The Fall
2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.
Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.
this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn. ♡
Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from.
With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it. However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel.
What the fuck?
His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.
With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.
When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.
You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.
"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.
He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed.
"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."
There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.
It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.
You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it.
No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to.
However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?
He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.
As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.
You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust.
"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.
I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."
"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.
If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins.
"I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?
"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels.
"No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.
Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent.
He hopes to fuck that it isn’t.
"Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.
He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.
"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low.
You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."
Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it.
"I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."
"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?"
Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.
Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up.
"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.
You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.
"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"
"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."
"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.
He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.
Even a curtain is better than no door at all.
After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to.
“Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.
“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”
“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”
You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.
That’s just what you’ve told him.
From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.
"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.
"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.
His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new.
He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it.
"Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.
You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.
Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.
Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.
Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.
Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.
To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.
Just full of surprises, little mouse.
Maybe you aren't so boring after all.
He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.
When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.
"What was that?" You ask, dazed.
"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.
You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you.
"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."
It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips.
The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them.
“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows.
You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.
“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.
He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.
“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”
Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.
“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.
“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.
Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.
He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.
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Hi! If youre still doing requests, i have kind of an odd ask , but maybe some of the upper moons' reactions to meeting Muzan's wife (reader). I also really like whipped!Muzan so maybe the other demons' reactions to seeing the demon king doting on his wife. Thank you very much :)
Hi Anon! (^○^.) I actually love this request, so thank you for sliding it into my askbox ♥
Honestly I love a powerful man - especially a powerful villain - who's just absolutely in love with their wife (♥ω♥.) and would do anything for them, it just brings me joy.
Anyway! I'm rambling abit, but here is your request! I hope I've done it justice (^ω^.) Please enjoy!
Come again to request whenever you want cause I'm always open.
Muzan Kibutsuji being whipped for his wife + Upper Moons Reactions - Headcannons:
You know those types of men that are just unmovable pillars of stone - who look like they were carved from the finest marble by the hands of angels - who are always impeccably dressed with a voice of icy poison and just command your attention?
Who turn to the softest love-struck mush when with their wife
yeah, that's Muzan Kibutsuji with his wife (aka. you)
The finest meals, clothes and jewelry are yours with a click of his fingers - all done to make you happy, to see you smile
Anything that you mention briefly - doesn't matter if it''s a book or a holiday - its yours by the end of the day
Just one smile and a fluttering of your eyelashes has muzan on his knees - a singular pout of your lips has his mind running wild
You just have to breathe and Muzan's heart squeezes, breath stuttering in his chest as he looks at you in adoration
You could ask for the world and he'd give it too you on a platter
Muzan worships you
Each touch from you is a blessing to his skin
Each kiss sealed into him
Each word of love that falls from your lips make him drunk to hear, each sentence thick with a love that leaves hearts in his eyes and his heart thumping wildly
He wants to wear you like a brand - each mark you leave on him (bite marks and all) are worn with pride - and you (and only you) get to touch and mark his skin in such sensual ways
Under his wedding ring, his finger holds your bite mark, something that he begs you to do each day - with love-struck tears pricking his eyes - and it always makes him feel like he's properly yours
"My Love," He purrs with a voice a think velvet "My wonderful wife, my moon and stars, I love you for ever and always" and he kisses you so softly
Sometimes you have to stop this man from wearing matching clothes with you - "But Beloved,"he whimpers with a face liked a kicked puppy "I want us to match" - because he will absolutely wear a matching couples outfit
Other days he just likes sharing the same colour palette
When you worship him by placing soft kisses to his skin - his wrists, knuckles and faces - Muzan feels like he's on cloud nine
Upper Moons Reactions:
When the upper moons first met you, it was by accident - pure accident -they'd been summoned and it just so happened that it was when muzan was just in the midst of kissing you and bathing you with compliments
Kokushibou doesn't even blink and just stands in position like a trained guard, this sight has been something he's accidentally stumbled upon a couple of times before and honestly it makes him miss his wife
Because this isn't the first time he's met you but rather the fifth, the first actually time he met you, you were incredibly respectful of him and actually treat him nicely - you became tea drinking buddies - so he quickly came to like you
Douma/Doma genuinely shrieks - like an honest to god scream - before quickly going to make fun (not a good idea) about how loving Muzan is and, "Why don't you treat us this way Muzan-sama~ You're breaking my heart~"
Akaza looks away from such an intimate scene with respect since it felt wrong to look upon his lord loving his wife - although his heart does ache for some reason when looking at such a perfect loving scene
Hantengu starts sobbing while apologizing anxiously - actually very jealous at how loving the scene is, he wants a wife and to dote on someone
Gyokko simply proclaims it as artful and simply leaves it as such
Daki Blushes a deep crimson - it makes her want a husband to dote on her so much
While Gyutaro simply sighs before looking away - much like kokushibou and akaza in respect - with jealous crawling up his ribs at such love, he wants somebody to dote on and love him so romantically
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Hi bb 💕 the premiere of TLOU was so damn good and I’m so excited for the rest of the season! If you’re still writing for Joel and taking requests could we maybe have some domestic fluff with pre-outbreak Joel? Hopefully that’s enough to go off of! ☺️☺️💗
AN | I couldn’t help myself, dinner is served, bone app the teeth. It’s just fluff with a lil foreshadowing! Enjoy ❤️
Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Warnings | Language
Word Count | 2k
Masterlist | Joel, Main
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
It was an early fall day that found you walking over to the Adler’s house and knocking on the door only to be greeted excitedly by Mercy’s barking. As soon as the door was open, the fluffy dog pushed his way past the screen door and over to you, weaving around your legs, tail wagging wildly as you reached down to pet him.
