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gutsby · 1 day ago

Text

Halftime

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: A chance meeting a week before Thanksgiving leaves you and your dad’s best friend to handle your feelings the only way you know how: fucking on the couch when your dad falls asleep during the game.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Soft dom!Joel. Daddy kink. Praise kink (!) Makeup sex. Pussy pronouns.

Note: ‘Or maybe on a fifty yard line watchin’ Bama beat the hell out of Tennessee’ is a line from Riley Green’s ‘Hell of a Way to Go.’ I was in Knoxville when we played this year, but in my fic, Alabama wins. If you’re a Vols fan, I’m sorry. And RMFT.

Word count: 10.5k

Guilt brought you home, and liquor helped you stay.

These were two of the shittiest things a daughter could admit, but the fact was that you simply wouldn’t be here if your dad hadn’t broken his leg at work last week. That you wanted to help, but your patience was thin, and the only way you knew how to reconcile the two was to drink. A lot. Friday you came home, and by midday Saturday, sometime around eleven or twelve, you were plastered.

Staggering up the front steps of your childhood home with Theresa Servopoulos—newfound friend from camp and the heaviest drinker you’d met in a long, long time—hot on your heels. You’d just had brunch, and the meal was mostly liquid. Bottomless mimosas had been Frank’s idea, and when his husband Bill had offered to be the DD after the fact, you’d had no choice but to accept, really. You drank your weight in citrus and champagne and spent the whole morning getting to know Tess’s friends. As your state of intoxication progressed, you’d told them your troubles and all that had been plaguing you lately.

Now, hours later, you didn’t want to think at all.

You wanted to sit your ass down on the couch, turn the TV on to Disney+, and spend the next three to thirteen more binging Star Wars spin-offs and discussing with Tess at length whether Katee Sackhoff or Timothy Olyphant was the more fuckable supporting actor.

“Honestly…I’d let Jabba the Hutt hit,” you confessed, slurring your words a little as you fumbled for your key.

“You’re fucking lying,” Tess half-groaned, half-laughed.

She watched you try and jam metal into metal and fail twice before steeling herself against a rocking chair and reaching out her hand. You waved it away. At a distance, you heard the hum of an engine and another voice, loud:

“You ladies need a little help over there or wha-at?”

That was Frank. He was arguably the most drunk out of the three of you and hanging his handsome, greying head out of the passenger side of Bill’s Chevy S-10. He’d seen you try and fail with the key, too, and seemed more eager than ever to lend a hand, while his husband was likely kicking himself for ever offering to drive you back.

Tess gripped the porch chair harder and gestured, dazed.

“Give her a minute, she’s—” She hiccuped once. “—intelligent and entirely capable. She’s got this, OK?”

You didn’t. You really didn’t. And by the way you were finessing this key you didn’t feel too fucking smart either. You crammed your key against the tight, rigid slot in the front door of your home, missed it completely, and then wondered, dimly, how men were able to aim their dicks.

How Joel ever managed to fit that massive, throbbing—

“Fuck!” you cursed, kicking the doorframe with a huff.

The periphery of your vision was spinning and swimming a little now, and before you knew it, Tess had snatched your keychain from out of your hand. She got to work.

And while she did, you turned back to Bill and Frank, whose truck was still idling quietly in your driveway.

Frank had an eyebrow raised. His chin was in his palm, and his elbow was planted in the car’s open window. With that look alone, you knew what he wanted to say.

“Fine…fine,” you capitulated in a loud, droning shout. Head spinning, “You can give him my fucking number.”

Frank grinned at that.

“No shit?” he yelled back.

“Yeah. I really am that horny.”

From somewhere in the car, Bill groaned his disapproval. Frank’s smile only widened. It’d been his idea to set you up with one of their neighbors after you’d divulged all of your dating life turmoils over eggs benedict and grits that morning—how fucking your dad’s best friend had, in fact, not been the wisest decision and you needed something new to get your mind off the man for a little while. Frank had been all too happy to offer supplying your number to the so-called ‘dreamboat’ next door to them. Initially, you’d brushed it off, but the longer you stood on this porch contemplating the hellish few days you’d be spending at home for Thanksgiving, the more you drunkenly reasoned a dick might do you some good.

And if it wasn’t from Joel Miller, even better. You leaned against the nearest porch column and pointed at Frank.

Then at Bill, squinting dumbly and faux-accusingly.

“I’m desperate, but I’m trusting y’all, too, alright?”

You wanted to get fucked, not fucked over, again. Frank seemed to understand right away and nodded his head.

“I’ll give him your number, tell him you’re hot—which you are—and you two can work something out. It’ll be fine.”

He pointed back at you, still smiling, and you hoped it would be. Behind you, Tess had solved the puzzle of the chrome-plated house key, and had thrust the door open. She stumbled inside, and your feet started to follow hers.

“Tell Tess to text us your number!” Frank had to cup his hands saying it, as Bill was already starting to pull away.

You nodded and waved. Watched the world veer sideways and your kind, considerate, hammered new friend-of-a-friend repeat how great this was going to be—this guy’ll do you so good you’ll forget Joel exists—while you backed into the house. A gust of warm air from inside pricked at your skin, and along with that touch came the tiniest trace of hope. A sanguine sort of warmth that twisted low in your gut and made you smile.

And cup your hands, as Frank had, while calling to him:

“How old is Mr. Dreamboat, anyway?!”

The truck was crunching its ways down the gravel drive. Its path was slow, though, and Frank’s voice was clear.

“FORTY-ONE!”

It was as though you were hearing those words in a dream. You almost couldn’t help what you said next.

Fanning yourself, you yelled back, “I lo-o-o-ve that!”

“What?!”

Frank hadn’t heard you. They were farther away now.

You had to practically scream it now, but you were drunk enough that you didn’t really care. Tess was entertained, half-hunched on the floor and trying to work off her shoes while she laughed at this stupid exchange.

In truth, it didn’t matter how loud you yelled, because you lived on several dozen acres of land, and your dad wasn’t home. He’d told you that he was hitching a ride with Tommy to their usual weekend haunt to watch the Alabama-Tennessee game, and it started an hour ago. The house was empty, and you were free to screech.

“I said, ‘I love that’!”

“Yeah? Love what?!”

Frank was hanging halfway out of the passenger window by now, and his face was flushed with moronic humor.

Bill was probably grinding his teeth together as he drove.

“O-O-O-OLD MEN!” you shrilled, as loud as you could.

Next thing you knew, Tess was on the floor. Wheezing.

It didn’t matter whether Frank could hear you now; evidently, he’d gotten the message. Their truck was crawling down your drive with a low, rumbling crackle, and the eyes that were still glued to yours were shining.

Before they turned out of sight, Frank waved again and blew you a kiss, as you and Tess had done to him at some point earlier that day. He slipped back into the car, and your sides were nearly aching from how hard you were giggling—nothing was even that particularly funny, but with a nice noontime buzz and Tess’s relentless cackling from across the foyer, you couldn’t help it. You shut the door, staggered over, and were about to drop.

Right when you were about to collapse, though, Tess wobbled up. You saw her raise two hands in front of her.

“I’m— I’m gonna pee…or puke…possibly,” she warned.

That wasn’t good.

You pointed up.

“First door on your left. Do you need any—”

But Tess was already staggering off. You might’ve laughed again, and trailed after her with a plea to try not to projectile vomit all over those nice festive towels your dad had bought, but the moment came and went quick. In fact, it wasn’t even brought to an end by your friend’s departure but rather the screech of her feet on the floor.

Nearly tripping over herself to leave, then crashing into something else before she could. You heard a thwack.

Then her huff, ‘Fuck. Sorry!’ And you turned.

You looked up and cursed.

Again, you felt like you might be in a dream. Only this time, the sight had more of a nightmarish hue, and you had only to grip the edge of a chair—no, a table, a side table—beside you in the hall to keep yourself upright.

Your sweet, sloppy-drunk friend had run straight into Joel. She was raising her hands again and saying sorry.

You could tell she meant it, too. She was just shaking her head, appearing to try and rid herself of the stunned, dumbfounded feelings, when she tilted her chin up.

Then, somehow even brighter, she smiled in recognition.

“Lucien Flores!”

Not missing a beat, like you knew she wouldn’t:

“You fucking prick.”

Of course she was sober enough to remember his face. The time she’d mistaken him for an uptight FEDRA counselor back at camp. How you’d fucked him on her bunk. All the shit-talking you’d been doing about him since, too. You knew she wasn’t a woman to mince words, so it didn’t surprise you in the slightest when next she placed a hand on his pec, patted it lightly and added:

“You’re an asshole. A spineless, slimy, sad sack of shit.”

Joel blinked as she walked past him, toward the stairs.

“Good to see you, too, Tess.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Theresa.”

You hadn’t even meant to say the last aloud; it just came out. Tess was holding the rail, going slow but determined to get upstairs without losing her food all over the floor.

The next thing you heard was the slam of the bathroom door. You winced and thought of your dad’s decorative towels a moment. That thought was then supplanted by another, though you pretended not to feel it, at least outwardly. You brushed past Joel to go to the kitchen.

Why was he here? He surely wouldn’t have come unless your father was there, and your dad was supposed to be watching the Vols take the ass-beating of a lifetime from the Tide. Or maybe vice-versa. You weren’t sure how the latter was doing since Saban retired. You rubbed one temple as you opened a cabinet and looked for a glass.

Reconsidering, you opted for a plastic cup instead.

Your head was throbbing as you walked to the sink.

You sensed you likely weren’t of a mind to be holding anything fragile, and the second that followed only proved it. A footfall sounded by the kitchen island, and you flinched, dropping your cup like a fucking idiot.

“Where’s my dad?” you blurted out, not thinking.

You didn’t want his voice to be the first to fill the silence. You picked your cup off the floor and turned on the tap.

More silence followed. You couldn’t be sure if it was your own drunken paranoia or a genuine feeling of two eyes on your back, but your skin bristled. You were prepared to pose the question again when your answer came in the form of a new sound: not Joel’s voice, but another’s.

An announcer, apparently. You turned your head and saw ESPN on the living room TV, where the game was playing. In front of the screen, your dad was supine on his recliner. His jaw hung slack, and his eyes were shut.

So much for those morning beers with Tommy.

His leg was armored with a boot: a real, no-bullshit cast meant to protect the tibia he’d shattered, propped up in front of him while the other dangled haphazardly from the chair. You watched him, feeling an odd mix of pity, nausea, and love, and for a second, you didn’t think to move. This man was the reason you were home, after all—and why Joel was, too. You almost forgot your anger.

Your cup was full. Overflowing. You turned off the sink, then poured what excess you could as your hand shook.

You shouldn’t have been holding anything in that moment, off-kilter and unnerved as you were, but you wanted to seem occupied. You inhaled and started past Joel again, who was leaning against the counter, quiet.

He still didn’t talk, and let you stroll about half a foot in front of him before you felt the cup lift out of your hand.

“Hey—” you started.

But Joel was resuming your path before you could finish. He’d snagged the water from your grasp and made his way out of the kitchen, calmly, and you didn’t have to ask to know where he was going. You felt a pang of rekindled resentment but said nothing, knowing that was useless.

Arrogant motherfucker. Patronizing asshole. Clearly, you couldn’t be trusted to carry a cup of fucking water up the stairs in your own home, so he had had to do it for you. You went over to your father in the living room, blinking through a dozen more pissed off thoughts, when you glanced down at one of your hands again. You winced.

Stop shaking.

You needed to stay busy. Make use of those dumb, trembling hands while Joel was here and not let him see that it was all from memories of him—not the mimosas—that you couldn’t keep a steady hold to save your life.

You started to clean, mindlessly. Cleared the old coffee table of its manifold beer cans and plates of stale pizza. You walked with an unsteady gait, the room still tilting a little, but you ended up getting a decent amount cradled in your arms and into the trash or the sink shortly after.

You had just taken a bite of a slice of pepperoni and made a face when your dad shifted in his seat, letting out a grunt. Still unconscious, he rubbed at his arms. The house around him was warm, but never quite enough for a man who appeared to have been born cold-blooded. After years of this, you knew the routine; you dropped your pizza, went to the thermostat, and cranked it to 75.

Less than a minute later, it came: “Boiling us alive, huh?”

It was the first you’d heard from Joel since he spoke his curt greeting to Tess. You were over by the closet getting a blanket, and Joel was stood in the doorway, frowning.

You turned, holding up the big wool throw for him to see before you went back over to your dad in the recliner.

“He needs it,” you replied, gaze averted.

“By ‘it’ you mean his electric bill gone through the roof?”

He could be such a father sometimes. The worst kind.

“No, keeping him fucking warm, Joel.”

And the end of the last sentence you hadn’t meant to be so loud. Or mean. You didn’t really care whether it offended him, but the thought of waking your dad to hear that—being rude to your ‘Uncle Joel,’ as your dad had so innocently called the man last month—was awful. You squinted seeing him stir under the blanket, but then he turned to the side and snored even louder. You sighed.

“Doctor’s got him on some heavy painkillers. He’s been out since before the last game even ended,” Joel said.

You glanced at the TV. The game was crawling to halftime at a snail’s pace, by the looks of it. You smiled, seeing those puke-pumpkin-hued fucks getting smoked. In a second, though, the curve of your lips was fading.

“Will you stop?”

Your voice was shrill. You hurried over to Joel, who was busy dicking around with the thermostat and trying to get it down to 68 degrees—freezing, in your dad’s mind.

“It’s too hot.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re being—”

“This isn’t your fuckin’ house, Miller! Quit!”

“Yell a little louder, why don’t y—” Joel began to scold.

You wouldn’t let him. Of all things to get on your ass about now, volume wasn’t the hill he’d die on today. Before you even realized what you two were doing, you shoulder-checked him like you might do an annoying brother, and his arm wound swiftly around your front. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell made you mad to be held.

You made a jab at Joel’s ribs and ignored the grunt from him. Anger was a natural defense—your default state.

Every last semi-tranquil encounter you’d shared with someone you cared about before was always marred by rage at some point, and with Joel, it came as easy as breathing. If you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off, you were ripping him a new one, or he was grating your nerves. You didn’t get along, and you likely never would.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t need there somewhere. You just smothered it with something hostile, constantly.

You wished it would go away. You shoved at his arm.

“You’re gonna wake him,” you hissed, strained.

“Yeah? That’s what you’re worried about?”

You wriggled against Joel’s hold and, scrunching your nose, made a pass for the dial on the wall. He caught it.

Now he was holding your hand in one of his, and your shoulder with the other as his forearm crossed your chest. Joel’s frame was looming over yours, and you glared ahead of you, where the screen still read ‘68.’

You could throttle him—Joel Miller simply refused to lose

“Is that all you’ve gotta say to me, after this whole time?”

His breaths were tight like yours, but the voice was slow.

“What else is there to say?” you snapped.

“You’ve been ignoring me all month.”

“I’m in college. I have shit to do.”

“Like block all of my calls?”

“Go fuck yourself, Joel.”

“Just tell me why.”

“Fuck. You.”

Your last two caustic words were still warm on your tongue when Joel turned you around. Again, he wasn’t forceful or harsh—your looks had enough vitriol for the two of you—but he pushed your body against the wall. Right beside the thermostat, your spine straightened, and your legs wrapped reflexively around his waist.

“Is that an invitation?” he hummed, voice palpably lower.

Un-fucking-believable, you thought. Of course, it was.

Silently, you prided yourself in wearing a dress that day. It wasn’t the short, red-and-white gingham thing you’d worn to the fair with Joel last month, but it was loose. Flowing. Easy enough for him to hike up your legs, sliding a coarse, warm palm up your thigh while the other held you tight to the wall. His hips pinned yours, and with that gesture, you felt him hard and desperate in denim.

“Need me to fuck you now or what? Is that the only way I’m getting a word out of this mouth?” he pressed again.

Honestly, it was. You nodded once to say as much.

Then he pushed you harder against the wall. He wrestled with his jeans just enough for you to hear a belt, and a button, and a short, sharp zip come down, and your mind was swimming with filthy ideas when he grunted.

Joel nosed your cheek, and a hand made its way to your mouth. You sucked in a breath right before you felt three fingertips graze the seam of your lips. Prying them open.

“If I’m fucking you here, I need more than a nod, kid.”

You really, really hated him now. This felt like a game. His index curled into your bottom teeth and pulled your mouth open wider, while his own was smiling, faintly. It was hard to talk with his fingers skirting your tongue—his warm, bare member springing out and grazing your folds through your panties down below—but you tried.

Your words were muffled as you spoke, “Please fuck me.”

Clearly, that was all Joel needed. With an easy nudge from the head of his cock, he pushed your underwear to the side, and his grin got bigger when he felt you soaked.

You were drooling down his length, and he hadn’t so much as touched you before he pushed you up against his body. It felt almost shameful as he slid himself inside.

Then, in the next moment, your brain went blank. Your bodies were joined completely, and Joel had you seated all the way down to the base of his cock, where a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair tickled your skin. His fingers hung limply from your lips while he nestled in; when you groaned, he used his middle and index to stifle the noise.

“Shh, hey—” he started, as if suddenly remembering where he was, and whose daughter he was fucking, “You’re okay. You’re good…I know that feels good.”

You despised him even more when he was right. He pressed the heft of his belly into you, and with the friction, you couldn’t help but whimper against his hand.

“Fuck you,” you bit again, this time through fingers.

“I am.”

Then he pushed them in further, and he made you suck. Joel started fucking you gently against the wall, and with the first few strokes, you knew you’d be putty soon enough. You focused on feeling and trying not to whine.

“I’ve been texting,” Joel continued, breath labored, sounding half-crazed, “Calling every chance I got—”

He paused to jerk his hips harder. Make you bounce on his cock or maybe just hold him closer from the force of it. And you did, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and reluctantly burying your face into the side.

He was familiar, that was for sure. You tensed seeing something else familiar—your dad in the next room—and preemptively swallowed a moan while Joel kept going.

Fucking you stupid and talking to you, per usual.

“—to make sure you were OK,” he finished, panting.

Pulling his fingers from your lips so you could answer:

“I’m fine.”

“Are we?”

“You lied to me!”

And no sooner had he retracted his hand that he needed to clamp his palm over your mouth. You’d said that loud.

In the next room over, through the open space between the kitchen and the den, you heard your dad snore softly. When your gaze flitted back to Joel’s, it was like you were chiding the other at once—whose idea was this, anyway? Slowly, he moved his hand down, but his gaze was stern.

“Didn’t mean to lie,” Joel answered, now lower than ever.

“But you did. Dad’s been fucking his old sidepiece, my mom’s best friend, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was my place—”

“Your place?!” You made sure to keep your indignation hushed this time, but your eyes went wide. Incredulous.

You would’ve shoved Joel off if he hadn’t moved first. Neither one of you had had a fraction of the presence of mind to be thinking straight here, obviously, so when he carried you closer to a table in an adjoining room, all you were thinking was how not to lose your cool completely. When Joel tried to set you down on the wooden surface, you slipped away. You moved to the couch; you weren’t even considering where you were going, just that you wanted more of him, and you needed to be done quick.

If that meant fucking on the sofa behind your dad’s recliner, so be it. Joel balked a second before following.

“Are you…?” he started, voice no louder than a whisper.

“What? Not your ‘place’ here, either?” you shot back.

Admittedly, you were both insane. No matter how far away your dad’s sleeping form happened to be, or how thoroughly knocked out he appeared from the drugs, this was batshit, objectively. Joel’s eyes narrowed at you.

Then he moved some more. Casting a sidelong glance at the recliner less than ten feet away, he gripped himself and gave you a look as if to say, ‘Are we crazy now, or…?’

You nodded to confirm that you were.

By moving again, apparently, Joel was saying the same.

Except now it wasn’t with words but with a look—eyeing you hungrily and setting all rational, sane thought aside to climb over the couch to you. Your legs were spread.

