RUTHLESS
Stepdad Joel Miller x Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)
Word Count: 5.1k+
Warnings: DDDNE, literally just a fucked up stepdad/mom's bf fantasy, could read "mom" as tess but I don't name her or assign physical features to her or reader, post-outbreak, reader is def over 18 but not by much so yeah age gap, NON-CONSENSUAL, power imbalance, unethical d/s dynamic, slapping, spanking, punishment, orgasm delay/denial, humiliation, degradation, face fucking, anal sex, little to no aftercare
A/N: Category is "That old man would fucking never... but if he did..." Please be mindful of the warnings and don't read if it might trigger you. Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.
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Within the secluded world of your big noise-canceling headphones, you scan through silence on the CB radio, pausing for a few seconds on each channel before moving on to the next.
Channel 11: Nothing.
Channel 12: Zilch.
Channel 13: Nada.
When you turn the dial to channel 14, though, you pick up chatter and start transcribing.
Channel 14 7/17/22 19:56
—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew? Over.
Got enough for the kids? Over.
And leftovers. Over.
I’ll be at Margie’s around supper time. Over and out.
The air goes silent.
After a minute goes by with no follow up transmissions, you glance at the clock. 7:58. Almost time for check-in.
You tune the radio to channel 32 and review your transcription.
Many people speak in code, encrypting their messages in seemingly benign conversations. To the untrained ear, they’re normal exchanges, people making small talk about jobs and rations and kids. Goodnight calls and check-ins that use predictable inquiries to convey messages.
—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew?
Most of it you can translate from memory. The drug traffickers that use channel 14 have frequented the same lingo for years. Likely because of the high turnover rate of personnel. There’s less confusion that way. Confusion in communication raises more alarm bells for eavesdroppers than using the same code words across the board.
You flip through your cipher for channel 14, searching for budaydas, but find nothing. Scrunching your nose up, you say the word out loud, “Budaydas. Buh-day-das.”
Carrots, onions, budaydas in a stew.
“Oh,” you nod in understanding, then jot down your translation, muttering under your breath, “Fucking Boston accents.”
(Someone) picked up tranquilizers, benzos (budaydas = potatoes), and opioids. The caller wants to meet up and trade as previously agreed.
The rest of it is easy enough to interpret without the use of a cipher. You probably don’t need to write down the translation, but do it in case your mom or Joel need to reference the notes at a later date.
There’s enough to distribute product across their network of dealers in Boston QZ, plus more to stockpile. They’ll meet at their hub in Area 1, Margaret St, at midnight.
You exhale through slack lips, glancing at the clock as it ticks over to 8:00, then pick up the microphone and hold down the speak button.
“Radio check.”
A few seconds go by before you hear a familiar gruff voice crackle over the radio waves into your ears, “Loud and clear. Over.”
Your nostrils flare when you hear him. Joel Miller. The bane of your existence. Your de facto stepfather, only because you don’t really remember life without him by your mom’s side.
This isn’t to say he’s a father figure to you by any means. The two of you never shared the kind of heartwarming paternal bonding moments you read about in books. That would require warmth and vulnerability, which he distinctly lacks.
Once, when you were maybe 11 or 12, you made the mistake of calling him Dad. The way he looked at you made you feel like dirt. Fire burning behind his dark eyes, he corrected you with one stern syllable that taught you your place: “Joel.”
You sit up straighter and take a moment to gather yourself before responding.
“Did you get your message from Uncle Paul? Over.”
“I did. Over.”
“How’s the weather in Kansas City? Over.”
“Cloudy. Over.”
Fuck.
You swallow around nothing, then clear your throat and ask, “And Grandma, how’s she? Over.”
“Fine, just busy is all.”
You exhale a sigh of relief that melts the tension between your shoulders. Joel continues.
“Anything new with you? Over.”
Tapping your fingers on your notes, you answer, “Rumor has it the market is gonna be busy tomorrow. Harvesting time, I guess. Other than that, same old same old. What about you? Staying out of trouble? Over.”
It feels strange, having a casual conversation with him like this. Even if it’s just a data exchange dressed up as a casual conversation.
There’s a long pause, then he says, “Fine, yeah. Well. See you soon. Over ‘n’ out.”
Stiff as a board. Cold as ice. Joel Miller, everyone. Round of applause.
You snort, rolling your eyes as you unplug the headphones and toss them on the table. It takes a moment for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings.
The dingy two-bedroom apartment is quiet and still. Outside, the setting sun casts the world in a dark golden haze. A FEDRA patrol vehicle roars down the street, broadcasting the curfew alert from a loudspeaker. Faint shouting from a few units down momentarily piques your curiosity before you decide it’s none of your business.
You stand from the chair and reach your hands above your head, lungs expanding in a powerful yawn, then take a lap around the apartment to stretch your legs.
Something catches your eye when you walk by the entry. A note slipped under the doorframe. On the outer fold, your name is written in a familiar scrawl.
Your heart skips a beat.
You pick it up and unfold the paper, revealing an invitation.
I miss you. Come over when you’re done surfing the airwaves. XO, Bert.
Warmth trickles down between your thighs. A smile spreads across your face. You glance up at the door, then to the CB radio and scanner on the desk.
