#tsbu

Still, you stood by your choices.

This was Lian’s first birthday party in the house, and you wanted it to be perfect, something she’d remember with nothing but joy. 

You tightened your grip on the stick, reaching out to give him a light swat. “Hurry up! This should not be taking you this long, you know!”

Roy laughed, staring down at you with that insufferably amused look. “You’re real bossy, you know that?” His grin widened as the rope slipped again in his hands.

“Normally, I’d find it pretty attractive…” He leaned just enough to eye you with mock menace. “But right now? I’m seriously considering dropping this piñata on your head.”

You eye him, unamused at the threat before you tipped the ladder over with a smirk, listening to it clatter into the grass.

Then you squared your shoulders and looked up at Roy, who was perched on the branch, blinking down at you in disbelief.

“Alright, listen up, Harper,” you called up, your tone stern and threatening as you gave orders. “You’re not touching solid ground again until that piñata is tied up properly. I expect a piñata that can hold its own against a mob of sugar-crazed kids”

Roy leaned against the branch, one arm dangling lazily as he smirked down at you. “You realize I can be on the ground in about two seconds flat, right? Arsenal doesn’t exactly get stranded in trees.”

"“Uh-huh. Try me." You twirled the piñata stick between your fingers, clumsy, but just threatening enough, before you pointed it at him. "If you come down before that thing is hanging the way I want it, I will test this stick on you first. And trust me, Roy, I won’t miss.”

He scoffs, clearly entertained by your faux-seriousness. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?" You arched a brow, stepping closer like you might actually swing. "Go on, Harper, make my day. See if I won't.”

You knew full well you wouldn’t actually hit him (well, at least not hard enough to hurt him), and you also knew he could disarm you in less than a few seconds if he wanted.

(You tried to ignore how the thought of him pinning you that easily sent a little spark through you.)

Instead, you took a step back wiht your chin tilted up, staring him down like you were the one with the upper hand.

Roy seemed amused, smirking down at you as he traced the branch's bark. “Again, you’re not much of a threat, sweetheart. But if this is your idea of foreplay, I’ll play along.”

You shook your head, lips twitching up despite yourself. “You are incorrigible. This is supposed to be a wholesome children’s party, Harper, not a scene out of your questionable fantasies.”

“Hey, you’re the one threatening me with a stick" He grinned down at you, completely unashamed. "Can’t blame a guy for finding that a little attractive.”

Your cheeks warmed immediately, but you jabbed the piñata stick at him anyway, scandalized. “Tie the damn knot before I show you just how attractive a concussion feels.”

“Yes, ma’am. Though if you keep threatening me like this, don’t be surprised if I start enjoying it.” He even had the audacity to wink down at you after he said that.

You groaned, pressing a hand over your face. “God help me-- Lian’s party hasn’t even started, and I already regret inviting you.”

Before Roy could shoot back, the bouncy castle let out a loud wheeze, like something had just deflated.

You froze, lowering your hand to give him one last, razor-sharp look. The kind of look that promised extreme consequences if that piñata wasn’t up and secure by the time you got back.

He had the common sense to stay silent but not enough to stop him from fucking wiggling his fingers at you in a mock bye-bye, which only earned him a narrowed glare before you spun on your heel.

As you crossed the lawn, the soft thump of your shoes against the grass, your gaze wandered over the backyard you’d been fussing with since dawn.

You knew you’d gotten started too early, but your excitement had won out over practicality. This wasn’t just any party— it was Lian’s first birthday here, and you wanted it to be unforgettable.

The theme had been obvious from the start.

Brave.

Princess Merida was Lian’s undeniable favourite, and honestly, who could blame her?

A fiery, headstrong girl with a bow in hand, of course the daughter of Roy Harper would latch onto that. The bouncy castle loomed ahead in the shape of a fairytale stone keep, the great castle of DunBroch reimagined in squeaky vinyl. 

The piñata, waiting for its proper knots, was a bear and you’d spent the last week attempting to recreate every baked good from the movie.

Your kitchen looked like a disaster of a medieval bakery. Still, in the end, you managed trays of tarts, sweet buns, and something resembling the infamous blueberry tart (though yours hopefully wouldn’t transform anyone into a bear).

By the fence, you’d even set up a little toy archery range: foam targets, suction-cup arrows, and tiny plastic bows. The whole yard was proof of just how badly you wanted everything to be perfect for her.

As you stomped towards the castle, you could practically feel his amused gaze in your back, daring you to look back.

“Harper, if I turn around and see you half-assing that knot, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight. With the scraps of the piñata.”

Roy’s laugh followed you, the kind of sound that said he thought you were all bark and maybe a little bite, but he loved every second of it.

You didn’t bother to give into his bid for attention, just raised the piñata stick in a half-hearted warning before planting it against the side of the infaltable.

The bouncy castle gave another drawn-out groan, making the walls sag just slightly inward. You crouched, running your hand along the seam until your fingers brushed the loose tube that fed the blower.

“Great,” you muttered, tugging the plastic back into place. With a sharp yank, you tightened the strap and waited, watching the vinyl slowly puff back to life.

Still, your suspicion lingered as you straightened with a sigh, brushing stray strands of hair out of your eyes as your gaze swept the inflatable from top to bottom.

It looked fine now, but you’d learned not to trust first impressions, not with rental companies and definitely not with kids.

Kicking off your shoes, you stepped onto the soft vinyl, testing it with careful pressure at first. Then another step. The castle squeaked faintly under your weight but held firm.

You bounced once, then twice, shifting your stance as if daring the floor to give way. When it didn’t, a little hum of satisfaction escaped you.

Unbeknownst to you, the moment you ducked inside, Roy had moved. The faint thud of boots against grass didn't reach you at all, and you remained blissfully unaware.

He dusted his hands together, knots tied and task complete, though the piñata was long forgotten compared to the gorgeously tempting sight in front of him.

His eyes tracked you, your focus, the way your brows pinched as you tested the seams, the light bounce that made your hair shift around your face.

His grin softened, fondness tugging at his mouth even as a flicker of mischief lit behind his eyes.

He made sure to put his hero training to work, padding closer, quiet as a predator stalking prey. (Maybe he licked his lips a lil, but you'll never know)

You were so caught up checking the walls that you didn’t notice his shadow stretching closer, nor the way his gaze lingered as if you were the real centrepiece of the party, piñata and decorations be damned.

You, however, definitely did notice when Roy grabbed you from behind and pulled you down.

One second you were very seriously testing the integrity of the bouncy castle, muttering about bounce ability, and the next, you were squealing as he yanked you onto the vinyl floor.

The bouncy castle answered with a loud squeak and a deep wobble, launching you both upward before dropping you back down in an ungraceful heap.

You shrieked again, hands scrambling for balance, only to land squarely against his chest.

“Roy Harper!” you shouted, breathless, though your voice cracked with half a laugh.

He had the audacity to look completely unbothered, sprawled beneath you with a wide grin. “Relax, sweetheart. Just making sure this thing can handle a couple of rowdy kids.”

“You are not a rowdy kid,” you snapped, shoving at him, though the push only made the floor give in and bounce again, which earned him another laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled, propping himself up on one of his elbows, while his other arm was across your lower back to keep you in place despite your desperate attempts to wiggle free. “Feels like I’m having just as much fun as one.”

You shot him your most deathly glare, cheeks flush with warmth and hair a mess. “I was fixing it.”

“And I was helping,” he laughs back, entirely too smug for a man who had just ambushed you like a five-year-old.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you jabbed a finger into his chest. “If this thing collapses at Lian’s party, I’m telling everyone it was your fault.”

He only laughed harder, head tipping back as the castle gave another squeak under you both. “I guess that's fair, baby. But you gotta admit, this is way more entertaining than whatever grumbling you were doing in here.”

Despite yourself, the corners of your mouth twitched, fighting a smile you refused to let him win just yet.

You twisted in his arms, trying to wrench yourself free, but Roy only tightened his grip with a laugh, using the bouncing floor to his advantage.

Every time you thought you’d found your balance, the castle betrayed you and sent you sprawling against him again.

“Not fair!” you accused, wriggling, though your laughter betrayed you.

“Please,” he said smugly, flipping both of you with ridiculous ease, and suddenly you were on your back. “ Turning your back on me?”

He hovered above you, arms braced on either side of your head, pinning you effortlessly. “You were basically asking for it. That’s on you.”

You could only glare up at him, breathless from the tussle. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Roy murmured, grin softening into something almost tender, “you still keep me around.”

Before you could muster a retort, he dipped down and kissed you. His weight pressed you deeper into the squeaky floor, as if he had all the time in the world.

For a moment, you let yourself melt into it, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

It would’ve been too easy to forget the bouncy castle, the piñata, the whole damn party.... But reality snapped back fast.

