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upsidedownwithsteve · 10 months

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Simmer #1

CH1. Home Style | The Menu [3.7K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Jim’s Midnight Grill wasn’t the magical place the name made it sound like.

In fact, it was worse at night. Hawkins' only diner sat on the outskirts of town, just before the road that took you out alongside the cornfields. In the height of a sunny day, the water tower cast a shadow over the old building and the gas station next door only had one working pump.

The leather booths were constantly sticky, the table tops grainy with spilled salt, but if you made your visit on a Thursday night after nine, milkshakes were two for one. The back alley was littered with cigarette butts, graffiti on the walls telling you who to call for a good time— and someone called King Steve used Farah Fawcett hairspray? The regulars were permanent fixtures on the bar stools, coffee stains on the counter in front of them, stolen sugar packets in their pockets, frowns on their faces.

The staff didn’t want to be there, the owner refused to replace the flickering lights and the cook had a bad attitude and liked to communicate with heavy sighs and eye rolls. But he made a mean grilled cheese. The walk in freezer was reserved for the pitiful weekly deliveries and breakdowns, a stolen kiss or two. Or three, or four. But no one liked to tackle the clogged sink and god forbid anyone change the TV channel— Mr Creel always had something to say about it.

—————

Honestly, Hawkins wasn’t your first choice when you decided to move to a smaller place. The idea of a big city was all fine and well until you lived a year in Chicago, the dream of a brownstone apartment quickly disappearing when you realised jobs were hard to come by and finding friends was even harder. Living alone wasn’t all that fun, especially when your landlord hinted at sexual favours to justify late payments and he didn’t care to fix the leaking radiator in your bedroom. The nights were never quiet and the city hardly slept, but instead of neon lights and late night bodega runs, you lay awake on the broken spring in your bed and flinched at the sound of backfiring cars and people arguing on the street below.

It was lonely, living somewhere so big and busy and always eating dinner by yourself. So you sold the old car you didn’t really use and cried enough that your landlord eventually gave in and ripped up your lease that still had four months to go. Packing your stuff was an easy enough job, hardly enough belongings to fill the duffel bag you’d dragged with you. You dug into the back of your freezer for the wad of cash your grandma gave you, threw it into the bag and grabbed your greyhound ticket and decided you’d get off the bus when the skyline turned a little more green. When the buildings shrunk, when the smog lifted and when wildflowers sprouted from between the cracks in the sidewalk.

So you rolled into Hawkins before the day broke, way before the sun crept up over the quarry, before the small town came alive. The apartment you’d found was the same tiny size as the one you’d had in Chicago but it was cleaner and the carpet was new. Nothing leaked. Nothing smelled weird. The parking lot was filled with cars and none of them had bullet holes in the side, your trash can wasn’t on fire and god, god, the first neighbour you saw - an elderly woman who was walking with a yorkie on a leash - smiled at you.

She smiled at you.

So despite the lack of twenty four hour stores and pizza parlours, Hawkins was already looking up. There wasn’t much on the Main Street, a library, a tiny bakery run by a couple who offered you a free croissant as a welcome to town gift. There was an outdoor pool with sun bleached bunting across its chain link fence, an arcade next to a video store, a high school that was derelict due to the summer months. The larger houses across from the park were lined with cherry trees, neat lawns with white mailboxes and flowers under the windows and suddenly Hawkins was a million miles away from Chicago and the buzz of traffic and car horns.

The librarian let you print out some resumes the day after you’d settled in, and you found your way around town by asking kind strangers, buying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in exchange for directions out of your neighbourhood. It was easy to stroll along the sidewalk with an iced latte and your headphones around your neck, blue skies above you and the sound of sprinklers in their yards, breathing in air that didn’t smell like diesel. You found a man by a rundown garage, white haired and tired looking, mechanic scrubs tied around his waist as he smoked a cigarette.

You took a deep breath, and then another one, smiling politely - warily - as you approached. The man lifted a brow at you, a little suspicious, but he held the burning stub away from you, smoke billowing in the opposite direction.

“You lost, kid?”

You were. Just a little.

“I’m looking for Jim’s, uh,” you glanced down at the pink flyer that had been pinned on the library's notice board. “Jim’s Midnight Grill? I got told it was out this way, but—”

You looked around, noting that there wasn’t much out this way. The busiest part of Hawkins was behind you, tidy sidewalks giving way to long roads out of town, a lone bus stop by the garage, a farm in the distance across the street. You squinted against the sun and shrugged.

“You wanna keep going for ‘nother mile or so, it’s just before the town sign,” the man pointed further out where the cornfields were overgrown and the sun faded billboard told everyone ‘thanks for visiting Hawkins!’ You weren’t sure the bus ran that far out. “Jim should be there, but if he’s not, jus’ ask for Eddie, he’ll sort you out.”

“Eddie,” you nodded, peering into the distance. You couldn’t see another building, but this man didn’t seem like he was lying. “Right, okay. Just keep to the road?”

The man nodded and he cracked a smile, small but soft. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette and gestured to an old pick up that looked like it had seen better days. “You needin’ a ride?”

The urge to say yes was strong, especially after walking all the way from your apartment as the heat soared. It snuck up on you like a slow roll, going from pleasant to warm to too hot, far too quickly. Beads of sweat clung to your skin underneath your sundress but you shook your head, shyness crawling up the back of your neck. Accepting a ride from a stranger didn’t seem the wisest idea, no matter how kind he seemed.

“It’s okay,” you told him. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the help.”

The man smiled again, a little bigger this time, crows feet crinkling, the sunlight catching the white of his five o’clock shadow. “That’s alright, kid. Jus’ tell ‘em Wayne sent you, yeah? Follow the road, you’ll see Forest Hills - the trailer park - keep going a lil’ ways and it’s right across the road.”

It turned out Wayne was right.

You kept walking, the heat soaring, the fields on either side of you growing taller but you bit back a smile at the sight of the wildflowers that snuck through the cracks in the concrete. Eventually they gave way to a trailer park, just as Wayne side, a quaint place that hummed with generators and had lines of laundry between each mobile home. Across the road sat a sandy lot, a diner in the middle, a neon sign letting passer-bys know they’d arrived at Jim’s Midnight Grill. Except the ‘r’ was loose, hanging from its wire and buzzing blue and purple.

Cats patrolled along the roadside, going from trailer doorsteps to the back alley of the diner, hoping and waiting for a free meal that they all knew would eventually come. You stopped to pet an orange kitten, a little scruffy looking thing but cute all the same, your CV clutched in one hand as you peered suspiciously at the front of the restaurant. It looked too quiet, like it wasn’t open yet. But there was a black van parked along the side of the building and some steam leaked from a vent on the roof, so you opened the front door.

The bell jingled but the patrons at the dining bar who sat on their stools didn’t move, didn’t turn to look. The place was nearly empty, some people nursing a coffee, some staring blankly at the buzzing television screen that was mounted in the corner. No one stood at the host desk, the menus stacked messily, the phone off the hook. In fact, there wasn’t a server to be seen as you made your way to the counter. You grimaced as you leaned on the surface, elbows sticky, avoiding spilled coffee the best you could. You waited, resume still in your hand, patience on your features.

No one came.

So you rang the bell that was on the bar top for the very purpose of gaining attention, but the man beside you glared at the noise. Still, no one came. The fans overhead squeaked and whirred, the TV fizzed with bad signal and from somewhere behind the open serving hatch, you heard the clatter of pots and pans. You tried to crane your neck to see through the window, steam and smoke billowing from it, the slight shadow of maybe a person moving through it.

The person swore, dropped a skillet and swore again.

You leaned in further, elbows on spilled salt grains and drops of ketchup, trying to gain a better view into the kitchen from the bar top. “Hey, ‘scuse me? Can I— can someone—”

You huffed as the figure moved out of sight, falling back onto the stool that squeaked and the man next to you snorted into his coffee cup. You frowned and took further action, sundress falling back around your thighs as you hopped off the chair and made your way to the side of the counter that lifted up. No one paid you any mind, no one at all, but you still hesitated before ducking under the bar and hovering by the hatch. You could smell garlic and sage and something a little sweet now you were closer, the scents of the kitchen winning over the stale coffee, cigarette smoke and engine oil that clung to the patrons clothes behind you.

You peered into the kitchen, your paperwork still clutched to your chest. It wasn’t much cooler in here than it was outside, the AC unit broken and the fans working overtime to combat the heat. The kitchen seemed empty now, a stovetop still on despite no one to supervise it, flames licking high up the sides of a steel pot, big enough for you to fit both feet in. There was something inside bubbling, foam rising to the top and chopped courgette and red onions sat on the workbench beside it, abandoned. A radio played, staticky and fuzzy, an old sixties tune floating out to mix with the smoke.

“Come a little bit closer, you’re my kind of man. So big and so strong, come a little bit closer, I’m all alone.”

“H-hello?” You cleared your throat and braced yourself to speak a little louder. Stronger. Braver. “Hello?”

No one answered. In fact, it seemed like the entire diner was run by ghosts, no waiting staff, hosts or cooks to be seen. Maybe you’d imagined the silhouette in the smoke, maybe the heat was finally getting to you.

“No customers back here, what d’you think you’re doin’?”

You startled, jumping back a little only to knock an elbow into a half filled coffee pot, the brown liquid thankfully lukewarm but it still spilled across the countertop, soaking into stray packets of sugar and scattered napkins.

“Oh, fuck, uh—” you grabbed at whatever dry napkins were left, hurriedly mopping up the spill before it dripped to the floor. Old coffee dotted the red and cream tiles, into the gaps between your sandals. You grimaced and looked up, only half paying attention. “Shit, I’m really sorry, I just— there was no one there and—”

You stopped, swallowing hard, cheeks hot, eyes wide. The person in front of you was half hidden behind the serving hatch, but he was scowling through the window with a ladle in his hand. Big brown eyes, unnervingly expressive and dark hair to match, unruly looking curls that were pulled back with an elastic band in a bun that wouldn’t have passed a health inspection.

A boy, unfairly pretty, and annoyed looking with tattoos peeking out from his chef whites, a black paisley printed bandana knotted around his neck. There was a furrow between his brow, lines etched there so deep that it made you think they were a permanent fixture on his handsome face.

“—no customers behind the cash desk, sweetheart, you look bright enough to understand that.”

Your mouth fell open, a burn creeping across your cheeks. Annoyance settled in your chest but you realised you weren’t quite brave enough to do anything about it. So you lifted your resume and slapped it on the hot steel ledge that separated the kitchen from the coffee bar. “No one’s working,” you tried to explain, gesturing with one hand to the empty diner behind you. “I rang the bell—”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” The boy scoffed, raising a tattooed forearm to wipe away the sheer layer of sweat from his brow. “Havin’ a spa day? Shit, no one rings the damn bell, don’t you know that?”

You scrambled for a response, the burn on your face growing hotter, an awful clawing feeling coming across your chest. You swallowed, your throat tight, but you pointed at your CV once more. “I’m here for the job opening. I need to speak to Jim? About the kitchen porter role?”

The stranger laughed, a breathy thing that you didn’t think was supposed to come across as mean as it did, but it stung all the same. You shrunk a little, a hardly seen thing as the boy turned his head to check on whatever was bubbling in the big pot. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t wanna be a dick about it, but uh, I don’t think you’re cut out for the kitchen - sorry.” He turned back to you, a slightly more apologetic look on his face instead of the frown. “You understand, right?”

You were speechless, just for a second. Blinking away the confusion, you made noise of protest as the boy started to move away. Your hand touched his bicep and he swivelled back, scowling once more. You snatched your hand away, glancing at your fingertips as if the ink from his tattoos would have stained them black.

“Sorry— it’s just, I, I need a job.” You swallowed, hoping none of the customers could hear your desperate plea. “I just moved into town and honestly, I’ll take anything, like anything. I’m supposed to talk to Jim— or Eddie?”

The boy seemed to mull over your words for a second or two, a passing of sympathy or something just as kind coming over his features. He sighed and shrugged, turning away to stir the pot before it boiled over and he shouted at you through the smoke and steam. Not meanly, just enough for his voice to be heard over the music, the hissing of the stove, the hum of the freezer. “I dunno where Jim is, sorry.”

You deflated, sliding your stack of papers off of the ledge and back to your chest. You tried not to appear too frustrated as you asked, “what about Eddie? Someone - a guy, at the garage - he told me to ask for Eddie.”

The ladle clanged against the pot, some soup - or maybe stew - spilling out the sides. The boy frowned at the mess, dragging a rag over the spots before he glanced up at you. You tried to smile, tried to tamp down the watery doe eyes you knew you couldn’t help but have on show, but you felt desperate. Leaving Chicago with nothing more than the bag on your back and no plans was suddenly seeming like an awful idea.

“Sorry,” the stranger said again. “I dunno an Eddie.”

—————

Sitting in a sticky leather booth in the corner of Jim’s Midnight Grill for another hour turned out to be worth it.

Just before two o’clock, a man walked in, greeting the same customers who were still nursing their coffees with a muttered ‘hello,’ a familiar thing that everyone grunted back at. He was a tall man, broad shouldered with a moustache and a shaved head that was covered with a battered wide brimmed hat. He looked more cowboy than business owner, checked shirt dirt covered boots and all, but you heard someone call him Jim and you were up and running after him.

Your sneakers stuck to the linoleum tiles, the ‘shtick shtick shtick’ of your soles pattering between the aisles of empty tables until you caught up with the man just before he disappeared into the kitchen. He raised his brows at your sudden appearance at his elbow, wide eyed and hopeful as you clutched the same resume you’d tried to hand the cook, the pieces of paper stained with coffee now.

The man lifted his chin to a small table before you could speak, gesturing to two chairs by the window. You startled, wondering what was happening as he pulled out a seat and pointed at you to sit in the other one.

“You’re new, right?” The man - Jim - fumbled with a packet of cigarettes, most of them crushed and bent, but he found a good one to lift to his lips. He lit it and blew smoke upwards, staining the already yellowing ceiling. “Here, in town?”

You nodded, unsure how he knew that. You guessed that news travelled fast in a place as small as Hawkins, so you decided to elaborate for the sake of talking. “Uh, yeah. From Chicago. I’m inquiring about the, um, the porter job?”

“What’s your name?” Jim leaned forward in his chair and poked gently at your forearms. “You don’t got a lot of scars, you done soft jobs? No kitchen stuff before?”

The AC unit kicked in and rattled a vent above you as you stared at the man, trying to work out what he meant. Stammering, you told him your name and passed over a resume, pointing out your last few jobs, doing your best to try and make them sound more professional than they actually were.

Librarian's assistant.

Barista. For two weeks.

Cashier at a knock off Chuck E. Cheese.

“I guess they’re what you could call, uh,” you squinted Jim, floundering for the word he’d used, “soft jobs. But I’ve got a scar on my knee from pulling a kid out of the ball pit. He’d come straight from little league, he still had his spikes on and there was a considerable amount of blood even th—”

Jim stopped your spiel by jamming a thumb back towards the kitchen hatch. You could still see the boy there, pretty and scowling all the same, a dark curl falling from his hair band to fall over his cheek. You watched him blow it away and flip something in a skillet, the sizzle of it just heard over the music, the bad TV in the corner of the bar.

“You ever worked a kitchen?”

You shook your head, stomach sinking. ‘Fake it til’ you make it,’ failed you once before, and the owner of the coffee shop in Lincoln Park quickly realised you were wasting both your times when she discovered you didn’t know the difference between a mocha and a latte. “No, sir.”

“Our line cook is real particular ‘bout who we put in his kitchen with him,” Jim pointed to the boy, who’d now been joined by someone else. Another male, one with even longer hair, sleek and dark and they seemed to be arguing over blocks of cheese. “Now I don’t think it’s a good idea to throw you in there—”

Dread bubbled in your stomach. If you didn’t manage to land this job, you weren’t sure where else to look. A small town brought on few opportunities, and you’d already exhausted most of the businesses on Main Street. “Sir, please, I—”

“—but there is a waitressing gig available.” Jim frowned as he tried to remember the details. “Full time, forty odd hours if you don’t mind doing lates.”

“Yes!” You blurted out the answer too loud, loud enough for the customers to turn away from the TV screen for a second or two. The boys in the kitchen peered out the hatch, one curious, one annoyed. “Yes, sorry, yes. I’ll take it, thank you.”

Jim nodded and stubbed out the amber end of his cigarette in an ashtray beside the sauce bottles. “Easy enough job, minimum wage, you keep any tips you make.” He listed off each point on his fingers. “You start tomorrow.”

You could only nod back, eager and grateful. “Of course, yeah, sure. Uh— do I need—?”

Jim waved you off, already standing as he lit up another cigarette. “Just come by for eight, Eddie’ll sort you out with a uniform, locker, that kinda stuff.”

You frowned, confused. Looking around the quiet diner, you wondered if there was someone you hadn’t noticed before, but the number of visible staff members remained the same. The two boys in the kitchen, the pretty cool who you’d spoken to back at the stove, tasting its contents with a teaspoon.

“Uh,” you coughed awkwardly, feeling stupid. “I thought— I thought there wasn’t an Eddie who worked here?” You pointed warily to the boy with the messy curls, the black tattoos across his exposed forearms, he was staring at you, like he knew you were talking about him. He was scowling. “He said there wasn’t.”

The noise and heat of the diner and the summer outside didn’t do anything to diminish the embarrassment you felt at Jim’s next words. His gaze followed to where you were pointing and snorted. “Kid, that is Eddie.”

#Eddie munson #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson oneshot #Eddie munson imagine #linecook!eddie

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darlingdekarios · 10 months

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no place like home.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 17,578 content: The Homelander x f!reader, dead dove do not eat, dark themes [kidnapping, dubious consent], Homelander is very much so Homelander, controlling behavior, smut [masturbation - public for Homelander, fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [breeding, semi-public]

Homelander doesn't just want to be loved by everyone, he needs to be loved by everyone...but most of all, he needs to be loved by you.

“Homelander saves the day once again.”

“Homelander is our hometown hero after another heroic weekend.”

“Welcome home, Homelander!”

One of his favorite things to do when he returned home was to flip through the news channels, swimming in the sea of compliments all for him…for whatever they’d scripted for him to do this time. He often found himself wishing he could drown in this sea - if he weren’t so fucking good at everything, maybe he could. This was always his favorite way to pass the time. The high he felt from the various phrases of approval for him would give him enough gratification until the next time he was let loose to do exactly what he was created to do. Your voice flooded his ears on a particularly cold mid-October afternoon, yet the sweet sound only provided poisoned words.

“Homelander - Hometown Hero or Homegrown Hoax? On this episode we’re-”

A hoax? Despite the chill of the day, Homelander found his body immediately surged with heat at your selfish words of disapproval. Not that these petty chores were any real risk to him, but there was no law that he had to help people. In fact, he could choose to never help a single person ever again with his gifts, and there was nothing anyone else could do about it. Who was strong enough to stop the Homelander from doing exactly what he wanted? And yet, here you were, with a voice entirely too sweet to be saying such ugly things about him – about the one true god of this sorry planet.

Failing to drain out your words, he found himself turning his attention away from the news channels on his tv praising him, and instead focusing on the laptop in front of him – on pulling up the video for your silly little podcast. He had to see what the woman who dared speak of him this way looked like – to see who such a sweet voice could belong to. And he was quite possibly the furthest thing he’d ever been from disappointed when his eyes finally saw you for the first time.

You were so beautiful, so tempting and delicious, and yet you were tarnishing all of the perfect things you presented about yourself by speaking so poorly of him. Who were you, with your insignificant podcast, to sit here and pass judgments about anything he’d done? Who were you to threaten to expose the things he deserved to do – the things that were his right to do? You were nothing, and yet right now, you were everything that consumed him as he wrapped his mind around your words, as he tried to process the hatred you felt you could so freely spout for him.

The half an hour show felt like an eternity as your words washed over him like fire. He was red hot by the time the show wrapped up and he found himself breathing heavily through clenched teeth. Pausing with his eyes glued to the frozen image of you the ending video had left on his screen, he found himself rising to pace the room, eyes never leaving the screen. He’d saved an entire bus load of stupid kids tonight, and this is what he came home to? To this entitled little bitch talking about the things you thought he did wrong? Right or wrong – it didn’t matter, because it was what he wanted to do.

He found himself unable to rest. For the entirety of the day, it seemed, he worked his way through the archive of your work – from the beginning, desperate for any mention of his name falling from your negative lips. Episode after episode took up hour after hour of his night as he set out on his treasure hunt, becoming desperate as years worth of cookie-cutter journalism flooded his ears. But there was nothing. No comments about The 7, no comments about Vought, no comments about him…he almost found himself wishing to hear his name slip from your lips dripping with hatred rather than he wished for you to ignore him completely.

His efforts were not rewarded until he reached a podcast dated November 07 of one year prior - the last episode uploaded until about a month ago. It almost made him giddy to hear his name on your lips again, and the feeling didn’t falter as the story of the short-than-usual episode took place – you were sorry you hadn’t updated the channel in a while, and let your loyal followers know that you would be taking a break from journalism to work through some personal trauma. The trauma was that in October of last year, Homelander had been told “no” a few too many times and decided to throw a tantrum to get his point across – laser beaming into a building full of innocent people without regard for their safety…without regard for their lives. Amongst the dead that day was a young man, the one with whom you’d planned to spend your life with.

This wasn’t the story Vought told, of course – they could never tarnish the shining reputation of their golden boy who simply needed to learn how to accept disappointment sometimes. The story that capitalistic cunt-filled company twisted into the media for themselves was that Homelander had tracked an extremely dangerous group of gun-wielding terrorists to the building and taken the route with the least amount of damage by using his laser eyes to take out the terrorists (and half of the building with them in a tragic loss). He’d rehearsed the speech the company had written for him enough times to where his apology sounded sincere, though you seemed to see right through that little façade, according to your podcast.

He could feel the hollowness in your voice as he watched you speak about how the last couple of weeks had been for you - about how you’d been feeling since you lost Adam. Homelander found that every time the name Adam fell from your lips, every time you mentioned how good of a man Adam had been , his eyes gave an involuntary roll. I mean, honestly, he worked in some totally unspectacular building on an unspectacular street - how special could he honestly be? This nobody was good enough for you to speak so highly of on your podcast, yet Homelander wasn’t worth an ounce of that attention? Who the fuck cares about Adam when Homelander exists?

The first episode you’d uploaded since then was from a month ago, and Homelander had to admit that the anger forming in your features as you spoke about him made you look so deliciously pretty. To his absolute pleasure, you hardly seemed to even mention Adam by name all this time later, but Homelander fell from your lips like a symphony…no matter how angry it was. He could listen to you say his name laced with every emotion for hours, and he desperately wanted to hear how you’d sound saying his name with praise.

But you had no words of praise for him, not a single one. Every good thing Homelander did was scripted, and you pointed that out frequently. The real Homelander was the one who threw tantrums and killed innocent people. A hoax. You’d called him a hoax a lot over the last month across several episodes, and that word was not particularly pretty when you were saying it about him. You hated him. He was “everything wrong with being a superhero”, and a “mockery of the word hero”...blah, blah, blah. The feeling surged through him like fire and he swiped the laptop from his desk, sending it crashing into the nearest wall and snapping. No one talked about him like this. No one dared speak his name alongside such negativity, alongside such open anger. He was outside and landing on the roof at Vought in almost no time at all, making his way down to crime analytics - to Anika. He knew she could never refuse what he demanded. Dropping an image of you he’d printed on her keyboard he placed his hands firmly behind his back. “I need an address for her,” he snapped, tone serious enough to let Anika know the man wasn’t in the mood to wait today. “If an address isn’t possible, I need somewhere to find her. Today .”

All Anika could do was swallow and nod as she immediately began her work, searching for a trace of this poor woman who, for some reason, had Homelander’s attention. He never gave a backup option without her suggesting one, and the fact that he suggested anything other than an address meant he was desperate. Anika – and everyone else in the room – could feel the tension dripping from the dangerous Supe as he waited. Anika almost regretted handing over the information he asked for, but dared not to deny him what he asked.

It was a genuine joy when he found himself outside of your meek apartment, gazing into the privacy of your home. It was getting late, well after 8pm now, and yet you still weren’t home. Just as the possibilities began swimming in his head about what could be keeping your attention this late at night you walked through the front door, dropping your keys in a bowl on the counter and immediately walking to the bedroom. He gulped down as you pulled your shirt over your head, reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra. You lived high enough up in the building to where you felt safe enough to do this – to undress in front of an open window, free from the prying eyes of the streets. But you weren’t free of him now. You’d probably never be free of his obsession again.

You wiggled your hips as you worked your jeans down the curve of your hips, your thighs, dropping to the floor and giving Homelander a glance of what you had to offer him – though with your back to him, he still couldn’t see what he wanted the most. Still, the view was enough to make him begin to tent his pants despite the cool evening air on the rooftop. You let your hair down from the messy updo it had been in all day and run your fingers through your hair as you walked to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine in your underwear. Taking in a big drink you turned to walk back to your bedroom, and Homelander couldn’t help but push his pants down, face cold and emotionless as he watched you parade around your apartment looking delicious for him.

You walked to a record player and began an old jazz album before walking to the bathroom to run some water for a bath, right as Homelander grasped his cock in his fist, hissing at the feeling into the dark night. You swallowed another large drink of your wine and walked back into your bedroom, grabbing a vibrator from the nightstand and laying back on your bed. You would be sick to your stomach if you knew you were on complete display for him like this and the thought made his cock twitch in his hand as Homelander began working an orgasm from himself right as you ran the toy along your folds. He had never been more thankful for his sense of hearing than the moment he heard a moan fall from your lips.

Groaning at the combined visual of the vibrator slipping into you and the beautiful sounds you made (which he felt was a much better use of your pretty mouth than your little podcast), he began to pump himself faster and harder, eyes briefly rolling back into his head before he pulled himself together again. His eyes needed to stay glued to you right now – needed to watch you pleasure yourself. Clearly your life wasn’t so fucking miserable, after all.

Homelander didn’t last long before he came into the air, not giving a single thought as to where it would land as it fell from the building’s roof, nearly yelling out a groan as you moaned once more. Allowing yourself a moment to come down from your high you then slipped the toy from your sopping core before throwing back the rest of the wine and walking your way into the bathroom to finish unwinding from your day. When you disappeared into the bathroom where Homelander could no longer see you he took this as his opportunity to return to his own home.

It was infuriating for him…wanting you to adore him as everyone else should, knowing you despised him, and witnessing how fucking hot you could be. It was obvious your life couldn’t be so bad considering you appeared to have a job, an apartment, and enough drive to pleasure yourself the moment you got home. For a moment Homelander wondered if you had been with a man who couldn’t please you tonight, so you finished the job yourself when you returned home – but he pushed the thought from his mind when he felt the anger boil within himself again.

It just wasn’t fair. He should be allowed to have whatever he wanted – he was a god, and god didn’t have to ask for things. They shouldn’t have to convince anyone to love them. Fear and respect for those superior should come naturally to everyone, and yet here this weaker non-super powered human was having the audacity to say such horrible things about him…having the audacity to ruin his homecoming this way. All he’d been able to focus on since he got home was you and your hatred for him when he should’ve been masturbating on his couch to all of the beautiful things people had to say about him. A journalist in his city as beautiful as you who only had negative things to say about him? That wouldn’t do, and he would get you in line no matter what he had to do. He would do anything to hear your praises, including putting in a phone call to an old acquaintance for a favor involving kidnapping his pesky journalist to get a point across – and he didn’t even have to ask nicely.

