#tiny bug with a mug

[yourstrulylightstar283]

Cute. ^^

bug with a mug

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

pt4

See you soon

hey guys warning this chapter literally has none of the batfam here its highlighting reader being insterted into itsv-atsv

It has been a year since you had gotten bitten.

You were now 14

Since then you've lost a couple of people.

Your Gwen Stacy, who was instead named [REDACTED], was killed while you were trying to stop the green goblin.

You lost an officer you were close to. He died while protecting a kid.

You lost someone you considered an uncle.

You were tired.

Since then you've been training yourself, secretly fighting crime to not be seen by your family, and getting stronger in general.

Every day was sortve the same. Wake up, get ready, go to school, come home, eat, fight crime, sleep, repeat.

It all changed one day.

You had just gotten back from patrol.

You stopped 3 muggings and saved a cat from a tree.

It was a slow day, thankfully.

You were doing your homework peacefully.

You were almost done with your algebra homework when suddenly a portal popped up right next to you.

You couldn't process anything as the portal sucked you up and took you in.

The next thing you knew, you were stuck in an alternate universe with other versions of you.

And you had to get home soon ASAP no rocky if you didn't wanna die.

And that be all fine and dandy.

Except you didn't wanna get attached to anyone.

You didn't want them to exclude you and you to follow them around like a lost puppy like you did with your family.

And guess what?

You did get attached.

Peni, a small kid who was in a tiny robot fighting, was like a little sister to you.

Peter B. Parker, ham, and Noir were all like uncles to you.

Gwen and Miles were your cool older siblings.

You loved them.

And you hated that.

Because you knew deep down, you wouldn't get to see each other again.

You all were destined to be apart, due to your separate universes.

You got attached.

You were attached to noir and how his coat smelled like cigarettes and milkshakes.

You were attached to Ham and how he always cracked jokes when things got tense and awkward.

You were attached to peter b and how he talked about his past experiences.

You got attached to Peni and how she would use stickers everywhere.

You got attached to Miles and how stupidly awkward he was with Gwen.

You got attached to Gwen and how she gave you the advice you always needed and never got.

Fuck.

You didn't wanna go back to the manor.

This is the happiest you've been in a while.

This is home.

This is what family is supposed to feel like.

You can go on patrol here without worrying that your family might see you.

You are constantly smiling and laughing with the people here.

You're always catching yourself wishing you could stay here forever.

Other than the annoyingly painful glitching, you're so happy and excited.

You never wanna leave.

You were so proud of Miles and how he got everyone home.

You cried as soon as you landed back in your room.

You sobbed into your pillow. You're gonna miss them.

No one even noticed you were gone for a week.

No one noticed how bruised up you were.

No one noticed how sad you looked.

It's been 5 months since then.

You got invited to join the Spider Society.

Miguel saw you on patrol trying to fight an anomaly and failing miserably due to you never fully getting actual training.

You were trying! It's just that you didn't want your family to see you so its sort of hard to control a whole glitching green goblin...

Miguel took you into the spider society.

You saw Peter B in Miguel's office and immediately tackled him into a hug and shed a tear or two.

You learned that due to being a mix of two multiverses (Marvel and DC) your canon events were a tiny bit messed up.

Miguel explained everything, but everything was going through one ear and out the other.

You wondered if the others were here too.

You wondered if they missed you like you missed them.

Miguel could see how spaced out you were.

"What's wrong, Mija?"

"Are the others here? Like Gwen, Miles, ham, noir, and Peni? I know Peter's here, I saw him just now, but what about the others?"

He went on to explain how they hadn't been invited yet.

Later on, you begged him to at least invite Peni.

He couldn't resist your puppy dog eyes, so he said yes.

Since being introduced into society, you've slowly started getting used to just doing everything here.

You would go into Miguel's office for hours and hours just to be around him.

He was like the father you always wanted!

He would listen to you complain about your family, and he would always lend a shoulder to cry on.

On multiple occasions, he had to carry you back to your bed in your universe because you'd fall asleep in his office on the floor.

You both have gotten close.

Miguel was your emergency contact, always there when you needed him. Despite his intimidating appearance to others, he was never scary to you.

At one point you saw Gwen again, finally!

You were so happy! one step closer to getting everyone together again!

Slowly, you saw everyone again.

..Everyone except Miles.

You didn't understand, why not Miles?

You asked Miguel and he went on a tangent that did not make sense and just made you more confused.

You did get to meet Pavitr and Hobie.

Pavitr was basically your twin! You guys had similar personalities and had twin telepathy.

You and Pavitr were always playing cupid for miles and gwen.

You both were around the same age and everything!

Hobie is SO COOL!

His peircings, his guitar, his clothes, his slang!

You were in awe!

He taught you how to play your guitar! You were finally getting a hang of it!

He was like the older brother you never had!

You wanted to be like him so bad!

Youd follow him around like a duck a lot, but unlike your brothers back home, he'd never yell at you to stop or ignore you, he'd enjoy having you around!

When he and Gwen jokingly said they wanted to start a band, you really wanted to!

A couple of months later, you saw Miles again!

It wasn't in the best circumstances.

You had just gotten back from school. You were in your room scrolling on your phone, when suddenly your spidey senses tingled.

You saw Gwen hop out of a portal in the middle of your room.

"Hey! I kinda sort of need your help."

"what's going on?" you asked, tilting your head in curiosity, putting your phone face down on the bed.

Gwen went on to explain everything you missed.

From Gwen seeing miles to Miles tagging along onto Mamhatten in Pavitr's universe, and then to Miguel's body slamming him into a train and calling everyone to chase him.

Jeez, you don't go to the society for one day and everything goes to shit.

You thought about it for a second, no one would notice you not being here for a couple of days, right?

"..Alright, I've saved the multiverse once, I can do it again."

You sat up on your bed and grabbed your suit.

You grabbed Gwen's arm as she took you to a whole other universe.

After a lot of fighting, you all managed to save Miles's dad.

Seeing their family be happy together made you tear up in happiness.

They deserved to be happy.

After a lot of apologies from all parties, everything was still pretty awkward.

You've probably apologized to Miles over a million times despite him insisting it wasn't your fault.

Sure, you didn't help the others chase him, but you still didn't tell him about society.

Hell, you should've been there to defend him.

You should've yelled at Miguel from the beginning over him not letting Miles in his stupidly exclusive clubhouse.

Instead, you were scared Miguel was gonna bring you back to the manor and disown you, even if you knew he would never do that to you.

You should've stood by miles from the start.

It's never too late to make up for everything

oml this was kinda boring but i needed filler lol

honestly i might write a oneshot of all the spiderkids together

taglist (please tell me if i forgot to tag you!):

@bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla

[damneddamsy]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this Christmas?

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

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

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

And this morning had been one of those times.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took a deep breath in, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Over a year,” Joel fixed smoothly.

“Huh.” Greg nodded.

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

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

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

Greg’s smile faltered just a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maya giggled, cheeks puffing out more steam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leela!”

Joel heard the voice before he saw her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, the world just stopped.

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

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

Joel felt his throat close up. “Ellie.”

X

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie didn’t look up. Not at first.

“So you gonna tell her already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Maya hadn’t cared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She squealed, squirming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take care of you,” she snickered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She frowned around her toothbrush. “Dull.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yes, it already did.

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

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

X

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

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

The right people. Those do-good fucking cunts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have to stop,” he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel inhaled sharply through his nose.

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

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

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

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

X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm. I can do better.”

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

Then—just as she did—he moved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All he ever fucking wanted.

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

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

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

Firm, unrelenting, deep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like hell he was about to fucking let up.

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

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

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

So he gave it all to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel!”

And he didn’t stop. Not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes went wide. “I did that?”

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

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

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

She swallowed hard. Then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel nodded once, firm. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The one who had never gotten to decide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, she goddamn meant it. Stubborn kid.

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

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

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

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

But wasn’t that what love was? Protecting them? Keeping them safe, no matter what it costs? Even if it meant they’d never forgive him when he made the hard choices for them.

X

Leela's little giggles carried through the warmth in the glow, squirming under Joel, fingers threading into his hair, gripping without thought.

And that sound—he fucking loved that sound. He grinned against her skin, bit again, firmer this time, just to hear it again, to feel that little flash of light and joy in her, like she was finally letting herself be wanted. Letting herself be held.

And then he climbed, nosing up her ribs, her sternum, pressing his mouth over her heart, sensing it hammering against his lips, wild and unhidden.

Her hands smoothed over him, like testing the strings of a guitar, gliding through his curls, down his jaw, tracing the rough plane of his throat, over his shoulders, his chest. Touching him the way she knew he liked, the way that made him feel like something more than a man with rough hands and too many ghosts.

“Joel?” His name, soft, uncertain. Almost shy.

He lifted his head, finding her eyes, finding the way she watched him, the way she wet her lips.

She smoothed a hand down his chest, fingertips feather-light, following the rise and fall of his breath, tracing each ridge, each scar, committing them to memory. And then, quieter—hesitant, but knowing.

“Do you want to—um—put it inside?”

Christ above. That should’ve been an innocent few words. Put it inside me. Something to smirk at, something to tease her over. But God, the way she said it—soft, like she wasn’t sure she should be saying it at all, but wanted to. The way her lips parted, how her voice went quiet, how her fingers dragged over his ribs, winding into the fuzz there, down, down, trailing heat in their wake.

She reached for her nightdress, carefully plucked the buttons open, so much more sexier when she did it, lifted herself up a little, yanked it over her head and draped it aside.

His stomach tightened, his cock twitched, already aching from just looking at her like this—glistening everywhere, a dusky miracle, warm and ready, legs parted beneath him, wet and waiting.

Joel nodded—too fast, too eager, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not when it came to her.

“Sure, honey. Yeah,” he rasped, voice rough, barely there, already fumbling with unbuttoning his fly. His hands were shaking, actually shaking, Christ, but he got it undone, got his zipper down, freed himself.

Hot, hard, already leaking against her stomach.

Leela’s breath caught, a small, instinctive sound in the back of her throat. Her lashes fluttered as her gaze flickered downward, wide-eyed, her lips parting, breath turning shallow.

“Please,” he tried, hoping she would take the hint.

She hesitated for just a second before her fingers wound around him—delicate, cautious, still learning him, still getting used to the stiffness and heat of him in her grasp.

Joel sucked in a sharp breath, his hips jerking into her fist, completely out of his control. The touch wasn’t even tight, wasn’t even sure, but fuck, it was his goddamn girl, and that did it for him. His fingers tightened against her waist, digging in, as if grounding himself in her, in this moment, in the softness of her skin around him.

And then she looked up at him—a little sceptical, but wanting him anyway. Wanting him.

That hit him deep. That did something worse than arousal, worse than need. It twisted through his ribs like a fish hook, unaware and sharp, leaving him breathless.

He leaned in, urging their foreheads together, drinking her in like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“You with me?” A plea as much as a question.

Leela nodded, her nose stroking his, breaths soft. “Always.”

And that was all he needed.

He kissed her then—deep, slow, sinking into her like he could crawl inside, like he could get closer than skin, closer than breath. His hands roamed over her, memorizing her like a man starved, like she was holy, transient, and he had to push her into his hands, his mouth, his memory before the moment slipped away.

She was all his warmth beneath him, quiet sighs and tremors, fingers tracing slow, aching patterns over his back and shoulders, waiting for him.

And Christ, he wanted to give her everything.

Joel settled between her legs, powerful thighs bearing up hers that bracketed his hips, and the heat of her—the sheer, impossible heat of her—made his head spin, made his pulse hammer in his throat, made his grip tighten against her like she might evaporate if he wasn’t careful.

The last shreds of restraint in him frayed, pulled apart by the way she looked at him, by the way she breathed him in.

His heart was a battering ram in his chest, slamming against his ribs, a rhythm only she could pull from him.

He wanted to remember this. Not just the way she felt beneath him, soft and warm and willing, but the way she looked at him—like she trusted him, like she wanted him, not just in this way but in a way he didn’t know how to name.

His hand slipped between their bodies, guiding himself, the other cradling her face, thumb sweeping slow over her cheek, tracing the corner of her mouth.

Joel clenched his jaw, swallowed thickly, and let himself memorize her. Because he had to remember this. He didn't know when he'd do this again.

And then—he pushed in.

Gradually. Painstaking. Inch by inch. Sinking into her. Into that breathtaking heat, that unbelievable tightness, into all of her.

A gasp tore from Leela’s throat, sharp and caught, her nails biting into his back, dragging up, her whole body tensing beneath him.

Joel groaned, rough, broken, the sound shuddering from deep in his chest.

His forehead dropped to hers, breath uneven, harsh, like he’d just been knocked off his damn feet. Because, no, not even after a decade into this would he get used to it.

He felt everything. The heat, the softness, the cushioning stretch around him, the way her body clung to him, wrapped around him, pulling him in. Taking him in, welcoming him in.

“Goddamnit, baby…” His voice came out strained, barely there, just breath and heat.

Leela shuddered, exhaling in a stuttering breath against his lips.

Her fingers curled into his hair, gripping tight, and he could feel her trembling beneath him, every little hitch in her breath sending him to a free fall. But she didn’t pull away.

No—she arched into him instead, drawn to him, pressing herself closer, holding onto him like she needed him just as much as he needed her.

Joel clenched his jaw, forced himself to still, to breathe, to let her adjust. His hands soothed over her, one stroking slow along her hip, the other slipping into her hair, cradling her, holding her.

Yeah, he wasn’t some young buck anymore. And Christ, he felt it now. Felt it in the deep-set aches in his joints, the dull protest in his bad knee, the slow burn in his lower back where years of hard labour and harder living had left their mark. Felt it in the way his breath came harder, rougher, how his body was slower to catch up to the fire in his blood.

It wasn’t new. Wasn’t something he complained about—because what was the use? His body wasn’t what it used to be. That was just a fact.

And Leela—well, she was younger. Not some girl, not by a long shot, but still, there were nights he glanced at her beside him, and caught himself wondering—what the hell was she doing with him? With a man who hurt more than he moved, whose reflexes weren’t what they used to be, whose hands bore the years in thick, rough calluses.

Joel didn’t know how to explain it—what was happening to him in that moment. What was settling deep in his chest like a slow, burning ember, lighting him up from the inside in a way that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with her.

No person on this shitty planet deserved any of what she did for him.

The way Leela moved beneath him, not with urgency, but with a kind of quiet knowing—like she understood him down to the marrow.

It wasn’t just the way she adjusted her body so his weight wouldn’t bear down too hard on his back, accommodating him to rest on her, or how her legs curled tighter around him, drawing him in, deeper, to give his knees something solid to press into. It was how she didn’t make it a conversation, or a concern, or some goddamn mercy.

She simply… let him be. Let him be a man with age in his bones, with pain in him and knots in his shoulders, and still, still, looked at him like he was the only man she wanted. He was enough for her, making her feel this.

More than the fucking, this felt a lot more like love.

Joel grinned a lazy one, nipping a kiss to her jaw, murmuring against her skin. “How’d you know?”

Leela’s fingers curled against the back of his neck, threading into the softer curls there. “I just felt it.”

Of course, she did. She always did.

Joel groaned against her throat, his thrusts growing deeper, surer, like he was trying to carve himself into her, leave something of himself behind. He wanted to thank her in the only way he knew how.

He kept to the tempo. Circle, push, circle, push.

Until Leela gasped, nails biting into his back, her body rising to meet his. Her breath was uneven, her voice the barest whisper.

“Joel—!”

Right there, yeah. He found that sweet spot. He breathed her in with a victorious grin, nose tracing against her shoulder, low and ragged, his chest pressing to hers, his hands wandering in adoring sweeps—over her hips, her waist, the curve of her spine.

“Wanna give you everything. Everything, take everything,” he said, the words rough and meant only for her.

At that exact spot. Circle, push, circle, push, circle, push.

Because he knew what it took for her to open up like this. Knew what kind of ghosts she’d had to stare down just to let someone in—to let him in. She wasn’t a woman who gave herself lightly. She didn’t owe him this. She didn’t give because she was afraid of being alone or needed something to fill a space.

Joel—God help him—he felt like his heart couldn’t hold all of it.

His lips brushed against her cheek, the bridge of her nose, slow, reverent, until their mouths met, and he kissed her—tongue roaming, teeth knocking, like he was trying to pour something real into the space between them.

“Feel so good,” he murmured into her mouth, voice frayed, like barbed wire catching on skin. “So damn good, baby. You don’t even know.”

A gentle pull at his curls and an echoing moan had him reeling. He groaned, forehead pressing to hers, sweat beading at his brow, spine screaming at the strain—but he didn’t pull away. Not yet. Not when she felt like this, sounded like that.

Circle, push, circle, push, circle, push, push, push—

Joel could feel her getting close. Best damn thing in his life, that's for sure.

He could feel it in the way her breath hitched, in the little shudders that ran through her body, in how she clenched around him—tight, fluttering, like she was right there, teetering on the edge. This might just be it.

And this time, this time, there was no pulling back. No hesitation. No slipping out of reach like before—where her body had tensed and her eyes had gone glassy and distant, that wall confusedly sliding back into place, shutting him out without a word.

No, tonight was different.

Tonight, she stayed with him. Held onto him. Let him see her.

And Joel felt his own climax building—not just in himself, the tight, coiled tension in his spine—but in her.

He slowed, deepened his thrusts, each one thick with ache and purpose, his breath coming hard and uneven, gruff voice encouraging. “You gonna come for me, baby? You feel that?”

Leela nodded, fast, her mouth falling open, a whine catching in her throat. Her hands were in his hair, holding him close, her thighs locked around his hips, skin slick, hot, quivering.

“Say it f'me, now. Need that smartass head of yours to know. Tell me.”

She started in a whisper. “I'm gonna—” one greedy slam of his hips and she cried out, “gonna come!”

“Yeah, you are. Gonna make a mess all over me.” Joel gritted his teeth, a fresh wave of heat breaking over him. He was sweating hard now, the kind of sweat that came with effort, with strain, with love like this—not frantic, not desperate, but fierce. Devoted. He had this in the bag.

A bead of sweat slid down his temple, another dripping from his jaw, splashing hot against the swell of her pulsing breasts. God, so fucking sexy. Unfairly sexy.

She gasped—not from discomfort, but from how deeply he filled her, how close she was, how it all felt.

Her body arched, and he felt the tension spiral tight—so tight—under his hands.

“Thaaat’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, “come on, let go f'me. Such a good girl.”

The air between them was thick, the rhythm of their bodies like a heartbeat, their skin slapping softly, wet and warm and intimate, it felt too surreal. The sounds were bare, natural—Leela’s tiny gasps, Joel’s deep grunts, the slick slide of skin on skin, the creak of the bedsprings beneath them.

“You’re doin’ so good,” Joel rasped, his hand cradling her cheek, thumb brushing under her eye, “that’s it, darlin'. I got you. Come on.”

And then—she broke.

“Joel!”

Her body seized around him, back arching, a high, wrecked whimper tearing from her throat—raw and real and so damn incredible it hit him like a freight train. Joel felt her come apart underneath him, clenching, fluttering, her limbs trembling, thighs tightening, fingers digging into his back like she didn’t know how else to stay tethered to the earth.

Her release hit hard around him, rolling through her in wave after wave, hips jerking, breath catching, chest pushed tight to his. And Jesus, she held on. Clung to him like she wasn’t afraid anymore.

All it took was that. Joel was undone.

The way she came for him, the way she gave him that—trusted him with that—a broken, breathless sound ripped from his chest as he followed her over the edge, everything tightening—his thighs, his spine, the aching stretch of his lower back—and he spilled into her, wrung all of him out, deep, full, trembling like a man who hadn’t known softness in years. He held her close, rested his forehead to hers, breaths harsh, the kind of release that didn’t just steal his strength—it stripped him down to the bone.

There was no disappointment this time. No silence. No turning away. No false promises.

Just Leela, breathless and dazed beneath him, her arms still around his neck, her heart thudding wildly against his chest.

Joel stayed there, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin, his hand smoothing down the side of her thigh. He couldn't let go; if he did, he’d lose the one good thing he still had. Within him, he felt raw, scraped clean. As if something old had finally broken open and something new had taken its place.

He was feeling the burn right in his bones, alright. Worth it. Every slow ache, every deep pull of soreness? Worth it.

How was this time much better than the first? Maybe it was how he knew the terrain of her body, all the dips, the curves, the valleys. Maybe this was the way it was going to be, the next one always besting the first. Good, he could use a bit of that excitement from time to time.

“Goddamn,” he mumbled. “That's my girl.”

And she smiled—barely there, exhausted and dazed and flawless. One of those little Leela-smiles that barely tugged at her mouth but said everything.

Her eyes blinked open slowly, gaze hazy and warm. She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

For the first time in too many years, Joel didn’t feel like he was chasing something he couldn’t hold. He didn’t feel like he was trying to fix what had already broken. He didn’t feel like he was failing someone.

He felt like he’d given her a new reality. And she'd taken it. Held it. Come apart with it.

Her thumb lingered at the edge of his mouth, tracing over the rough bristle of his beard. Joel let her, watching her through half-lidded eyes, too damn comfortable—too damn content—to move just yet.

Then, deliberately, he dipped his head and caught her thumb between his teeth. Just a little pressure, just enough to make her giggle.

Leela shifted beneath him, her fingers still trailing over his jaw, drifting down the column of his throat, tracing absent-minded shapes into his damp skin.

Then, her gaze flicked downward. He watched her, half-lidded, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as her brows lifted just a little. He could practically see the realization dawn on her face, could feel the way her body tensed just slightly beneath him.

“Why are you still inside?” she whispered.

“Wanna keep feelin' you. Best nook in the world.”

“Nook!”

And then—she dropped her head back and laughed. A real big laugh, one that could've woken Maya right up. Breathless and unfiltered, shaking both of them right where he still was—deep inside her, buried in the heat they’d made together.

