#If I was one of those boy's I'd be living the good life this is simply the truth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

netherfeildren · 6 months

Text

Pink : Part III : Two

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part II

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Heavy angst; DD/lg dynamics; Dom/sub undertones; Daddy Kink; Jealousy; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Inappropriate shaving; Squirting; Belly bulge; Dirty talk; Orgasm delay/denial; Overstimulation; Face slapping; Spanking; Light degradation; Rough sex; Breeding kink; Divorce; Not safe to read if triggered by pregnancy; Use of misogynistic language; Discussions of mental and emotional abuse; Cliffhanger

A/N: All tags have been updated.

Word Count: 12.7K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

3. Two

“You know that feeling of… of realizing you’re a good person? It’s like– yes, I know objectively that I probably am. That I try to be kind, I try to do things that are good and right, but you know those strangely self perceptive moments where another person makes you – forces you – to realize you’re good? And it brings your whole life, your whole self into clarity, and it’s like – I am good, and I deserve good things. I am good.

But he treated me so badly, for so long. He took away pieces of me, he took away that awareness of goodness. And how could I not believe him, when he constantly told me and showed me that I deserved so little, when it was what I accepted for myself? Constantly waiting for him to turn into a man he never was, never had been and never would be. I accepted those things for myself, I let them happen. Maybe I was weak or stupid or naive or all of them combined. Maybe I was just a girl. But I thought it was hope at the time. I thought I was being hopeful and good, and now I realize that was no true form of goodness. It was only the version of good he needed me to be, a subservient and silent type of goodness.”

“And you know, I had a neighbor who– her husband died last year at Christmas, and it was so sad. They were older, always together, it was… it has nothing to do with this, but I don’t know. It was like when a tragedy is soft and quiet, and it just folds into the rest of life unheeded. Such a strange thing for someone on the outside looking in. I lived next door to them, and I’d see them all the time living their lives together, and I barely knew them, but suddenly he was gone, and I was conscious of the fact that she was over there alone all the time now. Without him. When before he’d always been there. I don’t know what I'm trying to say. It’s just that it didn't happen to me, it affected me in no way, and yet, I felt her loss keenly. Afterwards, I helped her with her cat, an old skinny thing, Jazz. She started going out of town a lot after her husband died, getting out and away, you know, that sort of thing. And I’d cat sit for her, and he was so sweet. But he was old too, and a few months later, he died also. And I remember the week he was going to pass she’d texted me and said he’d go soon, and I told her I was praying for him, thinking of the both of them. I don’t even pray, but I needed to tell her I was with her in some way. And it was nothing, a few nights going over there to feed the old boy, a few text messages. It was the absolute bare minimum I could do, but a few weeks after the cat died, she wrote me the loveliest note. She told me that she appreciated me, that she thought of how kind I’d been during those days, when I’d told her I was thinking of them. She told me that I was a good person, and that she hoped my kindness was returned to me many times over.

And I’d forgotten, you see, I'd forgotten that I was good. That I had a capacity for goodness within me, and that I deserved to be reminded of it, like all soft creatures are. We all need reassurance and a kind word sometimes, and I’d forgotten that about myself.” You glance up at his eyes, the most tender look held in them. “Do you know what I mean, Joel?” You ask, voice very small, shy and afraid, for one moment, that he won’t understand you.

But he pets your hair, cradles your cheek, “Yeah, honey. I think I do know.”

It’s a terrifying ordeal, the way the two of you fold into each other in the weeks after that first night. And yet, unstoppable. You do try, and you’re sure he does, as well. The first few days, trying to stay away, not answering his calls, no texts because he says his fingers are too big, and he can’t work those tiny fuckin’ buttons, forcing yourself not to run back over there into his arms and his bed. But then he’s calling and calling and calling, begging, making it his turn to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, saying all the right things like, I haven’t been sleeping, and I need to see you, and I’m suffering, I’m suffering without you, touching you in all the right ways that should be wrong but aren’t. All baby, I hurt when I’m not inside this sweet pussy. He says you make him weak, and you tell him that the only weak thing here is you, and you don’t make it much of a struggle for him when you let him in your home, in your cunt, when all you can say is I miss you, I miss you, your cock, your hands, I can’t stop thinking about you. The two of you are one and the same in all the ways it counts. And he’s not your father-in-law anymore, a chameleon now in the form of the only man who’s ever understood you, wanted you, seen you as more, as a complexity.

He makes you wonder how you could have ever thought of yourself as anything like sexless when all he makes you is hungry and desperate and wet. Fucking everywhere you can, as often as you can, never being very careful, pulling out and counting your cycle and starting out with a condom but ripping it off halfway through because I just have to feel you – irresponsible bullshit. Not having your head screwed on tightly enough to even really care. He has you on his living room floor one afternoon, whole day gone away on his cock, and the two of you lay there for hours afterwards, bare limbs wrapped around each other, soft, wet cock tucked safely inside of you where he says it belongs. “How could you have not been angry?” You ask him because you can’t help yourself. Because you want him to teach you to be wise now that he’s shown you how to be good. “That he was kept from you? That you missed an entire lifetime of being a father? I never once saw you furious or resentful. How did you do it?”

“Don’t know,” he sighs. “Dunno… I– It was, kind of, the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me, truth be told, but I didn’t have a chance to compute, to sit in any sort of anger. He was right there all of a sudden, too full of anger to leave any left over for me, and he needed me so much. He needs me so much.” And you know he’s right, and there should be guilt now, gnawing at you, but there is really only jealousy. “And he– he…” A swallow, like you can read his mind, you know what he’ll say, already nodding. “And he hates me,” he whispers into the quiet of this lovely home he’s made for himself, his words mixing with the butter yellow ray of sunshine the two of you are lying in, slanting in through the big bay window. “He hates me, hates who I am. That it’s me he found when he came lookin’.” You have to cry for him then, maybe even for the both of them, maybe even for all three of you.

“Yes,” you choke, so full of sadness for the tragedy of it all. You can’t comfort him with a denial for you’re not a liar here with him. Protection like that isn’t necessary.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He hugs you so tightly, “There’s no reason to cry.”

“I can’t help it,” And return the words he’d given you once when you’d so badly needed a kindness, “You deserve more.”

He’s quiet for a long time after that, and you know him well enough now that you can hear the gears of his mind working and turning, and that makes you even sadder, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of all, this knowing, and eventually he says: “And yet, he is the son I have.” And at the end of it all, you think you are all only yourselves, and nothing can really be done about that.

And you say you want to be wise like him, that it’s your next lesson, so perhaps you should hold your tongue instead of saying: “He only just got you back, and I’m taking you away from him again. Because that’s what I want – I want to take you away and keep you only for myself. I want you to be only mine and that makes me bad. I’m bad.” Your first lesson quashed beneath the fist of your greed for a man who isn’t for you, and who you shouldn’t want, and it’s wrong and maybe even sinful or disgusting or any and all the things that are always bad. None of that matters. He’s turned you into a real person now, none of the rest of it matters.

But he understands, because of course he does, because he always has. He grips your jaw in his hands, large, strong hands, hands made for taking care of things, and tells you, not so wise seeming anymore: “Sometimes I look at myself, and it’s like I'm two feet tall. Why didn’t I meet you sooner? First? How could I have been such a coward to not go out there and search for you? I should have known you were out there, I should have sensed it. How can a man be jealous of his own son?” He turns you over then, cock hard and thrusting again, kisses you full on the mouth, and it tastes like ownership, and says, “You could never be bad. No matter what you did. You’re only ever good. Haven’t I taught you that?”

“Joel, there’s someone at the door,” peeking into the restroom where he’s just stepped out of the shower, wet and steaming, shaking his head out like a dog, towel covering all the fun bits. He’d just had you too many times already, and still, you want more. You’re made of nothing but greed now; he’s taught you how to be good, but he’s also taught you how to be greedy. You’d been strewn across his couch, eating chips and wearing his clothes and leaking his come and waiting for him to finish in the shower and come out to make dinner. He was doing steaks on the grill and baked potatoes with all the fixings and roasted vegetables, and he’d even gotten a pie and ice cream, but he said he wasn’t telling you what the flavor was, only that it was your favorite, and you can’t think how he’d know you love rhubarb, but if that’s what he’s gotten, you were going to let him do anything to you. Literally anything he wanted. Not that you didn’t already… but still, it’s the sentiment that counts, you think. He’d also said you weren’t allowed to shower, that the rule tonight was that you weren’t allowed to wash him off, and you really didn’t mind that so much. So there you were, after he’d put on Stepmom for you, and you were just thinking that Julia Roberts was surely the most beautiful woman who’d ever been born, when someone had knocked on the door, a rhythmic, friendly: tap, tap, tap, that had your heart dropping down into your stomach, and you scurrying into the master bath to frantically tell him that someone is here while you’re here wearing him all over and inside of you and what are you going to do now? He gives you a calm smile, running the towel over his wet head, giving you an eyeful of the fun bits now, and you try and not peek, you really do, but it’s really just the most exciting part on him, you can’t help yourself. His smile turns knowing, that look in his eye, “S’alright, sweetheart. Don’t fret, I’ll get it.”

“But–” you try and protest, maybe he should just pretend not to be home. What if it’s– you can’t even think of it. But then no, he’d not come here. He hates coming to this house, the proof of everything he wasn’t all in his face like this was humiliating for your ex-husband.

His smile remains, but his eyes go a little stern, “No worryin’, I’ll take care of it.” He tugs on his jeans, the man literally never wears underwear, slut, and tugs on a shirt, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he passes you, hand dragging over your belly, smelling of soap and Joel and want, want, want. You follow him on tip toes down the hall, pausing at the mouth of the living room, chewing on your lip and your fingers, about to spit your heart out with nerves as he pulls the door open.

“Hi, Joel, honey. How’s it goin’?” Pretty, bubbly, overly friendly voice you were definitely not expecting. You take a small step forward, the mouth of the hall slightly to the left of the front door so that you can see her without her seeing you, watch his profile as he talks to her. Edie, he says, and that dishwasher givin’ you trouble again, and laughs at her reply, the sound of their conversation going out of your ears as you watch him, head falling sideways on your neck a little bit, the way he laughs at whatever the woman that’s come knocking on the door of his home all friendly and comfortable to interrupt his time with you is saying, loud, bellyfull, one arm braced against the doorframe so that you can see her eyes flit every few seconds to the thick bulge of muscle there. Your face goes hot, your insides green and bitter, but he’s laughing just handsomely enough that you know it’s not real. You know his real laugh, and it isn’t this one. The woman leans forward, blonde hair and big boobs and batting lashes, but Joel shifts backwards subtly, keeping a respectful distance, and your pulse throbs at the backs of your knees and the pit of your stomach. She likes him, she’s here because she likes him, asking him to look at her dishwasher or something, yeah, sure, sure that’s the only thing she wants looked at.

“I’ll come take a look at it tomorrow. How ‘bout that? I’m sure it’ll be another quick fix like last time, but you should probably think about just replacin’ the thing at this point,'' he tells her.

“Oh, can’t you now, Joel?” She pouts, “It’s just that–”

“I’m tied up tonight, Edie,” he cuts her off, an indulgent, too charming smile on his face, and oh, it pisses you off, that smile. You turn on your heel, stomping down the hall back to his bedroom. Huffing, gnashing your teeth. The sight of him with another woman, a more appropriate woman because of course she is, it makes you sick, angry, something terrible, so, so jealous your bones itch beneath the surface of your skin. It makes you small and slanted again, wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl. Not for him, never for him, and it’s so unfair, and he is so– so… Smiling at her like that, using that tone of voice, propping up his stupid huge arm like that so that his muscle’s all defined and put on display, and you hate him and the way he makes you feel and how much you want and need him. On the verge of tears or screaming or vomiting you scramble around his room, trying to collect your clothes and your strewn panties and where the fuck is your bra and your other shoe?

“What’re you doin’?” Comes his soft, steady voice a moment later. Entirely too even for the way you feel right now. You want to hiss at him or bite him or do something entirely uncivilized.

“I have to go home.”

“Why?”

“I have something to do. I forgot.”

“Something, what? What do you have to do?” But you ignore him, rifling through the strewn clothes on the armchair in the corner – where the hell is your goddamn bra? “Look at me–” he barks, now having stepped further into the bedroom.

“Oh, fuck off,” and there’s a part of you that knows that you’re being irrational, that he’s done nothing wrong, but you feel so provoked suddenly. In need of a fight or a thrashing or something, something to make this terrible feeling poisoning you on the inside go away.

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” and his voice is so calm and so quiet and so scary. It makes you lock up one second, spin around the next to spit and hiss at him like an angry cat. You will not watch your mouth. “She wants you.” You almost stomp your foot like a child throwing a fit, but he’s entirely still and silent, taking you in with the most unfathomable of looks. “Do you know that?” And this time you do stomp your foot. “Do you want her back?”

He blinks once, and then like a lightbulb turning on, even though you’re obvious as daylight, “You’re jealous.”

“Do you want her back?” You ask again, real tears in your voice this time.

And his gaze goes soft and tender and entirely understanding, “Never.” He shakes his head.

“She looked like a fucking idiot.” You pout, childish – how will he ever want you when you act like this?

“I only want you.” But you don’t believe him. How could you? When there’s nowhere for this to go. When he deserves so much more than the options afforded to him here between the two of you. And you want to fight with him because there’s nothing to be done, no choices, no other recourse, and it’s not his fault and there’s no one to blame and no outlet for this terrible anger inside of you. You feel like you’re choking on it, being swallowed whole, that head breaking water feeling reversed so that now you’re deep at the bottom of the well of your own wanting. You turn back to the fruitless search for your bra. He’s hidden it from you, you’re sure, some evil old man ploy to keep you here trapped and braless with him. “Did you hear me? I only want you,” he says again, voice closer now.

And you think you’re mumbling or crying, something hysterical bubbling up inside of you, I have to go, I have to go, your movements manic and jerking. He grips your arm, jerking you around into his chest, face flushed with anger now, but voice still even, “You’re not fucking listening to me. I only want you,” and yanks your hand to feel the hard cock trapped beneath the confines of his jeans. This is only for you. But it’s not, not in any real way, not in a way that would let you keep him and that realization sets something off inside of you. You thrash in his hold, let me go, let me go, trying to kick him in the shins while he tries to wrap his arms around your struggling form, that rumbling chant constant in your ear, I only want you, I only want you, I am only for you. It feels like he’s burrowing beneath your skin, unzipping you, splaying your insides wide open for his gaze, taking hold of your bones, a puppet on his string. You manage to yank your arm out from beneath his grip and unthinking, a buzzing so high pitched it makes you dizzy and nauseous sounding in your ears, you slap him in the face. Not very hard, maybe, but enough that you hear the crack of your palm meeting the grizzled scruff of his cheek. The sound like a bone snapping, setting off something inside both of you even worse, more frenzied than before. He groans deep in his chest, big hand fisting in your hair and jerking it back so hard you yelp in pain. “Hit me again, do it again. I want you any way I can have you, even angry. Do it again,” he goads you on, but that mindless hand is fisted in his shirtfront now, pulling you closer to him, tear stained mouth seeking his, opening to receive his filthy kiss.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, but all he says is that he only wants you, again and again, grips you harder, makes it hurt more, and you whine and whimper and scratch and bite, a wild thing, the two of you caught up in some strange struggle of push and pull and want and fight. You can feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your belly, searching for something hot and wet to fuck into, and you hitch your knee around his hip, open yourself to him, listen to his groan in your ear, throaty and full.

