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gutsby · 6 months ago

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If You Like Piña Coladas

Pairing: Neighbor!Joel x Reader

Summary: You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Foodplay (i.e., Joel fucks you with a fruit popsicle). Girthy, unspecified age gap. Mentions of blood.

Note: Loosely inspired by ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’ by Rupert Holmes…minus the part about mutual infidelity LOL

Word count: 8.0k

Joel Miller had been on his own for too long.

The least you could get him was a date. Or even just laid.

Likes: Long walks on the beach

Actually…he hadn’t seen a coastline in ten years, at least. You backspaced slowly and then lowered Joel’s phone.

What did that old grump like to do, anyway?

In all the years you’d been living next door to Mr. Miller, you hadn’t seen him take pleasure in much of anything besides mowing his lawn, rolling his eyes, and screaming like a fiend alongside your dad at whatever game was on.

Likes: College football. Quality time with friends :-)

Nope. Corny as fuck. Backbackbackback.

You wiggled your thumbs over the keyboard in muted concentration. You knew you didn’t have much longer. Joel was currently engrossed in one of the three things he loved most—mowing long, careful rows through his backyard—and you were supposed to be watching the season finale of the Mandalorian while he did. That had been the pretext of your visit, anyway. It’d been a little over an hour since he’d stepped outside and a little under thirty since you’d let your curiosity get the better of you and seized his phone, so you figured he’d be back soon.

You had to think of something witty, and do it quick.

Feeling inspiration strike a second later, you typed:

Likes: Piña Coladas. Getting caught in the rain. Making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape.

Perfect. Easy. Everybody loved that song in the ‘70s.

Having thus put the finishing touch on Joel’s profile, you leaned back and let out a contented sigh. You scrolled. Flicked through photo after photo of your very own hand-picked selection and smiled, feeling proud.

You’d started him off strong and suave with a picture from Tommy’s wedding, wearing a tux that fit him well. Then a cool, casual snap of him at a brewery. A photo taken out on the lake, life jacket snug and showing off a sliver of his broad, bare chest. Then a picture of him at your graduation—you made sure to crop yourself out—followed by a candid shot of him playing dress-up with his niece. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that all the yet-unknown, lovely folks of Hinge would eat this shit up.

You set the radius to 100 miles. Beefed up the age range and gender preferences to include virtually every living soul over 30, tweaked a few more prompts to be cooler, then scrolled through his newly-minted profile. Again.

Oh, and— shit, wait.

Quickly, you toggled to the phone’s settings and disabled all notifications for Hinge. Then you grabbed the app and wrestled it somewhere deep within all the utilities ones that no one ever used. This had to stay hidden for now.

And, just as you stretched your thumb to make a couple last changes to his page, the back door thundered open.

Joel stumbled in, half-hunched. Rubbing his face with a towel and treading slow, heavy steps through the living room. With your heart about to burst from your throat and your impulses blown to shit, you panicked and crammed his phone in your shorts—like, in them.

Joel’s phone was just then settling above the groove of your ass when the man collapsed on the loveseat across the room. Instinctively, you drew your legs to your chest as Joel groaned and pulled the towel away from his face.

“The beast is at it again,” he declared, expression grim.

Before you could ask who ‘beast’ might be, he clarified:

“Marlene’s shit-for-brains labradoodle won’t quit diggin’ holes under my fence. Whole thing’s gonna fall if he—”

You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to tune out the rest of what he said; your butt squirmed against the sofa as your neighbor’s phone traveled perilously down and took partial lodging between your cheeks. Then stuck.

There was no way you were getting caught like this. One stray phone call or text and you would have the world’s most jarring ringtone buzzing straight up your ass. And a very uncomfortable conversation with Joel, to be sure.

So, while he droned on about the chaos being wrought by the paws of old Sparky, you nodded to the window.

“Aw shit, Mr. Miller…did he just…dig up another?” You feigned surprise as you stared over Joel’s shoulder at a hole that didn’t even exist. Then, when he’d jumped to his feet and growled ‘No fuuuuuckin’ shot’ as he made his way over to the window, you acted fast and pulled the phone out of your ass and stuck the old, cracked thing on top of the coffee table where it’d been last and stood.

Before he could see—or say—anything else, you seized your own phone and made a swift beeline for the door.

Shouting over your shoulder, probably sounding like a fucking lunatic but not particularly caring either way:

“DAD’SCALLINGMEGOTTAGOMISTERMILLERBYE.”

And you left. You had no desire to explain your baseless, bullshit observation or why his phone was currently covered in a thin sheen of sweat from your butt.

You’d never seen so many roses in your life.

Joel Miller could legitimately give the whole Bachelor franchise a run for its money with all the goddamn virtual flowers he’d been getting from his Hinge admirers.

It’d been a week before you’d finally gotten the chance to abduct his phone again and check his ‘likes’ for yourself. Honestly, you hadn’t been expecting much—Joel was hot, but more so in a niche-ish sort of DILF-sexy way. You figured he’d be more of an acquired taste, really.

Once you’d scrolled through just over a hundred different messages, you realized at once how wrong you were.

‘GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.’

‘Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry, I mean, Daddy?’

‘Need you in a way that is concerning to feminism.’

‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.’

And that was truly just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the wild, chaotic, and horny messages Joel had received over the last week. You couldn’t believe it.

You got to firing off responses as fast as you could. Sitting cross-legged on the back porch while your dad, Joel, Tommy, and a dozen other neighbors were busy grilling burgers and soaking up as much sun as possible.

The only other person who hadn’t joined them was Tess.

She peered over your shoulder and fought back a laugh.

“That man is a fuckin’ menace to society, I swear.”

“No, we’re a menace to society. All about team effort,” you corrected her as you typed up a lightning-quick ‘Hey ;-)’ to each message, fingers moving fast.

“He doesn’t even know you’re doing this!”

“He will soon enough,” you mumbled. Grinning. Then, “Mission’s not over until that old man gets his dick wet.”

You’d probably made it through seventy or so replies and got to go back-and-forth with a couple hot prospects by the time you heard footsteps trailing up the steps—heavy ones that you instantly recognized as Joel’s. Without another word, you exited the app, turned the phone off, and chucked it to Tess, who placed it discreetly onto the porch railing where Joel had left it.

That phone really should have had a passcode on it.

Two weeks later, it did.

You saw it as soon as you’d slid your thumb up the screen in the comfort of Joel’s living room—over at his place pretending to be watching your Star Wars spin-off again—and you felt your heart jump up in your throat.

Your passcode is required to enable Face ID.

Since when the fuck did your neighbor have a passcode? Or even know how to make Face ID a thing? Or use it?

These questions and a dozen more were thrumming through your skull when you heard the screech of the back door once again. This time, instead of taking his sweet time on his yard work, Joel had only been gone five minutes. You swallowed a scream and did that dumb, reflexive thing you had before: shoved his phone in your shorts and thrust yourself back into the couch.

Practically shaking when Joel stepped into the room.

Of course, he wasn’t sweaty. His shirt wasn’t smudged with flecks of dirt or swaths of green from the grass outdoors, nor were his Wranglers the slightest bit muddied. He was perfectly clean in a plain white tee, jeans, and boots. You couldn’t help but notice how tight the short sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, and then you realized it was because his arms were crossed.

Joel regarded you with a look as long and as careful as the rows he was supposed to be mowing out in the middle of his backyard right now, and he let out a breath.

“Guess what,” he said.

“What?” you squeaked.

Your eyes widened without meaning to, and when Joel plopped down on the sofa beside you, you felt a shiver pulse through your body. Joel stretched his big, wide, denim-clad legs out as he leaned back, and you had to force yourself not to jump when his knee struck yours.

“I’ve gotta brush up on my Gen Z lingo,” he announced.

Wh— okay? What the fuck?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, and feeling the slightest twinge of relief at this declaration, Joel started to tug something out of his pocket. It took you several seconds to see it, then a couple more just to work out what it was, then Joel was squeezing it. Flipping it open.

An old Motorola Razr? When did he get that?

“See, I, uh— met a girl last week,” Joel resumed, plainly careless in the way he fingered the thing in his grip.

Your chest tightened. Had he really?

“She’s a little on the…younger side. You might know her.”

Oh shit. Was Joel banging one of your friends?

You swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue. You pretended not to notice when he flipped the phone open and left it that way—starting to thumb through the keys to do something on it. You fought the urge to take a look.

To distract yourself, you watched his face instead. It was lax.

“She said somethin’ kinda funny last night, and I—” Joel paused to let out a breath of a laugh, and you nearly broke down to steal a glance at what he was looking at.

Narrowly, you resisted. And it was a lucky thing, too—the next thing you knew, Joel’s gaze was fixed right on you.

“Y’know what she said to me?” he asked.

“What?”

Joel blinked. You probably should’ve heard the click of a little button on the phone he was holding, but you didn’t.

You did feel the vibration of another phone under your ass a second later, though. That one was unmistakable.

That one was Joel’s.

Out of one more stupid, senseless instinct, you coughed. Loud. Like the momentary scratch in your throat might reasonably mask the sound and sensation of a small hunk of metal buzzing between your butt and the couch.

It didn’t, of course. You sat and stared at Joel as it rang.

Slowly, he brought the Razr to his ear. At one corner of his mouth, you could discern the first inklings of a smirk.

“Wanna answer that?” he hummed, nodding to your rear.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You weren’t sure how you even had the strength to do it, but you reached back and plucked his phone out of your shorts. With your gaze still stuck to his, you answered it. Put it to your own ear out of habit—and a little bit of fear.

“Hello?” you said, stupidly.

“Hey.”

The second you heard Joel’s voice rumble out beside you on the couch and across the line, your heart dropped. Ironclad confirmation of all you didn’t want to believe.

You squeezed his phone even tighter and sincerely hoped the man couldn’t hear the wild, erratic beat of your heart as it throbbed and thudded in your chest. The noise was almost too loud for you to hear anything else, too fast-paced and frantic to discern another word until:

“Can you tell me what a ‘Hinge DILF’ is, darlin’?”

You rose to your feet, scarcely even realizing it.

You had to get off of that couch, had to get away from him and come clean, as calmly as you possibly could. The phone fell out of your grasp just as he ended the call.

“Shit— Mr. Miller— I-I-I-I can explain.”

Swiftly, suddenly, Joel recovered his phone from the floor. He set the other device aside and propped his feet on the coffee table, lounging a little more comfortably now that he could scroll the phone at his leisure. Before he did, though, he made a point to wipe the screen.

“Nothin’ I love more than ass sweat on my phone.”

Your cheeks heated to a thousand degrees.

You wished the ground below your feet would open up and swallow you whole. It was like you were floating somewhere over your own body, unable to move or speak. From this vantage point, and still paralyzed with fear, you could see Joel opening Hinge on his phone.

“Crazy how long the stuff sticks,” he mused aloud, starting to peruse his likes, “When you got up and high-tailed it outta my place that first day, I thought I must’ve been seein’ things—what with how wet my phone was.”

You would’ve closed your eyes in utter resignation if you’d had the strength. Joel had known this entire time.

The old man continued to scroll, cavalier as ever.

“I figured ya might’ve been havin’ some…personal time of your own on my phone—maybe your old man blocked PornHub on the home WiFi or somethin’—but then I kept diggin’ around…” As Joel spoke, his actions seemed to mirror his words, and he was really scoping out the app. Combing through profiles and roses and streams of old messages that you had sent, then shrugged to himself.

“…and all I found added up to jackshit,” he concluded.

This time, you managed to meet his gaze when he looked back up, but really, you hardly saw him at all.

Joel was smiling.

“I did see a text, though.”

He waved his phone, where a few messages were visible, though not legible, to you. You didn’t try to read them.

“‘Welcome to Hinge! Reply ‘C’ to confirm your phone number and get started,’” Joel rattled the first one off.

Of course you’d forgotten to delete the fucking text.

“And I know my memory’s all but gone to shit, but I didn’t remember ever replying ‘C’ myself, so then—”

“It was a joke,” you choked out, cutting him off.

Joel cocked a brow. He leaned even further back in his seat and crossed his feet. You were already vomiting words before he could attempt to get one out himself.

“N-Not a funny joke,” you clarified, voice shaking, “Fuckin’ stupid as shit, I just wanted to see— y’know— me and Tess were talkin’ ‘bout how hard it must be…in your…in your fifties— it’s just hard finding somebody.”

Joel didn’t know what you were trying to say, and his face showed it. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“So you think my sex life is a joke?” Mr. Miller quipped.

“NO!”

You hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. You quieted down:

“No. I didn’t…no. I just wanted to see who would…”

“…wanna fuck me?” he finished, blunt as ever.

If your face had been hot before, surely it was about to burst into flames right now. You didn’t get like this—not around Joel Miller, not around anybody—but here you were, chest constricting with humiliation and shame, wishing you were anywhere in the world but the place you were, and Mr. Miller was smiling, he was still smiling, and it was all you could do to just stand there and…stare.

And wince when tears started to prick at your waterline.

As if this day couldn’t get any more mortifying, you were actually crying in front of your neighbor, nose stinging and beginning to leak. Stupid, stuttered gasps leaving your lungs like you’d just learned to breathe yesterday, vision blurring the man in front of you and then dimming, momentarily, as you brought your hands up to your eyes and tried to shield this wretched display from his view.

You paced a couple hasty, blind steps away. You pressed the heels of your palms so hard into your sockets that stars started to dance behind your lids and a pain began to stab your brain. You continued to sob. It was just then dawning on you that you’d have to make a run for it now and never set foot near this man’s property again. You’d have to lock yourself away, never get to go to a barbecue again, probably face a restraining order from Joel and—

“FUCK!” you shrieked.

With all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, you tumbled over Joel’s end table and took a nosedive into the floor. Your hands had no choice but to fly out in front of you in an effort to break your fall, and of course, they had to land on a lone, stray beer bottle on the ground.

One lovely little container of Corona Extra went splintering under the weight of your whole body, and briefly, before the thing exploded beneath your palm, you swore you could’ve heard a tiny, self-righteous voice:

‘¡La Vida Más Fina!’

Fuck you, Corona.

You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. Even if the bottle had managed to roll far enough to nick just the edge of your hand, slicing a minuscule strip of skin beneath your thumb, you still wanted to cry even harder. You looked pathetic, crumpled up beside this man’s couch with your wrist pinched between your fingers and your tears paving two steady streams down your cheeks. Hedged in by a field of shattered glass, you cast a look around yourself and whimpered. Then cursed. And cried.

You heard the shards around you crackle and snap even more when a pair of boots stepped in and crushed them.

Joel made easy work of your deadweight frame—your body hanging limply in his grip as he hoisted you up to your feet. Your vision was still as bleary as it had ever been, nose running and stinging and still struggling to take in breaths, but Mr. Miller’s hold was steady. He guided you into the kitchen and straight over to the sink.

Water ran. Wounds stung. A couple more sobs clawed out of your throat while Joel held your hand under the faucet, dabbed a paper towel across your hand to dry it off, then disappeared, momentarily, to retrieve what you assumed would be a first aid kit from the other room.

Instead, Mr. Miller returned with a fifth of Maker’s Mark. You eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hand and grimaced.

“N-Nuh-uh,” you blubbered, emphatic, “No way, man.”

“Uh, yes way, man,” Joel mimicked your voice, nose scrunching for dramatic effect as he elevated the pitch, “Like, you totally need this antiseptic so you don’t die.”

“I don’t s-sound like that!”

“I don’t so-o-und like that!”

Of course your neighbor couldn’t be assed to show an ounce of compassion to another person for more than two minutes. He drew closer with the whiskey. When he grabbed your wrist, you huffed and shook your head.

“That’s gonna hurt. I don’t want it.”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river.”

Though as soon as he’d said it, the man winced a little. Maybe that had been a bit too harsh. You sniffled hard.

“Fuck you, Miller— I-I was doin’ you a favor!” you spat.

Tears and snot becoming the fuel for part of your newfound indignation, you shot Joel a look and scowled. You wrenched your hand out of his grip and made a point to rebuff the bottle of liquor as you moved back, shaking your head again. Mr. Miller stood there and watched you.

“Only time you ever leave this fuckin’ house is when you’re hangin’ out with my dad or your brother, you haven’t got shit else to do around here but mow that fuckass lawn and jerk off— I was tryin’ to help you out! Get you laid like any normal guy would like, but no, no— you’ve gotta go and be the world’s biggest ASSHOLE about it, just like you are with everything else. I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you were and weren’t remorseful at all.

You were sorry you’d gotten caught, ate shit over a side table and got your palm fucked up by a bottle of beer.

You weren’t as sorry that Joel seemed to be regarding you as a joke now—something to tease and poke fun at. Trying to pour his makeshift disinfectant over your cut and force you to obey his orders because you were just too dumb to figure it out yourself, then mock your voice.

Then watch you with tightly knit brows, eyes scanning your face with a skepticism that was almost palpable.

Condescending old fuck.

“What? Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that?” you seethed. Emotions running high—and humiliation momentarily usurped by anger—you stared him down and dared him to speak. You didn’t care what he thought of you now.

If it had been in your interest to care, you probably would’ve looked a little harder at what the man’s body language was communicating to you in the meantime. What his mouth was evidently loath to say, his hands and feet hardly displayed the same reticence: he set the bottle aside and stepped closer to you. He stared back.

It wasn’t until he’d approached near enough, had closed the space between your body and his with barely more than an inch or two to spare, and glowered down at you, face frozen with a frown, that your brain got the hint that he might not be the type to chicken out. Or back down.

He reached behind you and opened a cabinet.

“A favor,” Joel echoed, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to replicate your intonation as he said it.

He’d just marginally checked his douchebag predilection, was closing the cabinet door beside your head and was starting to rock back on his heels, when a little cylindrical glass swung low in your line of vision. Joel held the tumbler loosely, then lifted it and pointed with his pinky.

“You,” he said, accusing, “fuckin’ suck at those—favors.”

Your stomach clenched at the sight of a slight, impish smile just then starting to frame the sides of his mouth. The featherlight grip he kept fastened on the glass, the ease of his stance, even the jab of that stupid, rough finger, still pointing at you, all bordered on nauseating. You fixed him with a pitiless look as he leaned in again.

And when his knuckles brushed your side, you tried not to flinch. You arrested his gaze without a word and let the smug, sun-tanned, sweet-as-shit-pie son of a bitch have his fill ogling you back and closing in on the bottle.

“What? Having half the tri-county population on Hinge ready to suck you off isn’t really your style?” you jeered.

Joel popped the cap and poured his drink. He shrugged.

“They ain’t you.”

As casual as if he’d just told you the weather forecast for the week ahead, his favorite place to eat, or the mundane specs on a construction project he’d been saddled with for months. Nothing of note. Nothing unknown. Just a routine admission of truth that sent your head reeling.

“You wh— w— well that’s—” you stammered, equal parts astonishment and exasperation as he continued to feed you steady, unrelenting doses of that look: “GROSS!”

You were standing stock-still, forced to watch that blip of a grin morph into a full smirk, slowly. He had to be joking.

“You are…fucked in the head, Miller. That’s not funny.”

Now you were the one pointing. Joel was drinking.

“—and I’d never in a million years even think—”

The side of your palm began to throb. It bled.

Blood was trickling down your wrist, roaring like thunder in your skull as your heart thudded away, impatient.

Impatient.

Impatient, impatient, impleeeeeeeeease fuck me, Joel, PLEASE!

Your libido a filthy, rotten traitor to all the rest of your better sense, you continued to stand there and suffocate on words like something akin to acid reflux in the throat. Your thighs snapped together, your back collapsed with equal force against the rigid set of cabinets behind it, and slowly, almost excruciating this time, you felt the pulse between your legs give way to a bout of warmth.

That cockhungry slut governing your bodily functions was actually getting wet for this asshole, and you were powerless to the effects of her wily, DILF-lusting ways.

“Gross,” you uttered out loud, again, reflexively—face overlaid with a look of horror as the heat began to pool.

And, as though the man had been endowed with the gift of infrared vision, or else just an external thermostat to gauge how hot you’d gotten between your two sweating legs, Joel brightened. His gaze flirted down to that soft, unseasonably tepid spot with a knowing look and then—

“Gross,” he parroted back. The smile behind his eyes said he wasn’t disgusted at all, just teasing some more.

When he pinched your wrist to get back to the business of blotting out blood with a paper towel, he kept that smug look painted across his creased, ancient face.

“‘S’that why ya made a Hinge for me? ‘Cause I’m gross?” Mr. Miller applied pressure to the still-bleeding cut, then directed your other hand to hold the paper towel in place.

You shook your head.

“No,” you started, trying not to wince before he turned. Again, the man ambled out of the kitchen, only to come back momentarily—finally—with a long-awaited bandaid.

“I mean…yeah, you’re a perv, but that’s beside the point.”

Joel exhaled a little harder through his nose. He pressed the underside of your palm again, ensuring the bloodflow had stopped, then swapped the napkin for the bandage. The adhesive might’ve been in place for two seconds before he was retreating again; this time, to the fridge.

“Then what was the point?”

Joel yanked one door open. You glanced over your shoulder to the one that led out to the back porch.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Go.

GO!

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure why you’d decided to make Joel the profile in the first place. Your curiosity, for one thing, had been one hell of a persuasive motivator to getting you scrolling on Joel’s behalf, but why did you care one way or another if your neighbor was drowning in pussy or enduring Sahara desert-levels of dick deprivation at his big age? It sure as fuck wasn’t your business to care, and nothing about Joel Miller had ever intrigued you consistently enough to venture an inquiry about his personal life before, so…

“Why?”

Joel was looming overhead again, the force of his presence like a fist through your chest. In an effort to steady your breaths, you turned your gaze away from his.

“I should go.” You couldn’t have dodged his last question more clumsily, or pathetically, if you’d tried, “It’s…late.”

Outside, the midday sun was still high in the sky, and there was nowhere in the world you had to be, Joel knew.

“Okay,” he said at length.

Then he leaned in closer and held something out.

“At least take one for the road, alright?”

And he was smiling, almost kind.

You looked down and—shit.

There it was, clear as day: a creamy piña colada popsicle.

The sneaky, conceited motherfucker had remembered what you’d written in his dating profile. You winced.

You accepted the cocktail popsicle without a word.

‘Thanks’ or ‘You’re a fucking pig, Miller’ likely would’ve sufficed for a farewell on any account, but by then, you were far too shell-shocked—and frankly, incredulous—of everything that had just transpired over the course of the last thirty minutes. You didn’t thank Mr. Miller, nor insult him by likening him to swine or any other thing; you left.

Your feet carried you fast out of his house.

Down the steps of his back porch, across pristine, power-washed concrete, past seemingly endless beds of hibiscus blossoms, marigolds, cape plumbago, and those god-awful periwinkle plants—who the fuck enjoyed gardening in a heatwave, anyway?—you practically sprinted away in a fugue state until the toes of your shoes hit the edge of your lawn, then you stopped.

“FUCK!”

You’d forgotten your phone.

It felt as though your body were turning in slow motion, and for a second, you seriously considered abandoning the device altogether and begging your dad for another. Then you set your sights on the wide, uninviting exterior of the back of your neighbor’s house, the place you’d just been hauling ass to escape, and almost rolled your eyes.

Joel was leaning back against the frame of his open back door, arms crossed, expression smug as he watched you.

