#that said I think there is something to be said about not letting any religion influence politics and finances as a whole | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

murdrdocs · 2 months ago

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pied piper

murdrtober oct 12th. father charlie mayhew description. between paranoia, extra shifts at work, and the comforting embrace of a catholic priest, you can hardly keep up with everything happening in your life these days. you can only go about it all one day at a time.

includes. SMUT 18+ MDNI, oral (f receiving), paranoia/anxiety, slight religious manipulation, religious doubts, catholicism (but inaccurate i was barely raised baptist)

wc. 5.8k+

a/n: one night only! come one come all and see the weird priest get with the girl who honestly does not know what is happening

You see him often.

The first few times were from afar. He always elected to sit in a section that wasn’t yours, switching every couple of visits as if he were testing out the spots in the diner. You believed every spot was just like the others—equally as shitty. But there was the spot you liked most. The corner seat in your section, situated between two of the large windows. When there weren’t any spiders or ants nesting in the corner, it was a favorable spot.

And within the past month, it’s been his spot.

It’s the longest he’s ever sat anywhere. You initially attribute it to the spot, but then there are things that make you believe he sits there because of you.

The way his crestfallen expression brightens up when you come over, even if it's barely a noticeable difference. The hefty tips he leaves you, always in cash and always delivered right to your hand. The whispers from your coworkers whenever he comes in on a day where you weren’t working.

“The priest was looking for you yesterday,” spoken right into your ear as if it were a secret that others would die to be let in on.

Your coworkers thought it was flattery, maybe his attempt at flirting. But you’d seen what it was like for men to flirt with you through work. The jeers they gave you, the way they eyed your ass in your work pants and made direct advances, no matter how many times you turned them down. That was flirting, not politeness from him.

Besides, he was a priest, he’d sworn himself to God. Maybe his vice was just a greasy meal once a week, and he didn’t mind a smiling face giving it to him. You didn’t think much of it.

You didn’t think much of the pamphlet he gave you with your tip today, either.

“I don’t know if you’re religious, and if you aren’t, I don’t mean to offend. It’s just, um, I preach at this church. Every Sunday.” He scratches the back of his head, watching you look through the tiny pamphlet in your hand. “If you’re interested, everything’s on there. The time, dates, location … yeah.”

You grin down at him. “Thank you,” you say, knowing in your head that you won’t go to a service. Sunday’s are your reset days, a time dedicated to putting yourself in breathable clothing, lounging around a newly cleaned house, watching whatever show you thought about the night before. Church service for a religion you don’t practice doesn’t fit in that schedule.

Still, you tuck the pamphlet in your apron along with your tip. “I’ll see you next time, Father.”

He nods his head with security, as if he knows that he will only be seeing you at your job and never at his. But he doesn’t say anything, only pulls his mouth into a thin smile before reaching over and taking a final sip from his drink. You walk away from the table, going back to the kitchen and watching him leave from the window.

You’re lingering.

Should you stay and say something? Everyone seems to want to speak to Father Mayhew, and you would just be yet another pupil itching to talk to him. But leaving without saying something seems improper. It feels rude.

You stay put, standing near the door in the lobby, watching the small crowd form around Father Mayhew.

He looks in his element like this, grinning, nodding along to whatever is being said to him, but there’s something off. He looks a little dissociated, a disconnect between the smile on his lips and the look in his eyes.

You’re busy analyzing him, pulling up your high school memory of Psychology to throw half assed theories about his attitude around in your head, when he looks at you. It’s quick, nothing but a glance that could have been directed in your general area. Maybe he was simply looking at the door and he ran into you instead.

But he sees you and he pauses. He doesn’t stop listening, but the grin on his lips contorts for just a second. It loses the rough edge, and then it softens. He looks back at the person he’s engaged in conversation with and you watch as he ends the conversation within the next thirty seconds.

It’s unprofessional how he dodges those wishing to talk to him in favor of reaching you. You think it’s even more professional for him to grin the entire journey over.

He says your name like he’s shocked you’re here.

You’re shocked you’re here, too.

“Father,” you greet, clasping your hands behind your back.

“What did you think?” The question throws you off kilter.

Does he actually care about your opinion on his profession?

Your eyes lift to the ceiling as you think, trying to find adjectives to describe the hour you’ve just sat through. “Um…” you hesitate, flicking through the less favorable adjectives as you attempt to find something positive to say.

“You thought it was boring.”

You’re ready to do damage control, your mouth already open with reassurances that are all lies. But Father Mayhew is smiling at you with more conviction than you’ve ever seen from him. When he looks at you like this, he looks more like the young adult that he should be and less like the figurehead of a church that he is.

You don’t pretend any longer. “It wasn’t that boring, I’m just not a churchgoer,” Father Mayhew nods. He tucks his hands into his pockets and you try not to notice how the sleeves of his black shirt have been rolled up to sit right beneath his elbows. You do get a glance in, though, nothing longer than a second, and when you look back up at him, he doesn’t seem to have noticed. Feeling awkward with nothing else to say, you add, “As you can tell by my outfit. I have been in a church in a while. I didn’t know what people wore these days.”

The implications of asking a Catholic priest to form an opinion on your clothing doesn’t enter your brain until after you’ve said the words, but Father Mayhew doesn’t appear uncomfortable.

He stands there for a second, just looking at you with too much of something in his eyes. It makes you uncomfortable and you squirm in your church shoes. The movement reminds you of the pain in your toes and on the back of your ankle.

Father Mayhew’s gaze sweeps down your body, slowly taking in every aspect of you from head to toe.

“That’s okay. I’m just glad you came. And for the record, I think you look beautiful. Angelic, even.”

God, why is your stomach fluttering from this tiny interaction? You need to get out of here before things go in a direction you hadn’t intended.

You smile politely at him.

“Well, thank you for the invite, Father Mayhew. It was … interesting.”

He laughs as he nods. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. I guess I’ll see you around?” There’s more hope to it this time, like this one excursion has given him the idea that you’ll be back. Will you?

You stick to nodding, not verbally confirming anything. You turn around, heading for the door, but then he calls your name.

You turn back around, watching him make up the step that you took away from him. “You can call me Charlie if you like.”

You test his name in your mouth. “Charlie.” It feels wrong without the title in the front. But you still grin, unsure of how often you’ll call him just Charlie, especially when it feels less professional than you would have liked.

Charlie grins. He says your name once, too.

And then you reach for the door and step out into the day.

Despite your initial intentions, you see a lot more of Father Mayhew after that first Sunday.

He starts to come into the diner just to sit, sometimes steadily sipping a milkshake or a sweet tea while he reads a mass market paperback. In turn, you go to Mass more often, once a month at first, then every other week, and eventually every Sunday, showing your face so often that he starts to look for you in the crowd. Well, at least you think he’s looking for you.

The crowd he brings in is mixed—some of them younger, drawn in by his relaxed nature that’s a breath of fresh air from the other priests, but most of them are older. You’ve made friends with a couple women, an older woman who sees her grandson in Father Mayhew, and a middle aged woman who understands Father Mayhew better than she’s ever understood any other priest before.

You sit in a pew with them, listening to them praise the teachings of the lord as it comes from the young priest’s mouth. You nod along with them, ignoring your confusion as you try your hardest to listen. A lot of the material seems contradictory, either to itself or your own personal beliefs. So by the first fifteen minutes, you end up just staring at Father Mayhew, hoping your eyes hold platonic interest even if your emotions are anything but.

You’ve begun to crave the routine of it all. Waking up early Sunday morning, showering and getting ready just to sit in a church pew, retiring back home where you cleaned with nothing else on your mind except for how dark and deep Father Mayhew’s eyes are.

It didn’t occur to you that you were lusting after him until later.

The weather had begun to cool down, even though it was never really cold here. You could still feel the implications, recognizing how the night began to greet the sky quicker than before, feeling a bite in the air when you finished a closing shift and sped to your car.

There was a lot happening in your little town, horrors that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. You didn’t feel safe anymore, you couldn’t feel safe when someone was out there committing crimes that only the sickest minds could conjure up. It was inhumane to the point where you couldn’t imagine a human being conducting the murders. There had to be another force at hand.

Father Charlie understood this. He preached with sympathy towards the victims, and condemnant towards the perpetrator, but there was something else there too. He preached as if he were inside of the killer's mind, painting an understanding for each of you in the pews. When Father Charlie explained it, the killer was humane, with interests and desires just as you have. He was an extremist, yes, but he was an artist all the while.

You felt less fear when you had the safety net of Sunday Mass. When you had the safety net of Father Charlie.

“Am I safe to call you an avid churchgoer yet?”

You’ve grown used to the sound of Father Charlie’s voice, but you weren’t expecting to hear it so close to you. When you jump in your skin, he laughs under his breath.

You turn around, your eyes wide and your hand pressed over your heart. Your immediate instinct is to expel the Lord’s name, but you know Charlie’s stance on taking the Lord’s name in vain, so instead you tell him, “You scared me, Father.”

“My apologies.” He reaches his hand out as if to touch you but he stops midway. “You’ve been coming every Sunday for what, the past two months? Three?”

“Yeah. I guess I would technically be considered a churchgoer.”

He places his hands in his pockets, squaring his shoulders, and this isn’t the first time you’ve noticed how strong his structure is. Still, you ogle like this is new information to you.

“Do you see yourself becoming a Catholic somewhere down the line?”

You go to disagree, preparing to spew the same opinion you’ve had for a while now. You might be coming to church, but you’re here for the community, not much else. But lately, things have begun to change. There’s no reason for you to not consider it at least.

You shrug. “Maybe.”

“Why maybe?”

Weighing how to formulate your reasonings, you shift from one foot to the other. Father Charlie doesn’t say anything. He just patiently waits for you to respond.

“I guess there’s just so much that I don’t understand.”

“Like the rules and sins? Along that territory?”

“I guess, but also just in general. Like foundational. Maybe since I didn’t grow up with it I’m just left in the dark.”

Father Charlie’s face lights up. “How ‘bout this, I will explain it to you. Whatever you want. Even if you want me to go from the very beginning.”

You’re quick to politely decline. “Oh, you don’t have to, Father. I can just look things up. Not like I’ve been getting much sleep these days anyway, might as well use the nights for something a little more productive.”

Father Charlie doesn’t let you go without reinstating his proposal. “Seriously. It would be no problem for me. I get to do the two things I love most: spread the word of Christ and help out those in the community. I’ll give you my number and then we can go from there?”

There’s no room for no in there, so you pull your phone out, hand it over to Father Charlie, and watch his thumbs click onto the digits until you have his number saved in your phone.

You meet with Father Charlie after Wednesday Mass.

You come in once the others have trickled out, and Father Charlie is always in the same spot—sitting atop his chair in the center, leaning back with his legs spread, appearing contemplative as you humbly approach the altar.

Whatever expression he had on his face before he sees you is always wiped away as soon as he looks down at you. He grins, big and comforting, and takes you to a small office off to the side of the church, where he patiently listens to your questions and answers them.

Comprehension entices you, pushing you further and further into religion’s embrace. Session by session, you start to hate the idea of confirmation less and less.

It’s all thanks to Father Charlie.

It’s not necessarily comparable for the two of you, but Father Charlie meets you at your workplace, too. When he jokes about it, likening your work to the same level of achievement as his, you sweetly laugh.

“Not really the same though, is it? Your job is a little more … aspirational, right? No one really aspires to be a waitress at a diner.”

Father Charlie raises his eyebrows as if he’s reprimanding you for negative self-talk. “Hey. Who knows maybe there’s some kid out there who really wants to make ten fifty an hour.”

The bell above the door dings and you glance over your shoulder to see two customers walk in. They hesitate, looking around, before eventually heading off to a table not in your section.

You turn back around, a little grateful to have more time to speak to Father Charlie. You haven’t seen him since last Wednesday, and you won’t admit it to anyone out loud, but you’ve definitely missed him.

You’ve missed the smell of his cologne—something fresh and a little earthy. You’ve missed the low timbre of his voice, the dark stare he fixes you with when he’s explaining a Bible verse, the slight twitch in his eyes when you question something for the umpteenth time.

It’s a slow day today, no one really comes in at 3 o’clock on a Tuesday, so you take a seat across from Father Charlie in the booth.

His eyes flicker down as if surprised by your actions. You raise your eyebrows, challenging him to comment.

“Slow shift?” he asks.

You nod, taking a fry and placing it in your mouth. “You mind if I sit? Keep you company for a bit?”

He only sits back in his seat and pushes his basket of fries to the center of the table.

He watches you silently finish off the remainder of his fries and whenever you hesitate, he instantly slides his drink over to you, too. A diet coke, you know it before you even wrap your lips around the straw.

There’s a lipstick stain left behind, but that doesn't stop Father Charlie from leaning forward and wrapping his lips around the straw once you’re done. When he holds eye contact the entire time, you try to ignore the flashing sign in your brain that tells you there are sexual implications there. Surely, he wasn’t thinking that way.

Father Charlie continues like nothing happened and you maintain your belief that whatever just happened was really nothing on at all.

“We still on for tomorrow, right?”

You hum, mentally trying to find a work around for the third time today. No matter how many times you run it through in your head, you just can’t do it. Without enough gas, and short on a paycheck, you don’t think it’s responsible for you to drive to Father Charlie, especially for a meeting that will only last an hour tops. Besides, you picked up a shift tomorrow that ends right when you usually meet with him.

You tell him this, and you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s quick to suggest a solution.

Father Charlie is so adaptable to your needs, pushing your meetings back by a half hour or a week if you need. You should have known that a small complaint that was out of his hands would have him scrambling to make up for the inconvenience.

“It’s really no biggie, I can just come by your place then, if that’s okay. We can do later, too, give you some time to freshen up.”

You don’t see why not. Father Charlie has been nothing but kind to you thus far. Besides, he’s a devout member of the community. You don’t think he could ever mean any harm.

“Yeah. That’s totally fine. I’ll send you my address.”

Having Father Charlie in your home provides a different atmosphere.

Thus far, you’ve been pushing down your desires for him. Throughout the past few weeks, you’ve been able to avoid the churning in your stomach when he places a—platonic, you think—hand on your lower back as he leads you out of the office after your sessions.

It was easier to convince yourself that you were just being typically delusional, holding onto small moments to give you giddiness that would push you through a particularly grueling day. Father Charlie’s small smiles and acts of kindness outside of the four walls that you call home was attributed to being a public servant, a member of the community, a priest.

But here, when he stands close and stares down at you, sending you a small smile while you attempt to hide the grin that wants to rise to your lips, things feel more intimate.

You need to get away from this moment. You won’t be the one to tempt a Catholic priest’s faith and devotion, no matter how many times you picture tearing his clothes off and letting him take you right on the couch.

“Could I get you something to drink?”

Charlie looks around your living room, taking inventory of the decorations hanging on the walls, strategically placed to cover chips in paint and suspicious holes that you’ve never gotten around to patching.

“What do you have?” he asks as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket.

It feels weird to see him out of clerical dress. You’ve always thought the mock neck and collar suited him, it worked well with the square structure of his face. But he looks younger like this—dressed down in a plain white tee shirt, jeans, and a jean jacket.

He looks like the 20-something year old man that he actually is.

“Lemonade. Soda. Water. I could make you tea, if you’d like. I have earl g—”

“Lemonade sounds fine. Thanks.”

You stalk off to the kitchen to grab him a glass, filling it with ice and lemonade. It’s a task that takes no more than a couple of minutes, maybe a few at most, but you take as much time as you can, standing in the kitchen cursing yourself. Accepting Charlie’s invite yesterday seemed like no big deal, but now you’re regretting it tenfold.

If you don’t end up succumbing to your own desires, you’ll end up driving yourself insane.

Either way, you don’t think you’ll ever be the same after tonight. If anything, you’ll just have to hope Charlie doesn’t come into the diner for the rest of the week while you cleansed your mind the best way you knew how—disastrously horny imaginative scenarios and masturbation until you were too sensitive to walk.

You hand Father Charlie the glass of lemonade, trying your best to ignore the satisfying sigh he gives when he takes the first sip. You smile politely when he does it again, folding your hands in your lap as soon as you sit down.

He downs half of the glass without interruption, and then places the half-full glass on a coaster atop your coffee table.

“So,” Father Charlie wipes his hands on the denim gripping his thighs. “Should we pick up where we left off last week?”

Last week, you and Father Charlie got into a discussion about sinning. It was trivial, nothing that hasn’t been discussed before, but it has always been on your mind. After knowing him for some time, you felt comfortable enough to discuss it with him, not exactly giving him complete detail involving your many sins, but you alluded to them enough for him to understand your trepidation towards committing to a religion that frowned upon human nature.

You found yourselves going in circles with the conversation, and you thought today would be different. Apparently not.

“Everyone sins. That makes us all sinners,” Father Charlie assures.

“Well, yeah but—”

He doesn’t let you speak. “For example, when’s the last time you judged someone? Held hatred in your heart? When’s the last time you’ve done drugs, smoked weed? Or,” he shifts on the armchair, bringing himself closer to you as if he’s about to tell a secret. “The last time you masturbated?”

You stay silent, blinking at Father Charlie. How has the conversation pivoted here? Was he just simply giving an example, one he felt you might be able to relate to, or was this something else?

“I’m not saying that I don’t sin, Father. I’m just saying that I don’t think I could be a sinner, and join a religion that despises sinners.”

Father Charlie’s face contorts into one of confusion. “I wouldn’t say Catholicism despises sinners. Sinning is a part of human life and nature. I’ve always believed this. And yes, some sins are worse than others. But some of the cardinal sins are just preposterous. Those who lust a little too much shouldn’t be given the same punishment as a murderer, that I don’t agree with.”

You blink at him when you notice that the conversation has steered back to lust yet again. “Where are you going with this, Father?”

“Charlie,” he corrects, his tone sterner than you’ve ever heard it before.

You suddenly feel smaller than you did before. Sitting in your home, on your couch, you feel out of control.

Charlie stands and approaches you. He looms over you for a second, standing with his torso right in your eyeline. You stare at the material of his shirt for a moment, nervous about the sight you’ll see if you lift your eyes. But when Charlie doesn’t move, you know what he wants from you.

You look up to find him already staring down at you,

“The point that I am making is that without sinning, we would not be human. I understand this, but I don’t think the Church will ever understand. They would rather sit by, follow tradition, and let the Church die. But things are changing. Slowly, but they are changes happening.” Charlie kneels down but he doesn’t break eye contact. He slowly raises a hand, and you watch it meet your knee from your peripheral vision.

“My conversations with you these past few months have been insightful. I … I used to think about the Church like you do. The contradictions, the injustices within the Church… I thought I moved on from that but now I’m not sure.” He trails off, breaking eye contact to stare off to the side.

“Charlie, are you questioning your faith? Did I make you question your faith?”

His eyes snap back to you. “No.” He takes a moment, as if considering, and then he repeats himself, a little firmer this time. “No. But I am beginning to realize that not all evil should be turned away or casted out. Some evil is natural. We should shine a light on it, give it our attention, give it room and allow it to grow. One can be a sinner, while also being a member of the Church. I am living proof of this.” His hand trails up your thigh as he speaks. You don’t think you’re following his train of thought, mostly because you can’t concentrate when he’s touching you like this.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You blink down at him. You could ask him to repeat himself, but you don’t think you need to. He might be speaking in a way that’s going in one ear and out of the other for you, but the implications that he’s feeding you with every touch and every glance up at you through the long fan of dark eyelashes framing even darker eyes are clear.

You know what Charlie wants from you.

“Yes. I understand.”

He smiles, just a small, almost shy, quirk of his lips.

“And do you feel the same way? Do you see things how I see them?”

This time you only nod. It happens in a flash, Charlie’s hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling your face down to his. You almost fall off of the couch with the movement, but you hold yourself up with both hands on his shoulders. Immediately you feel the thick structure of muscle beneath his shirt.

“I need to hear you say it.”

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you do. You want Charlie, you have wanted him since the first time he sat in your section. But he’s a priest for God’s sake. What type of person willingly sleeps with a priest?

When you tell him this, his nostrils flare and his jaw tenses.

“What type of person?” he repeats. “A sinner. That’s what you are, right? You told me that when we first started having private sessions, didn’t you? You told me you sin too often to commit to the church. You couldn’t possibly find yourself in the home of Christ if you are out sinning every weekend, and then be forced to confess each and every sin in excruciating detail.”

His hand slides up your inner thigh now. He tilts his head, staring up at you as if he’s innocent. “And you never did tell me about those sins, did you? About the times you went out partying, brought some guy back here.” He slides his fingers up until they reach the button of your jeans. “Did you let him fuck you right here? Slip your dress up and your panties down for him. Sit yourself on his cock. Let him defile you like you’re nothing but a common whore.”

He pops your jeans open and glides your zipper down. “You’re not, by the way. I think you’re more than that. If you were a common whore, you would’ve put out by the third, maybe fourth, session. But you’ve been a good girl. You’ve been holding out on me.” He pulls your pants down, quirking an eyebrow up at you when you don’t lift your hips to allow him to pull them down the rest of the way. You eventually lift your hips up, and you watch Charlie smile to himself.

“I had to be the one to make the first move.” He laughs, but the humor in it doesn’t allow you in on the joke.

You expected Charlie to go slow. In the brief moment where he continues pulling your jeans down your legs, you thought he would take his time, prolonging each moment and every movement. But he doesn’t do this. He speeds taking off your pants, throwing them off to the side without much consideration at all. One of the legs almost hits the glass he has on the coffee table, and you watch in horror as it barely misses it.

Even if the glass was knocked over, you don’t think you would have wasted time to clean the mess up. This was your main priority now.

There’s no hesitance to his movements. He’s done this before, maybe more recent than you think.

He’s presented with your cunt, still clothed by the thin layer of your panties. He licks his lips, a small smile tugging up one corner. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s noticed how soaked you are, definitely soaked through the cloth.

He reaches his hand out and pushes his fingertips beneath the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down slowly, presenting your bare cunt agonizing inch by agonizing inch. And then, when he has your panties thrown off to the side, he doesn’t waste anymore time.

His big hands grip the outsides of your thighs, calloused fingers pressing into the miscellaneous bruises you have. As soon as he finds them, he digs his fingers into the tender spots, holding you still even when you writhe around in his grasp. Charlie keeps you still, his mouth remaining flush against your cunt, not like you’re trying to get away from that.

The discomfort paired with the pleasure is a new one for you, and you fear that once this is all over, you’ll crave this combination more and more. But you know you won’t ever want it from anyone that isn't him. You only trust Charlie to give it to you like this.

You trust Charlie to devour you while you sit on your couch, your hands tangling in his dark hair, pushing his nose into the low cut bush that tickles his skin. You trust him to guide you to an orgasm.

It’s like he’s your pied piper.

Charlie puckers his lips and sucks, gliding down from your clit to your entrance throughout. He flicks his tongue out, lapping up your essence, and then shallowly inserts the pointed tip into your walls. He flattens his tongue then, nuzzles his nose into your clit, and shakes his head.

Your nails scratch Charlie’s scalp and he groans right into you. You watch his eyelids flutter, long lashes fanning out, so you repeat it. This time he comes up for air, licking his lips just before he pants into the open air.

You feel heavenly, but you can’t help but worry that you’re at fault when you let Charlie have you like this. You’re the one who leads a mostly normal life. You never consider the religious implications of lying with a man at night, because that’s not who you were. But Charlie had never suggested that this was the kind of person you were. You were just having trouble figuring out if that was just a falsehood by omission, or if this simply isn’t the man that Charlie usually is, and he’s been turned this way by you.