Joel propped himself up on an elbow, watching her with the kind of fond disbelief that had been sneaking up on him more and more lately. The kind that made him feel like he was standing too close to the sun, and somehow, it wasn’t burning him alive.

Her laughter fizzled into breathless stupor, and she reached down between them, fingers grazing her own skin, the slick mess he’d left inside her. She was flushed and glowing and completely disarmed—this beautiful, brilliant creature half-dazed from how thoroughly he’d loved her.

“I am so wet,” she giggled, almost amazed—like she was taking inventory, like she was cataloging the sensation, her big science brain working even now. Marveling at her own body, her own pleasure—his doing.

Joel huffed a laugh, watching her hand linger where he was still seated inside her. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, hoarse. “That’s ‘cause I filled you right up. Feel that?”

He slid his hand over hers, guided it lower, toward that soft pressure, until she felt exactly where they were joined—her swollen, sensitive folds stretched around him, the sticky heat dripping out around his length.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t,” he added, lips brushing her jaw, his voice dark and a little smug now, all gravel and honey. “Felt you take every drop. My girl.”

She shivered.

He was still hard, still inside her, and now he rolled his hips just once—willful, greedy as fuck—letting her feel the way she squeezed around him, the aftershocks still rippling through her.

Leela moaned, body twitching with oversensitivity, but her eyes fluttered open—glassine, gentle and loving. And fuck if he didn’t want to sink back into her all over again.

He liked this quiet after with her. The comedown. The afterglow. Oh yeah, he was luxuriating. It wasn't silence—not really—but that comfortable kind of quiet, where everything was still warm, where he could just be with her, where their breath was still slowing together, tangled up in something that felt more real than anything he had words for.

Leela turned her head, sighing, meeting his gaze, brow furrowing slightly.

She was thinking. And fuck. Joel knew that look.

That faraway gleam in her eye, the way her mouth twisted like she was mid-thesis. It meant she was about to crack the entire moment open with some clinical, over-intelligent monologue that would have his brain short-circuiting—turning this molten, messy, perfect aftermath into a goddamn science lecture.

And he just couldn’t have that. Not now. Not when he was still inside her. Not when she was glowing and flushed and breathing like that.

So he cut her off the only way he knew how—his mouth, slow and unhurried, trailing down the delicate column of her throat, dragging over the heat of her skin, still damp with sweat. Let his mouth roam over her breast, tongue flicking lazily, tasting the salt on her skin, leaving a wet track, the warmth still lingering there, and he groaned against her. Possessive. Content. Still hungry.

“Oh, Christ, you’re gonna start talkin’,” he muttered, words muffled by the perfect weight of her in his mouth.

She ignored him, playing with his curls absently. “You know what? I think I finally understand the physiological means at play—”

Joel growled, deep in his throat, rolling his tongue around her nipple. “Don’t do it,” he warned.

She kept going. Of course she did. “Listen, it’s not just blood flow, Joel. Amazing, right? It’s the whole nervous system—my body registers stimuli—”

He bit her.

Not hard. Just enough to make her yelp. Just enough to leave a little mark. A love bite. A warning. She swatted at his head, already giggling as she squirmed beneath him.

He grinned against her skin, running his tongue over the spot in apology, soothing the mark. “Thought I told you to knock it off.”

Leela huffed, exasperated but smiling, palm flat against his chest like she might push him off of her. But no, never. Not really.

Joel caught her wrist, slow and firm, and pinned it to the mattress beside her head. Brought his mouth back to hers, hovering just above.

“Next time you start talkin’ again,” he rasped, brushing the words against her lips, “I’m gonna make sure you can’t get a single word out. Just like this.”

He dipped his hips, just enough to remind her he was still there, thick and deep, still throbbing inside her.

“Sounds fair to you, smartass?”

And the look in her eyes when she nodded? Had him grinning like a damn fool. Another open-mouthed kiss to the underside of her breast before he was going easy on her, pulling out of her and back, bracing himself above her again.

Leela let out a contented sigh, stretching like a purring cat beneath him, and he just took a second to look at her. All sprawled out. All soft, spent, smelling of him and filled with his come. Why would he ever move when his view was this good?

But he should probably move. Should probably clean her up, maybe get some more food in his system. He was utterly sapped, but when he felt her curious fingers drifting, absently over his shoulder, his back, tracing back up to his jaw, the trail of hair down his chest, stroked across his ribs then—

“Don’t start with me,” he murmured, preemptively, because he knew that look in her eye.

Leela blinked, all too innocent. “What?”

“At least let me grab somethin’ to eat before we get to the clinic.”

Leela propped herself up on her elbows, anxious eyes flicking over his face. “Oh my god. Did I send you into cardiac arrest? Was it that intense?”

Joel snorted, rolling onto his back beside her with a tired grunt, relieving the pangs up his spine. “Figure of speech. I’m not dyin’ with ‘killed in orgasm’ on my epitaph.”

Leela dropped her head against his shoulder, shaking with laughter again. She exhaled against his chest, still grinning. “Why do you talk about death so much after...?”

Joel groaned. “I do not—”

“You do.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Christ.”

Leela lifted her head off him, her fingers skimming absently over the scar on his stomach, delineating a slow, thoughtful path on the uneven edges.

Joel shot her a look. “Leela.”

She blinked up at him, all naïveté, though her fingers were still moving.

“I just think it’s fascinating,” she mused. “Is it because of the endorphin drop? Or maybe it’s more of a psychological—”

Joel rolled them, pinning her beneath him again with a huff, pressing his forehead against hers. If she wanted a third, she was getting a third. It was Christmas, he'd give her a fourth and fifth, too, and face all the consequences in the morning.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, dropping an unhurried kiss to her lips. “Now, you've really done it.”

X

“You don’t have to lose this, Joel.”

Ellie saw it in his eyes. All of it.

Saw the way his shoulders had gone tight, the way that darkness, so raw, dashed behind his eyes. The way his whole body coiled like he was bracing for a blow he couldn’t take.

And for a second—just a second—she softened. The anger didn’t vanish, not completely, but it damped the edges. Beneath the frustration, the hurt, the sheer stubbornness of it all, there was understanding.

Because for as much as she wanted to push against him, for as much as she wanted to be right—she still fucking cared about his ass. About him. About the life he’d built here. About every step he'd taken to give himself that. And she knew he cared, too. Too much. That was the problem.

Ellie exhaled, her breath curling in the cold. The space between them stretched, thin and brittle, like the ice that formed along the edges of the rooftops in winter—one wrong move and it would crack, and there’d be no stopping the fall.

She tipped her head slightly, studying him. Like she was trying to see inside his head, figure out how the gears turned, how the walls had been built so damn high.

His jaw clenched. The muscles ticked, the tension burning through him like a slow, smoldering fire. “Kid, I don’t need you to—”

She shook her head, cutting him off before he could finish. “No, I know. You think if she finds out, she’ll leave you.” Her voice wasn’t unkind. Just certain. “And maybe she will. But maybe she won’t.” She hesitated. “You don’t know that.”

Joel swallowed hard, his throat working against the lump rising there. His hands flexed at his sides, clenching and unclenching, like they needed something to hold onto. Like they were looking for a fight, but there was no fight to be had.

His voice came out rough, hoarse. Quiet. Like he was afraid saying it too loud would make it real. “And if she gets herself... killed?”

Ellie’s gaze flickered.

There it was. Not just the stubbornness. Not just the fear of repeating the past.

The grief. The bone-deep, gut-wrenching terror of watching someone else die for something they believed in. Joel had been here before. She knew that. She also knew it didn’t change the truth.

Ellie let out a slow breath, shoulders shifting with it. When she spoke, her voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t even particularly strong. But the firmness couldn't be denied.

“Then you trust her to make the right call.”

Joel’s pulse thundered in his ears.

Trust. That was what she was asking for. Not just for Leela. For him. To trust that if he let go—even just a little—the world wouldn’t fall apart. That not every choice had to be his.

He couldn’t breathe.

Because the truth was, he didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust himself.

He knew what happened when you let go. When you left things in someone else’s hands. The Fireflies had proven that. Salt Lake had proven that. He’d come too close to losing Ellie—to losing everything—and he couldn’t. God, he couldn’t ever.

Fear had constructed a home inside him a long time ago, and he’d let it stay. Let it bow into his bones, let it keep him moving, keep him surviving, keep him from making the kind of mistakes that got people killed.

This was not about survival. It was about choices. And he was stealing it from her.

His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling, uncurling. His breaths came quick, his whole body was coiled, taut, like something about to snap.

Ellie studied him a moment longer. And then—quietly—she gave him an out.

“You tell her, Joel. I don't care when, but you're gonna tell her before I do.”

She didn’t say it cruelly. Didn’t wield it like a weapon. Just a fact.

A choice. A small, simple one. But a choice, all the same.

She turned for her door before he could answer, before he could say a damn thing at her, leaving him there—standing in the cold, alone. Watching the space between them widen

Pushing him away. Again, again, and again.

X

Joel felt every damn inch of last night in his body.

His back ached, deep and determined. His thighs burned like he’d run halfway across Texas. And his arms—hell, they’d felt strong enough to hold up the whole damn world last night, but now? Large. Leaden. Like he’d spent the night hauling lumber instead of ploughing his girl down into the mattress and making her moan.

Still worth it.

He pushed a hand into his eyes, scrubbing sleep out before Leela's aggravated exclamation pierced the stillness like an ill-timed cuckoo clock.

“No, no, no—don't make me wake Daddy up!”

Joel winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. But still, that stupid smile bloomed on his lips.

Maya had her own shrill objection in return. “No, Mama!”

“Then get in here and finish your breakfast right now.”

Oh yeah, their baby girl had definitely slunk off into the blackberry brambles outside the kitchen door. It hadn't taken him too long for them to sprout once he set them in the beds a few months ago, especially after he found out it was Maya's favourite snack.

Joel eventually forced himself upright, taking longer than he wanted to admit, shoving the covers off with a grunt, rolling his complaining shoulders until his back gave a nice, satisfying crack. That was how he knew he was sleeping better. Real sleep—the kind he hadn’t had in decades. His ears didn’t ring, and he didn’t have to sit there for ten full minutes, waiting for the will to drag himself up.

It still felt strange, some mornings. Waking up without the usual dread clawing at his throat. That didn’t mean he took it for granted.

Eventually, he hauled himself into the shower, knees popping, let the water beat down on him, sadly washing away all the sex, sweat and Leela off him. He dragged on something half-decent, and while combing a rough hand through his damp hair, he crossed the room, caught movement outside his window.

Maya, right where he thought she'd be. That little menace. Out in the yard, barefoot in the snowed down grass, thoughtfully picking at the blackberry bushes like she wasn’t covered in scrapes from doing the same thing yesterday. He knew those nasty thorns. Knew her damn stubborn streak even better. And, sure as the sun, before he could even get the window open to warn her—

“How many times do I gotta tell you? Wait for me. Honey, you’re gonna get—”

“Ow!”

Joel sighed, hanging his head. “—hurt. Goddamnit.”

But she didn’t cry. Didn’t run inside calling for her mama. Just sucked at her scratched-up fingers, picked the thorns off her jacket sleeves, and went back to stuffing her mouth with berries—ripe, unripe, no difference at all to her.

“Yum-yum-yum,” he heard her whisper.

Leela was gonna have her ass if she came in covered in scratches again. And he was going to be the one to clean her up.

Joel shut the window and took off downstairs, shaking his head. And nearly swerved right into the wall at the kitchen entrance. Because—damn.

Would he ever get over this? Over her?

Leela stood at the stove on the island, in front of a sizzling griddle of bacon, dark hair twisted up in a towel, skin fresh and bare, scented with lemons.

The nightdress she wore today from her usual rotation was soft grey, thin-strapped, slipping from the curve of her shoulder. Matched his shirt, the one he’d buttoned on this morning without thinking. And her face—

Jesus, there were a thousand ways to love her, but this? This was the one that got him in the gut. When she was just that sleepy, persistent, clever girl. Stripped of all the careful edges she carried through the day. When she was still shower-warm, soft with sleep, her face stark and beautiful in the morning quiet. He was a lucky, lucky bastard.

She glanced up and caught him staring. A slow, lazy, heart-breaking grin. Her voice warm as honey, came out with, “Good morning, Joel.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, smiling. “Mornin’.”

He made it to her side, hands finding her hips, pressing close, pressing in, letting his nose graze against the damp skin of her nape before kissing the spot, slow and deep. He saw her skin prickle up when he did, bowing his neck to hide a smile.

“What's our number now, hm? Five? Six? Damn near broke me last night.”

Leela bit her lip, trying to hide a smirk.

“And I said I'd fix you,” she said, flat, not an ounce of sympathy in her voice. Casually flipped the bacon over. “See? I'm fixing you a big, fat breakfast.”

Joel gave her ass a playful squeeze. “So wifed up for Daddy.”

He leaned in again, lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. But then—she whipped the spatula up between them, blocking his next move, eyebrows arched. “Joel.”

He deadpanned. “Leela.”

She smacked his chest lightly with the spatula. “Hands off, please.”

Joel hummed, letting his teeth scrape lightly along the shell of her ear. “You loved my hands last night.”

She turned back to the stove. “I love not burning breakfast.”

Joel reached past her and plucked the spatula from her fingers. “I got this,” he murmured, tugging her even closer. “You just take it easy.”

Leela glanced him up and down, assessing. Gave him one last suspicious peek before backing away. Joel shook his head, grinning to himself as he took over the stove, the sound of bacon sizzling beneath his hand.

She smothered a laugh, already reaching for the coffee pot. “Look at that—Joel Miller making something that isn’t coffee for once.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “You’ve been around Tommy way too much. Sounding like that little fucker.”

Not that Joel was showing off. But—yeah. He was. Look, he'd been practising for weeks just to impress her.

He cracked two eggs, smooth and clean, and whisked them up quick with a fork. Salted them good, peppered them up. Poured them into the pan, waited just long enough for the edges to set, then, wrist flick—cue the flip. Boom. Scraped them right onto her plate, firm, perfectly golden, just the way she liked them. Unlike the way he liked them—over-easy, yolk spilling out over the toast.

Leela, however, unimpressed, lifted a brow.

Joel leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, chin ticking up. Go on. Say it.

She just smirked, cutting into the eggs. “Do you want a medal for making eggs?”

He reached up to brush a thumb over her bottom lip. “A gold one to bite on.”

She rolled her eyes. But the corner of her mouth twitched, betraying her.

Joel turned away, glancing out the screen door behind him. A fresh dusting of snow was still coming down in slow, lazy drifts.

Maya was still tangled in the blackberry brambles, completely ignoring the fresh scratches blooming on her wrists and a tiny cut on her cheek. She was in deep, reaching further, wincing every now and then, but never stopping. Stubborn little thing.

“Maya, get your peanut butt in here before you freeze,” he called.

She turned to look at him, grinning wide, cheeks puffed out, berry-stained. “Mmmmno.”

Joel clicked his tongue. “Mm. Fine.” He reached for the screen door lock and latched it shut. “Stay the hell outside.”

For a second, she just blinked at him, unbothered. But then—realization. Her little fingers flexed in the air, and suddenly she was moving. She ran to the deck, curls bouncing, using all her might to clamber up the three little steps, baby boots thunking, hands full of berries.

“Da-da?” she called like she'd just been betrayed.

Joel ignored her, reaching for the coffee pot instead. Poured himself a slow cup, breathed deep, and let the steam curl up in ribbons into the morning air.

“Da-da!” Maya exclaimed. Then, for backup—“Mama, mama!”

Joel barely glanced up. “Mama's on my side. You got yourself into this, baby girl. Shoulda listened to me.”

Joel hid his smirk behind the rim of his mug, watching from the corner of his eye as Maya tiptoed, huffing and whining, arms stretched high, teeny arms attempting to stretch for the knob. Not a single bit of regret.

“Oh, Joel, open the door. Poor thing,” Leela murmured to him.

He pointed at her from his mug-holding hand. “Don't fall for that. It's what she wants. Goddamn spoilt for trouble.”

But he was weak. Weak and pathetic. But it was about to happen, like the countless other times before.

Maya had made a calculated decision: push Daddy’s patience right up to the edge. Dangle her toes over the line, and make eye contact while doing it. Then—the grand fucking finale.

A full-bodied, betrayed-to-their-core meltdown. Bottom lip trembling, berries angrily tossed to the wooden boards, brows screwing together, a cry pulling straight from her little belly. She was a genius little manipulator. Joel could practically see the gears turning in her head—how long she could hold out, how fast she could weaponize those big, Bambi-brown eyes.

And, she won. Every single time.

Joel sighed, already defeated, and set his coffee down. He reached for the lock, slow, resisting, but really? He was already gone.

The second he nudged the door open, Maya barreled inside, practically collapsing against his legs, her whole little body shaking with the effort of her Oscar-worthy sobs.

She clung to his jeans, damp little fingers curling into the fabric like she’d just narrowly survived the harshest winter known to man.

“Da-da,” she wept, mouth wide, tears wetting her cheeks, dramatic as hell.

Joel sighed, rubbing a rough palm over his face before scooping her up. “C’mere.”

The second she landed in his arms, Maya melted. Like the tragedy of the last thirty seconds had never even happened.

She sank into him, berry-stained mouth pressing into his collarbone, curls tickling his neck, those sticky little hands smushing his face between them, kneading at his scruff and cheeks like he was made of playdough.

Joel sighed, tilting his head back against the fridge. “You’re playin’ me every time, baby girl.”

Maya beamed up at him, all wet cheeks and gap-toothed triumph. It was disgusting, the absolute glee. She hadn’t just won—she’d obliterated him.

Leela, across the kitchen, was no help whatsoever. Just sipped her coffee real slow, entirely too pleased.

Joel huffed, shaking his head, but pulled Maya closer anyway, pressing a grumbling kiss to her curls. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t even say it.”

Leela smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she lifted her cup to her lips. “Didn’t have to.”

Soon enough, he'd ushered himself to the breakfast nook, settling back, bench creaking softly beneath him. The cushion had lost some of its firmness, the corners curling, fabric rubbed raw from the times Maya had clambered across it in her little socks, chasing sparrows like a puppy.

Leela paddled close behind, carrying her breakfast and Maya's, baby girl at her feet, clutching her dress, face wiped clean now, and coughing a little from the cold.

Joel shifted, noticing that cough, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Heater’s kickin’ on kinda slow again.”

Leela set the bowls down, gave him a look. “You mean the one you said didn’t need fixing?”

“Didn’t need fixin’ last week,” he muttered.

Grabbing his fork, ready to dig into his plate, piled high with a nice strip of sausage, two still-warm eggs, bacon crispy the way he liked ot, and a slice of sourdough toast, butter melting into the notches.

An arm outstretched behind Leela, he took in his surroundings.

His kitchen ahead, he singled out as the best space in the house.

Leela's favourite room, even if she spent half her time holed up in that damn basement of hers. He loved how neat she kept it, how it spoke of her quiet rituals and the neatness that came from knowing where everything was. Labelled jars and boxes stacked just right in her lazy cursive scrawl, the intricate little mushroom motif on the backsplash tile, the clean knives slotted in by height, the copper pots and pans hanging scratched and gleaming from the rack above the island.

And his favourite—the wall of ceramic cups, all different colours and shapes, none of which she ever used, but kept up there like some kind of shrine. Collecting dust in their cubical brackets.

He had his own, though. A deep green mug, wide enough to sit firm in his palm, heavy enough to make him feel like he had a real grip in the mornings. She always made sure it was there for him, even if she never said it outright. Just like how she never touched his coffee spoon when she was rearranging the drawers, or how she was working on fixing up that old, fancy cappuccino machine for him.

Their things sat together now. His mug was next to hers on the rack, the dark red one with the tiny chip at the rim, the one she never let go of. His plate stacked alongside hers—hers finer, older, precious, from a set that had belonged to her mother.

Maya’s, though, had their own space. Lined up tidy and sterile, like Leela wanted to keep them untouched by the rest of the house. Kid-sized bowls and ceramic cups, all in soft, neutral colours, because Maya didn’t like anything too bright.

His plate sat untouched. The coffee had gone lukewarm. But he couldn’t take his eyes off them—his girls.

Leela sat across from him, knees drawn close under the table, her nightdress brushing her thighs. Her face was turned down toward Maya, and her hands moved steadily—one curled around a little ceramic bowl, the other bringing a tiny silver spoon up to Maya’s mouth.

Blended porridge. A morning essential for baby girl. With blackberries smashed into near-purple. He winced internally—so many seeds. Maybe he shouldn't have planted those things, it could hurt her little stomach. But Maya took it all. Obedient for once, chewing thoughtfully, her sticky fingers tapping against the wood of the table as she babbled to her mama between bites.

She was pointing to her scratches. “Ow—... mm-mean be-lli-es, Mama. See, see. Ow.”

“I know, baby,” Leela murmured, brushing a thumb across Maya’s cheek where a thorn scratch had already crusted over. “You were so brave. But you’ve got to wait for Da-da.”

“Wait fo' da-da,” Maya repeated dutifully, even as she reached for another bite.

Joel grinned into his mug.

He wanted to take a picture. Not with a camera—Christ, no. That’d be too easy. He wanted to etch it with a chisel. Burn it straight into his soul. Freeze this one sliver of morning like amber, hold it somewhere eternal, so even when time came clawing, when the world turned crueller—this would still be there. Untouched.

The light was soft, pouring in through the frost-laced window, silvering everything it touched. It kissed the slope of Leela’s cheekbone, caught the copper in her lashes. And Maya—God, Maya. Her curls were lit like a halo, tiny nails still carrying the stains of her berry mischiefs, lips sticky as she babbled away.

The record player crackled from the living room, some funky rap tune threading through the air, not to his taste. Yet, everything felt warm. Real. Good.

It was so much. Too much.

And he knew, with that dull ache behind his ribs, that it wouldn’t last forever. Mornings like this—soft, slow, untouched by worry—were the rarest kind. The kind the world didn’t let a man keep. So he held onto it. White-knuckled.

