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#he reminded me of my old cat </3

httpiastri · 7 days

Note

I have come to inform you about Paul and his cat

That’s all :3

thank you for the info!!!!!!!! pls i saw this ask first thing in the morning and i just went "!!! 😳 a CAT???? 😭"…….. im in love

#he's also absolutely GORGEOUS #reminds me a lot of my old cat ngl 😭😭😭😭 but damn the color #b e a u t i f u l #and the thought of the cat ignoring him bcs paul spends too much time overseas :(((( pls #(overseas isn’t the right word right….. just out of the country?? is what i meant)#made my head spark with some blurb ideas #asks!#paul aron #lunar <3

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maiko-san · 3 months

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Catnap + Dogday x Reader ( Part 3 )

<<< Part 2 , Part 4 >>>

Relationship: Fluff

Warning : Hurt/comfort

Character focused : Catnap, Fem! Reader

Plot : Even though you manage to win Catnap's favour through treats

A/n : As a reminder, Catnap is Theo who is a 7 year old child during this period. He's the youngest out of all Smiling Critters in my headcanon since he was the last smiling critter to be shown by MOB!

"Here's your treat for the day! You did even better than before, I'm proud of you!"

Catnap has been doing quite well recently. Giving him rewards after he did his job does the trick pretty well.

Guess one way to someone's heart is through food was a thing after all.

Catnap sits there as he stares at the food you've given him.

You were busy looking through your clipboard to even notice that the feline hasn't left his spot.

Catnap always questioned himself, why do you care about him?

Almost all the staff here ignore him completely as if he never exists, except you.

He is considered as a troublesome mascot to deal with, even before he was Catnap.

Just why....?

Why do you waste your time on him when you can focus on other mascots?

Catnap likes how you treated him. You were gentle as the others had said.

You finally notice the purple feline hasn't left the room, usually Catnap would slip away immediately after he gets his treat and eat it somewhere else.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"...."

Catnap only looks down on you with those beady white eyes, before tilting his head slightly.

The feline mascots got on all four without breaking eye contact with you, he leans his face close to you and says.

"Why?"

"Pardon?"

"Why do....you care about me.......?"

You quirk an eyebrow at his questions, yes his file did said he was troublesome but why did he ask such a question?

"It's simple, it's my job to take care of each one of you. Not only just that, I want to be your friend!"

"You....want to be my...friend?"

"Yeah!"

The only close friend he had was Dogday and The Prototype, he wasn't that close to the other Smiling Critters since they rarely interact with him.

But the idea of having a new friend makes him happy.

He has a new friend. Catnap picks you up by surprise and holds you high up in the air.

Your body went stiff as you cling onto the mascot's paws for dear life. You weren't used to being picked up by the mascots yet. You're 20 ft in the air!

"You are my friend now...."

Catnap said with a wide smile on his face with his tail standing up straight behind him.

He feels very happy!

From that day, Catnap would sneak around to see you and to cuddle with you.

Every time you scratch under his chin, the feline would purr very loudly and you swore that it would cause the entire office to shake.

Sometimes Catnap would be a menace and push things off the desk just to mess with you.

There is one time you decide to play peek-a-boo with the feline mascot, which turns out to be horrifying and Catnap would get closer every time you take a peek.

But it was a fun game.

Catnap mostly spends his day in your office, with him curling around your desk and has his tail wrapped around your leg, so you couldn't go anywhere while he's asleep.

"Catnap...I need to go to the bathroom..."

"....."

"Catnap, please"

Don't get you started when you caught him trying to fit himself in a small box. It was hilarious and cute at the same time.

Like Dogday said, Catnap is a friendly and sweet cat.

Seeing how he acts around you reminds you of your days in the orphanage. Yes, you were once an orphan, seeing these smiling critters reminded you of the younger orphans that you used to take care of. The way they act brings up old memories in your mind.

You wish to see them but the orphanage you once lived in no longer exists due to financial problems just a year after you were dismissed.

The residents around the place told you that they were moved to someplace else, which the location remained unknown.

You hoped that they were able to find a perfect home and have loving families.

TIMESKIP

You're looking through the files, you have done with all the Smiling Critters except for Catnap....

Your supervisor doesn't let you check on him for a reason.

In his file, Catnap is stated as 'Dangerous' and only a high-class personnel is able to do a maintenance check on him.

You always wonder why though....

They would bring him somewhere and return him to the playcare a week later, he would come back looking exhausted and malnourished.

His fur isn't as soft as the other critters, it was rough and matted, sometimes you could smell the scent of burned....flesh on him and also a hint of blood too.

Also, Catnap always has new wounds on his body. Especially his wrists and chest area, like he was prodded by something. Which worries you a lot, what did the higher ups have done to him?

Once the playcare is closed down for the night, you sneak into his hidden room so you could give him a proper treatment.

"It's alright, just rest as much as you can"

"It hurts..."

"I know, I'll do as much as I can to make the pain stop. I-I'm sorry that I couldn't do anything to help you, I wish I could've done more...."

It was heart wrenching to see Catnap this way, his head is huddled close to your body as he seeks comfort in your embrace.

The sound of his weak purr was the only thing that fills the silence in the small room.

After 6 months working for the Playcare you came to realize that these smiling critters are able to bleed....

Pickypiggy cut herself up when she was using the knife during one of her cooking sessions on her stage. Poor Picky bleeds a lot from the cut and you had to stitch her up and bandage her wound.

You had a suspicition that the higher ups are hiding something, something sinister and dark. You had asked some of your coworkers/seniors about it but they just dismissed you.

Saying that you grew TOO attached to these mascots and start to see them as real people.

The sudden shift of Catnap brings you out from your deep thoughts.

"Can you sing me....a lullaby, my star....."

"Of course"

youtube

A/n : I added a little of Reader's lore here :D. Thank you for enjoying the chapters so far!

I have a headcanon for the smiling critters which is—

That they don't remember about their previous lives as a human until 'The Hour of Joy' happens, the only Smiling Critters that are aware of it is Catnap/Theo himself.

So, after 'The Hour of Joy' happens, the smiling critters start to remember their past lives and from the moment they become more aware of their existence and barely clinging on the last bit of sanity they have left.

#poppy playtime chapter 3 #poppy playtime catnap #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime #catnap x reader #x reader #dogday x reader #smiling critters #smiling critters x reader #fluff relationship #hurt/comfort #Youtube

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bizbat · 2 months

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When They're In Love - Jason Todd - 2

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Fem terms used for reader.

~ Mild smut.

~ You can find part one of these hcs here, and part three here.

~ You can find more of my works here.

~ Thank you to @the-best-of-the-myrmidona for requesting more When They're In Love Headcanons for Jason Todd!

~ SFW ~

He likes to sit with his head between your legs, in any context.

He likes when you massage his scalp with your legs dangling over his broad shoulders.

He loves it when you wear his clothes.

His heart always stops for a moment when he sees you come out of the shower, drying your hair with a towel, dressed in one of his shirts that just barely reaches down to your thighs, and rises as you reach up to take care of your wet hair.

Loves seeing your thighs.

He gives real "victorian man seeing an ankle" energy.

He loves feeling you against him.

He needs to feel your skin or your body pressing against his or he will have a bad day.

I feel like he always smells good, even if he doesn't smell good, yk?

Like even when he comes home smelling like blood, smoke, and gasoline, his natural musk probably still stands out.

Always catches him off guard when you wanna hug him before he showers.