Indecision churns in your belly.
You are explicitly forbidden from leaving the apartment while your mom and Joel are out on runs. A safety precaution you’ve protested dozens of times to no avail. They expect you to stay put and warn them if you notice any signs of potential danger. In return, you receive a cut of the profit and a roof over your head. Security, in short. Which is more than most could say.
That being said… You break this rule from time to time, when the circumstances allow.
Like when the Fireflies and FEDRA have been quiet for weeks and there are no smoke signals in sight. Like when you’re five nights into a seven day seclusion and think you might die of boredom if you don’t get the fuck out of here. Like when your boyfriend slips a note under the door and asks you to come over.
You look down at the paper in your hands, re-reading the words I miss you.
Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?
—
Just before midnight, you wander down the hallway to your unit, jelly knees wobbling with each step. As you absentmindedly trace your tingling lips, still puffy from kissing, you unlock the door and push it open, then frown.
The lights are on.
They were off when you left, you’re sure of it. When you step further into the apartment, your foot catches on something. A backpack. This faint buzzing starts behind your ears as you blink at it, wishing it would go away.
Motherfu—
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Your stomach plummets to the floor when you hear his voice. A thick knot of panic tightens around your windpipe as you look up to find Joel standing just a few paces away in the living room.
He stares you down, dark eyes glowing with fury, and questions you again, “Where were you?”
“N-nowhere.”
The blatant lie sits sour on your tongue. His lips purse, so you fumble out another, “I went for a walk.”
“A walk,” he repeats, tone disbelieving, “You went on a walk after curfew wearing that?”
You look down at your clothing. A short skirt and tank top. Your throat bobs in a guilty gulp, then you meet his eyes again and nod.
“And when did you leave on this ‘walk?’”
Your mind whirs as you try to come up with an answer. It feels like a trap. You try to calculate an answer that will provide minimal blowback.
“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago?”
“Try again.”
The electricity humming through you takes on a red, frustrated edge, and you snip, “I don’t fucking know, dude. It was a while ago, I wasn’t paying attention. Where’s my mom?”
“Your mom sent me here to make sure you were alive,” he says pointedly, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, “We’ve been tryin’a reach you for three hours. I got here an hour ago. That’s a helluva lot longer than twenty minutes, ain’t it?”
Shrinking into yourself, you search his face. Jaw set, eyes boring into yours. Waves of anger roll off him as he approaches, and you remember all those rumors you heard about him on the radio. The fear you heard in grown men’s voices when they recounted run-ins with that bitch and her guard dog.
You remember what Bert said about him: He’s fucking ruthless.
“You aren’t supposed to leave the apartment when we’re outside the QZ.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
Your heart thuds against your ribcage.
Joel has never directed this kind of outright anger towards you. Sternness, sure. Contempt, maybe. But this is different. You’re in fucking trouble.
There has to be a way out of this conversation.
You drop your gaze to the floor and ask, “Is my mom ok? Did something happen to her?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Righteous indignation straightens your spine and wills you to meet his eyes again, “I’m not saying shit until you tell me what happened to her.”
“She sprained her ankle, but she’s fine. She’s safe,” he tells you, then takes another step forward, “Why did you leave?”
You respond by rolling your eyes.
“Answer the question.”
With an irritated sigh, you search his face, then tell him, “You don’t know what it’s like to be here. Isolated for days or weeks at a time. I fucking hate it. It’s so lonely and boring, I feel like I’m losing my mind—”
“Oh, cry me a goddamn river.”
You scowl at him, staring him down, “Fuck you.”
“Watch your fucking mouth, you disrespectful little shit.”
Red flashes through your field of vision, hot and angry and defiant. You gather the moisture in your mouth on your tongue and spit at him. It splats on his cheek.
His face twists up with fury for one second before he charges, closing the distance between you. The impact pushes your back to the door with a thud.
He grabs your jaw, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your cheeks. His eyes are hot coals, burning into you. The muscles in his jaw twitch, nostrils flaring, breath shaky.
When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what it’s like out there.”
“No, because you won’t let me fucking leave—”
“You should be fucking grateful, you know that? Being here is a fucking cake walk. Your mom ‘n’ I have seen things, done things—horrible things you couldn’t even imagine,” he husks, searching your face, grip tightening so hard it makes you whine. “We keep you safe, and all we ask is that you stay put and keep a lookout for us when we’re gone.”
Even if you wanted to respond, you can’t. The vice grip he has on your face renders your mouth immobile.
All you can do is stare back at him, studying his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Full lips pinched thin as he glowers at you.
You notice how close his broad body is to yours. The heat radiating off his tightly-wound muscles onto your skin. His ragged breath scatters across your face and wafts into your open mouth. You taste the bootleg whiskey on his breath and your pulse jumps.
Warmth drips down your spine and pools at the center of you, a horrifying sensation that makes you squirm.
“Were you with your little boyfriend? Hmm?” he asks, eyes darting around your face, trailing down to your body for a moment before returning, “That boy downstairs? Figure you musta been, on account of how you’re dressed.”
You don’t say anything. You can’t. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not really a question.
“Abandoning your post to go out and get fucked, is that it?”
A whimper slips from your throat as heat swells beneath your skin.