You pushed at his chest, huffing, though your lips still tingled. “Roy. We don’t even have costumes on yet. Lian’s gonna wake up any second, and I am not explaining why her parents are making out in a castle before her party even starts.”

He chuckled, not moving right away, eyes dancing with mischief. “Could’ve fooled me. Looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Out,” you ordered, shoving harder this time until he rolled off with a laugh, sprawling beside you as the castle gave another wobble.

“You’re no fun,” he teased.

“You’ll thank me later when this party actually runs on schedule.” You grabbed his arm, tugging him toward the exit. “Now get up. We’ve got a princess to wake.”

-------------------------------------

You’d honestly thought Roy would be at least a little reluctant about the kilt.

You’d lovingly shoved him into a King Fergus costume while you were Queen Elinor, but instead of pouting, he seemed thrilled.

Even worse, his attention kept slipping back to you, and the gleam in his eye had nothing to do with the party theme.

“Why do you look like you’re enjoying this more than Lian will?” you huffed, adjusting your sleeve.

“Because I get to call you my Queen all day,” he replied, grinning like an idiot. “And that dress? Best idea you’ve ever had.”

You roll your eyes, hoping you can get away with not entertaining a response for him. But your loving boyfriend never knew how to shut up.

“You know,” he drawled, leaning in with that infuriating smirk, “if this is what royal roleplay looks like, I’m starting to think you’ve been holding out on me, Your Majesty.”

You groaned, shoving at his chest with a hand that he absolutely let slide off his solid frame. “It’s a children’s party, Harper. Children’s. Control yourself.”

“Can’t help it,” he shot back, spreading his arms, modelling the ridiculous costume. “You gave me a sword, a crown, and a kilt. I feel unstoppable. Totally on-brand for me, don’t you think?”

“You’re irritating," you muttered, though your lips betrayed you with a smile.

He leaned down, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “You mean handsome. Majestic, even.”

You swatted at him again, half-laughing, half-exasperated. God help you— he was far too into this.

Nonetheless, you shoved the plastic trumpet into Roy’s hands (because if you were going to commit to the Brave theme, you were going to commit all the way) before adjusting the Princess Merida dress draped over your arm.

“Alright, King Fergus,” you teased, “don’t screw this up. You’re supposed to delight the princess, not traumatize her.”

Roy gave you an incredulous look, beard crooked from where he’d been tugging at it. “Delight? Sweetheart, this is going to be legendary. She’ll be telling her grandkids about this.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as he puffed out his chest, striding toward Lian’s room like a man going to war.

The second he burst through her door, he let trumpet rip painfully off-key. “Dah-dahhhh!” Roy hollered on top of the noise at the top of his lungs, “The king is here!”

Lian jolted upright, eyes wide, hair tangled in every direction. For half a second, she froze, caught between confusion and horror.

Then she saw the beard, the kilt, and the ridiculous post Roy struck at the end of the bed, and her face split into the biggest, most beautiful smile you’d ever seen.

“Daddy!” she shrieked, half laughing, half screaming, before throwing herself at him. “You look so silly!”

Roy caught her easily, spinning her once before plopping her back down on the bed.

He uses the most ridiculous attempt at a Scottish accent to coo at her: “Silly? I’ll have you know I’m the fiercest king Scotland has ever seen.”

You leaned against the doorframe, Merida’s dress folded neatly in your hands, watching the two of them cackle together.

“Mmhm,” you drawled, deadpan but fond. “Fierce enough to make the birthday girl lose it before breakfast.”

Lian giggled harder, tugging on Roy’s fake beard. “He’s King Fergus, Mama! And you’re Queen Elinor, right?”

“Right,” you confirmed, lips twitching into a smile you couldn’t hold back. “And you, Princess Merida, have a very busy day ahead. So let’s get you dressed before your dad breaks out into battle cries.”

The royal breakfast that followed didn’t last more than 20 minutes. The second she swallowed her last bite of waffles that Roy horrifyingly doused with more than half of the chocolate syrup in the bottle,

Lian practically threw herself out of her chair, her little feet pounding against the floor as she tore open the back door.

The moment her eyes hit the backyard, she froze for half a heartbeat, just long enough for it all to sink in, before absolutely losing it.

Her shriek of pure delight rang louder than any party trumpet you’d bought. “Mama!” she squealed, spinning around with wide eyes before sprinting back and hurling herself into your arms.

You staggered a step under the force, laughing as her arms locked around your neck. “You made it look like Brave!!”

She pulled back just enough to gesture wildly at the inflatable castle, then the bear piñata, then the toy archery set, her words tumbling over each other in a rush. “And the bear, and— and the bows, and everything!”

Your beam, warmth spreading through your chest as you smoothed a hand over her hair.

“Well, of course I did,” you teased gently. “What kind of queen would I be if I didn’t give my princess the perfect kingdom for her birthday?”

Roy leaned very casually against the doorframe, but the grin stretching his face gave him away. “Careful, Pumpkin— squeeze her any harder and she’s gonna pop. Who’s gonna run your party then?”

“You’re the best, Mama! " Lian didn't even bat an eye in his direction, ignoring him completely, clinging to you with all her might. "The best!”

And honestly?... In that moment, with her arms tight around you and her laughter bubbling in your ear, you believed her.

By the time the first wave of Lian’s friends tumbled into the backyard, the place was buzzing with life.

The inflatable castle had already claimed its first guests, squealing kids bouncing and running through the yard, while the scent of grilled food drifted lazily through the air.

Roy’s friends filtered in around the same time, a mix of familiar faces and civilian clothes, blending surprisingly easily among the party of parents, kids, and balloons.

You tried not to dwell on the absence of your own family or friends, reminding yourself of the quiet conversation you and Roy had had weeks ago.

Better this way, you’d agreed, given how some of Lian’s friends and Roy’s circle included metas with powers and certain apperances.

You didn’t want to risk wide-eyed stares or whispered questions from people in your life who couldn’t possibly understand.

Still, the empty space where your side of the guest list should’ve been left a little hollow in your chest.

That ache softened, though, every time another parent or friend of Roy’s turned to him in awe.

You lingered by the drinks table, pouring the new pitcher carefully into the waiting cups. The chatter of voices floated from across the yard, and though you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, the sound of Roy’s laugh carried easily.

“Man, this setup’s incredible. You really went all out,” someone said, genuine awe lacing their words.

Roy didn’t even hesitate. “Not me. That was all her, every last detail. I just got stuck with the piñata.”

That drew a ripple of laughter, someone clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah that sounds about right. Still, you picked the right partner. She’s got taste.”

“And patience,” Artemis added, dry as ever eyeing his outfit amused. “Plenty of it, if she’s putting up with you in that ridiculous kilt.”

More laughter followed, but you didn’t hear the specifics, your ears had already gone warm.

You busied yourself arranging the cups, keeping your head ducked, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, tugging upward despite your best efforts.

It wasn’t just the compliments. It was the way Roy’s pride rang so easily. He wanted everyone to know this was yours, that this joy and excitement throughout the backyard had your fingerprints all over it.

The ice clinked softly as you adjusted the last cup, your smile hidden in the glassy reflection of the pitcher before you finally straightened, taking in the sight of kids racing across the lawn, joy spread all over

For a moment, you let yourself just stand there, taking in the fruits of your hard labour and you feel a big wave of pride wash over you.

You let it linger a moment longer before sighing and brushing your hands on your dress, you can’t stand to the side forever, after all.

Moving closer to the group you felt your nerves flood you. You still weren’t the most natural around his friends even after all this time.

Your eyes dart towards the bouncy castle, maybe the kids would enjoy having Queen Elinor play with them? 

Tragically however, Roy spotted you before you could retreat and reached out, tugging you right into the group with one arm around your waist.

“Perfect timing,” he announced, grinning at his friends. “The mastermind herself.”

Donna gave an approving nod, eyes sweeping across the yard. “Seriously, it looks fantastic. You clearly put a lot of thought into this.”

“Yeah,” Wally agreed, reaching for a drink. “Lian’s friends are never gonna stop talking about it. You set the bar way too high for the rest of us, by the way.”

You opened your mouth, ready with a polite thank-you, but Roy didn’t give you the chance. Instead, he leaned down and planted an exaggeratedly loud kiss to the side of your neck.

“Mwah!” The obnoxious sound effect was deliberate, and he pulled back with a smug grin, eyes sparkling as your face went crimson. “And she still looks gorgeous doing it. Queen Elinor herself, right here.”

Your hand flew to shove at his chest, mortified. “Roy!”

Donna was clearly trying not to laugh into her cup, while Dick outright snorted. “Subtle,” he teased, shaking his head. “Real subtle, Harper.”

Roy only squeezed your hip tighter, unrepentant. “What? I’m just giving credit where credit’s due.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your free hand, already regretting letting him get within kissing distance.

You somehow managed to fall into normal enough conversation, only fumbling here and there, but still by your own standards you were feeling pretty good.