It was extraordinarily difficult to throw a half-decent punch at a man while wielding a popsicle in your hand.

“Give it back!” you barked.

“Give what back?” Joel grinned, easily side-stepping what struck him as neither a punch nor a slap—in fact, the hit never struck him at all. He laughed as it missed.

“You know what.”

Of course, you’d gone back. Of course, Joel had tried to play dumb and pretend like you’d never left your phone behind at all. And of course, he hadn’t budged until you’d threatened to shove your left foot so far up his ass his dentist would be picking toes out of his teeth for weeks.

‘Violent little thing, ain’t ya?’ Joel had replied, chuckling.

Then, when he’d attempted to brush you aside with a patronizing wave of his hand and an admonition to run on back to daddy and quit buggin’ me, all bets were off. You’d aimed right for center mass and nearly dropped your frozen treat with how hard you’d shoved his chest.

That was how the conversation had started.

That was how the so-called ‘altercation’ had come to be—Joel easily swatting you off and indulging you no further than to chuckle and laugh and taunt you like an older brother who was faced with a sibling half his size—and all the while, your injured hand was throbbing again. White, sticky rivers of melted popsicle now trickled down your wrist instead of blood, and you were just as pissed.

“Listen—” Joel began, catching a fist meant for his face.

“Gimme my fuckin’ phone, Miller!”

“—you—”

“Can go to hell.”

“—owe me.”

“Owe you?!”

You stopped. Your weak, one-handed assault was halted just long enough to peer into Joel’s eyes, and the gaze that met yours was solid. Sincere as you’d ever seen it and blinking slow as the chocolate browns of his irises moved lower over you. Whether they were drinking you in, sizing you up, or merely plotting your demise by calculated turns, you could have been no more certain, or prepared to hear, what came out of his mouth next:

“Wanted to do me a favor, didn’t ya? C’mere.”

And the next thing you knew—or felt—was one thick finger hooking into your belt loops. One swift tug in his direction, another light push toward the old wood railing to your side, and then more fingers crowding in, crawling over, seizing the coarse denim material and pulling hard like the thing was the single most annoying impediment.

“Take these off,” Joel grunted.

You were too stunned to move. Even breathing felt like a chore, every last sense elevated to impossible heights, it wasn’t surprising at all when Joel just went and did it all himself. In a blink, your shorts were yanked down and then dropped to your ankles, your legs guided backward in shuffled steps, and then, nearly tripping in the fabric at your feet, you fell back, ass smacking the flat railing. You winced at the warm, knotty texture of the cedar beneath you and, out of habit, shot the old man a look.

Joel cocked a brow in response, likely already knowing what that glare from you was intended to convey, and instead of giving voice to any words himself, just sank.

Lower and lower and lower, until his knees were the only things holding him upright on the floor before you and his hands were pressing—melting—into your thighs.

Audibly, his kneecaps cracked.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

While Mr. Miller’s mouth moved dangerously close to a place you should’ve been appalled to see him go, all you felt capable of doing in that absurd moment, it seemed, was laugh. You gripped the thick white column beside you, scooted back slightly until you were in a comfier seated position, then snagged your lower lip between your teeth to contain the sound, but it was of no use.

Joel was both drooling and scowling between your legs.

“That funny, huh?” he managed in a low, ragged breath, “Sound’a some crackin’ joints on a man as old as me?”

“Yeah,” you said. Smug, for once.

Admittedly, any other normal person in your position would’ve been concerned with about a million different, more pressing issues—namely, your neighbor and dad’s best friend sticking his face between your legs—but really, after all the frivolity, commotion, and fucking insane behavior the two of you that day, it was like your brain had logged off and left the body to its own devices.

You didn’t mind that for right now.

When Joel’s tongue grazed the space between the cusp of your panties and inner thigh, you really didn’t mind.

Fuck it. If this was the favor he’d wanted after all, so be it.

As if reconsidering the foray of his mouth for the time being, Joel tilted back a little: just far enough to get his hands on your underwear and start tearing those down your hips too. One short, hot puff of air from his lips was a bliss unto itself, and your knees instinctively kicked up. With the thin white fabric barely halfway down one calf, you hooked your ankle over Joel’s shoulder and cursed.

“My daddy’s gonna kill you for this, Mr. Miller.”

And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Joel smiled.

Bigger this time, as if to show he didn’t really care at all what the man next door was liable to say or do about his present endeavor as long as he got to stay. You let him.

He pressed a kiss to your slick, puffy lips and hummed.

“Fine by me.”

Without another word the tip of the man’s tongue glided up the length of your slit and curled in, drawing your arousal between his lips in a hungry sort of kiss, and then sank even deeper. Going nose-deep in just one go, the old man looked positively obscene burying his face so far inside; his features alone a cruel, unseemly sort of fixture between legs as smooth and supple and warm as yours—how did a man so many years your senior get to be so lucky?—and somewhere further, in the darkest recesses of your mind, the sight sparked desire. A hunger, really.

Seeing that silver, stubbled chin getting drenched in your wetness, the weathered lines of his face growing even deeper with each new movement of his tongue, the strain in his neck with muscles that were firm and taut and so visibly aged with decades and decades of life—

You adored it.

A man Joel’s age never looked more out of place and still somehow perfectly fit for the space between your thighs.

You lowered the hand that was cradling your popsicle, braced your weight against the railing with the other, and then pressed on either side of his skull with your legs, quiet moans tumbling one after the next off your tongue.

“‘S’all for me?” Joel breathed, licking and suckling kisses along your clit, “This sweet, needy pussy’s all mine?”

“All yours.”

You scarcely recognized the sound of your own voice. Your legs were shaking. Though you loved to see him make you come undone, piece-by-piece, you also couldn’t bring yourself to stare a second longer, stimulation too great and his tongue too good.

If he kept going at a rate like this, you’d have no choice but to cum, and you didn’t want to be done just yet. Or ever. You refocused your gaze to look down and tell him as much, when your mouth fell open around a gasp, rather than words, and the weight in your hand fell away.

Swiftly, Joel took the popsicle in his own grasp and slid it down to the vicinity of his lips and tongue, now grinning.

The thing was half-melted by now, having sufficiently soaked half your forearm and leaving a vague, sugary aroma in its wake, but it was still intact. Still unlicked—unlike you—and still perfectly cool and light and long. The off-white hue was almost taunting in the way it winked and caught rays of the sunlight shining behind you, and as the man slid it even lower, you jumped back.

“Joel,” you hissed.

“What?” he hummed.

“That’s not—” You blinked, swallowing a moan.

“Not what?”

One warm, callused hand pressed the tip of the frozen thing to your bundle of nerves—the first contact it had had since Joel’s tongue—and you let out a low whine.

Even after all that time in the sun, the popsicle seared your soft, wet, aching parts with a biting cold you’d never thought possible. It sent waves of a strange, trembling pleasure coursing through your lower half and left your head with no choice but to moan. And fist Joel’s hair in a vice-like grip when he angled the wooden stick lower.

Suddenly, the white, sticky head slipped from your clit to the rim of your yet-untouched entrance, and that made your muscles leap to attention once again. You cursed.

“Not what, honey?” Joel pressed, with affection—and as he did, sank the tip of the popsicle deeper inside you.

“Th— that’s not—” You were shaking your head, racking your brain for any trace of the English language and failing miserably, “Not…doesn’t…g-go there, fuck.”

Joel sank the pretty, dribbling popsicle another inch inside your pussy and sucked a whistle through his teeth. If your senses weren’t as raw and utterly shot as they were, you likely would’ve seen the expression on his face transform from one of pleasure and amusement to awe, eyes darkening at the sight of your hole opening wider.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he cooed, voice low.

Another couple soft utterances of ‘Joel,’ and your legs only parted wider. Free to grip his hair, the railing, the column beside you, or just the insides of your own palm as the icy sensation sank inwards and into your body, you whimpered. Your hips, instinctively, bucked toward the source, and you heard Joel’s groan join your sounds.

He withdrew his new toy just far enough to make you mewl for him again, then drove it deeper. With the friction of that, a stream of white went trickling out.

Joel couldn’t help himself; he flattened his tongue against the stream and licked you clean from the spot where he’d split you open to the cusp of your clit. He circled that place over and over, worked the object in his hand even further inside and back out again, then, getting a taste of your arousal with the white, wet, sticky-sweet juices starting to mix together, he moaned.

It was a guttural sound, something just shy of the ‘feral’ demarcation but at least ten steps ahead of desperate. You relished the gruff, throaty sound reverberating from his lips to your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around it and for him, and were just about to throw your head back and grind your hips even harder when it stopped.

Joel stopped. He started to get up.

Quickly for him, but slow as molasses from your point of view, the man straightened from his place on the hard wooden floor and expelled a breath. His chest heaved, and his torso twisted to one side, momentarily, to get the strain out of his back as best he could. From where you sat, the spattering of grey in his beard seemed to glisten even brighter with the sheen of your arousal now sticking in it. He wiped his chin and reached in between your legs.

“Got any favors left in ya, sweet pea?” he smirked.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t sound like a question at all, and didn’t appear to be intended that way, as the next second had Joel pulling the largely-spent popsicle out of your slick and straight into your mouth. He didn’t inquire whether he could push it down on your tongue and make you taste your own cunt on the thin wooden stick, but the smile on your lips assured him that was fine by you.

Nor did he ask for your permission to flip you around, bend you over his porch railing, and take your hips in his hands. You were still sucking down the last traces of sugar and citrus and a vaguely tangy taste when you felt the head of something else prod your soft, wet folds.

Much bigger—and warmer—than the thing that had breached you before, Joel nudged at your hole with the tip of his cock, coated the head of it in light, gentle circles, and sucked in a breath. He didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t need to answer; he just parted your walls with the force of one steadying thrust, and the pulse of that sharp, dizzying pleasure was back in an instant.

Shared this time, and manifesting in sounds from you and Joel alike: you gritting the stick between your teeth and managing muffled cries of his name and whatever expletives you could scream, Joel with ragged breaths.

For a man who ostensibly hadn’t fucked since the Clinton administration, he was off to a pretty good start.

Joel gripped your hip even tighter and started to saw his cock in and out of your dripping, pliant hole, his other fist finding purchase in your hair for more leverage. His thrusts were shallow enough at first to get you used to the new stretch, and you could feel him making space in a way no man’s girth ever had before. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it had come to settle into a mix of guilt, rigid composure, and pussydrunk pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured behind you. Then, groaning, “Good fuckin’ girl, keep squeezin’ my cock just like that.”

You felt a slap on the ass and the speed of his thrusts pick up in turn. Your mouth fell open in a moan, and the stick on your tongue almost slipped out of place when, shortly, Joel leaned over your body and pulled you back. He snagged the popsicle stick between his teeth just in time to get your back flush with his front—in perfect position to get fucked against the nearest column.

Breaths coming out in short, ragged grunts in your ear, Joel teased the side of your face with the stick, then nudged it back in your mouth. You sucked it softly.

“One more favor, baby?” he panted against your cheek.

You nodded, not knowing what it was but that you wanted to be the one giving it. Joel pulsed inside you.

With every stab of his cock, every string of your wet, messy, combined arousals making the most profane noises imaginable between your body and his, you were squeezing him tighter and teetering on release. Joel’s hand snaked down between your legs, and just as the head of his cock nudged against that spot, you keened.

“Any favor?” Joel groaned and nipped at your earlobe.

The heft of his stomach and chest made for a warm, sturdy place to start rocking your hips, greying peach fuzz at the base of his belly a small comfort as you writhed against his body and whined that you’d do anything, anything he wanted, as long as he let you cum.

Joel’s middle finger found your clit, and you nearly screamed at the welt of pleasure coming to a head. Again, the popsicle stick tumbled out, but neither one of you could be bothered to try and keep it in this time.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The man behind you didn’t even attempt to conceal his grin as he leaned closer, hugging your body to his while he circled your clit and fucked you harder, lips straying every now and then to press a kiss on your shoulder. He plunged his cock deeper and was met with a squeezing, leaking mess trickling down his length and onto his balls, growing louder with each new wet slap against your ass. The old man was a tease, but he couldn’t hold on forever.

“Wanna fill you up,” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside?” you murmured.

You were barely able to tilt your chin to him, but when you did, he held it—made you look him in the eyes and, for once, give your unequivocal permission to do it then.

And you did.

You were startled to find Joel’s lips crashing against yours in the next second, mouth overwhelmed with the remains of your own taste, his tongue, and a series of relentless, hammering thrusts. It was only a matter of moments, then, before your resolve gave way and his followed suit, and the waves of pleasure between you both manifested in ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your walls. Joel held you closer, as though needing to feel his seed as he fucked you through it, groaning when he felt it start to move with each sharp, stuttered thrust.

You panted in his mouth coming down. You kissed him back. You almost couldn’t believe the sensation between your legs, soon to come dripping out and undoubtedly bound to make a mess all over the floor of Joel’s porch.

Equally unbelievable was the fact that you’d just fucked your neighbor in broad daylight, outside, with Marlene’s house directly to your left and your own on the right.

You stared out at the sprawling expanse in front of you—Joel’s impeccably kempt yard, one of the reasons why you were standing where you were just then—and, as you’d found yourself before, you felt the urge to laugh.

Not on account of Joel’s old, ailing knees, this time.

Clearly, the man still trying to catch his breath behind you suspected that that might’ve been the case, though, because you felt him shift his weight and grunt, lightly.

“What’s so funny? My knees crack when I cum, too?”

You could feel the smallest of scowls start to take shape, muted momentarily with kisses that he pressed on your cheek, and others, still more teasing, down your neck.

You let him, unfazed and still giggling. Then pointing.

It seemed Joel was loath to detach his lips from your neck—or his cock from the place he’d just stuffed full—but when you lifted your finger to indicate a direction toward the side of his backyard, his senses perked up.

There, along the white picket fence between his yard and Marlene’s, was the furry, merciless, lawn-destroying labradoodle that had been plaguing Joel’s life for years.

The man was out of you in an instant. He yanked his jeans up even quicker, tucking his dick back, clumsily, into its place in a fit of rage, then cupping his hands:

“WILL YOU FUCK THE HELL OFF, SPARKY?!”

#REMEMBER - JUST BECAUSE JOEL PUTS A POPSICLE IN YOUR P*SSY DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD DO THE SAME IRL!!!! I’M SO SERIOUS #PLEASE PROTECT YOUR PH AND DON’T PUT SWEETS DOWN THERE LMAOAKSK #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou

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holdmytesseract · 3 months ago

Note

Dad-to-be!Daryl fighting tooth and nail to keep the reader—who’s water had broken while they were on a walking around in the Hilltop—safe while trying to get her back to Alexandria so that Siddiq and Carol can help with the delivery of their little one. (Plus maybe the post-delivery fluff that ensues when Daryl and reader get their first moments alone with their baby.)

No pressure to write this! I just saw your post asking for dad!Daryl requests and had this idea, and thought I’d throw it your way. Love you whether you write this or not. 💜

In the Eye of the Storm

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: You go into labor while staying at the renewed Sanctuary. Daryl has to safely get you back home to Alexandria, of course - through a thunderstorm...

Warnings: usual TWD stuff, pregnancy, childbirth, baby things, mentions of blood, weapons, quite a bit angst, fluff, protective!Daryl

I tried to write this as accurate as possible. I'm no expert, heh.

Set in the beginning of season 9!

Word Count: 4,5k (whoops)

a/n: I'm not kidding when I say that I literally pounced that request. Gods, I loved to write this! Thanks for requesting, @dixons-sunshine ! I hope I did this justice! 🥹

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

Daryl had a critical gaze directed at the darkening sky above him. The wind had picked up; bringing dark clouds over the Sanctuary. A thunderstorm was approaching - and fast.

Unbeknownst to him, had the archer started to chew on the inside of his bottom lip; causing you to gently squeeze his side. "Earth to Mr. Dixon," you giggled; trying to get his attention. "You okay, Dar?" The archer blinked and lowered his gaze back to you - his wife, who was neatly tucked against his side on a walk through the yard of the renewed Sanctuary; past the not yet growing crops which had been planted. You smiled up at him - slightly grimaced, but you smiled. He shook his head; "I shoulda been askin' you tha', sunshine..." eyes drifting to your prominent baby bump. You took a deep breath, but nodded. "Just Braxton Hicks, you know..."

Daryl's eyes drifted from your eyes to your (yet) unborn baby and back; a mix of worry and fear swimming in his blue-greyish orbs. You could tell. "Ya been havin' them already the whole day... Since we got up this mornin'. Ya sure this ain't the real thing?" Now you were the one shaking your head. "No. I promise, we're okay." "A'righ'." The archer jutted his chin towards the factory and looked back up in the sky. "Let's get ya back inside," he prompted and gave your hip a soft squeeze, before he started to walk; urging you on to follow. You nodded and scrunched your nose. "Yeah... Looks like rain."

With the first roll of thunder, Daryl closed the door behind you and him, without his hand leaving your body for even a second. He was so adamant to always be by your side; steady you and help you walk, it was ridiculously cute. It made you fall in love with the archer even more - not knowing it was even possible.

You giggled; one hand on the small of your back, the other on top of your belly. "Babe, you know I can stand on my own, right?" "Don care. Want ya close. 'Specially round 'ere... Ain't trustin' 'em..." You knew of course what he meant. The smile on your face immediately vanished; replaced by a concerned frown.

You understood Rick's intention; wanting to make Carl's last wish true. You'd do the same for your own child - within a heartbeat. You just didn't understand why Rick had charged Daryl of all people with the supervision of the Sanctuary. Sure, he was his bother, his right-hand-man, the one he possibly trusted most besides Michonne, but... After everything Daryl has been through here? After all the psychological torture? You knew it wasn't easy for your husband to be here. Even though he didn't say anything. You could feel it.

You took a step towards the archer; invading his space. Placing a hand on his chest and the other on his cheek, you scanned his face. "Daryl... You... You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be the one having to do this. I'll have a-" You stopped dead in your sentence; eyes widening and heart leaping into your throat at the feeling you had just experienced. Daryl was immediately on alert; completely ignoring what you had just said. "Y/N?! Wha's goin' on?!" His free hand came to rest on the bump which was his child instantly.

You swallowed hard; taking a step away from him again and looked down yourself. A prominent wet patch was spreading across the crotch and inner thighs of your maternity sweatpants. "I-I think..." Your husband's eyes followed yours quick; realisation dawning on him right away. It could mean only two things...

1) You peed yourself.

2) Your water broke.

The archer begged internally to whatever force above that it was not the latter. "Please tell me ya peed yerself..." Daryl mumbled under his shaky breath; already slightly on edge. It wasn't a fortunate moment for the baby to make their appearance... You were at the Sanctuary, for God's sake! Rosita and Eugene were the only one here you could truly trust. Not much medical supplies and even less people who knew how to birth a baby either.

"I-I'm honestly not sure, Dar..." He nodded; trying to keep his calm. "A'right. Let's, uh, get ya in a fresh pair of pants 'n check?" "Uh.Huh," you answered; nervously nibbling on your lip as well. You actually didn't want to 'do this to Daryl' now, but it wasn't like you could take a pick. It wasn't in your hands... It was in the tiny hands of the peanut living in your belly.

You felt your husband's strong arm around your waist once again; supporting you as best as he could and helping you to walk through the darkish, grey hallways of the 'former' enemies hideout and towards your shared room.

After the sweatpants and your panties were not much longer on your body, you and Daryl realised quickly that you did certainly not pee yourself. It was a different... substance - which meant the one thing the both of you hoped it wouldn't be... Your water broke.

"O-Oh, fuck, that's..." You cut off your own sentence; "W-What are we, uh, going to do now?" swallowing hard and balancing on one foot, while you gripped Daryl's shoulder as he helped you step inside a fresh pair of underwear and sweatpants.

The archer looked up at you; panic swimming in his blue-grey orbs. You could tell that his mind was working on overdrive to find an answer to your question. "I-I dunno, sunshine, I-" He inhaled a deep breath; eyes darting around the room. "Ya can't have the peanut here... 'S no doctor 'round. I ain't risking tha'..." Daryl shook his head and stood up; palms immediately lading on your hips. "W-We gotta get ya back to Alexandria. To Siddiq. Now." You nodded; clenching your jaw at the incoming contraction - and Daryl noticed, of course. "'N we gotta time 'em contractions. C'mon."

Trusting your husband and his decision making blindly, you quickly threw a few things you might needed in Daryl's beige backpack, while he was informing Rosita about the situation you found yourself in.

It didn't take the archer more than a few minutes to return to your side; giving you a helping hand and finally walking you back to the door, which led to the yard - but once he opened it, a harsh breeze hit him (and you) instantly; rain splattering across your faces.

Fuck... The thunderstorm... Daryl had totally forgotten about the weather conditions; too occupied with you and the baby. You did, too.

"Fuckin' shit," the archer cursed under his breath; trying to shield you from the rain with his broad body. "Well, that's gonna be a fun car ride, eh?" You halfway joked; trying to lift the mood, but without success. "I'll get the truck; park as close as somehow possible. No matter wha'... We have ta get ya back home."

The Sanctuary had borrowed a truck from the Hilltop for moving things and other 'heavy' stuff. It was the only car option Daryl got. Of course he couldn't take his bike. Hell no.

"Ya wait inside. Don want ya ta get wet 'n cold." You nodded; bracing yourself beside the door against the wall. "Ya good bein' alone?" Once again you nodded; giving him another half-smile. "Go." He gave you a last once over, before he stepped out in the rain to get the truck.

Soaked to the bones, he helped you down the stairs then and outside; sitting you in the passenger seat of the truck; not letting go of you for even a second. "Y-You're soaked, baby..." You noticed with a furrowed brow; concerned. "You'll catch a cold if you-" Your husband immediately interrupted you; shaking his head and squeezing your hand. "Doesn't matter. This ain't 'bout me. 'S 'bout ya 'n the baby."

You knew that arguing would be just a waste of time. It wouldn't help. And honestly were you way too tensed and stressed to discuss. So you said nothing.

"Ya comfortable, sunshine? Tha' okay fer now?" His voice was on edge. You could see how hard he was trying to not lose it. This spurred you even more on to keep a cool head yourself. After all, this was your first birth. Your first child. You wanted to panic and give into the nervousness, concern and fear, but you knew you couldn't. You had to try at least. For Daryl.

You nodded and gave him a soft smile. "Y-Yeah, I- We're good, I-I think. Thanks, babe." The small smile he gave you was sloshing over with nervosity and concern, but he tried as well.

Daryl quickly rounded the car and got inside the driver's seat; immediately starting the engine. "Let's get ya home." He started to drive, while you tried to focus on your breathing like Carol taught you. Both your hands splayed on your big baby bump; feeling the subtle movements of the child within you.

Some time passed until the next contraction hit you. You breathed through it; grimacing. "Damnit..." You gasped once the waves of pain subsided; noticing how Daryl gazed back and forth between a watch around his wrist you never saw before and the street. "Been 'bout forty minutes since the last one." You swallowed hard. "T-That's already quite close, isn't it?" He shrugged his shoulder. "I dunno, but... Feels like it." You shifted slightly in your seat and placed a hand on Daryl's hand, which was gripping the gear shift for dear life. "We're gonna make it, 'kay? Everything's gonna be okay," you tried to reassure Daryl - and yourself. You could see how he chewed on his bottom lip. "Shouldn't 'ave taken ya with me... Shoulda left ya back home where ya 'n the baby 'r safe 'n taken care of. Hell, I shouldn't 'ave left at all... 'S my fault tha' we gotta do this now."