He wouldn’t be treating you like this if your mom was here. He wouldn’t say these things or be this close to you. Knowing this, you understand that whatever is happening right now is wrong.
You also understand that you like it.
You hate that you like it, and hate him for making you like it, but you like it all the same.
Letting go of your face, he demands, “Answer me.”
“Fuck you.”
Before you even realize what’s happening, you feel a sharp, hot sting on your cheek and yelp.
He fucking slapped you.
“Wrong answer.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you retort, bringing your hand to the welt forming on your cheek, “I’m gonna tell her.”
“Yeah? You gonna tell her I found you sneaking in at midnight, too? That you compromised our safety to go out ‘n’ get dicked down?”
You harden your gaze on him, lips pressing together with disdain.
“She wouldn’t like that, would she?” he asks, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “She’d probably kick you out on your ass.”
“She wouldn’t. You guys need me.”
“And you need us,” he counters, searching your face, “So what do we do to make sure this doesn’t happen again? Hmm?”
A dozen inappropriate images flash through your head, each more lurid than the last. An electric, tingling feeling shoots out from the base of your spine and works through your extremities.
You swallow hard and shake your head, “I won’t do it again.”
“If I don’t punish you, you will. You’re fucking disrespectful. Selfish. You need discipline.”
Again, a flash of frustration taints the world red. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scoff, “Just because you’re fucking my mom doesn’t mean you’re my dad. I am an adult and you are not the boss of me.”
He sighs and takes a step back, planting his hands on his hips. His gaze drifts around the empty apartment, jaw gnashing back and forth for a moment before he returns to twist the deadbolt closed and grab your arm.
“What the f—” you swat at him and dig your heels into the floor, but it does nothing as he drags you by his steel grip, pulling you stumbling along behind him into the living room.
He sits on the couch and forces you to lay over his bent knees, one big hand securing your wrists behind your back while the other flattens against the swell of your ass cheek. As soon his touch leaves, it returns, a sharp snap tingling across your skin.
Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe the chaos throbbing through you.
“You’re right, you’re an adult. And I’m not your dad,” he asserts, lifting his hand. Your whole body clenches in anticipation. “But as long as you live here, I am the fucking boss of you,” he slaps your ass again, “Do you understand me?”
It surprises you when you hear yourself sob, “I’m sorry—”
He does it again and again, hissing, “Yeah, you’re fucking sorry now, aren’t you?”
Each firm slap he lays down is firm, unflinching. Ruthless.
It overwhelms your senses and becomes the only thing you feel. The universe world narrows down to just his palm on your skin. The reliable and exquisite pain ringing through you. Smack. Smack. Smack.
Every time he draws his hand back, you don’t think you can handle it again. But you do.
Soon, you start to crave the impact. His skin on your skin. You can’t feel the start or end of it. It’s just him and you. Pain and pleasure. Sobs and moans, all blended together.
Far away, you hear him chide you for not wearing underwear beneath your skirt. Then he asks, “Are you fucking enjoying this?”
Too ashamed to admit it, all you do is whimper in response.
Smack.
He sucks in breath through his teeth, then grabs the meat of your ass and rumbles, “You do, don’t you?”
When his grasp on your wrists releases, you pull your elbows beneath you and look over your shoulder at him, watching as he spreads your cheeks apart and stares down between your legs. You’re probably shiny and wet with the evidence of your desire.
His lips form an ‘o’ when he kneads you back together and spreads you apart again. The motion teases all your hungry nerves and makes you moan. It feels so fucking good.
You realize then that he’s grown stiff against your belly, hard cock leaving no mistake.
“You fucking like it, too, don’t you?” you ask him, your voice breathy and amused, “I can feel how turned on you are.”
Slipping a hand between your bodies, you press against his strained zipper. His cock jumps at the contact, and he groans, dragging his fingers through your slick lips.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you nod in approval. He works your clit in steady, firm circles while you smooth your hand along the big bulge in his pants, letting out a string of whines at the bubbling pleasure inside you.
You lose yourselves here, both of you squirming and panting and petting the other. So wrapped up with how fucking good it feels that you forget to feel ashamed.
When he smacks your ass now, you croak through clenched teeth, “Fuck yes.”
He likes that you like it. You can tell by the way he groans and throbs beneath you. This knowledge inspires your pulse to pound and your muscles to tense.
“Joel,“ you whimper, opening your eyes to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, “I’m gonna fucking come, don’t stop—”
“Did I give you permission to do that?” he asks, slowing his touch to a torturous rhythm, “Did I say you could come?”
You shake your head and whine, “Please, Joel, please—”
“Are you sorry for what you did?”
“I’m sorry—”
“Are you gonna do it again?”
“No no no, I won’t, I promise, I’ll be a good girl—”
He groans, tossing his head back as you frantically rub at the bulge in his pants. Your palm chafes against the stiff denim, but you don’t stop. You would do this for eternity if it meant he’d let you find your release.
“Oh yeah, you’ll be a good fucking girl for me?” he asks, touching you just soft and slow enough to twist your nerves ragged, but keep your orgasm out of reach.
“I will, I promise. Please, Joel,” you whisper, holding his gaze as your face gets all hot, “Please make me come, please please—”
“Show me you mean it.”