Roy didn’t let you sneak away either, his arm looped casually around your waist or his fingers squeezing your hip you tried to drift.

Every time you thought you’d slip back into hosting mode, he tugged you closer, murmuring something or just giving you that smug grin like he knew exactly what he was doing.

It was only when Lian came barreling over that he finally loosened his hold.

Her cheeks were flushed from running around, a very tragic pout on her face. She thrust a bent tiara up at you, the plastic jewel hanging by a sad little thread.

“Mama! My crown broke!” she wailed, lower lip trembling like this was the end of all princessdom.

You crouched instinctively, taking the tiara with the seriousness it deserved, though your mind immediately flicked to the stash of emergency spares tucked away in the kitchen drawer.

You hadn’t spent weeks planning this party just to risk a meltdown over a plastic accessory.

At your side, Roy leaned down too, giving you the briefest glance, quick, knowing, the kind that said go. You didn’t even need to speak.

“Broken crown, huh?” Roy said, crouching in front of Lian, voice dipping into mock-serious authority.

“That’s bad, Pumpkin. Real bad. No princess of mine can walk around without her royal gear.” He tapped her nose, making her giggle through her pout. “But lucky for you, I happen to know the Queen herself has powerful magic. The fixing kind.”

Lian’s wide eyes immediately turned back to you, hopeful. You mustered your most reassuring smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead before straightening. “Your daddy’s right, sweetheart. Give me just one minute, and I’ll have this crown good as new.”

Roy smoothly cuts in, scooping Lian into his arms before she could trail after you.

“C’mon, birthday girl,” he grinned, blowing a loud raspberry to her cheek that earned a squeal of laughter. “Let’s play some archery together while Mama works her royal magic.”

Her laughter followed you as you slipped toward the house, tiara in hand, moving with purpose toward the cabinet where you’d stashed the extras.

You’d known something like this would happen, kids and flimsy plastic crowns were a doomed combination. So of course you’d bought five backups. A quick swap, and Lian would be beaming again. Easy.

You pulled one free, gave it a quick polish with the edge of your sleeve until it caught the light, and nodded in satisfaction. Crisis averted.

That was when a soft knock echoed from the front door.

Your brow furrowed. Everyone you invited had already arrived. Maybe a delivery? Balloons? Or the bakery messing up and finally sending the extra cupcakes you didn’t order but wouldn’t turn down?

Balancing the tiara in one hand, you smoothed down your gown with the other, tugging the fabric until it fell properly. The Queen Elinor costume still made you feel a little ridiculous, but the last thing you wanted was to greet a stranger looking like a frazzled host who’d already lost control of her kingdom.

You adjusted the crown on your head, straightened your shoulders, and swung the door open.

And froze.

Jade stood there.

Her gaze was sharp, feline, taking you in from the curls of your hair to the gown pooling around your feet.

The faintest flicker of something, mockery? Curiosity? Passed across her face before her expression smoothed into the kind of calm that made your stomach knot.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tiara in your hand suddenly felt absurdly fragile, your fingers tightening around it until the cheap plastic dug into your palm.

“...Jade,” you said at last, your voice lower, tighter than you meant.

She tilted her head slightly, one corner of her mouth lifting just enough to make it unclear whether it was a smile or something sharper.

“Hello,” she murmured, her tone deceptively light. Her eyes, however, never left yours; steady, weighing, the kind of gaze that made your chest tighten. “Interesting… choice of attire.”

You don’t hate her, you have no right. Lian lights up when she sees Jade, and that alone keeps you from ever letting bitterness settle too deep.

You’ve made your peace with the fact that your daughter has two mothers— different, unequal maybe, but both connected to her in ways that matter. And if you’re honest, you want it to work.

You want Jade in Lian’s life because Lian deserves that, deserves to know all the people who love her.

You want it to be… workable. Something more stable, instead of a spotty visits and half-kept promises that always leave cracks for Lian to notice.

But the last time you and Jade spoke, her words had been mean.

‘You’re weak. Do you really think you can protect her if it ever comes to it?’

She said it like it was a fact and not figuratively stomping on your heart. You just nodded, let it roll off in the moment, but later, lying awake while Roy snored beside you, you replayed it over and over.

And it stung, because hadn’t you been protecting Lian all this time, in your own ways?

You’ve kept the nightmares away, packed lunches, kissed bruised knees, held her hand through every fear.

Wasn’t that protection, too?

To add salt to injury, just last week, after Lian had gone to bed and the dishwasher was rattling in the kitchen, you and Roy had finally fought about Jade.

It started small, like it always did: you asking, again, for the bare minimum, a heads up from Jade before she dropped by.

The event itself was rare, but when it happened, it always threw off the day.

Instead of the understanding response you expected, Roy's jaw tightened, his hands scrubbing over his face, and his tired voice turned defensive.

He insisted she had the right. That you were being unreasonable.

And then he said the one thing you weren’t prepared for, ‘She’s Lian’s real mom. She doesn’t need permission.’

The silence afterward had been deafening. You’d gone so still that the guilt written all over his face the second was obviously as soon as he processed what he’d said.

He’d backpedaled fast, apologies tripping over themselves, hands cupping your face, promisin that he’d talk to Jade.

That he’d set boundaries and that you wouldn’t be blindsided again.

Out back, the squeals of children drift over the fence, punctuated by the bounce and squeak of the inflatable castle.

Roy’s terrible attempt at a Scottish accent carries faintly, earning giggles you can almost picture.

A perfect day for your little girl, that’s what you planned for today.

And yet, here she is. Standing on your porch, unannounced. The woman who gave Lian her eyes, her hair, her blood… and you.

You draw in a breath, steadying your breathing, your mouth suddenly feeling so dry you have no h ch ounce but to swallow nothing to stop from choking.

When you finally speak, your voice is gentle, and measured to make sure you don’t accidentally insult her.

 “Jade,” you say, meeting her gaze head-on. “This is… unexpected.”

Jade’s lips curved, not unkind but not quite warm either but her expression was clearly knowing  “Really?” she said, one brow tilting in faint amusement. “Roy invited me.”

You froze, feeling the air thin around you.

Invited her?

The promise replayed in your head. His thumb brushing your cheek, voice gentle, almost a coo after the fight

‘I’ll set boundaries. I’ll make sure you’re never blindsided again.’

And yet here she stood, as if this was always the plan.

For a moment, you just looked at her, words stalling on your tongue.

You wanted to ask, When? Why didn’t he tell me?

But the question sat like a weight you couldn’t lift slowly caving your chest in.

Your gaze dropped to the bag in Jade’s hand. Tissue paper peaked from the top in neat folds, a gift clearly chosen for Lian.

The ache in your chest twisted, but you forced your attention off it

Later, you have to deal with this later… Right now, you swallowed the sting, stretched a smile into place, and stepped aside.

“Well,” you said gently, “come in.”

Jade didn’t linger on your hesitation. She only moved past you, graceful as ever, the bag swinging lightly at her side.

You shut the door after her, smoothing your gown, breathing steady. Whatever this meant, whatever you and Roy would have to talk about,  it would wait. Because today, all that mattered was Lian.

That throb in your chest grew stronger, but instead of blowing this up, you did something else. With a firm tug, you pulled the crown from your own head. 

Jade noticed immediately. Her eyes traced your every movement curiously. You half expected her to step back, catch your wrist, and remind you of what she was capable of.

But she didn’t. She let you come closer. And she let you set the crown gently on her head.

Here she was; assassin, runaway, absentee mother, contradiction embodied and yet the crown fit as easily on her as it had on you.

You smiled softly “You’re Lian’s mom too. That makes you a queen today, whether you like it or not.” your lips twitched into a rueful grin “And lucky for you I’m more than okay with sharing the crown.”

Her eyes flicked up as if she could see the thing, then back down to you. For the briefest second, the sharpness in them dulled.

“…Queen,” she murmured, the word tasting strange on her tongue. “Don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

“First time for everything,” you said gently. “And if you ask Lian, she’d say you’ve earned it just by being her Mommy.”

That got her. You saw it, the smallest tightening of her jaw, the way her lips wanted to soften. For one long moment, she looked almost found of you. Of course it didn’t last long.

Jade huffed out something that was almost a laugh, tilting her head as the crown slipped slightly to the side. 

“Don’t get too sentimental,” Her eyes gleamed.  “Queens tend to lose their heads.” 

She tapped the edge of the cheap plastic with one finger to get it back in place “But sure— if it makes the kid happy, I’ll play dress-up.”

You forced a little laugh, brushing off the weight of her words, refusing to let her drag you into what you sense is a small threat. “I— uh, yeah. Lian will definitely be happy.”

Jade didn’t answer, but she moved beside you too follow along her head shifting occasionally to look at your home.

