softlypotter_

Now he can’t get enough. Now, he always starts as though he intends it to be brief. Casual. A quick press of his lips before returning to whatever had occupied his attention moments before. But the first kiss lingers a heartbeat too long. Then comes another, and maybe another after that.

His mouth finds yours again, softer this time, and there is always that fleeting flash of self-consciousness afterward, as though he's aware of his inability to stop and is quietly embarrassed by it. His nose brushes yours, his breath catches, and then he finds himself leaning in again before he can help himself.

Dex notices everything. It's both his greatest strength and his greatest flaw.

One hand settles against your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek as his gaze searches your face. Not for imperfections, never for those. He's studying you the way one studies something precious. Committing you to memory. Every expression. Every subtle shift in mood. Every fleeting emotion that crosses your features before disappearing again.

Dex’s fingers tremble, just slightly, as they trace the soft line of your cheekbone. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath.

Every time you look at him, it feels like a gift. A rare privilege he hadn't earned but was somehow allowed to have anyway. The way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the tiny sigh that escapes when you relaxe into his touch, he catalogues it all in silence.

He kisses the corner of your mouth first, feather-light, testing. Then again on the other side, hesitant as always, but this time bolder because you hadn't pulled away yet.

His lips finally meet yours properly, warm and slow and uncertain in their devotion but so very sincere about wanting to be right for once in his life.

He thinks there never will come a time when he doesn’t want to kiss you, and you always let him.

Even when you’re sick, you let him.

Even when you’re dying.

The flowers are overly sweet in his hands but he carries them into the hospital room anyways. You’re asleep like normal, the medication makes you drowsy, but he can’t help it.

He leans down, brushing his mouth to your temple. His eyes are already cloudy when you wake up, your pale lips stretching into a little smile when you see him.

“Hi Dex.”

Dex's chest tightens at the sound of your voice, so soft, so you, even when it came out weak and tired.

The flowers slip slightly in his grip. He hadn’t planned on crying. Hadn’t allowed himself to think about how thin you looked under the blankets, how your cheeks had hollowed since last week.

But hearing Hi Dex like that, like nothing is wrong, like you aren’t slipping away from him. It makes him shaky.

He sets the bouquet carefully on the bedside table before sinking into the chair beside you. His fingers curl around yours instantly, cool against warm skin, and he lifts them to his lips without thinking, pressing a kiss to each knuckle with slow devotion.

“Hi.” he whispers back. No other words come because he doesn’t trust his voice just yet.

You nod at the flowers, and raise a thin brow. “Those for me?”

Dex blinks, startled, like the question hadn’t fully occurred to him. Of course they were for you. Everything is for you.

He nods quickly, a little too eager, and reaches over to pick up the bouquet again, the petals are vibrant pinks and whites, peonies mixed with lilacs. A little flashy for his usual taste, he prefers simple arrangements, but he’d seen them on a street vendor this morning and thought: she’d like these.

Gently he places them in your lap where you can see them. He hesitates before leaning down slowly again, not quite kissing your lips yet, you look tired, but brushing his mouth softly against your forehead once more instead.

“They’re lovely Dex,” you murmur, and your fingers tremble as you brush them over the petals. “Thank you.”

“Course,” he replies. “How’re you feeling today?”

You shrug a shoulder with a sigh. “Been better.”

He watches your fingers move over the flowers, so slow now compared to how they used to dance across his face or grab his wrist when you were excited about something. His throat closes up.

Without asking, he reaches for the small cup of water on your tray and lifts it toward you with careful hands, the plastic straw between his fingers as he holds it steady for sipping.

You take a slow one, leaning to the side to reach fully and then you settle back against the pillows as you swallow, winded. Your eyes move over his face and you smile.

“I’m going to miss you.” Your words are soft, and Dex exhales out through his nose.

“Don’t talk like that,” he spits, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s unavoidable,” you whisper. “You know it.”

“The doctors-”

“Doctors aren’t god,” You interrupt and he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “They can’t heal everthing.”

Dex’s hands clench, first around the water cup, then on his knees. His breath comes too fast, uneven.

He hates this. Hates that you're right and he knows it but refuses to accept it because if he does, then everything changes.

Then you disappear.

His eyes are wet when they fly open again, wide and glassy with panic, and without thinking he grabs your face gently between both palms, thumbs brushing your cheeks like a plea disguised as touch.

And then his mouth crashes into yours, not soft or sweet or careful like all the other kisses before, but desperate. A kiss full of terror and love tangled together so tightly they can't be separated anymore.

You make a soft sound but kiss him back with as much effort as you can manage, your hand rising to cover his. He smells like mint and the bouquet and you hate that you’re doing this to him. Unintentionally hurting him, by wasting away.

When he pulls back, his eyes are still shiny and you lean your cheek into his hand.

“Baby,” you whisper, and your fingers touch the scar along his cheek. “It’ll be okay. I’m ready. You have to let me go..”

“I’m not,” his whisper is hoarse. “I- fuck I’m not.”

Dex shudders at the word baby, so soft, so affectionate, and it wrecks him because you’re saying goodbye in the gentlest way possible.

Your fingers trace along his scar, the one that he won’t tell you how he got. Now you’re touching it like an apology.

He leans into your palm, eyes squeezing shut again as a tear slips free. Just one. He doesn’t cry, he never cries, but this is too much to hold back against.

“I don’t want to be ready,” he chokes out, voice breaking over each syllable. “I want more. I want… more time.”

You have to steady your own heart to keep the tears at bay. “I know. I’m sorry.”

His forehead presses to yours and you exhale softly, letting your eyes close for a moment as you inhale his scent again. The warmth of your forehead against his is a lifeline. The only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

He breathes you in, your shampoo, faint beneath the sterile hospital soap, the softness of your skin that’s still warm even when everything else feels cold. Dex doesn’t cry often, but right now he’s silently sobbing into this quiet space between you two, the tiny space where no one else exists. Just you and him and this unbearable love that can't fix anything.

His arms slide around you as carefully as they can, avoiding tubes, mindful of IV lines, and pulls you close enough to press his lips to the crown of your head over and over again: a kiss repeated like prayer.

Your arms slip around him, digging your face into the crook of his neck as your fingers work.

He doesn’t feel your hand skim his belt, where you know his weapons live. He doesn’t feel you unhook the strap, or remove the knife. You’re surprised, but it must be his grief clouding his impeccable senses.

This is good. This is for the best.

When he pulls back and settles in the chair, you smile, holding his hand. “We’ll be okay.”

Dex nods, and his fingers squeeze yours. “I know. You’re gonna get better, and you’ll be back home where you belong in no time.”

“Taking all the covers and interrupting your favorite shows,” you lie with a smile. “Just like before.”

The lie lands so softly, wrapped in your sweet smile, and Dex believes it, because he has to.

He’s a realist most of the time. A man who plans for every outcome, double-checks his gear twice before missions, but right now? Right now he clings to this fantasy like a drowning man.

Your fingers laced with his feel real. Your thumb stroking over his knuckles feels real. And when you talk about stealing the covers, the stupid argument you’d always have about whose side of the bed was too cold, and interrupting his shows which were never really that important anyway, he almost laughs.

Almost.

Instead there's just a small huff through his nose that isn't quite laughter but close enough for comfort on both sides.

Dex stays for another hour, telling you about the ruckus that’s been shaking up Hell’s Kitchen. He tells you Fisk has been arrested, that Matt Murdock admitted to being Daredevil and it’s only a matter of time before they arrest the blind lawyer too.

“You bein’ careful?” You ask gently, tilting your chin at him.

Dex shifts in the chair, shoulders tensing slightly at your question.

Of course he’s being careful. That’s all he ever is. He checks his six every time he leaves a room, wears armor under his clothes when things get messy, and hasn’t had a drink in weeks because alcohol dulls reflexes.

But you always ask, always with that soft tilt of your chin like you know something might go wrong even if it doesn't yet.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, nodding once. “I’m good.”

His thumb strokes over yours again absently as Fisk gets processed through court on TV footage playing silently on mute across the room, the city seemingly moving forward without you both.

Visiting comes to an end quicker than both of you would like. Dex takes the flowers from you, settling them on your side table before dipping to kiss you.

The kiss is slow, longer than necessary, lingering like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips.

Dex cups your face with one hand, his thumb tracing the softness beneath your eye where dark circles have settled in. He doesn’t want to leave.

But visiting hours are ending soon; nurses will start asking him to go if he stays past eight.

He pulls back just enough to press another kiss, this time on the bridge of your nose, then one more on each eyelid as you close them for him. A quiet ritual he’d started doing when you were first hospitalized: small kisses that meant I love you without saying it out loud because sometimes words felt too heavy. Then finally, reluctantly, Dex straightens up and grabs his jacket from the chair.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He promises, and you nod knowingly, because even if his life doesn’t allow it, he does try to come every day.

“Be safe,” you say gently. Dex bends and grabs your hand, unable to stop himself from pressing one more kiss to your knuckles. He begins to back out of the room when you call his name and he turns back. “I love you.”

Dex freezes in the doorway, hand still on the frame.

Your voice saying I love you, so clear, so certain, hits him like a punch to the chest. It’s not dramatic. It’s not whispered with sorrow or said as a goodbye. Just I love you, plain and true, like always.

For a second he can’t breathe.

His face crumples, not crying yet but close, and he stumbles back toward you before he even thinks about it. Kneels beside your bed again and presses both hands over yours, squeezing hard as if trying to pour every feeling into that single touch.

“I love you too.” he says hoarsely, the first time today that his voice cracks, and then kisses your forehead fiercely before turning and leaving fast so you won't see him break down in front of nurses passing by outside.

When he’s gone, you pull the knife from your side, hidden within your hospital gown. He’ll blame himself, even though it’s so far from being his fault. This is just easier, for you and for him. You’re weighing him down, stealing his time. You need to set him free.

You wait at least an hour to ensure Dex has left, and then you’re turning over your left wrist. It’ll be painful for just a moment. Then it will be over, and you’ll be gone, and Dex will be better for it. You hope he understands. He won’t, because he’s in love and a fool, but he’s your fool. And you’d do anything for that man.

Pressing the blade on the inside of your wrist, you blink once before you drag it long and deep down your skin. Hot blood spurts up instantly, covering your skin and dropping into your lap. You let out a small shaky sob as you watch rivits of your blood leak out like a red water hose, and you let the knife fall to the bed.

It’s already hard to keep your eyes open. Your chest heaves and you inhale, brows pinched as you think of him.

It’s for him, as much as it is for you.

Hopefully he’ll understand.

It’s the last thought you have when you shut your eyes, and they stay closed as you exhale. You unfurrow your fingers, the blood sticking to the cloth of the hospital gown, and when you breathe your last, it’s his name on your lips, and in your heart.

x

Divider @fae-and-wolf

Ben P Masterlist

Ben P taglist: @laufeydottirs-writings

Ao3 link

Even though it’s clearly tense, the argument isn’t loud. That almost makes it worse.

Wanda comes home late again,third time this week. Her shoulders are tight, the skin under her eyes darker than usual. She smells faintly of sweetness and gunpowder, her nails chipped.

You wait up for her on the couch, half-asleep beneath a blanket with your eyelids heavy and your jaw slack.

“You shouldn’t have waited up,” she mutters as she drops heavily into the chair across from you.

You stare at her before stretching your arms with a yawn. “You said you’d be home hours ago.”

“It got busy.”

“It’s always busy, you’re always busy.” The words come out sharper than you intend.

She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t mean to be.”

You nod, because you know, and you get it. You always get it, always being the supportive, patient girlfriend.

You’re tired of always being the understanding one. Tired of biting back the sharp words, of swallowing your frustration so she doesn’t feel attacked. You carry the weight of patience like it’s a second skin, always explaining, always forgiving, always bending. And some nights, it burns, the way your own needs get lost beneath hers, the way being ‘understanding’ feels more like a job than love. You wonder if she even notices, or if this is just who you’re always going to be.

“I’m going to bed.” You stand up, the blanket falling to the floor.

Wanda watches you stand, the quiet thump of the blanket hitting the floor echoing in her chest.

She wants to say something, anything to make you stay. But her throat feels tight, like always when she’s tired and guilty and unsure how to fix things without making them worse.

Her fingers curl into her sleeves as she stares at your back. The house is too quiet now. Too empty for someone who just walked through a door five seconds ago.

You’re halfway down the hall when she finally whispers, “I'm sorry.”

You pause, glancing at her before looking at your sock covered toes. “Are you?”

Wanda stands, the chair creaking as she makes her way to you. Her arms slip around your waist, her face pressing between your shoulder blades.

“Of course I am,” she murmurs and for some reason this makes you angrier. “Baby, I’m sorry.”

You shrug her off, pushing out of her arms. The movement is quick, and she’s tired and unsuspecting, and Wanda loses her footing. She stumbles back, her eyes wide with shock, not from anger, but from the sudden rejection. She catches herself on the wall just in time, one hand slapping against it with a quiet thud. Her breath hitches. The air between you turns brittle.

“J-just stay down,” you whisper, blinking hard. “Just stay away.”

For a second, she doesn’t move. Just stares at you, and you see something new on her face. Not sadness or exhaustion, but hurt. Real hurt. That cuts deeper than any yelling ever could.

Her arms fall limp to her sides. No excuses come this time. No half baked apologies or kisses of reassurance. She glares at you, and you glare right back until you spin on your heel and walk away.

As you slip under the covers, you half wonder if she’ll come to bed or if she’ll sleep on the couch. You aren’t proud of what you did, how you touched her with anything less than adoration, but you’re too frustrated and tired to try and make peace with her. You shut your eyes, rolling over before begging sleep to take you.

Down the hall, Wanda stands frozen in the dim light. The house feels too big all of a sudden, too quiet, too cold.

She doesn’t go to bed.

Instead, she pads barefoot into the kitchen and fills a glass with water she won’t drink. She simply stares at as she repeats your words, the tiredness ebbing at her.

It has finally happened.

You have finally tired of her.

Her chest aches, not from work exhaustion or magic burn, but from being hated by you without understanding why.

She slips from your apartment like a ghost. Her hand shoved into her pocket, she shows up on Steve’s doorstep without notice, but he lets her in all the same.

“She’s done with me.” Wanda whispers as he hands her a mug. Her eyes drop to it, and he shrugs.

“It’s decaf,” he hums. “I just, like it when I’m thinking.”

“Ah.” Wanda takes a tentative sip.

“Did she really say that though?” He asks. “That she’s done?”

Wanda shakes her head, curling into Steve’s couch like a child, knees tucked up, mug cradled in both hands.

“No,” she admits quietly. “She didn’t say that.”

Steve waits. He always waits well.

The silence stretches, and Wanda stares at the steam rising from the decaf tea, wondering why someone would drink something so weak on purpose, and it makes her feel worse somehow.

“She pushed me,” she says finally. “I came home late again, and I smelled like smoke and sweat… and I was tired of being scolded.” Her voice cracks slightly. “So when she got mad, I just, kept trying and she snapped.”

She takes another sip, mostly to hide that her lip is trembling now.

“She shouldn’t have done that.” Steve mutters and Wanda puts down the mug.

“She’s harmless.”

“Still.”

“Do you know how easily I could hurt her?” Wanda snaps, and a muscle in Steve’s jaw ticks. “I could crack her spine with a twist of my wrist. I could make her lungs no longer expand. I could end her life without a blink.” her fingers are trembling as she speaks. “So if she wants to get a little mad at me not putting her first, she has every right.”

Steve doesn’t flinch, but his posture shifts, subtle, like a soldier bracing for impact.

He looks at Wanda, not with fear but something worse: disappointment. The kind that cuts deep because it comes from someone who genuinely cares.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She has every right.”

A beat passes. The clock ticks on the wall.

Steve leans forward, elbows on his knees. “But you’re sitting here telling me how much damage you *could* do… and I don’t think that’s what this is about.” Wanda stiffens. Her breath hitches again, not in rage now, but shame creeping in like cold water under a door. “I think you both owe each other an apology.”

“She doesn’t want to see me right now.”

“Well when she does,” Steve probs. “It better be with an apology.”

Wanda gives a half hearted shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. It just, it feels like it’s always like this. Like she’s…she’s so far from me and I can’t reach her anymore.”

Steve sighs, that deep, weary sound of a man who’s seen too many good people ruin things with silence and pride. He reaches over and gently takes the mug from her hands, still half-full, and sets it on the coffee table. Shifting, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into a one-armed hug.

“I get it,” he says softly after a moment. “You’re tired of failing each other.” Wanda leans into him without meaning to, eyes stinging again, not crying yet, but close. “But if she’s pulling away… maybe you need to try harder when she is there.”

“I don’t want to lose her.” Wanda whispers, her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“Then don’t.”

Wanda closes her eyes before inhaling. “It feels like I already am.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Just holds her until her heart beats not so hard. The house is quiet, no TV or no music, just the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of old wood settling.

He knows that tone, that whisper before breaking down. He’s heard it from soldiers returning from war zones, kids who lost parents too young, people on the edge of something they can’t fix alone.

And Wanda sounds like someone already grieving.

“You’re not losing her,” Steve says finally. “Not unless you stop trying. So go to her.”

A tear slips out then, one quiet traitor that rolls down her cheek into his shirt sleeve. Sniffing, Wanda nods. “Yeah. okay, you’re…you’re right.”

The walk home feels longer than the one leaving it. By the time she unlocks the front door, it’s nearly six in the morning, and she’s blearily tired. Dropping her keys on the counter, she makes her way to the bedroom, an apology already on her lips. She loves you, she needs you, but more importantly, you need to know that.

The door creaks as she walks in, and she says your name softly when she finds the sheets empty. Peering into the bathroom, she walks back out, wondering if she had missed you in the livingroom, but empty couches greet her. She checks the kitchen, and it’s then that she sees it.

The little folded note, a W written on the front.

Wanda freezes in the kitchen doorway, heart thudding.

