Click on each individual link to go to each story or its masterlist. Please heed all warnings on each fic.
The Last Of Us Masterlist
Featuring Joel and Tommy Miller
House of the Dragon
ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ
ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴄᴇ - ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
Dreaming of a life beyond Runestone, Lady Rhaella befriends the isolated Prince Aemond.
𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧
ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ
Series:
Through the Years - Discontinued
Your relationship with Satoru and how it progresses through the years.
ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ
One shots:
ꜱᴏ ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ
On vacation in Malaysia, you meet a handsome blonde man who insists you're just so American.
DC
Adrian Chase
Landslide (3 Part series)
Adrian has built his life around you now, as adulthood looms, he has to accept the landslide it brings.
maggots for brains
You're away on a work trip, and Adrian is left with nothing to do but wait for you to get back
𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕧𝕖𝕝 ℂ𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕔 𝕌𝕟𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖
ʟᴏᴋɪ ʟᴀᴜꜰᴇʏꜱᴏɴ
Series:
ᴛʜɪꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ - ɪɴ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇꜱꜱ
Old childhood friends, Loki and Astri, are inseparable. What happens when ambition and greed drive it's ugly wedge between them?
Bucky Barnes
Project Genesis
The result of genetic experimentation by Arnim Zola, Project Genesis, yields a new kind of super soldier for the world to fear. Partnered with the Winter Soldier, Genesis goes on a journey that spans decades.
𝕷𝖔𝖌𝖆𝖓 𝕳𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖙
Series:
ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇ - 18+
After living in Mexico for a year with Logan, your relationship is pushed to new heights when a quiet little girl appears.
ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ - 18+
Somewhere in another universe, a blood manipulator and a man with an adamantium skeleton reconnect—the other life that promised.
One Shots:
ɪꜱ ɪᴛ ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ʏᴇᴛ?
Logan is a Scrooge, a kitten snaps him out of it
ᴄᴀʟʟ ɪᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ
Logan worries over your anniversary and what to buy you
ɢʜᴏꜱᴛʙᴜꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ
Logan breaks a lamp, chaos ensues
ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴍᴀꜱʜ
Wade Wilson knows that no Halloween is complete without a costume
ᴊᴜɴᴏ - 18+
Ovulation week is annoying enough as it is, spending it without your boyfriend? Oh that's a whole different story...
ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ
You're feeling unloved, Logan proves you wrong
𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔊𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰
ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ ꜱɴᴏᴡ
Series:
ɪᴛ ʙᴜʀɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ - Complete
In which you and Coriolanus grow up together in the Capitol and remain together through the years.
Mini Series:
Blank Space 2 3
Coriolanus can't handle a girlboss...
🅂🅃🅁🄰🄽🄶🄴🅁 🅃🄷🄸🄽🄶🅂
ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜɴꜱᴏɴ
Series:
ꜱᴏʙᴇʀ (18+) - ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ
Burned by heartbreak and misfortune, Marguerite Hargrove finds comfort, love, happiness, and peace in her neighbor, Eddie Munson.
Summary: You're away on a work trip, and Adrian is left with nothing to do but wait for you to get back
Warnings: Nothing really, Language, reader is attacked but is saved by Vigilante. Clingy Adrian who would definitely wear an I heart my gf shirt daily.
Wk: 2.2k / More Adrian Here
@vigil-mort I dedicate this one shot to you, your comments on drop dead have me wanting to write more for Adrian.
Based on the song by Olivia Rodrigo.
Adrian’s day had been mundane. He hadn’t done much of anything since waking up around nine.
He lounged on the big beanbag chair he’d bought for his secret room. In his lap sat his Nintendo Switch and a half-eaten bag of watermelon Sour Patch Kids. The full pot of coffee he’d downed throughout the day sloshed around in his stomach as he loudly groaned and tossed his head back. He felt like he was a zombie trapped in his own body, dirty and rotten.
The source of his distress? You. Or rather, a lack of you.
“Adrian! I’ll be back on Sunday night!” You laugh as your boyfriend clings to you, his strong arms wrapped around you as he hugs you goodbye
“What if you forget about me?” He replies sadly
“Impossible.” You smile, pulling back to look at him. You reach upwards and grab his face, squishing his cheeks as he tries to push you off. “You think I’d forget about a face like this?”
“Maybe! What if you meet some hot finance bro and decide you want to go out with him?” Adrian says, pushing your hand off him
“I’d rather pay you to run me over with the Vigilante-Mobile than date some finance bro who was probably president of his frat back in the day.” You scoff
“Good.” Adrian hums as he presses a kiss to your forehead.
You were going away on a business trip. Your company was having a yearly convention in Los Angeles. Adrian didn’t see why he couldn’t go. Of course, you’d explained that. Something about policy and that it’d be boring for him anyway, even if HR approved his attendance.
Whatever, all he knew was that he missed you. A lot.
You’d left him on Thursday night. He’d dropped you off at the airport himself, watched you disappear through the TSA line before walking back to his car alone. It was Sunday now, 11:54 AM according to his phone. Your flight was estimated to touch down at 8:30 pm.
Yesterday, he’d gone to Chris’ and tried to socialize with him and the other 11th Street Kids. He must’ve done a terrible job at hiding how much he missed you since Harcourt and Economos called him out on his depressive state.
“Dude, you look like someone killed your cat,” John said
“I don’t even have a cat,” Adrian replied
“No, it's a figure of-”
“He means you look like shit, Adrian.” Harcourt cut in
“Pfft, I’m fine.” Adrian scoffs, “Do I not look fine?”
Adrian stared at his friends, Adebayo shook her head, and suggested he go take a look in the mirror.
“You look like some…sad shell of yourself, man,” Chris says, motioning to Adrian’s entire body as he sips at a beer.
This was the first time he’d been away from you for longer than twenty-four hours since he started dating you. You, for all purposes, were absolutely perfect. He’d met you seven months ago in a dark alley on Main Street.
He’d been in full Vigilante gear, watching in his car as you walked home from the bus stop. As you walked along, a small stray brown cat ran across your path, and like many oblivious citizens, you called after it and followed it as it disappeared between Jay’s Barber and an empty building that was once a sandwich shop.
Adrian had gotten out of the car the moment you disappeared after the cat. He had half a ham sandwich he was prepared to offer you and the cat, but stopped short when he heard you cry out.
“I don’t have any cash! Just take my credit card!” You say as he presses a knife to your throat
“Why? So you can call your bank and cancel it as soon as I walk off?” The man growls
“I promise I won’t! We can go to an ATM instead if you want cash!” You argue
He picked up his pace and entered the alleyway to find a large figure pinning you up against the brick of the buildings. Your purse was discarded on the ground, and your wallet was open, credit cards and ID scattered on the dirty ground as you cried for the stranger to let you go.
The man grunts, leaning in closer, his breath polluting your soft skin, “I guess you’ll just have to pay me another way.”
His hand has just skimmed your upper thigh when Adrian quickly pulls him off you.
“Haven’t you ever heard of consent, cuz’ I did not hear a yes out of the lady's lips!” Vigilante says as he punches the man in the face
Your attacker spits a mouthful of blood on the ground before charging at him.
“Look out!”
Your panicked voice distracts him for a second and he’s a little too slow drawing his gun from its holster. He winces as the hooded man’s knife finds a home in his thigh.
“Fuckkk!" he groans as he points the gun into the man’s face, “Not cool!”
“Wait!” The man raises his hands in surrender, “Please don’t!”
“Huh, funny, I bet she was gonna say the same thing to you.” Vigilante scoffs
The man takes a step forward and Vigilante pulls the trigger. The gunshot is loud and you cover your ears.
He stares at the dead body before turning to you, “Are you alright, citizen?”
You’re shaking, he can see it as you nod, staring at his visor, “Thank you, Vigilante.”
“You know who I am?” He smiles under his mask, a pretty girl knows who he is!
“I’ve seen the news articles about you.” You say, eyes flicking to the dead body, “They say you’re a rampant murderer who’s a danger to society.”
“Pfffft I’m not a danger to society!” He laughs
“So you’re just a rampant murderer then?” You counter
Vigilante stretches his hand out to pull you off the dirty alley way ground, “Rampant? Not really. Murderer? Yes.”
You take his hand and he pulls you to his feet as he speaks again, “Only bad guys though. Like this piece of shit.”
“Yes, well, I am glad you saved me.” You give him a small smile
He wants to say you’re welcome but suddenly his vision is getting a bit hazy. He didn’t even get any blood on his visor so what’s the problem now?
“Oh my god, you’re bleeding!” You yell
Oh right. He was stabbed.
Vigilante is dragged out of the alleyway and back onto the sidewalk by his pencil skirt wearing hero.
“We need to go to a hospital, I’ll call an uber.” You say, leaning him up against a mailbox to pull your phone out
“No hospitals. “He groans, pointing to his right, “My car’s right there, just get me inside and I can drive away.”
“You need your right foot to drive and right now there's a big knife lodged in your thigh.” You say
Vigilante wants to laugh and thank you for the obvious callout. Instead though, he falls onto the sidewalk, his head woozy from all the blood loss.
“Shit!” You’re yelling, trying to pull him back up by the body armor on his chest, “We gotta get to the hospital, Vigilante!”
“Mmm, no hospital…” Vigilante mumbles, “I don’t have health insurance…”
“Oh my god!”
When he comes to, he’s sitting outside his house, his car is parked in the driveway and you’re frantically shaking him and saying his name, his real name.
“Adrian! Get up! You’re not dead right?”
“I’m alive.” He grunts
“Good. You’re home, by the way.” You say
“How the fuck do you know my name?” Adrian says, fumbling for his gun, “Have you been stalking me?”
“What?” No! Your car registration has your name and address.” You say, “I pulled it out after you passed out.”
Adrian looks down at his glove compartment to see his Geico insurance papers sitting in a neat little pile beside the travel pack of tissues he stashed in there months ago.
“Adrian Chase, 406 North Jamison Street.” You say, “Evergreen, Washington.”
Well fuck him, you were one resourceful stranger.
He begrudgingly lets you help him into his house. For once he’s thankful for his mom’s church group, it means she isn’t here to see him get carried into the house in full gear by a woman clothed in office clothes.
Vigilante unlocks his secret room and all but collapses onto the old futon he keeps down here for when he plays his nintendo.
“Can you get my first aid kit? It’s in the top right drawer.”
He flips open the container he keeps his stuff in, pawing through the bandaids and gauze to find his surgical needles.
“Oh my god, you’re not going to stitch yourself up right now-” You shudder
“I am if someone would be quiet.” He hisses, he’s in a lot of pain now, the adrenaline from the fight is gone and he’s starting to get hungry. You’re pretty, no doubt about that but now you’re a stranger that knows his name and where he lives.
“Help me take these off.” He grunts, fumbling with his belt
You yank his pants down, and if he were in a better mood, he’d point out how embarrassed you looked right now.
He pulls the knife out, it’s not too deep of a wound, a couple inches at best, the guy had only been wielding a pocket knife.
He gets two good stitches in before he feels like he’s going to pass out, “Fuck me!”
He slams his free hand into the plush of the futon. His thigh is burning and the bleeding has barely slowed down, his stomach was grumbling now too.
“Let me.” You say
“You know how to give people stitches?” He asks hesitantly
“Sorta.” You say taking the needle from him, “I dropped out of my college's nursing program after puking during a cadaver lab.”
You’re not half bad. It’s not hospital level and he’ll have a scar but at least it's closed. He thanks you before pulling his pants back up. He attempts to stand up but shudders in pain as you watch him curiously.
“Where are you going?” You ask
“To the kitchen for my microwaveable mac and cheese cups.” He says, limping towards the door
“Should I just… go home then?” You ask, standing up
“No!” He snaps, “I can’t have you leaving knowing my identity.”
Embarrassingly enough he lets you help him back upstairs to the kitchen and watches you microwave the macaroni.
“So you’re going to keep me in that room forever?” You ask
“Yes, no…I dunno I haven’t figured it out yet.” He says, “Too hungry right now.”
Two minutes later you’re placing the little cup in front of him and handing him a spoon. He has to admit, you make a killer microwave mac and cheese, this looks perfect. You even happened to grab his favorite spoon out of the drawer.
“You gonna absorb the food through that mask?” You ask, sitting down next to him
He glares at you through the visor. You already know his name and where he lives, he might as well show you his face too.
He sighs and pulls his mask off, watching your expression as you scan his face.
“Huh.” You smile softly
“What?” He asks as he stuffs a forkful of noodles into his mouth
“I always thought the guy under the Vigilante suit would be some creepy bald middle aged guy, but you’re kinda cute. In a fucked up murderer kinda way.”
Adrian smiles at the memory. He’d let you go the next morning after a night of movies and microwave popcorn. You were sworn to secrecy, and he’d made good on his promise to drop in on you every few days to make sure you were keeping your mouth shut. Eventually, the drop-ins became less about threatening you to keep his identity safe and more about how your day went and what skimpy pyjama shorts you were donning for the evening. Before he knew it, you were his entirely, going on dates and picking out the bean bag for the Vigilante room.
Said beanbag was missing a vital part right now, though, you. He loved it when you sat in his lap while he played on his Switch.
Adrian groaned as he glanced at the clock again, it was only 3PM. He felt like a train that ran off its track. It’s like all colors had been sucked out of the world without you by his side. He had nothing but maggots for brains. He wondered how early he should get to the airport.
The sound of the locks to his secret room twisting had him perking up. Only two people on the planet had keys to this room, he was one half of that pair, which could only mean…
You push the door to Vigilante’s secret room open. You knew he was going to be thrilled to see you so early. You’d booked an earlier flight, missing Adrian too much to stay in LA for another day of conferences and boring speeches.
The excited yell of your name has your ears perking up. There he is, you smile as he jumps off the beanbag the two of you often shared. He practically knocked the air out of you as he pulled you into his chest for a hug. His voice is muffled as he speaks into your hair,
“You’re never allowed to leave me again.”
Enjoyed the story? Leave a comment and let me know! Comments keep me writing and I love feedback! 🧜🏻♂️✨
Summary: Back in Evergreen for the first time in years, you and Adrian reconnect.
Warnings: 18+. Childhood bffs to lovers. cursing. death. gore. sex mentioned. sex toys. smut. oral f!receiving. thigh riding. unprotected sex. Basically canon peacemaker themes. loosely edited.
Part One / Part Two / Masterlist
Based on the song by Olivia Rodrigo / Wk: 13,851
Set between Peacemaker s1 and s2.
Everyone wants something different. Some want fame, others want to be prettier. Some want love, others want freedom. Even Adrian knows that each person in his little friend group wants something different for their lives.
Adebayo wants to get back together with her wife and those three dogs that Adrian is pretty sure are regarded as children. Economos wants a job where he’s actually working for the good of the people. Chris wants Harcourt to notice him and for Eagly to stop shitting in his bed. Harcourt? Well, she probably wishes Adrian would stop showing up at her house on his days off. She also probably wants her real job back. Adrian hopes they all get what they want someday, except for Harcourt. Adrian loves stealing her food while she’s yelling at him to get the hell out.
At 33, Adrian doesn’t know what he wants. Sure, he wants people to stop littering and drawing on the dumpster at Fennel Fields. But in the grand scheme of things, his wish list for his life is rather empty. At one point in his life, he had some idea of it, a hazy image of a house with his best friend as his wife, a basketball hoop in the driveway, and a couple of kids who looked just like you. Or, if you didn’t want kids, a group of cats that stole his spot on the couch and left their hair all over his clothing. Either way, you were a part of what might’ve been.
It’d been ten years since Adrian screwed up his relationship with you. Ten years since he’d kissed you in a frat house and you’d sent him back to Evergreen. He’d seen you since then, of course. You still lived in New York, and a fancy company offered you a job right after graduation. Adrian saw you on holidays, an awkward affair that usually ended in him ducking out early, pockets stuffed with cookies to eat while he patrolled in his Vigilante suit.
Fennel Fields doesn’t get many customers past eight. Sure, there’s the old guy at table five, the one who takes forever to finish his zoodles, and of course, how could one forget the lady who was glued to her phone over at table ten? Either way, Adrian was done wiping down the booths and tabletops.
He leans against the wall, sneaking his phone out to see if there were any texts from Pacemaker. Only twenty more minutes, and he could kick those two out, clean up their mess, and get the hell out of here.
“Chase. What’d I say about the phone?”
Adrian whips around to see his manager staring at him, arms crossed and that stupid crease in his brows.
“Oh, c’mon. There’s no one here.”
“Just put it away. Twenty minutes from now, I won’t care who you text.”
Adrian grumbles but stuffs his phone into his pocket anyway, willing these damn stragglers to vanish into thin air. He’s turning back towards the kitchen, ready to go and bother one of the line cooks, but then the front door’s bell jingles.
The hostess, Amber, is out on a smoke break, and the waitresses are all in the back gossiping about whatever Hollywood drama is hot now. Adrian is the only one on the floor right now.
A woman enters, hair blocking her face from Adrian’s view, and he starts moving, getting ready to tell her the kitchen is closed, the cooks will kill him if he seats someone this close to closing. He’s a few steps from the hostess stand when she looks up at him, and he feels his heart fall out of his chest and into his ass.
Oh. Shit.
There are no holidays anytime soon. It’s March 11th, Easter isn’t for another month or so, and you don’t come back to Evergreen just for St. Patrick's.
Adrian can’t believe what he’s seeing right now. He’s four feet from you. You’re staring at him like you’ve seen a ghost.
“Is the kitchen closed?” You ask softly
“Um, it's. No, it’s totally open.” Adrian lies
“Oh, good. I had the worst Uber trip from the airport.” You smile, “The guy smelled like stale Fritos.”
Adrian stands there, staring at you. He saw you a few years ago at Christmas, but he swears it's different this time. Your hair is different, and your face is even a bit different. More mature, perhaps. His eyes flick down, scanning your body. You’re polished, more reserved than what his mind conjures up in his dreams. Jesus, even your tits are-
“Um? Adrian? Can I get a menu and a table, or are you just gonna stare at me?”
“Right!” Adrian grabs three menus at once and then marches over to what he thinks is the best booth in the restaurant. Good lighting, not too drafty, and the cushions haven’t started ripping yet.
“Oh hell no!”
Adrian turns to see Greg the line cook staring at where you’re sitting down at the table.
“We’re closed. I’m sorry, you’ll have to come back tomorrow ma’am. This idiotic busboy should’ve told you that at the door.”
“Oh! Shoot I’m sorry.” You cover, standing back up and giving Greg a bashful smile
“I’ll uh, see you around, Adrian.” You mumble
Adrian watches as you walk towards the exit, and he cringes, scrunching his face together before he calls out to you, “I get out in 10ish minutes if you wanna wait! I can drive you home!”
He watches the door swing shut behind you. Had you even heard him?
“Dude. Quit standing there and get those other two outta here. I got to get home, my kid is waiting.” Greg orders
To his surprise and delight, you’re leaning against his car when he walks out the back door of Fennel Fields. A cigarette dangles from your lips as you scroll through your phone.
“Hi.” He lamely says, pulling the dumb hat off his head before he slaps it back on, remembering how awful his hat hair gets after a long shift.
“Hey.” You hum
Adrian leans on his car next to you. The cool air is peaceful as the smell of tobacco fills his lungs. Eventually, you drop the smoke, stamping it out before looking at him.
“I believe a ride was offered.”
Just like when he was 18, he loads your suitcase up into the trunk before rushing over to open the passenger side door for you. You give him a funny look before getting into his car, and he suddenly hopes his Vigilante suit is fully zipped up inside the duffel he keeps it in.
The car ride is quiet, the hum of the radio fills the silence as the street lamps illuminate the tan interior of the Sebring every few seconds.
“So, why’re you back in Evergreen? Easter isn’t this weekend.” Adrian prods, nosy as ever
“Surprised my mom didn’t tell you already.” You sigh
“I don’t know what you think I do here, but regularly talking to your mom isn’t one of them,” Adrian says
“My company transferred me out here. There’s a branch nearby that they want me to oversee.” You explain
“Right, right. What is it you do again?” Adrian asks
You explain your job to him for what is probably the millionth time. Adrian though is too focused on the way the yellow of the street lamps makes you look like the yellow teletubbie. He means that with affection, Teletubbies are fucking awesome.
“What have you been up to since we last spoke at Christmas?” You ask
Oh the usual, stopping an alien invasion, getting his secret identity revealed to four people and one butterfly. Also stabbing the White Dragon’s armor and having a helping hand in wiping out the local white supremacists.
“Uh, nothing too cool. Just work, oh and building my beanie baby collection. I have like eight Stretches now.”
“That’s nice.” You hum
Adrian nervously taps his left foot, what else to say? He can’t really tell you about Chris, Ads, Harcourt, or Economos without yapping about the Butterflies. Does he tell you that Fennel Fields is getting rid of their Wednesday Wrap deal? No. that doesn't seem right.
“Did you know the concept of swallowing a spider in your sleep is a myth?” He says quickly
“Uh? No, thats good to know though.”
“Yeah, they’re way more afraid of us than we think.” He says, “There go the chances of becoming Spiderman though.”
“Wasn’t he bit by a spider?” You point out
“Same thing.”
“It’s actually not.”
Adrian pulls into your driveway, rushing to grab your suitcase for you before you can even unbuckle, “What’re you doing tomorrow?”
“Unpacking, apartment hunting.” You shrug,” Boring shit.”
“I can help. I’m off, free all day.” Adrian says
Technically, he has plans with Chris tomorrow, those plans being getting wasted and shooting up a bunch of appliances that Adrian had been scavenging. But, he can blow that off for you; he’ll see Chris in a few days at that party at Harcourts.
“Alright.” You agree to Adrian’s delight
He walks you to your door, dragging your suitcase behind him, what had you brought from New York? Rocks?
“Adrian.” You say suddenly, your hand about to press the doorbell for your mom, “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
“What would that be?” Adrian asks
“You know what I’m talking about.” You sigh
Adrian knows what you’re hinting at. He shouldn’t get his hopes up about something more between the two of you. Maybe asking to come over was a little too over the top. Too desperate perhaps? Nah. He can keep the way his heart jumps out of his ass around you under control.
“Platonic, with a capital P.” He assures you
“Good.”
The next day at 9 am sharp Adrian is back on your porch. He fixes his hair quickly in the reflection of your screen door before knocking loudly. He bounces back and forth on his heels, ignoring the text from Peacemaker about a threesome with some chick he met at a bar.
To Adrian’s delight, you answer the door in your pyjamas. A fluffy robe sits on your shoulders and underneath a T-shirt that says “But first, Coffee.” The world’s tiniest shorts do a shitty job of covering your ass as you let him into your house.
“I brought you a rotisserie chicken.” He says, kicking the door shut behind him
You stare at him, clearly you were still in bed, half asleep, and drowsy as you look down at the chicken in the grocery store bag and then at him again.
“Right. Just uh put it in the fridge.”
Adrian sits at your kitchen table while you make coffee and a big bowl of cereal. You offer him some, but he declines.
“I didn’t think you were gonna show up this early.” You mumble as you slowly eat your food
“Well, early bird gets the worm,” Adrian says
“You sound like my mom.” You snort
“Well, your mom’s smart. Unlike my mom. She’s so fucking annoying.” He huffs
“Your moms not that bad.” You shrug
“Oh really? Yesterday she invited me to bingo. Why the hell would I want to go to bingo? I’m not 90.”
“I like bingo alot actually.”
“We should totally go to bingo. It’s on Wednesdays and Fridays at that Baptist church on Cornwall Street. I’ll drive.”
“Let’s just take it one day at a time.” You say
You lead Adrian down to the basement, he nearly trips over his shoelace but steadies himself, too scared that if he fell he’d squish and kill you.
“You’re not moving back into your bedroom upstairs?’ Adrian asks
“Nah, I got alot of shit from my apartment. Gonna sleep down here, then I have my own space, separate from my mom. I’ll probably move out at some point though.”
Adrian hopes you never move out of your mom’s basement. As of today you were once again officially just around the corner from his house. His chest flutters at the idea of being able to keep tabs on you, learn your schedule and keep you safe in his Vigilante gear at night.
“How much is a lot?” He wonders aloud.
As if on cue, you find the light switch, and Adrian is surrounded by big cardboard boxes, stacked up, some of them as tall as him.
“Wow.”
“You said you wanted to help.”
When Adrian was nine, he went roller skating for the first time. You were already a pro, a regular at class parties at your local rink. Adrian was never invited to anything, so when you invited him one day, he jumped at the chance.
He remembers the way he fell about a thousand times before he even got on the rink. Then, under a cheap disco ball, he fell a couple thousand more times. Eventually, you pulled him up to his feet, holding his hand as you slowly circled the rink. By the end of your three hours there, he could stand without holding onto the wall.
He was taking off his skates when it had happened. Luke, a boy from your class at school was there with a few other boys from your class. Adrian was walking to the big counter where the worker was taking skate rentals back. Luke, ever the genius, snuck up behind Adrian and pushed him down. Adrian had fallen hard, the push too sudden for him to get his arms out to catch himself. His skates had flown out of his arms, and his chin had bounced off the ground, the taste of blood filling his mouth as Luke and the other boys laughed.
You’d rushed over, told them to go to hell as you helped him up. The two of you sat outside on the curb waiting for his mom, Adrian pouting as he ran his tongue over the sore spot in his mouth and busted lip.
“Is your face okay?” You ask
“I think so. Hurts a lot though.” Adrian admits, gingerly running his finger along the sensitive skin
“Wait, look at me.” You command
Adrian looks at you. He doesn’t expect you to get real close to him, your eyes squinting at the cut on his lip.
“My mom says kisses make injuries feel better.” You say
“I’ve heard that. I think it’s a myth, though.”
Adrian’s mom didn’t ever kiss cuts or bruises. Usually, she ignored them, told him he was alright, and sent him off with a Band-Aid.
“It’s not. I’ll prove it, right now.”
The press of your lips on his was brief. It had actually caused his lip to bleed again, but he’d never admit that to you.
“See?” You ask hopefully
“I think we should check again.” Adrian dumbly says
“No, you’re fine now. Cured, actually.” You dismiss him, “That’s a secret, y’know.”
“What?” He asks
“The kiss, dummy.” You say, “Anyone ever asks, it never happened. Tell someone and we’re not BFFs anymore. You’ll get demoted to just a friend, not a best one.”
“Fine.” Adrian huffs
“Pinkie promise.”
Two years later, Gut had teased the two of you on Adrian’s birthday, and Adrian kept his pinkie promise. A secret just between the two of you
“What’re you smiling about?” You ask looking at him from behind a stack of boxes
Adrian chuckles, “Remember when we kissed at the roller rink?”
“Jesus, that was ages ago.” You blush, “We were little kids.”
“Still counts as a first kiss though.” Adrian points out
“Whatever. Open that box up, tell me what’s in it.” You say, tossing him a box cutter.
Adrian slices the tape open, pulling the flaps of the cardboard open to reveal the contents.
A few knick nacks, a picture of the New York Skyline at night. Cups and plates wrapped in newspaper.
“Mostly junk. Oh, wait!” Adrian reaches down to the bottom of the box to grab the flash of pink he saw glittering in the light
“Oh my god! Put that away!” You screech, rushing over to him as fast as you can with all the boxes around you, “Adrian!”
“This thing is not bad.” Adrian chuckles as he waves a dildo in the air, “Does it vibrate too? Oh my god, it does! You pervert.”
“I’m the pervert? You’re the one waving it around like you’re Harry fucking Potter!”
Adrian holds it above his head. He likes the way you’re grappling with his arm to pull it back down to your level.
“Guess you’re upset I outgrew you right now.” He teases
“Put it back in the box before I actually kill you.” You threaten, pointing a yellow handled scissors at him as your brows furr.
“Oh c’mon we could totally have fun with this thing.” He chuckles waving it around
“Gross. No way.” You groan
Adrian laughs, chucking it back into its box. The angry look on your face is worth a million bucks.
“You touch any more of my sex toys and I will skin you alive.” You huff, giving him a shove
“Yes ma’am.” Adrian salutes you, “Wait. Toys as in, you have more?”
It takes all day to make a real dent in your many boxes of stuff from New York. Adrian, unfortunately, doesn’t come across any more sex toys to tease you about, much to his disappointment.
The two of you end your day together in his car, munching on greasy burgers from Ben’s Burgers while Just Like Heaven by the Cure floats through the speakers softly.
He’s yammering about spiders and his love for them, just in case you’d forgotten about that important fact when you cut him off suddenly.
“Here.” You say, suddenly, a twenty-dollar bill is waving in his face
“Oh. You don’t have to pay me for today. I just wanted to hang out with you.” He brushes it away
Twenty bucks is kinda lowballing him, considering he did like nine hours of work. He wasn’t going to say that outloud though, that’d be rude.
“No, this is for our sex bet.”
Adrian nearly chokes on his spit, “Our what?!”
He struggles to swallow a hunk of his burger as you roll your eyes at him.
“Back when we were like 16, we made a bet. You said that if I had sex and found out that it was actually mediocre, I’d owe you twenty. Here’s your twenty; you win.” You say stuffing the cash into his hand before reaching to swipe your fry though the ketchup he smeared onto a napkin on the dash.
Adrian nods, remembering the conversation, “Wait. We’re both 33 right now. You’re telling me you haven’t had any good sex experiences?”
“I don’t own that dildo for nothing, Adrian.” You roll your eyes as if its the most obvious thing ever.
That night, Adrian lies awake in bed thinking about his day with you. He hasn’t spent time like that with you in ages. He forgot what it felt like to have a best friend like you. Sure, Chris was great, but there was something about you. Sure, Adrian thought you were hot as shit, but there was something else. Perhaps it was the emotional connection you had with him. Adrian had always been one for connection over conventional attractiveness.
He tosses and turns for another hour before groaning and reaching for his glasses. Fuck it, if he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well be productive with his life.
You’re sprawled out on a half-deflated air mattress when you hear your mother’s sharp scream. You race up the stairs, pulling your bathrobe on and snatching the broom up, ready to defend your mom against the intruder you expect to be in the house.
