#devoted to ex wife | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

Text

Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again?

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad.

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good.

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi?

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous.

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there.

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know.

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger.

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage.

— You’re too young to stop believing in it.

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir.

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him.

— Could you two please stop fucking each other?

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space.

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement.

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time.

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge.

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention.

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention.

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something.

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son.

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing.

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends.

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore.

— I’m not in the mood right now.

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul.

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other.

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did.

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts.

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife.

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you.

— I’m not dumb!

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly.

— You just call me a different type of dumb.

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter.

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this.

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street.

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week.

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir?

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him.

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good.

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer.

— I wanted to study.

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house.

— You mean you and your ex’s house.

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again.

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again.

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying.

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions.

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s.

— Why you need a job?

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money.

— You have me.

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir.

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost.

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone.

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later.

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #yandere cod #cod x you #fem reader #konig cod #konig x you

6K notes · View notes

joelscurls · 8 months

Text

feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.

“Professor!”

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes.

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder.

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask.

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it?

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.”

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.

But Joel isn’t just any man.

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

2K notes · View notes

cherrychilli · 1 year

Text

MDNI, NSFW, AFAB reader, Dilf! Steve, babysitter reader, breeding kink, P in V sex, mentions of pregnancy, age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Steve is in his early 40's)

A/N: Turning this into a wee series. More Dilf! Steve right here

Consider this: Divorced Dilf! Steve who's infatuated with you, the new babysitter. Watching you take care of his kids sends his breeding kink into overdrive and soon enough you're working 'overtime'. He pulls you away and fucks you in the laundry room while the kids are distracted by the TV in the living room. He has one of his palms placed over your mouth, the other gripping your waist as he pounds into you from behind while you're bent over the washing machine. The sound of the running machine helps to drown out your muffled cries but you hear him loud and clear when he leans down to groan against your ear. " 'Bout time you ditched the birth control don't you think, sweetheart?"

You immediately clench around his cock, knees feeling weak as he continues. "You scared of what people might say if they found out that you spread your legs for me?". He pulls you up, your back now flush against his chest, his teeth grazing your neck. "You wouldn't care for very long though would you? you just want me to fill you up- fuck you full. Y'Think I haven't noticed?"

You know exactly what he's insinuating. You wanted a baby of your own. You hadn't expressed it out loud to him but it wasn't a hard guess to make. It showed clearly in the way you loved taking care of his kids and that feeling only deepened when you began to notice the look in his eye whenever you caught him watching you. Spending most of your time there, you liked to image what it would be like to share his home, his bed, a life together. He was nothing short of a devoted father and that only made your attraction to him skyrocket. If he could trust you with his kids it wouldn't be a stretch to assume that he'd trust you with one more, right?

"W-want you to put a baby in me, Steve", you manage to pant out when he removes his hand from your mouth.

You'd only recently begun to call him by his first name in private. You were still getting used to it but you liked the familiarity. 'Mr. Harrington', he decided was far too formal for the girl he'd been railing for over a few months now.

He can feel himself losing it when you talk like that but he maintains a semblance of self control long enough to taunt you. "Bad girl", he chides darkly. "Pretty young thing like you begging to get pregnant. Do you realize what you're asking for?"

If you weren't so cockdrunk right now you might have been able to shoot back a well deserved remark. You were bad? he helped make you that way. He was the one who made you long for the late nights after putting his kids to bed, leading you downstairs so he could eat you out on the couch. Licking and sucking on your swollen clit all while telling you how he couldn't stop thinking about you and your sweet little cunt while he was at the office all day. He was the one who fucked you stupid in the back seat of his car on idle street corners in the middle of the night before dropping you back home after your shift. And he was the one who came inside you minutes before his ex wife was over to pick up the kids, taking too much pleasure in watching you scramble to look presentable as you handed them over to her all while trying to hide that her ex husband's cum was dripping out of you.

"Y'Know how much your body's gonna change if I knocked you up?" he grunted. "You're gonna get big here, obviously" he places his hand over your belly, pressing down on it so he can feel the way his cock's plunging inside you. You choke on a wail. It was already a tight fit but now his cock dragged along your walls with added pressure and pressed against your cervix so hard your eyes were beginning to roll back. "You're gonna be swollen all the time and get really sensitive like right here", his hand glides over your stomach and reaches up to squeeze one of your tits, rolling your perky nipple between his fingers. "These are gonna get so full of milk" he reminds you like the thought of it hadn't already made your pussy gush with fresh arousal. "All because of me. You sure you're ready for all of that?"

"I-I am, I want it so bad", you sob feeling your orgasm approaching fast.

"Wanna make you a daddy again", you manage to whine out before it washed over you.

That did it.

You stopped taking your birth control after that day and used every spare moment you had to let him fuck you around the house, staying over in secret without the kids or his ex wife finding out. It was sordid and blissful and by next month you knew it wouldn't be very much longer until everyone found out as you stared happily at the positive pregnancy test a few days after your period was due.

#steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader

2K notes · View notes

raisedbythetv89 · 1 month

Text

The writers I think mostly completely by accident with the assistance of James charming his way into becoming a main character created the perfect storm to ensure people who love spike would reach absolute peak levels of being completely obsessively deranged about him forever

Season 2:

He’s a punk rock villain with killer cheekbones, enchanting eyes, and an absolutely DEVILISH smile - who’s an incredibly dedicated and dangerous fighter who specifically seeks out challenging fights he’s not guaranteed to win (brave and reckless - normally traits seen in heroes) hates everyone except his mentally ill physically sick wife (the statistics of men who leave their wives when they get sick in the US is horrifying like nurses literally have to warn married women who get sick it happens so often) who he’s hopelessly devoted to and unbelievably soft with and always listens to her while also exuding a psychotic amount of sex appeal and is just F U N he loves being a vampire and he loves fighting and it makes it so much fun for the audience. While still showing how much he respects and admires his enemy for her skill, strength, resourcefulness, and intelligence - NEVER underestimating her just because she’s a tiny blonde girl - and instead of destroying the world for love he SAVES the world for love - a villain doing good to get the love of his life back who essentially dumped him for her ex????????? D E V O T E D and shockingly extremely trustworthy??? And has amazing chemistry with our heroine and is there for a pivotal moment in her life and is the only one there for her when she has no one else????? *enemies to lovers girlies ENTER THE CHAT*

Season 3:

He shows he fucking MEANS IT when he says Dru is the love of his life when he shows up in Sunnydale because he blames Angel not Buffy or Drusilla but the man actually responsible for all their problems and he is the most pathetic mess we’ve ever SEEN!!!! He’s crying and drunk all the time and he’s so sad he goes to Buffy’s mom TO TALK 💀😭 our pathetic sensitive little self admitted lover boy who KNOWS he’s love’s bitch and he won’t be pretending he’s anything otherwise who shows how clearly he sees and understands other people and the depths of his emotional intelligence so much so Buffy herself admits she can’t fool Spike she can fool her friends BUT NOT SPIKE OR HERSELF EXCUSE ME MA’AM WHAT???????

AND Spike doesn’t just uselessly MOPE forever he gets some perspective and is like I know what I’m gonna do to her back and I’m gonna go do that now! 😁👍🏻 showing he never stays down for long and is always gonna get back up to keep fighting for his love while BOTH he and Buffy still honor the truce even though he’s broken it by coming back??? While Buffy’s all “I violently dislike you” YEAH OK GIRL WHATEVER YOU SAY *enemies to lovers girlies chomping at the bit intensifies*

Season 4:

CLEARLY heartbroken about Drusilla (DEVOTED!!!) but it’s turned into anger and resentment directed at Harmony who how bizarre looks nothing like Drusilla but A LOT like Buffy…… hmmmmmmmmmmmmm HOW INTERESTING *enemies to lovers girlies are vibrating with anticipation that turns into a full blown combustion when something blue happens*

Spike doesn’t pretend to love Harmony in order to get what he wants from her (shown in direct contrast to Parker) he’s ironically very honest despite being a villain - he’s showing he’s STILL loyal to Drusilla in ONLY loving her even after she’s dumped him... again!

We see Spike treat Buffy the EXACT same way he treated Drusilla during something blue reaffirming THIS IS HOW THIS MAN LOVES WHEN HE LOVES YOU. He’s extremely affectionate, helpful, protective, caring - D E V O T E D - and is truly just the most certified lover boy we’ve ever fucking seen

Season 5:

SURPRISE HE’S SECRETLY A LOVESICK MAMA’S BOY POET AT HEART UNDERNEATH THE BAD BOY PERSONA AND A PROTECTIVE BIG BROTHER AND NOW BUFFY AND HER FAMILY’S MOST LOYAL DEFENDER AND IS WILLING TO DIE NOT JUST FOR BUFFY BUT FOR ALL THE SUMMERS WOMEN AND HE KNOWS AND SEES BUFFY SO DEEPLY AND INTIMATELY AND CAN HOLD SPACE FOR HER PAIN LIKE NO ON ELSE CAN AND SHOWS THE DEVOTION THAT ONCE BELONGED TO DRUSILLA NOW BELONGS TO BUFFY AND IT IS GOING NOWHERE EVEN WHEN SHE DIES AND WE'VE SEEN IN HIM CRY BEFORE BUT NEVER HAVE WE SEEN HIM BREAK DOWN LIKE HE DOES AT THE SIGHT OF BUFFY'S BODY!!!!!!!!!!!

