ever spent time with you anymore and you were upset! I mean you had every write to be, you were his best friend, Which meant you automatically deserved his undivided attention constantly. Rhys thinks otherwise, maybe he can try to knock some sense into you both.

Word count: 10.1k oh my God!!!!

Requested: yes!

Warnings: smut, so much plot, jealousy, p-in-v, oral F receiving, unprotected sex, fairly vanilla surprisingly, Nyx being oblivious for a bit, Nyx also being a skirt chaser, Rhys being the dad we all deserve, we die like men

💔🔥💘

Author's note: this took sooooooooo looooooong! First the app glitched and I lost an hour worth of editing. Then it did it again and I gave up for about 20 minutes and then I came back to try again to find that the app did save the changes and just decided not to tell me! In any case, this fic has taken over 7 hours of editing so far not including the writing so I REALLY HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!

You sat on Nyx's bed and listened to him as he told you about the fling he had the night before. He was in the bathroom, a towel hanging loosely around his waist as he shaved. You rolled your eyes for the millionth time knowing he couldn't see you at the moment. You were Nyx's best friend had been since you were kids, Unfortunately that meant that you were basically volunteering to listen to him after he has a fling with a new female. Oh well you choose this...

"Ok so after Rita's you took her back to her place and...."

Nyx poked his head out of the bathroom, a lather of shaving cream on his jaw as his eyes met yours. He flashed you a cheeky grin, clearly amused by your eye-rolling antics.

"Well, as you can imagine, things got a bit... heated," he said, drawling the last word. "I mean, have you seen Mia's s place? The view alone was enough to get my blood pumping." He chuckled and disappeared back into the bathroom, the sound of the faucet turning back on. You could hear him continue, his voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls,

"So there we were, on her balcony, the city lights twinkling below us... and one thing led to another. You know how it goes, Anyway, let's just say she was quite... enthusiastic, and the things that girl can do with her hands... Also she moaned like a bitch.. in a good way of course you know Very vocal, if you catch my drift." Another pause, followed by a low, appreciative whistle.

Nyx emerged a moment later, now shaving cream-free and rubbing a towel over his freshly shaven jaw. He flopped down on the bed next to you, still bare- chested and barefoot, the towel just barely covering his modesty.

"Honestly, Y/n, the things that girl could do with her tongue... I'm not sure I'll ever be the same." He shuddered dramatically, a dazed grin spreading across his face at the memory. You knew he was just try to pester you but said nothing. Rolling over to face you, he propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief and self- satisfaction.

"So, what do you think? Should I go see her again like tomorrow, Or do you think I should let her miss me.... just a little bit?" His grin turned sly, a eyebrow arching wickedly as he waited for your reaction. He knew you'd give him hell, but he also knew you'd never stop him from having his fun... even if a small part of you wished it could be you he was eager to see again.

You gave him a kinda grossed out face at hearing the details but thought for a second. You were just being a good friend, at least that's what you told yourself. It's not like you wanted him like that.... It was just... Whatever...

"You should go for it, I mean if you enjoyed yourself that much... Why wait right?"

Nyx's grin widened, his eyes glinting with triumph as he saw the slightly green tinge to your face.

"Why so squeamish, Y/n?" he teased, reaching out to playfully boop your nose. "It's not like I'm telling you anything you haven't heard before Besides, you're the one who always says I should be more adventurous. He smirked, the word dripping with innuendo. Rolling onto his back, Nyx folded his hands behind his head, stretching out languidly like a satisfied cat.

"I think... I think I will take your advice. Meet up with mia again tomorrow night, see where things go. Unless... you have other plans for me?" His tone was playful, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes as he looked at you, a hint of a different kind of hunger,

"Gross!"

You shoved his shoulder as he sat up, grabbing the towel before it could fall. You smirked and watched as he entered his closet to find an outfit. It always stung to hear about Nyx's escapades for some reason but he was the high lord and lady's son. He was as witty as his mother and as handsome as his father, no wonder females basically threw themselves at his feet. You'd be lying if you hand thought about doing the same but really you and Nyx had been friends since you were kids, you were just being ridiculous.

"How about this time you wear a shirt that has buttons past your bellybutton" You tease him as you stay on the bed and let him change in peace. Nyx stuck his head out of the closet, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he took in your flushed cheeks and the way you'd shoved his shoulder.

"Oh, so now you're modesty police?" he teased, his voice dripping with mock outrage. "I thought you liked the view, Y/n." His eyes twinkled with playful accusation, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He disappeared back into the closet, the rustle of fabric and the clunk of hangers on the rack filling the air. A moment later, he emerged wearing a crisp black shirt, the buttons indeed done up all the way to the top. The shirt accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders and the lean lines of his chest. He did a little twirl, his grin widening as he caught you staring.

"There, is this better?" he asked, a smug note in his voice. "Or do you have other... sartorial advice you'd like to share?" There was a playful lilt to his tone, but also a hint of something softer, gentler. A warmth that made your heart skip a beat, even as your mind told you you were being ridiculous. You stood with an annoyed smile and walked over to him before making him lightly on the chest and walking past him into the closet.

"Well now you just look like nerd. At least unto the top two, seriously how you ever get laid is beyond me..." You say sarcastically as you grab a jacket that would match his look and the weather both.

Nyx's eyes widened in mock offense at your teasing jab, a hand flying to his chest as if wounded.

"A nerd? Me? Why, because I actually bother to cover up in polite company?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "I'll have you know, the ladies find my intellect... captivating... Among other things..." He said with a smirk as he flecks his arms making the fabric go taut. there was a playful gleam in his eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

As you rummaged through his closet, pulling out a sleek leather jacket that would complement his outfit perfectly. Nyx leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an amused expression.

"But I suppose I can take your fashion advice, just this once," he said, plucking the jacket from your hands and slipping it on. The leather hugged his broad shoulders and accentuated his lean, athletic build. He struck a pose, cocking an eyebrow at you with a grin. "There. I'm practically a fashion icon now, Happy now?" There was a playful note in his voice, a teasing lilt that made your heart flutter in your chest. But there was something more too, a warmth and affection that made you feel cherished, valued...

"your a dork you know that." You say chuckling as you pass him again to go get your shoes and purse. It was Friday which mean you, Nyx, Rhys, Feyre, Azriel and Morr would go to Rita's, to have a night out. Nyx's grin only widened at your teasing jab, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Guilty as charged," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "But you love me anyway, you big softy." He winked at you, a playful smirk on his lips as he watched you gather your things. As you both made your way downstairs, Nyx slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close.

"You ready for a night out?" he asked, a note of excitement in his voice. "I hear Rita's has a few new drinks on the menu . Might be a good chance to cut loose, dance a bit, maybe with someone else for a change..." His eyebrows danced suggestively above his smirk, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

Nyx's parents and aunt and uncle were already waiting by the door, looking stunning as always. Feyre's gown was a shimmering work of art, while Rhys and Morr were equally impeccable in their formal attire. Azriel even wearing his normal black leathers seemed to look just as put together as always. They turned to greet you both, warm smiles on their faces. "Bekah, you look lovely," Feyre said, pulling you in for an air kiss on each cheek. "And you, my love look like your father, as always." she teased, a playful note in her voice.

"thanks mama." Nyx's eyes crinkled with affection as he came and kissed his mother on the cheek.

Already you could feel the anticipation building, the promise of a night filled with laughter, dancing, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to let go and be a little reckless. You could only hope that nyx would actually spend the night with you guys instead of running off for the night with the first female he smiles at. It had been so long since he had actually spent time with any of you when you weren't at the house.

once you got to Rita's, the six of your found a table and ordered dinner and drinks. This was probably the third or fourth time you'd been allowed to drink alcohol here. You didn't handle it particularly well and You didn't love it by any means but you tolerated it enough to indulge when your overly nervous.

You glanced over at Nyx, noticing he was quieter than usual. You followed his gaze to a pretty blond female all the way at the bar across the dance floor. Of course..... You'd been here 10 minutes and he already got his eyes set on someone, at least he wasn't up and leaving the table yet but you knew that could change at any second so you focused your attention on having a conversation with Rhys. Nyx wasn't a womanizer, he was kind and did think of other people's feelings. Granted if a female showed interest in him he usually wouldn't turn her down but he was never against a relationsh- why the hell are you even thinking about this! It has nothing to do with you! Gods what is wrong with you as of late, it was exhausting....

Nyx felt your gaze on him and glanced over, catching your eye. He offered you a small, distracted smile, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. The blonde at the bar had caught his attention, her laughter ringing out over the pulsing beat of the music as she joked with her friends. He downed the rest of his drink, the amber liquid burning its way down his throat, before standing abruptly.

"Be right back," he murmured, not quite meeting your eyes as he made his way towards the bar. You watched him go, a mix of exasperation and... something else, something you didn't want to acknowledge, churning in your gut. This was just like Nyx, spotting a pretty face and being drawn in like a moth to a flame. But then again, when had he ever been able to resist a challenge, a chance to charm and captivate? It was in his nature, a part of his very being, Feyre said he got that from his father. And yet, a small, traitorous part of you wished, just for once, that he might look at you the same way, with that same heated intensity... But no, you pushed that thought away, disgusted with yourself for even entertaining such a notion.

you mentally try to shake the feeling of and turn your attention back to Rhys seeing as your friend as yet again left family time to go get laid. Shit this was becoming a habit... And it was really starting to bothering you.

Rhys noticed your distraction and followed your gaze to where Nyx was now engaged in animated conversation with the blonde, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, studying you with a thoughtful expression. "He's a grown male, sweetling," Rhys said, his voice a low rumble. "He knows what he's doing." There was a note of mild reproach in his tone, a subtle reminder that you were being a bit... overprotective. Possessive, even. But then again, Rhys had always seen the depth of your bond with his son, the unbreakable connection forged in childhood that had only grown stronger with time.

you made a face and shook your head dismissively.

"I know that. It's just... Annoying," Sure let's go with that. You thanked the Cauldron when your drinks arrived. You took a large sip of your drink in hopes of clearing your head of what ever this possessive, Jealous feeling... No, not not jealous, that would be ridiculous...

"This used to be when we all would spend time together and ever since be turned 18 he never... Nevermind, doesn't matter."

You took another sip and made absolutely sure to keep your eyes away from the bar. Rhys's eyes softened as he studied your face, a flicker of understanding in their depths. He reached out, his large hand coming to rest on your shoulder in a comforting, fatherly gesture. "Ah, y/n," he said, a note of gentle reproach in his voice. "Is that what's bothering you? That things have changed now that your both getting older?" His gaze drifted to where his son stood still engrossed in conversation with the blonde. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he turned back to you.

"He's not a child anymore, sweetling. He has... needs and desires that he's just beginning to explore. It's natural, at his age. Lets not forget, he's a freshly adult Illyrian male, I'm not going to sit her and pretend that we aren't known for getting around. Rhys's thumb absently rubbed your shoulder, a soothing motion. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't want to spend time with you anymore. You're still his bestfriend, That will never change-"

You cut him off and shrug him his hand off of your shoulder. Rhys had always been like a second dad to you and you were always very welcome to any advice he had for you but for once you didn't want to fucking hear it. You made sure to slam your mental shields up and close the cracks snugly before your responded.

"I don't need the sex talk Rhys. I'm not a kid either ok, I just meant that it just... Aggravating that he'd rather spend his time chasing females that do actually give a fuck about him over spending time with his family. It fine he's his own person, it's just annoying...."

You you didn't try to cover the disgruntled look on your face as you down the last of your drink as signal the bartender to send you another. Rhys watched as you downed your drink and signaled for another, a hint of concern flickering across his face. He knew this was a sensitive subject for you, a raw nerve that you didn't want him to touch. But he also knew that sometimes, the things we didn't want to hear were the things we needed to hear most.

"Y/n," he said softly, his voice low and gentle. "I understand your frustration. I do. But you need to accept that people change as they grow older, and so do their priorities. Nyx will always make time for you, no matter what. But he's also entitled to his own life, his own experiences."

Rhys paused, letting his words sink in. "Spending time with a pretty female isn't a betrayal of his friendship with you. It's a part of him growing up, and I know you used to be extremely close but-"

you just stood and grabbed your bag before turning to Rhys a badly disguised pissed off expression etched into your face.

"Actually I'll see you all at home. l forgot I have to be up early tomorrow, I'm gonna head home early."