And so as you slept that night a nightmare came true as a stranger crawled through your window to do Homelander’s bidding.

There wasn’t much to decipher about your current situation, and as day after day passed you began to lose that fighting spirit you usually displayed with pride and the pit in your stomach seemed to grow. You were fairly certain you’d been on this concrete floor in a windowless room for at least 3 nights now, and you were beginning to come to terms with the horrible facts about your situation – you probably weren’t going to like whatever came next, whether it was trafficking, or worse. You hadn’t heard another human voice in the time here, despite the fact someone – a man – stuck his arm in through the door to hand you food and water. It wasn’t exactly comforting to know that he was trying to keep you alive.

The time passed slowly in isolation and only seemed to pass slower as new aches and pains sprang forth everyday from the harsh concrete beneath you. It felt like every couple of hours you were crying again, desperate to be home and in your bed, desperate to feel the sunshine on your face, desperate to hear someone, anyone talk to you. But reality was often cruel to you and now was no exception. Fortunately for your breaking spirit, the third sleep would be your last. There was no way to discern what time it was when crashing sounds could be heard above you, startling you and immediately sending you into a panic attack. Whatever it was upstairs sounded horrible – like the tossing of furniture, yelling, loud thuds – and you were certain this could only mean bad things for you.

As the door to the small prison you found yourself in was ripped off its hinges you felt the tears flow down your cheeks faster than they ever had, a sob leaving your lips as you buried your face in your knees, fearing for the worst. The sound of boots came closer and it felt like your heart was going to stop before that voice filled your ears – a voice you knew well, and often wished you didn’t, but right now it was the best sound you’d ever heard.

“Uncover your eyes, ma’am,” his overly-confident voice slipped into your ears, his tone even and soothing in all of the uncertainty you’d been feeling. “You’re safe now.”

You uncovered your eyes from the curtains of your shaky hands and they found their way to his outstretched hand before settling on the two sapphires that embedded themselves as eyes in his skull. You reached out one of the hands to his, which he used to firmly, yet surprisingly gently, lift you to your feet, pulling you against him to steady you as your legs began to give out. You hadn’t gotten to do much moving the last couple of days, and the concrete had done your muscles and bones no favors.

Supporting your full weight against his solid frame with an arm around your waist the strongest man in the world helped you outside, failing to push the thoughts of how your body felt against his from his mind to try to be the best hero he could for you right now. When the cool, fresh air sucked into your lungs for the first time in days the tears came harder. Your mind continued to go into hyperdrive as the sirens surrounding you flooded your ears and the cameras of far away yet too close news vans. Your chest began to rise and fall faster as a sob fell from your lips, your lungs desperately attempting to find stability.

He turned to you as your breaths became more desperate, your eyes darting around at all of the different people, all of the noises, everything happening , frantically trying to make sense of things you didn’t understand – that no one should have to understand. His hands reached to cup your cheeks in his hands and he turned his head down to look at you fully, eyes burning like ice into yours. His thumbs brushed themselves over your cheekbones lightly as his voice dropped so only you could hear him.

“Hey now, miss,” his voice was gentler, less arrogant yet still confident as he tried to bring you back to Earth. For the first time you understood how so many people could find comfort in this Adonis of a man – this close to him the world didn’t matter because there was nothing that could ever hurt you, because there was nothing that could come close to him. “I need you to breathe with me. Deep breaths, right with me. I know you can do that.”

He was so reassuring, and hearing this man that could truly do anything instill confidence in you being able to do something with him gave your brain a moment of clarity. You nodded your head in his surprisingly soft hands and found yourself incapable of looking away from his eyes as he began to coach you through deep breaths, your body relaxing as the oxygen settled within you and thanking this man by relaxing into the safety of his grasp. When your breathing steadied enough you clenched your eyes closed, tears spilling onto his hands. At another time, in another place, he’d have licked the salty liquid off to sample what you had to offer, but here, in front of these cameras, he was intent on being your perfect hero.

“Thank you, Homelander,” you managed out with a shaky, unused voice that caused his eyes to close, his fingertips to sink into your skin at your cheeks just a little deeper before he remembered himself and stepped away, swallowing a whine at the loss of warmth beneath his hands. His eyes opened again to meet yours and he gave you his best smile, one that you couldn’t deny made your heart skip a beat, despite where you were and what you’d lived through the days prior.

“I need you to go to Vought to file a report…to have photos taken of your condition…before we can get you home. The best doctors in the city will take care of you if anything is wrong,” he spoke dutifully, like he had done this a million times because he had , but this time it was more important to him than ever to ensure his words carried weight. To ensure that you felt the safety of him. He dropped his voice lower to continue, “I will be there to take care of you every step of the way.”

All you could do was nod and relinquish yourself to this man – this man who you knew was so dangerous. The reasonable voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to remember your hatred for him but the horrible, terrified part of your soul that longed to be cared for latched itself onto him, anchoring into the act he was putting on display for you. He steadied you against his frame just as he had before to escort you to a black suv, helping you into the backseat before leaning against the roof to speak into the car to you.

“These drivers will take good care of you,” his voice was soft, reassuring, coaxing you into relaxation you craved as you felt the first soft surface against your body in days. He noticed how your features relaxed and a light smile played out on his lips briefly. “I will meet you at the Vought medical center when you arrive. I’ll arrive before you.”

“N-no,” your voice was louder than it had been before, desperate to silence the plan he had in mind. Your hand reached out to grab anything you could on his suit, and when the fabric wouldn’t give your hand found its way to his shoulder, grasping like he may disappear at your fingertips at any moment. “Please.”

You were tired and it was all you could manage, but he didn’t need to hear more than those two words from you to understand what you wanted of him – what you needed of him. Your eyes were once again widened with worry, and he found himself slipping into the backseat of the car next to you, shooting a look to the cameras as he went. He didn’t know why he did it – perhaps it would make him look good to be with a victim every step of the way, gain him more points with women. Deep down, however, the supe knew that the real reason he found himself riding in a fucking car to Vought for the first time in so long was because you had choked out the most broken, desperate ‘please’, and he just couldn’t bring himself to refuse you what you wanted.

It wasn’t long into the drive that Homelander was rewarded for his desperate ploy for your attention when you succumbed to the comfort of the vehicle, falling asleep with light breaths cascading from your lips as your head rolled from the headrest to his shoulder. He’d never felt more justified in his actions than in this moment. He started dreading moving you away from him prematurely, and instructed the drivers to take a longer route. He deserved this moment to last as long as he wanted it to.

When he was content with the length of the drive, content with the way you seemed to melt into his side as your sleep deepened, he allowed the drivers to return to Vought, where he gently reached a hand up to touch your cheek, voice gentle as he spoke your name to bring you back to consciousness. Forgetting your safety momentarily you jolted awake, hand shooting out to grab his where you clutched it against your face, eyes finding his and realizing yourself again. His hand melted against your cheek and he didn’t mind your grasp around it in the slightest – it’s not like you could ever hurt him or stop him if you really wanted to, and your hands were soft.

Giving you a moment to center yourself and taking obvious, deep breaths beside you, in this proximity he enjoyed the flecks of color in your eyes and the freckles that formed constellations across your nose and cheeks. He hadn’t noticed these smaller details about you before, and he wondered how many more small details he could find decorating your body, but he once again pushed the thought down before he became too eager. His performance of the day was far from over.

He released your face from his gentle hold and exited the vehicle first, shooting a look over to the crowds of people holding cameras and phones to see their favorite hero do what he did best. As the door opened you heard the noise from the building again and your breath seemed to catch in your throat again. The bewildered, frantic look returned to your eyes that reminded Homelander of an animal stuck in the path of a predator, and he exhaled deeply, turning back to face the crowd and analyze the best way to address this situation. He’d never turn cameras away from capturing his glory, but you needed to be taken care of by him.

He offered his hand to you again to direct you to exit the car. You hesitated, unwilling to feel crushed by the weight of the world around you outside of the vehicle, but ultimately slipped your hand into his and allowed him to assist you off of the comfort of the soft seat. His eyes flickered down into yours as he kept you between the car and himself, blocking you from the cameras that awaited your arrival. What a world you lived in where you couldn’t be rescued from being kidnapped without your image being everywhere.

“We’re going to have to walk past them,” he spoke low and direct, leaving no room for a counterargument to his plan. All you could do was stare up into his eyes, surrendering to the fact that you would ultimately listen to whatever he asked of you, not that he really asked. “If you trust me, I can make it more comfortable for you.”

Your head bobbed in a nod before you really thought about what you were agreeing to, unsure still due to the lack of details until he pulled you under his arm, keeping a firm hand around your shoulders as he used his other hand to reach down and wrap his cape up to cover you, shielding you from the harsh world. He smiled his most dashing smile for any cameras he could, all the while speaking soft praises about how well you were doing as the two of you walked toward the building. Several times he declined to stop for a selfie with those who asked, stating that he had a more important job to focus on right now.

This was definitely why millions of people loved him. This is why people had spent the past year relentlessly attacking you online, saying you had no idea what you were talking about when it came to your criticisms of him. You had said so many horrible things about him and yet today he ripped a door from its hinges from you, and now he was ensuring you made it into the privacy of the building without slipping into another state of panic. He was a hero. Right now he was your hero.

Once inside he released you from under his cape and spun you back around to face him, his hand resting on your shoulder as his eyes met your face again, scanning for any sign of discomfort. The two of you were immediately joined by a team of people, primarily medical professionals and the Vought equivalent of detectives who started to maneuver you into an elevator. You desperately reached for his forearm, not ready to let him go and relinquish the safety net that he had enveloped you in. He was happy to oblige your need for him and he stepped next to you, mentally noting how your fingernails sank into his skin. He could get used to that.

He stayed next to you for the majority of the day after that. While you were being examined he’d gone to get you water – a whole 32 ounces of electrolyte balanced water and he’d asked you so nicely to drink it. After the medical examination and clearance (you had some bruises he definitely wasn’t privy to or happy about, but that could be addressed later), he’d gone to fetch you some wet wipes and a change of clean clothes, wishing for once that he had a real shirt to provide you with. Of course, he’d stashed your underwear in his suit instead of turning it in with the evidence…surely someone would ask, but it could be covered up. It could always be covered up for him.

You’d been offered many places to stay tonight other than your own apartment – Maeve’s spare bedroom, Starlight even jumped in to offer her bed (she’d take the couch), Vought offered to pay for a hotel room after being urged to by Homelander. You’d passed on every offer, insisting that you wanted to sleep in your own bed, that you needed to use your shower. You did have one, simple request, however.

“I…would feel better if you came with me, Homelander,” you’d barely spoken above a whisper, your voice still coarse undoubtedly from the screaming you’d certainly done throughout your ordeal. He couldn’t stop the light smirk that fell across his features at your request, his ego feeling the boost of your desire for him. “If you could check my doors…and windows.”

And so he had escorted you home, once again joining you in the back of an SUV and once again enjoying the heat passing between the closeness of your bodies. Walking into the confines of your apartment punched him in the face with the overwhelming scene of you everywhere, all around him, and he had to close his eyes in the doorway to pull himself together before he set off on his final job of the night – making you feel safe in his absence.

The door was checked twice, and he pointed out that he would have the locks changed the next day. Each and every window was inspected top to bottom, locked and pulled on, and checked for any cracks before he returned to where you sat on the couch, curled into the corner with a glass of wine in your hand, staring at nothing, your mind actually miles away. He moved to the side of the couch and crouched down, reaching out to touch your arm gently to coax you from your trance. With another jump your eyes found his and a relieved breath passed through your lips.

“Everything is locked tight…no one is getting in here. I put my phone number on your nightstand…just in case,” he was choosing to act so nonchalant but in actuality his insides were marveling at the way you seemed to be holding on to his every word. Your eyes found his again and he could see the conflict in them, and briefly considered asking you to stay with him, to allow him to protect you…but he knew you’d say no. Staying with him would be too much on top of the last four days. “Try to sleep tonight, your body needs it.”

You nodded and finished the glass in one swift drink, setting the glass on the coffee table before turning your head to look back up at him again, contemplating the questions in your mind that you weren’t entirely ready to face. As you attempted to stand your knees gave out, muscles caving to the pain from sleeping on the concrete floor and from walking the most you had in days for hours. Luckily your hero was there and he had the best reflexes on the planet, and he only had to reach out one arm across your waist to stabilize you, pulling you close to his chest in the process to ensure you didn’t actually fall. As he looked down at you his eyebrows furrowed so quickly a camera would miss it in a genuine show of concern for you.

“If I leave here tonight, are you going to start falling all over the place?”

You couldn’t help the light laugh that left you with a huff of breath through your nose, and you shook your head, rolling your eyes at his light humor. Laughing at him and enjoying his attention felt wrong, but the part of you that craved his protection shoved the guilt down. “Maybe you can just help me to bed? I probably won’t move once I’m there.”

With a nod he faced you forward and took his place by your side, wrapping an arm across your lower back to steady you as he took you to bed, head swimming with the many different ways he’d rather be carrying out this task – but to truly win you over, he needed to be kind. A gentleman. A true American hero – and he had practice. Once you were comfortably laying against the familiarity of your own bed you released the most delicious, pleasured breath from your lips and Homelander’s heart wrenched at the sound, filled with the desire to work those sounds from you himself. He kneeled next to the bed, face close to yours, eyes serious as he wished you a goodnight in the best way he could while playing this role.

“I will catch the man that did this to you,” he assured, and noted how your eyes seemed to melt at his declaration of intent to seek justice for you. “And I will make sure he can never hurt you again.”

It had been four days since Homelander had left you alone that night. You opted to stay home, only leaving the walls of your apartment to meet delivery drivers for food. Going to the grocery was not something you were quite ready to tackle. To your surprise, Homelander had not returned (to your knowledge, at least – in actuality he had returned every day, sometimes twice a day, just to peek through that wide open window and hope to see a glance of you) since he’d brought you home that night. While you repeatedly reminded yourself that he was likely trying to capture whomever had done this to you.

Even still, you found your mind frequently wandering to him – wondering when you’d see him again, swallowing the disgust you felt toward yourself for wanting to see him again, thinking about how safe it felt to be held against him. This fourth night was particularly difficult – you were lonely, yet weren’t ready to face the questions of your usual friends or leave your apartment, for that matter. As you settled yourself onto the couch for yet another old black-and-white film, a knock at the door caused your heart to jump and your stomach to sink. Standing and walking toward the door cautiously, you decided to use your voice before unlocking the new locks that had been installed three days before. Just because Homelander hadn’t been around didn’t mean he wasn’t upholding promises.

“Who is it?” You tried to sound intimidating, you really did, but the fear was rising in your torso and settling in your chest and you suddenly felt like you weren’t breathing enough at all. You tried to suck in a steady breath, remembering the way Homelander had taught you to do so just days before, as the voice you most wanted to hear sounded through the door.

“I wanted to let you know I found the man,” he stated simply, ignoring the question you’d asked altogether. You didn’t need him to answer it, anyway – the moment you recognized the familiar ring of his voice you were unlocking the doors, and were soon face to face with him. You gulped as you realized this must have been recent, as he was covered in dirt, and a mixture of blood and sweat painted his face and caused pieces of his hair to cling to places it normally didn’t. He continued as you opened the door and his eyes met yours, “he fired a gun at me, so I had to eliminate the threat. He won’t be bothering you again.”

You released that breath you’d been trying to focus on and leaned against the door frame, closing your eyes to take in the news for a moment. Maybe you could go outside again. Maybe you didn’t have to be so afraid. Maybe you’d never meet another man like that again – one willing to create this fear in you. Maybe Homelander would always be around to protect you now.

And he would. Mentally he knew that now. He couldn’t stay away despite any effort he put into the task. Yesterday he’d told himself he would only stop by your apartment once to check-in on you, needing to put some distance there, needing to get over this infatuation he had. Instead, he’d shown up at your apartment four times that day, finding himself rubbing his cock fiercely and coming over a photo he’d printed of you and him – it had printed in the newspaper and was of the day he rescued you, with his hands cupping your face as he reminded you how to breathe. He was trying to stay away from you, from this human who had created such a response in him, but he couldn’t help himself any longer. He needed your attention, he needed your gratification, he needed to hear you praise him…he needed you to need him.

And so he’d done what thousands of other men have done in history: he murdered a man to impress and win a woman. He reached out a gloved hand to you to lightly tap your chin, asking you without words to look at him. He needed you to look him in the eyes – he needed to see how you flushed under his attention. You granted his wish and he noticed the tears in your eyes, tears that appeared not to be from sadness, but from gratification. Of relief. Of sheer joy. And it was all because of him.

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say other than…thank you,” you were bashful under this intense gaze from him and tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as he gave you a smile somewhat different from his normal – somewhat genuine. Somewhat natural. He couldn’t stop himself from catching the tear that fell from one of your eyes on his gloved finger, and he fawned at the way your lips fell open at that simple gesture. His mind could only wonder what your reactions to more serious actions from him would be. Ignoring the thick tension between you he leaned slightly closer, his arm resting above yours on the door frame, towering over you.

His eyes met yours as he spoke, the smell of him entering your senses – the sweat, the dirt, the blood, but something else there…something alluring. You had to swallow the thought down as his suddenly unscripted, unpracticed, uncalculated words slipped an invitation to hell with him into your ears. “To thank me…you could come to a Vought fundraiser. Tomorrow night. It’s short notice, but I want you there.”

Your lips parted in that way that made them look so kissable again, and he had to resist the urge to dip his head down and sink his teeth into that tempting bottom lip. You seemed to accept that you were in no position to deny him, in no position to question anything he could ask when he’d proven to be your hero, proven to keep his word to you…you would never be able to say another bad thing about him again, and you knew that. He had ensured that the world knew he was your savior, and truthfully, you didn’t mind. He was your hero. He had righted the wrong that was done against you.

You nodded and tucked another falling piece of hair behind your ear, breathing in the scent of him again and beginning to feel slightly warmer than normal under this intensity of his gaze. “If you have someone send me details, I’ll make sure I’m there. Since…you asked so nicely,” he smiled again as you spoke and you couldn’t help but swoon at these genuine smiles he was giving you so freely right now, wondering how many other people got to see them. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow to…make sure I know what to do?”

You’d call him. The words repeated themselves in his head as he nodded. They repeated themselves for the hours that passed before he spoke to you in the morning. A dress would be at your apartment that afternoon. A car would pick you up for the event at 5:45. The event started at 6:30. And so the hours passed as both of you prepared for the event, both of your minds occupied with the possibilities an evening like this could hold – both of you unsure what these thoughts you were having meant.

Homelander had followed through and sent you everything you needed – including a dress that felt far too expensive for you, shoes, and a necklace that had the most beautiful, unique white gemstone cut into its center. It was all far too expensive – far too nice – for you, and you elected to opt out of wearing the necklace, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of the extravagant gifts. It was easier to collect yourself, to remember the stance you’d had on him for over a year now, when you weren’t frozen in his gaze. If you knew the truth of the desecration that went into Homelander’s chosen attire for you – that he’d rubbed the dress all over his body to cover you in his scent and that the unique gemstone was actually his cum encased and designed to look like a gem – the grand gestures would seem so wholesome and kind. In his mind, however, this was affection…or at least a form of affection he could provide.

He, of course, arrived at the event far before you did, far before most people did, but immediately began his waiting game for you, itching to see how you looked in the dress he’d chosen for you. When he caught a glimpse of someone’s watch, his jaw briefly clenched, despite the mask he was trying to present to the world right now.

Where were you? He couldn’t pay attention to whatever this dumb whore was talking about because his mind was burning with questions – were you just running it dangerously close to being late, or were you not truly coming at all? Just as the rage started to bubble in his stomach a new heartbeat entered the room and his head immediately turned to find its owner. When he saw you, he couldn’t have taken his eyes off of you if he wanted to. He gently moved shoved the woman who had been trying to work for his attention out of the way so nothing was in the way of your view of him as you made your way further – closer to him.

It wasn’t that he was particularly stylish, but he understood what made people look good, and that fact was proven once again by the way that the dress he’d chosen for you made you look tonight. The thin, metallic gold fabric clung and flowed around your body in a way that mimicked liquid. The v-cut line gave enough away to inspire Homelander to drag his tongue across his lips and stand a little taller, but kept enough up to the imagination that he didn’t feel the need to rip the heads off of every man who looked at you.

But you got closer and more of his senses kicked in, and he soon realized his earlier actions had been rewarded and you smelled so deliciously like him , mixed with the sweet scent of you. As the scent consumed him his cock twitched in his pants and he had to force a smile to cover the real things he was feeling, though anyone would be a fool to think he, or anyone else for that matter, would feel differently looking at you right now. You moved so gracefully, so lavishly as you made your way to him, a small smile dancing on your lips despite your best efforts. It wasn’t often you held the attention of the most famous man in the world.

There were too many eyes on you that weren’t his own and though there was comfort in the delicious mingling of your scents, he needed the room to know you looked this way for him tonight. You wore this dress for him, you’d clearly had your hair done for him, you were wearing the perfect shade of red on your lips for him…it was all for him. You were all for him. Maintaining what slight composure he could hold over himself when you looked like this, he covered the distance between the two of you and looked down at you over his nose, his blue eyes sparkling with something sinister as you looked up at him.

“I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show,” his confession caused you to still, your mind still not quite able to process these niceties from him, unable to comprehend that you may have been wrong about him. Giving you his best smile he enticed you to fall deeper into his trap, like a bee clumsily finding her way into a venus fly trap. He offered his arm to you and despite the parts of your brain screaming no you took it, wrapping your hands to clasp together around his bicep. His gloved hand found its way to your lower back, where the dress dipped to right above the curve of your ass, and he made a mental note to himself to take his gloves off at some point in the evening. “You didn’t like the necklace I sent you?”

Your cheeks burned red as you started walking with him, highly aware of all the eyes on the two of you as you made your way to the front of the room where a small stage awaited, surely, him. You shook your head and glanced up at him, voice still soft and timid since your ordeal. It only made him make another mental note – to find a way to make you be louder later. “Oh, it was lovely, I just…”

“Didn’t appreciate it?”

It was, in some ways, the same arrogant tone that he always used and yet different – insecure, questioning, maybe even a little frightened, and certainly much quieter than usual, much more intentionally for you alone. Your eyes glanced up to his face to find him facing forward, jaw set in a harsh way you hadn’t seen on him in person yet. He always looked so happy, so pleasant, so perfect around you…but now, he looked like a man fighting his own battles like everyone else.

“I loved it. It was so lovely. Everything is so…lovely,” fell from your lips in a desperate plea for his face to soften, for him to lighten the tension passing between the two of you. His features faltered slightly and his eyes glanced down at you briefly before r eturning to his hardened position. You lowered your voice to ensure only he could hear you. “Everything smelled so…good…when I opened the box from you earlier. That was a nice…touch.”

His lips parted slightly as his head turned down to look at you, shock written clearly across his face from your words of praise for him, in front of all of these people. When he remembered the surrounding guests he closed his mouth but immediately smiled, turning his eyes forward again to lead you abruptly to the right, away from the crowd. Sucking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Homelander chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly.

“You have no idea what you just did to me,” his voice was low, rumbling, and yet dripping with desperation as he led you away from the event. Finally reaching an elevator he dragged you inside, pressing the button for the floor he needed. Waiting for the elevator to rise for a moment he connected his fist with the emergency stop before turning to face you, placing your body between the wall and him. His eyes dragged down you so slowly as he leaned forward to inhale deeply, allowing a quiet groan to slip through his lips as he exhaled. “You should smell this way all of the time.”

Your body seemed to reach a boiling point immediately at his words, at how close he was, and how he felt like he was staring straight into you, examining exactly what made you tick – it was the only explanation for how he seemed to know exactly what the worst parts of you were crying for deep within. Pulling a glove from one hand he reached out to drag his fingers along your clavicle before flattening his hand at the base of your throat, sliding it up to grasp your jaw and tilt your head back to look at him fully. As he slipped his hand around your head and into your hair he dropped his voice again, “who do you look so gorgeous for tonight? Who made you show up looking so delicious?”

“You,” the affirmation came out as the saddest, most desperate moan that had ever passed through your lips and he smiled, his fingers gripping your hair at the back of your head and bringing you closer to his face. His eyes darted across your face, paying particular attention to your lips, as his free hand reached behind to start the elevator again. “Where…are you taking me?”

“Wherever I want,” was the reply that came from his mouth, quickly dismissing any idea of argument you had in your mind. He leaned his face closer to yours and breathed in deeply, groaning when the elevator door opened. Stepping away from you he gestured for you to exit ahead of him. “Through the door down the hall.”

For a moment part of your brain that was probably correct told you to refuse, to stay on the elevator and take it back down to the event you were here for, to avoid whatever Homelander was shepherding you toward. Your feet, and the embarrassing heat growing in your stomach from how he’d touched you and groaned for you betrayed your brain and delivered you exactly where he’d desired – The Seven meeting room.

Ignoring the door entirely and closing the distance between you when the realization hit he grabbed you by the back of your head again, voice quiet as he spoke, “why can’t you say nice things about me all of the time, hmm?”

His hand that wasn’t tangling fingers into your hair snaked its way down to your side, pulling you flush against him to which you both released a strangled, breathy moan. The room was on fire and you felt like your skin was melting as he walked you backward toward the table, forcing you to sit on the surface when you got exactly where he wanted you. Leaning over you fully he gave you no time to protest as his lips sought yours in desperation, releasing another groan at the feeling. Everything about him was pulling you in, anchoring you into him further and further and you couldn’t stop yourself from returning his kiss – from giving him what he wanted.

He didn’t ask to slip his silver tongue into your mouth but you didn’t deny him it either as his hand slid from your hip up to your left breast, squeezing firmly and moaning into your mouth once again. You pulled back, desperate for air right as his fingers pinched your nipple through the fabric of the dress he’d given you, and the most earnest of moans slipped from your mouth as your eyes rolled back, desperately grasping the edge of the table with your fingers. His voice was hurried, flustered, needy and yet so commanding, so precise as he leaned forward to speak in your ear, “you need to take this fucking dress off right now before I tear it to shreds. And I will.”

Your heart skipped and you felt how he huffed out a laugh against your neck briefly before pressing his lips against your neck, eliciting another moan from you. This was all it took from him to make you come undone? He chuckled again as he dragged his lips lower, to that tender spot where your neck and shoulder met where he dragged his teeth lightly, breathing in deeply. Your voice could hardly reach you when you managed out a hurried, “I…I’m not sure if…if this is okay, if we should…be doing this.”

The sound that left him was nothing more than a growl as he stood back over you, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. His eyes had become the ocean on a stormy night and he looked so dangerous, so much like a predator as he looked down at you, releasing his hold on the back of your head and sliding both hands to your hips. His voice was low, matter-of-fact and offered no hint of compromise as he repeated himself, “you need to take this fucking dress off. Right now. Before I tear it…to little…tiny…shreds. And I will.”

Your hands had already found the zipper at your side before he finished speaking and you lowered it, trying to shimmy the tight fabric down your body as you sat, unwilling to tell him you needed help. He was more observant than that and saw your struggle, lifting you to your feet and effortlessly lifting you up, smirking as the dress fell down your body. Sitting you back on the table he took a step back, drinking in the sight of you on his fucking team’s table. He crossed his arms, raising a hand to rest his chin on it as he looked at you in adoration before continuing with a lighter tone. “That’s better. We just have one thing to talk about.”