You find her on the back patio, a broken-open garbage bag at her feet as she yells at a masked figure. You take a step closer, broom raised. As you grow closer, you recognize him, Vigilante. You think of the many articles your mother had sent you in various forms. He’s dressed like the blurry images the local news has of him. Dark black and teal suit, red visor concealing his eyes. A slop of mixed-up garbage stains his torso; your mom must’ve tossed the bag at him.
“You’re going to give someone a heart attack, hiding behind a garbage can like that! I ought to slap you.”
Vigilante’s red visor glints in the yellow light that streams from your house and it’s open patio door. You swear he’s staring at you for a split second but then his gaze falls back to your mom.
“Sorry, ma’am. I thought I saw an intruder on your property.”
That voice. It’s got a bit of familiarity to it, whoever is under the mask is making it deeper on purpose, a shitty way of covering their tracks.
You want to tell him off, that lurking on private property is illegal, but he spins around and dashes off around the side of your house. You drop the broom, nearly tripping over your mom’s beloved cat named Pringle. You whip your front door open, flicking the porch light on in time to see Vigilante clammer into a beat-up tan car. Your eyes squint, and even in the dark you see the Chrysler logo flash as the car peels off, tires squealing in the silence of your sleepy neighborhood.
“I tell you, whoever is under that mask has a death wish. What if I had a gun on me and not a bag of trash?” Your mother’s angry mutters dance around you while your mind spins.
There’s only one person you know who drives a beat-up Sebring from the late 90s.
Your back hits the air mattress again as you scroll through old photos of you and Adrian. You smile to yourself, staring at the one where he’s licking your cheek, your face scrunched up in disgust.
There’s no way he’s Vigilante. Adrian Chase, spider enthusiast, certified goofball, the boy you grew up with, can’t possibly be a crime-fighting murderer…Right?
The next day, Adrian is hunched over his bathtub when the doorbell rings. He’s been scrubbing his suit for nearly forty minutes straight, and the scent of old eggs and banana lingers from your mother’s assault with a garbage bag last night. In hindsight it’d been stupid to stake your house out but who could blame him? There were dangerous people out there. Just a few months ago he’d help dismantle the butterflies. And two weeks ago he’d stopped a guy trying to graffiti the side of Fennel Fields.
“Adrian!”
“Fuck off, mom!” Adrian shouts as he squeezes more Dawn dish soap onto his poor suit. Whatever your mother was cooking must’ve been nasty if it was fighting the power of Dawn. Didn’t they clean baby ducks with this shit? How could one old ladies cooking be stronger than an oil covered duck?
Wait a minute…did ducks have teeth to even eat food?
“Adrian you have a visitor!” His mother’s shrill voice yells again, so fucking annoying.
A visitor? He’s not meeting up with Adebayo until 3 so who was knocking at his door now?
He slams the bathroom door shut, his feet thump as he walks down the steps. He expects Chris to be there holding a six-pack, but instead, he’s met with you.
“Oh, hey.” Adrian waves at you, ignoring the way his mom is practically grinning ear to ear. He has to play it cool in front of her, otherwise she was going to start asking if he was dating you.
“You up for a drive?” You ask, spinning a set of keys around your finger.
“I guess.” Adrian’s mind flashes to his soaking wet suit in the tub, “Give me a minute though. I need to do something.”
“He’s been locked in the bathroom for almost an hour.” He hears his mom sigh, followed by a snort of your laughter, “I don’t know what he’s going in there…I hope it’s not what I think it is.”
He tosses the soaking-wet suit into his laundry bin; he’ll deal with that later on. Stumbling into a well-loved pair of Converse, he messes with his hair and slips into a zip-up hoodie that isn’t soaked with bathtub water.
His fingers tap nervously on his knees as you pull away from his house. “Where are we going?”
“Do you remember when we were ten and promised we wouldn’t keep big things a secret from each other?” You ask calmly
“Uh yeah. Then a couple of years later I told you about a pimple I got on my butt, and you told me you didn’t mean those kinds of big things.” Adrian says
“Yeah, that was disgusting.” You hum with a small laugh
“Where’s this going?” Adrian asks a nervous smile on his face, he hates it when people aren’t direct with him, “And before you ask, no, I don’t have any more butt pimples.”
You glance at him, taking in that stupid smile of his, “Are you Vigilante?”
“Pfft…Why would I be… Are you kidding me? Me? Killing criminals? Nooooo way.” He deflects, his heart pounds in his chest, “ I don’t even know how to shoot a gun or touch my toes. What even is a Vigilante? Maybe that’s a woman under that costume. Or a nonbinary person! You shouldn’t assume Vigilante is a guy like me.
Your tires screech as you slam on the brakes. Adrian gets half choked out by his seatbelt as he shoots forward in his seat.
“What the fuck?” He whines, rubbing at the back of his neck
Your eyes narrow as he curses, “You’re a shitty liar, always have been and apparently, always will be.”
“I’m not lying!” Adrian says, staring at you
“Oh, really. So you and Vigilante have the same car, then?
“Hey, if Vigilante was in your yard and happened to drive the same car as me, that’s not my fault. Adrian says, raising his hands in innocence, “Sebrings are reliable cars!”
“I never said Vigilante was in my yard.” You smirk
“I didn’t either.” He coughs, eyes fixed on the crow outside the car.
He sure loves crows.
Adrian’s bedroom door slams open as you push him out of the way to stumble into the room.
“This is an invasion of privacy. We’re not kids; you can’t just barge in here!” He whines
“I know you have a suit in here. Wanna save me the hassle of finding it or are you gonna make me toss the whole room? I’m not really interested in whatever weird stuff you have in here.” You say, glancing at a taxidermied squirrel on the windowsill.
Adrian looks at you; you can tell he’s turning it over in his head before he stomps over to his closet, pulling a wash basket out with a soaking-wet Vigilante mask right on top for you to see.
“Ugh! Fine! You caught me!” Adrian groans “Go ahead, call the cops!”
You watch as he flops onto his bed, burying his face in his pillows, his muffled voice falls on your ears as you stare at the mask. The red glints in the sun as you scoop it up. It smells like soap as you slip your head into it. It's a bit damp but you power through it.
“Does this thing…have your glasses prescription in it?” You ask, stumbling around as the world becomes blurry
“Uh, yeah.” Adrian’s voice fills your ears.
He removes his face from his pillows only to find his own mask staring back at him. It looks dorky on you, mismatched with the jeans and t-shirt you’re wearing.
You pull it off your head, your hair a mess as you toss it to him before sitting down on the bed beside him.
“Are you gonna have me arrested?” He asks quietly, worried that you might just turn him in
You shrug, “I’ve read the news articles. You kill criminals. I don’t see any reason to turn you in over that.”
He sighs, relieved that he won’t have to tie you up in his secret room to keep you silent. That would seriously suck.
Your eyes sweep over his room, taking in the differences since you’d last seen it as a teenager. Underneath the different wallpaper and glow of the lamp you can see the little boy you’d grown up with. Gone are the race car sheets and Captain America pin-up posters. A small polaroid of the two of you at prom sits taped to his dusty mirror, next to it a picture of a group of people you’ve never seen before. Adrian holds up a peace sign as his gaze escapes the camera lens, looking at something off to his right.
“Oh shit, I guess that means I can tell you about my new friends.” Adrian jumps up, pulling the picture off the mirror to shove into your hands.
He runs through the names, pointing at each person until he gets to Peacemaker.
“I still can’t believe Chris walks around and calls himself Peacemaker.” You chuckle
“Why not? He’s awesome. Plus, Eagly is super cool.” Adrian says
“Eagly? Who’s Eagly?” You ask
You can’t believe what you’re seeing. A bald eagle, the symbol of the country is squawking at you as he eats a potato chip from Christopher Smith’s hand. Seriously, what the fuck?
“Where does a person even get a bald eagle?’ You ask Chris
“Oh y’know, just…around.” He vaguely gestures to the air
You blink a few times. Real well said.
“Awesome, right?” Adrian laughs at your expression
“Uh, yeah I guess.” You say, watching Eagly nip at Chris.
“Dude.” Chris calls to Adrian
“What?” Adrian asks
You watch Chris start making faces at Adrian, pointing at you, then himself, then at Adrian, and then the door. Then he winks and makes a circle with his finger. You glance at Eagly, then Adrian. What the fuck was happening.
“Dude, what?” Adrian asks
Yeah, you were pretty sure, Adrian Chase, misser of all body language missed whatever the hell Chris was trying to say.
“You wanna go out drinking with us tonight?” Chris asks, “I know this loser won’t ask you.”
“Oh, I dunno…I wouldn’t wanna intrude on a guys night.” You falter, you’re not really one to hang out with people like Chris, how did he and Adrian even end up being friends? The last time you saw Chris he was still hanging around Gut.
“If you’re planning on asking to have a threesome with her, forget it, she’s my friend, not yours.” Adrian scoffs, stepping in between you and Chris
“What? Dude, no! Ads and I are going out tonight; we can invite her and call Harcourt and Economos to join.” Chris says, “Besides, everyone knows you’re totally in love with her, and as nice as her ass is in those jeans, I’m not going to move in on your girl.”
“Shut up!” Adrian groans, “Stop telling her all my secrets; now I won’t get to tell her that her ass looks good in those jeans!”
“You can literally tell her right now!” Chris points at you, dodging a decorative pillow Adrian has scooped up and tossed at his head
You roll your eyes; these two are something else. Chris had certainly changed since high school. At least now you know Adrian wasn’t sitting around Evergreen all alone without you. You felt guilty for not visiting more. Sure, part of it was because after that night in college you’d felt sorta awkward around him, but you still wanted him in your life.
Adrian fixed his hair for the millionth time as he fidgeted in the driver’s seat. It was half past six, he’d been sitting in your driveway for no more than two minutes and he was already sweating. He’d dropped you off around three, insisting he’d pick you up and drive you to the bar Chris had texted him the address to. He’d have to be careful tonight, no getting wasted with you as his passenger. It’s probably better he didn’t go overboard anyway, no telling what he’d say to you if he drank too much.
You skip out of your house, a cute sundress on your figure as you pull the doorshut behind you. Part of him wants to get out an open the passenger door for you but you’d made him swear not to turn anything romantic. So he fights his instinct and lets you open your own door, greeting you with a smile that probably looks as stupid as it feels.
“Sup!”
Stupid! Why’d he say that?! He’d spent all day with you yesterday and he was still acting awkward. Jesus when was he going to get a grip on social skills!
“What’s up, Adrian?” You hum, not missing a beat as you pull your seatbelt across your lap
God, you were so cool.
The Vigilante-Mobile cruises along as you tap your fingers to the beat of the song on the radio.
“So is this bar any good?” You ask him
“Oh, yeah I guess. It closes at 11 though.” Adrian shrugs, “Everywhere else closes up at ten so Chris likes this place more.”
You nod, “Go over everyone's names for me again.”
When Adrian was 16, he had a dream he was dating you. You were his and he was yours. You’d walk to class together, holding hands, and sneak under the bleachers to make out instead of sitting in Algebra class.
It was so realistic that when he woke up, he was actually confused that you weren’t his girlfriend for real. He’d called you, glasses still on his nightstand, his voice scratchy with sleep. You’d picked up on the second ring and he happily listened to you talk to him about everything and nothing at all.
The next day he had to fight off the urge to sling his arm over your shoulders as you walked next to him, panicking about your Chemistry test you had later on. He was supposed to be quizzing you from the flashcards you’d shoved in his hands but all he could focus on was the way your hair was shimmering in the fluorescent lighting. He liked the way your nose scrunched up when you read something from your notes on electrons. He really liked the way your shirt was dipping just a bit lower than it normally did, and fuck did he love the way your strawberry body wash smelled when you leaned into him, saying something about flashcards.
The bar was decently crowded. Friday night brought more people out as Adrian led you through the groups of people towards where Chris was waving at you from the back. You took a chance and admired Adrian’s back as his hand gently tugged you along; his fingers were long and nimble, easily blanketing yours. He’d filled out over the years, gone was the wiry frame he had when you were teenagers, he hid himself under loose hoodies and sweaters, but you could tell he was definitely more muscular than he was when he’d visited you back in college.
When you finally reach Adrian’s little friend group you’re greeted with a series of hellos and smiles.
“Adrian has told us all about you.” One woman, who you’re presuming is Adebayo, smiles
“Probably a little too much,” The blonde woman chimes in, sipping at her beer
“Well, excuse me for wanting to tell you about my best friend.” Adrian counters, pulling up a chair for you to sit in
“Dude, I thought I was your best friend.” Chris says
“You’re second.” Adrian says
“Yeah, well, we don’t need to know that she has a mole on her right shoulder blade, Adrian.” The tall man, John Economos, says with a groan
“I could’ve told you wayyy more, for example, when we were kids I accidentally opened her drawers and saw all her training bras. “ Adrian starts
“Shut up.” You groan, elbowing his side as she sits down next to you, “I told you that you weren’t allowed to talk about that.”
“Oh shit, I remember that! Then you thought that even guys had to wear bras.” Chris laughs
“Oh my god.” You chuckle, staring at Adrian who’s face has gone red
“What made you think men wore bras?” Harcourt asks
“My brother had one under his bed.” Adrian shrugs
“Did you ever see him wearing it?” Adebayo asks
“Well…no, but-”
You pat Adrian’s back, “Alright, I think that's enough of that, pre-pubescent Adrian and the bra saga is a memory we don’t need to dive into.”
The night wears on as you drink your way into a pleasant level of drunkenness. Adrian has been nursing a beer all night; you swear he hasn’t even gotten a second one.
Loud unnamed music pours through the speakers as you make your way back to the table, leaving Adebayo on the dance floor. Harcourt sits on a barstool, swearing off all of Chris’ attempts to get her to dance with him.
“You’re a lot cooler than I thought you’d be.” She says as you sit next to her, taking a long sip of her drink
“Did you think I was gonna be lame?” You laugh
“Adrian described you…a bit oddly.” She admits
“How so?” You ask
“Well…” She glances at Adrian, who was currently pulling out the famous butt dance next to John, “He, and I’m quoting here, called you, a perfect goddess from above, sent to him from the kindergarten Fisher Price fake kitchen set.”
“What?” You laugh, what the hell did that even mean? He was such a dork.
“He also once got a bit too drunk once and us he was a peasant unfit to breathe the same air as you.” She says
“Oh god.” You groan, “He’s a bit nuts, I’m sorry.”
Emilia Harcourt agrees with you as she laughs into her drink when you tell her about the time Adrian knocked a tooth out after tripping up the escalator at the mall after telling you he didn’t need to tie his shoes.
“He says you rejected him.” She says, “Not that I blame you…He’s alot to handle.”
“It was years ago.” You sigh, staring at the sticky table top, “We were drunk and I wasn’t sure what I wanted back then.”
She nods, “I get it, not knowing what you want.”
You follow her gaze to where she stares at Chris who is badly dancing to the music.
“Maybe I’m saying this cuz’ I’m drunk, maybe not, but you do know he’s still hung up on you, right?” She asks you
Adrian had described the woman next to you as cold, mean, and scary. Yet, you were here sitting next to her talking about what you both wanted from a relationship. And sure, you weren’t sure what she saw in Chris but there must’ve been something there, underneath all those muscles and weird haircut.
“I’m aware.” You hum, “He’s terrible at hiding it.”
She agrees with you before asking another question,
“Are you hung up on him?”
Adrian pulls you onto the dance floor a few minutes later. He’s drinking another drink now; he shouts in your ear that it’s just soda and that he’ll get you home safe and DUI-free.
Multi colored lights flash as you move along to the beat of an old song from the 2000’s. Adrian spins you around, his scent invading your mind; it weaves its way through the grooves of your brain until there's nothing left but thoughts of him and that smile he loves to give you.
You’ve never felt more alive and dead at the same time as he leads you toward the bathrooms when you ask him where they are. He stands in line with you, blabbering about crows and manta rays and spiders and god only knows what else.
You can barely focus on the fact that apparently manta rays were his favorite animal of the day as he presses closer to you to make space in the cramped hallway for other people to get by. The soft glow of the yellow bulb that dangled above the two of you made him look angelic. Around you, strangers laugh and chat as the line slowly stumbles forward.
What were you here for? Oh, right, you had to pee.
Adrian’s hair was a little damp with sweat, his curls sticking up in different directions as he said something about spiders and their eggs.
You giggle, God, he was pretty, like some made-up fantasy that would vanish if you closed your eyes for too long. Was he always like this, or was it the drinks in your stomach talking? Either way, you don’t want him to go anywhere; you like him this close.
Chris watches from the dance floor as you wait in line for the bathroom with Adrian. Christopher Smith was no hopeless romantic; he knew what it looked like when a girl was interested, he knew there was something deep down in Harcourt, why else would she still accept his hang out invites. She was covert though, hard to read and mean if he asked her outright.
If Emilia Harcourt was a covert government agent with her feelings, you were the opposite. Christ, he’s never seen a girl more into a guy than right now. Adrian is blabbing away about something only he could talk about and you’re standing there. Are you listening? Chris had no damn idea, but you look like you’re two seconds away from pulling Adrian in for the kiss of a lifetime.
Adrian can’t believe this is happening. Seriously, what even was his life?
After a short drive from the bar to your place, he had managed to get you into your house while you laughed and told him his hair was softer than the cat that was meowing at him for more food.
He’d driven you back while you loudly sang to Brittney Spears and used an old Gatorade bottle as a mic. He, of course, had joined in, but it was hard to keep his focus on the lyrics when you kept running your hands up and down his body as he tried to stay at the speed limit.
How many damn drinks did you have? He swore you’d only had a couple. Maybe you were a lightweight. Or maybe you’d had way more and he just couldn’t count. Either way whatever you’d drunk had led to this.
“C’mere.” You mumble, pulling him into you as you sit down on your bed.
“No, it’s time for bed. You need to take off your shoes.” Adrian says
“I like my shoes.” You hum
“Yes, they’re nice; now take them off so you can lie down,” Adrian says
Jesus, how was he the responsible one right now? You always were the one with your head screwed on straight, not him.
“I like youuu.” You sing, “You’re really pretty and have such nice hair.”
Adrian’s face heats up. He’d waited years to hear those words leave your lips. It wasn’t right though, you were drunk off your ass and would probably say the same thing to Economos right now.
“I thought I was gonna die earlier. In that bathroom hallway when you were talking about manta rays. So pretty and sweet, I was seriously gonna drop dead if you kept talking to me back there.” You laugh, “Vigilante kills woman with his looks! New headline for the news tomorrow.”
“Uh huh, sure.” He chuckles
You’re a funny drunk at least. This is going better than the last time the two of you drank.
“Shoes off.” Adrian hums, kneeling down to slip your shoes off your feet
“Hey, those’re mine.” You grumble
“And if you don’t lie down I’ll take them and wear them myself.” He counters
“Your fat feet will stretch them out. You’re way bigger than me now and I bet your feet are ugly too.” You groan as your head hits the pillow, “Men always have ugly feet.”
Adrian looks down at his own shoe covered feet. Where his feet ugly? What constituted a good looking foot? He glances at yours, well yours were nice. Yeah, he had ugly feet.
He turns to leave, dropping your shoes on the floor.
“Wanna have a sleep over? Like when we were kids?” You ask
“I dunno, it’s probably not a good idea.”
Adrian doesn’t want to overstep. He wants to, god he wants to. He wants to climb into bed next to you and fall asleep to the sound of your breathing. He wants to wake up to your hair tickling his nose in the morning.
But, this is the drinks talking, not you. He wants the real you to say all this to him. He wants to jam out to Brittney with you while you’re sober.
“Please?”
“I’ll see you later.” Adrian insists
A beat of silence and then you speak again, softer this time, sadness in your voice, “Please, Adrian, don’t leave, I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Adrian sleeps on top of the covers despite your protests. He switches off the bedside light as you thank him for staying. How could he leave? He doesn’t want you to be alone either.
The next morning comes with the sound of vomiting and groaning. Adrian springs out of bed and wraps his hands around your hair, pulling it out of the way as you curse all alcohol.
“Thank you.” You groan as he brings you a glass of water.
“Mmmhm.” He says
Even hungover, you’re pretty. Your dress from last night is still on, and he notices the little design on the fabric isn’t flowers at all, but instead, it’s spiders.
“Are those spiders? That’s so cool!” Adrian asks, running a finger across the fabric on your shoulder
“Yeah, I was kinda bummed you didn’t notice last night.” You say, standing up to flush the toilet
“Where’d you get it?” Adrian wants a shirt with spiders on it.
“Back in New York, actually.” You say, pawing through your clothing that still sits in a box, “I uh, saw it and thought of you. Had to buy it just in case.”
“Sick!” Adrian grins as he spins around to face the wall. “You can get changed; I won’t peek, promise.”
When you’re dressed in a soft-looking pair of sweats and a worn-in T-shirt, Adrian watches you brush your teeth before following you up the steps to the kitchen.
Over bowls of Fruit Loops, he admires the way the morning sun dances across your skin.
“So, how much do you remember from last night?” Adrian asks, he has to know, how hammered were you? How much of that was real?
“Er…Uh.” You stir your cereal
“Remember our no secrets promise.” Adrian finds himself saying
“All of it.” You whisper
All of it? No. That can’t be right, you were drunk, really really drunk last night. You had like a billion drinks, no way you remembered it all.
“I’m a lightweight. I had like two drinks.” You admit, “I was drunk but not blacked out.”
“So when you said I was pretty…” He trails off
“I meant it.” You sigh, “Alcohol kinda steals my filter. I just say whatever I think.”
Adrian sits back, his mind turning over the past twelve hours. What the actual fuck?
“I know you’re not good with feelings. I just…last night Harcourt said you weren’t over me. I guess a part of me always knew that, but hearing it was different. I’m just, I dunno…”
“Just what?” Adrian asks
He wants to hear what you’re going to say. Scratch that, he needs to hear it. If you knew what you were doing last night, then why were you so pensive about his feelings?
“I’m lonely.” You sigh, “I wanted a night with a guy who wanted me.”
“So you played with my feelings?” Adrian finds himself bitterly spitting out
“No!” You exclaim, grabbing his wrist when he goes to stand up
You pull him back down with a strength he didn’t know you had.
“Adrian, I like you too. A lot actually. I think I have for years.”
He wants to kiss you. He wants to vault across the table and kiss you senseless. The sadness in your eyes keeps him grounded.
“I just…I’m a mess. I moved back to Evergreen after breaking off my engagement. I’m literally an unemployed loser right now because he had his dad fire me after I gave him his ring back.” You gush
“When did you get engaged?” Adrian asks
He had no idea you were seeing someone that seriously.
“Six months ago. We were dating for a year before that.” You say, “I met him at a company dinner; his dad was my department head.”
“What’s his name?” Adrian asks, maybe he can catch a flight and kill his fucker for hurting you
“Is that really important?” You sigh
“No, as long as you promise not to go back to him,” Adrian says, oh he’s so gonna find this piece of shit one day.
“We’re definitely over.” You chuckle softly, “I promise.”
“Why’d you dump him?” Adrian asks, curious about what led to your ex-fiancé’s downfall.
You hesitate for a second, face pensive before speaking again, “You. I left him to come home to you.”
At nine, Adrian doesn’t know much about girls. He knows they like the color pink and hate mud. They also like to laugh at him and point at his new glasses. He got them four days ago after the school nurse sent him home with a note for his mom that he failed the yearly eye exam the school made students do.
He’d picked the frames himself, a nice wire frame, something that he thought would make him look smart. He saw a book where a picture of a scientist was wearing glasses like the ones that sat on his face now.
They had the opposite effect, though; kids at school were calling him nerd now and four eyes. Even Chris had told him they were a bit nerdy before disappearing into Gut’s room. Adrian pulled the stupid things off his face with nothing but hatred for them. Sure it was nice to actually be able to see whatever the teacher wrote on the chalkboard, he wasn’t even aware that his eyes were bad until he wore them in class for the first time. But now, whatever chance he had at friends was being flushed down the toilet.
“Adrian! Your friend is here!” His mom yells up the stairs
No! You hadn’t seen him with his glasses yet! You’d been sick for the past few days and had been spared from the onslaught of nerd Adrian was now exuding.
“Adrian?”
You push his bedroom door open to see him halfway to hiding the offending pair of eyewear under his pillow.
“Oh. My. Gosh.”
“I know, they’re stupid. Maybe I can get contacts instead.” Adrian sighs staring at them and then back at you
“No way!” You gasp, jumping onto the bed to sit beside him as you scoop them from his hands. You slip them onto his face with ease and even push them up his nose when they slip down a bit, “You look so cool!”
“What? No, I don’t. Shut up.” Adrian can feel himself blushing now.
“You do, though! You look extra smart. Like you’re going to blow something up in a science lab.”
Adrian turns the idea over in his head; he does like the idea of blowing stuff up.
“You gotta keep ’em.” You declare
“Fine…but only if you let me win the first three rounds of Super Mario,” Adrian says
You shake his hand, a deals a deal.
As Adrian sits there and kicks your butt, glasses helping him see the TV screen, he decides that not all girls are the same. And sure, you might be wearing a pink t-shirt right now and definitely don’t like mud; he can’t help but feel like you’re different, special, and made just for him.
“What’d you say after that?”
“Huh? Oh, I uh might’ve just…” Adrian sighs
“Might’ve just what?!” Chris exclaims
“I said cool. Then I asked her if I could have a second bowl of Fruit Loops before leaving.”
“What?!! What the fuck!?”
“Pringle, do you think I did something wrong?”
Your mother’s calico stares up at you blinking slowly as she sits beside you on her cat tree.
“I like totally told him I broke off my engagement for him and he just went cool and ate another bowl of cereal before leaving!” You groan
Pringle lets out a mew as she licks her paw.
“Exactly. He…ooo that idiot.” You grunt, “Adrian's always been kinda spacey when it comes to reading other people but I didn’t think he’d be that dim. I practically threw myself at him last night when I was drunk.”
Pringle meows again, and you sigh, “Maybe he’s not into me anymore. Harcourt said he was but that doesn’t mean anything unless he actually is.”
“Do you think he’d still want me? Even now?” You ask Pringle
She gives you a sweet-sounding mrrp as you scratch behind her ears.
Approximately one month ago in New York City…
The sounds of the traffic were drowned out by the sounds of the shower. City lights twinkled as you pulled a soft throw blanket over your lap, your bed was soft and warm as you sighed. Your tablet rested in your lap, Instagram’s search sat idle as you wrestled with the idea in your mind.
Your engagement ring sat on your finger. A dazzlingly large reminder of the wife you were about to become.
Fuck it. Why not?
Your fingers tapped at the keyboard, typing quickly before you could hesitate.
adrian_chase_91
His page was pretty bare. 35 followers, following 359. Four posts total, one of a spider, the next of an owl. The third was a blurry sunset picture. The latest, posted three months ago, actually had him in it, he’s smiling, pointing at a ridiculous billboard that says Try My Nuts! Nut Emporium 3.4 mi Exit 45A.
It’s ridiculous. He’d obviously pulled over and propped his phone up just to take a picture of himself and a billboard. And yet, it’s so uniquely him, unapologetic and brash, 100% Adrian.
You laugh quietly and the shower water switches off. Your fiancé, Alex emerged, a towel slung around his waist as he pads over to his closet to pull out clothes.
You glance back at your tablet, Adrian and his stupid nut billboard look back at you and you feel your stomach swim. Looking back at Alex uncertainty fills your mind. When had you ever felt close to him the way you did with Adrian?
Honestly, you never did.
You take a deep breath, shutting your tablet off before looking up at a now dressed Alex who is scrolling on his phone.
“I think we should break up.”
March was uncharacteristically warm this year in Evergreen. The sun was a little sliver as you slowly strolled through your neighborhood. One earbud stuck in your ear while the other dangled and swung around as you admired the pretty rose bush Mr. and Mrs. Lowry had grown along their fence.
You fiddled with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, staring up at the street sign. This was Adrian’s street. You’d spent many years biking down this street, screeching to a stop in his driveway before sprinting into his room to show him whatever cheesy comic you’d found at the library.
You debate walking down the street, you can’t see Adrian’s house from here, but he’s probably off at Fennel Fields. You’re pretty sure he said he works Friday nights.
The loud sound of a car horn has you spinning around. A beat up tan Sebring is driving towards you, it’s driver, Adrian of course, has his hand stuck out the window waving at you.
He stops in front of you, blocking the intersection with little care for anyone who might want to drive down this way.
“Hey.” You offer lamely
“Hey.” Adrian hums
It’d been two days since you saw him, two days since he’d held your hair back over the toilet and eaten Fruit Loops with you at your dining room table. Two days since you admitted to basically giving up your entire life in New York for him.
“What’s up?” You ask
“Nothing really. I was about to go out and patrol, I left my favorite gun at home, though.” Adrian explains
Your eyes flick down, scanning his body. It’s the first time you’ve actually seen the Vigilante gear on his body since he’d been caught by your mom in your backyard. The mask sits in the backseat ontop of what looks like his bus boy uniform.
“Oh, that’s nice.” You nod, “Good luck then.”
You begin to walk off, swearing that you could hear Adrian cursing at himself in his car behind you.
“You wanna come with me?” He calls
You spin around, looking at him with doubt on your face, “You want to take me on a patrol…while dressed like that?”
“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs, “You’re safest with me anyway.”
You seriously must have lost some brain cells recently. Here you are, sitting on a park bench in the dark with Adrian who is in full Vigilante costume now. His favorite gun is sitting strapped to his side as he rambles about how some drug dealers like to use this park sometimes.
“I think I should just go home.” You say, “I don’t think I’m cut out to be staking out drug deals.”
“What? No! You’re totally cut out for it!” Vigilante exclaims
“What will I do to stop them? Strangle with with my earbuds?” You scoff, swinging the cord in his face
“You could.” He shrugs, “It’d be kinda hot too.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it would be.” You roll your eyes
Adrian, or rather, Vigilante, drums his fingers on his thigh, a nervous habit Adrian picked up years ago. It’s usually followed by an outlandish question or statement that no one ever had an answer to.
“You don’t seem like, weirded out that I’m Vigilante.” He says
“Like I said a couple of days ago, you kill criminals, not innocents.” You say, “Why should I have a problem with that?”
He shrugs, “I dunno. I also killed a race of alien Butterflies by helping Chris send Adebayo rocketing through their only food source.”