He can't help but laugh when you bury your face into his chest to inhale more of his scent.

He likes it when you play with his hair, but also likes to play in yours.

Straight, wavy, curly, coiled, long, short, shaved.

He don't care.

Lay on his chest and let him play with your hair, now!

I think he can cook, but that he doesn't know a lot of recipes. He reads a lot of cookbooks though, so he always wants to try something new with you.

I think he always wants to impress you, but he wants to be lowkey abt it.

First time you come over his place, he scrubs every single square inch till it sparkles, but he'll throw a shirt over the couch, or leave out a plate, or something, so he can be all "Sorry about the mess, haha".

Like a loser smh.

I think he'd ask Alfred for a recipe that will be impressive, but not too hard or complicated.

I didn't include it in the last set of hcs, but im putting it here.

Jason would absolutely want to rescue a pet with you, I'm thinking either a massive black dog, or an old cat that has no teeth and has outlived three owners.

Something that needs love and hasn't been given it.

But, I also think he'd put it off bc he wants to be able to give it his full attention.

If he found the right ball of fur and teeth though, I think he might be compelled to take it home with him.

He loves to take naps. Especially with you.

I think it's his way of being vulnerable.

He'd let you touch his scars.

I don't think they'd be sensitive physically, but maybe they'd be sore reminders of his lack of a normal life.

That's why it's so special that he lets you of all people touch them.

~ NSFW ~

Loves loves loves kisses.

Let Me explain.

When he's got you on your back, your eyes glazed over and completely unfocused, his favorite thing to do is lean down, squeeze your cheeks until your lips pucker, and give you lots of sloppy kisses.

He doesn't mind all the drool, in fact, it kinda adds to it.

He'll wipe away the tears sliding down your cheeks with his thumb, before popping it into your mouth, letting you suck it off, before slipping his tongue between your lips so he can taste your sweat tears too.

He's so condensing too. :(

Mean, mean man.

Calls you names, likes to smack, spits.

I think he likes to display his strength, probably holds you up as he thrusts into you, no matter your weight.

I keep writing abt him and he's starting to grow on me smh.😒

Okay that's all for now! <3

#bizbat #dc #dc smut #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanons #red hood x reader #red hood smut #jason todd fluff #batman #batfam #dc headcanon

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girlspecimen · 2 years

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he is so important to me ⬇️

#new favorite wojak #he reminds me of my gross old cats whom i adore <3

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netherfeildren · 6 months

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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

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aeomianamoure · 27 days

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— emo txt as ghostface headcanons!

warnings <3: !smut, cursing, yandere txt (they’re dark and toxic), death, gore, !coquette reader, emo txt, ddlg, !!size difference!!, (reader is in college), crybaby reader ):

a/n <3: i wasn’t expecting that much likes on my first post ! ty ty ily guys sm :€ lemme know if i should make a taglist too !! n don’t be shy to leave requests !! hope u guys enjoy !!

ghostface txt! who would insist on watching all six of the scream films together, they’re absolutely obsessed with the gore and the ghostface reveals in the ending of each film. “see that babe? see how jill almost got away with it? all she had to do was make sure old sydney was dead dumb bitch”

ghostface txt! who loves to see you scared, “daddy? did you see that ghostface is back in town? im really scared” you’d whimper cuddling deeper into your boyfriends chest for comfort “what if he kills us next?” you’d tear up worrying making them laugh at you, “you’d really think i’d let them touch even a hair on your little head baby? if anything i’d die for you and give myself up as sacrifice wait no i’d kill ghostface for you” they’d coo at your eyes softening before teasing you again, “that only applies if you’re a good girl for me though otherwise i’ll let ghostface slit your throat” and you immediately burst into tears

ghostface txt! who loves making you cry “n-no more mister ghostface please!” you’d sob hysterically as you continue to lay under your bed taking the older man’s rough assault against your pretty pussy. you were ashamed of how your failed attempt of hiding from the infamous killer resulted in your getting fucked from behind, that and the fact that a man other than your boyfriend was using your body or so you thought “shh what did i say hm? you tell me to stop one more time princess and i kill you and your boyfriend” they’d laugh menacingly at your pleas before you blabber a ‘im sorry sir’ praying to god that your boyfriend wouldn’t find out about you basically “cheating” on him

ghostface txt! would purposely torment you and then gaslight you about it “i dunno i felt like i was being watched last night when i was sleeping it was really weird” you’d frown as your boyfriend bounced you on their knee “oh? are you sure babe? i think maybe we need to stop watching those scream movies so much seems to me you’re getting paranoid” they’d pet your hair as you nod pouting deeper

ghostface txt! who would kill anyone your friends with at school staging it as accidents/suicide and being there to comfort you through it all, “she was my bestfriend!” you’d sob at the reminder of your friend from your classes passing on as your boyfriend faux frowned at you shushing your cries as they held you in their arms

ghostface txt! who would laugh as you finally figure out who ghostface really was, “how’d you catch on?” they’d faux coo at your face as more tears flow down your face you’d whine at the harsh thrust of their cock going in and out of your pussy “catch on?” they’d grin like a cheshire cat at your response, “you’ve been flinching everytime i go near you i know you know something” you’d gasp softly as your felt your gummy walls being filled by your boyfriends cum “i found your ghostface mask under your bed” you’d hiccup “im sorry for not saying anything i was just scared you’d get mad” you’d sniffle as you finally cummed your little legs giving out

#coquette #emo boyfriend #emo x coquette #txt x reader #angelina’s garden ♡!#txt #txt smut #ghostface x reader

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writingoddess1125 · 8 months

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Welcome! Request: CLOSED

My name is JC and I love writing!

KOFI

I Write Mostly Angsty Slice of Life but always open to request!

Masterlist below -

10/28 updated

MARVEL

XMEN

Kurt Wagner

1999 (Ongoing)

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

Pt. 3

Pt. 4

Pt. 5

Blowin Me up (Ongoing)

Pt. 1

ONE PIECE

You Take Care of Their Hair

You get High with Them

Old Men Series Masterlist

Zoro,Luffy,Corazon Child Series

Crocodile, Law, Sanji Child Series

You Take their Hat

You Cook for Them Even though You such at It

How Strong the Old Man Gene's Are

They Lay on your chest

You give them a Massage

You give them Facemask

Drunk + Spiked

The Moment they fell in love with you

Just a Peak

You Die at Birth

(S)cream

Weird Relationship Milestones

Buggy The Clown I'm your Biggest Fan (Completed)

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

My Heart Breaks (Completed)

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

Theater Brat (Completed)

Theater Brat

Theater Bart Pt. 2

Theater Brat Pt. 3

Fell In Love Alone (Ongoing)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Jessica and Roger Rabbit Effect

Part 1

Part 2

My Anchor

Solo Act

Not Flashy

Your Seat Awaits

Trouble Comes in Pairs Pt. 1

NSFW Alphabet

Buggy find out about thirst traps

Buggy finds out about thirst traps pt. 2

Not all Silver and Gold

Pain and Pleasure

Switch Things Up

Boardwalk Artist

Poppy Kisses

First Bounty

Modern AU Buggy -> Part 2

Secret Headcanon

Ocean Eyes

Drunk teasing with bestie

You get him a Corgi

Paints on S/O

Roronoa Zoro

Favorite Bartender

N$FW Alphabet

New Parent Zoro

Dancing With Swords (Ongoing)

Part 1

Luffy D. Monkey

Luffy realizing he's in love with you

Warm Mornings

Thunder Buddies

Sanji

Moral Support

Friend Like Me

A Girl to Love

Usopp

Bar Adventure

Shanks

Tag Youre It

You remind me

My Shooting Star

Mihawk

Call Me Sir

Only Us

NSFW Alphabet

Tag Youre It

My heart lies with you

Fight for pleasure

Look up Darling~

Daddy Mihawk

How and Why?