“You just need a little remindin’? Don’t you, huh?” He tugs your head back, none too gentle, to look at your tear slicked face, his eyes on fire, almost a little manic. He spins you away from him, shoving you towards the bed, ignoring your whines and protests, shut up and bend over, pushing you over the edge of the bed and crouching down behind you. “You just need a little remindin’ of how to be a good girl. I know that’s all this fightin’ is. Right, baby?” No, you try and struggle, kicking your leg out uselessly to the side, but he pins you with your arms back behind you at the small of your waist, pushing his shirt up your back to expose the naked curve of your ass and the pussy you know he’ll find humiliatingly wet and hungry for him. “Just need remindin’ of how to be a good girl for me, right?” His fingers slide down to the apex of your thighs, finding you dripping and swollen from his earlier use and your current desire, all twisted up and compounded ten fold with your jealousy.

“So wet already for me, baby,” he coos at you.

And oh, he’s so annoying, and you’re so embarrassing and weak for him. “Shut up, old man,” you whine. A single finger enters you slowly, rubbing up against all the terribly sensitive and swollen places inside of you, then pulls his wet fingers from you to deliver a single stinging swat to the curve of your ass, sticky wet imprint of yourself left behind.

“Yeah, and this old man fucks you better than anyone else,” he slips his fingers gently back inside of you, “Remember that you little whore,” he says even more gently. The words make you twist and writhe, a terrible flush of lust burning through you. He feels you tighten around his fingers, groans appreciatively. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He twists his fingers inside of you, pressing hard against something that makes you feel like you’re about to wet yourself. You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head, refusing to answer. “No lyin’. You daddy’s little whore?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, your hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. He brushes his thumb slowly over your pulsing clit, plays you like a game.

“No?” His voice is so soft, so teasing.

“I’m not your whore–”

“You’re not? Then what are you, baby? Tell me.”

You’re right there, so close, about to come on his fingers. “I'm your baby. I'm your baby. I’m yours– I belong to you, daddy.” He pulls his fingers from your cunt, hand coming to grip your ass cheek so hard it hurts, fingernails digging into your soft skin, dragging down the smooth surface. You can hear him panting behind you, shaking, trying to control himself. He makes a gruff, rough sound in his throat, gentles his grip on you.

“You don’t think I don’t get fucking jealous?” he spits when he’s finally managed to control himself. “You think I don't think about you with my own son and want to die? That he got to have you in a way I never will, and even worse, wasted you? You don’t think it makes me sick with envy?” He brings his fingers back to play in your wet folds, feels the slick drip of you, thrums at your clit, opening you to him with a hand on your cheek and licking you from clit to asshole. Running the flat expanse of his tongue over the length of your sex and then sucking hard at the apex of nerves, hard enough that you can’t tell if it hurts or feels good or a little bit of both. He’s got you bent over the end of his bed facing the dresser so that you have a clear view of the two of you in the mirror above it. And the sight of him, massive frame crouched down behind you, huge and hulking, face buried in your cunt from behind, the curved slope of his nose, the long, thick lashes, eyes closed like he’s enjoying himself more than he’s ever enjoyed anything else in his entire life as he licks your ass and sucks on your clit. He pulls back, and you watch, almost in slow motion, as he shocks you by swatting your entire sex with his big hand, and then immediately brings his face back to lick and kiss your smarting skin. “But he didn’t fuck you the way you needed to be fucked,” he continues. “And I do. He didn’t understand you, but I do. At least I have that.” It sounds like he’s consoling himself, and you can’t help but find consolation in it as well. Your eyes move up to your own reflection, sweat slicked and tear stained, eyes glassy, wet fingers inside of your mouth because you need something to chew on to stand the terrible throbbing in your cunt on the verge of coming. He licks you again, presses his tongue to your asshole. “Did you ever get wet for him like this?” He pulls back, runs the pads of his fingers over your clit in fast, hard up and down motions, makes it feel so good it hurts, you’re right there, you’re right there, pulls away. “Were you ever desperate for him like this? Cunt all drippy and swollen and pathetic for him like you are for me, my sweet baby?”

Never, daddy. Never. Only you. You can’t lie to him when he’s got his tongue inside of you, it’s just not possible. Only me. Only mine. You press up on your tippy toes, roll back down onto the balls of your feet, “Yeah, rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s face,” he mumbles into your skin, slurps at you. He wraps his lips around your clit once more, sucks and licks and sucks again, and your cunt goes so, so tight, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, daddy, and then just stops. Pulls away entirely, gets to his feet, leaves you to throb and shiver and beg, whole body flashing hot and cold on the precipice of orgasm. Still holding you pinned in place with your wrists at the small of your back, you watch his eyes roam along your draped form, he drags his hand down the wet length of his face, wiping the drippiness of your slick away. “Stay just like that for me,” and his eyes move to yours in the mirror, as if he’s known the entire time just how riveted on him you’d been. “What?” He asks with a crooked brow and a mean little smirk. “You think you get to come? After that little display?”

“Don’t be mean,” you whisper, staying exactly as he’d directed. Trying your best to be a good girl.

“Shoulda thought of that before, sweet girl.” He bends over the length of you so you’re eye to eye now, gets his face right up close to yours and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You wanna pretend to fight, stand there like an indignant little girl stomping your foot and yellin’ about bein’ jealous while my come runs down your thighs still. Obviously, I’m not doin’ a good enough job of remindin’ you you’re mine, how much I want you. Gonna fix that now.” Presses another soft kiss to your mouth now.

“You’re trying to dominate me,” you whine, struggling to press against his mouth again even as he pulls back out of your reach, plants a big palm between your shoulders to keep you still.

“You bet your fuckin’ ass I am. You’re gonna do what I tell you to when you’re letting me fill you with my come the way you are. And you’re gonna like it too. You get me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

But then he goes serious, that teasing glint in his eyes flickering away suddenly. “You have nothing to be jealous of. Ever. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t care about anything else but this.” And even though you’re sure it must be a lie, it sounds so lovely, you choose to believe him for now. You nod up at him, sniffling and crying again a little bit. “And no one takes care of you like I do,” he finally says, as if it’s a reminder, a consolation to the both of you once again.

And he’s right, as he tells you to stay put, be a good girl and not move, leaves you there bent over the bed, that chant sounds in your mind, no one takes care of you like he does, no one, no one, no one.

He steps back into his bedroom to the sight of you still draped over the bed, big eyes wet and slightly vacant, pussy red and swollen and bared to him like a wound with his name on it. You’d brought your fingers up to your mouth, chewing on your fingernails the way you did sometimes when you were anxious or overwhelmed, and when your eyes flit to him, taking in the bowl of warm water, the washcloth and shaving cream in his hold, they go wide, shocked. He arranges his things, gripping you by the hips to turn you over, pulling his shirt from you, leaving you entirely naked, and settling between your spread thighs. “Wh– what are you doing?” Voice all breathy and hitched, the thrum of your excited pulse in your throat.

“Gonna shave you bare. Then I’m gonna eat you ‘til you’re crying, ‘til you’re so swollen you can barely take my fingers. After that, I’m gonna wedge my cock inside you and fuck you ‘til you’re so full’a my come you’ll remember not to forget you ain’t got no reason to be jealous ever again.” He strokes your curls gently with the pad of his thumb, something like fondness in the gesture, clicks his tongue. “These’re so pretty. Gonna miss ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you choke when he drapes the water warmed washcloth over your spread pussy.

“You wanna be a brat, you wanna fight and act like you don’t know I belong to you and you to me? That none of that other shit matters– I’m gonna remind you, don’t worry.”

You crane your neck, pushing up on your elbows to watch him remove the washcloth and cover the soft curls of your groin with shaving cream. When he opens the blade and brings it to your skin, the sight of the straight edged blade against you, the smooth cream as the steel reveals the bare, satin soft skin beneath, has your chest heaving, sweat pooling at the little notch of your throat – fucking gorgeous and his.

“You’re going to be so sensitive, baby,” he murmurs as he bends your leg back and opened wide, splitting you for his gaze. Delicate with the movements of his wrist as he shaves you. “All bare and slick down here, just for me. You’re so swollen already.”

You mumble something, moaning and letting yourself flop back against the mattress, he’s quick to pull the blade from you, pausing his movements while you settle, gives you a second to press the balls of your palms into the sockets of your eyes, whining Joel and daddy and please. And the trust in this moment between the two of you, that you’re letting him wield a blade so close to your fragile center, letting him do this to you as a way to remind the both of you of the power you cede and wield over and to one another, something that gives him the opportunity to inflict his will in a way that recenters you, reminds you that you’re his, his to do with you as he will, and it’s just the two of you in this space and you trust each other implicitly, it has a sense of control swelling inside of Joel, making his cock rock hard in his jeans, leak down his thigh. Control in a way there is none of in everything else between the two of you. Control in a way there cannot exist in any other aspect of your relationship. When he’s finished, he cleans you slowly with a new warm, damp cloth, then goes to put away his supplies, and when he returns, he looms over you, taking in the sight of your little bald cunt now.

Slowly, he starts to pull his clothes off, watching the quick panting of your breathing, the dip and swell of your belly, so aroused by the intimacy you’ve just shared that your pupils are blown wide and dark. “You’ve made such a mess, little girl,” he says, dragging a single finger through your overflowing slit, following the slick from your swollen clit to your asshole where it pools beneath. He fingers your folds gently, avoiding your swollen clit, your little hole winking at him wantonly. “Please–” you whisper so softly, almost gasping for breath you can barely get the words out.

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know you need to come so bad, don’t you?” He drags his palms up and down your thighs, up to your waist and then tugs you down over the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him, wide eyes riveted hungry on his cock. “How does it feel? So sensitive, isn’t it?” He’s so hard his erection stands straight up towards his belly, balls hanging heavy and full and aching. He gently drags his fingers along your scalp, feels the heat emanating from your skull. “Lick it all over, get it nice and wet so I can put it inside you.” He knows he needs to be careful now. The two of you are wide open to each other in this moment, so on edge he could come just at the look in your eyes, and you, something more than just vulnerable. He’d worried briefly, in the past weeks, if he should stop, send you away, take himself away, tell you it was too much. You were getting too attached, and although he knew it was too late for himself, that he was beyond salvaging when it came to you, he could imagine nothing worse than seeing you come out hurt from this. Could also imagine no scenario in which you wouldn’t anymore. He feeds you his cock, fisted tightly at the root to stave off his impending orgasm, slides all the way to the back of your throat until he feels his tip hit resistance, enjoying the sight of you choking on it for just a second. Good girl. “Fuck– fuck, yes. See, see how good you can be for me?” He tells you as you suck on his tip, hollowing your cheeks and running your tongue all around the wide head, tonguing his foreskin, making him hiss and bear his teeth at you while you look up at him with falsely innocent eyes. He yanks you up and against him, gives you a filthy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and false control, swallowing down the taste of his own precum. He’s never felt less in control of himself, of a situation, than he does right now. He has, in these past weeks, entirely lost sight of himself, of what this should and should not have been, blindly led by his cock and his heart. He’s lost all control, and Joel is nothing but weakness and want now.

Turning you in his arms, he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide and pulls you onto his lap, impaling you back onto his spit-slick cock so swiftly he doesn't even think you’re expecting it until he’s bumping against your womb, your knees hooked and spread wide over his own. Too desperate to lick your cunt again the way he’d planned. You let out a long, shocked keen, back arching, trying to escape the too big cock suddenly shoved inside of your tiny hole. Joel has to grit his teeth, take deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth before he can speak at the feel of you fluttering and pulsing around him, “The more you whine, the harder I’ll fuck you, got it?” There’s nothing even close to a coherent response coming out of your mouth, and he was right, shaved bare like this, you’re so much more sensitive. He pulls the lips of your sex gently apart around where he’s impaling you, takes in the sight of your little hole stretched obscenely around his fat cock in the mirror’s reflection and slowly starts to seesaw his hips back and forth, watching his glossy length disappear in and out of you. “How does it feel, baby? You’re so pretty, look at yourself.” He whispers into the small shell of your ear, presses a soft kiss to the lobe, tugs on it with his teeth. He slides in all the way, pulling your hips down so that his balls press against the curve of your ass. “Look, see where daddy’s so deep inside you – can see it in your belly.” Your head lolls back on his shoulder, gaze hooded and delirious, but your hand moves down to the soft skin of your stomach, gently cupping the outline of his cock inside of you. “I’m so deep inside of your tiny cunt, baby. Look at how you’re all mine–” He starts to move again, flicking at your clit, interchanging between fast and hard and slow and so soft you can barely feel it, and your face looks like you want to say something, tell him something, scream, but can’t. And there’s so much he’d like to tell you too, all the things you deserve and probably need to hear from him, but can’t either. He feels you start to tighten up on him, the heat in your body suddenly seeming to flush higher and brighter, almost to boiling, your cunt going so, so tight it almost pushes him out. He presses inside harder, holds you in place with one hand, and thrums fast and hard at your clit with the other, focusing the tip of his cock at the front wall of your pussy, “You’re gonna come–” he grunts, holds you in place and hammers into that swollen place inside of you he’d kill to own for the rest of his life. “Fuck– fuck, you’re gonna squirt all over my cock, aren’t you? Can feel it–” Your face spasms, your belly clenching hard and tight, and you gush, letting out a pained, animal sound, voice broken and breathless, wetting both of your thighs with your come, the bed covers beneath soaked dark. Joel doesn’t stop. He wants more, again, all of you, thrums again at your clit with the pads of his fingers, changes the angle of your hips to roll you fast and hard onto his come-slicked length, pinches your clit hard, watches you squirt all over him again. Something like the sound of his name leaves your mouth in a broken cry, your chewed raw nails trying to claw at him ineffectively. “Dirty fucking girl – creamin’ all over your daddy’s cock,” his voice is gruff, not entirely his own. There’s something here – you’d told him once you’d always felt out of control. In your relationship with Sam, aware of what he was, always, of what you were and were not, and that there was something about control that was so necessary to you now. And there is something here like control, your control over him, taking hold of him entirely so he’s unsure of what it is he should and should not be, here and now, with you. He should not be delusional, he should be aware. He is not adhering to either very well.

He goes to his feet with you still impaled on his throbbing length, erection so hard it hurts, can barely stand up straight, blood pounding on rhythm to the chant of your name. He pulls you from him, watches the slick slide of your cunt walls dragging along his length, the cream of your slick left as a reminder all over his skin. He presses you onto the bed, rolls you this way and that too look at you all over, bends to drag his tongue through that drippy cunt of yours that squirts and comes so prettily for him, then back up and kneeling above you, between your glossy thighs, and thrusting into that tight cunt, grunting as you clench around him. So hard he feels the screaming tip of his cock punch against your cervix, listens to you make a hurt, hiccupy sound when his balls slap against you.