Guilt begins to perch on your shoulders, taking the shape of a vulture. It sits at bay for now, but you know it’s there.

It’s too much for you to handle right now, too much to consider when your brain is mostly fog, so instead you spread your legs a little wider and tighten your hold on Charlie’s hair.

The heels of your feet dig into Charlie’s back and you feel something beneath his shirt. A form of abrasions, healing skin raised off of his back. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bring your head down so you’re looking at Charlie instead of the raised bumps in your ceiling. You’re about to ask him about it, his name beginning to form on your lips, and then Charlie sucks your clit into his mouth and twists the finger he has in your walls.

Your orgasm kills the unasked question.

Charlie grins up at you the entire time; you feel it while you’re noticing the way the corners of his eyes crinkle.

The relationship you have with Father Charlie is weird. It’s unorthodox.

You’ve attempted to keep things separated with Father Charlie after that first night. You refuse to address him by just his first name. You’ve kept up with your sessions, but they only happen in the church and never at your home. You’re trying to be considerate of his faith.

But things aren’t right.

You still aren’t a confirmed member of the Church, but you find yourself at mixers, knowing the names of the others, even beginning to address the Sisters like you’re one of them. Father Charlie stands at your side the entire time, a smile on his face, a look akin to that of a proud mentor in his eyes.

Either way, you still find comfort in him, especially when the killer—Grotesquerie is his name, Sister Megan told you one morning over coffee—continues to strike.

That’s where you find yourself now, seeking comfort from Father Charlie in the center of the otherwise empty church. It’s Wednesday, service will be starting soon and you should be heading out for your shift. But you couldn’t possibly leave and drive on your own without expelling some of your worries.

“I’m scared, Charlie,” you admit for what feels like the first time, your voice wavering.

Charlie shushes you. He takes a step closer, circling his arms around your shoulders and running a calloused hand over your hair as he pulls you into his chest. “Don’t be. There’s no reason for you to be scared, okay? He’s not targeting you.”

You shake your head. “How do you know that? You can’t know that.”

“I do. He’s going for sex workers. Remember what Sister Megan said in her article? ‘Women of the night’. That’s not you.”

You are still with your head against his chest, your ear positioned over his heart. The thrum of his heartbeat is steady, something that should be comforting. You can’t be comforted right now, though. “I know but … I just can’t … I can’t–” The words won’t find you, not without your eyes and nose burning at least.

Charlie inhales, the sound restricted by his teeth. He rocks you side to side, the circle of his arms sliding down to your waist. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, how about I make sure you get home safe? Alright? What time are you off?”

You shouldn’t have agreed, but you did.

That night, you lay with Charlie on your couch. Your bed felt too intimate, too inappropriate for a relationship that was not really supposed to be a relationship at all. You try to sleep, and eventually you do.

You dream of Charlie, standing in the center of your living room, watching you get off. His hands are bloody and his back is scarred.

When you wake up, he isn’t there.

#father charlie mayhew x reader #charlie mayhew x reader #murdrtober 2024 #kinktober #charlie mayhew smut

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baptismbaby · 1 year ago

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† GOD, FORGIVE ME PT. 3

mean! ellie x innocent! reader a/n: will post to ao3 baptismsbaby. sorry if this is a little rushed. smoked a blunt and brain is still fuzzy. unsure how i feel about the ending hope yall like it anyways warnings: toxic! ellie, degrading, praise, pup used as a petname, oral (ellie! receiving), strap usage (r! receiving), slight edging, possessive! ellie, reader is gagged at some point if anyone hates that creds to elliesgalaxy for ellie pic wc: 3.4k<3 part one part two

Six months had passed since you first hooked up with Ellie.

Looking back, you had changed drastically since that night. You used to be so strict with religion and refused to have any fun. It took a month of hooking up with Ellie to finally get over it and realize you could be a Christian and still have fun. I mean, it was the apocalypse. Rules haven’t existed in over twenty five years.

In the beginning, you were constantly telling Ellie “this is the last time.” She’d look at you with a teasing smile and that glint in her eye. She’d laugh it off, always saying the same shit. “You need me.” You’d go back, giving more and more of yourself up to her. Whatever she wanted, you gave to her. The more sex the two of you had, the better the friendship outside of the hookups got. Dina was extremely happy to finally hang out with both of you without the bickering. You loved Ellie outside of the sex. She had her moments still but she was the funniest person you’ve ever met. You wished she could be that way with you alone sometimes. You knew you had to hide your feelings if it meant getting to sleep with Ellie but it was difficult. Whether there was a party at Jesse’s or her place, she’d tell everyone in the smoke circle how bad she would want to fuck some random girl at the party. Ellie didn’t, of course. She’d just say that to get a rise out of you so she could tease you about it later. It hurt but you refused to let it show if it meant risking not being able to see Ellie anymore.

It was another night of partying for everyone and the girls were at your place getting ready. Ellie sat on your bed, wearing a brown flannel and some jeans. Since the weather had gotten warmer, she had trimmed her hair a bit. The way the choppy layers fell in her face sometimes made you blush. She looked so good.

“I’m thinking about wearing something super revealing,” said Dina, going through the dresses she’d find on patrol. “I need Jesse to be jealous.”

“I give it a week,” mumbled Ellie.

“I am not getting back with him!”

“You said that the last time,” you pointed out.

“And the time before that.”

“The time before that time too.”

Dina hit you and Ellie with the dress she was holding. “Stop it you two, I get it! I mean it this time.”

You looked back at Ellie who was already staring at you with a smirk. Dina groaned and continued to look for clothes while you laughed.

“The little being silent but talking with the eyes thing gets on my nerves,” complained Dina. She handed you a dress to wear and you held it up to your body. It was white and silky with a little lace trim at the bottom.

“That’s a little short,” said Ellie.

“Yeah, which is perfect. She needs to get some finally.”

Ellie shot a glare at the back of Dina’s head but neither of you noticed.

“I’ll try it on and see.”

You began to undress, turned away from Ellie. You could see her watching you through the mirror. You weren’t wearing a bra but was wearing a see through pink thong.

“Woah, where’d you find that? It’s so cute,” complimented Dina.

“I found it on one of my patrols a couple months ago.”

Actually, Ellie had found it for you.

You slipped into the dress and turned around, seeing your ass hanging out at the back. “Okay, maybe this is a bit much but it’s super cute.”

“Damn, I would so fuck you,” Dina remarked. “Please wear that to the party. At least five girls are gonna throw themselves at you.”

“Eh, that’s probably too much, Dina. We see the same people every time anyways. No one new to impress. Do you have something else for her?” asked Ellie. You raised an eyebrow at her, wondering why she was being like this.

“I have some more but-”

“I want to wear this, it’s fine,” you interrupted.

“Okay cool, we ready to go?”

Everyone nodded and started to head out. Dina made it down the stairs first, leaving you and Ellie at the top. Dina was grabbing stuff to put in her bag so she didn’t see Ellie grabbing your wrist and pulling you back towards her. She wrapped an arm around you and used her other hand to hold your hair. Her lips brushed against your ear. “I fucking told you it was too short. Are you trying to piss me off?”

You sighed, tilting your head to the side further as she ran her fingers down your neck to your shoulder.

“I wouldn’t care if you wore that for me but in front of everybody? Are you fucking kidding me? You get a taste of my cock and now you’re a slut? Don’t even think about coming by tonight.”

She shoved you forward roughly. You stumbled but quickly stood up straight, spinning around to give Ellie a dirty look. “Stop it,” you whispered harshly. “You’ll be over it by the time the party's over.”

“I mean it,” Ellie hissed. “Don’t speak to me for the rest of the night. Whores don’t get rewarded when they don’t listen. Fucking brat, you know better.”

Ellie walked past you down the stairs, leaving you dumbfounded and angry. You stomped down and grabbed one of the bottles from the table to drink on the way there.

“Woah, pregaming?” questioned Dina.

“Yeah. It’s gonna be a long night.”

You were miserable at the party. It had been ten minutes since the three of you arrived and Ellie was acting like such a bitch. You sat by her on the couch while everyone passed around a blunt. She kept skipping you, telling the others you weren’t participating.

“Dina, give me the fucking blunt,” you demanded once it reached her for the third time.

“You’re not smoking.”

“Yes I am, Ellie. Even if it means I have to roll my own.”

Dina squinted at the both of you in confusion. If she was an outsider, she would’ve thought the two of you were a couple in an argument. But it was just you and Ellie. No way there was something going on.

“You can’t even fucking roll,” Ellie insulted. You leaned forward to see another smoke circle across the living room.

“I’ll just join Jesse’s smoke circle. Sorry, Dina.”

You got up, pulling your dress down before walking over to Jesse’s group. You made sure to swing your hips a bit in case Ellie was watching.

“Why are you two arguing again?” Dina asked Ellie once you left.

“It’s nothing.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you were fucking.”

Ellie took the blunt from Dina and puffed on it. “No way,” she declined. “You couldn’t pay me to fuck church girl.”

“I’d do it for free,” Ellie’s friend said next to her. When she passed the blunt to him, she made sure to elbow him hard in the side. “Ow! The fuck, Ellie?!”

“She’s gay.”

He frowned in disappointment. “Aw man, all the hot chicks are.”

Dina couldn’t stop eyeing Ellie. She was acting strange. Back at yours, she kept telling you to put something different on. Now she’s watching you intently from across the room as you do the thing she told you not to do. At that moment, everything clicked for Dina. Ellie liked you.

“So, what’s the deal between you and Dina?” you asked Jesse as you passed him the joint.

“Shit, I don’t know. Pretty sure we’re over for good.”

“That sounded convincing,” you said sarcastically.

Jesse made a face at you while he crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? What about you and Ellie? You follow her around like a lost puppy.”

“We’re friends now.”

“The way you look at her is not how you look at Dina. It’s how I look at Dina.”

As he spoke, his eyes landed on her from across the room. “Look at her. Talking up some other guy to piss me off. Ellie is staring at you. She looks jealous. I’d know.”

You glanced back but Ellie quickly averted her gaze. You sighed and looked down at your hands in your lap. You wanted to say something so badly but knew that Ellie would end it with you if you told anyone. A girl came and sat next to you, placing a hand on your thigh. “Hey,” she slurred. “Wanna dance with me?”

You looked up at Ellie who’s brows were furrowed in anger. You grinned and stood up, grabbing the girl’s hand. You led her to an open spot on the floor and pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around you as you started grinding against her with the beat of the music.

“I’m Grace,” she introduced herself. “You hang with Ellie and Dina, right?”

You nodded, too busy watching Ellie as her face grew red.

“You’re super pretty. You do a lot of that church stuff, right?”

“Yeah,” you responded dryly. You turned around so your back was pressed against her chest. Her hands rushed up and down your body until she grabbed your tits. You shoved them off and looked back at her. “Don’t,” you demanded.

Grace saw movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up to see Ellie speedwalking towards you. Grace let go of you and ran off. You were perplexed, wondering if maybe you came off as rude. You felt hands grab you and start shoving you towards a door.

“Hey, what the hell?”

You were pushed into a bathroom. The door slammed and you spun around to see Ellie locking the door. “Ellie!”

Ellie shot daggers at you with her eyes, which meant you needed to be quiet. She pushed you against the wall and held you there with a knee between your thighs. Her hands went over your mouth to stifle any sounds you were making.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She started to unbuckle her jeans, still covering your mouth. They dropped around her ankles to reveal the strap she was wearing over her boxers.

“You’re mine and mine only. This pussy,” she growled as she grabbed your clothed cunt tightly, “belongs to me.”

She kneeled down to yank your panties off.

“E-Ellie, I’m s-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

She balled your panties up and held them up to your face. “Open.”

“What?”

“Open your fucking mouth!”

You obeyed and parted your lips slightly. She sighed in frustration and reached out to pull it open further, shoving the panties into your mouth.

“This will keep you quiet,” she muttered. “You’re really dumb, you know that? Good girls don’t try to make their girlfriends jealous.”

Before you could even react, she bent you over the sink and shoved her cock inside of you. You let out a muffled groan, the feeling of her filling you up taking you by surprise. She fucked you hard but painfully slow. She’d thrust in, wait a couple seconds then do it again.

“I want you to watch,” she commanded. She grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head up so you could look in the mirror. You could see Ellie behind you with an angry expression on her face. “Stupid girl, you will never find better than me. Get that through your fucking skull.”

She sped up, making you squeal even louder. She placed both of her hands over your mouth as she pounded into you harder.

“Fuck,” Ellie whimpered. “Fuck, you look so good like this.”

Ellie noticed your legs started to shake as you felt your climax getting closer.

“You wanna cum baby?”

You whined, pushing yourself back against her so you could finish. Ellie pulled out of you and turned you around. She lifted you up onto the sink and started kissing up and down your neck. Ellie took your panties out of your mouth, shoving her tongue down your throat.

You tried to pull away to speak but Ellie grabbed your head to keep you still. Her strap would brush against your cunt, eliciting a moan from you.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?" Ellie asked when she pulled away. You shook your head no. “That’s right, baby. You’ve been so mean to me tonight. You’re lucky I’m even fucking you right now.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” you murmured. “I shouldn’t have danced with that girl. I belong to you.”

“You say you’re sorry but you have to prove it to me… get on your knees.”

You obliged and kneeled down, opening your mouth expecting her to fuck it with the strap. Instead, she slid out of the harness and her boxers simultaneously and set them down on her pants.

“I want you to make me cum.”

You were shocked. Ellie never let you touch her and she was going to let you eat her out? You didn’t know if you could do it since she never taught you. You didn’t want to disappoint Ellie.

“I’ll guide you through it, pup. It’s okay,” she assured you as if she read your mind.

Ellie leaned back against the wall as your face went towards her pussy. You stuck your tongue out and swiped it up her slit. Ellie shook a little, reaching down and grabbing your hair. “Move your tongue in circles,” she said.

You slowly moved your tongue in a circle on her clit, savoring the taste of her. You looked up at Ellie who was biting her lip to stay quiet.

“T-That’s it,” she praised. “My g-good girl.”

You sped it up a bit once you got used to it, Ellie’s legs trembling against you.

“Fuck!” she panted. “Just like t-that, pup. You’re doing s’ well.”

You decided to stick a finger inside her to watch her reaction. She grabbed the end of her shirt and bit the fabric, trying hard to not make a sound. You picked up the pace, curling your finger as she struggled to stay standing.

“I’m right there baby, don’t stop.”

She gripped your hair and yanked you away once her orgasm hit. She trembled as she started to come down, your hair still tangled between her fingers. Ellie pulled you up and slammed her lips against yours, the two of you desperate to taste each other.

She lifted you up onto the sink again and brushed a finger against your clit.

“You’re so good at making me feel good, baby. I bet you could make yourself feel good too.”

She stepped back and leaned against the door, her arms crossed and a huge smirk on her face. “Come on, touch yourself for me.”

“W-What?”

“I said I wasn’t gonna let you cum but that doesn’t mean I won’t let you finish yourself off while I watch,” said Ellie. She chuckled as your face grew red. “C’mon, I know you can do it.”

“I’ve never tried it, though. I prefer letting you do it.”

“I’m not touching you again until you make yourself cum.”

You whined, feeling too embarrassed to do something like that. You knew that if you refused again, she’d leave you there all alone. You slowly reached your hand between your thighs and pressed your fingers to your clit. You sighed and slowly started to move them in a circle, Ellie eyeing your cunt closely as she licked her lips.

“Atta girl,” she praised. “You like touching yourself for me?”

You didn’t respond. She laughed and grabbed your thigh gently. “You’re shy now, pretty girl? How cute. You were just fucking me and now you can’t even look at me.”

You sped your fingers up the more she spoke to you, soft whines escaping your lips and echoing off the walls.

“Good girl. You put on such a good show for me.”

Your legs shook as a knot began to build in your stomach. “El-Ellie, can I cum please? I-I’m so close.”

“Go on,” confirmed Ellie. You grabbed Ellie’s hand on your thigh and gripped it as your climax took over you.

“Shhhh, baby. That’s it. Be quiet.”

Ellie took your hand and sucked your fingers to get a taste of you. She hummed, wrapping her arms around you to help you stand. “You did so good,” she whispered, holding you close to her body. For some reason, you wanted to cry. Ellie hasn’t comforted you after sex since you lost your virginity, if that was even considered comfort. You melted in her arms and sighed. The warmth of Ellie’s body made your heart ache. You wished so desperately she was like this all of the time. You suddenly remembered what she called you earlier and wondered when you should bring it up. Ellie stepped back and grabbed your panties.

“Let me help you,” she said. Ellie pulled your panties up your legs and tugged your dress down. She quickly fixed your hair with a smile before putting the rest of her clothes back on.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ellie nodded in approval, putting her belt back in the loops and buckling it.

“You said… good girls don’t make their girlfriends jealous.”

“I did.”

“Am I… your girlfriend?”

Ellie shrugged, avoiding your eyes as she tried to focus on anything but you. “Uh… I think that’s up to you. I haven’t asked so… we really aren’t.”

“Are you wanting to ask me?”

“Fuck, why is this so awkward?” Ellie muttered to herself. “I’ve kinda been repressing some feelings towards you for a while now because I wanted this to be a hookup thing and nothing more. But tonight confirmed my feelings for you. Seeing you wearing that dress, knowing people would be eye fucking you… it made me sick. When I saw you dancing with that girl, I was infuriated. Dina kinda figured it out somehow and said I should tell you. I guess I’m not good at hiding my feelings once I have them.”

You smiled. You never thought your feelings for Ellie would be reciprocated. You knew it was hard for her to admit it, which made you like her even more.

“See, I knew something would come out of this!” you exclaimed. Ellie rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the shit eating grin that grew on her face.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I was certain that if you knew I liked you, you’d resent me.”

“Pfft, I knew you liked me. You do a shitty job at hiding things. I can’t go anywhere without you trailing behind me. You’re a pain in my ass but in a good way,” Ellie opened the door for you and followed you out. She wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close to her.

“So, you wanna ask me?”

“Ugh, no. We’ve said enough for it to be official. You can’t make me say anything.”

“Aw, you’re shy!”

“Shut up…”

Ellie stopped and looked down at you, her thumb slowly brushing against your cheek as her eyes softened. “You were always mine, weren’t you?” she asked.

“Of course I was.”

“I promise to be nicer. I know I said that last time but I mean it. I like this. You’re not so bad, church girl.”

You chuckled at the nickname. “I guess you’re alright yourself, Els.”

“What if I told you Jesse and Dina are making out behind you right now?”

You turned to look and laughed at the sight. “We already knew it would happen,” you said.

“Yeah. The party is starting to die a little bit. Wanna swing by yours so you can get a few things for the morning?”

“What do you mean?” you questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re spending the night with me.”

“Wait, really?”

“I’m not saying it again. Let’s go,” Ellie said as she dragged you out by the hand. The two of you spent the rest of the night holding each other in Ellie’s bed, talking about anything you could so neither of you would fall asleep. Ellie felt nervous about entering a relationship and still felt some guilt about being such a bitch to you. And yet, something about this felt so right to her. She was okay with changing her ways since you changed for her. Ellie knew she made the right choice and that it would be worth it. You were wrapped around her finger.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x you #tlou2 #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #the last of us #the last of us part two

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lacroixwh0r3 · 6 months ago

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Joel, the Magician

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel wants to try something new in the bedroom.

Warnings: SMUT!! pet names, porn with little plot, PiV, use of toys (vibrator), cursing, teasing, dom!joel, joel has a foot fetish (SORRY LMAO), squirting, blindfolding during sex, overstimulation, joel also lowkey has a praise kink, "i love you" at the end, I think that's it (let me know if I missed anything!)

Song inspo (feel free to listen if you want): Religion by Lana Del Rey

A/N: I did not read over this lol this was something I wrote on a whim because I feel like I’ve been neglecting y’all and lowkey was inspired eek, please enjoy!🫶🏾

“Baby, I wanna try something new," Joel looks up from his phone and over at you. "What do you think?”

You, not even paying attention to him, simply agreed to whatever he asked as you continued to read your book. It wasn’t that you didn’t care to listen to him, but the book you were reading was beginning to get interesting, and you were too captivated.

A mistake on your part.

“Don’t you wanna know what it is?” Joel asked you, hoping you would press for more information.

“Not right now, honey,” you tell him distantly. “As soon as I’m done reading, we’ll talk some more.”

Joel grumbled under his breath something about your book as he looked back at his phone and purchased the item he knew you’d thoroughly enjoy—you both could enjoy it together.

...

Eventually, days passed and Joel still didn't get the chance to tell you what he wanted to try. You didn't ask, therefore, he thought that maybe it was insignificant to you.

Matter of fact, he forgot all about the item he had order until one day it had finally arrived while you were out running some errands. Joel contemplated telling you about his brand new purchase when you got home, but ultimately decided against it.

After unboxing it, he play with the toy in his hand, feeling the vibrations intensify every time he pushed the button on it. He hadn't even placed it on the charger yet and the vibrations were still intense. His dick jumped at just the mental image of you using it while he watched or him using it on you.

It was as if a light had switched on in his head when he decided that he was going to teach you a lesson. Something you wouldn't forget.

And since tomorrow was date night for the two of you, Joel decided it was going to be perfect to surprise you afterwards.

With a grin on his face, Joel placed the toy on the charger and hid it on his side of the bed, between the headboard and the mattress, before grabbing the boxes and throwing them away before you got home.

...

After a long night out, the only thing you and Joel wanted was to be home.

Date night was a success to say the least—the two of you could hardly keep your hands off of each other the whole night. Joel would try to act like the gentleman he was, but he couldn't himself. Sometimes, he would reach under your tiny dress and tease you over your skimpy little thong or grazing his fingers up your thigh. You weren't any better either though, constantly rubbing your hands over his erection, acting as if it was an accident. Poor Joel having to dismiss himself while he adjusted his pants.

The car ride back home wasn't any better either.

"Darlin', please," he pleaded with you, gripping the steering wheel hard as he tried to focus on the road. "I'm tryna get you home safe, just give it a few and we'll be home shortly." He says, making you pull your lips away from his neck and dropping your hands in your lap.

He peaks over at you to see you pouting out the window. "Oh c'mon, baby. Stop with the pouting." He slightly chuckles as he reaches for your hand in your lap and place a kiss on top of it, making your heart flutter. "You know it's all yours once we get home, right?"

And Joel was not lying when he said this.

The moment you two got home you dashed to your shared bedroom and began stripping yourselves out of your clothes.

As you slipped off your thong, Joel goes to the walk in closet and emerged out with an old tie of his that he rarely wore.

"Joel, baby, what are you doing?" You asked him, confused on why he would need a tie at this moment.

He doesn't respond—he just walks closer to you and kisses you hard, which catches you by surprise. Just as you began to kiss him back, Joel breaks the kiss by gently pushing you down to sit on the bed.

It then clicked in your head at what he was about to do.

You and Joel never blind folded each other during sex before, it just wasn't something either of you were interested in, but you didn't mind trying it out with him for the first time.

"I'm gonna put this around your eyes, is that okay?" He asked you softly as he peered down at you. You nodded your head and he immediately began tying it, ensuring that it wasn't too tight around your head.

"Alright, now lay down on the middle of the bed while I get something," was all he says as he walks to his side of the bed. You wiggle onto the bed some more and lay down.