Crack

Morticia and Gomez Effect

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

Pt. 3

Its Done

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

Pt. 3

Crocodile

So Annoying

MISC.

Capitan Kuro X Reader

Alvida X Reader

VIKINGS- Coming Soon

CALL OF DUTY

Relationship Fluff

Medic of 141

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Dumb cat that loves Simon

Finds out about thirst traps

Blip on the Radar (Ongoing)

Part 1

Part 2.

John 'Soap' McTavish

Koing

Finds out about thirst traps

But do have other interest and willing to write about other Animes, Cartoons, Shows and More!

#marvel imagine #anime imagines #vikings imagines #one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #ivar the boneless #vikings ivar #hvitserk fanfic #ubbe imagine #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner

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hyuuukais · 2 months

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-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143

pairing -> lee minho x fem reader

synopsis -> after a bad breakup, y/n needs to find a new place to live. although she's grateful for her best friend, up-and-coming model hwang hyunjin, for letting her stay at his, she can't keep living with him and his model roommates. so when an opening for somewhere nearby with cheap rent opens up, she jumps on it, despite knowing next to nothing about the 3 other tenants, only that one owns 3 cats. the three quickly learn of her breakup, determined to help get her back on her feet. but what happens when one of them begins to develop feelings?

warnings -> gen, y/n talks abt being compared to her sister, family tension, food/eating mention, lowkey survivors guilt going on

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER FIFTEEN -> LIKE IT USED TO BE (partially written, wc: 898)

"Oh good, you're not dead yet," Han speaks a bit loudly into the phone and you move it away from your face slightly.

The bright screen has your eyes straining in the otherwise dark room, tucked under a plush comforter from your childhood. It's amazing it's still in good condition considering how old it is, but your bed squeaks under you to remind you of the age of this room full of old memories. On the night stand next to you is a framed photo of you with your family, your mom and dad standing behind you and another little girl, slightly taller than you; your sister. You lean over and put the frame face down.

"Still alive, barely," you reply with a sigh. "Why'd you assume I'm having a bad time?"

"Let me think," he puts a finger to his bottom lip in fake concentration. "'How am I supposed to last four more days'... doesn't exactly sound like someone having a good time."

"You caught me, but I swear it's nothing." A lie. "Nothing interesting." A truth; is your family drama really worth talking about? "How's the apartment?"

"Fine. We've started to try and befriend the guy down the hall, Seungmin? Maybe you've run into him?" You shake your head. "Minho seems to get along with him the best. I think it's because they both act unwelcoming to strangers."

This makes you snort. The two of you continue to talk and laugh, the cats making an appearance at one point with Minho, who gives you a short wave, and you don't realize how late it's getting until your eyes catch the time briefly; 3:08AM. Shit. How loud have you been? You freeze when you hear a door open, muting Jisung on the other end and flipping your phone over. Your door opens.

"What are you doing up so late? Don't you know what time it is?" Your sister groans. "And you're being kind of loud, mind keeping it down a bit? Who're you even talking to?"

"No one," you say too quickly, internally cringing at yourself. "Sorry. I'm going to bed soon."

"You're lucky it was me and not mom who walked in here," she says with a sort of laugh. "She would have screamed her head off and taken your phone, despite being an adult now."

You sit up. "Yeah."

"She really fucked us up a bit, huh?" She sits next to you hesitantly when you don't reply. "Maybe we'd be closer now."

"Hyo-"

"I'm sorry," she stands suddenly. "I shouldn't be saying all this. Forget this, please." Your older sister stands in the doorway, eyes pleading. "Don't mention this to anyone, okay?"

"Okay," you whisper, knowing damn well Jisung heard every word.

As you listen to her footsteps fade, you learn to breath again, flipping your phone back over and unmuting Han. When he notices you're back, he says nothing, fiddling with the string on the hoodie he wears.

"You-"

"It's okay-" You speak at the same time and laugh, breaking the newfound tension. He continues. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but I guess this is what you meant by complicated?"

You pout, eyes beginning to sting. When you speak, your voice breaks a little. "Yeah, I mean, it's hard, you know? All my life I've been compared to Hyo by my mother and teachers and even my friends. Like, I have to be her instead of myself, and she never once stepped in to protect me from all that like a big sister is supposed to. Never heard her stand up for me when it was happening right in front of her, no moment of 'hey, let my little sister be who she wants, you already have one of me'. I feel like I can't talk to her anymore. I'm rambling, sorry."

"No, it's okay," Han reassures you.

"We used to be close when we were young," you speak into the space he's left you. "Then as we got older, we drifted. We're only a few years apart, but she always acted so much better than me once we hit a certain age. She said hurtful things to me a lot, and I'm sure I said equally awful things back." A tear falls onto your blanket and you sniff, looking up to your ceiling where a poster of a boy band is pinned to prevent more from falling. "I want my sister back, but... I think there's too much pain."

"Oh Y/nnie," Han gives you a sad look. "I wish I could hug you right now."

"I'm just saying stupid stuff now, I should sleep." You've overshared and want out of this conversation ASAP. "Goodnight Han, sleep well."

He's about to protest when you hang up, moving your phone next to the frame to charge. For a while you lay there, staring at your ceiling with a heavy weight on your chest. You've never fully talked to someone about the way your upbringing made you feel or the way it still affects you. There's still a scared little girl inside of you, shying away from hands that want to hold you, comfort you. Because what if it's all a lie? What if they all leave you, like Hwa? Or like... like him?

You glance over to the frame again, not having it in you to flip it back up.

notes -> me vs y/ns mother rn- who do we think this "him" is referring to? and what happened? will hyunjin and y/n make up?

taglist -> @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @puppyminnnie @tfshouldidohere @kangaracha @chlodavids @whitney190 @thisisnotjacinta @borahae-reads @brooklynie @gini143 @kayleigh-28 @skz-streamer @babyphotos0325 @scallywag1299 @venusmoonxnight @naomisosoup @fertiliezedtoesw @s00buwu @realrintaro @anothershorthuman @skzstaykatsy @ilovejeongin007 @btswestan @multifandomedsimp @ihrtlix @raehawthorne @euphoric-univers @hyperpixie @evermourning @satsuri3su @jazziwritesthings @minhwa @wyzminho @fic-for-readers @dreamerwasfound @imsiriuslyreal @lailac13 @palindrome969 @lixie-phoria @aalexyuuuhm @sunflowerbebe07 @st4rhwa @lukeys-giggle @jabmastersupriseee @judeduartewannabe @gaysontheprince @stepout-09-15 @splat00z

^^^ orange means i can't tag you

#-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143 #stray kids smau #skz smau #non idol au #stray kids #skz #lee know #lee know smau #lee minho smau #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know x fem reader #lee minho x fem reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #smau #social media au

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wonillaa · 2 years

Text

enha boyfriend thoughts :(

heeseung ♡

- “honey, i’m home”

- started saying it as a joke but now its illegal to come through the door without saying it

- shared playlists

- cute dates :( dog/cat cafes, karaoke

- voice messages + random selfies

- prefers to just stay in and lay with you

- unspoken love for each other

- actions > words

- still makes sure to send good morning and goodnight texts tho 🫡

jay ♡

- he’s so endearing LMAO

- the care you’d get when you’re sick ..