Joel slotted himself quickly between them, then inside you, without another word. His body crowded yours. The scent you knew was also the fragrance you hated most: the smell of his American Spirits. He tried to kiss you with those lips, and you dodged them, choosing instead to hold the coarse greyish hairs at the nape of his neck and pull them. Draw him closer to your body without letting him get too close to you. Joel let out a grunt.

His hips rutted in short, quick, shallow motions again, like he was desperate to feel anything. When you wouldn’t accept his lips on yours, they fell to the side of your face. He held your sides while he dragged his cock in and out of your pulsing heat, and his breaths fanned heavy on your cheek. His stubble was sharp on your skin.

“Anything you want,” he huffed shortly.

His mouth was right by your ear, and his words were spoken in a breath. And another. And another. Still panting and dragging his old, weary hips back and forth in an effort to pleasure you. He felt indescribably good.

“Want…what?” you murmured back.

You clawed at his torso and locked your legs around his waist. You glanced over at the recliner, turned away from the couch, thankfully, and hoped it wouldn’t move again. Your dad’s breaths were deep, and so was Joel inside you

Sliding a hand under your head and cradling your body to his, and still maintaining a bruising pace with his cock—you almost couldn’t take it. You wanted to come undone.

And there Joel went, murmuring in your ear. Battling the urge not to get too loud with your father there, but still:

“I’ll do anything…anything you want.”

“W-Why? For what?”

“To say I’m sorry.”

“You don’t—”

But your words were cut short. For a second, your heart leapt into your throat thinking the sound was coming from your dad’s old chair, and then you realized that it wasn’t. Just the same, your terror spiked again when you sensed it was somewhere inside—coming from the back.

“Can I get a…ROLL TIDE?!” someone yelled.

Tommy Miller wasn’t even an Alabama fan.

Still, it seemed he was here to celebrate like one anyway. You froze momentarily, taking in the shout, then the steps, then the linoleum floor of the mud room being shuffled across before the boots were kicked off quick.

His brother was quicker. Joel climbed off of you in a blink, jeans and boxers trailing just as fast. Then his hands were dropping to you, gripping your arms, and heaving you up. You stumbled. You shoved your skirt down, fast, and barely had the time to breathe while you skittered after Joel, still in his hold. The two of you ran like hell: quiet, but like your asses might’ve been on fire. You made it out to the foyer, and from there, you could hear Tommy making a fuss in the kitchen. Joel strode three steps at a time going up the stairs, and behind him, you nearly face-planted. He tugged you up then, swiftly.

Silent as death at the top of the stairs and trying to usher you into a room, not saying a word. You dug in your heels

“Wait. Wait—Tess?”

“Napping in the tub.”

Of course. You cast one last pensive look at the bathroom door before you let Joel nudge you away.

You were pushed into a room; you knew it was yours. Steeped as you were in fear, shame, and lingering inebriation, you couldn’t waste a second getting in—and neither could Joel. His frame followed close while Tommy’s old, familiar sounds grew louder downstairs. He ushered you further, walked you forward, pushed you in an inch or two too far, and before you knew it, your knees were bumping along the front of your bed. You tripped.

Your hands flew out to break your fall. Unfortunately, the limbs that were meant to stay straight were weaker than you’d hoped, and instead of holding you up, they crumpled beneath your weight. You fell on your face.

The spot where you landed was soft, though.

You let out a muffled grunt into cotton sheets.

Across from where you lay, Joel’s steps were slow—painstakingly so—and when you’d propped yourself up and blinked again and again to adjust your eyes to the dim half-light of the room, you could see him there. Pacing. Skating a look to the doorknob, as if checking to make sure he’d locked the thing properly, then running a hand through his hair. From your perch, you saw a wince.

Then his face turned to you. Again—guilty.

What the fuck am I doing here with you?

That was what you thought you saw in his expression, anyway. You felt compelled to ask him the very same.

“Why are you here? Why is Tommy here?” As if to punctuate your question, more footfalls followed, loud, “I thought he was taking my dad to the bar. And you—”

“I know. He was supposed to. Then he texted and said your dad crashed before the Notre Dame game even ended, so he figured he’d head over to the bar himself.”

You were about to speak, but Joel continued.

“I said he was an idiot to leave your dad home alone, since the man can hardly walk on his own. So I came.”

You swallowed. While some momentary swell of gratitude threatened to constrict your throat, you forced out a frown and scooted back. The room swayed a little.

“That the only reason?” you asked, clipped.

At the foot of the bed, Joel held your gaze. It was stern. Your own vacillating look was no match for the man who, in spite of the two or ten beers he’d likely guzzled that morning, could stand firm. Prop his hands on his hips.

Look every bit the displeased fatherly figure while he watched you crawl across the plush, pink bed at length.

It wasn’t right. You saw it in his eyes: the want painted there, however burdened by shame they might’ve been. No doubt seeing your childhood bedroom had kicked the guilt into overdrive, reminding him, plainly, that he was his age, and you were yours. And his best friend’s kid. The irises that shone in the glow of warm white fairy lights overhead flitted to the canopy where they hung. Joel sized up the mesh overtaking most of your bed, all flowing and girlish and juvenile as it cascaded from the four wooden posters, and he had to shake his head. He blinked faster, as if trying to rid himself of some thought.

“I’ll go,” he choked out.

“Alright.”

You unzipped your dress and let it fall to the bed the second Joel had started to turn. He stopped. Got himself an eyeful and probably could’ve bruised every fingertip from how hard he tightened his grip along his belt loops.

He watched you slip out of the fabric, then brush it aside. Clothed in just your bra and panties, you went to the nightstand and opened a drawer. You leaned down.

And, while you kneeled and bent over to reach, Joel was afforded a too-perfect view of the wet patch in the fabric between your legs. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan before you crawled back over to the place where you’d been—American Spirits and a lighter now in your hand.

“Where’d you…” Joel started, only to lose his train of thought the moment you sat and unclasped your bra.

You lit up, comfortably. Nodding to the window.

“Mind opening that?” you asked him.

Joel stood back and stared. He squared his shoulders, seeming poised to say ‘no,’ when his gaze dropped lower.

“Those’ll kill you.” But he was just looking at your breasts

Reluctantly, he moved from where he’d fixed himself at the center of your room and walked over to the window. He slid the pane up, but he didn’t let his gaze stray from you too long. As soon as the smoke found a place to go, he turned. He shook his head again. You smiled, then.

“These are yours,” you replied. You bared your teeth at him with the cigarette in between them, teasing a little.

After, you closed your lips and inhaled once. You blew a breath through your nose and let the smoke trail out. Joel scowled as he took a step closer to your bed.

Somewhere downstairs Tommy had cranked the game up louder. You could hear the blare of fanfare and a booming, cheery voice announcing a first down.

Meanwhile, Joel’s jaw hadn’t flinched. His lips were still curled in that sour, unsightly grimace. He had to have gotten a good deal of practice doing that while you were away, with every text, call, and FaceTime you’d declined over the past month, you imagined. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of being ignored as it was getting smoke blown into his face that made him irritated. Galled, even.

Joel made a pass for your mouth as if to take the cigarette away, but you were too quick. You slid back.

“Finders keepers,” you chided, trying not to giggle.

“Give it.”

“Make me.”

“Kid, don’t start.”

Joel’s face was turning pink as he leaned in again. In no more than a second, though, you’d made it safely out of his reach. He had to plant a knee on your bedspread, grit his teeth even tighter, and stretch his frame further in, and just when he’d gotten within half a foot from where you sat perched at the head of the bed, you felt a snap.

Or perhaps heard a groan and surmised the rest. Joel cursed, ‘Fuck!’ then fell to his elbow, hissing with pain.

He gripped his side, and he winced. Your eyes went wide.

“Joel?”

The cigarette fell from your lips; as soon as it did, Joel swept a brusque, graceless touch in your direction. He held tight to his side while he swatted the thing away. The second the still-lit stick hit the covers, Joel had it brushed to the side, sending it flying off of your bed.

His nostrils flared when he stood again. He crushed the cigarette underfoot. He looked pleased—then pained.

“Joel!” you hissed. This time reaching for him, and catching him narrowly before he lurched into your bed.

“‘M’alright. Stop, stop. It’s okay.”

Joel grunted, low. He held one bedpost. He clutched somewhere on his body close to the small of his back, and you could tell he felt a strain. He noticeably tensed.

“I’m fine.” And then he was starting to wave you off, too, “Lifetime of smoking’ll do that to you. And turning forty.”

You believed him. What you wouldn’t accept was how fast he tried to bend down and retrieve the cigarette from the floor. His cheeks flushed red with the effort.

And just when he’d started to tilt, you tugged him back.

You gripped his shirt and yanked him onto the bed.

Maybe that wasn’t the best for the muscle he’d pulled. At any rate, though, it was better than straining another by trying to pick up a cigarette butt, you reasoned. You hadn’t even jerked him that hard, and your bed was soft. Joel fell with a thud amidst a sea of satin, plush faux fur, a half-dozen pillows, and a mound of stuffed animals. His lips frowned as if annoyed, but the eyes betrayed relief. He breathed out a shallow puff of air once he’d settled.

“You need to stop smoking.” Grumbling now, of course.

You wanted to pinch the pout clean off his mouth.

“Yeah, really, Joel? You first,” you shot back.

“I’m old.”

“No shit.”

“Watch it.”

For someone who’d practically thrown out his back just bending at the waist, Joel Miller loved to wax poetic on the dangers of Big Tobacco. And getting old. By the time he groaned and laid flat, you decided you’d had enough of this sexless intermission, and you straddled his hips.

“Wh—” Joel huffed in protest, pushing at hands all too eager to act on his belt, “You still haven’t answered me.”

“What was the question?” you returned, careless.

But you knew it clear as day: Are we alright?

The old man didn’t stop the path of your hands, but he certainly made a show to try and pretend to stall their speed. He watched, curiosity piqued and shame still roiling in his gut, and he let you unbuckle, unzip, and finally free him from the confines of his briefs. He sighed.

It was then that you felt him hard against your palm, firm as he was before. Your mouth watered even more. When your eyes flitted up to his for permission, you didn’t expect to find resistance there, so the subsequent grip around your wrist took you back. Joel seized hold of your hand in his, and, rather than stopping you completely, he paused it in place. Sank your touch into his groin, as though tempting you with the outline of his bare length.

That was cruel. He knew what feeling him did to you.

“You know exactly what question I meant.”

What such a move would do to any girl in your position—freshly fucked and eager for more—and in your bed, no less. You didn’t care for the guilt Joel harbored today; he didn’t get to demand answers you weren’t ready to give.

“What? Feeling bad for boning your friend’s kid all of a sudden?” You smiled, voice devoid of any humor as you tried to pivot subjects, “Didn’t look like that downstairs.”

Shame flared in Joel’s eyes. Two could play at this game.

His grip tightened around your wrist, and he kept it still. In spite of this hold, you were able to flex your fingers the tiniest bit and take him snugly in your hand. He held you, and you held him, and for the next few excruciating moments, that was all either of you could do. Until:

“I would do it again.”

And then Joel’s touch was moving yours. Rubbing him. Seizing your hip with his free hand and rocking you back.

Making you hold his gaze while his dick swelled bigger.

“I don’t care if that’s wrong,” he added through his teeth.

“Wrong,” you mumbled absently. Touching him more.

It was as though you both were rooted in place by warring feelings—Joel by guilt, and you by knowing. Needing each other, and being unable to break apart. Words flowed like molasses; their end was no less sweet.

“I’d fuck you anywhere you asked if you would just—” Joel broke off suddenly, taking a breath, “Forgive me.”

Please.

The eyes beneath yours were pained with remorse.

You squeezed him tighter, and you stared more carefully.

“Here?” It left you more like a breath.

“Here.”

Your skull still buzzed. Your vision still wavered some. You could scarcely hope to know what it was that made this man a worse intoxicant than every drink you’d guzzled that morning, but the way he reached for your body and slid you back in the bed made answers pointless anyway. All you needed to know was that he wanted you, too. You could sort out the rest of it later; you let him lie you down

Joel was out of place here, that much was obvious. Clearly, no man skating through middle age belonged in the bedroom of a girl as young as you—and that was overlooking the paternal connection altogether—but all the same, he guided you back. Trailed your body with his. If it weren’t for the greys and the striations on his face and the legions of freckles bred from decades spent baking under the sun, he might’ve struck you as a much younger man. His every move now seemed to show it.

His hands shook like yours had earlier.

He watched you slide under the covers, then swallowed.

“Still cold?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a long look, as though considering what to say. You beckoned him over and decided to talk for him.

“Like father, like daughter, I guess,” you added. Teasing.

You could hear the groan start to bubble in his throat, but Joel let you pull him in. He climbed under the sheets.

Like a much younger, doubly nervous teen around his date past curfew, he slotted between your legs with a moment’s indecision. He shed his clothes but was slow. Your gaze flitted to his torso, then his legs, and watching him gingerly undress, you couldn’t help but grin a little.

Both of you were naked in under a minute. Joel’s body was like a furnace searing hot between your thighs.

And while you smiled at him, he frowned down at you.

You might’ve expected anything next, except hearing:

“We aren’t gonna be parents anytime soon, right?”

You choked.

“What?”

Joel blinked.

“The Plan B, I mean,” he went on, color crawling up to his cheeks. He blinked harder, like he’d been dreading this, “Wasn’t sure if you ever got your…yeah. Just wonderin’.”

Just wondering.

After Joel’s Cenozoic-era condom had broken the first time you two had ever fucked, you realized you hadn’t bothered to tell him if you ended up getting your period. He’d probably been trying to ask that over the course of several dozen unanswered texts and calls the last month, but you’d been radio silent. Your drinking today had to have given the truth away, but you still felt a pang of guilt

You admired his sincerity. You didn’t want to mock it.

But when your lips twitched the tiniest bit, Joel’s did too. He’d heaved a sigh of relief before you’d even answered him in words, and for a moment, things were easy again.

“I’m sorry, Miller. That probably had you scared shitless.”

“It did.”

And, under most other circumstances, you probably would’ve expected him to chastise you for it a little. Chide you for your immaturity and shake his head, because this was always how it went. But he didn’t.

Joel smiled back instead, and he kissed your forehead.

You blinked, shortly summoning words to try and deflect.

“I mean, like…can you even imagine us having a kid?”

“I can’t. I think I’d be…” Joel trailed off, at a loss.

“Pissed to be changing diapers in your fifties, I bet,” you finished for him, and that made him laugh. You joined in, grinning, and for a second you almost forgot he was still between your legs. His cock softened against your belly.

“You’d be a hot mom. I’d be an old dad,” he countered, suddenly lowering his face to kiss and nuzzle your neck. When the ebbs of your laughter were renewed in a fit of giggles, and your feet kicked helplessly under the covers as he used his mouth and hands to tickle you then, you had to choke through your words—‘Joel, stop, I mean it.’

“Ticklish and hot, I forgot.”

His fingers were relentless on your ribs. You kicked again.

“Don’t fucking test me. I—I will kick you out,” you warned

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then.”

Evidently, the thought of ordering him back downstairs with your dad and Tommy seemed like the least likely outcome at the moment, so Joel kept tickling you. He moved his lips to your ear, about to whisper something stupid and teasing, most likely, when you jerked yourself the other way. You slid just far enough to reach off the bed. While you clawed at your nightstand, Joel simply draped his body over yours and went on kissing and touching and relishing the sounds you were making—even while you were cursing his name under your breath.

“Go. Go. Enough of this shit, Miller,” you finally told him, nudging Joel back and waving something in his face.

“Wh—”

“Since getting knocked up is the last thing either of us wants, and we’ve been terrible about playing it safe…”

It didn’t take long for Joel to recognize what it was. As soon as he’d lifted his head to ogle it, you didn’t let him stare at the box of condoms for more than a second or two before tearing it open. Its seal had still been intact.

“New stash for someone special?” Joel hummed, low.

“Nope. Just you.”

Your old friend didn’t seem to appreciate that remark, returning your smirk with a roll of his eyes, but he took the metallic-wrapped rubber when you offered him one anyway. He tore off the top. He probably would’ve liked to put the thing on, but with all the time and brainless banter that had passed, he had to get himself hard again. He eyed you once, and, wrapping a hand around himself semi-erect, he seemed to want to say something more.

You wouldn’t let him. You kissed him, and he kissed back, and with your legs sliding around the backs of his own underneath the soft, warm sheets, he probably forgot what he was going to say. Your lips and tongues intertwined without needing those words to be spoken, and before long, Joel was growing harder. He sucked in a breath when your hand reached down to touch him, soft.

Joel grunted when your touch replaced his. While you stroked his length, you could see the muscles tense in his stomach. The heft of his belly was smooth, and firm, and protruding with little patches of black and grey hairs, and the man looked so undone already with just your fingers curling over his shaft. You would’ve held him that way for as long as he asked. Would’ve relished the warmth of him in your hand, the way his breaths grew more ragged as he kissed you and let you pump him gently between your body and his. You might’ve mistaken it for something romantic when he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, before pulling away and mumbling, ‘That’s it. That feels real good, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.’ But being the way you were, you couldn’t accept such intimacy without wanting to shy away. You pushed his words aside and reached for the condom in his hand, swallowing thickly as you did.

The latex went on quickly. Joel hardly seemed of a mind to try and slow things down with his body just as taut, on edge, and desperate as yours. He planted an arm beside your head, and you guided his length between your legs. It felt cozy. Tender. Nervous like this could’ve been your first. A little strange seeing how you’d done this multiple times before—had started it just downstairs, against a wall and on the couch—and somehow, felt different now.

Joel sank in, and both of you groaned.

“I missed you, baby.”

It came from him all in the same breath. Your walls clenched, and he said it again. You peered up at the man, half-expecting to see his eyes shut and the feeling of you guiding his words more than anything else—he hadn’t meant you, but what was between your legs. But when you looked, you met his gaze. Joel was earnest, clearly.

“Did you miss me?” he panted, hips dragging back.

With the head of his cock drawn all the way up to your entrance, tip stretching that soft, sticky flesh, you could scarcely do more than whimper. You laced your fingers together behind his neck, felt him push in again, and suddenly, the sensations churning low in your gut got warmer. Stronger. They made you want to hold on longer

He felt so big inside you. Overwhelming you with his size and his scent and the way his lips trailed over yours while he fucked you; it all seemed too much to give a response.

Joel kissed you again, and your bodies fell into a rhythm. You squeezed his neck, let out a breathy whine when his cock grazed something soft and sensitive between your walls, and then pulled away fully to look down and watch.

He did too. He kissed the crown of your head, mumbling:

“See how good we fit?”

Those words could’ve sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered at the next thrust, feeling the warmth of his breath still fanning across your face, and you nodded.

Your eyes all but glazed over as you watched Joel’s big, glistening cock disappear and reappear from inside your body, coated with your arousal and the rubber and looking every bit as dizzyingly good as it had before. The wet noises only increased in volume the more he sped up, and with the need blossoming in your stomach, you had no choice but to moan. Joel plunged even deeper.

“Did she miss me, at least? Did she miss her daddy?”

Your walls clenched at those words—‘she,’ ‘daddy.’

Still, you couldn’t speak. You just nodded back.

Joel’s motions grew stronger, and with every stroke inside you, his cock hit something plush and sweet. You had to bite your lip to keep the sounds from coming out too loud, but the effort was almost wholly in vain. The harder he went, the more your throat came to betray you. The more Joel seemed keen on getting you to speak.

“Feels like she does, hon,” he said, tone dulcet and low, “Pussy’s been squeezin’ like she needed daddy here.”

That was true. Your heels dug deeper in his ass, and you felt something tender swell up inside, almost painfully.