*all of us screaming, crying, throwing up, climbing the walls and generally just losing our minds*

Season 6:

No soul, his love is so great for Buffy as is his loyalty and devotion to her, he now helps all of his dead love’s friends fight evil and is raising her sister and dreams of saving her every night for 148 nights 🤚🏻😭 don’t even fucking talk to me I can’t take it

Forgive the absolute 180 in tone change here:

Dick game is FIRE - his touch is the only thing that makes Buffy feel alive AND SHE WAS IN HEAVEN BRO SHE KNOWS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE IN HEAVEN AND SPIKE IS THE ONLY THING KEEPING HER GOING like damn girl yes YOU FUCK THAT HOUSE DOWN!!! Also he is now just naked 50% of the time just to drive us all even FURTHER out of our minds and somehow has just gotten even hotter as the seasons have gone on like this is what’s been hiding under the leather jacket all this time! Enjoy!

And THE MOST unintended consequence of jw’s vindictive writing:

SPITE

He clearly didn’t want us to love Spike and tried to manipulate us into hating him in such a blatant and clumsy ooc attempt all that did was weed out the weakest amongst the Spuffy/Spike fans until all that remained were us:

The most devoted and stubborn fans who REFUSED to have the thing they loved ruined or taken away from us and were smart enough to see through his bullshit manipulation attempt in the first place.

Genuinely they created the equivalent of supersoilder strength level fans with this absolutely lethal combination of events 💀

AND THEN as if all that wasn't enough he goes and gets his soul on purpose for Buffy so he can be the man she deserves and she can love him without hating herself for loving him despite the immense pain it will cause him which is the most selfless thing we have ever seen anyone do for Buffy only to be topped when he sacrifices himself to destroy the hellmouth, save the world and free her from Sunnydale!!! Plus ya know once he gets the soul even though he did it for her he never tries to use that as leverage to get anything from her like he truly expects nothing from her at all but still wants to help her and James delivers the most devastating performances we've ever fucking seen, finally tells her friends off which has needed to happen for 5 seasons, the "you're the one speech" him being a dad to all the potentials with Buffy giving us supernatural parent core who made it through their rough patch with their first kid in season 6 with Dawn and now are just the beautiful team with their found family and Buffy finally has someone who can truly carry her burdens with her and just all the tenderness and devotion they both deserve after so many years of pain and fighting. Basically giving the audience the message that even if you have a metric ton of pain and trauma there are people out there who see you and understand you and there is a chance for you to heal both together and separately to build your own version of a more normal and stable life. It's a message of such hope and I personally know several people, including myself who watched what Spike and Buffy have and it inspired us to look at the relationships we were in and realize we deserved SO MUCH MORE than what we were getting and in my case it turned out I was being emotionally abused and manipulated that entire time!! Much like Buffy was by both Riley and Angel. So it isn't an exaggeration to say Spuffy saved my life in a lot of ways both in being there for me at such a dark time and helping me draw a map of how to get out. Not to mention loving them in fandom spaces has helped me connect with so many people just like me who share very similar experiences and have helped me feel so much less alone and has helped me heal in so many ways 🖤

Spuffies get "hOw cAn yOu liKe sPiKe aFtEr wHaT hE dId" all the fucking time and truly the better question is how can you NOT like Spike???? HAVE YOU BEEN PAYING ATTENTION AT ALL??? DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT GOOD RELATIONSHIPS NEED TO WORK?? BECAUSE AT THEIR CORE SPUFFY HAS THEM ALL!

It's jw writing so NOTHING will escape his toxic bullshit but Spike - because he was hated by jw for so long - so much of the time when he tried to make Spike less popular he just kept making him better and more complex and more and more targeted to the female gaze which is exactly why he snapped and made the choices he literally forced everyone else to go along with despite their protests with that scene to make it the most traumatizing scene in all of Buffy history not just for the audience but for the actors as well because yes it is incredibly horrific and upsetting to watch (which is why I skip it on rewatches) but I still am able to see if for what it is which is a narcissist lashing out at people he hates because he hasn't been able to control them and too bad for him I refuse to be manipulated by his bullshit so it failed completely and made so many of us that much more stubbornly protective of Spike and his and Buffy's relationship not just from other fans but from the creator himself 🙃🖕🏻like he basically just trauma bonded us to Spike and Buffy which has led to the creation of one of the most devoted, loyal, intelligent fanbases who is absolutely unhinged (affectionate) with their love of this character and his relationship which is why we are all still creating and writing about this character 25 year later and show absolutely zero signs of slowing down or stopping 💀

#spuffy #spike btvs #meta #btvs meta #spike and buffy meta #spike btvs meta #spuffy meta #also every spuffy I know shares so much life experiences and personality traits with buffy herself like we are often making choices #and judgements about the narrative from the perspective of buffy herself & we’re all picking spike #so many people who pick other love interests truly so often rarely see buffy for who she is either #if you don’t get spuffy you don’t truly understand buffy herself

214 notes · View notes

kurara-black-blog · 28 days

Text

Radioapple Thoughts that live rent free in my mind

Alastor being the most jealous bastard in Hell because he's a possessive and obsessive little shit whose love only manifests as intense, crazed devotion

Lucifer knows by heart Alastor's measurements and has made many clothes for him, some he even sewed by hand

Alastor is jealous of Cat Alastor (no one gets it because the cat is basically him??? Or maybe not??? What even is that thing???)

Alastor's cane is sentient and it will play some love songs if Alastor is ever lost in his thoughts of Luci or sharing a quiet moment with Luci

Alastor is jealous of Angel Dust (Al, Angel flirts with everyone, chill)

Lucifer is the strongest being in Hell, period, and Alastor goes feral whenever he sees his little King show his true powers

Alastor is jealous of Adam (he knows Lucifer would not want anything with the guy that almost killed his daughter, but still, he feels nauseous when Luci talks about his time in Eden with the first man for a friend)

Lucifer, despite mostly using he/him, doesn't really have a concept of gender and he abhors gender roles in general, meaning he'll take whatever form he feels more comfortable with himself at the moment... And meaning Alastor will dress him up in all fashion choices from his time period as much as he can

Alastor is jealous of Lilith (ok, that one is forgiven. Also, it's always a treat to see the little king plead him to not hunt his ex wife even though his entire face is yellow and his eyes are twinkling in gratitude)

Lucifer and Alastor don't engage in sexual activities frequently, but they do adore the intimacy of being naked and vulnerable with someone who chose not to kill you. Shared baths where they clean and polish each other's hooves are common

Alastor is jealous of his own shadow (again, CHILL, that's literally a part of you!!! It just wanted to give Luci a pretty flower!!!!!)

Instead of a wedding band or a promise ring, they gifted each other rings made with the bones of their own ring fingers. In fact, body parts being used as accessories become very common for them. Lucifer usually gifts cufflinks while Alastor gifts earrings

Alastor is jealous of Stolas (that's the literally the most outlandish one, like, Stolas is a hellborn noble, Luci is only his boss. Ok, maybe they bonded over the bad divorce, the shitty parental figures, the beloved daughters they have no idea how to interact with... But Stolas has a boyfriend! That he clearly loves! Do not kill the first friend Luci made after the divorce)

The only times Alastor willingly watches TV is when he cuddles with Lucifer in the couch and they spend the next hour shit talking Vox' show

Alastor is jealous of Vox, but he'd rather be shot again than admit it (Luci said he wouldn't mind a quickie with the TV guy and said TV guy's far too much interested in Alastor's relationship with the King [Alastor, please, he likes you])

The "keep the musical pieces at 2 per day" rule is not for Charlie, but for them

Alastor is jealous of Alastor (all Luci did was make an offhand comment about Alastor looking more handsome while alive. Thank God time traveling is not possible for sinners)

Lucifer has terrible abandonment issues and Alastor being willing to fight for their relationship against threats that aren't even there while not even once blaming Lucifer for other people's action makes him feel very loved

Still can't eat Stolas, Alastor. Nor Angel. Nor the cat. Adam might give you a tummy ache.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #radioapple #appleradio #duckiedeer

188 notes · View notes

justlemmeadoreyou · 2 months

Text

hopelessly devoted to you - 4

Summary: The divorce battle is here, and Harry has prepared you well. Will it go exactly how you wish it should?

Words: 4.3k+

Warnings: angst, crying, insecurities, a divorce and custody battle in court, a kiss. fluff too!

previous part here | series masterlist

The morning of the custody hearing, the courthouse was tense. . You walked in hand-in-hand with Harry, drawing strength from his reassuring presence. Elliot was already there, stone-faced with his arrogant lawyer in tow. The second you made eye contact, his expression twisted into a sneer, looking at you with so much anger and disgust.

Harry leaned in close as you took your seats. "Don't worry about him, yeah? We've got this in the bag as long as you stick to the truth."

He knew that Elliot still had an impact on you, years of torture doesn’t just slip away in one day. But when he wanted to pull you down, he knew he needed to be the support you could climb on to.

You gave a jerky nod, your stomach tying itself in knots. Despite all the evidence and preparation, a nagging voice whispered that it could all go wrong. That Elliot might somehow slither his way out unscathed like he always did. That he would take your daughter away from you, and you would end up with nothing.

The courtroom quieted as the bailiff's gruff voice rang out. "All rise for the honorable Judge Peterson."

Here we go.

The opening statements set an ominous tone. Elliot's lawyer, an oily shark of a man, wasted no time painting you as a scorned, unstable wife making reckless accusations against his client. He portrayed Elliot as a doting family man being unfairly persecuted. A man who was always devoted to his family, and never showed even the tiniest bit of anger toward you.

What a lie, what a lie, what a lie.