- you’re eating so good w/ him

- i think matching small things like jewelry or jackets

- surprise gifts ☹️

- sprays his cologne on your stuffed animals for you to feel closer when you aren’t together

- always making sure you’re comfortable

- layers you until you’re waddling like a penguin in the winter . he does not care

- involving you in everything he’s interested in + always info dumping on things

- uses you as a model for outfits

jake ♡

- bf jake makes me so sad

- pictures of you in his wallet

- has playlists of songs that remind him of you

- so many dates

- hikes maybe ? idk i think he’d like being in nature with you

- gym partners

- he says you’re his motivation so he needs you there lmao

- has a separate album in his camera roll of pictures of you and him

sunghoon ♡

- his love language is being annoying /j

- he reminds me of winter </3

- zips your coat up and puts your hat + gloves on

- throws snow, leaves or even grass at you no matter the season + if you bake together flour will end up all over you

- baby talks to you bc he knows you hate it

- you frequent a coffee shop together and get a drink every morning 🙁

- sends you gym mirror pics .. ha ha 🤗

- he’d be so sweet tho everything he does is out of love 😞

sunoo ♡

- your relationship is built on impulsive acts

- you walk either every morning or night like an old married couple

- everything is so perfect with him (◞‸◟)

- he’s so loving and praises you for just breathing

- you take turns giving each other massages and playing with each others hair

- so much affection :(

- he just wants to experience everything with you and see the world together

- cheek kisses

- my biggest wish is sunoo getting the most love in this world im devastated

jungwon ♡

- jungwon 😭😭😭😭<3

- has a note in his phone dedicated to all your favorite things, allergies, etc

- reads you so well he’s like a part of you

- if your mom/parent has a facebook he’d def follow it

- he’s a fan of all love languages

- clingy jungwon .. 💔

- steals your stuff and always in your personal space

- he’s so cute

- makes sure you stay on top of taking care of yourself , if you’re too tired to brush your teeth or wash your face he’s doing it for you

niki ♡

- he’s so childish and maybe a little evil

- i think he’d really feel bad if he took things too far 😭

- he lives to tease you he’s like a mini sunghoon but worse

- makes fake photocards of you and shows you his collection

- refuses pet names

- the most you’re getting is ‘my love’ everything else he uses is to bribe you for something or to mess with you

- please take him bowling . the amount of times he’s asked for someone to go with him is truly getting sad

- just dance competitions

- he likes everything if you’re involved

- he whispers his favorite things about you + how much he loves you while you’re asleep ☹️ he’s shy

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chaseadrian · 11 months

Text

fragile concessions

you don't mind leaving Eddie to his devices in your bedroom as you shower, you don't mind even more when you catch him taking advantage of the opportunity. [masterlist]

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader tags: 18+ ONLY, explicit, voyeurism, pillow humping, invasion of privacy, friends to lovers, handjobs, blowjobs, facesitting, mutual masturbation, light backstory aka porn w some plot, fluffy ending word count: 4.2k+ a/n: yeah yeah i know i've been gone a long time. hope y'all like this <3

Rifling through your dresser, you’re startled by a knock at the window. You bring the sweater in your hands to your chest instinctively, and step backward as you look through the glass.

Black leather and ring clad hands wiggling a ‘hello’ from outside are more than enough to calm your nerves.

“Morning, Eddie. You’re way early.” You push the curtain out of the way, muscling the old pane open, “Why didn’t you use the front door?”

“I knocked!” He grunts as he climbs over the ledge, clamoring for your forearm when he loses balance.

Your nails sink into the leather sleeve of his jacket, and you cock your head, “You did?”

He looks up at you with a smile, brushing his wrinkled shirt, “No. Just wanted to see your bedroom. You never let me in here I—wow.” He reaches out for the chiffon fabric of your canopy bed, pointing at the cushion of pillows at the head, “Feel like I’m in a palace. Silk pillowcases? Classy.”

The sweater knots into your arms as you cross them, “Weirdo.”

Leaving him to wander, you pull a fresh towel from the hall closet, yelling back, “Well, get comfortable. I still have to shower.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me.”

You linger by the adjacent bathroom door, looking halfway over your shoulder to watch him explore.

Eddie runs his knuckles over your belongings like they’re the most delicate objects in the world. Grazing over the rim of dust on your dresser’s edge, he scrapes it off on his jacket with a touch closer to his typical gentility.

He threads the loose corner of your pillow through his fingers, and hops backward onto the comforter, settling into the mattress with a familiarity you aren’t sure he’d earned.

You yell again from the bathroom, door half cracked, “I just washed those.”

He adjusts his legs to hang off the bed, kicking his old sneakers onto the shag rug, “My apologies.” Grabbing a spare pillow to hold over his stomach, he’s half sat up against your headboard, tapping his fingers on the silk.

You can hear him humming from your room as you shower. The softness in his voice when he thinks you can’t hear him always makes you smile. His kindness had a bite to it; if you asked for the shirt off his back, he’d throw it at you.

Sometimes you like to watch him when he thinks he’s safe to shuck off his harsh, protective cloak and just be Eddie. The Eddie that leaves out a can of tuna by the trash for the trailer park cats, or carries the neighbor’s wandering toddler home on his shoulders. These little concessions towards fragility—like the soft hums with your silk pillow in his lap—remind you why he’s in your life.

The bathroom clouds with steam while you settle into the hot water, humming along to his voice, reaching blindly for the shampoo. You shake the bottle over your head and squeeze, only to be hit with a puff of air and a few pathetic pearls of lather. It isn’t even worth it to scrub the remnants in, and you pop out of the shower with a groan, tossing the empty bottle into the sink.

If Eddie were to try and sneak a peek right now, the thick, fluorescent steam would ruin his show. Still, you pull on the robe hanging behind the door. You’re sure you bought new shampoo, sure it must be under the sink, but you freeze before you can even take a look in the cabinet, half kneeling with your fingertips wedged against the wood.

It’s silent in your bedroom.

Eddie’s no longer humming, and when you turn on your toes to peek beyond the door you can just see his silhouette behind the thin canopy.

He’s on your bed as before, pillow over his lap, but now his hips rock up, knuckles white in the silk case.

The cabinet door slips from your fingers, clapping shut, stopping Eddie in his tracks.

He looks to the bathroom, and you dart behind the door.

“You okay?” He yells, obvious strain cut with even more obvious panic.

“Fine! Almost dropped the shampoo!” You shout back, sitting down on the edge of the tub, wringing the string of your robe between your fingers.

You don’t know if you want to look again.

Eddie was always over familiar. Always controlling the situation, the ringleader who branded his group with every rough touch. Fingers hard on your neck, a peanut flicked your way at the bar, judgment in his smile.

All this to keep you—and everyone else—at arm’s length. The clothes, the hair, the rings, they did enough to keep most people away. But the ones who looked past that, they got the neurosis and informality. You know him more than he thinks, more than he allows, and you aren’t against taking that initiative.

Of course you want to look.

This is far deeper than you ever thought you’d get.

Slipping off the edge of the tub, you crawl over to the door, inhaling a big breath of steam, robe damp and sticking to your body.

You feel safe enough sitting on your knees to watch him, enough layers of steam and fabric and poor vision between you and him to keep this mutual intrusion a secret. If you were to argue it, Eddie using your pillow to get off is probably a bigger invasion than you watching him do it, but the shame was the same.