You just lay there as you listen to him open his night stand and shuffle things around. You're making me nervous, Joel. What are you doing?" You asked as you cover your body with your arms, feeling cold. He then closes is shut and makes his way back to the foot of the bed.

"You gotta trust me, baby," he says to you as he gets on the bed between your legs, pushes them wider, and pauses. "Do you trust me?"

You felt so vulnerable at that moment.

"I do, but I'm a little nervous, that's all." You tell him meekly.

"You have nothing to be nervous about, doll. I'd never do anything to harm you, I swear it on my life," He says and you believe him with your whole heart.

"If you aren't comfortable with anything, you tell me. You got it?"

"Yes, Joel." You say as you nod your head.

"Good," Joel says as he drops the heavy mystery object onto the bed next to the two of you and then grabs your calf to pull you close to him. "Now, I'm gonna fuck that pretty pussy so good," he mumbles as he kisses from your knee, down to your ankle, making you squirm and let out a soft whine.

You feel your whole body tingle the moment his wet lips meet your skin and his heavy cock nudges against your wet clit. He draws his hips back and invites himself into your opening, forcing an airy gasp out of you. "So fuckin' tight," Joel nearly moaned.

Your legs immediately spread wider and your hips shudder against him, wanting him to go deeper. "Feel so good, honey," you moan as he teases your clit, making sure to spread your wetness all over where you two were connected.

His strokes were slow and borderline teasing. "She's so wet for me, baby. So fuckin' wet," he says as if he was in disbelief. You wished you could see the look on his face, seeing those gorgeous brown eyes looking down at you while he made you feel good.

"It's all because of you," you whimper. "It's always you." You could feel his cock twitch inside of you every time you spoke to him; Joel loved when you praised him.

"Mmhmm, that's right, baby. It's always gonna be me makin' you feel this good." He tells you as he rubs circles around your clit. While he does this, you feel him grip your ankle, removing it from his shoulder.

Suddenly, you feel the warmth of his mouth around your toes, making you gasp and moan at the same time. "J-Joel, you can't do that, stop." You try to say as sternly as possible, but with what you are feeling, you can't help it. You even go as far as to try to remove your toes from his mouth, but he holds a tight grip on you. "This isn't normal," You plead but to no avail, he keeps going.

You could feel yourself relax as he slips your toe from his mouth. However, that relaxation quickly came to an end.

"Good thing we ain't normal, baby," he says before slipping your other toe into his mouth and groaning around them.

You almost scolded him, but as you go to do so, the head of his cock nudges the spot in you perfectly. "You're gonna make me cum, oh my god!" You warn him as you feel your whole body clench, including your pussy. The way he sucked and licked felt similar to what he would do to your clit.

He grunts and stops immediately once you say this.

You felt so ashamed about enjoying this because this was something that you never in your life thought about doing, like ever. Yet, there you were getting your toes sucked by the man that you love and it was turning you on.

Joel moves your foot from his mouth and widens both of your legs. "The fun hasn't even started yet and you're already bout to cum for me, such a dirty girl," He teases, making you tremble with anticipation. "You like being a dirty girl, don'tcha?"

You didn't even need to see his face to know he had that handsome smirk on his face.

"Only for you, Joel," you sigh with pleasure, angling your hips so he could fuck

"That's right, sweet girl." He praises you as he grabs the object from beside you. You feel as he places the bulbous head of the object on top of your clit and you couldn't quite tell what it was, but your clit pulses with excitement.

"What's tha-" You were about to ask, but before you could even do that you were cut off by a powerful vibration against your clit. "H-holy fu-baby? what the f-fuck is that?" You try to reach for the toy, but Joel quickly stops you.

"Move your fuckin' hands before I tie them up next," he threatened. His tone was so harsh; it should've scared you, but it pushed you beyond arousal. You loved it when he was rough with you in the bedroom. You believed it balanced perfectly with how he usually treated you outside the bedroom—so soft, so tender, so lovingly.

You do as he says, now gripping at your breast. "Look at that, always listenin' to me like a good girl," he praises you as he steadily drives his cock into you.

"Please, harder, Joel." You whimper, tweaking your nipples. "I need you to fuck me harder."

Joel nearly came inside of you once you said that, but had fortunately recovered. He knew that if he came, he was going to cum hard and he would probably need to rest afterward.

He does what you demand and drives himself into you harder as he grinds the wand against your clit. With every thrust, you let out a squeak, not from discomfort, but from pleasure.

You loved everything about this.

He could feel you clenching around him, trying to withhold your orgasm, but this wasn't like any other time. This time he wanted you to cum as much as you could without any restraint. "Don't hold it, darlin'. I want you to cum all over my cock." Joel huffs out as he keeps up his pace.

After he said that, you let out little gasps as you got closer to cumming. He focused himself on you, watching the sheen of sweat cover your body as you breathed heavily and squirmed.

The head of Joel's cock nudged your g-spot perfectly along with the perfect placement of the vibratory, leaving you shaking. You whispered to Joel for him to keep going until you couldn't speak anymore. Your trembles had grown stronger and your head fell back as you released the loudest noise Joel had ever heard from you thus far.

"So fuckin' beautiful while you come on my cock,"

You felt like your soul was everywhere, but in your body at that moment. And no matter how tired Joel was, he continued his hard strokes.

"J-Joel," You sputtered as you felt another orgasm bubbling up. "I'm gonna-i'm gonna cum again."

Joel didn't say anything.

Instead, he slows his thrust to the point that you can barely get any pleasure and holds the button to turn off the toy before dropping it on the bed.

“Wha-what’d you do that for?” you whine loudly, as you left your head from the bed, still unable to see. He grabs your flailing hands that were once desperate to hold something and brings them to the wand.

Joel’s grip was tight as he made a fist around the silicone. “You wanna hold somethin’? hold onto this,” Joel groans out as the wand jolts back to life on your clit again, but this time he double-clicks it. This time, the vibrations were much harsher than before. “you’re gonna help me while I fuck you s'more.”

You nearly started to scream as you tightly held it in place. Joel almost had you folded like a pretzel the way that he nearly placed his weight on you as he held the back of your knees so your legs were wide open. You could feel the stretch of your legs and knew you would be sore the next morning, but you could also feel yourself clench around him at the thought. This makes Joel hunch over you more and groan loudly.

He tries to start this thrust again, but his hips sharply shutter against you, feeling the intense vibration at his base. But Joel was going to persist through it; he was going to fuck you regardless of how much the pleasure made his whole body weak.

He pounded into your sopping-wet pussy. Usually, he would talk you through your orgasms, letting out his sexy groans from time to time. But right now, Joel released these noises that you could only describe as primal, and they were just as sexy, if not more.

"C-Cum for me, honey." You encourage him, attempting to get him to cum. "Are you gonna cum for me? Are you gonna cum all over me?" you purred.

He lets out a noise in agreement, his relentless pounding never wavering. With your free hand, you snatch the tie from around your eyes and throw its neck to the two of you, needing to see Joel's gorgeous face as he fucked you.

The moment you locked eyes with him, your legs quivered and shook. Your hole pulsed around him as you came around him once more, only this time you could feel this pressure that felt like you were going to pee.

You didn't feel it often, but it was a familiar sensation that happened once and only ever with Joel.

"Oh my god, Joel, I'm gonna sq-" and before you could finish your sentence your eyes fluttered back and the liquid began spurting out whenever Joel thrust back. When he looked down and realized what was happening, Joel knew he was done for.

"Fuuck, baby," he moaned as he pulled out of you and placed the tip of his cock against the wand, and jerked off his shaft. His warm cum jetted out far onto your torso and stomach while his hips jerked.

Finally, you caught the end of him cumming after it felt like you were placed back on earth. "Look at you, baby, so beautiful when you cum for me," you whispered as you ran your fingers through his cum on you.

You realize he is done when he releases his cock and grabs the wand from your hands before turning it off and throwing it somewhere on the bed. he falls down on the bed as he tries to catch his breath.

You cover your eyes with the inside of your arm, too exhausted to do anything. You both were.

"I love you, Joel Miller," you mumble, not even waiting for him to say it before falling into a deep sleep. You knew he loved you and that's all that mattered.

...

A/N: OKAYYY! I feel like a freak for writing that, but I hope y'all loved it. please reblog, share, like, and comment if you want<333

#smut #the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #dbf!joel miller x reader

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aureliaeiter · 18 days ago

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Polytheists from the US: please stop fear mongering

I wanna start this post by saying that, as a bisexual woman, I do feel for my fellow women and LGBT people in the US, as well as for other minorities. I also fear for all of us around the world, as US politics have a direct impact in all countries.

However, please stop projecting your fears on the gods. If you think the gods suddenly became angry after the elections, after everything the world has gone through this year, that means you think the gods care more about you than they do about everyone else. And that's not okay.

1. You're the centre of the world. Please don't be entitled.

As I said, whatever the US does has an impact everywhere. That doesn't mean we need to extrapolate that into religion.

There are two things that have happened this year that would directly impact the gods. One was Mt Olympus burning in August. The other is an Israeli airstrike nearly hitting the Temple of Bacchus in Baalbek. I saw ZERO posts about the gods being angry about that. Or about the gods being angry at all. I understand you can't read the news about every country ever, but at least try to keep up with the country your religion comes from?

To those two things I said, I could add others that don't impact the gods directly like Palestine, Lebanon and Ukraine getting b0mbed; Argentina, Brazil, Greece, Poland, Austria, Spain and many other countries having deadly fires and floods; the rights of Italian LGBT people being set years back by their current PM, as well as LGBT people in some countries not having rights at all; conservative politicians being elected all over the world; WOMEN BEING BANNED FROM SPEAKING IN AFGHANISTAN; Pakistani Pagan tribes being targeted; the whole Gisèle Pelicot case... I could go on and on and on because there's just too much stuff going on in the world.

If you think none of these things would make the gods go angry, but the moment something happens in your country they're suddenly angry then that's an issue. And if you're trying to make this into a collective truth then you're making it everyone else's issue.

2. This is not an Abrahamic religion.

I understand many of you come from an Abrahamic background. I was raised in a deeply Catholic country. In the type of town where people get their favourite apparition or Mary tattooed. So I understand. But you have to somehow unlearn that when it comes to things like these.

The gods are not angry at you. Why would they be? Did you personally do something to offend them? Did you steal from their temple? Did you brag about being better than them in any way? I'm sure you didn't. So why would they be angry?

If you start saying things like “the gods are angry because of this!!” you sound just like the Christians who repeat Christ is coming soon everytime any type of natural catastrophe happens. Please stop. You're making all of us look crazy.

And also, what do you gain from this? Making other people upset? Especially those who just came into this religion and might think the gods are angry at them? It'd be fine if you posted something like “let's pray for our fellow Americans” but this doesn't make any sense. I just don't understand you people sometimes.

Also if you're gonna reply to this post by saying something along the lines of “people are allowed to talk about their feelings” then delete the comment because it shows you have little reading comprehension.

#hellenic polytheist #hellenic polytheism #hellenism #paganism #paganblr #witchtok #witchblr #pagantok #helpol #roman polytheist #roman polytheism #rompol

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joelscruff · 1 year ago

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART EIGHT

previous chapters | yall are absolutely fucking incredible. truly. i never could have ever expected the response to the last chapter and i'm so so SO grateful to everyone who's been contributing their thoughts and theories over the past week. your engagement and passion for this story means the world to me. so many people wanted so many different things for this chapter and i know i can't please everybody, but i hope this satisfies most of you. thank you so much for being here and for loving this story. here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: you don't know what to think after catching joel at the bar. tasha wants to help in the best she knows how - getting fucked up. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, sexual assault (nothing to do w joel), alcohol, almost penetration word count: 13.6k ao3

You've never felt like this before.

Tasha practically has to drag you into a cab, gripping tight to your hand with an arm around your back as she gives the driver the address of where you're both staying. He barely bats an eye to the fact that you're practically inconsolable, tears streaming steadily down your face as you gasp and sob and stare at the floor with wide eyes. He's probably picked up countless passengers in similar situations and it's not like you can bring yourself to feel any sort of embarrassment over it.

"Shh," she soothes you, still rubbing your back and peering down at you with empathy in her eyes, an expression that somehow makes you feel even worse - she'd told you this might happen. She'd known all along, but you hadn't wanted to believe anything she said about the lack of definition in your relationship with Joel. You'd chosen to believe differently, believe that he was different than the guys your friends have encountered.

How could you have been so stupid?

It's your own fault you're even in this position now, crying in the back of a cab while Joel makes out with some woman in a bar you don't belong in. Your own fault for putting any ounce of faith in someone else for once, for choosing to be blind to the obvious - of course he doesn't want you. Of course you're not his priority. You're not his girlfriend. You're his fuck buddy. You're a warm body and nothing more.

You don't speak for the entire drive, just cry and try desperately to control your breathing. By the time you reach the Airbnb your throat hurts from the sobs, although throwing up on the sidewalk could also have something to do with it. You're just a mess, lightheaded and distant as Tasha guides you into the house and helps you settle on the couch.

"Stay here," she says softly, grabbing a throw blanket and carefully covering your loose and exhausted form, "I'm gonna go get some necessities, okay? This place doesn't have shit."

You nod slowly, just to let her know you acknowledge her words, though you're unsure exactly what necessities she's talking about. She reaches her hand down and strokes your cheek, still looking at you with that sad expression.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she repeats to you for probably the fortieth time in the past hour.

You close your eyes; you can't stand to see the pity on her face.

Tasha returns shortly after with her "necessities", which mainly consist of junk food and alcohol. You haven't moved an inch from where she'd left you, still laying on the couch with bloodshot eyes and a quivering mouth. You listen as she busies herself in the kitchen, putting together some sort of snack platter for the both of you that you already know you won't eat. You're not hungry. You've never been less hungry in your life.

"You were right," you finally manage to croak out as she seats herself beside you on the couch, placing the food on the coffee table and turning to you with that familiar look of pity, "He's just like the rest of them."

She shakes her head, "No, that's not true, I never said that," she rips open a bag of chips and starts munching, seemingly lost in thought.

"Oh, we're gaslighting now, are we?"

She raises an eyebrow, "Girlie, tell me when I said what you just said."

"Boys are mean," you quote hastily, turning a bit on the couch to stare up at the ceiling.

"Yes, it's true. Boys are mean. And so are men," she sighs then, dropping the chips back on the table, "Look, I'm not defending him, I promise, but-"

"Tasha," you state coldly, still staring at the ceiling, "Do not continue that sentence."

"You don't even know what I'm gonna say."

"Yes, I do," you shut your eyes and bring your hands to cover your face, feeling the tears starting up again, "You're gonna tell me we never defined what we had, that he was never my boyfriend, that this can't constitute as cheating because there was no relationship to begin with."

She's quiet but you can still feel her looking at you with that sadness, that sympathy, the look of someone who's been here before and knows how it feels. And it makes you so angry. Because-

"Joel wasn't supposed to do this," you continue, softer now, voice shaky as the tears flow down your temples and into your hair, "He's not a boy, he's not like the guys you date. He- he was different, I-" you choke, throat tightening at the thought of him, the image of him with her at the front of your mind again, "I thought he- I thought that we-"

You can't continue, words turning into cries and sniffles turning into sobs. You feel Tasha's hand on your calf, stroking your skin gently despite the fact that you just criticized both her own judgement and her taste in men in the same breath.

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings," she says soothingly, "That's the last thing I wanna do. If anything I'm trying to tell you that this doesn't necessarily make him an asshole."

You scoff at that, "Right. Makes sense," you finally pull your hands down to look at her through your tears, brow furrowing, "Tasha he was kissing her. That- that woman, he was- he touched her face."

"I know he did," she murmurs with a frown, eyes casting downward, "And I know it hurts, but-"

"But nothing," you find yourself tossing the blanket to the floor and standing up shakily, not bothering to even look at Tasha as you stomp toward the bedroom. "I don't need this right now," is the last thing you say before slamming the door behind you.

She doesn't follow you. This is the first time you've ever yelled at her, the first time you've ever felt truly mad at her, and even though you know deep down that this isn't her fault... you still feel betrayed. Betrayed by Tasha's nonchalance, betrayed by Joel's actions, but worst of all - betrayed by yourself.

Because how did you manage to get into this mess in the first place?

You practically rip the too-tight and too-short pink dress off your body and stagger to the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers. You still feel sick, lightheaded and woozy as you press your face to the cool pillow and try to collect yourself. You can't get the image of the woman out of your head; you hadn't even seen her face and yet it's like she's somehow consuming every fiber of your being. All you can see behind your closed lids are those long, perfectly styled braids hitting her bare waist, skin a deep and rich brown that almost sparkled under the bar lights, the way her bare ankle traveled up and down his leg, the soft curve of her cheek as he'd cupped it in his hand-

A sob wracks through you and you pull the other pillow toward yourself, wrapping your legs and arms around it like a koala, remembering how less than twenty four hours ago you'd been in a bed just like this one - except it hadn't been a pillow you were cuddling. And now, what? Who's in that bed now? Another woman? That gorgeous woman who you don't stand a chance against?

You're sure Tasha can hear you crying but she doesn't come, staying in the living room and giving you the space you need. You already feel awful for snapping at her like that - you know she means well, that she's just trying to alleviate the situation in her own way, but you barely even know how you feel about it.

And how do you feel? Hurt? Sad? Angry? Of course you feel all of those things, to a degree you've never felt them before, but underlying all of those emotions is something else entirely, something you can't quite put your finger on - or would rather not put your finger on, because doing so would mean finally admitting something you're not sure you're ready to admit yet.

You try to think about your relationship with Joel up to this point, try and pinpoint the exact moment it went from being something frivolous to being something real, but you find that it's impossible to do so. For you, you could say the moment you walked past his threshold was when it became official. Or when he touched you for the first time. Or when he kissed you. When he made you come. When he called you his babygirl. When you touched his cock. When he put his mouth on your pussy. When you woke up this morning completely naked in his bed.

Any of those moments could have been the moment. But a gnawing voice in the back of your mind reminds you that any of those moments could have equally not been the moment as well. Maybe there was no moment. Maybe this really has just been a whole lot of nothing.

But then you think about the way he looks at you. The way he treats you.

The way he'd comforted and reassured you last night, held you, made you feel safe and secure - "If you just wanna lay here with me, that's okay too."

The way he'd shared his insecurities with you over the phone, been vulnerable, honest and open - "I don't want you to look at me differently".

The way he'd dressed up just in case your mother took you to your lesson, looking like he was ready to attend a church service, purposely putting himself in uncomfortable clothing to make sure things went smoothly - "I wanted to make a good impression."

The way he'd told you about his past on his back deck, related his own childhood to yours, tried to calm your own fears and tell you things would be okay - "You gotta focus on what's right for you, on livin' the life you want, not worryin' about what they'll think".

What did any of it mean? What does any of it mean? Has it just been sex this whole time or does he actually care about you? And if he does, why would he kiss someone else?

And what if he's been kissing someone else... fucking someone else... this entire time? What if it's not just you he's been seeing? The thought makes you want to throw up all over again.

You hear a peal of laughter from the other room, a sound that feels odd in the silence and sadness of the bedroom where you lie. Tasha must have put on a movie or something. You feel bitterness rise in your throat, a sudden urge to run out to the living room and grab the remote and toss it out the window, scream at her for finding something to laugh at when you're literally falling apart at the seams.

But the bitterness fades when you hear her laugh again; you love that laugh, have missed it ever since you came home. Tasha has always had such a free and fun way about her, a natural joy that you've always envied. You'd watched her go out night after night over the past three years, come home with the most bizarre stories that you were never able to fully relate to, and yet she always tried to include you in some way, ask you questions, make you laugh.

You remember the looks of shock you'd received from the other girls when you'd first shared that you were a virgin, that you'd never done anything except kiss. She'd sensed your discomfort immediately, seen your embarrassment, and had quickly flipped the conversation to something else more shocking, more embarrassing - at her own expense. Easier than flipping a light switch. And any time it was mentioned after that, she'd always emphasize how lucky you were, how she wished she'd taken her time, how all you were missing out on was bonehead losers who didn't know how to please a woman.

She's always reassured you, always listened, and has always been your number one fan, even when you had nothing to give. You'd told her all about your upbringing, about the way you'd begun to question everything, and she'd given you her own two cents and made you feel better for the first time in a long time. And when you'd told her you were coming home for the summer she'd said, "Are you sure that's gonna be okay for you?"

You trust her. So why are you in this room avoiding her? Why aren't you listening to what she has to say?

With heavy limbs you manage to climb off the bed and tug on your pajamas, wiping your eyes and letting the sadness and humility settle for just a moment. Yes, this is a fucked up situation. But Tasha wants to help you. Let her.

A few moments later you find yourself back on the couch, this time with Tasha's arm around you as she pours you a glass of wine and shakes away your apology. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she tells you softly, "You're upset, I get it."

You sigh deeply and take a sip, wincing at the bitterness but making no move to put it back on the table. "So," you murmur hoarsely, "Why is he not necessarily an asshole?"

You stay up late talking for hours about the situation and listening to Tasha's theories, most of which center around a lack of communication - based on her own personal experiences. She also has to factor in the fact that Joel is a lot older, a detail she's still beyond surprised over.

"I just can't believe he's fifty six," she faux whispers the number with wide eyes, shaking her head. "Like... this man knows things. How to take care of you, ya know? You're luckier than you realize."

"Lucky," you scoff, "Yeah, that's one way to describe how it feels."

She slaps your hand playfully, "I'm serious. This is yet another reason I think you just got your signals crossed here. I refuse to believe he's trying to hurt you, especially after how considerate he's been with you up until this point. If this was just about sex he would have dropped you ages ago, honey. I mean, no offense but you're not exactly making it easy for him, are you?"

She's certainly blunt. But she's also right. Joel has been nothing but patient with you this entire time, never expecting anything more than what you've been willing to give. If it was just about sex, this thing between the two of you wouldn't have gone beyond that first day in his house when you'd told him you were a virgin.

You slowly begin to come to the conclusion that you should give him the benefit of the doubt. As much as what you saw hurts, as much as it makes you want to crawl in bed and never get up, you were never Joel's girlfriend. There was never an establishing conversation, never a moment where you laid your heart on the line and told him exactly what you wanted, mainly because you haven't been sure what you wanted up until this point. But now you do.

"Communication," Tasha repeats for maybe the fifth time, "Communication is key. He doesn't know what you want, so you need to tell him. You need to stand up for yourself. And if he doesn't take you seriously, you move on. Simple."

"Simple," you echo, your third glass of wine already getting to you as you peer at her hazily with an upturned brow, "Communication."

"Communication," she repeats, "Simple."

Communication. Simple.

It's what echoes in your head over and over after your head hits the pillow that night, and continues to repeat the following morning as Tasha rouses you from sleep to get you ready for your "lesson". You don't feel as hungover as you'd expected - "That's because we didn't get totally fucked up like we were supposed to," Tasha says to you with a roll of her eyes - but your face is puffy from all the crying.

You're splashing your face with cold water when you hear Tasha call out, "Hey, I think you have a text."

Heart pounding in your chest you run back to the bedroom and grab your phone from the nightstand, the first time you've checked it since you got back from the bar. Your eyes go wide when you see not just one but two texts from Joel. One from last night, around midnight:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

And one from this morning, around seven:

You get home ok? Let me know x

"Don't text him back," Tasha advises over your shoulder, "Keep him sweating a bit, you're leaving soon anyway."