You immediately shook your head and gave his hand another squeeze. "Dar, this is everything, but your fault. I was the one encouraging you to go... And I practically begged you to take me along, because I can't stand to be away from you - especially now. I knew the risk, but I made the decision. If anyone's to blame, it's me." Your husband just scoffed at your words and just as he actually wanted to answer, the sight of the street a few miles ahead forced him to stop the truck.

The thunderstorm hadn't calmed down in the slightest; was raging on and had caused a tree to fall and land in the middle of the street. "Shit... 'S too big ta move it... We have ta take a different road." His eyes landed on you, just like his hand on your swollen belly. "Can ya both hang on a lil' while longer? 'S a stupid question, ain't it?" You shook your head and gave him the most convincing smile you could muster in that moment. "It's not. I-I'll try... Right, peanut?" You addressed your unborn baby. "We'll try."

Unfortunately wasn't the fallen tree the only obstacle you had to overcome on your rushed journey to Alexandria... The storm was going on and definitely took its toll on the nature. And that wasn't the only problem... The night had settled over the world and the dead weren't exactly a help as well, and at some point were your contractions only fifteen minutes apart... It was a race against the time now - and your upcoming nerves. The closer you got to actually birthing your child, the worse it became. Fifteen minutes apart and you didn't even know if everything was fine and going the way it should down there. It was excruciating.

"Sonofabitch," you suddenly heard Daryl exclaim, which snapped you out of your thoughts. Lifting your gaze, you instantly understood what caused his small outburst... A few walkers were exactly in your way; stuck in the rain soaked, muddy ground. "Have ta get rid of 'em, sunshine," Daryl stated and already moved to unsheathe his knives from their confines; his barely dried clothes about to get soaked all over again. "I-I can help-" "Hell nah," he cut you off immediately; scoffing. "Yer stayin' right here inside the truck where ya 'r safe. I ain't riskin' a damn thing. Gotta keep ya safe." You nodded in defeat; realising once more that arguing wouldn't get you anywhere.

Daryl gave you a stern but loving look, before he took a deep breath and exited the truck. Anxiously, you watched your husband fighting off the undead threat. Sure, most of them were kinda stuck, but the noises had attracted more walkers... The headlights of the truck provided enough light for you to see what was going on in front of you, but not besides and certainly not behind the vehicle. The relentless rain made it difficult to see straight as well, and when another, much worse contraction hit you and the pain managed to blur your vision entirely, you lost sight of Daryl. Sweat was dripping over your brow as you couldn't hold back the scream which wanted to break free from your lips; hands clutching your baby bump. "O-Oh f-fuck..." Your fingers clenched into fists as you tried to breathe through the contraction. Agonisingly slow subsided the pain; leaving you breathless. You looked around through the windows; trying to find your husband. But you couldn't see him. It was quiet. Except for the running engine and the rain drumming down on the truck.

"D-Daryl?!" You called out; knowing very well that he couldn't hear you. Uneasiness crept up in you; threatening to cut off your airways and sent your anxiety skyrocketing. It didn't help that you were on edge already... What if something happened to him? What if he got bit? What if he...? Your brain already conjured the worst case scenarios, as suddenly two pale hands slammed against the window pane beside you; the tow curling growl almost giving you a heart attack. "Fucking hell!" You squeaked and clutched your now rapidly beating heart.

The hands clawed and scratched at the wet glass - but to your sheer endless relief didn't they stay long. With a dull thud hit the undead man's skull the window; blood splattering everywhere, before it got slowly washed away. The hands stilled, before they entirely disappeared. Blinking, you watched it happen, still somewhat caught up in your thoughts. But then, the driver's door got opened and slammed quickly shut again. A familiar grunt urged to your ears - and you could've cried of relief and happiness.

"Daryl!" You more or less whimpered; shifting in your seat as good as you could and turned to him; taking in his water and blood soaked appearance. Some blood was on his cheeks and water dripped down his long, brown hair. You reached for him; grabbed onto his wet sweatshirt and slippery vest. "A-Are you okay? I-I lost sight of you a-and..." You hiccuped; taking a deep breath. The archer immediately nodded and leaned in for a sweet, soft kiss; letting you feel that he was alive and well, before he moved to take your hands in his bigger ones. "'M good, sunshine. 'S a'right. 'M here." His blue eyes scanned your body then; lips pressed together in worry. "Wha' 'bout you?"

You swallowed hard. "H-Had another contraction..." His eyes widened. "Darlin', you had one barely ten minutes ago..." "I know." Daryl looked at you a few moments longer, before he gently let go of your hands and gripped the steering wheel instead. "We gotta keep movin'," he mumbled and kept on driving - and you knew he was right.

Luckily the truck didn't get stuck in the muddy mess ahead of you... That would've been the cherry on top.

It took you longer than planned to drive back to Alexandria, but in the end you finally made it - most likely just in time. You swore you were never that happy before to see the familiar gates of the place you called home. Daryl felt the same. You could tell.

The thunder and lighting had ceased by now. It was still raining, but not as bad. Due to the bad weather conditions was nobody on watch, but the archer knew that at least one person was positioned up in the windmill; looking out for threats from up there. So, he gave whoever was up there a sign; flashing the truck head lights three times and signalling that friends were standing in front of the walls and not enemies.

"Jus' a few minutes longer, sunshine. Almost there," Daryl tried to reassure you as he gently squeezed your hand. You just nodded; occupied with taking deep breaths.

Moments later, the gates got opened for Daryl to drive through, which he immediately did and headed straight for the infirmary; parking the car as close as he could get.

The approaching headlights must've caught Siddiq's attention, since the doctor immediately went to the door; trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. He watched the archer quickly rounding the vehicle; getting soaked in the rain a third time. "Daryl?!" Siddiq called out; switching on his porch light. "What-" Daryl didn't let the man finish; cut him off mid sentence as he opened the door and helped you out. "Need yer help! Y/N's in labor!"

Siddiq didn't need more information. He knew and was immediately on high alert. The doctor opened the door and let the both of you in; instantly helping Daryl to steady you. Usually, he would've asked about your condition, but Siddiq knew the moment he saw you. "How far apart are the contractions?" You wanted to answer, but Daryl did for you. "'Bout six minutes." The black haired man nodded, "You got here just in time, I'd say." and helped you sit on the bed inside the room he had led you and Daryl in. "I'm afraid we have to get you out of these..." Siddiq nodded at your sweatpants. "Daryl, would you...?" Your husband's eyes were locked on you as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I got it. C'mon, sunshine."

While Daryl helped you shimmy down your pants and panties, Siddiq prepared some things he needed in the upcoming hour(s)... Towels, gloves and some other medical stuff.

"Alright. I have to check on you. Is that alright?" Siddiq asked carefully; knowing how... protective and territorial the other present man in the room could get. You nodded; trying your hardest to not scream due to the contraction you were going through. The doctor noticed and placed a reassuring hand on your knee. "Deep breaths, Y/N. We got this, okay?" You gave your friend another nod, before he went to check as soon as your contraction subsided again.

"You're about eight centimetres dilated, I'd say." "'N tha' means?" Daryl spoke up with your hand neatly tucked in his, as he was standing by your side. "Two more and she'll be able to start pushing. Means, your baby will see the light of day in the next one or two hours." The colour visibly drained from the archer's face. He knew that he'd be a dad soon, but... That soon? You, on the contrary just groaned and threw your head against the pillow. "Thank fuck. I want this to be over... Hurts like a bitch - and I finally want to hold my baby."

Siddiq witnessed both very different reactions and tried to hide a smile; quickly deciding to give the soon-to-be-dad a little task to keep him from freaking out.

"Daryl?" The archer's gaze lifted from where he was staring at the floor and gnawing nervously on his thumb. "Could you get Carol? I might need her assistance." Daryl frowned in confusion, but the feeling which started to flood his veins was happiness. "She's here?" Siddiq nodded with a smile. "Yes. She was on the road and decided to stay for a few days. Might as well call it providence." The man nodded; shaking a few bangs of wild brown curls from his face and nibbled on his bottom lip again, but turned to you; needing your permission. "'S a'right if I go 'n get 'er, darlin'?" You nodded; sweat doting your forehead. "As long as you'll come back to me... Go. I'm in good hands." Your husband gave you a loving look and gently squeezed your hand, before he let go to get himself soaked in rain again - for the nth time... Not that he cared, though.

The archer didn't even had to ask where to look for his best friend. He knew. After all has she been sharing a house with the both of you, before she moved to the Kingdom. Where else to look but there

Opening the main door, he stepped inside; calling out for his friend. "Carol?!" It didn't take long for the grey haired woman to peak out from the kitchen in the hallways; frowning. The frown immediately vanished, though, when she saw who the 'intruder' was... "Daryl?" A bright smile darted over her face, as she quickly bridged the distance to hug her best friend. They hadn't seen each other in a while after all.

"Ya good?" He simply asked; definitely enjoying the embrace of the woman he got luckily stuck with since the very beginning of this shit show. "Yeah, I am. What about you? And especially Y/N?" Daryl instantly retreated from the hug; a frightening, but also happy look on his face. "W-Well, uh... S-She's in labor. 'S why I brought 'er back here... Siddiq sent me ta ask for yer help..." Carol's eyes widened, but she immediately scrambled for the kitchen to turn off the stove. "Of course, I'm coming to help! Can't miss my best friend becoming a daddy, can I?"

Daryl blinked. "Best friend? Really?" Carol ignored his sceptical question and grabbed him by the shoulders instead; turning him around and maneuvering him towards the door. There were more important things to do now than discuss that.

Siddiq's predictions had been quite on spot. About one and an half hour, quite a few painful contractions and several tiring and debilitating pushes later, you finally held your baby in your arms. Since the doctor's announcement that you gave birth to a - as far as he could tell, healthy little girl, Daryl's mind had gone blank. He was physically present, but mentally, he was somewhere lost in a haze; trying to process the life-changing information... A girl. His daughter. He was a father now. A father!

Of course, you noticed. Carol and Siddiq did, too and all of you decided to give him the space and time he needed right now; just letting him stare at the white wall across your bed.

Only once the afterbirth was done, you getting cleaned up as well as the baby, the umbilical cord cut by Carol (Daryl would've most likely fainted if he was asked to do it. He already looked as white as a ghost...), a few further instructions and information shared by both your friends, and your newborn daughter wrapped up in a diaper and a slightly too big beige romper suit with cute teddy bears on it, you decided to try to guide your husband out of the haze he still was in. Especially now that you were given some time alone...

"Daryl?" You called out softly; voice barely above a whisper to not startle him. He didn't react, so you tried again... Same result. Freeing a hand from the baby tucked against your chest, you reached out to gently touch his arm. "Babe..." You whispered; letting your palm glide down the length of the limb and brushing the clammy skin of his hand. "Hey..." That seemed to finally do the trick...

The archer blinked and redirected his glance; eyes focusing on you instead. "'M sorry, sunshine, I-" His words quickly died in his throat, when he finally saw his daughter nestled against you; greedily suckling on your exposed right breast and making the cutest little noises he had ever heard. You smiled tiredly and slipped your fingers through his; giving them a soft squeeze. "Your baby girl, Daryl... Your daughter..." He swallowed and lifted his free hand; almost hesitatingly hovering over the infant, before his pointer finger came into contact with her soft cheek.

Daryl gasped; releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding. You watched the interaction with loving eyes; only now noticing that the small girl had stopped nursing and was wriggling around in your hold instead. Her eyes were closed and she had her legs pulled up against her belly; tiny fingers clenching and unclenching.

Your husband had cupped her head now, which was covered in a dark brown fuzz. "She's perfect, darlin'..." Daryl whispered after a long moment; smiling that smile you loved so much.

"Do you want to hold her?"

That question caused Daryl's hand to immediately stop caressing his daughter's head. "I-I..." He stammered; nervous, yet with such a strong urge. "Y-Yeah, I... I wanna hold 'er." You patted the empty space on the bed beside you. "C'mere, then." The archer followed your 'command' and switched from the chair to sit on the bed. Only now did you notice that he hadn't changed yet and that the shirt he wore was still damp. Worry roared to life within you. You didn't want him to catch a cold or even something worse...

"Baby, you should change... I don't want you to get sick..." Daryl shook his head. "Do want ta leave ya..." "I know..." You bit your lip; uncertain if you should propose the suggestion in your mind or not. "Then, uh... How about you take the shirt and vest off? Carol and Siddiq won't be here for at least another hour and skin-on-skin contact with your daughter would be good, too... Helps her bond with you." You gave him a soft smile. "It's your decision, though. I won't force you to do anything."

You could practically see the gears turning in your husband's head, but in the end he nodded and started to peel the damp clothes off his upper body. Once he was shirtless, you started to transfer the little girl over to her father. "Make sure to support her head, Dar," you instructed him; noticing his eager nod, and suddenly was the infant tucked in the crook of his arm. She snuggled against his bare chest; definitely enjoying the warmth of his skin.

And suddenly the world stopped to turn around Daryl.

He gazed down at the tiny human being he helped create - and she was the most wonderful, beautiful creature his eyes had ever seen (besides you, of course). Love flooded his veins; heart threatening to slosh over with the warm feeling.

Yes... He'd rip the world apart to keep her safe. Anything. Just to make sure his girls were protected.

You watched your husband and newborn daughter; a tired, but happy look on your face, and you realised soon, that everything had been worth it... Everything you've gone through. Every obstacle you and Daryl had to overcome, just to get here - to experience this moment. She was worth it.

You smiled. Yeah... You could definitely get used to Daryl being a dad...

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @mischief-dream @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @stiveroon @cakesandtom @mayday2007

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sweetpascal · 5 months ago

Text

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐨

gif by: @andrew-lincoln

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: in times of stress, joel resorts to the one thing that calms him down; a nice bottle of whiskey. after you get dropped off by your date, joel makes sure to remind you just who you really belong to.

warnings: MINORS DNI. BIG AGE GAP [18/52], possessive joel, he's a peeping tom, TW: forced intoxication, peer pressure, manipulation, dumbification, forced first kiss, joel spits in your mouth, finger sucking

wc: 5k (it reached 4,999 words exactly so i added one more to make it even heheheheheh.)

notes: OKAY UM i did not expect this series to get THAT MUCH attention. all of y'all are some dirty little readers just like me. i'm genuinely excited seeing all the comments and reblogs. EXPECT THIS SERIES TO GET A LOT DIRTIER AS THE DAYS PASS.

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The day was hectic from the moment you woke up. The noise of cabinets slamming, the thud of heavy footsteps on the floorboards, and Joel's loud cursing were inescapable. It was only in the late afternoon that you gathered the courage to leave your room, go downstairs, and tell your stepdad about your date with a friend who had boldly invited you out.

Standing nervously in your spot, dressed in a bikini, jean shorts that rode up your thighs with each step you took, a wide knit crop top that slipped down your shoulders, and a pair of strappy sandals, you twiddle your fingers and waited for Joel to see you standing there.

Joel's upper body was concealed beneath the sink cupboard, a folded pillow cushioning his lower back. His feet, clad in boots, rested on the floor, knees bent skyward. A toolbox lay nearby, with tools and soiled rags strewn about. Another curse slipped quietly from his lips. There was a loud clank of metal that made you jump in your spot.

"Uh, Daddy?" you called out timidly, wincing and flinching as he cursed again, his voice booming and thunderous.

Upon hearing your voice, Joel frowns up at the leaking pipes above his face and sighs deeply. He's been working on these pipes since the minute he woke up. Catching sight of you, he pauses to take in your appearance, looking like a little vision in your short shorts and knitted top that exposes your bikini. He carefully maneuvers himself from under the sink, wincing and groaning when his knees pop as he plants a hand on the counter and lifts himself up to his full height.

"Hey there, pretty girl," he grins and wipes his hand with a rag. "Where ya headed lookin' like a sweet peach, huh?"

Flustered by his compliment and the teasing grin he sends your way, you giggle to yourself and glance down at your fidgeting fingers. Joel takes slow, deliberate steps towards where you stand. He notices the subtle shift in your stance as he approaches.

"I'm heading out to the lake soon," you tell him quietly, glancing up through your lashes. Your breath got caught in your throat when his large hands get a hold of your hips, his thumbs lifting the hem of your top to brush against your exposed skin. "If... If that's alright with... with you?"

Joel hums deep in thought, his eyes scanning your facial features as he thinks about what you'd look like if you got down on your knees and begged for mercy. "Of course, sweetheart," he gives you another grin of his. "Is it with that little group of friends o' yours?"

He catches the distinct twitch in your brow as you look away from him, lightly pulling yourself away from his close proximity but stopping once he tightens his hands on your hips, a silent command of I'm not done with you. He can sense that you're not telling him something, and that makes the grin on his face slowly fade into a frown.

"What ain't you tellin' me, girl?" He asks, his voice low and warning. When you answer his question in a small voice that makes it hard to hear and when you don't bother looking at him when you say it, he grabs your face and lifts your head, doing it a little rough than intended. "Look at me when you're talkin' to me and use your big girl voice when you do it."

A small squeak escapes your lips at the bruising hold he has on your jaw. You grabbed at his forearm with both hands, desperately trying to pull his hand away. His eyes darken and he scowls at the tears in your eyes. Snatching his hand away, he shuts his eyes tightly and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he sighs deeply and opens his eyes again, tutting quietly as he wipes your fallen tears. "Daddy just gets frustrated when you keep things from him. You see what happens when you do silly things like that? Hm?" He coaxes a shaky nod from you. "I know you're not smarter than most girls, babydoll, but that's why Daddy's here to teach you, okay? Whaddya say?"

"Sorry, Daddy," you whisper and bury your face in his sturdy chest, sniffling softly and wiping away your tears, wincing when the pressure applied to your jaw creates an ache. "It... It's not with my friends. Well, it is with a friend. A boy." You whisper the last part.

Joel's hands halt, ceasing their motion across your back. A boy? A friend that's a boy? And the two of you are going to a lake alone? Just the two of you. And he's going to be seeing you in a bikini with your delicate skin all exposed for him to touch?

"And this boy," he spits out the word, slowly peeling himself away from you, arms dropping at his sides as he glances over your shoulder to try and contain the rage waiting to burst. "Is he some kind of..." With a gesture his hand, he continues, "Boyfriend?" He doesn't like the fact that you're going out with a boy, alone. He fucking despises it. The tensing ache in his hand just begging to punch the little shit's face in for feeling like he has big enough balls to ask his sweet girl out.

"No, not at all," you rush to explain. "He's just a friend who asked me out, and I accepted because, why not?" Your attempt at a light-hearted laugh fades quickly under his intense glare. "Daddy? Are... Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?"

Joel folds his arms tightly across his chest, his anger unmistakable. The habitual tick of his jaw betrays his fury. Before he can respond, a knock interrupts. Joel strides over with heavy steps and flings the door open. The sight nearly draws a laugh from him. The boy before him is hardly a man, with gangly arms in a muscle tank, sunglasses perched on his face, and a backwards cap restraining his shoulder-length platinum blonde hair. It's clear to Joel that this kid is trying far too hard.

"Babydoll," he calls out over his shoulder. "Your little friend is here." He extenuates the two words as he stares into the young man's eyes, damn near burning a hole through them. A sadistic part of him loves watching the kid squirm under his gaze. When you stand beside Joel with your little tote bag on your shoulder, you look up at him with a nervous look in your eyes. He looks away and stares down at the short fucker. "I want her home by 6, no later."

With a firm pat to your butt, he ushers you out of the house and slams the door shut behind your back. Exhaling deeply, he mumbles to himself, "Fuck," and gets back to work under the sink.

By the time you arrived home, the clock had struck 9. The night had settled in, and the crickets were serenading. You had anticipated that the one-hour trail walk to the waterfall cave with your friend would mean breaking curfew. After a rushed expression of gratitude for the evening, you exited his car and scurried to your porch, your sandals almost causing a stumble due to your speed. Upon opening the door, the darkness of your home greeted you, save for the solitary light of the living room lamp. The shadows cast throughout the house intensified the anxiety within you.

"You're late," a husky voice calls out from the dimly lit living room, making you jump and gasp in fright at the sound of Joel. Sheepishly, you move further inside, pausing just before the open doorway of the living room.

There he sits, gripping a bottle of fine whiskey by the neck in one hand. He's settled in the middle of the couch, legs comfortably apart. His free arm is draped over the top of the couch's backrest. After taking another sip of whiskey, he turns to look at you. Your hair sports a charming wave, likely from the water and sun. You gaze back at him, your eyes wide with concern and a subtle pout on your lips.

"I know… I know I was late, Daddy, but…" His head shake cuts you off mid-sentence.

"So, how was your little date with the kid, hm? He slip you the tongue? He cop a feel?" Joel sends you a grin that was unmistakably fake and shifts his hips to spread his thighs wider, one knee bobbing up and down in an act of annoyance.

Coming into the living room, you carefully laid your bag down and stood in front of him, nervously fiddling with the hem of your knitted top. "He wanted to, but I didn't let him," you tell your stepdad in a quiet voice. Joel hums, deep in thought.

There was a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes at the thought of you rejecting some boy's advances. It pleased him knowing you were still pure, untouched. The predatory hunger that follows him around like a dark cloud above his head has been hard to ignore ever since he took advantage of your unconscious body the night before. He was the first man to have ever used you in such a way and he craved for more. He wanted to defile you, inch by inch.

"Come sit on my lap, sweetheart," he pats his lap, taking another sip of his whiskey before placing the bottle on the ground between his feet that were still covered by his work boots.

Knowing better than to go against his word, you carefully step over to him, being mindful of the bottle on the ground, and taking a seat on his lap with your thighs on either side of his hips. With shaky hands, you place them on his broad shoulders, still feeling the warmth of him through two layers of clothes.

"It's a good thing you said no to that boy, sweetheart. You don't need any other man but me. Ain't that right?" Joel tells you in a low timbered voice, his big hands holding onto your hips and yanking you closer. You gasped and fell against his chest with a small, "Daddy!"

Joel smiles menacingly at you, one hand climbing up your body to comb through your hair as he gets a better look at your face in the dimly lit room. He couldn't lie to himself when he thinks that you're so pretty looking sitting right here on his lap. It was so wrong, so taboo.

"Now that you're back, you can keep me company since you left me here by myself," he says with feigned sorrow, secretly enjoying the worried expression on your face as though you've truly upset him. "But luckily, I've got this for us to celebrate," he adds, bending down to pick up his bottle of whiskey and holding it up between the two of you.

Looking at the bottle and reading the label, you frown and look back at him. "But... it's alcohol. I'm not old enough to drink that!"

Joel's frown deepens, his annoyance now clear for you to see. He understands that it will take some time for you to cease worrying and to simply heed his words without question or hesitation. You are such a naive girl, always striving to do what's right, to be good, and to abide by the rules. But goddamn, if it wasn't fucking annoying.

"I'm gonna say this one last time," Joel speaks sternly, his jaw clenching tight as he glares into your frightened eyes. "I'm in charge of this house. If I tell you to do somethin', I expect you to fuckin' do it. Do I make myself clear, little girl?" He lowers his head to catch your wandering eyes. When you give him a feeble nod, he smiles brightly, pleased with the fact that you're going to be listening to him from now on, or so he hopes.