One hand presses the pillow into his pelvis, the other pets along the grain of the smooth fabric, fingers touching down one after the other.

Sometimes Eddie taps you on the head with a ringed knuckle when you’re being smart. This feels like the gentle variant of that.

Though his lips are parted, you can’t hear anything outside the hammer of the shower. A playback of all his dramatic grunts and scoffs loops in your head instead, and you see the way his Adam's apple thrums in his throat with every note of pleasure.

It’s easy to piece together the way he could look behind that hazy chiffon, his chest rising and falling, slow to combat the noise he wants to make. The knee hanging off the bed just peeks out of the canopy, and he pushes up against your pillow using a firmly planted foot. You know the way his tendons move in his hand as he grabs tighter, presses harder.

You make up the sound of his zipper sleeves against the pillow, a soft kind of scratching that could catch at any moment. If you hadn’t seen him now, you would’ve blamed him for being so careless with your stuff later. His name would’ve been the first in your head when you noticed the imperfection.

But everything about right now is perfect.

You can’t say there’s an established attraction, exactly. A curiosity, sure, little question marks in your head every time he calls you pretty with that surface grin. Maybe a dream or two in the years you’ve known him, dreams where he pulled you in from arm’s length. Not romantic, never that, but close and real and earnest.

If this is the closest you get—a voyeur to your own invasion—then you’ll take it for all it’s worth. At least you know he really thinks you’re pretty.

You sit in stunned silence for a minute more before new movement startles you back behind the door, and when you peek again, Eddie has both feet on the bed, his knees pulled toward him, thrusting up harder against the pillow. It’s still slow, but he’s sunken into the deep plush of your comforter, hair blanketing his head. His features are distinct enough, the curve of his open mouth, the valley of his throat, you can carve expressions from familiar topography.

It’s from this position that a weak moan cuts through the pattering water, and—for what you think is the first time—you feel something more than curiosity.

Eddie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and he presses two harsh fingers between his eyebrows, smudging his fingertips across his forehead in what you’re sure is frustration.

You’ve gone past filling the gaps of what you know, the pulpit of your stomach swirling with thoughts of more moans, how it must feel under the rough hew of his jeans, what he’d do if it were you on his lap, and whether he’d accept you there at all.

For all his drama and fire, Eddie couldn’t sit in discomfort. He loved being the discomfort, but if it turned on him he was like a cornered dog.

As you continue to watch him, the swirling in your stomach slips down, and for now a hand between your legs is enough to calm this bud of interest.

The floor is slick under you, steam quick to fill the space of your parted thighs, heat on heat crushed under the just pruning skin of your fingerprint. You sigh, chest stuttering against relief. Slow, concentrated breaths quell any noise you’d want to make as you swirl your middle finger over your clit, Eddie’s moan looping in your brain.

You focus on the line of his figure, the indent he’ll leave in your bed when he gets up and tries to pretend he’d been peacefully laying there the whole time.

Without trying, your brain fills in gaps of space in your time with Eddie. Every time he left a party before you, a quick ‘I’ll wait for you in the van. No rush.’ and a tap on the shoulder. Trips to the 7/11, insistent that he must surprise you with snacks for the session, or each time you lost him in the bar, distracted by drifters who thought a beer or two would get you back home with them.

The memories are tinged now with the sight of his arching back, his parted lips, and that singular moan.

The thoughts carry you as far as they can, and the sight of him behind the curtain even more, but the rhythm of your fingers isn't what you want. It grows as stale as you hope that pillow must be for him, and with a sharp swallow you stand up to turn the shower off.

It takes a minute to gather yourself, roughing your hair with the towel to shake off what nerves you can. You face yourself in the mirror, dewy glass blurring your body into something amorphous. You can contend with this fuzzy figure, gazing over your shoulder to watch it slip past the bathroom door. In your mind’s eye, it’s not you taking this risk, but the reflection. It’s enough to get you into the bedroom.

Eddie has his ankles crossed and an arm behind his head, and he taps his fingers over his stomach as you approach, still roughing your hair as you enter.

“All cleaned up?” He asks, his eyes following you until he’s looking up through his lashes, a quick flick to the space next to him before he meets your eyes again.

You sit where he’d looked, tossing the towel into a laundry basket opposite the bed, “Mhm.”

There’s a long moment of your eyes on his, and he snaps out with a shake of his head, and that stupid grin, “Shit, sorry, you probably want to get dressed, huh?”

As he pushes to sit up, you close the space between you, your mouth just pressing against his. He pulls back with wide eyes that dart around your face, and he keeps a hand on your shoulder to hold you away.

His lips form and abandon several words, but before he can get a noise out, you cut the space, “I saw you.”

He jerks his head back, swallowing hard and looking past you now. More sentences starting and stopping without a thought fully formed.

You feel the hand on you loosen, see him shift in front of you, but there’s no easy way for Eddie to escape the situation.

“It’s okay.” You start reaching over for the hand on your shoulder, and he flinches.

“It’s okay.” You repeat, voice quieter and firmer, and he lets you take his hand, lets you guide it from your shoulder to the pit of your throat, over the drying beads of water between your breasts, and under the plush cotton collar of your robe.

His hand cups around you, rings warm and sticking to your skin, your fingers loosely wrap around his wrist for a moment before he accepts where you’ve left him.

You both let out a slow breath. Eddie’s starts with a hitch, but settles into something calm and certain. He doesn’t meet your eyes yet, they’re trained on the concealed hand, resting dead over your breast.

Placing two fingers under his chin, you coax him to look at you, your thumb brushing under his bottom lip, a few out of place dots of stubble pricking at your skin. You don’t think he could grow a beard if he tried, but random hair sprouts around his jaw from week to week, pimples following if he plucks them too late.

You bring your nose close to his, and he tilts up almost imperceptibly, tongue darting between his lips.

That first kiss was so brief you already can’t remember what he felt like, but the calm heat of his breath on you is steady, warm and inviting, and his eyes glisten as he looks at you.

His palm is heavy under your robe, thumb running back and forth ever so slightly, catching on the natural pull of your skin.

You let your eyelids slip closed, and finally he kisses you.

It isn’t harsh or fast and it doesn’t light your insides up the way your imagination did, but you’re sure you’ll remember it for the rest of your life. His bottom lip trembles for the first second, slick and soft, and you feel the scratch of those loose facial hairs against your chin. The hand beneath your robe squeezes shut, the warm metal of his rings sticking and unsticking with a little sting as he builds confidence in the moment.

The hand he’d kept on the bed comes up to curl over the slope of your neck, and as you lean into him he slides the collar of the robe down past your shoulder. It sits against your bicep, not revealing anything he’s not sure you’d want, but enough to let him kiss down your jaw, spattering over the bare landscape you’ve allowed him.

You slip a hand under the hem of his old t-shirt, pinching at the rolled skin of his abdomen, body curved uncomfortably as he’s half sat up on the bed.

He backs away from kissing when you push him down onto the comforter, both hands grabbing your arms to bring you with. You stay sat on the edge of the bed, torso twisted to follow him as he wants.

“Take off the jacket.” You whisper against his mouth, dragging your lips under his jaw and down his throat. You pull his shirt up and fix your hands on his hips, marking the skin down his chest with nips and long kisses. He struggles to tug the jacket off and can only manage the sleeves, leather crinkling under him as he wriggles under you.