But the facade he was putting on didn’t seem to be working. He kept looking down, at the walls, at the stenographer, but never straight front, like an honest person would

Harry's jaw tensed, but his rebuttal was measured and methodical. Over the next few minutes, he clearly outlined the mountain of evidence against your soon-to-be ex -eyewitness testimonies, the drunken, unhinged video from your mother's home, and most damningly, Ellie's own statement about the threatening "uncle" who accompanied Elliot.

You could see the first fissures of doubt cracking Elliot's cocky veneer when Harry finished. His smug lawyer already looked rattled.

Finally, you were called to the stand. Harry's steadfast gaze assured you as you raised your right hand to be sworn in. This was it - time to confront your demons once and for all.

"In your own words, can you describe the sequence of events that led you to pursue this divorce and custody case against Mr. Harris?" the judge prompted in a neutral tone.

You took a fortifying breath and launched into your well-practiced testimony. Every sickening detail, from the escalating verbal and emotional abuse to Elliot's drunken rampages, poured out in an unstoppable torrent. In front of you, Ellie huddled against your mother's side, her little face pale. You never wanted her to listen to these horrors you had experienced, but her testimony was important for the case too. Plus, it was the hearing for her custody, so she had to be present.

Elliot's lawyer tried to shake you, pelting you with ruthless character attacks about being a negligent mother, a cheating wife, an alcoholic with anger issues.

But, Harry had prepped you well.

"Look him in the eye and don't let his tactics rattle you. He's trying to make you doubt yourself, but we both know your truth."

So you steeled yourself and stared Elliot down, refusing to be cowed any longer. The more you spoke, the more flustered and furious his lawyer became until he finally sputtered to a halt, realizing his tactics weren't landing.

When you finally stepped down, Harry's proud smile was all the reassurance you needed. The evidence was mounting, the cracks in Elliot's case becoming increasingly apparent. You could sense the momentum shifting in your favor.

The final twist came during Elliot's ex-buddy's testimony. His so-called "friend" strode in, flanked by guards, having been detained on an unrelated matter. The guy's sheer size and plethora of vivid tattoos made it instantly clear why Ellie had been so frightened.

Elliot kept shooting venomous glares at the hulking man, until the shocking revelation dropped - Elliot had hired this terrifying figure as hired muscle to muscle you into giving up Ellie during their confrontation at her school. He was going to take Ellie home with him, once he had threatened you when you came to pick her up.

Pandemonium erupted. Elliot was forcibly restrained as he launched himself towards his traitorous former ally, bellowing vile curses and threats, even spitting at him. The judge had to call a recess while order was restored, the courtroom buzzing with shocked murmurs.

When proceedings finally resumed, the flinty-eyed judge stared Elliot down as a broken, bitter man. Any veneer of upstanding family man had been irrevocably shattered, leaving only a twisted bully raging against consequences of his own making.

At long last, Judge Peterson took a fortifying breath and delivered her ruling. "In light of the preponderance of evidence pointing to ongoing domestic abuse, alcoholism, and reckless endangerment of a minor, I am awarding full legal and physical custody of the child to Mrs. Y/N Y/L/N . Mr. Elliot Harris will be granted supervised visitation rights upon completion of court-mandated therapy and rehabilitation, to be re-evaluated quarterly."

You sagged in your seat, all the tension fleeing in a rush of dizzying relief. It was over. You had won. Tears were welling up in your eyes, but you didn’t want to cry. Not right now.

Harry was beside you in an instant, strong arms enveloping you in a fierce hug. "You were incredible, darling," he murmured against your hair, steadying you while happy tears streamed down your cheeks. "You never gave up fighting for your little girl. I'm so damned proud of you."

His warm breath caressed your skin as you tilted your head back to gaze up at him, savoring the admiration and affection blazing in his expression. For weeks you had fought to ignore the deepening feelings simmering between you. There was a connection, an intimacy that went far beyond even close friends.

Now, caught in his tender embrace, everything suddenly felt so complicated. This remarkable man had strode into your life like a soothing balm, sheltering you and Ellie from the ugliness with his steadfast strength and kindness. He had faced down your darkest demons and emerged victorious, like a knight in shining armor.

Surely you couldn't be naive enough to believe he felt anything more for you than loyalty between friends and allies? And even if he did share the growing spark you felt, acting on it would only stir up more upheaval in the wake of this custody battle, wouldn't it?

You almost convinced yourself that Harry sensed your spiraling doubts at that moment. His bright green eyes dimmed ever so slightly, letting you tuck away whatever fragile intimacy had been blooming between you.

Instead, he simply rested his forehead against yours for a heartbeat, offering you a tender smile before releasing you from his arms.

Right, back to being consummate professionals.

"Let's go get your little girl so we can celebrate properly, eh?" he murmured, clearing his throat. "I'll call for a car to take us back to mine. Pizza and a night in watching crappy telly. Think Ellie would like that?"

You had no place to live, and in a moment, he had given you a home and a promise–of keeping you and your daughter safe till you parted ways.

Parted ways.

You managed a shaky laugh, ignoring the dull ache in your heart as the moment passed. "She'd love it. Thank you, Harry...for everything."

So you followed him obediently towards the corridor where your mother was waiting with Ellie. For the time being, you would bask in your hard-won victory and focus on nothing but enjoying this reprieve. As for whatever was simmering between you and Harry...that would have to wait.

Because you couldn't afford more complications right now. Not when you were both still putting the shattered pieces of your respective lives back together. Not when the slightest miscalculation could unravel the fragile peace and security you had fought so hard for.

So you pushed away the nagging awareness of all the lingering glances, the heated charged moments when you gravitate towards one another without thought. The profound sense of being utterly seen and cherished for the first time in your life.

All of that would need to be firmly locked away for now, you decided as Harry swept Ellie up into his arms amid her delighted squeals. The way he blinked rapidly to hold back tears you pretended not to notice. The tender, protective way his free hand found the small of your back as he ushered you both out of the courthouse towards your waiting car.

He was fulfilling something he didn’t have to.

For this little while, you would dwell only on the joy. On reveling in your fresh start, free from the shackles of abuse and toxicity that had haunted you for so long. When the time was right to face your blossoming connection with this man who had become your steadfast champion, you would find the courage to lean into those feelings.

But first, you would savor this night with your daughter and the closest friend you now considered family. You would let Ellie's happy laughter soothe every last ache as you snuggled on Harry's plush sofa watching terrible rom-coms and eating a greasy pizza.

Tomorrow could bring what it may. Tonight, you were simply basking in your own rebirth alongside your two favorite people in the world.

The next few weeks passed in a cozy, domestic blur. True to his word, Harry insisted you and Ellie stay with him to decompress after the emotional turmoil of the custody battle. His spacious flat became your safe haven, a sanctuary where you could begin piecing your little family back together.

With Ellie happily ensconced in the guest room surrounded by plush toys and her favorite books, you found yourself settling into an easy routine with Harry. Mornings were spent enjoying elaborate breakfasts he seemed to delight in whipping up - blueberry pancakes drizzled with sweet lemon curd, thick-cut bacon, and frothy hot chocolates for your girl.

"She barely ate anything for months with all the stress," you admitted one morning, watching Ellie devour her third pancake with unbridled glee. "It's such a relief to see her appetite back."

Harry merely reached over to squeeze your hand, offering you that soul-soothing smile. "She's got her mum back now. And she knows she's finally safe."

You tried not to dwell too much on the way those words settled deep in your bones like a warm caress. How you lived for the casual touches, the reassuring embraces that always seemed to ground you so effortlessly. For the first time in forever, you felt truly seen in a way that transcended the ugliness of your past.

Evenings were spent watching musicals and Disney classics cuddled on the sofa, Ellie snuggled between you both. Her delighted giggles as Harry crooned along to the silliest songs in that rich baritone never failed to make your heart swell. Sometimes you would glance over to find him already watching you with an achingly soft expression, his gaze heated yet tender.

Those were the moments your breath would catch, the awareness of him washing over you with heady intensity before you quickly averted your stare. Falling for your knight in sharply-tailored armor would only lead to catastrophe, you constantly reminded yourself.

Because Harry was planning to request a transfer out of the city once your divorce was finalized.

"Big changes are in order for me too, love," he confessed one evening after Ellie had dozed off between you, her beloved stuffed bunny clutched in her arms. "I've been feeling the need to shake things up for a while now, get out of the big city's toxic rat race. Go to a more quiet place."

You tried not to let your broken expression show, focusing instead on stroking Ellie's soft curls. "That makes sense. You've more than earned a fresh start after...well, everything."

Harry hummed in agreement, lazily tracing patterns on your knee with the pads of his fingertips - an idle gesture that nevertheless sent shivers down your spine and heat lancing through your core.

It was a harmless habit you had gotten yourself, feeling safe with his touch on your body.

You would have to get rid of it soon too.

"Who knows, maybe I'll finally make good on that dream of opening a practice in some sleepy seaside town where the most vicious crimes are petty theft and parking violations," he teased, emerald eyes twinkling mischievously.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't quite banish your looming sense of loss. The thought of this man eventually exiting your life, leaving just another Harry-shaped hole...it was unfathomable after everything you'd been through together. But you would never ask him to derail his aspirations just to assuage your own growing fears of abandonment.

No, you loved him and–

Oh.

Oh shit.

You loved him.

And loving means knowing how to let go.

"Well wherever you end up, I hope a certain little moppet will be welcome to visit her favorite uncle from time to time," you replied, aiming for a lighter tone.

Harry's penetrating gaze flickered over your face, savoring every feature in a way that made you flush with self-consciousness. "Nothing would make me happier," he rasped, his voice thick with an undercurrent of emotion that sent your heart racing.