As your mind instantly went into a state of mild panic at what he could possibly want to talk to you about he moved to run his hands to your thighs, giving them a squeeze. You couldn’t help but moan quietly and found yourself unable to voice your protests as he used his knee to bump your legs apart, running the hand that remained gloved to your core, slipping it into your panties. As the gloved finger found your clit he pressed firmly, earning another desperate cry from your lips as your eyes widened up at him. He smiled his false innocent smile and rubbed that same finger in a circle, pausing when exactly one circle had been completed.

“You have said so many mean, ugly things about me on that little podcast of yours,” his voice was laced with disappointment, with genuine anger and a whininess you weren’t aware he could speak with. He rubbed another circle and finally took direction from the gasp that fell from your lips to slip his gloved middle finger down and straight into your pussy. You momentarily clenched at the intrusion but when the sweetest whimper fell from your lips he smirked, and removed the finger all too quickly. “I think I have been the perfect gentleman to you, and I would appreciate it if that depressing podcast could be erased. All of it.”

He reached to switch hands and slid his ungloved hand into your panties, immediately slipping his index finger into you as his gloved hand reached your mouth and he stuck the finger that had been inside you moments ago into your own mouth, groaning at the dumbstruck look that formed on your features as you tasted yourself. Keeping his finger in your mouth he forced your head to nod by placing his thumb under your chin and he looked so proud of himself as he added a second finger and began pumping them in and out of you, cherishing the flustered sounds of mild protest that came from your lips.

“That’s right, just agree. There’s no use telling me no,” his voice was teasing, low and laced with a sinister tone as he began pistoning his fingers in and out of you, looking down to watch how the digits disappeared within your tight, slick cunt. When he curled his fingers to rub the spongy patch deep within you the moan that left your mouth around his fingers was your loudest yet and he smirked, the blue pools eyes flickering back up to yours. “You sound so fucking pretty for me. Tell me how it feels.“

He removed his finger from your mouth so you could have free reign of your responses now, and he slid that now free hand back to your chest. He cupped a breast in his hand as his head followed the pursuit, leaning to slowly flick his tongue across your nipple, earning a gasp from both of you. You knew if you didn’t respond to his orders he was just going to get angry. “God, Homelander…your fingers feel so good. You’re so good at that.”

Your words of praise went through him like a knife and with a wanton groan his mouth attached itself to your breast, suckling your nipple and flicking his tongue across the sensitive nub as his fingers continued their assault. His fingers pumping in and out of your cunt were causing the most downright pornographic noises from your body as you continued to grow impossibly wetter, your body preparing for the sweet high of release. When his thumb connected with your clit and began rubbing rushed circles he removed his mouth from your breast to look deep into your eyes.

“I want you to come for me before you take my cock,” was his simple statement as his fingers inside you curled again, hellbent on discovering what made you come undone for him. He could feel your clenching walls around his fingers and the moans falling from your lips told him he’d have you under his spell. “I want you to tell me you’ll delete the podcast, and I’ll let you come, and then I’ll reward you with my cock.”

You couldn’t stop his name leaving your mouth as a moan which only pushed him further — only made him want you even more. With a low growl the speed his fingers were moving picked up as he connected his lips to your neck again, sucking softly at the skin over your pulse. If they didn’t know already, everyone downstairs would certainly know who you belonged to when you returned with his purple masterpieces covering your neck, chest, and shoulders. As the building feeling deep within you reached the point of no return your walls clenched around him and you whined as his fingers left you fully, his eyes glancing up expectantly at you. He wasn’t going to continue without you giving him what he wanted.

“P-please don’t stop,” were the desperate words that left your mouth as you planted a half kiss against his lips, your breath still leaving you in gentle pants. The heat inside your core was too much and being on the edge wasn’t enough — you needed him to push you. “I’ll delete it. You can delete it, we can delete it just please let me come for you.”

You weren’t coming for yourself, you were coming for him, and your confession earned his fingers entering into you again as he groaned, leading you toward your orgasm as he reached to work his cock free from his pants. With a cracking moan your walls clenched impossibly tighter around his fingers as your orgasm washed over you, panting breaths falling from your lips as the world seemed to melt around you. There was no time to waste (he did have a speech to make, after all) and the moment your orgasm finished you found his fingers exiting to make way for the head of his cock slipping into you. You’d hear the grunt that fell from his lips into your ear for the rest of your life.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he praised, his eyes never leaving the sight of inch by inch of his cock disappearing into you as you moaned again, your hands grasping his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself. If there was any point in arguing you’d tell the man he had to wear a condom, but you knew giving him orders would be futile. His thumb still attached to your clit rubbed a circle again, his lips meeting yours in a gentler kiss as he bottomed out within you, groaning as the head of his cock pushed at your cervix. Surprisingly, he did still to allow your body to adjust to his impaling. “Tell me how it feels.”

His words were desperate, pleading against your lips as one of his hands gripped your waist impossibly hard, surely leaving more purple in their path. The feeling of him stretching yours wall combined with this being the first you’d felt an unprotected cock inside of you had your chest tight, your heartbeat fluttering as you searched for the words he deserved. The words left your mouth in a pleasured sigh. “You feel perfect inside of me, Homelander . Please, please move.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. No longer needing to see how your face reacted to him claiming you, he forced you to flip on the table, your stomach against the cold material as he began to thrust in and out of you, his hips finding the pace that worked for you both almost immediately. His groans were damning and your moans only matched his sin as you pushed back into him, coaxing him to use your cervix as a punching bag.

One of his hands maintained its position at your waist as the other slid to connect with your neck, moving it to loosely wrap around your throat. The gasp that fell from your lips at the slight pressure of his hand told him to move faster and he did, plummeting into you like this was the only time he’d get to claim you. Without words the two of you knew that would never be the case. You were his now.

“That’s a good girl,” he purred out as he leaned down to connect his lips to your shoulder blade, sucking a mark in the spot for good measure. You took his praise as scripture and pushed back into him again, earning a deeper angle that resulted in a groan to erupt from his chest again. “That’s my good girl. My golden girl. Are you going to come for me again?”

You could only moan as his hand that had been on your hip slid south to reconnect a thumb to your swollen clit, beginning to rub relentlessly against the nub as his cock continued to be milked by your cunt. It was a good thing you had an implant, because convincing this man to spill his cum anywhere other than deep within you would have been pointless. To him, the best reward he could give you when you were being so good for him was his hot load deep within you. You should be so lucky to have his seed inside you.

“Yes,” you managed to breath out, your words hinting at your desperation for another release. His grasp on your neck tightened and despite that you fought to coax him toward his own finish alongside you. “You feel so good. You fuck me just right. P-please give me your cum, Homelander.”

The sound that erupted from him was probably best described as a roar as he picked up his pace, trying to remind himself not to break you but unable to stop the ferocity at which he began pounding into you. As the world shrunk to only this room and the two of you in it the euphoric state began to wash over you once again and you felt your walls clench around him, his name leaving your mouth as a scream. Hoping that everyone downstairs could hear you, hear what he was doing to you, he gave another harsh thrust before painting your walls with his cum, his movements becoming sloppy as he worked every last drop out of himself.

When he was certain he’d finished he removed himself from you, tucking his cock within his pants and grabbing your panties from around your ankles and raising them to their rightful place again just as his seed began to leak from you. His hand found its way to your cheek and his thumb brushed a gentle line across your cheekbone, his lips lowering to yours in a kiss. His words showed no sign of tiredness from his time with you.

“You’re going to keep those panties on and my cum is going to stay in them all night,” he placed another kiss to the corner of your mouth before continuing. “We’re going to go downstairs, we’re going to be the perfect couple for these fucking ingrates, and then you’re going to take me to your apartment so we can delete that podcast.”

As you re-entered the elevator with him your eyes connected with the smashed emergency stop button before drifting back up to him, soaking in the proud look that covered his face as he leaned against the elevator wall. A realization washer over you as your eyes cling to him like a sculpture in a museum — you were completely fucked.

Fucked, as it turned out, was a slight understatement. The moment the elevator doors had opened and the two of you stepped out he had wrapped an arm securely around your waist, holding you against him as he made his way back to the center of the room where a round stage was awaiting him. The event had gone on in your absence and the room was full to the brim with Supes and people kissing their asses.

There was no rush to his step as he proudly displayed you to everyone who could see, stopping to say hello and make pleasant, drawn out introductions to seemingly anyone who asked. His arm maintained its hold around your waist the entire time, his fingers occasionally pressing harder into you. The purple hickeys decorating your neck and shoulders went unnoticed by none.

By the time you made it to the center of the room it was time for him to give his speech, and he made sure to give your side a brief squeeze before leaving you next to The Deep…one of the only idiots he still felt he truly had control of. His eyes connected perfectly with camera after camera as he monologued for several minutes about the honor it was to protect New York City. When it was clear he was wrapping things up he stepped to the edge of the stage in front of you, his eyes meeting yours once more as he tapped your nose.

“Mostly, I have to say the best part about the job is getting to save the beautiful people of this city,” he practically cooed, his gloved hand cupping your face in a gesture that caused the cameras around you to flash and several voices to "aw."

There were immediately noticeable perks to being this close to Homelander, and even you couldn’t ignore him. People were more respectful to you, and consistently prepared to shower you with compliments at his prompt – “Doesn’t she look so lovely tonight?”. Men kept their eyes anywhere away from anywhere that wasn’t your face, afraid what offering true appreciation toward you would bring unto them. You were constantly brought snacks on trays to choose from and had three glasses of champagne before he decided to cut you off.

“I don’t need my golden girl sloppy for me tonight,” he tutted quietly, leaning from behind you so his mouth nearly connected with your ear. You could hear the smile in his voice that formed when your heart rate picked up and goosebumps decorated your skin. “I hope you haven’t forgotten that I’m not done with you.”

It was only a mere two hours before he decided it was time for the two of you to leave. It took a considerable amount of back and forth between the two of you before he conceded to allow you to take a car back to your place. As he helped you into the back of the SUV with a hand on the small of your back he pressed a firm kiss to the side of your head, leaning in to buckle you into the seat. His voice was once again lower, free of the light lilt he used to be camera ready.

“You know,” just those two words dripped with sarcasm and you knew whatever was to follow would match. “You’d be safer flying with me than driving around in these big metal death boxes. Some junkie could hit you with a truck…and what, you really think I’m going to drop you?”

A soft laugh fell from his lips before he pressed a final kiss to your forehead, withdrawing from the car before taking off into the sky. Finally alone you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, laying your head back and closing your eyes as you soaked in these moments alone, processing the evening. The more familiar your surroundings became the more your worries grew, remembering what he had promised to do. Your heart was pounding by the time you stepped out of the car, the cool air sending a chill down your spine.

From the sidewalk you could see the silhouette of Homelander standing on your rooftop, awaiting your arrival with his arms crossed firmly behind his back. You were certain he could hear you as you made your way inside, leaning against the wall of the elevator and preparing yourself for what awaited you – not that anything could really prepare you for what awaited you. When you exited the elevator and rounded the corner toward your apartment you nearly froze at the sight of your door wide open, his star-spangled back waiting for you in the doorway already.

When you approached the doorway yourself he finally turned, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth set in a hard line. The annoyance in his voice was evident, and now that you were truly alone his voice was free of any mask. As you closed the door his right hand raised, the necklace he had sent to you dangling from his fingertips, his gloves having been placed on one of your counters.

“I wished this was on you all night,” his voice rumbled in your ears as he stepped closer to you, circling around you much like a predator. As he stepped around behind you he brushed your hair away from your neck, placing himself right up against your backside. “Hold up your hair so I can see how perfect you could have looked.”

Your cheeks burned hot as you reached behind yourself to lift your hair into your hand, your fingers shaking lightly with the nervousness of the situation. The metal of the necklace was cool against your skin as he placed the delicate chain around your neck, fastening it with little fuss. His hands slid across your shoulders and down your arms before turning you to face him, his eyes eagerly dragging downward toward your chest.

His hands reached to grasp your hips, pulling you forward toward him with a hum of approval as he soaked in the experience that was you wearing exactly what he wanted and already covered by purple hickeys from him. Lowering his head he crashed his lips into yours, grasping you tighter as if he feared you may try to stop him – not that you could. Your lips were still tender and lightly bruised from your earlier kisses and yet you pushed yourself to return his kiss, unwilling to leave him feeling rejected.

As his tongue worked your lips open one of his hands slid to work the zipper to your dress, eager to see you on full display for him again. As he tasted the remnants of champagne and chocolate on your tongue the dress fell to the floor, making up for you removing your heels by lifting you to his height with ease. As he pulled away from the kiss he released another hum of approval at the warmth of your body even through his suit – but it wasn’t enough.

Taking a few steps further into your apartment he placed you on the kitchen island, spreading your thighs when you instinctively closed them. His voice was firm, commanding, and somehow laced with desperation as he took a few steps away from you, beginning to remove his suit. “That bra and those panties better be off by the time I make my way back over there…” he huffed out, his eyes now cloudy with lust as he watched your fingers immediately set in on the task.

When you released your breasts from their restraints and tossed the fabric to the side you noticed how his hands faltered, his breath catching at the full sight of your breasts accompanied by the necklace hanging just above them. Running his eyes down you again he removed his own boots, lifting the torso of his suit up and off with slight hesitation.

He hadn’t been barred to you this way before and he caught the way your breath caught in your throat and your heart rate skipped momentarily at the sight of him. The way your body responded to him was a sweet compliment, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the need he had to hear everything you were thinking. It was impossible to mask the desperation in his voice as he barked out another order to you, his voice slightly breathless.

“Tell me what you think,” he begged, his blue eyes meeting yours as he worked his boots off, kneeling as he did so. It ended up being the perfect height for him to receive the beautiful view that was presented by you removing your panties and tossing them across the apartment. “About how I look without the suit.”

Feeling self conscious about how exposed you were to him as he stood up and dragged his eyes across your body you moved to play with your hair, aware covering yourself would make him angry. His hands moved to work his pants free from his body as you bit your lip, your cheeks heating up as he truly started to just look like a normal guy, albeit an incredibly attractive one. His eyebrows beginning to pull together again was your cue that you were taking too long to respond.

“You’re…a very attractive man, Homelander,” you breathed out, an unfamiliar tone of submission filling your voice. His pants dropped to the floor at your words and his cock sprang free, giving a slight twitch at your compliment. Your eyes met his and with that simple look you knew what you’d given wasn’t enough. At the same time, you found yourself unable to give more, unsure what words would be enough for him and still figuring out how to navigate around him.

Resorting to a more universal language you beckoned him forward, your hands seeking out the firm muscles on his biceps to pull him closer to you as you placed a soft, experimental kiss to his chest. Tilting your head barely backward, your eyes sought his to find his filled with hunger, his hands finding your shoulders to hold you closer. Leaning downward he placed a firm kiss to your forehead which instantly buried your worries that you weren’t doing enough, only to have them reignited as he pulled you from the counter, carrying you across your apartment. You assumed he was headed toward your bed, but as he approached your desk and sat your ass against the cool glass top you were quickly reminded of his real reason for being here.

The podcast.

Sinking into the chair you’d spent so many hours of your life in he clicked your computer to life as his eyes scanned every inch of your torso that he was granted access to earlier in the evening. Keeping his right hand on the computer mouse he reached his other hand lazily to your chest, cupping one of your breasts and rubbing his thumb over the nipple as he pulled up various websites – your website, your YouTube channel, Twitter, and the DropBox you kept everything stored in. Once satisfied he had everything on the screen he needed he pulled you closer to the edge of the desk, sliding the chair to the side to sit in front of you.

He hadn’t gotten the proper opportunity to showcase to you exactly how much he appreciated your breasts, and decided the podcast could wait just a few minutes longer while he took this moment to do so. His hands – almost lovingly – slid up your stomach to eventually cup both of your breasts, an appreciative hum rumbling in his chest at the feeling of the soft tissue beneath his fingertips. Satisfied that he couldn’t fit them in his hands fully he began to knead into them lightly eyes seeking yours again.

His mouth pressed hot and wet kisses down the space between your breasts before he turned, eagerly taking your already hardened nipple into his mouth and circling the nub with his tongue. With a moan he began suckling, rolling your other nipple between his fingers in his other hand. He continued his attention on your breasts for a few moments before pulling his mouth away, dragging your nipple between his teeth as he did so. His voice was desperate, unhinged, and a tone you had only heard him use for you – in a way, it was special, and you recognized it as such.

“Come here, you remarkable little -” he tried to purr before he cut himself off, forgetting his intended term as he chose to suck a purple mark into the side of your breast, easing the brief pain with a light brush of his tongue across the skin.

Grasping his cock in his hand he motioned for you to come to him, which you found yourself almost eager to oblige. Climbing into his lap to straddle him you found the head of his cock slipped into you almost with ease as you were already embarrassingly wet from the attention he had been providing you with. A sinful groan slipped past his lips as your walls welcomed him in again, both hands grasping your hips to steady you.

“So fucking tight,” he practically whined, lowering his face into your neck to make an attempt at covering such a pathetic noise. As you accepted inch by inch of him again another whine left his chest and his teeth brushed against the hollow of your neck before you’d taken all of him, his well-trimmed curls brushing against your clit. When he was completely inside you he reached behind you to press play on one of the podcast episodes, using his other hand to hold you still. He chuckled at your feeble attempt to move your hips against his, forgetting for a moment who was holding you. “I wish I could fuck you, sweetheart, but…we have to take care of this podcast first, don’t we? I wish we didn’t, but we do.”

You whined and stilled your attempt at movements as your eyes met his, a small nod giving him enough of a response at the current moment. Bringing your hands up to his shoulders you clutched to him, prepared to raise yourself off of him at his instruction. Another chuckle left his lips as he shook his head, his hand holding you down to him. His voice, while still low and desperate, was now full of affection and adoration as he spoke to you.

“Oh no, baby…you’re staying right here, with me inside of you…feels too good,” he breathed out deep, leaning forward so your foreheads connected in a moment of what at any other time would be considered intimacy. Now, however, your own voice was filling your ears from the speakers of your computer, an episode of the podcast you’d made months ago playing in the background. “But you’re going to apologize for all of these mean things you’ve said about me.”

Almost on cue your voice from the past said words you remembered saying well – “Homelander is everything wrong with superheroes.” His eyes were pained as he heard the words once again, his head shaking. To his surprise, he didn’t even have to prompt the words from you.

“I’m sorry, Homelander,” you breathed out quietly, closing your eyes tightly and anticipating an explosion from him as he withdrew his forehead from yours. With firm and swift movements he pushed your head against his shoulder, his fingers lacing into your hair to hold you against him as he focused his attention on deleting content.

It went on like that for over an hour, with him inside you, holding you closely and playing clips of your own words while you apologized to him with words, gentle kisses, and soft caresses. Eventually, there was only one episode left – and you recognized the episode from the title alone when he read it aloud.

“This is what confuses me, darling,” he stated plainly, pulling your hair slightly to tilt your head back to fix your gaze on his. His other hand pressed play as his icy eyes met yours once again, his eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. “In parts of your podcast you say some really intelligent, hard-hitting stuff.”

“If there’s anyone on this planet who is a bigger fraud than Homelander it is Stan Edgar himself, who should absolutely be looked at for a litany of legal and ethical issues – yet somehow manages to live above everyone.”

“I was so proud of you the first time I heard you say that,” his words were genuine, the look in his eyes matching the tone as he brought one hand up to cup your cheek. He paused the podcast for a moment to brush his thumb across your cheek, his movements slow and intentional. “How could you possibly say something so intelligent, so brave for someone with no powers…only to follow it up with something as cruel as this.”

He didn’t need to press play for you to know the words you were about to hear from yourself.

“I do have to say that some days I just feel bad…because Homelander is definitely the result of someone who wasn’t hugged enough as a child.”

As soon as that phrase was done he pressed delete, removing the last of the official evidence of your podcast from the internet. His eyes stayed on yours and you noticed how his features twitched involuntarily, a trait that seemed to happen when he was attempting to cover an annoyance. Was there an apology that could suffice for that one?

“Homelander, I -”

“Shut up,” it was firm, unquestionable and even slightly threatening as he stood from the chair, keeping his hold on you steady so his cock remained buried in you as he made his way to your bed. To your surprise he laid on his back, allowing you to straddle his waist and lean over him. His eyes immediately went to your breasts, his tongue darting out to slicken his lips. “Do you want to apologize to me?”

“Yes,” your response was pathetically fast and little more than a whine, eager to do anything to take the edge off of his voice again. You would have never guessed his next words, nor would you have expected the dripping desperation in his tone.

“Use my cock to come,” he whined, his hands now eagerly grabbing for your breasts to pull you closer, his mouth seeking the soft flesh of your breasts again. His face was mostly hidden by the flesh of your breasts as he ran his tongue over one of your nipples, his voice barely audible as he begged in a way he had done for so few in his life. “Please, take what you want just…tell me how good I am.”

Finally free to move as you pleased you immediately ground your waist down into his, moaning at the feeling of him finally moving inside you slightly. With a moan of his own he took the nipple he’d yet to pay attention to into his mouth, suckling eagerly and stealing a glance up into your face. As the two of you reached orgasms together, his eyes rolling back as his hands grasped your hips in an impossibly hard grasp, his hot seed painting your inner walls like his own personal art display. Finally releasing his mouth from your breast he whined quietly as his head leaned against your chest, soaking in a true moment of comfort. He had only experienced a few moments like these in his life, but this one was the most authentic, the most unscripted, and Homelander resigned himself to having at least a thousand more moments like these.

You had a new routine to get used to over the following weeks, and by the time December came around there was no leaving your apartment without the flash of cameras or strangers pretending they knew you. It was often too much, the attention and niceties you were paid everyday by people who weeks ago would never have paid any mind to you overwhelming you and making you wish for a moment to yourself. If you were lucky, Homelander would show up in these moments and instruct those around you to “stop their fussing”, adding another entry onto the perks of being with Homelander list.

In these beginning weeks he was being kind enough to allow you your own space still, and you had continued to sleep at your apartment, though it was seldom alone. Which is why when he told you that you’d be alone for two weeks while he accompanied a politician to Europe, it was almost panic-inducing to think about 14 days without him, and what that would mean for you. It wasn’t surprising when he instructed you that you’d spend the time in his apartment, which you had only briefly stopped into once thus far. He promised Ashley or The Deep would check-in on you daily and that you’d have everything you needed (except for him).

The night before he left he had displayed a moment of fear and weakness for you again, this time choosing to act out the frustration by fucking you so hard on his couch you’d be forced to stay in Vought Tower for at least a couple of days. For the first three days he was rewarded for his efforts during your nightly calls to hear that you’d really stayed in his apartment thus far, lounging on the couch and whining that he’d bruised you with his “super dick” – you could hear the smile and pride in his voice at your words, though you hardly meant them as a compliment. On the fourth day you were in better spirits, and had apparently invited The Deep to stay around for dinner – it was the first time Homelander had been forced to feel jealous over you.

“Well, I guess you don’t need me to come home, then,” he tried to cover the pain in his voice with indifference, though at this point he couldn’t get away with that with you. Still, his pride insisted he try. “I guess you prefer The Deep’s company, hmm? You replaced me quickly.”

“There is no replacement for you, Homelander,” you’d cooed, instantly soothing over the insecurity he felt and reassuring him that he had truly won you. There was no fighting the smile that spread on his face as you giggled, continuing with your kindness toward him. “As if The Deep could ever compare to you – as if anyone could come close to you.”

That particular phone call had stretched out to over an hour of you giving into his need for reassurance, filling the passing time with compliments and wishes that he would come home – filling the passing time with whatever he needed. Thus far, you had mostly managed to avoid driving him too far to anger, and he did reward you lavishly by ensuring you continued to want for nothing. The phone call ended with you confirming you were still sore from your last morning together, which had made his cock twitch in his pants.

After a week of you still feeling sore he was beginning to worry that he may have taken it a bit too far, and had even nearly expressed such when you whined on the phone to him once again, but insisted that you would be fine. For one of the first times in his life Homelander was genuinely worried about someone, and opted to call you on the ninth day much earlier than he had thus far. He expected you to sound surprised, yes, but he didn’t expect you to not be in his apartment – and he especially didn��t expect you to not be alone.

The voice he heard in the background of the phone call was clearly a man, and he was telling you he hoped you’d feel much better now. Despite the fact that Homelander desperately wanted to hear your voice he had hung up the phone immediately, leaving the boring, old ass building he was stationed in for the remainder of his trip to launch himself into the sky, his only focus returning to you – Vought and the entire U.S. government be damned. Seeing as you couldn’t get Homelander to answer your return call, you figured he must have gotten busy and had returned back to his apartment once your afternoon of errands was complete, intent on finally relaxing.

When he landed on the main balcony attached to his own apartment the sun had set, and yet none of the anger boiling within him had subsided. He stilled for a moment, focusing his ears on the sounds he could hear from inside. On the surface there was enough going on for him to know you were inside – a record from the 50s he recognized from you playing it before, the sounds of water filling a tub…you were inside relaxing in his apartment after having the audacity to betray him. Focusing deeper, he finally heard your heartbeat – alone – and the soothing rhythmic beat he’d grown to recognize and adore over the last few weeks nearly calmed him. Nearly.

Forcing the door open he stepped inside, his anger nearly faltered once more at the lingering smell of you overwhelmed him. Hearing the broken door had caused you to rise from the filling bath, turning the water off and clutching a towel around yourself as you walked with wet feet into the dark hallway, calling out a soft ‘hello’ into the night. You weren’t greeted with words – instead, from the darkness emerged two glowing red lights, and as they approached closer you backed yourself against a wall.

The red glow against his features, all of which were hard set in clear annoyance and anger, made you remember the horrible things he was capable of, none of which you were equipped to handle. When you realized there was nowhere left for you to step, you closed your eyes, holding a deep breath as you prepared for whatever was to come. When you felt him in front of you you were certain your heart would burst, until you felt his hand on your cheek, and heard the pain behind his voice.

“Who is the man you were with today? And don’t you dare fucking lie to me,” his fingertips dug into your skin lightly, your eyes still closed tight for fear you’d be met with glowing red. “I’ll know if you’re lying to me. Look at me.”

With an elevating heart rate you slowly forced your eyes open, and despite expecting your own pain, instead you were faced with his. His blue eyes were wide, contrasting to the harsh line of his mouth, and tears were threatening to spill down his cheeks. Where you had expected to find anger and harshness you were faced with the broken pieces of him, which only raised a further question – which was worse between his red-hot anger or his jagged, broken edges?

You began to raise your hands to his shoulders tentatively, your fingers shaking as your brain screamed at you to just stay still and answer him. Honesty, however, was not the only thing Homelander needed – he needed love, and the look behind his eyes proved it to you. This was him – the real him. The realization that you were wearing his necklace had helped level his head somewhat – but the sternness in his features let you know you needed to answer, quickly.

“The man you heard in the background was the pharmacist,” your voice was soft, hands settling on the sides of his neck lightly in the hopes that skin-to-skin contact would settle him further. “I went to the gynecologist this morning because I was still…sore. From the morning you left.”

His features noticeably softened, a new look of curiosity forming on his features that pulled his eyebrows together slightly. So far, he was content that you were being honest – but you weren’t giving him enough information, either, and the annoyance that lingered was evident in his voice. “Did the doctor have an answer for you?”