You drag the tip of your tongue over his happy trail, and he watches with quiet interest, fingers gliding over your bare shoulder.

Eddie isn’t wearing anything under his jeans, you can feel the length of his erection stuffed uncomfortably beneath the denim.

“Ohh, please.” He whispers, more breath than anything else.

You hum with a smile, watching him as you unbutton and unzip and tug the bottoms down his thighs.

His hand hovers over the back of your head, nails just touching down along your hair, and he settles for resting it on your back.

He isn’t over or under-endowed, you can comfortably wrap a hand around his base and hold the rest of him in your mouth without strain, but you start with the hand. Dribbling a mouthful of spit over his tip, you slip your fisted hand down the shaft, thumb pressing into the rim of his head. He holds back expletives, syllables drawn out and dying behind his teeth. You’re slow, gliding your hand over his length and watching the wrinkles as he screws his eyes shut and pushes his hand over his forehead, bangs fraying out of place.

His cock thrums under your hand, and you squeeze his thigh as it jerks, quick spasms of enjoyment relieving tension.

You wait until there’s obvious pressure in his chest, until his Adam’s apple is taut against his throat, and he can barely eke out breaths.

Without knowing, he gives you what you want as you swirl your tongue around his tip for the first time. He can’t hold back the languid, whimpering moan that escapes his open mouth, all the air in his lungs expelled with it.

Watery, salty precum slides over your tongue, and you close your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks as you work down his shaft. Spit pools into your mouth and over your bottom lip, and as your chin brushes the hair at Eddie’s base, you feel sweat and spit drying on the skin.

Eddie’s hesitance falls away as he starts to lose himself, the hand on your back coming up to gently push down your head, not forceful, exactly, but wanting. He whimpers with increased impatience the harder you work him, the hum of your mouth around him an added jolt of pleasure.

You break for a moment to suck marks into the sharp angle of his hip bone, your hand a warm substitute that still pulls beautiful noises from him. He hisses against the kiss, the curve of his belly heaving with full breaths. He has faint marks of muscle definition when he flexes against your touch, but his abdomen rounds with every intake of air, and you press your lips along his pelvic line to feel the way he’s working through your touch.

Kissing the bush of hair around his shaft, you run your thumb over his head, your tongue flat against his base, dragging up to lick away the new dribbles of precum.

He lets your name fall from his lips, and a mewling, strained, “Please…keep going…” with his nails combing over the back of your head.

You take him entirely in your mouth once again, and he ruts up, hitting the back of your throat. You swallow the near-gag, and Eddie’s laughter—tied into an apology— hits your ear, the first instance of that rough-hewn boy you’re used to.

In response you curl your free hand around his balls and give them a light squeeze, clutching them against the base of his shaft to compress the tension he must be feeling. You imagine it’s a tight, coiled pain in his stomach, and it’s your greed more than anything that keeps him from relief.

Eddie wriggles underneath you, his body twitching outside his control, incomplete requests for release dying on his tongue.

What he finally chokes out is an ill timed warning, his orgasm already spilling into your mouth by the time he tells you he’s going to come. It’s warm and salty down your throat, and if it came from anyone else it would be an off-putting sensation that you’d be quick to spit out, but with Eddie paralyzed under you as he finishes, no taste could be sweeter or more satisfying.

You don’t even have time to swipe the sleeve of your robe over your lips before he’s tugging you up to his mouth.

This kiss is harsh and deep and the hand on your head presses you hard into him. His tongue twists over yours, warm and slimy, loud smacks between you with every kiss.

You’ve no choice now but to climb on him, straddling his stomach, his hand coming down to slide the robe entirely off. Your knees nick on the sharp parts of his jacket, but it’s a pale feeling compared to the heat of your bodies and his hands burning into your skin, branding your hip as you grind on him.

“Hey, hey.” He pulls you back with a hand on your cheek, thumb tugging at the bulb of your cheekbone. You’re both flustered and disheveled when your eyes meet, and you feel you could fall forever into the pit of that dark brown. “Sit on my face.” He breathes, kneading at the skin of your ass, gaze trained on your reaction.

“Yeah?” You ask, the throbbing between your thighs ever present as you’ve stilled on him.

He nods, his hand slipping from your cheek to coast down your body and rest on your other hip. They coil underneath your thighs to hold you as you re-situate yourself over him, hovering just above his mouth, a little hesitant to drop your weight on him. This felt somehow more intimate than a blowjob, smothering him with your body, the full potential of your spasms direct and right there on his tongue.

Eddie didn’t care, he forced you down with his arms, and you lurched forward against the headboard, one hand wrapping over the edge, the other a buffer between your forehead and the hardwood.

The pleasure was instant and overwhelming, Eddie’s tongue indistinct in its movement, lips and spit and the tickle of his nose worming their way through your body.

His grip was tight on you, arms wrapped around your thighs, and the soft curl of his hair rustled under your skin. He doesn’t move you over his tongue, but rather keeps you still, tries to stop you wriggling and doing the work yourself. You oblige best you can, holding the headboard tighter, biting down into the skin of your forearm, wanting even now to give him what he wants, to let him help you in whatever way he sees fit. He’s giving you more of himself than you ever imagined he could, and more than anything you just want to languish in this moment for as long as you can.

He hums underneath you, satisfied little hums that rise and fall with his focus.

It’s when you go silent—your breath caught in your chest, moans stuck in your throat—that Eddie starts rocking you over his mouth. The heat in your stomach is unbearable, and you gasp as he guides you back and forth over his tongue, everything below his nose a wet, slobbering mess, just as much from you as it is him. You slip against him with ease, grinding harder and faster, any worry you had about smothering him long gone with the ever-winding spiral of ecstasy that sits in your belly.

Tighter and tighter it curls, the rocking of your hips uneven and desperate now.

Eddie slides his hands as far as he can up your back, combing lines down your skin with his nails, and you wriggle closer to the headboard, so close to the end that every touch is torturous.

You haven’t spent half as long with his head between your thighs as he did with your lips around his cock, but any shame you could possibly feel will come later. You just want the relief, to unfurl and collapse and let him feel you shaking over the knack of his tongue.

You drop entirely onto him, his tongue swirling over the pulsing nub of your clit, and he grabs you as hard as he can, just as needy and wanting.

He groans underneath you, and your vision explodes behind your eyes.

Spasming and shaking, he holds you as you come undone, tilting his head up as the orgasm sends you backward to lay on his chest. He doesn’t stop running his tongue over your clit even as it becomes overwhelming, wanting to capture every last dredge of your climax. He laps up the arousal that wells from you, sucking kisses between your lips.

The euphoria layers in your body like waves of radar, one after the other until you’re begging him to let you go. You can’t quite catch your breath, wheezing as you try to pull air into your lungs, evening out as the radiation of pleasure cools to satisfaction.

You roll off him onto your stomach, resting your head in your arms to look back at with a smile.

He pushes his bangs up and shakes his head with a laugh, “Nuts.” He squeezes your calf.

You both sit in the moment, a comfortable silence between you with his hand resting on your leg.

Silence wasn’t golden in your experience with Eddie thus far. If there wasn’t conversation, there was music; if there wasn’t music, there was his humming. Any quiet with Eddie around was borne out of tension, but now you feel a deep tranquility even as the cool air of the still-open window hits your bare skin.

He runs his fingers gently back and forth, and the both of you let out a content sigh at the same time.