“Oh…uh, thank you?” You say, unsure of what kind of response you should be giving him right now
“You’re welcome; it’s all in a day's work.” He says, pretending to crack his knuckles
“So Adrian did you give any thought to what I said in my house a few days ago? Like, did you wanna talk about it more?” You prod him
“Who’s Adrian?” He dumbly says
Good lord he was going to be the death of you.
“Sorry, Vigilante, have you thought some more about what I said?”
“Well, I-Oh shit. Don’t move.”
You follow Vigilante’s gaze to where four sweatshirt clad figures are entering the park. They walk in pairs and slowly stroll towards each other all eventually meeting under a gazebo.
It doesn’t take a genius to see the small brown paper bag one of them slips the other two.
“Welp, that’s my cue.” Vigilante hums, “Feel free to snap some super awesome pictures of me in action, I wanna put some on the wall in my secret room.”
What? Pictures? Did he seriously expect you to play the action photographer?
You watch as Vigilante crosses the park in long strides, from your spot on the bench about two hundred feet away you can hear his loud voice travel across the grass.
“What kind of drugs is it tonight? Fentanyl? Weed? Don’t tell me it’s cocaine!”
His voice sounds a bit odd. Sure it’s muffled from the mask but at the same time, it’s a different tone you don’t remember ever hearing him use. He sounds almost giddy and slightly unhinged. You can practically hear his smile even though he’s not facing you anymore.
“Can you fuck off?” One guy says
“This doesn’t concern you. What even are you? Some clown going to Comic Con?” Another scoffs
“When I go to Comic Con, I dress up as Hatsume Miku, thank you very much.” Vigilante counters
“What the fuck?” One laughs, “This guy cannot be real.”
“Hold on, Tod, I know this dude.” The last one says, “Yeah. I saw him on the news at my grandma’s. This is that Vigilante dude. He likes to run around and kill people for littering and shit.”
“Well, we didn’t litter, so fuck off, Virginante.”
“First off, I’m not a virgin. Second, could you guys make sure I get some good angles? My super cool best friend is here, and I want her to get some sweet pictures of me shooting your faces in.”
Faster than you can blink, Vigilante is whipping out a knife from his waistband and slamming it into one of the drug dealers' stomachs.
“Oh fuck!” his buddy curses
. You’re too shocked to even pull your phone out for the pictures Vigilante wants you to take. Vigilante pivots, freeing his knife as one guy goes to try to punch him in the face. He dodges with ease and knees the guy instead.
The dealer doubles over and Viiglante pulls his gun out, the one he’d gone back to his house for and unloads a clean shot into the drug dealer’s head.
You’re frozen as the scene continues on. One man tackles Vigilante to the ground, and the gun flies out of his hands and lands halfway between you and him.
“Hold him down.” The second to last guy orders his friend
“I’m putting this walking condom out of his misery.”
You watch with wide eyes as he pulls a gun from the big pocket on the front of his sweatshirt.
“Ha, condom! Condoms are important gentlemen. Safe Sex always.”
Vigilante is laughing, you can hear it as you run for the gun that sits between the two of you. As scared as you are, you’re not about to watch your friend get shot in the head while attempting to stop a drug deal.
“Adrian!” You yell
The men holding Vigilante down look over at you as you scoop the gun up and run towards them.
“Aw shit, now you have to die. She said my name.” Vigilante says loudly, “Let me up so I can kill you”
Your feet hit the gazebo and all three men look at you.
“You have some girl as your sidekick?” The one holding Vigilante laughs
“You having a good evening with this piece of shit?” The one holding the gun asks, “We could show you a better time I bet.”
He takes a long stride towards you and you nearly jump out of your skin. He leans in towards you and takes a deep inhale. His face is practically touching yours as he crouches down to be eye level with you.
“A piece of ass like this is wasted on a guy like that-”
Without truly thinking about what comes next you jam the gun into his still speaking mouth. Then, you squeeze your eyes shut and pull the trigger. Hot blood covers your face as you fall backwards onto your ass. The gun slips from your grasp as your ears ring.
Your arm tingles as you try to get your bearings. Blood covers your eyes as you call out Adrian’s name.
Vaguely, you hear the sound of another gunshot before the feel of gloved fingers on your face. They wipe at your eyes until the feeling of blood is mostly gone.
Vigilante is crouched down and staring at you. He’s saying something but you’re half deaf. Then, he hugs you and excitedly points at the dead bodies around the two of you.
You let him lead you out of the park and back towards the car. He cruises down the road at exactly 25 while your hearing slowly comes back.
“And we should totally do this again next week.”
You can’t concentrate on his voice as you stare down at your blood soaked body. What the fuck just happened? You shot a man in the face and now you’re covered in his blood while Vigilante drives you around town.
“You have no idea how hot that was.” He laughs
“Adrian, stop the car.”
“Okay we can’t do this again if you keep calling me that while I’m wearing this.” He says sternly
“Adrian!” You yell at him, “Pull the fuck over.”
Vigilante pulls the car over. He watches as you unbuckle and stumble out of the car. Where were you going like that?
He pulls off his mask, tired of the smell of his own breath before shutting the car off and following you to where you’re walking off.
“Where are we going?” Adrian asks
No answer as you slowly plod along.
“If we’re headed home we can just get back in my car. I was gonna swing by the mini mart for some Doritos but we can postpone that.” He says
“I just shot someone.” You say, “I killed him.”
“And it was totally awesome.” Adrian laughs, “We should get a cake to celebrate. I think the grocery store is open til’ eleven.”
“No!” You snap, “No cake, Adrian! I just shot a guy in the face and you want to celebrate? I should be going to jail!”
“Uh technically he should be jail since he was selling drugs. That bag had heroin in it.” Adrian says
You should be glad right now, stopping a drug deal and helping remove drugs off the streets. Yet you’re staring at him like he’s just grown a second head.
You groan, sitting down on the curb
Adrian sits next to you, silence settling over the two of you as he taps his fingers together. You’re upset, clearly he must’ve underestimated your coolness with what he did in his night hours.
“Y’know…what you did isn’t any different than what I do on a regular basis. Those guys weren’t good people.” He says softly
“I know that.” You mumble
“So why’re you so upset? Besides the whole, covered in blood and shot a dude in the face part?” He asks
You were upset when he picked you up on his street. He knew what it looked like when you had something on your mind. He’d know the look anywhere. It was the same look you used to give a challenging problem in math class years ago.
“You were upsetting me.” You say, “You and your stupid hair and dorky glasses.”
“My hair is upsetting you?” Adrian asks, running a hand through the messy locks on his head. He knew they were unruly but he didn’t know they were pissing you off. Maybe he needed hair gel.
“It’s everything the hair is attached to.” You sigh, “I drop hints and tell you I left my old life for you and instead you take me out to a park where I end up shooting a guy in the face to save your ass.”
“Hints?”
“Oh, my god.” You groan, “I’m in love with you, like fully in love. I know I am now since I just shot a guy and I’m still thinking about what your biceps might look like under that stupid suit of yours!”
Adrian glances down at his biceps and then back at you. Did he mishear you? Maybe he’d fully lost it. Chris always told him he was insane. Maybe it’d finally happened and he’d lost his mind.
“Wait, what?” He dumbly says, what did you say? He needs to hear that again.
Instead of getting what he wants, though, you’re grabbing him by the collar of his suit and slamming your lips into his.
He lets out what could only be described as a squeak as he tries to kiss you back. He’s two seconds away from crying as the taste of you fills his mind. His hands nervously wring together as you pull backwards and rest your forehead against his.
“Let’s go home, Vigilante.” You softly say
He can’t focus on anything other than you as he drives along. He doesn’t know what you meant by home so he pulls into his driveway. You unbuckle first and he quickly commands you to stop what you’re doing.
He clambers out of his car and nearly trips on his feet as he pulls the passenger-side door for you.
“Were you serious?” He breathes heavily as you stand up, the car door between him and you, “About being in love with me, were you serious?”
“I don’t shoot people in the face for people I’m not in love with, Adrian.” You say
A beat of silence.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
You’re in love with him. His best friend is in love with him.
He feels like he’s going to throw up and pass out all at the same time.
“Uhm, do you wanna go inside with me? We can play Princess Peach Showtime, and I’ll DoorDash Taco Bell.” He blurts
Stupid! No girl as hot as you wants Taco Bell! He should’ve said McDonald's!
“Only if we can make out too.” You laugh
“Yeah, totally, we can, I can do that.” He says
Adrian leads you into his house, he’s seconds away from pulling you into his room when you detour and yank him into the bathroom instead.
“We can’t play Princess Peach Showtime like this.” You say
Adrian watches wide eyed as you start pulling your blood soaked clothes off your body.
“I’ll turn around.” He says quickly, whirling around to look at the door.
The water turns on and the shower curtain is peeled open as steam fills the room.
“Are you coming in or what?”
Adrian takes less than a minute to pull his Vigilante gear off and join you under the warm water. You delight in the feel of the water beating against your face, washing off the blood that had dried on your skin.
“Hi…”Adrian says when you spin around to face him
“Hi.” You smile
You wash his back for him and after he asks three times you relent and let him wash your hair. His hands weave conditioner through your wet hair and you shiver when he presses his lips to the nape of your neck.
“We’re going to smell the same now.” He whispers into your ear
You smile, leaning backwards into him so the back of your head rests on his shoulder, “Good, just the way I like it.”
Adrian presses three sweet kisses to your neck before his hands begin wandering from your waist to the underside of your breasts.
“Is this okay?” He asks
“Yes.” You breathe, it’s more than okay.
He runs a thumb across your nipple and you arch backwards into his hardness. He sucks a deep breath in and laughs softly.
“We should stop before I get carried away.” He says
You snort and roll your eyes, spinning around to face him, “What if I want you to get carried away.”
Adrian gives you a funny look, the warm water streaming down his body as he not so subtly glances down at your chest again, “Well then we should probably get out of the shower then. I need my glasses.”
You laugh, loudly this time. No matter how old he got, you could always count on Adrian to say something that others would find hilariously awkward.
“Not my fault I’m blind.” He says as you get out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body
He yelps as you pinch his ass as he leads you back to his room.
“Put a towel on next time. This isn’t a nudist colony.” You scold
“That was my sensitive butt cheek.” He whines
“So your other one isn’t as sensitive?” You ask
“Duh.” He says, digging in his drawers for clothing. He slips into a pair of boxers and glares at you while you laugh at him
“You’re so stupid.” You laugh, “C’mere.”
Adrian listens to you and he lets you guide him to sit on the bed. He blushes when you straddle him.
“Oh, I didn’t think you were being serious.” He stammers
“I never joke about sex, Adrian.” You say, “Unless you want to stop.”
You hadn’t factored in the idea that Adrian might be uncomfortable with all this so soon. You knew he didn’t feel the same way most people did about physical affection. Erections didn’t mean anything if the guy attached to them hated the feel of human skin on his.
“No! We can keep going,” He says, “I just…I wanna remember this so…”
“We’ll go slow, baby.”
Adrian looks like he’s ready to melt into you as soon as the pet name leaves your lips.
You thread your fingers through his wet hair as he gently kisses you. The kiss deepens when your run your hands down his chest.
“I feel like I’m about to explode.” Adrian confesses, “This is like all my wet dreams come to life.”
“Is this you finally admitting you’re a pervert?” You laugh
“Can I eat you out?”
Adrian’s question has your face heating up as you try to keep your nerve. So bold, so brash, so Adrian.
“Please?” He asks again
“Alright.” You smile
Adrian gently pulls the towel from your body and lets you trade places with him on the bed, you on your back as he shuffles to lie down between your thighs.
Your legs part a bit and he groans deeply, “Fuck me.”
Electric shoots through your spine as he mouths at your inner right thigh. Your mind registers something that sounds like Adrian whispering something that sounds like praise before he sucks your clit into his mouth Your hips jump at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, his name leaving your lips as you fist the sheets. His tongue slips down to your hole, a groan leaving his lips as he laps at your wetness.
Adrian hums into you as he presses a kiss to you, “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” You gasp back
“You sound like your soul is being sucked out.’ He comments
“Just keep going.” You order
“Yes, ma’am.”
Your hips pull up off the bed as he fucks you with his tongue, “Bossy.”
The vibrations of his voice have you keening against him as his arms come up and wrap around your thighs, holding you down as he laughs.
“And squirmy. Next time I’ll have to tie you down.
Adrian’s thumb brushes your clit and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan when your climax hits you hard and fast.
Your eyes pull open to the feeling of Adrian pressing kisses to your stomach, a trail leading from your cunt up up up until he reaches your lips. Stealing a kiss in the form of a quick peck, he gives you a boyish grin, acting like he didn’t just get you to cum in like three minutes.
Adrian lays on top of you, nuzzling into your neck as your breathing slows.
“Can we keep going?” He asks into your skin
“We can.” You hum, “If you promise to get off me right now.”
Adrian sits up a saddened look on his face.
“You were totally squishing me.” You laugh,” How many protein shakes does Vigilante drink everyday?”
“Enough.” Adrian says
You roll your eyes, real informative.
“I bet he does, but I think I like this a bit more.”
Adrian lets you push him backwards so his bed frame is to his back.
“This is good too.” he says
He nearly chokes when you straddle him again and grind into the bulge in his underwear.
“Nevermind this is great actually, perfect really.”
“Adrian?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop talking.”
“Right, sorry.”
“T-Touch me, touch me please.” He mumbles, hips jumping up towards your hand when one lands on his belly
“How?” You ask coyly
“Fuck, I dunno…” His eyes flutter shut
Adrian gasps when you pull the waistband of his boxers down, freeing his cock as you suck a hickey into the skin on his neck. Shifting so you’re straddling his thigh more than just his lap.
“Look at me.” You say, you’re not going to miss one second of this
His head falls back when your run a finger over the slit of his cock, a fucking whimper leaving his lips.
“Look at me, Adrian.” You command
Adrian’s eyes meet yours, hazy with lust as he looks at you adoringly, “Sorry…”
“It’s alright.” You hum, running a hand through his damp curls murmuring, “So pretty…”
Your hand drops down and wraps around his cock, pumping him as he groans your name loudly as you twist your wrist.
“ Fuck…” Adrian’s forehead glistens with sweat as you press a warm kiss to his neck, nipping at his skin, “M’ not gonna last.”
“Go on.” You smile, “Cum for me, I don’t mind.”
He whines your name and shakes his head. Big hands find your soft chest, thumbs flicking at your nipples as you try to keep your cool, wanting to maintain your dominance over him.
“Ride my thigh.” He mumbles into your lips when you press them to his
You blush but do as he says, rolling your hips in time with your hand that pumps him.
“Fuck you’re pretty like this. Christ, always knew you’d look good on top of me.”
Adrian plays dirty and flexes the muscle of his thigh and you moan loudly, your foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling as he grunts softly.
“Can I cum in you?”
You’re desperate to have him in you as you let him go. Adrian’s hands find your waist as he pulls you up to line himself up with you.
Your moan is so loud you’re certain you’ve woken the whole neighborhood up as he enters you. His fingers find your clit again running circles over the nerves as he cums in you, whining your name as he does. You follow in suit, oversensitive from his mouth earlier.
You bury your face in his neck, not wanting him to ever let you go again. Adrian presses a kiss to your ear mumbling something about that being the best orgasm ever into it.
“Guess we should’ve saved the shower.” He says when you sit back to look at him
He’s still seated inside you, going soft as his fingers dance along the side of your breast.
“Did you really expect to have sex with me while I was covered in blood?” You laugh airly
“I wouldn’t have minded.” He shrugs
You take another shower. This time Adrian controls the temperature, telling you you’re going to boil yourself alive one day if you’re not careful. By the time the two of you are back in bed it’s nearly two in the morning. His legs are tangled with yours as he holds you tight to his chest.
“You said that I had a hand in making you leave New York. What’d you mean by that?” Adrian asks into the darkness
“I instagram stalked you.” You admit, “Saw your stupid post about the nut billboard and decided I had to move back home and make you mine.”
Adrian laughs, running a hand through your hair. His voice is soft, a whisper into the darkness of his bedroom
“I’ve always been yours.”
Six Months Later
Adrian hums along to old One Direction song that played on the radio. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard, 4:59 PM
And in 3…2…1…
The door to your apartment swung open and you stepped out. Waving to him as you walk towards his car. You’re wearing his favorite dress, the one with spiders on it and your hair is so shiny today. You remind him of a seal, sleak, shiny and cute as fuck.
“You look like a seal.” He says as he pulls the door open for you
“Erm, thanks Adrian. You uh…remind me of a horse.” You reply
“A horse? Why a horse?” He laughs as he reverses out of his parking space
“Cuz’ they’re majestic and cool to look at.” You shrug
“You think I’m cool to look at?” He smiles
“The coolest.”
“Thank you my dear seal of a girlfriend.”
Adrian thinks your laughter is even better than Zayn’s high notes as he drives the two of you to dinner.
The past six months had been a hazy dream of perfection. You’d gotten your job back, HR flagged your ex’s dad and said he couldn’t terminate your position over a broken off engagement and now you worked remote from the comfort of your new apartment.
Adrian spent four days a week at Fennel Fields and the other three in that apartment poking at your face while you were trying to do whatever it was that you did for this magical company you worked so hard for. He still didn’t understand how insurance worked and he probably never would.
At night he’d patrol as Vigilante, sometimes you’d tag along but you were strictly there for cool photo ops, no more shooting people in the face, no matter how much he told you it was hot as fuck.
“Oh I learned something new today,” You say
“Really? What?”
“Jumping spiders play with lazer pointers, just like cats!” You say
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Adrian exclaims
No fucking way, you had to be joking right now.
“Nope! I even found a Youtube video of it for you, I’ll show it to you when we get to dinner.” You smile
Adrian nods enthusiastically, pressing on the gas a little harder, he has to see this video as soon as humanly possible.
Everyone wants something different. . Some want fame, others want to be prettier. Some want love, others want freedom. Adrian wants to see this video of the spider and it’s laser pointer. But, more than anything he wants to stay just like this for forever and then maybe even a bit longer than that.
He pulls into a parking spot and watches as you queue up the video of the hour. It buffers and he looks over at you.
He’s more alive than he’s ever felt before as you tell him to focus on the video. Instead of looking down at your phone he hums and pulls you in for a kiss. You pull back, as breathless as he is as he smiles at you widely.
“We need air to breathe.” You laugh at him
Adrian hums in agreement before pulling you in for another kiss, maybe you’re right, not that it matters though, he’s happy enough to never breathe again. You hands wrap around his face and weave through his hair as his heart pounds.. Yes, this right here is perfect for him, he’ll stay just like this forever, glued to your side, and happy to kiss you until he’s ready to drop dead.
More Adrian here
A/n: The long awaited pt 3...I finally got off my ass and finished writing this story and damn is it long as hell. Oh well hope you all enjoy. Leave a comment if you did!!
Summary: Three years after you leave Evergreen, Adrian takes a chance and follows you to New York.
Warnings: Childhood bffs to lovers. Cursing, sex mentioned. virginity mentioned. reader is exploring the possibility of being bisexual, drinking, loosely edited.
This is the second part of Landslide.
Based on the song by Taylor Swift
Wk: 3.7k/Part One / Part Three / Masterlist
The subway car was nearly empty when Adrian boarded. A drunkard passed out sat on one end, and Adrian steered clear of him, opting to sit on the other end where a guy had his nose buried in his phone. His watch read 2:35 AM.
Sighing deeply, he rested his head on the subway wall, the rattling of the car soothing the ache in his chest. He was glad it was quiet for once; the bustling crowds of New York had been nearly overwhelming for him. The bottle of champagne he’d bought at an overpriced grocery store sloshed around in his backpack. Staring at his suitcase, he runs a hand through his hair before pulling his phone out to text his mom.
Catching an early flight home. See you around noon.
Adrian is 22 when Chris Smith knocks some sense into him. They’d just finished killing a group of losers who were lining up some big drug shipment and were relaxing in Chris’ trailer.
“So you’re telling me, you’ve got this super hot friend from childhood and you’ve never made a move?” Peacemaker laughs
“I mean. Yeah. But I don't even think she’s into me like that.” Vigilante says, “I mean I’m into her but still-”
“You just said she kissed you before she left town. That’s like the textbook ‘I’m into you!’ language dude!” Peacemaker counters
“It was just like. A kiss on the cheek, though. Not a real one.” He says
Peacemaker turns to Vigilante, giving him a look Adrian can’t quite read.
“Well, I’m sorry not all of us took the masterclass on reading people’s feelings, Jesus!”
“Alright, dude. Look. I’m just saying, next time she’s back in town, take her out on a date. It doesn’t go well, then you know it's not like that.” Peacemaker shrugs, “Just seize your moment.”
Adrian stewed on it for a week. He spends his time at work daydreaming about taking you on a proper date. There weren’t many fancy places in Evergreen, but there was that new Mediterranean place on Main Street.
He couldn’t quite place his finger on when his feelings had gone from strictly platonic to thinking about you every second of his day. Maybe it was after the first holiday break you had. The two of you had spent winter break together, hunkered down in his room playing Nintendo and eating so much junk food that Adrian was convinced he’d gained 10 lbs by the time you went back to school. Or, maybe it was during the long phone calls you made to him late at night. He’d take them during his nights as Vigilante, lounging in his car while he cased a gang’s headquarters or studied a group of human traffickers coming and going. He’d listen to you blab about school, all while jotting down notes about what criminals he’d kill first and how he’d kill them.
Exactly one week after his conversation with Peacemaker, he books his flight. He spends the six and a half hour flight thinking about what New York is like. He’d only been out of Washington once when he was eight and his family went to Disneyland. He didn’t remember much of that, only that his parents had a big fight in the middle of the park, leaving Gut and Adrian to roam around the park alone for a few hours.
Adrian’s always been pretty good at navigation. He patrols the streets of Evergreen regularly, yet nothing prepared him for the sheer skill he’d need to navigate the NYC subway system. He stares at the map on the wall and then down at his phone, trying to make sense of the Google explanation his phone gives. Eventually, he figures it out, pushing his way on only to end up sandwiched between a man who smells like too much cologne and a man who smells like he’d never bathed in his entire life.
Eventually, by some fucking miracle he finds himself outside your dorm building. He has no idea where you might be, only that you don’t have classes on Tuesdays. He can’t get into the building without a student ID, so he figures he’ll have to call you, afterall, he didn’t bring his Vigilante suit, and breaking into a dorm didn’t exactly fit the bill of a model citizen.
The phone rings twice before your voice streams into his ear.
“Adrian? Isn’t it like nine am in Evergreen? What’s wrong?”
“Something has to be wrong for me to call you?”
“Well, no. Normally, you’re snoring into a bowl of popcorn after a movie marathon, not awake enough to even eat, let alone call me.” You laugh
“Yeah, well. Where are you?”
“Um, why?”
“Cuz I’m-”
The loud shout of his name has him faltering. Was there another Adrian being yelled at? Perhaps a messy breakup he could gossip about with you later on?
Adrian turns back to his phone, ready to repeat his question, when he’s tackled to the ground. Well, tackled is a strong word. His months of Vigilante work have built him enough that when you slam into him, he falters and takes a few steps back.
“What are you doing here?!” You gush
“I got bored at home, thought I’d come to surprise you.” He grins as you hug him
“You’re such an ass.” You laugh, pulling back, “You should’ve told me you were coming, I would’ve planned a buncha shit for us to do!”
“I’m only here for a few days. We can just hang out in your dorm, I can follow you to class, maybe absorb some knowledge.” Adrian suggests
You lead Adrian up the many flights of steps to get to your dorm. It’s when you’re fumbling for your keys that he notices the very visible height difference the two of you have going.
“Did you shrink or something?” He asks
“No, I didn't shrink.” You groan,”You’ve gotten like four inches taller since I saw you last.”
“Thats not true.” Adrian hums
“Whatever, dude.” You roll your eyes
You kick your room door open welcoming Adrian into what is essentially a smaller version of your room back in Evergreen.
“Just ignore that. My roommate needs to clean her shit.” You motion to a pile of laundry that sits on the other twin bed in the room
Adrian flops onto your bed and watches as you toss your backpack onto your desk. You shove his body over, groaning as you do.
“Why’re you so heavy?” You ask, settling next to him.
“Oh I’ve been working out a bit. Trying to put on some muscle.” He says truthfully. You can’t know about Vigilante but it’s fine if you know he’s been frequenting the local gym in Evergreen
“Trying to impress a secret girl?” You tease
“No!”Adrian fumbles, his face heating up
“Relax. I’m joking.”
Adrian spends his day in your bed while you sit at your desk finishing assignments and mumbling to yourself over some essay for your English class. Warm afternoon sun falls through the blinds as Adrian takes in your features. The way your eyelashes practically glitter in the sun, the swoop of the bridge of your nose. The way your eyebrows pinch together when you misspell a word.
“You’re staring pretty hard for a guy who said he was going to take a nap to get rid of the jetlag.”
“Technically, the nap would make the jetlag worse.” Adrian hums
“Well. I’m tired of doing homework. Do you have anything you wanted to do while you were here?”
Ask you out. Kiss you. Find out if your bra size has gone up since senior year, when he’d put your laundry away for you.
“Not really.” He lies
“Well, let’s walk around the city a bit. We can grab lunch somewhere and get some coffee.”
Adrian follows you through the city, letting you talk about what shops have the best bagels, what bodegas have the cutest cats, and nicest owners. It’s when he’s munching on a cheap greasy slice of pizza with you that he spots it.
“Hey, that motherfucker is graffitiing that wall.” He grunts
“What?” You look around following Adrian’s pointed finger
“Oh, yeah. So?” You shrug, looking at the brick that's being turned multicolored
“Uh, that’s illegal. It’s not his to draw on.” He grumbles
“Mmhm. You’re staring at him like you want to kill him, Adrian.” You laugh, “It’s just a wall, most of the walls in the city have graffiti on them.”
Adrian thinks of the fools back home he’s killed for graffiti. You’re joking, keeping the mood light-hearted but Adrian scowls at the guy as he walks by the two of you, staring daggers into his head. If he had his damn suit right now-
“Alright, killer, let's go get that coffee and head back to my dorm.” You joke, grabbing his arm to pull him off to your favorite coffee shop.
Adrian sips on an overpriced latte while he waits for you to return from the bathroom. He’s watching over your drink, some iced sugary thing that will have your dentist crying when a stranger slides into what’s supposed to be your seat.
“Hello, I’m Katy.” The blonde says, her lip gloss shimmering in the lights of the cafe
“That seats taken.” He says quickly
“Yeah, by me, silly,” Katy says
Adrian scowls at her, taking in the way she’s leaning across the table to be a bit closer to him. Her hand comes down and gently brushes his. Adrian recoils at the feeling of her skin on his, ignoring the way she frowns at the way his hands dart off the table out of her reach.
“Could I get your number? You’re totally my type.” Katy asks sweetly
“Your type?” Adrian asks
Adrian doesn’t think he’s anyone's type. He’d been told by waitresses that he was cute but the moment he opened his mouth, he lost his appeal. Not like that mattered to him, though.
“Yeah, you got that hot nerd vibe.” Katy flirts
“No, I’m good. I’m waiting for someone else.” He turns her down quickly
Hot nerd? What’s that even mean? Anyone he knew in high school just said nerd, hot was never tacked onto it. Even Peacemaker just stopped at nerd, of course, he hadn’t exactly seen Adrian’s face recently to discern if he was hot or not.
Katy’s perfectly manicured hand darts out, grabbing your drink before Adrian can blink. She reads your name slowly, like she can’t comprehend the letters make up a name.
“I don’t see her.” Katy hums, “You sure she didn’t stand you up?”
Katy raises your drink up to her lip glossed lips, giving Adrian a weird looking smile as she does, “Guess I’ll have to sample her drink for her.”
Adrian’s hand darts out, grabbing the cup before the straw can brush her lips, his voice comes out alot louder than he thought it would “Could you please fuck off? I’m not interested so you can go fuck yourself.”
“Adrian!” You hiss, the entire coffee shop is staring now and you’re rushing over to him
“This bitch is trying to steal your drink!” Adrian glares at Katy, both hands occupied by his drink and yours. If he had a third hand he’d be flipping her off.
“Okay,” You groan, “Let’s just leave.”
You drag him out of the shop and back out onto the sidewalk, pulling your drink from his hands, glaring at him as you do.
“What?” He asks, he doesn’t know what you’re so upset about
“You just called a stranger a bitch in front of that entire cafe!” You huff
“So?” Adrian snorts, “She was being one.”
You groan, “She was flirting with you, idiot.”
“Oh, so just cuz some random bimbo shows up to flirt with me, I should let her steal your drink? That thing was like seven bucks. Stealing is a crime too. You expect me to sit there and let it happen?” Adrian says, You should be thanking him right now.
“Alright, alright.” You roll your eyes, “My savior, Adrian Chase, protector of iced lattes and the forever virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin!” He loudly declares
Five people turn to look at him, and you’re slapping your hand over his mouth, “Don’t say that so loudly!”
“I’m not.” Adrian hums
“And when did you manage to lose your virginity? No way you lost it before me.” You say, pulling him along, arms interlocked the way the two of you used to walk around middle school together.
“Oh, I lost my virginity in a threesome a few months ago.”
You stop dead in your tracks, pulling him to face you, “You what?!”
It’s late at night when you decide to turn in. You’re yawning as Adrian turns off your laptop muttering something about finishing Alien tomorrow morning and about experiencing pregnancy.
Crammed in your twin bed, you turn to face him. Adrian copies you. Setting his glasses down on the desk beside your laptop.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Adrian asks quietly
“You.” You hum sleepily
“Really?” He feels his heart leap into his chest. This must be that moment Chris was talking about. To make his move.
“Yeah and how different you are.” You sigh
“I”m not different.” Adrian says
“Sure you are, having threesomes, calling people a bitch in public, oh, and giving the death stare to graffiti man today.” You say
“She was a bitch. Graffiti is illegal, and the threesome wasn’t technically my idea, so...”
“Mmhm.” Your eyes are fluttering shut. Adrian knows you’re going to fall asleep any second now.
“Actually, I spent the whole threesome thinking about you.”