Joel was moving your whole frame with the weight of his thrusts—your body bouncing beneath him, the bed creaking under the force, your old childhood room being filled with the sounds of your blooming pleasure and his. Your cunt stretched even more; it begged to be fucked deeper. Though your mouth couldn’t form the words, it seemed Joel was more than able to make out the rest.

He brought his thumb to your clit. He rubbed it, then caught your lips in a hot, steady kiss when a whimper from yours was just about to threaten to tremble out.

“Atta girl,” he grunted against your mouth, “That’s it.”

His hips worked faster. His thumb moved with even more precision, more persistence, as though begging your pleasure to come. You could feel the sweat bead on your skin and his; your bodies seemed to blend together. Your legs tightened around his sides, and while he fucked you and kissed you more fervidly then, you could feel your resolve start to slip. You broke from the kiss, panting.

“I can feel her, honey. Keep goin’,” Joel urged.

You weren’t sure if you could. It felt good.

It felt safe. You hadn’t felt that in a while.

Or maybe just since you’d been away.

You thought of the last, vulnerable state you’d been forced to endure—feeling hurt and betrayed after Joel had lied trying to keep you ‘safe’—and your body tensed. You held tighter, but you also couldn’t lose that feeling completely. You were so close, and there was still something else you couldn’t yet define, or explain.

“Cum for me, baby,” Joel kissed the side of your mouth, knowing the feeling coursing through your body too well, “Take what you need. Just let her feel good. It’s all okay.”

All okay.

Your walls fluttered again; your moans grew breathy and faint as Joel’s cock wedged deeper and deeper and his kisses grew softer along your face. It was evident you were there—you knew you were there—but then, the way you felt was like no place you’d ever experienced before.

You wanted to tell him something.

You met Joel’s gaze, and you almost did. Then he withdrew and fucked back in, and all words were lost.

The headboard thumped against the wall; you didn’t hear it. Joel’s one free hand was cradling your cheek, and his face drew closer, and right when you sensed the man was about to drop another kiss, you felt release, at last.

A snap.

A dizzying blow.

Your climax struck with all the force of a seismic wave, and, at the same time, you could feel Joel groaning, pulsing, spurting thick ropes of cum into rubber while his gaze stayed locked on yours and your body came apart. The look from him was sickeningly soft, even at his peak.

Intimate, again.

You couldn’t help it.

With your legs trembling, cunt spasming, and eyes still plastered to Joel’s, you felt that something resurface. This time, you didn’t have a hope of keeping it inside.

“I— I— I love you, Joel. I love you,” you stuttered out.

Your voice was tight. Your eyes burned with tears you hadn’t even sensed might threaten to appear with it.

You broke down and felt the sudden urge to sob.

And, just as quickly as you did, you shoved him off.

Regret flooded your chest. You shouldn’t have said that.

Joel was slow to move, no matter how much you tried getting him away. He was still in your bed, crowding your space—and worse yet, he was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.” Your gaze was still wider. Wild. And remorseful, “I didn’t— I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t mean to say that.”

Joel had pulled out, but he was still between your legs. You slid backward in the bed, cheeks flaming with heat.

He followed.

He reached out.

“Please don’t,” you begged, shaking your head before his touch could find you. Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The sound almost drowned all other noises out.

At the next, you wished it would deafen you completely.

“I love you, too, baby,” Joel said.

No sooner had his palms come to rest on your face when you were shoving them away. Standing up from the bed.

“You don’t mean that. I didn’t mean it. Just— just stop.”

“I—”

“Need to go.”

You hardly realized it, but you were pointing to the door.

Joel was just getting the condom off, about to stand up from where he was, when a new sound startled you both.

The garage door was closing. Tommy shouted your name saying he needed help bringing something in, and for a second, you both froze. It was happening all over again.

You knew you couldn’t risk getting caught another time. Not with your father in the house, unconscious or not. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars for the opportunity afforded by this moment—getting Joel out—and bent to grab his clothes off the floor and throw them, one by one. He dressed, albeit reluctantly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you were busy racing to throw on your own clothes, thinking of ways to get him out unnoticed. You heard the door to the garage slam shut downstairs.

“He’s gonna be back any minute. You need to go, Joel.”

“Come with me. We have to talk—”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“But you—”

“I lied. And so did you. Just like before,” you gritted out, “You can spare my feelings—I didn’t fucking mean it.”

He felt bad, that was all. You could see it in his eyes.

The pity, the self-loathing, the guilt; it was all there.

The sight made your stomach turn, and though your legs weren’t steady or sure underneath you in the slightest, you knew you had to go. If Joel didn’t intend on making things easier, you would have to leave first. You felt him reach for you, saw the plea in his eyes and knew how wrong this really was—that you had both fucked up—and couldn’t stay there. Again, you wrenched yourself away.

You didn’t give him the chance to protest. You heard words, dimly, but barely had the sense or self-possession to process one syllable of it, so you left. You bounded down steps, pulse hammering even louder than before, and you didn’t think to turn around or let Joel follow or even remotely allow yourself to stop feeling embarrassed

Leaving was for the best anyway.

If Joel had lied once, he’d lie again.

Downstairs, you cleaned. You folded laundry.

Joel had snuck out a while ago, having slipped from your room, down to the kitchen, and out the back door while Tommy was busy retrieving beer out of the garage. You’d gone down there to distract the younger Miller brother while Joel packed his shit up and left. Like he was meant to do. Luckily, Joel’s departure was quiet, and Tommy was all too happy to have some help toting cases of Budweiser inside. Your dad and Tess were still fast asleep

And now, nearly half an hour later, you had only to sweep the hardwood floor, fold your clothes, and busy yourself as best you could—or else grit your teeth so hard you could’ve broken your jaw. You were so fucking dumb.

“Almost done?” Tommy poked his head inside the room.

You’d told Joel you hated him last month. One measly fuck and you’re spewing, ‘I love you’? What the fuck?

“Just about,” you replied, dropping an old shirt of your dad’s into the nearest, neatest pile, “You heading out?”

Tommy jingled his car keys in his hand and hummed to say that he was. He had a happy, Alabama-just-beat-the-shit-out-of-Tennessee smile on his face as he stood there

“Yeah, I’m going back to Mando’s now to celebrate and watch another game. Was wondering if you wanted to come along,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“I would, I’ve just got so much shit to do around here—” Gesturing indistinctly to the mountains of clothing stacked high all about the laundry room, “—cleaning.”

Beating yourself over the head, mentally, for ever telling his older brother that you liked him in the first place. Wishing you could crawl in a hole and wallow alone.

“Aww, that can wait. You’re here the whole week—”

“I know. But I gotta keep an eye on my old man, too.”

You rubbed at your face and pretended to get re-invested in a pair of socks with two gaping holes. Your father wouldn’t discard old, ratty clothes to save his life.

Then Tommy was at your side. Pressing against the washing machine and watching you work. Smirking.

“By ‘your old man’ do you mean your dad…or Joel?”

For the second time that day, you almost choked. You tried not to let it show but were sure you failed miserably.

“I— I— what?” you huffed, all terse, feigned incredulity.

“Don’t play stupid. Only suits my dumbass brother,” Tommy returned coolly, turning to face you head-on, “You sound just like him whenever I ask about you.”

“Whatever he’s said—” you started again.

“I heard his truck hightailing it out of here while you came down to distract me. Heard his footsteps, too.”

While your cheeks warmed, Tommy’s smile only grew.

“Aaaaand the headboard was bangin’ pretty loud—”

“Alright!” You threw your hands up, “Fine. OK. Enough.”

Your surrender was fast, far too grossed out to fight it.

You closed your eyes and wanted to die. From next to you, you could hear Tommy’s amusement morph into laughter. It didn’t take much to wring the truth out of you, and for a man who knew you as well as he did, there was really no telling where this would end. Once Tommy Miller called bullshit, there was rarely ever room to argue.

The last time that had happened, he’d sent you and Joel packing to abstinence camp and had never looked back.

Why he was finding humor in this now was beyond you.

You dropped the socks you were holding. You shot him a look as if to ask him just that, and the man shrugged.

“I know y’all skipped out on camp. Could’ve guessed there was some sort of fight between you two after that, because I’ve never seen Joel so goddamn grumpy for—”

“Yeah, well,” you cut in, not wanting to hear the rest, “That’s over now. Seriously. Today was just a fluke.”

Before he could even try to voice his disbelief, you added:

“Just don’t tell my dad about this. Please.”

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that was probably the furthest thing from his mind, but you asked it all the same. Tommy scoffed, and then he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn’t believe a word you were saying now. Like a smug big brother who didn’t know how else to say that you made a terrible liar.

Because that was what he’d been to you before you ever got with Joel in the first place: a good, no-bullshit friend. The recognition of this made you feel even worse inside.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said at length, much to your surprise.

His arms constricted even tighter against his chest and his eyes scanned yours thoughtfully before continuing.

“I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in y’all’s business. What you and Joel do is up to you—I just hated the thought of things, uh…going south. Making it weird between you.”

“Like now,” you said quietly.

A beat.

Tommy scratched his neck.

“Yeah, a little like that,” he replied, breathing out a laugh, “But that’s alright. Joel’s my brother, and I love him, but the man can’t navigate a relationship to save his life. Much less with a girl your age. So just…keep that in mind. I don’t wanna see either of you getting hurt.”

In other words: don’t be stupid and get attached.

‘You’re right,’ was all you knew to say. All you felt capable of telling him now, after what had come to pass that day.

Frankly, you didn’t need to speak another word to get the gist of what he meant, and like he’d said, it wasn’t on him to dictate how you handled things with Joel. The message was clear enough, and the truth was all there.

You couldn’t make this work.

Joel wouldn’t make this work with a girl as young as you.

He’d only said what he said today out of habit—a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t know what the fuck else to say when his best friend’s kid he’d been banging spilled out ‘I love you.’ And you didn’t blame him for it. But you also couldn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t when all this was ever supposed to be was a casual fuck here and there. You’d been confused and needing to feel safe. He had wanted access to something he shouldn’t have, and now that the thrill of that was wearing off, he felt trapped and cornered into saying what he had, for your sake. The best thing for the two of you now was a clean break, before any more feelings got muddled and misspoken and brought to anything worse than they already were.

It would suck for a while. You knew it would. The next second had you leaning in unconsciously, watching Tommy uncross his arms and pull you in for a hug.

This would really suck.

You buried your face in his chest.

There wasn’t much to say; still, Tommy said it best:

“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine. I know you will.”

#OBLIGATORY ‘TURKEY AIN’T THE ONLY THING GETTING STUFFED’ TAG #NEEDTHAT #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller

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standamianwayne · 2 days ago

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yandere!batfam/damian’s twin!reader

okay so! in these neglected!reader fics Dick is almost always the one who’s like trying to reach out the most. because of this, personally(!) i feel like he’s the kinda guy who just wants his family to be whole so he kinda takes up the position of like father+brother combined (eldest child syndrome lowkey). he kinda becomes the most present figure in the twins’ lives and i think it goes double for reader tbh.

like breakfast lunch dinner Dick is right there with her and yaps her ear off. i think that where Bruce is the kinda dad that wants you to finish what you start, Dick is the kinda brother that’s like “if you don’t wanna do it, then don’t” ykwim? wanna do ballet? he’s at every recital. hate it? well, it wasn’t for you anyways! any practice, game, show, concert, he’s there. and if you decide you absolutely hate whatever it is, he’s there for you too!

just like general supportive older brother, but turned up juuuust a smidge. i feel like in the yandere aspect, he’s not really the type to go try and murder someone. sure he might hurt someone, but he’d at least want to avoid murder. it’s more like he’s gonna try and keep her home/with him as much as possible. like where are you going? it’s family game night! when did we start family game nights? don’t worry about it! now come on, it’s monopoly.

jason, on the other, WOULD probably kill someone. buuuuut i think it’s more so if she get physically hurt by someone would he be pushed to murder. emotionally? he’ll probably just beat them up and threaten them. but if they put their hands on her? mmm yeah you’re dead. sorry!

i feel like jason, who’s literally died and come back to life consumed by rage, would see reader as the opposite of himself. as good, where he is bad. and i think that on one hand he wants to push her away, to not taint her with the darkness that consumes him. but on the other hand, he’s had so much taken from him, seen death at every corner, even met the man face-to-face. can’t he be selfish just this once?

so, in the early hours of the morning, before the sun comes up and his duty as Red Hood is done for the night, he seeks her out. he comes back to the manor, climbing through her bedroom window. she’s still asleep and he just stands there, listening, watching, reminding himself that she is alive and so is he. he doesn’t touch her, he can’t— can’t poison her good with his bad. so, he settles for observing. maybe one day he can work up the courage to speak with her, seek her comfort. but for now, he’s content with simply existing around her.

tim is also an observer in like a borderline stalker kinda way. makes everybody download life360 but he watches her location like a hawkkkk. also gifts her a phone that’s totally safe i swear! don’t mind that any texts from an ex or someone that you have bad blood disappear right after you get them. they probably just unsent them!

he’s like Dick in that he tries to convince her to stay home often. but his way of doing it is… different. you wanna go for a walk on this street? actually there’s footage of a robbery that took place near there recently, probably not safe. wanna go to a friend’s house? um, according to their school records, they got detention in 5th grade. that’s a bad influence, girl! don’t worry, we can play mario kart or something instead!

with duke i feel like, compared to the others, he’s the closest you’ll get to a regular brother. he’s the closest in age to the twins and he joined the batfam after damian in canon. he’s also very kind and soft(?) so it’s unlikely he’s gonna go full stalker and/or killer over his sister. don’t get me wrong, he could kick ass if needed. but when it comes to reader, he’s mostly just trying to bond with her. watching movies in his room, sneaking out to get ice cream together, even at the ‘Wayne Galas’ he’ll stick by her side.

duke is veryyy caring and passionate, plus i feel like he’s sympathetic as well. so when you need comforting, he’s probably the best to go to. cause he won’t be the kind to go find whoever made you upset and ‘talk to’ them. instead, he’s gonna comfort his sis! unless it was someone who physically hurt her, then he’ll probably pay them a visit. but he’s not gonna kill them, i just can’t see him doing that.

next up the batgirls 😛 just as a note this is all my interpretation of the characters. if you think it’s ooc, no you didn’t ❤️

also does anyone have a preference of using third person (she, her) or second (you, your)? i might switch to ‘you’ when i write the batgirls so its not confusing, but if anyone has a preference, let me know!

and thank you all so much for the love on the first part!!!! i’ve never uploaded fanfic before so this is so new to me 😅 but i appreciate it sm! love yall! ❤️

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corseque · 3 days ago

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On the scale of 1 (Rise of Skywalker) to 10 (Shadowbringer/Endwalker), where would you place Veilguard?

critical post

I’ve burst into enraged tears like 5 times since I finished it, which is not nearly even close to as many times as Rise of Skywalker, but still 5 times too many. Just the shallowness of the writing, the obviousness, the incredible frustration at the simplicity, the ignoring so much of my favorite character in order to make a stupidly simple plot work, the horrendous time I had trying to ignore Rook’s annoying stupid fuckass pov while just trying to self-insert myself into the end of my favorite fictional character of all time’s story after waiting 10 years. I screamed in frustration that I had to hear the painfully obvious commentary these brand newcomer characters who I did not give a shit about, explaining to me like a toddler how I should feel about revelations I have been writing about for 10 years, especially when what they were saying was stupid as fuck. I cried at the thought of so many cutscenes and so much effort went into stories I found very forgettable and went nowhere, while they were able to only scrounge up like 10 total animated shots reuniting Solas and Lavellan. I mourn that I could not make any decisions in a BioWare game. I mourn Solas’ story so much, and probably will for years. I will never get over the way they talked down to him and never listened to him for even a second, lest they actually have to write a branching path into their game. I hate that the theme was regret but Rook regrets nothing ever so (shrugs) regret doesn’t affect them or mean anything to them. I mourn the loss of the voice and point of view of his people, the ones he was fighting for, the ones who are alive. I mourn that it turns out that he’s just a stupid feral dog who is 100% wrong about everything always and he always has been from the beginning of time. I cried that the game said the answer was that Solas should NOT try to help his people and they never even discussed it as a philosophical question or the ethics of it or anything, or playing as a character so dense they never once even wondered if accidentally freeing the gods killed more people overall than the veil coming down would have. (We avoided this question like the plague, lest we feel less like purely Good Heroes who could talk down to the gods with righteous fury). I mourn that I’m never going to know what would have happened without the Veil. I feel so stupid for thinking that elves or spirits as factions would appear in any capacity with lines and perspectives in this game. I’m so angry at how safe and smoothed over everything in the setting is, and how it felt like the main characters never struggled with anything and have nothing to say. I can’t believe Dragon Age is so shallow and unsatisfying and head-empty. I mourn that the story of Dragon Age is Over to me and I will never play another game.

I’ve also cried a few times at the completely separated and individual imagery and music in the last scene. I’ve cried that my favorite character didn’t die in any world after 10 years of being at death’s door. I’ve cried at the thought of him being a little worm spirit, and that I was right about him the whole time. I cried when activating Felassan’s crystal in the final fight and seeing all the buffs. I cried when I turned the page and realized the default inquisitor was exactly the same as my personal Lavellan, down to hair style, eye color, hair color, vallaslin removed. I cried when I realized Solas thought he should have died as a spirit rather than be born. I cried that the main story Dragon Age has been telling the whole time has been about the reconciliation and freeing of my favorite fictional character. I cried that Solas and Lavellan got married in the end, when I genuinely wasn’t expecting either of them to even be alive. They’re both still alive and in love in every single world. I can’t wrap my head around that.

I have no idea where to put it. It’s a few high highs but some intolerably low fucking lows. It could have been so much worse but the bar is on the fucking floor. I go back and forth between moderate enjoyment to just being so angry. It could have been so much more and I do not know who to bite for it.

I have no idea.

#Dragon Age #DA4 spoilers #Veilguard spoilers #DA4 critical #Solas

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warmilikeit · 1 day ago

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Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 12

______________________________

Present

"is that a ferry?" I ask, the hippocampus got closer and we saw something that said "Princess Andromeda", and the figurehead is a wooden woman tied to it

Princess Andromeda... Who?

Ah..

The wife of Perseus son of Zeus, she was to be sacrificed to Poseidon but Perseus saved her

How weird of her to have a ship, you personally, certainly won't step foot into the ocean after you were about to be sacrificed to it

A middle aged man scolds his three kids for jumping in the pool and points at a sign, a dog that looks somewhat human that looks like it belongs in the deepest pits of hell is in line for the buffet

You freeze up, is that an empousa?? A monster playing poker with a mortal human?

You look around and see variations of monsters and humans, seemingly happy in the cruise

What is this? Monster human united nations?

Don't get me wrong, you're not racist, it's just that monsters typically eat humans, so it's okay that you find it weird that a snake haired monster with poison blood is gambling with Jeff

(not Medusa, but gorgons)

"Is this a trap? A knockoff Lotus Hotel & Casino?" Percy scoffs

Annabeth holds your hand in a tight grip "Could be... But we don't know what it does, no one eat anything here"

"Lotus Hotel...?" You ask

Percy looks at you "Yeah... It's some magic hotel where time passes really slowly, like so slow, it's different for everyone, I met a guy there from the 70's and when I asked he said he'd only been there for two days, we felt we were only there for a couple of hours but it's actually been five days"

Oh shit.

"is... Is this hotel in Vegas?" You look nervous, Annabeth furrowed her brows "Yes, have you encountered it? It's dangerous and normal people wouldn't know how to get out"

"oh fuck... I may have been, no definitely, I should be older than I am right now, when my family and I were on a mi- vacation, I went inside this hotel, I was only there for like 20 minutes but they claimed I was gone for two years... I- holy shit. I was stuck in a hotel for two years" you exclaim

"how did you not know that was a trap? Have you not read the Odyssey? The lotus island and the lotus eaters?? I thought you were a fan of Greek mythology?" Annabeth asked

You roll your eyes "Well I'm sorry I didn't think a hotel was going to be related to a magical lotus island"

Tyson's face got sad "that scary... How you got out?"