You cleared your throat and quickly glanced away, cursing your traitorous heart. Allowing yourself to indulge in the growing spark between you would only lead to more pain when he eventually left. It was better to savor these peaceful moments without becoming ensnared by the hope of anything more lasting.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," you said, forcing a smile. "I'm sure Ellie will be heartbroken when you inevitably move on to greener pastures."

Harry's expression faltered, a shadow of hurt flickering across his features before he schooled his face into a neutral mask. "You're right, of course," he murmured, shifting his gaze to Ellie's sleeping form. "I wouldn't want to upset the little one."

An awkward silence fell between you, the air thick with unspoken tension. You hated the way you could practically feel the walls going up around him, the fragile intimacy you'd shared fracturing under the weight of your own doubts and fears.

Desperate to recapture the easy camaraderie you'd found, you reached out and squeezed his hand. "Harry, I...I don't mean to push you away. It's just—" You sighed, struggling to find the right words. "This has all been so overwhelming, and I can't bear the thought of Ellie getting her heart broken when you inevitably leave.” you took a applause, before saying, “Like everyone else does”

And that shattered Harry’s heart.

His grip tightened around your fingers, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. "I understand, love. Believe me, I don't want to hurt either of you. But I hope you know that no matter where I end up, you and Ellie will always have a place in my life."

You offered him a watery smile, your heart swelling with gratitude and affection for this incredible man. "Thank you, Harry. That means more to me than you know."

He returned your smile, the warmth in his gaze making your breath catch. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss him, to let yourself get lost in the comfort and security of his embrace.

But you couldn't. Not when the future was so uncertain, not when your wounds were still so fresh. So you settled for savoring the tender intimacy of the moment, committing every detail to memory.

So you smiled and changed the subject. Because you were the one who chose this path by pursuing divorce, setting into motion the dominos that would ultimately rob you of Harry's steadfast presence. This day had always been coming.

Still, you couldn't regret finally summoning the courage to shed your shackles and start anew, no matter how bittersweet the cost. For the first time in her young life, Ellie could simply revel in being a normal little girl without the specter of her father's anger and demons looming. You had given your daughter the truest gift of all - the freedom to grow up unchained by fear and toxicity.

Looking at Harry cuddling her sleeping form, his handsome face awash in tender adoration, you felt a sudden flare of bone-deep gratitude for this remarkable man despite the pain of his future absence. You would carry the strength and resilience he had shown you for the rest of your days.

So you allowed yourself a fleeting moment of weakness, reaching over to interlace your fingers with his where they rested on Ellie's back. Harry froze at the contact, eyes snapping up to bore into yours with molten intensity. His sharp inhale was clearly audible in the stillness of the room.

But you simply angled your body to face him fully, committing every chiseled plane and nuance of his expression to memory - from those soulful evergreen irises to the dusting of freckles across his proud nose to those ridiculously lush lips you had definitely not imagined kissing more than once.

You didn't speak, though. Somehow you both instinctually understood that words would only taint the profound intimacy thrumming between you in that suspended heartbeat.

Then you released his hand, the moment fracturing before your heart could betray you even further. Harry gulped harshly, his throat bobbing as he visibly steadied himself. The air itself seemed to shiver with all the things you refused to acknowledge aloud.

This connection - this blissful yet transient pas de deux you had stumbled into with your dearest friend and savior - was too profound to be reduced to something as ephemeral as mere words. It simply was, and you would soak in every remaining second before you inevitably drifted apart.

Because people like Harry Styles didn't stick around forever, no matter how desperately you might wish it. He was a brilliant, vital force of nature destined for a grand future full opportunity. While you, well...you were just the broken divorcee still only beginning to rebuild your life from the ashes.

So you would let him go with your blessing, just as he had given you the greatest gift imaginable - your precious Ellie's hand to cling to as you stepped out of the shadows and into the warmth at long last. As you inhaled the gentle citrus notes of his cologne that had become such a source of comfort, you swore to cherish every beautiful memory this extraordinary man had gifted you.

Then tomorrow would come, and the future would wash over you with its inevitable tides of change. But for tonight, you had this: your baby girl secure in Harry's loving embrace, oblivious to the bittersweet poignant permeating the air. The sense of belonging, even if it was only fleeting.

So you smiled and tucked yourself against Ellie's side to bask in their combined warmth, feeling more whole and cherished than you ever dared to dream. The outside world and all its tumult could wait until morning. Here and now in this fragile cocoon, you had finally rediscovered your sense of home.

The next few weeks passed in a cozy, domestic blur. Harry's spacious flat became your safe haven, a sanctuary where you could begin piecing your little family back together. Mornings were spent enjoying elaborate breakfasts he seemed to delight in whipping up, while evenings were spent watching musicals and Disney classics cuddled on the sofa.

And through it all, Harry had been your steadfast champion, your guiding light. Even if the future held the inevitability of his departure, you knew that the indelible mark he'd left on your life would continue to sustain you.

So as you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on Harry's shoulder, you allowed yourself to savor the fragile beauty of this moment. Tomorrow would come soon enough, with all its uncertainties and challenges. But for now, you were home.

In the days that followed, you found yourself clinging to those precious moments of stillness and contentment. The easy camaraderie you and Harry had built slowly began to mend, the awkwardness of your previous conversation fading into the background.

Ellie's joyful laughter and unbridled enthusiasm were a balm to your soul, and you reveled in watching her blossom under Harry's doting attention. He seemed to have an innate knack for making her feel safe, treasured – qualities you'd long feared your daughter would never experience.

As you observed the two of them together, you couldn't help but find yourself falling deeper under Harry's spell. The way he looked at Ellie, with such pure, unconditional love, made your heart swell with a yearning you dared not give voice to. And when his gaze would shift to you, the tenderness and raw adoration shining in those mesmerizing green eyes left you positively breathless.

Still, you resisted the urge to lean into that budding connection, reminding yourself of the inevitable heartbreak that would follow. Harry's plans to leave the city were a constant presence in the back of your mind, a relentless drumbeat that refused to be silenced.

But as the days turned into weeks, and your divorce was finalized without incident, you found yourself growing bolder. Little by little, you allowed the walls around your heart to crumble, letting Harry's presence seep into the cracks. His unwavering support, his fierce loyalty – it was a lifeline you clung to .

And when he would catch you watching him, that all-too-familiar heat blooming in the depths of his gaze, you didn't look away. Instead, you'd hold his stare, daring him to make the first move, to finally tear down the fragile barriers you'd both erected.

The simmering tension between you was palpable, a living, breathing thing that threatened to consume you both. You knew you were playing with fire, risking the precious friendship you'd forged in the crucible of your darkest moments. You couldn't resist Harry's warmth and devotion.

Harry reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. The simple gesture sent electricity crackling down your spine, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I can't stop thinking about you. About us."

Your heart pounded in your ears as you slowly opened your eyes, drowning in the vulnerability etched across his handsome features. "Harry..." you breathed, your fingers trembling as you covered his hand with your own.

"I know it's complicated, and that I'm planning to leave," he continued, his thumb tenderly caressing your cheek. "But I can't deny this any longer. The way I feel about you, it's...it's everything."

You found yourself nodding, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as the weight of his confession settled over you. "I feel it too, Harry. God, I've tried so hard to ignore it, but—"

He silenced you with a gentle press of his fingers against your lips, his gaze burning with an intensity that stole your breath away. "Then don't," he murmured, his face inching closer to yours. "Don't ignore it. Let me in, Y/N. Please."

The world seemed to slow to a crawl as you stared into the depths of his eyes, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation. But all you found was a fierce, unwavering adoration that threatened to unravel you completely.

Slowly, reverently, you lifted a trembling hand to cup his jaw, marveling at the soft scratch of his stubble against your palm.

"Well, then, I guess one man's trash is another man's treasure," you said, the words slipping out without a second thought. The smile faded from Harry's lips, his brow furrowing.

"Don't ever say that again." His voice was soft yet firm. "You are a treasure. You're my treasure. But you were never anything less than that, not to me."

Before you could respond, he leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss. All the unspoken feelings between you ignited, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. You melted into his embrace, your fingers tangling in his soft curls as you surrendered to the passion consuming you both.

His lips moved against yours in a way that had you melting into him. His touch was soft, almost as if trying not to break you.

When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, you found yourself drowning in the sheer adoration etched across his face. "Bloody hell, you're everything," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. "I didn't mean to fall for you, but I can't imagine my life without you in it."

You chuckled weakly, your fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. "I think it's a little late for that, Harry. I'm afraid you're stuck with me now."

His answering smile was dazzling, a glimpse of the boundless joy that had been lurking beneath the surface. "Good. That's exactly how I want it."

In that moment, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you and the sleeping child you both cherished. The future was still very much uncertain for you, but it seemed less uncertain when you knew you had Harry.

You knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, not with Harry's departure coming. But as you curled up against him, Ellie's soft breaths ghosting across your skin, you felt a profound sense of peace wash over you.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)

feedback | masterlist

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge @mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld @chesthairrry @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs @hisparentsgallerryy @storyschanging @selluequestrian @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran @princessaxoxo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hermoinelove @chronicallybubbly @angeldavis777

217 notes · View notes

redrosesandcharmingsouls · 3 months

Text

“Alicent would be a conservative religious trad wife in a modern AU-“ WRONG .She would be a popular girl in high school who is too kind to be a toxic girlboss but does have a very weird codependent thing with Rhaenyra where she feels jealous of her but is still devoted to her and is afraid to step from her shadow ,whilist having a crush on her very controversial ex Criston ,and then they become besties after her and Rhanyra’s dramatic falling out which was showed when Alicent started to wear green (color Rhaenyra said they couldn’t wear on Monday) .Her and Larys have a lot of weird things going on like he is obsessed with her in a very weird way but he is one of the few who stayed after her falling out with Rhanyra and she kind of likes him and has compassion for him and they gossip a lot (Criston is invited) and he is helping her to become class president .Until something weird happens to Harwin (he doesn’t die tho) .She still has daddy issues and her dad is still pretty much grooming her into making a good marriage and choosing a career e that will help her make money (literature teachers don’t make money) and some brother angst as well (Gwayne feels sooo much jealousy towards her) and she is still a good Catholic girl who is defineteky not a bisexual who has very clearly pent up rage and trauma and really wants to stab people .

#alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #modern AU #criston cole #Larys Strong #Rhaenyra Targaryen #otto hightower #gwayne hightower #I have thoughts of her as an adult but this AU was funnier #hotd text #viola.txt

246 notes · View notes

faun-the-fawn77 · 12 days

Text

"𝕃𝕀ℙ𝕊 𝕆𝔽 𝔸ℕ 𝔸ℕ𝔾𝔼𝕃"

Lucifer Morningstar x F!Angel!Reader

Genre: fluff and angst

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: manipulation, gaslighting, fluff so sweet it'll hurt your teeth, ooc(?) Lucifer, reader hates Lilith, Lilith is a bitch, and so is Michael

Part Two

Desc: When Lucifer Fell, it wasn't because of his ideals or that he "fell in love" with Lilith OR that he tempted Eve with the Apple. Lilith was poison from the start and manipulated him into giving Eve the apple. He was devoted to one person in creation and that was his wife, Y/N. He was devastated when he Fell and when Lilith told him that Y/N couldn't love him anymore? That broke him. After years of no contact with Heaven, Lucifer let his daughter, Charlie, attend one of the meetings with Heaven for him. What Charlie didn't expect was for her fathers ex(?)lover to be there with Adam and Lute. Or that Charlie would learn more about her mother. She made sure her father would get back in contact with his long lost love. Lucifer got a phone call that night from someone... in Heaven? Now who could that be?

Note: Sorry for the long description but like- I need you guys to have context for my stories, especially song fics. I want to jump right into the music and writing so you guys will be getting extended summaries. Hope you stick around!

Another note: Poll at bottom once ur done reading! be sure to read the note at the end:)

Honey, why you calling me so late?

It’s kinda hard to talk right now

Honey, why you crying, is everything okay?

I gotta whisper ‘cause I can’t be too loud

The abrupt sound of “Highway To Hell” By AC/DC ringing out into the night is what woke the Devil from his slumber. He patted around the black wooden night stand for the loud contraption. His bleary eyes wincing at the brightness of the screen, he saw that the beginning of the number starts with (444). Squinting his eyes, he ran a clawed hand through his bed head and sat up. Glancing back at Lilith and then at the number from Heaven, he sighed and slipped his robe on, stumbling out the door and into his study.

“What in the unholy Hell is someone from Heaven calling me for…” He hesitated for a second before swiping up and answering the call.

There was no sound on the other end for a while before Lucifer growled and gripped his phone tighter, “If this is some kinda prank then I won’t hesitate to-”

“Luci..?”

Lucifer held his breath. His mind raced a mile a minute once that voice came through the line. He closed his eyes shut to prevent the onslaught of tears to fall from his red eyes.

“Luci…please.” His breathing picked up. This wasn’t real. Some fucked up motherfucker was playing some sorta sick prank on him. There’s no way his wi- Ex…wife was calling him. Him! He went to hang up, thumb hovering over the red button when that gentle voice came through again, “Luci, it’s really me. Please don’t go…”

Lucifer bit his lip. He let out a shaky breath and brought the phone to his pointed ear. The sound of her labored breathing could be heard, like she was trying to not cry.

“Y/N/N? Is…is this really you?” Sniffles were heard from the other end before soft laughter followed. Lucifer fell down into the loveseat near the window in his study.

“Yes Luci, it’s really me.” The sound of his wife’s voice made Lucifer melt into the loveseat. It’s been eons since he’s heard her voice… and now he wants nothing more than to see her. To feel her. Hug her. Do everything with her.

“Honey, why’re you calling so late? Can’t you see the stars right now?” A sound came from Lucifer and Lilith’s shared room which caused the little Devil to silence himself before speaking again in a whisper, “It’s kinda hard to talk right now. Sorry, honey.”

It was quiet for a few seconds before whimpers and sniffles sounded on the other end. Y/N was crying. His darling wife was upset.

Not knowing what to do at that point of time, Lucifer shushed her gently, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m right here. Is everything okay, honey? Why’re you crying?” Lucifer clutched his phone tightly. His eyes watered up at the thought of not being able to hold onto her.

“I miss you, Luci. I miss you so much!” Her voice echoed in the study room. Lucifer pulled his phone away to listen, in case Lilith woke up from the noise. He put his phone back to his ear with a smile.

“I miss you too, darling. I’m sorry for being so quiet. I gotta whisper ‘cause I can’t be too loud at the moment.” Y/N hummed and he could hear the smile on her lips.

“Is it because of Charlie? Oh she is such a sweetie! Her and I-”

“Charlie? You met- How’d you meet Charlie?” Lucifer couldn’t fathom how his sweet apple met with his angelic wife. Y/N couldn't leave Heaven. After he Fell, he had heard from Adam that they kept Y/N on a tight leash to make sure she wouldn’t follow after him.

“Oh! Said she had a meeting with Heaven! Said she and her wonderful girlfriend were sent by you to represent you!” That’s when it clicked. He had that phone call from Charlie a while back about wanting to go to Heaven to talk about her hotel to the higher-ups. Lucifer got her into Heaven that day. What he didn’t realise is that Charlie had a chance at meeting his wife. Or was she considered his ex? They never officially divorced and he and Lilith never married…

“Her idea is brilliant by the way,” Y/N whispered softly. This caught him by surprise. Surprise because he thought that his brother, Michael, would’ve brain washed her into thinking he was the bad guy. That he was evil incarnate.

“You…support it? Her dream?” Lucifer felt like shit. All this time, after hearing nonstop from his daughter about her hotel and plan, it took him getting a call from his wife to make him realize how shitty of a father he was.

“I do.”

And that struck him in the heart. It was her first encounter with Charlie and she already supported her. Lucifer held a breath and released it after a few seconds.

Well, my girl’s in the next room

Sometimes I wish she was you

I guess we never really move on

It’s really good to hear your voice saying my name

It sounds so sweet

Coming from the lips of an angel

Hearing those words, it makes me weak

And I never wanna say goodbye

But, girl, you make it hard to be faithful

With the lips of an angel

“It’s not because of Charlie…is it.” Lucifer perked up.

“What?”

“The reason you have to be quiet.” Lucifer stilled.

Lucifer couldn’t speak. The tone of voice Y/N had made him shiver. She sounded…numb. Empty. He knew then that she was referring to Lilith.

“She’s in the next room. She doesn’t know…” Lucifer couldn’t finish. He already hated this topic. Lilith was what caused this. Lucifer took a breath and whispered out, “I wish she was you, Y/N.”

He never moved on from Y/N. She was his everything. She will always be his one and only. His light. His angel.

It was silent. Too silent. Lucifer chewed on his bottom lip with anxiousness. He knew when Y/N was upset and right now? Very upset. He remembered the first argument they had. Lucifer went down to the garden to welcome the two new humans his Father created. Adam was awed while Lilith had indifference. That intrigued Lucifer. Lucifer would talk to Adam about the stars while Lilith went off on her own to do whatever it is she does. One day, Lucifer followed after her. He found her in a flowering clearing with a pond. She was knelt next to it. Lucifer walked up to her and noticed that she was ripping the petals off the most beautiful of flowers.

“And why damage something with life that grew so beautifully?” Lilith looked up at the archangel and smirked. That should’ve been his first sign.

“They aren’t as beautiful as me though, right?” Lucifer hesitated before shaking his head. That should’ve been the second.

“No! You are… very pretty.” Lucifer didn’t want to get on this human’s bad side, “but that is no reason to rip off the petals. Envy is a sin.”

Lilith cackled at the last quip. If Lucifer had caught it, he would’ve realised that she was evil incarnate, not him.

When Lucifer returned to Heaven after visiting the humans, he bumped into his wife at the Golden Gates. Her arms were crossed and her rosy lips were set into frown.

“What’s wrong, my star?” Lucifer reached out only for Y/N to swat away the appendage. She glared at him and in a high pitched voice, mimicked Lilith, “They aren’t as beautiful as me though, right?”

Lucifer paled. He didn’t know she followed him down that day. He knew he was in the wrong. He should’ve stopped Lilith’s flirting. He should’ve stopped when he noticed how Lilith looked at him.

“Honey, I-”

“Save it. You should’ve known better, Lucifer. Women, even angelic ones like myself, are good at getting what we want.” Y/N walked off, back to their house. Lucifer felt terrible. He did know that. The angelic females in Heaven knew what they wanted and always got what they wanted, though what they wanted ranged from the sweetest things like new constellations or a new animal to be sent down to Earth that was of their own creation.

“Lucifer, I di-”

“It’s really good to hear your voice, sweetheart. I can’t get enough of you saying my name again, even if we’re on a topic that upsets you,” Lucifer admitted. He could hear his wife choke a bit before giggling.

“Oh yeah?”

Lucifer smirked, “Oh yes. Especially since they’re coming from the lips of a beautiful angel.”

He could hear her stuttering on the other end. He was proud of himself that he still had that effect on her. He was always the charismatic one. She was always the kind one.

“I bet, Luci, that you’re still just as handsome as when you were here.” Lucifer felt his already reddened cheeks heat up more. Since when did his cute, shy, and sweet wife have this side to her?