Adrian looks over at you for a response, but is met with the sound of your nose wheezing in your sleep. He should feel disappointed, but he can’t help the smile on his face.
You wake up surrounded by Adrian. Big arms are wrapped around you, and his face is tucked into your hair. It’s been a while since you’d shared a bed with him like this, your mom had banned it back when you had turned 14, stating that changing bodies meant Adrian got an air mattress on your floor instead of a spot on the bed.
You shift a bit, turning to take him in as he snores. He looks older without the glasses, more manly and less like the Adrian you grew up with. His hair is a mess of curls as you run a finger down the bridge of his nose. You can practically hear him telling you not to do that, stating his aversion for human skin softly touching him, being the worst feeling ever
“Morning.” Adrian mumbles into your face suddenly, “Were you touching my nose?”
“No.” You lie
“Liar.” Adrian says, his eyes flicker open to stare at you
“Whatever, morning breath. Lets get up and get dressed, I’m starving.” You say, moving to wiggle out of his arms
“We can’t just stay like this?” Adrian groans, his arms tensing to keep you still
Damn, when he’d get so strong? How much time did he say he was spending at the gym?
“Because I’ll pee on you if you don’t let me go.” You groan
Adrian relents letting you free, “That’s kinda hot.”
You roll your eyes pushing the bathroom door shut, “You have a piss kink?”
“Nah, just a you kink.”
Your mind swims, trying to decode what he could possibly mean by a statement like that. Adrian was always saying shit that didn’t make any sense but having a ‘you kink’, what does that even mean?
When you emerge from the bathroom, you’re met with Adrian in his underpants, his back turned to you as he rummages through the little suitcase he’d brought with him.
“Dude, you’re still on the tighty whities kick? We’re 22!” You snort
“They’re comfy!” Adrian whines, turning to face you
You’re about to tell him he’s wrong, but you’re silenced by the appearance of a full six-pack in front of you. Beefy biceps that practically scream at you to wrap your hands around have you speechless.
“Are you done with the bathroom? I have to piss like so badly right now.” Adrian asks
“Oh, yeah. Go ahead.” You mumble, mentally scolding yourself for objectifying him.
Later that day you’re in the library with him, trying to cram anything into your mind for the test that's in three days. Your phone chimes softly and you turn your attention to it instead of your flash cards.
“Do you wanna go to a party tonight?”
“People throw parties on Tuesday nights?” Adrian asks
“This is college,” You laugh, “People throw parties every night.”
Four hours later, Adrian is waiting for you on your bed, listening to his favorite Taylor Swift song blare from your speaker as you finish doing your makeup. Eventually, you step out of the bathroom, a tiny skirt and low-cut shirt on your body. Adrian can feel his eyes bulge out of his head as he awkwardly looks away.
“Why’re you dressed like that? You’re like…naked.” Adrian asks
“How else do you expect to get in?” You snort, “Boobs will get you really far in life, especially when it comes to a frat party.”
“Right..” Adrian says skeptically, “You sure we can’t just watch Alien and eat that candy I brought?”
“We can do that when we get back.” You brush him off, “This way I can introduce you to Quinn.”
“Who’s Quinn?” Adrian asks, he hadn’t realized you never introduced him to any of your college friends
“Oh, she’s my girlfriend.”
“Your what?!”
Adrian leans against the wall of the frat house. The too loud music is giving him a headache and the drink he’s nursing doesn’t taste good. He swears even his shoes are too tight as he watches you laugh with Quinn.
What kind of a name is Quinn anyway? Quinn was stupid-looking in Adrian’s opinion. Curly brown hair and silver rings on her fingers. She wasn’t tall like Adrian was, barely reaching over your head, he couldn’t find a single plus about this girlfriend of yours. Adrian didn’t even know you liked girls like that.
He continues to sulk for another hour, ignoring the two girls who approach him, telling them to fuck off and rolling his eyes when they flip him off and call him an asshole.
“Hey!” You call, grabbing him and pulling him towards the dance floor, “Let’s dance!”
“Don’t you have to be dancing with Quinn?” He sneers, looking around for the short, lesbian, best friend stealing piece of shit.
“Nah,” You smile, “Wanna be with you right now!”
Adrian’s never been the best dancer, but he follows your lead, moving along to the shitty music as he stands just a bit too close to you. Multicolored lights flicker as he tries to focus on anything but the way you’re smiling at him.
“So, you’re a lesbian?” Adrian asks over the music, “Why didn’t you tell me when we were younger?”
You laugh and roll your eyes, “I’m not a lesbian! I’m just…I dunno, I only started seeing Quinn like a couple of weeks ago. I’m experimenting! It’s nothing serious!”
Experimenting? What the hell did that mean? Does that mean he still had a chance?
Just seize your moment.
Peacemaker’s voice rings in his head as the gears in Adrian’s head turn. Fuck it, what did he have to lose?
Adrian pulls you into him, leaning down to reach you. He swears his heart skips a beat as his lips brush yours. His head spins as shitty music fills his ears.
Then, as fast as it happens, you’re pushing him off, a dumb founded look on your face.
Shit. Fuck. He fucked this up big time.
He swears he sees you mouth something before darting out of the party and away from him. Adrian follows you, bumping into people who curse at him but all he’s focused on getting to you before you can disappear into the streets of New York.
He yells your name as you get out onto the front lawn of the frat house.
“Just go back inside Adrian.” You call over your shoulder
“No.” He says, catching up to you. He grabs your hand, twirling you around to face him. He has to say this now or he’ll never get it off his chest, “I love you. Like I’m in love with you.”
“Adrian-”
“No. Let me say it and then you can curse me out all you want.” He huffs, " I just…I can’t keep it inside anymore. You’re my favorite person in the whole world, my best friend and I know that kiss back there changed shit, but- shit, I'm rambling. I just-”
“Adrian.” You cut him off, dropping his hand, “I think…I think it’s probably better if you go back home.”
“What?” Adrian hates the way his voice cracks when he speaks.
“Just…I can book you a flight.” You say, “You and I…seeing you like that…I don’t know if I ever will…”
Adrian’s not sure if he’s felt this feeling before. The word he’d use to coin the feeling in his chest right now would be crushed. He shoves his clothes blindly into his suit case, ignoring the way he knocks over a few of your books on your desk. His phone chimes, an email from you with a one way plane ticket back to Evergreen.
Fuck. He wasn’t ready to watch you slip out of his life like this. Yet, he didn’t know what else to do. He surveys the area of your dorm, he has all of his things. As he’s leaving the dorm something catches his eye, a small picture of you in some photo booth. He remembers it was a booth that prom had, you must’ve snuck in and taken pictures by yourself at some point. Acting on pure impulse, he reaches out and snatches it off your corkboard, ignoring the stupid picture of Quinn that hangs beside it. He tucks it into his wallet, a memento of this disastrous trip.
He leaves the dorm room with a scowl on his face, finding you waiting outside it, hand out stretched for your key.
“I’ll uh, see you, I guess.” You mumble
“Yeah, see you,” Adrian grunts, looking down at his worn-out sneakers
You’re opening your mouth to say more, maybe apologize to him, but Adrian is spinning around on his heel; he doesn’t need to hear anymore from you tonight.
It’s only when he reaches the entrance to the subway that he realizes he’s crying.
Oooo I feel evil for ending it like that...
Part 3
TAG LIST FOR PT 3 IS CLOSED. ETA 7/11/26 or 7/12/26
Aemond sat the throne now. It’d been a fortnight since Rooks Rest. Two weeks since Aegon had burned in Vhagar’s flames.
It’d felt good to watch the flames consume his older brother. A sick part of him drew great pleasure knowing that Aegon was being tended to by Maesters while Aemond sat in his council meetings.
His mother knew the truth of it. The way she looked at him had him convinced. Cole told her, surely. Still, Aemond knew of their… activities together. He could have Ser Criston Cole killed for warming his mother's bed, perhaps one day he would.
Rhaenrya had made another move in the week since her biggest dragon’s death. Targaryen bastards had been rounded up and used as fodder in an attempt to claim riderless dragons. It was an interesting approach. Aemond didn’t think his half-sister was so bold.
It’d paid off in her favor, his council told him that Vermithor, Silverwing, Seasmoke, and Sheepsteeler had all been claimed.
“We have sent ravens for Daeron to fly to the capital at once.” His mother says
“He ought to remain where he is.” Aemond says, “He is more useful protecting our army rather than here.”
Alicent’s head turns to Aemond, her eyes sharp, “Rhaenrya has more dragons now. Aegon cannot fly. Helaena is overcome with grief.”
“Vhagar can protect the city,” Aemond says calmly, he’s never doubted his dragon riding skill, he has no reason to start now.
“My prince, if Rhaenrya were to fly from Dragonstone and bring Daemon or Vermithor with her you would not be able-”
“You doubt my abilities to fly my dragon, Lord Strong?”
Larys Strong blinks back at Aemond.
“You cannot even hold your own castle against my uncle, yet you presume to tell me how well I can fly the largest dragon alive.”
The council stares at him, unsure of what to say next.
“As long as we hold Kings Landing, Rhaenrya has nothing.” He says, “She wants the Iron Throne. I do not intend to give it to her willingly.”
Dragonstone was a buzz. The capture of Prince Aegon and Prince Viserys had Rhaenrya worried and ready to act.
“I will go,” Rhaenrya says
“You cannot,” Rhaella says, stepping in front of the door to her Queen's chambers
“They are my sons, Rhaella. I will retrieve them myself.” Rhaenrya aruges
Was it treason to keep the queen from leaving her chambers? Rhaella stood infront of the door, her arms outstretched like a fool.
“All it takes is one arrow from a Triarchy’s sailor, and you could be killed, mother,” Jace says
“You cannot fly against them.” Rhaella says, “Lord Corlys will retrieve Aegon and Viserys.”
“A dragon could-”
“We all must remain here,” Jace argues over her, “We are safest here.”
“Jace is right. We must trust Lord Corlys’ strength.” Rhaella says, nodding at her dark haired cousin
They continue on like this for another ten minutes before eventually, Rhaella leaves Rhaenrya with Jace. She stands in the hall,listening to the two of them argue as she slides the door shut.
She’s not expecting to see Baela waiting for her in the hall, a suspicious look on her face.
“Do you believe my grandfather will be able to rescue them?” She asks
Rhaella looks at her, hesitant to say her answer, “Yes.”
Baela shakes her head, stepping closer to Rhaella to take her hand in hers.
“You’re a terrible liar, sister.”
Sona bellowed as Rhaella commanded her to fly faster. Wind whipped at her hair as her eyes scanned the ocean waters far below her. Moondancer was right behind her, Baela on her back as the clouds rushed by.
Rhaella’s palms were sweaty; she’d never burned anyone alive, yet she was flying to meet a host of ships holding her little cousins hostage. They would not give up crowned princes without a fight.
Her mind swims, trying to conjure up some form of courage to keep her breakfast in her belly and not on Sona’s saddle. Horrifingly, her mind seemed to be empty of things that might calm her. It’d only been two weeks since Rhaenys had died, Aemond and Vhagar had killed her with help from Sunfyre and Aegon. Rhaenys had been an experienced rider, her dragon bigger than Sona and yet she lay dead now.
Right now, she could be flying to a watery grave.
“Rhaella!”
Baela’s loud shout has her looking down. A host of ships below them, they were too far up to see their sigils but Rhaella was sure the Seasnake was below her.
Rhaella gripped Sona’s saddle, trying to quell her fears as her mind raced. Who did she know that would be fearless in a situation like this? She was flying to kill men on those ships, this was no leisure flight.
Aemond.
He is the only thought that fills her mind as she stares down at the gullet. She was sure he didn’t feel fear two weeks ago, brazenly telling her his plans, kissing her, killing Rhaenys the next day. Always so confident things would go his way.
Even now, she envied him and his fearlessness despite using it for so many wrong things. It was a trait she’d have to question him about before killing him.
Sona dove towards the ships and Rhaella’s heart pounded. Her lips open, ready to give the command to incenerate the closest and smallest ship when another voice cut her off.
“Dracarys!”
Bright green flashed past her as Jacaerys and Vermax passed her.
Seven hells, he’d followed them from Dragonstone.
Rhaella watched him direct Vermax into a dive, speeding past ships as arrows and bolts from crossbows flew past them.
Jace was headed to the front of this line of ships.
The largest ship was at the front, that was where the captain of these vessels was hiding and surely holding Aegon and Viserys.
Rhaella pulled Sona up, she couldn’t get too close to the water, Sona’s big body would be swallowed by the water and she’d be shot off her back.
Smoke from the burning ship choked the air and made her eyes burn as Rhaella circled in the air. Jace and Vermax were covered by the shadow of smoke as another ship went up in flames.
The sounds of screaming men filled her ears as she accessed the situation. Baela was still above her, the two of them could burn the ships, leave the largest for last and let Corlys handle storming the ship its self.
She steered Sona lower, into the smoke and the scent of burning flesh. Arrows flew below her as Rhaella tried to locate Jace in the haze. He needed to pull up, flying too low to water was dangerous.
A flash of green against the scene caught her eye, Vermax! There they were!
The shuddering sound of cracking wood filled her ears, and the sight of the mast with Velaryon’s sigil on a huge sail blocked her vision for a moment.
“Jace!” Rhaella yelled futilely into the carnage
He’d never hear her like this; she’d need to be closer.
“Jikagon, Sona.”
Go
She followed Jace’s path but stopped short. The Seasnake’s sail burned in the water and the sight of a green dragon’s wing had her pulling up and away from the fight. Vermax did not move as the waves washed over him. Beside him, Jacaerys’ dead body floated, tangled in the burning sail, multiple bolts from a crossbow stuck out from his body.
She heard gleeful shouts from the men below, and she knew he was gone.
The Battle of the Gullet raged on through the day and into the night. Rhaella burned dozens of ships and had the scent of blackened flesh mixed with sea water was seared into her mind when it was all over. Covered in ash dust and a heavy heart, filled with despair, she landed on the beach at Dragonstone.
Sona remained at her side as she looked up at the night sky and then down at her dirty hands. Her skin was covered in ash, and black clung to her so much that she was beginning to match her riding clothes.
She reeked of death as she entered the castle, weary and hopeless. Her heart felt heavy as she handed Sona off to the keepers.
Rhaenrya stood over the painted table when she entered, her council surrounding her in dead silence
“Spicetown burns, your Grace, and much of the Velaryon fleet is lost.” Someone reports but Rhaella’s attention is fixed on Rhaenrya.
“Jacaerys?” Rhaenrya asks, her eyes fixed on Rhaella.
What does one say to a mother who has already lost so much? Rhaella’s lips cannot form the words to tell her Queen her first son has been killed. Her body might as well be made of lead as she shakes her head in shame.
The Dragon Queen is silent, staring at Rhaella with a blank look on her face. Then, almost as quickly as Rhaella could blink, Rhaenrya was dismissing them all.
Rhaella sat in her chambers, a bath had been drawn yet she made to effort to climb into it. She sat on the ground, running a hand through her tangled hair as her mind spun.
What had gone wrong today? Just hours ago Jace had been alive, standing beside her as they’d told Rhaenrya of how dangerous it’d be to fly to the gullet.
He’d been in the air just before the mast fell, she was sure of it. Yet, mere seconds later he was dead, floating in the water.
It felt unreal, perhaps it was. Maybe he was hiding around her door right now, ready to enter and say something that might upset her. Rhaella remembered how they’d first met. He’d been so small, arguing with Lucerys about who might enter her room first. Loud and spirted he’d been arguing with Aegon of all people.
No, it was real, she’d seen it herself, watched as the sea swallowed him whole. She’d seen Jace’s body, the way his eyes had rolled back and how the salty waters had pushed his dark curls back. It was an image she seen with her two eyes and, it was also an image she’d never forget.
Jacaerys Velaryon was dead. Maester Orwyle had whispered it to Aegon while tending to the many burns that littered his body.
Aegon supposed he should be glad. His sister’s heir was dead, just like his was.
The feel of victory was short lived. This death would not undo the past two weeks. He was still immobile, stuck on milk of the poppy while Orwyle scrapped off blackened flesh and Aegon’s dignity with it. Aemond warmed his throne while Helaena’s madness had the maids whispering amongst themselves.
His mother visited him each day. She never stayed long and usually remained silent during the visits. Aegon felt something in his stomach churn when he saw her, at some point he deduced that the feeling was the simple desire for affection. He wished she’d cradle him, perhaps stroke what was left of his hair and attempt to chase away the pain the way mothers often did, through love.
Aemond visited him the day after Jacaerys’ death. Aegon hadn’t seen him since Rooks Rest. The air was uneasy and thick with tension as he looked at his little brother from his bed.
“Jacaerys has been slain.” Aemond reports blandly as he sits in the chair their mother often used, “Killed by the Triarchy.”
“I know. Orwyle told me.” Aegon wheezes
Aemond lets out a hum, “I hear he expects you to make a full recovery.”
If Aegon could, he would’ve smiled, “Does that displease you?”
Some little brother he had, if Aemond thought he’d forgotten about letting Vhagar burn him he’d truly lost his mind.
“When you have recovered, we will make a move against Rhaenrya’s dragons. I will convince Helaena to fly Dreamfyre.” Aemond says, “Daeron and Tessarion guard the Hightower host and will help us sack whatever army Daemon has mustered up from Harrenhal.”
Now Aemond wanted to play the dutiful brother. How long would this farse last, Aegon wondered. Larys Strong had been adamant than Aemond would kill him soon yet, now Aemond was planning for the future with Aegon at his side.
Although, he supposed this new strategy would be because of Rhaenrya and her army of bastard dragon riders. Vhagar could not kill them all.
“With what dragon do you plan to have me make this assault with?” Aegon asks, “Sunfyre is unrideable. Not to mention I cannot even stand to piss, let alone walk down that very hall.”
Aemond glared at Aegon, a look Aegon had been receiving since Aemond was old enough to walk.
“What will she think of all this?” Aegon coughs
“Helaena will ride.” Aemond snaps, “I will chain her to Dreamfyre if she refuses.”
“Not her. Though I’d love to see that discussion, I mean Rhaella.” Aegon says, “Will you burn your childhood companion the way you did me?”
Aegon was satisfied. It was rare that he got the last word when it came to Aemond. His smart little brother was silent; clearly, Aegon had hit a nerve. He’d known about Aemond's crush turned obsession since they were boys.
“Forgot about her, did you? Surely she won’t let you fly unchallenged against her queen.” Aegon says, “You'll need to kill her to seat yourself on my throne.”
Aemond’s face is holding a look Aegon has never seen on his brother's face. He could only coin it as fear. Aegon found it amusing Aemond didn't comment on the fact that he clearly knew his little brother's desire for the throne.
“Rhaella is not important to me anymore. She hasn’t been since she left the Keep weeks ago.” Aemond waves Aegon off, “A traitorous cunt.”
Aegon scoffs; if it didn’t pain him to laugh, he’d be snorting by now.
“You’re a shit liar, Aemond.”
His brother rises, staring at Aegon. Perhaps this was it. Maybe Aemond would smother him with the pillow that was propping his leg up. Or perhaps he’d use the dagger that was fastened to his belt, the same one their father once carried with him everywhere. Make a mess of the royal apartments and scare the maids half to death.
Aemond’s mouth twitches, he blinks twice before speaking again. The words that come out surprise Aegon,
“She will die screaming.”
Next Part
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everyone on replies is terrified of this fact but i just think it's so sweet and heartwarming. she's holding our hand and leading us somewhere secret and we're both giggling like kids. i love her
Four days had passed since her father’s departure for Harrenhal. Rhaella spent her days feeling rather useless and out of place. She sat in on council meetings, listening to old men run their mouths to Rhaenrya.
She fiddled with the sleeve of her dress as Rhaenys pushed for discussions rather than dragonfire. Rhaella's mind swam with uncertainty just last night, there’d been an attempt on the queen's life after Aegon’s Kingsguard, Ser Arryk slipped into the castle pretending to be his twin. In Rhaella’s mind, an action like that could not go unpunished.
The sun slipped below the horizon as Rhaella took her supper with her half-sisters.
“Is Rhaenrya truly going to let you out on patrol?” Rhaella asks Baela as she takes a forkful of the sweet potato on her plate.
“Yes, and I’m sure she’d let you go if you asked. You have the third-largest dragon in our host.” Baela says
Rhaella thinks of Sona. She hadn’t seen her dragon since she’d landed on the sandy beach of Dragonstone. Perhaps she’d have to take Baela up on her suggestion.
“You have been quiet these past few days.” Rhaena says, “Are you angry with us?”
“No,” Rhaella stammers, “I just…I feel out of place here, that's all.”
“You miss him. Aemond, I mean.” Baela says, a frown on her face.
“I do not. He is a traitor. He locked me in a room and then dragged me to Aegon’s false coronation.” Rhaella says, “He killed Luke!”
In truth, she did miss Aemond. Though she did not miss the man she’d fought in the Dragonpit, she preferred the sweet, shy boy she grew up with. She missed their long talks and who he was before he let Vhagar eat Luke. Just a fortnight ago, they’d been swimming at night together and Rhaella had been wrapped around him.
That night she donned her riding clothes for the first time since her arrival. The keepers brought her a restless Sona, and Rhaella whispered her apologies to the massive white beast.
The night air is peaceful as she flies above the Blackwater. Sona’s belly nearly touches the water as Rhaella stares at the stars above. Perhaps she should have Sona turn about and fly off to the Free Cities. What was there for her here? Her only true friend was dead, claimed by old age. Her ancestral seat was a stranger to her, being ruled by her cousin in her stead. Nothing awaited her at Dragonstone, only war and death and more talk of war.
Aemond was listless. He spent his days planning his brother’s war and his nights with Sylvi or the silver-haired girl he’d encountered the night Jaeharys had been killed. Tonight was not a night for whorehouses, though. Tomorrow, he’d fly to meet Cole with their plan of drawing one of Rhaenrya’s dragons to its death.
He should be in bed, not staring into the fireplace, wondering what it’d be like if he’d dragged Rhaella back to the castle with him.
He was angry with her. Angry for attacking him. Angry that she refused to back Aegon’s claim. Angry that she’d left him.
Aemond’s eye flicked to the ashes of Rhaella’s beloved Maester Edric. He had half a mind to open his window and dump them out, let the winds carry him off. Instead, his hand reached for his eyepatch, slipping it on before disappearing from his chambers entirely.
Sona bellowed loudly. Rhaella’s gaze left the stars as she focused on the shores of King's Landing that were still far off in the distance. Above the treeline, a great dark shadow was rising. She knew exactly whose dragon that was. She whispered for her own dragon to stay calm before beginning to turn about. Aemond might see her and take it as an attack.
Rhaella had barely turned Sona around when she heard Vhagar let out a sound.
Fuck, he saw her.
Aemond saw the glitter of white on the Blackwater the moment Vhagar had lifted them above the treeline. Before he could truly think about it, he let out the command for Vhagar to follow Rhaella and Sona.
Vhagar’s massive wings flapped as Sona flew ahead. Despite being smaller Rhaella’s dragon was quicker than Vhagar. Not as fast as Melys but fast enough that Aemond knew Vhagar would have trouble in a race.
He follows her for what seems like an age. Up the coast and into what Aemond swore was the edge of the Vale. Eventually, Sona disappears into the trees, and Aemond follows quickly.
His feet have barely touched the ground before he hears her voice.
“Leave me alone.”
Rhaella is hiding somewhere in these dark woods.
Aemond doesn’t have the best vision in the night. He was already missing an eye and the one he had left wasn’t adept to dark walks through the forests that sat at the edge of the Vale.
“We are near your home. Your ancestral one anyway.” Aemond responds, they were probably only an hour long flight from Runestone.
“Fly back to Kings Landing and I won’t burn you alive.” Rhaella says
Aemond feels a smirk tug at his lips, “You threatened me with that last time too. If you want people to start taking you seriously you need to follow through.”
A glimmer of white catches his eye. There she is. Rhaella could use Sona’s speed to her advantage but there was no arguing that her whiter than snow dragon would never be able to hide in a forest.
Aemond pushes his way through the brush to find Sona’s large mouth on the other side, Rhaella atop her dragon as she stared down at him.
The moon was bright behind her as Aemond stared up at the shadow that was his cousin.
“Come down from there.” He says quickly, “I cannot see you like this.”
“I can see you just fine like this.” Rhaella’s voice says
Aemond can tell she’s trying to act tough. Most likely she’s unarmed probably just out for a nighttime flight the way he had been. They’d always been so alike. Aemond’s sword sits heavy at his side. He never went anywhere without it.
“You look awful.” Rhaella says
“You flatter me.” Aemond hums
A moment passes, maybe two before Aemond hears the sound of Rhaella sliding off her dragon. Sona growls as he approaches and Aemond hears a murmur of High Valyrian before the dragon backs off.
She is as radiant as he remembers her. Perhaps even moreso. His hands twitch at his sides as he remembers the kiss from the last time he saw her.
“Are you going to cut me down with that?”
Aemond follows her gaze to where her eyes rest on his sword, “If you give me reason to.”
Rhaella shakes her head, “This is ridiculous. I am leaving.”
No. She cannot leave. Not yet!
Aemond lunges forward, grabbing her forearm with far too much force.
“Let me go, Aemond.”
His name sounds nice on her lips. He’s forgotten why he was so upset with her earlier. He’s missed this, being close to her. The scent of lavender oil from her hair fills his nose as he stares down at her.
“You look tired.” He comments, staring at the dark circles under her eyes.
“Yes well, it has been a long day and you are making it even longer by holding me here.” She twists in his grasp
“You are the one who flew us all the way here.” Aemond reminds her
“You chased me.” Rhaella glares
Aemond lets her arm go and Rhaella doesn’t move from her spot.
“You don’t feel any remorse, do you?” She questions
Remorse? All he did was follow her. She and her dragon were perfectly safe right now.
“For Luke. You stand there waiting for me to welcome you back to my side yet you make no move to make amends.”
Aemond’s brow furrows, “Why should I apologize to you? You are not his mother. You grew up with me, not him and yet, you swear allegiance to my half-sister.”
“Aegon is a usurper. Viserys set the succession; your mother has no power to change it.” Rhaella argues back
Aemond shakes his head, “You are deluded. Daemon’s lies have taken root in your mind. I feel sorry for you.”
Rhaella glares at him, if looks could kill, Aemond would be burnt to ashes by her dragon by now.
Aemond expects her to leave, to turn around and curse him as she flies off. Instead, she collapses, sitting on the grass at his feet as she groans. She’s surprised him again. Always so unpredictable.
Aemond sits beside her, removing his sword from his side and tossing it to the ground as he crosses his legs.
A groan escapes Rhaella as she runs a hand down her face.
“You are upset.” He states
“Yes, I am.” She sighs
“I am the cause?”
“You are part of it.” She hums, “I just…I wish I could go back to our lives a few moons ago. Things were so simple then.”
He stares at the way her dark black riding clothes contrast with his green ones.
“They can be.” He finds himself saying, “You can come back to Kings Landing with me. I can tell my mother and Aegon that you don’t wish to fight, we can go back to normal there.”
For a second he thinks his plan has been accepted, that Rhaella is ready to follow him back to the Red Keep and pore over a book with him in his chambers.
“You are a fool.”
Aemond feels his face sour as Rhaella stares at him. She was the fool. He’d just extended his hand to her, a way out of her current situation, a path back to him.
“I am the fool? You pledge yourself to Rhaenrya yet don’t want to fight for her cause.” Aemond snaps, “So, I ask, who is the true fool among us?”
“I never said I would not fight.” Rhaella’s eyes narrow, an unreadable look on her face.
“Then why,” He leans closer to her, their noses just inches apart, “Am I still breathing?”
Rhaella scoffs, rolling her eyes, “You wish to have an honorless death? Eaten by a dragon in the woods in the middle of the night?”
“Honor is for foolish knights,” Aemond hums, “I didn’t take you for one. Tell me, when did they start knighting women?”
To his disappointment, Rhaella does not give Sona word to kill him, instead, she inches away from him, a sad sigh escaping her lips. Her brow furs as she stares at him eyes full of remorse or perhaps regret? Aemond can’t place the emotion she’s staring at him with. All he knows is that he wishes to relieve it.
Aemond’s fingers twitch. He wants to reach out, bring her into him, tell her things will be alright, that she’s safe with him. Instead, he finds himself opening his mouth,
“Cole marches on Rooks Rest. He’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”
“And you expect me to do what with this information? Take it to Rhaenrya so that you might ambush one of us when we leave Dragonstone? Do you honestly think I’ll believe you? For all I know, Cole is asleep in the Red Keep right now.” She says
Rhaella stands up, her back facing Aemond as he remains on the ground.
“No, you don’t,” She says, “But you want to.”
Baela confirmed Aemond’s statement the next day. Out on patrol, she’d spotted Cole and given chase.
Rhaella was sour that she’d missed it, Criston Cole was lucky it had been Moondancer hunting him and not Sona. Now, she stood in the hall at Dragonstone listening to Rhaenrya’s council debate what was to be done about the Hightower host marching for Rooks Rest.
“Vhagar will surely be there. Aemond would not tell Rhaella of the Hightower’s plans without one of his own.” Jace says, “We cannot just fly there without a real plan.”
“We also cannot allow Lord Staunton to remain unprotected,” Rhaenrya says to her son
Rhaella stares at the painted table, she found herself wishing Daemon were here. She’d heard he and Rhaenrya had a disagreement over Jaehearys’ death and that Rhaenrya’s ravens to Harrenhal were going unanswered by her father.
She still didn’t like him much but she was well aware of the edge he and Caraxes brought to their cause.
“You must send me, Your Grace.”
Rhaella looked up to see Rhaenys speaking. She hadn’t truly spoken to Rhaenys in years, not since Rhaella found out she’d been keeping Lady Rhea’s true death a secret.
“Meleys is your biggest dragon. We can burn Cole’s army and fight Vhagar if she and Aemond decide to show.”
The matter was decided, Rhaella watched as Rhaenys disappeared from the room to change from the black dress she wore.
Rhaella found herself tongue tied. She was weary, still in her riding clothes from last night, she hadn’t slept since leaving Aemond in the woods.