You told yourself not to think too hard about it. If she was here, she wanted to be here. And whatever else Jade was, she loved her daughter. That much you couldn’t doubt.

The moment you slid the back door open, the noise of the party spilled in, squeals from the bouncy castle, laughter from clustered adults, and the hum of music.

Jade stepped out at your side, and you felt the air change instantly. Artemis spotted her first.

For a heartbeat, her eyes went wide, then her entire face brightened, “Jade?” Her voice carried across the yard, surprise bled into her voice as if she couldn’t believe her sister had actually shown up. 

The others noticed quickly. You caught the shift through Roy’s friends, immediate cautious silence cutting chatter flat.

They all knew Jade, but none of them truly believed she’d cause trouble here, not in the middle of a child’s birthday surrounded by heroes and wide-eyed kids.

But still, her presence drew wary glances, hushed whispers, and a sense of unease that never quite left the air. 

And then Roy saw her.

One second, he was mid-laugh, chest shaking, hands moving animatedly as he told some story. The next, a complete 180. His grin dropped off his face so fast, his whole body seizing up like he was tazed.

The colour drained from his skin. His shoulders locked, his hands went still at his sides. You saw the breath stutter in his chest. His gaze hit Jade first, eyes flaring wide with recognition and dread.

Then he looked at you.

And that was when the panic really set in.

Because you were standing there with her, side by side in the doorway, the crooked plastic crown still perched absurdly on her head.

His eyes bounced between you both, once, twice, like if he looked fast enough he could make the picture rearrange into something else. But it didn’t. And the horror on his face only deepened

This wasn’t just Jade.

This was the woman he swore he’d set boundaries with. Who he promised wouldn’t blindside you again. The woman, he hadn’t breathed a word about inviting.

And yet, here she was.

When his eyes finally locked with yours across the lawn, they were wide and frantic, pleading in a way that made your chest twist.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. This isn’t what it looks like, his stare begged. I didn’t mean—please—

But you didn’t need the words. You already knew.

The pit hollowed out in your chest, because his silence told you everything: he hadn’t talked to her.

He hadn’t warned you. All those promises, all that reassurance— you could see it unraveling right there in his panic-stricken face.

Around you, the party blurred. Laughter dulled, whispers pricked the air, but all you could see was Roy, pale, stiff, his eyes locked to yours like a drowning man desperate for a rope.

And then, like the universe had the cruelest sense of timing, a familiar squeal cut through the quiet.

“Mommy!”

Lian came tearing across the grass, curls flying, her little dress bouncing with every frantic step.

All the grownups who had gone stiff at Jade’s arrival softened instantly. Roy flinched. You saw it, the way his shoulders jerked at the sound.

Mommy. Not you this time. Her.

Lian barreled past Roy without a glance, her whole world zeroed in on Jade, who dropped fluidly into a crouch just in time to catch her.

The assassin’s mask cracked in an instant as she folded her daughter against her chest, eyes fluttering shut, lips pressing into Lian’s hair.

Roy’s panic hadn’t eased. If anything,it was so much worse. He wasn’t just watching Jade with Lian, he was watching you watch them.

For one suspended moment, you couldn’t even hear the kids laughing on the bouncy castle anymore.

Just the beat of your own heart, the weight of his frantic eyes, and the sound of your daughter’s delighted giggles as she clung to her “Mommy.”

Artemis moved first. Her eyes were locked on Jade, and she closed the distance quickly, drawn by the fact her sister was really here.

You didn’t wait to see that happy family reunion.

Your fingers slipped into the pocket of your gown, brushing over the smooth plastic of the spare tiara you’d tucked there earlier.

You stepped forward, intercepting Artemis before she could crouch down beside them. Without much chatter, you pressed the crown into her hand.

“She broke hers earlier,” you murmured, voice low “Can you… put this on her for me?”

Artemis blinked at you, before nodding firmly and taking the crown.

As soon as it was out of your grap you turned on your heel before anyone could stop you, smoothing your gown as if you weren’t retreating but simply occupied.

“I’ll, uh— go pull the cake,” you said just loud enough for Artemis to hear, “Looks like everyone’s here now.”

The murmur of the yard swelled behind you as you stepped back inside, closing the sliding door on the sight of Jade, Artemis, and Lian together.

The kitchen light felt harsher than usual, your reflection in the microwave caught your eye, a queen without her crown.

You busied your hands with the cake knife, the matches, anything to keep from thinking about the pit hollowing out in your chest.

You’d set the cake box down on the counter, neat as could be, plates and utensils stacked on top to make it convenient.

Still, your hands couldn’t stay still, folding and unfolding napkins, smoothing corners, fussing with them until the paper crinkled under your fingertips.

Anything to keep from shaking.

The sliding door opened, laughter spilling in, then dulled again as it clicked shut. The only sound that remain were hesitant footsteps

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.” The word came out sharp, sharper than you intended

You kept your eyes fixed on the napkins, knuckles whitening around them. You turned then, slowly, and the look on your face stopped him dead.

“Roy,” you said, your voice flat but trembling. “You promised me. You promised you’d talk to her.”

“I did talk to her!” he shot back almost too quickly. His hands twitched at his sides before lifting helplessly. “She just… shrugged. You know how she is. I can’t control her showing up.”

Your chest hollowed at that, your hand bracing against the counter. “That’s not the point, Roy. The point is you didn’t tell me you invited her! You didn’t give me the chance to prepare for this— for her— on today of all days.”

“I… I mentioned the party. I didn’t think she’d actually show. I didn’t think she’d come.” His jaw worked, his shoulders tense like a bowstring.

“She’s Lian’s mom,” he said, softer now, but still stubborn. “She deserves to be here too. I didn’t mean for you to feel—”

His voice cracked, breaking into something raw. “I didn’t mean for this to blindside you. I’m sorry.”

You felt his presence crowding closer, his hand lifting as though to touch you, to soothe. For a heartbeat you wanted to let him— but instead you stepped back, the space between you deliberate.

His hand dropped uselessly, guilt and hurt flashing in his eyes.

You were ready to argue again, to tell him how much it hurt that promises meant nothing if he never followed through.

But then, through the glass door, a shriek of pure delight rang out— Lian’s voice bubbling with joy.

The sound cut straight through you, cleaving your frustration in two.

You closed your eyes, pressing your hand to your throat. Not now. Not here. Not in the middle of her day.

When you opened them again, your voice had softened, though it shook at the edges. “Roy, I can’t do this. Not right now. Not with her so… so happy. This isn’t the time.”

He nodded quickly, swallowing hard, still searching your face. “I know. I’m sorry. I swear, I’ll make it right.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pushed the cake box against his chest, forcing him to take it. “Go,” you said gently, firmly. “Get the candles. Get it ready. I’ll be out in a minute.”

For once, Roy didn’t argue. Just nodded, shoulders heavy, and slipped back out the door.

You leaned against the counter for a moment longer, napkin still clenched in your hand, until the sound of another giggle from the yard pulled you upright.

You lingered a second longer in the kitchen, the faint hum of the fridge and the scratch of your pulse in your ears the only sounds.

The pit in your chest hadn’t gone anywhere, but Lian’s laughter pushed you forward. You smoothed your gown, straightened your shoulders, and slid the door open.

The backyard unfolded before you in a warm, chaotic blur. Roy was bent over the table, arranging the cake like it was a priceless artifact, candles waiting in neat little rows.

His shoulders were still tight, but he moved with purpose, trying to make it right. His friends hover around him, some helping others, talking to him in low voices that you couldn’t hear.

Across the yard, Lian practically glowed. She’d grabbed Jade’s hand and was tugging her toward the knot of wide-eyed kids by the bouncy castle, chattering a mile a minute.

“This is my Mommy!” she announced proudly, her little chest puffed up like she’d just introduced royalty.

The kids shifted, some offering shy smiles, others gawking at the woman in dark clothes with the crooked plastic crown still perched on her head.

Jade’s mouth twitched like she wasn’t sure if she should smirk or retreat, but she let Lian drag her forward all the same.

Artemis trailed behind them, her expression caught somewhere between exasperation and genuine amusement, the faintest shake of her head giving her away.

You’d never seen her look quite so… comfortable?

She’s never been like that around you… Watching her sister step awkwardly into the sunlight of Lian’s world softened something in her face you didn’t realize was tense.

You breathed in, slow. It wasn’t how you pictured this day. Not by a long shot. But for Lian you’d push through no matter what.

Roy was only half-aware of whatever Wally had just ribbed him about; his laugh came a beat too late

His gaze was restless, skipping over the yard like he was trying to track a dozen threats at once. Lian’s grin, Jade’s presence… it all blurred until he finally found you.

His hands froze mid-motion over the stack of plates, breath caught in his chest. You weren’t smiling, just standing at the edge watching instead of shutting yourself away.

He exhaled hard, with a shaky relief he didn’t even bother to hide. His lips pulled into a smile, not his usual easy one, but something quiete and sheepish.