Nodding, you hesitantly reached up to lace your fingers in his hair with one hand, your eyes cautiously watching his every reaction. Still, you held strong and continued your commitment to answering his questions – despite the fact this was information you had initially planned to keep from him.

“I…we…you,” you breathed out carefully, choosing the words for your explanation carefully. “You…broke my birth control implant…probably that morning based on when the pain started. It had to be removed and so…they prescribed pain medication for a few days.”

It was impossible to miss the hunger that flashed in his eyes, or the low rumble to his voice. “And did they replace it? The implant?”

“No.”

His hand left your cheek and he took a step back from you to drag his eyes down your body. Aware that meant he was likely being invasive and using x-ray vision to see for himself you suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed, and your cheeks burned red to emphasize the fact. When his eyes met yours again he was pulling the gloves away from his hands, tossing them to a nearby surface so he could step close to you again and cradle your face with his bare hands.

For a moment his eyes expressed only conflict as they burned into yours, his fingertips digging a little too deeply into your skin as he analyzed the conversation – as he thought about his feelings. Moments of silence passed before his emotions seemed to land on entirely new territory – new territory for you, at least. His thumbs tenderly brushed along your cheek bones, his grasp lightening as an almost sinister smile spread across his face.

“So exactly what is going to stop me,” he started, leaning forward to brush the tip of his nose against yours lightly. You were keenly aware that he was being entirely too nice. “From getting you pregnant?”

A shaky breath slid past your lips as he placed a light kiss to the corner of your mouth, sliding one of his hands down to take hold of the towel that was wrapped around you. Your voice was embarrassingly small. “I guess...you’ll have to…to use a condom or pull out?”

A deep laugh burst through his chest that rumbled against your own torso now that he was flush against you, his lips kissing a small trail to your ear where he pulled the lobe between his teeth for a moment before growling out a quiet, “No.”

One swift movement from his hand and the towel was on the floor, goosebumps immediately forming across your skin at the cool air. With a hum of approval at your lack of covering now he turned his head, connecting his lips to yours in a starved kiss. It was nature now for your lips to part for him and allow his tongue entry, and the two of you shared a heated kiss until you were breathless as he carried you to a room you’d yet to see, as you had spent your time in his apartment in a guest room – his bedroom.

“You were supposed to be gone for five more days,” you breathed against his lips, working some of the few buttons on his suit that you’d grown to understand. Pushing you onto an oversized bed with satin sheets, he began to work at his own suit, a cocky smirk covering his face.

“If you think I’m going to stay away when I hear another man in the background on my girl’s phone…you must not know me very well,” he shook his head as his boots were kicked to the side, his movements a little more desperate and uncalculated than they’d previously been with you. When his pants were pushed to the floor he continued. “You’ve got another thing coming, doll.”

His torso took too long to free and by the time he was climbing onto the bed with you he was starved, desperate to devour any part of you his mouth could connect to. His lips pressed firm and intentional kisses along the insides of your thighs as he made his way to your sweet core. Running a stripe through your folds with his tongue his eyes searched for yours as his hands reached to caress your breasts, a quiet hum vibrating your skin as a moan left your lips.

It was truly as if he hadn’t eaten for days, his tongue thoroughly swiping along every inch you had to offer, savoring every drop of arousal that came across his tongue, alternating to suck your clit softly. He hadn’t been this hungry for you until now, and it took him no time to cause a rising heat to build in your core. Your fingers found their way into his hair and you threw your head back as he began to fuck into you with his tongue, moaning in appreciation at the noises you made for him.

His way of thanking you for not needing the instruction to come against his tongue was to slip a finger into you, curling it right against your tender spot deep within as you threw your head back for him. “ Oh, god… ”

Sucking your clit into his mouth once more with a sinful noise his eyes found yours once more as he leaned back, grasping his cock in his hand. “No, not god,” he breathed, beginning to stroke himself in preparation for you. He leaned down to press a tender kiss to your lips, his eyes closing as he rubbed the head of his cock against your opening. His voice was hardly above a whisper against your lips as he began to slip inside of you. “Not god, not Homelander…John.”

You moaned out his name for the first time, and he clutched to your sides as he forced himself to behave tenderly and slowly with you, aware that you must still be sore. Burying his face in your neck to place soft kisses he eased in inch by inch until he was fully within you, finding the comfort that only you could bring him. For a moment he stilled, enjoying the feeling of simply being encompassed by your warm walls, before he slowly, lazily began dragging his hips back and forth.

He hadn’t been rhythmic like this with you before, his movements always thought out well in advance for the maximum impact. Now, however, his movements only aimed to bask in this moment with you, this moment where he could truly claim you for the first time in his mind. Lifting your hips and wrapping your legs around his waist to beckon him deeper you found yourself unable to do little more than moan his name and claw at his back.

Trying impossibly to push into you deeper he held you against him, leaning down to suckle one of your nipples into his mouth as his movements picked up some speed. As he flicked his tongue over your nipple his blue eyes gazed adoringly up into your own, grinding against you to hit that perfect spot deep within you. You rewarded him for his effort by moaning out his name again and clenching your walls ever-so-slightly tighter, but he was greedy for everything you had – and he needed more.

“Please,” was all he could beg you for, his hands grasping at your hips as he tried to do anything he could to pull you closer. His lips reached for yours in a wet, heated kiss which he cut shorter than he truly wanted to await your response.

“I missed you inside of me so much,” you whined, meeting a couple of his thrusts by raising your hips at the same time, moving one hand to the back of his head. Pulling your head back slightly you were able to take in the sight of his sweat-slicked, messy hair and the way his lips were parted slightly. Seeing him this way, in a way you knew could only truly be for you, added a new depth to the dynamic between the two of you – and though for you that could go unspoken, for him, hearing it was everything. “Want…want you like this every day.”

His fluid movements were coaxing another orgasm from you and your words could hardly leave as more than strangled whines, but you had given him everything he needed and in a sign of appreciation he picked up his speed. Normally, he only restrained himself enough to not completely break you, but tonight he was truly making an effort to reign in his strength and make sure his thrusts were enjoyable for the both of you, and you could tell.

His grunts confirmed that this worked for him, too, and it wasn’t terribly long before your legs were shaking around him, a second orgasm rushing through your body. When he felt your walls tighten around him as you rode out your high by thrusting sloppily up into him he could barely restrain himself, knowing that his own release was chasing yours.

“Tell me…tell me that you want my cum,” he moaned, burying his face in your neck in preparation of being unable to hold back anymore. All you could manage in your fucked-out buzz was was a quiet ‘yes’ and a kiss to the top of his head as his orgasm rushed through him, painting your inner walls white with hot ropes of cum.

When he was certain both of you had finished your orgasms he slowly removed himself from you, laying on his side next to you to keep his gaze transfixed on your bliss-filled face as you returned to earth. With your eyes closed, you had no visual warning when his fingers slipped back to your core, his middle finger pushing the cum that was leaking from you back inside. When your eyes flew open in question he leaned over to place a soft kiss to your lips, leaning his forehead against yours in a moment of intimacy.

When he was satisfied with the amount of times he’d repeated this motion he left only long enough to get a towel for you, tenderly wiping your legs and discarding the towel before crawling back into the bed next to you. Laying his head on your chest he closed his eyes as you began running your fingers through his hair, enjoying a rare true moment of peace. Eventually, he pulled you to roll you to your side, his hand finding its way to your cheek again.

“I would like…” he started, clearly having been deciding on his words for several of the quiet moments that had passed between the two of you. Sliding the hand that was on your cheek back into your hair and running his fingers through the strands gently he continued on, his normal confidence wavering slightly. “I would like for you to call this home.”

masterlist.

#the homelander #homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander smut #homelander fanfiction #the boys smut #the boys fanfiction

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milkywayan · 2 years

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tfw you see some stupid post that paints medieval peasants eating just plain grey porridge and acting as if cheese, butter or meat was too exotic or expensive for them, and have to use all your inner strength to not just reblog it with an angry rant and throwing hands with people. so i will just post the angry rant here

no, medieval people did not only eat grey porridge with no herbs or spices, they had a great variety of vegetables we dont even have anymore, grains and dairy products, not to mention fruits and meats, all seasonal and changing with the time of the year. no, medieval food was not just tasteless, maybe this will surprise some of you but you can make tasty food without excessive spice use, and can use a variety of good tasting herbs. if you'd ever tried to cook some medieval recipes you would know that. medieval people needed a lot of energy for their work, if they would only eat fucking porridge all of the time they would get scurvy and die before they could even built a civilisation. they had something called 'pottage' which was called that because it was cooked in one pot. you could leave the pot on the fire and go about your day, doing stuff and come back to a cooked meal. they put in what was available that time of the year, together with grains, peas, herbs, meat etc etc. again, if you would try to make it, like i have with my reenactment friends, it can actually be really good and diverse.

dont confuse medieval peasants with poor people in victorian england. dont think that TV shows what it was really like. dont think that dirty grey dressed people covered in filth were how the people looked like.

they made use of everything. too poor to buy proper meat? buy a sheeps head and cook it. they ate nettle and other plants we consider weeds now. they foraged and made use of what they found. hell, there are medieval cook books!

most rural people had animals, they had chickens (eggs), goats (milk and dairy), cows (milk and dairy), sheep (milk and dairy) and pigs (meat machine), and after butchering they used ALL THE PARTS of the animal. you know how much meat you can get out of a pig, even the smaller medieval breeds? the answer is a lot

if you had the space you always had a vegetable garden. there are ways to make sure you have something growing there every time of the year. as i said they had a variety of vegetables (edit: yes onions are vegetables, for those who dont seem to know) we dont have anymore due to how farming evolved. you smoked pork in the chimney, stored apples in the dry places in your house, had a grain chest. people could go to the market to buy fish and meat, both fresh and dried/smoked. they had ale, beer and wine, that was not a luxury that was a staple part of their diet.

this post ended once again up being longer than i planned, but please for the love of the gods, just actually educate yourself on this stuff and dont just say stupid wrong shit, takk

#personal #medieval #medieval europe #medievalcore #sorry for that rant but man #i hate this so much #please read a book or something #or go on youtube and look up mediev food #there are so many cool food historians on there who make stufd #and show what peiole ate

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the-likesofus · 26 days

Text

Buddie Fic Recs

This is my 5th Buddie Rec List! I started compiling this list last April and omg looking back through them now I desperately need to reread them all. Highly recommend all of these fics, also please show the authors some love in their comments xx Happy Easter lovelies <3 REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

where our eyes are never closing by @rewritetheending | T | 6k

After the lightning strike, Buck asks Eddie to take candid photos of him to help prove to Buck that he still exists. Absolute PEAK Softness. Buck through Eddie's eyes! I was a mushy puddle by the end. 10/10 would recommend.

i got all my sisters with me by @useramor | T | 6k

Established relationship Buddie. Eddie’s sister has a baby and they travel down to Texas to meet the baby. DIAZ SIBLINGS UNITE! Seriously though the sibling dynamic in this is off the charts and Buck and Eddie are sickeningly in love, it is quite beautiful.

meet me where the tide comes in by @iinryer | G | 4k

A 3+1 fic about Eddie getting kissed on the head. FOREHEAD KISSES PTSD MORE HEAD KISSES AND BOYS IN LOVE!! Need I say anything more??

The one where Buck gets turned into a dog by @911onabc | G | 9k

Law Suit era BUT WAIT WAIT….DOG BUCK!! I am a sucker for fic where one of them gets turned into an animal. They are much more free with their affection when they think it's just a dog, or just a cat, and the bond between Eddie and "Boy" is so so wonderful. And I do love a happy ending xx

can't do this anymore (do it anyway) by @chronicowboy | T | 2k

Short and sweet but GOD this packs a punch. Eddie starts dating after the lightning strike and Buck is feeling Big Bad about it. He is so sad it truly breaks my heart but all works itself out in the end and Eddie proves Buck’s fears wrong.

We Found Each Other (Over There) by @thekristen999 | T | 46k

Buddie WWII AU. A combat medic and a G.I. meet during one of the world’s greatest battles. This fic is a legitimate masterpiece. I cannot describe to you the quality of this fic because it is beyond words but I will tell you I stayed up until 3:30 am to finish it in one sitting and was left broken but made so so whole again.

the mortifying ordeal of being known by @the-amber-raven | G | 60k

AU where Bobby is Buck’s adoptive Dad and Eddie is dating Buck but Eddie and Bobby think they are talking about two different people. Buck is training at the fire academy but hiding it from Bobby. This fic is the most beautiful tangle of miscommunication, love and family.

like all good things are by @try-set-me-on-fire | T | 7k

Perfect, amazing, soul-destroying, magical, healing Fic. This literally covers all the bases. Chim and Bobby both get injured. OH! and Buck and Eddie were secretly dating all along. READ THIS FIC PEEPS!

find a way to you (if it kills me) by @eddiediazes | M | 19k

The one where Eddie decides to start dating again, Buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief. BUCK PINING LV.10000000!

and i’d choose you (in a hundred lifetimes) by @monsterrae1 | E | 16k

Amnesia Exes fic by the wonderful Rae. Buck and Eddie fall in love via a penpal program and then Buck vanishes. This fic is set four years later. I literally could not put it down. I was reading it in class and then sat in my car for who knows how long just to finish it because I could not continue my day without knowing how it ended.

he never thinks of me (except when i'm on TV) by @loserdiaz | M | 18k

APRIL'S FAMOUS!BUCK AND ARMY!EDDIE FIC!! In which Eddie finds out years later that his unrequited feelings for his high school best friend were not actually unrequited, Buck is stupidly famous now and they pine. OH THEY PINNNEEEEE! It’s delicious.

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) by @chronicowboy | M | 21k

Alternative S7, Buddie Divorce Era Pt.2. Buck does something reckless and Eddie gets angry about it but these boys cannot communicate effectively to save their lives! This fic is peak angst to a happy ending and I felt like I had a hole in my chest OMG.

left your mark on this heart by @chronicowboy | G | 5k

Buck gets medically diagnosed with butterflies and the doctor makes him write in a notebook every time it happens. Surprise, surprise, the cause and effect is Eddie-related. The notebook entries kill me in the best way, the happiest happy ending

ALSO, YES THIS IS THE THIRD FIC BY THE SAME AUTHOR ON THIS LIST WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?? READ IT IS WHAT! COS THEY'RE SO DAMN GOOD.

endless numbered days by @cal-daisies-and-briars | G | 13k

Buck and Eddie's wedding but from Bobby's POV as Bobby reflects on the family he lost and the one he gained. Absolutely beautiful, I cried.

don’t wanna let you love somebody else but me by @shitouttabuck | T | 14k

Chris wants dating advice so obviously Buck and Eddie decide to Fake Date for research purposes. This fic is PEAK adorable, sappy, and awkward Buddie. They’re idiots but we love them and the certainly love each other. READ THIS FIC!

#buddie #buddie fic recs #buddie fic rec list 5 #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan 'buck' buckley #911 #911 fic recs #meegs rec list

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mamirhodessxox · 1 month

Note

One request. 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Angry black suit cody. 😍😍😍

That's all.🙃🙃🙃

Ask and you shall recieve shnookum 🤓☝️

Settle Down

Cody Rhodes x Fem!Reader

Desc: Cody fires himself up during his Monday Night Raw promo which results into Y/N having to help calm him down backstage.

Contents: Fluff, Cussing, Y/N being a sweetie, angry cody 🤗‼️ (No smut in this one since next oneshot will include smut)

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @agent-dessis-posts @adollonyourshelf @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41 @harmshake @femdisa

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

“The Rock, took to instagram last week following up with a very entertaining rock concert, too bad he didn’t wanna be here tonight..” the crowd booed “Rock referred to himself as our favorite heel..?” Cody’s voice echoed throughout the arena talking & saying “The nature boy rick flair was a heel. Rock..I don’t think you’re a heel I think you’re an asshole..” Cody scowled directly into the Camera while standing inside the ring as if you two were making eye contact despite the fact you were backstage watching this all go down on the tv that laid against the wall of his dressing room.

“Haven’t you been crying behind the scenes this whole time? I mean once that hashtag came out once they started chanting something else, you went and CRIED to your buddies on the TKO board ‘HEY HEY! This is gonna be some good pr for the rock I need to save wwe’ god knows look at thise house we sure needed saving right?! He said it’s gonna be this great pr for the rock until it wasn’t..” Cody ranted while circling around staring directly at the live camera & you immediately noticed that he was beginning to fire himself up the more he spoke.

“Rock, the TKO folks said to you oh my gosh yes rock yes put on your gucci shirt your muscles will look so big YES YES YES YES! The reason they said it is because they are YES people they are enablers they don’t tell you like it is, so I’m going to.” Cody scoffed as he went on another tangent on how he could admit many things on the Rock but then he pissed himself off so much to the point where he started becoming more verbally agressive “Rock you are also a terrible Salesman a carny succubus and for those who don’t know what that means..Your a whiney BITCH.” He snapped.

Y/N sat in the dressing room staring directly into the fury of his eyes right through the television screen, all this talk about the rock had genuinely started becoming angering to him & bothersome that he somehow managed to upset himself the more he spoke. “You haven’t been in the ring in real time action in YEARS! And April 6th the BELL is gonna ring! What happens rock when it rings? Are you gonna have all that Big Dwayne Energy or LDS?! Little. DICK. Syndrome!” He shouted while all of the fans within the arena started Chanting, Cheering, Shouting waving around their signs while even the announcers chuckled to themselves.

For the rest of his promo he continued ranting, shouting & even going as far as making a sudden deal with The Wiseman Paul Heyman, threatening to pull a Homelander & rip out his throat if he didn’t get to the point which left Paul a little shocked. Once his promo for the night was finished You immediately left the dressing room just as he rushed his way backstage huffing and puffing mumbling with Jey & then approaching you hut you held up your hands that lightly knocked against his chest about to speak but you shook your head

“Cody I can tell you’re pissed off, You upset your own self just by talking about Dwayne alone & before You do anything like take off the suit, get comfortable, go to the bus I need you to grab some water & take a breath.” You spoke softly as you noticed his hands were shaking in irritation and inner rage before he took a deep breath & exhaled while nodding.

“Good. Now let’s get you out of that suit & into the bus before Pharaoh looses his mind..” you pat his shoulder while you two went to the dressing room. You helped him get undressed and for a moment he just legit stood there with boxers on ranting his heart out “Had the nerve on him to mention MY mother y/n and complain about me shedding ONE tear ONE SINGULAR TEAR but this entire time he’s bitching and WHINING to TKO” he started shouting a bit while you folded his suit & packed it away. You turned around & started shushing him softly and pat his chest “Baby your yelling, Settle down okay? I know your pissed hell I would be do if someone talked about my parents like that. But I need you to lower your voice, your throats gonna go raw. Like Monday.”

Cody chuckled at the corny joke you had made to help cheer him up while pulling him into a warm hug as you practiced deep breathes with him “Thank you sweetheart I don’t know what i’d do without you.” You smiled shrugging “I don’t know either.” He snorted and pressed a kiss against your lips “alright now pipe down a bit.” You laughed before giving him one more kiss.

Cody was not an easily angered man, until things like his parents or loved ones getting mentioned but when he had You around? He was going to go a long way when you knew how to calm down in the right ways.

xtripleiiix’s Masterlist

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yongbokology · 1 year

Text

part dos of ‘don’t accidentally beat your dick to your best friend’

part one

black coded reader <3

warnings; smut

an: you asked, i delivered 🧞‍♀️

eren is a mess. a complete utter mess.

after realizing he’s been jerking it to you for the past few months, he becomes a nervous wreck around. oh it was bad.

his first encounter with you after the realization, literally happens the day after.

you were running late for work and your car was currently in the shop so you sent a rather urgent text to him with multiple crying emojis, asking him to take you to work.

without even seeing the message, he begins to panic just seeing your name pop up.

did you somehow use your woman tuition and found out he was fucking himself to you? it plagued eren’s mind for a few seconds, his hands clammy as he grasps his phone.

he lets out a sigh of relief once he reads the message and instantly responds.

‘yeah ofc, see u in a bit’

‘thx ren, you’re the best!’

oh eren feels like shit.

he felt like a pervert. like he wasn’t supposed to see you in your nakedness, pleasuring yourself for thousands to see.

“.. ren, are you okay? you’re awfully quiet today.. i’m sorry if you were busy-”

he immediately shakes his head “no! i wasn’t doing anything. i don’t mind at all.. just a bit distracted is all.” he clears his throat, eyes fixated on the road. not sparing you a single glance.

you stare at the side of his face, picking him apart in your brain. all these years the two of you had the pleasure of knowing each other, you knew eren’s mannerisms, his nervous ticks and more.

something was definitely up.

…

“god not this again. connie could you maybe not be so open about the porn you indulge in.” reiner is fed up with the porn talk, just trying to enjoy this sunday afternoon with his friends.

“okay but bro i’m telling you, this girl is fire. i’d def buy her only fans if she had one.”

eren isn’t too interested in the conversation. his head’s in the clouds. lately he’s been fantasizing about you. a lot actually.

breaking you in half. fucking your brains out in every setting possible. this was new to say the least. before, eren hadn’t had such thoughts about you.

i mean yeah he did sometimes think about what it’d be like if the two of you were together. would the two of you be good partners as you are friends? but he never thought about you in such obscene ways.

it is this next part that has eren almost falling out of his chair.

“[your user]. never heard of her?”

both jean and reiner shake their heads.

eren on the other hand feels his skin run cold, eyes bulging out his head at the username. it was your username.

connie is now pulling out his phone and eren quickly catches on that he is about to pull up your page. with frantic eyes and haste, eren waits for connie to unlock his phone and in the split second that connie rotated his screen towards the three men, eren yanks it from his grasp and dramatically let’s connie’s phone fall face down on the concrete.

“yo what the fuck man?!” connie yells, mouth ajar as he looks between eren and his phone that is definitely not working when he picks it up.

“i-i um. i’m sorry.. it slipped..”

both reiner and jean silently blink, throwing glances at each other.

“oh it fucking slipped? my five year old nephew could put on a better fucking performance.”

“i’m really sorry man. i get paid tomorrow, i’ll pay for it. i swear.”

…

“i really needed this, thanks for hanging out with me ren. karina has been more bitchy than usual.” it was no secret you hated your boss. you often ranted about her to eren, so much so that he hated her as well and doesn’t even know what she looks like.

“of course. you want some more popcorn? bowl’s almost empty.”

you nod and eren gets up from his spot on his bed and retreats to the kitchen to refill the bowl.

you shift your eyes to the tv, ‘bad boys’ currently at it’s thirty minute mark.

you feel a buzz under your butt.

with furrowed brows you shift and pull out eren’s phone that you had no idea you were sitting on.

his phone screen comes to life, him and armin in the background of the notifications that fill the screen.

there were a few from twitter and growing curious as to what eren’s twitter feed looked liked, you unlocked his phone and hit refresh.

your jaw unhinges when you pop up on his screen. fingers knuckle deep in your cunt.

you’re in shock like you literally didn’t film this a few hours ago and hit post. you just weren’t expecting to see yourself on your best friend’s timeline.

you stare at yourself, at first unsure how to react to this knowledge but then the thought of eren touching himself to you skates across your mind and suddenly you’re clenching your thighs, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

the thought arouses you.

eren comes back with the bowl filled to the brim and his smile is wiped off his face once he sees his phone in your hands.

“eren,” you start. your voice is low but sweet. “is there something you want to tell me?”

he sucks in a breath, pupils shaking as you lay the phone on the bed. he sees what you were looking at clear as day.

“y/n.. i-i can explain.”

your plump lips turn upwards into a grin. mischief writes all over them.

“come here.”

it’s a command that has him hesitantly obeying.

he sits down on the bed, farther than where he originally was.

you sigh and close the proximity by climbing into lap, the popcorn bowl being discarded to the side.

eren feels hell fire creeping up his neck. his mouth his dry and he can suddenly hear the thrumming of his blood.

“how many times have you fucked yourself to me. hm?”

his lips tremble. “a few times..” it almost comes out as a mumble.

your smirk widens at his blatant lie.

“oh eren, you and i both know that’s not true.”

you push him until his back is flat on the bed, your thighs on either side of his hips. you splay your hands on his chest and fully plant your clothes pussy on his crotch.

he could literally just cum right then and there.

“you know what i hate more than liars?”

once eren realizes you actually want him to respond he shakes his head.

you lean forward until your lips are grazing against his ear. your tits mushed against his chest.

“i hate disobedient boys,” you lean back up and eren looks dazed. aware but dazed. “are you a disobedient boy eren?”

…

needless to say, he’s not. he listens to your every command which is why he was currently whimpering, hands pressed against his chest, trying his very best not to touch you.

your mouth works wonders on his cock, it weeps in all it’s 8inch glory, precum finding it’s way onto your tongue.

you pull him out of your mouth with a lewd ‘pop’, eyeing eren as you pump his aching length. “you close?”

tears form in eren’s eyes. everything feels fuzzy. his brain is scattered but he still manages to give a slight nod. he looked so fucked out and god what a sight it was.

“you gonna cum for me pretty boy?”

the nickname makes eren whine.

“eren, answer me or you don’t get to cum.” you grit, your free hand taking hold on his throat, clenching your dainty yet powerful fingers around it.

“y-yes! yes. m’gonna c-cum.” he chokes out. his pupils becoming dilated as you speed up your hand around his cock.

you smile at this. “i want you to come in my mouth ‘kay? and you can touch me now.” your mouth is instantly on his cock after finishing your sentence.

eren props himself up on his elbows, the iron grip you still have on his neck combined with you sucking the everlasting life out of him has eren cumming in no time with a cracked moan.

“fuh-fuckkk.” tears are streaming down his face now, jaw unhinged as you lap up the messy head on his cock.

“got anymore for me?” you don’t expect him to answer, instead you squeeze on his balls and one last spurt of cum falls onto your shiny lips.

this has eren falling back flat on his back, panting heavily like he’d just finished running a marathon.

you lick at your lips and hum at the taste of him. salty, as expected but not overbearing.

“you did so good for me ren.” you smile, crawling up beside him. resting a hand on his naked chest.

eren lazily turns his head towards you, his cheeks tear stained. he looks utterly broken and it ignites something within you.

“this stays between us ‘kay?” he nods slowly at that, too tired to speak.

what in the world did he just get himself into?

tag list: @hellavile @animeloverzx @starlightmid @gobblethiskitty

#eren jaeger #eren x reiner #eren x black reader #black coded reader #aot x black reader #aot #shingeki no kyojin #levi x reader #jean x reader #armin x reader #reiner x reader #aot smut #porco galliard

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nightgoodomens · 6 months

Text

So what if

Jesus decides he’d rather drink in the pub with Crowley instead of judging anyone.

Zombies get too busy dancing in Michael Jackson’s thriller and so find their new purpose that makes them happy.

God doesn’t even know what’s going on, too busy having dumbass fights with Satan.

Aziraphale comes back to Earth because he gets fired, Crowley wants to know why, and Aziraphale pretends it’s because he tried to thwart the big plan, but actually, it’s because he spent all his time drawing Crowley instead of doing boring paperwork. They also found him with his mouth full of cake.

Crowley knows. He laughs inside.

Metatron tries to start Armageddon but literally nobody is interested because they were invited to Beelzebub&Gabriel wedding and the preparations make Angels and Demons busy.