“Hells, hearing you say that really makes me weak in the knees, sweetheart,” Lucifer groaned. His heart was beating faster and he felt his hands get clammy. He wanted her badly.

Bed squeaking could be heard in the next room over which caused Lucifer to shut up. He waited with bated breath for the sound of footsteps but none ever came. He released the breath he was holding, running his claws through his tousled blonde hair.

“I never wanna say goodbye, Luci,” Y/N’s voice sounded suddenly. Lucifer smiled. He never wanted this phone call to end either. He knew that next time there was a meeting with Heaven, he was going.

It’s funny that you’re calling me tonight

And, yes, I’ve dreamt of you too

And does he know you’re talking to me?

Will it start a fight?

No, I don’t think she has a clue

Lucifer chuckled to himself. Something in himself thinks this is all a dream. That it’s not real. I mean, talking to his wife? He feels like he’s walking on clouds again.

“What’s so funny, mister?” And Hells, he’d never tire of her voice.

“It’s just funny to me that I got a phone call from you of all angels. That you actually called after everything that happened…” Lucifer leaned back in the seat. His eyes shut and he rested his free hand over his eyes.

“Luci, I never believed Michael’s lies.” Lucifer sat up. His grip tightened on the black hellphone.

“Never..? But I was told…”

“Whatever you were told was a lie. Lilith is a lying, manipulating bitch. When I saw her in the Garden with you I almost lost my cool. Do you know why she was so flirty? It’s because she saw me and wanted to piss me off. It worked, I’ll give her that.” Lucifer was stunned. Lilith knew? Y/N knew? Then why…

“I never told you because I wanted you to figure it out. I wanted you to realise how toxic she was. That she was using you to get to me. She knew you were the angel everyone talked about and wanted. And she wanted what others couldn’t have.” Lucifer felt that flicker of anger in his heart burst forth. His horns grew and his tail swished around angrily. His breathing was heavy. He wanted to storm into his bedroom and rid that piece of filth from existence!

“Luci! Don’t do anything yet…I have a plan.”

Lucifer settled down and sat back in the loveseat. He used his tail to hold the phone to his ear and clenched his fists to hold back the anger.

“What plan?”

“I can’t say right now… someone is listening.” Her voice lowered at the end. Lucifer understood that she was being watched so he kept his cool and changed topics.

“You know…I’ve been dreaming of you. Every night since I fell.” Lucifer looked out the window of his study to see the blood red sky. The sight of Heaven made him sad. He wanted so badly to be up there with her once again.

“I’ve dreamt of you too, my light bringer.” Her voice was sweet. It was like honey and vanilla. Lucifer smiled. He could listen to her talk all day. Did he say that twice? Oh well, he was whipped.

“Does he… does Michael know you’re talking to me right now?” Lucifer almost regretted that question.

“No, he doesn’t. He will when my plan goes through, though.” Lucifer smirked. He couldn’t wait to hear what his brother does when he learns that Y/N was talking to the Devil. He could already picture the steam blowing out his ears.

“And you’re positive that that witch doesn’t know that you are talking to me right now?” Lucifer chuckled at his wife’s bitterness at the mere mention of Lilith.

“No, she doesn’t. She’s honestly a heavy sleeper.” Y/N hummed. That bit of info made her plan easier.

“I want to talk more about Charlie! She’s just so sweet and she reminds me so much of you, hon.” Lucifer leaned forward in his seat and both started talking about the sweet creature that was Charlie Morningstar.

Well, my girl’s in the next room

Sometimes I wish she was you

I guess we never really moved on

It’s really good to hear your voice saying my name

It sounds so sweet

Coming from the lips of an angel

Hearing those words, it makes me weak

And I never wanna say goodbye

But, girl, you make it hard to be faithful

With the lips of an angel

That was my first attempt at writing Lucifer and i might have made him a bit to sweet? idk i personally think he'd be supper sweet to wife reader after everything that happened.

HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY!!!!

also: if you want a part two... VOTE! I wanna expand on this universe a bit so I'll need to find songs to match. Music is my love so almost all my fics will involve music someway or another:)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer morningtsar #hes such a cutie patootie #i love him #its not very angsty but thats because i hate angst #unless im in a mood #writing #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #writblr #creative writing #lucifer morningstar x reader

124 notes · View notes

punkshort · 6 months

Text

look what we've become - ch.3

Chapter Summary: Joel joins Tommy to meet the Fireflies and set up a trade agreement. They come back to Jackson with more than they expected.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, mentions of slavery

WC: 5.4K

Series masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: a reminder this story follows a slightly different timeline. Ellie was born pre-outbreak, but she was little when it happened.

Joel couldn't believe the past day and a half really happened. The rollercoaster of emotions you put him through left him stunned and shaken, wondering how he could read everything so fucking wrong. He found himself questioning everything now, replaying conversations, wondering if you had ever alluded to your feelings about marriage and a family that maybe he misread, misconstrued. Twisted and built up in his mind to fit into his stupid fantasy. One, he acknowledged, wasn't even in the forefront of his mind until his brother brought it back up to the surface. And suddenly, he wanted it, too. Like some resentful child who saw another playing with a toy he hadn't paid attention to in months, then demanded it for himself.

But he had thought about it, well before Tommy decided to man up first. He had the ring, but he never did anything with it. Why? Deep down, had he known you wouldn't want that? Was he subconsciously protecting himself by never acting on it? Or was he truly just waiting for the right time?

Even with Tommy's news, he still hadn't come up with a plan to actually ask you to marry him. He just allowed the fantasy to play out between your legs while he continued to make up excuses as to why he was holding off. Maybe it just turned him on to have a secret. Maybe he just wanted to have you, mark you, claim you. He knew he had a bad jealous streak, but would he have let his possessiveness lead him this far off track?

No. There were real reasons why he wanted you to be his wife. You made him want to be a better man. The way you made him feel was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. You brought out sides of him that others, including himself, never knew existed. Good things. You made him believe in happiness again, after his heart had been stomped on, making him treat everyone around him so poorly, even his own family. At a time when he felt so undeserving, you made him feel like the only person in the world. Even back then, he had a hard time believing you could actually care for him, but you saw through his bullshit to the man he was underneath, and you loved him for being him.

You had this way of looking at him like he was capable of anything. And with you by his side, he felt like he really was capable of anything. He did things he never thought possible to keep you both safe, as did you. You killed for each other. Not many people can say that. That meant something. The trauma and pain you both endured for one another had to mean something more. There was no doubt you both had proven what you were willing to do for the other, so it was only natural he wanted to commit himself to you. Say the words, vow to you in front of everyone you knew and loved that he would happily devote himself to you for the rest of his life.

So why didn't you want the same?

Ages ago, when the pair of you stumbled into the hellscape that was Kansas City, his ex, Amy, had mentioned offhandedly that you were only with him for protection. At the time, he shrugged it off, knowing full well it was bullshit just to get under his skin. But now, against his better judgement, he was rethinking those words. Rolling them around in his head, wondering if there was any truth to it.

"You been real quiet," Tommy said, pulling Joel out of his misery, surprised to suddenly find his brother next to him as they made their way on horseback down the mountains. Joel shrugged, averting his gaze ahead to the three other men leading the way.

"You mad at me for puttin' you on patrol yesterday? I'm sorry, Carl got sick and I didn't have anyone else," Tommy continued.

"Nah, it's not that," Joel replied, still staring straight ahead. "Didn't sleep well, is all."

"Ah," Tommy said, a playful smile pulling across his lips. "She send you off with somethin' to remember her by?"

Joel huffed and rolled his shoulders, his anger bubbling below the surface as he thought once again about the night before.

"Not exactly," Joel responded, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Tommy hummed in response but remained quiet, trying to read his brother from the corner of his eye.

"Everythin' alright at home?" he asked, unknowingly hitting the nail on the head, causing Joel to clench the muscles in his stomach, like he was bracing for a punch to the gut.

"It's fine. What's the plan for when we get to this place?" Joel asked, quickly sidestepping the subject, something that was certainly not lost on his younger brother, but Tommy allowed for the change in conversation, anyway.

"We're gonna meet up with their leader, woman named Marlene. They're lookin' mostly for weapons, but they need other stuff, too. They got lots of medicine and first aid to swap. Bill's been runnin' real low on antibiotics, considerin' how fast the town is growin'," Tommy said with a sigh, readjusting in his saddle. "Girls sent me with a list of inventory, highlighted all the stuff we have a surplus of and all the stuff we could use more of. Remind me to thank her for helpin' when we get home," he said, keeping a close eye on Joel's reaction when he referred to you.

"Sure," was all Joel said in response, refusing to let him drudge up the topic. The wound was still too fresh, and he needed time. For the first time in a long time, he had no idea what was going through your head, and it scared the shit out of him.

Was it marriage and kids in general you didn't want, or was it marriage and kids with him?

He should have asked. He should have stayed instead of storming out that night. Instead, he let his emotions get the better of him and left you all alone, likely crying until you fell asleep if your swollen eyes the next morning was any indication. When he saw you, saw the distress etched in your perfect features, he wanted to pull you into his arms and never leave for this fucking trip. And he damn near did just that, until you confirmed it was a false alarm, and his heart was torn all over again. It was then he realized he had been hoping you were pregnant with his child, and there would be no choice but to face the next challenge together. Then he would be able to prove to you that it was a good thing, that you could, in fact, do it. And so could he.

Now, instead, he wasn't even sure where you two stood. You had said you still wanted him before he left, and that gave him hope. Hope that maybe not all was lost, that you could repair the damage that was done and come out stronger in the end for it. That maybe he could, in time, prove to you that he would be a good husband, a good father.