The note is small, folded neatly into a square, placed right on the counter where she could see it. The W is written in your handwriting, slightly smudged like you wrote it quickly.

She picks it up carefully, fingers brushing the paper. It feels fragile somehow, like something that holds too much for its size. For a second, she just stares at it, the first sign of you since last night’s fight, and her breath catches. Then slowly, she unfolds it with quiet hands and begins to read what’s inside.

W,

We tried our best. I know we did, but this is too much. I’m too much. I should never have put my hands on you, and I am so sorry. It made me realize that I don’t know if I’m made for this life. The waiting, the worrying, it gets to me. But you are. The job is your life, and I understand. Know that I will always be proud of you. I just can’t be by your side. I left my key to your apartment in the sidetable drawer. I packed most of my things but whatever else is there, you can keep. Be safe always. I’m sorry.

Wanda reads the note once.

Then again.

And then a third time, slower this time, as if each word might disappear if she blinks too hard.

Her hands don’t shake, not yet. They’re numb. Cold. Her blood has turned to ice in her veins despite the warm kitchen around her.

I left my key.

You can keep whatever’s left.

The last line- Be safe always. Not I love you. Not See you soon.

It was a goodbye written by someone who thought they weren't allowed to stay anymore.

The note slips from her fingers and flutters quietly onto the counter like ash falling after fire burns. Her heart hammering, Wanda presses a palm to her sternum, trying to remember to breathe.

Sliding into a kitchen chair, she snatches up the letter and reads it again.

This time, the words hurt.

Not just sadness, pain, sharp and jagged, like someone had reached inside her chest and twisted.

She reads it a fourth time. And a fifth. Each reread feels worse than the last because she starts to understand: you didn’t leave in anger. You left quietly. Gently, even.

Like you were trying not to make it harder for her.

And that’s what destroys her, the kindness in your note despite how badly things ended between you two last night.

“I'm too much.”

Wanda swallows hard against the lump rising in her throat. Her eyes burn now, not with tears yet, but with something close to panic: you're gone.

You packed your things, you left your key. You wrote an apology letter like this was some polite breakup after years of marriage, but no, it wasn't even that far along yet.

And now it never would be.

x

Ao3 link

Wanda blurbs

June of Doom ML

You swallow hard, excusing yourself from the conversation before slipping out onto the front porch. The night air is cooler now, thick with humidity as crickets hum in the grass nearby. Your eyes scan up and down your street before settling on his house, dark except for a single light glowing through one of his downstairs windows.

You bite your lip so hard it almost draws blood.

Walk away, some rational part of your brain pleads.

Go to him, argues another.

Your heart wins over logic this time as you cross the street towards his porch, barefoot and reckless just like when you were twenty four.

Your knuckles wrap on the wood of his doorframe before you can change your mind, and you step back, hugging yourself with one hand while the other holds the paper plate. You wait for several minutes, bouncing on the balls of your feet until the door cracks and Joel swings it open. He looks confused and then surprised when he sees you, and you frown.

“I promised I’d save you a slice,” you say after a few moments. You hold out the plate, nodding toward it. “It’s vanilla.”

Joel's heart stutters in his chest at the sight of you standing on his porch again after so long. He'd resigned himself to wallowing in his own misery and now you're here, looking like a vision with the moon illuminating your soft features.

He clears his throat, reaching for the paper plate wordlessly. “Didn't think you'd actually bring me a slice.”

“I promised I would,” you say and he takes it. You fidget, swallowing hard. “Can I come in?”

Joel’s brow creases. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, sugar.”

The nickname is a slip of the tongue and it covers you like a lashing.

“I still think about you,” you rush out, digging your nails into your palm. “All the time. I thought it’d go away that it was just a crush but, I- he asked me to marry him and I said yes when I should’ve said no because he wasn’t what I wanted.”

Joel's eyes darken, the muscle in his jaw clenching at the mention of your fiancé. Hearing the words out loud makes it real, makes the jealousy he's been trying to bury rise in his gut like bile.

He wants to tell you no, tell you to leave because you're not good for each other. But the soft look on your face, the please in your wide eyes is his undoing.

He sighs, opening the door wider and stepping to the side with a muttered, “Come in, then.”

You walk past him tentatively, your heart hammering behind your ribs as you step into his space. Joel closes the door with a quiet click, placing the plate on the side table before standing to his full height.

“I thought it’d go away,” you whisper. “It’s been five years and it…it should’ve gone away now right? When I would think of you I’d just, say rest in peace.”

Joel shoves his hands in his pockets, forcing himself to keep his distance. He doesn't trust himself to touch you, not when he's so close to just pinning you against the wall and taking what he's wanted for five years.

He's quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks his voice is rough. “Why'd you say yes, then? To marrying him.”

“Because he was nice,” you give a halfhearted shrug. “Because he was easy, and he was vanilla and vanilla is safe. Because i thought eventually id feel what im supposed to feel.”

Joel's chest tightens at your words, pain and jealousy and anger stirring in his core. He wants to wrap you up in his arms, to tell you that only he could make you feel what you're supposed to feel, but he forces himself to keep his voice measured.

“And did you? Feel what you're supposed to feel with him?”

You chew at your lip, your fingers fisting in the fabric of your dress before you slowly shake your head. Joel exhales and he takes a few heavy steps forward, until he’s so close you can count the grey in his beard, the scent of him filling your head and making it spin. His proximity has you dizzy, the memory of his touch on your skin coming back in waves.

He stares down at you, his eyes dark and full of that possessive heat that makes your breath falter. He reaches out and runs a calloused finger over your bottom lip, gently tugging it from between your teeth. “Don't do that,” he mutters, his voice rough. “You’ll draw blood.”

You sigh against his hand, and he falters, his fingers slipping around your face, cupping the side of your jaw.

“Joel,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “Tell me it isn’t just me. That it isn’t all in my head.”

Joel's breath hitches as he takes in the way you lean into his touch, the way his heart rate quickens at the soft sound of his name on your lips. He steps even closer, invading your space completely, his other hand settling on your hip with a possessive grip.

“It's not just you,” he says hoarsely, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “It's messy, but it's not just you.”

You’re the one that breaks first.

You surge forward, pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss. He pauses, his hands raised as if to push you away before he melts, sliding his arms around you to drag you closer.

Joel groans into your mouth, his grip tightening as he pulls you flush against him, one hand tangling in your hair and the other sliding down to squeeze your ass. He can't stop himself, not when you taste like the past five years of yearning. He deepens the kiss with a grunt, biting at your lip until you gasp before soothing it with his tongue.

Bending he picks you up and your legs wrap around his middle. His back protests but he pays it no mind, his mouth on yours as he climbs the stairs with you in his arms.

When he makes it to his bedroom he kicks the door closed behind him. He lays you down, tongue licking into your mouth as his hands run up and down your sides, pushing up the fabric of your dress to bunch above your hips. When he sees the dark red lace of your underwear he groans, head falling to your collarbone before you tug gently at the strands of his hair.

Joel's breath is ragged against your neck, his fingers tracing the lace of your panties before he drags them down, letting out a low noise when he realizes you're glistening beneath them.

“Fuckin' hell,” he grunts, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh as his hands knead at your hips. “Been waiting for this, sugar?”

“Maybe I missed you.” you whisper, watching as he tosses the underwear over his shoulder. He hums, pressing a kiss to your pelvis before he sits up. You whine at the distance and he hushes you.

“Shh,” he murmurs, tugging at his shirt. “You can be patient can’t you?”

His shirt meets the floor and then he’s stepping out of his jeans, an obvious tent in his underwear. You sit up, running your palm over the bulge and his hips jerk.

“Not when it's you.” you pant, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as he towers above you. The sight of him like this, his hair mussed and eyes dark, ignites a fire low in your belly. “You were dead to me.”

He shivers at your touch, his hand tightening on your hip as you explore the hard lines of his body. He hovers above you fully naked, flushed, his cock already hard. Veined and red, twitching with the effort of how badly he needs to be inside you, but he didn’t rush.

Joel doesn’t move until you cup his jaw and pull him down into a kiss. Mouths met softly, then harder, his tongue tracing your own in slow movements. His body sinking into yours, skin on skin as he shoves your dress up and away, heartbeat to heartbeat.

You grip the back of his neck and whisper against his lips, “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

He groans, deep in his throat, and you flip him onto his back, straddling his hips with shaking thighs. Your bare cunt slides over his length and he hisses, hands flying to your hips as you drag against him.

“Fuck, sugar,” he gasps “all wet already.”

You lean down, your breasts brushing his chest, and ground your hips against his length once more. “Because of you,” you whisper. “I used to think about us. The way you’d fuck me, when we snuck around. Other boys are clumsy but you, you knew how to touch me. How to make me feel like I had angel wings.”

He is gone, watching you take full control.

You rise on your knees, just enough to bare yourself to him, and guide him inside, sinking down slowly, inch by tight inch, until he is buried to the hilt.

Both of you moan, raw and loud, mouths agape from the stretch. He is trembling beneath you, the flush of his skin spreading across his cheeks and down his chest. His breathing is ragged, and he's struggling to maintain his composure. “Jesus,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “You feel so good, sugar.”

You start to move, slow at first, grinding your hips in deep, lazy circles that drag the tip of his cock right against your most sensitive area. His hands clamp harder on your hips, trying to keep himself tempered, but you aren’t making it easy.

“You gonna come just from riding me?” he asks, breathless.

You nod. “Already there.”

He groans, slipping one hand between your bodies to rub firm, precise circles over your clit. “There you go sugar,… let me feel you. Let go for me.”

The moment his fingers touch your clit, the knot in your belly pulls tighter, just a little more, just another stroke and-

You're coming with a choked gasp, your thighs shaking as you clamp down around him. He curses under his breath at the tightness of it, watching in awe as you fall apart above him.

Before you can even catch your breath he flips you onto your back without pulling out and starts to move inside of you again, deep and slow. “Gonna make sure I’m all you think about.”

If you weren’t so cockdrunk you’d be embarrassed by how easy you fell apart. He doesn’t stop, his hips snap into you relentlessly now, grinding deep as your soaked cunt flutters around him, so overstimulated your vision blurs.

His name falls from your lips like a mantra—a prayer that only he can answer. His gaze is so heated, so filled with desire and possession, that it sets your body aflame with a hunger that only he can satisfy.

He takes your hand and places it above your head, pinning both of your wrists with one of his big hands. His fingers wrap all the way around them, holding you in place as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “Just as sweet as I remember, sugar.”

You can’t answer, just moaning with a nod, nails dragging down his chest, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his breath hot on your cheek as he leans forward, one hand wrapping tight around your throat. You moan again, your walls fluttering and he grunts, jerking up into you with three final brutal thrusts as his cock pulses deep inside you, filling you so completely that you lose your breath.

The post-sex silence is thick, and all you can hear is the sound of your blood pumping under your skin.

Joel takes a few moments to catch his breath and when he looks down at you, his expression softens, his grip on your wrists loosening.

His gaze roams over your face, taking in the flush of your skin and the way your hair is messy and wild from the way his hands had been tangled in it. He brushes a strand away from your face, his touch unexpectedly tender.

“You okay, sugar?” he murmurs, searching your eyes.

You nod slowly as his hand drags away from your throat, dragging a thumb on your jaw. “M’okay.”

His fingers are gentle as they trace the curve of your cheek, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. He exhales hard, trying to calm himself down before pulling away and collapsing onto his back next to you with a groan.

For several long minutes, neither of you speak, then he sighs heavily and runs both hands through his hair before dropping them onto his chest with a rough chuckle. “Well... that was somethin’.”

Leaning up, he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead before rolling onto his side again, pulling you against him as he does.

His fingers trail lazily over the curve of your hip and down to the inside of your thigh as he lets out a contented sigh. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air between you, but underneath that, there’s something else too; something Joel hasn’t been able to put his finger on for five years.

“Where do we go from here?”

Your question is small, slipping past your lips like a secret. Joel’s fingers pause but just for a moment, then they’re back to moving up and down your side.

He sighs, his hand rubbing over your hip. “That's the million dollar question, ain't it?”

There's so much more he want to say, wants to confess. But he's scared, terrified to put it out in the open in case you laugh in his face and tell him it was just a one time thing, that you didn't actually feel anything.

So he just says, “We go one day at a time.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, turning your neck to face him. “One day at a time.”

-

When day four comes and goes and not a word from you, Joel thinks he’s ready to lose it.

You had slipped from his arms like a thief in the night, promising you’ll figure something out. That you’re grown, more than you had been when you’d first gotten involved with him, and that your parents would eventually understand.

But you hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, and the worry is eating at him.

He's sitting at his kitchen table, hands wrapped tight around a lukewarm cup of coffee, staring holes into his phone screen.

One day at a time, he thinks bitterly, except it’s harder than he anticipated. His thumb hovers over your contact before he finally caves and taps out a message:

You alive? He deletes it, rewrites it, erases again. Eventually settles on: You good?

Short. Simple. Not too desperate, enough to remind you he exists without making himself look like some lovesick fool who can’t go five minutes without thinking about the way you came apart underneath him.

The waiting is what kills him though; watching those three dots appear then disappear like you can’t decide if talking to him is worth the trouble.

Can I come over?

Your text comes nearly an hour later, and he scrambles for his phone. He considers your words, drags himself to the bathroom and runs water over his face before he texts back.

around 7 should be good for me.

Joel's heart is a damn drum in his chest, his palms sweaty as his fingers fly over the keys. He lets out a long exhale as he presses send, then leans over the sink and splashes more water on his face to calm himself down. It's not that big of a deal, he tells himself, as he checks his reflection in the mirror, trying to flatten his hair into something semi-decent.

He's not nervous. Not really. It's just that it's been so long, and he hopes you still like what you see.

At seven sharp, you tap your knuckles on the wood of his front door. You rock on your heels as you wait, butterflies swarming rampant in your stomach. When he opens the door is like liquid peace settles over your bones. You smile, and he smiles back as he steps aside, letting you.

Once you cross the threshold, you don’t wait. You snake your arms around his neck, your nose brushing his as you kiss him. He smells like soap, like he had showered right before you came, and his lips are soft beneath yours.

Joel groans, his hands immediately gripping your hips to pull you even closer. His breath stutters against your mouth, his body responding on instinct—like you'd never left. His tongue slides against your own and he kisses you hungrily, backing you up until you're pressed against the door.

His mouth explores your neck, biting at the skin until he's sure it'll bruise.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.” he mutters against your shoulder, his hand sliding up under your shirt.

“It’s only been a few days.”

“Sue me.”

You giggle, dropping down from your tip toes before peering up at him. “So…I spoke with my dad, and then my mom.”

Joel stiffens instantly, his hands freezing on your hips. The mention of your father makes his stomach churn. He's already half-expecting you to tell him some bullshit about your father banning him from ever seeing you again.

“Yeah?” he asks gruffly, trying to remain casual despite the tightness in his chest. “And what'd he say?”

“He was kind of…caught off guard at first. He definitely thinks I’m too young for you. Mom said something similar.” You reply, and Joel gives a little roll of his eyes.

“Can’t blame ‘em.” He mutters but you shake your head.

“But he also said I’m a big girl. That I can decide for myself,” you say in a soft voice that has Joel tripping over himself. “That if you’re good to me…and make me happy? Then who is he to stop it.”

Joel lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Relief washes over him, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. He'd been prepared to have to fight for you, to argue his case and defend himself.

But then he realizes what you said, and his breath hitches.

“Wait,” he says gruffly, pulling back to meet your gaze. “Repeat what you just said.”

Your brows crinkle. “That you make me happy?”

He shakes his head, his hands gripping your waist. “No, the other part.”

He needs to hear you say it again, needs the reassurance. Because there's a small part of him that still can't believe you're here right now, looking up at him with those eyes of yours.

You smile softly. “That you’re good to me.” Joel nods, his mouth twisting and you cup the side of his face. “And you, are Joel. Good to me.”

Joel exhales sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he soaks in your words.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against your skin before pressing a slow kiss to the inside of your wrist. When he opens his eyes again, they're honeycolored and wide.

He doesn't say anything else; doesn't have to. Instead, he pulls you into another kiss, gentler this time, softer than before but just as desperate, like maybe if he holds onto you tight enough now, neither of you will have to let go again.

x

JM taglist @joelsmolotov

Ao3 link

Softlys locket ML

Joel Miller ML

You were changing into your swimsuit to meet your friends at the lake, lathering your skin with tanning oil in your room when you felt…watched. Glancing out your window, you spotted him. Mr. Miller, mowing his lawn, a ratted baseball cap on his head and his tan skin shirtless, exposed to the sun. Staring right at you.

You had blushed, a fluttering in your pelvis that made you feel bold. You blame it on the fluttering, your behavior. The fact that you had untied the back of your bikini, let them dangle before letting them go completely slack, falling away to reveal your breasts. He hadn’t looked away, but even from the distance you could tell he’d been surprised. He’d stared for a few moments before tucking his cap, and going back to his lawn.

You thought about that interaction all day, stuffing your cunt with your fingers that night until you came with his name on your tongue.

It had progressed quickly after that. The first time he kissed you had been on Memorial Day, a burnt hamburger in one hand and your face in the other. He’d gotten so lost in the feel of your lips on his, your tongue prodding at his mouth that he’d dropped his hamburger, crushed it under his sneaker in his haste to get closer to you.

When he’d taken off your clothes for the first time, sneaking you over after Sarah had gone to bed, he had spent hours worshipping you. He’d kissed every square inch of your skin, made you see stars on his tongue. He’d coaxed you to crest multiple times, and by the time you had to go home, you’d been boneless, fried with a delicious ache between your legs.

Joel wasn’t your first. But he was certainly your best. Every touch, every caresse left you feeling like you were floating, counting the minutes until you saw him again.

It was a whirlwind of hidden kisses and gentle hands that you craved, and he could never get enough of.

He should feel bad.

He knows he should.

But as he stares down at your spread thighs, cunt greedily clenching around his length, he can’t find that he does.