He hands you the bottle, and you hesitate for a split second before holding it in both hands. Joel leans back in his seat, both arms now resting on either side of him on the backrest. He tilts his head, patiently waiting for you to take the first sip of alcohol that will touch your virgin tongue.

"I'm nervous," you whimper, lifting the bottle to your nose and taking a tentative sniff before wincing from the strong stench as it burns your nostrils.

"Peach," he drawls, "don't you wanna feel more like an adult now that your momma's gone? Hm?" He can see that his careful wording is slowly rotting your mind, so he continues. "You're not a little girl anymore. You're a beautiful, young woman. And your momma's not here to stop you. C'mon, take a sip and see how ya feel. You can do it, sweetheart. Don't you wanna be my big, strong, adult girl?"

As you give him a feeble nod, your eyes drift to the reddish-brown liquid poised to cascade down your throat. Taking a deep breath, you bring the rim to your lips, tilt your head back, and allow a sip of the potent whiskey to enter your mouth. Accidentally swallowing a large gulp, the burn spreads through your esophagus and chest. You double over, hacking and coughing loudly, droplets landing on Joel's flannel as you retch against his shoulder. He chuckles deeply, patting your back, and proudly murmurs, "Attagirl."

Once you recover from the coughing fit, with a burning sensation in your chest and tears in your eyes, the aftertaste makes you cringe. Despite the drink's spiciness, as it settles in your stomach, it imparts an indescribable warmth. As you hand the bottle to Joel, he shakes his head and pushes it back into your chest. "Keep goin'," he tells you.

"I don't think I can handle it. It burns," you say weakly, trying to swallow as your mouth quickly fills with saliva. If you had to choose an alcoholic drink, whiskey would certainly not be it.

"C'mon, babydoll," Joel drawls. "Don't you wanna be like Daddy? Drinking stuff like this will make you get big and strong just like me." He can see the contemplation in your eyes as you listen to him. He suddenly sits up and leans in close to your space, smelling the whiskey on your breath through parted lips. "Don't leave me hangin'."

When you press the rim to your lips once again, Joel takes matters into his own hands and forces the bottle to tip higher in your hand, a thick stream of the brown liquid quickly entering your mouth before you could stop it. One of his hands holds the back of your head as the other clamps over your mouth. You're sputtering through your nose, eyes wide and filled with thick tears as the burning becomes too much to handle. He's staring at you, clearly enjoying your struggle.

"Swallow it, babydoll. C'mon, you can do it. Be a good girl and swallow," he says through gritted teeth, pressing his hand harder against your mouth when you frantically grab at his forearm. He tips your head back to face the ceiling. Then, he sees your throat bobs as you swallow the fiery liquid. When he moves his hands away, you're nearly hacking up at a lung and openly sobbing through heaving breaths. "That's my girl!"

Joel plants a kiss on your warm cheeks and gently runs his hands along your arms, hoping to soothe you. A soft laugh escapes him as you snuggle into his chest, your cries softening to faint hiccups and sniffles. He gives you a moment or two to settle down, letting the alcohol's calming effects take hold.

"I feel funny," you tell him in a sluggish voice as you sit up on his lap, holding your head in both hands as you stare at him through unfocused eyes. Your entire body, from head to toe, feels like it's being basked in the sun. You feel so warm all over, and tingly too. Your thoughts are hazy and jumbled, and you're just barely seeing two of everything.

Joel grins wolfishly upon witnessing your tipsy state. He can see in the way you're swaying on his lap, desperately grabbing onto his awaiting arms when you lean too far left and nearly topple over. He laughs at the dopey grin on your face and the way you look at him with dazed eyes. Seeing you in such an intoxicated state, so easy to manipulate and use, has his dick thickening in his jeans.

When you sloppily grab the bottle again and lean back to take another sip, some of the whiskey slides down your chin and neck. Joel leans over and uses his tongue to clean it up, paying extra attention to your exposed neck. Your entire body shivers at the warm muscle licking over your sensitive neck and his scruff scraping over.

"Daddy... that's... that's in-inappro-ropriate," your words come out slurred and stuttered, eyebrows drawn close as you try to speak clearly without fumbling; you failed miserably.

Joel hushes you softly. "This is what people do when they drink, babydoll. It's a natural thing to do, especially with pretty peaches like you. It's customary," he says in a sickly-sweet voice, his big hands combing through your hair to get you to look at him.

"Real-ly?" You hiccuped and giggled, quickly covering your mouth as the cinnamon-like taste came back. "Even... Even with... stepdaddies?"

"Especially with stepdaddies, babydoll," Joel huskily tells you, his eyes eagerly taking in the way your knitted top slid so far down your shoulders that it exposed your bikini top. He hums low in his throat, using an index finger to hook underneath the tied bow keeping your bikini together. "There are more things we do, if you wanna do 'em."

"Hm... like what?" Your head tilts like a curious puppy, the gleam in your eyes brightening. Joel bites at his bottom lip, leaning back in his seat and using his grip on your hips to pull you with him. You flop into his chest with a giggle before situating yourself more comfortably on his lap.

"Well, have you ever kissed anyone, sweetheart?" He asks you gruffly, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip lovingly. He knows you haven't. He would know. He knows everything.

There have been many instances where Joel will be walking past your room, your door ajar, and he'll press himself against the wall to eavesdrop on your phone conversations. Your friends would typically be on speakerphone, gossiping and bragging about their sex lives and romance while you have nothing to offer in return. You've never even touched yourself for god's sake. There have been other instances where late at night, Joel would sneak into your room long after you've gone to sleep and just stand there, watching, observing. He'll go as far as to lower the blanket and caress the supple skin of your thighs. The hunger he has is unfathomable.

"No," you answer in a small voice.

"That's a good thing, babydoll," Joel hushes you softly at the sound of your embarrassed whimper. "You see, only I can kiss you. Cause I'm the Daddy, and Daddy knows best, doesn't he?"

As he notices your eyebrows knitting together at his words, he smiles and anticipates your reply. He is aware that discussing this matter with you while you're sober would be challenging. Convincing you to set aside your concerns and trust in his words requires considerable effort.

"But... But it's wrong! It's not right! If-If my mom finds out, she could-"

Your sentence is suddenly cut off when Joel roughly grabs your face and yanks you down, forcing his lips onto yours and swallowing down your squeak of surprise. Dazed and confused, you grab his shoulders and push him away with as much strength as you could muster in your intoxicated state. Joel sits back and licks his lips, savoring the taste of your strawberry ChapStick on his tongue.

Laying a few fingers on your tingling lips, you stare at your stepdad with wide, shocked, and unfocused eyes. There's a unique warmth that nestles deep within your chest, one that whiskey cannot match. It's unexpected, to say the least. Not disgust, but rather a feeling of familiarity and desire washes over you.

"Only I know what's best for you, silly girl. Ain't that right?" His honeyed tone forces a nod out of you as you slip deeper into your whiskey-fused trance. "You're just too dumb to do these things on your own. That's why you need Daddy's help to guide you and make things better."

It all falls into place. From the early days of his relationship with your mom, Joel has been there for you. He taught you how to ride a bike, build a birdhouse from scratch, change a tire, and so much more. Now that you're an adult and still navigating the complexities of the real world, it seems only right to let Joel guide you through more aspects of becoming an adult, even when it comes to things intimate couples do as well.

Through your whiskey-soaked brain, you blearily nod and stare unfocusedly into his hooded eyes. "So... it's okay for me and you to... kiss and stuff?"

"Absolutely, sweet thing," he tells you with a small grin on his eager face, his hands briefly tightening on your hips as he gets closer into your space. "But this is gonna be our little secret, okay? I can't have that little mouth o' yours yappin' to your momma or your friends, or else I'll get into big, big trouble and people will take me away from you. You don't want that happenin', ain't that right?"

"No!" You yelped with eyes wide with fear as you gripped onto the collar of his flannel. "I won't say anything, I swear!" The thought of someone taking Joel away from you or vice versa was enough to instill fear. You had just now started feeling like an adult with his help. Without him, you'd be lost. You don't want to feel lost without his guidance.

Joel nods and glances at your lips. "That's what I thought," he hums lowly, glancing back into your half-lidded eyes and grinning wider at the pure fear in them. He grabs the discarded bottle of whiskey and knocks his head back to take a large gulp. He grunts and winces at the burn, exhaling deeply out of his mouth before bending down to place the bottle back on the ground.

"Do you want Daddy to show you how adults kiss?" His question makes you perk up, an eager bounce in your position, unknowingly moving against his bulge hidden in the tightness of his jeans. He lets out a strained groan and looks down as you do so.

When you desperately nod, Joel licks his lips, swallowing down the last bit of whiskey on his tongue before readying himself. He gently holds your face with his big hands, humming quietly in thought when your lips parted subconsciously. Tilting his head to one side, he quietly instructs you to close your eyes, and you obey like a good girl.

When he kisses you a second time, albeit a little less forcefully, he swallows down the whimper that vibrates against his mouth. He kisses you again, and again, and again. The scent of sunscreen and perfume on your skin was tantalizing. The aroma of whiskey lingered on your breath, gradually blending with the fruity flavor of your ChapStick. Joel had never imagined such a mix could be so alluring.

Pulling away from your lips, he looks down at your body. Your covered pussy was just on top of his clothed cock. He can feel the subtle shift of your hips, just barely grinding.

"Stick out your tongue, babydoll," he gravelly commands, his voice rough and thick with need. You opened your eyes, parted your lips, and slowly stuck your tongue out. "Attagirl."

Then, he sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his own beside yours before shutting his eyes and getting lost in the taste. Your mom was never a whiskey drinker, let alone any type of alcohol--not even wine. Tasting the faint aroma of his favorite dark liquor on her daughter's tongue has him groaning huskily against your mouth. You followed his movements sloppily, trying to keep up with his lips and tongue.

His scent was heavenly, infused with notes of cedar and pine, a rich blend that was both earthy and robustly masculine. Everything about Joel screamed I'm a man and I know what I'm doing. Having been so much older than you and far more experienced, it's safe to say that you're in very good hands. The back of your mind was screaming at you to stop, this is so wrong, stop right now. Yet your heart yearned to prove its maturity to him, to demonstrate that you could be as grown-up as he is. You couldn't bear the thought of losing him to someone else. You were determined to fight with every fiber of your being to prevent that from happening.

Pulling away from his lips with a wet noise resonating between your mouths, a thin string of saliva connects from the two. Joel wipes it away with his thumb, his mouth dropping when you pull his thumb into your awaiting mouth. "Fuck," he breathes out. "Just like that."

"Am I doing good?" You asked him with your teeth gently nibbling the pad, sloppily swirling your tongue to suck his thumb deeper into your mouth as saliva slowly slides down his palm.

Joel nods, unable to hide the hardness hidden in his jeans. "You're doin' so good for Daddy, babydoll. He's so proud of you. You're just too stupid to do things on your own, hm? Let alone with an inexperienced boy." His thumb hooks over your bottom set of teeth, coaxing your mouth open. His index and middle finger gently prod at your pink tongue, the warmth and slickness of it, soft like velvet, making him choke back a heaving grunt.

You suck his fingers back into your mouth, humming and nodding dumbly at his words. He can tell that you have no idea what he just said, which makes this even better. Now he knows how easy it is to dumb you down and make you do whatever he wants. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Joel's fingers are ripped out of your mouth. He grabs yourself roughly, squeezing your cheeks to force your lips into a wet pout. "Tongue out," he demands, and you do it. He tilts your head back and leans over above your face. With this position, it forces an arch in your back, further pressing your aching core against his thickness. Then, Joel does the unthinkable.

He purses his lips and spits into your mouth, watching as the dribbled line of saliva lands onto your awaiting tongue. The confused whimper you let out has his mind reeling. He wished he could've recorded this moment; he would've definitely watched it on repeat during the nights where it's just him, his right hand, and a bottle of lube.

"Swallow it," he commands, roughly shaking your head to break you out of your little dazed state. Joel grins wolfishly when your tongue goes back into your mouth to swallow his warm spit. "Attagirl."

He goes right back to kissing you all messy and sloppy. You, on the other hand, couldn't shake the feeling of warmth in your core. It was throbbing and only getting stronger. You tried grinding your hips to see if it would go away, but then a tingly sensation settled deep in the pit of your tummy. Whining with frustration, you pull away from Joel's lips and look down at your crotch.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on, sweetheart?" He asks you softly, trying to bring your head to look up at him. He notices the furrow in your brow and the frown on your kiss-swollen lips.

"My... My... down there... feesl very warm and-and tingly, and it won't go away!" You angrily explained and huffed as you crossed your arms with a pout. "Why won't it just go away and leave me alone?!"

Joel outwardly laughs at you, making you pout even deeper in embarrassment of being laughed at by him, yet again.

"You silly, silly girl," he chuckles warmly, leaning in close to kiss up and down your neck while tenderly rubbing the exposed skin of your hips under your knit top. "It just means you're likin' what we're doin', babydoll. It means you're feelin' good down there."

Tilting your head from the newfound information, you try to let it register in your head. Is this really what happens when you like kissing? You've never had this feeling before. You've heard stories of what your friends have done to themselves and with other people, but it still confuses you. It was embarrassing, to be quite honest. You hated reaching an age of adulthood where you're still left in the dark about intimate stuff. Joel could see it on your face.

"Hey, look at me." And you do. "Ain't nothin' wrong with that, okay? This allows Daddy to show you how to make it go away, and we're gonna do that tomorrow, so don't worry about that right now." His reassurance was comforting enough to the point where you couldn't refrain from nearly jumping back on him to kiss him again.

Joel kisses, sucks, licks, and bites his way into your mouth. Every reaction he receives, he swallows it down with a swipe of his tongue. He could do this for hours and never get tired. Your mom's lips were thin and often never had rhythm when he would attempt a make-out session with her. But with you, you were a born natural.

And he created that. His innocent girl was going to be turned into his own little plaything, ready to be used and abused. He couldn't wait to have his false promises rot your stupid, desperate little mind.

taglist:

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @blueberrypancakesworld @heyhihello-4771 @codenamekitten @chamepagnessimo @idioticcatss @takochansugoi @zjasminelouvre3 @natalieispunk @koshkaj-blog @giowritess @beardropascal @pascaltesfaye @callmeafra @nexy00 @josephquinnswhore @baronessvonglitter @peelieblue @paanchusblog @b3bybunny

!! let me know if you wanna be added to the next chapter or removed !!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel miller x reader #dark!joel x reader #stepdad!joel x reader #stepdad!joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller the last of us #dark!joel fic #dark!joel miller fanfic

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arc-misadventures · 7 days ago

Note

Hey I have an idea for an AU I saw on YouTube a Guardian Beast au do you think you can pull this off

Lord of Beasts

Ozpin: Alright students... You are the lucky few who have been granted the powers of a, Spiritual Beast. Now, you've all come here to learn to control your powers. An untrained, Spiritual Beast Master can be a danger both to themselves, and others. So before we begin your lessons, please show us your, Spiritual Beast's.

Jaune: W-Wait... w-w-we gotta show our beasts...?! Why?!

Glynda: It is best if we know what your, Spiritual Beasts are so we may best help you learn to master their powers. Some, Spiritual Beasts require more precise training to master. As well we will know what dangerous those particular beast may entail.

Jaune: But, do we have to show you who they are...? I-I mean you know I have spiritual powers, why do I have to show you any more than that?

Glynda: For ours, and more importantly your safety, Mr. Arc. We need to prepare for whatever incidents may occur because of your, Spiritual Beasts powers.

Jaune: Curse you, and your sound, logical reasoning...

Ozpin: Alright, let us begin then... Ruby Rose?

Ruby: Sir!

Ozpin: Will you please summon your, Beast please?

Ruby: Okay!

Ruby put her hands together as a swirl of black clouds whirled around her, before she thrust them forward, a shouted her, Beasts name.

Ruby: Zwei! I summon you!

From within her shadow emerged a beast before darting around, Ruby, and appearing in front of her. What appeared was a silver, black wolf, who barked at the ensembled teachers.

Oobaleck: A Shadow Wolf? Impressive, Miss Rose.

Port: Ahh yes, we will have to teacher her all about shadow, and wind magic then. This shall be most exciting!

Ozpin: Well done, Miss. Rose. Now then, Miss Xiao Long?

Yang: On it!

Yang did the same as her little sister, and held out her hands, but instead of a black mist red flames flying in the wind swirled around her. She pushed her hands out, and shouted:

Yang: Come forth: Ember Celica!

A plume of fire appeared before, Yang, that flew up in the air, before a bird of fire landed on her out stretched arm.

Glynda: A phoenix... no, an, Eternal Flame Phoenix!

Ozpin: It's rare to see such a bird, since they are so passionate, and noble they rarely choose a master. Well done, Miss Xiao Long.

Yang: Thank you, Sir!