You said with a dry tone before turning and striding to the exit and leaving. It was clear that Rhys, in trying to meditate, had only pissed you off more. What he didn't see was the hurt that made you feel like screaming when you realized Nyx hadn't even noticed you'd left. You only felt the burning of Rhys and Feyre's gaze burning into your back.

Nyx was still engrossed in conversation with the blonde, oblivious to your abrupt departure. He was laughing at something she said, a hand resting casually on her hip as he leaned in close to hear her over the pulsing music. The blonde was eating it up, hanging onto his every word, her eyes shining with admiration and a hint of something more. Nyx was in his element, charming and captivating, but he was also utterly focused on his new companion, not sparing a thought for the empty chair across the room where you had been sitting. The sight made you sick, your stomach twisting painfully.

You didn't stop storming out of the building even when you hard footsteps coming after you. You finally decided to turn and for a half second your heart jumped to see a dark figure emerge from the the doors. Only to have that flutter be smashed again to see Rhys exit and not his son. Nyx really didn't even notice you left... Why the fuck did you even care anyway, the answer was getting harder and harder to deny with every passing day.

"Y/n, wait," he said, his voice low and urgent. Rhys caught up to you quickly, his longstrides eating up the distance between you. He reached out, his hand closing around your elbow, halting your furious retreat.

"I know you're upset, but please, talk to me, you know I'm always here." There was a note of concern in his tone, a hint of something else, something that made your heart skip a beat despite your anger.

Rhys guided you to a quiet spot nearby, away from the thrumming music and chatter of the bar. He studied your face, his brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and worry. "Talk to me," he coaxed softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on your elbow. "Tell me what's really bothering you. Is it... is it just about Nyx? Or is something else? Whatever it it, bottling it up isn't going to help you sweetling." His gaze was intense, searching, as if he could see right through to the tangled mess of your emotions. As if he knew that the anger masking your face was only a flimsy veil for something much deeper, much harder to name.

You close your eyes and force yourself to keep your mental shielding up as you thought of a way to respond without sounding absolutely pathetic.

"I just... I have, other things going on and I'm just... Like I said I have to be up early tomorrow, I'd just be better if I went home now..."

You avoided the question with as many lies you could muster. You HATED lying to Rhys but you felt like your heart and mind was rebelling against each other and you couldn't tell him why you were upset if you couldn't even admit it to yourself

Rhys's eyes narrowed, a flicker of skepticism crossing his handsome features. He wasn't convinced by your flimsy excuse, and he knew you well enough to see through any pretense. Leaning in closer, his voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur,

"Y/n darling, look at me." His fingers tightened gently on your elbow, a silent command. "I've known you since you were a little girl. Your the closet to a daughter I have and I can tell when something is your not telling me something, and why won't you just tell me what's wrong?" His gaze softened, a glimmer of compassion and understanding in their depths. "Please, talk to me. Let me help you, you know the last thing I'll ever do is judge you for hurting... whatever it may be. You don't have to do it alone." There was a tender note in his voice, a gentle encouragement, as if he were coaxing a skittish horse to trust him. His thumb continued its slow, soothing circles on your elbow, a silent promise of comfort and support.

Your eyes were locked on the concrete as they welled slightly and you just let yourself lean forward to hug him.

"I'm just... I don't have a right or a... A reason to be mad but I am... And I'm so fucking angry that I don't know why..."

Another lie... You knew deep down exactly why you were angry and it wasn't even with Nyx. You were mad at yourself for being a fucking coward.

Rhys wrapped his strong arms around you as you leaned into his embrace, holding you close. He made no move to pull away, allowing you the comfort of his warm, solid presence. "Shh, it's alright," he murmured, one hand coming up to stroke your hair in a soothing gesture. He he rested his cheek on top of your head gently as rocked you from side to side, the same why he would when you were a kid and scraped your knee. "Everyone has a right to their feelings, Bekah. You don't need a reason to be upset." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "Sometimes, the most difficult feelings to understand are the ones that come from within ourselves. They can be the hardest to acknowledge, to accept." His voice was low and gentle, a tender rumble in your ear. His hand continued its gentle caress, a silent reminder of his unwavering support and love.

"it's like I don't exist to him anymore..."

You whispered into his chest and just slumped to lean into him more. You had never even wanted 'that type of attention from Nyx but at the same time, for some reason, you didn't think you'd ever have to ask for it either....

Rhys's arms tightened around you as he heard the quiet admission, a flicker of realization crossing his face. He leaned back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Darling," he said softly, his eyes searching yours with a newfound understanding. "You could never be ignored, not by anyone, and certainly not by my son." His thumb brushed gently over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "I love you, sweetling. We all do." His voice dropped to a low, fervent whisper.

His gaze held yours, intense and sincere, a silent promise. "And I know Nyx loves you too, even if he's not always the most... perceptive about showing it." A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he pulled you back into his embrace, cradling you close. "Give him a chance, sweetling. Give yourself a chance to see what's right in front of both of you." His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as he held you, a silent comfort and reassurance.

"He's always perceptive... That's the problem..."

Rhys stilled, a flicker of surprise and a hint of something else, something softer, crossing his features. He searched your face, a new understanding dawning in his eyes.

"You're upset because you feel invisible to him. Because you think he doesn't see you the way you've always seen him." His voice was low and gentle, a tender murmur. "But darling... that couldn't be further from the truth."

"Nyx sees you, Y/n. He's always seen you. He's just... not always the best about showing how he feels." A wry smile tugged at his lips before he brushed a tender kiss to your forehead, a silent comfort. "Be patient with him, you know he can be a bit slow sometimes." He said giving you tight squeeze if only to make you laugh.

"Right, he sees me and because he can't talk to me about it, he goes fucks anything with a pair of tits cuz that makes perfect fucking sense!"

Your anger flared faster that the heaviness that settled onto your chest once again. You pushed out of Rhys's hold before covering your face with your hands and giving Rhys a quiet apology before just turning on your heel and winnowing back to the river house.

Rhys watched you go, a mix of concern and newfound understanding etched into his handsome features. He stood there for a long moment, his brows furrowed as he processed the revelation, the pieces falling into place like a puzzle. Then, with a determined set to his jaw, he strode purposefully back into the bar, his mind made up.

Nyx was still engrossed in conversation with the blonde when Rhys approached, a look of grim determination on his face. He tapped Nyx on the shoulder, a gesture that was almost a bit too rough to be polite. Nyx turned, a look of embarrassment and mild annoyance flashing across his face before he saw who had interrupted him. Rhys leaned in close, his voice a low growl in Nyx's ear.

"A word, son?" he said, a note of command in his tone. He didn't wait for a response before turning and heading towards the entrance once again, expecting Nyx to follow. Nyx hesitated for a moment, a flicker of confusion and irritation in his eyes, before he muttered a quick apology to the blonde and followed in his father's wake.

Rhys led them to a quiet corner, away from prying ears and eyes. He turned to face Nyx, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression stern.

"Y/n left" he said without preamble, a note of accusation in his voice. "She was upset, and I think I know why." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Son, have you ever stopped to think about what that girl means to you? Really think about it?" His gaze bored into Nyx's, a silent challenge. Nyx opened his mouth to respond

"She's my bestfr-" a look of bewilderment crossed his face, as Rhys cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"No, listen to me," he said, his voice low and intense. "She is more than just your friend, she's your bestfriend and if you were using your brain she might actually be more. She's been by your side since you were a kid, a constant in your life. And you need to seriously think about how your actions might be affecting her" He paused, letting the revelation hang in the air between them.

"So why do you think she's hurting, Nyx? Why do you think she's been so agitated recently?" His gaze searched his son's face, a silent demand for honesty. Nyx stared at his father, a look of confusion and dawning realization slowly spreading across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, as if struggling to find the right words.

"I... I don't know," he said finally, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "I never really thought about it." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of frustration and bewilderment. "I mean, Bekah is my best friend. She always has been. It's not like she really cares, she's the once egging me on most of the time, But..." He trailed off, a flicker of emotion crossing his features as the implications of Rhys's words sank in, Rhys watched his son closely, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"But what, Nyx?" he prompted softly, a gentle encouragement. "I know damn well your smarter than this boy."

His gaze searched Nyx's face, a silent demand for honesty and introspection. He didn't get it but he was satisfied when Nyx cursed under his breath and practically sprinted out to the street before winnowing away too.

You were in your comfort pajamas with a half eaten tub of ice cream and a sappy romance book in your lap by the time Nyx opened the front door and flew up the stairs. You had stopped crying by now and had just decided to stay in one of the guest rooms for the night to just wallow in your self pity and get lost on one of the love stories Nesta had lent you... It was easier that thinking about your actual predicament... When Nyx had bust through your door. You screamed and jumped from the bed as you started at him for a minute.

"What the actual Fuck Nyx! you scared me to death! What are you even doing back her, I thought you would have found somewhere else to be tonight?"

Thank the Gods the words didn't sound as bitter as they felt as you picked up your ice cream and book from where they had fell before standing and pulling on your robe gently trying not to act as if he hadn't been the one to practically rip your heart out of your ass and feed it too you in pieces.

Nyx stood in your doorway, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. He looked.... disheveled, in a way you'd never seen him before. His hair was mussed, his shirt slightly askew, a look of barely contained turmoil etched into every line of his body. He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze roving over your pajama-clad form, taking in the ice cream, the book, the robe. Something flickered in his eyes, a heat that had nothing to do with the physical, and everything to do with the emotional turmoil that was clearly consuming him.

He took a step into the room, then another, until he was standing right in front of you. He reached out, his hands coming up to grip your shoulders, a gesture that was almost too tight to be gentle. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough and ragged. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just... I needed to talk to you." His thumbs rubbed small circles on your shoulder blades, a gesture that was almost unconscious, as if he couldn't help himself. He studied your face, a look of confusion and a hint of something else, something softer, in his dark eyes.

"Y/n," he said slowly, as if testing the name on his tongue. "Why did you leave? Why did you run off like that?" There was a note of accusation in his voice, a hint of frustration, but beneath it all, a current of something else. Something that made your heart skip a beat despite yourself. Like he was trying to get a specific answer from you. He leaned in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"And don't tell me it's because you had to be up early, cuz we both know that you never get up early after you drink..." he murmured, a wry note in his voice. know there's more to it than that. His gaze searched yours, a silent demand for the truth, a silent plea for understanding.

You scoffed slightly and pulled away before turning around and started to absentmindedly tidy your nightstand. Anything to avoid this conversion...

"Rhys needs to learn to keep his big mouth shut..." You mumbled bitterly. Nyx's reached to wrap a hand around your marn trying to turn you back to him, a hint of frustration flashing in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his voice low and intense.

"No, Y/n don't make this about dad, This is about you, and me, and the fact that... I think I've been a blind idiot... for a really fuckin long time..." His gaze searched your face, a look of dawning realization and a hint of something else, something softer, in their depths. "Tell me, Tell me what's been bothering you, what's had you so upset lately." His thumb continued it's small, unconscious circles on your arm, a gesture that was almost soothing despite the tension that crackled between you.

"And don't lie to me. Not now, not about this." There was a note of command in his voice, a silent demand for honesty, but beneath it all, a current of something else. Something that made your heart race despite your best efforts to ignore it.

You let him angle your face to look back at him and swallowed hard as you looked for words. Your not used to seeing that look directed towards you and it was throwing you off. He was fishing for answers, he did this all the time. He had a hunch and he wanted you to confirm it.

"I don't know why I'm upset, probably just hormones or something..." You tried to make an offer handed joke in a last ditch effort avoid the question. "Your allowed to do what ever you want, none of my business...'

Nyx's eyes flashed with a sudden intensity, a glimmer of frustration and something else, something deeper, in their dark depths. He stepped closer, crowding into your personal space, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Stop it," he said, his voice low and rough, a hint of a growl underlying his words. "Stop trying to dodge the question, stop trying to brush this off like it's nothing." He reached up, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a gesture that was almost... intimate.

"This isn't about your damn hormones, Y/n! This is about the fact that you've been hurting, and I want you to tell me why!"

"you know why! I just... I never thought I'd have to, fight for your attention. I thought I had it... And then you turned 18 and you proved to me how wrong i was."