"I don't know... All I remember was a pageant in the hotel, it was an event and- Oh." You stop

______________________________

Past

"Wow... This place is actually kind of nice" you look around the glistening chandeliers and observe the clamoring people

A servant smiles at you, seemingly ignoring your vigilante costume "Would you like a lotus flower? They're complementary"

It won't hurt you to take one right?

So you did.

"hey.. um where's the way out?" You ask

The smile on the servant's face doesn't drop "Miss it's so late out at night, you should return to your room"

"but I don't have a room-" you feel a key card in your pocket, you did have a room

So you go there, you enter the gigantic room, it was like for royalty, the sheets were so silky, the pillows were so soft, you opened the cabinet to find a set of clothes

Your suit is beginning to feel itchy anyways, you take a shower and put on the clothes, you find on the night stand a platinum card

What were you here for again?

You get out of the room, you hear people laughing

"you should go down there young lady! There is a pageant! There is this beautiful maiden, more beautiful compared to the others!" A man says, he was wearing clothing so old fashioned you'd thought he was from the regency era

Well, a pageant sounds fun!

In the hotel ballroom people were staring... Not at the contestants, well, yes the contestants, but one, one special lady

"Good evening LA!" She laughs

How captivating... , you think

She turns and sees you, she stops smiling "(Name)? What? What are you doing here?"

Did she just call you?

Oh gosh she just said your name!

"you're not supposed to be here!" She floats, yup floats and you're shocked, she grabs your hand and she walks you to the entrance of the hotel, the servants who were eager to help everyone was avoiding her gaze and now staying far from you

At the entrance she gestures you get out of the hotel, so you did

A bunch of guys approach you, you don't know who they are

A few minutes pass by

"guys what happened to the mission?" You ask

______________________________

Annabeth: why didn't you know the hotel was magic?

You: idk maybe because in the book it was an island?!

______________________________

@yunloyal @sirenetheblogger @00hellohello00 @spqce-bun @casspen-starlight @eyeless-kun @ghostdoodlen @ratchetprime211 @delias-stuff @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7 @wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @chinxinsomnia @nathaly36 @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @ceramic-raven @sweetconnoisseurgardener @dhanyasri @bella-wolf100 @shortnsweetsposts @roseapov @d3sperate-enuf @d3kstar

#dc universe #dcu #percy jackson #warmyanderepjoxdc #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #yandere #yandere batfam #yandere platonic

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miz-chase · 2 days ago

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Genuinely, I think it’s a valuable exercise to sit back and reflect on how we reacted at the time to Edward/Bella, Wincest, Reylo, and Hannigram.

While there are other ships, those three stand out on my over-a-decade (😵‍💫) on tumblr. All four reached “normie” audiences and were contested vocally on questions of morality (abuse/age gap, incest, abuse/(assumed) incest, abuse/cannibalism, respectively).

How did you react at the time?

How did the tumblr community generally react then?

How does that reaction look to you now, upon reflection?

I know I feel differently about stuff now and feel uncomfortable with the extremity of people’s reactions against these ships. I think it’s worth reflecting on the past and bringing what we’ve learned forward. Policing others’ consumption of fiction in the name of moral purity to fight “degeneracy”…. Declaring those people to be degenerates themselves deserving of hate and violence… that’s repeating patterns described in this post.

-note: It’s likely each age group has their own flashpoint ships and these are just the morally-contested ones that stand out to me. I know Voltron, Homestuck, Steven Universe, Undertale, etc all have their own anti/pro histories, I just never personally encountered them at the scale of the above four ships.

it's true and you should say it.

#shipping discourse #I think it’s worthwhile to expand this thought process beyond just gen z #millennials aren’t blameless #I say as a millennial #idk man people still hate on some of these and it’s just #who even cares?#I’ve had this rant in me for a long time and I’m trying to keep it short #I’m just tired

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voxslays · 3 days ago

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HAZBIN MEN AS DADS

Featuring >>> Adam, Alastor, Angel Dust (Anthony), Lucifer, Husk, Vox, & Valentino x Reader (Separately) as fathers.

(not proofread if that wasn’t obvious lol)

Adam:

Total boy dad. I can see him with a little girl, (let’s be honest, his daughter would 100% become an exorcist and take over after he retires as commander (if he ever retires lol)), but he would turn his son into the the next exorcist commander.

Adam is definitely a bit misogynistic…and no matter what you do, atleast a little bit of that would be passed down to your child. If Adam had a son (not him already having two other sons…), he would start training him at a very young age. (Kinda like the career tributes from the hunger games if yk what I mean.)

With a girl, I can 100% see him being overly protective TO THE EXTREME. He’s the type to scare off teenage boys lol.

Alastor:

Is probably the best dad on this list (except for Luci ofc.) Is super protective of his family. Would not let your baby out of his sight for the first few weeks. Would offer to help you with the baby when it wakes up crying late at night.

Is totally a girl dad. He would willingly play dress up and have tea parties with her in her room…but it will not be mentioned outside of there. When going out for an outing, he would dress her up to match his colors—red & black—and give you a few extra minutes to get ready.

The two of you want some alone time? He’ll ask Rosie. If she’s busy he is forcing either Husk or Niffty to watch the child. Alastor also most definitely keeps your young, innocent child away from Angel Dust for ‘reasons’ he doesn’t want to elaborate on. Your child will inherit his powers and will be almost as strong as him one day!

Husk:

Okay…so first of all, the elephant in the room. His alcoholism. I don’t think Husk would completely stop drinking, but would tone it down for the sake of you and your child. When he’s drinking/drunk, he would make sure he wasn’t around your child, not wanting that kid to see the ‘real’ him.

He would totally be a girl dad. He would completely deny it but we all know it’s true. Like Alastor, if your daughter wanted him to dress up, have a tea party with him, etc. I think it would take a little more convincing than Alastor but in the end he would do it.

Would be overly protective. ESPECIALLY AROUND ALASTOR. Husk would make sure that your child was atleast six feet away from the deer demon at all times. Husk obviously has lots of experience with Alastor as a person, so he of all people knows that Alastor could (and maybe would???) manipulate his spawn into a deal.

Angel Dust:

Angel is extremely excited…but…He is nervous. VERY anxious.

Angel would be a good dad, but he is worried about his deal with Val. Who knows what Val would do if he found out he was in another relationship…let alone with a child! When the child in question is born, he does everything in his power to hide them from Val.

If Val found out, he would be pissed. After calming down (barely), he would try to get your child under contract to punish Angel. Therefore, Angel is obviously very protective. Angel would teach your child how to be street-smart and survive on the streets of hell. Your child would learn from Angel’s mistakes.

Lucifer:

WHAT? HES GONNA BE A DAD (again)!? He is so stoked. Before the baby is even born they have everything they could ever want. Anything for his little duckling.

Your child would be homeschooled, but not by you. By the most well-known and well-educated members of Hell’s society. Your child is truly getting a million dollar education. Oh! And if your child decides to get a higher education after high school? It’s already taken care of. Lucifer makes sure that there are schools ready to take your child to college before your baby even turns two!

For some characters, I feel like they would either be girl dads or boy dads, but Lucifer could truly be either. With a little girl, I could totally see him playing dress up or Barbies with her, no problem! With a boy, same thing.

Vox:

Your child hit the jackpot. I mean…who wouldn’t want the richest overlord in all of pride to be their father? I just pray the kid doesn’t come out looking like a leapfrog or iPad…

Your child would be an iPad kid (vPad?) They would have all the newest technology and toys, they wouldn’t even know what to do with it all! Seriously though, this kid 100% has a playroom just filled with all the toys Vox either made or bought for them. He definitely spoils them (and you).

Your kid is a nepo baby. As they get into their teenage years, Vox would make sure they started to gain fame. Whether it’s by singing or acting (or both), or becoming a powerful overlord like himself, Vox would help them reach that.

Both you and Vox would make sure that your baby is supervised around Val and Velvette, if Vox even lets the kid around Valentino. He does NOT want Valentino trying to swindle them into a deal.

Valentino:

Bestie...What were you thinking? Let’s be honest. Valentino would not be the greatest dad. Definitely not the worst, but not great.

He would 100% leave your kid unsupervised. You’d better always be watching because he definitely isn’t. Speaking of supervision, Val would just randomly bring your child into his studio…When the two of you are spending ‘time’ together, he would either get Vel or Vox to watch the baby, or one of the souls he has under contract. Is surprisingly overprotective.

Val would teach make sure your child knows Spanish, threatening to ‘disown the brat’ if they refused. Luckily, you are there to stop Valentino from going off on your baby. Your child definitely learns a few Spanish swears from him.

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vaguely-concerned · 2 days ago

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what would I do without you. indeed illario.

lucanis trust me! indeed illario. the ea-nasir vibes on this shitty little rat of a man (somehow still slightly affectionate despite myself)

I am obsessed with WHERE this letter is found and what we're meant to read into those context clues. I don't have a handy save for this mission right now to double check the details, but from memory: It's the room across from what seems implied to be Caterina's room (Lucanis says these are the family quarters, so Illario has kept her locked in her own room all this time probably?? Oh oh house arrest, house arrest for grandmother for ten thousand years style)? We find the scraps of a letter from Zara to Illario, torn to pieces with one fragment still in the empty fireplace so presumably we're meant to assume he burned it, and this old letter from Illario to Lucanis lying neatly on a table. Whose room is this? Because here's a theory one could put together that has some real crazymaking potential for me specifically at least:

Considering that we're helpfully down to only three Dellamortes to account for, it's likely either Lucanis' or Illario's room. If I'm remembering right/let's for a moment assume that Caterina is being confined to her own rooms -- the fact that Lucanis is her favourite and also heir apparent I'd say tips the scales for me that it's likely she'd keep him closest, whenever he's home. Thus opening for the possibility that all this time Illario has been staying in the room of the cousin he murdered but as it turns out not hard enough that he didn't come back again like a haunting, reading his own old letters to him that Lucanis apparently kept all this time (!!! ow !!!), and sparing them from the spiteful fate he gave Zara's 'aww chin up you'll get 'em next time babe' one, right across the hall from where the grandmother he apparently can't bring himself to kill or seriously hurt even with everything else he's done is imprisoned and i n c r e d i b l y pissed off, if she gets out of there while he's sleeping or something he's fucked. Has he been sleeping in Lucanis' bed since kidnapping Caterina????? (did they ever share a bed, when they were children? for comfort if not ever out of real necessity?) is this some kind of incredibly fucked up way to try to be close to them both somehow even when he is the one who messed it all up to begin with? no matter what I have so many questions here what is WRONG with this family???????? (well I don't think we have time to get into all that right now that's a novel not a text post probably fhsdkj)

#between this letter and lucanis' comment in hossberg about the disaster boat trip he went on with illario #something said click in my head and I went 'oh. they really are like my uncles then. say no more. I understand perfectly.'#like on a soul level I get it. putting it into words is a bit different but giving it my first shot here fjdsk #obviously 'yeah he killed his brother but he IS probably kind of sad about it' is like. not really redeeming in any real way here lol #but y'know it's something at least!#I think it's left intentionally ambiguous what illario is really feeling beneath all his theatrics and (bad. pathetic.) power ploys #he's certainly willing to use anything to his own ends for all that it's worth once he gets his grubby little claws on it!#but...#if only for lucanis' sake I want there to be *something* that could at least be mistaken for redeemable in a weird slanted light #in this little shit. the leftover fondness I do have for him from the wigmaker job blinds me perhaps. love does that sometimes. clearly #'my *only* friend. before you'. sigh here we go again my heart shattering into a million billion pieces once more #dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #illario dellamorte #lucanis dellamorte

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lucysarah-c · 1 day ago

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Mounting Spring Ch. 4

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21.Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another. Masterlist to the previous parts! Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

A weariness clung to his body, one he couldn’t quite explain beyond being so utterly drained that even taking a shower felt like a monumental effort.

With a weary sigh, he pushed himself up from where he’d been slouched against the desk and slowly blew out the candles scattered around the office. Darkness didn’t bother him. He was used to it—had spent years orienting himself in the black void of the underground. The faint moonlight spilling through the window was more than enough. Compared to those shadowed depths, this was child’s play.

That night, the moon seemed unusually bright. His tired gaze drifted to the large arched window behind his desk. Waxing moon… or was it full already?

‘Don’t they say some bullshit about omegas going into heat during the full moon?’

He scoffed. “Urban myth,” he muttered. It sounded like something out of a witch’s tale. But, come to think of it, wasn’t she supposed to be in season?

The stack of paperwork on his desk taunted him with the reminder that he’d probably have to pull an all-nighter. The thought made his jaw clench. After everything that had happened that day, he muttered a curt, “Fuck it,” and extinguished the last candle. The room plunged into shadow as he dragged himself toward the bathroom.

But then his attention snagged on the slightly ajar door leading to his bedroom. It wasn’t wide open, but it wasn’t shut either—a hesitation in its placement that mirrored her presence in his life. Maybe she didn’t feel she had the right to close it entirely. Or perhaps she didn’t want to invite him in.

Levi wasn’t sure what possessed him to check. Maybe he wanted to ensure she was asleep. Maybe it was just an excuse, though he hated the idea of coming off as some kind of creep.

The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the sound of his footsteps. His sharp ears picked up no stirring from the other side of the door. She was asleep—curled into a small ball beneath the blankets. Her face was peaceful, framed by a tangle of hair splayed across the pillow.

‘She looks young,’ he thought absently, then corrected himself: Younger.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and tore his gaze away. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered, retreating into the safety of the bathroom.

As he stripped off his clothes, a faint scent clung to the fabric. It wasn’t unpleasant—not even close—but it was strong enough to make his body react in a way he resented.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, frowning deeply. “It’s not my fault,” he groaned, trying to shake the thought from his head. She wasn’t in heat, after all. If she had been, he’d already be climbing the walls. He grimaced at the thought of what that would’ve meant—both a curse and a convenience. Her hormones would have made her eager, desperate even, and he… well, he wouldn’t have had the luxury to hesitate. Instinct would’ve taken over, and by now, it would all be over—messy, but over.

But she wasn’t in heat, and that was both a blessing and a complication. On one hand, it spared them both the humiliation of fumbling through something neither of them wanted. On the other hand, he was standing half-naked in his bathroom, trying to keep his thoughts clean while the girl he barely knew slept just a room away.

‘It’s like jerking off to the thought of a coworker,’ he thought with disgust. ‘Not illegal, but it feels like it.’

He needed a clear head—desperately. Most of his squad had gone through their ruts recently, their youth amplifying every primal urge. She smelled too good for a group of young, horny alphas to ignore. A cold shower might’ve been the smart choice, but the chill of the rain earlier still clung to his skin, and he just wanted to collapse into bed.

His bed wasn’t an option, though—not tonight. Instead, he grabbed a pillow from the couch in the corner of his office. He propped it against the armrest and sank down, throwing a thin gray blanket over himself. His head rested against his arm, and his other hand lazily scratched at his stomach, the hem of his shirt riding up. The dim glow of the moonlight played across the room, and he stared at the ceiling, eyes heavy but his mind restless.

“What the hell am I going to do,” he murmured to himself.

The sharpness of his fags could be perceived by his tongue that, under the foreign texture couldn’t stop feeling it. That, the thickness of his saliva and the clear feeling that his loose pants were perhaps a bit tight. It was obvious, she smelled too good, his own nature being highlighted by the time of the year and, in particular, the lack of exposure. Frowning and sighing loudly, he rolled over to a side searching for a position comfortable enough for him to fall asleep into.

Sleep came eventually. For Levi, sleeping on a couch with a makeshift pillow and a mission-worn blanket was a luxury compared to the alternatives. For once, exhaustion was kind.

On the other side of the room, her mind kept replaying the scene.

“Die. Just go. You’re making this harder for me,” she whispered, gripping the edge of the small French balcony of the borrowed household. The late-night air was cold against her skin as she stared down at the street below. It was late, the streets below barely lit, and her eyes darted nervously toward the door of her room before returning to the darkness beyond.

The young man standing below, dark-haired with striking gold eyes, still wore his military uniform. He looked up at her with an pleading expressing, “Come on, Y/N,” he called up, his voice a mix of desperation and imploring. “Are you really going to let it all go? I can talk to someone—someone higher up that with what’s going on. We can change this. You don’t have to do it.”

Her grip tightened on the balcony’s iron railing, her knuckles white with tension. She shook her head sharply, pressing her forehead to the cold metal. His words only deepened the ache inside her. Referring to her loss of the season to “what’s going on” made it sound trivial, dismissive, when it had torn her apart. “Stop it,” she whispered. Her voice trembled as she added, “I’m doing this for my family.”

“You don’t deserve this,” he said softly, his eyes locked on her. “You deserve the life you’ve worked for—just as much as your siblings do.”

“Y/N!”

The shout startled her, and she flinched, slamming the window shut as the door to her room swung open. She spun around, pressing her back against the glass, hands behind her to brace it closed. Her heart thundered in her chest, afraid of being caught—not by her two-year-old sister, but by someone who might hold more authority.

“What is it, Mae?” she asked, forcing calmness into her voice as the toddler raised her arms to be picked up. She obliged, hoisting the little girl onto her hip before sitting on the bed, her exhaustion evident. Her tangled hair framed her face, damp from the cold towels she’d used to try to soothe her pounding headache.

“Are you leaving because I used your makeup?” Mae pouted, her large, curious eyes searching Y/N’s face.

Y/N managed a tired smile. The memory of her two younger sisters destroying her makeup a few days earlier flickered briefly in her mind. Back then it had infuriated her, now it seemed like a distant worry. “No, Mae. I’m leaving because I’m getting married. Remember?” she said, her tone soft, trying to explain in a way the toddler could understand.

“What about being princesses?” Mae pouted harder.

It broke her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she pulled her sister into a tender hug. The pounding in her head and the dull ache in her lower belly were relentless, her body rebelling against her refusal to conceive this season—as if she’d had a choice.

Mae was innocence incarnate, her wide-eyed questions too pure for the weight they carried. But her older brother, on the other hand, had been no help. She’d found one of the WANTED posters of her soon-to-be husband plastered on her dressing table as a joke.

“You think this is funny?!” Y/N snapped, shaking the boy by his shoulders. Her anger surged, raw and unrestrained, but she bit back the urge to slap him. “I’m doing this for you, idiot! For you, for Ed, for Mom!”

“You’re not in charge,” the boy spat, his voice cracking but defiant. “Dad’s home, remember?”

The arrogance in his tone made her blood boil. Ever since their father’s return, the boy had become insufferable, emboldened by his status as the favored child and the budding dominance of his alpha nature.

“You want to be a man so badly? Then act like one and know your place!” she hissed, shoving the crumpled poster into his chest.

“You’re marrying a subversive,” he sneered with disdain, parroting words he clearly didn’t understand.

“I’m marrying someone who’ll make sure you don’t have to live off scraps and pity from the military, you little fool!” she snarled. Her hands trembled as frustration and heartbreak collided.

That memory dissolved into another—curled on her bed, her body wracked with cramps. The bathroom light, still on, spilled into the room. From the cracked door, she could hear her parents arguing. The light from the corridor illuminated the carpeted floor by the ajar door, casting her parents' distorted shadows like a muppets show against the ground.

“She needs to rest,” her mother said, trying to placate the man’s rising fury. “These things happens —”

“She’s ruining us!” her father screamed. “This was our chance, and she’s screwing it all up!”