For a moment, you just stared back, weighing whether to give him anything at all. Then, with a small sigh, you straightened and lifted your voice so the whole yard could hear.

“Kids! Cake time— let’s go!”

The shrieks of excitement burst instantly, bodies barreling toward the table. It gave you the excuse to break eye contact.

When you glanced back, Roy was still watching, that crooked smile lingering as he turned to light the candles

The table was a mess of chatter and clinking plates, kids leaning over one another to see the cake, adults directing them with varying degrees of success.

Lian came bounding forward, cheeks flushed, dragging Jade along by the hand, the pair of them carving straight through the crowd to the head of the table.

That’s when it hit you— your careful count of guests, all your lists and prep. Every chair was filled that you planned for.

Except now Jade was here, standing where there when soon after she’d have no where to sit.

The realization tightened in your chest. Lian deserved her Mommy at the table.

She’d want her there. And you’d be damned if your daughter’s perfect day was dimmed by something as simple as a missing chair.

So you forced your face into calm and stepped back from the table. Your eyes flicked toward the garage, already calculating how fast you could drag a folding chair in before the frosting started melting under the candles.

It wasn’t the end of the world. Just another adjustment. Another quiet step back to make sure things looked seamless on the surface.

You didn’t think much of it as you slipped out the back, skirting around the hum of the party to duck into the garage.

The shift in noise was jarring— laughter and chatter muffled instantly, replaced with the musty stillness of cardboard boxes and old tools..

A huff left your chest before you could stop it. One day, you were going to make Roy tackle this disaster properly.

Maybe you’d even get to sit back with a glass of wine while he cursed his way through reorganizing boxes of god-knows-what. That seemed like a fair trade for blindsiding you today.

Stepping carefully around a tipped-over bucket and some old sports gear, you spotted what you needed— two folded chairs leaning against the wall, half-hidden behind Lian’s plastic tricycle.

With a little grunt, you tugged one free, shaking off the thin film of dust.

You exhaled, balancing the folded chair against your hip, and you slipped back through the side gate.

The noise of the party bloomed immediately, clapping, laughter, the rings of children’s voices still buzzing with sugar and excitement.

For a fleeting second, you thought the kids managed to stay patient and you’d be able to prop up the chair and slip next to Roy’s side, next to your daughter.

But today wasn't so kind to you.

The candles were already nothing but thin trails of smoke, curling up into the air. Lian sat at the center of it all, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, wedged between Roy and Jade.

Her grin was wide with her little hands still smacking together in applause as she blew out all 5 of her candles.

You froze just inside the doorway, the chair biting into your palms as your grip faltered.

It stretched before you like a snapshot— your daughter’s brightest moment, framed by the two people who gave her life.

Without you.

All the hours, the planning, and you’d missed the moment.

The wish. The glow on her face. The thing she’d remember when she was older.

No one looked your way. The crowd was already leaning in, shifting toward the cake, the chatter resuming like nothing monumental had just slipped by.

You pasted a smile onto your face, one that felt so viciously wrong, and took a step forward. If you moved, if you acted normal, maybe no one would notice.

Maybe you could fool even yourself—

“Mama!”

Lian’s voice rang out, clear and delighted, her little hand waving wildly in the air.

She nearly tipped sideways in her seat, cheeks flushed from excitement. “Did you see? I blew them all out!”

The world stuttered.

Roy froze. His grin, the one he’d been wearing a second earlier, dropped away so completely it was almost jarring.

His head jerked toward where she was pointing, and the moment his eyes landed on you, his entire body locked.

The colour bled from his face, his mouth parted into an expression of actual horror.

And then his gaze slid, fast and instinctive, to the spot at his side. The one he thought you’d been filling this whole time.

Where you should have been when Lian leaned forward to take her breath, when she squeezed her eyes shut and blew with all her might.

Roy’s chest rose once, unsteady, as the realization slammed into him.

You’d missed it. He hadn’t even noticed.

God, today was not his day, was it?

When his eyes found yours again, the panic was plain and desperate, his lips moved soundlessly before pressing together

‘Please— believe me. I thought you were beside me. I never would’ve let this happen.’

His expression screamed all of it without him saying a thing.

Of course the realization wasn’t just on him. Dick’s posture went stiff, his usual easy composure giving way to a faint crease of guilt.

Wally’s grin faltered into an awkward half-smile before he ducked his head, ears going red.

Donna exhaled softly, eyes lingering on you with sympathy she didn’t try to hide.

Even Artemis faltered, torn between watching her niece glow and the blatant bleeding wound opening right in front of everyone

And Jade sat with one hand curled on the back of Lian’s chair a neutral expression on her face. Her eyes flicked to you, away again. Inly a brief moment of acknowledgment before she moved on.

The kids, didn’t notice the nightmare happening around the adults. They were too busy chanting for cake, their voices rising in a happy, impatient chants. “Cake! Cake! Cake!”

Roy’s eyes clung to you, frantic, begging body angling as if he was about to run to you.

And then Lian turned, bouncing in her seat as if your answer mattered more than anything.

“Mama, did you see?” she asked again, louder this time, giggles threading through her words.

Every adult gaze shifted to you, waiting. The chair in your hands suddenly felt impossibly heavy.

From 19/07/2025 to 20/07/2025

Word Count: 21,896

Chapters:

Chapter 01 : A Family in Rehearsal

Chapter 02 : Things We Don’t Say

Chapter 03 : The Night She Didn’t Wait

Chapter 04 : Lost

Chapter 05 : What Forgiveness Tastes Like

Chapter 06 : The Language of Holding On [Finale]

Author's Note:

Thank you.

For reading, for feeling, for staying.

The Silence Between Us was never just a story about war, or betrayal, or even healing. It was about the quiet, often unspoken ways love bends but doesn’t break. About the spaces between words, the weight of what we carry alone, and the brave, imperfect choice to come back to each other anyway.

If you saw yourself in the quiet grief, in the burnt garlic bread, in the too-loud family dinners or whispered apologies, then this was for you.

To everyone who’s ever had to rebuild love from ashes…

To everyone who’s ever come home to a life they weren’t sure they deserved…

You’re not alone.

This isn’t a perfect ending.

But it’s a beginning that’s soft. And real. And earned.

Thank you for letting me tell it.

With love,

Devi 🤍

A soft sound escaped him, barely audible, and you realized he was half-awake himself, testing the waters. You stirred, your body shifting as you turned in his arms, lids fluttering open just enough to catch the outline of his face in the low light.

Joel stilled the moment he felt you move. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, voice husky with lingering sleep. His hand froze on your side, but he didn’t pull away.

“It’s okay,” you whispered back, still groggy but fully aware of his closeness, the quiet want in his touch. Your heart skipped in your chest. Slowly, you reached for his hand and guided it more securely against your waist. “I’m awake now.”

He paused, gaze searching yours for a long moment in the dimness, as though making sure what he wanted was truly welcome. You answered him by leaning in, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to the corner of his mouth. That was all the invitation he needed. A low, appreciative hum rumbled in his throat as he eased you onto your back, his weight settling beside you, not over you, mindful and careful. His lips found yours slowly, gently, like he was savoring a first taste all over again. Even in this tender moment, you felt the lingering tension in his shoulders—an undercurrent of relief and longing that told you he needed this closeness as much as you did. You traced your fingers along the nape of his neck, letting him know you were here, awake, and wanting him too.

“Good morning,” you breathed against his lips, the simplest greeting suddenly feeling weighty with all that you’d been through together. Joel’s small smile against your mouth felt like both an answer and a promise. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he returned softly, and this time, there was no hesitation in the warmth of his hand on your hip, or in the quiet, content sigh you gave back.

Joel's lips hovered just over yours, warm breath mixing with your own. The way he studied your face made you feel cherished and, at the same time, set an undercurrent of desire humming through your veins. When he finally bridged the small gap, the kiss was both tender and insistent, a slow burn kindling in the space between you.

His hands slid carefully over your waist, testing your boundaries, making sure you were still comfortable. Each touch was gentle at first, deliberate. But soon, you felt the subtle shift in his grip-the way his fingers pressed a little more firmly into your sides, betraying a hint of the urgency he was holding in check.

You answered him by wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. A soft sound escaped him, somewhere between relief and a low growl of need. In that moment, everything outside of this room seemed to slip away: the dangers, the fears, the lingering memories of violence. Now, there was only Joel and the feel of his heartbeat thudding against your own.

His kisses trailed from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, each gentle press of his lips building a delicious tension. Yet behind the tenderness, you sensed a restrained hunger-he held you like he was afraid to let go, fingertips digging in just enough to send heat rushing across your skin. You arched into him, breaths coming in shorter, heavier bursts. Your pulse hammered, a heady mix of reassurance and raw longing.