He should be gentle. He should be careful. He should be aware, not delusional, himself. He should reach back and take hold of that man he always thought himself to be, hard and cold but never cruel. Maybe not good, but always aware and never weak. He’s none of those things now here with you. Joel is now only himself. You’ve made me into a real person, you’d whispered onto his tongue. What he’d not told you was that you’d done the same to him.

You’re a gift, a gift, a gift, a gift. A gift in the way his son never was. A gift in the way that a whole lifetime lost and returned to him never was, and Joel is weak and two feet tall and made of paper, but for you. Anyways, or despite it all, still made only for you.

“Fuck me like you’re in love with me,” you say, read his mind, take hold of the beating mass in his chest. Fuck me like you’re in love with me. And maybe you don’t mean it. Maybe you’re too far gone. It doesn’t matter.

He does it anyway. Pulls back, wedges back inside the too swollen, too sensitive, too tiny cunt that belongs to him. He bears his teeth at you, grabs hold of your face so hard you’ll bruise, and fucks you like he’s in love with you. It comes to him so easily, after all.

Shoving his knees high up beneath your thighs, he brings your ankles to his shoulders, little feet knocking against his ears, he wishes for sense, he finds none, only a deeper, sharper angle. The sounds of your cries and the things you whisper in his ear he knows you should not say and he should not listen to that fill him full of things he should not feel like I was made for you and daddy, there’s no one like you and come inside me, please, please, I need it. He pulls his hips back, swings them forward, listens to the sound of his balls slap, and you beg for harder, savors the fire that pools in his belly and the base of his spine. And he thinks that he should pull out, he’s been so fucking careless with you and your future and your vulnerability, but he’s like a monster full of greed, intent on nothing but staking his claim, leaving a claim, desperate for a way to be remembered or never forgotten or never left behind. “We have to be careful,” he begs you, and feels scared and terrible for a moment, not to be trusted with a gift like this in his hands. “I’m going to get you fucking pregnant, God.”

But you’re like some siren, something taking him away from himself, and you tell him, “I don’t care, I don’t care,” voice gone so far away from yourself too, all hazy, full of bubbles and too cock drunk to be true or sane, but it lands like a gut punch anyway. And Joel tries to hold onto himself he does, he swears he does, tries to remain rational, and aware of what this was supposed to be and not supposed to be. Tells you to please, “Shut up, shut up. Please, don’t say those things to me, I’m begging you.” But eventually that siren song wins out, the feel of your cunt sucking him deeper, milking him dry, your small damp hands pulling at his hair, stubby nails dragging down the skin of his cheeks, over his back, and Joel’s weak now. Weak and full of want and greed and delusion so that all that’s left is capitulation and: “You want daddy to fuck his babies into you? You want me to fill you up and keep you forever?” But something of himself must remain because he covers your mouth, big hand wrapped around your sweaty little face before you can answer, forcing the words silent inside of your mouth, the truth you both know you’d spit out otherwise. Yes, yes, I do. And as if the idea of you carrying his child held a direct like to your orgasm, you start to come around him, overwhelmed cunt, split in two and carved in the shape of his name now, clenching around him, going so wet and hot and tight Joel’s sure he’ll never be able to leave it ever again. You reach down between the two of you, grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, shiny with your slick and jack him off with sharp little tugs, make sure he fills you with his spend full to the brim. He spills over and out, dribbles down the slope of your ass to leave you lying in a little puddle of his semen, and when he pulls out, careful to not ask you to hold all of his weight over you, he brings your fingers to your gaping cunt, “Feel where daddy’s been,” lets you play in the imprint of himself he’s left behind.

He lays beside you, steaming hot little thing worming up against him, nuzzling beneath his chin, pressing tiny kisses that tell him all the things the both of you need to hear and say, and he feels himself go cool and dry inside and out. Something terrible suddenly swelling within him. Something that reeks of truth, and you must smell it in the air as well because you share a piece of your own painful honesty with him, force him to confront it. “Sometimes I think I’m impossible to love,” in the smallest voice he’s surely ever heard.

“Haven’t I shown you how untrue that is?” Because if there’s one thing he’ll never do with you, it’s lie.

You tuck your hand beneath your cheek, and you glow, and he feels blinded by it for a moment, eyes wide and so vulnerably tender, something afraid that makes something equally vulnerable inside of him rage and beat its chest. “Is that what this is? Are we in love, Joel?”

He thinks you must see the fear in his eyes, because yours suddenly go calm, fathomless, something steady for him to hold on to, and that stench of honesty chokes him. “Yeah–” he nods, swallows, thinks of his son, hates himself. “I think so, baby.”

What can remain the same after honesty like that? After splitting yourself open and showing each other your insides in such a way? What could possibly remain the same? Nothing. The truth is laid bare, and all that’s left now. And instead of setting you free, the truth never really sets you free, it makes everything terribly fraught and frightened and fragile.

When he moves to stand, the sound of your desperation for him to make you his in an irreversible way rings like exploding shrapnel in your ears, “Do you think we’re bad?” You ask because you’ve only ever wanted to be good, but his eyes are so haunted, large and round and fathomless. His face, taking on a sudden sort of gauntness as he thinks of what to say to you after the worst has already been said. You watch the line of his throat ripple as he swallows several times, reading the real truth in his eyes before he shakes his head slowly, incongruous like a lie, “Never you,” and he does not include himself, “Never you.” It’s devastating. Devastating that the only thing that’s ever mattered, the thing that has finally made you good, is bad in his eyes.

You sit at the kitchen table, watching him while he makes dinner for you. Cold and shivery and wet between your legs in a way that’s not comfortable anymore. In a way that feels like an essential part of you is slowly dripping out, leaving you grossly empty inside. The beautiful dinner he’d bought and made for you tastes like ash wrapped in all the honesty surrounding the two of you, and you stare at each other and there's no need for more words because the truth is all right here in front of the two of you to see with your own two eyes. You want to go get dressed, but you don’t want to call attention to the seed of wrongness that’s been planted now. Are we in love? When the answer had so obviously been yes for so long already. Naive, silly girl. And you want to be angry with him. Ask him why he’d done this to you, made you fall in love with him when he’d said before that you couldn’t, when it was all so hopeless. You also want to hear him say it, say the words out loud with teeth and tongue and sound, you want to taste the words in your mouth because seeing them in his eyes wrapped in all that hopelessness isn’t nearly enough to satiate this hunger he’s stoked inside of you. You want to ask him to hold you, to crawl into his lap and have him cradle you like a child protected in the embrace of stronger, wiser arms. You want to have never been put on this path, to have never met his son, never have married him, never have met him. You want the whole terrible ordeal to be wiped from mind and mouth and memory. You want to have not had to accept it all, not have moved on, not be grateful in ways you can’t even understand for the lesson it’d all posed. You want it all to have never happened. To never have experienced the entire convoluted mess of feelings this ordeal of tearing down your entire life to make yourself anew had caused. To have never fallen in love with your ex-husbands father.

He sits in his chair, hands cupping his chin for so long, silent and staring, probably wondering what to do with you, and when he finally stands, nothing but a long, pained sigh to interrupt the terrible silence, you finally muster the strength to go find that missing bra. Crawl home, once again a ghoul in the night in need of wound licking. And it must be that very same terrible silence, the even more terrible look in his eyes that has something pressurized, set to burst, bottled inside of you because when a knock on the door sounds once again, you don’t even stop for half a thought, exploding suddenly. In his clothes and come, ripping the door open, the words on your tongue ready to spit at her that he’s already got one desperate woman on his hands that needs taking care of, and no, he will not be fixing her dishwasher or her pussy or anything else she thinks she might need him for.

But it’s not the neighbor. And you have nothing but fear lodged in your throat to spit out when you meet his eyes.

Eyes like his father’s, colder, crueler, furious and humiliated, take you in. Just fucked hair and a flannel that’s not your own, mis-buttoned, come-dryed thighs. And worst of all, his voice, like he isn’t even that surprised, like he’d come here just to find this, “You fucking whore.”

“Sam–” you’re not sure if you actually say his name, but the intention is held there, on the tip of your tongue. A plea for mercy or a shout for help or protection or something.

“You fucking whore,” and you flinch at the scream in his throat, scuffle back into the safety of the house of the man you love who is the father of the man you were married to, the man who broke you, the betrayed son. He’s shocked still for a single second, before he’s charging at you, fist not entirely raised but definitely held with consideration. And, “I knew it, I always fucking knew it,” before Joel is there, stepping between you and your ex-husuband, his son, blocking you with his body, big hand wrapping entirely around your forearm to hold you close to himself, to hold you in his protection.

“You better put your fucking arm down before I break it, son.” That moment, Joel’s voice, the utter betrayal in his son’s eyes. The sound of you breaking something that you should have never ever gotten in between. It is worse than all the rest. You take him in, the sight of this man who you used to be married to, he’d always seemed so large in your eyes before, so unattainable. Something never to be fully touched, only gazed upon. Always apart, always cold. Sam’s eyes fall to the place where his father holds you, and his face spasms, something terrible. Broken and alone, a child cast out into the cold. And you want to say that he seems so different now, haggard and gaunt and whittled down to bare bones, but it isn’t the truth. You always knew what he was, your most terrible bit of honesty. You always knew, you’d just not cared before. There was never any separation, no space for you to take a breath and want better for yourself. To be under his scrutiny, something that at one time felt like admiration, but was never anything even close, it was like nothing else, like everything, a great lie. But he was too aware of it, of himself, of that power he held over you, and unlike his father, he was cruel with it. Your eyes move up to the back of Joel’s head, the hard edge of his jaw, the muscle that spasms furiously there. What would it do to you now to be under that same sort of attention, influence, admiration, but from a kinder, gentler, honest source? What had it done to you? Dangerous to risk yourself again, impossible to stop now.

“I always knew it,” he says again, “I always knew you wanted him. What? You let him fuck you?” The words in his mouth are a terrible thing, Joel says something, tells him to hold his tongue, to get the fuck out, but your eyes are riveted on the sight of his face, this man you used to be married to who’d broken you so completely, who’d stolen your very memory of yourself. He seems wholly unrecognizable now, and in a way, it frightens you, that someone you’d known for what seemed like so long could be such a stranger now. Joel’s hand is an anchor, such a comfort wrapped around your arm. “You barely let me touch you for two years, but you’ll bend over like a whore for my fucking Dad?” His voice breaks and it makes you want to laugh a little bit.

Joel shoves him backward, jerking you forward still in his hold. “Say that word one more time in my house, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you. And don’t fucking look at her,” he snaps, reaching up to give him a quick two tapped slap on the cheek to focus his gaze on himself. “Get out, Sam. I’ll call you later. We can–”

But unheeded or too far gone, like he needs to hear the sound of the words as a comfort to himself in this moment, Sam looks back at you, “You’re a fucking whore. I wish I’d never met you, I hate you.” Joel shoves him backwards again, harder this time so that his leg slams into the side table, overturning the lamp there into a crashing heap on the floor, so hard that when he pulls you with him it feels as if he’ll wrench your shoulder from its socket with the force of his anger. You yelp in pain, but cling to him anyways, refusing to let him go either, hiding behind the hill of his shoulder. Pushing his son away, not letting you go. It’s wrong, it’s wrong and you’d told him that you wanted to keep him, to take him away from his own son, that you were made of nothing but greed, but there’s something wrong here, inherently not right, bad.

And even yet, you can’t help the look on your face that must surely be nothing short of humiliating to Sam for the way he reddens, the little muscles in his face jerking uncontrollably. You’re done here, Sam. Get the fuck out, Joel says again, taking a step forward to herd him out, pulling you along, keeping you close. You taunt him with your gaze, can’t help yourself, “I thought I was a prude?” You say from behind the protection of his father’s body. “Isn’t that what you called me for all those years? Thought I was frigid, unfuckable, unlovable? Am I not anymore?” You ask in a small, breathy voice, falsely guileless, entirely provoking. “Have you changed your mind now that I’ve taken your Daddy from you?” False pout and mocking eyebrow.

Joel’s head snaps over his shoulder, incredulous look on his face, and Sam flinches as if struck, splintered glass in the shape of his son’s gaze, it fractures, falls back to where Joel holds you.“I wanted to talk to you,” He says to his father, “I wanted to– You’re really choosing her over me?” It costs Sam something to say this, and you weren’t expecting it either because suddenly, the game changes. His voice is child-like in its hurt, that son who longed for his father for all those years. “After everything that was stolen from us, you’re not going to choose me?” You know in that moment, he’s won.

“This isn’t about choice, son,” Joel tells him, but you hear it for the lie it is. “This isn’t about you versus her.”

“But it is,” and his eyes flash to yours, victory held in them. “She was my wife. And you’re my father, and you have to make a choice now. This is fucking sick.” There’d always been an intelligence to his cruelty, and he wields it now. The sound of his son’s name is a choked thing in Joel’s mouth. He goes rigid, a painful stillness, muscles vibrating with warring emotions. You hold your breath for it. He looks down at where he holds you, tightens his grip painfully, and then slowly, so that the three of you are sure to take in the whole procession of it, he lets go of your arm. One finger at a time, the heat of his palm leaving you, and you’re alone.

“It isn’t about choice,” he says again, and yet, one has already been made. You stand still, head bent, gaze riveted on the place where he’d let you go. He takes a step away from you, towards his son, and his voice is low and gentle and soothing now, and you’re still staring at the barrenness of your arm.

I had such potential to be good, you think. He just never saw it. But you don’t know who you mean. And you don’t think it matters anymore.

They say more to each other. Joel’s hand on his son’s arm now, pushing him towards the door, but still, still comforting for the thing it symbolizes, a benediction of choice, and you turn around to face the other side of the room. You can’t look – wrapping your arms around yourself. You don’t think you’ll run this time. Face it head on, let it be over now in full. Sam’s voice rings shrill, the sound of your name and curses and accusations, fighting a futile fight against his father’s even baritone, the sound of the slamming door, and then silence. When you turn back over your shoulder, they’ve stepped outside together, leaving you alone inside the house.

He’d asked you once what you wanted, and you can’t fathom what the point of it had been. What does it matter what I want? That’s the least significant thing here. It always was.

When he finally comes back inside, you’re dressed, lost bra retrieved, your bag packed and sitting at your feet. You’d gone into the kitchen just before, taken a peek at the pie, and you were right, and you don’t know how he could have possibly known, but he’d gotten you rhubarb. Your face is dry now, no tears and no will to cry. There’s nothing to speak of in his gaze when he leans back against the door to look at you, swallowing down words you’re sure will mean nothing in the face of all of this. And you look at him and you love him and you think, I was married to a man once and now I’m not and now I’m with his father and I love him in the way I never loved the son; and so now, I must ask myself, am I merely looking for the love of lesser man, who could have never given me what I needed, in the eyes of a man who seems to have all the answers?

You don’t think so. And yet, there are still no answers to be had, and no questions left to ask.

“I’m going this time,” In case he has designs to force you to stay, and even though there’s a light of acceptance in his eyes, he still shakes his head. Swallows and gathers his seams about himself before he says, “You aren’t leaving me,” gaze churning from warry to flinty to resolved.