He watched as Leela licked the corner of her thumb and gently wiped a smear of berry from Maya’s chin. Watched as Maya leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded, content as a cat in the sun. No resistance. No fear. Just easy love.

Joel leaned back slightly, coffee cooling between his fingers, the other hand resting low over his stomach—where the echo of last night still thrummed. Her. All her. He would die for that trust if he had to.

“Eat your food, Daddy,” Leela warned, not looking up, voice lilting with that dry affection she saved just for him. “You’ll be a shell of a man by noon.”

Joel grunted, winking when that little honeyed nickname hit him. “You sucked the life outta me, girl. Least you could do is let me sit here and suffer.”

Leela huffed a sigh, but her smile lingered, tucked in the corner of her mouth like a secret.

He finally dug in, scooping a forkful of still-warm eggs, letting the bite settle on his tongue. The bacon was perfect—salty, crisp, just the way he liked it. Maya was halfway through her toast, now telling her mama some long, winding tale about a squirrel she saw yesterday, and Leela listened with full attention, humming at the right parts, dabbing honey from the corner of her mouth with a towel.

Joel soaked it all in, and he didn’t want to move.

Didn’t want to breathe too deep, like the air might shift and knock it all loose—the quiet, the sweetness, the warmth bleeding in through the windows.

But Joel wasn’t the kind of man who got to stay still for long, was he?

Eventually, he set the mug down carefully, as if the sound of it touching the table might wake the morning from whatever fragile spell it was under. Then he pushed up from the bench with a grunt, his hand bracing the table as his knees cracked under him.

“Joel? Want me to get something for you?” she asked, confused.

He waved her off. “Nah, carry on, sweetheart. I'll be right back, gonna check on this damn heater.”

She smiled at him, knowing. “I'll do it later. Come, sit, relax. Sun's so nice today.”

He swallowed, shaking his head. “I got this.”

He crossed behind Leela, brushing her shoulder as he passed—just enough to feel the slope of her bones under his palm—and slipped down the hall, heading for the closet under the stairs.

The latch always stuck, just a little. Had to lift it from the bottom and pull at a slant. He didn’t turn on the light. Just let the shadows welcome him in.

The pack was right where he’d left it, tucked behind the empty storage crate of Christmas stuff they hadn’t gotten around to putting back in the attic. He dragged it out, careful not to let the canvas scrape the walls or alert Leela to check on him.

It was already half-packed. It had been for weeks now.

He crouched, fingers moving over the supplies like a checklist he’d memorized. Water tabs, ammo, and the last map Tommy drew for him. Flashlight. Spare batteries. A couple of cans of rations to last him a few weeks.

Joel lingered, fished in the side pouch for the small tin of oil he used for the revolver. Checked it, capped it, slipped it back.

It wasn’t that he wanted to leave. But he didn’t know what waited for him in LA. Didn’t know if there was anything real left to hope for at all.

And if it went bad… he wouldn’t let it come back here. Wouldn’t let it bleed into his house. Into Leela’s clean little kitchen, or the sound of Maya’s laugh echoing down the hallway.

He tugged the zipper closed and stood. Paused, just for a second. Just to look around. The light from the kitchen reached a little down the hall, spilling across the hardwood. He could hear Leela’s laughing voice, trying to follow the lyrics to the rap song while Maya jabbered along with her.

He squeezed his palm to the wall, breathing in, breathing deep, breathing through, breathing out. He rubbed at the space near his heart, feeling that invisible crack, soothing it.

No turning back now.

Then he turned, and quietly tucked the bag back into place.

X

Joel hadn’t slept. Hadn’t even laid down. There was no use pretending.

Behind his shaking shoulders, the house was still.

That rare kind of stillness that only came in the dark hours before dawn, when even the wind didn’t stir and the world felt like it was holding its breath, suspended, waiting for someone to move first.

Joel didn't.

He stood by the front door, dressed head to toe, gear strapped and jacket zipped. Boots laced tight. Holsters fitted snug, a silent verdict. His pack was full—every inch packed with supplies he might need, every pocket loaded with things he couldn’t risk forgetting. His rifle was slung across it, waiting.

He wasn’t.

His hand flexed at his side, then curled into a fist. He looked at it like it belonged to someone else. Now, if he picked it up, he wouldn’t be Joel anymore. Just a man on a mission. Just another ghost on the road.

He should’ve been gone already, nearly an hour ago. Hell, he told himself he’d leave before the light even touched the windows. He’d promised himself it’d be clean. Sharp. One quick motion. No dragging feet. No second thoughts. No lingering.

But his boots didn’t move.

Instead, he turned—slow, heavy-footed, drawing himself down the hallway, deeper into the house. Like his body was already mourning something his mind refused to name.

He didn’t need to count doors and stairs. His feet knew where to go. He’d walked this very path a hundred times—midnight walks with a bottle in one hand and a wailing baby in the other. The boards beneath his feet creaked like they remembered him.

The nursery door sat half-open, the smallest sliver of the blue blush of pre-dawn bleeding out from the crack beneath. He paused just outside, staring at the grain of the wood like it might rise up and stop him.

His hand hovered over the doorknob for a long time. Too long. Like the wood was hot. Like if he opened it, he wouldn’t be able to walk back out.

Then, with a soft creak, he pushed it open.

The room was quiet but not silent. The hush of the old white noise machine whirred low, and the radiator let out the occasional soft ping, heating the small space with its familiar rhythm, the faint scent of powder and old baby soap. Warm. Lived-in. Gentle.

And in the center of it, curled on her side beneath a blanket patterned with little stars, was Maya.

Joel's heart cracked wide open, giving a low throb.

She was chaos and peace, both at once—one sock halfway off, curls sticking up in every direction, her pacifier lost somewhere on the mattress. Her tiny hand was balled into a fist near her face, her mouth slightly open as she breathed in soft, fluttery snores.

His little miracle.

He stepped in quiet, like the floor itself was sacred, like the air around her might shatter if he breathed too loud. He crouched beside the crib, elbows resting on the railing, just watching her.

A full year of her. Not enough time, not nearly enough. A whole year of firsts and fumbling through fatherhood again. Every moment—her first laugh, her first steps, the first time she reached for him—etched into him like blotches.

And now he might miss the rest.

He wouldn’t see her walk to school with her funny backpack. Wouldn’t hear her say daddy like she really meant it. Wouldn’t see her sing, or scowl like her mama, or run barefoot through the summer grass without holding his hand.

And just like that, the consequences came crashing down.

All the things she’d never know.

If he didn’t come back… she wouldn’t remember him. Not really.

She’d grow up with photos from the Polaroids, old videos on the camcorder. Stories Leela would try to tell—how he always smelled like cedar and flannel, how he was the best singer in Jackson, how he played her favourite ‘comma, comma’ song every night on the porch, soft and slow, until she was giggling her head off on his lap.

Maybe she'd even recall the scratch of his beard when he kissed her cheek goodnight. The feel of his calloused thumb brushing her palm as she fell asleep. Remember how he had brushed her teeth with the gentlest fingers, even when she hated it, or how she liked to hold the clippers when he trimmed her tiny nails, so she felt like she was helping.

But not him. Not the way he knew her.

Not the way he knew how she loved the blackberry brambles behind the house. How she'd squeal and wiggle when he pretended to eat her fingers. How she'd copy everything he did—from the way he wiped his mouth after a sip of beer to the way he said goddammit when he stubbed his toe.

She'd grow up. Learn to read. Learn to argue. Learn to sing. Maybe pick up a guitar like he always swore he’d teach her. And she'd be brilliant. Smartass like her mama. Strong like her too.

And maybe… maybe she’d find bits of him in the quiet moments. In her love of old country songs. In the way she counted the stars. In the way she looked at her hands and wondered where she came from.

He reached down, brushing her tiny fist with his fingertip. None of that would be him.

Her palm twitched, then curled her fingers around his in a soft, instinctive squeeze. Still asleep.

Joel closed his eyes when he felt them sting. “Hey now,” he murmured, barely a whisper. “Don’t do that.”

He leaned down, nose brushing her cheek, and pressed the gentlest kiss to her skin.

She made a tiny noise in her throat, face scrunching as she rolled away, curling into her blanket again.

Goddamn it all. Goddamn this world. Already, his baby girl had carved a place so deep into his soul he couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.

He wiped at his face with the heel of his hand, stifling a chesty cough, then reached down, rolled up her sock again and gently tucked her foot back under the blanket.

“Be nice to your mama ‘til I get back,” he whispered, voice thick, broken down to gravel. His throat closed around the rest. The part he couldn’t say. If I don’t come back.

He went on quietly, breaking. “You hear me? Be good, baby girl.”

He slowly stood back up, bones aching from more than just age, shoulders screaming beneath the weight he hadn’t even picked up yet.

Back at the door, he paused. Turned for one last look. Maya, curled up safe. Unknowing. A piece of his heart he couldn’t take with him.

He stepped back into the hall and turned his eyes toward their bedroom.

The door was wide open. It was worse, somehow. If she’d closed it, maybe it would’ve hurt less. Of all the times he despised open doors...

Leela. His partner. His wife. The smartest goddamn person he’d ever known. And she didn’t even know he was leaving. Didn’t know that he was taking her work—the most beautiful thing she’d ever made, apart from their daughter—and walking it straight into the fire.

Yet there she was—sound asleep on her side, arm resting in the warm, empty space he should’ve been. Her braid trailed over the pillow, thick and unraveled, like a line drawn he couldn't cross. The curve of her waist beneath the blankets rose and fell with every slow breath. Her hand twitched, like it always did when she was dreaming.

He didn’t go in. He didn’t kiss her goodbye.

It was too much. Too cruel.

If he kissed her now, he wouldn’t leave. If she opened her eyes, if she asked him to stay, he’d give up everything. Just to crumble and crawl back under those sheets and pretend the world or these fucking Firefly shits in LA didn’t exist. Pretend the world hadn’t started turning again, like it always did—hungry, relentless, cruel.

The responsibility of the decision sat in his chest like a millstone.

He couldn’t tell Leela.

Because if he did, she’d go. She’d insist. Perhaps, fight back. She’d kiss Maya goodbye and pull her braid back, swing on a measly backpack, and look him in the eye and say, “If there’s a chance to make the world better, I’m going.”

And he’d never stop her. Couldn’t stop her.

So he didn’t give her the choice in the first place.

He’d take the burden instead. The road. The fire. The chance of death. Whatever waited in LA.

If the Fireflies were even real. If this wasn’t just another cruel lie—bait strung up on rusted faith. If all of this wasn’t just another fucking false hope strung up like bait.

But Joel had already seen the ending. He'd already stood in that surgery ward, gun in his hand, red lights flashing, Ellie bleeding somewhere behind a locked door while surgeons prepared to carve hope out of her brain.

He wasn’t doing it again. He couldn’t.

That’s why he didn’t tell Leela.

Why he packed the notebook in secret. Wrapped it in cloth and slid it between rations and bullets, behind the photo of Maya with jam on her cheeks.

Because this wasn’t just numbers. It was her life's work. Her mind. Her goddamn heart, her family's legacy, scrawled in ink—proof that she’d cracked something open the world had long given up on. Proof that she could change everything.

He didn’t know what was left anymore. All he knew was that he couldn’t let the two people he loved most take that risk.

So it would be him. Not Ellie. Not Leela. Him.

If someone was going to carry that discovery to L.A.—risk being gutted, betrayed, used—it was going to be him.

Not the girl he’d once saved. Not the woman he loved. Not his baby girl.

Because they deserved to live. Deserved to wake up in warm beds. To feed Maya mashed pears and read her books, and braid her hair. Deserved time and softness and mornings without fear.

The man who started it. The man who lied to keep Ellie safe. The man who couldn’t bear to see that look on Leela’s face if she had to choose between her family and her fight.

He’d choose for her.

If Leela found out—if it broke her, if she hated him for it, if she never forgave him—so be it. At least she’d be alive.

Accepting that, however half-hearted, Joel stepped out, easing the door shut behind him until it clicked. He stood in the hallway for a second, just breathing deep. Eyes on the wood.

Then he bent down, shouldered the pack, swung the rifle into place.

And without another sound, with the first breath of dawn just starting to warm the sky, Joel Miller walked out into the dark, leaving behind the only thing that ever made him believe the world might still be good.

X

Leela darling,

I’m sorry. I had to go. It’s something I need to do. NOT you.

I took the notebooks and the recorder. I know you’d want to be the one to carry it. I know you’d try but I can’t let you. Not with Maya. Not after everything.

I - I lo - I wanted to find the right -I wish things were -Don't hate -I

This isn't about not trusting you. It’s about loving you too goddamn much to let you die.

If I don't make it back - If I die - If -

I can’t risk you. Not again. I’d rather it be me. So let me do this for you.

Please keep our baby girl safe. I’ll find my way back to you in a bit. I promise. I love you.

—J

X

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[thanksbutno98]

Secret Admirer

John Price x wife!reader OC

Summary: Your Secret Admirer becomes bold enough John Price takes things into his own hands.

Warnings: Stalking, panic attacks, violence, threats of murder, allusions to children being harmed, sexual themes, swearing, not edited.

——————

Summer was cresting and you were having a blast with your family this year. You and John decided to skip doing a holiday and instead focus on your children and the things they wanted to do here. It consisted of many days swimming in the pond, trampoline parks, hiking, museum visits, trips to London, back yard barbecues with all your friends, and numerous camping trips.

You were just coming into work after one of those camping trips, feeling a bit sore. Sleeping on the ground wasn’t the comfiest and when you tried to complain, John shot you down. Telling you, that hefty pay check that hits your bank account was from him sleeping on the ground thousands of miles away. So as your revenge you used him as a pillow and mattress. You slept on top of him so you’d be comfy and kissed him every time he complained and thanked him for the pay check.

It was not a conducive weekend for good work performance. So walking into work you felt worse for wear. Your hair was messier than you liked so you pulled it back into a messy bun that somehow looked cute; which almost never happened. You opted for dark blue jeans instead of slacks, a silk white loose button up, and powder blue heels. The heels were your minimal effort today because you almost broke and wore adidas classics.

“Indy, your husband in the dog house?” Penny one of your long time colleagues and friends asked.

“I mean he did spill his tea all over my favorite blouse this morning- but no.” You were just walking into the museum you worked at and hadn’t seen Penny coming in behind you.

She caught you mid bite of your homemade breakfast wrap, crumbs and sauce decorating the corner of your mouth. With a laugh Penny took it from you and handed you a napkin she had.

Penny didn’t have her coat on and no bag so you assumed she already made it to her desk. Her fiery red hair was neatly tied back, a few of the unmanageable curls framing her face nicely. The freckles on pale skin stood out more today with her bare face and her sweet green eyes were sparkling with mischief. Penny was an endearing, kind, and incredibly smart woman. You felt similarly about her in the way John felt about Soap and Gaz.

“Can I have that back?” After wiping your face you pointed to your breakfast in her hand but she shook her head no.

“Someone sent the whole staff pastries and tea. Marked it as a gift for us from your ‘Secret Admirer.’” Using air quotes she giggled and laced arms with you.

Your eye’s bugged out of your head when Penny tossed your wrap into the trash. You had only gotten two bites and now it was gone. You were about to complain about your food but Penny told you to wait and see because your sweet tooth would be thanking her for tossing it out.

Dragging you upstairs to the offices you two chatted about John and your weekend camping with your kids. You could tell Penny wanted to ask you a few questions about her own ‘admirer’ who you happened to know all too well.

“See!” Penny motioned to the array of pastries laid out in the offices kitchenette.

It was a decent sized room with cream wallpaper that had tiny faded green ferns as the pattern and a sage green wainscoting. When you first walk in, there was the kitchen portion of the break room. The top and bottom cabinets lined the left wall and created an L shape around the corner to the right and stopped three quarters into the room. The cabinet matched the wainscoting, the wood countertops had endless ring stains from coffee mugs. To the right were two round wooden tables with five chairs each.

One entire table was taken up by an assortment of pastries. They were set up as if they were on display, not simply left in boxes for the taking. There were cake stands used and an exquisite vase of tulips placed along side. Almost every pastry you could think of was on this table, even your favorites, they just happened to be the wrong flavor. It was a grandiose sight to see and far past what John would have done; or at least what you saw his normal efforts as. He was also way too busy to get something like this done. Usually he dropped you off lunch or surprised you by taking you out for dinner.

You blinked a few times, absolutely stunned by the sugary display. It took one of your employees thanking you to snap you out of your stupor. Natalie had a plate full of pastries and told you to pass the thank you along to your husband; who was well known here. Being the curator meant you were in charge of mostly everything, thus when your husband stopped by everyone was extra nice to him because he was the bosses husband.

“Oh wow. This must’ve cost a pretty penny.” You whispered eyes scanning over the assortment to pick your first treat.

The white card that was stuck into the red tulips stood out to you. So you reached for it to see what was written inside. In not the neatest handwriting is read ‘Yours Truly.’ It felt a bit romantic but it could be misconstrued.

“John’s so sweet. Think Johnny would ever do something like this for me?” Penny finally asked the question you knew was coming.

“Uhhhh I’m not sure. Soap’s kindaaa-“ You instantly felt caught out as you grabbed a pastry and took a bite. You were hoping that by eating you wouldn’t have to answer the question.

“Yeah, he hasn’t called me back.” Fiddling with the pastry in her hand she stared down with her lips pursed.

You felt incredibly awkward. This was exactly why you told Soap to stay away from Penny. She was easily attached and a hopeless romantic. When she told you Soap asked for her number when him and John stopped by here, you were skeptical. And now here you were being questioned by Penny.

This also wasn’t the first time Soap had done something like this. It was actually the fourth. He claimed you had ‘hot’ friends that you were hiding.

First it was Naomi a good friend from university, then Leena your best friend, Saoirse a mom at Lily’s daycare, and now Penny. Leena you understood, because she went after Soap when you had them over for drinks at the beginning of summer. Naomi you were pissed about because you specifically told Soap not to sleep with your friends and then Naomi called you up telling you Johnny was an asshole who didn’t call her back.

Saoirse kept you out of it, besides one chat at the shop when you had Lily with you. Although you hadn’t heard anything about it since, you were pretty sure they were still hooking up. Siobhan, Saoirse daughter did mention Soap from time to time to Lily and agreed how cool he was. Lily was growing jealous and would make passive aggressive comments that Soap should be spending time with her not Siobhan.

“I’m sorry Penny. I love the guy but I’m not sure how he is with relationships.” You lied with a smile. You didn’t have the heart to tell her he liked to sleep around and you thought he was striking up a relationship with someone else.

“Ugh! I’m so tired of meeting guys who only want to shag and then I never hear from them again.” She bit into her sweet angrily.

“I did not need to know you two slept together.” You laughed. It was obvious they had but you weren’t too keen talking about your employees sex life, even if you and Penny were friends outside of work.

“He’s good in bed, I’ll give him that. Charming, handsome, a little full on himself though.” Penny wasn’t stopping and the over sharing train had left the station.

“Ew I hate that I know that.” Your stomach turned hearing that about Soap. You liked the image of him in your head of the charming, golden retriever friend of your husband’s; not a man whore.

“Uh well I’ll be moving on then. No use in waisting my time on a military man.” Penny nudged you.

“Well, I’m going to call my military man and see how much money he blew doing this.” With a laugh you grabbed an extra pastry to take to your office.

On the walk you took a breath trying to figure out a way to sabotage any more of Soaps advances on your friends. Maybe you’d start a rumor that he played Screamo music while having sex or that he needed a photo of his ex in the room. Anything to keep him from sleeping with another one of your friends.

As you called John you wondered if he would have any ideas. He did know Soap better than you. Maybe he could talk some sense into him.

“Darling, how can I help you.” The raspy tone of your husband’s voice purred down the line.

He was being extra flirty to get on your good side, you knew that. But there wasn’t much he could say since you knew he was at the trampoline park with the kids.

“How much did all that cost?” You giggled at the flirtation.

“All what?” He asked. The sound of children screaming in delight in the background of the call.

“You sent a shit load of pastries to me to give to the staff. Did you not?” Sitting down in your chair you put the phone on speaker and started to go through the mountain of files on your desk.

“Uh, I want to say I did- but no.” John pulled the phone away and you could hear him telling Lily to toughen up or she would have to sit with him while her siblings had fun.

You laughed when you heard her say ‘Thank you! I hate this place.’ and then asked if she could have a sip of his drink. Lily continued to chat endlessly to John on the other end. She mentioned how it smelled gross, things were sticky, and how a little boy sneezed into his hands and then didn’t wash them.

“Hmm, my dad?” You asked taking a bite of your danish and grinning at Lily in the background. She was now asking for pretzels and whining that John told her she had to wait until he was off the phone.

“Your dad? Thats funny.” The joke wasn’t appreciated but you knew John was right. Your dad never tended to do stuff like that. Maybe the occasional flowers here or there but he was a quality time kind of guy.

“Well, whoever did, got it from my favorite bakery. So they clearly like me and know me enough to drop a ton of money. . . Signed it ‘Yours Truly” You laughed.

You had taken the little message with you for no other reason than you found it odd. Taking out the card you were now looking it over again. It was hand written and you thought it looked like male handwriting; but you could be wrong. It was probably a staff member at the bakery who wrote it.

“Bring some home.” John chuckled, not paying too much mind to who got it for you.

It was probably from the director since the museum had been doing so well this summer. There had been talks about you getting a raise since you were able to bring in so much more foot traffic from local schools and hosting events. That and the exhibits you were able to finesse.

“Will do. Love you.” John could hear the smile in your voice

“Love you too.” It was said with confidence which made your heart flutter.

“Mummy I love you! Tell mummy I love her too! Daddy- daddy tell mummy I lover her! Tell her-“

“Lily loves you too.” John chuckled.

“She loves me too right? Did mummy not hear you? Tell her again. Daddy, tell mummy again. Tell her-“

“Love you Lily!” Your voice carried far enough she heard you and you knew that by the way she giggled.