Ozpin: Alright, on to the next...

~~~

Port: I must say we, have a most promising crop of, Spiritual Masters this year!

Peach: I must agree! We have a vast array of magic to be taught this year! I am especially looking forward to all the healing, Spiritual Beasts, and their masters I must teach this year.

Glynda: Yes, I am looking forward to teaching, Miss Schnee's, Nine Tail Fox, and Ms. Nikos's, Spiritual Dragon.

Port: I am looking forward to teaching, Miss Valkyrie's on how best to use the powers of her, Thunder Lion. Will you be teaching, Mr. Ren's, Shadow Tail Fox, and Miss. Belladonna's, Shadow Jaguar?

Oobaleck: Yes. As well as, Miss Rose's, Shadow Wolf.

Ozpin: Yes, this is looking to be a most promising year. But, before we start making schedules on these students lessons we have one more student to evaluate. So, then.. Mr. Arc?

Jaune: Y-Yes...?

Ozpin: Can you show us your, Spiritual Beast?

Jaune: Uhhh...?

Jaune looked over to the side, and then back to the, Headmaster Ozpin.

Jaune: No...?

Ozpin: Are... are you refusing to show us your, Spiritual Beast?

Jaune: Yes...?

Ozpin: You sound uncertain?

Glynda: Is something wrong, Mr. Arc?

Jaune pocked his fingers together, as he was nervously looked around.

Jaune: Kinda...?

Ozpin: What's wrong, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: She uhh... she doesn't want to come out...

Port: It doesn't want to come out?

Peach: No wait, 'she?'

Ozpin: So, your, Spiritual Beast doesn't want to be summoned?

Jaune: Uhh... no... She doesn't want to show herself...

OGPOP: ...

Ozpin: She... She doesn't want to show herself. Does that mean you’ve already summoned her?!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Yes...?

OGPOP: WHAT?!

Glynda: You've already summoned your, Spiritual Beast?!

Port: How did we not see you summoning it?!

Oobaleck: How is it concealing it's presence?!

Peach: Why do you keep referring to it as a female?!

Ozpin: And, why doesn't it not wish to show itself?!

OGPOP: TELL US NOW!

Jaune recoiled in shock as his teachers all collectively bombarded with questions as they also shouted at him.

Jaune: ...?!

Jaune: Okay... I've only summoned her the one time...

Peach: Why only the one time?

Jaune: Because when I first summoned her, she just never left...

Peach: What?!

Port: To maintain a summoned, Spiritual Beast, consumes a persons. Aura, you must have a massive aura amount of aura to maintain a summon for... h-how long has your, Spiritual Beast been summoned, lad?

Jaune: I-I've only summoned her the first time, and that was when I was... four...

Oobaleck: F-Four...?!

Jaune: So, thirteen years...

Oobaleck: WHAT?!

Peach: You've kept a steady summoned, Spiritual Beast up for thirteen years?!

Jaune: Yes...?

Peach: THE HELL?!

Glynda: How vast is his aura?!

Oobaleck: Im... Immeasurable...?!

Ozpin: WHAT?!

Glynda: A-Answer the other questions, Mr. Arc...

Jaune: Okay... T-To answer your questions... Uhh... I call her a her because that's what she calls herself?

Peach: It self identifies?! That means she's a high class, Spiritual Beast... A very high class one...

Jaune: And, she's hiding her presence with her powers. And, she's doing it, because she... she doesn't want to show herself...

Jaune: More precisely... she doesn't want to show herself to you...

Jaune then pointed at, Ozpin as the group of teachers looked at one another then at, Ozpin who looked back at them, and shrugged his shoulders, before addressing, Jaune.

Ozpin: She does? But, why does your, Spiritual Beast not want to appear before me?

Jaune: Uhh...? Why don't you want, Headmaster Ozpin looking at you?

Jaune turned to look to his left, it seemed that he was looking at nothing, but they all assumed that he was talking to his, Spiritual Beast.

Jaune: H-He did what?!

Jaune: When did that happen?

Jaune: Two thousand years ago?!

Jaune: How is he...? He can reincarnate?!

Jaune's face when through a kaleidoscope of emotions until he stopped, and turned to look at, Ozpin while taking a step back.

Jaune: Why is this man allowed near children...?!

Everyone, from the teachers, the students, and their, Spiritual Beasts all stopped to stare at, Ozpin.

Glynda: Ozpin...?

Ozpin: Y-Yes... Glynda...?

Glynda: H-How does this, Spiritual Beast know you're the, Ageless Hermit...?

Ozpin: T-That's a good question... Mr. Arc... can you please tell your, Spiritual Beast to show itself...

Jaune looked to where they assumed his, Spiritual Beast was. They all looked at, Jaune before they saw his face fall.

Jaune: No... please don't make me say that...

Jaune: Because it's embarrassing, that's why!

Jaune looked to his silent companion, before his body slumped over as a defeated sigh escaped his lips. He then straightened out his back as he turned to addressed his teachers.

Jaune: May I present her majesty, the Lord of Beasts, the Matriarch of the First Born, and High Chancelloress of the Beastkin: The Oni Queen, Salem

One expected a flash of white light, a shimmer of silver to appear before them, but as fast as one could snap their fingers, Salem the Oni Queen appeared before them.

Everyone shouted in alarm as she suddenly appeared before them. Everyone's Spiritual Beasts suddenly bowed before her, Majesty. Some marveled in her beauty, others in her raw power, but out of everyone there, Ozpin wanted to be anywhere but where he was right now.

Ozpin: Ohh... Fuck...

Salem stared at everyone as she floated above the ground. Oobaleck, and his crazed scientific habits made him move closer to her with an out stretched hand. An action, Salem noticed as she scowled at his hand before floating behind, Jaune, and wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulling him into her sizeable chest.

Jaune: Yeah... So this is my, Spiritual Beast summon... Salem... The Oni Queen...

Glynda: Wha... but...?! Mr. Arc... How did you become...? How...?

Glynda's question was just a generalized question as to how all of this had happened.

Jaune: Oh well... I didn't have any friends as a kid... Everyone was mean to me, and didn't like me... And, I heard getting a, Spiritual Beast get's you a best friend forever! S-So I went to the local shrine in the woods near my home. And, I prayed for a friend, and... Salem appeared...

Glynda: R-Really...?

Peach: That seriously can't be how it happened...?

Port: Well, she is here so...?

Oobaleck: So you summoned a, Spirit Deity by accident? And, formed a contract with her...?

Jaune: Yeah... something like that...

Peach: What do you mean by that?

Jaune looked around nervously, before pulling off the fingerless glove on his left hand, and holding it up for all to see. Meanwhile, Salem showed of her left hand, and wiggled her fingers at them.

OGPOP: ...

OGPOP: WHAT?!

Glynda: You're married to a, Spirit Deity?!

Jaune: Technically we're engaged... but, we pretty much are...

Ozpin: And, how did this happen, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: Well we...?!

Jaune was about to answer when, Salem moved in front of him, and placed her finger on his mouth, while shaking her head. Salem then moved over to, Ozpin with a kind warm smile across her face. While, Salem exuded warmth, and love, Ozpin started to shake in absolute fear, that fear only grew as she held up a hand in front of his face.

Ozpin: Please be gentle...?

Salem smiled as she shook her head, and flicked, Ozpin on the head, sending him flying through the walls of, Beacon Academy until he was falling into, Forever Falls.

Everyone watched in stunned amazement as, Sale effortlessly sent, Ozpin flying. Glynda was the first to speak, as she addressed the, Oni Queen.

Glynda: D-Do I want to know why she did that to him...?

Jaune: No... No you do not...

Glynda: Okay...

Port: Well... we certainly have plenty of question to ask about... all of this. But, I must say we'll certainly have the most interesting school year this year

Glynda: Yeah...

Glynda turned to see, Salem, the Oni Queen affectionally rub her cheek against, Jaune's.

Glynda: That's one way to say it...

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #ruby rose #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #lie ren #rwby ozpin #glynda goodwitch #bartholomew oobleck #peter port #professor peach #rwby salem #jaune x salem #salem x jaune #rwby grimmknight

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kidasthings · 8 months ago

Text

Noa and Mae: A Taboo Affair?

Hi, there! Kida checking in again with yet another controversy - you've been warned.

I see a lot of people on Tumblr and Reddit pointing out that a Noa/Mae (#NoMae?) pairing would be at best controversial, at worst beastiality.

I mean, he IS a CGI ape, right?

Not so fast.

I'd like to break down a few points, if I Mae (pun intended!), and address this argument. I'll be using a few of the comments I've seen on the web already to do so, on the part of the dissenters to the pairing.

1st Argument: "Planet of the Apes wouldn't show a kiss between a human and an ape. Ew."

Reply: Oh, they already have, my friend. Not in the full-blown sense, but they definitely did film Zira and Taylor kissing lips to muzzle in 1968. You can view that lovely bit here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEp7yunwVF8

I apologize in advance for impinging on your delicate simian sensibilities. #sorrynotsorry

2nd Argument: "Why would they even depict a human/ape couple? Humans and apes can't even reproduce in the franchise."

Reply: They can't? News to me. There was a Hum-Ape written into the early scripts and screen tests for Beneath the Planet of the Apes in 1970. Seems the Planet of the Apes franchise truly thought it was worth exploring back then. You can read all about that little guy right here: https://planetoftheapes.fandom.com/wiki/Hum-Ape

Aww, just look at that adorable lack of face-fur!

3rd Argument: "The audience of today isn't ready for that kind of thing."

Reply: And the audience in the 1960's/early 1970's was? I didn't know we became even more conservative 50+ years later. I'll be sure to adjust my high neckline and clutch my pearls in absolute horror at the thought of all of those deviant libertines living before me. Excuse me, I must go confront my parents about this.

BUT, before I do, I do want to point out we seemed to accept an on-screen kiss between Goliath (a gargoyle) and Elisa (a human) during a certain Disney children's cartoon show in the 1990's - anyone remember that?

Disgusting. I bet his breath smelled like rancid pigeon.

Additionally, we have more recent films such as Avatar, The Shape of Water - which won 4 Academy Awards, including best picture (not bad for a human and a fish-man pairing), and Beauty and the Beast.

And hey, if a living monster is not your thing, you could always opt for Warm Bodies. Think female human and male zombie. Necrophilia, anyone?

4th Argument: "Okay, fine, I see your point on the Taylor/Zira thing. But that only worked out because it was a human in a monkey suit, and we all sort of knew that. It didn't make it so strange. As for the other films you listed, well, those creatures don't actually exist so it's out of the realm of true possibility anyway. Noa is depicted as a real chimp, and him getting with Mae just makes it hit too close to home for comfort."

Reply: #Ishetho? Let's take a good look at what a "real chimp" looks like:

He's so damn Chimpy.

Okay, now let's look at our leading man--er, ape:

Looks like Chimpy had a love-child with Owen Teague. #shudder

As you can see, the two are pretty different. Chimpy has a true muzzle and a mouth that curves around it. Noa has a flatter, human face with an actual nose bridge and wider-spaced eyes.

And the EYES. My god. If you don't see the humanity in those baby-blues you might want to get checked for psychopathy. Besides that, Chimpy lacks eye-whites and has rounder eyes than Noa. Additionally, that pronounced brow ridge on Chimpy has thunder clouds gathering beneath it. Don't get me started on the ear comparison between the two, I'm sure it goes without saying!

Anyway, I think it can be safely stated that no chimp alive on this earth looks like Noa. He's too physically humanized to resemble an actual chimpanzee of the typical zoo variety. Thus, I would place him safely in the category of fish-man, the tall, blue cat creatures from Avatar, and those barbaric blue aliens that keep cropping up on certain ice planets in books #ifyouknowwhatImean.

---------------------

All that said, everyone can ship what they want. If you want Noa playing house with Caesar, never mind that trifling little timeline issue, you go with your fine self and write that fanfiction. Create an account on DeviantArt.com and fill it with their anthropomorphic babies who eventually grow up to be the first ape astronauts. Someone out there is going to love it and eat it up, I promise you.

For the points above, this is about Noa and Mae. They've got something, something tangible. Whether or not it becomes canon is yet to be seen.

For now, it lives on in our minds. With our inner eye, we can see it just fine.

#kingdom of the planet of the apes #noa #mae #planet of the apes #monster romance #wes anderson #rise of the planet of the apes #noamae #owen teague #freya allan #nomae #mae x noa #kotpota

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saphiccarma · 15 days ago

Text

- I can fix that

Relationships - Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - With your first tour happening, you have a lot of stress. Rio knows how she can fix that.

Warnings: Smut. Kissing. Oral (Rio receiving).

A/N: This is one of my favs that i've written for AAA week, so have fun with that.

Anxiety pulsed through you as you stood backstage. Makeup coated your face, an absurd amount that your makeup team had insisted on you wearing, and you hated it. For some reason, everyone else got to wear more minimal, yet your face was coated in it. Perhaps it was because you were the lead singer, or they just knew you hated makeup. Your personal room smelled of flowers and dust, and an odd combination, but it reminded you of who you wanted right now.

As if summoned, your door was opened with a bang, and you whipped around. Rio stood in the doorway, casually leaning on it as if she hated kicking your door in, and a sly smirk splayed across her face. She wore a short crop top to expose her ribs, allowing you a perfect view of her milky skin, and your heart fluttered at the sight of her. Her top was matched with a green jacket and black pants that had gold veins. They framed her thighs perfectly as her legs flexed when she pushed off the doorframe.

"Hey," you greeted, wiping your hands on your own pants, a small layer of sweat coating them. For multiple reasons, your heart thundered in your chest. Partially because of the concert, it was your first tour, and even after a few, it never got easier. But mainly because Rio slowly stalked towards you as you twisted in your seat to face, and dropped into your lap.

Smiling, you rested your hands on her hips as she straddled you and leaned in her lips brushing against yours.

"Nervous?" She asked, her hand resting against your chest, able to feel your heart through your chest, "I can fix that."

Her eyes met yours as you swallowed thickly, "Rio," you warned lowly. You were wearing a shit ton of makeup, and you would be killed if it got messed up, "I can't get my makeup messed up."

She shrugged, her fingers trailed up your chest and towards your collarbone, resting on your shoulders. Her touch was feather light and left a trail of heat across your skin. Slowly, she closed the small gap between the two of you and pressed her lips to yours. You smiled against her mouth, half a mind to push her away, but then her tongue licked along your bottom lipped.

Groaning, you opened willingly, and her tongue explored your mouth with practiced ease. All worries about the show vanished from your mind as you kissed her back eagerly, fire igniting in your stomach. She pulled away, a smirk still tugging at the corner of her lips, and she moved them towards your exposed collarbones. Lean hands pushed the sides of your shirt away, her mouth leaving a wet trail.

Rio alternated from biting and sucking to smoothing it over with her tongue. You squirmed beneath her, your head thrown back and eyes closed while she teased your skin. And just when she wiggled off your lap, sinking onto her knees, a beeping started behind you. Startling, you slammed your hand behind you, turning the timer off.

Glancing up, her hands resting on your thighs, Rio paused, "What's that?" Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at you, something dark in her gaze.

"A timer," you groaned, rolling your eyes as Rio gave you an "I know that" look, "We have to go."

She whined, throwing her head onto your thigh with wide eyes. You grinned at her, slipping a hand into her hair and running it through softly, causing her eyes to close slowly.

"We don't have to," Rio's fingers splayed across your skin, rubbing teasing circles in an attempt to change your mind. Laughing a little, you gently grabbed her hands, of course you had to. People had paid a whole lot of money to attend this concert.

"It was your idea we go on tour," you reminded, "C'mon."

You ignore her complaints as you left, dragging her with you. All your nerves rushed back as you made your way out. Agatha was waiting outside, Alice standing next to her. Both of their makeup was simple, and Alice was rocking the winged eye liner.

It was a bit awkward to be in a band with Agatha after her history with Rio, but it worked, even if she gave you many teasing remarks and eyes your hickey's a tad bit of jealously. But the two of you had smoothed it over after your first big spat which nearly led to you leaving the band. Your heart pounded in your chest, roaring in your ears as you walked towards the stage.

Jen, your makeup artist, met you on the way there, frowning when your lipstick was slightly undone. She didn't say anything as she reapplied it, just gave you a scathing look. You smiled sheepishly, batting her hand away when she tried to brush some blush on your face. Shaking your hands out as if that could get rid of the nerves, you glanced at Rio who gave you a little smirk and a wink.

She twirled her drumsticks between her fingers, nails painted a pitch black to match her eyeshadow.

The speakers above head announced you all out to the crowd. Agatha and Alice had their guitars strung over their shoulders. Your microphone was already on stage, so you had nothing to hold as you stepped out onto stage, Rio beelining it for her drums, sticks still swinging in her hands. With a shaky exhale, you grabbed the microphone, placing a bright smile on your face as you greeted the people.

You were met with rambunctious cheers of delight when you began singing. Your voice was surprisingly steady for how much your veins drummed under your skin, pounding like Rio did on her instrument. The music made your heart race even faster and sweat bead down your forehead. You focused on nothing more than singing into the mic and using the crowd as encouragement.

Their shouts fueled the adrenaline and made a real, happy, smile spread across your face. It felt as if there was a bird inside your ribcage, fluttering around as if trying to escape from its cage, but unlike most times, it was in a good way. The drums pounded behind you as you glanced back, Rio's face pulled into a look of concentration but also absolute joy.

She had explained drumming was an escape for her. Her parents weren't the best, but her father owned a drum set and Rio taught herself. She has been playing ever since you first met her. That was probably why you fell in love with her.

Agatha played her guitar, hands flaring out dramatically with every movement and eyes alight with fire. Alice stood close by, perhaps the tamest of all of you, with her eyes shut in content as she played away.

Pure elation drifted through the air, the energy from the crowd driving the four of you on. You had never felt lighter in your life. A weight had been lifted off your shoulders and you were able to express your feelings in one of the best ways you knew how, music.

It was over sooner than you wished. High on endorphins, and breathless, you took a dramatic bow before leaving the stage. Hardly caring if others saw you, you swept Rio up into your arms, spinning her around. Her hands pressed down on your shoulders as she laughed, her smile bright.

"That was amazing," you set her down, placing a needy kiss onto her lips.

A scoff came from Agatha behind you, "Get a room."

If your cheeks weren't already red from the performance, you would've blushed deeply. Rio smirked, taking Agatha's words literally, and grabbed your hand to drag you off. The smile on your face remained as you let Rio guide you back into the rooms and the minute you were behind doors, her lips were on yours.

You moaned into her mouth, gripping her hips and shoving her backwards. Knees buckling, Rio fell atop the couch with you straddling her, thighs bracketing her waist. Your lips melded together as you sloppily made out, tongues clashing. There was a wetness between your thighs, growing slicker with every passing moment. Rotating your hips, you smirked as Rio tugged on your wrists, and needy whine coming out of her throat.

"On your knees," she ordered, her eyes darkening as she watched you slip to your knees below her. Your hands were relentless as you tugged on her pants, pulling them down with her panties and moaning at the sight of her heat, wet with need.

As much as you wanted to dive right in, you started by placing a tender kiss on the inside of her thighs. Careful to keep your touch featherlight, you kissed up her thighs, taking your time. You would press your lips down before suckling softly. Absolute pleasure coursed through you when Rio would let out little whines. Her hands twisted into your hair, tugging harshly as you bit particularly hard.

"Stop teasing," despite the breathless aspect of her voice, there was still that commanding tone, reminding you who was really in charge.

You obeyed immediately, diving right in to apply pressure to her clit and hands coming up to hold her upper thighs. A loud groan passed her lips as you circled her clit with your tongue. Her sounds only spurred you on, lips wrapping around and sucking tightly. That got you a tight tug on your hair, but you kept up the pressure. Your tongue swiped through her folds before thrusting into her.

Rio's thighs pressed tight against your head and all you could focus on was her and only her. You fucked her with your tongue, forcing the muscle in and out of her cunt, her hips rolling above you. Her legs quivered and hands tightened as you wrapped your lips around her clit again. You could tell she was close. Curling your tongue inside of her, eyes fluttering shut, you sighed as she came.

Eagerly you lapped at her juices, her thighs and hands finally loosening their hold on you. You removed your face from her heat, smiling up at her as you licked your lips, relishing the way her head was tipped back and eyes shut. Rio opened her eyes, looking down at you with a dark in her eyes.

"Your turn," she purred, bending down, "And you're gonna regret teasing me."

#rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #rio x you #rio vidal smut #aaa week

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cringe--is--dead · 5 months ago

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“Where do you think you’re off to?”

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to process the question, clutching the sweater you had blearily grabbed like a life line. You turned, seeing your husband standing at the end of the kitchen, hands on his hips, an annoyed look on his face.

Instead of answering him, a muffle sniff came from you, the small movement causing pain to radiate through your skull. Shane seemed to see this, the disgruntled look melting into something far softer as he stepped to you.

You shook your head slightly, but didn’t have the strength to shake his hands off as he guided you back to your bedroom.

“Shane— there’s so much I gotta do today,” Your voice sounded hoarse and weak, the short sentence making your throat feel even dryer.

He leveled you with a look as he gently pushed you back onto the bed, gently laying you back, bringing one of the soft quilts Marnie had gifted you to cover your body.

“The only thing you need to worry about is getting better,” He rested his hand against your forehead, frowning at what he felt, “Besides— it’s raining cats and dogs out there. The crops are getting watered, the cats are all inside and the animals are in their barns. You got nothing to worry about.”

You huffed, not having even noticed the weather outside. Now that it had been brought to your attention you could hear the rain pelting off of the roof, the distant clap of thunder occasionally. He smiled as you melted further into the bed, heading back to the kitchen, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like, “That’s what I thought.”

You felt a little dip in the bed, your little tabby, Miso, having jumped up on bed with you, nuzzling your side with a soothing purr. Seemed even the pets knew you weren’t feeling too well.

You sighed. It had been a few years since you moved here, and honestly, it felt wrong not being up and moving. You hadn’t given yourself days off in forever, always finding something to do. Clearing weeds, planting and harvesting crops, pressing fruits or veggies into jams and pickled items, delivering any requested items, visiting Sandy or the island, going into the mines. Your days were full and busy from sun up to well past sundown.

So with it being, you glanced at the clock, eight in the morning, and you were still in bed, you felt worse for wear.

“Hey,” Shane had made his way back into the bedroom, holding a steaming mug, and you realized that you weren’t able to smell whatever it was he brought you, “Stop overthinking.”

You frowned as he sat next to you, placing the mug on the table, “You a mind reader now?”

“No,” He soothed your hair from your face, his palm soft and warm against your face, “I just know my spouse a little too well.”

You huffed, the closest you could get to laughing without it hurting your head. He tapped your nose once, twice. You blinked, the action jarring each time. He laughed quietly.

“You work hard every single day, every season. It’s a miracle you haven’t fallen sick before.” He frowned, “Well, I suppose, it’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick since we’ve been married.”

That was true. Before, when you had lived alone, you always pushed yourself. You felt like an outsider, having to do more to prove your worth in this town. You had often worked despite not being able to breathe through your nose or see straight.

Now, you had Shane, who stopped you before you had even made it out of your home.

“You’re allowed to take time off,” He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there a moment before pulling back, “I don’t wanna get a call from Harvey cause someone found you passed out in the mines, okay? You rest, I’ll take care of you.”

Oh.

“I don’t fuckin’ need you here,” You knew his words were harsh, but there was no bite behind his voice.

He sounded sad, he sounded angry, so many emotions but none truly directed at you. You merely hummed, putting your bag down. He glared at you from his bed, a look you hadn’t been on the receiving end of for quite a while now.

“ ‘m serious,” He made no move to sit up or shift in bed, eyes tired and droopy, “Just let me sit here.”

“The crops have been growing quite well this season,” You started talking, pulling out a few containers from your bag, some still warm food you’d cooked earlier today, “I’m rather proud of them. Haley’s happy I have a little sunflower garden going this season, said she’d been decorating her room with vases of them. But you know what I’m most proud of this season?”

You turned around, holding up a blue container, Shane’s silence and unwavering stare your only response, “Got some good hot peppers going this summer,” You placed the container on the bedside table, turning away to grab some utensils you had packed, missing the way Shane’s eyebrows rose, the angry front dropping as he sat up, seeing freshly made pepper poppers sat next to him.

“I had to get Marnie to try them, ‘cause I’m still rusty with cooking,” You snorted, remembering the mess that was your kitchen after you tried baking a simple cake for the first time, “But she said I had all but perfected the recipe by now, so hopefully you can—”

You turned around, words dying in your throat as you saw silent tears falling down Shane’s cheeks, holding the container and staring at it as if it held all the answers he’d ever needed.

“Shane?”

He looked up, eyes searching your face, scanning and looking for something. He cleared his throat, “Why— why did…”

Oh. You knelt down next to his bed, feeling tears fill your own eyes, “I meant what I told you before, Shane. You’re my friend, and I care about you. You have so many people here who do, and I know that going through all of this is going to be hard, and I just need to show you that I’ll be here with you, every step you allow me to.”