“I was never supposed to stay at all. I was never supposed to be for you. You said so yourself– you said we couldn’t fall in love. That I wasn't for you.” You get to your feet, pulling your purse over your shoulder, and he rushes towards you, pushing the bag back down to the floor, taking your face in his hands hard, something like panic in his eyes and in the air and in the vibration of his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, none of that matters– Whatever was before, whatever was in the past doesn’t mean shit when it’s just you and me here together–” And you’re crying now, real, great sobs of grief.

“You were the one that said we couldn’t fall in love,” you cry again, try and pull away, but he holds you to himself, squeezes you against him, shivers like he too is crying, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I was a fucking idiot, a damn liar. There was never any other option, baby.” Most terrible of terrible truths, you’d both known if for the lie it was the moment he’d said it, even before, probably. You stand limply in the circle of his embrace. He’d said once that he’d been a coward not to go out and look for you, but you know the opposite is true. No one is more of a coward than you were for not having waited for him. For having been so desperate for love, you’d been willing to settle for the wrong kind. You’ll never be able to settle for false comfort like that again, and it’s all his fault. “You’ve ruined me now. I’m ruined.”

He pulls back to take your face in his hands again, and you were right, he is crying. “I’m ruined! And I need you to give me another chance. I demand another chance– to… to fix this. To–”

But another chance for what? To change what? “He’s your son, and I only want you to be happy.” And you know he couldn’t ever be happy, truly happy, estranged from his only child. After all, like he’d said, the theft of him had been the worst thing ever done. You wouldn’t commit a crime like that against Joel also, never.

“Baby, please, I think… I– I love–”

“Please–” You press the tips of your fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “Please, don’t do this to me now.” It makes you angry, this intent of his to trap you here with his love when there’s no room for you to stay. You turn away, picking up your bag again, but he snatches you back into himself, wrapping his big arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest. And you’d struggle if you could, but there’s so little fight left in you. “You’re the one that said – you said we couldn’t!”

“I know what I fucking said,” he spits, voice so angry it almost frightens you. “But there’s still– We have to talk, we have to–”

“What can you possibly imagine there’s left to say?”

“Everything.”

“Or nothing.”

“Look at me. Look at me–” He pulls your head back and to the side by your chin. There’s a bright flush sitting high on his cheekbones, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between yours, searching for a way to fix this. To fix the good thing that’s now been broken. His thumb strokes the point of your chin softly, and he presses his mouth slowly to yours, eyes open to watch for your reaction. “This wasn’t a mistake,” he tells you, “We weren’t a mistake.” Weren’t. The final nail in the coffin. “I know, I know that there are so many things– that we can’t… but just– just stand here with me for one minute, please. Just give me one more second, and I’ll–”

He doesn’t finish the thought, and you let him kiss you one last time. And when he pulls back, because it doesn’t feel like it really matters, and because you just want to hear the sound of it coming out of your mouth, because you wish it was true and not the complete opposite, because you want to be as cruel and ugly outside as you feel on the inside, you whisper, “I hate you,” a full bodied lie.

His eyes shutter and flicker for a moment, a wash of hurt suffusing them. But because he’s never been a weak man and because he’s always been honest, and he’s always, always above everything else, been good, he says, “And I love you,” and there it is. You’d thought you wanted to hear the sound of that too, but now that you have, it’s more terrible than you could have ever possibly imagined. And after that, there really is nothing left to say.

Joel goes to see his brother afterwards because it’s what he always does and who he always goes to when he’s lost. When a son in the shape of a man made of nothing but childish fear and anger and hurt, had appeared one day, dropped out of the blue sky, onto his front porch, when he realized he wanted his daughter-in-law in a way no good man should. And now, that he’s admitted, because the realization had already been there, swift and uncompromising, the admittance had been all that was left, the hard going part, that he was in love with you – in love with the woman who had been married to his son, here he finds himself again. Lost and weak and two feet tall, made of nothing but hollow bones. “I’m not myself,” he tells Tommy, and then amends the lie because he’s not come here to tell lies. “She’s made me into someone I don’t recognize and wish I could be forever.” How would he get his old self back now? Impossible. You’d taken him away with you, he was only half made now, half man, half strength. And Tommy is understanding because it has always only been the two of them, and he’s always seen Joel for exactly who he is without judgement. The most honest eyes in the whole world, his brother. “I'm afraid that she’s the love of my life. I’m afraid that I’m not really so afraid at all. And she won’t even talk to me.” You’d left his house a week and a day ago, and Joel was going out of his mind, losing pieces of himself along the way, his sanity, his sense of right and wrong, his self restraint, self possession. He was about to do something crazy, he felt it gnawing and itching at his bones. He could barely remember the look of betrayal in his own son’s eyes amidst the madness of the memory of the hurt in yours, the sight of you walking away from him. “And my son. My son, my child, Tommy, he hates me. And I’m in love with the woman he used to be married to, who he hurt. And he’s a cruel and small man, and he needs me. He needs my help, and I have a responsibility to him. But Tommy– Tommy, I love her. She’s mine. And what am I going to do? What am I going to say to him? How will I ever face him again? She’s mine, and I– I can’t explain it, I can’t excuse it. But she’s mine– she’s my woman. She belongs to me. I know this as well as I know my own name, my own face.”

And his brother, his brother, his brother who always understands him, who always stands beside him, he claps him on the shoulder and says, “If anyone can find a way, Joel, it’s you. I know you can. You’re stronger and smarter than anyone I’ve ever known. And you don’t abandon yours.” And so Joel must believe him because Tommy is his brother, and he knows him, and he knows that even though he’s weak now, even if he must let himself be weak now, in the face of all of this, Joel is not truly a weak man where it counts.

You and Sam had only ever spoken once on the topic of children. It was, from the first moment broached, a non possibility, not even half of an option. Devastating, but now, all this time later, almost like a grace from God. You’d wanted a baby so badly, more than anything in the whole world, and he would not give you one. He’d said your desire for a child was incongruous with your cold nature, how frigid you were.

And you’d been so long, caught in the who am I, in the what am I doing. You never stopped to ask why. Molded into a bad shape, but mute and deaf to the intricacies of what had carved you so. You’d needed to destroy yourself entirely, tear down everything around yourself, and then recreate yourself and everything else in your life in a new image. Perhaps, then, you’d finally have the chance to be good.

Your husband’s father had given you this. Joel had given you this.

And Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. How to tell him that you’re sorry? That you’re vile and cruel and yes, even cold sometimes, but for him, for him you can find it in yourself to be soft, something to be forgiven, you hope. His son had called you a prude, and then, his father’s whore. Did it matter what the truth was? You weren’t so sure. Did you want Joel because you were a whore? Because your own father had never loved you, and you were thus desperate to fill that void left by lesser, crueler men? Did it matter? You hated the idea that this desire for him had to have been born by consequence of another man. What about what you wanted? What about the fact that it felt good when he was inside of you? When he gave it to you rough and hard and when he told you that you belonged to him because you did, because it was the truth. What about the fact that you were in love with him? That should have counted more because you said it counted more. And then that was it, nothing more to the thing of it. So what if he was the father of the man who’d been your husband? The man who’d stolen all of your surety, your passion, yourself. Sometimes, retribution feels fucking good. So what about it? And then, and after all, you were in love with him. So what did it all matter after that?

People liked to say that sometimes a bad thing is worth it if it feels good enough. But what if you didn't think it was bad at all, and what if it didn’t just feel good enough? What if it’s actually everything, the best thing you’d ever had in your whole life? And what if it is simply and solely, or maybe even also, who cares, who cares, what if it is simply because it’s Joel? Joel who is beautiful and strong and good. Maybe even perfect in a way that you need.

He’d told you once that he’d never had the chance to be angry, that it had been stolen from him, the worst thing ever done to me, he’d said. You know that you could never do that to him. Never hurt him in that way. And there might be so many options. Choices. Truths. Yourself. Finally, you are only yourself. Good in the way he’d shown you to be. In a way that did not bow to anything but the sort of goodness you needed. But Joel; above all else, Joel. He is the first choice, and everything else seems inconsequential after that. What is goodness worth in the face of all he’s given you?

So, you sit now, within the basin of your empty bathtub, no more leaky kitchen sink echoing through your empty apartment, he’d fixed it weeks ago, and peer over the lip of the tub. And there, blinking up at you from the face of the skinny pink and white stick, is your answer to goodness. It had always been within yourself. And you think, if it must be just the two of us now, then let it. After all, your father has finally taught me how to be good.

End.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#pink fic #Joel miller #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller/ reader #Joel Miller/ you #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us au #Joel Miller au #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

980 notes · View notes

shankss-magnificent-ass · 7 months

Text

Imagine fitting in with Shanks's family

I had no idea what I should do for the title, sorry if it sucks.

Buggy: I don't know why I bother coming to these things, no one ever pays enough attention to me except Shanks.

Shanks: That's because we're brothers, and I love you man. *Goes in for a hug*

Buggy: *slaps a hand on the red head's face and pushes him away* We're not even related you ding-dong, and I certainly don't love you.

Rayleigh: *glares at the clown* Family isn't always blood, boy.

Buggy: ugh fine *lets Shanks hug him*

Shanks: *nuzzles his face against Buggy*

Buggy: Stop that, I already got an exfoliation treatment at the spa. I don't need any more from your patchy ass beard, ya big lummox!

Shanks: at least I can grow facial hair!

Buggy: I can grow facial hair!

You: Oh please, I'm hairier than you, you over-grown twink.

Shanks: But not me! Look it *rips open his shirt to display his chest hair sending buttons flying everywhere*

You: I'm not sewing those buttons back on

Buggy: Who's this lovely creature?

Shanks: This is my partner

You: Howdy.

Buggy: You poor thing

You: It's not so bad with Benn around.

Benn: yeah, without me, they woulda left him ages ago.

Shanks: truly?

You: of course not

Shanks: *kisses you before turning to Rayleigh*

You: *nods and rolls your eyes at Buggy*

That night after dinner

Shanks: *climbing a try while drunk off his ass*

Benn: *trying to coax him down*

You: *looks up at Rayleigh* he used to bite people as a child, didn't he?

Rayleigh and Buggy: *laughing so hard they cannot stand up straight*

Shakky: *snorts in amusement*

Shanks: *suspicious* what'shl going on?

Rayleigh: he did! He did bite people as a child!

Buggy: look look, *lifts his shirt up and points at crescent shaped scar on his hip* He bit me here when we were seven, because I ate the last chocolate bar on the ship, and we were a week away from any port.

Shanks: I still stand by that decision, you knew better.

Shakky: As did you, when you bit him. I'm still mad at you because he ruined a perfectly good table cloth when I was stitching him up

Shanks: I'll get you a new table cloth.

Shakky: no, thanks, I'd rather hold it over your head for the rest of your life.

Shanks: don't you mean the rest of your life?

You: honey, please, she'll out live all of us, especially you.

Shanks: you're supposed to be on my side.

You: I'd be on your side if you weren't wrong.

List of Up-and-coming works

Support me on Kofi and Patreon

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #akagami no shanks #red hair shanks #red haired shanks #shanks x reader #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #silvers rayleigh #shakky #benn beckman #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #9/11/23 #no beta we die like men

789 notes · View notes

marycorcaroli · 7 months

Text

how the opla!boys would break your heart.

angst with sanji, zoro and luffy.

mary ♡: hi everyone 💌🌷, i haven't seen any stories like this yet, so i thought i'd write one myself 🤗. i hope you like it ! ! 🫂

english is not my first language, i apologize for my mistakes. ♡

rules ; masterlist ♡

sanji.

he doesn't care about you, about all of you.

in the beginning of your relationship, he was so loving and understanding, sanji was always there for you, interested in your condition and afraid that something would happen to you. but then he got bored with you, your every move annoying him, and your please to stay home for the day caused him an uncontrollable torrent of aggression.

sanji wasn't afraid to tell you to your face how much you annoyed him. did you meet an old friend and stop to chat with him? sanji shows his displeasure, and later he's sure to tell you that you talk too much and you should shut up for once. he's completely shameless and doesn't care about your feelings, did he make you cry or not? who cares, he's right either way.

while you're humiliating yourself in front of him and trying to save your love drowning in lies and hatred, sanji will tell everyone that you're just a substitute for a certain person in his life. but he's forgotten how you saved him, how you helped him with everything, how you were always ready to come and comfort him, how you even went with him to psychologists and held his hand so that he wouldn't be afraid to say anything and know that you were there for him until the end.

but now your end has come and there is nothing left to save.

zoro.

cheated on you twice.

and each time it hurt like an infinite number of bullets piercing your heart. he was just toying with you, you were convenient for him sometimes, and most of the time you wondered "what kind of relationship are we in?" zoro kept saying you were in an open relationship, but is that true?

he kissed and flirted with different girls without thinking about you, but when someone showed you the proper attention, zoro went crazy and was terribly jealous, trying to find faults in you and wanting you to believe those lies. you were too good for him. constantly saving his ass and being a mountain for him, but he didn't appreciate it.

even after you got married and started living happily ever after, something went wrong.

when he met his ex-girlfriend again, he didn't refuse her help at 3:00 in the morning and then lie about going to his friend's house. it was so painful to know that that was all he could lie, but it didn't stop him from cheating on you with that ex, a second time, with her. he begged for your forgiveness, ran after you, was willing to do anything for you to forgive him and give him a chance. zoro loved you, but that love was never enough to keep you together.

seeing them again, something inside you burst, your whole future flashing past your eyes. the man who'd made you trust him and be with him again had done this to you. there was no anger or hatred in your gaze, but you wondered why people were doing this to you.

luffy.

lied to you all the time.

luffy would never tell you the truth, would never in his life admit to what he'd done. he was sure that his lies would save you from the danger and pain he plunged you into every time he didn't want to talk.

you wanted so badly to help him and tell him how to get out of this pit of lies, you were willing to do anything to make luffy feel good, but nothing changed. even after you found out that he slept with other girls during your break, when he promised that he wouldn't sleep with anyone but would try to be a better man and didn't try to make amends, luffy lied here too. making you believe it wasn't true and he wouldn't do that to you was another lie, but that's exactly what he did.

he lied about loving you. luffy didn't even know why he even started dating you in the first place, probably as a joke, but the joke lingered and you felt the most genuine feelings for him, but him.

he hurt you with his laughter, his deception, himself. he did everything he could to tear your soul into the smallest pieces and nothing was left of your tender heart, just a huge hole with self-loathing and the conviction that everything was your fault.

but it's not. it's luffy. he can't do it any other way and he never wanted to learn how to love properly, he was fine with you when you weren't bothering him, but at the same time, it hurt a little to see you cry, and afterward, luffy remembered that he still had plenty more like you.

784 notes · View notes

loveharlow · 2 months

Note

Heyy hope you are doing well! Can you pls do Rafe as a bully and then fem/rafe sleep together.

i know you probably wanted something a little more in depth but this was all i could do blurb wise😭 Rafe isn't really a bully but more of an asshole here but i still like how it came out tho

implied dub-con, swearing

The party was in full swing at this point. No one could hear one another over the bass of the music but they continued to talk like they could regardless, the endless chatter adding to the deafening noise inside of the Figure Eight mansion.