Joel presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, your ankle leaning on his neck as he thrusts in and out, taking him exactly like he likes. Like you were made for this.

“You should really leave.”

There’s the pesky situation.

You’re panting, your lips red and parted, bare tits bouncing with each thrust. “Dad’ll be- home soon.”

Your father, his best friend, would probably kill him if he ever knew. If he ever found out the way that Joel bends you over, stuffs you full. The way you beg for it, eyes big and slit dripping. He can’t ever say no to you, but especially when you ask like that, which is how he found himself fucking you on your dining room table in your family home.

“You don't want me here, sugar?” Joel asks, his hand snaking down your leg to grip your hip. “Then why does your body say otherwise?”

You groan, pink nails scratching at the edge of the table as his thrust grow harder.

“I-i need it.”

“Need what?”

You gasp, your brows pinching and Joel slaps the side of your ass, hard. A yelp escapes your lips and your back bows. “Y-you. Need you.”

He wants- needs- to tell you that you don't. He wants to tell you to go, to run away. To find someone better, not him.

But the way you tighten around him, the way your eyes soften and your breath hitches-

He knows better. He knows he's a selfish man, a weak one.

And it's for you that he'll be a sinner.

His hand grips your chin, tilting your eyes up to meet his. His expression is stern, a little demanding.

There is something there. Something he’s never said out loud and doesn't really let himself think about, but it shows in the way his hand is holding your chin. The possessiveness of his grip.

He gives your cheek a pat in retaliation for the sass.

“I know baby,” he murmurs, fingers moving to your clit and begins a slow, hard circular movement with his thumb. “I gotcha.”

You hiccup, your cunt clenching and he has to bite his cheek harder to stop his own orgasm as you fly through yours.

“Shh, shh.” He whispers, releasing your chin to press his hand over your mouth.

He can feel the heat of your breath, the way it quickens as he continues to touch you. He watches your face carefully, the way your eyes flutter shut as he pushes you closer to the edge, the way your body arches against him, desperate and wanting.

His own climax slams into him like a punch to the gut; hot, relentless, the kind of release that leaves his head spinning. He doesn’t pull out, can’t bring himself to, not when you’re still trembling beneath him. Instead, he leans in closer until his forehead presses against yours and removes his hand. His breath is ragged as it fans over your lips.

For a second, just one fucking second, he lets himself stay there. Lets himself pretend this is something it isn’t, something more.

Then the sound of an engine drags both your attention and his to the front window, and you jump from the table, adjusting your shirt and skirt as he tucks himself back into his jeans. You look at him with wide eyes before dashing to the bathroom and he runs to the kitchen sink, turning on the faucet and washing your slick from his mouth and hands.

The door opens and Joel turns quickly, his hands bracketing the edge of the sink just as your dad comes walking in, arms laden with groceries.

“Joel!” He exclaims, his brows knitting. “What’re you doing here?”

“He was just coming for your chain saw,” You interrupt, rounding the corner of the kitchen, a dark green chainsaw in hand. “I figured you’d let him borrow it so i went to get it for him but your garage is a mess so it took forever.”

Your dad rolls his eyes with a playful grin as he sets down the bags. You pass Joel the saw, fingers brushing his and he gives you a quick nod.

He ignores the pink that’s still in your cheeks, the way your hands are still warm from being intertwined with his.

“Here you go,” you say, the lie easy. “Sorry it took me so long.”

It's clear that your father hasn't caught on, and Joel takes the chainsaw from you with a nod of thanks, careful to keep his expression neutral. It's a skill he's perfected over the years, hiding his true feelings.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his gaze flickering to you for a split second before he looks away again. “Yeah, I've been meaning to borrow that. Appreciate it.”

You smile, wide and devilish and Joel wonders if his cum is dripping down your thighs.

You move away, leaning on the opposite side of the counter as your father bundles up the plastic bags.

“Finish up your work?” He asks, eyes moving to you and you nod.

“College classes aren’t nearly as hard as everyone said they’d be,” you reply, and shrug. “I’m up to date on all my classes and it’s only Wednesday.”

“Smart cookie,” your dad beams. “Ain’t she Joel?”

Joel clears his throat, shifting the chainsaw under his arm. He looks anywhere but at you, the way your skirt is still riding up over one of your thighs, the hint of pink peeking out. He swallows thickly.

“She is.” He manages to choke out. He doesn't even have to feign the admiration lacing his tone. “She's pretty goddamn smart.”

You smile, dismissing their praise with a light wave. “It’s easy.”

Your father begins to list off the classes he took that you’re also taking, and how they were hard for him but seem to be easy for you. Joel is only half listening. He can’t take his eyes off you, the forbidden fruit that he’s already tasted and wants to taste again.

“I should get goin’,” Joel grunts, nodding awkwardly. “Sarahs uh, probably waiting.”

“Good to see you Joel,” your father shakes his hand, and Joel feels a prick of that guilt in his chest. “Honey, walk him out?”

You push off from the counter, glancing at him as you stroll into the hallway. “Sure.”

Joel follows you, his fingers flexing at his sides as he steps out onto the front porch. The air is cool, a stark contrast to the heat still simmering low in his gut. He turns to look at you, taking in how flushed your lips still are from earlier, the way your shirt is slightly rumpled where his hands had been gripping it too tight.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then he exhales sharply through his nose and runs a hand down his face before muttering under his breath. “Fuck.”

“What’s the matter, Mr. Miller?” You ask politely, like he hasn’t seen you naked, like he hasn’t tasted the salt of your skin.

“Don’t,” he bites, and you have to swallow down your grin. “If your dad-“

“I’m twenty-four years old,” you shoot back. “I’m not a child. I drink and have sex and know what I want.”

“Jesus, kid-“ He grits out, jaw tight. “It ain't about you being *a child.* It's about the fact that your daddy trusts me and I just- fuck.” He drags a rough hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before dropping his voice to a harsh whisper. “Do you even know what you're doin'? You think this ends well for either of us?” His eyes are dark, burning into yours like he’s trying to make you understand something without saying it. That this, whatever this is, is messy and complicated and so dangerous because he knows what you mean.

You blink a few times, inhaling through your nose. “What do you want Joel?”

He doesn’t answer. Can’t answer, and you frown.

“You’re gonna make this hard huh.” You murmur, and he scowls because it isn’t that simple and you know it. Folding your arms, your frown deepens. “I go back to school in a few weeks anyways.”

“A few weeks-“ He repeats, his brow furrowing at your words. “And then what?” He can't keep the anger and frustration from his voice, his hand moving to grip the railing to keep from taking you by the shoulders and shaking you. You gonna find yourself another guy at college? Some pretty boy who can't keep his eyes or his hands to himself? Is that the plan?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” You shoot back, and his spine tightens. “Not like it should bother you.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t.”

You both know it’s a lie, the absolute opposite of what he truly means. He doesn’t know when it got so messed up. When you turned into something else.

He turns away, taking the porch steps two at a time and you don’t stop him. You watch him cross the street, slamming his front door behind him and when you’re alone you wilt like a petal.

In his home Joel drops the chainsaw, racks a hand through his hair. He swears he won’t touch you again, won’t dream about your thighs or the sound of your laugh. He won’t answer when you call.

And for five, long years, he keeps his promise.

He heard about your birthday party from your dad. You were coming home for the week to celebrate with your folks, bringing a fiance in tow. He acts like it doesn’t make his mouth run dry at the idea.

Naturally Joel and Sarah are invited but with Sarah away for the summer on a college retreat, it’s just him. He figures with how much time it’s been, he’d be fine seeing you again. He had seen you here and there over the years, but from a distance, never going over when you were in town. Now as he stares down at the text from your dad, he wonders if he can handle it.

He decides he can.

He brings a case of beer and shaves a few hours before the party starts. When he walks into the backyard there’s groups of people, your dad already at the grill flipping burgers. Your mother ushers him in, directing him to the kitchen to put the beers in the fridge. He thanks her politely, the AC smacking him the moment he walks inside.

Several women gather in the kitchen, organizing the fruit and hamburger buns and he excuses himself as he squeezes through to the fridge.

“Mr. Miller?”

He pauses, lets the fridge hang open for a few moments before he spares a glance over his shoulder.

Joel turns, eyes moving over the women behind him before settling on you. You're all grown up, he thinks in spite of himself. You're a goddamn woman now.

He clears his throat, closing the fridge with a jerk as his free hand goes to his hip. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you smile, taking a few steps forward and surprising him with a hug. “It’s been a while.”

Over a thousand days but who’s counting he thinks bitterly.

He hadn’t loved you back then, not really. But he had cared for you. Too much, way too much. So much that he wonders if he could have, if the time had been right.

He tries to make a glance at your left hand inconspicuous, but your hands are in your pockets now and he can’t tell if there’s a ring on your finger.

He returns the embrace with a tentative pat on the back, trying hard to ignore the way your scent, that's still you somehow, makes him dizzy. You pull away after a moment, and he misses the way your curves pushed against him, the softness of your body. You're as gorgeous as the last time he'd seen you, more so even.

“Yeah,” he grunts, glancing at your left hand as subtly as he can. “How ya been?”

“Good! Finally graduated and working,” you laugh, shrugging. “You know. Grown up things.”

“Yep,” Joel hums, and nods once. “Heard you got married.”

Your face falls but just for a moment and you tuck your hair behind your ears. “Oh, no actually. It…didn’t work out.”

Joel's heart gives a thump against his ribcage at your words, and he hopes to god you don't notice the flicker of satisfaction on his face. It shouldn't make him feel good, but it does, that you're not wearing someone else's ring on your finger. It makes him hopeful, a feeling he hasn't felt in a long, long time. He clears his throat, shoving that thought away. “Sorry to hear that.”

The tone of his voice suggests he's not sorry at all.

You give a weak smile, folding your arms as if to protect the muscle thumping in your chest. “S’okay. Better now than if I took his last name right?”

Joel's expression darkens at the mention of you taking some other man's surname, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from doing something stupid, like reaching for you.

“Guess that's true.” He grits out, watching you closely, the way your eyes keep flickering over his face, like you're trying to memorize his features.

“How’s Sarah?” You ask, changing the subject and he lets you. He tells you about his daughter, what she’s studying, and you applaud him. “Wow she’s so grown up.”

Joel's chest swells with paternal pride as he talks about Sarah. She's his whole world, always has been. “Yeah, she's somethin' else. Gonna end up doin' real good in this world, I think.” He looks at you, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. “Takes after me though, of course.”

You snicker, nodding. “Right of course.”

Joel grins, and pulls a beer from the pack he had placed in the fridge. “Want one?”

“God yes,” you exclaim, taking it from him. Your nails are light orange and they scrape his finger lightly. “This heat is strangling.”

“That's Texas for ya." He mutters, clearing his throat to dispel the sudden tension. “Always hot as hell.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” you mutter, popping the tab. “That’s one thing I like about Tennessee. Still hot just, not like this.”

He listens to you prattle on about Tennessee, about your school and your friends and your life that’s states away. He realizes that he’s missed out on so much, that while you’re still the same girl who kissed him til he was weak in the knees, you’ve also become someone else. It makes him miss you all the more.

“Where is the birthday girl?” Your mother calls and you turn towards the noise. Joel takes a slow swing of his beer, watching your hair swish over your shoulder.

“I should go to her,” you sigh, putting down your beer bottle. “I think they’re gonna cut the cake soon. Meet you out there?”

“Save me a slice.” he agrees, nodding at you. You smile, a real one that pulls at your lips before you go out the back door to the patio and your party, and Joel leans against the kitchen counter, willing his heart to slow.

It's a mistake, being here, and he knows it. Seeing you, talking to you, being in the same room as you after years apart has his body reeling like it's on fire. He has to get a grip on himself, and fast.

There’s a bubble of voices from outside, and Joel walks to the window, watching as your mother holds a white frosted cake with candles up to you. Your dad holds your shoulders, grinning with an expression that matches your own and you laugh in light embarrassment as everyone sings. Another woman with dark hair, maybe a friend of yours from school, hugs you tight before you blow out the candles and everyone claps. Joel watches with light envy, wishing he could touch you as brazenly as they do, and he takes a long swig.

You look happy. You’re surrounded by love, with a smart head on your shoulder and a big heart and he doesn’t belong anywhere near it. He’ll just screw it up. With quiet resignation, he chucks the bottle into the trash, and leaves out the front door quietly, leaving you to your celebrations that have no space for a man like him.

x

Joel miller taglist @joelsmolotov

Joel Miller ML

Softlys Locket ML

Ao3 link

“Joel, baby,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper, but your heart pounds fiercely beneath your ribs. “You need to eat something.”

He doesn’t answer, his breathing slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest almost too deliberate. The silence in the room weighs heavily, each breath he takes a reminder of the distance between you, the emptiness in his eyes when they meet yours. You chew at your lip, your hand moving in slow, almost mechanical circles against his side, each touch a silent plea for him to feel something again, to come back to you. The worry gnaws at you, the fear of losing him in every way but physically clawing at your chest. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when the world itself seemed to break apart.

His gaze remains unwaveringly fixated on some distant point on the plain white wall before him. The only indication he's aware of your presence at all is the subtle, almost imperceptible shifting of his jaw, the muscle there flexing like a reflex. The room hangs heavy with silence, the only sound the soft rustle of the bedsheets as you shift closer to him.

“Joel. Please,” you try again, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand moves up to his shoulder, your thumb tracing gentle circles on the tense muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

He says nothing, and you feel a quiet fracture in your heart.

Without a word, you sit up, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, just beside his ear, the touch fleeting but full of everything you can’t say. You slip from the bed, moving silently as you collect the untouched plate of food.

“Going to get you some water,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath. The air in the room feels thick, heavy, as if the darkness could pull you both under, suffocating all that remains between you.

As you rise from the bed, the mattress creaks softly in protest beneath you, the sound hanging in the air like an unspoken tension. Joel’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, a subtle shift that you catch only because you know him too well.

“Not thirsty.”

His voice is scrapped through, like sandpaper running over your nerves. It’s the first word he’s spoken in a few days, and it strikes you like a blow. His eyes though, remain distant, fixed on some invisible point on the wall as if it holds the answers you both need but can’t find. A quiet ache settles in your chest, his silence feeling unbearable.

You glance at the plate, then back at him. “Joel, talk to me, please.”

When his eyes finally meet yours, it nearly shatters you. The raw devastation in them is all-encompassing, a silent plea for something he can’t express. It stirs deep within you, and you carefully set the plate back down, moving toward him. He sits up slowly, his movements heavy, like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. Your hands find their way to his neck, then trail down his chest, your fingertips brushing against the softness of his shirt. His face, though, betrays him—his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes hollow with a sorrow that goes beyond words. He is drowning, suffocating, even as breathes before you.

Joel's eyes briefly close at your touch, a small shudder running through him, but he doesn't push you away. Your hands continue their slow, soothing path down his chest, pausing to flatten against his heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palms.

His expression remains stoic, his eyes snapping open again, but the raw emotion you saw earlier still flickers within them, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. “There's nothing to talk about.” he finally grumbles, his voice ragged.

You swallow hard, shaking your head, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if holding on to something, anything, that might keep you both in place.

“You haven’t left the house in a week,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of a mountain. “You barely eat. Barely speak. I don’t… I want to help you, sweetheart. But I don’t…” You chew at your lip, the bitter taste of helplessness overwhelming you as his eyes remain distant, unfocused, gazing somewhere beyond you. “I don’t know how to.”

The words hang in the air, thick with the sorrow of your own frustration, and a quiet tear threatens to escape as you realize that no matter how much you want to, you can’t seem to reach him anymore.

Joel's jaw clenches, his muscles shifting beneath your hands as if straining with the effort to keep his emotions in check. He looks away, avoiding your gaze, and his next words come out as a growl, biting and venomous.

“I don't need you to help me. I don't need anyone.”

But even as he says it, you can hear the hitch in his voice, the subtle crack that betrays the lie in his words. His shoulders tremble barely perceptibly under your touch, and for a moment you think he might pull away.

“I lost her too,” you whisper, the words breaking in your chest. Joel flinches, just a small tremor, but it’s there, unmistakable. “I lost her, and somehow, I’m losing you too. And I… I can’t survive that twice.”

His eyes glisten with unshed tears when they meet yours, the weight of his grief mirrored in the depth of yours. He shifts, his forehead gently brushing yours, and for a moment, everything feels unbearably close, as if the world has shrunk to this fragile connection. Your brows furrow, and you let out a soft, pained whimper, your knuckles gripping the cotton of his shirt so tightly your fingers ache.

The soft whimper that escapes you is like a punch to Joel's gut, and for a moment, his gaze flickers, the wall he's built around himself crumbling ever so slightly. He doesn't pull away from your touch; if anything, he leans into it, his forehead remaining against yours.

“I don't…” His voice breaks, and he takes a shuddering breath, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. The gesture is tentative, but the warmth of his palm seeps into your skin, offering a brief moment of comfort. “I can't…”

“Don’t disappear,” you whisper, your voice fragile with the weight of your plea. “You’re mourning. So am I. We can grieve together. Please?”

Joel’s eyes close slowly, his breath escaping in a heavy sigh. His thumb and ring finger brush gently against the muscles of your neck, a quiet comfort in the midst of the pain.

“I need to see her.”

You blink, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your heart tightening at the rawness in his words. His eyes open, and for a fleeting moment, you catch a spark of life in them, a flicker of something he thought he’d lost.

“Okay,” you reply softly, your voice steady despite the weight of it all. “Sure.”

Joel's jaw tenses at your answer, his fingers flexing slightly against the nape of your neck. He swallows hard, once, twice, like the words are lodged in his throat and he’s forcing them out.

“Don’t say it like that,” he mutters roughly. “Like I'm askin' for a goddamn favor.”

But there's no real heat behind it; just exhaustion and something else you can't quite name yet. His eyes flicker to yours again before darting away, landing on the far wall with an intensity that suggests whatever image is burned into his mind right now is anything but kind.