He snorted, covering his face, hiding away as best as he could, “It’s just— I’m so tired. Of all of these. Of feeling like this,” His hand dropped enough that you could see his bloodshot eyes, tears still falling, “I’m so tired.”

You took his other hand, “You rest, I’ll take care of you.”

You must have been staring for a bit, cause you watched as heat slowly made it’s way across your husband’s cheeks, “What?”

“Nothing,” You whispered, leaning back further into the soft cocoon of your sheets and pillows, “I just love you, that’s all.”

No matter how many times you said it, those little words are ones Shane would never grow tired of. He sighed, watching as you slowly fell back into unconsciousness.

“I love you too,” He leaned across to pet Miso, “I thank Yoba everyday that you mover here.”

#sdv x reader #sdv shane #sdv shane x reader #shane sdv x reader #sdv!shane x reader #sdv shane x farmer #sdv!shane x farmer!reader

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chimivx · 26 days ago

Note

Im so happy that you are accepting vegas scenarios. Thank you so much 💗

Can it be like a lazy fluffy family day, just them enjoying their day with Dae.

Actually, am ok with whatever you write lol I just miss them. They are my comfort place 💕

Have a great day ✨️

...dads and their toddlers -> vegas!yoongi/vegas!couple <3

moms and their infants, dads and their toddlers… i enjoyed writing this. i miss them with all of my heart. trust they are happy & taken care of.

wc: 2.5k. warnings: f l u f f. vegas masterlist.

“No, no, no!”

Feet thundered on the hardwood floor, startling you where you stood at the counter slicing up fruits, tossing the pieces into a little pink bowl. Pressing a hand to the stretchy cotton wrapped around your front, your shoulders and your back, you curled a finger over the fabric and peeked inside, hoping tiny fluffy eyelashes were still laying over round, chubby cheeks. Taking the smallest breath without disturbing the little one, though she was used to everything by now, you cover her back up and finish chopping up the apple your three year old asked for ten minutes ago.

“No!”

Yoongi’s shout carried through the living room, echoed into the hall and found you in the kitchen. The sound of his voice alone, though he seemed like he was fighting a battle, brought you comfort. His voice and Dae’s maniacal giggles. Inseparable, the two of them, since Yoongi’s been able to live back at home with the three of you. Your girl, your Dae, an exact replica of her father, she adored him.

And she had him wrapped around her finger.

Wherever Dae went, Yoongi was behind her. Whatever Dae wanted, Yoongi gave her. All it took was a little pout and the blinking of her lashes and he melted into a puddle on the floor. The subtlest slouch of her shoulders and he would give in, even if he’s said no many times before. So many times you’ve mumbled what trouble she got him in, but with one tip of his chin, glare of his eyes and smirk of his lips, he told you she got this from you.

Truthfully, Dae’s fixation with her father made it easy to bring her sister into the family. Though you sometimes wished she’d ask to lay with you at night instead of Yoongi, or that she wanted you to read her a book instead of Yoongi humming her songs, you were burdened with glorious purpose.

Hyejin came into your lives around the end of August, right when things flipped upside for you and Yoongi for a bit like life normally would. Everything happened at once, that’s how things went around here, new baby, private life media breach, something of a public scandal that you’ll fight till your last breath defending- Nine months pregnant, heavily exhausted from mothering a two year old at the same time, every reporter, every nonsense human being who came around looking for their fifteen minutes, they didn’t stand a chance.

Not Yoongi nor Jin could stop you. If you caught someone's ear, if they dared to step up to the woman in sweatpants with her belly popping out of a cropped sweater, that was their own fault. Neither man could tell you to lay down, eat something, or sleep. It was your second rodeo and you knew what you were doing. Pregnant with Hyejin, you could take on the fucking world, you were invincible, you were fearless. Every worry you had the first time around with Dae, gone. Every precaution you’d take, every cautious step, every jump at every single subtle sound, gone.

You weren’t sick like you had been throughout your first pregnancy, you weren’t drowsy and fatigued, you didn’t have the need to lie down or sit down often- You were exhausted, yes, but not because of Hyejin. Dae kept you on your toes, especially on days when Yoongi had to work, or Sunny had to fly to LA, or Jin had to also work. When it was just you and her, she ran the show, but as she should. You soaked in as much time as possible with her, your first baby, the girl who changed your life for the better.

Time spent with Dae healed you in more ways than one. You worked hard to be the best mother you could be for her, and Yoongi the best father. A promise you kept with one another, for your children.

The two of you went on mother daughter dates appropriate for a two year old. Getting your nails painted, shopping for clothes and toys, letting Sunny cut and style your hair together, making art with her, dancing around her bedroom with her. It’d been your favorite time with her, the best time, and now with a baby strapped to your front, it was Yoongi’s turn.

The nights he’d lay with Dae were nights you spent nursing Hyejin, something you never go to experience with your first born. She was an entirely different child, but that didn’t mean you loved either one any less. It’d been scary the first time around, a lot of things did not go how they were supposed to, how you and Yoongi wanted them to go. After Hyejin’s birth it felt as though you both needed to relearn how to be a new parent.

She grew quickly, she ate when she was supposed to, she made it past the one month and two month old check up without having to be readmitted to the hospital. Getting her to sleep was a breeze, but she was sure to let you know when she was awake and ready to be fed. Hyejin became the boss in the sweetest way, and you and Yoongi both know that Dae had paved the way.

Where your first born was kind, charming and gentle, Hyejin was already fearless, confident and headstrong. The day she starts walking is the day Dae’s life changes. You couldn’t wait for the two of them to grow up together, two tiny best friends.

“Min Dae,” you called out, turning your chin out the archway into the hall so your voice would carry to the little one probably pinning her father to the rugs in the living room. Slicing another apple for you and Yoongi you tossed it into another bowl and slid it onto the island counter behind you. Grabbing the already full bowl of grapes and tangerines, you slid that over as well. Spinning around, you grabbed onto Hyejin and gasped aloud.

“Hey, D, can- Oh my god!”

Dae sat on top of his shoulders, her pink pajama pants bringing a pink tinge to Yoongi’s cheeks. Holding onto her ankles, Dae holding onto the top of his head, they both wore the same tight lipped smile and broke into the same fit of giggles when they successfully scared you. They snuck in while you were situating the snacks, Yoongi still standing on bent knees he tiptoed into the kitchen with.

“I told you we’d get her,” Yoongi looked up at Dae who gave him an upside down smile as her dad shook her where she sat.

“We scared you,” Dae said, proud as ever, hands gripping at the dark strands of her fathers hair.

“Yes,” you breathed, giving her a smile. “You scared me,” you said, giving Yoongi a look, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he crooned, coming to your side with a kiss for you. Taking a hand to his cheek you pulled at it and curled your lip.

“Almost peed,” you mumbled, and Dae thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Falling forward over her fathers head her hands dropped to his shoulders and she almost slid off his back. Reaching his hands backward he grabbed her under her arms and maneuvered her around to prop her on his hip. “You think it’s funny Dae-sy!?”

“Yes, Mommy,” she giggled, “Don’t pee your pants!” Yoongi clenched his jaw, his smile unmatched, trying to withhold his laughter.

Leaning in toward her, you tapped the tip of her nose and said, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Snacks in hand, everyone acquiring a bowl, your little family ventured back into the living room, taking to the floor, the fruits living on the wooden coffee table between the couches. Dae, to your surprise, cozied up on your lap, or one of your thighs rather, her sister took up most of the room.

“What do we say to Mama?” Yoongi asked Dae from your left, raising his brows into the hair that was slowly starting to grow longer over his forehead.

Your three year old looked over her shoulder with a mouthful of grapes and smiled. “Tank you,” she said quietly, not every letter quite making it out with the words.

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, you said, “You’re welcome, my baby.”

Yoongi danced a hand over your back, scooting even closer to you on the rug. His legs pressed into your hips, if they were stretched out they’d be able to wrap around you and you’d fit perfectly between his hips. Sliding his fingers down your arm reaching for a tangerine, he took it, tossed it into his other hand, laced his fingers with yours and pressed his lips to your ear. “How’s my baby doing?”

Warmth burned in your cheeks as you smiled back at him, catching his lips in the quickest kiss. “Good,” you whispered. He leaned forward and laid his head on your shoulder, both of his hands wrapping around your front, just over where Hyejin slept. “She’s tired today.”

“You’ve got her all warm and snuggly, I’d be tired too,” he said quietly. His hands held her, his fingers smoothing over her back through the fabric of the wrap around you. “Wish we had this with Dae.”

“She would’ve hated it, D,” you half laughed. “She’s so nosey, imagine trying to keep her in here.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, looking down at his first born watching the two of you intently with her cheeks puffed out, full of fruit. “That’s why you’re so smart.”

You poked her nose and she giggled. “‘Cause you’re so curious.”

“Yeaaah,” she tried to sing, and the two of you laughed aloud. Dae grinned wide, proud of herself.

“I told Jimin she’s a Shawol, he didn’t believe me,” Yoongi said. “We have to get that in a video.”

Taking Dae’s cheeks between a finger and your thumb, you squished them, turning her smile silly. “One of her dancing, too. Taemin can take her on tour.”

Yoongi furrowed his brow. “She could probably handle that, put Guilty on the TV.”

“Gui-tee!” Dae leapt to her feet, stomped in place, eyes wide, then rushed for the flat screen on the wall.

Scrambling to find the remote, Yoongi shot you a look. “You tell Kook she’s no longer obsessed with his song anymore?” Pressing the power button the TV lit up and Dae shrieked, making Hyejin stir.

Placing a hand over her back, you pouted. “I don’t have the heart, D, what the hell am I supposed to say?”

Yoongi, now leaning over the coffee table, his eyes fixated on the TV like his daughters, searched up Taemin’s music video, and the moment Dae saw the thumbnail she babbled something neither you nor Yoongi could make out.

“That she likes this shirtless guy now instead of him,” he joked, snickering as he clicked play, giving you a smile.

The music started and you couldn’t help it as your eyes slid over to the screen. The beat of the song, the sound of his voice, the artistry of the entire piece, you longed to know what went through his head when he came up with these concepts. Helping the guys with theirs before their enlistment, keeping the spark alive while they did their mandatory service, it was exciting- but nothing quite like this. Taemin had a creative brain you yearned to pick. The choreography, the music, the passion…

“See, you like him, too,” Yoongi teased, pulling you from the daze as Taemin pulled his hand out of his shirt.

Nearly breaking your neck you shot him a glare, the smile evident on your lips.

“For your information, I was admiring the art,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Mhm,” he smirked. “If he released this a few months earlier he’d be responsible for that one,” he mumbled, glancing down at Hyejin.

Clicking your tongue, you slouched over defeated, smile playing at your lips, arms wrapping over Hyejin who made some noise. “Is it so horrible it’s a tragically sexy song?” Supporting your baby you began to maneuver yourself out of the wrap. Yoongi moved to your side and helped, one hand beneath yours to keep Hyejin safe, the other untangling you from the fabric.

“It is tragically sexy,” he whispered, taking the wrap from you, smiling down at Hyejin who had opened her eyes. Free from her cocoon of warmth she stretched out her arms and wiggled her head, her legs kicking forward one by one. Her fluff of dark hair was cradled in your elbow. “I like the video too,” he whispered, meeting your eyes with the tiniest smile, “Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I know you do,” you whispered back, kissing him when he tilted his head. Twirling behind the two of you, Dae sang along, or tried, and danced to the rhythm, following Taemin and his team of talented dancers. Hyejin let out one whine and you laughed against his lips. “Our kids don’t let us kiss.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and looked down at Hyejin and her pastel purple long sleeved footed pajamas. “It’s a wonder we were able to have her.” Catching his eyes for two seconds, heart sinking a smidge, he placed a hand to your cheek, his thumb dragging beneath your lashes. It wasn’t what he meant, he was adding to the joke, not making light of what you both went through last winter. Almost a month away from the date.

Hyejin whined once more, her arms and legs going astray, pulling your attention toward her.

“Are you hungry?” you asked softly, reaching between you and the baby to set her up for her own lunch. Yoongi moved behind you, helping you situate yourself, your shirt, the baby, giving you a place to rest while you fed her.

Taemin ended, and autoplay gave your daughter the greatest gift ever. The BigHit intro played, and she froze. She knew this intro. It was either her father, or BTS themselves, or someones solo stuff. You’ve given her a taste of Tomorrow X Together, some days she’d beg for Chasing That Feeling. The scream that rung through the air when Jungkook appeared, tattoos on display in his sleeveless vest, hair hanging over his forehead, it made you and your husband laugh.

“Kookie, Kookie, Kookie!” she shouted again, and again, and again, running in circles as she did.

Leaning your head back on Yoongi’s shoulder, you looked up at him and gave him a tight lipped smile. “She’s still obsessed.”

“Of course she is,” he mumbled. The smell of fresh, sweet citrus filled the air. He pressed a small tangerine slice to your lips and slipped it inside your mouth when you parted them. “Uncle Kookie gives her whatever she wants.” Kissing you any way he could, he smiled and fed you another piece of tangerine, making sure you were taken care of while you took care of his daughter, your daughter.

“She misses him,” you whispered.

Yoongi bobbed his head. “Yeah,” he sighed, looking at Dae twirling to the music, then at you with a pout forming on both your faces. “We all do.”

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works.

#vegas #yellow #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #bts x reader #bts x you #i miss them so bad #bts #yoongi #dad!yoongi #dad!bts

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featherandferns · 6 months ago

Text

daylight - five

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 5 of the daylight series | read part 4 here

content warnings: sexual content (f receiving); alcohol

word count: 3k.

blurb: after avoiding JJ for a week, the two of you end up trapped together in the Chateau during a storm.

Whilst Mimsy’s advice was golden, you promptly ignored it. Avoided JJ like the plague. Bailed on nearly every Pogue meeting: met with the group one-on-one instead. He’d texted you a few times, checking if you were okay, asking if you were sick, offering to come around, apologising for the other night. You rarely replied, and if you did they were simple answers that left no room for further questions. I’m fine. Not sick, don’t worry. Just been busy. It's all good, I forgot all about it!

But you hadn’t.

That one fleeting touch of JJ’s hand on your chest had replayed in your mind like you were some budding virgin who had never been touched by another human before in your life. It was truly pathetic. The porn that got your body burning was the thing that a nun would gloss over without pause. You loathe yourself.

It’s stupid, really. You’d decided that maybe Mimsy was right. Maybe it was time to stop punishing yourself for Tyler, for the damage he inflicted. Maybe it was time to remember that all people are different people, and the acts of one careless man doesn’t equal the acts of another. But then you thought about it, really thought about it, and the thought of being so open like that with another person terrified you. Made you sick. Love was bad but heartbreak was worse, and you had a habit of falling hard and fast. If JJ wanted casual, you couldn’t do that. You felt too much for him already. Sleeping with him would only make it worse. But if JJ wanted serious, you couldn’t do that either. And so, you were at a stalemate.

“Can’t I just give you it tomorrow?” you ask Kiara over the phone.

“No! Cause you’ll quote-unquote ‘forget’ and go another week with it!”

“It’s a good camera!”

“Yes, that’s why I want it back,” Kiara laughs.

Sighing, you smile. “Fine. I’ll drop it at the Chateau, though. That hurricane’s getting close and I don’t wanna get caught out near Figure Eight.”

“Alright, that works for me,” Kie agrees. “You talk to JJ yet?”

“Sure,” you lie.

She sighs. “What is going on with you two? I know he can be a dumbass; did he yell at you or something?”

After knowing JJ for close to two months, you had seen his temper. It was short and explosive, and at times, scary. But he came down regretful for the things he did and said, and you’d learnt just like the others to understand it.

“No, he didn’t yell. It’s nothing. We’re fine, really,” you tell her.

Kie hums and you know she isn’t convinced. Grabbing your shoes, you say, “look, I’ll head to the Chateau now before the storm hits and leave your camera for you.”

“Icon. Thank you!”

“Talk soon,” you say before hanging up.

With Kie’s camera in your trademark backpack, you head downstairs. Leaving a note on the kitchen for your parents and pulling a thin raincoat over your sweats and crop-tee, you penny board to the Chateau. The journey is familiar now, the same way heading to and from the local store in Vancouver was less than a year ago. As you walk up, you find the Twinkie missing.

“John B? You home?” you call as you pass through the door. Nobody answers.

You head to the table and place Kiara’s camera down, then send a photo to her as proof. Before you make the journey back home, errand now complete, you use the bathroom and raid the cupboard for a snack. As you pull back the wrapper on a month-out-of-date clif bar, the sky grumbles menacingly. You stare up at the ceiling when it does as if it might be to blame. Suddenly, everything is dark. Grey clouds loom overhead and cast the world in gloom. More thunder follows, and the distant flash that you catch through the window hints of lightning. You hadn’t managed to skip the storm.

“Shit.”

Through the tantrum of nature, the high-pitched humming of a motor passes through. You venture to the front door of the Chateau, wondering whether John B has come back. When JJ rounds the corner, your stomach drops like a black bear has wandered into sight. The rain has started now, pelting hard and heavy pellets, and JJ cusses as he rushes up the steps. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he finally looks up, now in the Chateau.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Sorry.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he repeats, perhaps a little dramatic.

You roll your eyes and tug your raincoat off over your head. It’s not like you’re going anywhere anytime soon: mother nature had decided so. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” JJ asks, frowning at you.

You shrug. “At home.”

“Oh. Yeah, duh, how dumb of me,” JJ sarcastically mumbles. You head into the kitchen for a soda and JJ is hot on your trail. “I’ve been hitting you up for like a week and you’ve been ignoring me.”

“I replied to you.”

“Yeah with like two word responses. I’ve heard dogs talk more,” JJ fires back.

Once your hand is safely removed from the fridge, JJ slams it shut. It catches your attention; forces you to look up at his face. “It’s about what happened in the van, isn’t it?”

“JJ, grow up,” you say.

“That’s not a no.”

“Because it’s a stupid question,” you reply. “I’m not twelve years old, JJ.”

“Don’t need to tell me that,” he mumbles. You pass him by, heading for the sofa whilst JJ stands in the kitchen and stares at you. “So that’s that?”

“I guess,” you say with a shrug, sipping your soda.

He stares some more and then scoffs. You know he’s annoyed. His jaw clenches and he glances off to the hallway of the cabin. You take his distraction to remind yourself of his body. Of how fucking gorgeous he is.

“What? What’s wrong?” you can’t help but ask.

JJ shakes his head. He purses his lips, calms himself, and looks to you. “You hurt my feelings.”

On the surface, it sounds like an immature statement. The sort of thing a child would say to another on the playing field, after shunning them out of an imaginary game. But not now, not here. You knew more than most how much hurt feelings can wound.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, and you hope it sounds as genuine as it is.

JJ contemplates before nodding. He heads over to you and sits beside you on the sofa. Kicks his feet up on a dining chair as he reclines into the sofa.

“Do you forgive me?”

“I will if you give me a sip of your drink,” he mumbles. You hand him the can and watch him begin to drink. Your face contorts with horror as JJ backwashes into the can, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“JJ! Ew!”

He splutters a laugh as you snatch your drink back. It’s spoiled now. You glare at him and ditch it on the floor. Smack his shoulder jovially.

“Dumbass.”

The storm reigns on and for a while the two of you sit side by side listening to its petrifying symphony. Lightning flashes through the windows and illuminates the cabin for a fraction of a second, time and time again. It feels nice being in JJ’s company again. He calms you somehow, even in silence. Maybe it’s his smell, but if you admit that, you may sound a little insane or creepy. But the calm is only momentary. Soon you’re losing yourself to your thoughts, given too much freedom with the quiet. Thoughts of him. Thoughts which turn to glances, which turn to longing and yearning and…

“Wanna play a board game?” you blurt out.

JJ quirks a brow at you, hitting his vape. “Sure. What game?”

You get up and head to the rickety wooden shelves, inspecting the games John B has. Most look thrifted. Jenga, Twister, Monopoly…

“Trivial Pursuit?”

JJ sniggers. “I don’t think either of us are smart enough for Trivial Pursuit.”

A hand slowly rises to your chest in mock offence. “Ouch.”

You slide the game out as JJ gets up and transforms the sofa into a pullout. The power is holding up good enough so far, in the summer storm turned hurricane. Taking a blanket, you cosy up on the couch and set up the game. JJ takes the time to retrieve a beer. You each take a game piece and fall into the game. It only takes about five rounds for JJ to be proven right: trivia was neither of your strong suits.

You grab a card from the pile, reading out the trivia question. “What distance is the earth to the sun?”

JJ’s face contorts in bewilderment. “What kind of dumbass question is that?”

“A trivia one,” you say, watching him with a smile.

“I don’t fucking know. A hundred?”

“A hundred what?”

“Miles?”

You blink at him. “A hundred miles? From our planet to a huge ball of gas?”

“Who’s actually measured it, that’s what I want to know,” JJ says.

“Scientists.”

“But like how?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh, leaning back on the sofa. “With science, I guess. Answer the question.”

“‘With science’. ‘With science’?”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t know I was in the presence of a genius,” JJ announces.

You roll your eyes and prod him with your toe through your blanket, careful not to knock over the pile of trivia cards. “Answer!”

“This game is dumb. Why couldn’t we just play strip poker?”

“Jesus Christ – answer the question!”

“I did! One-hundred miles!”

“That’s such a dumb guess!” you laugh, placing the card at the bottom of the pile.

“Was it right?”

“No!”

By now you’re in hysterics, shaking your head. JJ’s watching you, sniggering away. He takes another swig of his beer and offers the bottle to you. You have a sip. JJ’s still watching you. Swallowing, you quirk a brow.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what is it? Is there something on my face?”

“No, no,” JJ says, stopping your wiping of your cheeks. “You’re just really fucking pretty.”

Your body chills like a winter breeze hit. Smiling bashfully, you glance down. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Course,” JJ replies. He takes the bottle back gently and has another sip. Clearing his throat, he grabs another trivia card. “Alright, uh, what we got here? Who wrote the novel ‘Pride and Prejudice’?”

“Jane Austen,” you reply.

“Yep,” he says, returning the card to the pile.

And just like that, the moment has passed, and you’re only slightly surprised to realise how much you wished it hadn’t.

You wordlessly take another ‘cheese piece’ for your counter. JJ takes the dice and rolls and as you wait for them to land, everything suddenly goes pitch black. You let out a screech as it does.

“Oh shit,” you hear JJ say.

“What happened?” you ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Power went out,” JJ says. “Shit.”

You feel the pull out move and you flail a hand out, grabbing his t-shirt with your fist. “Don’t go.”

“I’m just gonna try and find some candles or a flashlight or something.”

“Wait, can you just…Can you stay until my eyes adjust, at least?”

“Yeah. Yeah, course.”

JJ settles back into his spot. There’s the clink of his beer bottle carefully finding place on the floor. His hand gently pats around before landing on your leg.

“You’re shaking.”

“I don’t like the dark,” you tell him. You’re waiting for him to laugh but he doesn’t. Instead, he coaxes you closer to him.

“Come here.”

You comply. Shuffle until you can feel JJ’s body pressed against yours. You slowly, nervously lower your head onto his upper chest. The sensation of his chest rising and falling evenly calms your panic. You’d never grown out of your fear of the dark. It was stupid, something Tyler used to tease you for, but you couldn’t help it. Even still, you slept with some form of nightlight. JJ’s fingers begin to stroke the back of your hand. And just as his accidentally grope of your tit had, his barely-there touch turns you on.

But this time you don’t flinch away. Don’t panic and startle and spiral.

Maybe it’s the black out serving as some sort of safety net, or the storm making you feel disconnected from the world, or maybe just the effect of JJ in general, but you find yourself moving to face him. At least, what you assume is him. Eyes slowly adjusting, you can make out the vague silhouette of his face. Lord knows you’ve stared at him enough times to make good guess work of where his lips are. You lean forward so slow, you can convince yourself you’re not at all.

Your lips press against his lower lip tentatively. Testing the waters.

This close, you can hear when JJ’s breath catches in his throat.

You wait for JJ's next move.

JJ’s hand lands on the back of your head, returning your lips to his frantically. It’s messy and sloppy as the two of you kiss. Teeth and lips and hands, which caress down your body, grabbing greedily at your skin, landing on your ass to lift you into his lap. He’s getting harder and harder with each kiss, each brush of your tongues. You gasp a moan against his lips. Leaning back for air, swishing your hair from off your face and shoulders, you finally get to see how it feels to have your hands around his neck. Plant your fingers there, one by one,. JJ’s panting, his hands restlessly tracing your body. Reconnecting your lips with his, he mumbles against them. One word.

“Yes.”

His grip is tenderly mean in your hair as he pries you away to only plant kisses down your neck. Maybe he has a fascination with yours just as you do with his…JJ’s cold hands thrill your body as they slip under your shirt. Blunt finger nails rake soothingly against your back, juxtaposing the assault on your throat that has you whining and gasping. Fuck, you forgot how good this is. How good it feels to have another person pressed up against you. Touching you. You instinctively rock against his crotch. JJ groans, head dropping onto your shoulder. His fingernails press harder and it makes you grin. Leaning down to his earlobe, you kitten lick the skin just below. You feel him shudder under you. You tease your teeth against the lobe before gently catching it between your teeth. JJ lets out a moan.