When Joel shifted position, bearing a little of his weight against you, the bed creaked beneath you both. The press of his body spoke volumes: he wanted you with a fierceness that bordered on desperate, but he was still careful, alert to every subtle cue you gave. When you hooked a leg around his, meeting his intensity with your own, he let out a low noise that vibrated against your collarbone. Your hands found their way into his hair, knotting gently, urging him on. Each time you tugged, his grip tightened— there was a welcome roughness there, a counterpoint to the guarded way he'd tried to keep you at arm's length for so long. His mouth found yours again, more demanding this time, pulling a soft gasp from your lips. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, your body responding to his closeness and that delicate balance between sweetness and a desperation you could both barely contain.

"Tell me if it's too much," he managed to whisper, voice rasping with need. His forehead pressed against yours, searching your eyes for any sign of uncertainty.

"It's not," you breathed, guiding his hand where you wanted it, the simplest reassurance that you were here for everything he offered. "Joel... I'm good."

That quiet admission was all it took. He pressed himself closer, yet even in his urgency, there was a distinct gentleness in how he held you-like he couldn't bear the idea of hurting you. When you gripped his shoulders, letting a hint of nails scrape lightly across his skin, he groaned, breath hitching. The tension between you built, your bodies moving in a near-synchronized dance of hunger and cautious tenderness.

Neither of you spoke again. Words would have been clumsy here, unnecessary. The conversation unfurled in every labored breath, every shift of hips, every soft moan muffled against heated skin. And when the moment finally caught up with you, it was an overwhelming rush of closeness-an affirmation that, despite the dangers and anxieties, you were both alive, together, and finally letting yourselves feel something that had been simmering for far too long.

Joel's breath ghosts along your inner thighs, the air warm and deliberate.

Despite the early morning light spilling across the sheets, he's wholly absorbed in you—no inhibitions, no self-consciousness. His fingers press gently against your hips, guiding you closer as his eyes meet yours, a flicker of longing and unspoken awe passing between you. He dips his head, and a contented murmur escapes his throat as he presses his face into the soft curls right above your clit. There's something deeply grounding in the way he buries himself against you, not rushing, simply reveling in the texture and warmth of your unshaven skin. Every exhale of his carries a quiet reverence, a hint of something feral beneath the tenderness.

"You feel...amazing," he breathes, and it's more than just a compliment-it's gratitude. This closeness, this unfiltered honesty, is what he craves. You catch the faint grin on his face when the curls tickle his nose, and his voice drops low, rich with affection. There's no room for any insecurity here; he loves you exactly as you are, finds beauty in every part of you, even the ones you worried might be "too much."

When he finally moves to taste you, it's unhurried, savoring each second. His soft groan vibrates against your skin, and his hands slip beneath your thighs to keep you where he wants you-firmly in his care. His lips and tongue map out every sensation as though committing it to memory, and the pleasure that races through you feels all the more potent for the ease of it, the complete acceptance in his closeness. Joel doesn't speak much then—he doesn't need to. The reverent way he lingers, the texture of his beard against your skin, the low, throaty sounds he makes whenever you shift or sigh...they say enough. It's a heady mixture of unguarded desire and tenderness, stirring something raw and deeply comforting in you.

Joel's low voice thrums with unwavering conviction as he leans in, pinning you with that smoldering look he gets when he's set on something-or someone. Lapping his tongue around your clit as he takes his two fingers to slowly tease your entrance.

"Relax," he whispers, voice gravelly with controlled desire. His other fingertips trace lazy patterns just above your knees, coaxing your body to let go of any residual tension. When he finally presses his fingers in, he does it slowly, savoring your every reaction-every soft moan, every quiver of your legs around his shoulders.

Time loses meaning in the hush of the room. He lingers with single-minded focus, lips and tongue working you until any coherent thought slips away. That steady, methodical attentiveness sends you climbing higher and higher, and whenever you think he's about to ease off, he doubles down, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from you.

Through it all, he keeps murmuring hushed, tender reassurances against your skin-telling you how good you taste, how he'd stay like this forever if it meant seeing you come undone again and again. It's an unspoken vow that you come first, that your pleasure matters before all else.

Eventually, you're left breathless and boneless beneath him, your heart hammering in your chest. He looks up, a faint smile curving his lips as he takes in the sight of you-disheveled, glowing, entirely undone.

Joel straightens up onto his knees, still breathing hard from the heated exchange that brought you both to this point. His gaze never leaves yours as his fingers move to his belt buckle. There's a deliberate, almost measured quality to the way he undoes it—metal clinking quietly in the otherwise still room. A spark of anticipation flutters through your stomach, realizing he's giving you a small show, letting you see just how sure he is about what happens next.

He tugs the belt free, letting it slip from the loops with a soft rasp. The muscles in his arms shift under his shirt, every motion exuding that calm, contained power you've come to know. When he finally drops the belt aside, he reaches for the button of his jeans, pulling it open with a deft flick of his fingers. His eyes flicker with something between determination and need as he straightens, pushing his jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion.

You watch, heart thudding, as his length springs free-hard and ready, evidence of just how worked up he's been. For a moment, you can't help but stare, breath catching in your throat. The raw need in his eyes only fans the heat coursing through your veins.

You swallow, mouth going suddenly dry and then flooding with want all at once.

Every muscle in Joel's body is poised, tense with anticipation as he looks down at you. There's a flicker of that familiar gentleness in his gaze, but it's undercut by an unmistakable hunger. “Fuck” you breathe out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Joel's voice dips into that low, husky register that always makes your pulse race. He hovers above you, one hand braced near your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek in a gentle but insistent hold.

"Tell me how much you want it, darlin'" he murmurs, breath hot against your ear. His gaze roams over your face, devouring every flicker of reaction.

You feel a rush of warmth, your heart pounding in your chest. The intensity in his eyes draws a shiver up your spine, and you let yourself be honest-no holding back, no coyness.

"I want you," you whisper, voice unsteady but sure. "I want all of it."

A slow, satisfied smile tugs at his lips.

Joel keeps his lips lightly against yours, as if savoring every exhale that slips between you. The contact is tender, but there's a deliberate tension in the way he pushes forward, guiding his cock into you with excruciating slowness. Each inch is a warm, gradual pressure, and it's all you can do to cling to him, arms winding around his shoulders. Your breath catches at the sudden fullness, a heady mix of pleasure and the natural jolt of adjustment. His mouth coaxes yours open in a gentle kiss, softening the moment until your body relaxes under his. You hear him let out a ragged sigh, a sound somewhere between relief and restrained desire, as he stills for a second-just long enough to make sure you're truly okay.

"It's alright," you manage to whisper, voice shaking with a mix of nerves and excitement. You shift your hips, inviting him deeper. Joel adjusts his grip on your hips, the muscles in his arms flexing as he starts to move. He fills you to the hilt, every inch of his length snug in place, then pulls back until you feel the sudden coolness of absence. You barely have time to catch your breath before he thrusts forward again with a little more force, eliciting a startled yelp from your lips.

He stills for a second, eyes flicking over your features to make sure you're okay, that you're with him in this moment.

Your heart thunders in your chest, and you give him a small nod, breath hitching at the lingering sensation of that bold push.

A hint of a reassuring smile curves his lips. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss against your shoulder, his gaze earnest, letting you know he's paying attention to every cue from your body.

As he starts up that intimate rhythm again, the warmth and tension coils lower.

At first, Joel tries to pace himself, to keep the sensations from spinning out of control, but the moment overtakes him. His restraint cracks like a dam giving way, and he begins thrusting harder, each urgent stroke fueled by a raw, unfiltered need. The sheer force pulls a startled cry from your lips; your fingers dig into his arms, instinctively clinging to him as he surges forward.

He notices the sound you make, flicks a desperate look your way-and you meet his gaze, heat rushing through your veins. He searches your eyes, confirming you're all right, then presses in again, rough and insistent. There's something primal in the way he moves, as if he can't bear even an inch of distance between you.

A sharp pang slices through you, momentarily stealing your breath. The thrusts have become urgent, almost too intense. You can't deny that it hurts— but the pleasure that surges in its wake is even stronger, a heady rush that makes your body crave the next wave.

Joel notices the flicker of pain in your eyes and seems torn between concern and the raw, desperate need pouring off him. His grip tightens on your hip, and he tries to ease his pace, but you tug him closer, eyes half-lidded, silently telling him it's okay.

"Tell me," he rasps, voice rough with worry. "You-are you sure?"

You suck in a shaky breath, nodding.

"Yes. I'm good," you whisper, heart pounding against your ribs. A trembling hand cups his cheek, a tender counterpoint to the fierceness of the moment. His gaze darts over your face, searching, then he groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours in relief.

He doesn't stop—he couldn't if he tried

-but he adjusts, recalibrates just enough that your body begins to loosen under him again. The pain lingers on the edges, but each pulse of pleasure chases it back, building a euphoric urgency that sets every nerve alight.