He exhales sharply through clenched teeth before adding quietly: “...Just wanna go where she is.”

You nod slowly, the word slipping from your lips like a quiet surrender. “Alright.”

-

The ground is nearly frozen at the grave site, a stark reminder of the cold that has settled over you both. You pull your jacket tighter around you, feeling the bite of the winter air as it cuts through the fabric. You pause several feet away from the grave, and Joel stops beside you, his presence a heavy silence at your side.

Tommy had carved Ellie’s tombstone with his own hands, a simple yet heartfelt piece, made from rough cement. The edges were imperfect, but there was beauty in its rawness, in the care that had gone into it. The small flowers Dina had left, vibrant once, full of life, now lay wilted, their petals crushed beneath the weight of time and the cold, their fragile forms pressing gently into the frozen earth as if they too had surrendered to the chill.

Joel’s breath catches the moment his eyes fall on the grave, his body stiffening beside you. His hands ball into fists at his sides, the strain evident in the whitened knuckles. For a heartbeat, it seems like he might turn away, retreating from the weight of it all, as though it’s more than he can bear.

But then something inside him shatters.

Without a word, he falls to one knee in front of Ellie’s headstone, the thud of his weight sinking into the earth causing your chest to tighten. One hand rests against the cold stone, anchoring him, while the other presses over her name, his fingers trembling as if trying to connect with her spirit through sheer force of will.

He swallows hard, his voice barely audible as he mutters, “Goddamn it,” his words sharp with both anger and sorrow, though it’s unclear which one is fueling his grief, perhaps even he doesn’t know.

After a long, silent moment, his gaze lifts to yours, and the anguish in his eyes is unmistakable. His voice trembles, barely above a whisper, “Please… come here.”

You move to him, falling to your knees beside him with furrowed brows. Clenching your hands together your eyes trace over Ellie’s name, and you make a sobbing sound.

“Oh Els,” you whisper, touching her name. “We miss you baby.”

Your words, though softly spoken, seem to echo in the winter air. Joel watches you silently, the sound of your sob like a dagger in his heart. When you touch Ellie’s name on the tombstone, his gaze flickers between your face and the stone, his eyes reddened with unshed tears.

His hand reaches out, seeking yours, the calloused fingers wrapping around yours tightly as he pulls you closer. He shifts, his body curving around you, as if shielding you from the cold and the pain.

Tears slide past your lashes and you shake your head, covering your face into your hands. Joel holds you, his own body shaking and you lean into him, pressing into his chest.

“I forgot,” he whispers, his breath warm in your hair. “I forgot you lost her too. M’sorry baby.”

“N-no, it was different for you,” you whisper. “She was your girl.”

Joel's arms tighten around you at your words, his breath shaky against your cheek. He takes a long, trembling breath before responding, his voice low and ragged.

“Don't do that. Don't lessen what you felt.” His chin rests atop your head, and you can feel the steady thumping of his heart against your cheek, the rhythm of a man trying to stay afloat amidst the wreckage. “She loved you, too. In her own way. You know she did.”

You nod, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat.

The cold seeps through the ground, biting at your knees as you kneel beside Joel, the weight of the silence pressing heavy between you. His arm wraps around you, a quiet anchor as you both face Ellie’s grave, the frost-dusted earth beneath you a reminder of the distance between this moment and all that once was. The world feels distant, as if it’s holding its breath, and the only warmth comes from the quiet comfort of his embrace. His breath is shallow, the only sound the steady exhale of both your lungs, a rhythm shared in grief. No words are needed; the closeness between you speaks volumes as you lean into him, seeking the solace of his presence, the only thing that feels real in this stillness. Time seems to slow, the cold a distant thought as you hold each other, lost in the weight of everything that remains unsaid.

The silence stretches on, the soft sounds of your breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric the only disturbance in the snowy air.

Joel's hand rubs slow circles against your back, a gentle rhythm meant to soothe. His chin remains resting on the top of your head, the gesture both protective and intimate. Despite the cold, you don't feel the chill, the comfort of his touch outweighing the icy grip of the winter air.

When he finally breaks the silence, his voice is rough, barely louder than a whisper: “We should go before sunset.”

You blink, your hands numb with cold before you nod. He stands, slow as his knees creak and he tugs you up, keeping you close to him.

The leaves crunch underfoot as you walk back to his home, your home, and the silence between you seems to stretch for miles. Joel pushes open the door, ushering you inside as you rub your hands together.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice is flat as you turn around, raising your brows at him. You fold your arms, stepping into his line of sight and he blinks.

“You didn’t do anythin’.”

“I did,” he murmurs, and grinds his jaw. “I left you alone.”

You purse your lips, looking away and hugging yourself tighter. “It’s alright.”

Joel sighs heavily, his gaze flickering over your body, taking note of the way you've folded in on yourself. He reaches out, but stops just short of touching you, his hand clenching into a fist before falling back to his side.

“It's not alright. You needed me, and I wasn't... I…” His voice trails off, and he seems to wrestle with something he's trying to keep inside.

“You lost your daughter,” you whisper and he jerks as if you’d hit him. “Whether you admit that to yourself or not, that’s what Ellie was to you. It’s okay that you…you needed time. I was just worried.”

Joel's expression hardens, his jaw clenching so tightly you can see the muscles twitch. He looks away from you, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for a blow.

“You were worried?” he growls, his words sharp as a knife. “Don't. I don't need your damn pity.0

“It isn’t pity,” you whisper, arms tightening. “It’s caring. Its-“

Love.

The words die on your tongue and you swallow them, standing straighter.

Joel's jaw clenches again, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond you. The tension in the air is thick, and for a moment, you think he might argue further. But instead, he exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping with the burden he carries.

“I don't deserve your care,” he mutters, his voice like gravel but lacking the anger of a few moments ago. “I let her die.”

“You didn’t,” you whisper and hurt seeps into your voice. “That wasn’t you. None of this, is your fault.”

“Shoulda been me,” Joel whispers and you swear for a moment, you stop breathing. “It should’ve been me.”

“Don’t-“ you shake your head and raise a finger, pointing at him. “Don’t you say that.”

“Why not?” he snaps back, his eyes flashing in anger. “It’s the truth, isn't it?” He stalks closer to you, his body coiled tight with tension. His eyes are wild, filled with a grief that he's been keeping inside for far too long. “ was supposed to protect her. I failed you, too. Ellie, you – it doesn't matter. I failed both of you.”

“Joel,” you breathe. “That isn’t on you.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots and you step forward, into his space, and take his face between your hands.

“She never forgave me.” He whispers and your brows pinch.

“You know she would have.”

“She hated me,” he murmurs and he’s pulling away again, you can feel it. Not physically, but in his head, his heart. You brush your thumbs over his skin as your eyes prick.

“She didn’t,” you say softly. “She loved you. She was just hurt. And she was young, and confused, but hateful? No. Ellie…Ellie could never hate you.”

Joel's breath hitches as you hold his face, your words slicing through the armor he's built around himself. For a second, he looks almost lost, like a man who’s spent so long drowning that he can’t remember what air feels like.

His hands rise to grip your wrists, not pushing you away, just anchoring himself. His eyes flicker between yours with something desperate in them.

“Then why…” His voice cracks. “Why didn't she stay?”

The question is raw and broken; it’s not an accusation anymore, it's just pain laid bare between you two on the cold floor of this house neither of you feel safe in.

You sigh, a broken, choking sound as you shake your head. “That choice wasn’t up to her, baby.”

Joel sniffs, his eyes closing and he moves forward, arms pulling around your waist and his forehead presses into yours. His tears mix with your own, salty and cold, and you move your hands into his hair, fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp.

Joel shudders at the sensation, his arms tightening around you as if he's terrified you'll disappear. His breathing is uneven, shallow and uneven like a man struggling to come up for air.

“Didn't mean to…” he mutters into your shoulder, voice rough with tears. “Didn't mean to push you away too." His hands slide up your back, clutching at the fabric of your shirt like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. “You shouldn't have had ta see me like this.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whisper, eyes closed and throat clogged. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

“Always,” Joel murmurs, and his head dips as he presses a kiss to your mouth. The action surprises you, and it’s so quick you’re barely able to register the pressure of his lips on yours. “I’ll always come back to you.”

You nod, lips parting as you try to breath evenly. “I know.”

Joel lingers for a moment, his forehead still pressed to yours as he tries to steady himself. His breath is warm against your lips, unsteady but there, present in a way that makes something tighten in your chest.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed and tired but clearer than they’ve been in weeks. One hand lifts, calloused fingers brushing away the tear tracks on your cheeks with rough tenderness.

“Gonna be okay,” he mutters gruffly, as if trying more for himself than you right now. “We will.”

You nod, and for the first time since Ellie died, your mouth pulls into the smallest of smiles. “We will.”

The silence that lingers between you both is heavy, but not unbearable. Ellie’s absence hangs over you, yet amidst the sorrow, something quietly shifts. Grief had once driven a wedge between you, but now, it seems to be the thread weaving you back together. Joel’s hand finds yours, the touch grounding, unwavering. His eyes meet yours, tender and haunted, but there’s a spark of something familiar there, something that had been lost but is beginning to flicker back to life. You squeeze his hand gently, and in that simple gesture, an unspoken promise is made. You don’t have to be whole right now, and neither of you are. But you will move through this side by side. The road ahead may be long and the scars of loss deep, but in this moment, you find a quiet hope that healing, though slow, is still possible. And love, even in its brokenness, can find its way back home.

x

Ao3 link

Joel Miller ML

Joel miller taglist @joelsmolotov

The door clicks shut behind you and the warmth of your house hits like a sudden wave. Your shoulders sag, boots heavy with snow and your hair damp from the flakes melting into it. You can barely feel your fingers even inside your gloves, and your nose is still numb from the wind as you peel off your scarf.

Leon is still getting used to farm living. Retirement hadn’t been the easiest transition, and you try to help him. The horses have been restless with the storm moving in, and that means a long, cold day. While Leon was out at the town, you took it upon yourself to make sure they were fed and covered, their thick coats still needing extra help. As you worked, the cold had settled into your bones. You’re still rubbing your hands together when you hear him, and you blow air between your fingers.

Leon kicks the snow off his boots by the door, then shrugs out of his coat, still damp at the shoulders. The house smells like firewood and something sweet, maybe cinnamon? He doesn’t say anything right away, just steps into the kitchen, eyes scanning for you.

He spots your red-tipped ears and how you are still working warmth back into your hands. Without a word, he grabs a clean dish towel from a drawer, dampens it slightly under warm tap water, not too hot, and walks over to where you stand.

“Hi baby.”

Leon gives you a soft half smile. “Hey honey.”

His hands, warm and rough, close around your cheeks. You shiver at the difference of body heat. His thumb brushes the side of your jaw and he frowns.

“Jesus,” he mutters softly, his thumbs warm. “You’re freezin’.”

“Stables were chaos today,” you mutter, leaning into his touch without realizing you’re doing it. “Horses were acting up.”

He hums as his thumb continues to run against your cheek. He steps closer, casting out the cold in your skin. His body heat radiates through your layers and you feel another kind of shiver slip through you, and you look up at him from your lashes.

“What kind of way are you trying to warm me up, Kennedy?” You hum, playfulness seeping into your tone.

Leon’s frown softens at the sound of your voice, lighter now, teasing. He exhales through his nose, a quiet laugh that only you ever get to see.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, tugging off your coat gently and setting it on the hook. “You’re shakin’.”

Then he does something predictable and gentle: leans down and kisses you. Not deep or demanding, just slow, sweet pressure on your lips, warm breath mingling with yours as his hands slide from your cheeks into your hair beneath the messy bun you’d hastily tied earlier. His lips are cool at first from being outside but quickly heat up against yours.

When he pulls back an inch or two, still close enough that noses brush, he presses another small kiss to the corner of your mouth like a punctuation mark. “Missed you today.”

“Yeah?” His mouth meets your throat and you feel him nod.

“Yes,” he licks at the space below your jaw. “I did.”

His hands move to the hem of your shirt, lifting slightly to slide underneath. His warm fingers meet the cool skin of your abdomen and you shiver as his head comes back up, nose nudging your cheek. Leon’s touch is careful, always so deliberate, like he's mapping you out by memory. His palms glide up your sides beneath the soft fabric of your shirt, calloused from years of gun maintenance and farm chores now tinged with winter grit.

You feel his breath hitch just slightly as his fingers brush over chilled skin, contrast sharp against the heat of his palms. He nuzzles into your neck again, lips parting to kiss a slow trail upward, to your jawline and then your earlobe before he stops there for a second.

Leon breathes you in.

The storm outside howls faintly through cracks in the windowsills. Snow taps softly against glass like tiny fingers begging entry, but inside, warmth builds between you two fast and quiet, a fire catching wood perfectly stacked after weeks of preparation.

He kisses behind your ear next, a spot that always makes you melt, and one hand drifts higher under your shirt to cup one of your breasts. You hum, feeling electricity run down your core.

It doesn’t matter how many times Leon takes you, how many times he stretches you open. He still makes you nervous.

“Warm yet?” He murmurs, making you hum again as he straightens. You smile at him, feeling his thumb swipe over your nipple. You lean up, pressing your cheek to his so you can whisper in his ear.

“Almost,” your breath ghosts over the lob. “But I know you can do better.”

Leon’s breath hitches at the whisper against his ear, your voice low, teasing, daring, and something feral flickers behind his usually guarded eyes. He likes that, he loves it. Without a word, he captures your mouth again, deeper this time, hungrier, and backs you slowly toward the bedroom door down the hall. One hand stays on your waist; the other cups your face as he kisses you with more insistence now.

When your shoulders bump gently into a wall near your room, he doesn’t stop walking. Just angles himself to keep kissing you while steering both of you forward like navigation is second nature.

The bedroom light casts soft gold over rumpled blankets and an unmade bed, you hadn’t made it this morning because Leon was up early checking fences before heading into town.

He finally breaks from kissing you only to pull off his sweater in one smooth motion and toss it aside without looking away from you once. His hands are on you instantly, tugging at your jeans and you shimmy them down your legs as his tongue swipes at your lower lip. You hum, jumping when his fingers brush over the cotton of your underwear.

“Shower or bed?” He murmurs against your mouth. You tug at his wrist, needing him closer before pulling him towards the bathroom.

“Quick shower.” You reply, and he raises a slow brow.

“If I have my way, there’ll be nothing quick about it.”

You giggle, turning on the shower head as you tug your shirt over your head. “We’ll make it one. I want to have you pressing me into the sheets.”

Leon grins. “Yes ma’am.”

You tie up your hair out of the way as you step under the spray. The warm drops make you jump, and Leon kicks off his boxers, his length already hard and wanting. When he steps in behind you, he presses a light kiss to your shoulder and you turn around, running a hand up his chest. The water thrums into your back, warming your muscles, the cold slowly seeping from your finger tips.

Leon exhales as your palm glides up his chest, warm water sluicing over both of you. The steam starts to rise, fogging the mirror and curling around the small bathroom like a hug. He watches you, your face relaxed now under the heat, cheeks pink from cold earlier but softening with comfort. Your fingers trail higher to his shoulders where tension lives even in peace, the soldier never fully sleeps.

You tilt your head into him and he kisses you again: slow this time, lazy with affection instead of urgency. One arm wraps around your waist while his other hand lifts to untie that messy bun in one smooth motion; dark strands fall loose down your back.

The shower spray hits between you as Leon ducks down slightly to press kisses along your collarbone, small pecks that turn into open-mouthed ones when he finds sensitive spots on either side of it. You reach to the side and grab your bar of soap, haphazardly washing yourself as he slowly assaults your neck. The bar of soap slips from your fingers but you ignore it, your now free hands curling into his dirty blonde hair. It’s more silver than blonde now, and as Leon straights your fingers move to his face. There are silver hairs in his scruff too, and your brows raise a fraction.

“You’re getting grays, old man.” You hum, your nose knocking his. He smirks, a small pull of his mouth, his hand moving up your sides to wash away the suds.

“So are you,” his thumb brushes over a smile line by your lips. “Not like me but, there’s a few of them. And yet you’re …no less beautiful.”

You grin, the soapy water circling the drain before Leon turns the faucet off. He reaches outside of the curtain and hands you a towel, stepping out so you have space to dry yourself. Leon wraps a towel around his waist, water dripping from his hair as he ruffles it with one hand. The silver streaks catch the soft light, more noticeable now that he’s not hiding under a ballcap or shadow.

He watches you step out, body glistening slightly from steam and warmth. You wrap your own towel around you tighter, catching all the water.

There's something quiet between you two, not awkwardness, but tenderness. The kind that comes with years of knowing every scar on each other's skin and loving them anyway. Without speaking, Leon leans in again when you're both mostly dry, kisses the corner of your mouth first then captures it properly: warm lips meeting warm lips after being cold all day. It feels like coming home twice over.

When he pulls back just enough to look at you fully, the gray strands catching light on both your faces, he brushes damp curls behind your ear and smiles.

“Come on baby,” he murmurs, and tugs at the hem of the towel. You let it fall, revealing naked, damp skin and he licks his lips. “Let this old man get you warm.”

He bends, grabbing your thighs and picks you up in one fluid motion. Legs wrapped around his waist, your mouth finds his, kissing him over and over until he drops you unceremoniously to the bed. He’s grinning, and runs a hand up your jaw.

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “All fours for me.”

You swallow, turning on the bed on your knees so that your backside is facing him, and your palms are pressed into the sheets in-front of you. You hear him hum, and then his palm is flat against your tailbone. When he crouches so that he’s eyelevel with your center, his knees pop but he doesn’t complain or bother to change position. Instead, he leans forward and kisses the back of your thigh. You exhale, the action shaky, and you nearly jump when his thumb slides down your slit, the wetness already there making the action easy.

Leon exhales against your skin, slow and warm, the heat of his breath ghosting over your inner thigh before he kisses higher, deliberately teasing. His thumb drags through you again with no rush at all; just mapping.