“You like that?” you whisper into his ear.

“Yes,” he mumbles. You let out a gasp when he tugs at your hair once more, pulling you to face him. Now you can make out his eyes. They’re hooded. Crinkled like they do when he smiles. “You like being in control or something?”

“Or something…” you reply, finding your own smile.

“Just like I said,” JJ says, eyes flitting down to your lips. “Exactly my type.”

His hands slide down from your ass to the back of your quads, and he practically tosses you onto your back. You land just shy of the game board. Can hear the cards and game pieces scatter. JJ unconcernedly brushes it away, making the two of you laugh, breathless. Then his lips are back on yours, figure looming over you, and you let your hands venture up along his body. His gaping t-shirt grants you expanse of his skin. It’s soft under your touch, ripples from it, rises and falls with his breathes. JJ pushes your shirt up and kisses down your sternum, down your chest, towards your crotch. And now, without him desperately close, despite his attention to your body, you feel lost. In the pitch black, you can confuse JJ with someone else.

Tyler.

No, no, it’s not. It’s JJ. You can smell his cologne. Feel the cool metal of his rings against your burning skin. Yes, JJ.

“JayJ?” you mumble, fingers tethering into his hair.

“Mmm,” he hums against your skin. Yes, it’s JJ. His fingers hook into the band of your sweats and he lowers them down your legs. Presses wet, open mouthed kisses to the newly revealed skin that you’d caught him staring at too many times to count.

And you should be enjoying it. Should be turned on beyond belief, desperate for his touch or his mouth or something on your aching cunt. But instead you’re just trying to stay present. Drilling it into your head that it is him, that it is JJ, that this is different. It makes no sense. Tyler never abused you. Never too advantage of you. Or did he? Did he–

No, not Tyler. JJ. The same JJ who’s mumbling things against your thigh, dragging your panties down your legs.

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy…”

But when he teases a finger to your folds, you’re dry. JJ pauses.

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum. Now your brain is busy with panic. He’s been turning you on like crazy so why the fuck is your body not doing what it’s supposed to do? Embarrassment stings your eyes. This has never happened before. Never. JJ continues to ease his finger up and down but to no avail. He shifts up your body, kissing delicately at your neck.

“Are you…not into this or?” JJ tentatively asks.

“No, I am, I just–” You cut yourself off with an exasperated sigh. Gently pushing JJ off you, you shift to sit up, hiding your burning face in your hands despite the black out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why.”

“It’s alright. Hey, no, it’s alright, don’t worry,” JJ reassures.

As you tug your shirt down, JJ climbs off the pull-out. You hear his footsteps depart. You busy yourself with pulling your sweatpants back up. A flashlight guides JJ’s return. You squint when he shines it directly in your face.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, flicking it back down to the floor. He steps over the mess of the board game and joins you on the sofa. Passes you his half drunk bottle of beer and the alcohol helps wash away the initial sting of embarrassment. In the shadow of his flashlight, you still see his boner through his sweatpants and you instantly feel guilty for accidentally blue-balling him.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t apologise,” JJ chuckles. He takes the beer back when you offer it to him. Has a swig.

“S’just embarrassing,” you mumble.

“Nah. Guess it’s just like ED for a guy,” JJ thinks aloud.

“Oh, and ED isn’t embarrassing?” you half-heartedly joke.

JJ chuckles. “Alright, fair point. But you don’t gotta be embarrassed with me. It’s cool.”

You nod. The two of you sit there in the pitch-black as the storm billows on outside. You look out the window. The wind throws twigs and sticks and leaves around; you can see it through the porch netting.

“Did I ever tell you about when I lost my virginity?” JJ asks.

You snort and look to him. “Yeah, funny enough, that never came up in any of our conversations.”

JJ smiles, amused. “Fair point.”

He relaxes against the back of the sofa and you decide to join him, settling your head against his chest. One of his hands loops around your body, fingers stroking your thigh over your sweatpants soothingly.

“I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen?”

“I was an early bloomer, I guess,” JJ replies, making you chuckle quietly. “There was this smokin’ Toron visiting the island. I mean, not as hot as you, but a close second - I’m not gonna lie. Way better than what my thirteen-year-old wet dreams cooked up.”

“Gross,” you cringe, scrunching up your nose.

“So, I started talking to her and she asked if I had...and I hadn’t, and neither had she and…Yeah. And then, when it came down to it, and we were macking and stuff, I couldn’t get it up.”

You shift to look up to him, lips apart. “Wait, really?”

“I’m dead serious,” JJ chuckles. “I was flippin’ out cause I’d never had a problem with it before.”

“What happened? Did you guys end up calling it off or…”

“Well,” JJ says, scratching the back of his neck, “the problem seemed to go away after she showed me her tits but–”

“Ah. That makes sense,” you snigger.

“But the point is, it happens to all of us,” JJ tells you. “So, you don’t gotta be embarrassed.”

“Well, thanks,” you hum. Snuggling your head against his shirt, your eyes slip shut. The madness of the storm was strangely soothing. “I’m sorry for disappearing, JayJ.”

“It’s alright,” JJ says quietly. “I do it too, sometimes. When I need to think or it gets too much.”

The two of you understand one another. Guarded behind self-built walls of which only the other seemed to have the sledgehammer for. It's something you want to talk about more but with your eyes closed, in the comfort of JJ’s hold, you find yourself drifting away into sleep.

read part six here!

taglist:

#jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj #obx #outer banks #outerbanks #obx fic #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic #jj x fem!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader

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munsster · 1 year ago

Text

bedhead

A/N: I needed a sleepy boy on this sleepy day. and billy H needs a damn haircut >:) gif cred: @julie-thefatones

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader

Summary: Billy wakes with the desire to get rid of his hair eating away at him. 0.7k words

Warnings: fluff, minor angst, established relationship, implied night terrors, messy haircuts, anxiety/insomnia, scars, mentions of bullying

Everything Billy can touch is cold and dark. The sheets, the hard wood floor, the bathroom light switch, the porcelain counter. The water that pours from the faucet and the silver rings of the trimming scissors you keep in a soft plastic case in the cabinet below the sink. The only noise he can reasonably detect is the whirring of the ceiling fan. And if he listened carefully enough, paused his thundering heart for just a moment, he could hear your breath as it fans across your pillow.

But he came in here for a reason. Wielding the cold metal shears like Goliath and his sword. Marching into battle at six foot something, only to find himself in the mirror, damp with sweat and pale with insomnia. Deep purple cresting his edges and the thin crescents of skin beneath his baby blue eyes. Though the bathroom gives him a sickly green tint.

The first chunk of hair hits the floor with the faintest thud. So faint, it shouldn't be classified as a thud. But it's more the weight of the change than the handful of dark gold curls itself.

He's lopsided now. Now there's no turning back. But he couldn't proceed forward with any strength and confidence looking how he's looked for years. How he looked beating up his friends and calling girls sluts. How he looked on the verge of death.

Billy used to wear his head of sun kissed, West Coast hair like a helmet. Now it feels like a burden. You'd still fawn over him if he buzzed it all off. You'd call him stupid, sure, but he'd still be yours. And right now, that's all he's concerned with being.

Because you peer into the bathroom and coo his name like you don't see the growing pile of hair writhing around on the floor.

"Hi, baby," you whisper, cradling the scissors when he drops them into your hands, "little early for a haircut, isn't it?"

He shrugs, but he doesn't look at you. Like a child guilty of putting a piece of gum in his sister's hair. Only he's the one with the choppy locks, uneven chunks missing by his ears and the back of his head.

"Want help?"

Oh, and there are those baby blues, surrounded by soft pink sclera and nearly drooping from their sweetened places above his flushed cheeks.

Billy straddles the toilet lid backwards, arms crossed and settled on the ledge. He lets you turn his head side to side, up and down, and the pattern becomes soothing. Especially as the extra weight accumulates below his socked feet and over his sloped shoulders.

He thinks he must’ve passed out to the sound of the clippers, because he wakes with a tap on his shoulder. Your manicured pointer on his warm midnight skin rousing him from a dreamless sleep.

“Hmm?”

“All done,” you whisper, kissing his temple when he turns his head, “come look.”

Billy’s fingers feel heavy as he drops them between yours. You can hear the exhaustion in how he slumps to a stop in front of the mirror. He takes his time, a few deep breaths, and a while to admire the cropped cut. The way he hasn’t looked in years. It’s refreshing.

“You look really handsome, Billy. Was about time for a trim.” There’s a lilt in your voice that’s hard to take. It lightens his chest, straightens his shoulders, widens his tired eyes. Because there’s this sort of mischief clear on your face from where you stand behind his shoulder. He can feel it through the mirror. Intoxicating and delicious. Makes him feel beautiful as if he ever has before.

Billy whips around and twists his arms tight around you, collapsing into your embrace like a lovely paper doll. The room is cool like a nice glass of water. Even with the sun hinting at the morning and cars whizzing by down below, the light blue of five AM settles over him like a blanket.

You run your fingers up the exposed back of his neck, and he groans. The hair is short there, his neck is hot, his teeth sink into your shoulder playfully.

“Back to bed.”

He nods and does not let go, just waddles you to the bed, tucking the both of you back under the duvet with a big sigh.

masterlist

#stranger things #x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #fluff #angst #billy hargrove #hurt/comfort #x gn!reader #x gn reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x gn!reader #drabble #billy hargrove drabble

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 11 months ago

Text

The More You Give ❧ (Part VIII)

Pairing | Eddie x shy!reader Warnings | 18+ only. Do not interact if you are underage. Roleplay (PrincessxWannabe Usurper lmao), sexual fantasies (including rockstarxgroupie), Eddie says some weird possessive stuff but reader likes it, oral (M receiving), P in V sex, dom!Eddie, sexual guilt as per, there’s aftercare. Word Count | 10,400 A/N | Nobody ask me about the timeline of this story, either in the fic or how long it takes me to write it. Taglist Previous Chapter

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The air is stuffy, despite the growing chill outside. The last days of Summer are at least a week gone now, and with Autumn comes heated stores. An ABBA song is playing on the main floor, filtering through enough for you to make out the tune. It’s the sort of thing your Mom plays in the car all the time, your mind following the words even though you can’t quite hear them over the buzzing ceiling lights.

I try to capture every minute, the feeling in it. Slipping through my fingers-

The curtains pull back, the sound of metal over metal dragging you to full attention. May’s eyes are bright with excitement as she twirls, showing off how the strapless black dress fits around her waist and flares out at her hips.

“It’s perfect, right?” She says, smoothing it down only to twirl and puff the skirt up again. “Ooh, let me see with the jacket.”

You search through the bag at your feet for the cropped jacket she’d found earlier, then watch as she pulls it over her shoulders. She fluffs her hair and poses in the mirror at the end of the changing room hallway. “I mean it actually is perfect, right?”

“For sure, you can totally see who you are already.”

“Right? And then I can just backcomb my hair a little. My Mom’s gonna lend me her scarf. God knows what earrings I’ll wear, but I can work it out. Definitely can’t get anything new after this,” she finishes, turning her head and pulling at the tag on her back to double check the price. She pulls a face before tucking it away gingerly.

“That bad?”

“That bad. Even with 30% off.” May smooths her hands over the skirt again, turning once more to the mirror. Her smile lights up her pretty face. “But totally worth it.”

Once the dress is folded and wrapped in tissue paper by the woman at the counter, paid for with what seems like every spare penny in May’s purse, attention moves to your costume. “Okay, Fairy God Mother,” May says, linking her arm with yours. “Game plan. Where do we need to go?”

“I think just the costume store. I have a blue dress I can use. But I’d like some wings and a wand. Maybe a tiara, if I can afford it.”

“Ugh, you’re gonna look so cute. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Tommy’s party?”

“The whole reason I’m dressing up is for Grace,” you reason, spotting the orange banner reading City of Fright, which appears in the same spot every year mid-September and vanishes November first.

Gone are ABBA’s lilting tones, replaced with stock Halloween music, the occasional creepy laugh and thunder clap. The entire front of the store is complete costumes, wrapped up in plastic and hanging on metal rods, but once you reach the shelves at the back, you are surrounded by an array of vampire teeth, witches hats and face paints.

“Eddie’s renting Theatre of Blood,” you tell her, not waiting for a reaction before launching into a prepared defence. “It sounds really good. It’s about an actor who takes revenge on his critics by murdering them like Shakespearian deaths - drowning in Malmsey wine, that kind of thing. He picked it cause, you know, he thought I’d like it.”

“Okay, but she’ll be in bed by what? Eight?” May asks, wandering around the table of paraphernalia as you start thumbing through fairy wings piled next to fake blood bags, searching for the right blue. “You could come after.”

There’s a moment of silence, then she sighs softly. “Okay, I will say it’s kind of cute that he picked that. In a weird, not really that cute cause it’s a horror movie about gruesome murders, sort of way.”

You stifle a grin, chancing a look at her over the table. “That sounded…almost like a compliment?”

“Almost,” she agrees, walking back round to your side. Then, before you can answer, she has seized a shiny silver plastic tiara and is reaching out to place it gently on your hair. “There. Fit for a Princess.”

You shake your head, laughing. “What about a Fairy Godmother?”

May hums, grabbing a set of the net and wire wings and pulling them over her arms. “I’m the fairy now!” She declares, raising her chin and going up on tiptoes to whirl around the racks, wings shaking behind her. “Here to make all your Halloween costume dreams come true!”

Your heart warms, a giggle escaping as she peers curiously at the rubber masks and cat ears in character, mumbling about the strange habits of humans.

“Oh please, fairy godmother! I need a wand if I’m going to look anything like the real thing!”

“A wand, of course!” She cries dramatically. “No true fairy would be seen dead without their wand.” You watch her scurry on tip toe around until she comes to a display of wands of various colours, topped by stars and hearts, sequined tassels and glittery handles. She wiggles her fingers above them, picks out one with a simple silver star and travels back to you gracefully. You take it from her with a flourish. “There, and now your wings.” She helps you into your own pair, then turns and throws a graceful hand into the air. “Now, we fly!”

You flit about after her, laughing at her with every pause she takes to frown disapprovingly at fake scars and rubber spiders. She stops in front of a Tinkerbell costume, pointing with a surprised smile at the model on the package. “Hey, I know her!”

You snort a laugh and it sets her off, all attempts to stifle your laughter only making it worse. Your giggles are only beginning to settle when you feel the sudden awareness of being watched tickle the back of your neck.

“Uh, hi girls.”

Your heart drops. Caroline stands, a hand over her mouth, barely covering the smirk. “You look like you’re having…fun.”

Suddenly, the clear elastic of the wings is too tight around your shoulders. You can feel the crooked angle of the tiara atop your head, close to slipping off entirely. The wand in your hand isn’t silver now, just chipped paint on plastic.

Next to you, May is wrenching off her wings, laughing airily. “Just messing around,” she assures, folding them up and holding them with a tight fist at her hip. “You costume shopping?”

Caroline looks around at where you are. “I mean, obviously. Not for me, though, for Ethan,” she sighs. “You know boys, no interest in shopping.” She sets her stare on you, eyes scanning from the crooked tiara downwards. “Are you girls dressing up together?”

Your throat feels blocked, leaving you just to shake your head. May answers for you both. “No, no. Like I said, we’re just messing around. So we should probably put this stuff back.” She slides her wings into the space between some hanging masks before elbowing you into action. You’ve abandoned the tiara and wand and are in the process of sliding off the wings when she adds, coolly, “I’m actually going as Madonna.”

Caroline’s smirk falls, replaced at terrifying speed with a deep frown. “What? You can’t, I’m doing Madonna. I’ve got a veil and everything. Ethan’s going to be Sean Penn.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m going as her in Desperately Seeking Susan, so it’ll be, like, totally different.”

“But I don’t think there should be two Madonna’s,” Caroline continues, almost sounding sympathetic. She crosses her arms, shrugging. “You’ll just have to go as somebody else.”

“Oh,” May says, shoulders falling. “Um, right. I get what you mean.”

You’re not in the habit of arguing with Caroline. It’s been easier, historically, not to contradict her or answer back. But you can feel May deflating beside you, and it tumbles out. “But you won’t look similar or anything, they’re completely different costumes.”

“They’re not though.” She answers with finality. “They’re both Madonna, and the last thing we want is comparisons, right? People talking about who wears it better all night?”

May nods. “You’re right. Totally. I’ll think of something else. No worries.”

“But May, your dress! You can’t return it now, it was on sale!”

“It’s fine,” May snaps before smiling close mouthed at Caroline. “I can find something else to wear, no issue.”

“You could be fairies together!” Caroline says. “I bet the guys at Tommy’s party would love that.”

“No, no, like I said, we were just messing around,” May says. “Not really my thing. And anyway, she’s not coming on Friday.”

“Oh no!” Caroline pushes her bottom lip out into a pout. “But I haven’t seen you outside of school in ages!”

“I’m babysitting,” you explain, clutching your removed wings in your fists.

“Oh sure you are, not spending the night with your boyfriend. We hardly see you anymore, I feel like there must be so much detail we’ve all been missing out on. You’ll have to come on the next girls trip, right May? So we can hear all about you and…Eddie.”

Your heart pounds as May nods. “Yeah,” she answers. “Eddie can’t have all your time.”

“Perfect. Well, let me know what you end up doing, May! See you later, girls!”

She flounces away, and May hides her face in her hands. “I can’t believe she saw me doing that.”

“It’s okay-”

“It’s not!” She says, throwing her hands up. Her eyes shine with frustrated tears. “It’s not okay! Not for me, anyway. It’s different for you, people already think you’re weird.”

You blink at your friend. Then you look down at the speckled linoleum floor, watch the spots fuzz and blend into each other as the lump in your throat builds. Before five seconds have passed, her arms appear at your sides, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean that.”

But you know that she did. You know that’s exactly what she thinks.

For the moment you have to think about what you say now, you imagine calling her out on this. Pushing her away and telling her that she doesn’t have to spend any more time with you, given you embarrass her so much. You’d buy your fairy wings and your crown, walk out with your head held high.

Maybe she’d call after you, apologise again, say that losing you isn’t worth impressing Caroline or sitting at the cheerleader table.

But maybe any pain she’d feel at the prospect of your friendship ending would only bring out her anger. Maybe she’d swear to never speak to you again.

If you were somebody else, someone who didn’t love May, maybe you’d take that risk. But you are you, and you’ve loved May since you were five. To you, the only thing worse than feeling hurt yourself is the thought of hurting her back.

So you shake your head at her shoulder, blink away tears and squeeze her tight in your arms. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pulling away from her collar that smells the way being seven smelled. You release her, and in turn her arms fall from you. “I get it, you’re just stressed.”

“I know! I don’t know what I’m going to do about my costume!”

Your heart pangs. You swallow the lump in your throat that’s trying to rise back up. “Well, at least the dress is black,” you say, sniffing quick and quiet. You drag your hands over your eyes, clearing away the wetness clinging to your bottom lashes. Stop it, you think. Stop crying. “Let’s return the jacket, yeah? Then you’ll have money for a witch hat or something.”

May nods slowly as she thinks it through. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, that works.” She gives you a relieved smile. “God, what would I do without you? Let’s go.”

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“Well, I didn’t think I wanted glasses because Katie has glasses,” Grace explains, holding her plastic pumpkin, now close to overflowing with candy, in both hands at her stomach. She looks at you with a look too knowing for a seven year old, then continues. “Katie is a tattle tale.”

“I see,” you nod.

“But I want ones like Jessica’s!” She cries, arms extending with the weight of her treasure trove before she pulls it back up. “They go dark in the sun!”

“It’s not the same,” she whines. “And then when we went to the optom- uhm.”

“But you already have sunglasses,” you reason, picturing the little red plastic pair you’ve had to run back for when out on walks many times. Grace hefts the pumpkin again and you give in, lifting the bag from her grasp and burying your wand in with the candy. You soften when she grabs your hand with a deep sigh.

“The optometrist?”

“Yeah, when we went to see him, he said my eyes were perfect!”

“Well, that’s good.”

“No!” She yells, dramatically, pulling on your arm with her whole weight until you have to heave yourself back up. You stifle a giggle at her distraught expression. “Because now I’ll never get glasses, and everybody has them.”

“Well, first of all, I’m sure not everybody has them,” you say, smiling down at her grumpy face. “And secondly, you shouldn’t just want something like glasses because other people have them, even if it was everybody else. You can’t just live your life just trying to be like everyone around you.”

“I know,” she mumbles. Then, catching your raised eyebrow, “I know!”

You round the corner to her street, and by the time you’re approaching her house, she’s moved comfortably on to the next topic of her candy eating schedule for the next three days. “Because Jessica saves all her Skittles for last,” Grace explains, her position now firmly against being anything like Jessica. “Which is stupid, because you should have the best candy first.”

“Mm? Why’s that?”

Grace looks at you with a frown. “Because the best comes first,” she tells you, with the tone of somebody kindly trying to hold in their frustration with an imbecile.

“Of course, silly of me to ask. Hi, Mrs. Miller!”

Grace’s Mom was clearly waiting for you near the front door, already out and standing on the front steps as you walk up the front path. Grace holds her hands out to take her bucket back, launching forward when she’s got ahold of it. “Mom! Look at all my candy!”

“Whoa! There’s no way you’ll be able to eat all that!” Her Mom says, eyes comically wide. “Think you need someone to help you out, hm?”

Grace shrieks indignantly, running under her Mom’s arm inside and clambering up the stairs out of sight without a bye nor leave for you.

“Everything went okay?” Her Mom asks, smiling when you give her your usual answer, all fine. “Will you be okay getting home? I can get her back down if you need a ride.”

“Oh, um,” you check either side of the street, feeling suddenly warmed inside at the sight of Eddie’s van parked at the end of the road. Now that you’re concentrating on it, you’re sure you can hear the music blasting behind glass. “No, it’s okay. That’s my boyfriend.”

“Ah, Eddie.” She smiles, then smacks her teeth as she, too, registers his music. “Maybe tell him to keep it down next time? I don’t mind but I already get monthly phone calls from Mrs O’Hara about the sound of the lawnmower.”

“Oh, sorry. I’ll do that,”

“Okay,” she says, calling after you as you start up a fast pace towards Eddie. “You have a good night!”

You pull your cardigan sleeves down over your hands to fight the chill as you move, smiling when you can properly make out Eddie sitting in the front seat. He had a special D&D night planned when he dropped you off at Grace’s earlier. While your costume sat folded in your bag all day, he’d gone to school dressed all in black, even his white Reeboks swapped out for a pair of knockoff doc martens he’d launched himself towards when he caught sight of them at the thrift store. They’d fit him just fine with three pairs of socks.

This morning, sitting in his van, he’d barely managed to control his excited twitches while you lined his eyes with a cheap black pencil from the drugstore. Your work is a little smudged now, but on him, it looks even better than before. Which makes sense, you think. Eddie doesn’t suit neat lines.

“Hi Princess!” He calls, turning the music down enough that his excitement is just audible through the glass as you approach.

“Not a Princess,” you remind him as you climb in, turning your back to shake your shoulders and display the blue net wings. “A Fairy God Mother.” You settle back into the seat, shivering away the chill that had gooseflesh rising over your body. Eddie rubs your arm over your cardigan, and you take the opportunity to grab his hand. As much as you want to warm your cold fingers, it’s mainly just to touch him. “How was the game?”

His grin turns sharp as he leans back in his chair, chin tilted up. “So fucking good. I have them right where I want them. I thought for a second Lucas had me worked out. He hesitated when they were getting to the caves, but then he just went along with it. I can’t wait till next week.” He lets go of your hand long enough to start up the van before returning his open palm to the space between you for you to take hold of him again. “How is Princess Grace?”

“Increasingly despotic. She executed like five of her toys before we went out trick or treating.”

“Jesus,” Eddie laughs. “What for?”

“Well, her not-so-wise Fairy God Mother,” you start, gesturing to yourself. “Made the mistake of telling her about royal food tasters? Now there’s a poisoning attempt every few days.”

“Very active imagination, this girl. Violent, but active.”

“Mm, I think most girls play that way. When I was little- Well, me and May, we’d act like witches sometimes? And make potions out of mud and sticks and stuff. And talk about who we would curse.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “And which poor soul had earned this spite, pray tell?”

“Did you ever have Mr Gilmour?”

“Oh, Gilmour, yeah, I fuckin' hated that guy!” Eddie yells. His eyebrows furrow. “I threw up during gym in seventh grade and the sadistic prick made me finish running a mile.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that till now.” His brows stay taught for a second longer, then he shakes his head a little, tapping his fingers along your knuckles. “Too bad I didn’t have you around then, coulda cursed him for me a little earlier.”