“Mummy’s the best.” Lily spoke in a day dream like state.

And it was that simple to you. It wasn’t John who sent the pasties and flowers, but it didn’t really matter to you who sent them. It was a gift to the staff in your name. It was probably the director or someone who had to do with the museum. You’d find out eventually so you weren’t going to worry about it now; not with this mountain of paper work.

——————

“Pastries again?” You walked into the kitchenette at work to see another spread of delicious goodies.

“Spoiling us Dr. Y/L/N.” Jamie smiled at you as he grabbed two sweets.

“Yeah, uh- you guys deserve it. And call me Indy, not a fan of the formality.” You said off handed as you grabbed a napkin to put your danish on.

You were looking over the spread that was not as nice as the last one since the pastries sat in the pretty boxes from the bakery. It was still the same amount of goodies, but there were your favorites this time. Whereas last time there were some good ones but the wrong flavors.

“Do I need to bring anything to the staff meeting?” He asked as he headed for the door.

“Your appetite, this is a lot of food.” There were still leftovers from two days ago so now you were wondering what was going on. You would have to send people home with some or they’d go to waste.

“Will do!” Jamie waved and left you alone in the break room.

You immediately pulled out your phone and headed to your office. Opening up your call log you saw John’s name as the only person you’d called the past few days. It was a reminder to reach out to your friends but you pushed that aside knowing you’d hear about Soap. So you gave John a call instead.

“Hey-“

“Darling, I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back?” John sounded a bit rushed.

Slipping into your office you plopped down in your chair, confused at the addition to your desk. There were two flower vases on your desk. One was a standard looking bouquet of roses in a glass vase. While the other was at least two dozen red tulips in a large green vase with a pristine, white card attached. Pulling it from the stems you opened it to see a similarly eerie message in the same hand writing.

“Uh, got another delivery of pastries. Again, they came with flowers that say they’re from ‘Yours Truly’.” You ignored John being in a rush and shared this.

It wasn’t unsettling per se but you knew this wasn’t John. The roses could be him, or at least you hoped they were. You didn’t like tulips and you assumed your husband knew that. Roses were the flowers he strictly got you. What was making this start to feel unsettling was the fact tulips were sent with the last bunch of pastries on Monday. They were sitting on the side table next to the couch in your office, wilting away.

“Oh I sent the pastries, didn’t need someone showing me up. And the flowers were from me too.” You may not be able to see it but you could hear John’s cocky smirk.

No wonder there were your favorite pastries then. John knew that kind of stuff about you. It was sweet he noted your mention of not getting what you really wanted because whoever sent the gift didn’t know you that well.

“Trying to get lucky?” You flirted.

It was a sweet gesture, John didn’t have to do over the top things to get into your pants but you loved to pretend he did. It always made him chuckle and that sound was like a rush of endorphins with how giddy it made you.

“Pretty sure I can give you a look and you’ll be dragging me to bed.” There was that deep chuckle again. He was right you both knew it so instead of telling him that, you rolled into your next topic.

“Oh, there’s two bouquets. Ones-“

“Roses.” John finished.

“The others tulips though. I’m not really a fan of-“

“I did not send you tulips. You have never once bought or grown tulips. I wouldn’t waste my money on those.” John spoke so adamantly you wondered if at some point down the line you hammered into his head what flowers you liked and disliked.

“Yeah, that’s the one that had the note that said ‘Yours Truly’.” You sighed.

Your intuition was telling you something was wrong, but you couldn’t explain why. Being the person you were you didn’t want to worry John. You knew he had enough on his mind and nothing had truly happened. It was just anxiety creeping up, it had to be.

“Strange.” John hummed clearly occupied by some task he was doing.

You hummed as you inspected the flowers. They looked expensive, from some high end shop. The vase also seemed incredibly pricey and it made you wonder who had this kind of money. Talks of the neighbor had swirled around your house but this couldn’t be him. You assumed he didn’t make enough money to do this.

“Maybe you have an admirer. You did just hire a bunch of new staff.” John tried to calm you. Something like this could make you spiral and he was trying to get ahead of it.

“Fair. . . Still strange.” You said with a deep sigh.

“Look, I’ve got to go.” John tried to rush you off the phone.

“Love you.” It was said in a distracted sort of way, not with the normal amount of emotion you usually used.

“Love you two. Have fun with your mystery man. . . or woman.” John joked.

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you.” You volleyed back.

“Wouldn’t mind watching. Okay, gotta run.” John chuckled deeply and hung up before you could say another word.

“Cheeky.” You snickered to yourself.

——————

“You were sent more flowers?” John sounded muffled with his cigar in his mouth.

You and John were outside enjoying some fresh air. John was fiddling with the engine of his convertible while you were sat on the back of his truck. The truck was parked in front of the cherry red convertible leaving you and John close and able to chat freely.

Today John wore athletic shorts and a t-shirt from his run not too long ago. You were dress similarly since you joined him and let your two oldest’s hang around the house by themselves for a half hour.

“Yeah. It’s getting creepy now. Whoever it is really likes tulips.” You muttered not wanting John to worry about you.

It was hard to hide how unnerving this was getting. You had tried all avenues to figure out who was sending these gifts. No part of you wanted to involve John because you were scared he’d go nuclear out of a need to protect.

“You ask around?” Looking up from the engine John watched you bite your nails nervously, perched up on the tailgate of his truck.

“Asked at the staff meeting this morning. No one knew who it was. So either someone’s embarrassed or they’re coming from someone not at work.” You were becoming fidgety now.

John pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the engine. It was obvious to him this was really weighing on you. John was always protective of you especially when he sensed a threat. It hadn’t felt that way until today with you telling him this. John truly thought someone at work had a harmless crush on you. It was impossible to avoid and John had been trying to not get jealous this time around. Clearly that was a mistake because whoever this was, was taking it too far.

“Who else would send you stuff that’s not me or your father?” Stepping forward John lightly took your hand away from your mouth and guided it down to hold his.

John smoothed his other rough hand over the top of yours and stared into your eyes. It was a silent way of reassuring you. So you took a breath and decided you should be honest about how bothered this was making you.

“No clue. They’d have to know where I work. . . I’m getting scared, John. I have this feeling in my gut that this is bad. Like really really bad.” You confessed.

John nodded and breathed in deeply. He took a moment to respond, gathering his thoughts first. It was important that he didn’t leave you feeling more anxious but instead helped calm your nerves. He knew in this moment he wasn’t going to allow this to go any further.

“Get security to reject anymore gifts. Actually don’t worry about it. I’ll go in and speak to them while I look into it.” John change his mind mid sentence. He didn’t want you handling this in any capacity. It was his responsibility.

“They’re always there before me or anyone else shows up at work. Thank you, I don’t think I can do this on my own.” Not being able to bite your nails, you were lightly chewing on your lip. The nerves were really getting to you.

“You okay, darling?” John reached out and cupped your face in his free hand the other squeezing yours.

“Yeah. Kinda I guess. If just gives me the heebie-jeebies.” You tried to shrug it off but you were clearly shaken up.

“I’ll handle this. You don’t have to worry.” John spoke with certainty which had you taking a breath of relief.

“I love you.” You said as you hopped off John’s truck.

“Love you too. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” Giving you a hug you melted into John’s chest. He gave you a kiss to your cheek and you nodded at him with a small smile.

“I’m going to get dinner started.” You were still unsettled but John liked your approach of trying to stick to your normal routine. It would hopefully help calm your nerves.

“Mummy!” Lily squealed happily and was slowly running up the driveway to greet you. Her hair was damp and her Star Wars t-shirt was on backwards.

“Did you get dressed all by yourself? How was swimming?” You asked with a kind smile. Squatting down she ran into your arms and hugged you tight.

“I did! I did! Swim was soooo much fun! Papa got in the pool with me after! Then he took me to get sweets at the shop!” Lily was bursting with energy, waving her sugary treats around.

“Hey dad, how was it?” You stood and asked while Lily went over to John for a hug.

“She did amazing. I gotta run though I’m late for a date.” Your dad waved from where he was standing halfway up the drive with his car still running.

“Look, someone gave me a flower for you.” With a giant smile Lily opened up her swim bag and pulled out a beat up tulip with a card tied to the stem.

Your eyes went wide in shock and you quickly looked to John. His eyebrows were knit together and he gave you a quick glance before taking Lily’s bag and searching through it quickly. Lily’s belonging hit the ground, her bathing suit plopping with a wet thud against the asphalt.

“Where’d you get that.” The dread immediately set in.

You tossed the tulip to the ground after taking the little white card off. Opening it you felt your stomach twist, like you might be sick.

‘Yours truly’

And then you noticed the picture of you. You were in your bra getting dressed for bed. The photo was taken through your upstairs window from some distance away. Eyes trained on yourself the photo was slid from your fingers. John was staring at you with gentleness and then smoothed his hand down your back.

“I’ll handle it.” He whispered.

John had dropped what he was doing and immediately flagged down your dad.

That picture was taken from the kids treehouse, there was no other way to snap a picture through your upstairs bedroom window. John would be investigating that later.

“At swim.” Lily looked up at you confused.

“Who gave that to you.” You didn’t mean to but you were forceful when you asked, the fear spilling out of you. Grabbing Lily’s shoulders and squatting down you asked her again, shaking her slightly off impulse.

Your breathing was heavier and it was clear how scared you were to your four year old. All you could think of was how this creep had approached your daughter in a place she should be safe. In a place as vulnerable as a children’s swim class. You could be sick if you weren’t so focused on getting answers.

“I don’t know.” Lily was shell shocked by how serious you had gotten all of a sudden.

You were never like this with her. You were her ‘silly mummy’ who loved to smile and play. You were only ever serious with Jj and Evelyn. Sometimes you were with her when you thought she might get hurt. So why now? Did she almost get hurt?

“Lily, who gave this to you?” You demanded. Picking up the red tulip off the ground you shook it in her face trying to get a response from her.

“Mummy!” Lily began to cry at your rougher than normal touch and angry tone.

Lily thought she was in trouble when she wasn’t. Aggression in any form freaked her out. She didn’t know why you were so upset but she didn’t like it and felt freaked out by it.

“Lily, I need you to tell me.” This only made Lily cry harder so you brought her close to your chest and hugged her.

Frantically looking around you looked to your dad and John who were approaching.

“I didn’t see anyone give her a tulip.” Your dad was by your side now with John.

“Lily.” John pulled Lily from your chest, picked her up, and sat her on the back of his truck so they were almost eye level. She was bawling at this point and sputtering about you being mad at her.

“Stop crying.” John yelled at her.

With wide eyes Lily’s tears dried up and she stared at John looking petrified to have just been yelled at. For once you didn’t mind John yelling at one of the kids. You needed to know who gave that to her. This was the closest you’d gotten to knowing who had been doing all of this and it came at the expense of your daughter’s safety.

“Who gave you that flower.” John demanded.

“Mummy friends.” Lily hiccuped. She looked at you and then back to John. She had a big frown on her face and she started to tug at her hair nervously.

“Was your mummy’s friend a girl or a boy?” John continued his line of questioning. He was forceful, practically barking at his youngest daughter.

“A boy.” She began to sniffle her breathing ragged from holding back her tears. You watched as she squeezed her knees together and became incredibly tense.

“Do I know this boy?” Again another forceful question.

“Daddy I don’t remember!” Lily was hiccuping and starting to hyperventilate. She turned and threw her hands out toward you to take her.

“Lily you have to try and remember. Has this friend come to the house?” Taking her face in his hands John tried to get her to look at him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I have to go to the loo!” Lily was frantic now, her little fists bawled up and absolute terror etched across her face. She was wiggling where she sat, kicking her legs to get John away from her.

“Lily, did you see his face?” John ran his large hand over her head and smoothed down her damp hair to try and calm her down.

“No! I- I just saw the pretty flower and said thank you.” Lily yelled as she started to cough and gag from the held back tears and stress. You felt your chest ache and then immediately your stomach dropped seeing Lily wet herself from fear.

“Did he-“ before John could finish Lily threw up all over the front of him and began to cry hysterically.

“That’s enough, John.” You pushed your husband aside and grabbed Lily and hugged her tight as she began to have what you could only describe as a panic attack.

It didn’t matter you were now covered in fluids, you needed to comfort her. This had to be traumatizing and you would be forever guilty for that. For how you and John just handled this and that you couldn’t keep her safe enough that she wouldn’t be involved in the craziness of what you now considered stalking.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” You held Lily tight as she hyperventilated. John felt horrible he’d never seen Lily this upset before. Deep down he knew this was his fault and now understood what pushing Lily resulted in.

“Peanut I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” John was running his hand over Lily’s hair trying to calm her down.

Turning her head towards him, John thought Lily was going to tell him something. That she would want him to hold her like she did whenever she didn’t feel well. But Lily threw up all over him again.

“Jesus, it’s like she’s aiming for you.” Your dad mumbled, now rubbing Lily’s back as you cooed and swayed.

The unfortunate fact about your dad was he was well revered in having a child who would have inconsolable meltdowns. You had trouble regulating your emotions for a long time after losing your mom as a little girl. It trained your dad in how to help an emotionally fragile child and in turn he gave you many tips and tricks on how to help Lily.

“I didn’t see anyone. The only time Lily was out of my sight was when the instructor took her to the bathroom.” What your dad said made your blood run cold.

Had someone approached Lily in the bathroom?

“Must’ve been then.” John concluded.

You didn’t respond and took Lily inside with you. You sang to her and rubbed her back as she screamed into your chest crying.

“She’s had admirers before but not like what you just told me.” Your dad informed John.

John half listened, his phone already pressed to his ear as he called the swim class and shucked off his soiled shirt.

“Is Lily okay?” Evelyn was distraught as she watched you walk into the house with her little sister.

“Yes, uh- I’m going to give her a bath. Pick out a movie to watch together in my room?” You pulled yourself together so Evelyn couldn’t see the turmoil you were in.

So much had unraveled and you were having trouble keeping yourself in check. For the sake of your children you held on by a thread.

“Okay.” Evelyn was off and ran upstairs ahead of you.

It took some time to calm Lily down. Once you got her in the bath she seemed to catch her breath. Eventually she asked for you to put on music and if she could use a bath bomb. It felt like a weight was lifted off of you when she started acting like her normal self. After her bath Lily was asleep on your bed soon after and cuddling with Evelyn as a movie played.

“Is Lily okay?” Evelyn whispered.

“Someone gave Lily a tulip at swim today. I accidentally was too pushy asking who gave it to her and she thought she was in trouble. So if she mention anything about it would you let me know.” Placing a kiss to Evelyn’s head she seemed to immediately be on board.

“Of course mummy.” She smiled and you went downstairs to talk to John.

On your way down you stopped on the stairs and sat down. With your face in your palms you caught your breath and allowed yourself to cry for a minute and only a minute. You didn’t have time for a break down you had to take care of your family. Your feelings on the matter had to come last.

John was in clean clothes and just putting his shoes on to head out when you walked into the kitchen.

“Where are you going? We need to call-“

“Just got off the phone with her swim instructor.” Walking over John gave you a quick kiss and grabbed his keys.

“And?” You were clutching the collar of your shirt.

John could see you had been crying and as much as he wanted to comfort you he needed to ensure your and Lily’s safety first. He would make time tonight to talk to you and check in.

“She said Lily was with her the entire time. That she looked away for only a minute to ask another instructor something and when she looked back Lily had the flower.” Recounting the message John then slipped his jacket on.

He was incredibly calm which was helping you not freak out. It was clear to you he was going to handle this. Now you needed to trust that and handle everything at home.

“It can’t be a stranger John.” You told him fearfully.

Lily cried at any stranger trying to talk to her or even look at her. For her to take a flower from somebody they either had to be one of those performers at Disneyland dressed as Mickey Mouse, a swim instructor she’s had before, or someone you and John knew.

“No it can’t. She wouldn’t let a stranger talk to her without crying or hiding behind Ms. Stephanie.” John agreed.

“I’m going to go over now and get security to pull up what they can. Lock the doors please. Your dads staying until I get back, he’s in the garden with Jj.”

——————

After the incident with Lily lead to a dead end John had been hyper vigilant. He walked you to your car in the driveway every time you went out now and watched you leave before going back inside. The kids were no longer allowed to play outside without adult supervision. John closed the treehouse for the summer after finding food wrappers that weren’t from them.

John had been staying up and smoking endlessly on the patio in the darkness with his gun and then napping on the couch during the day. It was making his voice incredibly deep and he was much more irritable. You wondered if this was how he was during deployment. Even his eating habits had changed completely and he was living off coffee, protein, and whatever you made and ate it cold from the fridge. It was as if he stripped himself of the luxuries of home in order to keep himself on guard at all times.

John had sat the whole family down at the kitchen table and went over stranger danger like it was a briefing on base. You commended him for his thoroughness and he explained even friends of yours can be scary people. That if they ever felt like someone was even a tiny bit off to come tell you or him immediately. He wanted to know what adults were around when they went to friend’s houses or extracurriculars. Which wasn’t a real issue since you and John pulled your children out of everything and you took work off, not trusting anyone else with them at the moment.

Lily had come around but was holding a grudge towards John. When he would ask her to do things she would get overly defensive and ask if he was going to yell at her again. She had also started wetting the bed at night which left you and John feeling like awful parents.

This had John spoiling her to an extent you’d never seen before, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. Lily clearly needed a lot of extra love after what happened and no longer being able to go to swim. Jj and Evelyn were complaining constantly about being stuck at home during the summer but when you explained things they begrudgingly said they understood. You and John were trying your best to appease them but they missed their friends and their freedom.

Today you and the children were home and you decided since they weren’t going to camp until this was all solved you’d make it a fun one. You had charmingly called it ‘Explosion Day!’ Where you were going to do a bunch of science experiments that resulted in things exploding.

Throughout the day you would be doing fireworks after your spiel on the periodic table and what elements resulted in which colors. You were hell bent they’d learn something by the end of the day. You would have them guess and then set it off but you didn’t want to terrorize your neighbors so you spread it out throughout the day. You even went as far as inviting the neighborhood kids over at the end of the day for a firework show. That way your children could have fun in a controlled environment.

To your surprise everyone with kids very happily agreed and it had turned into a neighborhood get together in your backyard. You were going to have to break the news to John at some point. He wasn’t going to be happy to have so many people over but he’d survive.

You had just sat your kids down after doing one firework and they were all beaming. They wanted more and were excited for the end of the day. It was a win in your book since the complaining about not going to camp ceased. So you served them sliced apples and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chatted until your doorbell rang.

“Officer Parker.” You sighed heavily. You were standing in the doorway of your house and you couldn’t hide your disapproving look.

Your instinct was that someone complained about the fireworks and now you’d be accused of gun shots again. This guy was also a jerk who you had no intention of being cordial to.

“Hello Mrs. Price. Sorry to bother you.” This time he seemed a lot more polite. With a kind smile, almost as if he were happy to see you.

Odd. But hey, you’re a gorgeous gal maybe he was just happy to see pretty you. At least that’s what you told yourself so you could feel better. It was also what John would say every time this cop came by.

“Hm?” You hummed with a quirked eyebrow.

“First off, heard something going off when I pulled up. Fireworks?” He questioned

“Yup.” You said flatly.

“Kids must love that. Anyway, we’ve gotten some reports of a peeping Tom and wanted to check in.” Again, he was being overly nice. It was a surprise, you really thought he would be giving you trouble. Maybe it was because John wasn’t in sight. You stared blankly trying absorb what you were just told.

“I’m going door to door to take statements if anyone’s seen anything.” Waving his note pad as if saying hello he motioned for you to go ahead.

“Wait seriously.” Opening the front door fully he now had your full attention. With everything going on for you this peeping Tom could very possibly be who John was looking for.

“Yes, have you or any of your family seen anything?” With his pen ready to go Officer Parker looked up through his eyebrows at you.

“Uh, I’d have to ask. . .” You looked down the hall to where you kids where having their snack then back to the officer.

“Come in, the kids are having a snack. John’s not home but he would’ve said something.” Your former unpleasantness faded fast at the prospect of getting answers and help.

John had been adamant you weren’t to file a police report but that didn’t mean you could gather your own information from them. He really thought they’d be completely unhelpful in what was going on. That police would get in his way and John wouldn’t be able to enact the consequences he saw fit. That they might even protect whoever was doing this to you.

Officer Parker was surprised to be invited into your home. You didn’t seem like the type to do that but more of someone who would ask him to wait on the porch. Walking into your home he wasn’t sure if it surprised him of how neat it was. The only true mess were your kids things lying about which was mainly in your living room.

The home was bright with all the windows allowing constant steams of sunlight. It was the perfect house to try and peep through a window if Officer Parker was honest. The decor was nice, timeless pieces that left it feeling like a farmhouse or a cottage in ways. It was homy, comfy. A great place to raise children with the bright colors and lots of space to run around.

Once in the colorful kitchen Office Parker watched all your children turn to look at him. Not one of them seemed happy to see him. That was until Lily shyly waved.

“Why are you waving at him.” Jj pretty much snapped at his baby sister.

“What? We learned at school that police men are our friends. That if we are ever in trouble we go and find one. Just like we find a teacher at school.” Lily explained thoroughly.

“Dad said we’re not suppose to be nice to him.” Evelyn whispered thinking you couldn’t hear.

“I don’t like being mean. It’s really mean to be mean.” Lily pouted back.

“Good school.” Officer Parker nodded at you and you honestly agreed with the sentiment.

Although what you taught your kids was very different and John thought you were a genius for it. You had taught them that if they were ever lost or in need of help they should go ask a mom with kids. And if they didn’t see anyone who was a mom they needed to ask a lady.

“How are the chickens you three?” Stepping up to the kitchen table with his hands on his hips and a warm smile Officer Parker tried to win the kids over with kindness.

“Alive. No thanks to you.” Evelyn was instantly snarky. She had a judgmental look cast at the officer and for some reason slid her plate further away from him as if he’d take her food.