You'd never been to a Kook Party before now. Living on the Cut for most of your life meant keggers, kickbacks, and beach bashes. Not house parties and nightclubs. Kook life was new to you but you couldn't find it in yourself to complain, really.

You'd found a good group of friends, the same ones that had drug you out of your house in the first place. Right now, you were off your rocker, mindlessly playing beer pong with one of your friends that you'd been glued to all night.

You'd just beat her in your third round, hands drunkenly thrown up in the air, completely forgetting about the half-full cup that you had in your hand. "Boom, baby! Three in a motherfucking row-"

"Yo, what the fuck?!"

Your head whipped around to find a fuming Rafe Cameron standing behind you, beer dripping down the side of his face and length of his neck, dribbling into his half-buttoned polo shirt. Party-goers started to 'ooh' around the both of you.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry-"

"Are you fucking stupid?" Your face fell at his words, morphing from one of genuine concern to a nasty, offended snarl. "Shouldn't your ass be bussing tables down at The Wreck or some shit?" He spat, using a napkin handed to him by one of his yes-men to wipe his face.

A few people laughed, the mild embarrassment making your cheeks and ears grow hot. "It was an accident." You scoffed, eyes fleeting around you nervously before tilting your chin up. "You don't have to be a dick about it..."

"Yeah, you've seen plenty of those haven't you?" He chuckled meanly, looking around at his friends with a smirk before turning back to you. "Maybe I was wrong. The waitress vibe doesn't suit you but I could see you on your knees for a couple bucks. Girls gotta eat somehow, right?" He joked, the guys crowded behind him breaking out into laughter. He leaned down, face just inches from yours as he spoke to you lowly. "Why don't you go back to the slums where you fucking belong?"

You bit the inside of your lip, looking down at your feet for just a moment before something inside prompted you to reel your arm back, splashing what remained inside the plastic red cup into his face. The people standing around watching and egging you on with cheers and sounds of amusement.

You wasted no time in throwing the cup to the ground, looking the boy up and down, and stomping off into another part of the house, less crowded and hot. "Hey!" You heard a voice boom behind you, peering over your shoulder as you walked away to see Rafe hot on your tail, ducking through the cliques of people, basically shoving them to the side.

"Fuck off!" You shouted back, picking up speed and heading for the stairs inside of the house. Reaching them, you practically bolted upstairs, as fast as you could in the mini dress you had on.

Rounding the corner, you were about to enter an unoccupied bathroom before a rough hand grasped your shoulder and turned you around, pinning you against the wall.

"You throw a drink in my face and think I'd just let you walk away?" The Cameron boy spat in your face, staring down at you like an angry bull.

"I told you, it was just an accident. You were the one who had to go and call me broke slut in front of every body as if you're some kind of upstanding citizen yourself."

"Do you know who the fuck I am?"

"There isn't a single person on this island who doesn't." You told the boy. "But I'm not everyone else. I couldn't give two shits about who you are, Rafe." You spat.

He clearly wasn't fond of your answer, using his grip on your shoulder to roughly shove you into the nearest room, shoving the door shut with the bottom of his shoe and guiding you over to the bed until he was close enough to throw you on top of it.

Your body bounced as you hit the mattress, eyes finding Rafe standing to the side fiddling with his belt buckle. You couldn't help but chuckle in your semi-drunken state. "You're seriously going to try to fuck me after the shit you said to me?"

"Try?" Was all he laughed out in response, shoving his pants down his legs and throwing off his polo shirt, the action leaving his hair messier than before.

"And what makes you think I want to fuck you?" You spat, sitting up straighter on the bed, leaning on your elbows for support. He simply eyed you down and licked his lips.

"There isn't a single person on this island who doesn't."

©loveharlow.

heads up: i added emoji anons to my blog, so feel free to send an ask to take one if you frequently send in asks!

#harlowhasmail💌#req. ♥︎#rafe cameron x reader #obx rafe #rafe angst #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe

184 notes · View notes

bitterchocoo · 13 days

Note

Pookie please!

At first I'm fine with the open ending of Welt x Reader ome. But then you go on ahead and make a sequel with a cliffhanger. Please my heart can't take it.

I won't force you t continue it if you don't want to. I just wanted to say it's amazingly written. And if you did ever wanted to go back continuing that, I'd be looking forward to it. (Be it more angst or bittersweet ending or even happy one. I'm content because I'm just that starving for Welt x male reader)

The very long awaited part three

Yes, Your Excellency

Part One | Part two | Part Three (You're here)

----------

Welt Yang | M. Reader

----------

"I will gladly play the part, so that you may shine, my sun."

----------

Once upon a time in a kingdom far away..

Lived a princess only 14 years of age.

There wasn't anything this princess couldn't have with a boy just like her serving as her right hand man..

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Those are the words he have said to her multiple times, from the very beginning. He was there as he watch his Lady build an empire from nothing. Her anxiousness... her fears.. her loneliness... her suffering..

He saw it all.

His dear Christine.

She was truly.. the light in his tunnel..

Even after everything, she still smiles and answers to her people. Truly a kind and thoughtful ruler.

And he's more than happy to be by her side. To guide her. And comfort her at her lowers.

She was everything to him.

----------

The Stellaron Crisis brought many disasters and ailments. The suffering the people felt, their loved ones who are clutching their last straws. It breaks his heart. Truly it did.

It breaks his heart that Her Excellency has to watch her people suffer.

Her face which was once filled with joy was replaced by a somber expression. Her tone was so soft and full of life has turned sorrowful.

It breaks his heart... Truly... it did..

How could they.. turned such a beautiful person who's full of life into.. this..

It's unforgettable!

And as her right hand man, he will solve this Crisis and finally... bring back that smile that once adored her face.

He endured many sleepless nights and devoted himself to his research. He doesn't care what it takes. He will save her. The Stellaron Crisis is out of control, what if Her Excellency gets infected by its disease? What if she was suffering from the ailment this entire time! He has to! He has to save her! Whatever it takes!

"You worked so hard on trying to solve the Stellaron Crisis. I can see why you're Her Excellency's right hand man."

The day the Nameless arrived at their humble planet, claiming wanting to help and lend their aid. He was skeptical. How could these... people.. be as what they claim to be? How could he know they won't harm anyone? How could he know they won't harm her?

He didn't say anything as he kept vigilant.

They complimented him. Calling him a responsible and caring man for devoting himself to his research on the Crisis that had plagued his home.

Of course.

How could he not?

When she is also affected by it?

She doesn't deserve this.

She doesn't deserve any of this.

Her beloved kingdom.. on the brink of collapsing..

Oh how heartbroken she must be..

Which is why...

He's taking things into his own hands.

He can't just sit idly and see her suffering like that everyday.

----------

"Whatever it takes?"

"How bold~"

"Then why don't you accept our offer?"

"We can help you!"

Their voices are loud. Oh so loud. They begged and persuaded him. Trying to get him on their side.

"We can give you power.. so you can protect her."

Their offers are very tempting. Very very tempting.

----------

The Nameless.. as righteous as they are.. never would he thought one of them could be so interested in him. That man talked to him so casually as if they're old friends, maybe more.

He was never good with names.

But his name seems to stick to him for some reason. The chatter and the gift that man had given. It somehow.. stuck to him in a way he never knew existed.

He felt like he had gone insane.

They're strangers and yet.. it felt like.. they knew each other for so long..

"Oh? What's this?"

"Have you found another?"

"How cruel of you.. to forsake your beloved.."

No... No.. No!! Nonononononononononono!!! He can't!! Her Excellency!! She's—!

"You can't deny it though."

Shut up.. just shut up!

Their voices grew loud as their demans became more tempting by the second.. The Nameless.. as righteous as they may be.. Could he truly trust them..? Trust them to.. solve this Crisis..? Trust them to.. save her..?

Of course not.

How could he? How could he trust them? They're just some random people!! They came uninvited claiming they wanted to help!! Who do they think he is?! He's Her Excellency's right hand! Christine's right hand!

"You know what..? Sure.. I accept."

"They're nothing but fools."

"No one can save her."

"No one but me."

#seme male reader #top male reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x male reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x male reader #hsr welt #hsr welt yang #welt yang x reader #welt yang x male reader #welt x reader #welt x male reader #x reader #x male reader

143 notes · View notes

spamgyu · 4 months

Text

BACKBURNER // PART 4

DESCRIPTION: She had grown tired of being on his back burner, the person that he had kept warm until he gotten the girl he has had his eyes set on for years... And with a little help from her friend, maybe... just maybe she'll finally be the first choice. PAIRING: Seungcheol x Reader | Mingyu x Reader GENRE: Angst & Fluff PART 3 | SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

When he had told Jeonghan that his roommate had convinced him to go over to his best friend's house to finally tell her how he felt, he wasn't lying.

It wasn't just for show – to tell a fake story to make their lies believable.

"Seungcheol fumbled, are you going to do the same thing?" Minghao asked him, keeping his eyes trained on the screen while they worked together to complete their game's mission.

For the past few months, they had almost always circled back to one topic.

Y/n.

It was almost as if a switch had turned on in his head the day he realized that she was the one he loved this whole time. Just as has his mother predicted since their high school days, Mingyu had fallen in love for the one constant that was in his life.

"It's complicated, Hao. Shoot shoot– fuck." Mingyu cried, chucking his controller to the side as the screen flashed "MISSION FAILED".

Minghao shrugged. "How complicated could it be?"

"Well for one, it's one sided." He listed. "And then what, I lose her? Rather not have that."

"Just give it a shot. I doubt she'll cut you out anyways. She's stuck around this long, hasn't she?"

He was right.

She had seen the good, the bad, and the ugly and yet, she was still here. She still stuck by his side through it all.

He brought his fingers up to his lips, biting his nails – a bad habit he had developed whenever he allowed his thoughts to consume him.

The worst that could happen was that she could reject him, which he was 99% sure she would.

He just needed to get this damn weight off his shoulder.

Now more than ever.

Sighing, Mingyu stood from his seat. "Alright, I'm going to do it."

He had all the intentions of doing so that Valentine's Day. Showing up to her doorstep with a small bouquet of tulips he had picked up at Trader Joe's along with her favorite sweet treat from their bakery section – the brownie cookie combo that he swore was far too sweet for anyone's taste buds.

But instead, he was greeted by a girl with red eyes – it was clear that she had been crying just minutes before his arrival.

"Are those for me?" She sniffled, pointing to the contents in his hand.

"Yeah, I figured you were going to be upset this Valentine's day." He chuckled, lying through his teeth.

It wasn't the right time.

Mingyu wanted to tell her how he felt.

He wanted to finally feel the weight come off his chest but he knew it wasn't right.

Not when he still plagued her mind.

"Thank you." Y/n smiled, using the sleeves of her sweater to wipe her eyes. "No plans today?"

Mingyu shook his head, plopping down on her couch. "Today is for couples."

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

"Fake dating?" Minghao repeated what his friend had just debriefed him after his arrival. "At your big age, you're going to pretend to fake dat– You know you've had many bad ideas before but this one takes the fucking cake."

Mingyu groaned, putting his head in his hands. "I know okay? I know, I just– She– I don't know. You know I'd do anything for her."

"Including helping her get Cheol back?" He cried.

"I just want her happy."

Minghao sarcastically clapped. "Let's give it up for the stupidest boy alive."

"Leave me alone." He pushed his friend's hands away from his face.

"This is going to be so fucking messy." He shook his head as he headed for his room, leaving his friend in the living room to wallow in his own thoughts.

・゜゜・．・゜��・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

After three days of non-stop activities, she was ready to tap out – groaning in her bed as she flipped laying on one side to the other. She had mistakenly agreed to go hiking with Seokmin, Seungkwan and Hansol the day before and as someone who rarely did any physical activities, she was regretting her decision – feeling her thighs ache under the covers.

"Let's do something." Mingyu suggested from his bed, growing bored of the show he had been watching on the television.

Everyone else had left the hotel early in the morning to go ziplining, and considering her current state and his fear of heights, the duo had opted to sit this one activity out.

Getting the rest they deserve.

"I'm tired." She whined.

"Come on, I wanna go back up north and look around the shops." He pouted dramatically, batting his lashes at her.

They had all been so busy trying to complete the itinerary Eunji had so kindly organized that day that they weren't able to fully enjoy all the small town had to offer – Mingyu making note to pay it another visit during his free time.

Which was now.

She never could resist him.

Letting out a sigh, she sat up in her bed – trudging over to her suitcase. "You better fucking buy me something."

"I'm your boyfriend not your sugar daddy."

Grabbing the nearest article of clothing, Y/n turned around and threw it at him – hitting his face.

"I'm the luckiest man alive." He chuckled, tossing it back at her – making it perfectly into her suitcase.

"You sure are, baby." She winked, heading straight to the bathroom – outfit in hand.

"I thought we won't use baby!" He called out as the door slammed shut – a wide grin on his face.

He didn't care if it was in pure sarcasm. Mingyu felt his heart skip a beat.

Just as it had been the past few days.

Oh he was down bad.

Within an hour, they were back on the same road, blasting the same playlist – the two taking turns singing obnoxiously along to her favorite songs.

"I like it here." She reached over to dial the volume down, turning to point her film camera at him. "Smile– oh my god don't pose– ew!"

After a year of nothing but pure heartache, riding the roller coaster of emotions that Seungcheol had managed to strap her into, this was the first time in a while that the girl had enjoyed her time.

She couldn't help but dread the thought of the trip wrapping up, having to face the music of her reality – going back in to work, coming home to an empty apartment... and be alone with her thoughts.

With no Mingyu to distract her.

In the past few days, she had gained a new appreciation for her friend – noticing the small details of his actions. Especially after voicing this to Seungcheol on the beach, in attempts to defend their lie.

And even more when Mingyu had confirmed this two days ago.

At the time, she was simply saying what was at the top of her head. She had always known that he was there for her, answering all her calls in an instant and showing up with no questions asked.

Even if it was to help her get a bird, that had accidentally flown in and wreaked havoc, out if her apartment.

She remembered how stressed and terrified he was of hurting the poor thing as he used a broom to usher the small creature out – recording the whole thing on her phone for future entertainment purposes.

"Thank you." She glanced over at him, a soft smile on her lips.

"For what?" Mingyu's brows furrowed, confused at the sudden change of tone and air between them.

"Just being a good person." Y/n shrugged.

"Are you going all soft on me, y/n?" He teased.

"Don't make me take it back."

"I'm kidding." He chuckled, reaching over to give her cheek a poke. "I should be thanking you. You bullied me into being a good person."

Aside from his parents and his sister, she had a big influence on who he was and the man he had become today.

Y/n had never once let any of his mistakes go by without a single lecture. He remembered all the times he would sit in silence while she talked his ear off, even if it was something minor as forgetting to clean the lint trap out of his dryer.

Something about starting a house fire.

Before, when he was in his teens and still unappreciative of her nagging, Mingyu would simply roll his eyes – letting her words go in one ear and out another. As time had gone by, he had learned to appreciate it.

Welcoming it even; beating her to the punch to text her of his mistakes and asking for advice on how he could make it right.

"Not enough though. How many girls have cried because of you?"