Nyx's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of realization and a hint of something else, something softer, in their dark depths. He stared at you for a long moment, as if seeing you for the first time, as if truly taking in the weight of your words. His grip on your hair tightened slightly, a gesture that was almost unconscious, as if he couldn't help himself. "Y/n," he said slowly, his voice rough and low. "I... I never mea-"

"just drop it Nyx! forget it, it doesn't... Just forget it."

You huffed, cutting him off and pulling away from him again. You had to get outside, to get some fresh air. You pushed past him and ran down the stairs feeling like the walls were closing in on you. Nyx be damned, your heart be damned. he didn't get it. Of course he never meant to hurt you, how could you have ever thought he did. No.. NO you were angry because you were in lov-... shit you were in love with him. The acceptance hid you harder that the cold night air as you finally made to to the backyard.

Nyx stood rooted to the spot for a moment, a look of stunned disbelief on his face as you pushed past him and raced down the stairs. Then, as if shaking off a trance, he sprinted after you, taking the steps two at a time. He burst out into the backyard just as you were wrapping your arms around yourself, your breath misting in the chilly night air.

He approached you slowly, as if approaching a wild animal that could bite at any second, his hands held out in a gesture of supplication. "Y/n," he said softly, his voice low and gentle. "Please, don't run from me." He paused, a look of newfound understanding in his eyes. "You're in love with me, that's why you've been angry." It wasn't a question, but a statement. He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours, a hint of something else, something softer, in their depths.

"yes asshole, fuck of course I..."

You kept your wrapped tightly wrapped around yourself as you tried to keep the panic from seeping into your voice. This was it, you fucked up but it wasn't fair. It was selfish and ridiculous but you wanted his attention, all of it, always! You wanted all of him to yourself! And you had no right to be angry from not getting what you wanted so much when you hadn't even tried to hint that you might have wanted him. You looked back at finally the devastation and the utter longing showing in your eyes. You wanted him, his mind his body, you wanted him so badly it hurt. You had pushed your emotions aside for so long that finally accepting them nearly sent you to the ground.

Nyx stood still, his eyes widening slightly as the realization of your confession sunk in, he hadn't honestly expected you to say it out loud. He stared at you, taking in the devastation and longing etched into every line of your face, the way your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together. A myriad of emotions flickered across his face - surprise, confusion, a hint of fear, and then.... a softening, a warmth that began to glow in his dark eyes.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out, his hands coming to rest on your your waist gently. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he held you too tightly. He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own. You waited for the word to come, the anger, the frustration, but none did. One second he was cupping your face in his hand and the next he was hugging you so tightly you thought your lungs would burst. And the amount of whip lash you got from him pulling back and kissing you like you were life itself.

Your eyes fell closed before your body caught up to your mind and you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. You fingers tangled into his onyx hair as you felt him nip at your lower lip. To think half an hour ago you were cursing his existence and now, if you had your way, you be cursing his name for so many other reasons...

"Nyx..."

Nyx groaned softly against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your fingers tangle in his hair. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to tangle with yours, a silent declaration of desire and want. He pulled you flush against him, eliminating any space between your bodies, as if he wanted to consume you, to make you a part of him

He broke the kiss, only to trail his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, a hint of pain mingling with pleasure, a silent promise of passion and possession. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, a plea, a silent beg for more. And more is exactly what he gave you, his hands roaming over your curves, mapping out the contours of your body as if committing them to memory.

"Nyx, I..." He paused, his breath hot against your skin, a look of fierce intensity in his eyes as he met your gaze. "I love you, baby, I love you and I need you so fucking much right now." He sealed his confession with another kiss, a fierce, passionate claiming of your mouth, a silent vow of love and devotion.

If you hand been so lost in him you might have realized how strange it was for Nyx, the boy who had a new girl every few days seemed to confess to love so quickly. You also might have noticed the burning snap inside your chest as he lifts you into his arms and walked you slowly to press you against the side of the back deck, not seeming to care that you were still outside, completely exposed to anyone that might come home early.

Nyx didn't seem to care about anything but you in that moment, his eyes blazing with a newfound intensity as he held you close. Railing of the deck, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. He leaned into you, his hands gripping your hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your hip bones through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmured. He nipped at your earlobe, a gesture that sent shivers down your spine. "I want everyone to know that you're mine, that you've always been mine." His voice was low and rough, a hint of a growl underlying his words.

His words set the fire in your heart spreading to every inch of you he touched. You moaned as you felt his hand come to rest under your ass kneading the plump flesh as he pinned you between himself and the deck. The smell hit you soon enough, Nyx smelled like vanilla and cologne, and books and... Home, he smelled like home. If you hadn't already giving into him completely, that, would have been the final push. Your hands quickly raced over the front of his shirt trying to undo the buttons without pulling his mouth from your neck.

Nyx groaned softly as your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, his own hands tightening on your hips. He helped you, his deft fingers making quick work of the buttons until the shirt fell open, revealing the expanse of his chest. You ran your hands over the hard planes and ridges, marveling at the feel of him beneath your fingertips.

He leaned back, giving you a moment to explore, a wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Like what you feel, baby?" he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "You can touch me all you want, baby. I'm all yours." He punctuated his words with a roll of his hips, pressing his growing arousal against your core, a silent promise of what was to come.

Nyx's eyes darkened with desire as he watched you, a look of pure, unadulterated hunger etched into every line of his face. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, his hands sliding up your sides to cup the soft swells of your breasts after curly shoving your shirt up.

"I want to touch every inch of you, to taste every part of you, I'm gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby." His thumbs brushed over your nipples the pads of his fingers digging in a bit. A gesture that made you arch into his touch, a silent plea for more.

Nyx looked up at you as he knelt before you, his dark eyes blazing with a feral intensity that made your heart race and your skin prickle with anticipation. He slowly peeled your shorts down your legs, his fingers trailing over your skin, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. As he tugged your shorts off, he leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, the shortest bit of scruff scraping lightly against your sensitive skin. He paused, looking up at you with a wicked grin, his hands gripping your thighs.

You pulled him back into a firm kiss and he set you down only to kneel in front of you and pull your shorts from your legs. The look in his eyes almost looked as feral as you felt. You didn't know if it was nerves or something more as you felt what felt like a second heartbeat, thudding in your chest, like a phantom it made your breath race faster.

"I want to taste you, babygirl. Fuck you smell so damn good..." His voice was a low, rough growl, a hint of a promise in his words as he leaned his forehead against your abdomen, his eyes locked on your slit and he breathes in deep, taking your scent again.

"Can I, baby? Can I taste you? Please?" His gaze held yours, a silent demand for permission, a silent plea for you to give yourself over to him completely

Your head fell back at his words as you lost your words again, You reached down to run your fingers through his now unruly hair, it was the only confirmation you could muster in this state of euphoria you were stuck in before he even touched you.

Nyx took the action as a yes, a low, approving growl rumbling in his chest. his breath hot against your pussy. He looked up at you one last time, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that made your heart race. Then, slowly, torturously, he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, his tongue delving between your folds to taste your essence.

He groaned loudly at the first taste of you, the sound vibrating through you, making your hips jerk forward involuntarily. He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he began to feast on you, his mouth and tongue working in tandem to bring you pleasure. He quickly picked your up and threw your thighs over his shoulders so you were resting on his face completely.

He focused on your clit, sucking and flicking the sensitive nub with a skill that left you seeing stars. Two fingers slid inside your dripping core, curling and pumping in a rhythm that had you climbing closer and closer to the edge. You let out a long throaty moan and bucked your hips a bit. Fuck he was good at that, he should be considered how many... No don't think about that right now it'll just piss you off again.

"Fuck Nyx, uuugh!"

Nyx looked up at you, a wicked grin on his face as he continued his ministrations. He could feel you starting to throb, your moans growing louder and more desperate with each passing second. He knew you were close, could feel your body tensing, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He pulled back slightly, his fingers still pumping slowly, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening pressure.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. "Let go, babygirl. Come for me, baby, I want you to come in my mouth." His eyes held yours, a silent demand, a silent plea for you to give yourself over to the sensation, to let go and surrender to the ecstasy that awaited you.

You sink both hands into his hair and brace your shoulders back against the deck before bucking against his face again and again, chasing your orgasm so hard you wanted to cry before you felt that coll in your stomach snap, your movements jerking to a halt with a scream. Nyx groaned as he felt your walls clench and spasm around his fingers, your scream of ecstasy ringing in his ears.

"Oh good fucking girl!" He continued to lap at your dripping core, his tongue delving deep to catch every last drop of your release as you rode out the waves of your intense orgasm.

As your movements slowed and your breathing began to even out, Nyx slowly pulled back. He looked up at you, his face glistening with your essence, a look of pure male satisfaction etched into every line of his handsome face. He leaned down capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. He swallowed your soft moans, his hands sliding up your body to cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh in his large hands.

Nyou could barely stand and was beyond grateful when he picked you up again before climbing the few steps and laying you flat on the deck below him, bed he started pulling at the laces of his pants urgently. Nyx gazed down at you, his eyes dark and intense as he quickly worked at the laces of his pants. He could feel his cock throbbing, aching for your touch, for your heat. He needed to be inside you, needed to feel your walls wrapped around him like a velvet glove. He kicked his pants off along with his boxers, freeing his thick, hard length. It bobbed against his stomach, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. He crawled up your body, settling himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your still sensitive entrance. Nyx leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"Ahh NYX Fuck!"

"I need you, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a low, urgent growl. "Fuck i need to be inside you, I'm gonna fuck you so good babygirl... Fuck look at me Fucking look at me..." He grabbed your chin and stared into your eyes as He rolled his hips, the head of his cock slipping inside your wet heat. He groaned as his head fell and his eyes rolled, letting out a silent plea for you to give him the words he so desperately needed to hear.

You lifted your shaky legs to wrap around his waist as your reached to cling to his shoulders. You hand landed firm on his chest as you tried to breath That damn second heart beat felt stronger now, and you felt like you were so warm you were gonna explode! Then you felt it, right before lined himself up with your entrance, his pulse, it matched... The burning in your chest, the need, the emotions, the pulse, you knew those signs. You didn't get a chance to think on it to hard before he thrust himself forward, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head at the delicious burn that came with the stretch.

"Nyx your- AHh! Fuck Nyx! Please your my- AHH FUUUUUCK!"

Nyx groaned loudly as he felt your tight, wet heat envelop him, your walls gripping his throbbing cock like a vice. He paused for a moment, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he fought the urge to come right then and there. "Fuck, Y/n," he panted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect around my cock." He rolled his hips, grinding against you, letting you feel every thick, pulsing inch of him. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured,

"I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much. Mm gonna to fuck you until you can't walk, your gonna be limping for days when I'm done with you." He pulled back slightly, his gaze holding yours, a look of pure, unadulterated love and desire.. and utter hunger etched into every line of his handsome face.

Nyx could feel your walls starting to flutter around his pistoning cock, could feel your body tensing as another orgasm built inside you. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as he pounded into you with a ferocity that bordered on animalistic.

You could get the words out as he started thrusting into you hard and fast and fuck if it didn't make you want to let him take you whenever or wherever if it felt this good. Your mind was still screaming though the pleasure though, MATE, HE'S YOUR MATE' but you were too engulfed in him to scream anything other than his name as you felt yet another orgasm approaching quickly, fuck, the male was going to be the literal death of you!

"That's it, baby," he growled against your lips, his voice a low, urgent rumble. "Come for me, Y/n. Come all over my cock. Your doing so good babygirl, common! Please I'm so fucking close!" He angled his hips, hitting that special spot inside you with every deep, powerful thrust, determined to push you over the edge and into oblivion.

Nyx could feel his own release approaching rapidly, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your clutching heat. He was close, so close to filling you with his seed, to marking you as his mate in the most primal way possible. With a final, hard thrust and a hoarse shout of your name, he came, his hot, thick essence flooding your insides, painting your walls with his love and desire. As your high washed over you you felt it, a smaller distant snap, before you felt Nyx tense above you like a statue.

"You feel it... The bond..." You whispered in disbelief as you stared up at him, the world around you finally coming back into focus.

Nyx's eyes widened in shock as he felt the snap of the mate bond, a jolt of pure, primal energy coursing through his veins. He stared down at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief, a look of pure wonder etched into every line of his handsome face. He nodded slowly, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I feel it," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet reverence. "Fuck I feel it baby." He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own as he struggled to process the magnitude of what had just happened. He lifted a shaking hand, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache, and brushed a stray tear from your skin.