He doesn’t need to explain what he means. While he takes off his jeans, you scramble off his lap and kneel between his spread knees. His eyes stay glued to yours as you slide your hands up his thighs.
Batting your lashes at him, you wrap your lips around his swollen cock. He fills your mouth. He feels smooth but hard against your tongue. He tastes salty and heady and when you inhale the musk of him, you moan around his girth.
Nodding, he anchors his grip behind your head and bucks his hips, forcing his dick down your throat. When you gag, he doesn’t let up, but thrusts into the sensation, grunting, “Fuck. Yes,” before letting you pull off, gasping for air.
You wrap your hands around him, all shiny and slick with drool, and pump his length for a moment while you catch your breath, then take him in your mouth again.
This time, you sit up taller. You relish the stretch of your lips as you bob up and down. Savor the tug of his fingers curled tight in your hair. Memorize the sound of his huffs and grunts as he fucks your face. The wet squelching gurgle of his cock squeezing down your windpipe.
“Look at me,” he orders, so you do.
He’s all blurred from your watering eyes, but you can make out the dark irises and stay locked onto them while relaxing the muscles of your throat to take him easier. When you make an enthusiastic humming noise, he groans. It’s wanton and lusty and lights a fire in your belly.
Joel has never treated you this hard or soft. His regard for you has always been callous. Closed-off. Indifferent. With your assistance on the radio, he treated you like a tool for survival. Before that, or even in-between smuggling runs, he treated you like some kind of a household pet he had little regard for. Your mom’s responsibility, never his.
For years and years, you ached for more.
When you were younger, you used to sit up nights and wonder if he’d ever consider you his daughter. He wouldn’t, though. He won’t.
But this is something.
Distinctly, you want to please him. Be the best he ever had. You want to sink your claws into his brain and leave your mark for years to come. You want him to look at you after this and feel a flicker of desire and self-loathing. You want him to think of you when he fucks your mom. You want him to hate how you made him feel.
When you pull off him and start to work his soaked length with your hands, you pant, “Does that feel good? Am I doing a good job sucking your cock?”
“It’s good,” he nods, lets out a groan that pinches his eyes shut, then meets your gaze again, “So fucking good, Jesus Christ. Is this what you were out doing tonight? Sucking cock?”
“Not tonight.”
“But he fucked you, didn’t he? That boy?”
You nod, stroking him slower. His eyelids flutter.
“Did he fuck your pussy or your ass?”
The question sends a jolt through your middle. You recall the sex you had with Bert. Barely an hour has gone by since he pulled out of your cunt to shoot his load on the mattress, but it feels like a lifetime ago.
“My pussy,” you answer, then gather a thick, hot wad of saliva on your tongue and spit on his cock. You spread it with a slow churning motion, watching Joel’s face twist up with pleasure.
“Were you bein’ smart about it at least?” he asks, studying you, “We don’t need you getting knocked up.”
“He pulled out,” you shrug.
He grunts in acknowledgment, then sits up and pulls on your arm to join him on the couch, “C’mere.”
You follow his guidance, lying back on the cushions as he strips off his shirt.
The only times you’ve seen him shirtless were accidental and slightly embarrassing for both of you. But now, you notice how his smooth chest glows in the dim light. Now, when you drink in the sight of his big arms and broad shoulders, heat bubbles up your spine.
While you pull your tank top off over your head, he tugs your skirt down your thighs, asking, “You ever taken it up the ass?”
You shake your head.
His eyebrows jump a little like he’s surprised. A sadistic kind of smirk plays across his lips as he pushes your knees up to your chest, then spreads you apart, the head of him nudging at your backdoor.
He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t ask if you want it this way, or if you want him to be the first. He doesn’t even warn you about the initial shock and pain you experience when he rocks his hips forward and breaches the tight hole.
You yelp and try to lurch away from the sharp pain, but he grabs you and holds you there.
Sitting up on your elbows, you cry, “That fucking hurts, Joel.”
“Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t hurt a little, would it?” he murmurs, disinterested, watching your asshole stretch to accommodate the head of his cock.
The sensation is overwhelming. Like being stabbed or split open. At first, you hate it. You sputter and gasp and shake your head as he pushes himself in further and further.
Then he pauses the invasion, releasing his steel grip on you to tilt your chin up and meet his gaze, “Just relax.”
His eyes burn into yours, making your pulse jump. You bear witness to his heaving chest and parted lips and feel him twitch inside you. Sparks sizzle across your body, but you still scowl at him.
“It hurts, I don’t like it.“
“It’ll get better, you just gotta relax,” he coaches.
“Why can’t we just have normal sex?”
He grunts, thinks about it for a moment, then tells you, “First off, this is not normal sex,” he points between your chest and his, “This will not be a normal thing, you understand?”
It stings a little, if you’re being honest. But you nod, “I understand.”
Nodding, he licks his lips. He throbs inside you, hips jerking a little in reaction. This time, the friction feels good enough to make you whimper.
“Second, we don’t need another mouth to feed around here,” he says, searching your face, “We’re stretched thin enough as is. You know what I mean?”
“But if you—”
“Pulling out can still stick. This way’s tried and true, trust me.”