You nod slowly, still staring at the messages, especially the one from last night. When had he sent that? Had he still been at the bar? Still with her? Did he take her home? That familiar sadness and betrayal from last night bubbles in your throat again, tears pricking in your eyes.

No. You will not cry anymore.

You let your phone fall onto the bed and turn on the spot, marching back to the bathroom like a woman on a mission.

"Tasha, make me fucking hot."

The Plan: Go to your lesson with Joel. Talk to him about what you saw. Tell him how you feel. And look good doing it.

Communication. Simple. It certainly seems easier said than done; you've never been very good at communication. Your whole life has been spent suppressing your true feelings and your true self for crying out loud - the concept of being completely vulnerable and honest with someone is terrifying. But you know that it's necessary for your heart, and you also know that if you're going to be able to be vulnerable with anyone, it's Joel. He's already seen glimpses of the broken parts of you, not to mention seen you completely naked. How much harder can it get?

And nothing can be worse than how you felt last night.

Tasha essentially makes you her very own doll for the majority of the morning - doing your makeup, styling your hair, choosing your outfit - and you're surprised to find that you don't hate any of it, have no notes or critiques or changes to make. You stand in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror with your eyebrows raised, lips parted in admiration at a job well done.

"I look good," you say with a smile, and Tasha grins at your reflection, "I mean it, Tasha. Like, I still look like me, but..."

"All I did was accentuate what you already have, my love," she replies, reaching forward to fix a piece of hair that's not sitting quite right, "You're just a gorgeous human, inside and out."

You can't help but feel touched at her words, lips turning down into a pout as your hands come up to touch your heart, "Tasha-"

She waves you away, shaking her head, "Bitch, do not get sappy on me right now. Save those doe eyes for Mr. Miller."

Twenty minutes later you're winding through the suburban streets of your neighborhood. You're about half an hour early; Tasha had wanted you to be fashionably late but there's only so much of yourself you can alter in such a short amount of time, your punctuality being one of them. You figure you'll just drive around for a bit to build up your courage, plan out your words.

Joel, I saw you at the bar last night. I saw the woman. And I'm not mad, I'm just....

Joel, my feelings were really hurt last night...

Joel, I can't believe you would kiss another woman after everything we've been doing. Do I not mean anything to you at all? Do I-

Nothing really seems like the right thing to say. You figure once you're standing in front of him the words will just come naturally, flow easily in a way that makes sense and articulates your feelings properly. You can only hope.

You've still got about fifteen minutes before your lesson but you figure there's no point in continuing to circle the area - you're just delaying the inevitable. With a heavy sigh and a few quiet words of encouragement directed at your rearview mirror, you turn onto Joel's street, gripping the wheel tightly and trying to keep your breathing as even as possible. You can do this. You can do this.

You're a few houses down from his when you see it.

Panic turns to shock. Shock turns to confusion. Confusion turns to anger. Anger turns to sadness.

You're already pressing Tasha's number in your contacts before you can fully collect your thoughts.

"What is it? Did you go in?"

"There's a car in his driveway," you hiss through your teeth, feeling the tears spring to your eyes again, your hand coming up to cover your mouth, "She stayed the fucking night, Tasha. He fucking slept with her."

"You don't know that," Tasha replies quickly, calmly, already trying to calm you down, "Maybe it's his, maybe he has another car."

"He doesn't have another car, Tasha," your voice is stoic despite the lump in your throat, "He has his truck and that's it. Joel Miller doesn't drive a purple fucking convertible."

"A purple convertible?" Tasha repeats, voice faltering now, processing the information, "Jesus Christ."

You stare at the driveway, at the car in question - you're still a few houses down so it's hard to see any specific details, but you're sure you can make out a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror inside. This is definitely not Joel's vehicle by any means. Your stomach is in knots, unsure what the fuck you're supposed to do now; you'd thought briefly of the possibility that he'd slept with her, and up until this moment you'd been prepared to hear him admit it to you. But you hadn't expected it to really be true, to almost come face to face with the woman herself.

"I don't understand," Tasha suddenly says on the other line, "He knows you're coming for your lesson, why the fuck would he still have her in the house?"

"I don't know," your voice is almost a whisper, thick with sadness and disbelief, "I- oh shit." You cut yourself off and sink deep into your front seat when you catch the front door of his house opening, eyes going wide as you watch two figures emerge out onto the front step.

"What's happening?" Tasha asks frantically - you can practically hear her pacing on the other end, "Talk to me!"

"They're coming out!" you hiss, "They're on the fucking front step."

"Oh, honey, you gotta leave. You're not gonna wanna see this, you need to just turn around and come back," her voice is full of disappointment, anger that mirrors your own, "I'm serious, this is just-"

"Shhh," you peer over the dashboard at them, squinting against the sun. You can make out Joel's broad back in the early morning light, can recognize one of his band t-shirts and his signature bedhead, pointing in all directions. You can see him, but it's difficult to make out the figure he's with, his body blocking her almost entirely from you. "I think she's leaving."

You watch with a mix of rage and horror as he suddenly leans down and wraps his arms around her, her own winding around his broad form as her hands interlock together behind his back. Your eyebrows raise in confusion, mouth dropping open.

"It's not the same woman," you whisper.

"What do you mean it's not the same woman?"

"Literally that," you breathe, shaking your head and feeling a few tears begin to make their way down your cheeks, "It's not the one from last night, it's someone else."

"How do you know?"

"Because the woman last night was black and this girl isn't, I can see her arms," you snap, a sob threatening to burst its way past your lips, "And this one's shorter, he has to bend down to hug her."

"To hug her?!" Tasha echoes, "What the fuck?"

You watch as they separate from one another, watch with rage burning in your chest as she walks down the steps toward her car. You can see her better now, get a good look at her in the few seconds it takes her to reach the driver's side door. She's wearing a pink dress, frilled at the bottom with a pair of white sandals - she looks young. You're already redacting your prior statement about her not being black - now that she's properly in view, you can see the brown softness of her skin, her afro textured hair plaited neatly into two rows. But it's not the same woman.

"So, what, he had two girls in one night? Is that what you're telling me?" Tasha is saying in your ear while you continue to stare at the woman, watch her open the car door and climb inside with one last wave to Joel, "Hello?"

"I - I don't know. I'm-" you watch Joel wave to her and then head back inside the house, presumably to wait for you to arrive. Your stomach is tight and painful, bile in your throat all over again. "You were right," you whisper, tears cascading down onto your bare legs, "I didn't need to see this."

So much for not crying anymore.

You're back on the couch again, wrapped up like a burrito staring at the wall while Tasha paces back and forth around the living room in front of you, talking a mile a minute.

"It was a whole different story when it was just the one girl," she's ranting, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed in anger, "But two? Two girls. In one fucking night. And one of them is half his age," she scoffs, almost a growl, "So what, he just does this in his spare time? Fucks around with girls' hearts and bodies and then acts like some tough, macho contractor with a busy schedule? Please."

You don't need to remind her that you're also half his age - you know she'd come up with a reason why you're different, why you're the exception. And you do appreciate that, but the more she talks the more you're starting to realize that maybe that's never been the case. Maybe you weren't some beautiful coincidence that wandered into Joel's life - maybe he's been doing this for a long time.

Your gaze follows her as she walks around, pacing the same circle over and over again around the coffee table; it's typical Tasha - you've seen her do this on numerous occasions before, but never on your behalf. Your phone suddenly vibrates on the table and your heads both snap toward it, plunging the room into silence. You already know it's him - who else would be texting you this early? You reach over and unlock it, eyes scanning the message:

Where are you?

"He's wondering why I haven't shown up," you say quietly, voice still hoarse from all the crying.

"What a fucking prick. Do not reply," she resumes her pacing, "Two girls the night before he's supposed to have a date with you. Who does that? Who actually does that? Men, that's who. Men do that. I'm swearing off them forever after this. Seriously, I mean it. What the fuck."

You appreciate her concern, appreciate that she's no longer arguing on Joel's behalf, but her words cut you deep regardless. The whole situation still feels surreal. How is it that just over twenty four hours ago he was kissing you softly, sweetly, peering at you with those beautiful brown eyes and telling you he had something special planned for your lesson? What had he wanted to try, a fucking threesome?

"I don't know him at all," you whisper softly, sadly, "I never did. He's a stranger. A complete stranger who I was stupid enough to trust."

Your words seem to touch something in Tasha. She stops her pacing, slowly turns toward you with that empathetic look again and then carefully steps toward the couch, sitting down on the end.

"He just... he was there," you continue, lip trembling, "My parents were being so controlling and I was literally thinking about just... just leaving, finding some way to get back to campus without them knowing and then I heard that fucking guitar and-" you hiccup through a sob, clutching your hand to your chest, "I should've known then. I should've just kept walking. He asked me to come in, Tasha. He wanted to fuck me, then and there. And when I said no I guess I... I became some sort of challenge. Just a stupid, naïve little Catholic girl he could fuck and dump. And I fell for it, hook line and sinker."

She places a hand on your calf, just like she had last night, stroking gently up and down, "You're not stupid," she murmurs, "You're just a girl. A girl experiencing something really special for the first time. And I'm sorry he took that experience from you."

You manage to smile at her, soft and sincere. Despite everything, it feels good to have a friend, to not be alone when you're feeling like this. To be validated and comforted. You have no idea how you'd be processing all of this without Tasha by your side, if you'd have even been able to leave your bed this morning.

"This is so not what I wanted this weekend to be," she suddenly sighs, putting her head in her hands, "I wanted you to have fun, be free. And here you are feeling like shit about yourself. It's not fair."

She's right. It's not fair.

You take a deep breath, then carefully pry yourself out from underneath your blanket, rolling off the couch and coming to stand in front of Tasha with a determined expression on your face.

"You didn't dress me to the nines just for me to cry and feel sorry for myself on the couch," you say confidently, doing your best to wipe away your tears without completely smearing away Tasha's hard work, "I don't wanna think about Joel anymore. I don't wanna cry about Joel anymore. You know what I wanna do?"

She looks up at you, a grin slowly spreading across her face, "Go have fun and be free?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

You never thought you'd be the kind of person to go day drinking, but here you are. Tasha had fixed your makeup and then gotten all dolled up herself, ready for a whole day of doing exactly what you'd both set out to do this weekend: have fun.

Your first stop is a little bistro within walking distance of the Airbnb; you already know that neither of you will be fit to drive by the time this is all over, so you stick to places that are relatively close to the house. As you sip your cocktails and dig into a plate of sandwiches, Tasha informs you that she'd purposely booked this house in particular because of its proximity to the local club scene - you're not surprised in the slightest.

Your phone vibrates a few times while you're eating but you don't check it, forcing yourself to avoid reading anything else Joel has to say to you. It's only when it actually rings, two cocktails deep and plate empty, that you briefly consider picking it up.

"Nope," Tasha says, grabbing the phone from you and canceling the call before you can answer, "No more Joel today, we agreed."

"No more Joel," you repeat, nodding. You let her slip your phone into her own purse after putting it on silent - you know she'll keep it safe, and you know it's for the best.

You spend the majority of the afternoon popping in and out of local bars and boutiques, shopping and chatting to your hearts content as your body adjusts to the constant thrum of alcohol running through your system, making your head a bit foggy in the best way. It's like nothing really matters except this moment, right now, the beat of live music here and there as the sun gets lower in the sky, the conversations drifting past, the smell of food wafting out of restaurants. Tasha is a constant presence at your side, arm linked with yours as she dishes on all the drama of her life you've missed thus far this summer.

You don't think about Joel.

It's obvious throughout your little adventures throughout the day that people - particularly men - gravitate to Tasha very easily. You're not sure if it's simply because of how gorgeous she is - all curves and plump lips and dark curls down to her waist, purple cowboy hat askew above her perfectly applied makeup - or because she's simply a light. She's so bubbly and completely herself, smiling and laughing and dancing, never apologetic or ashamed. It feels good to have a girl like that in your corner, helping you out of your shell, only wanting what's best for you.

You realize as the day passes that you're beginning to mimic her behavior a bit. Whether it's due to the alcohol or your admiration for her, you're not sure, but either way you can feel yourself loosening up, allowing yourself to be more uninhibited, less insecure, not caring if people are looking at you. And people are definitely starting to look at you.

"Dude over there is staring at you," Tasha says quietly to you as you sip margaritas on the back deck of a country bar. You're now wearing her cowboy hat, stolen it after what can only be described as a predictable turn of events where she'd rode the mechanical bull and lost it in one particularly hard buck. You'd picked it up off the floor and placed it on your head, laughing hysterically as the bull threatened to launch Tasha across the room.

"Where?" your eyes go wide as you take a long sip, waiting for her to point him out. She nods at something behind you and you do your best to slowly turn around, not wanting to be too obvious. In your drunken state, however, it's not very smooth. You almost topple off the chair as you spin in place to find who she's talking about.

Through your laughter you spot him. Typical young Texan - floppy blonde hair and a strong jawline, sun-kissed skin and a white smile that practically glimmers against the sunset. He nods to you when he sees you looking, tilts his head to the side a bit and winks.

You turn back to Tasha, shaking your head, "He is not looking at me," you feel your skin heating up, not just from the alcohol, "There's no way."

"He is looking at you," Tasha reiterates, placing her empty glass down on the table, "You're fucking hot."

Your mind can't help but flash back to freshman year, that godforsaken party when another boy with a similar appearance had looked your way. The hope you'd felt, the desire, the confidence... all of it fading when he approached and chose your friend to talk to instead, not even bothering to glance your way despite standing right there beside her. You can't help but worry that it's happening all over again.

But then you hear a deep voice behind you, southern and sexy: "Pardon me, but I just had to tell you, I think you're the prettiest girl I ever saw."

Your eyes widen and you spin back around, still half expecting him to be talking to Tasha, not you, but his green eyes connect with yours instead. His gaze holds you there, your lips parting with no words coming out as you stare up at him in shock.

"She was just telling me that you're not so bad yourself," Tasha offers with a smile, nudging you under the table with her heel, "Right?"

"R-right," you manage to stammer out, still staring open-mouthed at this gorgeous specimen that has somehow decided that you're the girl he wants to talk to right now. The prettiest girl he ever saw.

He smiles at that, toothy and beautiful, "I'm Noah," he puts his hand out for you to take and you do, grasping it tightly and trying to hold on to the reality of this moment, the way his soft skin feels against yours, the way your brain is buzzing with amazement - and tequila.

Tasha's foot hits your ankle again and you quickly splutter out your name, releasing his hand and awkwardly placing yours back in your lap. You feel the bare skin of your thigh and you're suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you are right now - this dress certainly doesn't leave much up to the imagination. Your thighs and breasts are practically spilling out of it, pink material clinging to your body. But he isn't looking at any of that - he's looking at your face.

"It's real nice to meet you," he says with another smile, "Can I buy you a drink?" he suddenly looks at Tasha, like he's only just remembered she's sitting there, "And one for your friend too, of course."

"She'd love one," Tasha answers for you, nudging her arm against yours gently, "We'll both have another margarita."

Noah nods once, sets his gaze to your face again with a smile, then disappears inside the bar to go order the drinks.

The second he's gone it's like you're released from some sort of spell he'd put you under. Your heart is suddenly pounding in your chest, breaths coming shorter as you turn to Tasha with utter horror.

"What happened to swearing off all men?" you hiss, brow furrowing.

"Please, Noah isn't a man, he's a boy," she scoffs with a smile, twirling her hair between her fingers, "And I know alllll about boys."

You don't know how it happens, somehow lost the plot about halfway into your second margarita, but Noah is going to the club with you.

You are drunk. You know this for a fact. You hadn't been expecting to already feel this fucked up upon setting foot in the club but here you are, Tasha on one arm and Noah on the other. Tasha's had just as much to drink as you but doesn't seem anywhere near as intoxicated as you feel, continuing to be her excitable self when the bass drops and the neon lights start to dance across her skin. She's stolen back her cowboy hat but you've somehow gained your own - you think it might be Noah's.

"LET'S DANCE!" she screeches, pulling you away from Noah and dragging you onto the dance floor. You watch with slightly blurred vision as he goes in the opposite direction, toward the bar, probably to order more drinks.

The music is loud, the dance floor full of people, bodies swaying back and forth, people jumping up and down, grinding on one another, screaming conversations over the heavy bass. The lights are bright and it feels like all of your senses have been heightened, like you can feel, taste, see, and hear everything in your immediate vicinity to the utmost degree. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but you can feel it in other places too - your feet, your kneecaps, your skin.

"I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG!" Tasha screams to you, throwing her hands up in the air and spinning on the spot, smile wide and joyous as she starts to dance, "DANCE WITH ME, COME ON!"

Your senses are overloading but you try your best to match her energy, copy her movements, focus on just this instead of everything else that's going on around you. This is what you've been missing all these years; this is what you've been waiting to experience. Enjoy it. You let your inhibitions flow and just exist in this moment, having fun with your best friend, far away from anyone who would ever judge you for being here. Far away from your parents and your neighbors and Bethany and -

No. You do not think about Joel.

You and Tasha dance to about three songs before she's tugging you away from the dance floor and over to the bar, back to where Noah is leaning with a beer bottle perched against his lips. He smiles when he sees you approaching, gestures to the little mini drinks beside him, small enough to only have about a thumb of liquid in each.

"Shots!" Tasha squeals, clapping her hands together, "Shots, shots, shots!" She picks one up and hands it to you, then grabs her own, "Come on, Noah, do one with us!"

Noah still can't seem to keep his eyes off you, though you've begun to notice that he's no longer just looking at your face anymore. This time his eyes fall to your breasts as he puts down his beer bottle and replaces it with one of the shot glasses, gaze falling down to your legs before finding your eyes again.

You catch a glint of something darker there, something seductive, and as you bring the glass to your lips you're suddenly aware that beneath the alcohol you feel a bit... uneasy.

You're fucked up. You're really fucked up.

Tasha doesn't leave your side, something you're extremely grateful for. You're starting to have difficulty seeing straight, even walking is becoming confusing, let alone dancing. You grip Tasha's shoulders tightly on the dance floor as you both sway to the music, unsure exactly how long it's been since you arrived at the club. She's looking at you with hazy eyes, much drunker now than she was earlier, and your very intoxicated brain is wondering if you're actually going to leave at some point or whether you're just stuck here for the rest of eternity.

You can feel Noah against your back. He's grinding against you to the song, hands on your hips as his groin presses firmly into your ass. It's weird, being in a Tasha-Noah sandwich that you didn't really sign up for. You're too drunk to really know what you want, actually. You feel fine having Tasha this close, feel safe in her embrace, but Noah's presence is starting to make you feel a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm really drunk," you slur, but it's too quiet for either Tasha or Noah to hear you. Tasha just nods as if she understands, head tilting back and mouth popping open as another song begins. She mouths something, probably I love this song, something she's said about ten times tonight.

Noah pulls you in closer, almost like he's tugging you away from Tasha, but your voice is too faint under the music for your protests to be heard. His arms come up to wrap around your middle, and you feel the unmistakable shape of his cock dip down between your cheeks through your dress. At first you think maybe it's unintentional, but then he does it again, and again, like he's using your body to get himself off. On the fucking dance floor.

"Let go of me," you breathe, but it's lost to the music. You watch as Tasha gets further away, your arms dropping completely from her shoulders as she turns and starts to spin on the spot, still staring up at the ceiling, unaware of what's happening. "Stop," you mumble, feeling his clothed cock rub against you again, a sensation you're now familiar with but certainly not in this context. And certainly not with someone who isn't Joel Miller.

The thought of Joel is what does it.

"STOP," you practically scream, yanking yourself away from him and taking a few heavy steps back, shaking your head frantically, "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME."

A few people are turning to look and Noah seems more than embarrassed, hands going up quickly. He's drunk too, you can see it in his face, in his eyes, but you already know he's certainly not the harmless young Texan you thought he was. That feeling of unease earlier sure as hell hadn't been the alcohol talking.

You feel a hand at your waist and you flinch but only for a second, gaze coming to rest on Tasha who's now standing beside you with a look of pure horror on her face.

"What'd he do?" she asks, voice panicked and quick, almost like she's not even drunk anymore, "Are you okay?"

You nod but you can feel tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any second. Your ears are ringing like they had last night, but it's different this time, almost like you're underwater as Tasha grips your arm and leads you toward the front of the club, away from the loud music and drunk people. Away from Noah.

"Oh my fucking god, I am so sorry," her voice is shaking with emotion when you get out onto the street, hand holding tight to your arm, "I didn't even notice what he was doing. Jesus fucking Christ," she pulls out her phone and dials the number for a cab - through your bleary eyes you see a few teardrops dribble down the bridge of her nose, "We're going home, I'm so sorry, honey."

"S'okay," you manage to garble out through your tears, flowing heavily now in your drunken state, "It happened really fast."

"Doesn't make it okay," she replies, bringing the phone to her ear.

No, it doesn't.

"I want Joel," you whisper through your tears once you're settled in the back seat of the cab, Tasha beside you with her hand resting soothingly on your arm.

"What, honey?" Tasha asks softly, "Say it again, can't hear you."

"I want Joel," you repeat, words slurred as your hands come up to cover your face, "I don't wanna go home. I want Joel."

"We can't go to Joel's," Tasha murmurs, stroking your arm, "It's almost three in the morning, he's asleep."

"I want Joel," you repeat, "I wanna see him."

"I need an address," the cab driver says over his shoulder; he's already started running the meter, "Don't got all night, girls."

Before Tasha can say anything you're spluttering out Joel's address through a sob. Tasha starts to protest but you shake your head furiously, tears scattering everywhere, "I'll just walk," you mumble adamantly, "If you change it I'll just get out and walk."

"But-"

"You owe me," you practically spit, "You owe me after what just happened." You don't mean it, but your brain is nowhere near sober enough to fully realize that. And neither is hers.

She doesn't say anything else.

It's very strange being back in your neighborhood not sober. Your mind is still ridiculously fuzzy from the alcohol but part of you is able to acknowledge how crazy it is that you're back here so late at night in such a drunken state, driving through the dark streets while your parents are none the wiser. The cab passes by your house and you find yourself ducking down into the seat, afraid they might see you despite it being almost three o'clock in the morning.

"Can you just keep the meter running?" Tasha asks the cab driver quietly as you approach Joel's house, "I'm not staying, I just wanna make sure she gets in okay and that someone's here to help her."

"You're not coming in," you mutter, voice still slurred and heavy. You don't look at her as you say it.

"I'll just wait in the car for a few minutes then," she says quietly, just as the cab comes to a stop in Joel's driveway.

His truck is here, just like this morning. Except this time there's no purple convertible blocking him in, no other woman standing on the front step hugging him, waving to him.

Anger rises in your chest at the memory.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Tasha says softly - what happened earlier has clearly sobered her up, almost no trace of drunkenness in her speech, "He's asleep, there aren't any lights on."

"Then I'll wake him up," you mumble, opening the car door and stepping out into the cool night air.

"I'll wait here for a few-," she calls out to you but you slam the door before she can finish her sentence.

You're not sure why you're suddenly being so mean to her. That is, until you stagger up Joel's front steps and feel even more rage bubbling inside you at the thought of standing where he'd stood this morning, where she'd stood this morning. Where the woman from the bar had probably stood too. Oh. You're an angry drunk.

Without any hesitation you push down on the doorbell. You don't bother to wait in silence; you just keep pushing it and pushing it over and over, hearing the dull sound of the bell dinging inside the house. You're vaguely aware of a light being turned on behind the frosted glass as you lean your hand against the door, suddenly feeling dizzy now that you're standing again.