"I love you, Y/n," he whispered, his voice a low, fervent murmur. "More than anything. And now... Cauldron, your mine." He sealed his vow with a soft, sweet kiss, a silent promise of a love that would last a lifetime.

"I'm so sorry baby, I didn't know. Can you forgive me?" He say looking at you through half lidded eyes, his gaze hopeful as he hovered above you still. You chuckled at him before pulling him into another kiss and gently flipping his so you were straddling his hips instead.

"I can think of a few ways for you to make it up to me..."

You both had stayed out there for at least another hour, you hadn't even accepted the bond but you felt like you were in the frenzy already. You must have passed out from utter exhaustion at some point because you woke up the next morning in Nyx's room snugged into his side as the morning light shifted through the blinds. You turned your gaze to look at Nyx, he looked so peaceful it made you so much more inclined to stay in bed forever.

"But you look so pretty when your sleeping."

"You know it's rude to stare..." Nyx mumbled without opening his eyes and you giggled slightly and leaned up to kiss his nose lovingly.

Nyx's eyes fluttered open at the feeling of your lips on his nose, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he blinked up at you. He reached up, his hand cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tender, loving caress. He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through his chest.

"Pretty? I think that's supposed to be my line," he murmured, his voice still rough and gravelly with sleep. He tugged you down, capturing your mouth in a slow, deep kiss, a silent good morning greeting that made your toes curl.

As he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a look of pure, unadulterated contentment in his dark eyes. "Good morning, baby," he whispered, a hint of a growl underlying the words. "I hope you're ready for a long morning cuz I'm not nearly done with you yet." He pulled you at straddle him and rolled his hips, a clear indication of his growing arousal, a silent promise of the pleasure that awaited you both. You moaned but quickly scooted off of him before wrapping one the sheets around you and heading for his closet.

He pulled you flush against him, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip, holding you tight against the hard, muscular length of his body. "Come on baby, you can't just leave me like this..." He nipped at your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point, a silent, primal promise of the pleasure. His hand grasping your and grinding his naked cock into your palm, a small growl escaping his as he did.

"As much as I would enjoy that I think i need to go make you some breakfast. Unless you don't want me to..." You say teasingly know damn well he'd want to cement the mating bond as soon as possible. Nyx watched as you scooted away from him, a look of mild disappointment flashing across his face before being replaced by a wicked, mischievous grin. He lounged back against the pillows, his hands tucked behind his head, a look of pure, satisfaction etched into every line of his smile as he watched you wrap the sheet around your luscious curves. He cocked an eyebrow at your teasing words, a low, warning growl rumbling in his chest.

"Oh, I want you to make me breakfast, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "But can't you just stay here for a few more minutes..." He levered himself up, stalking towards you with a predatory grace, a look of pure, animalistic hunger in his dark eyes.

"you act like we will be able to keep are ands off of each other during the frenzy I think you can wait 20 minutes."

"Morning Rhys, morning Feyre."

You say chuckling as you lean up and kiss his cheek before pulling on a pair of his bants and a T-shirt and practically skipped downstairs, or as well as you could considering your legs still felt a bit numb.

"Come on, let's feed you before you eat me instead."

"you act like that would be a bad thing..." Nyx says and slaps your ass playfully and lets you leave so he can calm himself and get some pants on at least.

Once you got downstairs you saw that the coffee post was on already so you head out to the back yard deck, Nyx hot on your trail not dressed to be outside but at least he wasn't naked anymore. You stepped out to greet his parents who had breakfast out there every morning. You actively tried not to stare at the spot 5 feet away where their son had rearranged your intestines a few hours ago as you came and said hello as usual.

Nyx's parents looked up as you and Nyx stepped out onto the deck, offering you both warm smiles. Rhys, rolled his eyes as he took in Nyx's state of undress, while Feyre, his mother, simply smiled indulgently, as if this was a common occurrence. Maybe if you played it cool, they wouldn't find out that you both defiled their breakfast spot the night before.

"Good morning, Y/n," Feyre greeted, her voice warm and welcoming. "It's good to see your feeling better." She glanced at Nyx, a small dismissive smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "And good morning to you too." She said to Nyx as he came over as kissed her forehead lovingly.

"morning Mama."

"Thank you sweetling but we've eaten, we were going to let you know that we are going to have to go take a trip to wind haven, Devlon is starting to act out of line so we should be back in a couple weeks."

"I'm gonna make breakfast if you want some, I can make extra." You offered, as you usually did, trying to seem like you weren't impatient for them to leave for the day. Rhys closed his paper and set it down before standing and stretching for a minute.

Rhys said calmly after offering his hand to his wife to help her stand. You were grateful that they were going to be gone considering you were planing on consummating the bond today, it doesn't tend to stay very quiet. You gave Nyx a look turning away from Rhys and Feyre as they entered the house again before you heard Rhys call over his shoulder.

"And the house better not look anything the the way we found the deck this morning by the time we get back!"

You and Nyx stared at eachother, your faces turning red and you both groaned. Well so much for them not finding out...

~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading Lovelies, if you want to be added to the tag list just comment or dm me. Again comments are always welcome, I hope you enjoyed the story!

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[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt.1 - january 5 2025 The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

hope people will find this, made a sideblog for this, havent used tumblr in a while, feel free to send any suggestions to improve the lay-out/blog etc. Also let me know if you think this chapter is too long. I've already written many parts so will update regularly if people like it.

pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10

wordcount: 2322

The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

You hadn’t seen your twin brother and Pietra in weeks, since they had decided to spent the holidays in Brazil, and you were itching to catch up. You also hadn’t seen the whole Norris family since Abu Dhabi, which had been an absolute blast. You’d meet up with Flo and Cisca regularly in London, having spent Christmas and New Years together, but the whole family being together was a rarity. This year felt extra special, though—it was the first time Dylan was coming along.

Your boyfriend of nearly a year had fit seamlessly into your life back home, and now he was finally meeting the entire crew. Max already got along with him like a house on fire, and you couldn’t wait for him to meet everyone else.

“Stil the same old place. Can’t wait to hit the slopes” Max said looking around with a grin. “You better teach me some sick board tricks this trip Dyl” he continued. “Only if you’re ready to fall on your ass,” Dylan shot back with a laugh. “Careful, Max is competitive,” you teased, they all laughed, Dylan was actually a professional snowboarder, making it that much funnier. 

The Fewtrells had arrived at the lodge first, giving you a chance to show Dylan around before everyone else got there. The house was as you remembered—wood-paneled walls, mismatched furniture, and warm fires crackling in every hearth.

“This is where you grew up skiing?” Dylan asked as you led him upstairs, his snowboard bag slung casually over his shoulder.

“Pretty much. Max and I used to share this room—” you pushed open a door, looking at him slyly, excited to share the room with him this time. The room smelled faintly of cedar, its twin beds still adorned with the same plaid comforters you’d had as kids.

“It’s nice,” Dylan said, setting his bag down and pulling you into his arms. “Cozy. Definitely feels like you.”

Before you could reply, his lips brushed yours, a warm and familiar kiss that made your heart flutter as his hands brushed through your hair, leading you towards the bed. Before things could go further, a loud voice broke the moment. “Fewtrell!” Cisca called from downstairs, followed by Flo’s laughter.

You turned, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Let’s go. You’ll love this chaos.”

Downstairs, the Norris family was filing in, luggage and snow-dusted boots piling up in the entryway. Lando appeared last, hauling a duffel bag with one hand and ski equipment in the other.

“Landooo!” you and Max called out in unison, both running to greet him.“Can’t even drop my stuff first?” Lando teased, dropping the bag with an exaggerated groan as you pulled him into a hug.“Ah, our world champion has arrived,” your dad said, stepping forward with a warm smile. “Welcome back, Lando. Well-deserved break, eh?” “Something like that,” Lando said, grinning as he accepted the handshake. “Nothing beats this place, though.”

“Lando, this is Dylan,” you said, gesturing between them. Dylan extended a hand. “Good to finally meet you. She’s told me a lot about you.” “All good things, I hope,” Lando replied with a polite smile, shaking his hand.“Mostly,” Dylan teased, earning a laugh from everyone. Max threw an arm around Dylan’s shoulders. “You’re in for it now, Lando. Dylan’s a beast on the slopes. Red Bull-sponsored and everything.” “Oh, so I’m not the only sponsored athlete here?” Lando said, his tone light but with a playful edge. It was a miracle Max and Lando hadn’t killed each other yet, being as competitive as they are. Dylan grinned. “Guess not. Maybe we should race to see who’s faster.” “Careful what you wish for, even beat Red Bull this year” Lando shot back.

That night, as wine flowed and the parents went to bed early, the kids stayed up playing cards, laughing over inside jokes, and planning the next day’s ski routes.

—

The next morning, you woke to the sound of muffled voices drifting up from the kitchen and the faint smell of coffee brewing. Dylan was still sound asleep, his arm draped over your waist. Careful not to wake him, you slid out of bed, threw on a sweater, and made your way downstairs.

Max and Lando were already up, bundled in their ski gear, arguing over who would get to claim the fastest run of the day.

"Morning," Lando said, looking up from lacing his boots. His grin was warm and easy, the kind of smile that had been the same since he was a kid.

"Morning," you replied, grabbing a mug of coffee and leaning against the counter. "You two sound like you're gearing up for a war, not a ski day."

"It is a war," Max declared dramatically, waving a spatula he’d been using to flip pancakes. "Do you remember the incident of 2016?"

"How could I forget?" you said, laughing. "Lando sulking for hours after you beat his time."

"Exactly. Redemption arc starts today," Lando shot back, a playful glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. It was moments like these—carefree and full of banter—that reminded you why these trips meant so much.

After breakfast, you, Dylan, and the rest of the group gathered outside, ready to hit the slopes. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, the snow pristine under the morning sun. The energy was contagious, with everyone laughing and joking as they strapped into their skis or boards.

You and Lando split from the main group, both opting for skis while the others took their boards, eager to get tips from Dylan.

“Still as bad at snowboarding as you were at 12?” you teased as the two of you rode the lift up the mountain.

“Not everyone can be a prodigy like you,” Lando quipped, pretending to be offended. “Besides, I’d rather stick to what I’m good at—like beating you down this run.”

“You wish,” you shot back, nudging his arm as the lift slowed.

When you reached the top, it was as if no time had passed at all. Skiing with Lando had always been your thing, a tradition as old as the ski trips themselves. You raced down the slope, weaving between trees and laughing like kids again. At the bottom, you both collapsed into the snow, breathless and grinning.

“Still got it,” Lando said, brushing snow off his jacket.

“I let you win,” you replied, but your smile gave you away.

“I’ve missed this,” you said, lying back in the snow.

“What, losing to me?” Lando teased, throwing a handful of snow in your direction.

You took a break at a skilodge for drinks, glad it wasn’t crowded, texting the rest of the group to join them if they were close.

“It’s so weird how we haven’t actually caught up properly since Abu Dhabi,” you said, getting comfortable and sipping your drink.

— Abu Dhabi december 8 2024

The club was electric—music pulsing through the air, bodies packed tight, and the sharp tang of spilled drinks mingling with the faint scent of expensive cologne. It was the kind of night where everything felt larger than life, McLaren world championship, even as it blurred at the edges.

Lando wasn’t entirely sure how many drinks he’d had. Enough that the world tilted slightly, enough that his usual sharp instincts were dulled to a pleasant fuzziness. He wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular, just letting himself float with the energy of the room.

That’s when he saw her.

She was by the bar, her hair catching the lights in a way that felt achingly familiar. Without even realizing it, his feet carried him toward her. The closer he got, the more the resemblance struck him.

“Hey” he called softly as he approached.

The girl turned, and for a moment, he was convinced it was her. But then she smiled—wide, flirtatious, not the kind of smile she would have given him—and he blinked, the illusion shattering.

It wasn't her. Not exactly. But the resemblance was uncanny enough to send a strange shiver through him.

Still, they started talking. She was funny in a way that felt effortless, her voice cutting through the pounding bass of the music. It wasn’t long before they moved to the dance floor, their movements fluid, fueled by alcohol and the frenetic energy of the night.

Somewhere in the haze of music and lights, Lando leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was brief but intoxicating, her lips soft and eager. For a moment, Lando let himself sink into it, into the rush of the night, the distraction she provided. But something far away tugged at the edge of his drunken consciousness.