“Trust you,” you scoff under your breath and roll your eyes.
“What’s that?”
You meet his hardened gaze, feeling emboldened enough to ask, “Do you fuck my mom in the ass?”
“That’s none of your business,” he warns.
“So, what, you can interrogate me about my sex life, but I can’t do the same?”
“That’s right,” he barks, “Know why?”
In response, you glare at him.
He takes this moment of bitter silence to drag his knuckles up your slick, swollen lips. The light touch branches out beneath your skin and makes your heart pound. You gasp a little, but try to hide it. He clocks it immediately.
“There we go,” he murmurs under his breath, almost as an aside, smoothing the pad of his thumb in soft circles on your clit. Pleasure churns beneath the touch, hot and hungry for more. When you whimper, Joel’s eyes go wild for a second, then he says, “I am the fucking boss of you, understand?”
You swallow a moan as he arches forward and starts to roll his hips. It feels better now. Good. Fucking amazing, almost. Electric and gooey. He fills you so completely with each thrust, you wonder how you can even breathe.
“So if I tell you to be home, that’s where you’ll be. If I ask you where you’ve been, who you were with, what you were doing—you tell me the truth. Understand?”
Nodding, you gasp, “I understand.”
“You don’t get to ask me about your mom. You don’t tell your mom. You don’t sneak out to go get fucked by some boy who doesn’t even know what to do with you—”
“Holy shit, Joel I’m gonna—” you gasp at the pressure building at the base of your spine, spreading thick and hot and delicious across your body.
“And you don’t come without my fucking permission. Understand?”
“I understand I understand,” you cry, literal tears burning behind your eyes at the ache of trying to keep the ecstasy at bay, “Please can I come, please please please—”
“Are you sorry?”
“I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again—”
“That’s right, you’ll never fucking do it again. Why’s that?”
“You’re the boss,” you beg, your voice so raw and pleading it sounds foreign. He pounds into you now, a wet slap that echoes off the apartment walls. It takes all your concentration to keep your pleasure contained, to not spill over the edges, but you hear yourself babble somewhere far away.
“You’re the fucking boss. I’m sorry I’m sorry I won’t disobey you again I’ll be a good girl I’ll do anything just please give me permission to come daddy please please please—”
When he moans, loud and depraved, it just about breaks you, but you manage to keep your resolve long enough for him to pant, “Go ahead, let it go.”
With a choked sob, you untether your pleasure and allow it to expand, growing hot and wide and unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Every muscle in your body tenses up as the sensation swallows you whole, then spits you back up, sending wave after wave across your body.
“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he grunts, taking his hand from your clit to hold your knees down and fuck your ass hard and fast and ruthless.
It surprises you when heat starts stretching out from the middle of you again. Your heart starts to race as the feeling grows.
“Ffffuuuuck,” you whimper, “That feels so fucking good—”
“I told you, didn’t I?”
“You did you did holy shit,” you meet his eyes and nod frantically, “I love it I love it—please can you come in my ass?”
“Is that what you want? Want me to come in your tight little asshole?”
A feral noise escapes you, and you sob, “Yes—”
“Do you wanna come too?”
“Yes—oh my god, yes, please please please daddy—”
“Come with me, baby.”
You let the feeling overtake you again, gasping out, “thank you thank you thank you,” as it takes you strong and fast. Pleasure pulses through your body, causing you to convulse and strain against Joel’s grip spreading you open. He releases a moan from his belly and gives you a hard, deep thrust that he holds for a shuddering moment. After emptying himself inside you, he pulls out, falling back to his seat on the couch.
Chest heaving, you prop yourself up on your elbows and study him. He pinches his eyes shut and catches his breath before meeting your gaze again.
His expression goes soft long enough for something dangerous to flicker between you.
Then he turns away and starts getting dressed.
“Get yourself together, I’m gonna go get your mom.”
As you sit up, you fold your legs into your body and watch him button his shirt.
“Joel—”
He looks at you, searching your face expectantly, but your brain goes static and you’re not even sure what you were going to say.
“This stays between us, understand?”
His tone is firm but gentle. You swallow hard and nod, “I understand.”
Nodding, he glances down at your lips, then back to your eyes. He rises to his feet to leave, but before he does, he leans down to press a kiss into your forehead.
“Good girl.”
[ NEXT PART ]
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It took four calls before Lena answered. It crawled across her side table, vibrating angrily like some persnickety insect until she gave it the attention she wanted.
You could just turn it off.
“What do you want, Danvers?”
Alex’s voice was thick.
“We can’t find Kara.”
Lena let out a slow, long, theatrical sigh. “So now you’re accusing me of crimes over the phone. At least your ex had the courtesy to cuff me in person.”
Alex’s patience was clearly short enough, and wearing thinner.
“I’m not calling you to accuse you. I’m calling you to ask for help.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because she’s burned out her powers and we can’t find her, Luthor. Supergirl is missing and she’s powerless.”
Lena licked her lips.
“Is this some kind of weird test to see if I’ll try to kill her? An entrapment scheme or something?”
“First of all,” said Alex, “fuck you.”
“Mutual,” said Lena. “What was the second part?”