“Sorry about him, sweetheart,” Mrs. Adler looked at the dog with a raised eyebrow, “he just loves people, but you know that by now.”
“Good thing I love him too. Huh buddy, you’re such a good boy,” you bent down and scratched his ears before kissing his snout, “is Sarah here? I just got to their house and wanted to see if she wanted to come home and help me with some baking.”
“She is,” the screen door opened and you stepped inside, immediately overwhelmed by the smell of cooking and that odor that older homes often had. You spotted the young girl at the kitchen table, but as soon as she heard you, she turned around with a huge smile, “do you girls want to stay for dinner?”
“No,” you and Sarah chorused before looking at each other sheepishly. You gave her a wink before clearing your throat.
“Thank you for the offer,” you smiled sweetly, “Joel’s going to be home soon and we’d promised him some cookies so…we’d better get to baking!”
“Of course,” she seemed unphased by your lame excuse, which to be fair wasn’t a total lie, “well, you know you’re both welcome any time. And Joel.”
“Thank you,” you grabbed Sarah’s backpack as soon as it was packed up and herded the young girl towards the door, “have a good evening.”
As soon as the two of you were outside, after having given Mercy a few more pets, you exchanged a look before both breaking into a fit of giggles.
“You came just in time,” Sarah sighed dramatically, “she was just about to start knitting and insisted on showing me how to knit today.”
“I knew I was getting some distressed vibes for a reason,” you gently nudged her side with your elbow, “don’t worry kiddo, I’ll always be there to save you. Especially from old ladies and their knitting. I can’t imagine a worse fate.”
“Seriously,” she unlocked the door and the two of you stepped into the Millers’ quiet house. You liked it here, it felt so homey and lived in, filled with lots of laughs and love. You cringed when you realized how cheesy that sounded, even in your head, but it was true. In the almost two years you’d been with Joel, it had all but become your home too, “did you mean it when you said we’re doing some baking?”
“Sarah, my sweet Sarah,” you kicked off your shoes as you made your way into the kitchen, laughing internally at the half consumed glass of orange juice and cup of coffee from this morning. They had been running late…again. How very on brand for both of them, “would I ever lie to you?”
“You haven’t yet,” she grinned as you nodded.
“And I expected you to always be truthful with me,” you put the dirty dishes into the sink, “did you get all your homework finished?”
“Yup,” she grinned, “finished it with enough time to even sell some hardcore drugs.”
“I’m impressed,” you snorted in amusement, “you managed to get to Mrs. Adler’s, do your homework, sell some drugs, and make it back before anyone noticed you were gone. That is some skill.”
“Totally,” she laughed as you high fived each other. Truth be told, she’d hadn’t been sure about you when Joel first introduced the two of you. And you couldn’t blame her; she was fiercely protective over her father. It had been just the two of them for basically her entire life - her mother, Joel’s wife, had left the two of them when she was only a few months old. She didn’t even remember her own mother. And the idea that a stranger was going to come and change everything? It was terrifying.
But you never pushed or forced yourself into her business, and let her warm up to you. You wondered at first if it had anything to do with the fact that you were a bit younger than Joel, but quickly learned it was all just because she loved him so much. And he loved her just as much and then some. But over time, she’d come to love you too and you loved her.
These days it was Sarah pushing Joel to just finally have you officially move in. Again, that one was on Joel. You weren’t going to push him either. This was just as new for him; you were the only person he’d dated since his wife. But you loved the Millers and you knew that your future held both of them in it. That was all that mattered.
“How about some chocolate chip cookies?” you suggested and her face eagerly lit up as she nodded, “okay but, tell me how much your dad would hate it, if we tried to make pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.”
“He’d love them, but he’d never admit it,” she said and you knew she was right, “how about we make both?”