“Lando!”

He pulled back sharply, turning to see Max weaving through the crowd toward him. His expression was one of mild exasperation but mostly confusion.

“Mate,” Max said, his voice slightly slurred, though his amusement was clear. He looked from Lando to the girl, then back again, his eyebrows shooting up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Lando asked, putting his hands up in the air, suddenly self-defensive.

Max gestured at the girl, a bemused grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you were kissing my sister! She looks like my sister. Like, exactly like my sister. But—” He looked at her again, his grin faltering. “Also not. It’s weird, mate.”

The girl frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. “Okay, rude.”

“No offense,” Max said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You’re gorgeous, but I mean, come on.” He turned to Lando, shaking his head. “How drunk are you right now?”

Lando blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up. He looked at the girl again, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Now that Max had pointed it out, the similarities felt too stark, too deliberate, explaining why it had felt weird.

“I wasn’t—” he started, but Max cut him off.

“Relax, mate,” Max said with a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I get it. Long season, wild night. Just...you know, maybe cool it before you confuse yourself more.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m getting a drink.” She disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of them standing there.

Max watched her go, then turned back to Lando, his grin softening into something more understanding. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lando said quickly, still in a confused haze.

Max tilted his head, studying him for a moment before shrugging. “Let’s go find my real sister,” he said, steering Lando toward the other side of the club. “She’s way better company than, uh...that.”

Lando didn’t argue, but as they walked, his thoughts remained tangled. Max was right—the resemblance had been unsettling, bothering him for a moment until Max handed him another tequila shot.

—

Lando smirked. “Well, whose fault is that? You disappeared halfway through the after-party. Left me stranded with Max and his endless tequila shots.”

You laughed, holding your drink in both hands. “I didn’t disappear! I was there—you just didn’t see me because you were busy being... you know, Lando.”

“Excuse me,” he said, mock-offended. “What does that mean?”

“It means you were too busy making rounds like the social butterfly you are. Max told me you didn’t even remember half the night.”

Lando groaned, tipping his head back. “That’s fair. I think I blanked out the moment Christian Horner started karaoke.”

You grinned. “See? That’s why I disappeared. I had better things to do, like chatting with some of the Red Bull team.”

“Ah, fraternizing with the enemy,” Lando teased. “You’re lucky Max didn’t disown you.”

“Oh, Max was fine. But you know what?” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There was this moment… when I was talking to a certain very famous actor.”

“Who?” Lando asked, curious.

Your lips curved into a sly smile. “Not telling. But for just a second, I thought, Wow, if I weren’t with Dylan, this would be my chance.”

Lando froze mid-sip, raising a brow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Totally kidding,” you said quickly, though the grin didn’t falter. “Kind of. I mean, it’s not every day you get hit on by a Hollywood A-lister.”

Lando set his glass down, leaning forward. “Okay, now you have to tell me who it was.”

“Never,” you said, laughing. “I’ll take that secret to my grave. But don’t worry, Dylan has nothing to worry about. Besides, you were the one getting up to trouble that night.”

“Trouble?” he asked innocently.

You gave him a knowing look. “You know, with that girl who looked like me.”

Lando’s grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Oh, come on. Max won’t let me live that down. And for the record, I wasn’t the one who said she looked like you. He did.”

“Still, Lando,” you said, shaking your head with a teasing smile. “That’s a bit weird, even for you.”

“Hey, I was drunk,” he defended, running a hand through his hair. “And she didn’t look that much like you.”

“She could’ve been my long-lost triplet!”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I wasn’t exactly seeing straight. You can blame Max and his tequila shots for the whole situation.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. But if Max thinks you’re weird, you know it’s bad.”

Lando sighed dramatically. “Remind me why I put up with you again?”

“Because you love me,” you quipped, raising your glass in a mock toast.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, clinking his glass with yours. You settled back into your seats, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, both of you enjoyed, relaxed, content and tired after skiing.

—

Let me know what you think!!

[damneddamsy]

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

STITCH THEORY—Connection returns, not as it was, but stronger.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why don’t you stay here?”

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

“Why not, darlin’?”

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

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

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

Joel’s hands stilled into peeling the peapod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She never noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

He hated that fucking line.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t happening. Not on his watch.

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

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

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

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

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

“Da-da.”

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

“Pease gimme,” she demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes flicked to Ellie instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel chuckled, stepping forward.

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

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

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

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

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

Joel, though—he stayed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Joel knew better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel studied her for a long moment.

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

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

“You need a break, darlin’.”

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

“And do what?”

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

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

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

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

Leela closed her eyes. “Yes. Christmas.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leela blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

But then she kissed him.

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

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

“Killin' me.”

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

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

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

“Mama!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel sighed. “Goddamn it, trouble.”

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

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

“Can you feed Mama one?”

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

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

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

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

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

Joel made a noise. “Jesus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And noise. So much noise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel damn near choked on his own tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Da-da, aah.”

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

“Dinna, da-da.”

“I can eat my own dinner, thanks.”

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

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

Joel chewed slowly, unimpressed. “Real nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

At some point, the conversation took a turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat.

Dina blinked. “The—what?”

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

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

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

Dina scoffed. “You don’t know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel let out a tense breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There weren’t any. Not for this.

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

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

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

He needed her here.

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

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

And if Leela left—No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The table had gone quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—his fingers slowed.

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

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

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

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

Except… that wasn’t true, was it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She stepped inside, and Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiled to herself, the memory a gentle thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’ll say it again,” he assured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he took.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on then, help me out,” he urged.

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

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

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

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

“Ruined,” he mumbled.

“Survived,” she corrected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Psh. Look at you. I ain't gonna.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel?” she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

She trusted him with this. With herself.

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you...” she whispered.

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

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

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

“Joel,” she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feel,” she murmured, confused.

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

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

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

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

All herself. Just Leela.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then her eyes fluttered shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel!” she hissed.

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

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

“Hi, honey,” he murmured.

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

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

“You ready for me?” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

Heat. Tight. Unreal.

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

Strain. Resistance. So much love.

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

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

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

“It hurts,” she cried out sharply.

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

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

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

She nodded shakily, holding his gaze.

“Only me, alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel, is this okay?” she panted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Joel understood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus—Leela, I'm—!”

“Joel?” she called, concerned almost.

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

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

“Oh, shit!”

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

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

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

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

She blinked. “I...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“You goddamn dud,” he muttered to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She gasped, appalled. “Joel!”

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

X

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

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

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

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

But now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His next favourite part of the morning.

His little girl. Maya.

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

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

Then she saw him. And the second she did—

“Da-da-da-da-da!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleeeepy,” she said around her fist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel blew into his coffee cup. “Mm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the second she drifted too far—too quick, too small, lost too easy in the crowd—he was on her.

A sigh deep in his chest, scooping her up, tucking her under his arm while she squealed and huffed, little hands batting at him in protest. Little gremlin.

“Don't gimme that, baby girl,” he muttered, setting her down just long enough to grab the last thing on his list.

Potatoes. Should’ve been easy. Joel let go of her hand for two damn seconds to grab the bag from the shelf—and when he turned back, she was gone.

His stomach dropped.

“Christ, not again,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his basket to his hip. “Maya?”

No answer. Just the quiet squeak of her boots, quick little steps padding away.

“Maya!”

Joel pushed past people, scanning, breath already working too hard through his nose. It wasn’t panic—not exactly—but it was something close. He had to remind himself that she wasn't made of glass and this was Jackson, yet that was still his baby.

His eyes locked on her in an instant. “Fast fuckin' menace,” he muttered.

She was standing a few feet away, tiny and oblivious, playing with the tab of a can of beans, flicking it up and down with rapt fascination. Didn't even bother looking at him.

Someone was crouched in front of her, blocking her from view. “Where’s your mother, sweetheart?”

Joel already knew who it was before he even reached them.

“Eugene,” he called.

The man glanced up at him, eyes narrowing for a beat before recognition settled in, mouth stretching into a knowing grin. “Miller.” He stood with a grunt, rolling out his shoulders. “Hey, help me out here. This kid’s parent—”

“Is me,” Joel muttered, already reaching for Maya, plucking her up onto his hip like she belonged nowhere else. “C'mere, trouble,” and a firm kiss to the top of her head, his fingers pressing into her tiny back.

“You?” Eugene questioned, thrown off balance.

What, had he been living under a rock? Maya had been the talk of the town since she'd been born. Who speaking off, squealed, giggling, smacking a hand against his cheek—some little game she’d apparently decided was hilarious.

“Me,” Joel confirmed, levelling Eugene with a look. “We got a problem?”

Eugene made a low sound in his throat, eyes flicking between them, like he was sizing up a damn prize mule. Then his mouth curled up once more.

“Oh yeah, I see it,” he said, nodding. “She’s got your big-ass nose.”

“Fuck off.”

“Calmeth thy tits,” Eugene grinned, “I’m tryna be polite.”

“Don’t need it.”

Eugene raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. “So this is why you’ve been copping out of patrol a lot lately. Got Tommy's panties in a twist.”

He nodded toward Maya, who had now taken to tugging on Joel’s beard, testing its durability like she had every right in the world to grab at her old man’s face.

Joel sighed, prying her fingers free one by one. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Guess it is.”

“Yeah, by the looks of it, she's a handful. Cute as shit, though.”

And Eugene—he just stood there a second. Looking at Joel, smelling strongly of weed, basket in his grip, a box of food from the canteen and a bottle of whiskey sitting inside.

Joel saw it then. The difference between them. An old ghost of himself.

Eugene—the kind of man he might’ve been had it not been his instinct to quiet a baby's cries from next door. A year ago, maybe even less, he would’ve been the one with the bottle of whiskey in his cart, the one picking up meals from the canteen instead of making them. The one going home alone.

Eugene exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Huh,” he muttered. Then, a nod, a flash of grudging pride behind his eyes. “You came through. Good for you, Miller.”

Joel didn’t have the words for it. Didn’t know how to put into words what this was, what it felt like to have this, to have them—after years of nothing.

So he just cleared his throat and adjusted Maya in his arms. Eugene just chuckled, slapping a hand on his shoulder before stepping past him, humming under his breath.

Eugene didn’t walk off right away.

Joel could feel him there—still standing at his side, still weighing the words on his tongue. It set his teeth on edge, the way Eugene hesitated. Like he was debating whether to say what was already burning behind his lips.

Then, finally—

“You wanna tell me why Ellie and Dina are so interested in the Fireflies all of a sudden?”

Joel went winded. The Maya's little weight in his arms was suddenly the only thing keeping him upright, keeping him tethered. He barely blinked. Barely breathed.

His voice bit out dangerously low. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Eugene tightened the basket in his grip. Shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. But his eyes were sharp when they cut to Joel, measuring.

“She’s been askin’ these ex-Firefly folks like me and Tommy,” he told him. “Came to me couple nights back—askin’ if I knew anything. If I’d heard anything about ‘em regrouping.”

Joel swallowed, throat dry as dust.

His grip on Maya didn’t tighten—he made sure of that. Kept his hands gentle, careful, even as the rest of him braced. But inside—inside, he clenched up like a fist.

Ellie. Asking about the Fireflies.

It wasn’t panic curling up his spine. Worse.

Because she’d known. She’d gone back to that hospital. She’d walked through the bloodstains, the echoes of gunfire, the remnants of what he’d done. She’d seen the truth laid bare, stripped of all the justifications he’d tried to wrap around it. And she’d spent months—years—dragging herself through the wreckage, trying to make sense of it.

Trying to make peace with him.

He’d watched her try. Seen it in the way she forced herself to stay, even when the silence stretched too long between them. In the way she looked at him sometimes, like she was still searching for something, still waiting for an answer he could never give. He thought—he hoped—that with time, she’d let it rest. That the scars would settle, and they could leave that part of their lives buried where it belonged.

But now—now they were here again.

And Joel didn’t know if they could come back from it this time.

The walls of the room felt like they were creeping in closer, like if he stood still too long, he’d get swallowed whole, but Joel forced his breath steady. In. Out. In. Out. Kept his shoulders loose even as something behind his ribs coiled tight, wound like a spring.

“And?” He made his voice even, ironing out the edges. “You tell her anythin’?”