He’d let her go last night despite the clear chance he had to cut her down or her chase her with Vhagar.
Jace found her side with ease, perhaps she was becoming predictable with her thoughts.
“Do not tell me you are going to fly as well.” Jace says as he stands beside you, watching the council disperse.
Rhaella looks at him guitily, “How can I not? I delivered the news from Aemond yet I make no move to fight. It would be cowardly to not.”
“Rhaenys is more experienced and Meleys has combat experience. Not to mention Sona is smaller than Meleys.” Jace points out, throwing the words Rhaenrya had just said to him in Rhaella’s face.
Rhaella sighs, she knows he is right. She loved Sona, loved riding her but flights for leisure did not mean she’d do well in battle.
“Last night, Aemond…all he did was follow you to the woods to tell you all this?” Jace asks
“He tried to convince me to go back to Kings Landing with him.” Rhaella says
Jace nods, his eyes scanning her face, “Nothing else?”
“No, nothing else.”
Aemond waited in the trees for Cole’s signal. Vhagar was asleep beneath him, a bed of flattened trees beneath her giant body. His eye scanned the sky and his ears listened for the possible sound of a dragon.
He was sure he looked focused yet he found himself thinking of last night. He hadn’t slept after he and Rhaella’s moonlit meeting.
“But you want to.”
Control? Was that how she saw it? Aemond didn’t think devotion was control. He wanted her safe. Yet, she insisted on serving Rhaenrya and putting herself in danger.
If he closed his eye he could still picture her, Rhaella and her sad eyes, the way they’d widened when he’d stood up and closed the distance between them.
Her lips were soft and tasted of something sweet as Aemond devoured her. She’d gasped into him before messily returning the kiss. He held her so tight against his chest, his clothes might’ve swallowed her whole.
His mind was fuzzy, and his chest felt warm as her hands slid to rest and curl against his chest. Her lips had been red when they’d separated. A blush dusting across her soft features, Aemond was sure he had one to match.
“I must leave.”
Rhaella was intoxicating, a drug sent from the gods to entrap him and force him to bend to her will.
Even now, moments from battle, he was thinking of her. Would she fly before him? Perhaps she’d burn him alive today, maybe he’d even let her.
The sound of flapping wings and a dragon’s screech filled his ears. His head turned upwards, he hadn’t expected the Blacks to approach from this angle.
Shimmering gold met his eye, this was not one of Rhaenrya’s dragons.
Instead of Rhaella and Sona, Aemond watched his older brother fly above him. His mind raced, the idea of Aegon flying to meet whatever dragon Rhaenrya had sent. He’d be killed, surely. Aegon had never been the best rider; his dragon was young, a beautiful beast, but not one that could fight if Daemon decided to fly back from Harrenhal.
Perhaps he should just remain here, let the gods decide his brother's fate.
Horns sounded, this was the signal. Yet, Aemond hesitated.
A memory of another moonlit night crossed his mind. The night his father had died, and he’d gone swimming with Rhaella. His emotions had run high that night, as they often did when Rhaella was close to him. One thing he did know, though, was recalling the feeling of wishing for that moment to last forever.
Another loud screech fills his ears. Aegon was fighting.
Aemond’s mouth opens,
“Soves, Vhagar”
Next Part
Very excited for the next few chapters. They've been so fun to write and develop Aemond and Rhaella in them. Harrenhal arc here we come :)
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Rhaella had been accepted by Rhaenrya almost immediately. Daemon picked her brain for answers about what Otto and Alicent Hightower had planned next. She told him what she could, how she spent her days locked away, only being allowed to visit Edric in the next room over.
Her chamber was next to Jacaerys’. He’d visited her earlier, told her she was welcome to wear anything in the wardrobe and large dresser. An old dress of Rhaenrya’s sat on her body. It was out of fashion by nearly two decades, something from before she had Jace. Rhaella studied the needlework of red and black that ran up the arms of the dress.
“You’re allowed to leave this room.”
Daemon stood in the doorway, his face strangely devoid of the smirk she often saw him wear.
“And go where?” She hums
He enters without permission, making himself at home as he sits at the foot of her new bed, just an arms length away from her at the head.
“You said you were stopped by Aemond before getting on Sona.” Daemon says
“He was waiting for me in the Pit.” She recounts
“And he just…let you go?” Daemon muses
Rhaella cursed him. How could he see so clearly? Was it parental intuition? Perhaps a secret sixth sense he kept hidden all these years.
“We argued about my departure. I threatened to burn us both alive if he did not let me pass.” She says, carefully leaving the kiss out of the narrative.
“And you did not think to burn him alive on the way out of the Pit? Surely he was defenseless once you were on dragonback.”
Rhaella didn’t, well couldn’t, admit to her father that she’d spent nearly five full minutes after Aemond kissed her on her arse in the dirt. By the time she’d mounted Sona, he’d vanished entirely.
Daemon pats her knee, “There’s no use in focusing on what could’ve been. After tonight, it won’t matter what you didn’t do to him.”
Rhaella nods before her gaze snaps up, digesting Daemon’s words, “What do you mean?”
“A son for a son.” He says plainly, “I have given word that Aemond will be killed tonight. To pay his debt for Lucerys.”
Rhaella wonders if he can see the way her heart drops to her feet, “And the Queen has consented to this?”
Daemon gives her a look, one she can’t decipher if it means yes or no. Then, as if he’s just dropped in to tell her of the weather, he stands to leave again, “I fly for Harrenhal tomorrow afternoon, I’ll see you before then.”
The door swings shut and Rhaella feels her heart skip a beat. Daemon has coordinated with some unknown force that is being sent to kill Aemond. A part of her wants to warn him, tell him to flee Kings Landing and fly far away on Vhagar so that Daemon’s assassins might never find him. Another part of her wants him to remain in the castle. A sick, twisted side of her wants to see him punished for Lucerys.
Conflicted, she stands ready to follow Daemon and press the matter further, or perhaps ask her queen if this was truly the correct path. What she isn’t expecting is her chamber door to be locked from the outside. Seething, she curses Daemon and bangs her hands raw on the door.
From the other side, she hears a faint click of shoes, he’d just walked away.
Aemond stared at the scroll in his fingers. Edric had died just this morning, or well, had been dead this morning when Helaena found him. He’d been burned and his ashes were currently sitting on Aemond’s dresser in an urn. His mother had originally told the Silent Sisters to dispose of them until he had stepped in. He’d never been fond of Maester Edric, yet he also had no quarrel with him either.
It was when the ashes were delivered in the late afternoon that Aemond realized there was no way Rhaella would know of his death unless someone from the Red Keep told her of it. This led him to where he was now, staring at a small piece of paper that announced the death of his friend’s father figure.
He runs a hand over his face, brushing his finger along his lip. If he focuses, he can still taste Rhaella there. He’s glad he kissed her. Now, if he died tomorrow, he’d at least die with one less regret about his existence. In another world, the kiss might’ve convinced her to stay. If Aemond had his way he’d be lounging in bed with Rhaella now, fiddling with her long hair as she laughed and ate the grapes that sat on his nightstand. In this perfect vision, Edric was alive and well, and Aemond wasn’t writing of his demise to a woman who just tried stabbing him in the face with a dagger from the father she claimed to hate.
He rolls his shoulders; he’s tense. Far too tense for the current situation. He needs to relax. His eye flicks to the window. The sun is a small sliver on the horizon. Quickly, he rises and summons a serving girl to carry his message to Maester Orwyle so it might reach Rhaella.
The Street of Silk welcomes him as he makes his way through it, silver hair hidden beneath a cloak. He doesn’t need every peasant knowing a Targaryen is passing them.
The Madame is busy when he arrives. Aemond isn’t one to wait. Patience has never been his strong suit. Yet, he makes no quip to the attendant to tell her to hurry up with whatever man she’s with.
Instead, he lounges lazily on a comfortable chair, taking in the environment around him. Half dressed and fully naked girls giggle loudly, leading men to veiled off chambers. Incense burns and somewhere a man pukes leading to a loud scream of disgust from a whore.
Aemond finds his lips quirking into an amused smile when she runs past him, tits covered in vomit while the man has passed out on the ground.
He reaches for a serving boy who passes with a tray of wine, selecting a cup before shooing the boy away. He’s taken more than one sip before a delicate hand weaves its way down his torso.
“My Prince.”
A whore he’s never seen greets him, a sly smile on her painted lips.
Normally, he tells other whores to leave, he’s only felt interest in Sylvi. Yet, this one in particular has him pausing. Its not the shape of her arse or her smile that has him intrigued but the hair that sprouts from her head.
Long sliver locks tumble down her body, contrasting the soft blue silk robe she covers herself with. They curl and messily frame her features.
“Do I please you, Prince Aemond?” She asks sweetly
“Your hair. Is it a wig?” He asks sipping his wine
“Tis’ my own.” She smiles
Apart of Aemond wonders if this girl is a bastard, Perhaps Daemon got too zealous twenty odd years ago before his half sister married him.
“Shall we go somewhere private?” She hums
Aemond allows her to lead him to a room. He lets her strip and watches dully as she dances to the music that flows through the brothel.
“Do I bore you?” She asks, “I can do something else if you prefer. Most men like to watch before they have me.”
Aemond’s eye flicks down her torso. No, she’s not quite right. Hips too broad and nose slightly crooked. He focuses on her chest, watching her hands ghost over her breasts when she sees him looking. They’re not half bad yet, his body knows it's not what he wants standing in front of him.
“Keep dancing.” He orders
The Red Keep is quiet when he slips back in. A rat scuttles by as he reaches his chambers. Aegon had hired rat catchers after Helaena mumbled something about being afraid of them, yet they still crawled all over. Clearly, they weren’t doing their job well.
He pushes the door to his chambers open and is shocked to find his mother sitting in his room.
“Mother.” He greets
His mother picks at her fingernails, a habit of hers that Aemond noticed when he was a little boy. Her hair is messy and unstyled. What strikes him, though, is how she’s still awake. Ordinarily, she is fast asleep by now.
“Where were you?”
Her voice is raw and scratchy. She’s yet to make eye contact with Aemond and instead is still staring at the map of Westeros before her.
“Does it matter?” Aemond asks, he’s not interested in telling her about his time at the brothel.
“Jaehaerys is dead.”
“What?”
“A rat catcher cut his head off.” Alicent says
Aemond opens his mouth, ready to ask about Aegon when a loud crash anwsers his question instead. Distanly he can hear his brother’s enraged yelling.
“Now, answer me.” Alicent is looking at him now, “Where were you?”
Rhaella stares at the raven scroll. Aemond’s writing is scrawled across it, she’d know his handwriting anywhere. Edric was dead and Aemond kept his ashes for her.
She wept for Edric. Had he died because he left him? Did Alicent poison him as punishment for leaving the castle? Perhaps it was old age catching up? Aemond did not list a cause of death, just that he was dead and had been cremated.
Baela and Rhaena tried to console their half sister. They took their supper with her and offered her their desserts. The two girls tried to lighten the mood by speaking of Baela’s engagement to Jace.
They watched carefully as Rhaella remained curled up in bed, shimmering dress still on. Baela suggested a short flight on Sona, saying flying might help clear the mind. Rhaella brushed her off telling her to go to bed.
The castle was asleep when Rhaella finally left her chambers. Dressed in a simple nightdress and robe, she’s not sure what she’s looking for. For so many years she spent restless nights in the library, Aemond pressed to her side as they read tales about old Valyria.
Her feet carry her to Dragonstone’s small library. She’s expecting to be entirely alone in the small room yet she opens the door to find Jace paging through a book.
“I did not know you even knew how to read.” Rhaella greets her cousin
“I’m not seven anymore.” Jace laughs
“No, you're not.” Rhaella sighs, settling into the chair across from him, “A page turner?”
“In truth, I could not tell you what I’ve been reading. I’ve been staring at the same sentence for nearly half an hour now.” Jace sighs loudly
Rhaella nods, wrapping the soft blue robe around her shivering. The damp walls of Dragonstone seemed darker than they used to be. Perhaps it was the night air or the nagging feeling of how she missed the Red Keep.
“Now that my mother has put Luke to rest, she and Daemon will begin their plans to kill Aegon,” Jace says into the stillness of the room
“Do you truly think she will ever really be able to put Luke to rest?” Rhaella asks slowly, “I think she is thinking of him right now.”
“Depressive thoughts will not win her the throne.” Jace counters, “She’ll have to take action. Use her dragons to her advantage.”
Rhaella snorts, “You sound just like him.”
Jace’s sharp features flicker in the soft candle light as his eyes meet hers.
“Daemon, I mean. You sound exactly like him.” Rhaella says
“You know I am right, we cannot sit about while The Greens simply do as they please.” Jace reminds her
“Oh I’m well aware.” Rhaella hums, her mind drifting to Aemond.
Jace stares at his cousin. It was as if she’d aged since just a few days ago, when he saw her at dinner, when his Grandsire was still living. He’d heard of how she’d been locked away by Alicent Hightower and been forced to attend Aegon’s false coronation.
He tries to decipher what she might be thinking of now, wrapped up in that blue silk robe and white nightdress. Instead, his mind drifts to the way her silver hair is freed from its usual styles. It falls it soft waves and shrouds her in an angelic glow
A pang of jealousy brews in his stomach. If he’d taken his mother’s coloring rather than Ser Harwin's, perhaps his life would be easier. Perhaps Luke would be alive if he’d had silver curls rather than brown. The gods had blessed Rhaella in the womb, let her take after Daemon rather than Rhea Royce. Jace felt as if his looks had been cursed; he’d had the same odds as Rhaella to inherit Targaryen looks, yet here he sat, with dark curls and even darker eyes.
“Is there something on my face?” Rhaella asks, snapping Jace from his thoughts about hair color and lines of succession
“No.” He shakes his head, “I haven’t seen you with your hair down. It’s nice like that.”
Rhaella rolls her eyes, “Aren’t you already betrothed?”
Rhaella watches, amused, as Jace’s face goes red at her comment.
“I did not mean it like that.” He groans
“I jest.” She waves him off, “You and Baela make a fine couple.”
Jace stares at her, “In truth I’m not sure if she likes me much. At least not in the way of marriage.”
“Hours ago she was just talking about how you’ll make a good husband one day.” Rhaella says trying to calm his fears.
Jace slowly nods, “And what do you think?”
Rhaella gives him a small laugh, “I think you’ll be a great king one day. As for a husband, there are many awful men in the Seven Kingdoms to be married to. Baela is lucky you are kind.”
“I suppose you’re right. If you hadn’t left Kings Landing when you did, you might’ve been forced to marry Aemond.”
Rhaella gives him a thin, tight-lipped smile, “And that would’ve been a nightmare.”
This was barely edited, sorry for typos.
Thinking about writing for Ser Duncan the Tall. Would just be a one shot though, not a series. I dunno maybe I will, maybe not.
Next Part
I finally got around to uploading this story to my A03 account.
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The hour of the bat had set itself upon the Red Keep. Rhaella had stumbled into her dragon-riding clothes, uncaring as she accidentally bumped a stack of books over. She sheaths the dagger from Daemon and fastens it around her waist.
Greens be damned, she was either leaving the capital tonight or she'd die trying. Her door creaks far too loudly as she enters the hall. Strangely, her door is unguarded. Perhaps they'd wandered off to gamble with the guards who watched Heleana’s room.
He’s still sleeping when she pushes the door open. Rain beats against the windows as she pads over to Maester Edric’s side.
“Rhaella?” He senses her before she can even whisper his name, “What's wrong?”
“Lucerys is dead.” There's no reason to hold her tongue now, “Aemond killed him. He let Vhagar eat him.”
Maester Edric is oddly silent for once in Rhaella’s whole life. Her fingers drum nervously on her dark riding clothes.
“You are leaving then.” He whispers
He always knew what she was planning, even before she said it.
“I have to.” She admits “I'll die here if I don't.”
“Where will you go?” Edric asks
“I think you already know.”
“Will Queen Rhaenrya will have you?” He questions
“I hope so. First I will have to get to Sona, I cannot leave her here.” She says
Maester Edric coughs twice and reaches for Rhaella, his warm hands grasp hers.
“I guess this is goodbye then.”
“Perhaps we could get to the pit together. You've always wanted to fly on dragon back have you not?” Rhaella foolishly asks, “I promise Sona will not eat you.”
It's an impossible dream. Edric could no longer walk, just the strain of moving him down the hall would take strength Rhaella didn't possess.
“I'm not sure. Perhaps one day I might.” He smiles at her, “What I do know is that you must leave.”
“I will find a way to get you out of this castle and when I do, we'll fly back to Runestone and never leave again. You can bore me to death by teaching me every noble house sigil from here to the Wall.” Rhaella says, sniffling as her eyes well up with tears
“My sweet girl…” Edric’s voice drips with emotion as he squeezes Rhaella's hands as tight as he can, “Be careful. Be smart.”
Rhaella leans down and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, his weathered skin is coarse under her lips, “I will, I promise.”
It is only when she slips back out into the hall and the door shuts behind her that she allows her tears to flow freely.
She is soaked to the bone by the time she reaches the pit. She hands the reins of the horse off to the dragon keepers. They'll tell Alicent and the Hand you're here, perhaps they'd already sent a man running towards the castle. It'd be too late by then.
Sona is kept towards the back of the pit, the larger cages were there. Rhaella's heart pounds so loud she swears it sounds like a drum as she runs to her dragon.
Sona gurgles as Rhaella draws close to her.
“I know, you were asleep. But we have to go. I am glad you're still saddled from our last flight.” You hum, ready to drag yourself up to her back. If the God's were looking down on you, you hoped Sona would get over her attitude about not flying in the rain.
“Where are you going?”
Aemond’s tone is sharp. It cuts through the air like a knife as Rhaella turns to face her childhood friend.
“Dragonstone. I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again.” Rhaella snaps
“You'd leave that frail Maester of yours behind for that whore of a queen? Aegon will-”
“Fuck Aegon. Fuck your grandfather for putting the Conquers crown on his head.” Rhaella lets go of Sona to cross the pen where Aemond stands at the entrance “The succession was set by Viserys. The Hightowers do not have the right to change it.”
Aemond's eye scans her face, perhaps he is looking for her to regret saying all that. She doesn't.
“Stay. Please.” Aemond says, his gaze softens as he closes the distance, his chest brushes Rhaella's as she stares up at him.
“Get away from me.” Rhaella says, disgusted he'd even try to come near her after what he'd done to Luke
Aemond's strong hands grab her by the arms, “Do not leave me, please Rhaella.”
“You lost me the moment you told me what you did to Luke” Rhaella strains against his bruising grip
“It was an accident. Vhagar she…I lost control.” He admits
“Yes, you did. And where did that get you? You're a kinslayer, Aemond.” Rhaella stares up at him, determined to see his reaction to her words, “I won't remain here to let you do the same to me”
Aemond's grip loosens and Rhaella steps back, reaching for Sona, “This is goodbye, Aemond. I thank you for being my friend and companion over the years.”
She is halfway onto Sona when she hears it, the sound of steel being drawn. She turns around, face to face with Aemond, his sword glinting in the pale light of the torches that bounce off the walls.
“You would kill me? Is that how much your King means to you?” Rhaella asks, she knows Aemond will not harm her.
“Under the orders of King Aegon second of his name, you are to return to the Red Keep with me at once.” Aemond's deep voice wavers as he looks at her
“You are loyal to a usurper. A drunk who will plunge us into war for your mother and grandfather's ego.” Rhaella says strongly, “He will send you to your death one day. You are a one eyed fool.”
Perhaps the eye comment was what set him off. Or maybe he was just not used to her blatantly resisting him. Either way, Rhaella is pulled from Sona and lands on her arse in the dirt. Her dragon growls, her sight set on Aemond who stands above Rhaella, sword gleaming.
“Tell her to back down.” Aemond orders
“Sona, Lykirī.” Rhaella says she cannot escape if her dragon decides to cook her alive in the Pit of all places.
“Rise. It is nearly morning. You will return with me and we will not speak of this to my mother or grandfather. We will forget it happened and go back to how things were.” Aemond commands, his sword slips back into its scabbard and Rhaella takes that as her sign to start moving.
Aemond was far superior to her in combat with a blade. He was bigger than her too, heavier, and definitely stronger. What he wasn't better at was keeping his guard up. Years of being around her meant he was relaxed when Rhaella was near. Rhaella was the same, or was, she had once been calmed by his presence.
Aemond falls to the ground with a grunt as Rhaella tackles him. Surely they were a blur of limbs and silver hair as she straddles him. Distantly she can hear the dragon keepers shouting in high valyrian to call for guards. Sona is growling and gurgling most likely unsure of how to find a way to protect her as she wrestles Aemond on the dusty ground. She reaches for Aemond's face, ripping at his eye patch and ignoring the way he yells in pain when her fingernails rake across the sensitive scar flesh around his missing eye.
“If an opponent has a weakness, you should use it. It's their fault for not fighting at their best.”
Daemon's words echo in your mind as Aemond groans and curses beneath her.
Her fingers scramble to your belt loops, pulling the dagger from Daemon free. The sapphires on the hilt glitter, matching Aemond's eye.
Rhaella's arms raise, the dagger spelling certain danger for Aemond.
“No, wait!” He yells, a hand raises to protect his face.
She could do it, end the life of the rider of the biggest dragon in the world. He'd die here in the Dragon Pit, surrounded by the beasts he’d dreamed of as a boy. Aemond's death would level the playing field, giving Rhaenrya an edge against Aegon.
Aemond stares up at her, his chest heaving. Rhaella had him pinned, her weight on his stomach. Thin lines of blood trickle down his face. A cold sweat streams down Rhaella's face. How can he expect her to kill him when he's staring at her like that?
“Do it.” He dares her, “You have won. Take your prize.”
Her hands shake, as she hesitates. Why is she stopping? Why is it that she all of a sudden can only see the little boy who read in the library with her for years? The dragonless one who'd cry over jokes from his big brother and nephews. The one who taught her to swim and snuck her sweets after dinner was through.
“Kill me.” Aemond challenges venom laced in his tone, “Serve your Queen.”
“Be careful. Be smart.”
“I am going to Dragonstone.” Rhaella declares, “You will let me pass and you will not follow me on Vhagar.”
Aemond looks up at Rhaella, sapphire eye glinting as he shifts, slowly sitting up so they're eye level.
“Promise me, Aemond.” Rhaella pleads, “Or I will give the word to Sona and let her burn us both.”
Aemond's lips quirk, an unreadable look on his face as Rhaella lets the dagger drop to her side.
Rhaella nearly moves to stab him again when his lips slam into hers. Long silver hair, perhaps it was hers, maybe even his, block her vision. As he roughly kisses her. Her heart thuds against her chest and her hands twitch, unsure of what to do.
Then, quick as it happened, he's pulling away, pushing her off him and onto the floor. His voice is raw with emotion she can't identify.
“I promise.”
He vanishes as fast as he'd appeared, scooping up his ruined eye patch from the floor. His silver hair is messy as he disappears around the corner, leaving Rhaella alone in the dirt.
Dragonstone was on high alert. Jace had spent the better part of the days pacing the halls. His mother wasn't doing well. Losing a babe and then Luke, she’d disappeared early yesterday morning on Syrax. Daemon spent his days with her council, planning how to kill every Hightower he got his hands on. Baela and Rhaena stood with their grandmother, following her orders.
Jace tried to busy himself. He attempted to listen to Daemon's planning, he struck an aimless conversation with Baela about what might be done for Luke, he doubted his mother would find a body. He even spent time with Joffery and little Aegon and Viserys, trying to find the right words to explain why Luke would never come home.
“Aemond will be on patrol surely.” Daemon says loudly “Caraxes and Meleys can kill him and Vhagar. I will storm the Red Keep myself with the gold cloaks loyal to me. Surely they are keeping Rhaella in her rooms, the Tyrells would be flaunting her about if they had a Targaryen in their family by now. “
“Nothing is to be done without the Queen's approval.” Jace finds himself saying.
They cannot fly to King's Landing without approval from his mother.
“I am winning her war for her, boy.” Daemon approaches Jace slowly “Hope for peace died with your brother in Vhagar’s belly.”
“My King!” A guard bursts into the room, “A dragon is approaching from across the Blackwater!”
Daemon drags Jace to where the dragons rest below Dragonstone, he watches as Caraxes approaches his rider.
“You better hope Vhagar has not fallen upon us while you tried to talk me into peace.”
Jace watches Daemon mount Caraxes before quickly disappearing back into the castle. Every inch of him wants to call for Vermax but in his heart he knows his small dragon will be nothing but in the way against Vhagar. Daemon and Rhaenys and their dragons were a far better match against Aemond.
Daemon squints into the early morning sun as he tries to get a glimpse of what flies towards him. He didn't know his nephew well but a suicide flight to Dragonstone seemed too brash. Rhaenys was beside him, staring at the figure that slowly flew across the water.
“That's not Vhagar.” He hears her call
Surely Rhaenrya has not returned already. A loud shout of his name has his eyes widening. A beautiful white beast flies towards him, wings flapping as the sun gleams off its snow colored scales.
“Daemon.” He hears his oldest greeting him, “Where is the Queen?”
Across the Blackwater, Queen Helaena followed her son into a bed chamber. The little boy was mischievous and enjoyed hiding from his mother and Septas when they asked him to sit down so that he might learn to read.
“Jaehaerys. Come. We will play elsewhere. The man here must rest.”
Helaena finds her boy peering over the bedside of an old man. His skin is pale and his chest is far too still.
“Mummy.” Jaehaerys wanders over to her, clinging to her skirts.
Helaena hums, staring down at the dead man in the bed before her. She knows him, she'd never spoken to him much but he was kind and a smart Maester.
“Come, we will have to tell Lady Rhaella of her companion’s death.” Helaena says, pulling her boy along to the room next door.
She pushes it open after knocking twice, Rhaella was never one to sleep in. Instead, the new queen is met with an empty bed and empty room. Nothing but books and silence meet her.
Next Part-
First update since August of 2024. Knight of a Seven kingdoms has sparked my love once more. I love you Ser Duncan the Tall.
Comment below to join the taglist. (The taglist is not by chapter, once added, you will remain there unless you ask to be removed.)
Currently planning on finishing the Adrian Chase x reader thing I have going (aka pt3 of champagne problems) for some reason I've written myself into a corner there and can't figure out where to go next.
And to all my ASOIAF fans (if you're even still following me atp) I am *drum roll please* picking my Aemond Targaryen x oc fic back up. Currently have one new chapter written for Aemond and Rhaella. You can thank Dunk and Egg for getting me back into my GOT phase haha.
TLOU fans, I promise you time is coming and I haven't forgotten about you. I just haven't felt inspired to write for Joel recently (ik, how awful)
summary: All Joel Miller wanted was a cake from you, the town baker. Now he has a girlfriend young enough to make some townspeople wonder if he’s having a late midlife crisis, and others jealous of his luck.
“I’m eatin’ you out tonight,” he states. “For as long as I want.” “Are you?” “Yes. Then I’m takin’ my time fuckin’ you ‘til there ain’t a chance in hell you forget a single inch of me.” “Promise?” “I promise.” “Good. Now be a good boy and fuck me like you mean it.” His eyes narrow, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Good boy? We’ve talked about that smart mouth of yours.” There wasn’t much talking—he fucked you within an inch of your life, though. “You wanna try that again?” he asks. “Ummm, now be a good boy and fuck me like you mean it, please?” You blink up at him innocently.
pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader (baker, no physical descriptions aside from hair that's long enough to grab)
rating: E (18+!!! No y/n, porn with plot, explicit smut, Possessive Joel Miller, Kinda Dommy Joel Miller, big-juicy-legal age gap, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie(s), oral sex (m receiving), face-fucking, deepthroating, orgasm denial, edging (until you cry), begging, breeding kink (finally), come eating, vaginal fingering, dirty talk (so much), praise (a ton), he talks you through it, (1) pussy slap, overstimulation, aftercare, (1) spank, Joel’s a lil mean sometimes, first date, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, banter, feelings, Good Parent Joel Miller, pregnancy mention, getting caught, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, therapy session with Gail, a panic attack, suicide mention (not reader or Joel), takes place a day before Ellie’s fifteenth birthday)
word count: 20.6k+ (6.7k+ smut)
a/n: Remember me? I really wanted to do another chapter with these two because I had so much fun with the first and thought, what about their first date and everything goes wrong. So, there will be some miscommunication and angst, but it ends on a happy note. I hope you enjoy it! Big thank you to @juletheghoul for giving it a read through.
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
First - Main Masterlist
The story of how you met Joel Miller is a wholesome one—until it isn’t. He’d come to your apartment the previous day to see about having a birthday cake made for his kid—that’s your side hustle, making cakes and other pastries people request in exchange for goods and favors. Joel was willing to get you anything you wanted for your services, and isn’t that just the sweetest thing? A father going out of his way to ensure his new, adopted child gets to experience a real birthday with cake and presents for the first time in their life? See? Wholesome. Then came your price, which was practically a steal given the order and the timeframe he needed it by. He got lucky older, single dads are your kryptonite, and that he’s a sweetheart. All you asked in return were a few easy-to-find items and to have a drink with him. This is when things escalated from an innocent PG-rated flick to an X-rated amateur porno, and you discovered Joel Miller can fuck.
In the span of a few hours of knowing him, he made you come multiple times, rightfully ruined you for anyone else, broke your bed, and was so good you asked him to marry you and offered to have his babies.
You’re his now. You belong to him, and the best part? He’s yours.
Joel came to your apartment for a cake and left with a girlfriend young enough to make some townspeople wonder if he’s having a late midlife crisis, and others jealous of his luck.
It’s just past five a.m. on a Wednesday, the sun still hours from rising. The chill outside has the tip of your nose numb, but you’re warm in Joel’s jacket that he wouldn’t let you leave his house without wearing. You stayed at his place last night, secretly, without Ellie knowing, and were very surprised when he got up to walk you home. Why are you up so early? You’re one of the town’s few resident bakers, and you need to get to the community kitchen to start baking the bread for the day. But before that, you’re making a quick pitstop at your apartment to change your clothes.