Aziraphale and Crowley are too busy bidding on a cottage. They don’t tell each other. So they’re bidding on the same one. So when Aziraphale wins he has to sell all the buildings he owns in Soho because Crowley bid so high, and Aziraphale failed to give up, that the cottage was sold for 10 times what it was worth.

Crowley bursts out laughing when Aziraphale takes him to see the surprise. When he explains he was the other bidder, they finally promise each other to not hide things from each other again.

They go to Beelzebub&Gabriel wedding. Angels and Demons dance together. Nobody cares. Everyone is happy. Metatron sits in the corner.

Crowley is there for alcohol. Aziraphale is there for cake. They finally recreate their dance.

Aziraphale watches Crowley who’s tipsy enough to start dancing with Beelzebub. Demons can dance. Crowley is really hot.

They take a walk outside to cool down, for different reasons, and when they sit by the lake, stars shining above them, Aziraphale pops the question.

Crowley grins. He says of course. Not in a bloody church though.

Not in a church, they agree.

God and Satan and Jesus are invited to their wedding. They get absolutely shitfaced. It’s the funniest and most loveable wedding the world has ever seen.

Honeymoon in Alpha Centauri. Also Maldives. Also everywhere where they’ve met over the 6 thousand years. This time not needing to hide or worry or pretend.

They celebrate everything.

They renovate their cottage and Aziraphale discovers Crowley is very DIY and he doesn’t mind at all seeing him dirty and sweaty without a T-shirt. Sometimes he breaks things on purpose.

Crowley knows.

Bentley has her garage. She’s very happy.

The cottage is yellow. Of course.

Christmas Tree has a star on top of it.

Their garden wins all the village awards.

Their baking is talked about by everyone.

Aziraphale has a huge library at home and he doesn’t need to worry about anyone taking his books anymore.

Crowley has plants all over the house and he doesn’t need to scream at them anymore because they’re growing beautifully from the pure love and happiness at home.

He takes care of the garden and Bentley. He buys another car and works on it as his hobby.

They join car shows.

They know all little cafes and restaurants everywhere.

Aziraphale writes his own novel. It’s really good. Crowley just ensures it definitely is talked about everywhere.

They visit Soho whenever they feel like shopping.

They always build a snowman when it snows.

And they spend evenings either on a date, on holiday, or in front of the cracking fire, within comfortable blankets and pillows, drinking, snacking, reading, watching movies and their favourite tv shows.

Everything is perfect.

#good omens #crowley #ineffable fandom #good ineffable omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #ineffable dumbasses #ineffable idiots #ineffable lovers #aziraphale #aziracrow

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wheresarizona · 1 year

Text

September Part 3

Jackson, 2024

summary: After twenty years apart, you and Joel Miller have been reunited and are picking up where you left off all those years ago—still just as in love as you were. Getting to the little town Joel’s brother calls home means showers, beds, and reacquainting yourselves thoroughly.

rating: Very Explicit (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (10 years), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie(s), shower sex, oral sex (f & m receiving - Joel gets pussy drunk), vaginal fingering, masturbation (m), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise kink (Joel needs to know he’s a good boy), body worship (you’re kissing Joel’s scars), a lot of kissing, teasing, breeding kink mention, Joel being bossy, emotions, love confessions, slight angst, mention of pregnancy loss, dad jokes, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, TLOU tv Spoilers, TLOU game spoilers)

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader (reader is a doctor with no physical descriptions aside from wearing Joel’s jacket)

word count: 17.5k+ (over 6k smut)

a/n: The name of this chapter in my brain was The Fuckening™ if that gives you an idea of what you’re getting into. I also have to increase the chapter count due to reasons… I’m over the moon by all the love for this series! All of the comments and asks make me so happy!! Thank you all so much! Shoutout to the love of my life, @juletheghoul, for betaing!

I reply to comments from my side blog @wheresarizona-writes

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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It may be Spring, but nights in the mountains of Wyoming are chilly.

The abandoned farmhouse you’d taken shelter in for the evening is drafty and cold, the scrubs you’re wearing not the best attire for the conditions. Joel had put his jacket on you, but when your teeth started chattering, he’d gotten up, broken down old furniture, and started a fire in the home’s old living room fireplace, him cuddling with you on the floor in front of it.

He’d checked on Ellie, who was hiding away on the second floor, huddled under dusty blankets and cozy enough that she didn’t want to join the two of you downstairs.

He told you to sleep while he kept watch, and so you laid down in front of the fire with your head in his lap, his jacket on you as a blanket, and you fell asleep to him stroking his fingers through your hair.

In twenty years, you’ve never slept better—no nightmares, no fear, just comfort. After so much time living in the apocalypse, your body had become accustomed to only sleeping a few hours at a time, so when you woke with the night sky still black outside, you told Joel to get some rest, taking over his post.

More wood is added to the fire, your legs stretched out in front of you, a gun beside you on the floor, Joel using your lap as a pillow, on his side, facing you with an arm wrapped around your back.

It’s embarrassing how long you stare at him, your fingers slipping through his grey strands and trailing over the shell of his ear, down his jaw, feeling the coarse hair of his beard, touching those spots where it refuses to grow, and smoothing over his eyebrow. God, he’s so handsome, Joel softly smiling as he drifts off, knowing when sleep takes him, his breaths evening out and body relaxing, him melting into you.

At some point, his face nuzzles into your stomach, hearing him sigh contentedly.

It’s still hard to believe that he’s there with you after two decades of being apart, unable to stop yourself from touching him, needing to feel him to know he’s real, your hands rubbing his arm, or playing with his hair, pretty sure your eyes don’t move from his head on your thighs.

Though your gaze is locked on Joel, you’re still on high alert listening for any potential danger—the house creaks, the fire crackles, a frog croaks outside, and thankfully, there’s nothing else.

Dawn breaks in a soft glow through the windows, Joel apparently having the same internal clock as you and waking after a few hours.

His body tenses as he comes to, seeing his eyes blink open, his eyebrows dipping down in confusion as he reorients himself with consciousness. His head turns in your lap to look up at you, seeing relief wash over his features before he smiles.

“You’re here,” his words come out rough from sleep.

You smile back.

“I’m here,” you reply, sliding your fingertips over his cheek. “And I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life, Joel Miller.”

It makes you grin when he gives you a dimpled smile, Joel chuckling as he moves to sit up and turns to get on his knees. He shuffles close to you, his big hands framing your face as he tilts your head to lean in and kiss you tenderly, long presses of his lips to yours like he’s memorizing how it feels.

His mouth leaves yours, kissing each of your cheeks, forehead, and the tip of your nose, faces close while he gazes into your eyes.

“I‘m not stuck with you,” he says. “I want you with me. I need you. I’ll do anything to make sure I never lose you again, and plan to spend the rest of my days on this godforsaken earth by your side. ‘Til death do us part, baby, and even then, I’ll find you again wherever we go to meet our maker.”

Your heart is thumping wildly, warmth flooding your veins at his proclamation.

“That sounds an awful lot like a marriage proposal.”

He smiles crookedly, his palms rubbing down your arms until he’s taking your hands in his larger ones.

“I’ve told you you’re it for me. I planned on marryin’ you all those years ago and still want you to be my wife.”

Sucking in a breath, there’s a nervous look on your face, because you’re not who you once were—not that naive girl who risked her job to date the hot older single dad. The world has chewed you up and spit you out, and there’s no room for risks anymore, every move needs to be calculated with your life on the line—saving Ellie worth the possibility of dying.

“We’ve been back together less than twenty-four hours…” you say slowly. “I’m not the same girl you fell in love with—”

“I don’t care,” he cuts you off, his thumbs smoothing circles on the tops of your hands. “I still see her, but I know you’ve changed, just like I have. We’re survivors. We’ve been through shit, I’d kill for you without a second thought, and I know you’d do the same for me. We aren’t the same people as before, but now we’re pretty fuckin’ similar—know what needs to be done to keep livin’, and that won’t keep me from lovin’ you. I loved you then, and I love you now, and I’d marry you if given the chance.”

Tears are brimming in your eyes, your throat getting tight.

“I knew I was going to marry you—was just waiting for you to pop the question.”

His eyes soften, looking a little nervous.

“Well, I uh—” He looks away to clear his throat. “—don’t have a ring to do it properly, but things are different these days.” Meeting your eyes again, he says, “And we can’t afford to wait, not when there’s no promise for tomorrow.” He squeezes your hands. “You’ve been the love of my life for over twenty years—gone on you the moment I saw you. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, and so carin’, everything I could ever wish for in a partner, and those things haven’t changed. I know it from how you were willin’ to risk your life for Ellie. You loved Sarah like she was your own, and here you are carin’ about Ellie, too.” You sniffle, tears rolling down your cheeks at all he’s saying, knowing what’s coming. “I’m a better man when I’m with you—you make me want to be a better man that you can be proud of because I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, baby, especially survivin’ all these years on your own. A—“ He pauses to gather his words. “—a friend once said the reason I’m here is to save and protect the people I care about; I saved Ellie, and now it’s time I keep you and her safe—I don’t want you to be alone again, and I think there’s another purpose for why I’ve survived—” His face goes so soft, eyes rounding, voice thicker when he speaks. “—and it’s to love you. It’s always been to love you, and like all those years ago when I asked you to give an old guy like me a chance to take you out, I’m now askin’ for the chance to be your husband. Will you marry me?”

He looks so hopeful, and you answer right away while nodding, “Yes, Joel.” Your cheeks are drenched in tears, wiping at them with your hands. “Of course, I’ll marry you. I wanted to be your wife in 2003, and that hasn’t changed—you’re my dream man, and I’d love for you to be my husband.”

The smile he gives you could outshine the sun, that dimple of his appearing, chuckling happily as his broad palms cup your cheeks, and he crashes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. Your fingers thread into his hair, your toes curling when he licks into your mouth to tangle his tongue with your own, swallowing your moan.

This is one of those breathtaking kisses where you can feel each other's emotions, able to tell how much he loves you, how happy he is, how thankful he is, telling you without saying the words of his devotion. It steals the air from your lungs and has warmth seeping into your bones, feeling so much happiness and joy—just over the goddamn moon.

It’s a question you’ve wanted to hear since the first time he told you he loved you.

A few months after you’d started dating, he’d canceled a date because Sarah was sick with a stomach bug. You’d shown up at his house with supplies to help her feel better—medicine, electrolyte drinks, and some broth to eat when she was up for it. You had only meant to drop it all off and spend your evening reading, but he’d invited you in, so you stayed, curling up with them on the couch to watch movies. Joel had to get up to grab something, and when he returned, Sarah’s head was resting on your shoulder, asleep. After he’d carried her to bed, the two of you were standing in the kitchen, you giving him instructions on the stuff you brought over, and he’d backed you up into the refrigerator, held your face in his hands as he said, “God, I fuckin’ love you.” From then on, you waited, the two of you making plans for your future with each other, knowing you were going to spend the rest of your lives together—there was a connection, something ingrained in you that told you he was the one, and he’d felt the same.

Did this seem quick? Were the two of you jumping the gun? Like Joel said, you live in a time where you can’t afford to wait, and tomorrow isn’t promised. People move quickly these days, wanting whatever happiness they can get for however long they can have it—life expectancy is abysmal. Plus, being with him again, it feels like you’re picking up where you left off, your love just as strong as it was then, so the next logical step in your relationship is marriage. It feels right, and you want nothing more than to be Mrs. Joel Miller.

You gasp in surprise when you’re suddenly being pushed to lie back on the floor, him half on top of you, still kissing you. His hand moves to palm your breast, excitement swirling in your belly, Joel encompassing all of your senses, only focusing on him and nothing else—feeling him, touching him, hearing him.

“Oh, gross!” Ellie exclaims as she enters the room, Joel’s mouth and hand leaving you immediately. “Get a room!”

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“We’re in a damn room,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, one with no doors to shield my innocent eyes.”

“We’re just kissin’,” he sighs.

“Grossly kissing. The sounds are going to haunt me for years.”

He finally lifts his head to look at her.

“You done?”

“Are you done shoving your tongue down her throat? Was worried she’d choke on it.”

“Ellie.”

“Jesus, Joel,” she laughs. “Learn to take a fucking joke.”

He lets out a long sigh, sitting up on his knees with a groan.

“I’ll take it you’re hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah. Starving. Can’t wait to get to Jackson for real food.”

Tilting your head back, you look at her upside down.

“Help yourself to the rations,” you say, pointing at your bag on a nearby dining room table. “Sorry, there’s nothing to sit on—we needed wood for the fire.”

“Thanks, Doc!” Ellie replies, making her way over and hearing her rummaging through the cans. “More peaches! Fuck yeah!” After she gets the can open, she turns toward you both. “So, I want to sit on the floor, but like, which part is… safe?”

Joel’s standing now, hands on his hips, while his eyes squint in confusion.

“The house is structurally sound…” he says slowly. “The floorboards are in decent condition. You can sit anywhere.”

“I know the house is okay. What I mean is, what hasn’t been contaminated?”

“Contaminated?” he asks. “We wouldn’t be stayin’ here if it wasn’t safe.”

You wanted to laugh at how it was going over his head, you sitting up.

“She wants to know where we fucked, Joel, so she can avoid it.” There wasn’t any actual penetration, just some amazing oral that had you ascending to another plane of existence and Joel coming without being touched.

Fuck, he knew how to use his mouth.

His eyes get big at what you say, flush staining his cheeks as he clears his throat. You point behind you. “In that area, Ellie,” you tell her.

She makes a face as she replies, “Yuck. I’ll sit here.” Lowering herself onto the ground, her legs crisscrossed in front of her, immediately digging into her peaches. “How long of a walk to Tommy’s?” she asks with her mouth full.

Joel seems to get his wits about him, answering, “From the truck to Jackson, I thought maybe twelve hours. We only managed a few yesterday before the sun started settin’, so about nine more today.”

“That’s not too bad,” she muses, swallowing her bite. “The real question—“ she holds up her fork, pointing it between the two of you “—is if you guys can keep your hands off each other for nine fucking hours. My money’s on one—maybe. Wouldn’t be surprised if you break after five minutes.” Ellie goes back to eating her food.

You snort, and Joel scratches at the back of his neck.

“We aren’t a couple of horny teenagers,” he grouses.

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “You’re too fuckin’ old—no offense, Doc.”

“None taken,” you reply as you stand up, your knees protesting and going a little wobbly with a grimace on your face.

Joel is in your space immediately, his hands on your arms to steady you.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, concerned.

“Like the young whipper snapper said,” you reply, nodding your head towards Ellie, her repeating whipper snapper in a confused tone. “We’re fuckin’ old—achy knees. I’d kill for an Epsom salt bath.”

He caresses your cheek.

“You need somethin’ for the pain? I got painkillers in my bag.”

“You’re sweet,” you answer, looping your arms around his neck. “But I’m fine. Just a symptom of aging.”

He pulls you into him, hugging you close.

“We’ll relax when we get to Jackson.” He kisses your hair.

“Fucking knew you guys wouldn’t last five minutes!” Ellie laughs.

Joel sighs, and you laugh along with her, the sound muffled in his chest.

The air outside is crisp, biting with cold, and the sun has barely risen as he walks beside Ellie down the highway. You’re on her other side, wearing his jacket, the semi-automatic rifle hanging at your side, ready to be used at a moment's notice.

He feels his lips curl up every time he catches a glimpse of you, something inside him loving that you’re wearing his clothes, reminding him of times you’d throw on his shirt after sex when you both padded to your kitchen for a snack and water.

He can’t help how his eyes always drift your way as the three of you keep walking, fearing that he’ll look and you won’t be there, the last twenty-four hours just some fever dream. But you are here, you’re real; Joel listening as you and Ellie discuss Jurassic Park, the book she read the night before, the girl wanting to know everything about the movies, and he can tell how happy you are to describe them to her in detail.

You’d always been good with kids. That was something that made him fall for you so hard. On your first date, he’d been upfront about Sarah, needing to make sure you understood they were a package deal, and she came first. This was where a lot of the few and far between first dates he went on ended because he could see on the women’s faces that they weren’t too keen on having to share him. You’d lit up, though, agreeing that Sarah was his priority, and asked him to tell you everything about her.

After some time, his daughter became your daughter, too, and eight months into dating, Joel was positive you were it for him, and he was it for you, him seeing how much you loved Sarah, he asked if maybe she should have a sibling—you’d happily agreed she needed a couple, and didn’t bother refilling your birth control.

It made his chest ache how he dreamed of having a house full of kids with you—how you’d been so excited and nervous, making a plan for how you’d handle completing your residency to become a doctor and the possibility of getting pregnant.

There ended up being no point in worrying about it because six months later, the Outbreak happened, and Joel experienced the worst day of his life.

That was years ago, and he’s finally started to heal. It is no longer excruciatingly painful to talk about Sarah, happy to remember her, happy now to have someone to remember her with and keep her memory alive.

And just like how you’d taken a shine to his daughter, here you are with Ellie, treating her the same, understanding without him having to tell you that they’re a package deal.

His feelings from before haven’t changed, he knew you were it then, and he knows you’re it now, you willing to die for the young girl cementing in him that you’re the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and it was about damn time he finally asked you to marry him.

Christ, he’s so fucking happy you said yes.

“You’d think after the first failed attempt at a dinosaur theme park,” Ellie says, “they’d realize it’s not a good fucking idea.”

“People are stupid when they’re greedy,” you reply.

“People are just plain stupid,” Joel adds.

You snort.

“That is also true,” you say.

He was stupid not to ask you to be his wife the moment you agreed to have his children, mentally kicking himself in the ass for wanting to wait for your internship to end. It was a dumb decision, but he’s making up for it and marrying you the first chance he has, positive Tommy will have someone to officiate.

Things now are different than they were in 2003.

There’s no societal pressure in regards to marriage. FEDRA sure as fuck doesn’t care about the institution. There are no places to buy rings and no big wedding celebrations; it’s just not something many do anymore, not seeing the point with how fucked everything is. People still get married, of course, but it’s a personal choice to show their commitment to each other—there’s no official process, no red tape. Some say vows to one another, others just start referring to their partner as husband or wife; you can find a person to officiate, but it’ll usually cost you some ration cards for a man or woman of God to seal your commitment.

Joel wants to do it the old-fashioned way—he’s always been old-fashioned, hoping Jackson has a minister or someone ordained to marry you both, though he’ll be fine if it’s just the two of you making your promises to each other with Ellie and Tommy as witnesses.

It’s important to him they’re there, and he knows you’ll want them there, too.

He focuses back on you and Ellie talking, happy she has someone else to socialize with and ask all of her questions; it makes him smile that you’re doing your damnedest to answer them.

“I swear this is a serious question,” the teenager says.

“I’ve thought all of your questions have been serious,” you respond, smiling at her. “Especially when you asked who’d win in a fight between a T-Rex and a triceratops, and I still say triceratops—they’d stab the hell out of the T-Rex.”

“I accept your wrong answer.”

“Agree to disagree. Now, what’s this serious question?”

“Right. What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?”

“So-fish-ticated,” Joel answers immediately.

Her head swivels toward him.

“You asshole!” she exclaims. “How the fuck do you know these?”

“It’s a dad joke!” you laugh.

“What’s a dad joke?” she asks, her attention turning to you.

“Really terrible, dumb jokes dads tell their kids to annoy them.”

“They aren’t dumb…” Joel mumbles.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, babe,” you say. “I love them—tell Ellie the ocean and beach one. It’s my favorite.”

“What did the ocean say to the beach?” he asks Ellie.

She looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing, it just waved.”

She splutters into a laugh, making him smile.

“That’s so fucking dumb!”

“Dad jokes,” you say. “One time I asked him if he got a haircut, and without missing a beat, he answered, ‘No, I got them all cut.’”

“A fucking smartass,” she replies.

“A dad,” you correct. “I love his dad humor. It’s cute.”

You meet his eyes, smiling at him, and warmth spreads through his body.

The conversation continues between them, Joel only offering his two cents occasionally or grumbling when Ellie makes a jabbing remark at him, the kid constantly giving him shit.

The route you’re on, he and Ellie went down months before to get to the Firefly hospital, and at the time, it’d been clear of infected since it’s in the middle of nowhere and up in the mountains. You’re all still on alert in case of bandits or hunters, but hours pass as you walk along the asphalt, passing old abandoned cars overgrown with vegetation, with no signs of any other humans.

Every few hours, breaks are taken, and his knees are aching by the time you make it to the ridge overlooking the town down in the valley, the place surrounded by tall log walls to keep the townspeople safe.

Now that it’s the home stretch, Joel’s mind is replaying your words from the previous night, how you said after he’s showered, you’ll want to hole up in a bedroom and not leave for a day or two—having him fuck you over and over so you’ll feel him for days. His pants are feeling a little tight, thinking about how fucking good your pussy tasted, wanting to spread you out on a bed and eat you out until you beg him to stop. Fuck, you taste so good when you come. He could spend hours between your legs, has spent hours there, making you come so many times you were a whimpering, boneless mess by the time he was done.

And you said he can finish inside you, the thought making him sweat. He loves filling you up and fucking his come so deep inside you, so you’re dripping with him—dreams of how your cunt clenches up at the first spurt, locking him there so he can’t move, feeling how you need him, how you want him to fill every nook and cranny with himself.

God, when there was a chance it’d take, Joel would lose his fucking mind at the thought of you growing his baby. It made him harder than a fucking rock at the prospect of his seed taking root, coming so damn hard he’d go cross-eyed.

That wasn’t a possibility now, but he’s changed; it making him just as hard knowing he doesn’t have to worry about knocking you up, that he can fill you over and over without there being any consequences—something he hasn’t done since the last time he was nestled deep in the tight confines of your pussy because Joel didn’t want to risk it, couldn’t risk it, not after everything he’s been through.

He’s walking a little faster as you approach the town gate, wanting to get to whatever accommodation his brother offers as quickly as possible, getting annoyed when the men up in the guard tower won’t let you all in, Joel demanding they get Tommy.

His hands are clenching, feeling impatient. You sidle up next to him, standing beside him.

“I guess we didn’t make the VIP list,” you say, patting his arm.

He sighs, turning his head to meet your eyes, sliding his hand over the small of your back to grab your hip.

“You’d think Tommy woulda fuckin’ told them to look out for me or somethin’,” he replies, frowning.

“Or, maybe Tommy told them his brother would be returning with a girl, and me being here is causing red flags.”

“That could be it. My brother will fix whatever the fuck is goin’ on.”

“I know he will. Can’t wait to see that asshole.”

He smiles.

“He’ll be excited to see you, too.”

“I can’t wait to have hot food,” Ellie says, both of you looking at her. “And hopefully, Tommy and Maria will be cool and let me use their shower. I’m smelly.” Her nose crinkles.

“Hi, smelly, I’m Joel,” he deadpans.

“You’re so fucking lame. How have your jokes gotten worse?”

“You mean better?”

“No, I mean worse—your jokes are as bad as you smell. Like holy shit, dude, you need a shower more than me.”

He frowns, knowing he needs a good scrub.

“On the bright side,” Ellie continues, “it’s pretty fucking clear that you guys are really in love since Doc doesn’t seem to mind you reek and are filthy as fuck.” She makes a face. “It’s some true love shit, like this one kid’s book I read where a girl falls in love with this ugly ass beast—” She raises her hands above her head, making them look like claws. “—but obviously Joel isn’t gonna become some handsome prince after he showers—he’ll be just as hideous but clean.” Her arms fall to her sides.

His eyes narrow.

“Did you just call me the fuckin’ beast from Beauty and the Beast?”

Sarah loved those cartoon Disney movies when she was little; Joel and her watching the mermaid one so many times they wore out the VHS.

“Oh my god, you think we’re a fairytale couple?” you ask, sounding delighted.

He looks at you with narrowed eyes, seeing you grinning.

“Yeah!” Ellie exclaims. “Beauty and the Beast! I don’t know why you’re mad, Joel. The beast was a grumpy asshole; you’re a grumpy asshole; the beast falls in love and gets all soft; you’re in love and disgustingly soft.”

He sighs because she isn’t wrong, and it’s really fucking irritating.

The doors finally push open after some minutes, the familiar figure of his brother standing on the other side as you all start making your way toward him, Joel keeping his hand on your lower back.

Tommy’s eyes are locked on you, a furrow in his brow, clearly not expecting another person with him and Ellie. Joel smiles when recognition hits the other man, seeing the shock, followed by his face lighting up.

“Holy shit!” Tommy shouts. “Am I fuckin’ seein’ things, or is that you, Doc?”

The first time you met his brother, Tommy was shocked to find out you were a doctor—not because you’re a woman, the Miller boys were raised to respect women, but because you were so young, and like many other Texans, he started calling you ‘Doc,’ instead of your actual name as an honor and to be a little shit to Joel, a way to remind him you were way out of his league—younger, smarter, and you’re so fucking beautiful he still can’t believe you gave him a shot.

Joel’s sure it made you happy that Ellie decided to use it as a nickname for you, too.

You’ve got a beaming smile on your face when you answer, “It’s me!”

Tommy moves quick, his arms wrapping around you in a big bear hug, squeezing you so hard he lifts you from the ground, making you laugh. He sets you down, leaning back to get a good look at your face, smiling.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you alive—you haven’t aged a bit. Can’t believe it’s been over twenty fuckin’ years.”

“It’s crazy, but I’m sorry, Tommy, you’ve gotten old—look at those grey hairs,” you tease.

He throws his head back as he laughs.

Looking at you again, he says, “You’re givin’ me shit about some grey hairs and lookin’ old—how do you feel about how Joel’s aged?” Tommy nods his head toward him.

Of course, he’s fishing for information, the nosey bastard.

“Oh, Joel’s aged like the finest wine.” That has Joel perking up. “The sexiest man I have ever seen and looks so fucking good. Like, have you seen his ass? There’s so much more of it now, and I just wanna—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tommy cuts you off. “I don’t need to hear all that.”

“Me either,” Ellie adds, sounding disgusted.

“I wanna know,” Joel says, his chest puffing out a little that you still want him in his current state.

Tommy looks at him, saying, “Of course you do, you fuckin’ horndog. So, I’m assumin’ y’all are together again?”

“I’m marryin’ her,” Joel answers, smiling.

“Wow,” Ellie says. “Why am I not even surprised?”

“You finally asked her?” Tommy asks, grinning.

“I did.” Joel nods.

“And she fuckin’ agreed to marry your grumpy ass?”

Joel glares.

“As I stated,” you start. “I quite like his grumpy ass, thank you very much. And I did say yes.”

It made those damn butterflies flutter in his stomach hearing you say that.

“How long have y'all been back together?”

“A day,” the three of you answer simultaneously.

Tommy’s eyes get big.

“A day?” He whistles lowly. “Well, I’ll be damned, a day and you’re already gettin’ hitched.” He shrugs, “When you know, you know, and the world is fucked up, might as well spend whatever time you have remainin’ bein’ happy.”

“Yeah,” Joel replies. “You got a minister or someone to officiate?”

Tommy grins. “I happen to know just the guy. Let’s get y'all settled, though. Had a house readied for you—knew you’d be comin’ back. Expected the girl, but Doc is a welcome surprise.” He hugs you again before stepping back to lead you all inside.

When he and Ellie were here last, they didn’t get to explore the town much—too preoccupied with finding out the location of the Fireflies, Joel originally planning to have Tommy take her but changed his mind at the last moment.

He’s glad he took her, fucking relieved, because if it had been his brother, there’s no doubt in his mind she would’ve died, and Joel would have been left to carry it on his conscious along with all of the other fucked up choices he’s made in his life.