Her sobs grew louder, muffled only by the pillow she pressed against her face. She lay with her back to the slightly open door, as if trying to shield herself from the conflict. They had been arguing for a while about the possibility, the events all pointing in one direction. That alone had fueled this outrage. ‘How am I going to tell them?’ The thought made her chest tighten with anxiety.

They argued over a possibility, now she had to confirmed them that it was a reality. Only minutes ago, she had walked to the bathroom—the golden light of the candle still flickering there. When her fingers came away stained with blood, the confirmation of what she already knew—her heat had passed, her body rejecting what it was supposed to do.

“She’s not doing it on purpose!” her mother argued.

“Then fix her! Give her some calming tea, call the damn doctor, do something! You think he'll keep her if she’s not useful?!”

She gripped the pillow tightly before tossing it over her head and pressing it hard against her face, as if she could make the world vanish for a moment. Silently pleading for the shouting to stop. ‘Please… just stop.’

None of the memories from the past week came to her in order; they just replayed chaotically in her mind. When her tired eyes fluttered open in the dim light of the room, she realized she had been tearing up in her sleep. The shadows cast inside the room weren’t her parents', and the voices weren’t theirs either. Sitting up slightly, she became aware of her surroundings. The sheets felt rough, and the mattress was smaller than what she was used to.

The memory of when she had fallen asleep completely eluded her, but the clock on the nightstand indicated it was already morning. She couldn’t tell by the window; the rain was still pouring heavily outside. The hushed whispers of two people on the other side of the room made her debate whether to sit up or feign sleep. She quickly chose the latter as the sound of someone opening the door reached her ears. Curling up in the bed, she pulled the sheets over her face, nearly hiding herself entirely.

With her face almost fully covered, the scent of the bed surrounded her. There was something subtly unsettling about the lingering fragrance of someone else on the sheets—a constant reminder that this wasn’t her bed. Yet, it wasn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite, it was oddly soothing. Her decision to pretend to be asleep shifted into the realization that she could drift off again. Perhaps her subconscious was taking over, responding instinctively to the alpha's scent that enveloped her—a primal comfort, making her feel safe and protected.

—

“Hi~” came Hange’s singsong voice as they opened the door without knocking. “Knock, knock,” they added playfully, as if mocking the concept of knocking before barging in.

Levi, standing in the middle of the room with his uniform half on and a toothbrush in his mouth, turned to glance at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, I thought you’d be less ready at this hour,” Hange remarked, stepping fully into the room.

Levi spit out the toothpaste and wiped his mouth with a towel before muttering, “What are you doing here?” His eyes landed on the tray they carried. “And with a tray?”

“I brought breakfast for the newlywed couple!”

“Shh!” Levi hissed, moving swiftly to grab the tray before Hange accidentally dropped it. He motioned for silence, his expression stern. She was still asleep, and the message was clear.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hange whispered. As Levi set the tray on the coffee table and resumed getting ready, an unusual silence settled between them. It didn’t last long.

“So…” Hange began, their curiosity bubbling to the surface. “How was it? How is she?”

Levi ignored the question, muttering a vague reply through clenched teeth as he moved about the room, clearly trying to avoid the topic.

Hange’s sharp eyes followed him, their face shifting into a grimace as the tension grew. “I’m not exactly a purebred alpha,” they finally said, “but… you don’t smell very taken to me.”

Levi, who had just sneaked inside his room a little while ago to pick up his stuff, sighed loudly and stopped moving, giving himself a moment to respond. “… I couldn’t,” he admitted finally.

Hange pressed their lips together, unusually quiet for a moment. When Levi turned to face them, their expression said it all.

“Come on,” Levi snapped. “You’re a non-stop talker, and now you shut the hell up? Say something.”

“I’m… finding it.”

Levi rolled his eyes, grumbling in frustration.

“Oh boy…” Hange finally ventured. “Well. Maybe she was just tired? Tonight, after she’s settled—”

“We agreed I wouldn’t do it if she didn’t want to.”

The blank stare Hange gave him was enough to make Levi snap. “What did you want me to do?!”

“I don’t know?!” Hange exclaimed, throwing their arms in the air. “Claim her? Maybe?!”

From an outsider’s perspective, the exchange might have been hilarious—their expressions exaggerated, their words intense, yet still whispered fiercely to avoid waking her.

Levi scowled. “Well, excuse me. Excuse me for not being a fucking rapist.”

Hange’s attempt at a lighter tone wasn’t helping. “Some would argue that you are—you’re an alpha, after all.”

“You’re an alpha too, you idiot,” Levi shot back, finding no humor in their dark joke.

“Hardly. I’m more beta than alpha.”

Levi ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You should’ve seen the puppy eyes she gave me. I’ve got fucking lots of kinks, but that’s not one of them.”

Hange clicked their tongue and shook their head. “Omega puppy eyes… the deadliest weapon of all.” They crossed their arms, leaning back thoughtfully. “Zackly’s going to kill you, though.”

“Tch.” Levi rolled his eyes. “He can suck my dick.”

That made Hange laugh more than they should have. “Seriously, though—what the hell are you going to do with an unclaimed omega in the middle of a military facility? I can catch her scent, and I’m a low-breed alpha.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d help me with,” Levi admitted, reluctant to ask for help but clearly out of his depth.

Hange didn’t answer, instead moving toward the door.

“No, no, no,” Levi muttered, darting across the room to stop them, but they had already cracked it open to peek inside.

“You’re going to wake her up,” Levi hissed, his whisper dropping to an even lower register.

Hange ignored him, their eyes fixed on the small portion of her face visible above the sheets. “… What about a convent? Maybe I can talk to a priest.”

“A convent?” Levi echoed in disbelief as his exasperation grew “That’s your solution?”

“Either that or bars on all the windows. No one gets in, no one gets out.” Hange turned to him, smirking.

Levi shot them his best deadpan expression. “We’ve gone from a convent to a prison. And you’re supposed to be the brains here?”

“I gave you a solution,” Hange retorted, leaning closer as their whispered argument continued. “Claim her.”

“I can’t!” Levi snapped, his frustration boiling over.

“Then trust,” Hange said, spreading their arms in a gesture of faith. “Then trust our soldiers. I trust them—they’ll behave,” though their tone sounded less certain with each word. “Maybe Jean will get a little too excited, like a puppy with a new toy, but he’s a good kid.”

Levi’s flat expression didn’t waver. “You trust Floch around her without me in the picture?”

The brunette, who had been sporting a confident, almost cheerful smile while defending the few original members of the Scouts before they were nearly wiped out, suddenly shifted to a serious, defeated expression. Waving a hand in the air, they muttered, "You made your point loud and clear."

The silence that followed was thick, as both stood by the door frame. Levi, arms crossed, was deep in thought. Meanwhile, Hange continued to stare at her, their eyes scanning her face across the dimly lit room.

"I’ll just… lock her up here for a couple of days until her scent calms down. It’s not ideal, but—"

Levi’s quiet musings, spoken with a defeated tone, were abruptly interrupted by Hange muttering under their breath, "She’s hella cute, though."

Levi’s hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, clicking his tongue in frustration.

"What? Can’t I compliment your wife?" the brunette asked jokingly, still admiring the sleeping girl. They tilted their head to the side, trying to get a better view. "You’re one lucky bastard."

"Four-eyes!" Levi snapped, using the old nickname he hadn’t used in years out of respect for his friend’s new position. The commander chuckled. "Stop staring at her," Levi ordered.

"I’m doing nothing," Hange shrugged, though their eyes remained fixed on the sleeping girl.

"I can fucking smell you, idiot!" Levi growled, clearly indicating that he could easily detect how Hange’s body reacted to his new wife. The spicy, interested aroma they gave off was more than enough for Levi to know that Hange found her more than just pretty.

Hange barely contained a laugh, forcing a straight face to speak. "Question, and this one’s serious," they said, their eyes twinkling. Levi’s tired expression only seemed to amuse them more. "If you two… ever get down to business, would you consider a threesom—"

"DON’T HIT ME!" Hange quickly added as Levi’s hand moved with lightning speed to smack the back of their head.

"Shut the fuck up. You’ll wake her up," Levi muttered, but Hange was already caressing the back of their head where Levi had smacked them. "And over my dead, cold body. You heard me?"

"Ugh," Hange groaned, rubbing the back of their head with their left hand. "You purebreds… are so territorial. You’re missing half the fun."

Levi remained with his arms crossed, eyes narrowing. "And you’ll be missing your only remaining eye if you ever bring that shit into my room again."

When she woke up again, the clock on the nightstand read 11 am.

(I'm sorry if this chapter was shitty, I'd been so stressed with work lately but I didn't want to let you all down another week in a row T-T)

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musings-of-a-rose · 3 days ago

Text

A New Life - Part 1

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x ofc Cornelia

Word Count: 4700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Summary: After her husband's quick death, Cornelia finds herself back in her childhood home. But when her father passes, her cruel brother Cato becomes Lord of the city. She feels trapped, hopeless, destined for nothing as her brother tortures her day in and out. Until one day, a certain renowned General comes to claim her city in the name of Rome. When her brother hastily offers her up in surrender to the stoic General, Cornelia happily complies. Anything to get away from her brother. But will the General accept her? What fate lies in store for her in the hands of General who has never lost a battle? And will she be able to survive Rome itself?

Notes: sigh. look, I had one scene idea and it became this. If you've ever read anything by me, you know this happens. And just look at Acacius. How could I not? Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for tolerating my existence in general for this fic.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

General Marcus Acacius Masterlist

“We can’t thank you enough, miss.”

I wave my hand. “No need to thank me. I’m just doing what I can.”

I pull the palla (scarf) over my head as I wind my way back up the city streets, heading towards the home I grew up in. The largest home in the entire province that used to belong to my father, the noble in charge of this entire area. But ever since he died, my brother has taken his place and well, let’s just say he is far from my favorite person. Which is why I’m hiding as I sneak back inside, my brother having forbidden my leaving the grounds ever since I was forced to return after my husband’s death.

I wake the next morning to the sound of many footsteps running outside and down the halls. I quickly pull on my tunic and head out of the door, turning to head towards the main chambers where my brother would undoubtedly be. Sure enough, as I approached, I heard him raise his voice. It sounded like he was trying to muster troops? He barks out a few more commands and the door flies open, catching me off guard.

“Sister! Come here!” My brother, Cato, demands. I enter the room, casting my eyes downward and away from him for a moment before looking at him.

“Brother, what is happening?”

His eyes scan me from head to foot, his lip pulling up in a snear. “The Army has arrived.”

I cock my head. “Who’s army?”

He sighs, exasperated,. “The Roman army, Cornelia. The one led by Marcus Acacius?”

My eyes widen. “The general who has never been beat?”

“That’s the one.”

The people running around make sense now. We’re preparing for a fight. “What will we do?”

“We will fight!”

I scoff. “You cannot hope to win.”

His mean eyes snap to mine. “You don’t think I can?”

“I…I just mean, General Acacius has a reputation. Our numbers are small, we can’t-”

He waves his hand at me, cutting me off. “Yes, yes. I know. We’re going to give it our best. But I also have a backup.”

“Oh?”

The snear comes on full display. “Yes. Actually a way to solve 2 problems with one.”

“Two problems?”

“I will surrender and give the General you as a victory gift.”

My jaw drops, the air whooshing from my lungs. “M..me?”

“Yes, you. I know you’re already 30, but you look much younger. He won’t know. Besides, he doesn’t need to marry you.”

“You mean to give me to a man with no intention-”

He reaches out and grips my face with one hand. “Dear sister. I would whore you out to every noble, the emperors themselves, if it meant I got to keep my lifestyle.” He shoves me away. “Now go make yourself presentable. As much faith as I’d like to have in our troops, I rather think it will come down to you.”

And that was that. He turns, effectively cutting me off from any retort. I head back to my room, calling for one of my servants to help me prepare. As she washes me, I think on all that has transpired. Am I finally to be free of the hell that has been my life for the last several years? I know I should be afraid, terrified of the renowned General Acacius, but I’m not. Anything is better than here.

My brother has me sit in a chair off to the side of his own, the sound of swords clinking growing closer and closer. The heavy doors creak open and soldiers pour inside, nearly covering the space in a handful of steps. My brother holds up his white flag, a symbol of surrender and luckily, they stop, one of them yelling to get the General. Only a handful of moments pass before a man strides into the hall, broad shoulders barely contained in beautiful leather armor, the head of Medusa proudly displayed on its front. He is covered in blood and dirt and sweat, a sword still in his hand as he confidently strides up to my brother, who instantly bows.

“General Acacius. I humbly surrender to your forces.”

“So many people died for you to be sitting here on your chair. You could have stopped the bloodshed before it started and you did not.”

“I had to give it my best shot. Honor was at stake. You can understand that, yes?”

General Acacius considers this for a moment. “And let me guess- honor is what you think will keep me from slicing you in half with my blade?”

The smile on Cato’s face falters slightly. “Well, yes.” The blade shifts in the General’s hand and my brother puts his hands up. “That and-” he reaches over and grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin as he throws me at the General. I fall to the floor on my knees with the unexpected movement, my palms stinging with the impact. “-my sister! Take her, marry her, use her, whatever. She is yours.”

The General leans forward, extending his hand towards me. I look at it, the blood and dirt mixed together in some kind of horrible art on his palm, and I take it, allowing him to help me up. Once I’m standing, my eyes find his and I’m shocked to see concern.

“Are you alright, miss?” He asks, his eyes scanning my face.

I don’t break the gaze as I whisper. “Please take me with you. I will be faithful to you however you need me. Free me from this prison.”

He cocks his head ever so slightly, searching for something in me. Apparently he finds whatever he’s looking for as he looks over my shoulder back at Cato. “I will take her. But I should kill you here for the way you treat your people but especially for the way you treat your sister. Your own blood.”

“My people will recover and I’m sure you or your men will be thankful to have such a beauty after-” the General takes a step forward, his blade coming up. All I hear is slicing, a horrible gurgling, sputtering sound as a body thuds to the floor. I don’t move, not right away, using my breath to steady myself. I start to turn when the General grips my arms, preventing me from moving.

“You do not need to see this.”

“I think I do.”

“Miss-”

I drop my voice so only he can hear me. “My brother has put me through hell for years. I have no love for him. Let me have this closure. Please.”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, dropping his hands from my arms. I take a breath and turn, my eyes immediately finding the crimson pool on the floor, the thin gash across Cato’s throat bright and angry against his skin. His are vacant, every trace of the evil life he lived, gone. I nod once and turn back to the General, who is still watching me. His soldiers file from the room, a loud silence falling over us.

“So…do I..do I follow you or?”

He holds his hand up. “I do not plan on holding you to that deal or whatever your brother tried to do.” He starts to turn but I gently grip his arm. He looks down at my hand briefly before looking at me.

“You saved me from this torture. I will be faithful and loyal to you.”

He puts his large hand over mine, taking it from his arm and holding it. “I have no doubt of that, miss. But you owe me nothing. Go live your life.”

“General Acacius, may I speak plainly?”

He nods. “Please.”

“I understand what you are trying to do. But please think: my brother has controlled this province ever since my father passed several years ago. He has placed more taxes and fees on these people than anyone before. And he just led half of them to slaughter with your arrival when he planned on surrendering. They are not happy with my house. They may like me but I don’t think that fondness will suffice when they are burying their husbands and sons for no reason.”

He thinks for several moments. “Perhaps you are right. I cannot in good conscience leave you here to die. I can escort you to our next province but know that it isn’t a place for a woman. War and battle are hard and bloody. I can protect you from my men but I cannot promise to protect you from those we fight against.”

“I understand. Wherever you need me, there I’ll be.”

“You are free to leave whenever you wish.” He turns, heading towards the doors.

“But what if I wish to stay? With you?” I follow behind him and slam into his chest when he abruptly stops and turns around. He looks down at me and my heartbeat races. Now I’m closer, I can see past the grime, see his greying hairs, the scar that runs down the side of his face, his eyes, dark and battle-hardened but also caring, a tinge of regret. They also darken with a look I’ve seen in many men’s faces as they chase the skirts of women. But then he blinks and it’s gone.

“We shall see.”

General Acacius accompanies me to my chambers and allows me to pack a few things. It’s lighter than I would normally travel with, considerably, but it’s not needed. And I can always get new things along the way. A few pallas (head scarfs) and tunics, some health and hygiene products and I’m ready, the General giving me a nod of approval at my small bag that I’d packed. His soldiers ransack the estate, including my room, taking anything of value to either sell or melt and turn into weapons. General Acacius ensured I had everything I wanted before he allowed it, a gesture I wasn’t expecting. As we head towards the front gates of my previous estate, he turns to me, speaking low so only I would hear.

“Stay close to me. Speak to no one. Pull that palla over your hair and stay quiet. Understood?”

I nod quickly as I do what he says, making sure it covers my hair. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a favorite horse?”

I blink. “Yes. In the stables.”

He allows me to lead us to the stables and I quickly locate my black barb horse, Caius. He is nervous, snuffing and chittering in his stable, but the moment he sees me, he calms.

“Hi, Caius. Are you ready to go on an adventure?” He presses his forehead to mine, a gesture we’ve done since he was a foal. I can feel the General’s eyes on me, watching as I lead Caius from the stables and ready him for travel. It only takes a few minutes and I’m grateful for learning how to do it rather than relying solely on stable hands. He has me lead Caius out with his reins rather than riding, no doubt to make me less of an easier target.

We head out of the main gate and I stifle a small gasp. I hear the sounds of wailing, mothers having lost sons, wives their husbands, children their fathers. The Roman soldiers are trying to calm the area, and they’re succeeding by sheer numbers, but the sounds of grief have no master. It’s then that I realize what the crimson tinge to the soil under my sandals is. I swallow hard, willing the tears not to fall. I don’t want to look weak. But these were my people, even if we were separated by title and money and my heart aches for them.

General Acacius sets a brisk pace, winding around the main square, no doubt trying to avoid any sort of riot or call for my head. I couldn’t blame them. Like I’d said to the General, they may like me, but my family is the reason they’re burying their boys and men needlessly. I can feel how nervous Caius is, but he trusts me fully and obediently follows me without issue. What seems like hours later, we make it out of the city. The General steers us towards a group of men guarding horses. They salute him as he walks up.

“General, sir!”

He nods and they drop their salute. “My horse.”

“Yes, sir.” One of the soldiers runs off and comes back moments later with a beautiful chestnut colored horse. He hands the reins to the General and salutes before going back to his post. The General turns to me.

“We will ride to camp. Stay close to me. Keep that palla over your hair, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

He watches me for a moment, his hand coming up to rub his horse’s nose. “Ready?”

I swing myself up onto Caius in one fluid motion, one that I had been doing for the majority of my life and at least 10 years with Caius. His eyes linger on me as I settle in, adjusting my palla to cover my hair. Our eyes meet and he holds my gaze for just a brief moment before blinking and looking back towards his own horse, swinging himself onto the saddle. Despite my situation, I can't help but to think...

Damn he looks good on a horse.

We don’t ride far, maybe a quarter or so mile from my city. We break through a line in the trees and I gasp - an entire camp has been built, complete with walls, tents, cooks, all of it. The soldiers by the wall call out and the gates creak open, General Acacius riding through the opening, glancing back once to make sure I’m following. We wind through the camp to where the horses are kept. He hops down from his chestnut mount and offers me his hand to help me down from Caius. I hesitate a moment before linking my hand with his and slide off of my horse. General Acacius nods to a young man and hands him the reigns to his horse, motioning to me to do the same.

“I promise they will take good care of him.”

I give Caius a pat on his head and hand the reigns to the boy, who leads both horses off towards the makeshift stable area.