Eugene huffed, shaking his head. “Nothin’ worth tellin’. Just old stories, y’know? Old bases, old rumours, old movement. And about that research base over at Caltech. I don’t know what she’s lookin’ for, but maybe keep an eye out for your other little girl, too, yeah?”

Joel stared at nothing. His heart pounded heavy, like a fist banging against a locked door. Ellie had stopped asking a long time ago. Or at least, he’d thought she had. Maybe she’d just stopped asking him.

But why now? After all this time?

Not unless—

His mind snagged on the past few weeks. The time Ellie had been spending across the way. The quiet conversations, the way she lingered at their porch, shifting her weight like she was waiting on something. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Leela kept to herself, and Ellie wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Two closed-off people drifting toward each other, not expecting much in return.

But that wasn’t it.

Ellie was digging.

And Leela had handed her the shovel.

Of course she had.

Joel’s stomach twisted, that sourness settling deep. He should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve recognized the signs.

Leela—the girl with something ripped from her before she ever had the chance to claim it. A name that couldn’t be rooted in history. A life that had been rewritten for her before she could write it herself.

Ellie had always been drawn to ghosts. The lost, the forgotten, the ones who didn’t get a choice. She saw herself in them. Clung to them. And Leela—she was another reflection in the glass.

Another kid who could’ve been something more.

Another wasted potential.

Another shot at redemption.

Joel clenched his teeth. He should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve stopped it before it got this far. Because this wasn’t just curiosity—not for Ellie. It never was. She was always looking for meaning in the wreckage. Always chasing the answers that would rip her open in the end.

And now she was looking again.

For the Fireflies. For Leela. For something she thought she’d lost. For something Joel had taken from her. Taken from them.

His chest tightened, breath coming sharp through his nose. He hadn’t just lied to Ellie all those years ago. He’d tried to close the door. To bury it, deep enough that she’d never claw it back to the surface. But maybe that was never the way it was going to go. Maybe it had just been a matter of time.

Eugene must’ve caught something in his expression, because he turned fully then, brows knitting together.

“You alright, Miller?”

Joel blinked. Swallowed. Got a hold of himself

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, scraped raw. “M’fine.”

Eugene didn’t look convinced. “You take care now.”

And maybe—for the first time in a long time—Joel wasn’t either.

But Eugene didn’t push. Just cleared his throat, nodded once, winked at Maya, and finally stepped away, boots heavy against the floorboards.

Joel stood there a second longer, the world shifting around him. It was a feeling he despised. The sensation of something slipping just beyond his grasp.

Then he looked down at Maya, small and soft in his arms, her tiny hand curled into the fabric of his coat, trusting. “Da-da, go. Go.”

The only part of his world that still made sense. He focused on that. On her warmth.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in. “Yeah, baby. Let's go.”

Then turned, stepping toward the door, already knowing—

He needed to find Ellie. Now.

X

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[jellywonie]

Tied To Your Mast ⋆˙⟡ K.HJ

pairing: pirate captain!Hongjoong x enemy captain!reader (feat. crew!ateez)

wc: 7.2k

content: enemies to lovers, slowburn, found family, reluctant partnership, swearing, minor violence, smut, skinship

a/n: i loveeeee this au and I'm thinking of making more with other members

taglist: @adriftingsnowflake @norihoyeon

The tavern reeked of rum, sweat, and poor decisions—exactly the kind of place where rival pirate captains might find themselves sharing a drink instead of crossing swords. Captain Hongjoong of the Treasure sat across from you, his dark eyes glittering with equal parts amusement and suspicion as you raised your glass in a mock toast.

"To temporary alliances," you said, your voice carrying that honeyed tone that had lured countless merchants to their doom. Your crimson coat gleamed in the lamplight, perfectly tailored to accentuate curves that most underestimated as mere decoration. They learned better—usually too late.

"To mutual benefit," Hongjoong replied, clinking his glass against yours. "Though I have to say, Captain, I'm surprised you agreed to this meeting at all. Last time we crossed paths, you tried to keelhaul my quartermaster."

You laughed, a sound like silver bells with an edge of steel. "He deserved it for that crack about women having no place on the high seas. Besides, you got him back when you stole my navigator in Port Royal."

"Stole is such a harsh word," Hongjoong said with mock offense, his lips quirking into that infuriating smirk you'd grown to know so well over the past two years of rivalry. "I prefer 'recruited with better offers and superior rum rations.'"

Two years of cat and mouse across the Caribbean had taught you both each other's patterns intimately. There was Nassau, where he'd outmaneuvered you for a prize merchant vessel by bribing the harbormaster while you were distracted by a card game. You'd retaliated in Barbados by convincing his crew that the local tavern girls were all married to very large, very violent fishermen—he'd sailed out with half his men sporting black eyes and his purse considerably lighter.

Then there was the incident in Saint-Domingue where you'd both arrived to find the other already in negotiations with the same fence for a stolen shipment of French silk. The resulting bidding war had driven the price so high that neither of you could afford it, leaving you both glaring at each other across a warehouse full of useless luxury goods. You'd ended up drinking together that night, commiserating over shared losses and plotting elaborate revenges against the smug French merchant who'd played you against each other.

The most memorable encounter had been six months ago off the coast of Jamaica, when a storm had driven both your ships into the same hidden cove. With nowhere to run and repair work to be done, you'd been forced into an uneasy truce that lasted three days. You'd spent the time trading stories, comparing charts, and engaging in increasingly creative verbal sparring matches that had your crews taking bets on whether you'd kiss or kill each other first.

He'd left you a bottle of his best rum when he sailed out ahead of you, along with a note that simply said "Until next time, Captain." You still had the bottle, unopened, in your cabin.

"Your rum is swill and we both know it."

"And yet here you are, drinking it."

You lifted the glass to your lips, maintaining eye contact as you took a deliberate sip. "I've had worse. Barely."

His crew sat scattered around nearby tables, trying to look casual while keeping their hands near their weapons. Your own crew mirrored their wariness from across the smoky room—except for your first mate Jin, who seemed to be enjoying the show entirely too much.

"You know," Hongjoong continued, leaning back in his chair with studied casualness, "when I heard the infamous Blood Rose wanted to meet, I half expected an ambush. Your reputation for... creative solutions to rival problems is quite well-known."

"The night is young," you replied sweetly. "Though I have to admit, your reputation for slippery escapes has grown tedious. Do you practice those dramatic exits, or do they come naturally?"

"Natural talent, I'm afraid. Much like your gift for looking completely harmless right before you gut someone with that pretty little dagger of yours."

His eyes flicked to the jeweled weapon at your hip, and you smiled at the recognition. You'd killed three men with that blade, and wounded twice as many. Most people saw the ornate handle and dismissed it as decoration. Hongjoong knew better.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain Kim. Though I suppose you'd know all about pretty things being more dangerous than they appear." You let your gaze rake over his deceptively lean frame, noting the way his jaw tightened slightly at the implied insult.

"Are we going to trade barbs all evening, or shall we discuss business?" His tone had cooled, but you caught the flash of irritation in his dark eyes. Good. You'd always enjoyed getting under his skin.

"Business, then." You leaned forward, letting your coat fall open just enough to be distracting. "The Spanish galleon. I assume you've heard the same rumors I have?"

"Aztec gold from the Vera Cruz run, three chests of pearls from the pearl beds, and enough silver to sink a frigate." Hongjoong's eyes remained fixed on your face with admirable discipline. "Also enough guns to blow both our ships out of the water if we approach alone."

"Which is why you need me."

"The other way around, I think. Your ship's fast, but she's not built for extended battles. You need my guns."

It was an old argument between you—speed versus firepower, finesse versus brute force. Your Siren's Call could outrun almost anything on the water, but the Treasure packed enough cannon to level a small fort.

"Your guns are useless if you can't catch your prey," you pointed out. "How many prizes have slipped away while you were lumbering along like a pregnant whale?"

"How many prizes have you had to abandon because you couldn't punch through their defenses?" he countered smoothly.

The job was simple enough: a Spanish galleon heavy with Aztec gold, too well-defended for one crew alone but perfect prey for two working in concert. You'd split the treasure and go back to being enemies by sunrise.

What could go wrong?

"Fine," you said finally. "But I want sixty percent."

Hongjoong nearly choked on his rum. "Sixty? You're mad. Fifty-fifty or nothing."

"My ship, my plan, my contacts who provided the intelligence. Sixty."

"Your contacts got the information from my spy in Cartagena. Fifty-five, final offer."

You pretended to consider it, though you'd been prepared to accept fifty-five from the start. "Deal. But if you try to double-cross me, Captain Hongjoong, I'll feed you to the sharks myself."

"Likewise, Captain. Though I have to say, working with you should prove... interesting."

The way he said it, low and speculative, sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. This was exactly why partnerships with Hongjoong were dangerous—the man had a gift for making everything sound like a proposition.

Three days later, you had your answer.

The plan had worked flawlessly—perhaps too flawlessly. The galleon had surrendered after a brief but spectacular battle, her holds proving even richer than anticipated. But as your ships sailed away from the smoking wreck, laden with gold and glory, the sea itself seemed to turn against Hongjoong's crew.

The storm came from nowhere, a wall of black clouds and screaming wind that separated your vessels in minutes. Through the chaos, you watched helplessly as lightning split the sky and waves the size of mountains crashed over the Treasure. When dawn finally broke, calm and deceptively innocent, Hongjoong's ship was nowhere to be seen.

You should have felt victorious. One less rival meant more opportunities, more territory, more everything. Instead, you felt hollow as you ordered your crew to search for survivors.

"Captain!" Your first mate Jin's voice carried across the water as your longboat approached a cluster of debris. "Found them!"

Them turned out to be eight waterlogged pirates clinging to what remained of their mainmast, looking like drowned cats with significantly more attitude. Hongjoong hung from the makeshift raft's edge, his usually perfect black hair plastered to his skull, but his eyes still burned with that familiar defiant fire.

"Well, well," you called out as your crew hauled them aboard. "Look what the tide washed up."

Hongjoong coughed up seawater and glared at you with as much dignity as a man could muster while dripping wet and shipwrecked. "Come to gloat?"

"Come to collect," you said, though even as the words left your mouth, you knew they rang false. "Can't have you drowning before you pay back that debt from Port Royal."

It was a lie, and from the way his eyes narrowed, Hongjoong knew it. But pride was a currency pirates understood, so he simply nodded curtly as your crew helped his men aboard.

The Siren's Call groaned under the weight of sixteen souls instead of eight, but she was a sturdy ship—built for long voyages and heavy cargo. You'd need to make port soon to properly provision for the extra crew, but for now, everyone would survive.

What you hadn't anticipated was how quickly Hongjoong's crew would begin to integrate with yours.

Yunho, tall and surprisingly gentle for a pirate, immediately bonded with your ship's cook over shared stories of their grandmothers' recipes. Yeosang, quiet and sharp-eyed, found common ground with your navigator discussing star charts and trade winds. San and Wooyoung, apparently incapable of staying still, somehow turned swabbing the deck into an elaborate dancing competition that had half your crew in stitches.

Even Seonghwa, Hongjoong's first mate and voice of reason, grudgingly admitted your ship was "adequately maintained" after inspecting your rigging—high praise from someone whose standards were legendary throughout the Caribbean.

But it was the others who truly surprised you. Jongho spent hours helping your crew repair storm damage with an cheerful efficiency that belied his youth. Mingi, lanky and soft-spoken, turned out to have an uncanny ability to spot trouble on the horizon—a skill that had saved Hongjoong's crew more times than they could count.

And then there was Hongjoong himself.

You'd expected him to sulk, to plot, to be the very picture of a defeated rival biding his time for revenge. Instead, he threw himself into ship life with an energy that was both admirable and irritating. He knew ships inside and out, could read weather patterns like prophecy, and had a tactical mind that complemented your own in ways that were dangerously appealing.

"The wind's shifting northwest," he said one evening, appearing at your elbow as you studied the horizon. "There's a storm brewing, but if we adjust our heading by ten degrees, we can ride the edge winds and make Port Tortuga a day early."

You glanced at him suspiciously. "Why help me? I'm not your captain."

Something flickered across his face—too quick to interpret. "Maybe I just don't fancy drowning twice in one week."

But it was more than that, and you both knew it. Over the following days, you found yourself relying on his counsel more and more. He had insights into shipping routes your contacts had missed, knew which ports were safest and which governors could be bought. When a rival crew tried to corner you in a narrow strait, it was Hongjoong's strategy that saw you through unscathed.