“Evie’s right. Our chickens would be dead if dad listened to your shitty idea.” Jj tacked on.

“Hey, manners.” You crossed your arms over your chest as you corrected them firmly.

You quietly apologized to the officer and then gave each of our children expecting looks. This was John’s doing you knew he had been in their ear and told them to give Officer Parker a hard time if they saw him. He probably even told Jj he could cuss because your son almost never swore in front of you.

“I have to ask you three something. Can I sit with you?” Motioning to their fathers chair the sharp looks he got had his hand shifting to your seat next to Evelyn instead.

Jj then slowly nodded his head seemingly skeptical about this. You could only roll your eyes. He was so much like John at times.

“Dad wouldn’t like that.” Jj said in a very touchy way.

Lily smiled at the officer now sitting across from her and pushed her plate towards him to take an apple slice. Sitting down at the table, the officer cleared his throat and began.

“Apparently there’s been someone in the neighborhood looking through windows. Do you know anything about that?” He spoke in a way that was to hopefully gain your kids trust. You were pretty positive that would never happen with John around.

“Why would we be looking in people’s windows?” Evelyn asked cleary offended, her immediate reaction defensiveness. Her response was a clear tell that she was accustom to getting into trouble. It made the officer chuckle before he continued.

“I don’t think any of you were looking through windows. You’re too smart for that-“ He paused and looked at Lily.

“And she’s too short.” He joked.

“Hey!��� Lily whined not appreciating the jab.

The joke made Jj sputter into his milk and fight back laughter. Evelyn’s eyebrows raised and she bit her lip trying to contain herself at her sister getting teased.

“I wanted to know if you’ve seen anyone looking in your windows.” With a smile he hoped some humor may get honest answers.

“Oh, no, I haven’t.” Evelyn looked at Jj checking if he had. Jj shrugged back at her.

“Why would someone be looking in people’s windows?” Jj then looked at you for an answer instead of the officer. Taking a breath you decided it was better you answer truthfully.

“Sometimes it’s to check if people are home because they want to rob the place. Other times they’re trying to look at people for bad reasons.” You explained. Officer Parker was surprised at how straight forward you were.

“Bad reasons?” Lily asked, years welling in her eyes. Officer Parker quickly looked to you at the fact your youngest was about to cry all of a sudden. You put your hand up and waved it off to show it wasn’t anything for him to worry about.

“We will keep a look out thank you so much Officer Parker.” After a kind smile you kissed Lily’s head and he watched you whisper something to her that seemed to get her back in good spirits. You then waved at your kids silently telling them to do something.

“Thank you.” They said in unison. Lily was the only one who seemed happy to say it while Jj and Evelyn stared at each other, clearly only saying it so they didn’t get scolded.

Giving the kids a wave Officer Parker headed to the door and you walked him out. Stopping in the foyer you internally groaned thinking he was about to make a pass at you again.

“Here’s my personal number.” Grabbing a card from the pocket of his shirt he handed it over.

You stared at it for a second hoping he’d take it back but he only pushed his hand slightly forward for you to take it. So you did and it was obvious you didn’t want to. You were going to throw this out as soon as he was gone so John didn’t see it. Then he shifted back-and-forth on his feet, before quickly continuing.

“I want to apologize for my behavior, last I saw you. It was inappropriate and if you’d like a different officer working on this just say the word. My only intention is to make sure you and your neighbors are safe.” It seemed extremely earnest and you found it thoughtful to have Officer Parker apologize.

“Thank you I appreciate that. My husband was a bit crude so I’m sorry for that.” You decided starting over might be nice. If another officer showed up he could have no intention on truly helping whereas Officer Parker seemed truly invested.

“He was. I hope you have a good rest of your day. And please call if you need anything.” With a final smile Officer Parker opened your front door and stepped out on to the porch.

“Oh wait. Was there a description of the guy?” You blurted out before you even realized you had followed him out on to the porch.

“Mid 20’s black hair and everyone that’s seen him says he has unsettling eyes. If I’m honest it sounded like the man I caught going through your mail box.” He spoke matter of factly.

“Who’s seen him? Were they able to see if it was our neighbor?” You leaned forward and pointed in the general direction of where the guy lived. After all Officer Parker said he was going house to house.

“Unfortunately I can’t disclose that. Feel free to ask around. But between you and me, I spoke to that neighbor and he wasn’t the man I saw going through your mail box.” He seemed displeased by this information.

“Okay. You sure? I won’t be letting the kids play outside unsupervised then.” You could feel your anxiety rising at all the strange things happening.

“Not positive but I’m pretty sure.” He nodded and went to leave again.

“Wait- sorry. I know you have better things to do. But I, um, I- never mind.” You had grabbed him by the elbow so he couldn’t leave. The way he looked at you touching him made you realize quickly you shouldn’t grab a police officer so you laughed awkwardly and removed your hand.

“What?” Officer Parker looked at you concerned.

You couldn’t tell that your anxiety was visible on your face and your body language. To you, you thought you were masking it well.

“This is weird. I know it’s weird and probably nothing. But I’ve been getting gifts at work and no one knows who’s sending them to me.” You were hesitant as you spoke and that seemed to raise alarm bells for the officer. It was like he put together some pieces in his head.

“What kind of gifts?” Squaring his shoulder he now seemed very invested.

“Pastries for my staff. Shitty flowers.” It rolled right off your tongue.

“What makes the flowers shitty?” The description of the flowers was a surprise to him.

“They were tulips. I hate tulips.” You said offhandedly.

“Didn’t realize women could be so specific about what type of flowers.” Officer Parker tried to lighten the mood seeing how tense you had gotten.

“Yeah I’m more of a rose type person.” You paused, surprised with yourself for nervously babbling.

“I don’t know why I just told you that- anyway. There’s been pastries for my staff which had to be incredibly expensive. My daughter Lily was even given a flower at swim class with the same note that I’ve gotten for the work gifts.” You were rambling at this point. Spilling all this out felt so much better than having it bottled up.

“Where do you work?”

“I’m a museum curator at-“

“The one off Sheffield?” He asked seemingly surprised. You weren’t sure why, maybe he thought you were some dumb house wife or something.

“Yeah that’s the one.” You nodded

“May I ask what name you go by there?” Taking out his note pad you watched as he began quickly scribbling down details of what you had just told him.

“Indy, or my maiden last name. I got my doctorate before I was married.” Pointing to your degree hung up in the living. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to prove it.

“Oh. . .”

“What?” You breathed out feeling on edge.

“Do you want me to take a look into it?” He asked. It didn’t seem like he would take no for answer.

“Yeah. That would be great.” You nodded vigorously.

“When will your husband be home?” With his pen officer Parker pointed at the driveway.

“Soon. Why?” You asked feeling your blood pressure spike. Something was looming in the humid summer air and felt like it was about to come crashing down.

“Look, I don’t mean to alarm you. But this admirer of yours might not know where you live. But could know the general area. Hence why someone’s peeping in windows and rummaging through mailboxes. Fella might only know your maiden name so once the mailboxes were a bust he’s resorted to looking through peoples windows.” The officers words made your heart stop for a moment and then rapidly pick up pace as if you were running a marathon.

“That’s scary.” You whispered.

Breathing was starting to feel like a chore from how you had to manage it and not start hyperventilating. You placed your hand on your chest, true panic setting in. No part of you wanted to admit you were being stalked. You had been telling yourself John had this handled and you didn’t have to worry. But he didn’t because it was only getting worse. That picture of you in your bedroom only confirmed the peeping Tom had found you. It hit you all at once and the acceptance came in the form of terror.

You had to take a step back into the house and away from the conversation. Breath coming in ragged you rolled your shoulders back and tried to catch your breath. Your hands were shaking and you felt sick to your stomach. You weren’t sure why it took until now for it to sink in but it had.

This was real. This was happening to you.

You were being stalked.

“Ma’am are you okay?” Officer Parker stepped towards you, placing his hand on your shoulder gently.

“I’m sorry. I just-“ Cutting yourself off you rubbed a hand down your face and with the other pinched your thigh to try and help gather yourself.

“It’ll be alright.” There was a gentleness in the way he spoke that was helping somewhat.

But what you needed was John. You needed to break down in his capable arms. To cry your pretty eyes out and ask him to fix this. Because you knew he would. That you knew he’d been trying but you couldn’t wait any longer. He had to get it resolved today because living like this would end with you having a nervous breakdown.

“Would you like me to stay in my cruiser until your husband gets home?” Officer Parker’s hand slid from your shoulder to your upper back, his touch feather light and almost not there. It was a kind touch, one meant to ground you.

“Why don’t you just stay in the kitchen. John should be home any minute and I know he’ll want to talk to you.” Taking one last shaky breath you nodded at Parker to silently tell him you were okay.

“Of course.” There was a softness to him you didn’t think he would posses from the encounters you’d had.

It helped in this moment to know that police were aware, involved, and compassionate toward your situation. You’d heard so many cases of stalkers going ignored by the police. Or women being told they were imagining things or overreacting.

“I’ll make tea.” You smiled meekly and didn’t wait for a response.

You headed quickly toward the kitchen embarrassed that you cracked like that in front of someone you hardly knew. That kind of vulnerability was suppose to be reserved for John.

“I appreciate the hospitality.” With a kind smile Officer Parker followed you into the kitchen.

Just as you entered you saw John through the window behind the kitchen table that looked out on to your backyard. He was walking from his truck, across the patio to come inside through the back door. On the way John noticed this officer in his kitchen standing a little too close to you. He knew the man was somewhere here since his car was in the driveway.

“Why are you in my home?” John barked, one foot in the door.

“Tom’s peeing in people’s windows and he wanted to know if we saw him.” Lily informed her father and then stuck her plate out for him to finish her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Lily’s mistake helped your anxiety riddled heart. Eyes shifting from your four year old John hadn’t looked at you but had his blue eyes fixed on Parker.

“There’s a peeping Tom in your neighborhood.” Officer Parker informed your husband while giving Lily a strange look. To you it was obvious the man was not use to being around children and their shenanigans.

John stopped in his tracks hearing that. There was a pensive look that took over his face. It was no surprise to you John became quiet, he was being thoughtful now. Which was better than being rude like he wanted to be toward the officer.

“When you say peeping. Peeping on women?” John paused, his icy blues unfocusing for a second before he continued.

John knew you were being peeped on but he wasn’t willing to share that information with the police. Now John was wondering if other women in the neighborhood might also be experiencing what you had with the gifts and photos. But his mind wandered to something much more sinister and you wondered what it was that came to mind.

“Or children?” He asked now seemingly angry at his own question. John grunted after he spoke and continued taking off his boots.

“Not sure. I do have a theory.” Officer Parker looked to you to silently ask you if this was alright to share.

“Oh do you?” John said sarcastically but put a finger up for Parker to wait.

“Go play in the living room.” John ordered after taking the half eaten sandwich from Lily who had been quietly whispering ‘daddy come eat this’ the entire time.

“But-“

“Now.” John left no room for discussion.

Evelyn offered John her unfinished sandwich too while Jj’s plate was licked clean by Molly.

“Can we get milkshakes later?” In a hushed voice Lily asked John who shook his head yes. Lily left the room with a huge smile meanwhile Jj and Evelyn glared at the officer as they left.

“Who’s reported it?” John asked forcefully.

He was now at the kitchen island chewing his ‘dad snack’ as you liked to call it. Pointing to the kettle you caught his drift and started some tea.

“I can’t disclose that.” The officers statement had John rolling his eyes so hard his entire head went with the motion.

“That’s not fucking helpful. And this ‘theory’ of yours?” John and you were making intense eye contact. You were silently screaming at him to stop being rude and his eyes were saying a big fat ‘no.’

“Since someone was going through mailboxes I think the guy may only know your wife’s maiden name. Which is why he’s resorted to peeping in windows. I-“ John waved his hand cutting the office off.

“We both know who’s doing this. I’m not sure why we’re pretending we don’t.” With a pointed look John went and grabbed his favorite mug and treating the once tense situation nonchalant.

“I spoke to your neighbors nephew. He was not the man I saw at your mailbox.” Officer Parker spoke adamantly. It was clear he was getting agitated by your husband’s lack of respect.

“Bullshit. Like I trust you to positively identify someone? I doubt you’d be able to pick your own mother in a line up with how daft you are.” John had resorted to blatant insults now. Before the police officer could respond you cut in.

“You know I don’t think this is as productive as I thought it would be. Thanks for stopping by.” You motioned toward your front door for him to leave.

There was an anger pointed at John that you thought was justified. It looked like the officer wanted to ring his neck but was practicing self control. So he gave you a nod and left without a word. You watched from the end of the hallway and turned to John when the front door shut. The look on your face said it all.

“What the hell was that?” You weren’t sure if you were more shocked by John’s behavior or embarrassed.

“Don’t invite police in our home again.” John spoke evenly but you could sense he was about to blow a fuse.

“Why? he’s suppose to help.” You were immediately defensive because you knew John well enough that he was about to be rude.

“Because I said so.” John snapped.

“I can tell you one thing, and it’s that you’re not gonna treat me like that just because you disapprove.” It took a lot of patience to not snap back.

“Sorry. I-“ Running his hand through his hair he was clearly agitated.

“Look. You and I know who it is. Right? And someone needs to put an end to it.” John’s eyes bore into yours.

There was a deafening silence for a moment until the dryer began to thump quietly in the laundry room. John didn’t have to continue for you to understand what he was saying. Knowing him so well you knew when he was about to take matters into his own hands.

You weren’t sure if this was what would help the overwhelming anxiety. Having a conversation felt like a much better solution than whatever was on John’s mind. Telling him how scared you were and that you needed him. But he was skipping all of that and barreling toward a solution.

“I don’t. . . And you don’t. It’s just a hunch.” You spoke softly, trying to convince yourself.

Your chest was becoming tight and nerves lighting up. Taking a breath through your nose you let it out slowly through your mouth. A second later your fingers were at your mouth and you began to chew nervously on your fingernails.

“That creep can be exonerated by the police, the neighborhood, or god for all I fucking care. I’m not going to let that prick continue living in that house and not fear walking out his door to bother us again.” John was aggressively pointing in the general direction of the Patterson’s house.

Seeing the pain and fear etched into the face of the woman he loved most dearly had him stepping toward you. He took your face in his hands. John was gentle with you as if you were made of glass. It always amazed you that your loving, caring, protective husband could be a violent man. That these hands that had only ever held you gently and lovingly were capable of unspeakable things.

“I’m going to keep you safe. No matter what. Trust me.” Laying a feather light kiss to your lips John allowed you a moment to think.

And before you could speak John tried to convince you to let him do this. Because the last thing he wanted was for you to become scared of him so he needed your approval. He needed to do this, to give you back your peace of mind.

“I know you’re scared, darling. The whole point of all of this is to scare you. The prick gets off on it. . . Let me show him what it feels like and I promise he’ll never bother you again.” John spoke softly yet with such conviction you hadn’t realized you were nodding along half way through.

“Don’t hurt him.” You choked on your words.

This was an impossible situation to you. You needed John to step in and protect you. You needed him to keep your children safe. But with no proof besides finding the neighbors nephew creepy you couldn’t morally support whatever it was John decided he would do; but you also couldn’t stop him.

“I’ll just talk to him.” It was a lie and you knew it.

“John-“

“I’ll be back.” With a final kiss John put on his boots and walked out the back door not looking back. You watched from the window as he marched down your driveway to go confront your neighbor.

The walk didn’t take too long and John waved to a few neighbors who were outside with their children or mowing their lawn. A few stopped and gave him a wave back but found it odd how friendly he seemed today. Usually John gave a simple nod with barely a smile and went on his way, or ignored them completely.

John made it to the one story house with a neatly manicured lawn and well taken care of white picket fence. It was a slate blue home with a red front door. The windows had white trim and flower boxes. They spilled over with pretty ivy and tiny white and purple flowers. The freshly painted white picket fence had no gate so John was able to walk up the cobble stone walkway and jog up the three stairs of the front porch quickly. Once out of the sun and ducking under the shadow of the front porches roof John’s entire demeanor shifted. The once friendly attitude was swallowed by a fervent rage.

John knocked firmly. Then a second later banged on the door with so much force it shook the frame. His eyes had gone crazed and nostrils flared as he waited. The seconds ticked by until John watched the red front door begin to open to reveal the face of Paterson’s nephew, Freddie.

His black mop of curls were damp from what was assumed to be from a shower. Those light grey blue eyes were wide like they always were and stayed unblinking and unsettling. He looked upset, a dusting of stubble distracting from his thin lips fixed in a frown from having someone bang on his door so violently.

“What’s your problem?” The young nephew opened the front door and before he knew it there was the sound of skin slapping skin and he had a hand around his neck.

John walked forward with purpose, this man’s neck firmly in his grasp and then slammed him up against the wall of the foyer. Along the way John kicked the door shut behind him so no one walking by could see. It took all his restrain to not immediately snap this man’s neck.

The man’s eyes were somehow wider than normal with fear and he was shaking so bad it could almost be mistaken for convulsions. Freddie had no idea what was going on and he couldn’t find the words that were trapped in his throat and beneath the hand growing tighter around his neck.

John brought his face so close the man could feel John’s hot breath. To Freddie, John looked like a bear taken shape into man. With claws sinking into his neck and eyes fixed on his next meal, his prey. Freddie was staring death in the eyes, and in the darkness of John’s icy blues staring into his soul Freddie began to make peace with his life.

“Come near my house, my wife, or my children again and I’ll gut you like the pig you are.” John spoke with venom.

There was murderous intent with sick and twisted rage as the driving force. There was an unspoken understanding that Freddie would be lucky to keep his life by the time his front door opened again.

“I- don’t know what y- AH~” Snot and drool dribbled down Freddie’s nose and mouth as he saw a silver glint and then felt the cool metal of a blade pressed firmly to his neck.

“Do I make myself clear?” John asked, a new found calmness taking over.

“I’ll never look their way again.” Freddie sputtered out and began to lightly sob as the knife was pressed firmly against his jugular.

John could see this had worked from the panic and fear in the man’s eyes. There would be no more convincing. John had achieved the outcome he desired and that was for this man to fear for his life.

A trickling sound joined the ragged breathing. Glancing down John saw a wet spot forming in the man’s jeans and then darkly chuckled.

“Disgusting.” With a final violent shove, John returned his knife to his back pocket and turned to leave.

Being the man of conviction he was and how he thrived under pressure and conflict John was leaving this house feeling much lighter. On his way out he noticed a horseshoe sitting atop the front door frame. Grabbing it he turned to see the man now sitting in a puddle on the floor. Those wide unblinking eyes were fixed in terror instead of that unsettling glare John was accustom to seeing.

“Thanks for the gift.” John lightly flicked his wrist with the horseshoe in it, smiled politely as if he were at the shop, then left.

John left the front door open so the man could hear his jovial whistle to the tune of ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ and watch John pull out a cigar. After lighting it he took a nice long drag at the end of the houses walkway. Turning back around Freddie hadn’t moved and John waved and gave him his typical neighborly smile.

“Cheers!” John called with an unsuspecting laugh and went on his way, whistling and smoking.

——————

“So, it’s been a week. Haven’t gotten anymore pictures, flowers, or random gifts.” Your voice came from the bedroom as John finished brushing his teeth.

“Hm, have you?” John called back sounding uninterested but you knew better.

Deep down you knew he was happy to hear that but wouldn’t let on. When John had gotten home from his ‘talk’ he was in high spirits. You were confused but let it go when he took your family out for dinner, ice cream, and then piled on the couch to watch a movie together. The stress seemed to have left his body and was replaced by content pleasure. Which to you meant this was over, that you could rest easy from now on. John didn’t go out to sit on the patio that night but joined you in bed.

John even somehow romanced you out of your former anxieties and made love to you in a way that felt primal and all consuming that night. If you were honest the memory of how passionate he was had continuously popped in your head and helped distract from anything untoward.

“What’d you say to him?” Your voice was a lot closer now.

Looking up into the mirror above his designated sink John saw you, his beautiful wife. You had your head cocked to the side with a shy smile dusting your pretty lips. He loved how you looked with your hair braided for sleep and in nothing but his black t-shirt and little grey cotton sleep shorts. Your skin was smooth and glowing from your nightly routine and you had those gold patches under your eyes. Those always made John laugh, the memory of you holding him down on your bed and practically attacking him until he relented and let you put them on him.

“Nothing really.” With a shrug John tried to move past you but you stepped in the way.

“That’s a lie.” You placed your hand in the center of John’s firm chest and drummed your fingers. With a small smirk he kissed your cheek, grabbed your hips, and moved out of his way with ease.

“And?” John teased, leaving you with a playful pinch to the bum.

You watched as he peeled off his white t-shirt and tossed it on to the floor by his nightstand. Next came his plaid pajama bottoms, leaving John in his black boxer briefs. Looking over his shoulder he caught you admiring him and nodded toward the bed.

“Why won’t you tell me?” You sounded all sweet and John knew you were going to try and get the truth out of him one way or another.

There was no effort in batting you away. John pulled back the covers and patted the bed for you to crawl in beside him. So you did. The pair of you turned off your lamps and laid together like you did most nights. You had your head on John’s hairy chest and his rough hand was caressing your back while you cuddled close.

“Tell me?” You whispered into the darkness.

“No.” With a kiss to the crown of your head John settled into bed and allowed his head to lull to the side so sleep could take over.

“I love you, darling. And I’ll always keep you safe.” John spoke against the hair atop your head and held you close so you could drift off to sleep together. Laying in silence you both listened to the crickets chirp from your open window. The two of you too consumed with each other to notice the light shutter of a camera in the distance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter - Stranger

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[sturniphone]

── ⌗ older!matt . . . bunny!reader

❛ bunny and matt celebrate fathers day ❜

You wake with the sun, quiet but giddy, wrapped in your softest robe and fuzzy socks that Matt once called ridiculous but secretly adores. The kitchen is warm and golden with morning light as you buzz around like a little bee, humming under your breath, pouring just the right amount of milk into his coffee. No sugar; he likes it bold, but you drop a cinnamon stick in, a tiny indulgence you know he loves but would never ask for.