"Don't make me take it back." He jokingly threatened, using her line.

Laughing, she allowed for the views to distract her once again – snapping a few more pictures.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

"We should come back here. Make it a tradition." She said, as the treaded through the small tide pools, pointing out the small school of fish that swam along their legs every now and then.

"Holding you to that."

The two had many traditions that they had set in place, one of them being spending a week during their summers camping with both of their families. A tradition that began when he had tagged along during one of her family trips – it wasn't long until his family joined in the following year, their fathers instantly becoming friends during the first day.

This would merely be another trip that they would continue on until they were old and grey.

"Do you think our kids will be friends? Like us?" Y/n asked aloud, stopping him in his tracks.

"I haven't really thought that far."

A lie.

He has.

Though, he would much prefer if their kids were siblings rather than friends.

They say a man knows in an instant whether they want to marry a girl or not.

Mingyu was no different.

He remembered that day so clearly. She had dragged him along to the mall to help her find the perfect dress for Jeonghan's wedding, and with nothing better to do he had agreed.

She had stepped out of the dressing room in a one shoulder satin maxi dress, fitting perfectly on her body. It was a simple dress, no ruffles, no sequins, no lace. Just a plain satin dress; but somehow she made it look like it was worth far more than the tag attached at the seams.

Mingyu remembered his heart skipping a beat that day, the breath in his lungs didn't seem enough as he took in her beauty.

He didn't know what triggered it, maybe it was the constant talks of the wedding, but his brain was instantly flooded with the thought of being the one at the end of the aisle – waiting for her as she made her way down in a white dress.

This soon then spiraled to thoughts of a married life with her; spending the rest of his life with his best friend.

It took him nearly a week to snap out of this day dream, his mind constantly wandering back to that day and the whirlwind of emotions that hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Have you at least thought about what you want for dinner?" She laughed; bringing him back to reality.

"Poke probably." Mingyu muttered.

"Sh.. the fish can hear you." She feigned shock as another school of silver fish swam by her toes.

"Yummy yummy fish." He cooed.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Sitting atop of the roof of the car, the two picked at the various small bowls for cubed fresh cut of the day that they had picked up from the local market – humming in content each time they took a bite.

Instead of meeting the rest of the group for dinner, Mingyu and Y/n agreed it would be best to simply pick up the poke he had originally suggested as opposed to racing back to the city.

Watching the sunset while parked by the sand was far better than the chaos, anyways. The two needing a break from all the voices that seemed to always talk over one another.

"Hold still," He picked up his phone and pointed it at her. "This would look good on my story."

While they sat in silence, digesting the dinner they had just finished not too long ago, Mingyu couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked under the soft orange and yellow hues of the sun that had dipped halfway into the horizon – illuminating her face in a new light.

Both metaphorically and literally.

Without a second thought, the girl listened to him – holding her pose of looking straight into the shoreline, a soft smile on her face. "Lemme see." She held her hand out as he handed her his device. "Send this to me."

Mingyu swallowed as his heart battled with his brain to do the unthinkable.

Maybe it was the fact that they had spent the whole day alone, acting as though they were still around their friends – pretending.

Or the fact that this his trip had given him a glimpse of what his life would be if they were actually together, the flirting, the hand holding, the soft whispers, waking up to her in the morning; the sweet moments he yearned for.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because he's been wanting this for so long – unable to hold off any longer.

"Bug?" Her head tilted to the side, seeing the gears turn behind his eyes.

There goes that nickname.

The one that they have sworn to use just as part of the act that soon became a part of their daily vocabulary. Even when it was just the two of them.

"Let me just–" His mumbled, leaning down – which wasn't hard as they were already only inches apart, capturing her lips in his.

She didn't pause.

She didn't push him away.

In fact, she kissed him back.

Bringing a hand to cup her face, Mingyu moved his lips against hers slowly. He had been dreaming of this for a while now, and he could have sworn he thought their first kiss would be much rougher – thinking he would be hungry for her lips.

But this moment was delicate. He knew that it could all come crashing down the minute he pulled away, so he proceeded it with caution – his thumb caressing her cheek as his tongue swiped her bottom lip for permission.

She allowed it.

Mingyu's head was spinning at this point, wanting nothing else but to stay in this moment forever.

But he knew he couldn't.

They needed air.

Pulling away, Mingyu swallowed; preparing himself to receive an earful from her.

Instead she sat in silence, blinking at him.

He had fucked up.

"I'm sorry." He croaked.

Mingyu knew that if he wasn't the first one to speak up, she would let the tension swallow them whole – leaving them to drive back to the hotel without uttering a single word to each other.

"I think we should head back." She cleared her throat, scooting towards the moon roof they had slipped through.

"Hey–" He placed a hand on her shoulder.

She turned her head, lips pale. It was clear that she had regretted what had happened, a lump forming in Mingyu's throat as the worst had finally come.

"What?" Y/n asked softly.

"Just wanted to see if you were foaming at the mouth." Mingyu joked. "Since I have rabies and all..."

A small smile formed on her face, a wave of relief washing over him. "You're so fucking stupid." Y/n ducked into the car.

"No rabies?" Mingyu called out.

"Get in the damn car, Mingyu." She called back.

They were going to be alright.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

For the first time in a while, she was confused.

She should have listened to the voice in her head when it had warned her that pretending to date her best friend was a bad idea.

At her ripe age of twenty six, she should have known this would happen.

Maybe it was the close proximity, or the fact that they had spent the whole day absentmindedly pretending to be a couple despite none of their usual audience being around, or maybe it was that he kissed her.

No.

They made out.

Either way, her mind was in a mess.

It wasn't like she's never had feelings for him before.

But the last time didn't count.

They were in high school — and everyone had a crush on him.

It was tiny crush that she had soon gotten over when she met her first boyfriend.

But this time was different.

There was more on the line.

Their friendship, their whole group's dynamic.... and Seungcheol.

The man who had been the main reason why she was in this predicament in the first place.

A part of her wanted to dismiss the moment atop of their car as a moment of weakness, the sunset and island hypnotizing the both of them.

Besides, it was Mingyu. He had plenty of girls in line, waiting to get a chance with him.

He must have simply been caught up in the moment.

If it was anything genuine, he would have acted differently instead of jumping back into the sense of normality as they drove back to the hotel.

But no, he made a joke out of it all.

It was a mistake to both of them.

But another part of her wanted it to be real – falling into the trap of their own acting.

While he had excused himself to the hotel gym, to work out with Joshua and Soonyoung, y/n was left with her thoughts – wanting nothing more but to silence it all.

She didn't want Mingyu, even if his actions was everything she wished for in a man.

It was– It had to be Seungcheol.

A knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts.

It was as if the universe read her mind, opening the door to see him standing with a plushie in hand – nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Hi." He greeted softly, holding the t-rex stuffed toy out. "I uh– it reminded me of you."

If her mind wasn't a mess before, it sure was in pure chaos now.

It reminded him of her.

She recalled back to the one good week they had. No fighting, no tears, no mixed signals.

She had come down with a nasty cold and he had doted on her while she was bed ridden – staying over at her apartment to nurse her back to health.

They had spent that whole week binge watching all the installments of Jurassic Park, cuddling on her bed despite her protests of not wanting to pass whatever virus she had come down to him.

He didn't care for it, showering her with kisses.

"Thank you." Y/n accepted the plush.

She picked up on his nervousness, stepping aside to let him in. "Is everything okay?"

He nodded, bringing his hand to scratch the back of his neck – trying to find the right words to say. "I– I want to say sorry. For all of it. The pain, the confusion..... I– I'm sorry for being a dick."

"It's fi–"

"It's not." Seungcheol shook his head. "I had some senses knocked in me and–"

Y/n watched as he licked his lips, pacing in front of her before he came to a stop.

"It's you." He breathed. "I– I choose you."

Her world came into a halt.

The metaphorical glass shattering.

"What?"

"That night, when you asked me to choose, I– I shouldn't have hesitated. I should have stopped you. I'm sorry." He continued, pain evident in his eyes.

He was being genuine.

Y/n tried to search for any signs of lies on his face, unable to comprehend the words that left his lips.

This was the moment she had finally been waiting for, but why was she so afraid?

"I know an apology can't fix it. But if you'll allow it–" Seungcheol hesitantly took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. "If you'll take me back, I'll spend however long trying to prove that it's you."

taglist closed

@thepoopdokyeomtouched/ @scuzmunkie / @yunjin0 / @morkswatermelonnnn / @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan / @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken / @naturelvrgfstealer / @bettybotterboughtabitofbutter / @musingsofananxiouspotato / @f4iryjjosh / @gatorgirl007 / @girlwithimaginarybiaslist / @daisawa / @ttragiquee / @luchiet / @loveforred /@vannabanana1995 / @uniq-tastic / @porridgesblog / @haolistic / @bbl32 / @calumsfringe / @alsktudy / @chansbaybygirl / @alwaysalmostthere / @listxn / @soupbinlily / @hanniebaby95 / @yonabutnotyuna / @buffhoshi / @kawennote09 / @wwwellacom / @hanniebaby95 / @winterbeartaehyungbestboy

396 notes · View notes

vesper-tinus · 1 year

Note

begs you for more simon content, but maybe where he tortures his girlfriend with his awful dad jokes? xd idk if they qualify as dad jokes they are kinda dark 💀 the dog one haunts me

Hello! I'd be happy to!

Unfortunately, I am nowhere near as hilarious as Simon and Co., but I wrote my favourite pun, and hopefully that will be sufficient!

𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐮𝐧𝐬. Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female ! Reader

Summary: Waking up in the morning, you are faced with the consequences of having the King of Jokes in your home. Requested by anonymous—thank you very much for the interest! I hope it lives up to your expectations! Keywords: Established relationship—married, female ! reader, though only mentioned once in spouse-title (Mrs), a pun(?), romantic fluff. Wordcount: 1062

You wake up in your spacious bed. Alone, but with a light heart knowing that Simon is not far. Not only is he a light-sleeper, but also an early-riser, and part of you wonders if it's genuine, or something that has been learned. Drilled into him from years of military duty.

Though sometimes—most of the time—he remains next to you until you wake up.

He would never confess to it, but he enjoys watching you. Peacefully sleeping. Safe. A content expression on your resting face. He takes in every detail of you. From the fluttering of your lashes to the faint wrinkles beneath your eyes. The lovebites he left on your skin; the sleep lines the linen also left, and he smiles to himself at how lovely you are. How human it all is. How domestic.

Those quiet moments to himself are what grounds him. Most mornings he struggles to keep his hands from caressing your face, lest he risks waking you.

But on this particular morning, he is not beside you. So you abandoned the cosiness and warmth of your bed, course set, leisure-wear on, as you leave to find your husband.

You tiredly stretch your arms as you venture towards the kitchen of your shared home, yawning as you go. The house is peacefully quiet, but a different kind of quiet. It's silent, yes, but the closer to the kitchen you get, you hear stifled sounds of what makes home a home. The idle stirring of a spoon, the crinkling of a newspaper. The sounds of life. The sounds of living. The sounds of Simon.

Home is said to be where the heart is, and Simon is yours. Heart and home.

“Mornin’, love.” Simon’s voice is peaceful in the morning, but with a hoarseness to it that reminds you of how hard he worked you last night. Your legs certainly remember. “How’d you sleep?” he asks, looking towards you; hand outstretched for you to take. Inviting you into his space.

“Good,” you respond, coming to stand beside him, hand in hand. You lean down to press a kiss to his temple, and you feel Simon gently rotate the wedding band around your finger; you suppress a slight shiver feeling the engravings upon it. “Yours?”

“Perfect,” he hums contently, turning his head to press a kiss to your throat. “Kept the kettle on for you,” he murmurs softly against your skin, and you have to suppress another shiver.

“No breakfast?” you ask.

“Thought we could eat together.”

“Clever boy.” And for that comment, you are rewarded with a squeeze of your rear, his palm hot against your skin. A pleasant laugh escapes you as you wiggle out of his grasp to assess the breakfast situation, leaving your husband to his paper.

You hadn’t expected him to be a newspaper sort of man, but you’ve enjoyed learning all those little things about him. There’s always that feeling of pride in your heart of knowing that he lets you see those parts of him. That he is comfortable enough to share himself with you.

Simon absentmindedly stirs the spoon in his mug of tea as he listens to you working the kitchen. Slow and methodically, just like his mind. His lips slip into a secretive smile, partially hidden behind the newspaper. He steals glances at you between boring articles, his eyes often falling to your hands and how skillful you are with them. Both in and outside the bedroom.

You consider turning on the radio for some static, but decide against it. There is something blissful about the shared silence. How comfortable you both feel saying nothing, yet exchanging glances that speaks volumes.

The silence is only broken when Simon’s voice disturbs it.

“Some American celebrity died. An actress. Decently young, too.”

“Another one?” you call over your shoulder, shutting the fridge door with your hip, milk in hand. “I feel like everyone is dropping like flies these days… What's her name?”

Simon shrugs, feigning ignorance as he flips another delicate page of the newspaper. “Reese something-or-other,” he offers with another noncommittal shrug.

“Witherspoon?!” She was so good in Legally Blonde!

“No, with a knife.”

…

….

…..

The silence that follows is deafening as you turn to look at your husband.

Your husband who is looking much too smug for your liking. Smiling like a cat that had cream for supper.

You stalk towards him, the carton of milk discarded on the kitchen counter. Breakfast officially on hold.

“Simon”—you grab his chin with little strength, tilting his head back as you lean forward—”that was awful.'' It’s difficult to resist the instinct to laugh as your husband hooks his arm around your waist, feeling no remorse for your predicament. Gentle fingers resting on the dip of your hip bone—comforting, securely. You practically melt against him, it’s difficult not to. Some of your previous disgruntlement and tiredness dissipating with each gentle rub of his fingers.

Unfortunately, it’s all a clever ploy to lull you into a false sense of security, and once he knows he has you, he strikes.

Taken by surprise, you’re easily pulled forward. The drowsiness of a lazy morning having left you light on your feet. Simon managed to manoeuvre you into his lap. Your back to his chest as his muscular arms circle around to cage you against him. Newspaper discarded on the table.

“You’re a real piece of work, Riley,” you grumble with mock-annoyance, your eyes narrowing. The joke itself was fine, hilarious even, but the fact that you (literally) fell for it? There’s no coming back for that, and Simon is the kind of man who will hang it over your head.

“Me-Riley, or You-Riley, ‘cause if I’m not mistaken,” he says, “which I’m not. You took my surname, Mrs. Riley.”

“Fuck you,” you huff, cheeks warming at the flirtatious tone.

Simon has the gall to chuckle at you. You feel the vibrations coming from his chest against your back, and it makes your heart flutter beneath your ribcage. How easily you fall for his wiles, it’s almost unfair, but somehow, you cannot find it in yourself to be anything but grateful.

So you chalk it up as a win for him, and let yourself lean against him. Laughing as you replay the pun in your mind, and Simon has never heard a more beautiful sound.

2K notes · View notes

sassysnitch · 4 months

Text

Twisted Wonderland Headcannons:

The Housewardens finding out they have a secret/long lost sibling

Authors note: I was thinking about how in 2012-2017 it was so common for people to make their OCs a long lost sibling of a canon character and that's how I got this idea. Enjoy(?)