All of the choices he’s made about Ellie have been right.

Taking her from Boston.

Getting her to the Fireflies.

Saving her life.

Murdering the bastards to keep her safe.

Bringing her to Jackson to give her a chance at getting to be a kid.

He wouldn’t change a single one because she’s here with him and still living, and that’s all that fucking matters.

The town has many residential homes, a main street containing stores, a bar, places to eat, an old church with a looming bell tower, markets, greenhouses, a school, and a farm complete with livestock, the primary mode of transportation horseback—may Callus, the horse they rode on their trip to the Fireflies, rest in peace.

It’s truly impressive how self-sustaining the community is, not needing many outside supplies and powered by a hydroelectric dam nearby.

As Maria tells it, she and a group established this settlement some years earlier, and they’ve done a good job rehabbing all of the buildings and making the place feel like it hasn’t been touched by all the carnage outside the walls protecting it.

“This is the house,” his brother says, you all standing on the sidewalk in front of a two-story craftsman-style home that, if Joel had to guess, was built in the mid to late 1970s. Tommy gives him a hard stare. “We don’t have an abundance of homes to offer and make sure to match the needs of who arrives. Two bedrooms for Ellie and you, but I’m sure you’re more than willin’ to share with Doc. I chose this one ‘cause after checkin’ it out, I don’t think your eye will twitch at shoddy craftsmanship—if you hate it, I don’t care.”

“It’s perfect, Tommy,” Joel replies. “I’m not gonna complain about you givin’ us a roof over our heads and a place to sleep. I’m fuckin’ grateful.”

His brother smiles.

“Damn straight you are. Let me show you inside.”

It’s two bedrooms, like Tommy said, and three baths. The place is picked clean of decorations, but he’s impressed with the built-in bookshelves lining a wall in the living room.

There’s nothing to complain about, and he wouldn’t if there was, truthfully he really is grateful to have a place he can call home and live with you and Ellie.

But anywhere is home with the both of you. It’s just nice there are beds, plumbing, electricity, and heat.

The rooms contain essential furniture to make the place livable; Tommy says the bathrooms are stocked with necessities, the kitchen with basic cookware, and the bedding on both beds are clean—he’d have someone bring groceries the following day. Ellie put her backpack on the bed of the smaller room down the hall and past a bathroom to the master bedroom.

The tour ends in the backyard, where there’s an old garage that’s been converted into a one-bedroom studio apartment with its own kitchenette and bathroom; the place is empty. You’re standing beside Joel, Ellie on his other side.

“We planned on givin’ this to a single person who might come through, but if Ellie doesn’t like the idea of livin’ in the house and wants her own space, she can have it. We’d just need to get her some furniture, which wouldn’t be too hard.”

“That’d be fuckin’ awesome!” she exclaims. “I’m assuming you’ve been around these two when they’re together—” She points her thumb at you and Joel “—and you know how vomit-inducing they are? I’d like to avoid my ears bleeding or fuck, having to stab my eyes out 'cause I saw shit I didn’t want to see.”

Tommy laughs, and Joel sighs.

“Yeah, kid, they’re fuckin’ ridiculous! I caught them in my truck once—my fuckin’ truck! Made Joel pay to have it professionally cleaned—” It was worth the money. “I lost count of how many times I had to save…” he trails off, suddenly looking uncomfortable, his hand scratching at the back of his neck.

Joel feels like shit that Tommy thinks he can’t mention Sarah after how he’d refused the photo of her and him the last time he was here. He knows it doesn’t help that he’s spent years actively avoiding bringing her up and shutting down when Tommy mentioned her in the past.

“Tommy would take Sarah out,” Joel finishes for his brother, the other man looking surprised. “He’d pick her up and get her out of the house. She loved it 'cause he’d take her to movies and see shit she wasn’t allowed to watch at home.”

“‘Cause, you’re no fun. She was a big kid—always had a blast.”

Joel looks at him pointedly.

“Except for that one time you took her to see that damn scary movie, where she was afraid for a fuckin’ week that a girl was gonna come through the tv and kill her.”

That whole week, Joel had to sit on her bed for her to fall asleep, stroking her hair like when she was little.

“Okay, that was on me,” Tommy says, putting up his hands in defeat. “It was PG-13. I didn’t think it’d be that bad.”

“You slept on my couch for two nights.”

“As I told you then, my heat was out.”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar.”

“Anyways,” Tommy says, changing the subject. “We can figure out furniture for Ellie this week. I’m sure we can find extra shit. Now—” His attention turns to her “—how about I give you a better look at the town, introduce you to some kids around your age, and we meet up with Maria for dinner—she’d love to catch up with you.”

“Oh, thank god,” she replies. “Would Maria mind if I crash on your couch tonight? After what I heard last night, I’d prefer to be out of earshot for a good twenty-four hours for them to either run out of energy or, you know, Joel breaks a hip or something.”

Joel’s eyes go wide, not believing what she just said.

He thinks he’s in pretty great shape for his age—the knees, back, and hearing issues aside—there’s no fucking way he’d break a goddamn hip.

“Break a hip?” Joel asks. “I’m not that fuckin’ old!”

You pat his arm as you say, “Babe, you’d qualify for a senior discount.” His head snaps toward you, seeing the amusement on your face, Joel’s mouth opening and closing like a fish, not sure what to say because he feels ganged up on and betrayed. Tommy and Ellie are laughing their asses off, but he notices the shift in your eyes, that little look you get when you’re about to say something he’s really going to like, his mouth closing. “But,” you continue. Oh, he knows that look, his heart picking up when you squeeze his bicep.”I don’t care how old you are.” You’ve dipped into that sultry tone that makes his pants get a little tighter, Joel swallowing hard. “I still wanna fuck you. Very badly.”

He has to hold back the groan with the way you’re giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes, it evident that you do want him.

“Well, it’s time for us to go, kid,” Tommy announces, ushering her away. “Maria won’t mind you sleepin’ on the couch. Let’s grab your stuff before they get inside, and you know…”

“Disgusting,” she replies.

“I’ll have food and clothes left by the front door for when y'all come up for air,” Tommy calls to you both.

“Thanks, Tommy,” Joel replies, not bothering to look at his brother, instead, his gaze stuck on you.

He can hear their receding footsteps, focused on staring at you, feeling the air shift, your eyes darkening. He licks his lips, his fingers itching to touch you. Turning toward you, he grabs your hips to make you face him, smiling when you suck in a breath as he pulls you into him.

His voice goes lower, “You wanna fuck me?” he asks, seeing you visibly shiver. It makes something inside him purr that you’re so affected by him.

“Yes.” You nod. “I do.”

Leaning in close, he nudges his nose against yours.

“I wanna fuck you, too,” he rasps. “Miss how your tight little pussy feels around my dick. Wanna be inside you.” His lips ghost over yours. “You want that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your answer making his dick twitch. He knows you’re waiting for him to kiss you, sure your heart is pounding in your chest. He pulls back, smirking as you gasp in surprise.

“We better shower then,” he says, smacking your ass and making you squeak.

Your eyes narrow, poking him in the chest.

“You’re a fucking tease, Joel Miller!”

He grabs your hand, chuckling as he kisses your knuckles. He loves when you get needy.

“I’m your tease, baby.” He winks. “And it’s fuckin’ payback for callin’ me a goddamn senior citizen. I’m gonna show you how well my hips work when I’m fuckin’ you into the mattress.”

“Is that a promise?”

He smiles.

“You know damn well it is,” he answers. “Now, let’s get in there. They should be gone by now.”

He can’t help that he practically drags you by the hand he’s holding, too excited to get you naked and under him, as he leads you up the back porch and into your new home.

All of your gear is discarded on the master bedroom floor, and once it’s off your bodies, the nerves kick in—worried he won’t like you naked or that after all these years, you’ll be bad at sex. He’s nervous, too; you can tell by how tense he is, refusing to look you in the eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you break the silence, “I’ll take a shower first,” you say, pointing at the en suite.

He finally meets your gaze, nodding, “Okay.”

You’re just in your dirty scrubs, squeezing his arm before heading to the bathroom, the door shutting with a soft click behind you.

Logically, you know you have no reason to be nervous—Joel loves you and everything about you, yet the doubt is still there in your brain. What if you don’t measure up to the women he’s been with since everything went to hell? What if he finds he’s no longer attracted to you now that you’re older and not as perky as you once were? The thoughts are swirling in your brain as you strip and start the shower, getting in when it heats up with a clean washcloth in hand.

Your hair’s washed, and you know you shouldn’t, but while scrubbing your body with the soaped-up rag, you wonder what Tess looked like. Was she younger than you? Older? Prettier? He said he couldn’t love her, but he had found her attractive enough to fuck her.

You’re rinsing the suds from your skin, lost in thought, when the shower curtain is roughly pulled open, gasping in surprise, dropping the washcloth while your hands come up, ready to fight. You only have a second to realize it’s Joel before his broad palms grab your face, stepping into the tub as he crushes his mouth against yours.

He’s naked, your heart hammering in your chest, moaning as he eagerly presses his tongue into your mouth, backing you up into the shower wall opposite the falling water. You hiss at the coldness against your back, Joel desperately tasting every bit of you he can, his hands moving down your body to touch you, grab you, feel your skin, anything he can touch. You wrap your arms around his waist, letting him explore—palming your bare breasts, sliding along your tummy and back, his fingers taking notice of your scars, and grabbing handfuls of your ass.

Coming up for air, his lips are on your jaw.

“God, I’ve fuckin’ missed you,” he husks, squeezing your clean tits together, all of your earlier worries vanishing, now replaced with unbridled desire. Bending down, he pulls a nipple into his mouth, making you moan at the shock of pleasure that shoots through your core. He laves at your hardened bud, then moves to the other to give it the same attention, pushing your fingers into his wet hair.

Your toes are curled, arousal burning in your belly, while he worships your breasts, licking and biting at them, one then the other, over and over.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan. “I love this, but can you please wash up so I can touch you.”

He comes off your nipple with a pop, moving his head to kiss you quickly. Joel turns toward the water, shutting the shower curtain, groaning as he bends to pick up the washcloth. Your eyes are locked on his back when he straightens, seeing the muscles move as he leans to grab the soap bar to lather the towel and start scrubbing himself down, taking his time to ensure he gets every bit of skin he can reach, being thorough.

The freckles you remember are still there on the expanse of his back, constellations scattered over his golden skin, but there are now scars littered amongst them—some faded from age, others newer, one round and about the size of a golf ball that you could tell is only a few years old. He bends at the waist to wash his legs and feet, and when he stands back up, you reach out to gently press your fingertips to it, Joel tensing.

“What caused this one?” you ask.

“Fell on rebar.”

Your eyes go wide.

“Fell on rebar…?” you ask slowly. “Did it go all the way through?” He turns to face you, his skin pink from how hard he scrubbed, your eyes immediately seeing the twin scar on his torso, touching that one, too. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you gasp. “You’re so fucking lucky it didn’t puncture anything important.” You’re thinking of the organs it narrowly missed, shocked he even survived. There's another wound on his stomach that's recent, and whoever sewed it up was inexperienced. "That new one on your stomach happened on the road," you murmur. “Did it get infected?” You meet his gaze, seeing him frowning.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Can you wash my back?” Handing you the washcloth that he washed and soaped back up.

“Of course,” you reply, accepting it and smiling because he always asked you to get his back when you lived in Texas. He faces the water again, and you get to work, moving the cloth over his shoulders and spine while he washes his hair. “How’d you treat the infection?” you ask, making sure all of the golden skin in front of you is sudsy.

“Antibiotics.”

“Must’ve been hard to find,” you mused.

“Very.”

You finish up, happy to see his skin pinked up like his front. “Done,” you say.

“Thank Christ.”

He turns quickly, his hair slicked back, rinsing the soap off his body, and shutting off the water when he’s done, turning his attention to you. Now thoroughly clean, he plucks the washcloth from your hand and lets it drop onto the floor without a single care. He’s on you, invading your space, his hand cradling your jaw as his lips descend onto yours in a devastating kiss that has you moaning when he’s licking into your mouth. It’s all tongues and teeth—biting, sucking, licking, Joel caging you in against the tiled wall, his body pressing into yours, feeling the hard line of his cock between your bodies, while his other hand explores your skin.

“I want you so fuckin’ bad,” his words are muffled into your lips as he grabs your ass.

Your cunt is throbbing, needing him inside you.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you all but beg.

“God, I love hearin’ you say that,” he groans. His hand moves between your legs, sliding his fingers through your folds, your hands digging into his shoulders for something to hold onto, the air thick from humidity and anticipation. “You’re so fuckin’ wet—need you to come.” He circles your clit with two fingers, sparks of pleasure igniting in your belly, gasping his name.

He knows how you like it, remembers how to get you off fast, soft sounds spilling from your mouth when he presses one thick finger inside you easily, followed by another, pumping them while his thumb works your sensitive little clit. They feel so good, canting your hips into his hand, panting breaths, your fingernails imprinting half-moons into his skin.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunts. “Gotta open you up.” Your arousal is dripping down your thighs as he pushes in a third finger, making you mewl at the stretch. You feel so full, Joel pushing them in and out, filling you over and over, getting you closer and closer to your release. His other hand squeezes your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his fingers, your legs squirming at all the pleasure he’s bringing you.

He’s kissing you again, your brain buzzing, electricity thrumming under your skin, the heat building in your core, getting hotter and thicker. Joel works you up until he crooks his fingers to find that spongy spot inside you that makes you see God. He pinches at your stiff peak, his fingers inside you finally finding that sacred place, your body tensing up with a gasp.

“There it fuckin’ is,” he says. “Come on, baby lemme have it—lemme feel your little pussy soak my fingers. Come for me.”

He focuses on the spot, his fingers squelching in and out of you from your arousal spilling around them, Joel rubbing against it fast, rough, while tweaking your nipple until euphoria crashes over you, crying out his name as you come.

“My good fuckin’ girl,” his voice is hoarse. “You get so fuckin’ wet when you come.”

His fingers keep working for you to ride out your high, hearing the sounds get wetter between your legs, enjoying the waves of pleasure that have your limbs tingling.

When your breaths even out and pussy stops fluttering, he removes his hand, your eyes opening to find him looking at you with a hungry gaze, seeing the want so evident in the dark pools.

“You want me to fuck you?” he rasps.

Heat floods your system, cunt clenching at the thought of him inside you. It’s been so fucking long, and you’re craving it, wanting it with every fiber of your being.

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. “Please.”

Your back is pressing into the tile, Joel not wasting another second to lean down and hook an elbow under your knee, lifting it to spread you open, balancing on the ball of your other foot, and wrapping your arms around his neck. You know he’s got you; not afraid of falling. His eyes lock on your center, seeing you glisten with slick, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip.

His cock is so hard the tip is an angry red and weeping precum. You watch as he spits on his fingers, moaning when he spreads the saliva over your sopping hole, getting his digits wet again to coat his dick.

Your body vibrates in anticipation, sucking in a breath when he presses to your entrance. He starts pushing in, and your eyes roll back in your head, a strangled noise coming from your throat.

Time stops.

You’re lost in the sensations, his thick cock stretching you to your limits, savoring the slight burn, Joel crashing his lips against yours, moaning into your mouth.

It feels like you’re burning inside, every nerve in your body lit up like the fourth of July, and you can’t breathe, feeling like you’re being split open.

He bottoms out, his dick pushed in deep, taking up so much space that you feel unbelievably full—something coming over you at how fucking perfect it feels, how right. This is where he’s meant to be, his cock nestled inside you, joining you together, not wanting him to ever leave.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” his words come out strained against your lips, breathing hard. “I’m not gonna last. Oh shit, you feel too fuckin’ good—I missed this, I missed you. Your pussy is squeezin’ me so tight, takin’ me so fuckin’ well. Fuck.”

Oh, he’s just as lost as you are.

You finally take a breath.

“Use me,” you croak out. “Fuck me until you come—fill me up.”

He whines, his cock jerking inside you, and then he’s moving, desperately rutting into you over and over, groaning as he keeps pounding to chase his bliss.

He’s pushing you up the wall with his hard strokes, whimpering at how he’s filling you again and again. His lips attack yours in lust, pushing his tongue into your mouth to tangle with your own, Joel fucking into you hard and fast, the slap of his hips echoing in the small space.

Quickly his rhythm gets sloppy, his breaths shakey, knowing he’s close to his end, and it’s no surprise when he slams into you one last time, coming with a long, rumbling groan, feeling him gush inside you. He rolls his hips, fucking his come as deep as possible, hissing from the overstimulation until he finally stills.

His head falls into the crook of your neck, panting hot breaths into your skin.

The two of you stay like that for minutes, your fingers sliding into his wet hair, scratching lovingly at his scalp, Joel humming happily, your heartbeats slowing down together.

His mouth makes a path up your neck, kissing your skin along your jaw to get to your lips to kiss you tenderly.

Pulling back, his cheeks are flushed, looking you in the eyes with a soft smile.

He’s hoarse when he says, “Haven’t come that quick since I was a fuckin’ teenager.”

You smile, pushing his hair back with your fingers.

“It’s honestly very flattering you couldn’t last—makes me feel like I still got it.”

“Oh, you still got it, baby,” he replies, kissing you. “You more than got it.” He puts your leg down, pulling out of you with a hiss. Breaking the kiss, he takes a step back, eyes on his hands as he rubs them up your belly to squeeze your breasts, pushing them together. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy—love your tits.” He can’t help himself, leaning down to suck a nipple into his mouth, leaving you gasping at the sensation.

“I know you love my tits,” you reply.

He comes off you with a wet pop to look you in the eyes.

“They're gorgeous,” he says.

His fingers ghost down your ribs, his attention going back to your body, not expecting when he crouches down, pressing his face into your tummy.

“Love your body—so soft.” His voice is muffled in your skin. You suck in a breath when he presses his lips to a ragged scar on your lower abdomen. He kisses another at your hip and one over your ribs; with each new one he finds, he places a soft kiss, which has your eyes burning. “Love your scars.”

“Why would you love my scars?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

His head tilts up to look at you.

“They mean you’ve fought like hell to survive. Evidence of how fuckin’ strong you are.”

“That’s so fucking sweet.”

He stands back up with a groan.

“Hope you don’t mind mine,” he says. “I know my body isn’t what it used to be.”

Moving closer to him, you lean in to kiss the silvery scar on his face, Joel’s eyes closing as he shivers.

“I love your scars, too,” you reply, moving down to kiss one on his chest, then another you find, and another, Joel trembling. “I know you’ve fought like hell to survive, too.” Lowering, you press your lips to one over his belly button. “These are all just reminders that you’re alive, you’ve survived—” You kiss the newer one from his fall on rebar. “—you told death to get fucked, because you needed to live to fulfill your purpose in life.”

He pulls you up, his hand sliding over your cheek to cradle your face.

“To be here to love you?” he asks.

“No.” You shake your head. “To protect the people you care about and love them when nobody else will. Ellie might be a pain in your ass, but she’s your kid now, and you’re the only person she has. Apparently, you, Joel Miller—” You poke his bare chest “—are a girl dad. Which is so cute. Sarah would be proud of all you’ve done for Ellie.”

There are tears in his eyes.

“I couldn’t let her die,” he says thickly. “Not after losin’ Sarah, not when I had a shot at savin’ her—woulda died tryin’, 'cause you’re right, Ellie is my kid and a big pain in my ass,” he chuckles. “But I still care about her, even if all she does is give me shit.”

You snort.

“That’s how teenagers are.”

“That they are. You’re wrong about somethin’, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not the only person she’s got—she has you, too.”

“That’s true. She makes my maternal instincts go haywire—feel the need to protect and take care of her.”

He strokes your cheek, smiling sweetly.

“You would’ve been a great mom.”

Sadness washes through you, making your throat go so tight it’s a struggle to swallow.

For twenty years, you’ve mourned the life you could’ve had, knowing just how close you’d gotten to being a mother and having it ripped away by the Outbreak happening. You lost so much, and you let your grief get the better of you, taking drastic measures to ensure you could never become pregnant… again. The only thing that kept you going was the hope you’d find Joel and Sarah, and as the years went on, it became harder and harder to believe you’d come across them, changing your reason to continue surviving with wanting to find a cure to save people. That’s the key to keeping your will to live in such a desolate fucking world—always have something that keeps you fighting, find a purpose, anything that makes you want to wake up the next day, and not give up.

Joel would never know he lost two children in 2003, it would devastate him, and there’s no point in adding to his suffering—he’s been through enough.

You’ve had time to grieve and heal; it’s all in the past and something you try not to dwell on, not ruminating on what could have been, only focusing on the now.

Traditional motherhood may not have been in the cards for you, but you’d gotten over a year with Sarah, who was like a daughter to you, loving her immensely, and doing your best to be a positive female role model, always there when she needed you. You want to be that for Ellie, too. She’s been in your life for a day, and you already care about her, happy to be there for her however she wants.

You’re getting a chance to raise another teenager with Joel, and that’s enough.

It’s more than enough.

“You’re thinkin’ awfully hard,” he says, taking you from your thoughts.

“Sorry.”

His eyebrows pinch together.

“You okay, baby?”

Smiling reassuringly, you nod as you answer, “Yeah, I’m great.” You need to get your mind on something else, rubbing your hands up his wet chest—God, he’s so broad. “Now, I think I was telling you how much I love your body.”

He smirks.

“You said somethin’ about my ass earlier.”

Your palms slide to his back and down to grab handfuls of said backside.

“Oh, yes. I love your ass very much.” You squeeze his flesh to punctuate the sentence, making him chuckle. “Like, my god, I can’t believe how much bigger you are.” Feeling up his back, his muscles play under your palms, resting them over his shoulder blades. “And your shoulders. Fuck, babe, you’re hot and look so fucking good. You’ve still got it, too—I’m wet just looking at you,” you say with a wink.

His hands move to grab your ass, his eyes going dark.

“You sure you’re wet, or is it my come drippin’ outta you?”

You smile, twining your arms around his neck.

“Both. Now, let’s wash off and take this party to the bed,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

“I like how you think,” he replies, kissing you quickly.

After a quick rinse, towels were found under the sink—not as fluffy as the ones at Bill and Frank’s, but they got the job done, drying off quickly and discarding them in a pile on the ground. He stands with his hip against the bathroom counter, his arms crossed, smiling while he watches you tend to your hair as he’d done hundreds of times before, and it makes him feel so fucking warm doing it again.

“I told you,” he says.

You glance at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Told me what?” you ask.

“That you didn’t need all those damn creams and serums you put all over your face and body every night—you’re still fuckin’ beautiful without ‘em.”

“If I had my damn creams and serums, I wouldn’t look so fucking old!” you laugh.

His eyebrows pinch together, frowning.

“Stop that. You don’t look fuckin’ old. I’ll tell you as often as it takes to make you believe me when I say you’re fuckin’ sexy.”

“Stop being sweet. You’ll make me fall even more in love with you,” you reply with a wink.

He smirks.

“Good.”

Once you’ve finished your hair, he can’t help himself, making you giggle when he moves behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, kissing your shoulder and neck as you both walk awkwardly into the bedroom, him tackling you onto the mattress.

It’s a queen size bed, a thick navy blue comforter on top over cream-colored sheets that had seen better days. Turning you to face him, he cups your jaw, taking in how you look with your wet hair, big smile, and those eyes he loves so much—they’re gorgeous, you’re gorgeous. Even after all these years, he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispers out loud, staring in awe.

And you’re here.

The happiness has him kissing you hard enough to steal the air from your lungs before you can respond. He needs to feel you, tracing his palm down your side and back, your hand wandering over him like you need the same thing—physical evidence that you’re both real.

He presses his tongue between your lips, and your fingers dig into his shoulder, moaning into his mouth as you welcome him to slide it along your own in practiced movements. He’s touching all of your warm skin, feeling the familiarity but also the changes, cherishing each scar he feels or the hardness of muscle in places that used to be soft, knowing it’s all proof of your survival and strength.

Joel has you naked and clean, and for the moment, he just wants to lie here kissing and feeling you, take his time to just enjoy the two of you being back together—there are no threats, no time crunch, no risk of a fourteen-year-old girl interrupting, it’s just you both in the safety of your new home, finally being able to relax.

There’s still a loaded gun on the bedside table, more nearby on the floor because old habits die hard even though it’s a relatively safe place—he’ll always be paranoid. It’s what happens when you live in an apocalypse, you have to be prepared, or you’ll die.

He’s as relaxed as he can be, his right ear pressed to the mattress, hearing from the left your soft moans, loving how your hand feels on him, and the familiar press of your lips slotting against his so perfectly, not wanting to stop kissing you, wishing he could stay like this forever.

Minutes pass, his hand sliding between your legs, feeling you wet and warm, shifting his hunger.

You’re panting when his mouth kisses your jaw, hearing you suck in a breath when his teeth nibble on your chin.

“Can I lick your pussy?” he purrs.

“You didn’t get enough when I sat on your face last night?”

“Nope,” he chuckles, nuzzling into your cheek. “Missed it. You taste so fuckin’ good, I could eat it for hours, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, pulling on his head to make him look at you, a smirk on your pretty face.

“It’s nice to know that the world ending hasn’t curbed your addiction to eating pussy,” you tease.

He frowns.

“I, uh, haven’t done it since you…” he replies, swallowing hard.

It isn’t something he’d wanted to do with anyone else, it felt far too intimate. Sex for him was always quick and a means to an end, the only foreplay being his fingers to make sure his partner was wet enough to take him. It was hard enough fucking other people, the first couple of times, he couldn’t even finish, learning that if he put them on their knees, closed his eyes, and imagined it was you, he could get there.

Tess didn’t mind… at first because she was thinking of someone else, too, moaning her dead husband’s name the first time Joel made her come while fucking her from behind. They were using each other, they knew they were using each other to try and feel close to the people they’d lost, but something changed after many years had passed, and it felt like he’d been doused in cold water when his name fell from her lips.

There was an understanding from the beginning that there would never be anything more between them—he wasn’t over losing the love of his life, and she’d been in the same boat with the loss of her husband. After about ten years of being together, she developed feelings, and Joel didn’t, knowing he never would. Sure, he loved Tess, but it wasn’t the same way he loved you. It could never be the same way he loved you; no matter how much he tried to convince himself he needed to move on, he couldn’t. He’d tell her no when she’d ask him to be on top until he finally relented with the room pitch black and your face on his brain.

Even after all the time she was with him, he never tasted her. He didn’t want to, knew it wouldn’t be the same, and he was already giving her more than he wanted; that would be too much, knowing it’d cause him to feel guilt and sadness, so he avoided it.

He sees the surprise on your face at his admission, your eyes rounding.

“Oh…”

“Yeah… Just didn’t seem right.”

“No, I get it. Yours is the last dick I sucked.”

His lips turn up.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Between lack of personal hygiene and the fact you have the perfect dick, I wasn’t sucking anybody else off.”

“You really think it’s perfect?”

Your hand strokes his cheek, Joel leaning into the touch. “Babe, I fantasize about your dick. The only way I can get off is if I think about it and you.”

He cups your cunt, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss.

“You’ve got the perfect pussy,” he murmurs into your mouth. He pulls back to look you in the eyes. “For twenty fuckin’ years, I’ve only come thinkin’ about you, rememberin’ how it felt to be inside you, touchin’ you, fuck, how you taste—fucked my hand so many goddamn times thinkin’ about my head buried between your thighs.”