“A grand plan,” you smiled, “throw on a record and let’s get started. Maybe we can have everything ready before he’s home.”
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“Something smells good,” neither of you had heard Joel come in, but when you turned around you found him leaning against the doorway, a lazy smile on his face. You shook your head in amusement as Sarah ran over to him and hugged, “hey baby girl.”
“You’re home early for once,” she grinned at him, and he playfully rolled his eyes, “that’s what you should be doing, as a man of such advanced age.”
“Thirty-five isn’t advanced, it’s-”
“Ancient,” you finished for him, smiling sweetly as he jokingly flipped you off, “we only tease out of love.”
“Some kind of love,” he huffed, affectionately touching Sarah’s cheek, “go on and set the dining table, okay?”
“Sure,” she smirked, looking between the two of you with a knowing little smile, “you just want to make out. I’m not a child, I know these things!”
“Table,” he groaned, taking her by the shoulders and gently ushered her out of the kitchen. She ran off, giggling under her breath, “and you are a kid!”
“Whatever!”
He turned his attention onto where you were leaning against the counter, setting his arms on either side of your body, affectionately trapping you in his grasp, “the two of you are always ganging up on me. Shoulda known you were going to be trouble.”
“Good trouble?” you reached up and put your hand on his face, swiping your thumb over the apple of his cheek. Joel always was a little rough around the edges, but you loved that about him. You loved how underneath that exterior, he had a kind, gentle heart.
“The best,” he took your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Despite his best efforts, you could still see the faintest blush in his cheeks, “just so you know, I want to make out, but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. We’re saving this for later.”
“Aye aye,” you mock saluted him and he snorted in amusement, “we made cookies. And your favorite for dinner, so I’ll be expecting a lot of thanks later.”
“Baby,” he closed his eyes and groaned softly, “you’re killing me.”
“And you’re letting dinner burn in the oven, so move it,” you put your hands on his hips and shuffled him to the side. You felt him watching your every move closely, “stop staring at my ass and help me, please.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, but it was nothing but fondness…and it didn’t stop him from teasingly slapping your ass as you made a sound of surprise, “now I’ll help.”
“You are the worst, Joel Miller.”
What you really meant was I love you with every fiber of my being, Joel Miller.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“Are you even paying attention to the movie?” you looked up at Joel, and nodded sleepily, pulling yourself off him as if to prove a point. You’d been lying on his chest, his arm around you for the last hour as you tried to focus on whatever silly movie he’d put on, “mhmm.”
“Shh,” you waved him off, “it’s not my fault you have terrible taste in movies.”
“This is a piece of cinema,” he joked, just as someone else on screen was getting their head chopped off, “niche cinema.”
“Sure Joel,” you yawned softly, “it’s getting late. I should-”
“Just stay baby,” he insisted and despite the fact that you knew he would, your stomach flipped happily, “I don’t want you driving late at night when you’re this tired.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist as he tugged you closer to him. You were soft and malleable and let him pull you into his lap, “but you’ve convinced me to stay.”
You leaned in to kiss him, slowly at first, suddenly feeling wide awake. Your body hummed with energy as his hands found purchase on your waist and he kissed you back with just as much eagerness. He really did make good on his makeout promise from earlier. And he kissed you until you were breathless and dizzy, grinning at him shyly.
“You’re so warm and soft,” he mused as his hand dipped under your sweater and spread his fingers along your ribs, “and beautiful.”
“Is that what you say to all the girls?” you teased softly and he let out a bark of laughter.
“Just you,’ he promised, as if you needed some sort of reassurance. You beamed as you leaned into him and peppered kisses along his jaw and down his glorious neck, “you keep this up longer and-”
“We’re not having sex on the couch,” you laughed quietly, a sound that went straight to his heart. He really loved you, he thought at that moment, “where one - Sarah could walk in on us any moment and two - we all sit on here. Bedroom, Miller.”
“Fine,” he pouted and you turned his face up towards yours as you kissed the pout away. A serious look crossed his features when you pulled away, “I’ve been thinking…”
“Uh oh. That’s never a good idea-”
“Hush,” he pressed a finger to his lips and you pressed a kiss to it, “I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time you actually moved in. Officially.”
“Yeah?” your heart swelled and felt like it was about to burst with pure happiness. He nodded and there was a gentle hopeful look in his big brown eyes that you loved, “okay y-yeah. Yes. I’d really like that too.”
“Yeah?” This time it was his turn to ask for reassurance.
“Yeah,” you promised, cradling his handsome face in your hands. You kissed him a few more times, reverent and saccharine, before you pulled back again, “bedroom?”
“You read my mind.”
“Joel?” you paused for just a moment before either of you could move, “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
“Forever?”
“Forever,” he smiled softly, “and then even longer.”
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