“The second part is that I know you. I know you’re pissed off at her. I also know that you don’t react the way you’ve acted because your BFF lied to you, Lena. Just like I know that buying a $875 million company isn’t what friends are fucking for.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Lena snapped.
“Right. Help us find her.”
“No,” Lena said, coolly. “Goodnight, Director.”
Lena stabbed the end call key with her finger, resolving to herself that L-Corp was going to release a smart phone that made it more satisfying to hang up on people.
Then she very pointedly did not go out looking for Kara. Instead, she boiled water for tea, and spread open a technical journal on her lap.
After ten minutes, she had not drunk the tea, and her attention was sliding off the abstract like the wrong end of two magnets jammed together. Rubbing at her eyes, she decided she’d had too long a day for even light reading, and decided to enjoy a news broadcast with her tea.
Of *course* the lead story was Supergirl. She tried putting on the Lakehawks game, but that had been preempted for Supergirl coverage.
She turned to the science channel. Oh, of course they’d decided that tonight was the night to premier some ridiculous companion documentary for the World of Krypton exhibit running downtown at the convention center, and of course Lena works tune in right as Kara appeared on screen, grinning ear to ear as she charitably gave some literal kid reporter the interview of her lifetime, fielding softball questions about her dead planet.
“What do you miss most?” the kid asked.
Lena saw it, saw it the way only someone who knew Supergirl was just Kara Danvers, the nerdy, dorky, kinda basic goof in a pompous costume, could. The flash of real pain in the hero’s eyes, the softness in her voice, like she was apologizing for the honest of her answer.
“Red sunrises,” said Kara.
Lena threw the teacup across the room, and it shattered across the screen, leaving the dregs tricking down the surface. Lena wished the TV had been knocked out, but the screen was shielded by a transparent aluminum she’d invented herself.
So she changed the channel, just in time to get a face full of The Princess Bride, just as Buttercup was shoving a then-disguised Westley down the hill as he shouted the line the revealed his identity.
“Oh fuck you all,” Lena muttered, as she scooped her keys from the kitchen counter.
Lena decided it was a night for subtlety, so she took the BMW, driving with the top down and and her phone in her jacket pocket, so she could feel it if someone called.
Lena drove for the better part of an hour, reflecting on the absurdity of simply looking for Kara in a sprawling city; National City had about two thirds the population of Metropolis, but it covered nearly four times the land area and was surrounded by sprawling suburbs that extended the entire metro area to the size of a small state.
This was hopeless, unless Lena knew where to go.
You know what you have to do. You know what you’ve always had to do.
Kara answered on the third ring.
“Hi.”
Her voice was tiny and small, and Lena felt like she was clutching some small fragile thing to her cheek.
“Hey,” she said, with all the softness she could muster with the top down. She pulled to a stop on the side of Ocean Avenue so she could soften it further. “I heard what happened.”
“I beat the monster.”
“I know,” said Lena. “You always do. Where are you, Kara?”
There was a beat of silence.
“I don’t know who out you up to this, but you don’t have to do it, Lena. I know how you feel about me now.”
No, you fucking don’t, Lena thought, before she could silence her own frantic mind. If you knew you wouldn’t have lied to me.
“Tell me where you are.”
“I’m where I belong,” Kara sighed, the hint of slurring in her words hinting that she’d been drinking.
Then she hung up.
A wave of anger welled in Lena’s chest, and she clenched her teeth, seizing the shift lever to throw the car in drive and head home; Kara and her sister could handle their own bullshit.
She didn’t drive home.
Lena arrived at the convention center in a frantic five minutes, parking crazily in a towing zone. Finding a way in took another few minutes, and soon the flat soles of her tennis shoes were squeaking as they echoed across the polished granite floors of the lobby.
She found Kara in the exhibit, surrounded by quiet, dark displays as she stood in front of a bannered exhibit proclaiming “RAO, THE SUN OF KRYPTON”.
Kara ignored Lena as she approached, tipping back a sloshing, mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels to take a hearty gulp.
“Kara?” said Lena.
Kara swayed slightly on her feet. She’d gotten a raincoat somewhere and put it on over her suit, cape and all, and even from a distance she stank of whiskey. She was staring at the display in front of her, an expansive orrery surrounding a lit model of Rao. Lena had never seen her so haggard, even her lustrous hair limp sallow.
“Hi,” Kara said, taking another drink.
“What are you doing?”
“Chasing a red sunrise.”
Lena approached slowly, until they stood side by side.
She stole a quick glance. Kara had a black eye and she was swaying slightly, and Lena wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the fight. She started to take another drink.
Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took it from her. Kara didn’t resist as Lena tipped back a long pull on the bottle herself. It offended her palate in every possible way but one, but it was a good way to numb herself.
“Alex send you?”
“No,” said Lena. “She just had to tell me. She knew I’d send myself.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s a lot more observant than you are.”
Kara studied her for a moment, then reached for the bottle back.
Lena looked at it. “How much of this have you had?”
“Not enough,” said Kara, taking another drink.”
“If you insist on destroying your liver, at least let me give you something that actually tastes good.”
“It all tastes like paint thinner,” said Kara.
Lena sighed. “Get in the car.”