The door opens and you practically fall through it, squinting against the sudden bright light and bringing your hands up to your face as you stagger inside. You feel someone catch you, big hands coming to rest atop both of your arms, and then your name being said in a deep voice, husky with sleep.

Joel.

"Are you okay?" he asks somewhere above you; your ears are ringing again and his voice is loud and muffled, that underwater feeling coming back. You try to mumble something but it comes out an incoherent garble.

You feel him pull you inside, hear the door shut behind you as he kicks it closed with his foot. He guides you inside the living room and your eyes shut tightly against the brightness of the overhead light, shining down on top of you like a spotlight.

"Too bright," you manage to mumble out, bringing your hands up to cover your face. You find yourself being seated on the couch before the light is switched off, plunging you both into total darkness.

"Baby, what happened?" you hear him ask, voice still swimming thickly through your muted ears, "I've been so fuckin' worried about you, where've you been? Where'd you go?" you feel his hands take yours, gripping them tightly. They're so rough and callused, nothing at all like Noah's, and it makes you smile.

"Feels nice," you mutter, already forgetting what he asked you.

"What'd you take?" he asks, and you suddenly realize that there's a very frantic edge to his voice, thick with worry and... fear? "Huh? Tell me what you took so I can help."

"D-didn't take anything," you hiccup, shaking your head slowly.

"Christ, babygirl," he mutters, squeezing your hands again, "Where were you? I called you so many times, I texted you, I-"

"Tasha's got my phone," you mumble.

"Where's Tasha? She alright?"

"In the cab."

"Jesus," he releases your hand and stands up, turns on a dim lamp in the corner of the room so you're not in total darkness anymore. You watch with hooded eyes as he opens the front door again, walks out onto the step and starts gesturing something into the darkness. He looks ridiculous, waving his arms like that - it makes you giggle.

He turns around and walks back over to you with long strides. You can see his face more clearly now, expression lined with worry. He looks tired. He probably is.

"Just wanted you," you mutter, staring at him.

Before he can say anything Tasha is suddenly walking in through the door, expression stoic as she passes the threshold. She avoids Joel's gaze completely, looking only at you.

"What the fuck happened?" Joel asks her, any sort of introductory pleasantries gone out the window, "Where's she been? What'd she take?"

"Nice to meet you too," Tasha grumbles, hitching her purse over her shoulder and walking over to where you sit on the couch, "She's fine, we went clubbing and she got drunk. I'll take her back."

"No you fuckin' won't," he says indignantly, moving to stand directly in front of you with his arms crossed, "How could you let this happen to her? She's never done shit like this before, you know that right? She's never been drunk in her fuckin' life and you bring her back like this? You ever heard of takin' it fuckin' slow?"

"Oh please, like I'm gonna take advice from you," she snaps back, walking around him and reaching down to take your hand, "Come on, honey, we need to go. Now."

"She's not goin' with you, she's stayin' here," his voice is loud, louder than you've ever heard it. In fact, you don't think you've ever seen him mad before. It's strange, seeing the way his eyes narrow, his mouth downturned into an angry frown, fists tight against his chest.

"I only brought her here because she said she'd jump out and walk if I didn't," Tasha argues, voice firm, "She's safe with me."

"Safe, huh?" he scoffs, "So why the fuck do you have her phone? Do you know how many times I've tried to call her in the past fuckin' twelve hours? I was this close to callin' the fuckin' police."

"If anyone here needs the fucking police called on them it's you," Tasha's voice is louder now, every word echoing in your brain, "Fucking creep."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

Your drunken brain can't process much of what's going on at all, both Tasha and Joel's voices blending into one constant loud noise. You bring your hands up to your head and cover your ears, though it can only do so much to block out their voices. What they're saying still manages to come through, albeit muffled and distant.

"You heard what I said. Fucking. Creep." Tasha repeats, "She knows what you've been doing, you asshole."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"What, don't have the balls to admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"Stop," you say loudly, bringing your hands down from your ears, "Stop yelling, you're hurting my head."

Joel crouches down, picks up your hands and takes them in his again, peering into your eyes. You can't see him properly anymore and you hate it, can only make out bits and pieces as your eyesight just continues to get worse the longer you sit here. You feel sleepy, almost like you're on the edge of unconsciousness.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, thumbs stroking yours gently, "I'm sorry, babygirl. I'll stop yellin'."

You close your eyes, nodding and breathing deeply in and out, loving the feeling of having him touching you again. It's almost like last night didn't happen, like this morning didn't happen.

Last night. This morning.

You suddenly yank your hands away from him, eyes going wide as you remember exactly why you're even here in the first place, why you wanted to get fucked up to begin with. His face comes back into view again, expression confused.

"I know what you've been doing," you hiss, echoing Tasha's words and scooting away from him. You reach your hand up for her to take and she grips it tightly, helping you get up.

"Babygirl," he says softly, brown eyes tender and soft as he eases himself up from the floor, "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"We saw you," Tasha says then, linking her arm with yours, "At the bar last night." She means business now, you can hear it in her voice, "We saw you kiss someone else."

His expression changes instantly. Worry, anger, concern... all of it gone in a single second.

"That's what I thought," Tasha says firmly, then carefully eases you out of the living room, walks with you as far as the porch before you hear Joel speak.

His voice is quiet, shaky, "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it, exactly?" Tasha turns then, rounding on him again while you cling to her arm, "You're not playing her? You didn't waste weeks of her life making her feel special only for it to turn out you're just like the rest of them?"

He doesn't say anything and you can't bring yourself to look at him, heart in your throat and tears in your eyes once again as you stare at the hardwood floor.

"I didn't... that's not what..." he finally breathes, "It's not what you think. That's all I can say."

"That's all you can say?"

"Well, I can hardly fuckin' explain myself when she won't remember it, can I?" his voice is raw, hitching on the last few words, "Nothin'... nothin' happened other than some kissin'. It didn't go any further, I swear."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you?"

"I'm not askin' you to believe me," he breathes, "But that's the truth. That's the fuckin' truth, swear on my life."

"And what about the girl she saw leaving this morning?"

He's quiet again for a moment. You're still afraid to look at him, can barely even comprehend that this conversation is even really happening right now.

"That was - Jesus, I never wanted you to find out like this," he mutters, and Tasha laughs without humor.

"Yeah, you thought it'd just stay your little secret, huh?" It's hard to believe she's had just as much to drink as you have tonight - you wouldn't know it by the way she handles herself now, the way she speaks to Joel like she already knows him. She's done this before. She's no stranger to confronting men who did her wrong, or in this case, her friend.

"That was my daughter," he says softly.

Tasha freezes.

The words do their best to seep into your skin, to make their way into the sober depths of your brain that lie dormant, somewhere hidden. You still feel so fuzzy, bleary eyed and heavy and confused, but the words register somehow.

You slowly unhook your arm from Tasha's to finally look up from the floor, moving your gaze to Joel's still form. He's standing there by the couch, arms still crossed across his chest but not angry anymore, a look of pure sadness and shame on his face. He looks small.

"Y-you have a daughter?" you whisper.

"Yes," he replies softly, eyes slowly lifting to meeting yours, "And the woman at the bar, that was her mother. My ex wife." You see tears shining in his eyes, watch as his lip trembles as he softly whispers, "And I swear - I swear it never went further than some kisses. And it won't go any further than that ever again."

You feel Tasha reach down and squeeze your hand. What she's trying to communicate to you, you're not sure. You just stand there staring at him, unable to process this information in your current state, head swimming and ears still ringing.

"I'll tell you everything," he continues quietly, taking a slow step toward you, "When you're feelin' better, I swear. Anythin' you wanna know, I'll tell you." He takes another few steps until he's standing directly in front of you and Tasha, leaning down so he can peer directly into your eyes, "I'm so sorry it happened this way," he whispers, "I never thought - Jesus, I'm just so fuckin' sorry."

You swallow tightly around the lump in your throat, completely unsure of how you feel, of what you're supposed to say or do. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is computing properly.

"You need to take her home," he murmurs, pulling back and turning his attention to Tasha, "Look, I'm sorry for-"

"No, I'm sorry," she suddenly breathes, "I was- wow, that's... I mean, I wasn't expecting that. I'm sorry. I just, I thought-"

"It's okay," he replies, voice still a bit stiff, "Just get her back safe, okay? She's-" he cuts himself off to look at you again, eyes peering down at you sadly. "She's special."

Tasha nods, "I know she is."

The last thing you remember, the last thing that's at least semi-clear in your mind, is the soft look of affection on his face as he stands on his doorstep and watches you go.

You're not sure exactly what time it is when you wake up on Sunday. The only thing you're sure of is that your head is pounding and the sun streaming through the window is only making it worse. You roll over in bed and press your face into the pillow with a low moan.

You're never drinking that much ever again.

There's movement beside you and you open your eyes briefly to see Tasha laying in a similar position, still in her dress from yesterday, face smooshed into her own pillow. You can't remember how you got back, memories extremely hazy and shrouded completely in too much alcohol. The last thing you can remember is being at Joel's house, of the brief conversation he had with Tasha, the words he'd said to you...

My ex wife.

It never went further than some kisses.

That was my daughter.

Now that your brain isn't under the influence, you can finally think straight, can finally process everything he said to you last night. Or at least what you can remember. You roll over again with another moan, sensing nausea in the pit of your stomach.

"The hangover is the worst part," Tasha mumbles, and you turn your head to see her looking at you through messy mascara, smudged and smeared all over her eyes, "But you'll be okay."

You stare at her for a few seconds, everything else from the night before slowly coming back to you in bits and pieces. The club, Noah, the way you'd snapped at her...

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, "Tasha, I was so fucking mean to you."

The part of her lips that you can see curve upward into a smile and she shakes her head slowly, "It's all water under the bridge, babe," she murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep, "You had every right."

"No, I didn't. That stuff with Noah, that wasn't your fault."

"I should've known better than to invite him along," she sighs deeply, "I just wanted you to have fun, you know? I wanted you to forget about..." she trails off, biting her lip.

"I know," you breathe, "And I did, for a while. You couldn't have known about Noah, he certainly had me fooled."

She nods, closing her eyes and nuzzling the pillow a bit. You both lay there in silence, the elephant in the room growing bigger and bigger the longer you go without talking about it.

"So, Joel's got a daughter," you finally whisper, "And an ex wife."

She opens her eyes again, raising an eyebrow, "I'm surprised you remember that. You were pretty fucked up."

You wince, "Did I completely embarrass myself?"

"No, not at all," her hand comes up to touch your shoulder gently, thumbing the skin there, "You stood your ground, you did good. And now... now we know the truth."

"The truth," you echo.

More silence. It's like neither of you really knows what to say to the other. You're sure Tasha has already formulated her own opinion, has probably known since last night exactly how she feels about the whole thing. And that scares you a bit - because what if she doesn't feel the same way you do?

And how exactly do you feel about it anyway?

"I think he texted you again a little while ago," she finally says softly, pointing toward your phone on the night stand, "I heard it when I got up to use the bathroom. And there's a lot of texts there from yesterday. He, uh-" she bites her lip, "He was really worried about you, honey."

You reach over and pick up your phone, taking a deep breath before unlocking it and looking at the damage: 9 texts. 18 missed calls.

Shit. You suppose it makes sense. The last time you'd talked to him was on Friday morning in his kitchen, when you'd told him you were planning on going out with Tasha and having a girl's weekend, finally having your college experiences. He hadn't known anything that happened between then and last night, hadn't known you'd seen him at the bar, that you'd gone to his house on Saturday morning and left again, not giving him any explanation as to why you hadn't shown up for your lesson. To him, it had just been complete radio silence.

With a shaky finger you press his name, heart pounding as the unanswered text messages flood your screen. First, the three you've already seen:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

You get home ok? Let me know x

Where are you?

And everything else:

???

Hey, I'm worried about you. Give me a call or a text ok?

Please call me.

I'm outta my mind over here baby. Please let me know you're alright.

I'm scared for you. Last I heard you were going out with your friend and then nothing since. Please call.

Just a text is all I need honey. I promise. If you're not feeling this anymore that's okay. Just wanna know you got home safe last night.

I'm so worried about you. I can't sleep. Please call me.

I don't know what to do angel. Can't stop thinking about you. Wish you were here in my arms. Please be safe.

Please.

The most recent text was sent this morning, around ten:

I'm so sorry. Words can't even describe how fucking ashamed and embarrassed I am. I can't imagine how horrible that must have been for you. I understand if you don't want to see me anymore, but I want to tell you everything, if you'll let me. I hope you're feeling okay today, angel. Drink lots of water, stay with Tasha. Text me whenever you're ready.

"Did you read these?" you ask Tasha softly, eyes unmoving from the last text, scanning the words over and over.

"No," she replies, "Just saw the notifications."

You scroll back up and read them again, and again, like you'll somehow be able to rewind time if you just keep reading them. You can't believe there's this many, can't believe that the man who'd been so distant the past week is the same man who sent you all of these.

The same man with a whole other life he never told you about.

"What do I do?" you whisper.

Tasha sighs, then carefully pulls herself up to lean against the headboard, crossing her legs and looking over at you, "What do you wanna do?"

You lock your phone again and sit up beside her, exhaling deeply, "I don't know."

You both sit there in silence for a few moments, lost in thought. You can't explain it but you feel nowhere near as betrayed or angry as you'd felt yesterday. Rage is no longer present - and neither is sadness. The only way you can describe how you feel is... relieved.

"He has a daughter and an ex wife," you state.

"He does."

"He has a daughter and an ex wife," somehow saying it again makes it feel more real, but the words still don't trigger any strong emotions. You sigh and look at Tasha, urging her to say something else.

"So, other than that, what's changed?" she asks.

You bite your lip and turn away from her again, shrugging your shoulders slowly, "I mean, that's... that's a lot."

"It is," she agrees softly, "It is a lot."

You swallow, fingers playing with the edge of your dress, reminding you that you're still wearing the same outfit from yesterday. God, you need a shower. You need to wash this entire experience off of you.

"You remember where we landed Friday night?" Tasha asks suddenly, "We talked about the possibility of him kissing someone else and we agreed that communication was the way to go, right?"

"That was before we knew he had a daughter and an ex wife, Tasha."

"Yeah, well... now we do know. And we know he's willing to talk to you about it," she twists her mouth in thought, "So do you wanna talk to him about it?"

"...I don't know."

She suddenly eases herself off the bed, stretching her arms above her head and yawning loudly. You watch as she assesses her pillow, grimaces at the dark makeup stains on the white cotton.

"I'm scared," you admit softly, avoiding her gaze.

"What are you scared of?"

You don't know how to answer that, biting your lip and sniffling a bit. You bring your knees up to your chest, hugging them and leaning your face into your warm skin.

"You're falling in love with him, aren't you?" she asks quietly, absolutely no judgement in her voice, "That's it, isn't it? You're really starting to fall and that's why you're scared."

You can't speak, unable to say anything because you know you'll burst into tears if you do. Instead, you nod your head slowly, up and down against your knees.

"Then you gotta talk to him, honey," she kneels down on the bed, places her hand on your shoulder soothingly, "You gotta hear what he has to say."

You groan, bringing your hands up to cover your face as you stretch out your legs again, turning on the bed and scooching downward to smoosh your face back into the pillow.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Tasha murmurs softly, "I feel disgusting."

"Welcome to the club," you mumble into the pillow.

You're vaguely aware of Tasha moving around you, grabbing things from the nightstand and puttering around the room as she gets ready for her shower. You sense her standing close to you for a bit longer than necessary, like she's just staring at you without really knowing what to say. With a roll of your eyes you turn to face her, and you catch the briefest moment that she places your phone back down on the nightstand.

Your brow furrows, "What are you doing with my phone?"

"Nothing," she says quickly, turning around and leaving the room without another word.

You fall back to sleep without meaning to, and when you wake again, it's only because you hear someone talking in the other room, someone with a deep voice. Tasha must be watching a movie. You curl in on yourself a bit, rubbing your eyes and wincing when you feel the makeup smudge across your face. You really should get up and shower.

You suddenly hear footsteps in the hallway, getting closer. But there's something different about them, something heavy in the way they sound against the floorboards.

The door opens and there's just silence for a few seconds, no movement. Then the footsteps return, closer now, slow and unsure.

You know it's him before his weight sinks into the bed.

Oh, Tasha. Of course you did.

You close your eyes as you feel his arms snake around you from behind. You allow him to pull you in close, feel his nose against the back of your neck, his scruff against your shoulder. He smells like his cologne, feels warm and solid against your back, the denim of his jeans brushing against your bare legs.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

You immediately turn within his embrace, coming face to face with the man who you've spent the past twenty four hours hating, being angry at, feeling betrayed by - he's looking at you with a tenderness you can't describe, lips downturned into a soft frown that says everything. He's upset. He's ashamed. He's sorry.

"Why did you kiss her?" you whisper.

He takes a breath, "We have this... arrangement," he murmurs, "We've had it for years. Whenever she's in town - which isn't very often, maybe once every three years or so - we sleep together. It's been goin' on for over twenty years now, it's just.. it's just what we do."

You nod slowly, eyes falling to his mouth and then back to his eyes, "But you didn't this time."

"We didn't," he breathes, "I swear to you, we didn't. We went back to my place, we... we were kissin'," he winces but doesn't close his eyes, keeping his gaze on you, "I.. I went to grab a condom out of my bedside table before things got heavy and I-" he cuts himself off, taking another breath.

"What?"

You watch as he reaches down into his pocket, fishes something out. He brings his hand up and extends his fingers, shows you what's sitting in the palm of his hand.

Your crucifix.

"I saw this," he breathes, "And all of a sudden, I just... I just knew I couldn't."

You stare at the gold cross, watch it glint in the sunlight still cascading through the windows. His breath hitches and your gaze goes back to his face, the lines and wrinkles and grey whiskers, his soft brown eyes and curved nose.

"I understand if you can't forgive me," he whispers, tears shining in his eyes, "I don't expect you to, but I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry that I did."

He closes his fist around the crucifix again and slowly brings it downward to your own hand, urging you to open it. He slips the chain past your fingers, goes to pull his hand away, but you stop him. You grip his hand tightly, the cross digging into both of your palms.

"We never established anything," you whisper softly, "We... we've never said that we're anything. It's just been sex."

He doesn't say anything, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he waits for you to speak again. He's so handsome, so unreal in a way that doesn't make sense to you, and probably never will.

"I wanna be yours," you breathe, meeting his gaze, "I don't want you to be with anyone else."

He leans forward to gently brush his nose to yours, eyes closing as he breathes deeply, the tears spilling over onto his cheeks.

"Okay," he whispers.

You know there's more for him to explain, so many more details you don't have yet that you do want to know. But in this moment, you don't care about any of it. You just want him.

It doesn't take long for you both to be completely undressed, clothes tossed over the sides of the bed as your naked bodies press warmly up against each other, soft and eager. He presses kisses to your neck, breathes you in, runs his fingers through your hair as he hovers above you with absolute need in his eyes, a look you're sure mirrors your own.

He knows you're still not ready without you having to say it. Knows this isn't the right time. There's no need for any words of reassurance or any questions. He knows what you need. You know what he needs.

His cock moves firmly down against your tummy beneath the sheets, his shaft settling perfectly against your pussy, already wet and aching for him like it had been the second he walked into the room. He puts both hands above your head, leans down to kiss you as he drags himself up and down within your folds, up and down, up and down.

It feels incredible, just having the thick length of him rubbing back and forth against your clit, the wide head catching at your entrance every now and then, eliciting a deep groan from Joel and soft whimpers from you. You grip his back tightly, broad and firm and yours, fingertips digging into his skin as he fucks himself against you.

"Feels so good," you whisper in his ear, voice trembling with every thrust, "Feels so good, Joel."

"I know it does, babygirl," he whispers, kissing your ear and grinding himself against you even deeper, moving his hands down to grip your hips as his cock continues to slip back and forth against your folds, "You're so sensitive, aren't you? That big cock feels so good against your little pussy, hm?"

You nod frantically, arms moving up a bit to wrap around his neck, your cheek brushing against his.

"You want a bit of my cock inside your hole, baby?" he whispers softly, secretly, pushing your hair away from your face, "Huh? You want the tip, honey? Just a little bit?"

You don't even have to think.

"Yes," you moan, "Yes, please, put it in, please."

"Okay, baby," he murmurs, pulling back a bit to look down at the mess you're making together, reaching his hand down to position his cock at your entrance, "Just the tip, babygirl, I won't go any further than that. Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared," you breathe, and you absolutely mean it, looking up at him with what you're sure is a completely wrecked expression, "I want it, Joel. Please."

He places the head of his cock against your hole gently, very gently. Then he takes your hands from around his neck and holds them in his, presses them up against his chest as he looks deep into your eyes. You look back, gaze never leaving his as he slowly pushes himself inside you - just the tip.

You gasp.

"Shhh," he breathes, squeezing your hands and continuing to peer into your eyes, never breaking eye contact, "Shhh, you're okay," he murmurs, "You're okay, angel."

You lay completely still, lips parting and eyes going hazy as you focus all your energy on experiencing this moment, on feeling the way the head of Joel's cock feels inside of you. It's pulsing, warm and wide and big inside your pussy, throbbing against your walls.

It feels fucking amazing.

"Joel," you whimper, eyes still locked completely on his.

"You're mine," he breathes, jaw tense and eyes alight with something you can only describe as pure passion, "You hear me? You're the only one I want. Don't want anyone else, baby. Nobody."

You nod desperately, thighs shaking as the fat head of his cock pushes inside just a little more, making you squirm. He stills his hips, still holding your hands against his warm chest.

"Look at us," he murmurs, "Just look."

Your gaze finally unlocks from his, eyes trailing downward to where you're connected, where the thick length of his cock juts out from between your legs. You rise a bit on the bed, whimpering as you look down at exactly where he sits inside of you, wet and dark and filthy and fucking beautiful.

"You can take all of me," he whispers, "I know you can, babygirl. But not now, not here."

"I know," you breathe, swallowing and looking up at him again with tears filling your eyes.

He pulls himself out of you then, places his thick and throbbing shaft against your pussy again and begins to thrust, moving downward so he's pressed up tightly against you, your hands caught between each other's bodies, the crucifix still hanging between your fingers.

"I'm gonna take you away with me, okay?" he says, almost a whimper as he stares into your eyes again, intense and focused, "We're gonna go away and I'm gonna tell you everything you wanna know about me, alright? And I'm gonna fuck you, baby. I'm gonna fuck you so good."

You're nodding as he speaks, whimpers and whines flowing continuously from your mouth as you near closer and closer to your orgasm, that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger.

"I'll fuck you in the bed, I'll fuck you in the shower, I'll fuck you on the fucking floor," he groans, eyes suddenly shutting and breaking the eye contact he'd managed to hold for so long, his face coming down to bury itself in your neck, "You're mine, angel, you're mine."

"I'm yours," you cry as your climax hits you, knocks the wind out of you as you start to shake beneath him, your hole fluttering against the length of him, "I'm yours, Joel, only yours."

You feel his come hit your stomach, painting your skin as he releases a deep groan into your ear and puts his entire body weight on top of you. You just close your eyes and feel him, exist in this moment for as long as you can, just listening to his breathing match your own as you both come down from your high.

He nuzzles his face against the heat of your neck, squeezes your hand in his between your bodies. The crucifix digs into your palm but you barely feel it.

"I want you to keep it," you whisper in his ear, and he doesn't have to ask what you're talking about, just presses a soft kiss to your neck and finally pulls back to peer down at you with total adoration.