__________________________________

🌹Riddle Rosehearts♥️

-If Riddle had a sibling all of the sudden it would either be an younger sibling or half-sibling for this situation to make the most sense.

-In other words: For Riddle to have a sibling and not know of them it would either mean his father was cheating/left his mom for obvius reasons and got with someone else, OR, they'd have to be born before him and have gone somewhere before he was born.

-Now his reaction at first would definitelly be shock. Right after a lot of questions for his mother.

-Would also be really angry and perplexed on why he didn't know he had a sibling sooner

-Despite his anger and confusion he'd most likely see connecting with his sibling as an important responsability

🦁 Leona Kingscholar 🐾

-Now for this one, Leonas long lost sibling would need to be older or else it doesn't really work.

-I'd say either said sibling was actually born before him AND Farena but went missing and so the parents had to make another heir and then Leona came after, or, said sibling is actually the second born and went missing so their parents had Leona to try and fill in the void in their hearts from the dissapearance of the missing child.

-Leona would also defenitelly be suprised, as well as in disbelief

-If it turns out the lost sibling is still alive, Leona probably wouldn't really mind them, but also wouldn't really see the need to fully connect.

-(he cares for them a little, don't worry)

🐙Azul Ashengrotto🔮

-Either younger sibling, older sibling or half-sibling could work in this situation, especially considering Azuls dad is kinda out of the picture.

-Would choke on his food/drink when he finds out about them

-I feel like he'd be somewhat eager to get to know them, concidering he was a rather lonely child (He was probably one of those kids who'd ask for a younger sibling as a gift on the Holidays)

-if said sibling is anything like him they're probably gonna become bisness partners (yay~)

✨Kalim Al-Asim🥥

-Considering Kalim has a bunch of siblings this can go either way

-The long lost sibling probably got kidnaped because of their status, survived, and couldn't find their way home until now

-Boi would be devistated to find out that one of his siblings was just, forgotten like that! He'd also feel sorry for what they went through

-But hey, once they go through a DNA test, (to really make sure they're an Al-Asim) all will be good, Kalim will also check up on them here and there, making sure they're adjusting back to their home well

⚗️ Vil Schoenheit 👑

-this one is also kinda easy, since we do know that Vil has a dad, but there's not really any information about his mom

-They've probably just been living with Vils mom their whole lives and that's why he didn't know

-his reaction would be the most dramatic "what" you've ever heard.

-would be very set on meeting them, he'd also most likely be a very caring brother

-(that's it I don't have any more ideas for Vil-)

💙 Idia Shroud 💀

-The sibling would probably have to older than him and Ortho for this scenario to work

-Once he's told about a "long lost sibling" he'd at first think his parents are talking about the original Ortho, is confused and somewhat scared when he's told that the conversation is infact not about Ortho.

-once he's calm he'd call it an "Anime plot twist of the century"

-Said sibling probably didn't want to keep on the STYX family bisness and went out into the world to pursue a diffrent passion and that's why they never met.

-Idia isn't super pumped about meeting this "long lost sibling" of his but is defenitelly curius about them and what they decided to pursue in life

🐉 Malleus Draconia📜

-Also would have to be older than him

-Would not be the only one that's suprised, the whole Diasomnia gang would have questions

-The sibling was most likely abducted as a child and suddenly have turned up now, this one however would probably not need a DNA test as long as they have the classic Draconia horns.

-They'd probably also be autamatically respected by Sebek and Silver, meanwhile Lillia is trying to figure out when exactly they could have been born for this situation to make sense, would be a total dad to them afterwards.

#twisted wonderland #twst au #malleus draconia #riddle rosehearts #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #twisted Wonderland x reader

300 notes · View notes

aftersamu · 1 year

Text

LABYRINTH PAIRING: suna rintarou x gn!reader ( + issei matsukawa) GENRE: angst PART ONE: WE DIDN'T EVEN DATE

it's been three months since you last saw suna, your best friend. you two haven't spoken, texted, and for the slim chance you catch him in public – you turn the other way.

you never got back to him on his offer, the one and only time he tried to reach out. you couldn't face him, or your feelings.

but as bad as it sounds, things have been okay.

it's a new chapter, one without suna, and surprisingly, one that you're happy to be living. sometimes the grey aura that dims the world and vision of your eyes appears at the memory and photo's of him. though, over the last few weeks, the grey disappears.

because of him.

he who swooped in like prince charming. the boy who let you cry in his arms and never expected anything in return. the boy who waited days, months, years for you.

the boy who slowly bandaged up your heart, held your hand, and listened to you as a friend. the boy that teased you, made you cry of laughter, and blew away that grey cloud.

you're happy.

happy with a boy that throws flour in your face, burns your eggs, and infuriates you. happy with a boy that lets you steal the covers, always pays for you, always makes you smile and feel seen.

things are good. he's good.

"hey."

the voice stops you in your tracks, your hand freezing in front of the packet of chips. you slowly shift your gaze, meeting those familiar green eyes that you haven't seen in three months.

"hi," you choke out.

"where have you been?" suna asks, "haven't heard from you in a while."

"uh, yeah, i've been busy lately."

"i've missed having you around," he says, "no one to beat at mario cart." he jokes, trying to reduce the tension.

"oh." you nod, glancing around the aisle hoping that he will magically appear around the corner and save you from this metaphorical hell. it sucks. the feeling of being here with him as a wave of nostalgia crashes over you, pushing you to run back to him.

"how come you, uh, never called?"

"i didn't think i needed to," you say. "and i needed some space, sometimes to think."

"so... what did you think about?" he asks, standing in front of you with his hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. "please be honest with me."

"i thought about how i'm going to spend my whole life loving you, even if you'll never love me back." you say, fighting back the lump in your throat, "and i thought about how i'd curse you for the longest time, and haunt my mind about everything that we could've been."

it's embarrassing and dramatic, to dump all of this on him now. but there's a voice in your mind saying that this is the last time you're ever going to see him.

"i thought that maybe i could call you and change everything, that we could go back to normal."

"do you still think that?" he mumbles.

"no. not really," you sigh. "i managed to get over it."

"there you are!" matsukawa smiles, strolling over with a basket in hand filled with junk food for your movie night. "okay, so get this i found sour patch kids! last one!"

if he had noticed suna standing there, he pretended he didn't. but the second you saw him, suna noticed that glimmer in your eyes, the growing grin on lips, and the way you relaxed around him.

you're falling in love.

in love with someone that's not him.

and you got over suna fast.

it says a lot about how right a person is treating you, doesn't it?

2K notes · View notes

wandussyfantasy · 11 months

Note

request for a natasha x gp reader fic

where they’re high school sweethearts and natasha has always babied reader or whatever (it’s be cool to have some moments from high school)

cut to powerbottom/mommy natasha having soft sex w reader, lot of caressing, sweet talk, forehead touches, and praising from both sides

idk i have mommy issues and i wanna be babied by a girl in the future 😍

This Love is Ours

Summary: A glimpse of the life that high school sweethearts Natasha Romanoff and Reader have lived together.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

WARNINGS:

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!

insecurity, smut, g!preader, powerbottom!Natasha, oral, praising, creampie, and fluff

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

(Present)

“Babe,” Natasha whispers sweetly into your cheek as she rocks your shoulder. “Baby,” she calls again and you groan. “Come on, it's time to get up. You can't be late for work,” she says. Your eyes open and you flash her a tired smile.

“Five more minutes,” you negotiate.

Natasha shakes her head, “No, I'm sorry sweetie. When school is out, you can sleep in all you want. But for now, you need to set a good example for those kids.”

You sigh deeply because she is right. If the teacher isn't ready for class then how are the students supposed to be? “Okay, okay,” you say, sitting up. “I’m awake,” Natasha rewards you with a soft kiss.

“Go shower and brush your teeth. I'll go get your breakfast ready. I'm not sending you with lunch today, by the way,” she says as she gets out of the bed herself and pulls on a black silk robe.

“Oh? Why not?” You frown. You love the lunches that she packs for you.

“Well, I thought I'd come have lunch with you,” she smiles and you can't help but feel so lucky to have her in your life.

“That sounds fantastic,” you say as you undress. “Some of the teachers will be happy to see you. They're always asking how you are and when they'll get to see you again,” you tell her.

“That sounds like a plan, love.” Natasha blows you a kiss before rushing off to make breakfast. You hop in the shower and take care of your morning routine so that you are dressed and ready at the kitchen table when Natasha is serving the both of you.

(Past)

You look across the classroom at the girl with dyed hair and dark clothing. She was possibly the most beautiful girl you've ever laid eyes on. Definitely the most beautiful in the entire school. Guys and girls were always tripping over themselves to get her attention. You are somewhere in-between. A freak. You doubted that she'd ever look your way. That she could ever want someone like you.

“Y/n Y/l/n and Natasha Romanoff, the two of you will be working together,” the English teacher states. You had completely zoned out, forgetting where you were. You look down at the information sheet that had been passed out about the project. It was comparing movies and the books they're based on. When you look back up, the most beautiful girl in school is staring at you. She waves with a confident smile. You wave back with a nervous one and anxiously wait for the teacher to dismiss the class to discuss with their partners.

Natasha meets you halfway and the two of you stare at the sheet that had the list of approved books to choose from. Looking for anything that jumps out at you. “How about The Boy In The Striped Pajamas?” She asks.

You look at the title you had just underlined and smile at her. “I was just about to suggest that,” you shyly reply.

“Good, that's settled then,” she says as she underlines it as well. “Now we just need to plan how we're going to meet up to work on the project.”

“I work at the video store after school,” you say. “We can watch the movie there for free and take notes. It's pretty empty most days.”

“Okay, that's good. I'll check out the book at the library and we can read it together too,” Natasha says. “Except on game days,” she says a little disheartened as you ask why. “My boyfriend, Bucky. He's on the basketball team and even though I quit cheer, he still wants me there to support him.”

“You quit cheer?” you hadn't heard that news from the grapevine. That's something that everyone would be talking about.

“Yeah, it was too time consuming. And stressful. It was causing my grades to slip and I want to get into a good school,” she explains.

“Good for you for knowing your limits,” you commend her.

“Thank you,” she says gratefully. “Not many people see it my way. Especially not Bucky.”

“I’m sorry,” you give a sympathetic frown. Natasha shakes her head and moves on from the subject.

(Present)

The bell goes off as you are finishing your review of what will be on Friday's exam. “Alright, class dismissed. I don't want anyone to be late for lunch,” you shoo them out the door. They file out as Natasha squeezes by them with lunch bags in her hands. “Oh it's so crazy to see you in this classroom again.”

“Me? I'm still not used to seeing you as a teacher. Especially not here,” she says as she picks the lab table that the two of you sat at together in your senior year that the two of you were partners for.

“Yeah, I'm not sure I'm ever going to be used to it either. But, it's what I have until I get a better job opportunity,” you say as you sit across from her. “Did you ever think you'd be back here?”

Natasha shakes her head as she sets out the spread of food. “Nope, I thought if I ever came back here, it was either for a ten year class reunion. Or it was years away when we had to come in for parent teacher conferences for our kid.”

You smile at the thought, “So we have a kid now?”

“Maybe one day,” she takes a bite of a chip with a grin. “I mean, we haven't exactly been careful after our wedding.”

You shake your head, “Not here. Students come in here a lot for extra studying time.”

Natasha laughs, “Still such a good girl in school I see.”

You roll your eyes, “Well, unlike you, people can see the effects you have on me.” You allude to the extra body part between your legs. “The last thing I need is for the whole school to find out I'm a freak of nature.”

Natasha sighs, “I understand what you're afraid of. But I really wish you'd stop thinking that way. You're not a freak of nature, please stop saying that about yourself.”

You nod as you chew your food. “Okay,” you swallow, “I’ll try to stop saying it.”

“Thank you,” she leans over the table and kisses your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you grin.

(Past)

You are sitting with your friends, Peter, Ned, and MJ discussing the next out of town decathlon location when someone else joins the lunch table, scooting in next to you. “Do you guys mind if I sit here?” Natasha asks after she's invaded the space.

Ned loses his words as he tries to answer. Peter and MJ are wide eyed as they look at you, who isn't as nervous as they thought you would be. “Uh, sure. It's no problem,” you smile. While working on the project, Natasha had confided in you about changes she is making for herself. That she hadn't liked the path she was on. It didn't feel like her anymore. Which hurt her friends and made it hard on them and her. They were all focused on things she now loathed. It didn't mean she loved being their friend any less. It just made it harder to spend time with any of them because they were all doing the same things together that she couldn't be part of anymore.

Earlier this week, she ended things with Bucky for good which made things awkward at the lunch table. Her friends are his friends too. They weren't sure how to act around her because she seemed fine with the break up whereas he was a complete mess. He broke down in tears at any reminder of Natasha. And they found it to be cold of her that she didn't shed a single one when they were telling her a funny story that involved her ex. They panicked when they mentioned his name, she didn't bat an eye and waited for them to finish.

It led to a confrontational conversation that made her realize, as she was going through her self discovery journey, she was hurting them in the process. So she decided to distance herself from them until they could understand what she was going through.

The separation made her realize how out of touch she was with the world outside of her friend group. She had virtually no one. Until she realized that she had you. “How has your day been so far,” she asks you, sincerely.

“Not too good,” you frown as you recall the start of your day was soured by Bucky Barnes slapping your books out of your hands. “But I think things are going to start looking up from here,” you boldly wink at Natasha and she blushes. “How about your day?”

“It’s getting better,” she fills her utensil with food from her tray and smiles.

“So what brings you down to our level, Nat?” MJ asks, ignoring the glare you give her.

“I don't believe you guys are lesser than anyone else,” she corrects the self-deprecating jab. “But what brings me to the table today is that I finally started living my own life and Y/n seems to be the only person in this world willing to support me,” Natasha elaborates.

You shrug, “You deserve to march to the beat of your own drum.”

“You’re too kind, Y/n,” she says.

“I’m only stating the truth,” the nonchalant act humors your friends who try to hide their laughter behind their hands but don't do a very good job. You choose to ignore them.

(Present)

You walk through the door to the aroma of one of Natasha's best dishes. When she got laid off from her dream job, she hadn't a clue what to do with herself. Until the two of you started cooking together and eventually she began to try out new recipes on her own. Now she is running a successful social media platform on being a housewife. She was taking the best care of you possible and although she works from home, she is the breadwinner of the two of you.

“Something smells amazing,” you say as you walk into the dining area where she is putting the finishing touches on her setup. You stand in the walkway and lean against the wall as you admire her. She dusts her hands off on the skirt of her dress and smiles up at you with a question as to why you're staring. “I’m just trying to figure out how I got so lucky,” you answer, a little lost in a haze.

Her cheeks brighten to a rosy pink as she gestures to the chair in front of you. “Well, come on, we don't want the food to get cold.” She slides into her seat.

“Okay,” you join her at the table and the two of you dig in. She asks how the rest of your day went and you ask her the same. “Oh! A few of the students that saw you on your way out recognized you from your videos! They couldn't believe that you're my wife,” you say with a laugh.