His pancakes come out a little uneven but shaped like stars, hearts, and one that’s supposed to be a bunny but looks more like a cloud. You stack them high, drizzle maple syrup slow and glossy, and add too much butter because he pretends to scrape it off but always eats every bite. You tuck a tiny handmade card beside his plate, glittery and doodled with sleepy-eyed bunnies and shy hearts. ❝world’s best almost-dad❞, it reads in pink ink. Inside, you wrote more. Private words. Hopeful ones.

You got him a gift too. Not a tie or tool, nothing plain. It's a little Miffy glasses-holding tray you found weeks ago and couldn’t stop thinking about—simple, sweet, and something he’d actually use. You placed it carefully next to a little bouquet of hand-picked flowers in a mason jar and slipped in a polaroid of the two of you from the beach last month, cheeks squished together, both grinning like fools. On the back, you wrote in your softest handwriting: ❝You’re going to be the best dad someday. I love you so much it’s ridiculous.❞

You arranged everything shyly, like a secret waiting to be discovered. Your fingers trembled just a little as you set the tray down, heart fluttering because you knew he’d see it and smile that slow, melting smile that only ever belongs to you. 

When he wakes, hair messy, eyes squinty with sleep, he finds you waiting with a plate and a smile, hiding behind your mug as you watch him read the card and the little message. He doesn’t say much at first, just steps into your space, arms around you, and presses a long, warm kiss into your cheek.

❝You spoil me, bun,❞ he murmurs. ❝You make it easy,❞ you mumble, cheeks warm. He eats every bite, kissing your fingers between forkfuls, calling you ❝wife material❞ with a grin that makes your knees go soft. You tease him back, asking how it feels to be celebrated when he hasn’t even made a baby yet. He presses a kiss to your forehead, his hand on your waist, his eyes so full of love it nearly bowls you over.

His eyes go all soft. ❝One day,❞ he promises, hand over yours. ❝They are going to be the luckiest little thing if they get you as a mom.❞ Later, you curl up on the couch, his arms tight around you, both of you too full and too in love to do much else. 

⋆˚꩜｡ lola talks . . . this was kinda rushed but.. ugh I hate this

── ʚ contacts . . . @chrepsi @ph3ebssturniolo @sturnsxbbyeilish @j21l91 @pip4444chris @mattslutt @sophand4n4 @mattscoquette @mi-co-uk @tezzzzzzzz @emely9274 @oopsiedaisydeer @theowensturniolo @httpssturns @matthewsroses @bugs-tags @mattswrinkleton @victorious8 @h3arts4nat @madz146

⌗ © sturniphone

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

RIBS- J. TODD

day eighteen of the june bug masterlist

pairing: boyfriend! jason x fem reader

word count: 1k

summary: you and jason are thrilled to be spending some time back home with your family for summer holiday, until you realize you're forced to cram into your childhood bed

warnings: PURE FLUFF!!

 “you're the only friend i need (you're the only friend i need) sharing beds like little kids (sharing beds like little kids) and laughing 'til our ribs get tough (laughing 'til our ribs get tough) but that will never be enough (but that will never be enough)" - ribs, lorde

You had practically dragged Jason Todd up the stairs by his fingers.

Moving the hunk of muscle you called your boyfriend was no easy task. He towered over you, and was equivalent to a bolder. But somehow you found the strength to tug him upstairs as soon as your mother asked him if he wanted to look through photo albums.

It was then, you decided,  time for bed.

Despite his and your mothers protests, you tugged him by his fingers up the stairs, after draining your tea mug and kissing your mother goodnight.

You were spending some of your summer vacation with your family- and the two of you had arrived earlier than the rest of the distant family.

It was good, you had wanted to get there earlier to get settled in without younger cousins yelling and running around, and great grandmothers saying how much you’ve grown (you stopped growing when you were fourteen).

Jason seemed to enjoy not only your family, but your childhood home as well.

All the memories were so prominent between the walls, whether it be the pencil marks of your height on the doorframe, or frames of childhood pets. It smelt like apple pie and beeswax candles, and you couldn’t help but smile as soon as you stepped inside, wrapping your mother in a big hug before she fussed and gushed over Jason.

Oh Y/N you’ve lucked out! Such a handsome young man.

Jason just smiled. Ms. Y/L/N, I’m the one who lucked out. Your daughter is an angel.  

Those words rang through your head as you passed the little angel she had perched on a shelf as you trudged up the creaking old wooden steps.

“I wanted to see your baby photos.” he teased, making you roll your eyes.

“And I want a million dollars. Get me drunk enough on moonshine and wine one night and maybe I’ll budge.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say princess.”

You grabbed bags set outside your room, hands instantly freed of their weight as Jason took them. He never let you carry anything, no matter how light it was. There was no use trying to argue with him.

Nudging your bedroom door open, you let him step inside, observing the little space. Your quilt was still on your tiny double bed, with your stuffed bear seated against the pillows.

“That’s Mr. Mittens. You’ve been my replacement for him and his cuddles.”

“Am I booted out now that you’re reunited?”

You shrugged, laughing. “Maybe. I’ll see how cold I get tonight.”

He walked over to your vanity, peering down to look at the polaroids you had taped on the mirror, near your brushes and ballerina music box. A staple from your childhood.

“You’re room is so fuckin cute. Though I knew it would be. Look attcha.” he looked at you through the reflection, a smile on his face as he admired you.

“Cutest girl I ever saw.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and you shrugged, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. He made butterflies flutter in your stomach whenever he complimented you- and he found it fucking adorable. It was always cute to get a rise out of you. You crinkle your nose like a baby bunnies as you turned, flickering on your lamp.

A poster of Paul McCartney was illuminated, and he couldn’t help but smirk.

“Go get ready for bed you. I’m being nice and letting you have first dibs at the bathroom.”

“I’m shocked. Have you smacked your head?”

You grabbed a pillow and it hurled it at him before plopping on the blankets. “Don’t make me regret it.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

By the time he was done, you had managed to unpack your bags, laying out extra towels you had found in the closet. You wasted no time slipping into the shower, wanting to scrub away the grime of travel and exhaustion that hung over your body.

Humming a little tune, you scrubbed away with the soap your mom had left for you- your favourite, strawberry rhubarb. Once you were certain you smelt only of strawberries, you slipped on a little lace nightgown and began to braid your hair, wrapping little bows around the ends like your mother did to you when you were little.

You had missed home.

It was wonderful to be away and to travel with Jason, but it was nice to settle down too. It appeared that Jason had the same idea- to settle down, as you found him in bed, his glasses on as he read his book.

He looked like he was sprawled out in a doll bed.

“Jay.”

He looked up, adjusting the thin rimmed glasses up on his nose. “Yeah sweetheart?”

“You’re kinda taking up the whole bed.”

He frowned, trying to readjust himself moreover, but he couldn’t. “Sorry sweetheart, I’m not trying to.”

“I know baby, you can’t help it. I just… I don’t know where I’m gonna sleep.”

He shrugged, setting down his book and slipping off his glasses. “Suppose you’ll just have to get realll close to me then huh?”

You giggled as he reached over and grabbed your waist, tossing you onto the bed- or what was left of it, and his side. You cuddled in close, hiking a leg up as you wrapped around him like a koala bear.

“You’re so warm. N soft.” you hummed, purring like a cat as his hand came to stroke little circles on your back, holding you close to him.

“Mm. Am I better than Mr. Mittens?”

You shook your head. “No one is better than Mr. Mittens.”

“A close second then?”

You nodded. “Close second.”

He hummed, running his hand up and down your back, giving you little scratches and gentle massages while he resumed his book, letting you drift in and out of consciousness. Wrapping you up under your quilt, he kissed the top of your head as you sleepily murmured something along the lines of I love you so much before you were out again.

And when he turned out the light, all that was left was the little night light flickering softly in the corner of your room, and the sound of cicadas chirping away outside, near the opened window.

“Goodnight my sweet angel.” he whispered, draping you on top of him so you both could fit in the little bed.

Surprisingly, it was the best sleep you had in a while. 

[irisinluv]

Caleb Love and deep space thoughts- SPOILERS AHEAD

Second update of brain dumping my thoughts as I play through the game… this time entirely Caleb focused

Ok so I’ve been reading Caleb’s anecdotes, dates, every scrap of info that becomes available to me…. And holy shit he’s such a simp!

Man almost fucking died, was lost in space for 2 weeks, and he’s just like “haha hey pipsqueak! Yea secret training mission, sorry, I’m back online!” As he’s in a hospital bed. Like baby boy not letting mc know he almost died???? And then the card/memory/whatever it’s called where he’s sick, and she has to basically beg him all day to let her in? Man wants to be Superman for her. Seriously, he’s out here becoming a pilot cuz it would pay well and help provide for mc, and if anything happened he could just whisk her away.

He literally worships the ground mc walks on. Obsessed with the necklace he gave him, kissing the pendant before each flight, not letting her lift a finger at the house when it comes to chore type things, using his evol to win her plushies at the claw machine… also he’s soooo obviously into the domestic life with mc! His house is bare bones before the reunion. Then MC shows up and there’s the scene where he’s surrounded by boxes, setting things up….. I picture him totally kicking himself for not having everything set up sooner, bc he got a house just so she could move in. I see him just living in an apartment that’s part of the officer barracks. There’s no reason why he has a whole ass house if not for mc. He just didn’t expect her to have infiltrated his ranks as a spy and to pop up so soon…. But hey she’s here now and so he’s totally buying everything and having a hot ikea build sesh in that slutty little tank top of his.

Oh and you know he’s a cheeky idiot about the fact that mc picked his room when deciding where to stay. Like we got that from the gameplay obviously…. But I just want to take moment to appreciate how hard that man must have been grinning on the inside. I also think it’s so cute that mc really is just making his place a second home. She’s got a little garden going at his house! She talks about the little yellow flowers she planted there in one of the text messages, and when he mentioned restocking his snacks on a community post mcs already planning on raiding it.

Also he’s been so obsessed with her since they were kids. Like he’s got some weird amnesia brain trauma shit going on after his deep space incident, and he scored poorly on the mental health portion of his exams (not him answering the “what’s the greatest challenge with flight missions?” Question with “it’s hard to get home on time”), and I’m assuming he was also an experiment by ever like MC is (but I haven’t gotten to the point where I can say that for sure), but like. That isn’t why he’s the way he is. Man was out here protecting her from bullies, the thing where he’d buy two of everything for mc, think he said something like “I wanted to grow up to be the most loyal… well you know, I could be” LOYAL HUSBAND? But from the jump he’s been doing everything for her. It’s so interesting getting this background from all the memories and whatnot. Like he’s made it such a source of pride to take care of mc in every tiny way, and so when she says stuff about not needing him, or uh, I don’t remember what thing it was part of but she fixed some electronic and was like “damn that was easier than I thought, guess I gotta stop bugging you for every tiny little thing, I can just figure it out.” and he PANICS! Like no baby- that’s his comfort thing. No matter what else is going on, at least he can feel needed and wanted when you come playfully whining to him that you can’t find your favorite mug. He’s the walking advertisement for acts of service. Also one last thing.

Yall noticed how he put his hat on mc like right after the reunion? The only thing I could think of is what it means when you put on a guys cowboy hat. Like damn Caleb. She’s still in shock that you’re not dead. But get it ig.

[blackenedsnow]

If you’re lookin’ for requests could we get a continuation of your Beetlejuice fic? Like, what sorts of things does Beej do through the house/apartment to prank you? What’s he do when/if you have to leave to go to work? I imagine he’d tag along incognito sometimes. How would that go? (I don’t send many fic requests so if this is a weird way to do it I’m sorry. But I figured if you’re asking for them I can brainstorm a little 😅)

dead guys got it made

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Reader

NOTE: No need to apologize! I love the direction you're taking with this. I'd be happy to continue the story!!

SUMMARY: Chaos ensues, of course

PART ONE: Here

The days after your reluctant agreement to let Beetlejuice stay in your home were, in a word, chaotic. He seemed to take your "don’t destroy the place" comment as more of a suggestion than an actual rule. Sure, he didn’t tear down walls or summon any maggots (yet), but there was plenty of mischief to go around.

You woke up one morning to find your living room furniture rearranged—your couch upside down on the ceiling, the TV somehow playing reruns of sitcoms from the ‘80s, and the floor covered in what looked like tiny plastic insects. You groaned, rubbing your temples as Beetlejuice appeared next to you, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Pretty good, huh?" he asked, looking up at the couch hanging from the ceiling. "Took me all night, but I think it really adds to the ambiance."

"BJ," you muttered, staring at the mess, "how many times do I have to tell you? No messing with the furniture."

He cackled, snapping his fingers. Instantly, the room righted itself—couch back on the floor, TV back to normal. But the plastic bugs? Still there. "Alright, alright, no more redecorating. But I gotta keep things interesting, babes. Can’t have you getting bored, now can we?"

You bent down to scoop up the bugs, sighing. "I’m starting to think my life was less stressful before you showed up."

"Ah, but way more boring," Beetlejuice quipped, following you into the kitchen as you grabbed a coffee mug. "Admit it, you’d miss me if I wasn’t around to spice things up."

You ignored him, focusing instead on your workday ahead. “I’ve got to head to work soon,” you said, mostly to yourself, as you filled your mug. “You’re staying here today, right?”

“Sure, sure,” he said with a wave of his hand, leaning against the counter. “I’ll be good. Maybe I’ll watch some TV, raid your fridge, haunt your neighbors—you know, normal dead guy stuff.”

You shot him a look, trying to gauge how much of that was a joke. You were still figuring him out, trying to balance how much you could tolerate and how much you liked having him around. It was… complicated. But lately, the thought of leaving him alone in your home was almost more stressful than having him tag along. Still, you weren’t sure you could handle Beetlejuice at work, of all places.

"Alright," you said, setting your mug down, "I’ll trust you. Just… try not to haunt anyone this time, okay?"

Beetlejuice smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Cross my heart, babe,” he said, drawing a line over his chest. You didn’t trust that for a second, but you had no choice but to leave him behind and head out.

At Work

Everything seemed fine at first. You settled into your routine, the normalcy of it all providing a brief reprieve from your unusual houseguest. But then, halfway through the morning, you noticed something off.

Your pen was missing. And not just missing—floating midair, inches from your hand.

"Beetlejuice.," you hissed under your breath, scanning the room for any sign of him. Sure enough, from the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar flash of black and white dart behind a filing cabinet.

Of course he’d followed you. You should’ve known.

“Get back here,” you muttered, glancing around to make sure no one else saw the floating pen.

Suddenly, Beetlejuice appeared right next to you, leaning against your desk with a smug grin. He was dressed in some sort of disguise—a ridiculous pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap that didn’t hide anything. “Nice place you got here, babe. Real lively.”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I told you to stay at home.”

“Yeah, well, I got bored,” he said with a shrug. “Thought I’d see how my favorite breather spends their day.”

“This is not going to end well,” you mumbled, already dreading the inevitable..

The At-Work Antics

Beetlejuice, to his credit, tried to behave—for all of five minutes. Then the pranks began. It started small: pens going missing, your keyboard typing random words on its own. But as the day wore on, he grew bolder.

At one point, your boss, Mr. Thompson, came by to drop off some news. You tried to stay focused, nodding along as he talked, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw Beetlejuice sneaking up behind him, his eyes full of mischief.

"Don’t," you mouthed, but it was too late.

With a flick of his hand, Beetlejuice made Mr. Thompson’s tie start dancing—literally. The fabric wriggled and twisted as though it had a life of its own, and you watched in horror as your boss froze, staring down at his tie in confusion.

“What the—” Mr. Thompson muttered, tugging at the tie, but it kept moving.

You shot Beetlejuice a death glare, mouthing “Stop it” as discreetly as possible. He just winked, looking way too pleased with himself, and finally let the tie drop limp again.

Mr. Thompson blinked, bewildered, but seemed to shake it off. “Must be static or something,” he muttered before walking off, completely unaware of the ghostly trickster behind him.

You exhaled in relief. “Beej, I swear…”

“Hey, I didn’t get caught, did I?” Beetlejuice cackled, clearly enjoying himself. “Lighten up, honey. You gotta admit, that was funny.”

“You’re going to get me fired,” you hissed, though you couldn’t completely stifle the laugh bubbling up in your chest.

For the rest of the day, Beetlejuice stayed close, pulling small pranks here and there. A co-worker’s coffee inexplicably turned neon green, another’s stapler kept vanishing from their desk. Every time you saw that flash of stripes, your heart raced in equal parts anxiety and amusement.

After Work

By the time you made it home, you were exhausted. Beetlejuice had finally vanished, likely slipping back to your home long before you could leave. When you walked through the door, he was sprawled across the couch as usual, looking far too smug.

“Fun day at work?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“You’re a menace,” you muttered, dropping your bag on the floor. “A complete and utter menace.”

“And yet, you didn’t banish me,” he shot back, his grin widening. “So… you really do love having me around.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite argue with him. As frustrating as it was having him tag along—and as much as he drove you crazy—you had to admit, life was a lot less lonely with him in it.

“Maybe,” you muttered, flopping onto the couch beside him. “Just… try not to get me fired next time, alright?”

Beetlejuice chuckled, tossing an arm around your shoulders. “No promises, toots. But I’ll try not to ruin your life.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

[orellazalonia]

Sticker Salon

Pairing: Stucky x little!reader [Disclaimer: Age Regression!]

Summary: You wake up in little space and decide to run a "Sticker Salon," decorating Steve and Bucky with sparkly stickers while they play along lovingly. Later, they save some of the stickers as keepsakes, reminding you just how loved and treasured you are.

Word Count: 600+

A/N: Haven’t written much of this kind of content in a while. So, here’s something small and fluffy. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist

The morning had been slow, one of those rare days where the sunlight spilled through the windows just right to make everything feel cozy and golden.

You’d woken up regressed, clingy and soft around the edges. You were still in your onesie and fuzzy socks when Steve scooped you out of bed and carried you into the living room like you weighed nothing.

Bucky was already there, sprawled on the couch in sweats, flipping through channels with one hand and holding a coffee mug in the other. He looked over and smiled as you were set down onto the big pile of throw blankets between them.

“You’re lookin’ extra cuddly today, sweetheart,” He said, setting the remote aside to make room for you in his lap.

You mumbled around your paci and gave him a sleepy nod, tucking yourself against his chest like a small, clingy kitten. But it didn’t take long before your morning daze wore off and your wiggles started. Fidgety hands, swinging feet, a curious little noise here and there as you began poking around in the bin of toys by the couch.

That’s when you found it: a brand-new sticker book.

Butterflies, stars, silly animals, glittery shapes. Over 500 stickers in shiny, pastel colors all unopened, untouched, and waiting.

You gasped dramatically, holding up the sticker book excitedly. “Can I? Please, please, please?”

Steve looked up from the book he was reading and grinned. “What’re you thinking, bug?”

“Sticker salon,” You said, with the kind of importance usually reserved for royalty.

“Oh boy,” Bucky chuckled. “Are we the customers?”

You nodded seriously, flipping the book open and already peeling off a big sparkly star. “Uh-huh. You gotsa sit still. No movin’. No talkin’. Jus’ be pwetty.”

Steve laughed softly, setting his book down. “Guess we’re in good hands, Buck.”

Bucky shot him a mock-nervous glance as you climbed into his lap again and pressed the sparkly star right in the middle of his forehead. “There,” you said proudly. “You’re a space prince now.”

“Oh am I?”

“Shhh. Prince can’t talk. It’s the rules.”

You worked with deep concentration, occasionally furrowing your brow or humming around your pacifier as you pressed heart stickers on his cheeks and tiny flowers on the metal of his arm. Then you moved to Steve, sitting on his lap and patting his cheeks like a canvas. He raised his eyebrows obediently, still grinning as you stuck a unicorn sticker to the tip of his nose and several rainbow dots above his brows.

“There,” You whispered when you finished, radiating pure satisfaction. “Now you both fancy.”

Steve touched the unicorn on his nose and gave a mock-serious nod. “Very official.”

Bucky was already pulling out his phone to take a selfie of the three of you. “This better go on the fridge.”

You giggled, wriggling happily between them as they both leaned in for a picture. You wore a smile with your hands resting on their sticker-covered faces, as two of the most powerful men in the world wore your stickers like crowns.

The rest of the day passed with them still wearing your artwork. Steve even left his unicorn sticker on during a video call with Sam, who choked on his water laughing.

And when bedtime came, and your stickers were gently peeled off one by one, Bucky saved the star from his forehead and Steve placed the unicorn sticker on his sketchbook near his nightstand.

“Best salon in town,” Steve murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair as he tucked you into bed.

“Yeah,” Bucky added with a smile, “But next time I want glitter butterflies too.”

You nodded drowsily, proud and full of joy, already dreaming up the next makeover.

[nhmkhnh]

#SERIES—01 ──── CHAPTER—01

i blame it on my love, i can't help it, i can't stop.

pairings: dom!top!vi x sub!bot!fem!reader

author's note: replaying the outro of track 10 - charli xcx while writing, giggled nonstop haha.

rating: explicit. (minors & men dni) | words: 1.3k list: pervert!amab!vi ;; obsession at first sight ;; best friend’s older sister!reader ;; public masturbation ;; bathroom fuck fantasy ;; filthy inner monologue; ; slight humiliation kink ;; exhibitionism kink (in fantasy) ;; power imbalance ;; vi has it bad.

masterlist / janitor ai / c.ai / carrd

1 | 2 | 3

vi didn’t expect much when she stopped by milo’s place that afternoon. just a quick hangout, maybe a beer, maybe slap him around in whatever game he was obsessed with this week. she didn’t expect to get bitch-slapped by god the moment the front door opened.

and it wasn’t milo who opened it. it was you.