He’s on his knees like a man in prayer, not worshipful exactly, Leon never was that poetic, but reverent in the way only someone who loves deeply can be: quiet devotion laced with hunger.

The bed dips under him as he shifts closer. One large hand spreads across your lower back to steady you while the other keeps exploring, fingers parting you gently before that same calloused thumb circles right where it counts. A low hum rumbles from his chest when he feels how ready you are for him already, and then without warning, because Leon likes surprises, he ducks down and presses an open-mouthed kiss directly to your center.

You gasp, hot pleasure shooting up your spine and the hairs on your arm stand at attention. Leon must be smirking, must be enjoying this because he does it again, a hand braced on the back of your thigh. Eyes closing, your hips push back against his face, seeking more, and this time you do hear him smirk. A low, muffled sound vibrating against your clit.

That vibration sends a shockwave through you, and your hips buck instinctively, chasing the sensation. Leon doesn’t pull away; he growls , low in his throat like a pleased predator, and suddenly his mouth is everywhere.

Kissing. Licking. Nipping with just enough teeth to make you whimper but not hurt.

One hand grips your thigh tighter while the other slides up to press firmly on your lower back again, not pushing down hard, but keeping you right where he wants: arched for him perfectly.

He takes his time at first, teasing flicks of tongue over sensitive skin before finally sealing his lips around that throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking. Not gentle anymore, nor very patient either.

You gasp, his name tumbling from your lips and suddenly it’s gone. The pressure, the wet heat of his tongue, and you whimper.

“Still here,” Leon leans down, his lips brushing your shoulder. “Right here, sweetheart.”

He glides the head of his cock through your folds, wetting his skin with your slick and your fingers tighten in the sheets. His hand splays between your shoulders, smoothing down your spine as he aligns. The stretch is familiar but never easy, Leon’s always been big, broad everywhere, and you both know the first inch is a slow burn. He eases in with that same patient control he uses for everything: shooting targets, mending fences, soothing spooked horses.

A quiet groan escapes him as your body takes him, tight heat clenching around his cock, and his forehead drops to press between your shoulder blades. For a second he just breathes there, warm puffs of air against your damp skin.

Then he moves.

Not fast or rough, a slow roll of his hips forward until he's fully sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt in warmth and wetness that feels like home after cold nights outside. He stays like that for three heartbeats, four, then leans forward slightly and kisses the back of your neck softly before murmuring: “Okay?”

“Better than okay,” you reply, your eyes closing as Leon’s hand slips around your shoulder, cupping your jaw so he can tilt your face. His mouth finds yours just as his hips begin to move again and you sigh, arching against him.

Leon kisses you deeply, his lips moving against yours with slow, deliberate rhythm as his hips begin to rock, gentle at first, testing the give of your body around him. Each thrust is controlled: not shallow or hurried like a younger man might be;, this is him, someone that knows you inside and out. His hand stays on your jaw for a second before sliding into your hair again, not pulling hard, just gripping to twist your head as he deepens the kiss. When he finally breaks it to breathe, he nuzzles along your cheekbone and down to press soft kisses under your ear.

The room smells like steam from earlier and sex now, the musky sweetness of skin warmed by effort, and outside the storm has quieted into gentle flurries. Leon’s tongue licks into your mouth and he tastes like coffee, making your back bend even more.

“Fuck,” you whisper and his hand moves downward, palming over the meat of your ass before squeezing the flesh. Leon grunts at the sound of your voice, like a switch flipped. His grip tightens on your ass, kneading the soft flesh with his large hand before sliding lower to spread you slightly.

It’s possessive. So Leon.

He angles himself just right and picks up speed not reckless, but with more purpose now, deeper strokes that make the bed creak softly under you both. Each thrust rolls through him into you,he's not bouncing or slamming but each movement is full-body intention, hips forward, back arching to drive in deeper.

His other arm wraps around beneath your breast, hauling you to stand on your knees and suddenly pulls you flush against him so there's no space between bodies at all—chest to back. You moan, and it feels so good that you nearly topple forward.

“Oh Leon.” you whisper, raising your arm to card your fingers through his hair. It’s a clumsy movement, jarring by his thrusts but you need to feel him, touch him as much as possible. He hums, his mouth at the back of your neck and the fingers in your hair loosen, sliding down your side and palming at your breast.

His touch is careful on your breast, his thumb brushing over the peak in slow circles, teasing, testing how sensitive you are. The other arm stays locked around your waist like a steel band, holding you up as he drives into you with that steady rhythm.

His lips return to the back of your neck, soft bites now and kisses that follow each one. He nips at the tendon there and then soothes it with his tongue. He adjusts slightly, the angle changes, and suddenly every thrust hits *that spot*, deep inside where pleasure coils tightest. You gasp loudly this time, and your eyes squeeze shut as you clench around him.

“Fuck.” He chokes out, and there’s a warmth in your gut that you barely register as your own orgasm ripples through you. He squeezes your breast as you pull on his hair, harder than you mean to but you can apologize later. Right now, you simply need your anchor.

Leon feels you clench around him, tight, pulsing waves, and his breath stutters like a gunshot misfire. He doesn’t stop moving, but the rhythm fractures for half a second as your body milks him through the crest of your orgasm.

Your fingers in his hair? The sharp tug? It sends white-hot electricity down his spine. A low groan rumbles from deep in his chest and he presses closer, mouth open on your shoulder now, teeth grazing skin without breaking it.

His thrusts are erratic until he’s spent, his sweat slicked chest sticky to yours as you bend forward, and crawl up the bed a bit, his cock bouncing as you move away. You glance over your shoulder at him, your farmer, and you smile.

Leon is still breathing hard, and sits on the edge of the bed before flopping onto his back. He runs a hand through his hair and you giggle.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Mm,” he exhales through his nose. “That tells me it’s somethin’.”

You crawl over to him, his seed sticky between your thighs but you’re too tired to care. Your cheek presses to his shoulder, and he turns his head, his angle upside down in your vision. Leon blinks at you upside down for a second before turning his head the rest of the way to press a slow kiss to your forehead.

One arm lifts automatically and drapes over your shoulders like an anchor line. He pulls you closer until your chest rests against his side completely. His heartbeat thuds steadily under your ear, strong but slowing down now as adrenaline fades into contentment. Outside, snow keeps falling quietly over fences and fields he’d checked twice that morning before leaving for town.

“Think I need to marry you,” He murmurs and you laugh. “Before you slip away. I’m never letting that go.”

“Marriage is overrated,” you hum, sitting up slightly to look down at him. “Besides, we’re too old at this point, and we both know I’m your old maid.”

Leon’s face does something complicated at that, eyes narrowing slightly, not in anger but offense. He reaches up and flicks your forehead lightly.

“Old maid?” he repeats, voice dry as corn husks. “You’re thirty-five.” He sits up too then, ignoring the soreness in his back because this is important now, a correction. He grabs your chin in a firm hold and kisses you. Not soft or sweet like before; this one’s claiming. When he pulls back an inch, he murmurs. “We’re getting married next spring.”

He says flatly, like it's decided already by God and farming calendars alike. No question mark there either.

“Oh yeah?” You raise both your eyebrows and he nods. You smile, shifting forward to cup the side of his face. “Leon, I don’t need all that to know I love you.”

Leon exhales through his nose, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips as you cup his face. His skin is warm, stubble rough under your palm.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I know that.” He leans into your touch for a second before turning to press a kiss right in the center of your hand. “But I wanna do it right. Want you walkin’ down an aisle toward me in front of everybody we know. Want rings and vows and cake that tastes like crap but everyone eats ‘cause they’re happy.”

His thumb brushes over your wrist where it rests against him, calloused fingers gentle despite their strength from years of labor. You watch the action, your lips twisting before you nod.

“Alright.”

Leon grins, his thumb pressing into your wrist. “Yeah?”

Still naked, still warm from his skin on yours, you lean up, and brush your lips softly against his. “Yeah Leon. I’ll marry you.”

Leon’s grin widens, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and shows a flash of white teeth. It's rare to see him this openly joyful, usually it's quiet satisfaction or stoic pride. He kisses you back, slow and sweet this time, pouring all that I’m-getting-what-I-wanted attitude into it. Then he scoops you up suddenly, effortlessly, and rolls so your back hits the mattress with him half on top of you.

One hand finds yours beside your head and laces fingers together while he stares down at you like you're his miracle, not land restored or a good harvest, but this. You saying yes, choosing him forever.

“Love ya,” he murmurs, stooping to kiss your nose. You giggle, eyes crinkling before opening them again to look up at him.

“Love you too, Kennedy.”

x

Ao3 link

Leon taglist @yours-truly-andrea

Leon Kennedy ML

Softly’s Locket ML

You first met Bucky in the library, of all places. You were in the middle of a late-night study session, searching for a rare botany book you needed for your class on medicinal plants. It was close to closing time, and the library was almost empty. That’s when you saw him—tall and quiet, with a soft, thoughtful look on his face as he shelved books. You asked him about the one you were looking for, and without hesitation, he led you to the correct aisle. The way his hand brushed yours as he handed you the book, and the way his eyes met yours, something flickered between you both. There was a spark, quiet, but apparent. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you felt it.

In the time that followed, Bucky would appear at the library now and then, volunteering when he had time. And each time he did, you would find yourself falling for him in the quietest, most unexpected way. You spent hours talking about plants and healing, about life after everything changed. You learned he was still healing too, still trying to figure out what he wanted, where he fit in this world. But he never talked much about himself. He never burdened you with the things he carried. He just let his silence speak for him.

You were a botany student at the local university, your late nights filled with research and exhaustion. Your eyes would burn after hours of studying, your shoulders aching from hunching over books. You’d grab a coffee from the campus café, but it never quite hit the spot, never quite kept you awake enough for the next round of assignments.

Bucky always seemed to know when you were at your limit. He’d catch you on those nights, your eyes barely open as you scanned through pages of textbooks. He’d show up at the library or the café, a warm drink or a snack in hand, offering them without saying much, just a soft, reassuring smile as he pushed the coffee toward you. “Thought you might need it,” he’d mumble, looking away before you could catch him staring at you.

He was gentle in a way that made your heart ache. He’d quietly sit next to you in the library, watching you as you worked, his presence somehow grounding you. If you dozed off at your desk after too many hours, he’d always make sure to gently wake you, or even offer to walk you back to your dorm so you didn’t have to brave the dark campus alone. He wasn’t loud or overbearing; instead, he let his actions speak for him.

Bucky, despite everything he’d been through, never made you feel like you were a distraction, even if you were certain you were. He didn’t want to burden you with his past or the emotional scars from the Blip. But you knew, somehow, he was healing in his own way, slowly, quietly, with each step he took toward you.

It wasn’t just the late-night coffees or the soft glances. Bucky had this way of slipping into your life, unnoticed at first, but before you knew it, you couldn’t imagine life without him in it. There were moments when he’d brush your arm as you passed each other on campus, or when you’d find him waiting by his motorcycle, his gaze soft and distant, like he was contemplating something heavy. And when he looked at you, it wasn’t just the silent concern, it was something deeper, something warmer.

Bucky was quiet, never expecting you to stay, always second-guessing whether he deserved someone like you. But you knew. You knew he was starting to believe in the possibility of it, of someone staying, even after everything.

His affection was subtle but real. A gentle hand on your back when you walked beside him. A small smile that would tug at the corner of his lips when you made him laugh. It was a soft, slow burn, but you could feel it, growing with every passing day.

You were tired from studying, but being near Bucky made it feel like everything was worth it. Even on those long nights when the world felt like too much, Bucky would be there, quietly checking in on you, making sure you were okay. He may have been healing, but so were you. Together, you were finding pieces of yourselves you thought you had lost.

“You’re like a fantasy.” He says one evening, his shoulders hunched as he watches you read. You blink, and slowly look at him with a quizzical expression.

“I- what?” You laugh lightly, more air then sound and his hair sweeps over his eyes. He brushes it back, templing his hands and looking forward instead of at you.

“I don’t want to spend my energy anymore on things that don’t work,” he says softly. “I’m… afraid of getting better. Afraid of it getting too good, because nothing stays like that forever. But then you…you’re this, bliss. This one dream that hasn’t lost its appeal.”

You gape at him, the book infront of you forgotten. He snorts quietly, looking at you sideways. “Don’t look so shell shocked.”

“I just, where did that come from?” You ask, closing the cover and turning, your knees brushing his thigh beneath the table.

Bucky inhales deeply, his shoulders lifting. “I think I-“ he pauses, licking his lips. “I don’t think. I know.”

“You know what?” You ask, leaning closer to hear him better. Bucky shifts, facing you fully, his eyes soft but filled with a storm. He takes a breath like he’s been preparing for weeks.

“I know that I’m in love with you,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can second-guess them. “I’ve tried to ignore it, but I can’t. Not anymore.”

You freeze, caught off guard. The room seems to quiet around you as his words sink in. You blink, unsure of how to respond. “Bucky…” you start, but your words falter when you see the sincerity in his eyes. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I didn’t want to make things complicated,” Bucky continues, his voice barely above a whisper, like he’s letting out a secret he’s been holding for far too long. “But I can’t stand not saying it. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. And it scares the hell out of me, but I had to say it. I’m sorry if I—”

Before he can say more, you reach out, your hand gently cupping his face. Your thumb brushes over his cheek, and the touch seems to break something inside him. His breath catches, and the tension that’s held between you both finally seems to unravel.

“I’ve been falling for you too,” you admit, your voice steady but soft. “I just didn’t know if you’d feel the same.”

Bucky’s eyes search yours, as though looking for reassurance, before a slow smile spreads across his face. “I wish you had told me sooner,” he murmurs.

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” you reply, your voice thick. His gaze softens, and before you can say another word, he leans in, closing the space between you. His lips brush yours, tentative, slow, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. You let him kiss you, feeling him, the weeks of doubt, all dissipating in the warmth of his touch.

When the kiss deepens, the world outside of you fades completely. All that matters is Bucky, his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He’s gentle, patient, as if he’s finally letting himself love you the way he’s always wanted to.

When you pull away, breathless, your forehead rests against his. “Oh Bucky,” you whisper, your hand gently brushing through his hair. “You were worth the wait.”

Bucky lets out a soft, contented sigh, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m glad we’re here,” he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips. “I really am.”

x

Ao3 link

Softlys Locket ML

Bucky Barnes ML

You feed Dawn, watching her chew before remembering your phone. The night is a mess of sharp moments but you remember most of it. Getting drugged, being put in a taxi. A random passerby stopping it all, taking you to a hospital. And then taking you home. Dex hadn’t tried a thing. The whole time, he’d been respectful, helpful. Quiet but honestly, it’s what you had needed.

Now by yourself, you feel…uneasy. It’s not like you’re scared per se you just would rather have someone else here. The quiet in the four walls around you is too much.

You open your phone, reading the last text from Dex, and you type out a few words.

fell asleep last night. But yes please. Come by today.

I’m on my way now. You want coffee or anything? And…you doing okay? Headache better?

You gaze at his text, a sense of excitement bubbling in your chest before you chastise yourself. You don’t even know him. He may be nice but he’s still a stranger.

im alright. Head is better. I’m gonna make a pot of coffee if u want some?

Yeah, I’ll take coffee. Black’s fine.

Setting your phone down, you set the pot to brew, and while it bubbles you get dressed. You’re still out of it, a little disoriented and shaky. The over sized sweater you tug on is a comfort, but you jump nonetheless when a knock sounds from the door

Quickly brushing your hair with your fingers, you pull it open and blink through the chain.

Dex looks at you and swallows, shifting as you stare. “Um. Hi.”

“Hi,” you breathe, and then remember yourself. “Sorry one second.”

You shut the door, and unlock the chain before opening the door again fully this time. You smile and step back. “Come on in.”

He steps inside, hands tucked in his pockets. The smell of coffee hits him immediately, warm and rich. His dark eyes scan the small apartment briefly - taking in the cozy decor without lingering too long on anything personal. He doesn’t say anything, and you shift, unsure of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, and Dex raises an eyebrow. “I- this is weird. I’m…I am not really sure what the protocol is for getting to know the guy that saved you from being assaulted.”

Dex exhales through his nose, almost amused. “There's no protocol.” He shrugs, a small movement. “We can just... talk? Like normal people?” he swallows, pausing for a moment before he continues. “Or you can tell me to leave if this is too weird for you.”

“No!” You say, too quickly and you feel your cheeks pinken. “I mean- no I just. I don’t want you to leave.” Wringing your hands, you swallow thickly. “I was…nervous, all night. Just on edge. And the first time that kind of…dissipated was when you texted me.” You chuckle, the sound strained. “Which is ridiculous, I know. I barely know you.”

“Nothing ridiculous about that.” He steps closer, just a small movement toward you. “I get it. After something like that... anyone would feel on edge.” His voice is quiet, careful, not pitying, but understanding in a way that makes your chest tighten slightly.

You smile but it’s frayed. “You didn’t sign up to be my personal bodyguard. I don’t think I can ever repay you for what you did.”

“I don’t want repayment.” A pause. His eyes hold yours, steady. “Just… glad I was there.” He glances toward the kitchen where coffee is brewing, then back to you. “Coffee?”

You nod with a thick swallow, moving into the kitchen and grabbing the handle of the pot. You pour out two cups, setting one in front of him and your eyes dart up.

“Um, cream or sugar?” You ask, moving to the fridge. Dex takes his cup and gingerly sits at the table, his posture stiff.

“Black's fine, thanks.” He watches you move around the kitchen, taking in how domestic this feels despite the heaviness of last night. His fingers tap once against his mug before he takes a slow sip. “...You sleep okay after?”

You consider his question before shaking your head. “No, not really. Tonight will be better.”

With your mug in hand, you sit across from him, and you get a sense of de ja vu, your positions a mirror of the night before.