"Okay," he murmurs with a soft smile, "I will."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic: feelings on fire #*

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 8 months ago

Text

Toothache

How does one go "You're Too Sweet For Me" to "My Baby's Sweet As Can Be"?

Synopsis: Simon Riley finds himself stuck in a situation, growing feelings for his roommate who's so annoyingly caring, domestic, sweet and too good for him. What happens when he let's himself indulge in the sweetness rather than cage himself in the bitter life he's been told is the only one he's deserving of and the only life he's known?

Apologies to this mess of a lyricfic, I couldn't help it even though this was supposed to be a relationship analysis..

MEN WRITTEN BY ANA HUANG ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. Alright back to our original programmed schedule with Hozier. ALSO SURPRISE! THIS CONTAINS 3 HOZIER SONGS as an apology for not posting these past two weeks due to me enjoying holidays, reading, prom dress picking and wanting to stab myself because of life, there's the added bonus 👀

My CoD Masterlist

My Simon Riley x You Playlist

Also reader in this one had a lot of characterization, she's me fr, so AFAB?Reader, Fem!Reader, Short!Reader, Reader is VERY feminine with fashion, soft-girl-sunshine!Reader and Chubby?Reader. Y'all have no idea how hard it is to write without a personality and physical intimacy in romance, I tried but failed 😭

Warnings and Disclaimers: Mentions and details on sexual content ahead (is this considered smut? Idk anymore). Not detailed smut but vivid memories of sexual intercourse (especially the dialogue) with Simon. Again, this is a safe account for all ages because I'm not a MDNI acc, you are responsible for your own media consumption. DO NOT GO ON MY DMS, INBOX OR REPLY TO MY CONTENT TO TELL ME YOUR AGE. I don't need to know that and let's strive to not make each other uncomfortable. Mentions of questioning of religion or rather belief on afterlife??

Pink, bold and italic: Lyrics

Italic: recalling past events

Little snippet of an image of how I imagined he'd hold you, courtesy of the one and only @ave661

"It can't be said I'm an early bird, it's 10 o'clock before I say a word. Baby, I can never tell, how do you sleep so well?"

Simon Riley was never a man to live the life he was taught to in the military, it was out of habit for him to not leave his room until around noon. Then there was you, his roommate, he didn't exactly calculate how much it would affect his personal life to save money through rent by willingly letting someone within the same living space.

He'd find himself with not even a wink of sleep, hearing your footsteps through the thin walls, hearing the lock on the windows outside click open.

"You kept telling me to live right, to go to bed before the daylight. But then you wake up from the sunrise."

He'd always hear you, quite frankly it was like nagging on the constant.

"Simon you shouldn't do that, you'll hurt yourself"

"Simon please go get some rest"

"Simon.."

He'd swear he'd rip his own ears out every time his name falls from your lips from how sweet and chirpy it sounded and yet deafening silence would consume him whenever you aren't around.

"You don't gotta pretended, Baby, now and then. Don't you just wanna wake up dark as a lake? Smellin' lika bonfire, lost in the haze?"

Something about you makes it so tempting for Simon to give in, I mean it would be a one time thing, wouldn't it? So soft, so pliant, he set himself up for an addiction. It wasn't healthy, he knew this, he'd convince himself of the fact that he would end up hurting you.

Just too different, it repeated like a mantra in his head. He was bitter, brooding and didn't find any sense of pleasure in living. Why'd you think he has the job he chose? It's all he knew, till you skip your way into his life, giving him the sweetness he was deprived of.

"If you're drunk on life babe, I think it's great. But while in this world, I think I'll take my whiskey neat"

Drowning himself in alcohol, a trait Simon promised himself he wouldn't ever do when he was young, setting his glass down with a small thud from the wooden table. But what would the kid version of him know about life. He didn't have healthier options of coping with what seems to be his dilemma.

But then there you were, sweet little thing coming home at the late hour in that skimpy dress of yours. Revealing too much to the eyes of those who wish to have you for themselves with just one look. Where did you go that night?

"My coffee black in my bed at three, you're too sweet for me"

Desperately trying to keep himself awake and at bay from his thoughts of you. Drowning himself in now two cups of straight black coffee to help him focus.

It was odd, you got used to the scent, was strong with a lack of sweetness but it calmed you down knowing he was around.

How he'd corrupt you, he wanted to shatter that rose tinted glasses of yours to save you from himself because being with him would change you. Selfish but he doesn't want that, you were utter perfection..

Simon further delved into his feelings, what the fuck was wrong with him?

"I aim low. I aim true, and the ground's where I go. I work late where I'm free from the phone and the job gets done"

Grumbling, Simon walks back into the apartment in the middle of the night. You heard a thud, you come out of your bedroom, yawing from you incomplete sleep.

"Si..? Are you hurt? What happened?" You asked in a soft tone, careful not to agitate someone would could possibly be pissed off.

Simon stays silent, glaring at you as his eyes was only thing visible because of his balaclava. Your soft gaze intimidated him, because why would he feel that squeeze in his heart?

"But you worry some, I know but who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate. The rest of you like you're the TSA, I wish I could go along Babe, don't get me wrong..."

The only thing Simon heard was a sigh from you and nothing more, you walk up to him, each footstep feeling louder than that last.

Something Simon didn't expect you to do was wrap you arms around his waist, tiny thing you are that your head only goes up to his chest. Your body against his, basking in the warmth in contrast to the cold weather he had to deal with coming home.

"You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. If you can sit in a barrel maybe I'll wait, until that day.."

You took care of him that night, to his reluctance and stubbornness. Despite refusing, he had no choice, he wouldn't want a soft thing like you on his ear the whole night till he agrees. You were persuasive in your own irritating way.

Sitting on the edge of the tub of the warm bath he's in, washcloth in hand. Touch was so gentle, why was it so soft? Why's it so warm? "It's the water you fucking idiot" his subconscious screaming at him. In denial.

Why is his heart beating so fast..? He wants to stab it to stop the feeling..

"I'd rather take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three. You're too sweet for me"

Using both your hands this time around, one gently holding his chin with your fingers while the other wiping away at the eyeblack he had. Every scar on his face felt the graze of your finger.

The slow blinks, your eyes on his. Before any conscious thoughts consume Simon, he lifts his arms from the warm water and wraps them around you.

Your nightgown was now damp but you couldn't care less, now with the man you were pinning over, foreheads against the other.

"Si.." you softly whisper. That nickname will be the death of him, you'll be the death of him. He crashes his lips on yours, not wanting to let go till you both were panting. You were too fucking sweet, your lips, your skin, everything. He wanted a taste and he got it...

"My lover's got humor, she's the giggle at a funeral. Knows everybody's disapproval, I should've worshiped her sooner"

Another sleepless night wasn't uncommon for someone like Simon.. however this aching feeling wasn't, he doesn't know where it's from or what it's about. Not until he heard you in the kitchen, letting out a giggle even though you knew better.

"If the Heavens ever did speak, She's the last true mouthpiece. Every Sunday's getting more bleak. A fresh poison each week "We were born sick"

That sweet fucking voice, like the angels speaking to him themselves. "Oh- I'm sorry Si, did I wake you up?" You asked, turning around to the sound of his footsteps.

That tiny nightdress of yours, a reminder of the night you spent together, that morning you slept in his bed.

Lashes beautifully displayed on the delicate skin of your under eyes. Soft noises while your chest was peacefully moving up and down with every breath.

"She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom". The only Heaven I'll be sent to, is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well. A, Amen, Amen, Amen"

"Simon.. Ahh~" you moan out softly, your body writhing underneath him. It felt hot, sweaty despite the well ventilated room, so intimate from something that was supposed to be the farthest thing from domestic.

"Shhh, you can take it sunshine.. You don't want the neighbors to hear us, do you?" Simon whispers, callous hand covering your mouth with as little pressure possible, you whimper at his words.

Closing your eyes to lose yourself in the pleasure you've never felt before. Your body being worshiped with gentle hands and soft kisses that leave marks by the very same man who kept distancing himself from you, now he'd stop at nothing for your pleasure.

"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

"Simon.. no more–" you whined. Scratching his back hard enough to leave marks without being aware, he'd always imagine what those pretty pink nails could do to him.

"Just one more, please sunshine.. you remember our safe word right?" Simon asks for you to nod softly, you didn't have energy to take anymore. "I told you I'll make you feel good, didn't I? So be a good girl for me and take it, hmm?"

Your eyes roll back at his praise, your legs shake with one after another wave of pleasure running through your body. This man was starved.. insatiable.. who would be able to resist such a request? Not you.

"If I'm a pagan of the good times, my lover's the sunlight to keep the Goddess on my side. She demands a sacrifice, drain the whole sea, get something shiny"

It took everything in Simon not to worship the ground you walked on that night, he wasn't trying very hard, was he? Because always.. at the end of the night, you're in his bed, his mind, his life.

Was it really a sin? To want something you don't deserve? Simon stayed up that whole night, not a wink of sleep while thinking of whether this arrangement should continue. Every bone and organ in his body telling him to be selfish, take what was something that wasn't his to take.

"Something meaty for the main course, that's a fine looking high horse. What you got in the stable? We've a lot of starving faithful that looks tasty, that looks plenty, this is hungry work"

Simon's gaze, never faltering on your sleeping figure that he refuses to go anywhere but his own arms. He tries to close his eye to compose himself, free himself from the emotions you emit from him.

His efforts were to no use, all he saw was the image of you, sweetly smiling, those doe eye staring right through his soul.

"No masters or kings when the ritual begins. There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness, in the soil of that sad earthly scene. Only then I am human, only then I am clean"

You were getting too close for your own good, Simon knew that, he'll be damned if he let's himself hurt you. So he does what any stupid man would do, avoid you like the plague. Did it mean nothing? Were you just some fling, never to be talked about again?

Fuck you Simon Riley, he made you feel loved in bed like no man ever has or ever will, completely ruining your chance of ever thinking of anything else and that was just a hook-up session? Maybe this one time you can let yourself be delusional, was there really something more? Only one way to find out.

"Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen, Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life"

You caught him, fucking finally, after days of waiting and trying to get him at the perfect time. "Si.." you whispered softly, you didn't know where to start. He took a quick glance at you before looking back at what he was doing.

"Simon Riley, don't fucking ignore me. Not after everything that happened those nights" You said, it was stern but he needed to hear it. It made him stop, think about what had happened.

Before he could generate a response, "Why?" You asked. It was a vague question, why was he ignoring you? Why does he feel this way? Why does he love you yet refuse to act on it?

"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life.."

"You don't deserve a man like me, you deserve one who is like you, optimistic, sweet, fucking beautiful and alive.. A man who's not damaged, scarred, has blood on his hands and haunted by his past. A man who's not afraid to show his love for you. A man who won't put his burdens on your shoulders and a man who will take care of you instead of the other way around. That's what you deserve and I can't give that"

Everything felt like it came to a stop, were you hearing that right?

"You have no idea how much you contradict yourself, Si. How are you so sure that you haven't given those things to me already? You might not be like me but "like me" isn't what I want.. I want you, every flaw, every beautiful scar. Not once before your silent treatment have you hurt me, it's frustrating yes, but you are worthy of that. Every struggle, frustration and mistake, every bit of your love is worth all of that. I want you to see that Si, your actual true worth rather than what some psychotic fucker decided to torture you with"

"Boys, workin' on empty. Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby, I'm so full of love I could barely eat"

"Si?"

"Yes, Sunshine?"

"I love you" You whispered after smothering him in a plethora of kisses. Never has anything made Simon melt more in his life than his wife say that. Doesn't matter how long it's been, how much the both of you have been through or how much frustration the both of you were going through..

It will always stay the same, the feeling those three words give him, like the first time, every moment feels that way. Familiar, finally.. Home.

"There's nothing sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree. 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be, she give me toothaches just from kissin' me"

He always thought about how unfaithfulness was such a struggle between some people, he thought about how good he has it constantly, reflecting back on what he used to have to how now this is something he never thought he'd have or deserve.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"

When a man finds himself in the verge of embracing death's arms, what causes the struggle? What causes him to fight that pain, to keep on going? Not once has this crossed Ghost's mind.

No. He's not Ghost, he's Simon. Your Simon.

And you're expecting your Simon home, fuck everything else, he'll give the biggest "fuck you" to death itself and crawl home to you because he'll be damned and he'll experience everything he has in his life over and over again just to hold you again.

"Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin, I woke with her walls around me. Nothin' in her room but an empty crib and I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her. She never asked me once about the wrong I did."

It should matter, the amount of blood on his hands. Not once did you judge him for it, what the fuck was wrong with you? Giving a monster such as him a bath like he was some innocent stray kitten, although this time around it was far more messy. The dried blood caked underneath his finger nails.

Flashing him a tired smile while you wiped off the blood that made the water in the tub a hue of brownish-red. Taking your hand in his, his lips brushing against your knuckles. The way you looked at him was enough to make him cry.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"

"Fucking get up" Simon repeats to himself, "She needs you, she loves you" despite how many times he's convinced himself you didn't due to the voice of his father in his head, it felt like a knife twisting in his heart imagining how it would be for you without him.

How much you cried the night he came home a day later, you told him yourself, practically sobbing while clutching your aching chest and him with your other arm how you weren't ready for Price to show up at your doorsteps holding Simon's belongings.

He won't let that happen.. he can't...

"My babe would never fret none, about what my hands and my body done. If the Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me"

Simon knew it, no one would ever love him like you do. No one would show him the same acceptance, devotion, care, concern and love. It wasn't healthy to be so attached dependently to someone in love.

He couldn't help it, it felt so right, everything with you did. Never a judgmental one, at least towards him. Always first to hold him, the first to ever take away the heavy guilt that weighed his heart and shoulders down after he'd done something he knows he'll go to hell for, if it's even real

"When I was kissing on my baby and she put her love down soft and sweet In the low lamplight I was free. Heaven and hell were words to me"

Every inch was kissed, not a part wasn't worshiped. "So fuckin' beautiful, so sweet. All for me, hmm?" Simon mumbled against your skin, suckling on the soft sweetness that he so claims. All hickeys, no bruises.

Fuck, he'd not just survive but thrive on just you. No other sustenance, your supple thighs he adores to cover in purple, your neck, your lips and your skin that he often compares to sugar syrup in his head.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her"

The question was, was it worth it to live an eternity of lifetimes filled with suffer to be with you in at least once? The only answer to ever graze Simon Riley's lips was the word "yes", the day that changes is the day that he'd be the biggest bull-shiter the world has ever known.

Simon opened the door to your shared home, "Daddy!" A loud squeal wakes him up from his dread of what he's seen on the field.

"How's my little sunshine been? 'Ave you been good to your momma while I was gone?" Simon asked, carrying the little girl in his arms.

"Yes! Momma said we'd go to the park tomorrow as a reward for me helping out!" Little one saying it so proudly, Simon couldn't help but smile, beaming with pride as his little girl grows up to be what he recognizes as a good person.

"Simon..? You're finally home, I missed you so much" You said, peeking out the laundry room. You walked out, quick to give him a peck on the lips.

"I love you Si.."

"I love you too Sunshine"

Also this is a very long fic.. I expect long feedback.. @connorsui 👀

Does this make sense? Idk anymore it's like almost midnight and I'm running on a few hours of sleep. GOD MY PROM DRESS LOOKS SO GOOD, I CAN'T WAIT.

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thelightdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo

Trying out new dividers as well by @anitalenia

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singingcicadas · 8 months ago

Text

Megatron's Opposite Day

"I free slaves"

This is Soundwave binding Ratbat but seeing as Megatron did the same thing to Pentius by putting his spark into Trypticon and reformatted Rumble and Frenzy into cassettes against their will I think he approves a lot of this practice

Megatron on Optimus and humans, after his defeat in All Hail Megatron ⬇️

he really salty

"I implant ideology" aka brainwashing

Decepticon cause = Megatron. nuff said.

"I liberate cities" says the person who let Nyon burn to make a point

Cities are too small, think bigger

Holding New York hostage.

"Like Autobots, they believe in the sanctity of life" which he doesn't. Kudos for being honest.

Allowing troops to do free-rein massacre is a reward for conquest. Nothing like some easy murder for de-stressing.

The Simanzi massacre which halved the Cybertronian population is off-screen so it doesn't deserve its own pic

"The revolution"

"We only feel good when we stand with a blade in one hand and a throat in another" "Let's make the entire face of the planet into our new gladiator arena"

What nice, confidence-inspiring revolutionaries. I'm sure they'll rule the population with benevolence after they've killed all the Necessary People with Necessary Violence. Final interpretation of what constitutes as Necessary is reserved for the sole discretion of Megatron, ofc.

Good goals.

Sentinel might be an absolute asshole but at least he's got one thing right: they're literally a gang of thugs who gets high off murder.

"The people are my utmost concern"

'The people': ................

"Battling for freedom"

Freedom of what? Function? Autonomy?

Religion?

the ability to choose whether to fight? on which side to fight?

Idk why they used the word "pogrom" for this, it's way too specific

Anyways it doesn't matter, they won't be missed.

Good for Bumblebee for calling him out. Screenshotted this just to appreciate Megatron's bitchy face ⬇️

Other urban legends:

"Megatron loves Cybertron" let's just burrrrn it

He did fight to save Cybertron in Chaos Theory but also made it pretty clear why he did it. It's not out of the goodness of his heart or any sentimental reasons like that. It's an ego/dominance thing.

Plus his wording when he's trying to convince Optimus to let him go with the Lost Light: "I broke the planet. And that, Optimus, is why I owe it to you - to everyone - to find a replacement."

Replacement.

In other words: I made a mess and can't be bothered to clean it up, so I want to get away from it and find somewhere new to start clean.

I don't think Optimus appreciates the favour.

"Megatron tore down a corrupt government" which is true, just too bad that he's worse

He's also, um, a closeted Zeta admirer?

"Megatron advocates equality" ???

Megatron x dictatorship is literally his OTP. They were inseparable for four million years. A lot of people died trying.

"Megatron cares about the Decepticons" no he doesn't. Not his troops nor its cause.

Like for one thing he treats them with complete scorn

Admits that the most useful thing about keeping Starscream around is that he can bully underlings into line

Wants to use the humans' nuke to get rid of his troops and reformat them into peaceful drones after they outlive their use because they were "too ruthless" for his perfect peaceful society

Has zero scruples about fighting Deceptigod, just affronted that his own soldiers are being used against him

And basically just drops the Decepticons like a bag of vermin after he surrenders. He never once mentions them of his own accord, other than to insist he has nothing to do with them. Even his surrender speech is something Optimus makes him do as exchange b/c he wants to go on parole. He wasn't planning on making a public address otherwise, he was just going to leave them hanging.

Looking at the publication timeline, Megatron started out as an established Evil McEvilson-type villain similar to how he is in G1 and it's not until Chaos Theory in 2011 that JRo really gave him a sympathetic backstory that drew his characterization away from the bloodthirsty pugno ergo sum warlord into someone who once held ideals about societal reform and remains convinced of his own moral supremacy throughout the 4 mill years of death and war, adding worldbuilding such as Functionism/oppression/government corruption as justification for the beginning of the Decepticon movement. But because the start of the Decepticons was already written in Megatron Origins and every evil thing he'd done up till Chaos Theory can't be retracted and they had to keep Megatron as a villain until his story was no longer central to the Autobot-Decepticon war line, and JRo didn't try to downplay the atrocities he'd committed (some of the most sadistically disturbing things Megatron did were exclusively in MTMTE flashbacks), but rather tried to distance him from them and placed the focus on the juxtapositions to emphasize change, this as a whole just resulted in Evil McEvilson getting turned into Hyper McHypocrite.

#That being said I genuinely enjoyed Megatron's redemption arc in mtmte/ll. It's one of those stories that's very poignant and moving #on an emotional level #even though the plot itself doesn't hold up that much under close scrutiny.#moved this to the tags to make the post cleaner #I would've liked it more if LL used a few more panels to show Megatron Actually Making Friends #instead of shunting him into a parallel universe for idk how many issues in an already limited run #transformers #idw transformers #maccadam #megatron #trying to clear out more screenshots

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erenjaegerwifee · 3 months ago

Text

Your Excuse To See Me

Request by: @twilightlover2007

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x Fem!Reader

Summary: Deacon's case takes him to your bookshop.

Warnings: none, fluff,

Word Count: 2.4k

Disclaimer: all my characters are aged-up! If this makes you uncomfortable please do not interact with my account or any of my notes.

Main M.List | Deacon M.List

“Hey deac” Luca spoke up as Deacon entered the locker rooms. “Morning guys” he replied greeting the rest of the team. “Tan was just telling us about how Bonnie is jealous” Chris spoke up while they all got ready for their shift. “Bonnie is not jealous; I’m telling you guys she isn’t like that” Tan tries to defend. “What happened that everyone things she jealous?” Deacon asked.

“Last night we went on a date and when we were walking to our apartment in the hallway this girl was getting harassed by this idiot and I helped her out. After he left, she told us she just moved in and it happen to come up she also spoke Cantonese. I happen to mention it was so rare to find another person who speaks it by coincidence and after that Bonnie’s mood has been off. She won’t talk, she’s basically doing everything she can to avoid making eye contact with me.”

Deacon hisses feigning pain when he hears the story, “hate to break it to you man but that’s jealousy. I can’t believe you can’t wrap your head around this, she is jealous because that woman who speaks your language probably shares your religion and values growing up in a Chinese American home is now living next door to you. She feels less than now that she has someone to compare herself to.”

Tan took a second to process his words before he finally understands how it all went wrong, he never even thought Bonnie would think like that. “How are you still single? You should have girls falling at your feet” Tan jokes.

“Jokes on you bro, he does” Street says making everyone laugh as they walk out of the locker room to meet Hondo. Before much words can be exchanged, Hicks walks in with a case assigned to the team. “20-David, we’ve been handed over a case, apparently the financial crimes and the narcotics division can’t solve it and they want us to wrap up this up. Also, we have intel the man doing the money laundering are armed and dangerous.”

Hicks goes on to explain the details of the case to the team, saying a man who supposedly goes by the name Authur Lopez has been moving money around through other people’s business. He also may be using them as a stash house. The problem is no one can seem to figure out which business he is using to clean his money. “They know he’s dealing but they can’t prove it, we need to find the proof to bring this guy in”

“We may have a lead though, detective Chase that was previous the lead on this case said he found Auther has an old high school girlfriend who recently moved to town, we aren’t sure if they have had any contact but it’s worth checking out, she might know somewhere he might hide” Hicks finishes up letting the team take the case. Street and Tan both start researching your home and workplace addresses and they found something.

“She owned a bookshop, just opened a couple months ago, around the same time we caught wind of Authur and around the time she moved into town, her business could be the one she’s using, she sells books, it can be a good cover if her business gets traffic, and judging by the location I think she’d be doing well.” Street says as he pulls up the location of your shop on the screen for the team to see.

“I found her home address, it’s an apartment complex about 3 blocked from the shop.” Chris says and pulls the location for them to see. “Okay Street, Tan with me we’ll check out her apartment. Luca, Chris and Deacon you can check out her shop she might be there, she what she knows if she’s willing to talk.” Honda hands out their assignments and everyone jumps in a car their destination.

When Deacon, Chris and Luca arrive at the bookshop they walk in and don’t immediately see anyone around. They walk a little deeper into the shop and you step out from one of the isles the shop isn’t so big that someone can hide, unless they are in the back room. “Hi there, is there something I can help you with?” you say in a sweet voice.