“God,” you gasp.

“It’s Joel, but close.” He smirks.

You laugh, slapping his chest playfully, and it makes him grin.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” he replies, grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss on each of your knuckles.

You smile sweetly.

“I do. Very much.”

“I love you, too.” He gives you a quick kiss, meeting your eyes when he asks, “Now, may I please lick your pussy? Got years I gotta make up for.”

“You’re just fuckin’ jonesing for a taste,” you giggle. “Of course, babe. You can eat me out and get your fill, but I get to suck your dick after. I just wanna choke on it, you know?”

His cock twitches, stifling a groan at remembering how good your mouth felt around him.

He smiles, chuckling as he says, “Still hungry for my dick.” He kisses you. “You wanna choke on it, and I wanna drown in your pussy. We’re a match made in heaven.”

You snort.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, smoothing your fingers through his wet hair.

His mouth trails open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. He needs to get you in a better position, knowing he can’t kneel on the floor like he used to due to his knees being fucked, so he pushes you onto your back, wrapping an arm around your middle and using his strength to tug you up into the middle of the bed.

The mattress squeaks in protest as he moves to get on his knees between your spread legs, his cock throbbing while his eyes track over you spread out naked in front of him—you’re looking at him with want, your lip tugged between your teeth, Joel wanting to touch your breasts, and kiss your belly, the light from the bedside lamp reflecting on the glistening lips of your pussy, showing just how much you wanted him.

He licks his bottom lip, mouth watering at the thought of tasting you, stroking his hard cock a few times to ease the ache.

Just like how it’s a fact the sky is blue and grass is green, Joel Miller is a tits man, through and through, and he’s always been obsessed with yours.

Bending at the waist, he palms your breasts, feeling the familiar weight before leaning down to pull your stiff nipple between his lips, loving how you moan when he sucks. He laves at the bud, nibbling it with his teeth, knowing it drives you crazy. His cock is throbbing by the time he moves to the other side, giving it the same treatment, hearing you moaning unabashedly, your fingers tangled in the bedding.

Your nipples are shiny from spit when he finishes, his beard scraping against your skin as he kisses down your belly, his lips finding that one scar below your belly button, wondering in the back of his mind what caused it. The bed jostles while he maneuvers to lay down in the space between your open legs, having to adjust his dick digging into his stomach.

He grabs the front of your thighs to keep them open, seeing you sit on your elbows to watch as he kisses a wet streak along your inner thigh, goosebumps rising on your skin.

“Joel,” you say his name in that breathy exhale that makes his cock twitch when he sucks hard on the tender skin.

A smile is on his lips when he turns his head, hearing you gasp when his breath ghosts over your pussy to get to your other thigh, where he makes the same trail of kisses.

He’s lost count of how many times you’ve accused him of being a tease over the years. There was just something he loved about getting you all needy to the point you begged—that you’re so desperate for him, that he’s the only one who can give you what you need, so when his teeth sink into your meaty thigh, and you whine, “God, Joel. Stop teasing me,” the words go straight to his dick, making him groan.

He raises his head to meet your gaze, crookedly smiling at the crease in your brow and wanting to kiss your pouting mouth.

“You needy for me, baby?” he asks in a raspy tone. “Want me to touch that pretty little pussy? I’m just takin’ my time—wanna savor this.”

Your pout gets more defined.

“Well, I want you to touch me.”

“Is that any way to ask for somethin’?” His eyebrow raises.

“Joel,” you whine again. “Please, stop teasing me, and pretty please, with a goddamn cherry on top, touch me.”

“That’s my good girl, askin’ so nicely,” he winks, seeing you visibly shiver.

His attention moves to your center, his fingers spreading open the glossy lips of your sex, his other hand gripping your thigh.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he husks, licking his lips.

He spits on your clit, watching the saliva drip down, and he dives in, swiping a broad stripe of his tongue from your entrance to the perky bundle of nerves, groaning at the first taste of you. You’re the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth, and he can’t get enough, hearing you loudly moan as he does another circuit.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” his words said into your pussy, the bed protesting when you fall back on it.

He reaches to thread his fingers between yours to hold your hand while he laps at you, licking up every bit of your need from your puffy lips and between your folds, greedily wanting it all.

There’s a wet spot where his dick is leaking precum under him, Joel in fucking heaven languidly tasting you, and in no rush, appreciative sounds rumbling in his chest. You’d asked him so nicely to touch you, but you didn’t specify where you wanted him to touch, so he’s licking everywhere except your clit, which he knows is driving you crazy, feeling you squirm, your pussy weeping for him. He eagerly licks inside your cunt, making his tongue go stiff to fuck it into you, your juices enveloping his tastebuds.

Fuck, you taste so fucking good.

He could live here.

If he died right this second, he’d die a happy man.

Your hips are moving as he swipes through your folds to try and get him where you want him, making a pitiful sound when he doesn’t oblige.

He’s been going at this for a while and knows you’ll be at your breaking point at any second with your skin glistening in sweat and your whimpering moans.

“Joel, I swear to fucking god if you don’t—” your sentence cuts off into a long, loud cry as his lips wrap around the little berry of your clit, and he sucks, your back arching off the bed. He has to put an arm over your waist to keep you still, your hand squeezing his tight, and with how your body seizes up, he knows you’re coming, dipping his mouth down to drink down every drop of your release as it spills from you.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet when you come,” he groans into your cunt, shoving his tongue inside you, feeling you flutter around his muscle.

He doesn’t stop after getting you off once—he’s addicted, ravenous, wants more of your come on his tongue, and continues licking and sucking, devouring you like a man starved enjoying his first meal in years. And wasn’t he? Yesterday was the first time he had his mouth on you in over two decades, and drowning in your pussy wasn’t enough to curb his hunger.

It’s obscene the noises of him slurping and moaning into your cunt, enthusiastically eating you out, while soft sounds slip past your lips.

You sit up on an elbow, and your eyes meet, Joel seeing how good he’s making you feel, and it has him twisting his lower body to rest on his hip and free his cock, continuing to hold your hand while the other moves to stroke himself to ease the throbbing ache, squeezing the base of himself to keep from coming.

You’d been joking about his addiction to eating pussy, but he was—if there’s time, he’s getting his mouth on you, no questions asked, he wants to taste you.

You love it.

And it makes him so fucking hard knowing how much you love it.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan. “You’re gonna make me come again.”

That just has him doubling down, taking his hand off his dick to push two fingers into your soaking hole, rubbing them into that spot only he can reach while he harshly sucks on your clit.

Your head falls back, gasping his name, your cunt clenching and wetting his fingers as you come, Joel groaning, slipping them out to fuck his tongue into you and drink up your juices.

He doesn’t want to stop, even when your thighs snap shut over his ears and you fall back onto the mattress, he just keeps going, his mouth working against you, and he knows he’s gone—he’s gotten a taste, and now he’s drunk on your pussy, the world falling away around him, losing himself to you.

Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he jerks off while he makes you come a third time, him quickly following, raggedly moaning into your cunt while lapping up your release, his spend spurting over his hand and onto the blanket.

Time passes, he gets you off two more times, and you finally push at his head, Joel unable to hear you saying his name with your thighs clenched against his head. He untangles his fingers and pulls your trembling legs from him, coming off you to find you up on an elbow meeting his eyes, noticing your body shaking like a leaf in the wind while he pants.

“Too many?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Too many,” you croak, and he can see how blissed out you are.

“Need a break?”

“Please.”

“Okay.”

He feels your wetness coating the lower half of his face, drenching his beard, smelling you in the hair under his nose. Licking his lips, he tastes you, savoring it on his tongue.

Crawling up your body, you lie back, his half-hard cock pressing into your belly as his face hovers over yours.

“Sorry, baby.” He kisses you, making you moan when you taste yourself.

You break the kiss, eyes narrowing.

“No you’re not, you liar.”

He huffs out an amused breath.

“You got me. I’m gonna clean up and go grab us some water.”

He kisses you quickly, feeling you smile into his lips.

“This is why I love you,” you reply. Your gazes meet when he pulls back. “You always take care of me after making my legs turn to jelly.”

He chuckles.

“Don’t need you passin’ out from bein’ dehydrated.”

“And I love that you care. God, you’re the best. The moment I can use my limbs, I am giving you the sloppiest blow job.”

He grins.

“A deals, a deal.”

It made you laugh that Joel walked bare ass naked downstairs after cleaning up in the bathroom without a second thought.

He didn’t have much choice, being as all of his clothes are dirty, and he wasn’t going to make you move for his modesty’s sake to grab a sheet, so down he went with his dick out at half-mast.

He’d returned with two glasses of water strategically held in one of those big hands of his, the other holding a large duffle bag that Tommy had apparently dropped off in the entryway while you two were otherwise occupied.

Joel’s brother even left a sweet note inside it:

Dinners in the bag.

I’ll be by in the morning with breakfast.

For the love of god, don’t break your fucking hip. You’re pushing sixty. Stick to missionary. –T

“Asshole,” Joel scoffs, crumpling it and tossing it to the floor.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the bag beside you, Joel rummaging around in it, seeing it’s stuffed with clothes for the two of you, him handing you two wrapped sandwiches, peeking inside one to see it’s steak.

The realization you’re both hungry hits when your stomachs growl almost at the same time from the smells wafting in the air, the duffle bag getting set with the rest of your gear, and Joel taking a seat next to you, eating your sandwiches in companionable silence, before downing your cups of water.

He crawls onto the bed to lay with his head on a pillow, pulling on your arm to get you to join him, resting your head on his chest, hearing the strong thuds of his heart beating.

Your fingers are drawing circles over his other pec, Joel’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close to him.

Kissing your hair, he murmurs, “I missed this.”

Tilting your head up to see his face, you ask, “Eating my pussy for—” You look over him to the alarm clock on the bedside table “—almost two hours.”

His chest rumbles under you as he laughs.

“Well, I missed that, too, but I’m talkin’ about holdin’ you.” He squeezes you. “Always fit so perfectly in my arms.” He kisses your head again.

“I missed this, too,” you reply, leaning your head up to kiss his chin. He moves so his lips meet yours, it starts off chaste, the familiar press of your lips to each other’s. Before you know it, there’s a shift, that need you have for one another taking over, and the kisses get more urgent, him pulling you on top of him to plunder his tongue into your mouth, his hands roaming over your back and ass, squeezing the plump flesh.

It’s no surprise when arousal threads in your belly, his cock hardening under your pussy.

You’re panting when he bites at your lip, moving his mouth to nibble at your jaw.

“I wanna suck your dick,” you say through heavy breaths.

“Don’t we gotta wait thirty minutes after eating?”

“That’s swimming and a myth—zero scientific evidence.” You pull his head back to look you in the eyes, his so dark barely any brown remains. “It’s my turn. May I please suck your dick?”

He audibly gulps, nodding his head.

“Yeah,” he answers. “You can suck my dick.”

You grin.

“Thank you.” You kiss him quickly on the lips, then make a path over his stubbled jaw and down his neck, sucking on the taut skin hard enough to leave a mark, Joel moaning under you.

He always loved when you marked him, proudly wearing your hickies and never hiding them, Sarah always making a face if she saw one, and Tommy giving him shit, which Joel always said was worth it for people to know he was seeing someone.

Going lower, your mouth moves over his chest leaving kisses and marks in its wake, his hips bucking when you flick your tongue over his nipple, smiling when you suck on it, and Joel makes a choked-out sound under you. His fingers dig into the bedding as you lave at his other one, nibbling on it gently.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

Looking at him through your lashes, your head coming up, you reply, “Glad that hasn’t changed.”

You continue your way down his body, scooting off of him and between his spread legs, your knees sinking into the mattress, kissing and marking his belly, scraping your nails down his chest, feeling his muscles tense beneath your lips.

“Christ,” he groans, pressing his hands to his face. “Is this payback for all my teasin’?”

“Maybe.”

His cock is resting against his stomach, leaking precum, letting him feel your hot breath along his shaft, Joel’s arms falling to his sides, rough sounds coming from his throat.

“Baby,” he growls when you shuffle back and away, making you smirk.

“Don’t enjoy getting a taste of your own medicine?” you tease.

The pillow under his head has him propped up enough that he’s got a view of you between his legs, Joel glaring daggers at you.

You laugh, giving yourself enough room to bend forward and press your cheek to his thigh.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You started it.”

“And I’m about to fuckin’ finish it,” he says seriously.

“Ooh—“ You kiss his skin “—you’re making threats.” Your head rises, eyes locked on his, smiling as sweetly as possible. “You don’t scare me,” you say, “and I know you’re gonna stay right there and let me do whatever I want to you, because even though you’re a big, gruff, scary, tough guy—that stare probably putting the fear of god into grown men—there’s something about you that’s never changed.”

“What’s that?”

“You are and will always be my good boy.”

His cock jerks, his mouth going slack, eyes closing as he moans deeply—his reaction making it feel like there’s electricity humming under your skin, a jolt of arousal shooting through your core.

No matter how different his exterior may look, you know what’s inside and what makes him tick, and that delights you to no end.

His voice is rough when he speaks, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You snort.

“Never,” you reply. “Now, I’m gonna make you feel good.”

He doesn’t have a chance to reply, lowering your head to pepper kisses along his inner thighs, his breaths stuttering when you suck a mark onto one, then the other.

“Shit,” he moans when you finally take him in hand, his cock velvety smooth and hard like steel in your grasp, pumping him languidly.

His hands are at his sides, eyes locked on what you’re doing, his lips parted.

Nerves are swirling in your belly like the first time you were met with this man’s big dick, trying to figure out how you’d fit it in your mouth. This time around, you know your limits and won’t overdo it and gag on him again.

He’d been very sweet at the time and honestly apologized for the size of his cock.

It was cute.

You gather spit on your tongue, letting it drip onto the tip, your mouth quickly following to engulf him, Joel harshly sucking in air, you tasting the salty tang of his arousal before opening your mouth wider to take him as far as you can, Joel moaning as your warmth envelops him.

“Your mouth feels so fuckin’ good, baby,” his strained voice says.

You’re stroking what won’t fit, hand gliding wetly from your saliva and his precum, bobbing your head, his dick sliding along your tongue to hit the back of your throat. He bucks his hips a little to chase your heat on the upstrokes, not wanting to leave your mouth, and it’s like riding a bicycle—quickly, the nerves disappear as you find your rhythm, your moans vibrating around him because this is something you loved doing—still love doing, sucking his cock always an experience.

Your eyes meet, seeing his glazed over.

“Love havin’ your lips wrapped around my dick,” he rasps. “Such a pretty fuckin’ mouth—God, I missed it.”

Swirling your tongue around the tip, hitting those sensitive spots, and using your free hand to fondle his sack makes him gasp, fuck, his hands clenching the bedding tightly in his fists.

You wonder if this is how he feels when he eats your pussy—his noises, hearing how much he enjoys what you’re doing going straight to your cunt, your inner thighs coated in slick. You love his slightly salty taste and how he fills your mouth, fitting so comfortably snug like he was made for you. But then there’s how he looks at you like you hung the moon and every twinkling star in the sky—full of reverence and devotion; it makes your heart pick up in pace, and you try harder to suck his soul out through his dick.

It’s messy, saliva and precum dripping down his length to his balls, hearing the wet slide of your hand stroking him, you humming around him. His cock glides along your palate, Joel sounding like he’s losing his mind in pleasure, praise slipping from his lips at how good you’re making him feel.

It’s a powerful feeling to have a gruff, hard, grumpy man like Joel Miller turn into a moaning, whimpering mess beneath you.

He’s practically writhing when you swallow around his dick and take him into your throat, a strangled noise leaving his mouth—your lips suctioned tight around him, sucking while your throat squeezes him.

He’s unashamed about the sounds he’s making, doing his best not to move, the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensed.

“Fuck,” Joel whines. His eyes are squeezed shut, fingers gripped tight in the comforter, sweat shining on his skin, a bead sliding down the column of his neck, and he’s so beautifully flushed all over. Tears stream from your eyes at suppressing your gag reflex, something you’re glad you still remember how to do, breathing through your nose. “You’re gonna make me come,” he pants. “Don’t wanna come yet. Please.”

It’s the last word that makes your cunt clench hard around nothing, sputtering and coming off of him with a gasp, a line of spit and precum connecting you to him.

His eyes open, Joel’s chest heaving, reaching to rub his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Still remember how I like my dick sucked,” he says. “That mouth of yours almost got me.”

Smiling, you reply, “Wouldn’t have been a bad thing.”

“If I came down your throat, it’d be a bit before I could be inside you, and I’m fuckin’ achin’ to feel your pussy squeeze me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Get up here and sit on my dick.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“You know damn well you wanna.”

Sitting up on your knees, you start moving.

“Of course I do,” you reply, straddling his hips, rocking your pussy back and forth along his hard shaft between your bodies. “But where’s the romance?” you continue, seeing him swallow hard, his hands grabbing your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples. “Sometimes a girl wants to be wooed.” His cock is wet below you from a mixture of spit, precum, and slick, hearing your movements, seeing Joel having difficulty concentrating, moving to grip your waist. “The least you can do is ask nicely.”

“Sorry, baby.” His eyebrows are pinched together, him swallowing again, panting. “I wanna be inside you—need to be inside you. Missed you. Wanna feel you. Please, baby, will you ride me?”

A Cheshire cat grin pulls up on your lips, leaning forward, holding yourself up with a hand pressed into the mattress by his head, hovering your mouth over his to meet his lust-blown gaze.

Your voice goes husky, “Yes, I will, since you were such a good boy.” Your tongue flicks up his top lip, Joel moaning, his cock jumping under you as he digs his fingers into your skin.

His mouth crashes into yours, kissing you hard.

Your lips stay connected as you raise your hips, your other hand guiding him to your entrance, sinking down on him, moaning into each other's mouths as he fills you—that first initial stretch always taking your breath away, savoring the slight pinch of him stretching you out, his cock carving out space in your depths.

Bottoming out, you feel so full, the kissing pausing with your jaws going slack at the intensity of how fucking good it feels, breathing each other in—sharing in this moment of being joined once more, feeling that strong sense that this is where you’re meant to be, this is who you’re meant to be with, and you’re finally home.

You feel the prickle of tears in your eyes, overwhelmed by the emotions coming over you. The shower had been quick, desperate, and not a lot of time to truly feel, and now it’s all washing over you, everything hitting you at once that you feel so complete, like you found that one piece of the puzzle you were missing, and you’re finally whole.

“I love you,” Joel says, his words unsteady with emotion. You open your eyes to find him already looking at you and can see in his gaze that he’s feeling it, too, just as overcome as you are. “I love you so fuckin’ much it hurts.” He kisses you, continuing to speak into your mouth. “Thank you for findin’ me. Thank you for still lovin’ me. Thank you for wantin’ to marry me—I’m forever fuckin’ yours.”

A tear rolls down your cheek.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his lips. “I’m yours, I’ve always been yours, I’ll always be yours. Thank you for loving me, asking me to marry you, and giving me another kid to raise. I love you, Joel Miller.”

He smiles as he kisses you, a roll of your hips making his breath stutter.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.

Your head comes up to meet his heated gaze.

“I love how you feel inside me—so fucking big.” His cock twitches inside your walls. “Fuck me like you mean it, Joel. Fuck me like I’m already your wife.”

A growl rips from his throat, his big hands grabbing onto your ass, kissing you while he starts fucking you on his cock, up and down, the slick slide of him moving in and out of you making your brain go fuzzy in pleasure.

You’re moving with him, picking up pace, rising up on your thighs, and dropping back down, spearing yourself on his dick, feeling him so deep it knocks the air from your lungs. His lips are still on yours, the kisses messy, uncoordinated, like all he cares about is feeling your mouth on his, swallowing each other's breathy sounds.

Fingers dig into the plump flesh of your backside, gasping when Joel starts thrusting up into you, stuttering your moans at how he pounds into you, him grunting, breaking the kiss to bare his teeth, a feral look on his face as he fucks into you with abandon—the beginnings of your orgasm taking shape, starting to build. The wet slap of his hips sounds in the room, mixed with the rough sounds from Joel’s throat and the softer one’s escaping your mouth, taking everything he’s giving to you, making the arousal burn brighter inside you.

There’s sweat beading on his forehead and down his neck, the muscles tense under his skin, and you're unable to stop yourself from licking a stripe up the salty column of his throat, being rewarded with a gasp.

He’s kissing you again when he loses steam, pulling you down to grind on his cock, the curls at the base of him rubbing deliciously against your clit, working you up, getting closer and closer to your release.

His mouth leaves yours, Joel suddenly groaning as he sits up in the bed, an arm around your back to bring you him, spreading his legs out in front of him, your own bracketing his waist, keeping his dick inside you while getting you comfortable in his lap.

Looping your arms around his neck, you press your fingers into the sweat-damp hair at the back of his head, looking him in the eyes.

You’re breathless when you say, “Hi, babe.”

He smirks.

“Hi, baby.”

You start rocking your hips, circling them, to try and find the best angle, your mouth falling open when his cock rubs against a spot that has your toes curling.

Joel’s arm is wrapped around you to hold you close, his other hand on your hip helping you move, kissing you passionately, deeply, one of those ones where you can feel deep down in your bones how much he loves you—chasing his mouth when he pulls back to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“Want you close,” he murmurs. “Wanna feel you come like this.”

“Okay,” you breathe, focusing on what feels good, working yourself up and down to have him pressing into that pleasurable place on every downstroke.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasps. “Fuck yourself on me—use me.”

You’re building yourself up, Joel’s mouth wandering—a nip to your chin, pressing kisses to your jaw, each corner of your lips, along your neck, his beard scratching across your skin; his hands roam—gripping your ass, sliding over your tummy and up to your breasts, pinching and teasing your hard peaks.

The nerves in your body are alight in pleasure, panting moans falling from your mouth. He ducks his head to lick your nipple, engulfing it in his hot mouth, the sensation shooting to your core, making your head fall back, “Oh, fuck, Joel,” you moan, gripping his hair. “Feels so fucking good.”

He moves to the other side, bouncing yourself on him, pushing yourself closer, feeling your muscles beginning to tighten. He snakes a hand down, pressing his thumb to your clit, making you cry out from the jolt of pleasure.

He’s close to coming.

He’s too fucking close.

Feeling you fluttering around him, making him almost lose it, so worked up from being inside you again—your warmth, the tight squeeze of your cunt hugging him like a warm blanket.

He’s trying to calm himself down, but you’ve taken over all of his senses—touching you, tasting you, seeing you, hearing you, smelling you—you’re all he can think about, and it has him feeling like he’s going to blow his load at any second, which is embarrassing. His stamina has never been this bad, can’t believe he came in three minutes flat when he fucked you in the shower, knowing he lasted much longer the very first time you had sex.

What is happening to him?

He’s never had this problem before.

Is it his age? Has it finally caught up to him?

It’s glaringly obvious what has Joel getting close to becoming a two-pump chump, and it’s you.

He’s at your mercy.

You’ve got him fucked up.

And he wouldn’t change it for the goddamn world.

He’s trying to control his breathing, his thumb circling your clit, his other hand digging into your ass to guide you up and down, knowing you’re almost there, and if he goes with you, then so be it.

Raising his head, his face is a hair’s breadth from yours, seeing your lips parted and eyes closed, moaning loudly as you chase your high, moving at your own pace, looking so fucking beautiful his heart skips a beat.

“I know you’re close, baby,” he husks. “Look at me. Lemme see you come.”

Glazed-over eyes meet his, it’s evident how good you’re feeling, and he swears his dick gets harder at the sight, the tight clutch of you squeezing him, all wet and warm.

He’s missed this—your sounds, how you feel, how you look. He wants to stay like this forever and never leave your warmth, loving how it’s consuming him, spreading through his body to the tips of his fingers to his toes.

He’ll never tire of this, how perfectly you fit together, like you were made for each other, your softness complementing his roughness, helping to smooth out his edges.

He presses harder onto your bundle of nerves, your walls tightening.

“Come for me,” he says through his teeth.

He can see it when you come—is so familiar with that look it’s imprinted in his brain, sending a spike of pleasure down his spine.

Your mouth opens in a silent cry, clamping down hard on him as you come undone, gripping him so tight, you’ve stilled. Joel’s hanging on by a thread, moaning your name, feeling your release dripping down his balls, your cunt wetter and pulsing around him.

“My good girl,” he pants, rubbing his hands over your back, feeling your soft skin.

He takes a calming breath, trying to center himself, wanting to prove to himself he can last and really fuck you like his wife.

Getting himself under control, his arm wraps around you, and the moment you relax, he’s moving, grunting as he carries you forward to get you on your back, you gasping in surprise as you bounce gently onto the mattress, the springs squeaking beneath you.

His hips slot into the cradle of your thighs, sheathed to the hilt inside you, getting your hands above your head and intertwining your fingers to hold them, keeping his weight up on his forearms as his hips start rocking, the velvety walls of your pussy hugging him tightly, sucking him into your wet heat.

He catches your lips in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper, loving how you feel under him—your body soft, welcoming him, beckoning him, wanting more with every slick drag of his cock in and out of your greedy depths.

It feels like there’s fire just beneath his skin, a burning knot growing in his belly, having trouble thinking with your mouth on his and the hypnotic feeling of your cunt pulsing around him.

He’s enraptured.

The primal being in him takes over, his pace quickening, mouths detaching to press his forehead to yours as he starts railing, the slap of his hips working into you over and over, wanting to feel the tight squeeze of you coming again.

“Joel,” you say his name in a breathy moan that has his hips stuttering from the stinging pleasure that cuts through him. You’re quivering beneath him, your legs trembling around his middle. “Oh, fuck,” you gasp. “You’re gonna make me come.”

That just spurs him on, grunting as he fucks you into the mattress, your moans getting louder, your hands squeezing his. His head falls into the crook of your neck, hearing the wet suck of your pussy taking him, knowing you're close with how you’re spasming around him.

There’s no sweeter sound than you crying out his name as you come.

You clench down on him so hard, keeping him buried inside like you want him to stay there for all eternity, and Joel has half a mind to do just that.

Lifting his head, he’s breathing hard as he peppers kisses along your jaw.

“So good to me,” he says between breaths into your skin, the words coming out rough. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

You’re trying to catch your own breath, Joel rolling his hips, needing the friction for his aching cock.

You open your eyes to meet his gaze, looking all dreamy and thoroughly fucked out of your mind, making pride swell in his chest that he made you feel that good.

“It’s your turn,” you slur, making him smile, kissing your chin.

“It’s my turn?” he asks. “Don’t want another? Could probably make you squirt.”

“No more. I’ll pass out. Want you to come inside me.”

His cock jerks, thrusting a little faster in your sopping pussy.

He kisses you softly.

“You want me to fill you up?” he murmurs into your lips.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He nudges the tip of his nose to yours.

“Then I will.”

His cock is throbbing, knowing he isn’t going to last long with heat curling in his belly. He starts fucking into you, hearing your skin colliding and the slick sounds between your legs, Joel panting.

You’ve got your eyes locked on his.

“You gonna come for me?” you ask. “Fuck me full of you, baby? I wanna feel it.”

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, feeling hot all over, his skin drenched in sweat, thrusting harder. The thought of pumping you full of him until your dripping has his breaths getting shaky and rhythm going sloppy.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Gonna come.”

His balls draw up, cock thickens, that burning knot in his stomach winding so tight until he’s shattering into a million pieces, pushing into you as far as possible, moaning as he comes.