You cling to each other, lost in the collision of sensation-where hurt becomes heat, and heat spills into ecstasy. And in that wild, fragile balance, the connection between you only deepens.

You could feel the urgency radiating off Joel in waves, every ragged exhale brushing hot against your ear. His pace grew uneven, each thrust edged with mounting desperation. "So good," he muttered, voice raw, words slurring together in a low, urgent litany.

He didn't bother trying to hold back his mouth-dirty confessions poured out in a husky, unfiltered stream, praising every inch of your body and the way you clenched around him. “Feel how good you take me? You’re perfect, sweetheart” It wasn't just filthy talk; there was an almost frantic reverence woven into each word, as though he couldn't get enough, couldn't be close enough. His hips were starting to stutter and you could feel your own resolve crumbling, a shockwave shoots through you as your body gives into the pleasure. Your eyelids flutter shut as the final crest of pleasure surges through you, muscles tensing in anticipation. But Joel's hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your jaw in a gesture both tender and insistent. His voice, low and husky, rumbles close to your ear:

"Look at me... right here. I wanna see your face when you come."

At his words, your eyes snap open, meeting his heated gaze. The world around you seems to narrow until only his face remains in focus. A tremor races through your body, and you're utterly undone-an electric,

overwhelming climax that arches your back and spills a loud, drawn-out moan from your lips. Your mouth forms a silent "O," caught there in breathless rapture as every nerve flares with sensation.

Joel's gaze never wavers; he holds you through it, absorbing every quiver and cry. You can feel the fierce pride in the way he watches you, the way he savors the unguarded emotion flooding your expression.

You're still riding out the last waves of your own pleasure when Joel lets out a ragged groan, hips stuttering against you. Panic flashes over his features for a split second—he tries to pull away, but it's already too late. The heat of his release spills into you, followed by a strained exhale that echoes the intensity of the moment.

A tremor courses through his body as he half-collapses, catching himself on one elbow to avoid crushing you. His forehead drops to your shoulder, breath coming in short gasps. He finally manages to ease back, murmuring a low curse under his breath-an apology caught somewhere between guilt and lingering pleasure.

Despite his moment of hesitation, you feel a flood of tenderness as he lifts his gaze, searching your face. The shared realization of what just happened hangs in the air, but the softness in his eyes speaks volumes. You reach up, brushing a hand against his cheek, and his chest heaves with relief. In that hushed aftermath, you're both left a bit shaken, a bit breathless, and overwhelmingly connected-each heartbeat a reminder that, no matter how messy it might be, this closeness is exactly where you want to be.

——

The warmth of the moment still lingers in every ragged breath, your pulse hammering in your ears. Joel’s weight rests heavily on you for a few lingering seconds before he carefully shifts away, his gaze flicking over your features as if to double-check you’re alright. There’s a softness in his eyes that tempers the rawness of the encounter you just shared.

“I’ll, uh… run you a bath,” he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from your face. Even in his hushed tone, you hear the concern that’s always right beneath his gruff exterior.

You only manage a nod, still catching your breath. He presses a brief, tender kiss to your temple before rising, gathering a pair of boxers from the side of the bed, and slipping them on. As he disappears into the hallway, you hear the faint creak of the old pipes coming to life, water rushing through.

Pulling the sheets higher over yourself, you close your eyes for a moment, letting your heart settle. Outside, the world feels distant, and you’re grateful for the cocoon of calm that’s wrapped around the two of you—no raiders, no infected, just the quiet aftermath of a shared intimacy that still leaves your legs trembling.

After a minute or so, Joel’s footsteps pad back toward the room. He stands in the doorway, arms folded across his bare chest, the slight flush still on his cheeks. “Water’s runnin’,” he says gently, voice low. “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You ease out of bed, each movement a reminder of the fervor you just shared. Joel crosses the room in a few strides and rests a steadying hand at the small of your back, guiding you toward the bathroom. A rising cloud of steam beckons from behind the door, the promise of warmth and comfort.

In the softly lit space, the tub’s nearly full, water gently steaming at the surface. Joel turns the faucet a bit, testing the temperature with his fingertips. Satisfied, he twists it off and gestures for you to climb in, his posture guarded yet attentive—ready to help if you’re sore or unsteady.

You sink into the bath, a relieved sigh escaping your lips as the heat soothes tired muscles. Joel lingers at the edge, rolling up his boxers just enough to kneel beside the tub. With tender care, he sweeps a hand through the water around you, the small motion an unspoken question: How are you feeling?

“I’m okay,” you whisper, leaning back against the porcelain. Your eyes flutter shut, letting the water cradle your body. Every twinge of ache from earlier recedes under the liquid heat, and you sense Joel’s gaze on you—protective, gentle, and a little bit humbled by what you’ve just shared.

He reaches for a washcloth and soaps it up, then wordlessly offers to help wash your arm, your shoulder—any place you’re too spent to reach comfortably. There’s no rush now, just the soft drip of the faucet and the low hum of the house around you.

As he runs the cloth in slow circles along your skin, you lean into his touch, breathing in the damp air. The world feels at rest, if only for this moment, and in his quiet care you find the reassurance you need. When he finishes, he sets the cloth aside, trailing his knuckles lightly over your cheek.

“You get some rest when you’re done,” he says softly, voice rich with concern. “I’ll— I’ll be right here if you need me.”

The gentle promise in his words settles over you like a blanket. You let your eyes close again, letting the steam and the rhythm of your breath guide you toward a calmer state of mind. At this moment—wounds, stress, and the trials of the day aside—you realize how comforting it is to be cared for so completely. And as Joel lingers at your side, you know neither of you would trade this small, stolen sense of peace for anything.

By the time you step out of the bathroom—hair damp and skin still radiating warmth from the bath—you notice the house is hushed except for the faint clink of a mug against wood. Following the sound, you find Joel in the living room, sitting on the couch with a steaming cup of coffee cradled in one hand.

As soon as he spots you, his expression brightens, relief and tenderness mingling in his eyes. Setting his coffee on the side table, he stands and opens his arms wide, invitation plain on his face. Without hesitating, you cross the short distance between you and slip into his embrace. He wraps his arms around you with a gentle firmness, the soft fabric of his shirt a comforting barrier against the lingering chill clinging to your skin.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just hold each other, your ear pressed to Joel’s chest, listening to the reassuring thrum of his heartbeat. All the tension from earlier feels far away—replaced by the simple warmth of his presence. When he finally loosens his hold, his gaze searches yours, wordlessly asking if you’re okay. You give a small nod, and his shoulders relax as he tugs you back in for another brief, quiet hug. In that stolen moment of peace, it’s hard to imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

You whisper something softly, half expecting him not to hear you.

Joel’s hold on you loosened fractionally as your words slipped out, so quiet you barely realized you’d spoken them aloud. For a second, the world seemed to fall silent; you half expected Joel to ask you to repeat yourself or miss it entirely. But then, he drew in a sharp breath, his hand settling firmly against the small of your back.

He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, a mixture of astonishment and softness on his face. You felt your cheeks heat under his intent gaze, that flicker of uncertainty fluttering in your stomach. Had you said too much too soon?

Yet Joel’s expression slowly melted into something deeply certain—tender, almost reverent. He brushed a thumb across your cheek, leaning in to press his forehead gently against yours.

“Say it again,” he murmured, voice hushed, holding your gaze like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. And somehow, just like that, the fear faded, replaced by a quiet, overwhelming warmth at being heard—really heard—by him.

A small tremor flickers through you as Joel’s voice wraps around those three words, coaxing them out of you one more time. His forehead rests softly against yours, his breath a quiet, steady warmth across your lips.

Your heart flutters, but you force a whisper past the tightness in your throat. “I love you.”

The look on Joel’s face is almost disbelieving, as though he’s trying to memorize every nuance of this moment. He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s letting the weight of your words sink in, then opens them again with a resolve you’ve only ever seen when he’s protecting someone he cares about.

He shifts his hand to cup your cheek, gaze drifting over every feature of your face. “I love you, too,” he says, the low rumble of his voice like a promise that settles warmly in the quiet room.

You press your forehead more firmly to his, relief and tenderness washing over you. He rubs a thumb lightly across your cheekbone, and for a fleeting moment, neither of you speaks—no words are necessary when the feeling is that clear.

Eventually, Joel pulls you into him once more, a slow exhale leaving his chest, as if he’s finally allowed himself to relax. You melt into his embrace, your ear catching the steady beat of his heart. With those three words hanging in the space between you, the house feels more like a home than it ever has before.

Joel’s gaze travels across your body in that tender, protective way he has—until it snags on your shoulder, where a telltale patch of red blooms against your shirt. His expression shifts in an instant, all softness replaced by alarm.