"You're wasted as a captain," you told him one night as you shared watch duty. The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted the implication.

Hongjoong's laugh was bitter. "High praise from the woman who destroyed my ship."

"I didn't destroy anything. The storm—"

"Would never have caught us if we hadn't been slowed down by all that treasure." His eyes met yours in the moonlight, and for a moment, the mask of casual indifference slipped. "My crew's been together for five years. That ship was our home."

The pain in his voice cut deeper than you expected. "I'm sorry," you said, and meant it. "For what it's worth, you're all welcome on the Siren's Call as long as you need."

"As crew?"

"As whatever you want to be."

The silence stretched between you, filled with possibility and danger in equal measure. Finally, Hongjoong smiled—a real smile this time, not his usual cocky smirk.

"Careful, Captain. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like having us around."

You turned back to the horizon, unwilling to let him see how close to the truth he'd come. "Don't let it go to your head, Kim Hongjoong. I just hate waste."

But even as you said it, you knew you were lying to yourself as much as to him.

Port Tortuga was a cesspit of vice and opportunity, exactly the kind of place where pirates went to spend their ill-gotten gains and recruit new crew members. You'd planned to restock supplies and find passage for Hongjoong's men to whatever destination they chose. What you hadn't planned was the way they all seemed perfectly content to stay.

"It's been three days," you pointed out to Hongjoong as you watched Yunho teach your cabin boy how to tie proper knots. "Plenty of ships in port looking for experienced crew."

"Aye," he agreed, not moving from where he leaned against the rail. "Funny thing, though—none of them seem particularly appealing."

"And my ship does?"

He turned to look at you, and something in his expression made your breath catch. "Your ship has excellent... management."

The way he said it, low and warm, sent heat curling through your body. This was dangerous territory, the kind that had seen more than one captain's career end in mutiny or worse. But when Hongjoong looked at you like that, like you were a treasure worth more than all the gold in the Caribbean, it was hard to remember why fraternizing with rival captains was a bad idea.

"Hongjoong—"

"Captain!" Wooyoung's voice interrupted whatever you'd been about to say. He came bounding up from below decks, practically vibrating with excitement. "There's talk in the taverns about a new Spanish fleet putting out from Havana. Three ships, heavy cargo, light escort."

You felt the familiar thrill of opportunity, but also a strange reluctance. Taking on a job this size would mean splitting the crew for boarding actions, putting everyone at risk. Your crew, you corrected yourself. Hongjoong's men weren't your responsibility.

Except they felt like they were.

"What do you think?" you asked Hongjoong, surprising yourself by seeking his opinion.

His eyes lit up with the same hunger for adventure that had probably gotten him into piracy in the first place. "I think we could take them. Not easily, but we could do it."

"We?"

"Your crew's good, but they're not used to coordinated attacks on this scale. My boys have experience with fleet actions." He paused, studying your face. "That is, if you want the help."

You should have said no. Should have thanked him politely and sent him on his way with enough gold to book passage back to whatever port he called home. Instead, you found yourself nodding.

"All right, Mr. Kim. Looks like you're my new first mate."

The smile that spread across his face was brilliant enough to rival the Caribbean sun.

The Spanish fleet was everything the tavern rumors had promised: three fat galleons wallowing through the trade routes like overloaded merchants, their escort of two frigates more concerned with maintaining formation than watching for threats. It should have been simple.

Of course, nothing involving Hongjoong ever turned out simple.

"They've changed course," Mingi reported from the crow's nest, his spyglass trained on the distant sails. "Heading for that island chain to the west."

You cursed under your breath. The islands meant shallow water, hidden reefs, and a dozen places for a running battle to go wrong. "They must have spotted us."

"Or they're planning to careen for repairs," Hongjoong suggested, studying your charts. "Look—that's Devil's Teeth island. Perfect for maintenance work, but only one way in or out of the lagoon."

"A trap?"

"Or an opportunity." His finger traced the coastline on the chart. "If we can get there first, take the high ground on that bluff, we could rain cannon fire down on them while they're anchored."

It was a risky plan, but risky plans were Hongjoong's specialty. Against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding.

"Do it."

The next few hours were a blur of activity. Your combined crew worked with an efficiency that would have been impossible a month ago, each person knowing their role without needing orders. Seonghwa and your quartermaster coordinated the gun crews while San and Yeosang prepared boarding equipment. Even young Jongho found himself pressed into service hauling shot up from the magazine.

But it was watching Hongjoong in action that truly took your breath away.

He moved through the ship like he'd been born to it, checking rigging, adjusting sail trim, offering quiet words of encouragement to nervous crew members. This was what he was meant for—not just captaining a ship, but leading people, inspiring the kind of loyalty that made men follow orders even when death seemed certain.

"You're staring," Jin observed, appearing at your elbow with a knowing smirk.

"I'm observing," you corrected, though you didn't look away from where Hongjoong was demonstrating proper cutlass technique to one of your younger crew members.

"Observing what, exactly? The way he fills out those leather pants?"

You shot your first mate a withering look, but he just laughed.

"Captain, I've served with you for three years. I know that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're thinking about keeping him."

Before you could respond, Hongjoong himself appeared, saving you from whatever embarrassing admission Jin had been fishing for.

"We're in position," he reported. "Guns loaded, crew ready. They should round the point any minute now."

You nodded, pushing personal complications aside in favor of the familiar clarity that came before battle. "Signal the gun crews to wait for my command. We'll only get one chance at this."

The Spanish fleet rounded Devil's Teeth exactly as predicted, their formation loose and complacent. The lead galleon flew the flag of Castilian nobility—probably some duke's son playing at merchant adventurer with the king's gold. The sight made your blood sing with anticipation.

"Now!" you shouted.

The Siren's Call's guns roared in perfect sequence, twenty-four pounds of iron death screaming down at the trapped Spanish ships. The lead galleon's mainmast exploded in a shower of splinters and canvas, her deck suddenly swarming with tiny figures like disturbed ants.

But the Spanish weren't complete fools. Even as your gunners reloaded, the escort frigates were coming about, their own guns seeking targets. Chain shot whistled overhead, and you heard someone scream as flying metal found flesh.

"Return fire!" Hongjoong bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Aim for their waterline!"

It was a brutal, close-quarters battle that raged for the better part of an hour. Smoke filled the lagoon until you could barely see your own bow, the thunder of cannon fire echoing off the surrounding cliffs until it seemed like the very island was screaming.

When the smoke finally cleared, two of the galleons had struck their colors and the third was listing badly to starboard, her crew working frantically to plug holes in her hull. The frigates were in full retreat, their captains apparently deciding that discretion was the better part of valor.

"Boarding parties away!" you called, and watched with satisfaction as your combined crew swarmed over the captured vessels like professional pirates should.

The haul was everything you'd dreamed of and more: chests of silver, bags of pearls, and enough trade goods to keep both crews in luxury for months. But as you stood on the deck of the surrendered flagship, watching your people work together to secure the prizes, you realized that the treasure was no longer the most important thing you'd gained.

"Not bad for a day's work," Hongjoong said, appearing beside you with that easy confidence that never failed to make your pulse quicken.

"Not bad at all, Mr. Kim." You turned to face him properly, noting the way his eyes sparkled with satisfaction and something deeper. "I believe this makes us partners."

"Partners," he repeated, as if testing the word. "I like the sound of that."

There was something in his tone that suggested he wasn't just talking about piracy. This was dangerous—captain and first mate was a relationship fraught with complications even under the best circumstances.

But as Hongjoong stepped closer, close enough that you could smell gunpowder and sea salt on his skin, you found it hard to care about complications.

"Captain!" Wooyoung's voice shattered the moment like a musket ball through glass. "You need to see this!"

Duty called, but as you followed Wooyoung below decks to examine whatever discovery had excited him, you were acutely aware of Hongjoong's presence behind you. This conversation was far from over.

What Wooyoung had found changed everything.

"Maps," he said unnecessarily, gesturing at the Spanish captain's cabin where charts and documents covered every available surface. "But not just any maps. Look at this."

The chart he indicated was unlike anything you'd ever seen—detailed beyond belief, showing not just coastlines and currents but also the locations of Spanish treasure fleets, garrison strengths, even the sailing schedules of merchant convoys.

"It's their master plan," Hongjoong breathed, studying the documents over your shoulder. "Every Spanish operation in the Caribbean for the next six months."

You picked up another chart, this one showing proposed new settlements and mining operations. The scope was staggering—Spain was planning a massive expansion of their colonial presence, with enough military backing to crush any pirate resistance.

"This changes the game entirely," you murmured. "With intelligence like this..."

"We could unite the Brethren," Hongjoong finished. "Get all the pirate captains to work together instead of fighting each other for scraps."

It was an ambitious dream, the kind of grand vision that had gotten more than one pirate captain killed. But as you looked at the evidence spread before you, you realized it might be the only way to survive what was coming.

"It won't be easy," you warned. "Some of those captains have been feuding for decades."

"Then we'll have to be very persuasive."

The way he said it, with that combination of determination and mischief that made him so dangerous, sent a thrill through you that had nothing to do with treasure or adventure.

"All right, partner," you said, rolling up the most important charts. "Looks like we have work to do."

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of activity as you and Hongjoong traveled from port to port, calling in favors and making deals to arrange a gathering of the Caribbean's most notorious pirate captains. It was delicate work—these were people who'd kill each other over a perceived slight, let alone an attempt to organize them.

But somehow, it worked. Whether it was your reputation for keeping your word or Hongjoong's silver tongue, one by one the captains agreed to a temporary truce and a meeting at Shipwreck Cove.

"I can't believe we actually pulled this off," you admitted the night before the gathering, standing at the rail of the Siren's Call as she rode at anchor in the hidden lagoon. Around you, two dozen pirate ships sat peacefully in the moonlight—more firepower than had been assembled in one place since the days of Henry Morgan.

"We make a good team," Hongjoong said, joining you at the rail. "Better than I expected."

"High praise from a former enemy."

"Former?" He turned to look at you, and something in his expression made your breath catch. "Is that what I am to you now?"

The question hung between you like a loaded pistol, dangerous and impossible to ignore. Over the weeks of working together, the tension that had always existed between you had shifted, changed from antagonistic to something far more perilous.

"I don't know what you are to me," you admitted, the honesty surprising even yourself. "That's the problem."

Hongjoong moved closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cool night air. "Maybe we should figure it out."

His hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a gentleness that made your knees weak. You should have pulled away, should have remembered that fraternizing with your first mate was a recipe for disaster. Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch.

"This is a terrible idea," you whispered.

"The best ones usually are."

When he kissed you, it was like a dam bursting. All the tension and attraction that had been building between you for weeks crashed over you in a wave of heat and desperation. His lips were soft but demanding, his hands tangling in your hair as he pressed you back against the rail.

You kissed him back with equal fervor, months of denial and restraint crumbling under the assault of his mouth on yours. He tasted like rum and danger, like everything you'd ever wanted and been too afraid to take.

"Captain," he murmured against your lips, and the way he said it—reverent but hungry—made heat pool between your thighs.

"My cabin," you managed, surprised your voice still worked. "Now."

The walk to your quarters felt like miles instead of yards, every step heavy with anticipation. Your crew, wise in the ways of the sea and their captain's moods, seemed to melt away into the shadows, leaving you and Hongjoong alone with the weight of what was about to happen.

Your cabin was your sanctuary, the one place on the ship that was truly yours. Maps and charts covered the walls alongside exotic weapons and treasures from a dozen ports. It was here that you made the decisions that kept your crew alive and prosperous, here that you'd plotted the courses that made you one of the most feared pirates in the Caribbean.

But as Hongjoong closed the door behind you and turned the lock with deliberate care, all you could think about was how empty the room had felt before he entered it.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, and you could hear the restraint in his voice, the careful control of a man who wanted you desperately but would walk away if you asked.

Instead of answering with words, you reached up to unclasp the ruby necklace at your throat—a piece you'd taken from a Spanish noblewoman three months prior. The heavy stones caught the moonlight as you set it aside, followed by the emerald earrings that had once belonged to a governor's wife. Each piece of jewelry was a trophy, a symbol of your conquests, but tonight they felt like armor you no longer needed.

"I've never been more sure of anything," you said, your fingers finding the laces of your corset.