“You should rest more today. You're still recovering.” There’s a beat of silence as he studies your face, the dark circles under your eyes. “Do you...want me to stay? Like, for a bit? So it's not so quiet?”

You take a sip of your coffee, glancing towards your window where the Sunday sunshine streams through. “I’m sure you’d have other things you’d like to spend your weekend doing.”

“I don’t. Not planning anything.” He takes another sip of coffee, the steam curling. “If you want me to stay… I can stay.”

You glance at your coffee and that back at him. You nod once. “Okay. Stay.”

The next few days drag like that. Dex spends a few hours sitting at the table or on your couch while you read or nap or work on your laptop. You’re lucky you have a work from home job; you aren’t sure you can stomach leaving the apartment just yet.

He comes by after work, and you hate to admit the relief that overcomes you when you see him. Each time you learn more about him; that he works with the FBI, lives alone. He doesn’t have any siblings and from your view, doesn’t have a lot of friends.

“What’s your favorite type of food?” You ask on Wednesday night. You’re curled up on the couch with Dawn by your feet and your laptop on your knees, and Dex sits opposite on your thrifted loveseat.

“Pasta. Any kind, really.” A small pause as he thinks. You watch his fingers thumb along his thigh, and your mouth goes a little dry. “Especially carbonara.” He glances at Dawn before adding. “I'm not great at cooking though. I burn water sometimes.”

You let out a small laugh. “I doubt that.”

Dex gives a half smile before his eyes move back to the tv, an old rerun of Friends playing. “What about you?”

“I’m not picky but probably burgers,” you reply, fingers lax in the keys. “My dad used to grill some really good ones when we went to the beach.”

“That sounds nice.” A quiet admission. He never had that kind of thing growing up - cookouts, family trips to the beach. The orphanage was far from nurturing. “You still go to the beach?”

You nod, glancing at him. “Mhm. To visit my parents sometimes. But I just moved here a few months ago and I’m trying to, stand on my own you know?”

Dex nods, crossing his ankles. He’s become more comfortable in your space you’ve noticed. Not sitting as rigid, his back not so stiff.

“My sisters in South Carolina too,” you continue. “I like visiting her too.”

He knew this, of course. His first night back, Dex had slipped into your computer while you showered. Had your family tree mapped out in his head, knew that you liked burgers and that your sister was older and that you hated your job. Every time he came, he snuck more and more information, feeding on it like a man starved.

Doesn’t mean he didn’t like hearing it straight from your mouth, though. He acts nonchalant but he hangs on your every word.

“You ever wish you had any siblings?” You ask. “I can’t imagine it just being me.”

“Nah. Never had anyone to share anything with,” A shrug, casual but his tone dips slightly. “Sometimes it felt… lonely. But I got used to it.” He watches Dawn stretch her paws. “Now that I’m older? Kinda wish I did though.”

The cat moves toward him lazily, and curls her tail around Dex’s boots. You grin, turning to place your feet flat on the carpet.

“She must like you,” you giggle, and the sound is new to him. He wants to hear it again. “She’s kind of shy to most people.”

“Yeah? Huh,” A slow, rare smile spreads across his face. Dawn never warmed up to anyone that fast, not even your neighbors who spoiled her with treats. He reaches down cautiously and scratches behind her ears. “Guess I'm... cat approved?”

You laugh, a shyness trickling down your spine. “Yeah, I guess so.”

-

Dex doesn’t come Thursday night. He texts you that he’s stuck at work, that it’ll be late by the time he gets out. You hate how you immediately feel a sense of panic, of doom clawing at you like talons.

oh that’s totally okay. Long shifts suck!

You send the text, and then lean against the counter. You’re shaking, your breathing coming quickly and you close your eyes. This cannot be how you react to this, to him. You’re stronger than that, aren’t you?

Your phone vibrates and you read his text;

tomorrow?

With shaky hands you type back.

tomorrow sounds great:)

Your breathing is uneven when you put down the phone, and you trudge to your bathroom. Flicking on the tub, your foot taps impatiently as it fills.

You don’t know why but it’s becoming embarrassingly obvious to you that Dex is a safety net. You feel panicky and unbalanced when he isn’t around, and you haven’t truly left your apartment since he brought you back from the hospital.

Since your date with Alex.

You shiver even though it isn’t cold. He could have…god what he could’ve done. And you hadn’t seen it coming, at all.

You’d called and texted him since Saturday, but all forms of contact went unanswered. You had even threatened to call the police and still, nothing. You aren’t sure what bothered you more; the fact that he had put in so much effort to harm you, or the radio silence when he had failed.

Shedding your clothes, you step into the tub, the warm watering settling into your bones as you sit down.

Alex deserved to be punished. You needed to report him, but what proof would you have? Dex would back you up, for sure, and there was the toxicology report, but there was really nothing pinning it to Alex. You splash water on your face, considering your options and you sigh, dropping your chin to your chest as you drag your legs up.

You wish Dex were here. He would know what to say, or maybe not, but at least he’d say something. At least it wouldn’t just be you and your head.

Dex, with his quiet demeanor and handsome smile has become something you didn’t expect. Aside from making you feel safe, you genuinely liked having him around. He is…intriguing, to say the least. Funny, in a deadpan sort of way. And now that he’s spent so much time at your apartment and you’ve been able to look at him up close, you’ve catalogued that he’s extremely good looking.

You extend your neck, bracing the back of your head against the tiles of the wall before letting your legs loose in-front of you.

Blonde haired and blue eyed, it’s a wonder Dex is single. Obviously he isn’t the best at connecting with others, but who is? You surely aren’t.

You picture his face, the lines of his mouth when he smiles and your chest flutters, skin warming under the water and you fidget. If you were to press your nose into the collar of his shirt, would he smell like mint? You had caught a scent once, but it was brief, and now you want to know.

A dull thudding from behind your ribs makes you press a hand to your sternum, the water lapping at your shoulders with the movement. There’s an ache there, and you rub, your hand drifting between your breasts, massaging the area in hopes that it’ll soothe the panic festering within. Dipping below the waters surface, your fingers trail along your upper thigh, slipping to the inside of your knee then further up.

Does he taste like mint too? If you were to lick inside Dex’s mouth, run your tongue along his lower lip, would he taste bright and crisp?

Your right hand slips between your thighs, fingers brushing your folds and your mouth opens, eyes tightening. Your left hand fists under the water, nails biting into your palm and you slowly rub a circle around your bundle of nerves.

Would he touch you like this? Those long, strong fingers of his, would they press hard? No, you don’t think so. You think he would take his time. He would work you slowly, spread your legs with one hand while the other dragged up and down your folds until you’re soaking wet.

Dex would smile as you panted, as you mewled at his touch and make you ask for it, make you beg. And you would. You would do whatever so long as he kept stroking you with his beautiful hands.

You come with a quiet gasp, fingers tightening on your left hand as water sloshes over the lip of the tub.

Shame burns you the minute your pulse slows.

You drag yourself from the tub, drying and changing quickly. Eyeing your phone you pace because this was bad. Being attached to Dex after a semi traumatic event is one thing, but being attracted to him to the point that you’re day dreaming about him is entirely another.

You sit at the edge of your bed, glancing at your phone again. You need to end this, whatever this is. Dex is a nice guy. He doesn’t deserve whatever mess you’re bringing upon yourself.

Turning your phone upside down, you snuggle under the covers. You’ll be fine, it’s one day. One day of not seeing him. You are your own damn person, and you’ll be fine. You hope.

-

Dex finally reads your text when he gets out at nearly midnight. It’s late, he reasons, you’re probably asleep. But that thing, that healthy habit begs to differ. It demands to see you, to smell the familiar scent of your apartment and watch your eyes dart across the screen of your laptop as you read. He’s so busy chastising himself that he’s almost surprised to find himself in front of your building.

He just needs to see you, just a peak. Then he’ll be able to leave, to sleep.

Dex takes the stairs to your floor two at a time, and when he makes it to your door, he fishes out the spare key that you don’t know he has. He steps inside quietly, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The apartment is dark except for the glow of your nightlight.

He walks to your bedroom door, peering in. You're curled up under the covers, asleep, hair askew atop your covers.

It’s then that he understands you’re beautiful.

A little sad and a little naive but so, so beautiful.

Head tilting, Dex doesn’t move as he watches you breathe. He’s still for several minutes, drinking you in, the urge to trace your features with his index finger nearly overwhelming, but he doesn’t. He keeps his hands to himself.

When he leaves, he’s breathing hard. Dex locks the door as quietly as he can, and practically runs down the stairwell. When he gets outside he takes in gulps of fresh air, leans over and squeezes his eyes shut.

He wants nothing more than to sit at the foot of your bed and watch you sleep all night.

He knows it’s wrong, that acting like that is frowned upon. But it’s you. The thing that plagues him when he sleeps and the first thing that he thinks of when he wakes. All he wants is to be close to you. You make him feel alive in a way he hasn’t been since Julie, and it terrifies him, the habit licking at his heels like a rabid dog.

His apartment is a lonely shell when he enters, slamming the door behind him. Pacing back and forth, he tugs at his hair, exhaling hard through his nose, his jaw clenched so tightly his molars hurt. He considers texting you, telling you that he can’t stop thinking about you. That he’s known you for less than a week, and yet you are his life.

“Get a grip.” he grunts, digging his nails into his palms. He rummages through his things before he finds his CD player, and he slips the headphones over his head, smashing down on the play button.

Closing his eyes, Dex leans against the wall, letting the music run through him as he slowly slides down and sits.

He can contain this habit.

He has to.

-

You wake with a start.

Panic seizes you and you sit up, scrambling for your bedside lamp. When the light flicks on, Dawn meows from the door and you shake your head, trying to clear it.

You scramble for your phone, knocking it to the floor and you scoop it up. You’re dialing his number without realizing it.

The phone rings once, twice, and then Dex answers in a voice that sounds like he’d been awake for hours.

“H-hi,” A pause. The line is quiet except for his breathing. “Are you okay? It's… late.”

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately, and god you’re always apologizing. “I shouldn’t have called. I just-”

“Don't apologize,” A soft sigh. “I'm glad you called. What's wrong?”

His tone is gentle, patient, the kind of voice that makes people want to spill their problems immediately. It makes your chest twist painfully.

“Dex,” you whisper, and press a hand to your sternum. “Something- something isn’t right.”

“Where are you? At your place?” A rustling sound echos, and he's already moving. “Stay on the phone with me, okay? I'm coming over.”

No hesitation. No question why you're upset. Just action, immediate and decisive like always when it comes to you.

You want to tell him no. Tell him that this is exactly what is wrong, that you’ve become dependent on him, that you fantasize about him and something about all of this isn’t healthy.

Yet you don’t. Instead, you whisper. “Okay.”

Dex doesn’t really speak the entire time it takes him to get to your apartment. He checks in every so often, but other than that he’s quiet. You lay on the couch, the phone by your side as you drag your knees to your chest and try not to cry.

“I’m walking up.” Dex voice cracks through your speaker and you blink, sitting up. You wait by the door, and when he knocks you’re already opening it.

He stares at you, his chest rising and falling quickly and you stare back.

“It’s four o’clock in the morning,” you whisper, hand tightening on the door knob. “Why did you come?”

“Because you sounded scared.” He steps inside without waiting for an invitation, his hands finding your shoulders. His palms are warm. “Are you okay?”

“I am scared,” you reply and your brows knot. “I’m scared of how- I just-”

You shake your head and step out of his hold, walking back into the living room. Dex closes the door and follows, and when you turn he’s so close you nearly bump into him.

“I’m worried I’ve become dependent on you,” you say in a rush. “That- I went through something traumatic and I can’t seem to go one day without you.”

“That’s not a bad thing, okay? I get it.” His hands lift slightly like he wants to touch you but isn’t sure if he should. “I like being here for you. I want to be.”

His eyes search yours in the dim light from the kitchen.You shake your head, your hair bouncing on your shoulders. “That isn’t normal. None of this is normal.”

“I’m just trying to help.” He says softly and your heart twists.

“I know, I know,” you reply. “And I cannot begin to thank you. For everything. I just…it’s weird, right?”

“You’re not weird.” he steps forward, his hands finally lift, one cupping your cheek with impossible gentleness. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet someone like you.”

Your eyes grow wide. “Dex, what’re you doing?”

“Something I've wanted to do since the first night.”

His thumb brushes your cheekbone, then his lips press against yours. It's soft, tentative. A kiss that asks permission without words.

You freeze, your hands raised to his chest to push him away but you stop, because isn’t this what you wanted, too? Some part of you, anyway.

He pulls back just a fraction, his nose brushing yours and you feel your heart threaten to burst from your chest. His thumb moves from your jaw to your mouth, brushing lightly over the swell of your lips. His other hand goes from your waist to around and up your back, fingers splaying out between your shoulder blades as he drags you closer and dips his head, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his mouth warm. Your eyes flutter at the delicate touch and he does it again, moving closer to the base of your neck. He trails his lips to the strap of your tank top before sliding the fabric down with the hand that’s braced in-between your shoulders.

Your skin prickles as he hold you there, breathing in your skin and hair, and your arm comes up, fingers curling in the hair back his neck.

You find he does smell of mint.

He says your name, muffled against your skin before he raises his head and his eyes find yours. He dips his chin, this time to the other side, and your shoulders that had been raised in anxiety begin to loosen. He kisses your collarbone and then repeats what he had done before, sliding his mouth along the skin of your shoulder. You swallow, committing the feel of his kisses to memory before he pulls back.

He sighs, unsure of himself and his lips are wet. “I don’t- that isn’t what I came here to do. I’m not trying to take advantage of your situation.”

You nod, swallowing again, making your nose brush his. Your eyes are still damp, your heart still hammering behind your ribs, but it isn’t so loud, nor so painful.

“I came because you sounded upset.” His fingers flex against your back, uncertain. “But I’ve thought about kissing you since the night I brought you back home.”

“I feel drawn to you,” you admit in a quiet voice. “Before I was…I don’t know. Being stupid. Kissing random boys and pretending they were my person.” You blink and a tear threatens to fall so you blink harder. “It feels like you’re my person. And it’s terrifying because it’s so soon.”

“You’re my person too,” he takes a shaky breath. “I don’t care that it’s soon,” His hands frame your face, calloused thumbs wiping away the tears before they fall. “I’ve never been this sure of anything in my life.”

You shake your head, trying to remember yourself. “I don’t- the fear. I don’t want to be afraid, and only unafraid when you’re not around. I-I have to stand on my own.”

Dex says your name and his voice cracks. “Don’t push me away. You’re all I have.”

“What?” You look up at him, and his hand skids down your neck.

“I-i don’t have anyone else. I spent my whole life alone and then I met you,” His hands slide into your hair, making your lashes flutter. “Please don’t make me go back to that.”

You cup the side of his face and he shudders, his eyes closing. “I’m not. I’m sorry I’m just…this is confusing.”

“I know. It’s okay,” His forehead rests against yours, breathing you in. “I can wait until it makes sense for you.” A pause, his nose nudging yours gently. “However long that takes.”

You take a deep breath, rising on your toes to press your mouth to his. Dex makes a soft, surprised sound, and his hands come up to cup your face. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepens. One of his thumbs brushes over your hipbone through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

You smile, your fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “This isn’t healthy.”

“I know.”

“We’re ridiculous.”

He nods, his eyes moving from yours to your lips and back again. “A little bit.”

You laugh, a light sound, and your fingers rub the back of his head. “Can’t say a mind.”

Taking his hand in yours, you pull him to your room. You don’t speak as you move the covers back, and Dex kicks off his shoes. Slipping in, you lay on your side, watching as he tentatively lies beside you, his arm coming around your waist. You move yourself so that your head is on his chest, his arm around you and holding you close.

“Your heartbeat is loud.” you say quietly. you can hear him exhale through his nose.

“Can you blame me?” he murmurs and you shake your head. “but I like this. Just... being with you like this.”

His fingers trace lazy circles on your back through the fabric of your shirt, warm and steady.

“I like it too,” you reply softly. It’s quiet for a few moments, and you shift. “Did I tell you I had a longterm boyfriend once?”

“Who broke up with who?” There's no jealousy in his tone, just curiosity. His fingers still against your back for a moment before resuming their slow circles. “Was it serious? Like, marriage serious?”

“I think so,” you reply. “We weren’t good for each other. We just…didn’t mesh. It’s why I moved to New York. I wanted a fresh start, but i…” you swallow, and Dex doesn’t rush you. “I got so lonely sometimes I forgot why I ever left.”

You feel him move, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I was taking out my friends trash, when I saw you.”

You pause. “What?”

“I-“ he exhales. “I had kept a bag. Of my friends things she uh, we worked together. And then we kind of, drifted, and then she died? And I just, kept her stuff. Last week though, finally, I was able to get rid of it. Dump it out. and that’s when I saw you, walking into that bar with Alex.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” you say quietly. “Were you close?”

Dex is quiet for a moment. “A little yeah. She helped me through tough times.”

“Oh.” He shifts, and you sit up, your chin on his chest. “I’m really sorry, Dex.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” His thumb brushes your cheekbone, a gentle touch. “But thanks for saying that. I never thought I’d find someone after her,” he smiles and you can see it a little in the dark. “And then I saw you. And saw that same…kindness.”

“Kindness?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, and he almost seems unsure of himself. “I don’t know I just, uh, felt it. And you were so…pretty.”

“You’re sweet.”

Dex smiles. “Your eyes are really pretty too. Like... honey.” You feel your mouth go slack at his compliments. He clears his throat, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn't mean to say that out loud.”

It’s quiet, and you shift, scooting closer to kiss him. He sighs, like he doesn’t mind the physical interruption.

Your lips slides over his, soft and slow and when your tongue prods at his mouth, his jaw opens immediately. There’s a soft battle for dominance, a playful back and forth until you’re both warm and panting.

“God, I like kissing you.” His hands slide into your hair as he deepens the kiss, slow and sweet. When he pulls back for air, his lips are slightly swollen. “Can we do that again?”