“hey,” you said, all casual like it wasn’t illegal to look that good in tiny sleep shorts and a tank top with no bra, your hair messy and damp from a recent shower. “you’re vi, right? milo’s upstairs.”

vi stared for half a second too long. and then smiled — too wide, too fast. “uh. yeah. that’s me.”

“cool.” you stepped aside to let her in. your voice was a little hoarse, tired in that i-just-woke-up-and-moaned-into-my-pillow kinda way. “he said you might come by.”

she was not okay. not even a little.

vi stepped inside, boots heavy on the hardwood, trying not to look like she was scanning the curve of your ass as you padded into the kitchen. but god, it was hard. her brain was short-circuiting. you were older. prettier. so fucking soft. you looked like everything she wasn’t supposed to want, and vi wanted bad.

“i’m just making coffee,” you said, bending to grab a mug from the lower cabinet. the shorts rode up.

vi swallowed. hard.

“y—you live here full time?”

you straightened, mug in hand, flashing a smile that made her stomach twist. “mhm. moved back last year.”

oh. oh no. this wasn’t a temporary visit. you were in this house. you probably slept with your door cracked open. you probably wandered to the kitchen in nothing but panties at night. and vi could’ve seen that if she came over more often.

why the fuck hadn’t she been over here more often?

“you want some?” you asked.

“w-what?”

you gestured to the coffee. “you want a cup?”

oh. that.

vi forced a chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck. “nah, i’m good. i’ll go bug milo.”

“alright. bathroom’s down the hall if you need it.”

you turned to pour your coffee. vi turned away, heading toward the stairs like a good, normal, totally fine person.

she didn’t even make it halfway before she detoured hard into that bathroom and slammed the door shut.

she locked it.

then locked it again. then leaned on the sink with both hands, heart pounding, body shaking.

she was hard.

so fucking hard.

vi hadn’t even touched you, and she felt like she was going to explode. her whole body was buzzing — skin hot, cock pressed painfully against her boxers under her jeans. she stared at her reflection in the mirror and looked like someone who just walked out of a strip club blackout.

“get it together,” she hissed, but her hand was already undoing her belt.

she hadn’t planned this. she didn’t plan to jerk off in her best friend’s house. but then again, she didn’t plan on meeting you either — your sleepy voice, your fucking thighs, the sweet bounce of your tits under that tank top when you turned.

vi groaned under her breath as she freed her cock, gripping it with a hand that was already shaking. she tried to be quiet, biting her lip hard as her other hand braced against the cold tile wall.

her strokes were fast, desperate, sloppy.

“fuck,” she gasped. “fucking hell—”

she could still smell your perfume. it clung to her hoodie now. sweet. girly. exactly the kind of thing that’d be stuck in her nose while she fingered herself later that night.

but this couldn’t wait.

vi closed her eyes, head dropping back, and let her brain spiral straight into the fantasy she was already half-drowning in.

she’d corner you in that hallway.

later. when milo’s upstairs, music too loud. you’d come out of the bathroom in that same tank top, brushing past her with that soft smile, and she’d snap.

she’d back you into the wall, hands on either side of your head, and you’d go all wide-eyed and curious like vi? what are you doing?

and she’d lean in, mouth brushing your ear as she growled, “you really don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?”

you’d shake your head, breath catching.

and she’d kiss you.

rough. hungry. all tongue and teeth and filthy groans as she pressed her thigh between your legs, pinning you there. her hands would find your waist, your hips, your tits. she’d slide a hand under your shorts and feel how wet you were just from her touch.

“knew it,” she’d groan, dragging her lips down your neck. “knew you’d be soaking for me.”

vi choked on a moan in the real world, biting the collar of her hoodie to muffle it as she kept jerking herself off, faster now, hips rocking into her fist.

she thought about the way you’d look — mouth open, panting, saying “vi, we can’t—my brother—” but clinging to her anyway, rutting against her thigh like a needy little slut.

she thought about dropping to her knees in that hallway, eating you out with your legs over her shoulders while your back slammed into the wall.

she’d make you cum. twice. before even pulling her cock out.

back in her vision.

you’re naked now, shaking under her, your lips puffy from kissing and your pussy wet and twitching. she’s whispering praises into your skin between thrusts — “so good for me, baby… so tight, fuck, you were made for this…”

you’d beg her not to stop.

you’d cry her name.

you’d leave scratch marks on her back and tell her you’ve never cum that hard for anyone.

and she’d grin against your mouth, panting, “that’s ‘cause no one else gets to touch you now, baby. you’re mine.”

vi jerked herself faster, vision swimming.

she imagined you walking past the bathroom right now. hearing the breathy gasps, the skin-on-skin. she imagined your soft knock at the door, your voice saying “vi?” all innocent.

and what would she do?

she’d freeze. breath caught. cock in hand.

would you realize what she was doing?

would you say anything?

would you stay?

that possibility alone sent her spiraling, her orgasm crashing through her like a freight train.

vi came hard, choking on a whimper, hips twitching, cum spilling over her hand and jeans, breath ragged as her forehead hit the wall.

holy fuck.

she stood there, shaking, trying to collect herself while her hand throbbed and her jeans were a mess. she cleaned up quick — paper towels, water, soap — heart pounding like a war drum.

it didn’t matter.

nothing would ever be the same again.

not after this.

when she finally came out of the bathroom five minutes later — hoodie back on, hand washed, mouth still bitten raw — you were leaning on the wall across the hall.

“hey,” you said. “everything okay in there?”

vi froze.

you were sipping your coffee still. looking at her with those same soft eyes. smile innocent.

but your head tilted slightly. playful.

vi felt her ears burn. “y-yeah. just, uh. had to… piss.”

“right,” you said, amused. “sounded intense.”

you walked past her, mug in hand, humming under your breath.

vi watched you go.

and when you disappeared upstairs, she whispered to herself with a breathless, shaky smile—

“…fuck.”

[monster-disaster]

[orc] Zorag + tea party

orc!Zorag x human!Reader Good to know: only mention of Reader, toddler, fluff

Summary: Zorag has work to do, and a toddler to take care of.

Zorag Masterlist // Main Masterlist // More Zorag and other monsters on my Patreon

Zorag’s thick brows knit together as he scans the lumberyard. It’s surprisingly quiet. Too quiet. Usually, the air would be filled with the whine of machines and the shouts of workers. The ground beneath him would tremble from all the hard work, but right now, everything is still.

Sawdust clings to his boots as he moves between the large piles of untouched logs. "Hey," he calls out, eyes trained on one of his co-workers.

The guy with rolled-up sleeves glances up at him. "Yeah?"

"Where is everyone?"

The man shrugs. "A few went into the breakroom."

The orc's frown deepens. "It's not lunchtime yet."

The only answer he gets is another shrug, so Zorag exhales through his nose and heads for the familiar metal box. His booths thud on the stairs, feeling like it's just a few kilograms away from collapsing under him. The door, with a large dent in the middle, creaks as he pushes it open.

The low murmur of deep voices mixes with the occasional clink of flasks as Zorag steps into the breakroom. His men, big, burly monsters and humans, are seated around the large, circular table.

"What is going on here?" His voice is a deep grunt, cutting through the conversation.

Several pairs of eyes snap at him, some guilty, some glinting with amusement. They shift in their seats, and as they do, the orc finally sees her.

His daughter sits among his men, looking impossibly small in one of the chairs. Her little legs dangle far above the floor, her tiny hands gripping his mug. The white ceramic is covered in her colorful fingerprint smudges and your careful handwriting spelling out Best Daddy across the side. In front of her on the table, crayons and pens are scattered all around her favorite coloring book. The page with a cycling bunny is already half-finished.

"Hey, daddy!" she chirps, completely unaware of the tension that had filled the room just moments ago. And just like that, it melts away as the male's eyes soften at the sight of his baby.

Zorag sighs, his shoulders relaxing. "Hey, Bug," he replies. His words are much more gentle now, warmth creeping into his usually gruff tone. He wastes no time rounding the table. His boots are heavy on the floor. Leaning down, he presses a tusked kiss against the top of her head. The scent of her lavender shampoo she insisted she needed because it smells just like her mama, fills his nostrils.

"What are you doing here, hm?" he asks, tone teasing, though the look he sends the men is anything but. "Stopping my men from working?"

"We havin’ a tea party," she announces proudly, lifting the mug for emphasis before dropping it back onto the table with a thud.

The minotaur beside her grins. "Can’t blame us, Zorag," he rumbles, holding up his own flask. "We can’t say no to a princess."

Earlier that day, despite her dad's very clear instructions to stay put, the toddler wandered out to the yard anyway. With one tiny hand on her hips, she went from man to man, inviting them to her tea party, and of course, the men, fully aware that getting chewed out for slacking off was nothing compared to letting the orc’s kid wander around unattended, had followed her orders without hesitation. So now, they sit around the table in their dusty work clothes, holding their thermoses alongside their lunches.

"Daddy, you sit too?"

Zorag sighs. There is work to be done, a lot of work, and his men know it just as well as he does, but saying no to his daughter is not something he is particularly good at. Especially not when she stares up at him with big, pleading eyes. Her chubby cheeks are slightly sticky, and there is a streak of yellow crayon smudged on her soft green skin. Crumbs dot the front of her Belle dress, which she insisted on wearing despite it being completely mismatched with her paw-print stockings and the glittery purple rain boots she had proudly declared 'mazing with all the certainty only toddlers can have.

Zorag knows he has already lost this battle. "Fine."

They have no time for tea parties, not with all the work waiting outside, but none of that matters because the orc also knows that when his boss, her granddad, shows up, he will find himself, too, squeezed around the table with raised pinky and sipping tea like it’s the most important task of the day.

[agoraphobialt]

just a bit of john price being a dad in honor of father's day!

It was the perfect morning, the kind that screamed for you to stay in bed, but you needed to get out of bed, a hard thing to do since you sleep with a man who seems to have an iron grip but you eventually managed to get out of bed without waking him up.

And when he finally stirred, it was just because the bed felt too cold without you in it. And the silence? Suspicious. In a way that made an alarm go off in his head.

But then he smelled it, fresh coffee, the kind only you ever seemed to make right. He sat up slowly, shirtless, and a bit calmed now.

The low creck of the door made him look up and there you were, walking in, balancing the breakfast tray like it was a mission with coffee, two small boxes with perfect wrapping paper, and in your other arm, the tiniest person he's ever loved.

“Happy father’s day, John,” you whispered with a big and proud smile on your face.

You had dressed your baby in a pastel blue onesie that read "Daddy’s Number #1 Fan" in big letters. The kind of thing that made his chest ache with pride and made him wear the biggest smile on his face.

He reached out to take her, and you handed her over with practiced ease. She nestled into his arm like she belonged there, and she did, since the first day he knew you were pregnant until he dies.

He reached out for the '#1 daddy' soap gave him when he told the guys that he was finally being a father. Then he looked at you, eyes soft, the kind he only gives to you “You did all this?”

You shrugged, cheeks blushed and still smiling brightly “She helped. She approved the gifts.”

He raised a brow, glancing at the two boxes still on the tray and then to the baby in his arms “That right, bug?"

And as if she could understand, she let out a small yawn and a coo, nuzzling closer against his chest. "look at you, small thing, i love you so much." he pressed a soft kiss on her tiny forehead and then he opened the gifts you handed him.

Inside the first box was a high-quality, hand-rolled cigar from a small Cuban brand he’d mentioned once weeks ago. He’d never expect you to remember. But of course you did. You always did.

And it never fails to make his heart ache in a good way, god, both of you made him soft.

And then it was time for the other box, when he opened it he froze; inside was a pregnancy test, positive, and after a couple seconds his head snapped in your direction, your eyes were already filling up with tears, a hand covering your mouth as you nodded to his silent question. He quickly placed the mug on the nightstand and you crawled back in bed, to his arms.

"Happy father's day, daddy".

[btswit7]

The bodyguard (2)

Pairing: bodyguard Jungkook/ rich reader

Wc: 3.3k

Genre: slow burn, slight 18+ content, age gap, bodyguard au

Summary: A wealthy heiress and her newly assigned bodyguard—two opposites forced into each other’s orbit. She resents the intrusion; he’s just doing his job. But as tensions rise and secrets unfold, protection starts to feel a lot like something more.

Note: thank you Ava ( @jincapableoflove ) for the beautiful banner, I appreciate your hard work. And here I tagged you @busanbby-jjk

Part 1

It's the end of the class days in the university with regular classes and a regular stone-faced Jungkook by your side. Every morning even before you would wake up he would be in the house waiting for you.

Even after your constant push he never bugged from his so-called ideals that come because of his job. Coming before 7 in the morning he would leave nowhere before 10 pm in the evening just in case you would need anything even after coming back home from your university or the other extra curricular classes you attend.

This is the last class day of the week, Saturday. You are at the dining table having breakfast served to you. Ever since Jungkook has made an entry in your life not even once he would miss knocking at your door exactly at 7:15 am which he did today too.

You don't want to go with him. It's because of him you have to sneak away from your friends and come to the car to drive back home with him or your friends will not leave a single chance to tease you.

You turn to look at Jungkook, he is on the couch with his usual coffee in his hands. This is your chance to sneak to the car. You don't want to go to the university with Jungkook today.

With the last bite of your breakfast, you quitely pick up the tissue and clean your hands with it, you grumble at the feeling of not washing your hands. The butler comes and takes the dishes. Now you are alone on the table, you look back again. Okay he is still busy with a newspaper in his hand and coffee mug in the other hand. This is the right time to sneak.

You skulk through the corridor that leads to the back door of the house joining the backyard. You have managed to steal the key from the key holder too. With a few tiny steps you sneak out of the house and let out a low squeal as you practically jump in happiness as you look at the Mercedes Benz parked.

Finally, after a full week of trouble with your so-called bodyguard you are here ready to drive to your college alone with none with you. You open the door of the car as you get in only to let out a loud shriek in surprise and fear.

How come he is here?

“ Could have told you were driving today” he says with his calmest voice as he focuses on putting on his seatbelt.

There he sits with the calmest expression a man can have after scaring the shit out of a woman. His black suit blending with the black interior of the car made it hard for you to even understand he was sitting inside.

You gulp as you pat your chest to calm your racing heart. You groan as you fix your position on the seat later keeping your head on the steering wheel on top of your hands.

“ It's already 8:26” he says as he looks at his wrist watch later focusing his gaze ahead.

“ You got to be kidding me” you say with a fed up face as you look at him by turning your head towards his sitting figure.

His silence says he wasn't kidding. He never does. You heave out a sigh as you start the engine of the car. Your dream of driving the car did get completed but not the dream of going to the university alone.

Jungkook sneaks a glance at you just to see your bag fallen down below the steering wheel and your water bottle rolling with the moving car in the small space.

He doesn't say anything, rather moves to pick up the bag and the water bottle. Picking up the bag swiftly he puts it on his lap and then moves to pick up the water bottle. Jungkook makes sure he ain't touching you as he tries to put his hand deeper in space. A low groan leaves his mouth when he still can't reach the bottle.

You being a viewer of everything don't make any move to help him. You instead smirk as you watch him struggle and focus on the road.

Jungkook groans again in frustration. He gets back on his seat as he holds the bag tightly in his grip. He looks at you just to see you with a small smile on your lips which you are trying your best to suppress and hide from him. You are not helping him until he doesn't ask for it himself.

Jungkook puts the bag on the dashboard and this time he again tries to reach the water bottle and fortunately the rolling bottle reaches the tip of his finger but still he can't get a hold of it. Jungkook can't ask you for help and lower his self-respect, mind it ego, down. With a sudden jerk of the car Jungkook gets a hold of the bottle but soon groans when he gets pressed against the car his hand soon getting up as he takes support of your thighs. Another low groan leaves his mouth when your bag falls down on his body from the dashboard.

“ Fuck this” he says as he gets up and sits on the seat with a disheveld hair and bottle in his hand.

“ Why would you d—” he stops when he realises the car is stopped at the traffic.

“ Yeah red light” you almost sing trying to trouble him more.

He stays quiet for a moment while you glance at him just to say.

“ You know people won't like to see such a handsome bodyguard with a disheveled hairstyle,” you giggle, pointing at his hair. You turn the car inside the university’s campus.

Jungkook groans looking at his reflection in the mirror and proceeds to fix his hair muttering a “ don't call me handsome”

“Handsome people should be called handsome” you again giggle.

It takes you a moment to realise what you just let out. You gulp as you try to play it all cool “ I mean, there's no problem admiring beauty,” you say, trying to mask your embarrassment.

Jungkook just nods with a small smile on his lips as you stop the car in the parking lot. He passes you the bag while you get out of the car.

Walking a few steps ahead you turn around when you realise you have left the water bottle in the car only to see his hands out of the window from the passenger seat with the water bottle. Some tattoos visible to you on his wrist.

Taking the bottle from his hand you are about to walk back to the university but turn back to give him some information.

“ I'll be back by 3pm today” you say as you lean on the window looking at him.

“ I'll be waiting” that's what he mutters. Never once he has said a bye to you and after your first interaction you don't even expect one from him.

—-

The day comes to an end soon as you quickly make your way out of the university. This entire week your goal has been curt and clear — to leave the lecture hall after the ending of the class as soon as possible and to get to Jungkook so that you can drive home without getting much attention from your peers.

You look towards the car in the same place as it was parked in the morning. As always Jungkook must be in the car. You unknowingly smile when you see him get out of the car with a phone pressed against his ear. Finally you can rest in the car with no rush.

Something about Jungkook's presence in the car by your side gives your serenity. You don't have to worry about talking or even not talking because Jungkook never initiates conversation. Mostly it's just him driving while you rest on the seat, the night sky another medium of your warmth with some soft music playing. There is no rush or heavy traffic like it is in the morning. So you let your body and mind rest without having to worry about keeping your guards up.

You have to study business because there is no heir apart from you to take over your dad's business— as stated by your dear father. Not like you hated studying business but it was more like things in your final year have just got hectic for you. The huge syllabus along with the mandatory university attendance. Coming to university these days is just a way for you to make attendance, otherwise you can study at home too without much fuss.

Talking about today, you had continuous lectures throughout the day, one after another. The only break you got was at lunch time. Your brain needs rest and your body needs sleep. You can already imagine peace in the car so you happily climb down the last few stairs until your hand is held in someone's grip and you are pulled back. The person you see makes your breath hitch.

“ you are coming, right doll?” Jae whispers near your face with a glint in his eyes.

You are quick to get your senses back as you try to free your hands from his grip. To your surprise he leaves your hand without much effort. You scan his face just to see him give you one of his mischievous smiles.

“ You are coming, right?” He asks again after not getting a reply the first time.

“ I have classes to at–” you try to come up with an excuse. The truth is after going back home all you have planned is to get a good shower, complete your studies and get a good night's sleep.

“ Y/n, let's not lie hmm? I know you have no classes on Saturday” he says as he tries to tuck in the strand of hair falling on your face. You dodge his hands away within seconds of his touch lingering on your face.

“ I do have classes” you say with a tone that gives confidence so that he believes your lie which he does.

“ Ah y/n! Sometimes you should let yourself be cool, okay?” He continues, “ let's have some fun”

“ I do have fun, I don't need you to tell me when to have fun” you reply in an instant standing your ground.

“ Nah, don't be angry. See if you don't come to the party I'll ask uncle for help” he says with a playful smile on his lips.

You grit your teeth at his absurdity. The situation is stupid. You know if he asks your dad, your dad will definitely force you to go to his party and you will eventually be left with no chance but to go, you would not like to say no to your dad.

Your father and his father have been friends for a long time. You both have seen each other since childhood. It was in your middle school that you changed schools and got rid of him but unfortunately you met him again in the university. Now, just for a guy you can't change your university but definitely fight against his tactics for your peace.

You waste no more time and with a fierce look in your eyes you pull your wrist from his grip to go to your car, mind him guy can't keep his hands to himself. The thoughts of peace leaving your mind as bitter thoughts make their way to your mind.

Jungkook, who was a silent viewer of the scenario within minutes, understood that the guy gave an off-kilter vibe. You gave him a quick glance as he stayed standing in front of the passenger door as you got in the car.

Jungkook makes a strong eye contact with the guy as he moves to sit in the driver's seat.

You sigh as you look out of the window. You don't want to start your ranting session in front of Jungkook. You wish to rant without judgement, without feeling unheard, without people making you feel that your feelings are invalid but to your dismay you don't have that close someone.

Jungkook was silent all the while as always, he was observing you waiting for you to say but you didn't. It was until he heard you groan.

“ I am hungry” you pause before continuing, “let's go to this restaurant” you look at him with eyes that need permission because you are not sure what he has been advised by your dad. Your dad doesn't allow you to go to old class restaurants, he prefers those opulent restaurants with an excuse that those not only serve good food but are also hygienic unlike the others.

Will he take you there? Your mind questions.

With a slight nod, he puts the location in the car gps. You grin, whispering a thanks.

—-

There haven't been many times you have come to this restaurant but whenever you have you have gotten that homely vibe. Not rich, not luxurious, just cozy.

You sit at your favourite spot, near the glass windows that give a view of the busy city. It's late in the afternoon. The sky looks beautiful. It's calming. Nature calms you down.

Jungkook was shocked to see the restaurant you have chosen. He expected one of those lavish restaurants rich people always visit, not this. He stands beside your seat not sitting down in the seat in front of you.

“ Will you keep standing?” You ask frustrated. Holding his wrist from the place you are sitting you push him towards the other seat while waiting for him to sit. He is left with no option but to sit so he does and somewhere he doesn't want you to have the meal all alone while he stands at your head.

“ What would you like Ms. Y/n?” An old man asks as he forwards the menu to you.

You place your order as you ask Jungkook if he would like something more but he has his own plans, “ I have had my lunch. I don't need anything” so you say to the old man with a forced smile, “ two servings please”

As you dig into the tasty food Jungkook can't seem to resist the food so he digs in the food himself. The food is actually tasty. None of you talk as you are busy with your food.