Hongjoong's breath caught as you slowly loosened the ties, his eyes darkening as rich burgundy leather fell away to reveal the thin chemise beneath. The delicate fabric did little to hide the swell of your breasts, the peaks already hardening under his hungry gaze.

"Beautiful," he breathed, stepping closer but not quite touching, as if you were something precious that might shatter under rough handling. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"Tell me," you whispered, reaching for the golden bangles circling your wrists. They clinked softly as you removed them one by one, adding them to the growing pile of treasures on your desk.

"Every time I see you on deck, giving orders with that fierce look in your eyes..." His voice dropped to a husky rumble as he watched you slide the ornate rings from your fingers. "Every time you laugh at something your crew says, or argue with me over charts... I want to kiss that smirk right off your lips."

The admission sent heat pooling low in your belly. You pulled the chemise over your head in one fluid motion, baring yourself to his gaze completely except for the thin silk drawers that clung to your hips and the leather boots that reached your thighs.

Hongjoong made a sound somewhere between a groan and a prayer, his hands clenching at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for you. "Christ, you're going to be the death of me."

"Then come here and die like a pirate should," you said, your voice rough with want.

He was on you in an instant, hands tangling in your hair as his mouth crashed against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. You could taste the desperation on his lips, feel the tremor in his hands as they mapped the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips.

You tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel skin against skin, and he broke away just long enough to pull it over his head. The moonlight streaming through the stern windows turned his chest into a masterpiece of silver and shadow—lean muscle marked here and there with scars that told stories of battles won and lost.

"Your turn to tell me," he murmured against your throat, his lips finding the pulse point that betrayed your racing heart. "What do you think about when you watch me work the rigging?"

"How those hands would feel on my skin," you admitted breathlessly, then gasped as he bit gently at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. "How you'd taste if I kissed you."

"And now you know," he said, lifting his head to look at you with eyes gone dark with desire.

"Not nearly enough," you replied, pushing him backward until his legs hit the edge of your bunk.

He sat heavily, and you moved to straddle his lap, feeling the hard length of him pressed against your core even through the layers of fabric still between you. The sensation made you both groan, and his hands came up to cup your breasts with reverent care.

"These have been driving me mad," he confessed, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you arched into his touch. "The way they move when you climb the rigging, the way that corset pushes them up just enough to make me forget what I was supposed to be doing..."

His words dissolved into incoherent murmurs as he bent to take one peaked nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his fingers worked the other. The dual sensation sent lightning straight to your core, and you found yourself grinding against him, seeking friction that only made the ache worse.

"Boots," you managed to gasp, and he understood immediately, his hands moving to the laces with surprising dexterity for someone who spent most of his time tying nautical knots.

The leather fell away, followed by your silk stockings, until you were bare except for the thin drawers that were already damp with your arousal. Hongjoong's hands smoothed up your thighs with worshipful touches, pausing to trace the small scar on your left knee—a memento from your first boarding action—before continuing their upward journey.

"Perfect," he murmured, and something in his tone made you believe he truly meant it. Not the polished perfection of courtly ladies, but the functional beauty of a woman who could fight and sail and lead. "You're absolutely perfect."

You silenced any further praise by kissing him again, pouring months of tension and longing into the press of lips and tongue. His hands found the ties of your drawers, and you lifted up just enough to let him slide them down your legs and toss them aside.

Now it was his turn to be explored. Your fingers traced the waistband of his leather breeches, feeling the muscles of his abdomen jump under your touch. He was lean but strong, built for speed and agility rather than brute force—much like his ship, you thought with amusement.

"Something funny?" he asked, noticing your smile.

"Just thinking that you're built like your ship was," you said, working at the laces with fingers made clumsy by desire. "Sturdy and elegant."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Definitely a compliment," you assured him, finally freeing him from the confines of leather and fabric. "I've always preferred quality over quantity."

His response was lost in a sharp intake of breath as you wrapped your hand around his length, marveling at the way he pulsed in your palm. He was perfect—long and thick enough to fill you completely, the head already glistening with evidence of his arousal.

"If you keep doing that," he warned, his voice strained, "this will be over embarrassingly quickly."

"We have all night," you reminded him, but you released him anyway, settling back onto his lap with your core pressed against his length.

The feeling of him sliding between your slick folds made you both moan, and you began to rock against him slowly, coating him with your wetness while the head of his cock brushed against your clit with each movement.

"Please," he breathed, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "I need to be inside you."

You lifted yourself up, positioning him at your entrance before slowly sinking down. The stretch was exquisite, bordering on too much but perfect at the same time. You took him inch by inch, watching his face contort with pleasure and restraint as your body adjusted to accommodate him.

"Move," he pleaded once you were fully seated, and you obliged by lifting yourself up and sliding back down in a rhythm that had you both gasping.

The position gave you control, let you set the pace and angle that brought you the most pleasure. But it also let you watch Hongjoong's face as you rode him, see the way his eyes rolled back when you clenched around him, hear the broken sounds that fell from his lips like prayers.

"So tight," he groaned, his hands helping guide your movements. "So perfect. God, the things I want to do to you..."

"Tell me," you demanded, your pace increasing as the pleasure built like a storm inside you.

"Want to lay you out on my charts and map every inch of your skin with my tongue," he said, his voice rough with passion. "Want to taste you until you scream my name. Want to take you against the mizzenmast so the whole crew knows who you belong to."

The possessiveness in his tone sent you spiraling toward the edge, your inner muscles fluttering around him as your climax built. But just before you could fall over, he flipped your positions with surprising strength, pressing you down into the mattress as he drove into you with renewed intensity.

"Mine," he growled against your throat, and the word combined with the angle of his thrusts sent you tumbling into ecstasy. Your back arched as waves of pleasure crashed over you, his name falling from your lips like a litany as your body clenched around him.

He followed you over the edge moments later, burying himself deep as his release pulsed inside you, painting your inner walls with his seed. The feeling of being so completely claimed sent aftershocks through your system, and you clung to him as you both rode out the waves of pleasure.

Afterward, you lay tangled together in the narrow bunk, heart rates slowly returning to normal as the reality of what you'd just done began to sink in. Hongjoong's arm was wrapped around your waist, holding you against his chest like he was afraid you might disappear.

"That was..." he began, then trailed off as if words were insufficient.

"A terrible idea," you finished, though you made no move to pull away from his embrace.

"The best ones usually are," he reiterated, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"So," Hongjoong said eventually, his voice rough with satisfaction, "what happens now?"

You traced lazy patterns on his chest, marveling at how right this felt despite all the reasons it should be wrong. "Now we figure out how to unite a bunch of stubborn pirates without killing each other."

"And after that?"

The question hung in the air between you, loaded with possibility and danger in equal measure. Partnership was one thing, but this—whatever this was—changed the dynamic entirely.

"After that," you said, pressing a kiss to his throat, "we sail toward the horizon and see what we find."

His arms tightened around you, and you felt him smile against your hair. "I can live with that."

Outside, the Caribbean night wrapped around your ship like a promise, full of adventures yet to come and treasures yet to be claimed. But for now, in this moment, you had everything you needed right here in your arms.

The gathering at Shipwreck Cove was everything you'd hoped for and more chaotic than you'd feared. Two dozen pirate captains, each with egos the size of their ships and tempers to match, crammed into the ancient amphitheater that had been carved from the living rock by some long-dead civilization.

"Gentlemen! Ladies!" you called, raising your voice to be heard over the arguing. "If we could—"

"Why should we listen to you, girl?" Captain Barbossa interrupted, his weathered face twisted into a sneer. "Just because you've got yourself a pretty new first mate doesn't mean—"

The insult died in his throat as Hongjoong's hand moved to his cutlass hilt with fluid grace. The threat was subtle but unmistakable, and the sudden silence that fell over the assembly suggested that your reputation wasn't the only one that preceded you.

"The lady has something to say," Hongjoong said quietly, his voice carrying easily in the sudden hush. "I suggest you listen."

What followed was the most intense negotiation of your pirating career. The Spanish documents were compelling, but getting the assembled captains to look past their personal grudges and centuries of mistrust was like herding cats—drunk, heavily armed cats with authority issues.

But slowly, carefully, you and Hongjoong began to weave them together into something resembling a cohesive force. It helped that the evidence was overwhelming—Spain's plans would spell doom for every pirate in the Caribbean if left unchecked. It also helped that you and Hongjoong had become a formidable team, playing off each other's strengths to manipulate, cajole, and inspire the fractious assembly.

"United we stand, divided we hang," Hongjoong concluded, after laying out the proposed alliance structure. "It's really that simple."

"And who's to lead this grand alliance?" asked Captain Teague, his eyes glittering with cunning. "You, boy? Or your mistress there?"

The deliberate insult hung in the air like gunpowder, and you felt the assembled captains tense in anticipation of violence. This was the moment that would make or break everything—not just the alliance, but your partnership with Hongjoong.

"We lead together," you said firmly, standing to face the assembly. "Joint command, joint responsibility. Any captain who has a problem with that is welcome to face the Spanish alone."

It was a bold gambit, claiming equal authority with Hongjoong in front of the most dangerous pirates in the Caribbean. But as you spoke, you felt his hand settle on the small of your back—a gesture of support that was both intimate and utterly confident.

"Joint command," Captain Jack Sparrow mused from his seat near the back. "Interesting. And if you two have a falling out? What then?"

You and Hongjoong exchanged a look that held three weeks' worth of partnership, trust, and growing affection. Whatever else happened, you knew you could count on each other.

"Then the Brethren will choose new leaders," Hongjoong said simply. "But that won't be necessary."

The vote, when it came, was closer than you'd hoped but decisive enough to matter. The Caribbean Pirate Alliance was born in blood and desperation, but it was born nonetheless.

Six months later, you stood on the deck of the Siren's Call and watched the Spanish treasure fleet burn on the horizon. It had been the Alliance's greatest victory yet—a coordinated assault on Spain's annual silver convoy that had netted enough wealth to fund pirate operations for years to come.

But more than that, it had proven that the alliance could work. Captains who had been mortal enemies now coordinated their attacks, sharing intelligence and resources in ways that would have been unthinkable a year ago.

"Not bad for a day's work," Hongjoong said, echoing his words from that first battle all those months ago. But now he stood beside you not as a temporary ally but as your partner in every sense of the word.

The crew had adapted to the change with remarkable grace. Your original crew had welcomed their new shipmates, while Hongjoong's men had integrated so completely that it was sometimes hard to remember they hadn't always been part of your family. Seonghwa had become your second mate, his steady competence complementing Jin's irreverent wisdom perfectly. Yunho had taken over as cook, his grandmother's recipes becoming legendary throughout the fleet. Even young Jongho had found his place, his supernatural strength making him invaluable during boarding actions.

But it was the smaller moments that truly warmed your heart. Watching Wooyoung teach your cabin boy how to splice rope while regaling him with increasingly exaggerated tales of adventure. Seeing Yeosang and your navigator bent over star charts, arguing good-naturedly about the best route to Port Royal. Observing how San had appointed himself the ship's morale officer, his infectious laughter capable of lifting spirits even in the darkest storms.

They were your family now, every one of them, bound together by shared danger and mutual trust in the way that only pirates could achieve.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hongjoong asked, slipping an arm around your waist with the casual intimacy of established lovers.

"Just thinking about how much has changed," you replied, leaning into his warmth. "Six months ago, you were my enemy. Now..."

"Now?"

You turned to face him properly, marveling again at how perfectly he fit into your life. "Now I can't imagine sailing without you."

The smile that spread across his face was radiant enough to rival the Caribbean sun. "Good thing you'll never have to find out."

He kissed you then, soft and sweet and full of promise, while around you your crew went about their duties with the easy efficiency of people who had found their place in the world. The future stretched before you like an uncharted ocean, full of adventures yet to come and treasures yet to be claimed.

But whatever storms lay ahead, you would face them together—captain and first mate, partners and lovers, surrounded by the finest crew ever to sail the Caribbean seas.

The Siren's Call turned her bow toward the horizon, her sails full of wind and her holds full of Spanish gold, while above her the pirate flag snapped proudly in the breeze. Behind her sailed the greatest fleet the Brotherhood of the Coast had ever assembled, united in purpose and terrible in their fury.

The Spanish Empire had awakened a sleeping giant, and now they would reap the whirlwind.

But that, as they say, is another story entirely.