But then, Amy's words crept up in the back of his mind since he left. Somehow, years and years later, the woman still managed to torment him, making him believe he wasn't worthy or good enough to possibly have someone like you. The same way she manipulated him into thinking he deserved to be betrayed by her when they were engaged, that he didn't give enough of himself, that she warned him she needed more and he refused.

He shouldn't have gone on this trip.

"Alright, we're losin' daylight, let's set up camp and get an early start tomorrow," Tommy announced, much to Joel's relief. He didn't want to admit that, just a mere few weeks away from his fortieth birthday, his back and knees were aching like he was a much older man. He slid down from his saddle with an audible groan, then tied his reins around a tree trunk before giving his mare a few loving pats along the crooked white blaze that split her face.

He unbuckled his sleeping bag from the saddle and shouldered his backpack, dropping his belongings unceremoniously to the ground before he and Jake headed out with a couple hatchets to collect some firewood.

He didn't mind Jake so much anymore. He was quiet, kept to himself and, fortunately, didn't seem to harbor any resentment towards him from the time Joel put him in the infirmary for kissing you. His bad temper mixed with his jealousy nearly killed the man.

Afterwards, he thought he lost you.

You left him, asking for time to process what happened, upset that he didn't take your word for it when you promised him the kiss was a misunderstanding, that you handled it. You viewed it as distrust, he viewed it as protection. It wasn't until later that he realized he was harboring his own trauma from failing to protect you from a past sexual assault.

As he carried an armful of firewood back, he reflected on everything you had been through together. The outbreak, your parents, the time you were stabbed, the assault, the breakup, the accident that nearly killed him. Not to mention all the infected and raiders that threatened you both at every turn. Was your relationship strong enough to endure one more massive hurdle?

They were deep in the woods, the terrain favorable. The trees hid the fire well, and the vast, empty land kept infected away. Still, each man took a quick turn overnight to keep watch. It hardly mattered when Eugene gently shook his shoulder, alerting him it was his turn to watch. He can never sleep well when he's away from you, anyway.

Joel was almost grateful when they reached the hospital late in the afternoon the next day. It was the first time in two days he was able to stop thinking about you, his mind swirling with images of your trembling lip and your tear stained cheeks. He frequently wondered what you were doing, if you told Maria or Carrie about your argument. Were you packing up your things? Would he come home to an empty house? He wasn't sure his heart could handle it again.

You said you still wanted him.

You said you loved him.

But he didn't say those things back, and he left.

Even if you were fighting, even if it was the most significant disagreement you've ever had, he still wanted you near. He could never silence that driving force inside him since the outbreak that screamed keep her safe.

When they approached the hospital, they were all searched, weapons confiscated, as expected, before being ushered inside to meet the leader of the strange group called the Fireflies.

Marlene was a taller woman, with a firm jaw and eyes that could look right through you. He could tell right away she was not to be trifled with, that she took her role seriously in this little revolution she was spearheading. Although the people they had met since arriving seemed very intense, he didn't feel threatened. And he usually had a good instinct for those things. Usually.

They were in the hospital cafeteria, the five men, Marlene, plus a few others seated around a large, circular table as Tommy and Marlene exchanged pleasantries, both parties trying to make the other more comfortable. Joel hadn't really been listening. He was scanning the room, watching the guards pace by the doors regularly, the sentries standing watch with their hands resting on their rifles as they watched the exchange from a distance.

A small group of women entered from the door behind him, heading towards the kitchen to begin food preparations. Joel's eyes glanced over the group of four, three middle aged looking women who kept their eyes pinned to the ground, and a young girl with brown hair, tied back away from her face. She didn't look to be a day over thirteen, and she was the only one who looked around the room, her eyes locking with Joel's. He stared at her, his brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation. She continued to hold his gaze as she followed the other women, and although her body language gave nothing away, Joel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something seemed off.

"Isn't that right, Joel?" Tommy was saying, snapping his attention away from the girl, who he saw in his peripheral disappear behind a door into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry?" he replied, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together on top of the table, trying to look focused.

"I was just sayin' how we know of a few police stations in some small towns that have barely been touched. Wouldn't be much effort for us to get a group together when we get home and go ransack 'em, take just a few days to hit 'em all," Tommy said, his eyes flicking from Joel to Marlene, then back again.

Another trip. More days away from you.

"Yeah," Joel replied, nodding his head and ignoring the pit in his stomach. "It's not enough for an army, but I reckon any little bit helps."

"In the meantime, lemme show you our inventory list. See if anything jumps out at you, and we can work on gettin' those guns," said Tommy as he pulled the list out of his coat pocket and smoothing it out on the table.

Marlene reviewed the list, her dark eyes flicking over the paper quickly with a few hums here and there as she took notes.

"Looks good, but we mostly need weapons," she said, leaning back in her chair. "I could probably do with some fresh vegetables, I think everyone's getting sick of the canned shit. And shampoo. But that hardly is a match for antibiotics." Her eyes shifted back and forth between Joel and Tommy, and the corner of her mouth turned up as an idea hit her.

"I do have another offer, though," she said, leaning forward. "It's not what we discussed, but if you're willing, I could send you home with half a box of penicillin now, and the other half after."

"After... what?" Tommy asked a little hesitantly.

"I'm lacking manpower at the moment. My guys are stretched thin, we're planning a hit on the soldiers at the Boise QZ. I need you to take someone to the hospital base we have in Salt Lake City. It should only take two days to get there, and I just need you to make sure she gets there alive," Marlene said, pressing her pointer finger into the table on the last word for emphasis.

Tommy glanced at the other four men, clearly not expecting to run errands for these people in exchange for medicine. Joel could see the wheels turning in his brother's head before Tommy spoke.

"Show me the meds first," he said to Marlene, and she quickly lifted two fingers up from the table, blindly addressing someone behind her to exit and do as he asked.

"What's the catch?" Joel asked, his defenses going up.

"No catch. Just need to get her out of here and with my other group, and I don't have the time to do it myself," she said with a shrug, but Joel knew better. She was trying to act casual, but he saw her knee bouncing under the table.

He shouldn't have come on his trip.

Once Tommy laid eyes on the unopened vials of medicine, medicine Jackson could really use since Bill, the town doctor, had been rationing enough as it is, Joel knew his decision was made.

"Done," Tommy said with a nod, extending his arm to shake Marlene's hand, which she eagerly reached out to do.

"Tommy," Joel said quietly, annoyed his brother didn't run the decision by the group first.

"Give me a little bit. I'll go talk to her so you can hit the road right away. John, please give these gentleman half the box of penicillin," Marlene said as she pushed her chair back, the legs making an awful screech against the dirty, linoleum floor. "Dinner is about to be served, please help yourselves as my guests," she added over her shoulder, leaving the dining hall.

"Tommy," Joel tried again, finally pulling his brother's attention. "A word?"

He led Tommy a ways away from the table so their conversation couldn't be overheard.

"What're you thinkin'?" Joel asked him, hands on his hips. "We don't do things like this."

"I know, Joel, but we're already out here, what's the harm? It's just a few more days," he said.

"I can't do a few more days, I need to get home," Joel replied, raking his fingers through his hair anxiously.

"I'll send Jesse and Jake back to let the girls know we'll be a little longer-"

"Goddamnit, Tommy, no!" Joel said, louder than he anticipated, a few heads from the table turning to glance his way.

"Jackson needs this medicine, what the hell's gotten into you?" Tommy asked with a frown, shifting his weight as he tried to read his brother's face.

Before he could reply, Marlene reentered the room alone, motioning for the two brothers to join her back at the table.

"Ellie's working in the kitchen, once dinner is over I'll send her to change and gather her things," Marlene said.

"Not a problem," said Tommy as he sat back down.

"Is that true?" Marlene asked, her lips pressed in a thin line as she held Joel's gaze, waiting for him to answer. He took a deep breath through his nose and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, not a problem," Joel replied bitterly.

Joel ate his meal quickly, desperate to finish this ridiculous task so he could get home. The longer he was away from you, the stronger his paranoia became. With each passing hour, he could almost feel the chasm between you growing, and he was beginning to convince himself there was no repairing the damage that was done. On both sides. Communication had never been his strong suit, but he thought he was getting better at it the past few years. Why did he go on this trip?

His eyes flicked up from his empty plate to see Marlene heading their way with the young girl he saw earlier in tow. His anger flared deep in his belly again, and he elbowed Tommy in the ribs to mutter angrily "she didn't mention it was a fuckin' kid" before Marlene could overhear.

"Ellie, these are the men I told you about. They're going to take you to Salt Lake City like we discussed," Marlene said, her hand resting on the girl's back. Joel eyed her carefully, noticing how tense her shoulders looked as she regarded the five men in front of her. His eyes drifted back to Marlene, wondering why on earth she was willing to leave this young girl with five strange men without a second thought. He decided she either was very desperate, or didn't care much for the girl.

Ellie readjusted her backpack on her shoulders and yanked on the edges of her long sleeved shirt, squaring her jaw as she stared them all down. Marlene crouched down to the girl's level and rested her hands on her shoulders.

"Remember what I told you. Listen to them, and everything will be fine," Marlene said, narrowing her eyes at Ellie. Ellie nodded, nostrils flaring before Marlene stood up to address Tommy.

"You need a map?"

"Nah, we got maps," Tommy said with a shake of his head. "This group know when we get there to give us the rest of the payment?"

"I'll radio the leader over there once you leave, let her know the deal," Marlene replied, stretching her arm out again to shake Tommy's hand.