At the sound of your voice Deacon whips his head, he stutters a bit when he sees you for the first time. Your hair fell curly down your back, you wore jeans that fit your hips but flared down over your ankles with cute brown sandals, you wore a gorgeous floral top that complimented your skin tone so perfectly. “Hi, Ms. Y/n? I’m Sergeant Kay, this is officers Alonso and Luca, we are here to ask you a few questions.”

You look up at the handsome sergeant standing in front of you and your brain almost lags. “Sure, happy to help” you smile at him clasping your hands together. You gesture to the chairs and small sofas scattered around the room for them to sit and you do the same. “Ms. Y/n, we believe a man you know has been involved in some illegal activity and we wanted to know if you had any information you could share” the girl who’s name you learned was Chris spoke up.

“Who?’ you asked her, “The name Auther Lopez ring a bell?” Luca asked you. Authur Lopez, you were never able to look at men the same after him, he was your high school sweetheart. You were going to marry him. That was until you found out he was dealing in high school and left him. “A couple months ago he found my shop, said he was keeping tabs on me and asked if I would consider giving him a job. Auther and I dated in high school, I broke up with him when I found out he was dealing, not only that but he was on them. I’m not sure what I never asked. When I hired him, he promised he was clean and so I agreed. Actually, his shift is meant to start in about 10 minutes, he has to come here.”

“What is he involved in?” You asked them directly your question to no one in particular. “We believe he dealing again, or maybe he never stopped who knows. We need to bring him in a find the location of his stash house before he can distribute his product.” Luca spoke to you.

“You’re welcome to wait here until he shows then, I had no idea he was still dealing” Luca made a call to someone while Chris asked to look around the shop and you agreed. Deacon didn’t move though, he sat right there in front of you the whole time. “Are you back together?” his voice was quite as he spoke but you heard him, “No, I’m not interested in starting things back up with him, he has done nothing but disappoint me, I only gave him the job because he said he needed it and he was getting clean.” you matched him tone while you looked at him.

He was so pretty you could barely take your eyes off him, if you weren’t looking at his chest printing out in the tight SWAT t-shirt you were looking at his chocolate brown eyes, if not that, the you have never seen a man look so good with a beard and that usually wasn’t something you’d go for, the hints of grey just did something to your brain.

Deacon wasn’t any different, he was too busy staring at you to realize you were staring back, he admired the way your curls look so full but not frizzy at the same time, the way he so easily got lost in your beautiful eyes, and let’s not talk about your figure, he has never seen anyone look so beautiful before.

“So, Sergeant Kay-”

“Deacon, call me Deacon”

“Deacon, you’re a SWAT sergeant what is that like?” you smile when you ask him. He was confused for a quick second how did you know he was in SWAT? Until he remembered he was working, he was dressed in uniform. “It’s good, I like it, it’s dangerous and it’s a lot of work but it pays off in the end. So, books?” he returned the question.

“Yea, I've always been a reader” you giggle as you continue, “It’s very calming to read, takes my mind off things when I’m stressed, a way to pretend you’re someone else.”

“How could you want to be someone else?” his tone was breathy, it had a hint of a chuckle in it, it made you blush. It was so easy to get caught up in him you forgot all about what he was here for. Luca walked back into the shop; the noise of the chimes pulled you back to reality. He was met with the sight of you and deacon staring at each other with flirtatious smiles and cleared his throat to get your attention.

“The others arrested Authur on his way here, they have him in custody. Hondo said meet back at HQ” Chris moves out with Luca and Deacon was about to follow them, “Wait!” you stopped him resting you hand on his arm to stop him from walking. You ran into one of the isles and grabbed a book off the shelf, “Here, an excuse for you to come back that isn’t work related. Now you can go” you smiled at him sweetly and he chuckled at your sweet gesture. “I’ll take you up on that.”

Deacon walked out the bookshop with a wide grin in his face and he sees Chris and Luca waiting for him with matching grins, seems Luca had filled Chris in and they both clocked the book he didn’t walk in there with. “Ouu someone’s got a crush” Chris said in a sing song tone.

A few days later the case was wrapped up and Deacon was sitting on a comfortable chair in the SWAT main room with his legs propped up as he read the book you gave him. He isn’t you paid attention to the book you handed in when you grabbed it but it was an interesting book.

He has been teased non-stop by the team since they all heard about what happened, no one can see him sitting with that book in his hand without saying something about you. They even went as far as to make a bookmark with your face on it and stick it in his book so every time he opened it, he would see you. It was entertaining the say the least but now that the book was in his hand and finished, he felt nervous to see you again, this time he had no motive to hide behind other than he just wanted to see your pretty face again.

“Hey Deac, we’re gonna hit up Luca’s food truck, do you wanna come with?” Chris asked Deacon as she packed up her things at the end of the shift. “I’d love to but, I have to swing by the bookshop and return this book y/n gave me” He waited patiently for the teasing and right on cue, “You going ask her out?” Chris was grinning like a school girl.

“I want to, I will, I’m gonna...maybe”

“Sergeant Kay is nervous? There is a first for everything. But seriously all jokes aside, I saw the way you looked at each other. She will say yes, no need to doubt yourself” Chris smiled at him and punched his shoulder as they walk out of the locker room.

Deacon rushed to his car saying a quick goodbye to the team and driving to the bookshop before you closed. He opened the door and say you writing something sitting on a high chair behind the desk. “Hey” he said with a small smile.

You look up from your book and smiled when you saw him, “You came back” you said matching his smile as it grew larger, “I guess my excuse to come see you worked, great book by the way, never thought I’d be into enemies to lovers but apparently I am” he chuckled and put the book down on the desk.

“I’m glad you liked it; I wasn’t sure you were the type�� you giggled. There was a moment of silence between you. A moment where you just stared at each other, admiring. “I have to close up the shop now, it was really nice of you to come back Deacon, it was nice to see you” Deacon smiled at your words knowing exactly how you feel.

“It was nice to see you too.... hey do you want to join me for some dinner? I know a great food truck not far from here, we could swing by and get something” you wanted to burst with happiness, you didn’t think he had it in him to ask you out but he did.

“Of course I’ll go with you, let me just grab my purse and lock up” you smiled you sweet smile at him and you giddily ran to the back room to get your stuff, hearing him laugh at your antics.

When he opened the car door for you at the food truck you smiled and took a big inhale. He watched you fall in love with the smell of the food and you walked right up to the menu, “I don’t know what to get” you said to him, “Order for me”

Deacon was about to speak when he heard his name being called out, his team was still here. He turned his head in sync with yours and watched a bunch of people walk up to you both. You instinctively stepped closer to Deacon but you quickly recognized Chris and Luca from earlier in the week.

“I see you asked her out” Chris said.

“I can’t believe it took him so long” another boy said who introduced himself as Jim Street

“Oh, give him a break, it’s been a week” their team leader spoke up, Hondo. Their comments made you blush and you hid your face with your hands giggling. Deacon put his arm around your shoulder to shield you from the teasing while they laughed at the situation wholeheartedly. You're so happy Sergeant Kay came to your bookshop.

🔹I hope you all enjoyed reading! I’d love for anyone to Reblog my work, Like and Comment so it can be shared! I’ve been wanting to write for Deacon for a while and I’m finally starting!

🔹On another note. Deacon is hot as fuck. And I want to write him in a nsfw kind of way. Eventually not atm I’d like some feedback on how you would feel after reading my work.

Taglist:

@twilightlover2007 @fluentmoviequoter @just-a-girl-who-wrytes @spnshortcake

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prinzrupprecht · 1 month ago

Text

Asking them if you’re their type

Featuring: Indra, Buddha, Okita, Hades ( part 2 )

Part 2 after taking a day off here.

Part 1 incase any of y’all missed it.

Warnings? None.

Indra

He was a mystery to everyone, even to you as well. Indra was the one who found you alone isolated from everyone else. He was laid back at first sight and you had thought he wanted to fight. This made you realize that there was someone else similar to you and noticed your existence.

You continuously watched him train around Brahma and Vishnu while he didn’t mind you watching you, he found it rather cute you followed him around curiously.

This made you and him grow rather close and fond over the years of being isolated from others and choosing to be in each other's silent comfort. He liked smoking and you didn’t mind him doing what he wanted. However, a part of him didn’t like Rudra making advances on you despite he didn’t know you already were Indra’s.

Indra had told him in a nice way to buzz off or else. You smiled while you stood back watching the two men fight. You were unaware of what they were talking about, but Rudra shrugged his shoulders before leaving the summit of Svarga.

You saw Indra sit down a bit farther from where you were. He didn’t look too happy but he grabbed another cigarette and lit it using his lightning. “What were you talking about? He looked upset?” You had asked while sitting next to him, but Indra had put one arm around your waist to pull you closer. Your face was flustered but you soon relaxed in his embrace.

“Do you like me being here?” You asked and he was silent for a moment.

“Ya? Why?” Indra puffed out some smoke. He brought one leg up to his chest to rest his other arm on his knee.

“I don’t know… it sometimes felt like I been annoying you too much. Sometimes I wonder if I’m your type or something…” you muttered even though he still was holding you.

He didn’t say anything but you could hear him clear his throat from the smoke. “If you annoyed me, I would’ve let Rudra have you.” He was a quiet man but that made your head perk up from his answer.

“Have me?” you didn’t know someone else was trying to pursue you. You were just a normal goddess of the Hindu pantheon.

“Stop worrying about that. Or whatever my type is. I like what I have right here,” he didn’t face you but you noticed the small curve in his lips turn upwards. You were satisfied and reassured that he likes living in the moment and preferred your company than being alone.

Buddha

You have known Siddhartha ever since King Jakata introduced you to him. You were a common lower-ranking girl with family and relatives who knew the King.

Jakata was a kind man who cared for his people and interacted with many commoners. However, you didn’t care for Prince Siddhartha in the beginning, but he acted like you must get to know him to like him. He was persistent and you were stubborn.

Siddhartha was the one that was blunt asking for your hand in marriage to end his arrangements with other high-ranking families that wanted to wed their daughters to him and get whatever they wanted. Wealth, fortune, and a nice home. You told him no, but he kept trying every day to see if you changed your mind.

Eventually, his annoying presence became your everyday routine. After King Jakata’s death, he wanted to travel and explore the vast limitless outside world and save humans from insufferable fate. He was going to forbid his farewell and never see you again. You asked him to take you with him to get away from your old life as well. You said this without thinking and immediately covered your face. Siddhartha laughed, but only on one condition and he would allow you to travel with him.

You have to accept his proposal to be his wife. This made you hesitate but you also wanted to leave your home desperately. You had agreed in the end just so you could leave your boring home.

After he left everything behind except for you, he started to oppose other religions that imposed fate upon innocent beings. He would protect humans and create his own religion. You watched him save others without any significant doubt. He obtained his enlightenment this way and you were slowly fascinated with this new man that calls himself the Buddha.

“Hey! Wait up!” you found him near a tree taking a break while eating and reading some novel. He didn’t even give you an eye glance but it didn’t bother you how absorbed he was with his book.

“Buddha-chan, why are you here? We were supposed to be travelling on the road.” You sat down next to him.

“Why? There’s no rush, sit and try these.” He offered you whatever he was eating. Dry peaches? Did he like these? Your eye twitched but you reluctantly tried the fruit and it had a really sweet flavour. You made a sour look after trying it. Buddha laughed at your reaction knowing you weren’t as fond of such treats.

You frowned before speaking, “may I ask you something?” You leaned more into him while your head was practically propped on his shoulder. He treated you with such care and always looked out for you whenever he could.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“Why did you want me to be your wife for so long? You had everything handed to you and I had… nothing. I wasn’t anyone special. I didn’t think we were compatible together or if I was your type.” You heard him burst out into a laughing fit next to you causing you to jump.

“You looked kind of lonely, it’s not about having everything to keep myself happy. I bring happiness to others, I didn’t like seeing how sheltered you were. Anyway, enough of that, let's get going, ey? Also… stop with the gloomy look. I didn’t particularly understand the type question either.” His answer wasn’t what you had expected but you learned a few things while being with him, he cared a lot for others happiness, including yours. So he thought you wanted company?

“Why did you think I would ever want your company?” You stuck your bottom lip out as you pouted but he cupped your cheeks with both hands.

“I thought you already knew me by now. I told you before that you should get to know me first before judging.” He leaned his head against yours affectionately. Your face was red but he’s more affectionate when it’s nighttime.

Okita

You had known him since you two were kids. Kondo adopted him when he was nine years old after being abandoned by his sister. You were just another kid attending his dojo and looked after by Kondo. After hearing what happened to Souji, you felt incredibly sorry for him. You had told him if he ever needed someone, he could rely on you. Souji was a silent kid for a while and helped around the dojo. Whenever you needed help with something, he would immediately help you.

Over the years, you developed more feelings for him and what killed you on the inside is if he ever felt the same. You had previously turned down Nagakura who wanted to take you out for drinks. It honestly, broke your heart even more with how much you enjoyed being in his company while worrying if he thinks of you as an older sister.

As you were alone minding your own business cleaning the floors with the broom, Hijikata walked over to you unbeknownst to what he was gonna ask, “why are you cleaning? That’s Souji’s job,” he gave you an annoyed look as if you don’t live at the dojo. You had been cleaning the dojo before Souji even joined it.

“Let her clean. I’d rather the floors look nice than dirty,” Yamanami rolled his eyes. You heard Hijikata mutter ‘whatever’ before asking Heisuke to spar with him. This must’ve been the fifth time today he asked someone to spar against him and lost each time. You noticed Souji was outside with Kondo talking to one another.

Your heart clenched a bit as you held onto the broom tighter. Why couldn’t you say anything? You honestly wanted to know if he was even into girls, to begin with. He seemed more happy about swordsmanship than you anyway.

Nagakura walked over to you after his workout against Hajime. He placed one arm over your shoulders causing you to freeze in your place. “So… how about we go somewhere tonight?” Go somewhere? You looked behind you and saw Souji looking at you and Nagakura curiously. Oh no…

“N-No, I um… am busy tonight!” You stepped away politely declining him yet again. You know Souji watched that encounter and you have no words. You quickly disappeared to go back to your hidden spot outside away from everyone.

Great you finally were alone and noticed how quiet the area was. Maybe you can finally clear your head before heading back— “hey, why did you run off?” an awfully familiar voice said behind you. The leaves crunching under his feet were loud enough for you to scowl.

“I just wanted to be alone.” You turned your head but he didn’t say anything about the incident that occurred earlier. He stopped to look at what you were doing. You had grabbed some of the flowers and were picking the petals off of them.

“You don’t have to be here, you can go check back on Kondo-san.” You shrugged as you sat down by one of the trees. He walked over to you and decided to do what you were doing out of boredom as well. Was he just mimicking you? Souji always appreciated you and tried to make your day better if you were upset. He was always there if you needed someone.

“You don’t like Nagakura-san?” he finally brought the topic up. An awkward topic. You shook your head.

“Well, not in that way… I’m sure he will find someone. What about you? Don’t you have a type or interest in girls?” Your question took him off guard. He never really had time for such things and you were the only girl he really talked to.

“Type? I don’t know..”

“You don’t get the question?” you frowned.

“No, I do. I just don’t know what my type would be. Someone who’s nice? Likes cats? Who can eat Kondo’s food…” he was playing with your head again. You were all those things and yet he was smiling like an idiot thinking about it.

“So someone like me?” You pointed to yourself but you soon regretted that and quickly turned your head. His mouth gaped open without realizing what you meant. Were you joking?

“Hmm well… sure!” he chuckled which you hope he meant it.

“So that means you like girls?” you curiously asked and he tilted his head.

“Huh? You think I’m gay?”

“What—?! No! I was just curious…” you sulked your head lower from embarrassment.

“I like girls, so don’t worry about it.” he gave you the most innocent smile which brought you some reassurance. He certainly caught on to what you’ve been worried about. Thank god…

Hades

Living in the netherworld had many cons than pros. Yet, the most fun part was you got to do what you wanted but that was before Hades took over the shithole of Helheim. You practically couldn’t do what you wanted anymore. He kept questioning you and asking why you— a human was doing in Helheim. Even though he already knew the answer. You just liked dodging his questions.

You didn’t like him at all in the beginning and kept arguing with him. Why couldn’t he have ended you? Maybe he liked your presence or he missed your annoying face harping at him whenever you wanted.

Hades had put up with you for so long, that he even offered you to live in his castle seeing that you travelled a lot in the underworld. You got into many dangerous situations but you refused to live in his castle. However, to him, this seemed amusing how he is normally a feared man and you showed no signs of care about his existence.

“You’re infuriating, why do you keep finding me in the most odd places?” You sat down near the dark forest that was several miles away from his castle.

“You forget that I’m the King of the Netherworld. You’ve been disturbing some of the demons nearby. You’ll get yourself killed,” Hades sighed and was feeling hopeless with your stubbornness. He was supposed to protect this place and many of the monsters that resided in his world, wouldn’t dare attack him. However, they tried to attack you many times. The last time caused a significant wound near your side from the unexpected attack from a large hydra that nearly killed you.

“So what if I get killed, I was sent here to die anyway with no explanation whatsoever. I heard there’s even another human here as well,” you thought hard about who the human was named but you had forgotten.

“Michel Nostradamus? He destroyed part of the Bifrost. As for you? You strictly walked down here on your own somehow you passed the wall. Once you’re down here, you can’t ever return to Valhalla. You’re decisions seem stupid, however, if you need someone to talk to, you know where I am. And lastly, stop what you’ve been doing.” He warns and as he was about to turn away and return to his castle.

“Fine, it’s just boring. You’re one of the few that doesn’t try to kill me on sight.” You stood up on your feet.

“My invitation is still there if you wish to stay somewhere permanently under my rules.” He had a grin plastered on his face.

“Ya ya, whatever. I get it, Mr King of the Underworld..” you rolled your eyes. Under normal circumstances, anyone who dared to disrespect Hades would’ve been punished. He sighed, allowing you to follow him back. The walk back was mostly you talking nonstop and getting distracted by the things around you two.

The guards of his castle greeted Hades but scowled when they saw you with him. “Rude…” you pouted.

You noticed how the castle was dark on the inside and barely anyone lived in the castle other than himself and his brother Adamantine, which Hades had told you. “Looks incredibly depressing here. Don’t you have a wife to be your home decor? Everything seems so empty here,” you saw how dusty some of the cabinets were.

“Wife? I’m sure if I had one, she wouldn’t let you stay here.” You pretended to act hurt but muttered a whatever at his statement.

“Let me decorate these rooms then? Hm?” You offered but Hades waved you off to do whatever but not do anything chaotic.

The next few days you had changed around some of the rooms to look less creepy. You still continuously witnessed him alone in his room reading or making reports. You wondered what he even made reports for. How does he even rule over such a dead place? “What are you doing?” Hades saw you watching him from behind the door peeking over.

“Seeing how bored you are staring at a bunch of words on a sheet of paper.” You tilted your head to the side and smiled at him. He was irritated but it wasn’t enough to shout at you.

“Why don’t you give me company then? Only if you don’t try to get on my nerves,” He offered which you snorted and stepped into his sight.

“Okay!” You two sat a bit far apart except you were on a floor cushion and he sat in his chair. After a few minutes, you wanted to ask him why he chose to be alone.

“Doesn’t it get lonely here? Also, why isn't someone like you married? Actually, never mind. I don't think any woman would like to live in a creepy haunted castle… It’s honestly starting to make me worry,” you sucked in a breath. Hades raised a curious brow at your question. Lonely? Not married? He was used to it. There’s no women in the underworld and you were the only one.

“No,” he responded solemnly. “It doesn’t get lonely here. As for the other question, nobody had caught my eye.” He kept it vague and tried to avoid anything too personal about himself.

“Caught your eye? So that means you must have a type then! Like me? Cute and annoying?” You were making him want to snap his pen in half.

“Shut up or you can leave,” he wondered back on what you meant by type. He probably would feel more lonely without someone like you around. Did you keep him on his toes more? He was curious more about you and how strong are you. There were so many things he wanted to know and explore but take it slow.

“Fine.. I’ll leave.” You stood up realizing you ticked him off.

“Wait, why don’t you tell me more about yourself instead of asking your king dumb questions.” He gave you a smug look but you looked back at him and nodded. Of, course you’ll yap in his ears but he’ll get used to it. He hoped.

Note: wow this took 2 days… I’m sorry! I tried. I’m working on a few new one shots next. Dunno when part 3 will come yet.

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conlaluce · 6 months ago

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thinking about diluc and kaeya each having their own complicated relationship with religion. crepus is a devout believer of the anemo archon, to me, so he definitely took his kids with him to mass at the cathedral, if not every sunday then at least once or twice a month.

diluc learned to pray from his father; learned to give thanks to the god who gave this city its freedom, the god who blesses them with gentle weather and bountiful lands and protects them from tyranny. he believes wholly and truly in the anemo archon's grace; his father does, after all, and everyone says barbatos is great and benevolent and kind and helped found the nation he loves so dearly.

kaeya doesn't like mass very much, but he never says so. it makes him uncomfortable, especially in the beginning, worshipping one of the gods that his homeland has reviled - but he wants to fit in, he doesn't want to lose his place here. and surely, surely, it would be a dead giveaway to his "true" allegiances if he refused to pray to mondstadt's god. so kaeya closes his eyes and pretends to pray, because better this than losing another home. (better this than failing his mission, than failing in his duty to khaenri'ah.)

and then, diluc's 18th birthday passes. ursa the drake attacks. crepus dies. diluc leaves mondstadt. kaeya is left, alone, the only ragnvindr left (except there aren't any, really, because he isn't a ragnvindr anymore, he isn't allowed to be.)

the first time diluc's vision starts to go out, the light flickering and fading and dying, kaeya prays. for the first time, he doesn't pretend, he doesn't close his eyes and clasp his hands together just for show - he prays.

please. please. let diluc live. please don't let him die. he can't die. i know you hate me, but you can't let him die, he's one of yours, isn't he? he's a child of mondstadt. he has to stay alive. save him, please, please-

(i can't lose him too)

diluc's vision never does go out all the way. it always retains its light, even if only slightly. maybe the anemo archon really did protect him. maybe barbatos answered kaeya's prayers.

sometimes, when diluc's vision is weak, kaeya prays. surely, barbatos will at least grant him this. surely, barbatos wouldn't be opposed to keeping a child of mondstadt safe.

when diluc finally comes back home, kaeya closes his eyes and whispers a quiet thanks to his god.

diluc, on the other hand, no longer prays. hasn't, since that day.

he doesn't think he deserves to.

kaeya said something, that night, about khaenri'ans being sinners. a people who have been condemned by the gods themselves for their sins. he said it so viciously, so bitterly, so sincerely. like he believed it, wholly and truly.

if you're a sinner, then what am i?

kinslayer. a failure of a knight. a man who could not save anyone when it mattered most, who raised a blade to his own family. killer of his own father, and nearly his brother, too. he has learned to kill without feeling the slightest hint of remorse, to steal and torture and deceive. he has committed so many atrocities he can no longer count them all. his sins are far worse than kaeya's have ever been, will ever be.

if you're a sinner, then so am i.

diluc doesn't pray anymore. he's a little scared to.

and besides, no gods would save him now, would they?

not with all the blood on his hands.

some time after his return to mondstadt, diluc starts attending mass again. every sunday, he enters the cathedral with the rest of the crowd, chooses a quiet spot in the back, and waits for the service to begin.

he doesn't pray.

when everyone else's heads are bowed together in prayer, diluc lowers his head to show respect, but his eyes are open. his hands lie still in his lap. he stares at the wood of the pews in front of him as the sister leading the service offers words of thanks to barbatos. he does not pray.

does he even deserve to ask anything of the gods now?

and then diluc finds out the annoying bard that frequents his tavern is actually a god. is actually barbatos. not just any god - his god.

his god trusts him to keep his human guise a secret. his god tolerates him enough to become a regular at his tavern and beg him for freebies.

okay. this is fine.