“Oh shit, darlin’,” he murmurs, hands coming up quickly but carefully, as though he’s not sure whether to touch the wound or keep from hurting you further. “You’re bleedin’.”

You glance down, following his worried eyes. The sight of blood seeping through your shirt tugs the breath from your lungs; you’ve both been so lost in the comfort of each other that you completely forgot the stitches the doctor had given you yesterday. A throb you’d been ignoring intensifies, as if to remind you that the injury still needs attention.

Joel scrambles for the nearest towel or rag, pressing it gently over the stained fabric. “C’mon, lemme see.” His voice is steady even though you see the panic flicker behind his eyes. He peels the fabric back with painstaking care, hissing softly when he catches sight of the torn stitches.

“Easy,” you mutter, trying to keep the pain from your tone, but a wince slips through anyway.

Joel’s jaw tightens. He’s already scanning the room, looking for the first-aid kit or anything that might help. “We gotta get this cleaned up. Should’ve remembered—”

You shake your head, though the movement makes you a bit dizzy. “No, it’s on me too. I—forgot.”

He moves with a crisp resolve, one arm still cradling you while the other rummages for supplies. “Sit down,” he orders gently, voice low and firm. You do as you’re told, lowering yourself onto the couch while he carefully eases the damp cloth away.

His eyes lift to yours, contrite but determined. “I’ll fix this up. Just sit tight.” And in the quiet between you—cut through only by your shallow breaths—you can feel the undercurrent of worry that tells you he’s more upset about this than he’ll admit.

But as he gathers what you both need to patch things up, his hands betray none of that emotion: they’re steady, protective, and sure. It’s then you realize that even though he’s anxious, he won’t let that stand in the way of keeping you safe.

A cold sweat prickled across your forehead, and you felt your heart rate spike at the sight of the blood seeping through the bandage. Even though you’d been bruised and scraped more times than you could count, the sharp sight of fresh blood always had a unique way of weakening your knees. Your stomach gave a slow, uncomfortable roll.

Joel, hunched beside you with the first aid kit in hand, read the change in your face before you even noticed it yourself. One glance at your eyes turning glassy, and he sprang into action.

“Hey,” he murmured, his free hand reaching up to cup the uninjured side of your face. The warmth of his palm felt steady, grounding. “Stay with me, darlin’.”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly in an effort to fight off the wave of dizziness creeping in. The walls seemed to close in for a moment, the dim edges of your vision going fuzzy.

“S-sorry,” you stammered, breath hitching, “I’m—gonna be fine.”

“Don’t try to tough it out,” Joel said, voice low but firm as he guided you to lean against the back of the couch. “Breathe, remember?”

Trying to follow his instructions, you drew in a slow breath and let it out in shuddery increments. Gradually, the buzzing pressure in your ears began to recede. Feeling a bit steadier, you met his worried gaze.

Joel returned a small nod of approval. “Better?”

You forced a tight smile. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” He exhaled slowly, picking up a roll of gauze. “I’m just gonna get this wrapped—then we can get you to the clinic for new stitches if we gotta. But first things first.”

Your heart fluttered at the care in his voice, even though you were still fighting the unease in your belly. “Thank you,” you managed softly, closing your eyes for a moment to focus on his voice, his presence.

Joel’s movements were practiced and deliberate as he pressed fresh gauze against the wound. His brow knit in concentration, but he kept one eye on your expression to make sure you weren’t about to keel over. Every so often, he’d whisper a small reassurance—quiet words that kept you tethered to him and away from the threat of passing out.

And it worked. Gradually, the hush in your head faded, leaving only the steady sound of his breathing and the warmth of his hand on your arm as he finished dressing the wound. Even though the pulsing ache persisted, it was easier to bear with Joel close by, guiding you through each breath until your stomach finally settled.

“You did good,” he murmured once he was done, offering you a shaky little smile of his own. And despite the pain and the lingering dizziness, the sight of that honest concern on his face was enough to make you think that maybe—just maybe—you’d be alright.

———-•

The rest of the day passed more smoothly than you’d feared. After patching you up at home, Joel insisted on taking you to the clinic just to be sure, and the doctor confirmed what the two of you already knew: one of your stitches had torn. While the doctor carefully replaced it, you gripped Joel’s hand with white-knuckled intensity, wincing every so often at the sting of disinfectant.

Ellie, planted in the corner, openly snickered whenever you flinched, though her eyes shone with relief. “Keep it up,” Joel warned, shooting her a half-hearted glare, but she just rolled her eyes and offered you a dramatic thumbs-up. Despite her teasing, you could sense her concern; it showed in the way her voice quivered with relief once the procedure ended.

When the doctor finally pronounced you patched up—again—you and Joel exchanged exasperated smiles. Ellie, still smirking, ambled over to nudge you playfully. “Could’ve been worse,” she mused, feigning seriousness. “At least no one fainted.”

Joel shook his head, helping you to your feet with gentle care. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it down, kid.” But his voice carried more affection than annoyance, and Ellie’s grin widened.

Once you left, the three of you stepped into Jackson’s late-afternoon light. You winced at the brightness, but a deep sense of relief settled in your chest. Even if it meant a rip in your stitches, the day’s close call was behind you, and for once, normal felt close at hand.

Joel’s hand remained firmly clasped around yours as you made your way back home, Ellie trailing behind with her usual lighthearted commentary. And though your shoulder throbbed dully beneath the fresh bandage, the pain was a small price to pay for the calm you felt in that simple moment—united, safe, and together.

Tommy’s voice cut through the comfortable lull as you, Joel, and Ellie were passing by Jackson’s main street. He stood a short distance away, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed in that half-stern, half-concerned way of his.

“You guys have a job to do!” he boomed, though the frustration in his tone was laced with brotherly worry as he looked Joel up and down, his gaze flicking to your freshly bandaged shoulder. “Don’t think I’m lettin’ you off the hook just ’cause you decided to go get yourself stitched up.”

Joel let out a low groan but strode forward to meet Tommy’s eye. “We just got back from the clinic. She’s fine—everything’s fine.”

Ellie snorted, folding her arms. “Yeah, yeah, we can’t go five minutes without being on some chore list around here.”

Tommy shot her a quick glare, then focused back on Joel. “Look, we’ve been running low on certain parts—generators are acting up again. I need some folks I trust to head out beyond the perimeter to pick up replacements. Figure you and Ellie can handle it. And you,” he continued, nodding pointedly at you, “only if you’re up for it. Don’t push yourself if that shoulder’s still tender.”

You gave a small shrug, feeling the dull ache beneath the bandage. “I’ll live.”

Tommy’s expression softened a bit, looking guilty for a moment. “I wouldn’t be asking unless it was important. Supplies’ll be gone by the end of the week if we don’t get our hands on parts soon. You know how fast folks use up electricity around here. We can’t afford any downtime.”

Joel sighed and glanced at you, then at Ellie, who was already straightening her posture as if ready to march off on the mission. “Guess that means we’re on duty,” he muttered.

Ellie grinned, tipping her head back as if she thrived on the chance to do something useful. “We’ll get it done.”

Tommy crossed his arms. “I know y’all will. Just be careful. Strange stuff’s been happening around the outskirts—folks reporting fresh tracks, maybe infected. Could just be paranoia, but keep an eye out.”

Joel nodded. “Alright. We’ll gear up. Give us a half hour.”

Tommy’s gaze lingered on you one last time. His features eased, genuine concern shining through. “Take care of that shoulder.”

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the hustle of Jackson’s late afternoon, leaving you, Joel, and Ellie standing in the street—renewed purpose stirring in your veins, a trace of anxiety coiling in the pit of your stomach, and the faint but steady throb in your bandaged wound reminding you that nothing in this world ever stayed calm for long.

Ellie threw up her hands, exasperation pulling her features taut. “But we just went on a supply run yesterday,” she whined, jabbing a finger in your direction. “That’s how she got this!”

Her voice echoed slightly along the busy street, drawing a few curious glances. You shifted uncomfortably, hyperaware of the fresh bandage on your shoulder. Ellie’s words stirred the memory of the close call—raid, chaos, and a knife wound.

Tommy gave Ellie a look somewhere between sympathy and impatience. “I know, kid. But this is different. We can’t wait around on these parts, or the whole town’ll be sittin’ in the dark by next week.”

Joel nudged Ellie gently, his eyes scanning her face before darting to yours. “We’ll be careful,” he assured, though you heard a hint of fatigue in his tone. “Stick close, minimize any risks.”

Ellie folded her arms, torn between her desire to protest and the sense of responsibility she felt for Jackson. Finally, she gave a resigned sigh. “Fine. But if we run into trouble, I’m blaming you,” she told Tommy, though a ghost of a grin tugged at her lips.

Tommy just shook his head in exasperation. “Yeah, yeah. Just get those parts back, and don’t let her,” he added, nodding at your shoulder, “get busted up any worse.”