Natasha is amused as well, “Oh yeah? What’d you say to them?”

You reach across the table to hold her hand and rub your thumb along her knuckles. “That most days I don't believe it either,” you wink at her and she blushes again.

“I swear, you make me feel like a giddy teenager trying to hide her crush on you every time,” Natasha raises your joined hands to her lips. “I’m just as lucky to have found you, you know?” You shake your head and put your utensil down to hold her hand in both of your hands.

“It’s funny that you mention hiding a crush. Did you ever know that I was crushing hard on you back then?” You ask.

This makes your wife burst out in laughter for a moment while you ask what's so funny with a growing laugh. “Nothing, nothing, it's just,” Natasha catches her breath. “We’ve been together for almost ten years and you've never asked me this before. But yes, baby, I knew. Well before we worked on that project together actually.”

Now you're blushing, “Oh gosh,” you groan as you drop her hand to cover your face. “And to think I'd feel less embarrassed if I waited ten years to ask you.” Natasha scoots out of her chair to join your side.

“Aw baby, don't be embarrassed. I was very flattered by it back then,” she tries to comfort you.

You cringe at the memories and feel a little guilty. Natasha’s delicate touch gets you to stop hiding your face and you frown. “Did you ever think I was only supporting you during your tough time because I might have a chance with you? Because I swear, that was not the case.”

She combs her fingers through your hair to comfort you as she shakes her head. “No, of course not. In fact, you being a friend to me without making a move is what made me fall for you.” You listen to her with the same intent you always have and her heart swells. People often stopped paying attention to her words because they would get lost in a fantasy about her. She only knew because they would lick or bite their lips as she rattled on about something. Some guys even pitched a tent in their jeans. “See, Y/n, other people tried to reach me during that time in my life. But all I ever was to them was an object. They wanted to sleep with me for bragging rights or be able to flaunt a relationship with me around. You just wanted me to be happy and feel comfortable in my own skin.” She kisses your cheek, “That made me fall for you then and every time you stand by me during some crazy life transition, I fall for you all over again.”

You kiss her on the lips now, she reciprocates it with a deeper intention. “I think I'm ready for my dessert now,” you say as you catch her lips again in another kiss.

“I didn't make any,” she says.

“Good, because I'm not talking about food,” you say as you stand up and sweep her in your arms. You take her to the bedroom and gently lay her in the bed as you fall on top of her. “I love you so much,” you say as you caress her cheek and gaze lovingly into her eyes.

Natasha pushes on your shoulders and you move off of her. “Undress,” she tells you as she works to get out of her dress and you do as she says. Once the two of you are lying on the bed naked, you gravitate towards each other as you always have. You lay on top of her again and take a moment to appreciate her soft, smooth skin against hers. She dances her fingers along your back and you glide yours down her arm. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispers. You accept her words and swallow the rebuttal you want to say. You don't need to guard against her compliments. She means them wholeheartedly.

You kiss her slowly this time and her hands flatten against your back. She spreads and closes her fingers around your skin in soothing circles as she deepens the kiss, keeping the slow pace. As you move the tips of your fingers down her torso, you leave a trail of goosebumps. She shudders under your touch. “I miss your lips when they're not on mine,” you whisper. “I love the sounds you make,” your pointer finger dips between her vulva and her thigh, “When I make you feel good.” She lets out a soft noise as you touch her there.

“You know just what I like,” she says as she presses her lips to your cheek. “I love how patient you are,” she says as she kisses behind your ear. Her hands make their way to your bottom, she squeezes. “I also love your ass,” this comment makes the two of you laugh a little. “What? It’s a good ass,” she squeezes you again.

“I love how silly you are,” you grin at her as you enter her with two fingers. Her breath hitches at the sudden intrusion. “I love how you keep me on my toes.” You slowly pump your fingers in and out of her and she squirms from your movements. “You’re constantly changing and growing and you continue to let me be a part of it. I appreciate that so much, my love.” You kiss her collarbone. Then trail kisses up her neck and back down to her collarbone. Her body reacts to every little movement. Encouraging you to do more.

When your trail of kisses reaches her collarbone again, you don't kiss back up. This time you continue down. You take her supple breast into your mouth and curl your fingers inside of Natasha just the way she likes. Her hands shoot up your back and find their way into your hair. She combs her fingers through your hair as you pay attention to each breast. Licking circles around her nipples. Sucking on as much of her breast as you can fit in your mouth. All while playing with her sensitive clitoris and slowly using your fingers inside of her.

Your cock hardens against her thigh and she wants so desperately to have some of the attention on you. “Baby,” she calls as softly as she had in the morning. Her breast falls out of your mouth with a pop as you look up. “It's your turn now,” she says and you nod, pulling your fingers out of her. You were a little disappointed that you didn't get to make it all of the way down her body, but you knew that you would get your chance with your mouth between her legs eventually.

Natasha sits up and gently guides you so that you're laying down on the bed. She lays on top of you and starts by placing two sweet kisses on your chest. One on each breast. She then kisses down your torso until she reaches your penis. “You’re so beautiful,” she says as she makes eye contact with you. Knowing how insecure this body part makes you. Natasha takes you into her hand and kisses the head of your penis. Then she kisses down the base of your cock. With the tip of her tongue, she makes her way back up to the top and has you enter her mouth. Her warm, wet, soft lips have you moaning at the contact. Nothing compares to the way she sucks you off.

Over the years, the two of you have been asked if things ever get boring between the two of you in bed. It's been asked by short-lived couples that aren't sexually or emotionally compatible with their partners. The two of you weren't ever offended by the extremely personal question, you always had the option not to answer. And as the two of you have only ever been sexual with each other it was a natural curiosity. It was an easy no, neither of you get bored in bed with each other. It's not everything to the relationship that the two of you have. Which is what has made the relationship as strong as it is. And whenever either of you have a sexual curiosity, the both of you are open to exploring it together. But for the most part, neither of you needed any of those.

Simple nights like these, where you take time to love each other are the best nights. Natasha takes her time with sucking your cock and you enjoy spending as much time as possible with your tongue in her pussy. Then, when the two of you are connected, it's not about rushing to the finish line. It is all about listening to each other's bodies and acting on what they are telling you. Not being selfish and only taking, but giving so much back that you both end the night overly satisfied.

When Natasha is done licking and sucking on your cock, she kisses her way back up your body. Once she reaches your lips, she traps you in a deep kiss that has both of you humming in delight. “Sit up,” she says and you do. You lean your back against the headboard and wait for what she's going to do. Natasha climbs onto your lap and puts both of your hands on her bottom.

You grin as you give the cheeks a firm squeeze. “Talk about a nice ass,” you compliment, making her blush. “You have an amazing one too, my love.” Your playful mood quickly leaves as she rolls her hips against you. The soaking warm lips of her pussy cover your penis causing you to groan. Oh how you love feeling her against you.

“I love how easily I can make you fall apart,” she says as she continues to roll her hips. You respond by kissing her cheek. Natasha dances her fingers lightly up your arms. Across your shoulders and down your back as she moves her body against yours. Matching her rhythm, you roll your hips with hers. You keep your hands on her ass because that's where she wants them as you wait for the go ahead to enter her. The two of you kiss again, your tongues sliding against each other. Natasha pulls away and holds your face with one hand. You lean into her touch as you maintain eye contact. “Enter me,” she whispers. Not breaking eye contact, you lift her up and aim your cock at her hole with your hands.

Slowly, you lower her onto your cock. Her tight walls grip at you as you enter her, inch by inch. She breaks the contact as she moves her gaze to your thick cock stretching her. “I love you,” you whisper as you kiss her forehead. “You are so amazing,” you guide her further on. “You are the most wonderful woman I know,” you state once you're all the way inside.

Natasha sits for a moment, enjoying the full feeling she gets when you're inside of her. “I love you too,” she says as she adjusts her grip on your shoulders. “You and I were made for each other,” she starts to move on your cock and you drop your head back, allowing her full access to your neck.

(Past)

You and Natasha have been dating for well over two years. She has met your parents and they love her. You have met her family and they welcomed you with open arms. Everything fell into place smoothly. Although the first time you met them, her father made a rather crude joke about liking that his daughter is with a girl because now he doesn't have to worry about her getting pregnant. It had hit you that you had been lying to your girlfriend. You laughed awkwardly, feeling a bit guilty because you still haven't revealed your penis to your girlfriend. However, without even knowing, she didn't find the joke very funny and she shut her father down for the “gross” comment.

It has been an easy couple of years hiding this piece of you. The two of you were more focused on connecting on a deep emotional level than you were on the sexual side. She liked talking to you and how you listened. She liked being there to support you as much as you support her. She really loved being held by you more than anything when watching movies and shows together. There was something special about the relationship she had with you, the sweet kisses every now and then, the flirty comments that made her blush, the romantic dates that you and she arranged for each other. The way the two of you were able to hang out with friends either separate or together without feeling anxious. She trusted you more than anything and you felt the same way about her.

That being said, the two of you, though eighteen, are hormonal teenagers. As the two of you have grown closer, tension has begun to build. Natasha’s friends have all bragged about losing their virginities and even told the truth about how it was quite disappointing and not at all what they expected. She even had to console a couple of them after they were dumped because that’s all the other person wanted from them. If she were with anyone else, she might have been afraid to take that extra step. But she wasn’t with just anyone in her eyes. She was with the best person ever. She was with you. Natasha had no doubt in her mind that this step would only bring the two of you closer and she wanted to feel that closeness with you.

You were terrified that she would hate you when she found out. At the start of your relationship you thought that maybe you should disclose this information before things went too far. But every time you tried to start the conversation a voice in your head would convince you that maybe the two of you wouldn’t be together forever. So, what was the harm in having as much time with her as you could? Now, as she gets a little more aggressive in make-out sessions you begin to fear that you can’t hide your secret anymore. And you aren’t sure what will happen when she finds out. As much as you know she loves you.

Then Natasha brought up the subject one night. It was during your graduation vacation that the two of you had saved up for. Both your parents and her’s helped you cover any extra costs and your parents even allowed you private access to their lake house for the two weeks the two of you wanted to use it. She was thinking about this subject for months as every little thing you did turned her on. She thought about approaching the subject before prom but then she thought about how cliche it would be to lose her virginity on prom night and it lost its appeal.

She was going to push the subject away until some time in college. To see how long the two of you could last without that element in the relationship. Besides, if this was something that was relationship ending, she didn’t want it to happen before the two of you had to be roommates for a year. The two of you tried to listen to everyone and not plan a future around each other so you applied to schools separately. Not letting the other know where.

It just happened to be fate when the pair of you were offered full scholarships to the same school. Then came the dorming issue. Should you two live together? Are you ready for that step? Then with further research it was a requirement that freshmen spent the first year in a suite of four. You and Natasha applied to share the suite with two friends that were also going to be attending the school. They weren’t sure at first if they wanted to share the suite with the couple but Wanda and Carol thought they were better off with them.

Natasha couldn’t be more ecstatic about living together. And after spending the past couple of nights with you, she could see this life being forever with you.

“How do you feel about that?” Natasha asks again, snapping you back to reality.

“I am scared,” you say with vulnerability causing a waiver in your voice.

Natasha scoots closer to you on the couch with worry in her eyes as tears fill yours. “Why are you scared, baby? You know that I love you with all of my heart.” She tries to comfort you.

You take a breath as you avoid looking at her, “Because, I’m a freak.”

“No, baby, you’re not a freak. Why would you say that?” She tries to get you to look in her direction but you refuse.

“I’ve been keeping something from you,” your voice cracks as you finally face her. “I haven’t been completely honest with you about me.”

She pulls away from you. Now Natasha is fearful of what you might say. She wasn’t ready to lose you and this wasn’t the way she wanted it to go. Especially not on such a great trip. “What have you been hiding?” She carefully asks. Not certain if she wants her world to come crashing around her just yet, but is hopeful that whatever it is won’t be as negative as you’re making it out to be.

You take a breath and clench your jaw as you muster up the courage to say, “I have a penis.”

“I’m sorry?” Natasha wasn’t sure if she heard you correctly. She thought you were going to say that you have cheated on her or worse, that you fell out of love with her.

“I have a penis,” you repeat with shame.

Natasha is confused now, “But you’re a girl? Or are you transgender?” The two of you have been in the same classes since elementary school. It would have been big news if someone was transgender in their school. Hell, the two of you have had periods at the same time.

You shake your head and swallow thickly, “No, I have a penis and I have a vagina. I was born this way.”

As Natasha processes she begins to relax. “Oh,” she says, “Okay.”

Your face contorts in confusion now. “That’s all you have to say?”

Natasha shakes her head and takes your hand in hers, “No, that’s not all. I’m sorry.” She clears her throat as she thinks of what to say. “My love for you isn’t lost because of this. I’m sorry that I haven’t made you feel comfortable enough to tell me about this sooner but I don’t see this as being a problem for us. I love you for you, Y/n. That includes your heart, mind, and body in all its unique beauty.”

Tears fall from your eyes freely, “You are the most amazing person in the world. What did I do to deserve you?” The two of you share a sweet kiss and after a romantic meal, that night, the two of you learn what it means to unite as one.

(Present)

Natasha is riding you as you lose all thought that isn’t just her and the way her body feels connected to you. “Oh baby,” she pants out as your thrusts get a little hurried as you get closer to your climax. “Are you ready?” She asks and you nod mindlessly. “Okay,” she says as she picks up her pace a little bit. She wasn’t as close but she didn’t mind helping you reach your orgasm. Natasha knew you wouldn’t let her end the night without helping her with hers. She pulls your head to her chest and she tangles her fingers in your hair as she coaxes you to finish. “Cum inside me, baby,” she whispers. “It’s okay,” she kisses your temple, “let go, let go.”

You let out a few soft moans against her neck as your thrusts come to a stop as you empty inside of your wife. Filling her with your cum. Natasha strokes your hair as she kisses your forehead and cheek, telling you how good you have done. Once you have caught your breath and can feel your body again. You pull her off of your softening cock. Your cum slowly slips its way out of her entrance and falls onto you. “Lay down my love, let me take care of you.”

Natasha nods and you make room for her to lay next to you. Once she is comfortable you kiss a path down her body until your head is between her legs. You clean up the mess your semen had made until all that’s left on her skin is streaks of your saliva. “Right there,” she says as your nose presses into her clitoris and your tongue is in her folds. “Ohh, that’s it,” she says as you press further into her. Moving your tongue in her the way that you have learned makes her react the most. Her thighs tighten around your head as you work harder on her mound. She begins rocking her hips which moves your head along with her. When your lungs begin to beg for air, you lift your head and substitute your fingers for your mouth. You kiss the skin surrounding you as you rub her clitoris and when you return your mouth to her pussy you are rewarded with her orgasm.

You keep your mouth on her until she relaxes and loses her grip on your head completely. You make your way back up to her body with lazy kisses as you are as spent as she is. You fall beside her, placing one final kiss on her shoulder. “I love you, forever,” you tell her as your arm drapes across her.

She gives a tired smile as her tired eyes droop shut. “I love you too,” she kisses your nose, “forever.”

The End.

#natasha x you #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #fluff #smut #natasha fanfic au

528 notes · View notes