“Follow me,” The General commands and I comply, my sandals squishing in the mud as I go. We arrive at a grand tent, some soldiers stationed outside, one of which holds open a flap to allow General Acacius inside. He motions for me to follow and I do, feeling the tent flap close behind me. The tent is just as large as it appears. One side has a table with maps on it with little pins placed all over it. There are some traveling chests, which I assume house either weapons or other clothing or armor. On the other side of the tent is a room divider, behind which is a mattress and a small area for changing. A loud clank snaps me back to my reality and I see The General lay a sword on another table, this one set closer to his sleeping area. He removes his bracers as well, rubbing his wrists after he does so, glancing up at me.

“I will instruct my men to not touch you, but I would advise you stick to my tent.”

“I- yes. I understand, General.”

He barks out a name and I jump, the volume catching me off guard. A man enters the tent and salutes.

“Sir?”

“Fetch me some bath water for my…guest.”

“Yes, sir.” The tent flap closes behind the man as he goes off to bring the bath water.

There are a few moments of silence where he watches me, his eyes quickly glancing down my body and back up. “You can leave your belongings here.” He walks over to the divider and motions for me to follow. He points to a small crate in the corner. “You can set your bag here. I have some space in a chest for your things when we pack tomorrow.”

“Oh. Thank you, sir.”

He’s so close now, I could reach out and touch him. I want to, his greying curls and dark eyes heating me in ways I didn’t know possible. He blinks, shaking his head slightly.

“I will have them make you a sleeping mat, but you may not get it for a bit. You can take mine and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Absolutely not.”

He cocks his head slightly to the side, curious at this woman who would say no to him. “Excuse me?”

I clear my throat. “I won’t have the general of Rome sleeping on the floor. I can do that.”

“But, you are my guest, and a woman. I can’t allow you to do that.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to share.” The words come out of my mouth before I can think. He fights back a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You would share a bed with a man who is not your husband?”

“My husband has been dead for many years. And not just any man. The man who saved my life.”

He watches me still, his eyes softening but somehow dark. He reaches out, hesitating a moment before gripping my upper arm. “I am sorry for your loss….well, if you insist, I promise to be respectful until we can get you your own mat.”

I speak quietly. “When I get my own mat, then you’ll be disrespectful?” I don’t intend for him to hear, but sometimes my inner thoughts become outer ones. His eyes meet mine and he opens his mouth to speak, but then several men enter with a tub full of water and the moment passes, General Acacius holding my gaze for a moment longer before dismissing the men. He pulls over another room divider and places it in front of the bathtub, gesturing towards it. “This is for you. I’ll personally stand outside to make sure no one enters.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

I take my time bathing, knowing that it may be a moment before I’m able to again. The water is cool when I emerge, wrapping a blanket around me and wringing out my hair. I pull on a clean tunic and sit on the sleeping mat, grateful that I’d packed a brush. The General returns a few minutes later, poking his head around the corner.

“Oh. I assumed you would be asleep.”

“Almost. I won’t take up too much space.”

He waves his hand. “I am not worried.” He shuffles around, grabs some tunics from a chest, and disappears, reappearing later with wet hair that has started to curl, in a fresh tunic, sans armor. He gets on the mat beside me, trying his best with his broad frame to give me space.

“General Acacius, it’s ok. Take as much space as you need. Tell me if you need more. Whatever you want, I will give it.”

He shifts a bit longer. “You are fine. Breakfast will be brought to us in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, General.” I settle into my spot, trying to take up as little space as possible. It’s quiet, quieter than I thought a camp would be.

“Thank you,” I whisper to him in the dark. I know he doesn’t hear me, but I wanted to say it anyway.

“You’re welcome,” a whisper back. I smile, knowing that I at least made some sort of headway into us getting to know each other. I meant what I’d said before -I will be loyal and go wherever he wants me. Do whatever he needs me to do. I owe him my life.

It’s early when I wake, I can tell by the quietness of the camp. Slowly, I become aware of my immediate surroundings, remembering the events of the previous day. It’s then I feel something heavy draped across my waist. I crack an eye open and look down, seeing The General’s arm casually slung across me. His breaths puff out on my neck and I can tell he’s in a deep sleep. But then he shifts and..oh.

He’s hard and pressed against my ass, pushing against me slightly in his sleep to relieve some of the pressure. It’s been so long since I’ve had any interaction this way, let alone with someone I’m attracted to. I’m torn as to what to do. If I wake him, I don’t want him to be embarrassed. If he needs me in that way, I will happily consent. Beg for it, even. But I don’t want to be presumptuous either and take advantage of him, even if it’s just to feel his warm, protective presence. My body seems to make the decision for me, my hips grinding back on their own accord. A few seconds goes by before his hand moves and he grips my hip, his fingers digging into my skin.

“You need to stop moving.”

My cheeks heat instantly and I’m relieved he can’t see my face. “O-oh. I’m sorry if I was bothering you.”

“Not bothering me. I am trying to be respectful and you’re making it…difficult.”

“Who says you need to be respectful?”

His fingers dig in tighter and I inhale sharply, the sensation going straight between my legs. He presses himself closer to me, which heats me up more. He stays like that for several moments, his breaths fanning out over the side of my neck. But then he pulls away and sits up, my back feeling cold with his absence.

“No. I cannot ask that of you.”

I sit up too, turning to face him. “You would not be taking advantage. I meant what I said - I am yours in whatever way you need me. I will follow you wherever you want me.”

His eyes find mine, deep and dark, as he contemplates my words. He opens his mouth to speak but then the tent flap opens and a man calls out that breakfast is ready. The General’s mouth slams shut and his expression changes. “Place it on the table.” The man complies and the tent flap closes again.

He gently places his hand over mine. “Come. Let’s eat.”

The Roman troops are impressive.

That day, they pack up the entire camp and start the long trek towards our next destination, which is at least several days worth of traveling by land. And every night they build an entirely new camp that looks identical to the one they had outside of my city. It’s mind boggling.

Ever since our first night, The General tries harder to keep a respectful distance from me, not wanting me to feel pressured or obligated to do anything. He keeps me close though, always keeping an eye on me to make sure I’m safe. A week goes by and we’re in his tent, him pouring over maps and moving the little pieces and pins, me reading a book that he pulled from one of his chests. A soldier enters the tent with a tray of food and the General motions to his side table. The soldier leaves and I close my book, watching General Acacius for a few minutes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stares at his board, a single curl falling forward onto his forehead. I quietly get up and cross the space to him, gently squeezing his arm.

“Hey. Come eat.”

He blinks and looks down at me, heaving a big sigh. “You’re right. I need a break.” He follows me back to the table and sits, starting to eat some of the cooked meat the men had brought in.

“Have you thought about what you want to do once we capture the next city?” He takes a bite out of the meat and watches me as he chews.

“Are you asking me to leave?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Damn I want to lick it. “War is no place for a lady.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He studies me for a moment. “You may do what you want. I told you you are free.”

“And I told you that I will follow you.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“You saved my life.”

“You do not wish to get married?”

I shrug. “I was married before. But I am not objecting to marrying again. To the right person.”

He takes another bite of meat and thoroughly chews it before speaking. “What happened to him? Your husband. You mentioned his passing before.”

I’m honestly surprised he hadn’t asked before. We had started having little talks at meals, but it wasn’t about anything heavy.

“Remus was a kind man. He was the eldest son of the wealthiest merchant in our city. My father arranged our marriage to unite our houses. He was wealthy and had his own estate. We married and I moved in with him. I…suppose I loved him, in a content way. Like I said, Remus was kind, despite his hard exterior with his business dealings. He made sure I had everything I wanted. He had bought me Caius when he was just a foal. However, a few months after we were wed, he was called to the army. He left, proud to serve his people, despite his family begging him not to go. He never returned.” I take a sip from my mug, giving myself a moment to gather myself. “It was..hard, after he had passed. We had not really had a chance to have children. His family returned me to my family after a grieving period. I was allowed to keep Caius only because he had formed such a fierce attachment to me, along with some trinkets and clothes. Honestly, Remus would’ve been appalled at the way his family moved me from the estate. Anyway, I moved back in with my father and brother. A few years later, my father became ill and passed away, leaving me to my brother, Cato. He was abusive, verbally and physically. But I had nowhere to go. I dreamt every day that someone would come to take me away from him. But he always reminded me that no one would want someone who was used and old.” I shrug, taking another sip before meeting his eyes. “When I say you saved my life, I mean it. I am not simply in your debt. I want to be here.” He watches me for several moments, his jaw ticking as he fiddles with his mug. He sits up and leans forward, placing his large hand over mine.

“I am sorry you had to endure all of that tragedy.”

“Thank you, General.”

“Marcus. Call me Marcus.”

My stomach flutters. “Marcus. Thank you.”

We’re back in the saddle the next day, me on Caius and him on his beautiful chestnut horse, Augustus. He has been softer with me since I told him my story, chatting and making jokes. He’s still respectful, never wanting to push a boundary. One that he set himself, I might add. Another camp goes up, this one built a little differently. There are more wood cabins instead of tents and Marcus explains that we may be here more than a night or two. We eventually settle into our bed, another mattress somehow never appearing for me. Not that I’m reminding anyone.

“We ride out in the morning. I want you to stay in this cabin, do you understand?”

“Y-yeah. Yes. Of course.”

He turns to me on his side, his eyes on me in the dimly lit space as I roll to look at him. He speaks quietly, but firm and I think I can make out worry in his eyes.

“I will have Caius ready and waiting for you outside. If you hear any soldiers, you take him and you ride. You run, do you understand me?”

“Yes, but what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. You get to safety. That is your priority. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but-”

In an unexpected move, he reaches out and cups my cheek, his eyes on mine. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

I place my hand over his. “I promise.”

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#marcus acacius #gladiator marcus #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #marcus acacius x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #gladiator 2 fanfic #gladiator 2 ff

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lovelytsunoda · 2 days ago

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love, actually | robert 'bob' floyd

summary: recently appointed admiral robert floyd feels overwhelmed in his new position, and unprepared to fill the shoes of the late admiral thomas kazansky. when he inherts the job, he also inherits tom's old secretary. cue the romance. inspired by hugh grant's storyline in love, actually

pairing: admiral!bob floyd x secretary!reader

warnings: mentions of death and greif was she secretly in love with that old man (because same) we may never know! mentions of addiction (but not with our two main characters!), can be considered to be a minor part of the heather and tommy universe (see 'tell me something girl (are you happy in this modern world)!) so many navy inaccuracies it would make a real admiral's head spin, professionalism simply does not exist in the pacific fleet

the office was barren, devoid of the remarkable life that had once occupied it. the large oak desk that had once held family photos and love notes from the admiral's wife was now empty, save for the top of the line desktop computer. admiral kazansky's wife and kids had been by earlier in the week to collect his things. bob hadn't been there, but he'd heard from natasha that it wasn't a pretty sight. she said that heather kazansky looked frail, and slightly lost without her husband of thirty years by her side. tom was her soulmate, and she'd gone through the pain of watching him die slowly.

cancer was a bitch.

this wasn't how he had wanted to come in to the job. although it was no doubt that he was the best man to lead the pacific fleet (and with an endorsement from maverick mitchell, nobody was going to question his appointment.), he was now wondering if he was really ready.

"admiral floyd?"

bob turned around. standing in the doorway in a skirt that was certainly not navy issued, was a tall young woman with round glasses and soft features. she wore no makeup save for the mascara on her eyelashes.

"hi, i'm y/n. i was admiral kazansky's secretary. and, i suppose, i'm now yours." her voice was soft and gentle, like music to bob's ears. "i brought your welcome packet and agenda for the day."

"admiral robert floyd." he stuck his hand out for her to shake, ignoring how clammy his palms suddenly seemed to feel. "but please, call me bob."

"that's your callsign, right? does it mean anything?"

bob rolled his eyes. "baby on board. they call me that because of my youthful appearance."

she laughed briefly, a cheerful and somewhat abrupt sound, before she looked at the empty office, her face falling again. "he was a good man."

"he was." bob agreed somberly.

"i loved that old man, i really did."

for a second, bob felt like something had tripped in his brain. she loved him? it seemed so cliche when he thought about it, but weren't cliches there for a reason? the pretty young secretary with the silver fox admiral. but what about heather? and his kids? he'd been married to heather since 1987, and from what bob knew of the admiral, he was an honorable man in all aspects of life.

this confusion must have shown on bob's face, because the secretary simply laughed, turning to face him with her arms crossed over her baby blue blouse.

"like a father, admiral. admiral kazansky and i were never involved. he was a family man. i'm the same age as his middle child." she didn't know why she was spitting out words like this. divulging too much information would be unprofessional and- "i actually used to go out with his eldest son when i first started working here. i was young and dumb and mitchell kazansky was a few years older and smooth talking. and then i broke up with him and he went to rehab. he's doing good now. he got married four years ago, i think. i've met his wife, she's a sweet girl." stop. fucking. talking. y/n.

in truth, bob only caught half of the word vomit. he was too preoccupied with the way her eyes sparkled behind her glasses, and the way her crossed arms accidentally pushed up her cleavage. she was totally wearing a push up bra. jake and bradley could probably even accurately guess her boob size. bob couldn't, but didn't need to to wonder what it would be like to rest his head against them, feeling her arms wrap around his tired frame.

"anyways." she exhaled, cheeks rosy with embarrassment. "i'll let you settle in. just so you know, your friday meeting with the commanders got moved up. it's nothing to worry about. come find me at lunch and i'll give you the brief. i used to make them for tom all the time, especially when he got sick."

"thank you." bob said graciously. "i really appreciate it. would you actually mind staying with me during the meeting? just to make sure i don't put my foot in my mouth."

she smiled, passing him a file folder. "of course, admiral. i'd love to."

the afternoon meeting came faster than bob would have wanted, and he was still struggling to make heads or tails of half the reports that his secretary had left on his desk. having a meeting this soon into his tenure seemed unusual, and for a moment he wondered about the severity of the content being discussed.

of course, he couldn't worry for long. through the panes of glass in the office doors, he could see y/n out at her desk, applying a thin layer of chapstick while she waited on hold with someone. her desk was filled with little baubles and a few small plants were on the filing cabinet behind her.

she looked calm and carefree, unbothered. and bob was smitten. completely and totally smitten. sure, it was a workplace harassment suit waiting to happen. and yes, it was never a good idea to get involved with people at work, especially when you outranked them.

but in that moment, bob floyd simply couldn't care less. especially when she gave him a flirty little wave from behind her desk, and even more so when the collar of her shirt dipped just enough that bob could see the edge of her lacy white bra.

this woman was going to be the death of him.

"bob?" she called out, poking her head through the doorway. "the commanders are here earlier than expected. have you had a chance to look over the notes?"

fuck. he couldn't admit that he was so distracted that he forgot to read the file. "uh, about half of it?" he explained sheepishly. "it's a lot."

she flashed him an understanding smile. "if you get lost in the meeting, i can take over. i used to do it for tom all the time."

"thank you. you're a lifesaver."

she winked, backing out of the room. "you owe me one, admiral."

the commanders filed into the meeting room, gathering around the round oak table like they were king arthur's knights. bob recognized a few of them, including jake seresin. he took a seat underneath the world map that was used to plot out missions, y/n taking a seat beside him.

and bob floyd wished he was a better man because as soon as he saw that skirt slip up her plush thigh, he was a goner. he forgot why he was even in that meeting in the first place. to his credit, he did fairly well, answering questions about the transition of power in the pacific fleet, and what was going on with some current matters that had gone unfinished when the previous admiral had passed. whenever bob seemed to stutter or falter in any way, y/n jumped in to rescue him, with a well-worded response delivered in such an effortless manner that he wondered why he was the admiral and not her.

jake caught him staring, a glean of admiration in his eyes as he watched the secretary (who was one of only two women in the room, by the way) outline a budget for the coming year. the commander kicked his former platoonmate under the table, holding back a laugh. bob shot him a dirty look before redirecting his attention to y/n.

after the meeting, and after shaking hands with what felt like every commander in san diego, jake stayed behind to chat with bob, eager to 'catch up' on everything the other had missed since their assignment with maverick. but really, jake just wanted to rib his coworker about the pretty secretary.

"dude, kazansky's secretary? come on."

"jake, shut up." bob could feel his face going pink. "it would be unprofessional at best, harassment at worst. her boss just died, for god's sake!"

jake laughed, hands tucked into the pockets of his dress whites. "i'm sure that they make porno's about this kind of thing. i say go for it. you only live once, admiral."

"hangman, go fuck yourself."

there was a knock on the office door, and y/n stuck her head inside the office. "admiral floyd, commander seresin. its five, so im on my way out. if you need anything, there's a post-it with my personal number on it in your welcome packet. don't stay too late, you'll make me look bad." she grinned at bob, waving at him before ducking back out of the office again.

bob shouted after her, something along the lines of 'see you in the morning', but he couldn't hear himself think over the sound of jake's laughter.

"what!"

"dude, look below your fucking belt. you're fucked."

_______

life went on, and bob found himself settling into his role as admiral nicely. of course, he wasn't doing it alone. y/n was a massive help in meetings, and they had started tag-teaming on important topics: putting together elaborate slide presentations, models and poster boards before every meeting with the fellow admirals or the commanders. there was a meeting with the president's aide scheduled for the new year, and surprisingly, bob wasn't worried about it. he had even gone as far as to help y/n decorate the office for christmas.

every day, she showed up in a trendy, fashionable and flattering outfit that definitely went against navy regulations, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. especially not when those leather slacks of hers made him so achingly hard that he spent half of his lunch break in the private bathroom jerking off. it wasn't the good admiral's fault that his secretary was so stunningly beautiful and sweet and kind and funny and so many other things that made him wonder if it was finally time to consider finding a life partner.

the pair had started sharing their lunch breaks, and bob was enjoying getting to know her outside of the office. she was easy to talk to, and he was convinced he had never laughed as much as he had when he was with her.

and that's why he was so worried when he saw that she had put in for a transfer request.

_____

they were one week out from christmas, and the base was getting ready to send all non-essential staff home. that meant that y/n was getting a much needed break, and while bob would be considered to be 'on-call', he got to go home as well. the last meeting of the year was finished, and y/n was cleaning up the round table in the conference room when she heard hushed voices from the cracked door in bob's office.

"robert, you understand what you're getting yourself into, right? the kind of trouble you'd be opening up for her?" natasha trace's voice was low and not quite venomous, but not calm either. "don't think that people haven't figured out why you hide in the bathroom over your lunch break, bradley told me about your little crush. you can't act on it, bob. i'm sorry, but you just can't. she's your subordinate. unless one of you transfers out. no matter how much you think you'd be able to make it work, it just not possible."

"i love her, phoenix. and i don't know what to do."

"you keep your mouth shut and your dick in your pants. that's what you do."

she felt her heart grow tight in her chest. bob was in love with someone? it was probably another soldier, or a pilot. or, and she hesitated at the thought, was bob floyd falling in love with her?

she didn't know if she wanted to find out. because if she was wrong, and bob didn't feel the same way about her that she felt about him, it was going to lead to a lot of heartbreak.

she put in for a transfer to another fleet later that week.

________

"what the fuck? how could this happen, phoenix? what did you say to her?"

natasha gaped at the frazzled admiral, who was pacing behind his desk. "what did i say to her? i didn't say shit, bob. she must have overheard us and gotten the wrong idea."

it was christmas eve, and bob didn't even know why he'd come into the office. he supposed it was because he wanted everything pressing to be done before the holidays, but seeing the neon blue transfer request paper on his desk had thrown him for a loop.

"i can't function without her. she keeps this office going." bob wailed, running his fingers through his hair. "i need her."

"yeah." jake snorted. "in more ways than one."

"can it, hangman." natasha scolded. "you'd have to find a really good, sound reason for denying the transfer, you know. keeping her here without one would be an abuse of power."

"you think i don't fucking know that?"

"there is another solution here." bradley bradshaw suggested, leaning against the side of the desk. "her address would be in her files, right? why don't you go and talk to her?"

actually.....that wasn't a terrible idea.