Kara shrugged and followed Lena out, flopping extravagantly in the passenger’s seat. Lena drove in silence, using the excuse that the wind noise made it too hard to talk.
When they arrived at Lena’s apartment, she practically shoved Kara inside, and poured the rest of the swill down the drain.
“Hey,” Kara muttered.
“There’s still some of your clothes in the guest bedroom. Take that damned suit off and put on something else.”
Kara complied, trudging into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later, looking small and sad with her hands tucked up inside an oversized hoodie, wobbling giving Lena a glassy look.
As she sat down, Lena handed her a glass of wine and perched on the edge of the couch cushion beside her, gently pressing an ice pack to her eye. Kara leaned into it and let out a soft, unsteady sigh.
“Pain hurts,” she observed.
“It’ll do that.”
Then she went quiet, sinking into Lena’s couch with Lena’s ice pack pressed to her face. Lena stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Alex answered immediately.
“I have her.”
“Thank God. I’ll be over to get her in a few minutes.”
“No you won’t,” Lena sighed.
Alex didn’t answer her for a too-long pause.
“Yeah. Call me in the morning.”
“Will do.”
Kara had found the wine bottle when Lena came back, and was taking a drink form it. Lena sat down next to her and took it, drawing on it hard before passing it back.”
“What now?” said Kara.
“Is the ice still cold?”
“Yeah.”
Kara curled up next to Lena, bringing her legs up, her toes wiggling in empty air. Lena sighed and found her a blanket, spreading it over her too carefully.
As soon as Lena sat down, Kara spread the blanket over her, too, and Lena noticed that her absurd body heat hadn’t abated from the loss of her powers.
“You have tea on your TV,” Kara observed.
“Yeah,” said Lena.
It took her a few minutes to find something on television that wasn’t Supergirl or The Fox and the Hound.
(Fucking seriously?)
Nature documentaries were Kara’s kryptonite, to turn a phrase, and soon she was sleeping on Lena’s shoulder, the ice bag fallen into her lap. Lena stared down at the soft features of the surpassingly lovely little goddess snoozing against her and couldn’t help it anymore.
She started to weep softly, her shoulders hitching as she struggled to stop it, knowing the attempt was hopeless.
It got worse when Kara began to purr, a deep and soothing rumble in her chest that seemed to seep into Lena’s bones. After a moment she realized that Kara was crying too; she’d woken up.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lena. I can’t… I can’t breathe I’m so sorry. I lost my red sunrise. I can’t lose you too. I’ll do anything. Please let me make it up to you I promise I will, please.”
Lena shifted to a more comfortable position, known this was it for the night, that something had shifted. No, shattered. She was tired of being angry, of being afraid, if thinking of could-have-beens and come-what-mays. Yes, Kara had lied. Lena had lied. They’d kept secrets and been stupid and and they’d hurt each other, but nothing in the world, no principles or closely held rules or petty anger would justify watching her suffer like this.
She was careful as she cupped Kara’s jaw, avoiding the injury, feeling a flash of rage at whoever had done this to her. (That his ass had been throughly kicked by an angry Kryptonian was irrelevant; her vengeance would not be forestalled.)
The kiss was quiet and gentle, at once too soft and quick, more request than declaration, and Kara swiftly answered with one so fierce and honest and hopeful that Lena didn’t care that Kara’s mouth tasted like whiskey and wine.
When it was over, Lena found herself whispering, “As you wish.”
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PAC : Who of the nine Greek muses do you embody ? A message from the muse
➪Pile : 1-2-3 ☟︎︎︎ 4-5-6 ☟︎︎︎ 7-8-9
Hii loves how have you been , I'm back again with a reading, I hope you enjoy this please choose with your intuition and take what resonates , Reblogs, comments feedbacks everything is highly appreciated ❤️
If you liked this and would like to book or would want a bigger reading on the same topic :
Masterlist , paid readings , paid readings 2
Pile 1 :
Muse of music and lyric poetry
Channelled messages: " let go of societal restraints " , " paint the canvas of your life , write a poem about a wall " , " often see yourself as an ancient women of honour " , " feed the doves "
She comes forth to tell you about your potential how you're a very meditative being , you are so good at chanelling and you should do it more often , ask her to be your guide and write down all that comes through to you flow in your thinking and the ideas that come forth
Lean more into the devotional aspect of your life , see everything with the vibration of love. The trees the humans the animals , devote more into self love and worship the gods you already do .
Learn the right way to connect to the moon , you're in your journey and this is one of the crucial times , you're almost at the end of a karmic cycle stay stiff and strong
Don't get into arguments , if you do have mishaps with someone , lean into releasing the anger through creating music or producing tunes .
Take practical approaches to life , if someone says no to you do the thing on your own , your guides are always taking care of you .
Pile 2 :
Muse of dance and choral poetry .
Channelled messages : " learn about the folk music and dances where you stay " , " when in the blues play the beats " , " give more to the society in forms of art " , " start the YouTube channel"
Your devotion towards your deity or your guides is really admirable and that is something that's one of your best qualities people online or in person admire your liking towards a deity you inspire them .
The calmness of mind that can be attained through yoga is something she wants you to do , imagine a blue beam of light when you meditate , she tells you to connect to your primordial life form your soul .