“J—”

“—inx! Ha!” Eddie is a hair faster, and he jiggles your calf in accomplishment before shifting to mirror you on your stomach. He hovers in front of your lips, muscling you over a bit with his shoulder, “Owe me a…kiss?”

You let your head fall into your arms, a kick of giddiness in your stomach, but you come back to meet his lips.

There’s a smile in this kiss, you think maybe there could be more. Kisses, smiles, whatever you can get.

Whatever Eddie can give.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f!reader #my writing #mine

768 notes · View notes

b4si1wh0 · 7 months

Text

Trailer thoughts!

Hello TARDIS being dragged by a helicopter again! Hello grumpy cat Doctor!

Moment of realisation?

Is this where they meet each other again? I'm dying please help me.

Must you remind us? I'm still heartbroken.

HIIII! WHO ARE YOU???

So this is the same place as Donna holding the... art supplies(?). So this is when he meets Rose? Also HI ROSE!

BeEP the mEEP im so happy! Miriam Margoyles lesbian icon!!

WHAT THE HELL is tHAT!

theres a martian! theres a martin! (old donna: doctor = martian, now: beep the meep = martian, therefore: doctor = beep the meep)

I can't believe that im saying this but I can't wait to see her again.

meep meep?

get slapped idiot!

haha its a rite of passage now.

theyre together but the tardis ran away but theyre together but theyre together but theyre together but theyre together

KICK ItS ARSE!

He's smiling! Wow! This is a first! 2. Its acutally just Kate Stewart. She dropped the Lethbridge. She didn't want any favours.

looking fine as always maam.

Celestial Toymaker! My top ten Classic Who villains! He's amazing! He's entertaining! He's Neil Patrick Harris!

such extreme anger can only mean one thing - regenerating again?

extreme anger part 2

extreme anger part 3. wow hes really not happy-

shut up shut up shut up screaming crying shaking throwing up murder murder murder

DONT YOU DARE HURT DONNA *morphs into feral creature* I WILL PROTECT HER AT ALL COSTS I CANNOT GO THROUGH IT AGAIN

HIHIHIHIHI! ily already im your biggest fan.

#doctor who #david tennant #10th doctor #tenagain #14th doctor #donna noble #rose temple noble #doctor who 60th anniversary #beep the meep #the celestial toymaker

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deviouz · 8 days

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OKAY SO LIKE idk if you take requests anymore but I need this done so bad and I love your writing so like imagine Jason Todd being adopted and raised by Catwoman and the reader by Batman as robin like a girl robin and basically Jason needs info or wtv and he defeats the reader in a battle or something and handcuffs her and like seduces her for it and reader's usually had super high morals and stuff but she's like simping over him and melts for him practically but idk something like tht like cat women and Batman but roles reversed but yea

Totally get if this is like weird too much though lmao

here’s a lil drabble while i make my way through other requests <3 thank you lovie!! also, jason’s name didn’t really come up, so i guess you can imagine it as whoever? i did write with jason in mind though!! ;; soz

role reversal !

“Come on, I know you can spit it out. The old man can’t be that important to you.”

It was hard to fight off the embarrassed blush as you jerked your wrists from behind your back, the cold bite of steel a painful reminder of the predicament you had found yourself in. The fight was long and drawn out, having left both of you breathless for a while before your captor had gotten the upper hand. It was times like this you really wished you had paid more attention to your father’s teachings about how to get out of precarious circumstances as this one.

How the hell were you supposed to dislocate your thumb and slip out of the handcuffs again?

Being Robin had given you quite the ego. It hadn't really occurred to you that getting captured was a possibility. Batman had shown you every trick in the book on how not to get caught.

Your opponent was as sly as a fox, though. He was quick on his feet, definitely hard to defeat. It was when you had the upper hand, or believed so, that the rug was quickly pulled out from under you, sharp smile and all.

Silence would be your best friend. There was no way in hell you were going to divulge any information that could be used against either yourself or your family — you’d sooner die than allow that to happen.

It was when he had made way to pluck the black mask shielding your eyes did you move, head jerking to the side while a noise of disapproval escaped your throat.

“Don’t touch me.”

He kneeled before you, lips curled into a smirk as a hand trailed from your knee to the middle of your thigh. Your suit was thin, meant more for agility than anything. It was nothing compared to the protective kevlar of the Batsuit. Stealth was your strong suit, and it turns out lingering touches from a man clad in a catsuit was your kryptonite.

“Don’t be like that. We can have fun! I promise I’ll make it worth your time,” he practically purred, voice smooth and intoxicating. “Just tell me what you know.”

Had your heart always beat this fast? Did he drug you? Maybe it was the lack of sleep finally catching up, the deprivation rearing its ugly head at the worst possible time.

“I thought I told you not to touch me,” you quipped back with a clenched jaw. Hands balled into fists and eyes narrowed, you were a sight for sore eyes. “How about you take these cuffs off and we go for a round two, hm?”

He had the audacity to giggle like it was the funniest thing in the world. The hand on your thigh began to inch upwards once more.

“Darling,” God, did that sound pretty rolling off the tip of his tongue, “any round two that we have will be somewhere with some nice booze and a bed, and maybe with soundproof walls depending on how loud I can get you.”

You were stronger than this, surely. Anything to protect Gotham and the people inhabiting it. You wouldn’t lose your nerve to a man with pretty words knelt before you.

“I can give you what you want, you know. Think of it like a trade; you give me the information I need, and I’ll have you screaming my name for all of Gotham to hear. Fair?”

As his touch began to grow more bold, warm hands slowly parting your thighs as he moved in between them, you knew you had to act fast. Resolve could only last so long, especially when coupled with a nighttime job known as being Robin — you were long overdue for something devious and a long nap.

Mustering up what little restraint remained, your foot raised to kick him back, momentarily leaving him a breathless heap of muscle and suave on the ground before you.

“You really don’t listen well.”

#rahhhh unedited bc it’s 5:30 am and i need to sleep #putting this in the queue so more people see it tho ig #idk man #i’m sleep deprived and delirious #also??? imagining big beefy jason in a catsuit had me feeling some type of way i cannot lie #dhsiwkdnfn anyways #. . . my fics 💌#. . . dc 💭#. . . jason todd 💭#. . . queue can’t afford me 🪻#jason todd x reader #jason todd #dc x reader

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shares-a-vest · 4 months

Text

@steddiemas Day 19: Steddie as Dads (Trope Tuesday)

wc: 1.4k | Rated: T for suggestive language and flirtatious banter | cw: Eddie is trans in my Joanie Munson AU and gave birth to Joanie. This fic contains one mention of pregnancy and the possibility of having a baby.

Tags: Steddie Dads, Trans Eddie Munson, Growing Family, Getting Interrupted, Christmas Night, Christmas Presents, Kid Fic

Note: I knew Joanie's Furby would have to make a reappearance after I wrote THIS drabble for Black Friday. Also, I started drafting this fic for Day 3 (Needing to be Quiet) but it ran away from me so it has aspects of that prompt too.

Christmas Night, 1998

“Okay…” Eddie sing-songs, stirring Steve from his very sleepy post-Christmas state on the couch, “Our precious bean is asleep… The old man is in a food-induced coma…”

He skips to the couch and flops down, mussing their makeshift bedding.

“Huh?” Steve mumbles, looking up to find a mischievous grin painted across his partner’s face.

He should have known Eddie was up to something with their sleeping arrangements. He had insisted they spend Christmas Night on Wayne’s couch, giving up the bed in Eddie’s old room to Joanie for the evening.