"no." natasha glared at him, almost as if she could read his mind. "that would be another glaring abuse of power. do none of you have functioning brain cells? this is psychotic."

"but it could work." bob mused, scrambling to boot up his computer. "what woman doesn't love a grand romantic gesture?"

"that's my boy." jake roared with laughter, clapping him in the shoulders. "let's make this christmas miracle happen."

bob scrambled to pull up her personnel file, scribbling a street address down in his messy cursive. "okay, okay. how do we know she's home? i mean, it's christmas eve. she could be with family, or with friends-"

"trust your gut, admiral." jake encouraged. "rooster, grab the keys to the bronco!"

"i'm surrounded by idiots!" natasha cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "why am i even here?"

there was a fleeting sense of nostalgia as the former dagger squad members piled into rooster's sleek black bronco. it was cold for california, albeit the lake of snow on the ground. a strong wind was coming in off the ocean, pushing the bronco closer to y/n's house. bob was jittery, working his way through everything he wanted to say.

because how did he tell a woman that he loved her without even having gone out with her yet?

"alright, take a left at this next set of lights, and then a left at the stop sign after that." jake instructed, reading directions off of his phone. rooster was going at least ten over the speed limit, and natasha was praying that there were no police officers around.

"that's her house!" bob shouted, jumping to attention in the backseat. "the one with the the three volkswagens in the driveway. she still lives with her parents, the whole family drives german cars. i remember her bringing it up over lunch one day."

the bronco skidded to a stop in the middle of the road, forced to slow abruptly when bob threw his door open. natasha chased him out of the car, followed up by jake while bradley worried about where to park on the unforgivingly small street.

bob ran up the driveway, in between an suv and a sport model jetta before practically launching himself at the doorbell.

"y/n?" he called, ringing the bell. "its admiral floyd! can we talk for a minute?"

"she cant hear you, dipshit." jake reminded gently. "just wait for her to answer the door."

the front door crept open, y/n standing nervously behind it in a christmas sweater and jeans. on her feet where two large slippers that looked like reindeer heads.

"admiral floyd? what are you doing here?"

"please don't transfer." bob pleaded, the words coming out in a single breath. "i don't know what i would do without you. you consume my every waking thought, every breath. these past few months working with you have been the most rewarding months of my career and i know how selfish it must sound of me to beg you not to go, but the truth is that i've fallen in love with you, y/n y/l/n. and i can't let you leave the fleet without making sure that you know that."

she stood frozen in the doorway for a minute before a wide smile broke out over her face. "come here you big doofus."

she stepped out onto the front porch, grabbing bob by the lapels of his tommy hilfiger trench coat and pulled him in for a kiss. his eyes widened in shock before he leaned into it, arms settling to hold her protectively.

"i put in the transfer request so you could ask me out, admiral." she whispered, giggling slightly. "i guess it worked."

"yeah." bob breathed, leaning in to kiss her again. "i guess it did."

"god damn it!" bradely shouted, out of breath and he came up the driveway. "don't tell me i missed everything trying to find somewhere to park my fucking car?"

y/n laughed, pulling away from bob. "do you guys want to come inside? i'd feel awful making you stand out here in the cold."

jake shrugged. "why the hell not."

"cassie's here, so behave yourself." y/n warned, referring to tom kazansky's youngest, whom jake had a history of hitting on.

jake perked up. "oh, cassandra!" he called, walking into the house

"not a chance, seresin. teddy and i are still very happily married!" a voice called from within the living room.

"god damn it!"

y/n turned to look at bob. "i made a massive mistake inviting them in, didn't i?"

bob chuckled, kissing her forehead. "yeah. but i wouldn't be here without them, so cut them some slack. come on, let's go celebrate christmas."

#the christmas collection 2024 #top gun maverick x reader #top gun x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #Spotify

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qu0thther4ven · 3 days ago

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Shifting Success ♡

Last night before going to bed I did a meditation on youtube and felt pretty good about it. I had tried it once the night before and it gave me crazy dreams which I associate positively with shifting. Last night I had another crazy dream. At some point during the dream I became lucid, however because the dream was so scary I didn't want to try to shift through it so I just woke up instead.

Scary dreams tend to stay in my mind, but lucid dreams always make me feel really powerful so after lucid dreaming I decided I would shift. I was sort of half asleep at the time but felt very confident that I could do it, so I just decided I would, said so, and went back to sleep.

The bad thing is that I didn't really decide where I wanted to shift to and instead because I had been thinking about that bizzare dream I had just before I wound up becoming aware of this strange reality that was like sort of related to the dream that I had just had.

Because I had lucid dreamt just before shifting I can say with complete certainty that they are entirely different things. They felt so so different, my dreams can get pretty realistic too but it's not like actual living. However shifting very much is actually living. It was such an odd experience honestly.

I woke up and I knew that I was like actually awake and not just in a dream again. I was in a bedroom that I knew distinctly was mine but was nothing like my cr room. Two of my siblings were in the room and they were the same age as me which was super weird since in my cr we are all pretty scattered age wise.

Some of the things that really confirmed it for me were my memories, comfort, and perspective. When I looked around the room I remembered random things about the items in there just like I would in my cr. The best example was when I was talking to my siblings and gathering clothes to change out of my pajamas and I distinctly remember looking through the underwear drawer of all places and looking for one of those pairs with like the day of the week on it of all things.

The fact that I not only knew that I had those without ever seeing them but also that while I was looking my mind wandered to a memory of when I went shopping with my friends and we all thought it would be funny to buy those and so we did. My mind wandering like that is something that happens to me a lot in my cr but never in my dreams.

Another thing that really struck me was the perspective. Real life as we know it is lived through first person on a day to day basis. Often in my dreams the perspective will shift rather like a tv show or movie. I can't remember a dream that I have ever had, lucid or not, where the perspective didn't shift or things didn't distort oddly. But that didn't happen to me at all, it was all real and tangible and first person the whole time.

Anyway this is getting way too long but I hope it's helped someone. After almost five years of trying (i know crazy right) I have shifted. Was it to where I wanted? no. Did I decide to come back as soon as I recognized what was going on cause I got scared? yes! but I still did it. And now I know that I am capable, and that's all I really need.

#shiftblr #reality shifting #shifting community #shifting blog #shifters #desired reality #reality shifter #anti shifters dni #shifting motivation #shifting success #shifting realities #im so happy #this is so long #i hope this is motivating to others cause it is super motivating to me #after this i am permashifting out of here #not in a rush tho now that i know i can do it #ill go tonight I think #i did not reread this so i am sorry if its a mess lol #also i love the wiz omg

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willowed-wisp · 3 days ago

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sweethearts [ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish ]

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!reader

You had known him forever. Since nursery school and all the time in between.

John MacTavish- though, you called him Johnny. And in later life, that turned into calling him ‘Soap’.

He had been gunning for that uniform since you were 15 and he was 16… falsifying his age only to fail miserably.

It was culture shock to when he left when he was 18… he was your first friend, first kiss, first young love. Yet, it was nothing official. Just two best friends experimenting with each other. You couldn’t have asked for a better person.

You were there when he came back- more of a man than the boy who left. All of him larger than before even that indicative smile. But HE hadn’t changed, still the same snack eating, football loving Scotsman.

That meant your attraction for him was worse than ever- having been in love with Johnny for most of your life. His sky bursted gaze enough to drive you crazy.

Someone like him would never feel the same about you- strictly friends.

Mates who got mistaken for boyfriend and girlfriend most days of the week. Neither of you minded it but it was always you who persisted the, ‘as if… he drives me insane…’ the pining kind of insanity.

His return led you to distance yourself, an insecure freshly turned 18 year old, distracting herself from the boy next door. Johnny could do much better for friends than you, he was the youngest SAS recruit to pass the selection.

HE COULD DO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU.

You didn’t even go say goodbye to him when he left for his first mission- somewhere you’d never know.

Instead, he came to you. Stood at your doorstep.

His face gloomy, “So you weren’ even gonna say goodbye?” Not knowing what to do, your shoulders shrugged and silence ensued. “You’ve been off for weeks, when was the last time we had a movie night? Is it because of the training? Me leavin’?”

Fingers picking at your nails; you’d never been nervous around him. But this was the first time seeing him in god-knows how long, when you hadn’t spent a day away from each other. “I don’t know, John- ,”

“You do know and that’s the problem, Y/N, because you won’t bloody tell me what I’ve done wrong,” he spoke harsher than intended, regretting it within an instant as your stepped forward- sizing the six foot something soldier up.

Staring up at him, “Why do you bother with me when you could have anybody around you? I’m not going anywhere with my life!” It wasn’t envy that spurred you on, it was the fact he was going to leave you.

Heartbroken and yearning. Lost without the boy who had always bolstered you up when you had been thrown to the ground.

Johnny’s eyes welled with tears, “What’s made you think that?”

In a whisper, “You’ve just gotten into the fucking SAS, Johnny…”

“So what? I’m still the same guy… nothing’s ever gonna change me… you should know that by now…”

You wanted things to change- the dynamics between you. Before he found somebody who would knock him off his feet and you’d never get the chance.

His fingers trailed your arm, before he cupped your hand. Blue coveted your vision, “Nothing’s goin’ to change us, you’re my absolute best mate…”

Like a dagger, he struck a nerve, “Maybe I don’t want to be your ‘best mate’, I’m sick of pining for you when clearly you’ll never feel the same way,” a quick pause, “Go and find a pretty gir- ,” Before you knew it, his kiss smothered you. More intimate than when you were twelve, with more intent.

Instead of resisting, you caved in. Hands balanced holding his jawline, clean shaven.

Exploring every inch of your body in that hurried kiss. It was better than anything you had dreamed.

Before you pulled away first, “You’re my everything, Y/N…” Thumbs rubbing circles at your waist. “I cannot tell you how long I’ve wanted to do tha’…”

The memory ran writhe in your brain. That was 8 years ago…

Since then you were happily married with a baby on the way. Johnny had been deployed for over a month. Today he was supposed to be returning- from where you didn’t have a clue but he always came home safely.

That’s what mattered.

You expected the phone to start buzzing, the usual unknown number saying to go to the airport. Instead, a knock at the door.

It was like him not to want to run you around pregnant. But it was Simon who answered the door.

Not able to help the tremble. Air caught in your throat, choking on nothing. “He’s not… is he?” Stopping those tears from coming down- clutching your belly.

You’d have fallen to your knees- had it not been for capable hands.

You looked up, blue eyes for days and a face contorted worriedly, “What did you say, to ‘er, LT?” He held you close, but it would never be enough for you. “You and munchkin okay?” He rubbed your large stomach.

You crushed him in your arms. “Darlin’, I’m a bit tender…” Only then did you notice the sling in his arm, a bandage skirting beneath his shirt.

“What happened?” He shook his head, a grin on his face.

One of nervousness, “It could have been a lot worse,” Simon was as gruff as usual. You would never be allowed to know what happened.

“I’m just glad you’re safe and sound,” Thumb rubbing along longer stubble on his cheek, there was more to the story than either him or Simon were telling you. “You too, Si, thanks for taking care of him.” Spoken wholeheartedly, “Dinners on, you can stay if you want?”

He accepted as he usually did. The mood held less tension as time went on. You came to the conclusion that you were lucky to have Johnny in front of you, laughing at some stupid dad joke Simon said.

All you did was sit there, looking at the guy you had loved all your life.

Your Johnny…

————

I contemplated 💀 Johnny but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He’s just too sweet and just too tragic to write.

Thank you for reading :) xx

————

masterlist

#johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap mw3 #john soap mactavish #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod #cod mwii #cod mw x reader #mw2

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mermaidgirl30 · 12 hours ago

Text

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 4: Bubble Baths and Faded Scars✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Cut my entire heart out to write this chapter. I love love how soft Joel is, and I hope this brings a little comfort to all the healing girlies 🩷 There’s a lot of triggers in this chapter, so pay attention to the tags. I hope you enjoy this chapter because I so loved writing it.

Chapter Summary: Who knew that facing one of your fears would be so hard? It’s just a shower, but a shower is so much more to you. And just when you think you can’t face it, Joel helps you one step at a time.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6k words

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused and SA, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, shower triggers, vulnerable reader, panic attack, sweet nicknames (sweetheart, angel)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

One month. You’ve been here one entire whole month and you still haven’t been able to get yourself to step into the shower. It’s only a shower. It can’t hurt you, but they can. The memories that drag knives through your skull, leaving you to bleed out on the cracked tile.

It’s only memories, only deep scars from your past, but they still haunt you night and day, swearing to come back and swallow you whole with their jagged, sharp teeth — just like a great white shark.

Nevermind that you’ve been washing your hair in the sink or scrubbing your body until your skin glows red with the washcloth. You can’t fucking do it, but you’re going to force yourself to try today. You have to. You have got to break this traumatic cycle.

You can do this. It’s a shower. Only a shower.

Making your way cautiously to the edge of the tub, you glimpse at the metal shower head, fixate on the way it curves and dips and glares back at you with vengeance in its wake. It’s like a monster’s staring right back at you, sneering its sharp teeth and whispering nightmares into your mind.

Come and get me, you want to say, but it’s already sunk its razor-sharp fangs into your skin. It’s already bled you dry.

Swallowing your fears, you stand your ground and narrow your eyes into thin slits, flexing your fingers into tight fists as you look into the face of fear.

It can’t hurt you, can’t wrap its long cord around your neck like they tried. But yet, it still can…

You still feel their icy breaths blowing down your neck, still feel their filthy hands trailing up your skin, still feel the scars they clawed down your back while they had you pinned against the tiled wall. You still feel them inside you, all around you, branding you as their own forever.

You’re still theirs.

You hear their cackling laughter ringing through your eardrums as you reach for the shower head, stretching your arm through the visions of Garrett and his buddies having their way with you in the bathroom.

“Get out,” you mewl, chattering your teeth as you grab a hold of the bottled lavender soap from the side of the porcelain tub. You can’t let them win.

“Look at you. All scared and helpless, begging for someone to come save you,” Garrett snickers, fisting the back of your hair as another man tears your dress off.

“Stop. Please…” you beg, tears streaming down and clouding your vision. “I’m worth more than this. You don’t have to…”

“What makes you think you’re so special, princess? Nobody’s looking for you. You’re ours until we sell you. And right now? Right now you’re mine.”

Tears slip from your lash line, falling like raindrops as they hit the edge of the tub. You remember that night so clearly, remember it like it’s happening all over.

Your body starts to shake the further you reach for the shower head, making it your mission to push through. But the voices echo in your mind, vibrating down your spine until you actually see their muted faces and narrowed eyes in the reflection of the metal.

Push through. Fight. Forget them. They’re not real anymore. But they are still real, and they’re just repeating the cycle with other innocent women that were taken…

Just as your fingers latch around the shower head, Garrett’s voice booms through your head, ricocheting off the pristine tiled walls. “You’re mine, little whore. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Get out of my head. I’m not yours!” you scream, dropping the shower head as it bangs a loud clash against the shower walls, startling you like a gunshot just went off. The soap tumbles out of your palm, the bottle opening and spilling lavender liquid all over the bottom of the tub, making messes you can’t get yourself to clean up.

You drop to the floor and cover your head with your hands, begging the yelling voices to just stop. But they don’t. They come parading in like a steep hurricane and crash their waves down on you, knocking you off center so they can snake their way into your mind to scream even louder.

“Stop, stop,” you whisper as a fallen teardrop hits the edge of the bathtub. And then they just keep coming like scattered storm clouds.

You can’t fucking do this. You’re not strong enough. You’re not brave. You’re not brave.

Footsteps on the floorboards make your fingers curl deeper into your messy hair. You squeeze your eyes shut as the door hits the back of the wall with a loud bang. And now you’re spiraling.

Garrett. It’s Garrett coming for you. And this time, he wants blood.

You have to run. You have to get out, you have to leave.

“Hey, sweetheart—”

“No!” you scream out in blind fear, afraid your life is about to flash before your eyes. You start to swing your arm but when you look up, you drop it right back to your side with wide eyes.

“Hey, it’s jus’ me. It’s me,” he reassures gently.

When you look through your tear-stained eyelashes, the world gets a little more quiet. A green flannel fitted against broad shoulders sits before you, his silver-threaded hair glowing from the fluorescent bathroom lights, and those eyes... Those big, brown, syrupy eyes.

Joel.

“Joel…” you whimper out.

He leans down right beside you and gets on your level, brown eyes locked directly on your teary ones. “S’right. It’s me.” His hand lands on the edge of the bathtub, thumb grazing against the smooth surface. Close enough to feel the heat off his tanned skin.

You’re breathless, tears still streaming down your cheek, but he looks like he wants to reach out and wipe them away with the pad of his thumb.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern lathered all through his soft brown eyes.

“I was just… I just…” You can’t finish your sentence without cringing at the shift of his shoulders.

“Take your time, sweetheart,” he says encouragingly.

He’s always so patient.

Taking a deep breath, you make yourself speak quietly. “I just wanted to get a shower. And I just can’t. I couldn’t do it. I can’t…” Tears muddle your vision, and then you’re right back into the pool you were in.

“Breathe for me,” he coos softly, making your breathing a little easier. “There ya go,” he encourages. “Jus’ take it slow.”

He takes a long look at the hanging shower head and the spilled lavender soap that runs down the edge of the tub, ending in a small puddle where your fear lies. It’s like he puts two and two together, like he understands exactly what happened.

“I made a mess with the soap, I…”

He stops you right there. “Shh. S’okay,” he whispers. “Let me jus’ help you here, sweetheart.”

Slowly reaching over, he turns the faucet to warm and lets fresh water run through the tub. He pours more lavender soap in, creating a pool of bubbles that cover the surface of the water. And then he puts the shower head back where it belongs, at a safe distance where it can’t touch you. And you just sit there, watching in silence as he tests out the temperature of the water next.

“You’re running a bath for me…”

He stops for a moment and looks at you with big, warm eyes, looking at you as if you’re in need of saving. “Yeah, I am.”

Gulping down a lump in your throat, you watch him get back to his task at hand. Stretching his long arms, he cuts the faucet off when the water hits just against the top of the tub. Enough for you to slip in and not spill any water out.

He tilts his head back to you and says, “You think you can get in by yourself?”

Staring at the steam coming up from the warm water, you tremble inside. He drew you a bath when you didn’t have the strength to stand in a shower. He did that. He did it for you…

Wiping your blurry eyes, you sniffle out. “I think so.”

He gives you a small smile and then pushes himself up to his feet, nodding to the bath water as he turns the other way. “Go ahead then. I won’t look.”

You sit there in shambles, still gawking as his broad back stands firm across the room. He’s not even peeking. He’s not trying to look at you.

“Sweetheart, s’alright. You can trust me.”

You can trust me. There’s that word again. Trust.

Gradually, you start to pull your t-shirt over your head, cautiously dragging your leggings to the floor and hiding your purple lace underneath the fabric of your shirt. And then your bra unclasps with a snap, leaving you completely bare as you sit in a heap on the cold floor.

Turning your head back around, you see he’s still not looking, so you decide to slip under the warmth of the bath bubbles and sink until your body is covered from the breasts down. You pull your knees up to your chest, blanketing yourself with the large bubbles and your arms.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you whimper out.

“Is it alright if I turn around?”

Freezing, your body is suddenly ice cold, despite the warmth surrounding your skin. Panic consumes you for a second, but then you remember it’s Joel.

He won’t hurt you.

Balling yourself up even tighter, you make your decision. “Oh. Yeah, I umm. Okay,” you mumble out.

The shift of his jeans and his boots tiptoeing across the floor makes your mind race, feelings of fight or flight invading your body as you work to steady your fast breath.

You’re completely naked, stripped raw and bleeding all your insecurities and fears into the lavender soap that envelops the bath. There’s no layers covering you except the thin coating of bubbles and your curled up knees hiding what’s been taken time after time again from you.