How was your secret, impromptu sleepover with Joel? Well, it didn’t go the way you expected…
See, when men invited you to their homes in the past, it was usually for one reason. So, it didn’t surprise you when Joel got you alone in his bedroom, locked the door, and stripped you both of your clothes. Seemed pretty par for the course, and to be honest, you were down to have another go with him between the sheets.
But something unexpected happened: absolutely nothing.
No groping, no grinding, no impatient, wandering hands beneath the covers. Instead, you were treated to a warm arm around your waist, holding you close, with his nose buried in the hair on the back of your head. He didn’t have any intention to fuck you in his bed that night. He just wanted you there with him, like your presence was something comforting, that he needed, and that kind of tenderness had felt far more intimate than sex ever could.
You’d never slept so soundly.
It scares you how much you liked it.
Here you are silently walking down the dark road with Joel, the stars above, and porch lights you pass offering some light to guide your way. You told him you were fine in just your long-sleeved shirt and leggings, but his protective nature wouldn’t let you leave his house without putting his jacket on you first. Was Joel bundled up, too? No, you suspect his hotness—his literal hotness—the man’s body is like a furnace, makes him immune to the cold, so he’s only wearing jeans and a flannel shirt.
He's beside you, walking a bit slower than his normal gait to match yours, and he’s so close that his hand keeps brushing yours. You’re pretty sure he wants to hold it, and confused why he isn’t, unless maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move. That’d be silly, but you test the waters anyway, trying to hook your pinkie around his—you smile when he grabs it instead.
“You can hold my hand.” You glance his way, inviting him.
He huffs, meeting your eyes and giving your digit a small squeeze. “Was tryin’ to be respectful and not assume.” He finally threads your fingers together, his hand so much bigger and warmer than yours.
His response makes you giggle.“Trying to be respectful? Babe, within a couple of hours of knowing each other, you had me face down, ass up, screaming your name. I think we’re past the point of handholding etiquette. But, it’s fucking adorable, that’s where you didn’t want to overstep.”
He lifts his eyebrow. “What? Because I fuck you silly, I can’t be a gentleman, too? I respect you.” His lips curve into a smirk. “Even if it might not seem like it when I’ve got you pinned to the mattress, makin’ you beg.”
“You’re a menace.”
He gently knocks his shoulder against yours, looking ahead. “Your menace.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m also rusty with all this datin’ stuff, and don’t wanna press my luck.”
“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, hugging his arm. “I love that you’re pro-PDA.”
Joel kisses your hair. “I’m pro-touchin’ you, and if anyone sees, then so be it.”
“Even Ellie?”
“Pigs would be flyin’ if she were up at this hour. She sleeps in until at least seven-thirty. We don’t have to worry about runnin’ into her.”
“You really enjoy playing with fire, don’t you?”
With you staying over while Ellie was home, and now walking with him, it certainly seems that way.
“I wouldn’t say I’m playin’ with fire. I just know my kid.”
“Who, you’re very cute with, by the way.”
When he snuck you into his house, you overheard a sweet conversation between him and Ellie that gave you a glimpse into their relationship. The way he spoke and looked fondly at her made it clear how much he adores and loves her as his own.
“You think so?”
“Yep. I’m not kidding when I say it turns me on that you’re a good dad.”
“And why's that?” You can hear the smile in his voice, and you see it when you turn your head toward him, finding he’s already looking at you.
“Why does it turn me on that you’re a loving and caring father who puts in the effort to have a relationship with your kid and wants nothing more than for them to be happy? Hmmm, why would that turn me, a woman who wants to have her own children one day, on?”
“One of life’s great mysteries.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
You fail to keep yourself from smiling and playfully swat his arm. “Shut up. You know exactly why I’m into it.”
Joel chuckles, lifting your hand he’s holding to kiss the back of it. “Maybe. But I like hearin’ you say I turn you on. Makes me feel pretty fuckin’ great about myself.”
Your eyes roll. “Glad I could stroke your ego, babe.” You pat his chest.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He kisses your hand again, then lowers it. There’s a lull in the conversation, the two of you focusing forward, continuing to walk. A minute passes, and Joel breaks the silence. “It really gets you all hot and bothered that I care about my kid…?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s sexy.”
“Huh. Never thought of it as bein’ panty-droppin’ behavior.”
“It definitely is for me.” You wonder something. “You don’t have to answer this question, but back in the time before—” The outbreak. “—were you in a relationship?”
“No. I raised Sarah alone and had a hard time datin’.”
“It’s absolutely none of my business, and again, you don’t have to answer. Why did you have a hard time dating?”
“Well, for one thing, I didn’t really have the time. I was a single dad workin’ my ass off to make ends meet. Then there was Sarah bein’ my top priority, and women—at least back then—weren’t too keen to play second fiddle to her. So, I gave up tryin’ when she was about five.”
“If you're going to date a single dad, you have to know his kid is the most important person to him. At least that's how it should be, and honestly, if Ellie weren't your top priority, I wouldn't have even considered a relationship with you.”
“Gotta add that to your list.”
Your head turns his way to look at him, your eyebrows pulling together. “What list?”
“For what you’re lookin’ for in a man.”
When you first met and told him you were romantically interested in him, he didn’t understand why and even tried to convince you to find someone your own age. It took some explaining that you had a thing for older men, particularly in their fifties—you’ve found they’re the best in bed—and that he checked all of your boxes for what you were looking for: caring, fun to talk to, handsome, strong, not creepy, and he’s fifty-six.
“Oh, being a good dad has always been on the list.”
“I really do check all your boxes, then.”
“Yeah, you do.”
He smiles. “Thank Christ for that.”
The apartment complex where you live has six units—three downstairs, three upstairs. Yours happens to be the first you reached when you led Joel up the stairs. At your front door, you let go of his hand to dig your house key out of his jacket pocket, unlocking the deadbolt.
You sense Joel behind you, finding his tall, broad presence comforting. You turn around to face him, hesitating as you try to figure out what to say. "So…" you start.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “So.”
“Definitely my favorite customer of all time.”
He chuckles. “And you’re definitely my favorite baker. You’ve got a customer for life.”
“Because I fucked you?”
The look he gives you says you know that’s not why. “No.” He shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you’re a great baker. I wasn’t tryin’ to butter you up when I said the apple pie you made was really fuckin’ good.” Yesterday, for dinner in the mess hall, you made apple pie for dessert. “Did you hear Ellie talkin’ about it last night?” You did overhear her saying how much she liked it.
You smile. “Yes. My peach cobbler is her favorite.”
He mirrors your expression. “Should’ve known you made that, too. Ellie fuckin’ loves peaches, and I had to tell her to slow down eatin’ it so she didn’t choke.” He huffs a small laugh, then he’s smirking, his eyes sparkling with mischief. It makes you wonder what’s got him so tickled. “Now, keep your clothes on for this next part,” he says. “We’re out in public.”
You squint in confusion. “What…?”
“You’ll understand in a second. The peach cobbler?”
“Yeah?”
“I gave Ellie my bowl. I always give her my share when we’re together, and there’s somethin’ sweet.”
Your eyes widen. “You always give her your dessert?” you whisper.
Dessert doesn’t happen all the time. It depends on supplies and usually occurs when there’s an excess of something that needs to be used before it spoils, such as fruit.
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Makes me happy to see her happy.”
Your breath catches a little.
Of course he does.
Of course, Joel Miller would hand over his portion of dessert just to see Ellie smile. And why is that so goddamn sexy? It’s not just those broad shoulders or that voice that drives you wild; it’s the way he loves. Quietly. Steadily. Without expecting anything in return.
“God, that’s so hot,” you admit.
His expression is a mix of delight and amusement. “I knew it’d get you.”
“First of all, rude of you to exploit my weaknesses.” He laughs. “Secondly, yeah, it got me. I think you can’t get any dreamier, and then you prove me wrong.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Keep it up, and you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
“I better not stop, then, ‘cause I don’t want you goin’ anywhere.”
His words hang there between you. I don’t want you goin’ anywhere. And you know he means it from the sincerity in his eyes. This is new. You’re used to men wanting your body—a night, maybe a few—but they never want you. Not all of you, at least. But Joel? He wants it all, the good, the bad, and everything in between. He wants you, and truth be told, it frightens you. Why? Because you know you’re going to fall in love with him, and that, being so completely at the mercy of a man, is fucking terrifying.
But the scariest part?
You’re willing to risk it.
You know this thing between you and Joel isn’t a fling or some temporary distraction; he was upfront that he didn’t do casual. This is something serious that’ll eventually lead to marriage and children.
It’s what drew you to him.
With Joel, you have a chance at stability, at having the comfort and security you’ve missed after losing your family. He’s your shot at finding that kind of love you’ve longed for since your world got turned upside down. But even with all of that hope, you still have doubts. You’ve been burned in the past, let down, and abandoned, and those fears linger at the edges of your mind. Still, you trust him. You believe what he says, and when he tells you he doesn’t want you going anywhere, it makes you go so soft you practically melt into goo.
There’s no thought, you act on impulse, gripping the open collar of his shirt, pulling him toward you to crush your smiling mouth against his. He grunts in surprise, but in an instant, he has his hands on your waist, stepping forward, his body crowding yours, backing you up until your spine hits the cool surface with a soft thud. This kiss isn’t as frantic as the first from the previous day. It’s soft, lingering, full of all the hope you have, and the things you can’t find the words to say. He kisses you back with a kind of patience that feels like a promise, as if he’s got all the time in the world if it means he’s with you.
"I can't get enough of you," he whispers. Then he's kissing you like he means it—slowly, consuming you, his tongue slipping into your mouth, swallowing the moan you can't hold back.
Joel presses closer, his chest solid against your front, sliding his thigh between your legs. You're so worked up that your body moves without permission, rocking your hips, chasing the friction of the rough denim that ignites heat at the base of your spine.
He groans when you grind down, the sound vibrating into your mouth. He’s got one hand firm on your hip, the other cupping your face, the kiss turning dizzying with how his tongue intertwines with yours. Feeling his heat, smelling his scent, tasting his lips, having him surrounding you makes it impossible to think of anything else except him, and you need more. At this point, your panties are soaked, and you’re worried there’s going to be a wet spot on his jean-covered thigh.
When the kissing ends, you’re both panting. “Come inside,” you tell him.
His thumb strokes your cheek, and you can see it on his face that he wants to. “You gotta get to work.”
“I will—after my boyfriend fucks me.”
His brow lifts. “Boyfriend?”
“Yeah. You got a problem with that, big guy?”
“I’m too damn old to be called that.”
“Then pick a title. Are you coming in or not?” You reach behind you to turn the doorknob and push the door open.
He doesn’t give you a verbal response. Instead, his lips are suddenly on yours again, walking you backwards into your apartment, making you smile into the kiss. He kicks your front door closed, both of you ignoring that your key is still in the deadbolt—Jackson’s a relatively safe place. His hands drag his jacket you’re wearing down your arms until it falls to the floor, followed closely by your long-sleeved shirt and sports bra, while you toe off your shoes.
The kiss turns messy, his mouth slanting over yours with a quiet hunger. He gets you to the couch, his lips leaving yours as he coaxes you to lie down, the soft, familiar cushions giving under you. Joel’s kneeling between your legs, and within seconds, he has your leggings and underwear discarded unceremoniously onto the ground.
“Just look at you.” His big hands push open your thighs before he rolls up his shirt sleeves. The only light comes from above the stove in the kitchen, but you can make out his pupils, blown pitch-black, staring at your glistening pussy, the front of his jeans bulging. He licks his lips like he wants to taste you, his free hand squeezing his hard cock. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
God, you want him inside you. You’re a little sore from last night, but you don’t care. You have no self-control when it comes to him, and you’ll happily feel the ache all day, to keep him fresh on your mind.
He seems to understand that time is of the essence, and this needs to be quick—he’s unbuckling his belt and getting his pants undone. His gaze rises to yours with a frown, shoving down his boxer briefs to release his dick—he’s thick with a nice length, precum leaking from the flushed tip. “I’m eatin’ you out tonight,” he states. “For as long as I want.”
His declaration sends a shock of excitement to your center. You smile. “Are you?”
He nods, giving his length a few strokes. “Yes. Then I’m takin’ my time fuckin’ you ‘til there ain’t a chance in hell you forget a single inch of me.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Good. Now be a good boy and fuck me like you mean it.”
His eyes narrow, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Good boy? We’ve talked about that smart mouth of yours.” There wasn’t much talking—he fucked you within an inch of your life, though. “You wanna try that again?” he asks.
Earlier, you questioned if he enjoys playing with fire, and you’re starting to think it’s you who does.
“Ummm, now be a good boy and fuck me like you mean it, please?” You blink up at him innocently.
His jaw ticks. “You’re lucky you have work.” He shuffles back enough to bend forward, his palms on your open thighs.
“Why?”
He spits, a hot, wet wad of saliva landing on your clit, and your brain short-circuits. Why is that so fucking hot? Is it that he’s marking you, claiming you as his? Saying, ‘This is mine and only mine.’ His head lifts, and you meet his dark gaze, feeling as he drags two fingers through the mess he made to spread it over your entrance. “‘Cause, I would’ve edged you ‘til you cried for that shit.” You don’t have a chance to respond—he pushes his thick digits into you, his other hand pressing down on your belly, right above your mound. The stretch burns for half a second before melting into pure pleasure when Joel curls his fingers just right, zeroing in on that one magical spot that makes your vision blur.
“Joel,” you gasp, your hips twitching, eyes closing, “oh, fuck—”
“Yeah?” He has the audacity to sound smug. “I know how to touch you, don’t I?” Each push and pull of his digits is rough and deliberate, hitting your g-spot so perfectly you’re unable to stop squirming. “Answer me,” he orders.
“Yes.”
Your thighs threaten to close around his hand as an orgasm forms in your core, the tension rising with each passing second.
He’s using his fingers for good and evil—the good, preparing you to take him. The evil, how he’s not going to let you come yet. He’ll draw it out, torturing you with every press of his digits, but you’re not finishing like this. No, you’re at his mercy; he’s entirely in control of how close you’ll get and when you’ll fall.
“Who owns this pussy?”
Your body is screaming for release, the coil twisting tighter. You both love and hate that he knows exactly how to work you up. It’s hard to think, let alone answer. You don’t want him to stop, so you force out, “You.”
The obscene wet squelch of his fingers working in and out of you fills the room, your body wound tight, legs trembling. Maybe you were wrong, and he will let you come—it’s highly unlikely, but a girl can dream. You’re almost there, you just need a little bit more.
“Yeah, I do, and don’t fuckin’ forget it.”
You’re right on the cusp of falling apart, and that’s when he stops. You knew it was coming, yet when he removes his hands, your eyes fly open, groaning in frustration. “You’re so mean.”
He rolls his eyes, wiping your juices onto his cock, then spitting in his hand to slick it up even more. “I’m not mean.” Joel inches forward, one palm on your thigh, holding you open as he drags the fat tip of himself through your wetness. “I’m teachin’ you manners.” He teases your opening. “Now, we don’t have much time, so this is gonna be quick and dirty. Got it?”
“Yes.”
He smiles. “That’s my girl.” Without another word, he’s thrusting into you with one hard stroke, bottoming out with a rumbling groan—you cry out, clawing at the couch cushions for something to hold onto, the sudden fullness knocking the air from your chest. He’s so big it feels like you’re being split in two, savoring the burn.
For a moment, he stays buried deep, his hand spreading over where he’s inside you, low in your belly. “You feel that?” he asks in a deep husk. “That’s all me.”
When Joel said this was going to be quick and dirty, he didn’t mince words. As soon as he starts moving, he’s fucking into you hard and fast, the brutal pace stuttering your breath.
“Oh, god,” you moan. He has your tits jiggling, something you know he’s loving.
“He’s got nothin’ to do with this,” Joel grits out. He licks the pad of his thumb, pressing it to your swollen clit, the added pressure making your back bow, gasping his name. “Yeah, I know, baby. That’s it.” He doesn’t let up, thrusting hard while he circles your bundle of nerves with practiced, filthy precision that’s driving you crazy.
“Joel, oh fuck. Joel—”
“I’ve got you.” His free hand palms your breast, brushing his calloused thumb over your stiff nipple, before pinching it. You mewl, writhing under him. “This what you wanted? This how you wanted me to fuck you?”
Yes, you think, but can’t say out loud. The fast, punishing rhythm combined with the attention to your tits and clit has you dizzy with pleasure. He’s hitting you everywhere, inside and out, and it borders on too much, your body trembling uncontrollably. It’s a little embarrassing how quickly he builds you right back up to the edge.
“You gonna come for me?” he asks. His hand comes off your breast to brace himself when he leans over you, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck. “Are you? You gonna give it to me?”
His thumb continues rubbing tight, fast circles in sync with the steady strokes of his cock.
“Yes, don’t stop—oh god—please, don’t stop.” Your arms go around his back, your nails digging into the flannel over his shoulders.
“We’re not done ‘til you soak me, baby. Come for me, let me have it.” He sucks hard on your pulse point.
It all boils over—the rough pad of his thumb, the heat of his mouth on your neck, his dick railing into you—the tension snaps, and you’re coming, crying out as pleasure wracks through you, your inner walls clenching around him like a vice.
“There we go,” Joel groans, his pace faltering. “My good girl—my good fuckin’ girl.” He doesn’t let you come down; his hips keep moving, drawing out every tremor, every helpless gasp until you’re boneless and shaking under him, completely wrung out.
“That’s it, baby,” he rasps. “You did so good for me.”
His praise is a balm and a brand, soothing and burning all at once.
He leaves you no chance to recover; he’s chasing his own high now. His arms are on either side of your head, his thrusts turning rough, almost frantic, the wet, slick sound of him working into you mixing with his harsh breathing. He wants it, and you can feel it in every hard, punishing stroke.
Something you’ve learned about Joel is that he likes to kiss when he comes—he likes to kiss in general, but especially when he’s coming. So, you’re expecting it when his mouth crashes onto yours, kissing you deep and messily. His hips snap faster, his breath turning hot and ragged against your lips.
“Gonna come,” he mutters into your mouth. “Gonna fuck you full of me, baby. Fill you up. You want that? You want my come?”
You moan ‘yes’ into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him as deep as he’ll go, and that’s it for him. Joel slams into you to the hilt and stays there, a raw, guttural moan tearing from his chest as his cock throbs hard inside you. You feel it—every hot, thick pulse flooding you, spilling into your inner depths. He grinds, rolling his hips to fuck it deeper, kissing you like he's starving for you and can't get enough. Once he's milked himself of every last drop, he collapses, shoving his face into the crook of your neck with a happy sigh.
Another thing about Joel is that he gets very cuddly after sex and loves it if you play with his hair. Your fingers go into the sweat-damp waves on his head, lovingly scratching his scalp. He hums in the back of his throat, nuzzling your skin.
“Tha’s nice,” he slurs.
You smile. “Please don’t pass out. I really do need to get to work.”
He sighs. “Gimme a minute.”
“Okay.” You’ll give him five and work a little later—you live in the apocalypse, no one will care if you’re forty-five minutes late to your shift.
God, this is nice—it’d be better if he were naked, still, his flannel shirt isn’t uncomfortable against your skin.
His weight on you is grounding, like nothing bad can reach you here. But that’s how it always is with Joel. He makes you feel safe and wanted. Maybe a better word is cherished—he makes you feel safe and cherished. Your body is warm, your limbs heavy, and your mind swimming in a soft haze. Is it ridiculous to think that you could stay like this forever? Tangled up with him, breathing him in, your hearts beating in sync. Is that too much to wish for?
Probably.
You’re not naive. You know he’s not as perfect as he seems. You just haven’t known him long enough to figure out his flaws. Hell, odds are, all of this is too good to be true, and he’ll have his fun with you before he decides to settle down with a woman of a more appropriate age. He wouldn’t be the first man to do that to you. Even with that in the back of your mind, you’re falling harder for him than anyone else, and you’re hoping he doesn’t break your heart. But if he does, and worst comes to worst, you’ve got Gail, the town’s therapist, who’ll help you get over him. Wouldn’t be the first time, and she’d be pretty excited to start getting those shortbread cookies she loves again.
Joel shifts slightly on top of you, kissing the side of your neck. He drags his lips across your sweaty skin. “You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his voice rough.
“I’m wonderful.” You slide your fingers through his surprisingly soft hair.
“Good.” He kisses your collarbone, then the hollow of your throat. “Was it everythin’ you wanted?”
The question makes you snort. “Are you asking me to review your performance?”
His head pops up to give you a look. “Are you tellin’ me you didn’t enjoy it?”
Your eyes roll. “It was mindblowing. It’s always mindblowing. Five out of five stars.”
He nods once. “That’s what I thought.”
“Wow, I’m deducting half a point for your smugness. Four and a half stars now.”
He frowns, his expression turning grumpy. He mutters under his breath as he starts to move off of you, “Four and a half stars my ass… “ Your giggle evolves into a whimper at the sudden emptiness of him pulling out. Of course, Joel notices, his lips lifting into a smirk. “Miss me already?” he asks.
“Why do I like you?”
“I check all your boxes, and sweetheart, you don’t just like me, you wanna marry me.”
The day before, after he rocked your world the first time, you proposed marriage when you discovered you both shared the same desires for the future, one of them being children—it’s rare for a man his age to actually want a baby, and with people moving fast these days due to the uncertainty, it wasn’t too crazy a proposal. It’s not uncommon to marry someone you barely know, but Joel is from a different time, and politely declined, simply because he wants to date you properly, which is very sweet. He also said that if you’re still together in six months, he will marry you, so you’ve got something to—hopefully—look forward to.
You sit up on your elbows. “I’m second-guessing that right now.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, you agreed to marry me… in six months.”
“Or if I knock you up first.” He says it so nonchalantly that it leaves you speechless. His dark gaze is on yours as his hand goes between your thighs, two thick fingers catching his come as it drips out of you, and when he slowly pushes it back inside, you just about lose your fucking mind, unsure whether to shiver or melt. “So, keep that in there for me. Every drop.” Why is that so hot? “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” you breathe.
He smiles. “That’s my girl. I also like knowin’ you’ll have some of me with you today while we’re apart.” Why is that romantic? How can come be romantic? What is he doing to you? Joel removes his two soaked fingers from you, glistening with both of you, and holds them up to your mouth. “Open.” That brings you back to yourself, things feeling normal again. You don’t hesitate, parting your lips for him to push them in. You grab his wrist with one hand, holding it still, keeping eye contact as you swirl your tongue, sucking his digits clean.
“You like how we taste?” he asks. You hum an affirmative.
This is where you show him that two can play this dirty little game.
You press forward, taking his fingers all the way to the back of your throat, your lips touching his knuckles, moaning for the hell of it. His eyes round, a sharp breath escaping him, which delights you.
"Jesus Christ," he whispers. "You keep showin' off like that, and you're not leavin’."
You pull off of him. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You grab a fistful of his shirt, tugging him down for a quick kiss, and push him back. “I need to take a quick shower, get dressed, and go to work.” You get off the couch and stand up. His come leaks down your inner thigh—yeah, a shower is a must. “Feel free to hang or let yourself out,” you tell him. Turning around, you start heading to your bedroom at the end of the hall. “Thanks for the quickie! Can’t wait to see you tonight!”
You’ve barely made it three steps when out of nowhere, a big hand latches around your arm, stopping you. You yelp in surprise, spinning round to find Joel standing there, with flushed cheeks and his jeans hastily pulled up, looking like you just insulted him or something.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
"That's not how you say goodbye to your boyfriend," he firmly answers.
You blink, caught off guard. “I thought you were too old to be my boyfriend?”
“I am, but that’s beside the point.”
“Is it, though? ‘Cause you seem pretty upset I didn’t give you whatever the fuck a boyfriend goodbye is. The kiss wasn’t enough?”
“That wasn’t a goodbye kiss. That was a fuckin’ drive-by. You don’t give a man a quick peck and walk off like that.”
“Okay? Then explain to me what the proper way is to say goodbye to my title-pending not-boyfriend.”
“Like this—” His hands frame your face, his rough palms warm against your cheeks, and then his mouth is on yours. Oh, this is one of those kisses. The kind that steals every coherent thought, that you’ll replay in your head later while impatiently counting down until you can have another. The kind that makes your knees go weak and leaves you dazed, smiling like an idiot all day—a solid five out of five stars, maybe the best you’ve ever had.
When you finally break away, you’re breathless. “Better?” you whisper.
His eyes are heavy-lidded, his gaze hungry. He, honest to god, pouts. “Yeah, but now I don’t wanna go. I’m gonna miss you too much.”
His response makes you smile, and you throw your arms around his neck. “You’re adorable. You’ll see me tonight. What time are you coming over?”
“I don’t know. Depends on how long it’s gonna take me for Ellie’s present.” He’s putting together a guitar for her birthday tomorrow. “Then, if she wants to have dinner with me or watch a movie, it’ll be after all that. I’m hopin’ seven or eight. Earlier, if I can make it happen.”
“God, it’s such a turn-on when you talk about being a good dad.”
He chuckles and kisses you. “Is that okay?” he asks when he leans back.
“Is what okay?”
“That I won’t be able to come over until later tonight?”
“Oh, yeah. Ellie comes first. Always. I can make her cake this afternoon when I get off work.”
“Then it’s a date.”
“It’s a date.”
“Now, kiss me goodbye correctly.”
Work was uneventful, or so you thought. You were distracted, replaying the last twenty-four hours on repeat in your head like one of those old sports highlight reels your dad used to watch on cable (before the world ended and he, you know, died). It was hard not to think about Joel and all the things he did to you, especially with how you could still feel him, the soreness between your legs, and the come he left behind.
You finished in the community kitchen around one in the afternoon, picking up eggs and a glass bottle of fresh milk on your way home. Once you got back to your apartment, you tidied up, then got to work on Ellie’s birthday cake, which Joel requested to be chocolate. Where does a person get chocolate in a post-apocalyptic North America where cocoa beans don’t grow? Traders. It’s the same way you get coffee beans. Traders brave the wilds to bring the highly sought-after goods up from Central and South America—there’s a reason they’re so expensive.
There are a couple of traders who come through town every once in a while, you’ve hooked up with. They were sweet and gave you discounts on your stash of cocoa powder and coffee beans—not that you slept with them for the deals. It was just an added perk you’d be stupid to turn down.
Now, it’s later in the evening, sometime after seven. Ellie’s cake was made hours ago, carefully frosted and covered, waiting in your fridge. That’s something you’ve been doing, too—waiting. Waiting for Joel. Waiting for that knock on your door. Waiting for him.
An hour passes. The movie you put on has ended, and the credits are over. You stare at the black screen into the void for a moment, then sigh, getting up to start another, something to fill the silence. To keep yourself from looking at your front door every five minutes, you grab your pile of holey socks and start darning them.
9 p.m.
You’ve moved on from socks to patching up other clothes just to keep your hands busy. Your thoughts keep circling back to Joel, to Ellie, how he lights up when he talks about her. That’s a good thing, you remind yourself. You love that. You love that she’s his world. She should be. But there’s a thought that’s crept into your brain that won’t go away: Is that why he’s with you? She has friends now and prefers to hang out with them rather than with Joel, and he’s lonely? Are you filling the space she’s leaving behind? That’s fine if you are. You don’t mind it. Hell, you’re lonely, too. You can be two lonely people finding happiness in each other. It makes you wonder, though, if he would’ve even looked at you twice if he weren’t lonely.
10 p.m.
You’ve run out of clothes to patch up and are now on your knees, scrubbing the hell out of the inside of your oven. Joel still hasn’t shown up, and that is totally okay. Truly. The man is busy, and you’re well aware of how devoted he is to his kid, a quality you love so much. These are things you keep telling yourself, over and over again, needing to believe them. You’ve put on a record because you were driving yourself insane thinking every tiny noise you heard was him, because when it ended up not being him, it just made you feel a little bit sadder. A little bit more foolish.
11 p.m.
The doubt starts to sink its claws into you. So, what do you do? You reorganize your kitchen cabinets to try to drown it out. Does it work? No. The thoughts are louder than the clinking of dishes and Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” playing on your record player. What bothers you most is that if Joel wanted to be here, he’d be here, and if he couldn’t make it, he would’ve had the decency to stop by and let you know—there are no phones, and that’s just what you do. That’s the kind of man he is… isn’t he? Do you have it all wrong? There's a voice in the back of your head, feeding your doubt, reminding you that you hardly know Joel at all.
12 a.m.
Midnight comes. You don’t know what else to do, so you put on another movie. It was a random VHS you plucked from the shelf, not bothering to look at the title. Even with your heater on, your apartment is cold. You wrap a blanket around your shoulders to try to stave off the chill, but it's useless. They say never to trust how you feel after 9 p.m., and yet here you are, feeling pathetic that you're still holding out hope he'll knock on your door. You keep glancing at it, trying to will him there. He would’ve come by now for your date, or to tell you he needed to cancel, and even with knowing that, you still hope.
1 a.m.
He didn’t come over.
With the way the world is, your first instinct is to think something happened to him. People don’t show, and it sometimes means they’re hurt, or worse, dead. But Joel? He’s fine. You know where he was. He had the day off and was at home working on Ellie’s gift. Nothing happened to him, which leaves the only other reason for his absence:
He didn’t want to be here.
Knowing that he didn't want to be here—that he didn't want you—is a knife to the heart.
Then you start spiraling, wondering if you misread things or if it all meant more to you than it did to him. Did all of the time you spent together, the promises, and hopes for the future mean nothing?
You don’t know, but tonight shows you he never cared about you, because if he actually gave a damn, he would’ve come. He would’ve done something, anything, to ensure you knew he was okay and that he wasn’t blowing you off.
And he didn’t.
That silence? It tells you how he really feels.
It pisses you off that he led you on like that, then didn’t have the decency to cancel or break up with you. Instead, he left you wondering where he was for hours, like a dog whose person isn’t coming home.
"Fuck him," you say it out loud, like speaking it into existence will ease the tightness in your chest. It doesn’t.
You had a feeling this was all too good to be true, and you should’ve listened to your gut. You shouldn’t have let yourself get so attached. It annoys you that you’re so upset. You hate that you want to cry. Your anger won’t let you—he doesn’t deserve your tears.