Know about the necessary sacrifices one has to do in their life , your sacrifices now will bring you rewards later , don't fall for instant gratification
Abundance is soon to come in your life but work on cultivating a sense of detachment towards money , obsession ruins everything.
There might me a rock bottom moment in your life soon , she asks you to remain in your path as a human and as a soul take the lessons and move on soon you will alchemize your pain into passion and glory . You transform everything you're a becon of light .
Pile 3 :
Muse of hymns and sacred poetry
Channelled messages : " Levitate " , " dream big " , " nice downtown tshirt " , " the life that one has is a sum and minus of that they do "
If you're interested in writing do it , there might be an opportunity approaching you soon in this sector , though there's a warning about a setback if you don't take the opportunity at the right time don't worry you'll do great believe in the power of wishes.
You might rekindle a childhood bond on the basis of liking of movies or songs .
Business sector might have new opportunities your fortune is about to change you're gonna have the power to do what you want in your life because you're the creator of it , your destiny is now on hold make the best use of free will.
Connect more to the oceans and moon , fireflies etc , be in nature more and stay grounded .
Honour your soul by serving the temple you're in your own body , take care of your body give it ample rest and food .
Pile 4 :
Muse of tragedy
Channelled messages : " Dwelling on past has no rewards " , " crazy is as good as the sane" , " time flowes and glows and you grow "
Don't choose a hard life away from your desires because you're scared of disappointing people your path is enlightened more as you connect more to yourself .
Give into dark feminine energy and live in your truth , if you remain often confused or scared work on your root chakra .
Connect more to your guides through paintings and leave offerings of metal , feathers , corn etc
It's time to finally shine you're going from the hermit to an influencer you're gonna be famous it might start small but it will build up .
Keep away from external influences that stop your growth drop bad friends and family .
Pile 5 :
Muse of love poetry
Channelled messages: eat healthy and enriching foods , read about the love you already behold , the depths of see are beautiful and so is your heart of depth.
Abundance in the sector of love is coming soon you're gonna make the haters jealous , might even win a pagent or competition.
You might have felt Beauty is your curse but life's gonna show you how it's not you're gonna be so hight so uplifted I see you shining like a star
One has to prepare for glory start by saying affirmations and working on your third eye and root chakra .
Read more about lovers from mythology like Persephone Hades , Aphrodite ares , Radha Krishna etc
The boons served by the goddess are yours to keep and no one can question that , you're being divinely blessed and you'll be happy and dancing soon .
Pile 6 :
Muse of comedy and Idyllic poetry
Chanelled messages: Search for the small joys, poppies , these boots are meant for walking , spring equinox fairy
There's a confirmation in case you wanna go for the acting sector , this sector will require a lot of hardwork .
There's also a warning regarding someone in your job your boss or your guru they might take credit for some assignment you did beware and if possible say no because that thing might get your superior a promotion
You are to search bliss in satisfaction about what you already have the moon is to be admired by you the power to be soked it , are you ready for the full moon .
You're intelligent and people really admire you for that , gemini energy.
Move in your life in your true path of light don't be afraid or dim your light , your aura might have hints of white colour .
Pile 7:
Muse of epic poetry
Chanelled messages: Blow the bubbles up , get into kitchen witchery, Artemis , cry me a river
Don't give people the benefit of the doubt if you don't like someone let them go .
Fame is eminent in your energy, life coaches might help you , your aunt is giving you good guidence follow her .
Do your school projects and specially eat tangerine and other fruits that make you feel happy
Serve the world and create peace each small step is a long one in the collective , small things create big impact do your part and be sure of the effects .
Moon water energy and full moon is great for you to invite luxuries in your life , ground your root chakra and connect to your third eye your ancestors will be sending you messages.
Pile 8 :
Muse of astronomy
Chanelled messages: Fly me to the moon , peals and sandbox , honesty is the best policy , go go cheerleader
The first message for you is to balance all your chakras it's crazy my oracle deck pulled all chakra cards omg I feel like there soon will be a kundalini awakening for you
You're almost in your last stage of awakening get into the cosmic dance of life your life is about to change , abundance is coming
Hard message to get through but someone in your relationship might be cheating or there might be someone who has an eye on your partner and might try to frame them . Only for some people
Listen to your higher self write a letter to them
Your path from now on is of the hermit it might be lonely but it's worth it discoveries are on your way in fields of history, psychology, quantum mechanics etc.
Pile 9 :
Muse of history
Chanelled messages: 13 missed calls , glow up is loading , search in the Egyptian archives , glow and peach coloured cheeks
The number six is significant, also specifically for someone there's this person who is delaying your glow up by doing some nasty as spell , might be a close friend
You are ignoring some signs from the universe , they're coming again and again and you're ignoring it look into it closely , you're elevating in your consciousness.
Your energy levels are high and you're matching ahead in your journey setbacks are never the end the sheer power of desire iss enough to keep going .
You're slowly climbing the stairs of life to become confident and assertive you might even call upon a partner soon who is very sure about themselves.
You should plant more trees and learn about them about their origination etc , i specifically get about Tulsi and the lore behind it . Some others would be eucalyptus, basil and marigold.
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this
Have a great day/ night ♥️🌹
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