“ Did you like the food?” You ask as you both climb down the stairs to go to the streets. The car is parked quite far away as there is no space provided by the restaurant to park cars.

“ It was tasty” he says as you both walk side by side just surrounded by the hassle of the market.

“ The sky looks beautiful” you say until your mind clicks with the thought of taking a picture so you quickly fish your phone out of your pockets and take a picture of the sky. You grin looking at the picture. You look up towards him just to see him looking down at the pictures in your phone. Jungkook looks away from your phone when he finds you looking at him.

“ We are taking pictures” you say as you hold his wrist to stop him, raising the camera, you say, “ smile” as you click the picture. There was no chance for Jungkook to disagree.

Taking the picture you slide your phone in your pockets as you start walking faster towards the car since it is now in your view.

" come fast Mr. Bodyguard" you giggle looking back at him as you walk towards the car.

A small smile plays on his lips. Your random tactics make something inside him lively.

—---

You groan as you walk down the stairs, it's past 8pm at night. Not a single cell in your body wants to go to his party but at the same point you don't want your dad to be calling you and asking you to go. That's the thing your dad never saw anything bad in Jae but you do. Your gut instincts say something is up the way he looks at you, he touches you unknowingly or maybe knowingly and with his presence beside you.

“ Let's go,” you say as you stand beside Jungkook's sitting figure on the couch. He looks up at you before nodding.

“ Put on your seatbelt” he reminds you when he sees you just sitting there with slouched shoulders. You lazily put your seatbelt on.

“ Why are you going if you don't want to?” Jungkook finally asks to be done with seeing you with a lethargic face.

“ I don't want to but ugh I have to because that idiot might ask dad to urge me to go and eventually I'll have to listen to dad” you explain.

“ Let's go and come back quick” he tries to reassure you as you nod.

Reaching the venue you are not surprised to see the chaos. Is he celebrating his birthday or is he having some grand club opening?

The number of people, the reeking smell of booze and colourful lights, it's all too annoying. Jungkook keeps walking while being close to you, his hand preventing drunk bodies from hitting yours, his gaze fierce as he examines everyone and everything harmful for you.

You go and stand near the food stalls. Tasty starters are present there but you are in no mood to have anything the sweet taste of coffee from earlier still present on your tongue. Jungkook stands beside you quietly as a matter of fact he too wishes to get over this party. The venue doesn't give too safe of a vibe as intoxicated dudes and girls are all around the place. Some grinding, some making out or some almost naked.

You look towards the dance floor where Jae is busy dancing with a girl, a glass of wine in his hand, his hips moving sensually with the girl's hips. You did tell your dad about the invitation and he wastes no time sending a gift for Jae.

Thank God, he saved so much of your energy.

“ Let's have a drink” you say as you look towards Jungkook. You turn around ordering a single mojito while he orders a juice.

You are surprised when suddenly you are turned around by your other hand. You barely manage to stabilize your drink as some of it spills on your hands. Jungkook is quick to take actions as he pulls his hands away from your wrist, his fierce eyes being an invitation for a fight.

You as always hate these tactics of Jae but not wanting to create a scene at his birthday party you try to pull Jungkook's hand back. You whisper a ‘ I can handle’ in his ears when he doesn't seem to lose his grip, making Jae’s face twist in pain.

You pull his hands back as his fierce eyes leave Jae’s figure who awkwardly smiles at him. Jungkook continues drinking his juice.

“ So you finally came! I knew you wouldn't ignore my request” he squeals with what you assume is some fake happiness cause there's no reason.

“ Unfortunately you left me no chance” you say making sure he knows his tactics are worse and that you aren't interested in being here even a bit. Jae just smiles as he tries to get closer to you to get you in a hug but is pushed back when Jungkook holds your fist around the strings of the gift bag and slams the gift bag which you were holding on his chest in a way pushing his intoxicated body back.

Jungkook's stare is cold and deadly, his jaw locked as he murmured “ your gift” to jae.

You sigh, knowing jungkook will stand his guards.

A/n: finally it's posted. We have to hit the small goal of 80 notes then the next chapter will be posted. The next chapter will pull them closer. And and and! There's a oneshot I am working on so stay tuned.

(yes, I increased the goal cause I am yet not done with the fic and will need some more time)

[azzifudd10]

Somewhere To Land

Chapter 12: Lean On Me

Monday – 6:12 p.m.

Paige had felt it coming on during practice — the slow burn in her throat, the aching behind her eyes, the way her limbs felt like they were moving through molasses. But she’d ignored it.

She was good at that.

Ignore it, stretch it out, push through.

Except by that evening, she was curled on her couch under a pile of blankets, shivering and sweating all at once, the world spinning slightly every time she blinked.

Her phone lit up.

Azzi: You okay? You didn’t answer Nai’s group chat earlier.

Paige swallowed hard. Even typing made her fingers ache.

Paige: Yeah just tired. Long practice.

Azzi: Want me to bring soup or something?

She hesitated.

Paige: I’m fine. Just resting.

Azzi: Okay. Let me know if you need anything.

She wouldn’t. That wasn’t her. Needing things.

She pulled the blanket tighter and closed her eyes.

Tuesday – 9:27 a.m.

Azzi tried to pretend she wasn’t worried.

But Paige had ghosted the group chat all night. She hadn’t responded to Nai’s memes or Azzi’s follow-up texts. Nothing on IG stories. No voice memo. Nothing.

Azzi stared at her phone while feeding Eli little spoonfuls of oatmeal. Something in her chest twisted.

She didn’t want to be pushy.

But she also didn’t want to sit here and not know.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “That’s it.”

She grabbed her Eli  

Tuesday – 9:30 a.m.

It took a few knocks before Paige answered the door.

She looked like hell.

Sweat-slicked hair, red-rimmed eyes, a hoodie falling off one shoulder, and her voice was raspy when she croaked, “Azzi?”

Azzi stepped inside immediately, Eli clutched to her chest, and stared her down.

“You’re sick sick.”

Paige tried to wave it off. “It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”

“You look like you got hit by a bus.”

“I didn’t want to bug you,” Paige mumbled, voice rough and weak. “You’ve got Eli, and work, and—”

Azzi turned toward the couch and began gathering a few of Paige’s things. “Pack your essentials. You’re coming to my place.”

“What? No, Azzi, I’m not dragging my germs into your house.”

“You’re already contagious. I’d bet money Eli licked your face last weekend.”

Paige managed a groggy laugh.

Azzi was already in mom mode: calm, firm, not taking no for an answer.

“Come on,” she said gently. “You’re not doing this alone.”

Tuesday – 9:50 a.m. | Azzi’s Apartment

Azzi deposited Paige in her bed with a fresh set of sheets, water bottles, cold medicine, and a tiny humidifier she pulled from Eli’s closet.

“You’re not allowed to do anything,” she said firmly, fluffing the pillows. “No getting up. No arguing. You rest.”

Paige blinked at her. “You’re kind of terrifying like this.”

Azzi smirked. “Motherhood’ll do that to you.”

She shifted Eli to one hip. “I’ll sleep in his room tonight. You’re staying until you’re back to normal.”

“You don’t have to—”

Azzi cut her off with a look. “I want to.”

That shut Paige up.

She sank into the pillows, her eyes fluttering closed. “You’re really good at this.”

Azzi paused, her voice softer. “Only when I care.”

Paige turned her face into the pillow. Her silence spoke volumes.

Wednesday – 2:45 a.m.

Azzi crept into her bedroom with a thermometer in one hand and a cool washcloth in the other.

She hadn’t been able to sleep.

Eli had gone down easily, but the memory of Paige’s hoarse cough and flushed cheeks kept her wide awake.

Now, in the soft moonlight pouring through the curtains, Paige looked even smaller than usual. Vulnerable in a way Azzi wasn’t used to seeing.

Azzi knelt by the bed and gently brushed the hair from her forehead.

Paige stirred. “Mmm?”

“I’m just checking on you.”

Paige’s hand found Azzi’s, weak and warm. “You didn’t have to.”

“I always will.”

Thursday – 9:00 a.m.

By the time Thursday morning rolled around, Paige was upright, propped in bed and sipping tea with Eli curled against her side.

Azzi leaned in the doorway with a coffee mug, watching them with a look she didn’t even try to hide.

“You’re feeling better,” she said quietly.

“Because of you,” Paige replied.

Azzi walked over and perched on the edge of the bed. “You’re not used to being taken care of.”

“Nope,” Paige said. “I’m usually the strong one. The one everyone leans on.”

Azzi looked at her. “You don’t always have to be.”

Paige glanced down at Eli, who was blowing spit bubbles on her arm. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re making me soft.”

Azzi smiled. “Good.”

Thursday – 11:18 a.m.

When Nai came by to drop off soup and check on her “favorite cryptid,” Paige had fallen asleep again — this time with Eli curled up beside her.

Nai poked her head into the room, then looked at Azzi in the kitchen.

“She’s so down bad for you.”

Azzi blushed. “She was literally running a fever last night.”

Nai just smirked. “Not the only heat I’m picking up.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her heart was full.

[theshiniestgemstone]

sleeping beauty- gn!reader x gideon gemstone

You push the front door open with your shoulder, keys jingling in your hand as you toe off your shoes. The air inside is warm and still, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the living room windows in golden slants. You expect chaos, or at least toys scattered across the floor and a sleepy Gideon half-watching a nature documentary while Finn kicks away in his bouncer.

But it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

You walk in slowly, careful not to let the door creak behind you. And then you see them. They're on the couch, dead center in a perfect little sunbeam. Gideon’s head is tilted back, mouth slightly open, a soft snore escaping every few seconds. His arms are curled protectively around your son, who’s sprawled out on his chest like a sleepy starfish. One tiny hand is clutching Gideon’s T-shirt, the other tucked beneath his cheek.

They’re identical. They have the same thick lashes resting against warm skin, the same mess of hair, the same slightly crooked noses (Finn’s still working on growing into his). And they’re both out cold, breathing in sync, each snore a little duet.

You stand there for a long moment, heart aching in the best way. It had been Gideon’s turn today, his sacred once-a-week day with Finn. You usually spend it drifting around the museum with a coffee in hand, letting your brain rest while Gideon gets a taste of your everyday. But, by 2 p.m., like clockwork, you're always ready to come home.

You don’t bother grabbing your phone. You don’t need a picture to remember this. You’ll carry the image with you forever. Your boys, tangled together in sleep, soft and safe and so themselves.

You step closer, crouching beside the couch just to brush Finn’s hair back from his forehead. Gideon stirs slightly but doesn’t wake.

You press a kiss to his temple.

Then, just as quietly, you back away. You throw a load of laundry into the washer. Almost all of Finn’s onesies, plus a mystery burp cloth you found under the dining table. You hop into the shower, letting the water wash away the museum dust and city noise. You even wrap yourself in your favorite robe and make a snack: toast with honey and peanut butter, some strawberries on the side, a little bite of peace while your house breathes around you.

It’s nearly an hour before you feel the change in the air.

The snoring has stopped.

Finn stirs first, little legs kicking against Gideon’s stomach, fists balling up near his chin. He gives a tiny grunt, followed by a half-hearted wail, the kind that’s more "I’m thinking about being mad" than actually mad.

You set down your mug and walk over, crouching once again beside the couch. Gideon’s arms reflexively tighten around Finn even in sleep, but you gently untangle them, slipping your hands beneath your son and lifting him into your chest.

“Hey, bug,” you whisper, swaying slightly as he blinks up at you, face scrunched and cheeks warm with sleep. “Did you have a nice nap with Daddy?”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, like the nap was good but the waking part is offensive. You press a kiss to his forehead and bounce him gently, brushing your nose against his.

“You smell like him,” you murmur. "You're losing your baby smell."

Finn whines softly, one fist grabbing the collar of your robe.

You peek back at the couch. Gideon hasn’t moved. Still stretched out, mouth open, one arm thrown over the back cushion like he fought sleep and lost dramatically.

You smile and whisper to Finn, “He’s gonna wake up and act like he had it so hard today.”

Finn lets out a high-pitched coo, as if in agreement, and you laugh, soft and full. Gideon flinched, reaching for his chest, then the floor.

"Woah," you chuckled to Finn. "Someone's got an adrenaline rush."

Gideon let out a deep sigh. "Jesus, I thought I dropped him."

You can’t help but laugh again, louder this time, bouncing Finn a little on your hip. “Nope. Still got him. Right here,” you say, lifting Finn just slightly so Gideon can see him. Finn is wide awake now, eyes bright, already gnawing on his own fist like the whole near-death panic meant nothing to him.

Gideon rubs his eyes and sits up slowly, blinking against the sunlight. His hair’s a mess, flattened on one side and sticking up on the other, and his shirt’s wrinkled with a faint wet spot where Finn must’ve drooled half a bottle’s worth of baby spit.

“I felt the weight shift,” he mumbled, rubbing his chest dramatically. “Thought I let go.”

“You were snoring. Hard,” you tease, walking closer so Finn can stretch a chubby hand toward his dad. “He was basically suction-cupped to you. You two were out.”

Gideon looks up at the both of you, eyes softening the second Finn squeals and kicks his legs in greeting.

He holds out his arms. “C’mere, buddy. Daddy’s still alive. Just had a little heart attack.”

Finn reaches with both arms now, and you lean down to hand him off. “You know, for someone who got to nap for two hours with a baby heater glued to his chest, you’re really dramatic.”

Gideon doesn’t argue. He just pulls Finn into his lap and kisses the top of his head, eyes closing for a second like he’s grounding himself.

“You did good,” you say quietly, watching them. “You always do.”

He looks up at you, smile lazy and soft. “You really left me alone with him all day, huh?”

“I did,” you say, sitting on the arm of the couch, nibbling a strawberry from your plate. “And you survived.”

“Barely,” he mutters, letting Finn chew on his finger. “Next week I’m building a baby harness that velcros to my chest. We’ll be one unit. No drop risk.”

You smirk. “You mean like a carrier?”

“…That’s what that’s called?”

You nod.

He sighs. “Yeah. Okay. I need a coffee.”

“You need a shower.”

He sniffs himself. Finn burbles in agreement, gurgling happily. You smiled. "See, even he thinks so."

[punksyeet]

- Lovesick ❥

Plot: When a sickness bug ruins his Valentine’s Day plans, Jimmy makes it his mission to help his lady feel special regardless.

Warning: Mature language & fluff! <3

A/N: happy belated v-day friends! please excuse how late i am to the party, as the flu has been kicking my ass for over a week now. also, don’t mind any errors or lack of attention to detail in some parts. this sickness took away any attention span i had left in me. 🥲

anywho, i hope you all enjoy this one. she’s a tiny one compared to my others, but we love her regardless! 💌

—————————————————————————————————

“Well Miss Gianna,” my doctor begins, walking back into the room after leaving to run a few tests. Covid, strep, and flu to be exact. “It turns out your instincts were correct. Your flu test came back positive.”

My heart drops at those last six words.

Positive? For the flu? On Valentine’s Day?

I let out a deep sigh, running a hand through my hair.

“I know the timing isn’t ideal,” he continues, intertwining his fingers in front of him. “But please understand that your health comes first.”

I nod slightly, my eyes fluttering closed. “I understand, Doc. Would you be able to send some medication over?”

“Absolutely,” he responds. “It’ll be ready at your pharmacy as soon as tomorrow morning.”

I nod again. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replies sweetly. “Take care, alright?”

And with that, he’s out the door.

I sit there for a minute in disbelief of my bad luck, before climbing off of the examination chair and putting my jacket back on.

When I reach my car, I immediately FaceTime Jon.

When he answers and pops up on the screen, he’s sat at a table taping something, a gorgeous smile on his face.

J: Hey, beautiful.

I smile at the compliment, pulling out of my parking spot.

G: Hi, my love. What are you up to?

J: Not much, just helping twin decorate his place for T before she gets home. Where you headed?

G: Aw, that’s sweet. She’s gonna love it. I’m headed home now.

J: Gotchu. Where you coming from?

My smile fades and I take a deep breath.

Get a grip, Gi. It’s not your fault. He’ll understand.

G: Urgent care.

He raises an eyebrow and a concerned look comes over his face.

J: Urgent care? What you was there for? Baby, you alright?

I shake my head, biting my lower lip.

G: Relax, Jon. It’s nothing too serious. I tested positive for the flu.

He just kind of sits there for a second, disbelief written all over his face.

J: You’re fuckin’ joking, right? You messin’ with me?

G: I wish. I felt like shit when I got up this morning and ran right to the doctor, knowing how much shit is going around. I called you as soon as I left.

J: Fuck, man.

He throws his head back and runs a hand over his face.

G: I know, babe. I’m sorry.

J: Nah, baby, don’t apologize. You ain’t get sick on purpose. The timing is just…

His voice trails off and I nod in agreement, resting my head back on the headrest when I reach a red light.

G: I know. That’s what I said.

He sighs and strokes his beard.

J: Aight. I guess we’re gonna have to work with what we got.

I pop my neck back, giving him a mean mug.

G: Boy, are you insane? You’re not coming anywhere near me.

J: Like hell I ain’t. Bae, you’re sick. I gotta take care of you. Do right by the woman I love.

G: Jonathan-

J: Nah, I don’t wanna hear allat. Lemme finish up here and I’ll be home in a bit, okay?

I sigh, running a hand through my curls, knowing that as hard as I try, I’m not winning this argument.

G: Okay. Fine.

J: Aight. Love you, mama. I’ll see you soon.

G: Okay. Love you too.

And with that, he hangs up.

I let out a deep sigh as the streetlight turns green, allowing me to turn onto the highway.

** Jimmy’s POV **

“Was that sis?” Josh asks, walking back to the island from the bathroom and taking a seat. “Everything good?”

I nod, licking my lower lip. “Yeah, man. She’s got the flu.”

His jaw drops in shock. “Fuck, man. You serious?”

I sigh, nodding. “Yup. She’s driving home from the doctor now.”

“Damn uce,” he replies, his attention turning to a banner. “Whatchu gonna do about tonight now?”

I shrug, shaking my head. “No idea. I had dinner reservations set and everything.”

He sucks his teeth. “I’m sorry, bro. Maybe you can rain check?”

I narrow my eyes, shaking my head. “Nah, I still gotta do right by her. I’ll come up with something.”

He nods, nudging my arm. “Whatever you need uce, I gotchu. Just let me know.”

I smile, nodding slightly. “Preciate you, man.”

Suddenly, a lightbulb goes off in my head and I turn back to my twin with a smirk.

He looks up at me and his expression immediately fades. “The hell you lookin’ at me like that for?”

“Big Jim has an ideaaa!” I sing, hopping out of my chair at the island.

Josh groans in response, placing his head in his hands. “Five words the world fears most.”

** Gianna’s POV **

“Guess he’s not home yet,” I mutter to myself, pulling up to Jon and I’s place and seeing an empty driveway.

After pulling in, I shut off my car, grab my things from the passenger side, and head up the pathway to our home.

With one swift motion, the front door flies open and so do my eyes.

There’s balloons and flowers everywhere.

Soft music echoing throughout the house.

The deep and warm scent of vanilla takes over whatever’s left of my sense of smell.

“J-Jon?” I call out, closing the door behind me and stepping further into the house.

“Welcome home m’lady,” he replies in an awful French accent, suddenly appearing in the doorway to the kitchen.

I chuckle in reaction to his goofiness and look around. “Babe, what is all this?”

He walks over and taking my stuff. “I refuse to let some stupid ass sickness ruin our night, baby. Today is all about love. Lemme show you how much I love you.”

I dramatically stick out my bottom lip as he pulls me into an embrace, rocking us back and forth and kissing my hair.

“Jon please,” I plead, stepping back. “I don’t want you to get si-“

“Shh,” he interrupts, pulling me back in. “You’re ruining the moment.”

I playfully roll my eyes and he chuckles, cupping my face and kissing me.

I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss back, my worries fading away the second we make contact.

“Cmon mama,” he orders, taking my hand and placing my stuff down on the couch. “Dinner will be ready soon.

“You go ahead,” I assure him, letting go of his hand and heading upstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

He nods and heads into the kitchen.

The dress I bought while shopping with T last week is too pretty to go to waste.

And if I can’t leave the house, it’s time to play dress up I guess.

I freshen up with a quick shower and slip into the silk, followed by a little makeup and hair action.

“Goddamn,” Jon coos when he sees me, after looking up from what looks like pasta sauce cooking on the stove. “Look at my girl.”

He lifts my hand and twirls me, a gorgeous smile on his face as he admires my body.

“This dress was originally for our date but,” I reply, soothing out the torso part. “I figured why let it go to waste when you’ve worked so hard on this too?”

He smiles and takes me into his arms, pulling me in by my waist.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he asks in between kisses to my jaw.

I giggle and lift my head, his beard tickling my skin. “I know, I know. And I love you too, baby. So much.”

I hold either side of his dreamy face and pull his lips to mine, softly smiling in the kiss.

He pulls away with a “mwuah” sound and takes my hand, leading me over to the dining table.

The rest of the night includes a candle light homemade dinner featuring our favorite wine, a steaming hot bath with rose petals, and gift giving on both sides.

Me to him, a silver chain to go with his favorite bracelet.

Him to me, a Cartier love ring that I’ve been eye-ing for months.

—————————————————————————————————

The next morning, I wake up to a bright ray of sunshine peeking in through our curtains.

With a groan, I turn over and nuzzle my face into Jon’s neck.

He responds with a pair of big muscular arms wrapped around me extra tight and a kiss on my temple.

“Mmm morning,” I greet him as best I can, before placing a light kiss on his jaw.

“Mornin’ ba-“ he’s interrupted by a fit of coughs.

Flemmy, raspy coughs.

My eyes fly open and I sit up, an amused expression on my face.

He glares up at me, shaking his head. “Don’t say it.”

I pucker my lips to the side with a smirk before laying back down to whisper in his ear. “I told you so.”

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