You laugh, nodding, and he moves closer, cupping the side of your face as he kisses you. A hum vibrates in your chest, eyes fluttering and you move closer, your fingers fisting in his shirt. His hands slide down your back, pulling you closer and you move on top of him. The kiss gets deeper, hungrier as his fingers tangle in your hair. Your hips press against his and he nearly chokes, the sound shooting through you like electricity.

You sit up, your lips pink and breathless and Dex’s hands settle on your hips.

“I- um,” you stutter, tucking your hair behind your ears. “As much as I’d like to…um. Continue? I think I should….wait a little. For that-just for now.”

“Okay. I- yeah That's okay,” Asmall, understanding smile touches his lips. His thumbs stroke your hips gently through your pajama pants. “I just...really like being close to you like this.”

You smile, glancing away before you nod.

“I like it too,” you whisper and your eyes dart to the clock. “Jesus Christ it’s nearly six in the morning.”

“Do you want me to stay? I can go home if you’d rather sleep alone.”

You shake your head, and Dex nods.

“I’d really prefer if you didn’t go home,” you murmur as you slide from his lap. “I’d really like for you to stay.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs and his voice sounds tired. “I’ll stay.” You cuddle into his side, your head on his collarbone and his hand rubs up and down your spine. “I got you.”

His voice is low, warm with sleep. One hand strokes your hair while the other keeps you tucked against his chest.

This will probably end badly.

It’s probably too fast, too soon.

But as you lay in Dex’s arms, you can’t think of somewhere else you’d rather be.

x

Taglist: @laufeydottirs-writings

AO3 link

Ben Poindexter ML

Softlys Locket ML

You cling to Dex as soon as he walks into your apartment, asking what he needs while the keys jingle in his hand.

“Will you let me take off my jacket?” He carefully pulls you away from him, holding up his hands before dropping the key into the fishbowl. “You missed me, I know. I missed you too, but I’ve had a long day alright?”

When he smiles, a dimple appears on his cheek and it makes your stomach flip, your heart flutters.

“So let me help,” you push as he sits down, pulling at his shoes. “You hungry? I can order take out, or get the bath ready?”

Dex looks at you through hooded eyes. “A bath would be nice. Maybe some Thai for dinner.”

You beam at him. “Thai and a bath, got it.”

Rushing to the bathroom, you turn on the tap, letting it run hot as you drop handfuls of dandelion liquid soap and petals into the water, clear bubbles wafting to the top. You light a few candles, yellow ones you had bought for yourself a few weeks ago, and set them around the lip of the tub.

Grabbing your phone, you make your way back to him and hold out a hand. “Your bath awaits.”

Dex quirks an eyebrow as he stands, but lets you lead him toward the bathroom. The moment the warm, floral-scented air hits him, his shoulders drop slightly, enough for you to notice.

“Damn,” he murmurs, stepping closer to inspect the floating petals, since when did you have bath petals? His fingers trail along the rim of the tub before he turns that sharp gaze on you. “This is... excessive.” His smirk melts into something almost fond as he tugs at your wrist. “You getting in with me or just gonna stand there staring?”

“I gotta order your food,” you reply, feeling electric under his gaze. “enjoy it, Dex.”

He doesn’t protest, pulling at his top as you dial the Thai take out down the road.

By the time the food arrives, Dex has been soaking for nearly half an hour. You knock on the bathroom door, peeking inside. “Dex, your foods here.”

With his neck craned back, Dex’s eyes are closed, his arms extended around the lip of the tub. He looks relaxed, clean and slick, little scars peppering his skin. You slip inside, sitting on the rim of the tug and whisper his name. He opens one eye, face splitting into a grin at you.

“Sorry. Almost dozed off there.”

“How’s your bath?” You ask, crossing your legs at the ankle.

Dex hums thoughtfully, raising an eyebrow as he looks over your small frame. You have one of his tee-shirts on, leaving the length of your legs bare beneath it. The sight of you in his clothes does not go unnoticed. His eyes rake over you lazily, his focus wandering as you begin to speak again. Dex lifts a wet hand from the water, tugging the hem of the T-shirt higher up your thigh.

“Better,” he murmurs. “Now that you’re here.”

You grin, scooting closer and press a kiss to the crown of his head. His eyes flutter, and his hand slides down the expanse of your thigh.

“Join me.”

“Your food’s gonna get cold,” you murmur, reaching out and running your hand down his face. “It just got here.”

“I don't care about the damn food,” he mutters, his hand on your thigh inching higher. He's always had a thing for your bare skin.

Dex leans in suddenly, catching your mouth with his and sucking lightly on your lower lip. He does this whenever he wants to get his way.

“Dex,” you whisper, and his lips curve into a smile against yours. “I thought you were hungry.”

“So let me eat you.”

Your blood vibrates under your skin. Tongue swiping at his bottom lip, your hand goes to his chest, fingers splaying out on the taut skin before moving lower, past the water, down his abs to between his legs. His length is hard as the back of your hand brushes against it, and you twist your palm, grabbing him softly. He grunts against your mouth, the muscles in his neck twitching while your hand works slowly up and down.

He's panting now, his breath short against your mouth. You've almost forgotten about the food that is still left waiting on the living room floor, your entire attention focused on the way his muscles flex beneath his skin. He's taut, lean and hard, the product of an endless amount of training he forces himself to endure.

Dex's hand brushes yours away, taking his arousal in his own hand as he looks up at you through his lashes. “In the tub?” He murmurs huskily, his eyes roaming over your body.

You shake your head gentle, moving your hand to his shirt on your body, and cupping your breast. “I want you to feel good. Just you.”

His pupils dilating, Dex’s hand moves under the water, pumping himself easily as he watches you squeeze and fondle your breasts, your head tipping back to expose your throat. You groan, and you know that if you looked you’d be slick between the thighs.

“Take it off.” Dex grunts, nodding at the T-shirt and you pull it over your head, bare tits peaking in the evening air.

You slide a hand through your cleavage, up to your neck and letting your fingers linger there as Dex watches you, the water lapping at the sides of the tub as he pumps. His eyes darken, his mouth parting as he watches you. You can feel the heat rising in your face, the way his gaze makes your thighs clench. He looks hungry, his fingers clenched around the edge of the tub.

“C'mere,” He murmurs, lifting a damp hand from the water to rest against your hip, his grip tight. “Closer.”

You move as he bids, shifting so that your knees are on either side of his legs in the hot water. He smiles, the expression just a little crooked as he looks up at you. Bending, you straddle him, the water rising to your hips, soaking your panties but you don’t care. You slip your hands to your breasts, squeezing, and stay seated up so that you hover over him as his hand moves jerkily on himself.

“Fuck.” Dex mutters, hissing when his thumb slides over the tip. You lean forward and kiss below his jaw, nipping lightly before your tongue licks over the spot.

He grunts again, his hand getting faster, and you press your own hand over your belly button. “Can I?”

You watch as a slight flush creeps up his neck, his eyes as he nods quickly. Fingers disappear into the wet cotton of your panties and you feel your damp folds before you circle your clit. You gasp, eyes dropping to his hand as it moves over his length.

His other hand comes up, catching your chin and angling your head so that he can capture your mouth. He kisses you thoroughly, water splashing harder as his jerks get faster.

“Am I doing good?” you murmur into his mouth, your fingers moving in tight circles over your clit.

“S’good,” his words are garbled, and his neck strains as you pull back, your own hand quickening its pace. “M’close, I-”

“Let me.” you whisper, pulling your hand from your underwear and covering his. He lets go of his length, and you continue the rhythm, jerking his cock so good he groans.

Dex’s forehead presses to yours as his eyes fall shut, hands reaching for you. They settle on your hips, squeezing once before moving to the apex of your thighs, tugging the cotton out of the way and plunging two fingers into your dripping center.

A sharp gasp tears from your lips as his fingers curl deep inside you. His thumb presses to your clit in tight circles, just the way you like it, just like he remembers you like it, and suddenly the heat of the water is nothing compared to the fire licking up your spine.

“God, Dex.” you whimper, one hand still stroking him while the other grips his shoulder for balance. The slick sounds of skin on skin and water sloshing fills the small space between heavy breaths.

His mouth finds yours again in a messy kiss, all teeth and tongue as he drives his fingers deeper, searching for that spot that makes your toes curl. When he finds it, you jerk against him with a cry, his low chuckle vibrates against your lips before he steals another rough kiss. Your hips stutter, palm squeezing him and he chokes, his own hips spazzing as he releases into the soapy water. His fingers curl and you gasp, lips parting before you come, pleasure riding through your insides. You moan, loud and untamed, and beneath you Dex is trying to catch his breath as he looks up at you through hazy eyes.

Your grip on him falters, your forehead resting against his as you lean into him and try to catch your breath. There is a moment of silence before Dex chuckles lightly, his fingers still deep inside you as he looks up at you.

“That was...not what I expected.” He murmurs, watching the flush on your cheeks with something like satisfaction. His eyes gleam as he withdraws his fingers. “Let's get out of this damn tub.”

You stand, albeit shakily and pout. “That, was supposed to be about you, not me.”

You step out of the tub, grabbing a towel as you dry your skin, tugging the T-shirt back on. The panties are wet from both you and the water and you make a mental note to grab a new pair.

“About me, huh?” Dex murmurs, watching you from the tub as he climbs out as well. He's still slick and you can't help but follow the rivulets of water snaking down the hard expanse of his torso.

You're distracted, so it's no surprise when he grabs a towel and wraps it around your middle, reeling you in. He's warm and you shiver at the contact, his mouth finding your neck in a series of soft kisses. His teeth catch a patch of skin just above your collarbone and your breath stutters.

“Seeing you…like that,” he murmurs. “Is good enough for me,” You grin, and his hand wanders down your back before giving your ass a playful squeeze. “But you were right, about the other thing. I’m starving.”

You groan in protest as he pulls away, swatting at his chest before leading him out of the bathroom. The Thai food is lukewarm now, but neither of you really care as you settle onto the couch together. Dex tugs you close until your legs are draped over his lap, and for once—just this once—he lets himself relax into your warmth.

“Hey,” you murmur after a while, stealing a bite of pad thai from his container. “Still planning to vanish again tomorrow?”

Dex's expression flickers, something like guilt passes through it before he shrugs and steals the bite back from your fork with his teeth. “We'll see.”

He doesn’t promise to stay; he never does. But as you lean in, taking a bite of his food and leaning your cheek onto his shoulder, you decide you’re more than willing to wait. Dex is worth it. You both are worth it. x

AO3 Link

Ben Poindexter ML

BP Taglist: @laufeydottirs-writings

The plastic coffee cup is warm in your hands but thin, so it nearly crushes in your grip when you see her. You have to hold back your big smile, chewing at the inside of your cheek and you give a little wave when her eyes finally connect with yours.

You pop up from your seat, rounding the table and smashing your torso against Ellie’s so hard she nearly topples over.

“Babe!” Ellie laughs and her arms snake around you. “Easy.”

“You’re back,” you squeal. “And I no longer have to act like I didn’t miss you.”

Ellie stumbles back a step from the force of your hug, but she’s laughing, bright and loud, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. Her arms are around you like steel bands, squeezing tight enough to lift your feet slightly off the ground.

“Missed me?” She pulls back just enough to smirk down at you, one eyebrow arched in playful disbelief. “You? Miss ‘I’m totally fine’ who texted me three times while I was gone?”

Her thumbs brush over your cheeks before she dips in and kisses you, quick, firm, then another right after because she can’t help herself.

“How was your trip?” You giggle, your stomach filled with butterflies.

She shrugs and you grab her backpack as you walk hand in hand from the airport cafe. Ellie pulls a rolly suitcase behind her, and she blinks when you step into the Texas sun.

“Good, easy. You know Joel,” she hums. “Easy going so long as I listen.”

You hum with acknowledgement, knowing that even though the weeks are long, Ellie helping Joel out on the road has added a fat addition to your income.

Popping open your hood, Ellie puts her suitcase inside and you sling the backpack beside it.

“Hope you’re hungry,” you tell her as you get in the passenger seat. “Dina’s making burgers.”

Ellie’s face lights up at the mention of food, real food, not gas station taquitos or whatever sketchy roadside diner Joel dragged her into this time.

“Dina’s cooking?” She buckles in fast, shooting you a grin. Your third roommate had a knack for being the best cook. “Hell yes. I’ve been dreaming about a burger with actual lettuce for weeks.”

She leans over and kisses your cheek as you start the car, then rolls down the window to let in that big Texas wind, sun hot on her face after days of travel dust and diesel fumes.

The radio kicks on with some pop song she knows by heart, and she immediately starts humming off-key, one hand resting lazily on your thigh as you drive back toward home and greasy, edible comfort.

You give her a sideways glance but she catches you, and your cheeks pinken.

“What?” She laughs, and you shake your head.

“Nothing.”

She laughs out your name, leaning closer. She points out an alcove in the road. “Pull over.”

“Huh?” You question but she insists, so you turn the wheel and pull over. “What?”

The car rolls to a stop on the shoulder, dust kicking up slightly from the gravel. Ellie unbuckles fast, and before you can even turn off the engine, she’s twisting in her seat.

One second you’re looking at her confused, and the next her hands are framing your face and she’s kissing you—deep, hungry, like she hadn’t kissed anyone in years.

Her lips are warm from sun and coffee breath and her, all of it overwhelming as her tongue brushes yours. One hand slides into your hair while the other grips your jaw with nibble fingers.

No warning. Just pure Ellie: impulsive affection turned up to eleven.

“El’s,” you breathe as your noses bump. “W-what was that?”

“I know we’re still figuring out where we uh, stand?” She replies. “But I know. I want you. I thought I’d be bitter about how we ended things but I’m not…are you?”

You consider her question, the months between when you hadn’t spoken. When the loneliness had wrapped you up and threatened to swallow you whole. When all you had done was fight, so you had broken her heart.

You’re surprised she’s forgiven you so quickly.

“I thought you’d be bitter too,” you murmur. “You have every right to be.”

She gives a little shake of her head. “If you blamed it all on me, maybe. But I’m just…bittersweet. That I messed up so bad that you had to end things.”

“It wasn’t just you,” you reply and kiss her cheek. “It was a joint effort.”

Ellie exhales shakily, her eyes, those sharp, usually smug blue eyes, suddenly soft and glassy. She blinks fast, and you kiss her cheek again and it unravels her a little more. Her hands find yours this time, lacing your fingers together on the divider between you.

“A joint effort,” she repeats thoughtfully, like she was turning the words over in her mind for weeks while riding shotgun with Joel through empty highways.

Then she leans in again, but slower this time, and kisses you softly: no urgency now. A long press of lips that says I missed you without saying anything at all.

When she pulls back an inch, her nose nuzzles yours once… twice… before resting your foreheads together under the Texas sun pouring through the windshield. You smile at her, a little breathless, and she gives you a side ways grin.

“Come on,” you murmur, turning in your seat. “Dina’s waiting.”

Ellie shrugs and cups the side of your face again, turning your mouth to hers. “She can wait a little longer for us. God knows I have, for you.”

x

AO3 link

Ellie Williams blurbs

Softlys Locket ML

You are still naked, the sheets wrapped around your chest as you replayed the night you had spent with Leon. It had been…long. He’d started you with his mouth, lapping at your cunt until you were nearly dripping down your thighs, tugging at his hair with a white knuckle grip. Then he’d pressed in with his fingers, slow and deep, coaxing raw groans from you that as you look back make your ears pink with embarrassment. Leon had fucked you six was to Sunday, and you’re still recovering, still trying to gather your bearings nearly an hour after he had left.

He had wanted to say, but he had an early shift and you were anything if not understanding. doesn’t mean you don’t miss him though.

It’s alright, I’ll get it tomorrow. how you feeling?

His text reads how he speaks, short and to the point. You don’t take offense.

I’m a little sore. You fuck good for an old man

Your fingers hover over the keys, chewing at your lip as you contemplate sending this type of response. It’s a little bratty, a little jabbing considering how good he had made you feel earlier. Hitting send, you drop your phone onto your pillow and stretch, feeling the delish burn between your thighs.

oh yeah?

your phone buzzes not even two minutes later, and you can nearly hear the smug tone in Leon’s message. He has a tendency to be a tease, so you know he’s expecting some sass.

The phone buzzes again.

But old man? Little girl I just fucked your brains out and I could’ve kept going. I’m not old.

You read his text, feeling heat instantly food you. A grin pulls to your mouth and you put your hands over your face, trying to smother your reaction. You pull yourself from bed, turning on your shower and while it heats, you reach for your phone, another text lighting up your screen.

Stay naked. I’m on my way back, and I’m staying over.

x

AO3 link

Leon Kennedy blurbs

Softlys Locket ML

Leon grins when you look away, amused by the blush that spreads across your cheeks. He pushes himself off the wall and moves towards your desk, watching you intently as you busy yourself with your work.

Last night had been a mistake.

You know it.

He knows it.

And yet the only thing you can focus on is the memory of his tongue in your mouth as he took you in the backseat of his Porsche Cayenne.

“Working late?” He murmurs and you raise your eyes to his. You shake your head, slipping a file into your drawer.

“No,” you reply. “Just finished.”

His pale blue eyes seem to shine.

“Let me drive you home.”

You can already taste the salt of his skin.

“It’s okay, I can take the bus,” you try, because you shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t get involved with a coworker, much less a coworker of his status, and as much as you want to, you know it’s bad idea. “I appreciate it though.”

His lips twitch.

“Alright,” he hums, stepping back. “If you’re certain.”

“Thank you.”

You feel a little light headed as he walks away, and you stare at the expanse of his back, his shoulders tight in the fabric. Less than 24 hours ago your arms had been wrapped around those same shoulders, and you let out a breath before packing your things.

It’s raining when you step out of the station, and you hold your bag to your tighter. You wince, the drops thick and by the time you make it under the awning of the bus stop, your blue shirt is stuck to your skin.