And to think you let him come inside you, risking pregnancy, something you’ve done your best to avoid, all because you trusted him and thought you had a future with him. Why? Why did you trust him so easily? He was different, at least different from anyone else in your past. He made you think he wanted something real by being upfront about not having any interest in anything casual. You fell for the sincerity in his eyes. Was it all a game to him? What was the point of all of this?
What you know for sure is that you are never trusting a man again.
And your bed. Your broken bed that sits in your room, reminding you of your stupidity for thinking someone like Joel would want anything more from you than sex. He’s like all the other men who don’t see you as partner material—you’re just the good time they have before they settle down with someone different.
God, it’s embarrassing how late you stayed up hoping he’d show. Well, fuck him.
You don’t have the energy to do anything about your bed, so you curl up on the couch under a blanket, and as you drift off to sleep, one question won’t leave your mind:
Why am I unlovable?
It’s half past five the next morning. With how heated you feel, you barely register the cold, or maybe it’s the jeans and sweater you’re wearing doing their job to keep away the chill. You’re almost to Joel’s house, carefully carrying Ellie’s small cake, protected in a plastic container—you never even considered not delivering it. The whole walk over here, you’ve been thinking about what you’ll say to him, each step amplifying the anger in your chest.
You’re not sad, you’re mad. You’re pissed off that you let your guard down and allowed a man into your heart, only for him to break it. You don’t want to hear his excuses. You don’t want to hear his apologies. You want this to be over and to never talk to him again.
Stepping up onto his porch, your heart pounds. You knock on the front door.
He must’ve already been downstairs; the door opens almost immediately, and there he is, Joel Miller. He’s got dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep—good. When you stayed with him the other night, he told you he struggles with sleeping, and that having you in bed with him was the best rest he’d gotten in a long time. It cheers you up a little to see that he looks like shit.
When he sees you, his shoulders relax, a breath leaving him like he’s been holding it in all night.
“Thank Christ you’re here.” He sounds relieved. You assume he was freaking out that you weren’t going to bring over the cake.
“Of course, I’m here. I’m not going to ruin an innocent child’s birthday because their father is an asshole. Here.” You carefully shove the container into his chest. “I hope Ellie has a great birthday, and us?” You point between you. “We’re done. Don’t talk to me again. Don’t come near my apartment. Don’t even fucking look at me.”
His brow furrows. “Now, hold on—”
“No,” you cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. Your silence last night said enough.”
“Baby—”
“I’m not your baby. I’m nothing to you.”
His jaw clenches. “Let me talk,” he growls.
“No!” you snap. “I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuses.”
His voice rises. “Let me fuckin’ explain!”
You don’t flinch at his outburst. “No!” you say just as loudly. “I’m done. Goodbye, Joel.” You turn around, your boots thudding as you walk down the porch step.
“You’re makin’ a mistake!”
The door slams behind you. Or maybe it doesn’t. Either way, you don’t look back.
What do you do?
There’s no way in hell you’re going home to cry over a man who couldn’t be bothered to show up. You’re better than that. Stronger. Smarter. Done. It doesn’t matter if he made you feel seen and cherished, or if you could imagine a future with him. Nope. No tears for that asshole.
So, you go to work.
You bake bread.
You bake too much bread.
More than is needed for the day, and probably tomorrow, too. Just means you don’t have to be in as early in the morning. With everything that happened over the last couple of days, you can use the extra sleep.
While helping prep lunch, you overhear two workers whispering about the dishwashing kid from yesterday burning themselves badly on a pot of boiling water after you left–skin sloughed off their arm. Had to be rushed to the clinic. You didn’t catch their name or whether they were male or female. You try to remember who had dish duty, and you can’t, because they rotate out the teens in town for the job daily, so it’s always a different kid each day.
After work, you go home for a little while. You don’t sit still; instead, you keep yourself busy, then shower, changing into jeans and a t-shirt before leaving.
The house you go to, you’ve been to more times than you can count. You knock on the front door. “One second!” comes the familiar voice.
The door cracks open. Then it opens wider.
“What happened?” Gail asks in a knowing tone.
“You got time?”
“You got the stuff?”
You hold up the cookie tin. “Two dozen ‘cause I’m fucked up.”
She takes the container, opens it, and nods in approval. “A man?” She moves out of the way for you to come inside.
“Isn’t it always?” You walk past her, knowing exactly where to go.
“Sometimes we talk about your childhood. Who’s the guy?”
In the living room, you flop back on Gail’s couch, shifting the pillows behind your head and being careful to keep your boots off the old upholstery.
“Have you met Joel Miller?”
“Tommy’s brother?”
Gail takes a seat in her chair across from you, the cookies in her lap. She leans forward to grab her ancient kitchen timer on the coffee table between you, cranking it to your allotted sixty minutes, and sets it down again. Then she sits back, popping the tin’s lid to grab a shortbread cookie, and takes a bite, humming her enjoyment.
“Yeah.”
She swallows. “Briefly. We’ve been introduced. Handsome. Definitely your type.” You hear her crunching.
“We fucked.”
She finishes her cookie and closes the container, putting it on the end table beside her. “I figured. Cookies are amazing as always.”
“Thanks. He wasn’t like the others. Or at least I thought he wasn’t. He talked about serious stuff like marriage and kids. It really felt like we could have a future together. Not only that, I felt so comfortable with him, I didn’t tell him to pull out.”
Usually, with older men, you didn’t have to because they were careful and didn’t want children. With the younger men, you were the cautious one, telling them to pull out.
“That’s interesting,” she muses. “You’re usually careful, or as careful as you can be. Why him?”
“Because he’s a dad. A really good dad. He’s solid, attentive, hot—obviously—but also sweet. Funny, when he wants to be, and the sex. My god, is it truly the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“And you’ve had a lot of sex, so that’s saying something.” There’s zero judgment in her tone.
“Right? I just thought he might be—it’s too fucking cheesy to say out loud.”
“The one?”
“Yeah…”
“Sorry, kiddo, but this circles back to your favorite subject.”
You groan. “Ugh, not the childhood trauma. Why is it always the childhood trauma?”
“It’s a real bitch, isn’t it? Crazy how a single, life-altering event during brain development haunts you into adulthood.”
“I hate it,” you mutter. “But, whatever. Go on.”
“You lost your family in the worst way. It was violent, sudden, and you had no chance to say goodbye. Then came Seth and Rita, who took you in, but we both know you never really felt like you belonged with them. That’s left you chasing that feeling of real, unconditional love, you just have shitty taste in men.”
“Hey!”
“Am I wrong? You go after guys twice your age, who are emotionally constipated, and are only interested in fucking you, when you need someone you can build a life with. This is where Joel comes in. He looked good on paper. Older, handsome, has a kid, and knows how to use his words sometimes. With him, you saw your chance at finding that love you lost.”
“Well, Joel was a bust.”
“Let’s dig into that. What happened?”
Taking a deep breath, you tell her everything that happened over the last seventy-two hours. “—and I went to this house this morning to drop off the cake and refused to hear what he had to say.”
“If you didn’t let him speak, how do you know he stood you up?”
“Because he didn’t come over or stop by to tell me what was going on.”
“What if he wasn’t able to contact you? It’s not like communication is easy these days without phones. Maybe he couldn’t go to your apartment.”
You frown. When you look at her, she’s got her glasses on, busy scribbling something into her black notebook. “What do you mean?” you ask.
Her eyes meet yours. “You got to find out early that people can just be gone with no warning. So, now your default is the worst-case scenario. But here’s the thing: this time, you knew Joel was safe at home. He wasn’t dead or dying in a ditch. What you did instead of worrying he got hurt, is you jumped straight to 'he doesn't care about me' and 'he was just using me.' I hate to break it to you, kid, but I don't think that's what happened here.
“Then why didn’t he show up?” you quietly ask.
“He has a daughter, right? What if something happened to her?”
You gasp, sitting up. “The kid who got burned!”
You’ve never met Ellie, but you know what she looks like. You’ve seen her with Joel around town. Were you really so distracted that you didn’t notice she was the dishwasher?
How did you miss that?
“Is that what happened to her? She was hopped up on some good shit when I saw Tommy walking her home from the clinic yesterday.”
“Dammit, Gail! Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“You needed clarity.” She shrugs. “And to know your brain is an asshole.”
This is when it hits you like a truck: you've jumped to baseless conclusions and ruined the best thing to ever happen to you. You feel sick to your stomach as your heart rate doubles. You get up because you feel you need to leave, but you end up pacing instead.
“Oh my god.” Your vision blurs from watery eyes. “I didn’t let him speak. I told him not to talk to me. He tried to explain, and I shut him down.” Tears begin falling down your cheeks. “I thought—I really fucking thought he didn’t care, and the poor man was probably just taking care of his kid.” You stop in your tracks, remembering how he told you Sarah died in his arms. He must’ve been beside himself with worry over Ellie’s injury. The relief on his face when he saw you at his door this morning wasn’t because of the cake; it was because you were there. How could you be so cruel?
The weight of what you did is closing in, your breaths coming out quick and shallow. Sending you on the verge of hyperventilating, your vision tunneling, the edges going dark as the world caves in all around you.
Gail is suddenly up and in front of you, gripping your arms. "Hey, breathe. Look at me and breathe."
Your wide eyes go to hers, and you try, but your throat is too tight, the panic pressing in everywhere.
“Come on, kid, just breathe. You made a mistake. It happens. Nobody’s perfect. What you did isn’t unforgivable. Let’s focus on your breathing—you got this—in through your nose.” She does it with you. “There you go. Now let it out.” You do. “Again.” She coaches you to breathe, little by little, the heaviness in your chest easing, and your vision clearing, until you’ve calmed down. “There we go. You good?” she asks.
“Yeah.” You nod. “What do I do?” You sound desperate, your bottom lip wobbling. “I don’t want to lose him.”
“You talk to him. You own up to your shit. Tell him you assumed the worst because your brain’s an asshole, and you were heartbroken. If he’s worth a damn, and I have high hopes he is, he’ll forgive you.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then at least you tried and did all you could.”
What you feel like you need to do is head to Joel’s immediately to apologize and explain, but you can’t. It's Ellie's birthday, and you do not want to intrude on her special day.
The air outside is warm, the sun shining with hardly any clouds in the sky. The weather doesn’t reflect what you’re feeling inside, regret rolling through you like a thunderstorm, consuming you. You’re walking home, thinking of what you could possibly say to fix what happened.
Hey, so I may have overreacted over a misunderstanding. I didn’t know that your kid got hurt, and that’s why you missed our date, which is totally my bad. Please forgive me.
Yeah, he definitely won’t accept that.
Every idea you’ve had since leaving Gail’s has sounded pathetic. To be honest, you don’t even know what would right your wrongs and earn Joel’s forgiveness. You’re beyond angry at yourself for not giving him a chance to speak; not only that, but you also feel so fucking guilty. He looked like he hadn’t slept when you saw him, and instead of checking how he was, you treated him like shit.
What’s worse is that you knew Joel wasn’t playing games, and you treated him like he did anyway. But as Gail said, your past still haunts you, and it sabotaged your best chance at happiness.
Fuck.
What are you going to do?
What can you do?
Nothing until tomorrow.
You have the night to figure out a plan that will hopefully earn Joel’s forgiveness. Or maybe you’re being too optimistic, and nothing can be done to repair what you ruined.
You’re starting to spiral again, when loud laughter stops you in your tracks. You look toward the noise, spotting three teenagers heading your way down the road. What has your stomach somersaulting is who's in the middle of the trio—it's Ellie, wearing a short-sleeved shirt that reveals her bandaged forearm. You’re glad to see that her injury isn’t keeping her from having fun.
Your thoughts start to race. If Ellie is hanging out with her friends, then that means Joel should be at home… alone.
Your heart is thudding a mile a minute.
You don’t remember deciding to turn. It’s your body that makes the call before your brain can talk you out of it.
You’re going.
Do you know what you’ll say? No. Do you know if he’ll even listen? Also, no. But you have to try. You have to do something if there’s any chance to make this right.
You’re back on Joel Miller’s porch. Same day. Same door. But where this morning you were fire and fury, now you’re just… scared.
It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, then finally, you suck in a deep breath and knock, three raps against the door.
Now comes the worst part: the wait. The time when you’re stuck in a limbo of whether or not Joel is going to answer the door. It’s nerve-wracking enough to make you a little queasy and your hands, as the seconds seem to stretch on for an eternity.
Enough seconds pass that make you wonder if he’s not home.
Or, the likelier reason he hasn’t answered yet is that he saw you and doesn’t want to talk to you. That thought is like a punch to the gut.
But then the deadbolt clicks.
The door opens, and there’s Joel, the picture of a man who’s just been awoken from a nap. His hair is messy, and he’s squinting a little at the bright sunlight, wearing a white t-shirt and comfy-looking gray sweatpants.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“You were right, I made a mistake.”
“No shit. So what is this? You here to make yourself feel better?”
“I’m here to apologize and explain. I thought you stood me up.”
“Yeah.” His tone’s sharp. “I got that part.”
“I was hurt. I lashed out when I shouldn’t have. I’m so fucking sorry, Joel.”
His eyebrows rise. “Sorry, huh?” He scoffs. “Well, sorry don’t cut it. Not with the way you treated me.”
He starts to close the door, but your hand hits it with a thud to stop it. “Joel, please.”
He doesn’t budge. “Don’t. Don’t give me that shit, standing there and acting like you care now.”
“I do!” You say it too quickly, too loudly. “I do care. I was wrong, and I fucked up.”
“Well, I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuses,” he snaps.
It’s a slap to the face hearing your own words thrown back at you.
The door starts to move again, and you panic.
“You know how your world ended when Sarah died?” you blurt out.
He freezes, his expression darkening. “You don’t get to talk about her.”
"My world ended when I lost my family." You don't want his sympathy. You don’t even want to talk about this, but telling him about your past will give him a better understanding of who you are. "I was twelve,” you continue. “It was me, my parents, and my two little sisters traveling. We were trying to reach a safer QZ. The day before, we had a close call with some infected. My dad took care of them, so we thought we were fine, but…” Your throat tightens. “I like to believe my mom didn’t know she’d been bitten.”
“Anyways, we stayed the night in an abandoned house. The next morning, I was doing a perimeter check with my dad when we heard screaming. We ran in—” You pause to swallow around the lump in your throat. “We ran in,” you try again, “and there was blood on the floor. My sisters were already gone. They didn’t stand a chance, and my mom… she wasn’t my mom anymore. In that moment, my dad didn’t just lose his wife; he lost his will to live. It didn’t matter how much I needed him, there was no way he’d keep going without her, so I lost him, too. He made me leave before he…” You don’t want to say what he did to himself out loud. It’s bad enough that you can remember the sound of the gunshot. With the back of your hand, you wipe away the tears in your eyes. “So… Yeah…”
For half a second, his eyes flicker with something—recognition? Maybe pain? His gaze drops to the space between you, silence falling over you both. You hate the quiet. It's filled with too much unknown—will he give you a chance to explain the reason you acted the way you did that morning? Is he going to shut the door in your face? Is he going to tell you off, then shut the door in your face? Joel isn't a man of many words, and even less so, someone who openly shows their emotions. It makes sense that he doesn't offer you his condolences or welcome you into his home. It is very Joel when he clears his throat and steps back for you to walk in, shutting and locking the door behind you.
“My brain is an asshole,” you say, your eyes on the floor. “Gail says it’s the childhood trauma. It makes me jump to the worst-case scenario.”
“Gail the therapist…?”
“Yes.” You lift your head. “She’s the one who told me Ellie got hurt. Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“That’s good.” You nod. “She looked happy with Dina and Jesse when I saw her after my session.”
He walks past you toward the kitchen and doesn’t look back. “You want a drink?”
“If you don’t mind.”
If he’s getting you a drink, then maybe you should go into the living room. You head that way, stopping beside the leather couch in the middle of the room.
When you stayed over the other night, the house was too dark for you to see much of anything. Now, the late afternoon sunlight leaks through the window’s curtains to softly illuminate the area. You take in your surroundings, the blanket hastily thrown over the back of the sofa, the throw pillow near one of the armrests, indented with the shape of a head—he’d definitely been napping.
You’re an intruder in his space with no idea what you should do, so you stand there awkwardly.
A few moments later, he’s returning, holding a small glass in each hand. He offers you one that you take, raising it to your lips immediately, but pausing when you get a whiff of the liquor. It isn’t the harsh, homebrewed shit most people choke down these days. You take a sip. Yep, this is old-world whiskey. Smooth, warm, and extremely rare. Another perk of being a smuggler, you suppose.
He doesn’t sit right away; he just gestures toward the couch with his chin. “Sit down.”
You’re not sure if he’s ordering you or just being gruffly polite. You sit down anyway.
Joel sinks into the old armchair in the corner. He sits there, silent, pensive, turning his cup slowly in his hand as if to buy time to figure out what to say. “So…” he starts. “What happened to you. What’s that got to do with this mornin’?”
A valid question. Personal tragedies are a dime a dozen these days. Everyone who’s survived this long is bound to have losses. Look at Joel. It’s just a part of life.
When he finally looks at you, the anger in his eyes is replaced with exhaustion.
“‘Cause for the life of me,” he says, “I haven’t been able to make sense of where I went wrong for you to think so little of me.”
“That’s the thing, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were beyond perfect. A gentleman, a good guy, it was me and my fucked-up brain.” You sigh. “With how I lost my family, I kinda just expect everyone to leave, one way or another. So, when you didn’t come over, my first thought wasn’t a sane, ‘maybe something happened.’ It was a dramatic, ‘he’s gone like the rest of them.’ And that fucking destroyed me. It was worse than anything I’ve ever felt.”
He doesn’t say anything; he only hums his acknowledgment as he takes a slow drink of his whiskey.
You press on. “I coped by lashing out. I ended it before you could, thinking it’d hurt less, but it didn’t. It was worse. Nothing can excuse how I treated you, Joel. I fucked up. I majorly fucked up and hate myself for it. If there were any way for me to take it back, I would. All I can do now is beg for another chance. Let me prove it to you. Let me prove that I won’t run again.”
It's hard to tell from his demeanor what he’s thinking.
He rubs a palm over his jaw, the scrape of his stubble loud in the quiet. “Let me get this straight,” he starts. “You thought I was fuckin’ perfect and you still had the gall to treat me like that?” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes, taking another sip of his drink.
That’s not a good start—you shoot back the two fingers of liquor in your cup, appreciating the burn as it slides down your throat and warms your belly.
His glass rests on his thigh. He gazes into the amber liquid before his eyes meet yours again. “I get it,” he says, “the world is fuckin’ cruel. People leave, they die, they disappear, but aren’t you sick of that shit? Don’t you want to be happy? I was offerin’ to stay, to marry you, to have children with you, and you just threw me away like I was nothin’.”
“Joel—”
“No,” he cuts you off, making you flinch. “It’s my turn to talk, and you’re gonna fuckin’ listen to what I have to say.” Your gaze drops to the empty cup in your lap, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s clear as day that you’ve never been in a real relationship. You’ve had flings and men who strung you along, the bastards. Never anythin’ that lasted, and because of your inexperience, I will give you some grace.” Your eyes return to his, feeling the tiniest inkling of hope. “But even with that, I’m too fuckin’ old to be chasin’ a girl as young as you, who runs so easy. The smart thing for me to do is nip this in the bud and end it now.”
The admission makes your heart sink. He averts his eyes, rubbing at his chin again, thinking.
Dread has you feeling sick as you wait for him to kick you out.
His hair is already messy, but still, he runs his fingers through it and takes a deep breath. His gaze lifts to yours. “However,” he starts, “against my better judgement, I wanna give you another chance.” The hope is back, you perk up in your seat. “I don’t need you to be perfect. What I need is for you to meet me halfway—that’s it—you’ll get everythin’ I’ve got, but you can’t be boltin’ or shuttin’ me out when things get tough. I need to know that if I let you into my life—into Ellie’s life, that you plan to stick around. So, how do I know I can trust you?”
A great question that you don’t have the answer to.
What could you say or do to regain his trust?
“You can speak now,” he says softly, gently nudging you.
“You won’t know until I prove it to you, and I’m asking that you please give me a chance to show you. You were right that I’ve never been in a relationship. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I’ll figure it out, because I want you, Joel, and everything you’re offering. Losing this, losing you, is worse than anything imaginable, and I swear that even if things get tough, I’m not going anywhere. I won’t run. I won’t shut you out. I’ll talk to you like I should’ve done in the first place. Just please give me the chance to prove that I’m worthy of your love.”
It's palpable how the tension between you loosens. He nods his head once, then lifts his drink to his lips, downing it all in one gulp, the empty glass getting set onto the table next to him. "You've always been worthy of love." He pushes himself up from the chair with a pained grunt.
You’re not sure how to respond. He stands there, his eyes slightly squinting, studying you, searching your face for any signs of deception. You assume he’s found none when he steps your way, gently prying your cup from your hands, that he puts down onto the coffee table in front of the couch.
"Up." He reaches for your hands and helps you to your feet. As soon as you're standing, he pulls you into his arms in a full-body hug, practically wrapping himself around you like he never wants to let you go. You smile when he presses his face in the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching your skin. He lets out a contented sigh, his body relaxing. “I missed you,” his voice is muffled. “Don’t fuckin’ do that again.”
“I won’t.” The promise leaves your mouth before you even think.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. He’s holding you, keeping you as close as possible, reminding yourselves of what this feels like. You press your face into his shoulder, getting a faint trace of his thyme soap, earthy with a hint of mint.
To think you almost walked away from this—from him—from these arms that feel like home and a man willing to love you with no plans to leave. Insane.
His palm smooths up your spine to cradle the back of your head. “Needed you last night,” he softly admits.
Your chest aches. From the look of him this morning and the nap you interrupted, he must’ve been up half the night. “I’m here now.” Your head turns, trailing your lips across his prickly jaw, as you whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He leans back just enough to see your face, his big hand cupping your cheek. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone, moving lower to trace the corner of your mouth. “Good,” he says, his gaze flicking to your lips. “‘Cause you’re mine.” It’s not up for debate. It’s stated as a fact, and all you can do is nod before the space between you disappears, and he’s kissing you.
At first, it’s slow, tentative; he’s reacquainting himself with the shape of your lips.
It’s not enough.
The dam breaks, Joel deepening the kiss. His arm around your back, drawing you flush against him, moaning when he licks into your mouth. His tongue intertwines with yours, tasting the whiskey—warm, smoky with a slight bite, that melts into something sweeter. Your arms circle his neck, giving in to all of the feelings washing over you—relief, want, drowning out that fear of losing him.
He pulls away long enough to say with his lips brushing yours, “Missed this.” Then his mouth is on yours again, rougher now, hungrier, kissing you like he’s staking his claim.
When your lungs begin to ache, you finally come up for air, panting. Joel peppers kisses along the line of your jaw and lower down your neck, your eyes rolling back when he sucks over your pulse.
The words stumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Can I make it up to you?”
His head rises to meet your gaze. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Let me suck your dick.”
His face is unreadable, his pupils blowing wide. “On your knees.”
The command has your breath hitching, your cunt clenching hard around nothing.
“Here?” you ask, surprised he doesn’t want to go somewhere more private. “What if someone comes home?”
“Someone is spendin’ the night at their friend’s. Knees,” he orders.
You obey, dropping without hesitation to kneel on the rug at his feet. He looms over you, tracking your every movement with a burning gaze as you look up at him. “Good girl,” he purrs, rubbing his thumb across your wet bottom lip. “Get me out.”
Here’s the thing, you could do exactly as he says—you should do exactly as he says, but where’s the fun in that?
Instead of your hands going to the waistband of his sweatpants, you plant them on his thighs, and lean in, pressing your cheek against where he’s beginning to bulge. Heat radiates through the cotton as you nuzzle your face over his half-hard cock.
“Is that what I told you to do?” he asks.
Locking your eyes onto his, you ensure he's watching as you finally reach to curl your fingers into the stretchy waistband, pulling his pants down agonizingly slow. You get them down his thighs until all that separates you from his straining length are his blue boxer briefs.
“That’s it.” His voice deepens.
Keeping your gaze on his, you’re blatantly disobedient, slowly mouthing along his shaft through the material covering him, your lips mapping him, darkening the fabric with your saliva. Joel’s frown deepens, his jaw flexing. The warning’s clear on his face; his patience is wearing thin. Any second now, he’ll take back control.
“The longer you keep teasin’ me,” he says, “the longer I keep you from comin’.”
There it is. You expected him to stop you sooner.
You sit back on your heels and smile up at him. “I love when you threaten me.”
“What you love is pushin’ my buttons.”
“You’re not wrong.” You hook your fingers into his boxers, pulling them down just far enough for his cock to spring free—he’s thick, the tip reddened, and bobbing between his legs, making your mouth water at the pure perfection. You wrap your hand around the base, slowly pumping him, “Better?” you ask with a smirk.
His throat works as he swallows, eyes growing darker. “Almost. Tongue out.”
Arousal flares low in your belly. You let go of him and do as you're told, sticking it out, wide and waiting, resting your hands on his thighs again.
“Good girl.” He guides his length forward, laying it heavy across your tongue for you to feel the full weight of him, reminding you of just how big he is. He teases you, tapping the tip of his dick against your tongue, once, twice, a low groan slipping from him when you moan.
You don’t wait for his next command—you close your lips around the swollen head and suck, slow at first, letting him feel you working him into your mouth. Joel’s jaw goes tight, his hand finding the back of your head, threading his fingers into your hair.
“Christ,” he mutters. “That mouth.”
You swirl your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, then come off him with a wet pop. You look up at him through your lashes. “I told you I wanted to make it up to you. So, use me. Fuck my mouth. I want it.”
For a beat, he just stares down at you, a flush rising up his neck. His hand in your hair tightens. “Open wider.”
A thrill moves through you as you do as he commands, opening as wide as you can. Joel doesn’t hesitate, pushing his hips forward, filling you even deeper. He slides hot and heavy along your tongue until he’s hitting the back of your throat—you don’t gag, you never do, and that makes him lose it a little bit, his pace quickening.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groans, and the way he says it makes your pussy throb.
He pulls back only to thrust in again, finding a rhythm. It’s rough, his grip firm in your hair, guiding your head, watching himself fuck his cock into your mouth. It turns you on, being on your knees for him, drool slipping down your chin, your eyes watering while he uses you how he wants.
“So fuckin’ pretty.” His voice is ragged. He’s got one hand in your hair, the other wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “Look at this mess you’re makin’ for me. All mine.”
His hips snap harder, the back of your throat taking a pounding. You moan around him, making him groan even louder. His eyes are hooded, his cheeks rosy, and he looks wrecked. “My perfect girl, bein’ so good to me.”
Your cunt feels achingly empty, wetness pooling between your thighs. Your panties had to be drenched.
Trailing your hand down, you go to slip your fingers beneath your pants to quell the need that’s been building since the moment you kissed. Joel notices and comes to a halt. He growls down at you, “Don’t. Hands stay where they are.”
Your eyes lift to his, big and pleading, but he just feeds himself further into your mouth. “You don’t get to come until I say you can,” he says.
The denial makes it hotter, your body trembling with want. You return your palm to his thigh.
With his hand on the back of your head, he urges you forward, sliding his dick deeper and deeper, until you’re having to swallow around him, taking him into the tight space of your throat.
“That’s it, baby,” he sounds strained. “You’re doin’ so good for me. Just like that.”
Your nose bumps the coarse hair at his base, smelling the soap he showered with and his natural musk. Your eyes water, but you don’t gag around the stretch, you won’t, and the fact that you take him so easily drives him wild. “Fuck,” he rasps, his hips jerking. He free-hand cradles your jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where drool spills over. “That’s my girl, takin’ it all the way down.”
God, you shouldn’t love this as much as you do—drooling, crying, your throat stretched full, but you do.
Your nails dig into his thighs, the slick mess dripping from your lips, keeping him buried until your lungs scream for air. He lets you come off him, gasping in a big breath, a string of spit connecting you to his cock, before he shoves you down again, moaning when you swallow him whole.
His dark eyes are on your watery ones. “Good girl,” it comes out ragged, his lips parted. His hands cup your cheeks as he stares down at you with a surprisingly tender gaze. ”You’re so fuckin’ beautiful. You like bein’ ruined by me, don’t you?”
You hum around him, ‘yes.’
“Yeah, you do. You like bein’ mine.” He pulls out of your mouth, curling his fist around his hard cock. His other hand catches your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. “But do you deserve to come?” Your eyes round, your chest heaving. “After the way you treated me?”
“Joel,” you whimper—it’s pathetic how desperate you sound, but you are desperate. He’s got you wound up tight, your pussy aching, throbbing with need. Now terror rears its ugly head, splashing over you like ice-cold water because he has every right to deny you. He could leave you hanging, keep you here without ever allowing you to come, and you’re not sure you’d survive it. “Joel, please.”
“Don’t ever doubt me again. You hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He lets go of your face, grunting when he hauls you to stand. He’s on you, ducking his head to spread open-mouthed kisses up your throat. “I hated bein’ mad at you,” he murmurs into your skin. Joel grabs your jaw, holding you still as he licks a slow stripe through the spit on your chin, then up the tear tracks on your cheek. A startled gasp leaves you. The filthiness of it makes you ache. Joel catches your noise and smirks. He ghosts his mouth over yours. “Mess or not, you’re mine. All of it, mine,” he declares, sealing it with a kiss.
He claims your lips, hard and searing, stealing the breath from your lungs, before he breaks away. “Take off your clothes.” You’re too slow for his liking; he’s already grabbing the hem of your shirt, stripping you with little patience. Your boots thud across the floor—socks flying after, your jeans and panties roughly yanked down your legs. Your bare skin prickles in the cold air. You squeak in surprise when he spins you, forcing you to kneel on the worn leather sofa, bracing yourself against the back of it.
You feel him behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you see he’s still dressed. “I don’t wanna be the only one naked,” you tell him. “Strip.”
His gaze burns, his lips downturned. “You really think you’re in a position to order me around?”
“What? Are you saying you prefer to be clothed? Don’t tell me you’re a sex-with-socks-on guy.”
He actually looks offended. “Who the fuck only wears socks?” His shirt’s gone in one motion, pants and boxers shoved down.