(vaguely, diluc wonders if it is heresy to say no when your god asks you for something. repeatedly. but their dynamic has been like this for months before venti's true identity was revealed, and the god has shown no indication of wanting to change that. so, for now, diluc will treat him the same as he always has.)

sometimes, he thinks about asking. asking venti - asking barbatos - if he would forgive diluc of his sins. if he deserves to be forgiven.

he never does ask.

#diluc ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #genshin impact #religion #religious themes #religious trauma question mark?#venti #barbatos

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thelastofhyde · 6 months ago

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a mercenary named time.

pairing. jackson!joel x fem!reader

synopsis. as joel begins to age, memories of sarah are beginning to fade. though he wants nothing more than to talk to you about his troubles, there's something standing in his way: he never told you about sarah.

warnings. this is more joel x sarah centric than joel x reader oops, hurt/comfort, ageing + difficulties that come with it, grief, mentions of death/religion/afterlife+ generally other sensitive topics, fluff, does this count as whump? (v minimum editing/proofreading)

word count. 4.9k

hyde’s input. wrote this as an attempt to distract myself from the fact i was on a plane (i hate flying). not much happens plot wise, and it just becomes me analyzing joel (in my own way) halfway through but hey, i wrote it and, though it's nowhere near perfect, i'm gonna post it!

due to the ties tlou has with zionism, here are helpful posts/links regarding the ongoing genocide in palestine. from the river to the sea. ( post, link, post )

Aging has become a threat again.

A part of him wonders if the threat ever truly left, or if it simply migrated south of his brain, chasing a warmth only leisure possesses, to make way for a survivalist winter’s cold. With the safety of walls and the sanctity of the commune, at last he’s caught on to the passing of time, the slow-crawling spider who spun its web into his skin.

During the cold, there'd only been movement. Pacing down streets divided by those who live in fear and those who brandish riot gear, and tip-toeing past fungal-faced mutations, and stumbling in a daze of pain through snow to find her. A safety distance of unmarked miles, away from that hospital, is what it took for him to finally pull over, cut the engine and exhale. Out with the panic, and the urgency, and the fear. Ellie was there, laid across the back seats, a paper gown as blue as any April sky, a cursed relic upon her sleeping form, terrorising him with images of what could’ve been, had he failed to save her too.

In the warmth, there’s tranquillity. Stretched out legs upon worn out sofas, quiet hums of forgotten tunes on rescued guitars, tangled limbs on love-stained sheets. A home, a daughter, and a you, whatever you may be. A fallen angel, a summer fairy, a ray of sun. Any form you come from, he accepts it, welcomes it. Thanks it for bringing you to him, smelling fresh as a daisy, riding up next to him on his first patrol, smiling as sweet as the honey he’d eaten with his breakfast when you asked him if he needed help reigning in his horse.

No, he’d grunted more than spoken to you. And wound up flung off its back, ten paces later. From the ground staring up, he’d watched your face appear above him. Bitten back laughter, a stretched out hand, and a question of if he wanted to swap rides, take your mare for the day.

She’s far friendlier, you’d assured him, after he let you think it was your strength that pulled him back to his feet. Takes to strangers a little easier than him, you’ll be safe.

And he’d believed it, against his own nature.

Tommy had been the one to notice, to nudge him hours later and nod his head in your direction. Real sweetheart, ain’t she? Joel’d said nothing. Shrugged his shoulders, dipped his head, sipped the whiskey out his cup. Tracked your movement across the room like a hunter stalks its prey. Or, maybe, it was more like a bee examining a flower, wondering if the pretty vibrance of your outsides carried a match to your insides, if the taste of your soft petals was a great enough sweetness to satisfy a craving he’d long foregone.

Four months of observing later, spring came and he stung.

Since then, you’ve been his, whatever that may mean anymore.

He’d already been yours.

And yet he finds himself unable to tell you of his recent trouble, the emerging signs of his age that the needle of time has begun to stitch into his seams.

The greys that curl upon his head grow more frequent. Blink, and they seem to double. His skin stretches differently than before, at times it feels he wears it more than owns it. There’s aches, and pains, and cracks from his joints, where before there’d been numbness and tiredness. A back that refuses to straighten like it used to, no matter how hard he stretches under the fleeting warm drops of his morning shower.

A guilty conscience whispers in a voice much like Tess’, a memory of her telling him ageing means he’s still here, even if she’s not. It’s harder to find the good in it, anymore, when he has so much to lose again.

It’s his memory that scares him most. Like a photo album, the images within seem to fade with time and, the more he grabs at them, the more they wear away.

It started with something small. Forgetting you’d told him you would be heading over to visit Maria and the baby after your patrol shift, leading his heart to near beat out his chest as he raced down to the stables like some crazed man, rambling about how something’s happened to you, you’re not back, only for some kid- Jessie, a friend of Ellie’s- to tell him you came back hours ago. He’d pulled you a little tighter against him that night as you crawled into bed, the earlier unnecessary fear a little too visceral in his racing heart.

Then, it happened more often.

Ellie asked him to help her clean out the garage space for her, he forgot and agreed to cover someone’s turn cleaning the stables.

You told him of your love of mint tea, and instead he found you green.

Tommy asked him across the dinner table- a double date, a cause to debut Ellie’s first solo babysitting duties- if he remembered the name of that old bar they’d liked, and his mind was blank. Empty.

All of it, inconvenient. Yet he could brush it off, let it affect him only like a bruise: momentarily, till it faded.

Until recently.

Until the memories of her began to fade.

He’d woken up one morning, earlier than you like always. Kissed your sleeping face, creeped down the creaking staircase, switched on the stove to boil some coffee. And realised he could no longer remember what she’d liked better: pancakes or waffles.

A few weeks later, he tried recalling what shade of blue her soccer team’s kit was. Was it light blue? Or a darker blue, like fresh denim? Was it even blue at all?

Ellie asked him, the caution she used to bring towards mentioning her name long gone with the changing of seasons, if she’d liked any comic books. The sound of a runner, itching and twitching behind some fence interrupted before she could notice he didn’t have an answer.

Sure, she read. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d caught her curled up in bed, the light of her torch illuminating more than just the pages of a book, but her face, too expressive for her own good at times, reacting to each twist and turn of the story. Sometimes, he’d stand in that doorway, unnoticed, till her eyes dropped shut and the light rolled out her hand. Other times, he’d clear his throat, catch her off guard, and tell her get to bed, kiddo, or I’ll tell Mrs. Atkinson you’ll be round after school tomorrow.

What use is it, however, remembering all that, if he can’t remember if she liked comics?

He should talk to someone about it, he knows. He’d tried to, at first. Had tried to drink the courage into him, sat across Tommy one late night, sat around a fire as they settled in for a night in the ski lodge, stranded by some heavy snowfall. He failed then, just like he failed when he tried to tell Ellie, till she raced off to throw snowballs at some kids and he remembered she was too young to listen to his burden, too beaten by life already to deserve stress within the respite of Jackson’s sanctuary. When he failed a fourth time to speak to Tommy, the real issue dawned on him.

He wants to talk to you. You’re the one he talks to, the one he goes to bear his wounds to, trusting no other’s love but your own to patch him up and calm him down. There’s only one issue, however.

He’s not told you about Sarah.

It was never a conscious decision, some secret he’d chosen to hide. Speaking about her simply hurt and, after the arduous months of crossing the country with Ellie, finding a place to call home in Jackson, and learning to hold somebody close again, he’d wanted to get away from pain, for a little while.

Then came the first anniversary of her death spent inside the commune. He’d drank himself blind, like every year before. There’s a hazy memory of that night he’s glad to suppress, one where he’s covered in his own vomit and you’re struggling to hold his weight up under a pouring shower, the sounds of his sobs muffled into your soaked sweater. He’d awakened, and awaited the questioning. Expected to open his eyes and find you stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. Seeing the room empty was a shock, but drifting slowly down the stairs and finding you scrubbing the stains out of his shirts near floored him.

The very same shirt you wear now, curled up on the sofa. Your eyes are shut, legs are bare, and there’s a gentle breeze that blows at the curtains you’d hung up, your first act upon moving in with him.

With a careful step, he avoids the creaking floorboard as he crosses the threshold. Slow as he can, he lowers the bag off his shoulder and props it gently against the wall, careful it doesn’t slip and let its contents spill out. Then he works at his laces, undoes them one by one, loosens them so his feet meet no resistance as he steps out of them. The summer’s heat affords him the liberation from heavy coats, less layers to shed now he’s returned to you at last.

You lay right, he strays left. Towards the kitchen, footsteps light as he can manage. Two chairs are pulled out at the table, two bowls sit drying neatly by the sink. Ellie must’ve stopped by for dinner. He’s glad to know she’s eaten, glad to know you kept each other company, glad to know the light is off in the shed and her snoring fills the hollow space. And he’s glad to find some food for him. He takes a bite, lifts the plate, finds a note beneath. Your handwriting, what do Joel Miller and breakfast have in common? followed by an arrow, urging him to turn the page around. The answer’s there, weakening his ageing knees. I can’t start my day without them.

Back by the sofa, a book sits split open, spine broken and pages pressed into ageing wood. Its cover is faded, frayed, much like he feels himself becoming.

He recognises it as one he’d gifted you, seasons ago. If he tries hard enough, he can remember the snow collecting in his unruly hair as he waited at your doorstep, and the way your smile melted the chill away, and the mumbling fool he’d made of himself upon handing the present over to you, some version of said you were bored, so I found this for you all he managed before turning on his heel and striding back to his own home, ignoring the teasing smile upon Ellie’s face.

After all this time, you still have it. Still read it. The fact slows his heart, soothes his aching back. Suddenly, he’s more than ready to head back out there, beyond the walls of Jackson, if it means collecting more books for you to remember him by when he’s long gone and withered away, no more than a familiar smell stained into your sheets and a fading warmth in the palm of your hand.

Two loud pops sound out of his knees as he crouches down by your side, the smell of your shampoo flooding his senses the closer he grows to your sleeping form. There’s a want, nestled deep inside his bones, to pull you into his arms and deliver you upstairs to a bed made for two, in search of a peace his soul has not found since he’d left for his shift in the early hours of the morning. It would be cruel, however, to wake you when you’re so beautiful.

Joel once thought he’d liked you best when you were smiling, till you’d fallen asleep on his porch one night, after hours of talking his ears off. Since then he’s liked you best sleeping, resting. Comfortable enough to trust his watchful eye to keep any harm away while your body takes back its much needed rest, even on days like this when he’s not physically there. You’ve got his shirt, his scent embedded into every thread of it, and that’s enough to keep you safe.

The rough of his fingertips reach out to graze the soft of your cheeks, gently dancing up to comb a few strands of damp hair away from your face. It seems you’ve gained your own spider, the faintest of lines beginning to take shape upon your skin. You wear it better than him, Joel thinks, the passing of time upon your body a picture of love, and prosperity, and hope for more time to come. He wears it like a burden, however. A death sentence, a timer on how long till the cold hand of Death takes the place of your warm one clasped in his.

Adjusting to a life he fears to leave has not been easy. There’d been a time where the promise of death was a comfort. To wake each day, reckless with his time and mindless to his body, a thought of all the pain, and all the sorrow, and that overwhelming, heavy, overbearing loneliness that hung over him like a storm cloud at last coming to an end and ceasing to exist, it had kept him going. Though faith died alongside her, a dream of reuniting with his babygirl on the other side was one he clung to on nights when no drop of alcohol and no unlabeled pill was enough to send him off to sleep. Death now, however, means parting from you, from Ellie, from Tommy. It no longer comforts so much as it disturbs him.

Would you comfort yourself, in the wake of his death, with dreams of reuniting someday, down the line, when Death takes you by the hand and guides you back to Joel?

He can only hope his babygirl can forgive the way he now longs to keep living, in spite of her waiting patiently for him in whatever comes after this life. Perhaps his failing memory is a consequence of this, a punishment she sends for making her wait even longer to feel his embrace again, slowly stealing away the only parts of her Joel has anymore.

Even in guilt, he can’t bring himself to believe his Sarah would do such a thing. Her heart was never touched by the bitterness that had hardened his own, her soul pure a freshly fallen snow.

I want you to be loved, dad. Echoes of her voice in his mind, words she’d confessed to him with teary eyes, a half-eaten birthday cake sitting between them, two candles, one in the shape of three, the other a zero, tossed messily on the table. There’d been no real fuss for his thirtieth, at his own insistence. Just his parents, his brother, his daughter. Those he loved, gathered around one table, eating away at food he’d made.

I’m already loved, kiddo. I got you, don’t I?

Joel knew what it meant to feel unloved. For a long time, that’s all he felt. The love only a child could gift died just as quickly in his arms as she had, under the watchful teary eyes of his brother. Grief he dragged around with him, dedicated to both her and the love he no longer felt.

First came denial. A steady 48 hours post-mortem, in which he walked ahead of Tommy and convinced himself she was there, a few feet behind him, talking her uncle’s ears off as he made sure to clear any oncoming threats The denial culminated in him bleeding down the side of his face, a missed bullet somewhere left behind, and Tommy’s pleading voice trying to move him forward, dragging him to tents set up by the army.

Eleven stitches, each one imbedding loss and cowardice into his screaming skin. The anger settled in a few days later. It made a home within Joel, latched onto his heart and began to beat in place of it. It changed him, aged with him, convinced him it was the only partner he’d ever need. A hopeful glimmer of bargaining came in the shape of Tess. But anger and all its roots were too deeply burrowed within Joel, unwilling to be weeded out, no matter how firm the hand.

Complacency was far easier than any fight. Tommy left, the buzz of a firefly seducing him with the idea of better, of more, of a cure. Joel convinced himself things were easier without Tommy and his morals around. The routine of waking, struggling, drinking, passing out was one he practised well and thoroughly. Till Marlene and her suicide mission.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Ellie, with all her snark, and her crass words, and her humourless puns, reminded Joel how it felt to be loved. Laid upon his chest, a need for warmth and a plea for him to survive, she became the closest thing that felt like Sarah in twenty years. How could Marlene expect him to walk away, to leave her in that hospital?

Pain rushes in like a wave meets the shore, dampening him in a melancholy he saves for whiskey. Still resting peacefully on the sofa, your chest rises slow, steady, and constant. He tries to mimic it, matching his own breathing to it. It reminds him of dancing with you in the kitchen, barefoot and bare chested, arms entangled and forehead pressed to forehead, doing his best to stay in sync with your gentle sways.

The floorboards creek the further his aching body sinks to the floor. Like a man meets the altar, he’s on his knees. Blunt fingernails dig into the worn out brown leather of the couch, the only grip he has on reality.

A discombobulated memory dances across his mind. One of a much younger him, with a head full of brown locks and a sleeping daughter upon his couch. Outbreak night. He’d been peacefully unaware of the happenings outdoors, happy to turn another year older next to his Sarah, when a call came through. His brother, dumped in some jail-cell and begging for release. He’d not thought it through much, sighing in frustration yet rising slowly to his feet nonetheless. If he’d known how that night would end, he’d have held his daughter a little tighter as he carried her to bed, he’d have left every kiss he could afford against her forehead, and speak every I love you he had left in him.

Grief is a river that travels the mountain of his mind. Strong, cold, descending upon a downward slope. Its currents are unforgiving, grabbing a hold of anything that blocks the path. Too easy is it for him to slip and fall into the rapids, losing hold of his footing on reality before he realises he’s struggling to breath and there’s a whole new river carving a way for itself out his eyes and down his cheeks.

His eyes close. His breath halts. He tries to remember those breathing exercises, the same ones he uses any time the pain swells too much and the panic begins to attack his nervous system. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Deep breath in. Choke down a sob. Slow breath out. Joel. He pictures you, feet upon solid ground, hand stretched out as you try to goad him out the trepid waters of his grief. Joel. This image of you reminds him he’s got a name, got a life, got a purpose. To help Tommy on patrols. To make sure Ellie always has a place to call home. To keep you warm in the winter, and kissed during spring, and safe no matter where the sun may sit. Joel. The tears fall faster. Messier. He’s no longer a quiet companion at your side, but a mess of ragged breathing and nose sniffles.

“Joel?”

Skin to skin. Soft hand to wet cheek. You’re awake faster than he can process, too quick to wipe tears or feign smiles. Legs scramble off the couch, parted and bent at the knee on either side of him. Musk, and lilies, and every scent that makes him feel safe and close to you envelop the shared space between you.

“Joel, baby, what’s wrong?” Your thumb swipes uselessly at his cheeks, fresh waves rolling out his eyes before you finish wiping the last. Sleep is written all over you, woven into your breathy voice and weighing down the bags of your eyes. He feels a whole new wave of guilt, waking you from such a peaceful slumber with the sight of him and all his ailments bursting out the frayed seams that hold him together.

He thinks he says your name. It’s hard to tell. The blurred image of you through his teary eyes inspires a heavy burden of disappointing you that he can not cope with, and so he ducks his head between your legs, forehead pressing on the inside of your left thigh. His breath is short, his heart is sore, and he’s staining your delicate skin with his pain. You let him grieve upon you, pull him closer. A hand soothes up his back. Your voice tells him it’s okay, and you hum a sweet tune he’s sure he’s played you many a drunken nights, when the confidence kicks in and he’s serenading you with his country twang and guitar strings.

There’s no prying, no demand to rightfully know why you’ve awoken to your lover, steadfast and stoic at his worst, collapsing into your hold. You let him cry. He lets you hold him. You’re all he’s been missing, this feeling of support he’s denied himself for far too long. No fear of your judgement, but fear of pulling you in amongst the dangerous currents alongside him.

An anchor comes in the shape of your fingers carding through his unruly hair, a tether that pulls him back into the living room, into your home, into you. With the patience of any saint, you let him move at his own pace, head slowly rising from your thigh, back straightening to the best of its abilities. His hand, rough and hardened by time and grit and survival, paws at your thigh, clumsy in its attempts to dry his tears off of you, a fear of it sinking into your skin and some part of his sadness taking root inside your bloodstream.

Your hand stills his, gently, coercing his fingers to thread with your own as your other hand cups his face and guides him to look at you. You're beautiful, in a way that makes Joel wish he was better with words so he could spend the rest of his days finding new ways to tell you so. Instead, he has to settle with a simple, “my pretty girl.” You smile, bashful, as if that’s enough, as if you don’t deserve more.

“Hello to you too, handsome.” You peck his cheek, he chases after you with his mouth. Two small pecks, a third he fails to achieve as you hold him back. “Don’t think you can distract me with those perfect lips of yours, Miller. I’m worried about you, and no amount of kisses are gonna change that.”

He refocuses on his breathing exercises. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Deep breath in. No sob this time. Slow breath out. Your gaze, soft as a cloud, rests over him gently, your own chest rising and falling in sync with him. With every night he’d lay awake, trying to think of how to bring up Sarah and the details of her he’s failing to hold onto, never did he imagine the weight to fly off his chest so easily with just a supportive smile from you.

“I had someone before, who I loved.” He pauses. Clears his throat, shifts his weight. His knees are beginning to ache the longer they sit digging into the hard floor. He should have listened to your advice of scavenging a rug. “Not how I love you. Like I love Ellie.”

Silence.

Not the kind where you hear a pin drop, but one that allows the laughter of children playing down the street to blow in with the breeze, and the creaking of the old house you’ve both made a home, and the squeaks and chirps of wild-life continuing on outside, unaffected by the end of civilisation.

Then, “I know.” Joel’s eyes widen, disbelief painted across them. “Tommy’s let it slip a few times. Just when we’re on patrol and he sees something that reminds him of her. Or he’s telling me a story that’s sole purpose is to embarrass you.” A part of him wants to feel angry at his younger brother, stealing his right to reveal such a large part of who he is. The other part of him feels for him too, a reminder that Sarah’s loss is not one he tackled all by himself. She was his daughter, but she was also Tommy’s niece. How could he blame him for feeling comfortable enough to share his grief with you? “Ellie also mentioned it, once. Back before you and I were really…” You fall silent, trail off, as you both usually do when faced with tackling the task of labelling what exists between you.

“Why,” he chooses to distract himself from it, scared of a world where he asks for the right to claim himself as your husband. Those things don’t matter anymore, with the world gone to shit, but a man could still dream. “Didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s your story to tell, I didn’t want to force it out you. I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

He may not know how to label what you are to him, but he knows he loves you. God, does he love you.

“Thank you, darlin’, I really-” He’s getting choked up, caught between his grief for Sarah and his love for you. You seem to understand, as you always do, hands slowly pulling and coercing him up onto the sofa, occupying the space next to you. “Can’t thank you enough.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for.” You promise, sealing it into his skin with a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t like to see you cry, Joel, but I prefer you do it in front of me. Don’t hide parts of yourself. I want all of you. Good, bad, and everything in between.”

There’s the urge to let himself fall into the river again, now that you’ve pulled him ashore and attached yourself to him like a life vest, an oath to never let him drown. He feels his eyes well-up, but doesn’t let them fall, as his mouth runs ahead of his mind and at last confesses the troubles he’s been keeping close to his chest.

“It used to be like this every day. Tears, unless I numbed myself free of consciousness. Then, things got better. With Ellie and you around. Anytime I felt the anger or the pain swelling, you’d be there and there’d be room for laughter. But I’m getting older, darlin’. Memories’ not the same. There’s things about my babygirl, my Sarah, that I just… can’t remember. And it scares me. Scares me so bad that I don’t know how to cope with it. If I ever woke up and couldn’t remember her face, it would kill me. I wouldn’t be able to go on.”

He speaks slowly. You cling to every word, a gentle nod lets him know you understand. A part of him wonders how deep that understanding runs, if you too had lost a child. He wants to afford you the same grace you’ve given in, and so he doesn’t pry. If you have a story to tell, he can only hope to still be around to listen.

Oblivious to the thoughts of you holding a faceless child swirling around in his head, you pull Joel into you, encouraging him to let you hold his frame. You’ve told him countless times he needs to let himself be cared for, a spark that ignited many arguments in the early days of your love. It feels nice to comply at last, head drifting down to rest on your steady shoulder. Your legs curl up onto the couch, lay gently over his own, as an arm wraps itself around his aching back.

Only like this does Joel feel he’s finally arrived home after weeks of wading through the depths of his own sorrows, evading a bounty placed upon him by time.

Joel is ageing. Everyday, a new line appears on his face. Every year, a new ache burrows in his bones. But, if each moment he can feel your love in acts of kindness, and left-over meals, and sleepy limbs upon a shared mattress, it doesn’t feel as daunting. He wonders what awaits him in the afterlife, when he and Sarah reunite as he so hopes. He doesn’t doubt for a moment that she’d be proud of him for finding solace in a heart like yours.

“Tell me about her.” You plead to him something he’s spent years longing to do.

Without missing a beat, words flow easily and memories play on in his head, his precious daughter no longer blurry in a haze, but fully in focus, smiling wide at him with a mouthful of food.

“She loved pancakes.”

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