You shiver, wiping at your eyes and hoping you don’t look like a raccoon from your dripping mascara as you stare at the electronic bus schedule.

Canceled

Canceled

Canceled

You curse, knuckles whitening on the strap of your bag and you sit heavily atop the plastic seating. It creaks and you run a hand through your wet strands, fishing your phone from your back pocket.

The idea to call Leon flies through your head like a kite, unsettled and fleeting and you quickly shove down the thought. You dial your roommate, but it’s a quarter past eleven and she’s a deep sleeper, so naturally she doesn’t answer. Smacking the phone on your thigh you groan again, annoyance at your predicament bubbling over.

You consider calling a cab, but your bank account is near drained. The rain continues, and you can see no signs of it clearing. The thought of walking home in this weather makes you shudder. It’s a thirty minute trek, and you don’t even have an umbrella.

But just as you’re resigning yourself to a long, wet walk, you hear the throaty rumble of a powerful engine coming closer.

Sleek windows roll down and a pair of blue eyes look at you. “Looks like you’re out a ride.”

You curse under your breath as you step forward, leaning down to peer into the car. “Yeah, I- the bus canceled.”

“I see that.”

Embarrassment licks over your skin and Leon leans over, unlocking the passenger door. He gives a singular nod.

“You need a ride,” he says, and you wrap your arms around your middle. “And, if that’s all you want, I’d be more than happy to give you one.”

You contemplate this, contemplate him, and before you can think better of it you’re settling into his passenger seat. He rolls up the window, pulling from the curb slowly, his fingers moving over the ac unit before warm air puffs out.

The interior of the car is immaculate. Leon keeps it clean, and it smells like leather and pine. The rain continues to pour, drumming on the roof and causing you to shiver as the coolness of your soaked clothes hits you.

He glances at you, taking in your shivering form, your damp hair. He sighs softly, reaching back and pulling a sweatshirt from the seat behind him.

“Here.” he murmurs, handing it over.

“It’s okay,” you say weakly. “I’ll just change when I’m home.”

He shakes his head, gently placing it in your lap.

“Your teeth are chattering,” he informs you. “You’ll catch a cold wearing those wet clothes.”

You stare at the fabric, gingerly pulling it over your head. Sliding a thumb under your eye you exhale, keeping your gaze straight and hoping you look more put together than you feel.

“Address?” Leon asks and you give it to him quickly. He types it into his car gps as he drives, one hand on the wheel and you watch as his fingers move, knuckles flexing on the steering wheel. You push your hair out of your face, settling back into the cushions of the seat and he makes a right turn.

“Thank you,” you say after a moment. “For the ride.”

Leon nods, eyes trained on the road as rain continues to fall. The silence would be uncomfortable if it weren’t for the rain and the light hum of the engine.

Leon shifts in his seat, his hand moving to grip the gear shift. His knuckles graze your thigh as his fingers wrap around the stick, and you inhale sharply. It’s unintentional, but a spark shoots up your body at the simple touch, and his gaze flits to yours for a split second.

“Wasn’t gonna leave you out there in the rain.” He replies and his voice is kind, like a warm blanket on your cold skin and you can’t help but smile.

“It’s my fault,” you shrug. “I shoulda checked the schedule.”

“You shouldn’t have even thought of taking the bus in the first place.” He says, looking out the windshield. “It isn’t safe for a pretty girl to be out at this time of night without a car. You could’ve gotten mugged.”

“I-“ your response, whatever it may have been, dies in your throat and you look away, opting to stare outside the window of the passenger door instead.

The rain streaks down the glass, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and neon. Leon watches you from the corner of his eye, quiet for a long moment.

Softly, he adds, “Backseat of this car wasn’t safe either.”

His voice is low, teasing, but edged with a reminder. Or maybe an invitation.

You don’t answer.

He doesn’t need one.

When he parks in front of your house, you know if you look at him he’ll be closer than before, that his hand might come up to your face and you won’t be able to stop whatever’s next.

“Leon, I really like my job.”

He pauses, and you wonder if he had been expecting that. “…okay.”

“I like my job, and I can’t let- this, ruin it,” you exhale hard, your cheeks puffing. “I worked too hard to get where I am to let a man who doesn’t give a shit about me jeopardize that.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks at you. Eyes like arctic storms. “I give a damn about you, if you think I don’t you’re an idiot.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and turning to look right back at him. ”What the hell do you know about me?”

He mirrors your stance, looking more and more pissed by the second.

“I know you like hot tea in the morning. I know you drink coffee like an addict after lunch. I know you have a little freckle near your hip that makes my hands itch to touch.”

You feel your mouth go a little dry.

“I pay attention. Last night wasn’t- some random fucking. It was just the first time I worked up the nerve.”

You stare at him, your wet hair stuck to your neck. “Worked up the nerve?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid.

“What, you thought I make a habit out of taking coworkers home with me?”

You're quiet, suddenly embarrassed at the assumption, and he laughs without any humor, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I don't. But you...” He lets out a noise of frustration, reaching for you. “You've been driving me crazy, do you know that? I can't even look at you without wanting to—“

You swallow, watching as he shifts in his seat. “I didn’t even think you noticed me.”

His gaze finds yours. “Course I noticed you.”

You close your eyes, inhaling and his hand moves to your knee, warm even through the wet fabric of your uniform. Your skin prickles, every inch of your body hyper-aware of his touch. His thumb rubs slow circles into your leg and you open your eyes.

“Can't stop noticing you. Can't keep my eyes off you.”

He looks a bit like a predator now, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as he drags his hand up your leg.

“Leon-“

“You want to stop, i’ll stop,” he says softly. “You want me to pretend like there isn’t something here then okay, you got it. But i-“

He stops, and you teeter on the edge of his truth.

“You what?” You push, because he has to tell you. You can’t go on not knowing. It had been driving you crazy all day, thinking it was just the sex. That you had imagined whatever connection this was, and you needed confirmation it was just you.

He moves then, hand leaving your leg so he can grip your chin.

“I think about you all the time. About how pretty your eyes are and how you bite your bottom lip when you’re confused and how when you're angry you make that little sound in the back of your throat. I think about how you taste, and how you feel against me and I- I can’t get you out of my head. And I don't even care at this point.”

Your mouth falls open, shocked. Flattered. Scared.

His thumb brushes your lower lip, tugging it down before releasing it. Watching it bounce.

“Come inside with me.” You whisper, and you slip from his grasp, opening the car door.

Leon doesn’t speak as he follows you inside but you hold up a finger nonetheless, because you don’t need your roommate waking to find your older coworker in your home. You put down your purse, padding slowly down the hallway and he follows you. Opening the door to your bedroom you’re relieved you had made your bed that morning. It’s dark but you don’t dare turn on the light, instead moving slowly to face him, your fingers twitching by your sides.

He closes the door quietly, and looks at you.

You stare back.

He is a wall of muscle and heat, towering over you in the dark. You can feel his eyes on you, even though you can barely see him. There is a tension in the air, thick enough to touch as Leon takes several steps forward.

His hands find your waist, calloused fingers curling into the wet material of your shirt. He pulls you against him, so close you can feel the warm air he exhales. Your breath catches, and he chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

“Cold?” He asks, and you know he feels the goosebumps on your skin.

“No.”

“Scared?” His voice softens when he asks.

You nod.

Dipping his neck, Leon presses a singular kiss to the base of your throat. You sigh, the sound shaky, and his hands move under the sweater, his sweater, bracketing your ribs. Fingers moving up his biceps, you wrap your arms around his neck, and his hands move around you, hugging you to him.

He is so warm, and you bury your face against his chest, breathing in the faint scent of leather and aftershave. He pulls you closer, holding you so tightly it could almost hurt. You can feel his heart pounding, the sound of it in your ears.

His fingers skim over your back, tracing patterns on your skin and sending sparks up your spine. You shiver, and he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“So damn soft.” He says against you, the rumble of his voice vibrating in your chest. You pull back enough to see his face and when he kisses you it’s different than the night before. This kiss is soft. Slow. Like he’s savoring the feel of your mouth on his, his fingers curling around your back.

You let your eyes close, mouth moving slowly with his, and you barely register as he backs you up to your bed. Sitting down on the edge, you stare up at him and he cups your face in both his hands.

He looks at you like he's trying to read you, his eyes tracing over your face in the dark. He presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and your chin before finally meeting your lips again.

His thumb rubs over your cheek, and you can feel the callouses there scraping over your skin. Leaning forward, he guides you to lie down, and you pull him with you.

His body presses against yours and you sigh, hands finding their way to his hair.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips.

You don’t say anything, can’t, so he kisses you again, slow and deep like he has all the time in the world. He shifts, one hand sliding under your shirt again, skin on skin now. His palm skims your side, warm and firm, and you arch into the touch without meaning to.

Outside, the rain keeps falling. Inside? You’re burning up.

His sweater that you’re wearing finds the floor, and his fingers work on the buttons of your soaked uniform shirt. You stay quiet, letting him work, and when he peels the fabric away you try not to squirm.

Leon kisses your collarbones, his tongue sliding slowly over one before moving to the other and going lower, mouthing at the top of your breast that isn’t covered by your bra. He makes another one of those sounds in the back of his throat, like he's losing a battle with himself, and he nips at the top of your breast. There will be a mark there tomorrow, a souvenir of tonight. He kisses you again, his lips a brand on your skin.

You pull at shirt, pulling the fabric from its tucked position and he sits up, tugging it clean off. You barely have time to appreciate it before he’s back on you, hands moving under your back, fumbling for the bra clasp.

You arch and move your hands behind yourself, undoing it with ease and Leon whispers, “Sorry.”

You pause, because he’s so considerate, so attune that he feels bad he couldn’t undo it himself. “S’okay.”

You kiss his cheek, cupping the other side of his face with your hand before sliding off the bra straps and lay back down.

He stares at you, then. In the dark. Drinking you in with his eyes.

His hands move to your hips, gripping the waist of your pants. His eyes don’t leave yours as he pulls them down, inch by inch, and you lift your hips to help him. He looks like he’s about to burst, coiled so tightly. It’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t get a kink in his neck. It has to hurt

But he still won’t take his eyes off of you.

His hand slides up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts before cupping one, as if testing the weight. He hums, the sound deep and you blink.

“I couldn’t appreciate them yesterday,” He mutters, almost to himself. “I should’ve.”

His face dips and you gasp as his tongue licks over your nipple. You hold the back of his neck before he repeats the action, his tongue swirling and he pulls one into his mouth.

You gasp, clamping your jaw shut and he looks up at your from where he sucks.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I want to hear you.”

“Can’t,” you whisper and nod towards your door. “Roommate.”

He makes a noise that you can only call an agreement, and his eyes narrow. His free hand goes to your other breast, massaging it.

“Hopefully she’s a heavy sleeper," he says finally, sitting back. "And even if she wasn't, I'll just have to make you keep your voice down."

One eyebrow raises, and you swallow.

He shifts, sitting up and you move with him, your hands finding the zipper of his cargos. He pauses, watching as you pull it down and he moves to his back, kicking off his boots like he can’t get out of them quick enough.

You tug down the waistband, an evident tent in his boxers even in the darkness that makes you grin. Leon shrugs off his pants, and the cords of muscles in his thighs tighten as you sweep a hand over his bulge.

He lets out a shuddering exhale when you touch him, and you look up to see his eyes shut, one arm covering his face. His chest heaves, and it almost seems like it's hard for him to breathe.

“Sweetheart,” he groans in a lowered voice. “You- I-“

“What?” you ask, and the fact that he’s stuttering, that this man made of muscle and edges is twitching under your hold, makes your cunt ache.

Leon sits up, grabbing you and pulls you into his lap. His boxers and your underwear separate you, but as you roll your hips you both let out a sigh.

He grabs your hips, moving you against him, and his face presses into your neck, lips skimming your pulse point.

His breath is hot on your skin, and you can feel him, hard and hot beneath you. He murmurs something against the shell of your ear, but it's too quiet, swallowed by the sound of your heart pounding in your head and the rain outside.

You have to ask, “What?”

Leon repeats himself, and you strain to make out the words. “Can I-“

“Can you what?” You whisper, and he pulls back, and even in the darkness you can see his eyes are blown.

“Can I kiss you here?”

His hand cups between your thighs and you jump, your legs twitching before you nod. He doesn't move right away, just stares at the flush creeping down your neck, the way your lips part on a silent breath. Then, slow as a vow, he lays you back down.

One hand slides under your thigh, lifting your leg as he settles between them. His breath hits warm and damp against your center through the thin fabric of your underwear, and you bite into your hand to stay quiet. His finger crooks in your panties, tugging them to the side.

Leon hums, low and approving, before dragging his tongue in one long, deliberate stroke.

You arch off the bed.

He does it again.

Your hands fly into his hair, grabbing as his tongue makes slow and precise strokes against your sex, and you moan so loud that he pinches the inner skin of your thigh to quiet you before pressing a light kiss there.

“What happened to worrying ‘bout your roommate?”

“Fuck-“ you gasp, and you feel like a live wire. “I-I forgot.”

He sits back on his haunches, sliding your underwear down and holds one of your knees as he leans down, settling his hips between yours. He’s rockhard in his boxers, fitting against you, the slick from your core dampening his underwear.

His grip on your thigh tightens, and he looks down at you, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. You're both breathing hard, and you can't seem to stop.

His hips rock, slowly, and you can feel every part of it, him.

“You're so…” he murmurs, trailing off, like he's too stunned for words.

You can't think of anything to say either, except, “Leon.”

Your hand lands on the bare skin of his shoulder, the other gripping the sheets. He sits up, pushing his underwear down and your chest heaves.

“S’okay?” He asks and you can’t nod quick enough. Hand gripping your thigh, he presses in and the stretch has your breath catching, nail digging into the muscle in his arm, moving to his bicep.

“I'll go slow.” he mumbles, and you're glad he sounds a little breathless because otherwise, you'd be embarrassed at being a whimpering mess. His hands feel like brands on your skin, and you wrap your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer. Closer. Like you can't bear the thought of any space between you.

As he begins to move, Leon’s mouth finds yours, lips slick with spit and so so warm. You close your eyes, pleasure building like a slow ember and when he pulls his mouth from yours you groan, the sound deep and full.

His hand slides over your jaw, covering your lips and your eyes open in wide shock. He looks at you, that intensity in his eyes again, and you can only stare back, wide-eyed and panting around his hand. His breath is warm, and smells of mint, and he makes those noises that send heat straight to your core. He looks feral, almost, mouth glistening and his hair a mess.

You moan at the sight.

“Shh, honey,” he murmurs, hips snapping. “Roommate, remember?”

You murmur muffled, “yes,” and you’re pretty sure you see his eyes crinkle with a smile.

With anyone else, the pet name would sound weird, but from Leon's mouth it's…

Delicious.

He knows what he's doing to you, and you can tell by the sharp glint in his eyes. He watches you, drinking in every reaction, every sigh, every gasp. He wants to see you fall apart by his hands.

And you will.

You can feel it building, coiled tight and hot in your stomach as he moves inside you—slow, deep rolls of his hips like he has all night. Maybe he does.

His hand slips from your mouth to cup your jaw again, thumb stroking your cheekbone as his lips brush yours. “Look at me.” he murmurs.

You do.

And when the climax hits, silent and shattering beneath his control, you cling to him like he’s the only solid thing in the world.

Leon keeps his pace until your thighs calm, your fingers releasing their death grip and then he becomes manic, thrusts moving incoherently until he pulls out with a groan, his spend warm on your thigh.

Your mouth opens, and you glance down as his forehead presses to your collarbone, obstructing your view.

“Should have- asked you,” he murmurs. “Didn’t wanna assume.”

Oh. That’s…sweet.

“I appreciate the thought,” you murmur, and kiss his hair. “But I’m on the pill. You could’ve…”

You trail off, and he looks up at you through his lashes, barely able to make out your expression in the dark. “Noted.”

Leon rolls off of you, laying on his back and you sit up slowly, your skin still warm as you grab your discarded shirt, wiping at your leg. You wordlessly move into your bathroom, relieving yourself and adorning the cotton robe you keep behind the door.

When you exit, Leon is sitting up on the edge of your mattress, his cargo pants back on but he’s still shirtless, boots still askew on your floor.

“That-“ you try, unsure of what to say. “I- I don’t know where we go from here.”

He doesn't say anything right away, scrubbing a hand over his jaw again. He does that a lot, you've noticed. When he's deep in thought or uncomfortable.

Finally, he looks at you, and his eyes are still unreadable.

“It doesn't have to change anything,” he says, the words almost a question, and somehow, that placates you.

“No?”

“No,” he replies simply. “I get where you’re coming from. Your career is…important. So is mine. This could…make things messy.” You nod, wrapping the knot of your robe tighter. He stands up, slipping on his shirt with a grunt. “I still want to see you though.”

His words catch you off guard and you tilt your face. “Oh?”

Leon steps forward, one hand coming up to your face. His thumb brushes your cheek again, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Just... not at work. Not where people can see.”

He looks almost shy saying it, which is ridiculous, this man who just had you shaking apart beneath him, and it makes your chest tighten.

“We keep this quiet,” he continues. “For now. But I'm not done with you. With us.”

You can’t help but smile, and you nod. “Okay. Yeah I’d- yeah. I’d like that.”

Leon grins with his teeth before bending to press his mouth to yours. “Good.”

You walk him to your front door, voices quiet and you squeeze his hand once before letting go. “So…see you at work tomorrow?”

It sounds oddly placed, too casual, but Leon nods.

“Yeah. Don’t be late, otherwise I’ll be tempted to come pick you up.”

You roll your eyes as you open the door. “That doesn’t sound like keeping this quiet.”

“True,” he hums, stepping onto the porch. He tosses you a wink. “Can’t blame a guy for trying to see you more.”

You flush, pink and happy and when you click the door shut behind him, you let out a small breath, wishing tomorrow would come faster.

x

AO3 link

Leon Kennedy Masterlist