The hot flood of his spend has you clenching up tight, sighing happily at being filled, Joel unable to stop himself from rolling his hips—this urge, a need ingrained in his brain to make sure he gets his come as deep inside you as it will go, hissing through his teeth when the sensitivity becomes too much, finally collapsing on top of you.

He lets go of your hands, his nose pressed to your neck, breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest.

“This okay?” he mumbles, not wanting you to be uncomfortable under his weight.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper.

He’s feeling euphoric and so relaxed that he thinks his bones have turned to liquid, pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to move even if he tried.

He can’t recall the last time he allowed himself to get this fuck drunk, usually still alert when he comes, always on edge, but right now, he doesn’t have a single care in the world except for the woman under him.

You slide your hands into his wet hair, dragging your fingernails over his scalp, and it has tingles shivering down his spine, Joel practically purring—in heaven, he wants to stay like this until time stops, and the universe becomes no more, basking in your warmth for all eternity, being with you always.

He lost too much time with you, and he won’t waste anymore, planning to spend each and every day with you, not entirely sure if he could stand being parted—just the thought of being away from you making his guts churn, scared he’d lose you again, and that can’t happen, not after finally getting you back.

He’ll keep you and Ellie safe and help Tommy with whatever he needs to protect the town because this is where his family is; this is home.

He has you.

He has Ellie.

He has Tommy.

He has a job to do, needs to keep the people he cares about protected, and God help any motherfuckers who stand in his way.

“Told you my hips are fine.” His voice is muffled in your neck.

You snort, your fingers stroking through his hair.

“Nights still young, babe.”

“I’m not breakin’ a fuckin’ hip,” he grumbles.

“You better not—I don’t know what the hospital situation is here and if they’d have the supplies I’d need to fix you.”

“Have I told you that you bein’ a doctor is sexy?”

You giggle.

“Because I can treat your sex injuries?”

“Yeah.”

“Again, I don’t know what’s here, so please don’t overdo it—Tommy would never let you live it down.”

He frowns.

He’s done more strenuous things like killing infected and running from hoards; he can handle a night or two of pure fucking—it’ll be a breeze in comparison.

You yawn, which has him yawning, too, exhaustion seeping into his bones.

“Tommy’s an asshole,” he replies. “Wanna take a nap?”

“Absolutely. I’m too old for all-night marathon sex.”

“Stop that. We just gotta take a break and rest. Drink some water, too—we still gotta do your favorite.”

“What’s my favorite?”

“Face down, ass up.”

“God,” you moan.

“It’s Joel, but I’m flattered.”

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ursuburbanmother · 21 days

Text

I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Two

Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: Hi guys! Back with chapter two!! Thank you for all the love last chapter! You guys are too sweet! I hope you like this chapter as well, although we get a little angsty in this one oops. Also author note at the end!

Word count: 5k.

Find: Part 1

Enjoy!

December 17th, 1970. Still.

Paul Hunham didn’t think his luck could get any worse but then that moron at the Janie Patrick's Girl School had to go make his problems, his. Then at the young lady’s arrival Angus Tully practically had hearts popping out his eyes like those cartoon characters on TV. That would be an issue. An issue he had to deal with at once.

As the boys grumbled and moaned on their way to the infirmary, as if they were the Athenians sent to march to Marathon in 490 BC, he made his way to the kitchen, looking for a certain cook.

“Hello, Mary,” he greets. She sits at her desk with a cigarette between two fingers, writing something down in her notebook.

“Mr. Hunham. I heard you got stuck with babysitting duty this year. How’d you manage that?” Her tone tiptoes on the edge of teasing.

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I failed someone who richly deserved it.”

“The Osgood kid? Yeah, he was a real asshole. Rich and dumb. Popular combination around here.”

“It’s a plague. Uh, and you? You’ll be here, too?�� God, he hopes she is. He doesn’t think he will be able to survive as the only adult on the school grounds.

To his relief she nods her head, “All by my lonesome. My little sister Peggy and her husband invited me to go visit them in Roxbury, but I feel like it’s too soon. Like Curtis will think that I’m abandoning him, you know. This is the last place my baby and I were together, not including the bus station.”

Paul pursues his lips, unsure of what to say. “Well, maybe you won't be completely alone. How would you feel about letting a female student sleep in the staff common room? We could push some couches together, I'm sure. Make a nice bed that way.”

“Female student? What do you mean?”

“I’m unsure about the exact details, but I have been entrusted by the idiots across the lake with taking care of one of their students.”

“Ahh,” Mary is beginning to understand.

He nods, “Her name is Y/n L/n, I think she and Tully are in cahoots somehow. You should've seen the way he looked at her.”

“Oh no, don't do that though. You can’t have that poor girl sleep on a lumpy couch all break. She needs a bed.”

“I just want this whole ordeal to go smoothly. If I can keep those two as far away as possible, I believe all will be well.”

“Please that Tully boy wouldn't try anything. Sometimes he is the only one to say thank you when we place the food down on the lunch tables.”

Paul mulls it over for a second. “I suppose I could give it a try. Not that I think it is wise.”

Mary smiles slightly, “I know those kids are hard to handle but hold out hope for them. Some trust too. It's not too late yet. Their brains are still moldable or whatever corny crap you teachers say.”

Paul smiles slightly, his attention pulled to the bottle of bourbon on her desk, “You mind if I uh…”

“You want some of that? All right.”

“Thank you.”

“You know this is a necessity,” Mary says as she pours the liquid into a mug for him.

“Oh yes,” for life, love, pain or the next two weeks. Paul understands too well.

…

“Put the bed farther away Angus,” you say, your arms on your hips and you watch him struggle to drag his bed closer to yours.

“Why? Do I smell or something?”

“It's already a stretch to think he might let us sleep in the same room, he's definitely not going to let your bed be that close to mine.”

Huffing he begins to scoot it back to its original place, “Fine.”

Music has started blaring loudly from where Teddy and Jason are bunking in. Park and Ollerman are minding their business in their own space. You are across, what you think will be the place Mr. Hunham will stay in. Your hope is that him having an accessible view will make him more lenient towards you and Angus, despite his earlier warning of having you be on your own.

You situate your lavender near the window and begin to unpack your things. Angus does the same and you can hear his rustling get faster.

“What's wrong?” You ask.

“My…” He trails off. Suddenly he storms off like a man on a mission. You ignore the magazine you were flipping through and let it fall on the floor as you get up to follow him.

You see him head directly towards Kountze. “Where’s my photo?”

“What photo?”

“I think you know what photo, and you stole it.”

“I resent that baseless accusation.”

“Give me my goddamn picture!” Angus shouts.

“Hey man, if you took the photo just give it back,” you plead exasperatedly to Teddy, already tired of his whole innocent act.

“Stay out of it Y/n, it's alright,” Angus assures you and you move back to lean against the doorway. You sort of hope Angus socks him.

Kountze leaps to his feet and stalks towards him, “You need your girlfriend to defend you now? Seriously, what's your problem, Tully? Homesick? Maybe the little boy misses his mommy?”

“Fuck you, Kountze. Leave her out of it. And hey, why are you even here anyway? Where’s your family?”

“We’re renovating our house. It’s all torn up. They’re storing the tools and stuff in my room.” “That’s what they told you? It’s winter, idiot. Nobody renovates their house in the winter. Your parents don’t want you around because you’re a fucking insecure sociopath.”

“Hey, take it easy, guys.”

You can see Angus getting angrier. His shoulders are tense and in a last ditch effort you go up to him and whisper in his ear, “Punch him later. In private. Hunham won’t even hear our reasoning for rooming together. He’ll punish you by punishing me.”

Misery loves company, right? That was the saying at least. In your mind, suffering with Angus was better than the alternative. You didn’t want to spend these two weeks inside a glass case. From what you had seen, Hunham would have no problem in making you sit at your own lunch table or study in a separate classroom. You know that is what Ms. Orchard would have done if she was forced to take in the boys. She would have locked you in your dorm and insisted it was because you would “distract” them.

You can see the gears turning in Angus’s mind. He bites the inside of his cheek and finally nods before turning back to glare at Kountze. “You’re an asshole. I just needed you to know that.”

He turns around to retreat back to the room only to run straight into Mr. Hunhams chest. Angus leaps off and leans his back against the wall. Your own eyes widened, you hadn’t even heard the man's footsteps.

He surveys the room and notes all your disheveledness. Teddy's face looks flushed while Angus is still trying to control his heavy breathing. Everyone is completely silent and too scared to even make a move.

“What is going on here?”

“They weren’t fighting,” Alex squeaked. Mr. Hunham only seems to grow more suspicious. He shifted his sights to you and his eyebrow begins to raise, “They weren’t bothering you were they.”

“No. We were just talking,” you swallow the lump in your throat.

“What about?”

“Hmm?” You hum, straightening up.

“What were you all discussing mere seconds before I barged in on what, I am sure, was a highly intellectual conversation.”

“Shocking Blue,” you blurt out and Hunham turns his head as if asking for clarification. “The band that was on the radio.”

“Yeah, we love Shocking Blue,” Angus nods. The rest of the boys chime in, faking their agreement.

“They’re so good.”

“I listen to them all the time.”

Mr. Hunham continues to look unconvinced. Without a word he walks out, and you all collectively let out a sigh of relief. For a moment, you all stare at each other with giddiness. Like when you're a kid and get away with stealing a cookie from the cooling tray. You let yourself relax but shrivel back up upon the echo of Mr. Hunham's haunting voice, “Mr. Tully, Ms. L/n, in here. NOW.”

You frown, gazing up at Angus, “I think he found the room.”

…

After a stern talking to, Mr. Hunham begrudgingly agreed to let you and Angus sleep in the same room. He took a string of jingle bells that hung from a nearby Christmas decoration and tied it around Angus’s bedpost so that if he dared to move, he would hear it. You two were just fine with that.

Later you were escorted to the large dining hall. Mr. Hunham sat at the head of the table as the rest of you indulged in mindless chatter. You and Angus were on your third round of rock, paper, scissors, competing for nothing, when a lady came in to set down a platter of chicken, potatoes and asparagus.

“Lovely. Thank you, Mary.” the older man says.

You wait for the initial rush of grubby hands and pushing elbows to pass before you serve yourself, when you find that Angus already did it for you. He sets down the plate in front of you and then gets himself a serving of the green vegetable on his own dish.

“Didn’t we already have this for lunch?” Jason asks.

“And it was crappy then,” Teddy says through his eager chewing. You gag at the scene.

“Consider yourselves lucky. During the third Punic campaign, 149-146 B.C., the Romans laid siege to Carthage for three entire years. By the time it ended, the Carthaginians were reduced to eating sand and drinking their own urine. Hence the term punitive.”

The woman from earlier, that you now know is Mary, returns with some water. You give her a passing smile which she returns.

“Mary, maybe you’d, um, maybe you would care to join us,” Hunham stumbles through his words.

Kountze looks up from his food then glances at you with alarm. Like he can't fathom the idea of sitting with the cook.

You think Mary can sense his disdain when you notice her demeanor sour after a glimpse in his direction. “No, I’m all right. Thank you.” She escapes through the kitchen doors.

Teddy pipes up, “I mean, I know she’s sad about her son and everything, but still, she’s getting paid to do a job. And she should do it well, right?”

The chewing and scraping of silverware halts. You and Angus gauge each other's reaction, both of you completely shocked and slightly horrified. That boy for some reason just never knows when to shut up and continues, “But I guess no matter how bad a cook she is, now they can never fire her.”

“Will you shut up!” Mr. Hunham yells loud enough for you to flinch. He slams his fork and knife down. “You have no idea what that woman has… For most people, Mr. Kountze, life is like a henhouse ladder -- shitty and short. You were born lucky. Maybe someday you entitled little degenerates will appreciate that. If you don’t, I feel sorry for you, and we will not have done our jobs. Now eat!”

…

You're on your bed and catching up on some reading and soaking in the orange hue that the bedside lamp offers you. The boys are still getting ready for bed, and you were graciously offered the first shift in the showers. You’re waiting for your hair to dry when Angus walks in with his pajamas on, and a towel draped over his shoulders.

“You look very dapper,” You smirk.

“Thank you,” he plops down into his mattress. “You think Walleye is still mad?”

“Probably. I don’t blame him.”

“It made for a pretty awkward evening though.”

“Not one of the worst dinners I ever had. I’d rather endure another night like this than any dinner with my parents.”

“Oh yeah,” he sighs, “Your parents... You never did tell me the reason why you’re here holding over.”

You shuffle around in your bed and bring your blanket up to your neck, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, it's just me now. Tell me. I told you!”

“It's no big reason, just small ones. They didn’t specify. I didn’t want to go home. It's complicated.”

“Okay you just gave like four different excuses right there. What happened? Is it super embarrassing? Did they forget about you or something,” he laughs.

You wince at his words and pray that the world opens up and swallows you whole. Realization dawns on his face, “Oh shit. Did they?”

You nod solemnly and begin picking on the thread of the blanket, trying to make the threading come undone.

“How could they do that? The same assholes who always make a huge deal about RSVPs and invitations. Seriously?”

“It’s alright. I’ll live. I mean what would I have done if I was there? I’d be in my room and waiting for them to drag me out so they could introduce me to people. They’d act like doting parents, ditching me a second later to play blackjack with their friends.”

“I’m sorry. I wish you would have told me, we could’ve… I could have done something.”

You smile, “I didn’t tell you cause I know you. You would’ve cursed them out the minute you had hold of them. Anyways, maybe it was faith to get stranded at Barton.”

“Or bad luck,” he quips, “maybe the universe wants us to die of mundanity together.”

“Either or,” you grin. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let's go to bed.”

Angus nods and spreads his long limbs across the bed exaggeratingly before turning to face the wall. “Whatever you want. Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Goodnight,” you go to turn off the lamp, wondering if you're being paranoid in sensing something off in the way he says your name.

…

Day 4 - December 20st, 1970

The last few days had been the same grueling routine. Mr. Hunham would wake you up with the banging of bedpans and you would groan and try to shove yourself deep into your pillows.

“All right, you fetid layabouts,” he would say, “It’s daylight in the swamp. Arise!”

In the quad you were all forced to run laps. You hadn’t anticipated doing exercise, so you were forced to wear some joggers from the lost and found. You had been able to convince him that walking would be better suited for you and your imaginary cramps. His face had completely paled, and he hadn’t even let you finish speaking when he said you walking would be just fine. Men and their immaturity, you think.

When Angus and the rest of the boys would pass by you, he would glare jokingly at you while you would stick your tongue out and wave him goodbye as he flew past you.

During study hall, you would read some more and ignore the ongoing feud between Kountze and Angus. In the span of the last few days, you must have read three entire books. There was a lot of downtime in between recreational time with Mr. Hunham and dinner.

Today you had all decided to walk along the river. You can hear the church bells in the distance signaling the fact that it is the afternoon. Angus is swinging around a branch while Teddy and Jason pass around a football. You steer clear of both. You walk in sync with Alex and Ye-Joon. You’ve taken a liking to them. They remind you of the little sibling you always wanted but never got.

“What about your car?” Angus suggests, “We could take it, go somewhere. Boston maybe.” Jason shakes his head, “Nah, we’d get in so much trouble. Face it. We’re stuck.”

“If we just had some way to get out of here. Just split,” Angus kicks a pile of snow.

“Well, you could put a chopper down right in the Quad.”

“A what?”

“A helicopter, dumb ass,” Teddy snaps, “His old man’s CEO of Pratt & Whitney.”

“Got his own bird,” Jason confirms, “Takes it from Stamford to the city every morning. Lands right in our backyard. Pilot’s name, Wild Bill.”

“Wild Bill?” Ye-Joon awes.

“Yeah. Flew up to Haystack with it. Took the presents and everything. Minus me,” he shrugs.

“Flying with presents, like Santa Claus,” Alex comments with glee.

“Yeah. Just like Santa Claus.”

Jason whistles and tilts his head for Teddy to “go long.” They play catch, getting farther from the group as they go.

“If I was back home right now back in Provo, it would be really warm inside, and my mom would be making baked apples, and the whole house would smell like cinnamon and brown sugar,” Alex reminisces. You smile sadly at the boy.

“That sounds so nice,” Ye-Joon agrees.

Kountze runs back suddenly and grabs one of Alex’s gloves and throws it into the river.

“What's wrong with you?” You intervene.

“Hey!” Alex says simultaneously.

“That’s what you get for ratting me out, little Mormon,” Teddy laughs, not an ounce of regret at what he just did. You tap Angus’s shoulder as you go trailing after the young boy, “I’m going to go help.”

“It’s gone! My glove’s gone!” Ollerman shouts. You continue searching for it through the clearing.

“Twisted fucker orphaned that glove on purpose. Left you with one so the loss would sting that much more,” Angus shouts back.

Ollerman looks to be on the verge of tears. He stares down at his hands and starts walking down a snowy ramp. He throws the other glove before you can do anything to stop it. He watches it disappear downstream as you make your own way down.

“Did your mother make you that?”

He nods. “It’s alright. I know where he keeps his wallet. We’ll steal it and buy a new one.”

You manage to bring out a muffled laugh from him. You consider it a win.

…

Angus wakes up in the middle of the night to see you knitting. He gets up from the bed to see your progress.

“Oh hello, grandma,” he scoffs. “When did you learn to do that?”

“Girl scouts before I quit. You guys had a bunch of yarn just rotting behind your auditorium stage. Did you know that?”

“No? Are you making that for the kid?”

“Yeah, I feel bad.”

“That looks like crap,” Angus chuckles as he messes around with the gloves fingers. You swat his hand away.

“I never said I earned the badge. Besides, it's the thought that counts.”

“I’m going to get a glass of water. You want some?”

“No thanks.”

Angus leaves the room, only to return a couple seconds later.

“Ye-Joon is crying,” he whispers. You furrow your eyebrows and get up to follow him. His cries become louder, and you turn the corner to see the poor boy shivering.

“Are you all right?” You ask.

“I had a nightmare,” You crouch down so you can hear him better.

“Don’t worry we get nightmares too. Right Angus?”

“Yeah, I’m always falling. Or drowning.”

“Also, I had an accident,” he weeps.

You motion for Angus to check. He doesn't have to look far.

“Yeah, you did. Shhh. Stop crying. If they hear you, they’ll crucify you. Which would be ironic, since you’re Buddhist.”

“I know it’s an excellent school, and my brothers went here. But I miss my family, and I have no friends,” he sobs full-on. You hush him gently.

“You have plenty of time to make friends. You’re like a freshman, right? I would start worrying when you're fifty and living vicariously through your kids.”

“Yeah man. You could have a thousand friends and not like any of them. What would be the point of having them then,” Angus adds.

“We’ll help you hide the sheets in the morning, all right?” You wipe his tears with a tissue from a Kleenex box nearby. “Find a dry spot and try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” Park smiles consoled. Before going back to bed you ask him one last thing, “Hey do you like gloves?”

Ye-Joon gives you a quizzical look. …

Day 5 - December 22, 1970

Once again, you’re all studying in silence in a fancy room with portraits of dead white guys on the wall.

Mr. Hunham clears his throat loudly and Jason leans in to mutter in disgust, “Are you kidding me? It’s only eleven and he’s already lit. I can smell the whiskey on him.”

“Can you blame him? It’s freezing in here. It’s fucking Greenland in here,” Angus retorts.

From outside you hear the faint whirring of a machine. Not a car but something else. You all approach the window and spot the helicopter flying above the trees. It lands in the quad just like Jason had said it could. An older man steps out and he looks like one of the men you imagine roam Wall Street.

“He finally caved, the big softie!” Smith exclaims. He all but skips to the door and turns to you all, “Hey, any of you guys like to ski?”

You and Hunham stay behind as the rest go racing after him, filled with hope for what must be the first time in days. He goes to subdue the riot they make as they whoop down the hall, but you stop him by grabbing a hold of the end of his sleeve.

“Uh, sir? If Jason is inviting us, would you have to call our parents?”

“That would be proper protocol, yes.”

“Oh. Is there a way I could stay here then? I never cared for skiing and my parents would say no anyway.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I’d have to ask Woodrup about this first. Come on along,” he clears the path for you.

Grumbling, you find your way to the administrative offices. Hunham, Jason and his father shut themselves in a room. The boys along with Angus all try to listen in on the conversation by pressing their face as close as humanly possible against the glass. You watch from the sideline as Jason gives you guys a thumbs up. The hallway erupts in cheers and a minute later Mr. Hunham steps out with an announcement, “Gentlemen, good news. I was able to reach Dr. Woodrup and your parents. Most of them, anyway.”

Paul glances at Angus and you. Angus expression falters.

As the rest pack, you find refuge in your room. You can, however, hear Angus’s pleads.

“Try calling again. Just one more time. Please.”

“There’s no point. The desk clerk said no one’s answering. He says they’re away on some excursion.”

“Excursion,” he repeats.

Mr. Hunham scoffs, “I’m as disappointed as you are, if not more so. I could be spending the rest of my vacation reading mystery novels.”

“Maybe they’re back by now. Just call again.”

“Okay,” he gives in and marches down the corridor.

Ye-Joon had wished you goodbye a moment ago and now does the same for Angus, “Happy Holidays.”

“Same to you.”

“Take care, Tully.” Smith follows Park, giving him a pitiful pat on the arm.

You catch Alex as he is about to exit. You’ve wrapped the gloves you worked on endless last night in newspapers. “This is for you. Try not to get them stolen by Teddy again. I don’t think my fingers can handle another round of knitting.”

Ollerman smiles genuinely, giving you a hug you didn’t expect. You’re unable to return it as he has your stiff arms completely glued to your side. You follow him out, and Angus scowls in your direction.

“Why aren’t you more upset about this? That was our only way out and we blew it.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Did you really want to go skiing with Kountze that badly?”

“No, I wanted to get out of here badly. Your parents seriously didn’t answer either?”

“Um-.”

“Hey, you know what! Maybe Hunham can call them again and they can take us both in!”

“Angus no-,”

“Yeah, come on! Let's go ask,” he tugs at your hand to get you through the corridor.

“No Angus. I don’t want to.”

“What, why?”

You run your hand through your hair, “I asked Mr. Hunham not to ring them.”

“Wait. So, you didn’t even try to leave!”

“No! I thought I was clear the night we talked about why I didn’t want to go back to that house. If they answer they’ll pull the victim card and be all ‘I can’t believe you guys kept my child from me! Who do I sue?’ before coming to fetch me and berating me all the way back.”

“Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything because I could tell you were upset but you could have at least let them know for both our sakes. Then we could have spent the holidays in a hotel in Boston or something! We didn’t have to stay with them.”

“I knew you were off that night!” You curse the way you’ve managed to read him. “Anyways, with what money? To do what?”

“I don’t-, I don’t know… we could have figured it out.”

“I can’t believe you're getting mad at my decision.”

“It’s a pretty selfish one,” his eyes widened like he couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth.

You gasp and hit him harshly at his side. “Ow!” he yelps.

“You’re being an asshole right now. I’ve never been madder at you in my entire life.”

“Really? What about that time I spilled mashed potatoes all over your dress? Your face was beet red,” he mocks.

You go to swat at him again only for him to dodge you. You try once more and fail, almost falling onto the floor but stopping yourself by putting your hand on the nearest wall. If you weren’t so angry this would have reminded you of the times you would wrestle when you were eight. Especially now and the way he holds you back by putting his hand on your forehead to keep you at arm's length. You give up with a huff and you b-line to your room.

“Tell Mr. Hunham I won't be at dinner tonight!”

You hear him groan behind the door you slammed shut and then the sound of his footsteps fading. In your solitude you collapse on the bed, letting out a scream into your pillow. Even though it's muffled, you hope Angus can feel it from where he is. That it reaches him and causes goosebumps to arise all over his stupidly long arms. …

You had skipped out on dinner like you said you would. Although Mr. Hunham had been polite enough to bring a plate down to the infirmary. As he handed it to you, he said lowly, “I’m not sure what that little deviant did, but I’m sure it's related to his foul mood and your absence tonight. Let me know if I can do anything.”

You almost wanted to cry at his politeness. Later he invited you to the kitchen common room and claimed there was a TV there. Considering you had only stared at words on a page for the last few days, you jumped at the offer. You saw Mary there and to your displeasure Angus had been forced to tag along so that Mr. Hunham could supervise him.

Your eyes were glued to the television, not letting Angus’s burning stare get the best of you. They were watching “The Newlywed Game” and drinking from mugs. It was not half-bad. In fact, it was starting to get pretty good to see these couples have their relationship crushed within a thirty-minute runtime with ad breaks in between.

The boy had begun throwing pieces of balled up paper at you and you picked them off your hair and tried your damnedest to not pay him any mind. You could hear him tear a new page from that magazine of his and finally you snapped at him. “Will you stop it? You’re wasting paper.”

“Thank God. You’re talking to me,” he stood straighter in his seat. “Here's the thing, I'm sorry. I should have never said that you were selfish. Cause you’re like, not. You’re honestly the most unselfish person I know.”

“I don’t want your apology right now. I’m watching TV.”

“I just got caught up in the moment is all. The truth is that-.”

“Angus, I said I don’t want to hear it!” You raised your voice loud enough to catch the attention of both Mr. Hunham and Mary.

“Everything alright back there?” Hunham takes the pipe out of his mouth to ask.

You get up, brushing invisible dust off your skirt. “Can I be excused. I’m pretty tired.”

“That’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” You pick up your discarded book from the nearby coffee table before leaning down and whispering in Angus' ear, “Don't follow me.”

As you stomp away you hear Mary say, “We need to get those two onto this program. Win us a trip to Bermuda.”

Mr. Hunham lets out a suppressed chuckle, embracing it soon after along with Mary. You roll your eyes at the pair and their drunkenness. You’re comforted by the fact that they’ll have a big headache tomorrow. …

You’re shaken at a frantic rate. You went to sleep early but were awoken now by a mischievous looking Angus. He dangles a set of keys right in front of your face.

“What are you doing?” You squint under the harsh glare of the flashlight.

“Inviting you on a night of adventure. Walleye is completely blacked out. He won’t even notice us gone.”

“No thank you,” you turn away from him and drape your blanket over your head. He tugs it back down.

“Come on. Please?”

“I’m still not in the mood. Plus, now I’m tired.”

“Y/n,” he whines.

“If you find a cookie in a pantry somewhere you know what to do,” you murmur, already being lulled back to sleep by the warmth you feel under the covers.

“Y/n,” he says more seriously, “I am sorry.”

“I know,” you sigh. Maybe you had been too harsh. You prop yourself up on your elbows, “It’ll be better tomorrow. We will talk then.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He embraces you tightly in a hug. As he parts away, you two are face to face. You’re able to notice his eyes gleam under the light of the moon. You wonder when his eyes got to be that dark of a brown. Those same eyes flicker to your lips. You stare at him wearily as he clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. He walks backwards to leave, his back bumping into a nearby lamp. “Shit. Sorry. Uh, goodnight. Bye.”

You were probably disorientated. Sleep deprived most definitely. Or maybe that secondhand smoke finally got to you. Surely you were just seeing things. Because surely, your best friend hadn’t just looked at you the way songs and books always seemed to describe love.

a/n: Thanks again for reading! Just to clarify some things, obviously Y/n knows about Angus’s dad, but just like in the movie, he doesn’t let it show how much it affects him. That’s why Y/n is unaware of why Boston is such a big deal. Anyways bye :)) until next time. Let me know your thoughts.

#angus tully x reader #angus tully #the holdovers

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