"Alright, then," said Tommy, looking back down at Ellie and shooting her a small smile, trying to make her feel more comfortable. "You ready?"

"Yeah," she said, taking a deep breath and following Tommy out of the cafeteria.

They collected their weapons at the entrance before heading out, Ellie joining Tommy on the back of his horse. They didn't make it very far before the sun began to dip behind the trees and a quiet place was found to make camp for the night.

After getting a fire going, Tommy sat down in the dirt next to Joel, who had been leaning against a small oak tree, sipping from his flask and staring into the flames. The other three men were quietly playing a game of poker across from them, the occasional laugh or taunt floating in the air, while Ellie busied herself with a worn, paperback book further away from the rest.

"You wanna tell me what's goin' on yet?" Tommy asked, taking out his own flask.

"Nothin's goin' on," Joel replied gruffly, eyes trained on the fire.

"What's makin' you feel like you need to get home so bad?" he pressed. Joel felt that anger swelling inside him again, up his stomach and through his chest, and for a moment he wondered if Tommy knew. That maybe you told Maria and she let something slip.

"I told you, it's nothin'," he snarled, taking another sip from his flask and letting his eyes drift over to the girl. "Just wish I knew you were signin' me up to be a goddamn babysitter before comin' on this fuckin' trip."

"I can hear you, you know," Ellie said, her eyes never leaving the pages of her book.

"Good," Joel said, jutting his chin towards her, finally finding something to take his anger out on. "What's your deal, anyway?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said, sitting upright and letting her book fall to her lap, a flash of stubbornness not unlike his own reflecting in her eyes.

"Try me," Joel argued, his jaw clenching. Ellie glared at him, silence falling over the camp as everyone waited for her to speak. She opened her mouth, then thought better of it, clamping it shut and casting her eyes down. Joel scoffed, not ready to let the topic go just yet. Angry that this child was keeping him from home, from you. Angry that his brother agreed to it, like a fool.

"C'mon now, let's hear it. What makes you so fuckin' special?"

"Joel," Tommy said under his breath, a warning, reminding him to watch his language, that she was just a kid.

"Why should I bother? You're all the same, anyway! No one ever listens to me, 'cause I'm just some kid, right? No one-" she cut herself off, stopping herself before she said too much.

"Who's all the same?" Tommy asked gently, trying to coax the information out of her. She shrugged and huffed, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.

"The people Marlene hires. Dragging me all over the country like I'm... whatever," she said, stopping herself yet again.

"So this ain't the first time Marlene sent you off with a bunch of strange men?" Joel asked, the edge still in his tone but he could feel his resolve softening, somehow feeling bad for this little girl despite his own problems.

"No," was all she offered, glaring at Joel again.

"Are you in some sort of trouble, kid?" Eugene's voice asked from across the fire. The silence that followed was deafening, only the crackle from the fire filling the air. Ellie's eyes shot over to Eugene, looking him up and down, trying to keep up her steely resolve before giving up and turning her back on the group, announcing she was going to bed, and burying herself in the sleeping bag that was way too big for her.

Joel stared at the back of her head, trying to connect the dots with the context he had available to him, but he couldn't figure it out. Tommy shifted next to him, clearly lost in his own thoughts, as well. Wondering for the first time if he had gotten them all in over their heads.

The following morning, Tommy sent Jake and Jesse back home to let everyone know they were going to be a few days late. The three remaining men and Ellie packed up their supplies early, hitting the trail as soon as possible, ready to make a dent in the long road ahead. Eugene led the way, followed by Tommy, then Joel brought up the rear, his eyes burning holes in the back of Ellie's head as she clung to Tommy's denim jacket to keep her balance on the back of his horse.

Joel chewed the inside of his cheek, still feeling bitter, about everything. You, Tommy, Ellie. All of it. Since he couldn't get to you, and Tommy already got him in too deep, he chose to direct his energy towards Ellie when they took a break midday.

"Marlene send you with any food, or are you takin' that from us, too?" Joel asked, sitting down on a fallen tree trunk with a groan.

"I have food. And what else could I have possibly taken from you?" Ellie replied curtly, sitting further down the log as she opened her pack to fish out some granola bars.

"Time," Joel snapped. "And we don't even know why we're doin' it."

"Isn't Marlene paying you guys?" she replied with a huff. Tommy's eyes toggled back and forth between Joel and Ellie, becoming exasperated with the constant bickering.

"Can you just drop it, Joel?" Tommy asked. "Who cares? It's an easy gig, and we get meds out of it."

"Oh, she's giving you meds? Wow, she must be really desperate," Ellie chimed in.

"Alright, I've had enough," Joel said, standing up to tower over the girl. "Spit it out. What're we doin' here?"

"Fine, Joel," she said, stretching out each syllable before standing up, fists clenched at her sides. The way she said his name set his teeth on edge. "You wanna know how you're helping slavers move cargo? That the answer you're looking for?"

The three men froze, clearly not expecting that. Tommy stood up now, his head swiveling between Eugene and Joel as he processed the information just dropped on them.

"Wait-" Tommy said, stretching his arm out to Ellie, but she cut him off.

"Yeah, that's right. You still think this is a pain for you?" she snapped, glaring at Joel even though Tommy was the one who spoke.

"Stop!" Joel shouted, holding his hands up in the air as silence fell over the camp. He pointed his finger to Ellie.

"You. Explain. Now."

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose as he silently listened to Ellie tell her story. Her parents were dead. She was taken from her aunt and uncle's house at a young age, forced into slavery for the past few years: laundry, cooking, cleaning. Sometimes for twelve hours a day. Said she's been with the Fireflies a long time, that they keep moving her from base to base but she claimed she didn't know why. Joel had to wonder how much of what she was saying was the truth. There was no doubt something was happening at that hospital, but slaves? Something just didn't add up.

When she finished her story, she nervously glanced around at the men, waiting for one of them to say something. Tommy sighed and motioned to the woods.

"We need to talk about this. Privately," Tommy said, narrowing his eyes at Ellie. "You stay here."

"Fine. Not like I can make it on my own out there, anyway," she said with a snort. She picked up a stick from the ground and began drawing into the loose dirt at her feet.

"We're takin' her back, givin' back the meds, and goin' home," Joel said the moment they were out of earshot. Tommy shook his head.

"Joel-"

"This is enough, Tommy! This ain't our business. Any other option here puts the whole town at risk, puts Maria at risk, puts-" he stopped himself, biting his tongue before saying your name. He hadn't thought about you for the past half hour. A new record.

Tommy wasn't an idiot. He knew something was going on, but he couldn't focus on it, having a much bigger problem to sort out.

"She's a kid. We can't take her back, and we can't take her to Salt Lake City. It ain't right," said Tommy gently, hoping he would make his brother see through whatever was plaguing his mind and look at the bigger picture. Joel frowned and glared at the grass below his boots, clenching and unclenching his jaw as his mind struggled to wrap itself around the situation.

"Eugene?" Tommy said, turning to raise his eyebrows at the older, and suspiciously quiet, man. Eugene sighed, dropping his shoulders like he was carrying an enormous weight.

"I agree with Tommy," he said, and Joel spun on his heel, angrily pacing a few feet away to take some deep breaths.

"So, what? We take her to Jackson? We don't show people where we live for a fuckin' reason," Joel reminded them, his back still turned on the two men.

"We take her back, just a bit, til we can find where her aunt and uncle were livin', and we'll take her back home," Tommy said, the gears in his head turning as he formulated the plan on the spot. "In the meantime, we tell the Fireflies she ran off in the middle of the night. Maybe if we can get those guns to 'em, we can still keep the antibiotics."

Joel scoffed and shook his head, turning around to glare at his younger brother.

"This is stupid and risky. Lyin' to those people don't seem like a good move to me."

"Yeah, well, it's the only move we got, Joel. Otherwise, we're just as bad as them," said Tommy, his eyes drifting through the trees to make sure Ellie was still perched on the log where they left her. "I won't ask you to help take her back to her family."

"Damn right, you won't," Joel muttered, rolling his shoulders angrily. He stared off in the direction of Ellie, his jaw ticking off to the side with his hands on his hips, lost in thought.

He shouldn't have gone on this trip.

"Alright, is it settled, then? Can we hit the road, go back home?" Eugene asked, clearly tired of the bickering. Joel glared at the other two men before stomping back over to Ellie, who stood when she heard the men approaching, eyes flicking to each of their faces. Joel brushed past her to scoop up his bag from the ground and jumped back up on his horse with a grunt. At least he won't have to be away from you any longer. Not that he was sure what to even say, he just knew he needed to see you.

"C'mon, kid. We're takin' you to our town," Tommy said, motioning for her to grab her things and follow him to his horse.

"Really?" she asked excitedly, a small smile playing on her face for the first time.

"'Til we can get you back to your family, yeah," he replied, holding an arm out to help her scramble up the back of his horse.

Joel remained quiet the next day and a half, inwardly brooding about the potential blowback from taking this kid, which then morphed into nerves when he realized he was a few hours away from seeing you again.

When they arrived through the gates of Jackson, he didn't watch Ellie's eyes light up when she first saw the town, the people, the animals, kids her age playing. Maybe if he wasn't so focused on searching for your face in the small crowd that welcomed them back, then he would have seen how happy Ellie was. How, for maybe the first time in years, she felt a spark of hope. Maybe if he wasn't so focused on the ache in his chest when he didn't see you, it wouldn't have come as a surprise when Ellie snuck off the first chance she got, bobbing and weaving down the busy street, eager to see what the town had to offer.

Tag List @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow @amyispxnk @plz-be-solo - lmk if I missed anyone or if you want to be removed

248 notes · View notes