“You’d be surprised.” He does the awkward balancing act to remove each sock. “They did not get a second date.”
“Gotta add that to your list.” Of what you want in a man.
You smile, laughing breathlessly. “It’s already on the list, I just don’t broadcast it to catch the guys that do.”
Joel’s on you in seconds, the front of his body pressed to the back of yours, his skin hot, his cock thick and heavy against your ass. He holds your hips, his lips brushing your ear. “Better?”
You reach behind, pushing your fingers into his hair. “Mhmm, much better.”
He kisses a spot below your ear, then again on your neck. “Here’s how this goes,” he rasps. “I’m gonna fuck you, but you don’t come ‘til I say you can. You do, and I pull out. I won’t touch you again the rest of the night. Am I clear?”
The warning has heat curling low in your core, your thighs squeezing tight together. “Yes.”
His lips graze your shoulder. “Good girl.”
The praise has you biting your lip, rocking your hips back against the heft of him.
Joel chuckles low in his chest, “So needy for me.” He surprises you, slipping his hand down to tease along your inner thigh. “You want my fingers first? Or do you think you can take me?”
You shake your head. “No. I can take it.”
A little pain didn’t hurt anyone. Plus, you know he’ll make it worth it.
“That’s my girl.” He presses his palm between your shoulder blades, and that’s all of the instruction you need—automatically, you’re bending forward and arching your back to stick out your ass.
His length is still covered in your saliva, but Joel is extra cautious. He spits in his palm and works it over his dick, the obscenely slick sound it makes causing your insides to clench in need. He notches himself at your sopping entrance before he starts to nudge in, the thickness of his cock prying you open and stealing your breath.
“Fuck,” you gasp.
He pushes in slowly, your body resisting, the stretch burning sharply enough to make your inner walls clamp helplessly around him.
“Easy,” Joel rasps, in a tone that’s low and tender, like he’s breaking a wild horse. “I got you.” He inches in deeper, then retreats a little, before pressing in again, slowly working himself into you. “That’s it.” He’s cupping your hip, steadying you while sinking in further. “Doin’ so good for me.” You whimper, caught between the sting and the overwhelming relief of finally being filled. “Just a little more.”
He bottoms out, burying himself to the root. “Christ,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press his forehead to your shoulder. “Nothin’ in the fuckin’ world like bein’ inside you.”
You’re stretched to your limits and beyond full, every nerve in your body screaming. He doesn’t move right away. He stays still, his mouth kissing anywhere he can reach—your shoulder, the side of your neck, behind your ear. His lips are everywhere as you get used to the fullness. “My good girl, takin’ all of me,” he says into your skin. “This pussy is mine. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” you whisper.
“You’re mine.”
“I’m yours.”
You’re thankful he’s gracious enough to give you time to adjust to what feels like him splitting you open.
What you expect is for him to fuck you hard, to work out all the anger you caused him. What you get is slow—torturously slow. His thrusts are shallow, grinding his pelvis into your ass, savoring you like he’s afraid to waste even a second of it. It makes you whine, your nails digging into the back of the couch, desperate for him to just take you the way you thought he would. It has you pushing back, trying to speed up his pace.
He doesn’t like that.
A sharp smack lands on your ass before his hips slam forward, knocking the wind from your lungs. His other hand grips the back of your neck, forcing you to stay put. “Quit it,” he growls. His tone is rough, but his touch is gentle when he rubs a comforting palm along your side. “You’ll take what I give you, and you’ll love every fuckin’ second. Understand?”
“Yes.” Your voice trembles.
“Good girl.”
If you thought his leisurely pace was maddening, that was only the beginning.
Joel pulls you upright, your spine colliding with his solid front, his cock stretching you open as he cages you in. He’s got one arm locked across your chest, squeezing your breast with his calloused hand, his free palm sliding down to the apex of your thighs. He rubs your clit in slow, merciless circles that sync with the lazy roll of his hips, your arousal dripping down his shaft to coat his balls.
His lips are at your ear. “You were hopin’ I’d fuck you, mean, weren’t you? Wanted me to take out my frustration on your greedy little pussy.”
The heat in your core gets hotter with every drag of his cock and swirl of his fingers. You don’t answer him quickly enough—he slaps your cunt, soothing the sting, by stroking his palm over it right after.
“Is that what you were hopin’?” he asks again.
“Yes,” you breathe.
He chuckles darkly. “Too bad. I want you to feel every inch of me—every fuckin’ inch of what you almost threw away.” His teeth graze the shell of your ear. “And then I wanna hear the sweet sound of you beggin’ me to come.”
No words leave your mouth; you just moan.
Joel’s hand moves down your swollen sex, spreading his fingers around where he’s sliding in and out of you. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, “you’re soakin’ me.” He smears the slick before gathering it onto his fingertips to circle your clit—you jolt, his cock grinding in deeper. “I love how wet you get for me—how your body knows who it belongs to.”
You’re fluttering around him, clenching at what he says because he’s right, your body does belong to him, you belong to him. He has ownership over you and your pleasure, filling you so completely that there isn’t any space inside you he hasn’t claimed.
He’s moving slowly, languidly as if he has all the time in the world, and it’s a special kind of hell. It doesn’t matter that every swirl of his fingers and every shallow thrust winds you tighter; you want more. You want the hard, fast, feral, fucking you within an inch of your life pace he had the first time he put his cock in you. That didn’t mean his slow, steady strokes were any less devastating—he has you at the cusp of combusting. Your thighs tremble, fighting with everything you’ve got against the sharp heat swelling in your belly, because Joel’s threat of pulling out if you come before he gives you permission is at the forefront of your mind, but you’re close, you’re so close it hurts.
Tears form in the corners of your eyes, your body begging to let go. A broken sob tumbles from your mouth. Joel’s hand moves from your chest, gliding up your throat to grab your jaw, turning your head. He catches your earlobe between his teeth, tugging it just enough to make you gasp. “Can feel how close you are,” he growls in your ear. “Can feel you fightin’ it. My good girl knowin’ she’s not gettin’ off easy.” He drives into you hard, burying himself balls deep inside you where he stays, unmoving, while his hand abandons your aching clit.
The sudden loss is a welcome respite. Still, all of your nerves are on fire, your body quivering at being so close to the edge, now with nowhere to go. Your eyes are closed, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin, making you stick to him wherever you touch.
“Joel,” you whimper.
“I know, baby.” He kisses you at the awkward angle, your lips misaligned, with his wet fingers splayed on your stomach. “You can take it.” He lets go of your jaw, bracing his arm across your chest again like he knows you’ll need the extra support. “Gotta ruin you before I let you come.”
You’re already ruined, and somehow he’s going to ruin you even more? Jesus. What have you gotten yourself into? You’re about to find out.
He starts moving again, his hips keeping to that same slow, savoring pace as before. It’s juxtaposed by the perfect strokes of his fingers on your clit, circling the needy bundle of nerves until your body quakes and shakes for release, bringing you to the precipice before stopping once more.
“Please, Joel,” you try, but you know he isn’t going to give in—it’s too soon.
“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Not ‘til I say.”
You gulp, your pussy squeezing him as electricity dances just below your skin.
He may not let you come, but he isn’t cruel about it. You’re still stuffed to the brim with his thick cock, his chest pressed against your back, his touches softer now—his thumb strokes little arcs over your hip bone, his lips mapping the slope of your shoulder, the curve of your neck, and the damp skin just below your ear, soothing you, grounding you.
Joel begins again, slowly thrusting while his fingers work you to the point of snapping, only to deny you of your orgasm again. He does that once, twice, three times, edging you until you’re a mewling, crying fucked out mess. Your nails claw at his forearm, locked over your chest, your cunt clenching down on him helplessly, every nerve in your body raw.
Tears spill freely down your cheeks. “Please, Joel,” you beg. “I can’t—I can’t. Please, I need it. I need to come. Please.” If you didn’t, you were sure you’d die. That’d be a new one. Dying of sexual frustration. What a way to go out.
His movements have ceased again, staying buried to the hilt inside you. He groans in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s it. My perfect girl, beggin’ so prettily. You’ve earned it.” His fingers return to your clit, and finally—fucking finally—his hips snap harder, faster, pummeling your pussy just the way you wanted. “Come for me, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his other hand pinching your stiff nipple. “Give me what’s mine.”
There’s no other way to describe it: the permission is like a match to gasoline, it has pleasure exploding out from your core so violently, you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, Joel fucking you through it with a drawn-out moan, your body convulsing around him.
“Fuck, yes. Just like that,” his words come out strained, probably from how your cunt chokes his dick. “My good girl, my good fuckin’ girl.”
And then things go fuzzy, your brain short-circuits. Do you lose consciousness? Maybe. All you know is one minute you are experiencing the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your entire life, and the next you’re coming to, sucking in a big gulp of air as if in those lost seconds you forgot to breathe.
His fingers on your clit are too much. It feels like he’s touching a live wire inside you, the overstimulation causing you to yank your hips back, his hand coming off in reflex. This is when you register that he’s still slowly rocking in and out of you, while your pussy continues spasming with aftershocks, drooling your arousal along his cock. His arm is locked firmly around your middle, keeping you up because your legs are too shaky to hold your weight.
“You alright?” he asks, voice low. His mouth ghosts over the hollow of your shoulder, leaving soft kisses, as his palm slides down your side in comforting strokes.
You’re still clutching his forearm that’s across your front and let go, reaching your hand back to press your fingers into his sweaty hair, smiling dreamily. “Yes,” you croak.
His head turns, kissing the inside of your wrist, and you can’t help thinking about how much you love how affectionate he is. It’s not something you’d expect from someone who’s lived the life he has. You’d think that after all these years, the softness inside him would’ve hardened, and yet it hasn’t. Or maybe it had at one point. He did tell you he was a shell of a man before Ellie, and maybe you have her to thank for softening him up—maybe you have her to thank for the tenderness no one before him ever cared to show you.
His nose nuzzles the side of your neck, followed by the gentle press of his lips. “Think you can give me another?” he asks.
The fact that he’s giving you a choice warms your heart. Not that you dislike when he’s in charge and you’re at his mercy. That’s great, too. But his asking shows he has your comfort in mind and doesn’t want to overstimulate you further.
“Later,” you answer, your nails lightly scratching his scalp. “When we christen your bed, and you eat me out to your heart’s content.”
A groan rumbles from his chest, his cock twitching inside you, making you smile. “God, I fuckin’ missed you,” he tells you.
“I missed you, too.”
He slowly withdraws from you, and the sound you make is a half-sigh, half-whimper. It only takes a few seconds for him to move from behind you to sit down on the couch cushion, and tug you to straddle him, the leather creaking under your knees that bracket his hips.
For a moment, he just stares at you, his big hands coming up to caress your cheeks. He’s got that expression on his face, the one where he looks upon you with a sort of awe, almost like he can’t believe you’re real, and actually there. Then his eyes turn hungry as they take you in, roving over your face and body, before they flick up to meet yours. “How’d I get so lucky?” he asks. You’re the lucky one, but you don’t get a chance to say it because as soon as the words leave his lips, he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours.
This kiss is much more fervent than the last, feeling his need, his desperation, his relief. You take it upon yourself to lift your hips, lining his straining cock up with your entrance, then start to lower yourself, taking him inch by glorious inch until you’re flush against him. The two of you moan into the kiss. Even with how much he’s worked you open and your orgasm loosening your muscles, there’s still a slight stretch that feels so fucking incredible, it has a shiver crawling up your spine.
You can feel him throbbing inside you as you stay still, reveling in how right it feels to have him buried in you again, filling you so perfectly. The kiss melts into something deeper, your tongues tangling, his hands roaming down your back, grabbing the globes of your ass. Now that you’re cognizant, having come down from your peak, Joel consumes your every thought; he’s taken over your senses, feeling him everywhere. Nothing exists outside this moment with him. He’s everything. He’s all that matters, and you want him to feel as good as he makes you feel.
Joel gets to a point where kissing while you sit on his dick isn’t enough—his feet are planted on the floor, his back pressed into the cushion behind him, giving him the leverage he needs to start moving, slowly thrusting up into you. He keeps himself fully sheathed, his grip on your backside helping you grind down on him. You’ve got your arms around his neck, your fingers in his hair, rolling your hips in sync with his movements.
The kiss turns sloppy as the rhythm builds, feeling the tension coiling through his muscles—he’s close. His lips break away from yours, panting as his mouth trails down your throat, lavishing open-mouthed kisses lower over your collarbone. You bite your lip. “You gonna come for me, baby?” you ask through heavy breaths.
He roughly groans into your skin, and you take that as a yes, smiling. His head dips, closing his lips around a pebbled nipple, circling his tongue. Between that and how his strokes have gotten faster, you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair.
“Yes,” you moan. “Come, I want it. Fill me up, make me yours.”
You thought you were spent after coming so hard, but the attention Joel is giving your tits and how amazing his cock feels inside you has pleasure blooming at the base of your spine. He switches from one breast to the other, sucking and teasing your nipples, his teeth grazing over the hard buds, then soothing them with his tongue.
You’re a little surprised how quickly the heat is building in your gut. Now, you’re bouncing in his lap to keep up with his thrusts, each movement growing needier.
“Come inside me.” You sound breathless, a bead of sweat rolling down your forehead. You’re getting lost in how good he makes you feel, and it loosens your lips, words spilling from your mouth. “Give it to me, Joel. Claim me, ruin me. I want it. I want your come, want you to fuck it deep and get me—” Your eyes fly open as you suck in a breath, completely caught off guard by what you were about to say.
Where did that even come from?
Wherever you had it buried in your subconscious, now it’s come to light, and for the first time in your entire life, the thought that someone—Joel—could get you pregnant has you coming undone. Your orgasm is sudden, all of your muscles pulling taut as sweet euphoria spreads through your body. It’s softer this time, a ripple instead of a crashing wave, which you’re thankful for with how worn out you already feel.
When your cunt clamps down on him, Joel groans loudly. It has him finally looking up at you, and it’s clear on his face how fucking gone he is—his eyes glazed over, his cheeks pink, and his jaw slack. He’s so far gone, you don’t think he’ll last even a minute longer. He captures your lips, hungrily kissing you as the rhythm of his hips stutters, his fingers digging hard into your asscheeks.
“You can have it,” he murmurs into your mouth. “‘M gonna give it to you. Fuck my come deep. Give your greedy little pussy what it wants.” And that’s it for him—he didn’t even make it thirty seconds before he’s coming. He pulls your ass down, burying himself all the way to the root as he follows you over the edge. The sound that tears from his throat comes from somewhere deep in his chest. It’s rough and strangled. It’s what losing control sounds like, and it’s so unbelievably hot that your pussy clenches, bearing down on him, keeping him in place. He thickens inside you, his dick jerking with each spurt of his come, feeling the warmth of him filling the deepest depths of you. When you’ve wrung him of every last drop, his body goes lax, and his head falls, face planting between your breasts—it makes you smile, your nails lightly scratching at the nape of his neck, while you rest your cheek on his sweat-damp hair. You don’t move as you both come down from your highs. Your breaths evening, your hearts slowing, closing your eyes as you bask in the afterglow.
Maybe it’s because you only slept a handful of hours the night before, or the emotionally charged day. It could also be the result of getting thoroughly fucked, but you find exhaustion has seeped into your bones, your eyelids feeling weighed down.
You’re about to ask Joel if he wants to head up to his bedroom and take what you know would be an amazing nap, when you’re silenced by a loud snore against your chest. In any other circumstance, you’d giggle. Instead, it reminds you that he’s probably beyond tired from staying up, worrying all night about Ellie. Guilt and shame creep up the back of your throat at the memory of how you treated him that morning, and you hug his head closer, kissing his hair.
Seconds pass, maybe a minute ticks by, with Joel still asleep. You don’t want to wake him, but you also like the idea of getting some shut eye yourself, so very carefully you push his upper body back against the cushion, pausing to see if he wakes—he snores. You let out a relieved breath, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around you both as you lean into him, getting comfortable with your face tucked against his neck.
Now that you’re relaxed and cozy, you find yourself wondering why in the world it got you off thinking about getting knocked up, when you did everything you could to prevent it with past partners. That’s it, your partner. Joel isn’t like the men before him. You know for a fact he’s dependable and a damn good father. You know that if you have his child and things don’t work out between you, you wouldn’t have to parent alone; he’d still be there. You trust Joel. Not only that, but he also checks all your boxes. He’s everything you could dream of in a partner and father to your future children. You got off at the thought of getting pregnant, because for the first time, you had nothing to fear—it doesn’t hurt that you’d love to have his kid, too.
And even feeling that trust and security, there’s still a whisper of doubt in the back of your mind, that all of this is too good to be true—you squash it down as best you can, relishing in the comfort and safety of right now.
Between the warmth and the knowledge that you have nothing to worry about, you fall asleep in record time.
Time goes by, minutes, an hour, two, safe in your cocoon, the house quiet.
A side effect of surviving an apocalypse is a sensitivity to sound. At the faintest noise, you can go from sleeping deeply to fully alert in a second flat. The scrape of metal in the front door’s deadbolt cuts through your dreamless sleep. Your eyes widen, sitting up immediately with your heart pounding in your chest.
There’s only one other person who lives here.
“Joel,” you harshly whisper, shaking his shoulder.
His eyes blink open, all bleary-eyed and confused, but when he registers it’s you, his lips quirk up in a lazy smile, his big hands sliding along your sides. “Yeah?” he groggily asks.
“Ellie’s here.”
That wakes him up, his expression turning panicked. “Shit,” he whispers, looking side to side like he’s trying to figure out an escape plan. You don’t think, you move because your first interaction with your boyfriend’s daughter is not going to be scarring the poor girl at finding you both naked. Thankfully, there’s a wall separating the living room from the entryway that buys you some seconds—quickly you unwrap the blanket from around you, ungracefully dismounting Joel, and ignoring his come leaking down your leg, as you scoop up your clothes.
Well, fuck. Where can you hide?
It’s your turn to look around to figure out your escape plan, spotting a closet door on the other side of the room that you quietly rush to, and manage to slip inside just as you hear from the foyer, “Joel?” You catch a glimpse of the man in question as you close the door, impressed that he was able to get his sweatpants on, before lying across the couch with the blanket covering himself from the neck down to make it look like he’d been napping. The closet door clicks shut, the small space going dark, save for the sliver of light coming through the crack near your feet.
Your ears perk at the young girl’s muffled words. “Oh, shit,” she says. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“It’s okay,” Joel replies, through a yawn. You can hear him sit up, the sofa’s leather complaining under his movements. “What are you doin’ home?” he asks, his voice rough from sleep. “I thought you were stayin’ the night at Dina’s.”
Carefully, so as not to make any noise, you set your clothes on the floor and start dressing as you listen, pulling on your panties first.
“Is that why you’re not wearing a shirt?” You want to laugh at how disgusted she sounds.
He sighs. “I got hot while sleepin’, and there was no one here to complain.” He grunts, before asking a handful of seconds later, “Better?” You think he grabbed his shirt off the floor and put it back on.
“Much.”
“Did you forget somethin’?” he asks.
“No—I found out Jesse and Dina have never played Monopoly, and I’m pretty sure I can kick their asses.”
“By goin’ bankrupt twenty turns in ‘cause you buy every property you land on and put houses on the shittiest ones?”
“Hey, if you had landed on one of those blue ones, I would’ve owned your ass.”
“But I didn’t, and you wasted your money and the money I loaned you.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway because I’ve got a better strategy that will make me unbeatable,” she says, sounding very confident in herself.
“Right,” Joel replies flatly, clearly unconvinced. “And what’s this unbeatable strategy?”
She scoffs. “Like I’d tell you. You’ll find out next time we play.”
At this point, you’ve gotten your jeans on and are now working on getting your sports bra over your head and down to cover your chest.
“If you say so,” he says. “Let me grab you the game. Do you need anthin’ else from the closet?” He emphasizes the last word, your stomach dropping—the board game is in here with you. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you’re frozen in your spot listening. Leather creaks loudly—he must be standing up.
“I’m fine, Joel,” Ellie insists. “I don’t need your help. I can get it myself.” You can hear the light thump of her shoes on the hardwood floor getting closer. “I wanna see what else we have anyway—definitely gonna grab that Twister game you refuse to play.”
The doorknob jiggles and starts to open. “NO,” Joel says a little louder than necessary, his body thudding against the door, slamming it shut.
“What the fuck is going on?” Ellie asks, the words laced with annoyance. “Why won’t you let me in the closet?”
Joel lets out a defeated sigh and mumbles something you can’t make out.
“What?” Ellie replies. “What did you say?”
He says it softly, but you hear him this time. “There’s someone in there…”
“What do you mean there’s someone in there?”
“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters. “This isn’t how I wanted you to meet.”
“Meet, who? Who the fuck’s in the closet, Joel?”
This seems like a good time to finish dressing. You lean down to snag your shirt off the ground, but when you do, you find nothing there.
Where’s your shirt?
Did you drop it when you rushed to the closet?
You crouch, feeling all around on the floor, touching shoes, a box, a metal baseball bat, but nothing that resembles your shirt—fuck.
“The woman I’m datin’...”
Even though you’re now panicking at being shirtless, that admission makes you smile.
“The woman you’re dating…?” she asks, drawing the words out like she doesn’t quite comprehend. “There’s someone who likes you, like romantically…? You…?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just you’re an old, grumpy asshole and your face looks like that.”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“I mean, have you looked in a mirror?”
This time when Joel sighs, it's that of a father at his wits’ end with his child’s bullshit—you can admit they’re adorable.
“Yes, I have looked in a mirror, and yes, there is someone who likes me romantically. If you will be polite and stop embarrassin’ me, I will introduce you to her.”
“Chill, Joel. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
He mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like, “I doubt that.” The pressure of his body lifts from the door, and you’re next met with two soft knocks. “You can come out—that is, if you’re ready,” he quickly adds. “If you need us to give you a minute, that’s fine, too.”
There’s no point in dragging this out. You’re going to have to bite the bullet. You stand back up. “Um, Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you, uh, please, grab me my shirt? It’s somewhere out there…”
“Oh. Yes. Gimme a second.”
He pads away.
“Wait,” you hear Ellie say. “Why isn’t your girlfriend wearing a shirt?”
“She got hot while sleepin’.” He returns and softly knocks again. “I’ve got it, sweetheart.” You crack the door open and close it after he hands you the t-shirt, which you immediately put on.
“Sweetheart?” Ellie questions. “Did you just call her sweetheart?”
Joel sighs. “Yes.”
“Ew.”
Now that you’re dressed, you quickly comb your fingers through your hair to try and make yourself look a bit more presentable—thankfully, the tears and spit have dried on your face, so it isn’t too obvious to Ellie that you fucked her dad earlier. At least, you hope it isn’t.
Taking a deep breath, you open the door a little. Joel’s standing there, blocking your view of the rest of the room with an apologetic look on his face. You give him a reassuring smile and open the door wider. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “You would’ve introduced us eventually, and this is totally fine.”
“I appreciate you bein’ so understandin’, but I’m still sorry.”
“You really don’t need to be.” Pointing at your face, you mouth ‘Do I look okay?’
Joel smirks—he fucking smirks. His hand comes up and ever so gently brushes some stray hairs off your cheek, tucking them behind your ear as he nods, saying for only you to hear, “You look beautiful.”
Your mouth opens to respond when another voice chimes in, “Holy shit, she’s pretty—” You see Ellie peeking around Joel with wide eyes. “—and young. Was not expecting someone that young.”
“Uh, thank you?” you reply.
“Ellie,” Joel warns, his attention going to her. His hand fell from your face.
She steps to the side of him, unaffected by his pointed stare. “What?” she asks, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t say anything rude. They were compliments!”
“I’m not offended,” you add.
She smiles. “See, I didn’t offend her.” Joel takes a deep breath, and the young girl looks at you again. “I figured someone interested in this old fucker—” She juts her thumb his way. “—would be closer to his age, but you definitely are not. Are you sure you like this dude? You know, someone who looks like you can do a lot better than him—no offense, Joel.” She pats his arm.
He presses his fingers to his brow, grumbling, “You’re not wrong.”
Ellie has no filter, and you find it delightful. Her father, on the other hand, looks as though he wishes the ground would swallow him whole—poor guy.
You smile and introduce yourself to Ellie. “—It’s nice to finally meet you, and yes, I am sure that I like him. It might not make much sense to you, but I like him quite a lot.”
“Yeah, I don’t get it, but whatever.” She shrugs. “If Joel’s happy, I’m happy.”
Joel’s eyes go to her again, but this time they’ve softened. His fond expression shows how much he loves her, even if she’s a pain in his ass. And Ellie loves him, too. You can tell by how her ribbing is laced with affection and void of any malice. She just gets immense joy from eliciting a reaction from him.
“So,” Ellie continues. “How long has this been a thing?” She points back and forth between you and her dad.
Joel glances your way, and you give him a look that says, ‘You’re taking this one.’
“Uh, it’s pretty recent,” Joel replies, scratching the back of his neck.
“Cool.” She focuses on him. “Is it serious?”
“Yes.”
You love hearing that.
“Is she moving in?”
“Not right this second.”
“You’d tell me if she was moving in, though, right?”
His eyebrows furrow. “What? Yes. Of course I’d tell you. That isn’t somethin’ that’d happen without talkin’ to you first.”
“Okay.” She nods. She turns to you, pointing past your head. “Can I get in there to grab my games? I gotta get going. My friends are waiting for me.”
“Oh! Right,” you reply, pushing the door fully open and moving out of her way to stand beside Joel. You watch as the girl rises on her tiptoes to go through the collection of game boxes on the upper shelf—they have just about every board game you can think of. She tucks Monopoly, Twister, and The Game of Life under her arm, but ends up putting The Game of Life back, grabbing Hungry Hungry Hippos and Mouse Trap instead.
You’re not entirely sure what to do. Should you go sit on the couch? Excuse yourself to take a much-needed trip to the bathroom? Head to the kitchen for a cup of water? You end up staying beside Joel, resting your head against his arm. You smile when his pinkie slides along the side of your hand to loop around your smaller one—he wants to hold your hand, but probably isn’t sure if you’re okay with Ellie seeing. You give him what he wants, twining your fingers together.
“I’m impressed by how many games there are,” you whisper. “None of them are missing pieces?”
“If they were, I found replacements—at least, the majority of them I did. Still haven’t been able to find a fucking wishbone for Operation.”
You snort. “People probably wanted the good luck. Plus, the wishbone was always a bitch to remove anyway, so I’m sure it’s not missed.”
“Maybe, but I’d like the game to have all its parts.”
“Then I will keep my eye out for the ever-elusive wishbone.”
He huffs out an amused breath and kisses your hair. “Thank you.”
Ellie takes a couple of minutes to make her final decision. Monopoly and Twister never leave her arm. She keeps Hungry Hungry Hippos, but switches out Mouse Trap for Clue—solid choices. Once she’s finished, she shuts the door, turning in place.
“Well, guys,” Ellie says, addressing you both. “This has been fun—weird, but fun. I’m gonna head out.” She looks at Joel. “I promise I won’t be back home until tomorrow. I’ll meet you for breakfast. Will she be joining us?” She nods your way.
“No,” you answer for him. “I’ll be working. I’ll be helping make the breakfast.”
Her eyes meet yours. “A cook. That’s rad.”
You smile. “Actually, a baker. I made your cake, which I hope you liked. Happy Birthday, by the way.”
That has her face lighting up. “No shit, that was you?! That was the best fucking cake I’ve ever had.”
You giggle. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“She also made the apple pie from the other night,” Joel adds. “And that peach cobbler you wouldn’t shut up about.”
Her eyes widen. “No fucking way, and you’re dating Joel? Does that mean you’ll bake me stuff if I ask?”
“Within reason. I promise if I can get my hands on some peaches, I’ll definitely make you a peach cobbler, though.”
“Fuck yeah!” She turns her attention to Joel. “I have no fucking clue how you got her to date you, but good job. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, I guess,” he replies.
“Okay, I really have to leave. Bye!” She briskly walks past the two of you. “Oh, and Joel?” You both turn around to see her standing at the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“I’m cool with you having a girlfriend, but the shit that happens in your bedroom stays in your bedroom. I don’t want to hear it, I definitely don’t want to see it, I don’t want to fucking think about it.” She shudders in disgust. “God. I’m never sitting on that couch again.”
“Fuck,” Joel says under his breath. “I’m sorry, Ellie,” he tells her. “I won’t let it happen again.”
“You better not. Glad that’s over. Bye, guys!”
And with that, she left the room, and the house, the front door slamming shut behind her.
“Told you that you liked to play with fire,” you tease.
“She probably knew somethin’ was up the moment she stepped foot in here.”
“Probably. I mean, your boxers are over there on the floor.” You gesture to where they are crumpled under the coffee table. “You were shirtless, I was shirtless, and hiding in the closet, plus your lame ass excuse that we were undressed because we—” You do air quotes. “—’got too hot,’ it’s very obvious what we were getting up to. But look on the bright side.” You turn your head to look at him, meeting his eyes. “At least she didn’t walk in when your dick was down my throat. I don’t know about you, but I count that as a win.”
“You’re right. It could’ve been worse.”
“Much worse. Now, you wanna take a shower with me?” You really want to clean up the mess between your legs.
He smiles and pulls you into his arms. “Yeah, I wanna shower with you,” he says, punctuating the sentence with a toe-curling kiss—it ends, Joel’s lips brushing yours as he quietly asks, “Will you stay the night?”
“I’ll stay as long as you want.”
He nudges the tip of your nose with his own. “Because you’re mine?”
“Because my bed is still broken and my back is killing me from sleeping on the couch last night.” He stills, and you can tell he’s frowning. “And yes,” you continue in exasperation, “because I’m yours, you ridiculous man. I’ll always be yours.”
He pinches your hip, and you giggle. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
“Yes, you are, and you know what?”
“What?”
“I’m yours. I can promise you that, I’ll always be yours.”
“Say it again.”
Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!
I hate to be this obsessed but everyday, early in the morning, I open my tumblr and check if part 6 of Grafitti by @sumoattack-gooddog and part 3 of Landslide by @darknight3904 are out. And, sadly, they are not. It breaks my heart.