As Eddie continues grinning like an idiot – and adds a wiggling, suggestive brow for good measure – Steve attempts to smooth out their blankets. He shimmies upright, yawning as he yanks at the corner of the blanket trapped beneath Eddie’s ass.

“Nope!” Eddie says, chopping his hand through the air, “No yawning, sugarplum.”

He dives for the remote teetering on the edge of the coffee table and points it at the television, reducing It’s a Wonderful Life to a quickly fading speck in the middle of the screen.

“Jimmy Stewart, off!” he declares, voice high and nasally in mock impersonation as he tosses the remote to the side.

With the living room lit only by the lights of Wayne’s Christmas tree (decorated the moment they arrived with Joanie), Steve feels his eyes droop.

He scrubs a hand down his tired face, his unstyled hair flopping forward as he does so. Eddie is soon on him, combing it back before picking at individual strands like a monkey looking for fleas.

“How are you not tired?” Steve whines, dipping his head to avoid more prodding.

But Eddie then reaches to remove his glasses.

“Christmas adrenaline, sweetheart,” he explains, carefully folding the glasses and setting them on the coffee table within reach.

Eddie leans back again, elbow propped on the couch, his chin resting against his hand enough that it squishes up his cheek.

“The Furby was a hit,” he continues, his teasing dimples out on full display now.

“Please don’t talk about it,” Steve grumbles, sinking into the couch at the thought of Joanie’s newest toy, now out of the box and operational, ready to wreak havoc.

He can only imagine the reaction the cats will have to those soulless eyes when they get the retched thing back home…

“It’s cute,” Eddie shrugs, not at all innocently picking at the bottom hem of Steve’s flannel button-up, a Munson family relic turned pyjama top.

“It looks like a Gremlin,” he deadpans, “Ready to chew our faces off with that weird robot beak.”

He hopes his frown will also remind Eddie that if said demon-spawn does rise up against them, he can be the one fully responsible for dealing with it. And, now that he thinks about it, Steve is sure Eddie allowing their daughter to watch Gremlins at Halloween surely contributed to her desire to obtain this year’s latest kids' craze.

As they glare at each other, Steve holds onto some hope that Eddie (might) think back to that sleepless Halloween night when Joanie woke up at 2 am in tears and thought Ozzy’s prowling in the shadows was an evil after-midnight Mowgai.

“And where is it now?” Steve asks, breaking their seated stand-off.

“Tucked under the covers with our precious Joanie-Bear,” Eddie says, dramatically closing his eyes with a chirpy hum.

Again – Gremlin!

Steve bites his tongue as Eddie opens his eyes again, those big brown orbs now glowing with mirth like a warmer, more cherubic (but equally devilish) version of their five-year-old’s prized Christmas present.

Eddie clicks his tongue, looking everywhere but directly at Steve as he fidgets with a handful of blankets, entirely conspicuous as he buzzes with clear anticipation.

Steve puffs out a laugh and shakes his head. As always, Eddie has other plans for their ‘quiet’ night in…

“What?” Eddie asks, catching him staring.

He tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy.

“I love you,” Steve replies, leaning into his side.

He looks at the Christmas tree as Eddie presses a featherlight kiss to his forehead.

But the sweet moment only lasts for a split second because, in a flash, Eddie flips back their bedding, the blanket half falling to the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

“Good,” he grins, swinging his leg over Steve’s lap to straddle him, bracketing his legs, “Put a baby in me.”

“Ed!” Steve splutters, frowning as Eddie claps a hand over his mouth to shush him.

“Quiet!” he stage-whispers.

“You be quiet,” Steve warns, smiling into his palm.

“Made you perk up, didn’t it?” Eddie teases, leaning back to look him over and they both giggle away, “Anyway, come on, tick-tick. Christmas miracle, all that shit...”

He hurriedly jabs into his shoulder.

“Need I remind you we are in your uncle’s living room?”

“We’ve done worse,” Eddie offers, raking his eyes over him, “Remember Thanksgiving 1989 when – ”

“ – We boned in Claudia’s powder room,” he finishes, nodding.

Eddie looks off into the distance – or perhaps just right behind them to the wood panelling. He sighs, all wistful and longing.

“Yeah,” he hums, “And you knocked Claudia’s good handtowel straight off the rack and into the toilet…”

Steve leans back and cocks his chin. Well, if Eddie isn’t going to be subtle about it, either...

“Take your pants off, baby.”

Eddie beams and gives a two-finger salute. He quickly begins shuffling about, lifting onto his knees so he can hook his fingers under the waistband of his black sweatpants and pull them down. Meanwhile, Steve lifts their blanket up and out to protect Eddie’s modesty.

Or, at least that’s what he intends to do. Eddie only gets his pants down to his knees when Steve catches Wayne’s bedroom door opening.

Eddie notices too and yelps, plopping back down onto Steve’s lap – hard.

“Don’t mind me,” Wayne says, walking along with the stiff gait of a man with a bad hip (one that he still won’t do a thing about), “Just goin’ to take a leak. My bladder isn’t what it used to be. The older you get, the weaker your bladder...”

“Can you please stop saying the word ‘bladder’!” Eddie squawks over his shoulder, but his uncle simply waves him away.

“I didn’t see nothin’!” Wayne grumbles, “Carry on.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as they both watch in awkward silence as Wayne disappears into the bathroom, a light soon cascading from it.

“Christmas sucks!” Eddie dry-sobs, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder with a disgruntled ‘hmph’.

“Just wait a minute,” he whispers, wrapping the blanket tight around Eddie’s partial nakedness.

Steve moves to give him a reassuring kiss but Eddie gasps, stilling on his lap as his eyes grow wide as saucers.

“What the fuck was that?” he gulps, his voice at full volume.

Eddie jolts again, his hands flying up to grip Steve’s shoulders tight, giving him no choice but to hold onto for dear life – even if he has no clue what’s got him so rattled…

“I can’t hear anything,” Steve says, looking around as his heart quickens.

Eddie scoffs and claws at a lock of his hair, just behind his right ear.

“God damn it, Stevie!” he spits, his head on a swivel as he whips it from side to side, likely looking for Steve’s abandoned hearing aids.

Steve is about to point to the end of the coffee table and thus ignite a squabbling match about it when Wayne reappears from the bathroom.

“What in the heck is that sound?” he grumbles.

“What is it?” Steve demands, looking between the other two.

“Some…” Wayne says, tilting his head in search of the sound, “Machine…”

Steve moves his head about to dodge Eddie as he squirms around in his lap, muttering what he can only assume is a string of expletives as he attempts to search for the noise too without straining his back or exposing himself.

“Damn it, Eddie,” Steve snaps, lifting his partner when he suspects he is about to get kneed straight in the goddamn balls.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’!” Wayne exclaims, bringing a hand to his chest.

Steve finally manages a glance over Eddie’s shoulder to find Joanie standing just inside the living room, her small frame silhouetted by the bathroom light.

She’s holding something with big eyes that appear to be blinking.

Now Steve can hear the robotic snoring sounds that have half the household scared out of their minds.

“Don’t worry, Pa,” Joanie says, stepping forward and holding up her Christmas present, “It’s just my Furby.”

More of Joanie Munson

#the furby WILL return...#i'm low-key super proud of my furby banner 😂#steddiemas #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #lily writes a fic #steddie as girl-dads #steddie dads #cw pregnancy #idk i've worked on this one a bunch and i'm still kinda not happy with it

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