You shrink yourself further into the tub, curving your back, praying your hair will cover the faded scars that slit you open night after night. You don’t want anyone to see them, can’t even stand to look at them yourself. They’re ugly reminders of what’s happened to you. Just heavy burdens weighing you down, telling you how invaluable and broken you really are.

Garrett used to love that… dragging glass through the top of your right shoulder, or just using his teeth to make blood run down your cracked skin. You still feel it. Every lash and bite and cut he gave you. He ruined you just like every other man that touched you in that house. Except he was the worst of them.

You’re so fucking vulnerable and exposed, and it’s so raw. And you’re just showing all your bleeding shades of red to Joel.

When you hear him shift behind you and slightly feel his large presence near the bathtub, you freeze, and then your body starts to shake violently, like you just got dunked below an icy lake.

“Hey, s’alright. It’s alright, sweetheart,” he coos as he kneels down against the side of the tub. “You’re tremblin’ like a leaf. Are you cold?”

“N—no,” you whisper, shaking your head back and forth until you believe what you’re saying. It’s warm inside the bath water, but you’re still shuddering like you just got hit with a bucket of ice cold water.

It’s quiet for a second before he asks, “Is it me? Do you want me to leave?”

Briefly flicking your teary eyes up at him, you take a long look at his concerned face, embracing those warm brown eyes that you could get lost in.

Do you really want him to leave? If he does, that means you’ll be all alone with the roaring thoughts in your head. And you don’t want to be alone. Not really. You want him to stay because the truth is… he makes you feel not so alone.

He feels like fresh air.

“No. I… I don’t want you to go,” you whisper, keeping your eyes locked right on those deep brown pools.

He gives you a tight-lipped nod and takes a good look at your face, like he can just slip inside your mind and feel everything you’ve ever felt in those last two years.

“M’not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart. Gonna stay right here. Right where you need me.” His words pull at your heartstrings, stopping the screaming voices in your mind.

He said he’ll stay.

You… need him.

Sitting there curled up in shambles, you don’t move. You just wade in the soapy bubbles and look up bashfully beneath your eyelashes, praying he’ll keep the flashbacks at bay. You don’t know when exactly you grabbed a washcloth, but your knuckles are white from how tight you’re holding on. Maybe it’s helping keep you sane right now.

Don’t let the memories come flooding back. Keep me from sinking, Joel.

His thumb traces along the edge of the tub, while his other grabs the open bottle of lavender soap. And then he looks at you, hesitating before he speaks. He almost looks like he doesn’t know what to say, like he’ll scare you off or say the wrong thing.

He could never scare you, you think. No. Never.

“Can I?” He tilts his head toward your exposed back, his calloused fingers still skimming the surface while your heart beats sporadically from what he’s asking.

Swallowing the words that threaten to spit out, you push them back and nod cautiously, allowing him to take the purple washcloth from your shaking palm. He brushes his calloused skin against yours, and you jump at the contact.

“Hey, s’okay. I’m gonna be real gentle, sweetheart. You just tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop.” His deep timbre stops the panic, and all you can do is hang your head lower and focus on the slow deep breathing technique Joel taught you last week.

“Okay…” you whisper out in a hushed breath.

The first touch of the soapy washcloth feels like knives to your skin, carving you up slowly as your body is served to the slaughterhouse. It almost feels like Garrett behind you, cackling as he had his way with you all those times. And when he slides the washcloth down your spine again, you hear a quiet sob escape your lips.

You weren’t supposed to show him this side. One that’s so torn apart and abused and broken. You weren’t supposed to show him your scars…

“Sweetheart, s’alright,” he coos, blowing his warm breath against the back of your head as he stops his slow strokes for just a moment. “You’re safe. I’m not gonna hurt you…” he repeats again slowly, quietly.

Swiping a falling tear away with the back of your arm, you let him continue. He’s so gentle with every movement, taking care to watch your reactions, back off if something seems too much. He listens to your body language and respects you because he knows how scary this is for you. You don’t want anyone to touch you, but you think this is okay. Because the truth is, you couldn’t do this without him.

Slowly brushing your hair to the side, he washes along the back of your neck, gently going over the curve of your shoulders, down your spine, and stopping where your body is submerged.

“Tilt your head back for me, sweetheart,” he asks politely, reaching to grab the bottle of shampoo. You do as he says.

He fills a little bucket with water and slowly runs it through your hair, until it’s all drenched in warmth. Next, he laces his thick fingers through your hair, scrubbing your scalp to get all the knots and tangles and sweat out. You fight to hold in a low groan, reveling in how good it feels to have his fingers running through your locks in such a gentle way.

And he stays there, talking you through it, telling you it’s all okay. And he’s so gentle. Almost like a little lamb with those brown eyes that could soothe you into a deep lull, calm your flying thoughts until you’re just standing still.

No one’s ever done this, taken the time to care. You’ve never had someone to do that. He’s doing what no one else signed up to do.

But why… why would he do this? You’re nothing. At least that’s what they told you back at the house. That’s what Angela said while Garrett had you pinned to the dining room chair, breathing all down your ear, his teeth dragging until he left marks.

You shiver in place, teeth chattering even though you’re in warm bath water. But right now you feel like you’re ten feet under a frozen lake, and you need Joel to pull you out.

The visions of Garrett come rushing back, clouding your better judgement and making you fold over again in fear.

Get out. Get out of my head.

But you’re right back at that stagnant old house. You’re back in Garrett’s hands…

Fuck. Why’d you have to remember that night…

It’d be so easy to slip under the surface of the bubbles, embrace the black seas that would drag you under into oblivion. You could just sink into the warmth, watch the real world disappear along with all your memories. Melt into a peaceful bliss. You could just end it all, but you don’t want that. You want to live, to face your fears, to go on living. You want to be brave. You want… you want…

“Sweetheart? What is it?” he asks lightly as he watches a tear break the surface of the water.

“I… I just…” You trail off, staring at the shower head, trembling as you remember everything.

His eyes follow yours, and it’s like he sees right through your thin layers of red.

You’re scared. You’re so fucking terrified.

Joel knocks you out of your dark mindset, his Southern drawl taking that fear away. “Hey, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Umm. I…”

“S’okay if you don’t wanna talk ‘bout it. Jus’ tryin’ to understand what happened so I can help. I want to help. If you’ll let me.”

You turn his words over and over in your mind, contemplating if you want to let him in. But honestly, talking to Joel does make you feel a little better. And keeping everything bottled up inside is eating you alive, so maybe talking about it will help. Joel will help. He always helps…

You take a deep breath and let it all out. “I just… I used to be so independent. I did everything for myself and now? Now I can barely do anything…”

“Hey. S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get back to that point one day. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I don’t feel okay.”

He stops the slow movements of his wrist, rests the washcloth against the middle of your back. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“He hurt me…”

The room turns silent, not even the splash of water meets the white noise in the bathroom. That is, until you hear his knuckles flex.

“What?” he asks in a husky breath.

“He hurt me,” you repeat, your voice dropped an octave lower.

“Who, sweetheart? Tell me who hurt you.” He’s attentive, all attention on you, his eyes dark chocolate when they lock with yours.

“Garrett… The one that sold me. He… he…” Your voice quivers into silence, only the quiet sobs escaping your throat.

“Hey, s’okay. You’re okay,” he coos. “He’s not here and he never will be again. He won’t touch you again. Ever. And I… Well, I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart. I’ll never hurt you. You’re safe now.”

You’re safe now. You’re safe with him.

Your eyes drop back down to the bubbles, shining under the fluorescent lights, your hands skimming under the water against your hidden legs. “Back at the house, we weren’t really allowed to take showers alone. Well, not all the girls. One of them just happened to be me…”

Pausing to flinch, you start again when he doesn’t interrupt. “No matter how much I fought back or screamed or tried to get away, they just held me down against the tile wall. And Garrett was the worst of them, even if he was the one trying to sell me. He was the one that used me the most. Said I was his favorite plaything,” you spit out, sinking your nails deep into your ankles to relieve some of the heartache.

“Jesus Christ…” His voice drops an octave, and you feel his fingers flex against the washcloth, ringing it dry as he takes his frustration out on it.

“And the shower head,” you continue. “They… they umm, did things to me with it. Horrible, awful things.” You see his lips part, eyes widening in horror out of your peripheral vision. He doesn’t like this anymore than you do. “They should’ve just finished me off when they strangled me with it while they had my face pressed against the wall…” You choke on a sob, like you’re reliving that night over right now. You still feel it. The press of the coiled hose wrapped tightly around your neck, choking you as they had their way with your frayed body.

Joel sits back on his heels, looking at you like you’re made of glass. Like he’s afraid one wrong word will send you over the edge. “Sweetheart, I… Fuck. M’so sorry that you went through that. That I didn’t get you out sooner. I swear to God if I ever get my hands on Garrett or any of those men, I’m gonna make ‘em pay. They’ll wish they never laid a finger on you. I’m gonna fuckin—”

You stop him from going any further. You don’t need him to be the knight in shining armor right now. You just need someone to listen. “You’ve done enough, Joel. You don’t have to. What’s done is done. I’ll never be anything more than something to use to them, and they’ll never change.”

Staring off into the waves of water, you try to let the bubbles wash your pain away, but another tear slips free, falling down the side of your cheek.

“Hey, look at me for a second,” he asks softly. You turn to face him all teary eyed, and he catches the tear from falling. His knuckles brush tenderly against your skin for just a second, and then his warmth is gone the second he pulls away. He doesn’t let it linger, but you almost wish he would. His touch is so feather-like. So soft and gentle and warm.

He takes a good look at your somber face and sighs, his fingers knocking against the side of the tub. “You never deserved any of that abuse. And I’m sick to death that it happened to you. But you can’t jus’… You gotta keep goin’, sweetheart. You gotta keep livin’. You have so much to give. You’re so full of life and bright and the bravest girl I’ve ever met, and you—”

“Brave?”

“S’right, sweetheart. Jus’ like I said the other day in the parking lot. You’re so very brave. And you’ve got a lifetime ahead of you jus’ waitin’.” He stares at the washcloth for a second, but then he’s looking back up at you. “It’s gonna be hard. God, it’s gonna be so fuckin’ hard for a while, but you’re gonna make it. With a little help, you’re gonna soar.”

You feel water burn the backs of your eyes, feel like you’re going to implode right now in this bathtub. But you push the fears away and look back up into the soft brown eyes of a man who cares what happens to you.

“It’s not gonna be easy, but you’re gonna get through it. You’re gonna have bad days where you feel like you can’t do anything, but those are the days you gotta jus’ take it one step at a time, like today. And those are the kinda days where it’s okay to ask for help. I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here to help, whatever I can with. I jus’ want you to be okay, sweetheart. That’s all I want. For you to live.”

Your heart clenches in your chest as you gaze into those soft brown eyes. And you just stare with your arms wrapped around your legs, almost want to reach out and graze your fingers through his sandy brown locks. He does something to you. Makes you feel like you’re worth saving. Makes you feel alive. Makes you feel like a human being.

He had every chance to take advantage of you in here. He could’ve done anything, but he chose to protect you and take care of you instead.

He took care of you.

So you continue to stare into those glossy brown eyes, memorizing every speck of gold in his flecked irises. He kinda reminds you of sunshine, warm rays of yellow and orange peeking over the horizon.

He reminds you of safety. He’s safe.

You shift in the bubbles that cover you, watch as the water breaks against your knees, and then your eyes are back on him just like you’re mesmerized. “How is it that every single particle of me doesn’t want to trust another man ever again, but I trust you?”

A smile crosses his lips. “You trust me?”

“Mhm.”

He takes a good look at you and smiles wider, making his dimple sink into his left cheek. It tugs a little at your heartstrings. “Well then, thank you for trustin’ me.”

You nod and peek up through your eyelashes, waiting a few seconds before you confess something. “You make me feel safe…”

His brown eyes delve deep into yours, and his smile still hasn’t faded. “That’s ’cause you are, sweetheart. You’re safe with me. Always. I would rather kill a thousand men than ever lay a harmful finger on you. You’re too special for that, sweet girl. You deserve good things. You deserve the world.”

His voice sounds like velvet. Smooth, delicate, soft. And even though you’re laid out like bare bones and crumbled dust, he seems to cover all your vulnerabilities and put all your broken pieces back together like glue.

Somehow, he can knock the breath out of you but also give you an overabundance of oxygen at the same time. He’s good at that. Bringing you life when you feel like you’re getting buried alive. He gives life. Gives you life. And you feel so alive around him.

You could drown in this bathtub, disappear under the thick sheen of bubbles until the world goes silent, but he wouldn’t let you go so easily. So maybe you’ll just drown in him instead.

Silence resonates over the bathroom. Only the longing stares and unspoken words fill the empty void. And it’s so obvious now why every time you stare into those soft brown eyes you fall a little more.

That’s it. You’re falling for him. Slowly, cautiously, silently. And maybe one day he’ll catch you, too. Maybe you’ll just fall into his arms one day when you’re a bit braver. Maybe he’ll take the sting out of your bleeding wounds. Maybe he’ll be exactly what you’ve needed all along.

But today, you’re not that brave. So you’ll just keep it bottled up like you do most things. For now, you’ll just let the slow burn simmer until it’s an uncontrollable wildfire that bursts into fiery flames.

Another few minutes pass by and just as the bath water starts to get cold, Joel asks, “You ‘bout ready to get out, sweetheart?”

“Yeah. It’s getting a little cold now.”

“Alright. Well, here’s a clean towel. Gonna put it right here for you.” He sets a fluffy white towel next to the side of the tub and nods his head toward the sink. “And I put your pajamas on the counter for you.”

“Thank you,” you reply quietly, fascinated by the lengths he goes to make sure you’re taken care of.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, his words softening like his gentle brown eyes.

“I think so,” you nod as a bubble pops around you.

“Alright, sweetheart.” He pushes off the floor with a grunt and heads toward the closed door, his hand reaching for the doorknob. “Well, I’ll let you get dried off and changed. I’m jus’ gonna…”

“Joel?” You stop him before he leaves the room.

“Yeah?” He turns his head, slicking a hand back through his dark locks.

“Thank you… for being here for me.”

A gentle smile meets his lips and a soft chuckle comes out. “Anytime, angel. Anytime.”

Angel. He called you angel.

With one more glance, he’s exiting the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. You sink into the tub, letting out a deep breath and closing your eyes.

Joel did it. He helped you take a small step forward, helped you face one of your fears. And he didn’t push you, didn’t even nudge you toward the shower head. Instead, he drew you a bath and helped you get through it in one piece. You don’t think you can ever say enough words to thank him for what he did tonight. But deep down, he knows.

After drying off and throwing on your pink pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, you run the towel through your wet strands and rake the brush through your locks, already exhausted from the exertion of your shower meltdown. But then relief hits you that you took one step.

The first step is always the hardest, and Joel was right there, holding your hand the entire way. He was the reason you made it into the bathtub. And with him, it wasn’t as scary as you thought it’d be. Although, it was still terrifying, but you did it.

One step forward, no more back.

When you’re slipping under the sheets and about to turn off the bedside lamp, a slight knock sounds across the room, and your head snaps to the closed door, pulling your hand back from the lit lamp.

“Come in,” you echo across the big room.

The doorknob turns and in comes Joel, hesitantly hovering by the threshold of the open door, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You all settled?”

“All settled,” you reply, shifting just a smidge beneath the warm comforter.

“That’s good.” He leans against the doorway, his broad muscles pulling against the flannel fabric, eyes as warm as the first night you saw them.

You fidget your fingers around a thin piece of string, flicking your eyes nervously up at the man that stands in the glow of the dim hall lights. A man that helped you face one of your fears. And suddenly, you can’t think of what to say, so you just silently stare up at him until he speaks.

“Jus’ wanted to see if you got to bed alright.” He hovers there, big hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the heel of his leather boots.

“Oh, right. Yeah, guess I made it alright.”

He nods, giving you another soft smile in return. “You need anything? Water, tea?”

Shaking your head, you smile. “No. I think I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

Another pause and then he’s slowly turning away from you. “Well, uhh. I’ll let you get some sleep, sweetheart. S’been a long day—”

“Wait,” you stop him and watch him turn back toward you, his eyebrows threaded together, an eager stare masking his face.

“Yeah?” he asks, anticipation hanging in the air.

This is it. You gulp down a breath, blow one out, and let another fall from your lips. “Joel, I just wanted to say thank you. For… for helping me take that first step of facing something that’s been eating me alive.”

He nods, the pad of his thumb brushing over his denim jeans. “You were brave doin’ that, you know? After what you’ve been through… That took a lot of guts.”

“Yeah…” you whisper out, nails digging deep into the blanket over your thighs, but then you flick your eyes up to him. “Not just for that either but also for listening to me. You didn’t have to…”

“I did have to, though. That’s what you needed. Someone to listen.”

Your eyes widen, throat tightens up, and you feel the prick of a tear meet your lash line. He wants to listen to you. He didn’t shut you out when you needed to get a little weight off your shoulders.

Brushing away the tear before it can fall, you give him a look that says how desperate you are to be free from these nightmares that plague your mind. “Maybe if I just… talk about it then maybe it won’t hurt so bad.”

His face drops, and his big, sad eyes look like a lost puppy who just watched its owner drive off without them. “Oh, sweetheart… I’m always here. I’ll always listen. You jus’ let me know when, and I’ll be right by your side. And Tess will listen. Ya know, when you’re ready, that is. But I’ll be your outlet when you need one.”

You tug on a little smile, giving everything you have to show him how grateful you are he’s here. If it wasn’t for him, you might’ve been lost to the shadows already. But there he is, trying to pull you into the sunlight.

Sunlight. He’s sunlight.

“You always seem to know exactly what to say, don’t you?” you say reassuringly, eyes glossy as you look up into pools of warmth.

He shrugs his broad shoulders and gives you a crooked smile. “I try, sweetheart.”

There’s a pause in the room, a silence that’s fallen like snow. You’ve suddenly forgotten how to speak so instead, you lift the blanket higher under your chin and slip down further in the bed, letting a yawn leave your lips.

Joel shifts by the door and places a large hand on the handle, about to make his exit. “Well, I’ll let you get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, good idea,” you yawn again, now realizing how tired you actually are.

But before he steps out, he turns back and looks at you with those sappy brown eyes you can’t seem to get out of your head. “Oh, before I forget…” He pauses to take a breath. “They might’ve tried to drain you, deplete you of everything inside you, but they didn’t steal it all. You’ve still got your shine, your soul, your heart. And they can’t ever take that from you. You’ve got so much potential in you, and I see it all. You’re gonna glow. I already see that flame in you. S’burnin’ brighter than a wildfire.”

Eyes as wide as can be, you swallow back a choke and feel your eyes swimming. Did he really just say that?

Brighter than a wildfire.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. It’s like you’re stunned in place, frozen under a bright spotlight with nowhere to run. Nowhere except maybe to Joel because he’s at the end of the bright light just waiting for you.

He’s waiting.

“Thanks for seeing that I was worth saving…” you whisper out, still enamored by his kind words, his doe eyes, his beautiful heart.

“You’re welcome, angel,” he smiles, his hand still hovering over the doorknob. “Well, good night, sweetheart. Try to get some sleep.”

“Good night…”

And then he’s shutting the door softly, leaving you still mesmerized and bewitched by all the events that unraveled this evening. But most of all, you can’t forget every single word he said to you.

He sees potential in you, sees it all. He thinks you were worth saving. Thinks you’re gonna glow and shine and thrive.

As you rest your head on the fluffy pillow and close your eyes, all you see is Joel. Joel Joel Joel. And he’s the last thing you see before you slip off into a deep sleep. Except he’s still there in your dreams, shining like gold under the sunlight.

He’s sunlight.

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