“Oh, Eddie, that’s horrible.”

“I would have,” you promise. “But you were telling me about the game. Did you get Dustin with the, um, venom troll?”

“Not yet. We didn’t get as far as I’d have wanted before they had to go. I mean, what fourteen year old has a curfew? I didn’t, and I turned out alright. But I’ll get him next week. I can’t wait to see his face - that little punk thinks he’s so smart, but he is pre-dictable.”

Eddie continues describing the campaign, the traps he’s set for them that he’s sure they’ll run into, the whole drive to his place, excited and animated as he usually is on the rare occasion you get to see him after Hellfire, wound up from the events of the day. He only slows down when you’re settled on his couch. Sneakers left at the door, wings, tiara, and wand abandoned on the kitchen table, wrapped up in his arms as the opening titles of Theatre of Blood play.

Eddie’s so warm, and unusually still when you sit with him like this. Being cuddled up to him puts you in mind of your aunt’s black cat. She spends the first couple hours of every visit pretending that she isn’t interested in being anywhere near you. Then, after letting her sniff your hand, rubbing gently between her ears, she darts up on your lap, her soft heat spreading through you.

Eddie might not admit it, at least not verbally, but he likes being petted the same way. You’ve seen his eyes flutter when you play with his hair, heard the gentle sighs he lets out when you touch his cheek. Now, leaning into his chest, rubbing lazily at his torso, you can feel the way his body relaxes into the couch under your touch. It makes you smile at the TV even as Vincent Price swears revenge on all his critics.

You turn your head just a little, trying to be subtle as much as possible so you can look at him properly. Eddie’s eyes, which in sunlight can be bright as copper, are dark and focused in the electric light of the TV. The light freckles that dotted the tops of his cheeks and nose during Summer have faded from the cloudy days and early sunsets, leaving only his soft pale skin. His lips, as always, are soft looking and pink, still shiny from the last time his tongue peeked out, set in a near constant subtle pout.

You sigh gently, and in turn breathe in the remnants of smoke and laundry detergent from his shirt, the fading spice of his drugstore aftershave.

“You know I picked this movie out special,” he says, only his eyes moving to fix you with a mockingly suspicious expression. “Vincent’s a master.”

You’re surprised to find you’re not ashamed at having been caught. “M’just looking at you.”

“Therein lies the problem, sweet thing. One minute you’re just looking. Next thing I know my head’s trapped between your thighs.” This time he leans in properly. “Wicked temptress.” He whispers it, his breath warming your face.

You think he’ll kiss you then, but instead he relaxes back into the couch with a sigh. “M’just lucky you weren’t dressed up all day.” His hand tugs at the hem of your skirt, then spreads out just above your knee. “I wouldn’t have been able to think about anything else. It’s a miracle I even got the movie playing instead of trying to touch you.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” you answer, trying not to sound too eager.

“I bet,” he says, eyes shining. Then his face turns serious, palm coming to his heart. “But Eddie the Chivalrous would never touch a Princess without properly wooing her first.” His eyes scan over your face quickly. “I guess that means we need to finish the movie.”

He’s teasing you. He wants to push, see how much he can get you to say, if you’ll ask him outright to just touch you the way you want. Warring feelings compete to decide what you do next. Maybe months ago, when you first started dating Eddie, you would have pressed your thighs together and settled in to finish the film. A part of you still calls for that, screams that whatever you say won’t be right.

You stare at Eddie now. His eyes still lined dark, the smirk he’s trying to hide. Your toes curl just looking at him, and the thought escapes naturally. “You don’t look like Eddie the Chivalrous, right now.”

Eddie blinks slowly. His head tilts. “No? Who do I look like, then?”

Now, something like shame creeps back in, and you wish you’d just settled down to watch the movie.

You haven’t ever put a name to it before. In your fantasies, the ones that appear unprompted when you’re alone in your bed and you haven’t been able to touch him in a couple days, Eddie’s always Eddie, but sometimes just a little different.

Maybe Eddie the Chivalrous is the right name for how you first thought about him like that, calling you Princess as usual but meaning it. You thought about him as your knight and guard, sworn to protect you, breaking all the rules by laying you down and treating you gently, better than any lord or Prince you could be promised to.

Then you’d think about his laugh, the one that comes out when you moan a little loud, or lose your patience and try to direct his hands or his tongue to where you need him. The mocking gasp and teasing tone that often comes along with it, you want it bad, huh, Princess? You think about an Eddie who’s like that all the time, teasingly mean with you, dark and dangerous to everyone else, finding you alone in your soft bed, holding your hands above your head and- and-

People already think you’re weird.

You give in to the sudden hot shame, pressing your face to Eddie’s chest lest he read your expression so perfectly that he works it all out. You whisper into his shirt, more to yourself than him. “I’m so weird.”

“Well, s’a good thing you’re with me then, mm?” He says, big hand moving to stroke the back of your neck. “Cause if you got a fantasy, like, something you think about when I’m not around. You know I won’t judge you for it, right?”

“I know.” It comes out muffled against his shirt but it’s certain. It’s instinctual, now. You’re as sure that you don’t need to worry about Eddie judging you as you are that the sun will rise tomorrow morning. More and more, you find yourself talking to him the way you talk to yourself in your head. Easy and free, not waiting for the other shoe to drop. But this is different. “It’s just- It’s like-” You sigh, searching for the words that won’t come.

He hums, still rubbing your neck. “Maybe I could- I mean, do you…wanna hear one ‘a mine?” You emerge from your hiding place, leaning back into his hand to gauge how serious he is. Eddie’s eyes crinkle at the sides at having coaxed you into looking at him again. “Yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes. Eddie searches his side for the remote first, pausing Vincent in the middle of another monologue. “Okay. Well, yeah, sometimes I think about- Wait no, gotta set the scene. I’ve just played maybe the best show of my life. Nothing too big,” he continues, giving you a serious look. “I’m not a sell out. We’re talking the smaller arenas, you know? Anyway, after, when I get backstage, feeling like hot shit, there’s this girl. Prettiest I’ve ever seen. And she’s wearing the band’s shirt.”

“And she’s a little shy. Can barely look me in the eye-” He catches you just as your gaze moves to his collar, pulling you back to staring, helpless, into his dark eyes. Eddie takes your hand from where it was playing with the hem of his shirt, weaving your fingers together. “She’s kinda fidgety, too.”

You swallow. “Me?”

“You, sweet thing. S’always you.” You bite the gum behind your bottom lip, holding back from grinning too much. You squirm a little under his gaze, waiting for him to speak again. “And you tell me you’ve been waiting for me,” Eddie says, voice smooth and quiet. “You tell me you’re my biggest fan. And you can’t quite say everything you wanna say, but it doesn’t matter, cause I’ve got you worked out. So I get real close,” he says, his face disappearing as his mouth moves towards your ear, “and I ask if you want me to touch you?”

“And I do,” you continue for him, shivering again at the little groan Eddie lets escape from his throat.

“Mm hm, real bad.” His eyes reappear, scanning over each part of your face. “So bad you wanna earn it. Wanna show me I was right to pick you and not some other girl. You get on your knees for me.” Eddie licks his lips quick. “And I know you’re kinda inexperienced, but it’s good, the best I’ve ever had. You know why?” You shake your head, gaze darting between his eyes and his mouth. You watch his lips move around his words. “Cause you’re so fucking grateful for it.”

“Mm. And when I decide you’ve earned it, I lay you back on a couch somewhere. A green room or a tour bus or something. And I show you you were right to wait for me.” You shiver. It’s a delicious thrill to picture Eddie that way, completely new to you, a total stranger, yet so sure of what he can take. “And after that?” He says, giving the back of your neck a squeeze. “I keep you.”

“Eddie.” You feel your heartbeat between your legs, wishing he would touch you there now, or even put you on your knees the way he wants so you could show him you’re as grateful for him here and now as you are in his fantasy.

The fantasy fades when Eddie kisses you. With the press of his lips, the taste of Dr Pepper on his tongue, he’s your Eddie again, familiar and perfect. You’re still floating back to Earth when he pulls away. “Your turn.”

You flinch, crashing to the ground instead. “What?”

“You like Latin, right? It’s quid pro quo, sweetheart. I show you mine, you show me yours. Tit for tat. That was the deal.”

“It was implied.” Eddie answers breezily. Then, with his thumb rubbing gently at the back of your hand. “C’mon. Try? You liked mine, right?” You give a barely noticeable nod, but Eddie catches it. “Yeah. And I bet I’ll like yours.”

“There was no deal!”

“I can’t- I don’t have it all, like, thought out the way you do.”

“Well, I’m a storyteller by trade,” he says, pressing his free hand to his chest. “All my sex fantasies have lore. And we can build on yours, if it needs it.Alright. I’m not Eddie the Chivalrous right now. Who am I?” He tilts his chin to where you have started playing with his rings, twisting each round his fingers in turn. “Apart from Eddie the Stress Toy.”

“It’s not- You’re just-” You swallow, rubbing your thumb over the metal skull sitting where a wedding ring would go. “You’re just somebody…somebody I shouldn’t want.”

“Intriguing. And you are?” Your face flames. You mumble it, barely opening your lips, and Eddie squints. “Mm?”

You sigh. “Princess.”

“Always,” Eddie replies, ducking his head to make sure you see his face, reassuringly still smiling. “Okay. I can work with this. Maybe I'm…Eddie the Banished. I tried to take power for myself by force but I failed.” He brings your hand to his mouth, kisses the thin skin at your wrist. “And I’ve returned, because I realised I don’t need to win a battle. I just have to…take the Princess?”

You clench around nothing. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, yeah. C’mon, sweet thing.”

Your gaze follows him as he stands. “You want- Right now?”

“Why not? We’re all dressed up. The time is now.” Eddie pauses his excitement when he registers the fact you’re still sitting. “If…if you want.”

“I do,” you breathe. “But I can’t, y’know, talk like you.” You just know Eddie already has some dialogue thought up, things he can say as the character he’s just come up with that will make you dizzy. “I’ll get stuck.”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” Eddie says, squatting down in front of you, hands spread out on your knees. “I don’t mind taking the lead. Besides, the Princess would be kinda nervous anyway, right? If you’re not supposed to want me. The outlaw, the traitor. You’ve been told about all the terrible things I’ve done, what I tried to do for power. Now you feel guilty about what you really want from me. And I’ve been thinking about you while I’ve been on the run, living rough- You know, this is good stuff,” he says, interrupting himself and looking round. “You got a pen? I should maybe write some of this down- No. After, sorry.” He gives you a sheepish grin, then leans in close. “Don’t think there’s much chance I’ll forget this, anyway.”

He stands then, hand extended to you with wiggling fingers for you to take and let him guide you through to his room. Eddie hums when his door is closed, shutting out the world beyond the frame. “Shoulda done this at yours,” he says, sitting you down on the mattress. “In your pretty Princess bed.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say breathlessly, meaning it entirely. All that matters is it’s him. He’s the only person you could do something like this with.

“Okay, I need a little more. You shouldn’t want me, I’m…morally grey, let’s say. Chaotic neutral. Am I mean?”

“Kinda,” you answer. “You’re…selfish?”

“Selfish,” he repeats.

“Just like, y’know. It’s like-” Eddie’s hands spread at the sides of your thighs, teasing the skin at the hem of your skirt. You want them everywhere. “You know I want you. That I’ll…do things for you. And you take advantage. ”

There’s a pause. “I think I’m following. Things somebody like you shouldn’t do?” You nod quickly, cheeks burning as you watch him work it out. “You wanna get your mouth on me, Princess?”

You fight the instinct to hide, the urge to look away, the voice telling you to deny everything, take it back. Instead, you start playing with the hem of his shirt again, soft cotton between your fingers.

“Mm hm.”

“Shit. Okay. Anything-” His voice cracks a touch, and he clears his throat before he speaks again. “Anything else?”

“It’s not like- Even though you’re mean, you still- With me, you feel-” Now you do have to look away, staring at where your fingers are fiddling with the black fabric. He can read you too well, and you don’t want him to see exactly what you want from him. “You-”

You love me.

“I feel…how I feel about you?” He suggests.

You bite the gum behind your lip to stop yourself asking exactly what that means. “Yeah.”

“Okay, good. Hard to pretend anything else.” Eddie leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, long enough that your whole body relaxes into it, your mind settling on Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. When he pulls away, it’s easy to answer his question. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Eddie stands to full height, his shoulders back. He tilts his head, expression shifting. From your Eddie, with chestnut eyes and his perfect, dimpled smile, to a smirking man with a dark gaze excited to ruin you.

“I’ve been looking for you, Princess,” he says, voice smooth and confident. A thrilled shiver runs up your spine. “Knew I’d find you eventually, but I could only hope I’d find you like this. All alone.” He takes a step towards you. “Unprotected-”

“Eddie,” you whisper.

Softness peaks through with raised eyebrows. “Good?” You nod quickly, and it disappears again as he slinks closer towards you. “I missed you, while I was away,” he tells you, soft and teasing. “Did you miss me?”

“I-” You swallow. You’re used to repeating back what Eddie says to you, in times like this, letting him guide you through everything he wants to hear from you. But you don’t want to just watch him do this for you. “No.”

Eddie blinks, surprised, then he puts on a mockingly hurt face, hand over his heart. “No? You wound me, Princess.” That same hand reaches for your face, cupping your cheek. His thumb strokes gently under your eye and you can’t help but lean into him. “Or you would, if I believed you.” He tilts your head up to see him properly, standing over you. “You think I didn’t see the way you’d look at me, before I left?”

Your fingers twitch to reach out and brush at the ends of his hair as it falls towards you, but you keep them at your sides on the bed, curling into the sheets. “You didn’t leave, you-”

“Left, banished, driven out; it all comes to the same end, mm?” His eyes scan your face, down your dress and back up. “That’s you and me, Princess. Here, alone together. You gonna pretend you never wanted that?”

His thumb, callused and warm, keeps rubbing over your cheek. “I can’t want it”

“No, you can,” he presses. Eddie, your Eddie, would sit with you now, squat in front of you to talk to you at the same level. Now, his grip on your jaw tightens just enough to remind you that he could stop you looking away if you tried. “Cause I’ve had time to think about it.”

“While you were hiding in the woods?”

“While I was regrouping,” he corrects. “I realised something. I went about it all wrong.” he tells you. “It was foolish of me to try and use force to get what I want. Not when you were right here. Waiting for me.”

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, then presses inside to the tip of your tongue.

“If I make you mine, everything else follows. That’s right, isn’t it?” He nods slowly until you copy him. “The throne, power, vengeance on everyone who tried to hold me back. And you, in my bed every night. All day if I wanted.” He pulls at your lip again as he steals his thumb back, leaning in until his breath is warm against your cheeks. “That sounds nice. Doesn't it, Princess?” You glance at his lips, wanting him to kiss you now, to take it from you. Eddie shakes his head, drawing your gaze back to his. “I wanna hear you say it. You wanted me to touch you, just like this, and more, didn’t you? Wanted me to show you how to make me happy?”

You can feel your heartbeat heavy in your chest, your breath coming quicker. Only Eddie could do this, have you convinced of a story which before tonight only existed half formed in the fantasies of your bedroom. You can feel the internal conflict as if it really is your duty to say no, and your heart’s only desire to give your next answer.

“Yes, Eddie.”

He gives you a kiss that’s half teeth, dragging at your bottom lip. Even this is different. You’re used to the gentle start, feeling him smile on your mouth. He breathes deep through his nose, pulls from you so suddenly that you make to follow him until he presses a hand to your shoulder.

“And I will. Get on the floor.” Eddie steps back, and it doesn’t even occur to argue with him now. You slide off the mattress easily, knees falling to the carpet without looking away from him. There’s a pause. He speaks quietly, as if he doesn’t want an invisible audience to hear. “You comfy? You want the pillow?”

“No,” you answer, heart aching. “I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

You watch the way he steels his face again, looking at you on your knees in front of him like that’s where you’re meant to be. His hands work at his belt, a soft hiss escaping when he presses his palm down the front of his pants. His head tilts back, displaying his thick neck, the rising pinkness across his pale throat, and he breathes a laugh. “Now, Princess- Wait!” You jump at the suddenness of Eddie pulling his hand from his pants only to clasp them at his waist as he half-jogs towards the door. “Just a second. Don’t move!”

Eddie disappears through the door, mumbling to himself. His words are faint but it’s clear enough that he is looking for something. You close your eyes, focusing on his voice, however fuzzy. You never thought you could have something like this. Someone like Eddie. Someone safe. So safe that you can abandon yourself to fulfilling a silly fantasy thought up under the covers of your bed.

Something catches your hair and you open your eyes to find him standing over you again. The tip of his tongue curls over his top lip as he places the plastic silver tiara just so on your head. When it’s as he wants it, his teeth show with his smile. “Perfect,” he says, pressing two fingers to your chin and turning your head each way. “My Princess, mm? I’m going to show you what it is to be mine.”

Eddie reaches into his pants to pull himself free. His hand drags over the shaft, quick and dirty, just for a moment’s relief if the clench of his jaw the second he stops is any indicator.

You think you know what to do now, tipping your chin, opening your mouth, ready to take him. Only he angles his head away from your tongue. You peer up at him in confusion, watch the way his excitement plays out on his face. “C’mere, Princess.”

Cupping your cheek with his spare hand, he guides you to the base of his cock, where he is softest. Your lips graze the fuzzy skin of his balls and Eddie makes a noise that has you squirming for the lightest touch between your legs. You kiss delicately, blinking up at him, watching his thumb rub over the head of his cock, catching wetness to ease the slow movement of his hand. He taps his fingers on your cheek gently. “Open up. Want your tongue.”

Your toes curl. You want to taste him here, aching at the smell of him; like his neck at the end of the day in Summer, his sweat and musk, fading body wash. You want to make Eddie feel good so badly, you think you might do whatever he asks as long as he looks at you the way he is now.

You reach for him, palm settling on his knee where denim meets exposed skin. Opening your mouth, you lick quickly at the seam of his balls, taste salt on soft skin. He groans, fingers flexing around your jaw. “That’s it,” he encourages. “Fuck yes,” Eddie bites out when you lick broad and wet up to the base of his cock, thinking of his wide tongue drawing upwards from your pussy to your clit. “Fuck, yes.”

He draws you back, smiling down at you. It makes your face burn, but you struggle between looking him in the eyes and staring at his cock. His balls are pink and wet from your attention, his hand moves steadily over his length, drawing folds of skin over his thick head and back.

“Want you to suck on them a little,” he tells you. The pause he leaves gives a moment for you to squeeze at his knee, as if presenting your open mouth wouldn’t be enough to show your agreement. He drags the weight of his balls over your chin to your wet tongue, listing off curses when your lips close just enough to suck gently. Eddie’s hand moves faster over his length, the curve of his fingers brushing your forehead with each tug.

Eddie’s groans are all that matter now. His sack is heavy, falling past your lips the wider you open your mouth. “So fuckin’ full cause of you,” Eddie bites. You hum, closing your eyes, his hips stutter. First towards the warmth of your mouth and then away entirely, replacing his sack with the head of his cock tapping against your tongue.

Eddie gasps when you lap at his leaking tip. “Can I-” He pauses, rephrases, puts on the right tone. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth now, Princess.”

He watches you carefully, gives you time to tell him no. You squeeze his knee once more, gaze moving from his dark eyes to his cock. You press a quick kiss to the swollen head, a darker pink than the rest of him where it peeks through folds of skin, then let him press your head back against the mattress.

Eddie’s cock glides smoothly over your tongue to the top of your throat. “Fuck,” he breathes, rolling his hips. “M’starting to think this is what you wanted the whole time.” He eases further, just past the entrance of your throat. It’s easier, like this. You are more open to him with your head tilted back this way. He holds himself in the warmth of your mouth, watching you blinking back tears to try and keep him clear in your gaze. Finally your throat protests, and Eddie draws back till you can suck at his head, the exposed length of his cock shining with your spit. You gaze at him, wanting him to be proud of you for taking him deeper than you have before. He makes a soft encouraging noise, but Eddie like this won’t give you the validation you want so easily. “Teased me for so long. I think I deserve to take what I want, now.”

Eddie thrusts slowly at first, easing you in despite his words. The hand that was on your cheek now stroking at your heated forehead.

You like it like this.

You liked having him in your mouth the first time, and every time after that. Like watching him shake, hearing him groan and whine, and knowing that you’re the one making him like that. You like focusing on him; lick here, nip there, let him feel you moan around him. Now, you don’t even have to think about how best to please him. You can focus on your breathing, taking air in through your nose when he pulls back enough. And on Eddie and how he looks as he takes his pleasure from you.

Eddie’s so beautiful. His dark hair frizzes around his face, eyes crinkling at the sides when he closes them and groans into the air. His neck is pink, a pretty blush crawling up to his cheeks as his thrusts speed up. “We’re gonna do this all the time, Princess, you hear me?” He grits, fingers curling into the sheets at the side of your head. You moan in answer, pleased when it makes his cock twitch in your mouth, his tip dipping deep enough past the entrance of your throat that you can’t blink away the wetness that springs to your eyes. “You’re gonna be in my bed all the time, maybe I’ll tie you up, mm?” He presses deep again, then holds steady. When the tears collected at the corners of your eyes start to fall, he wipes them away before they can reach the apples of your cheeks. “Keep you here, just for me. Don’t need to see or talk to anyone else ever again.”

If your head weren’t fuzzy, you’d start questioning why that makes you ache. Eddie withdraws his cock from the top of your throat and you only take a second to gasp in the air you need before following him, reaching up to touch the inches of his cock your mouth still can’t quite cover. Eddie laughs through a moan at the feeling of you jerking his cock into your mouth, licking wet at the end of him. “You want that, huh? Hey-” He drags you away from his cock, leaving you with wet, pleading eyes looking up at him. “You want that?” Your mouth opens, then closes. Your hips roll, seeking friction you can’t get while kneeling like this. Eddie’s eyes flick down, lips turning up at the sight. “Get on the bed for me, mm?”

Eddie reaches a hand out to help you sit up on his mattress. Then he pulls his shirt off over the back of his head, exposing all the soft pale skin and dark ink of his torso. You pull your dress up too, knocking your tiara in the process. When the dress is off entirely, Eddie’s there in an instant to fix it for you, his fingers caressing your cheek when he’s done. “Hey, uh. Am I doing alright? Is this the sort of thing you imagined?”

“This is better,” you tell him earnestly, loving how pleased he looks. You’re learning that this, the pleasure gained from praise, is something you and Eddie share. You love it when Eddie calls you good, or smart, or sweet. When he tells you that you’re good at something he’s teaching you. In turn, Eddie likes it when you tell him how good he makes you feel, that he’s doing everything right, that he’s looking after you exactly how you want it.

He kisses you, and it’s softer this time until he bites gently at your bottom lip as he’s pulling away. “C’mon and lie down, Princess,” he says, guiding you to lay down. You press your legs together, knees bent and feet flat to the mattress as Eddie climbs up after you. His hands stroke up and down your thighs, making you giggle softly as he passes ticklish spots. It relaxes you enough to let him guide your legs open and back, allowing him closer. Eddie tilts his head, thumbing the little blue bow at the waistband of your panties. “You really want me to tie you up?”

Without thinking, you glance quickly at the handcuffs hanging from his door. You feel the beat of your heart against your chest, wondering if you’re ready for that, knowing really that you’re not. Eddie’s hand cups your cheek, directing your gaze back to him. He kisses your knee. “Not tonight, Princess.” He leans in, whispers. “And only ever if you really want, okay?”

“I know, Eddie,” you answer. And you do. You know that as much as Eddie is teaching you, seemingly leading you along to each new experience, in truth he’s making sure you set the pace.

“Take this off for me,” he says, pulling at the strap of your bra. You reach underneath your back to unhook it, shimmying it off your arms and letting it drop to his floor. Once you’re settled, he takes both your hands in his, pulling them up over your head. You can’t help but giggle, feeling both nervous and giddy. “Hold onto the headboard?” You follow the instruction, wrapping your fingers around one of the wooden slats. Stretched like this, chest presented to him, you feel open and exposed, your nipples tightening from the cold air and from Eddie’s attention. “Don’t let go, mm?”

He leans down, kissing from the base of your neck down the skin between your breasts, his hair dragging behind him, tickling the sensitive skin. He leaves a wet mark on the curve of your left breast, the sting of his teeth quickly soothed by his tongue. When he takes the tight bud of your nipple between his lips, your whole body tenses. It’s a test of your submission, if you can last with only your memory of what it feels like to tangle your fingers in his hair. If you can bear not to tug at it when he flicks his tongue like that.

Your hands tighten around the wood, hips tilting to find his cock where he tucked it back in his boxers, still hard and throbbing between your legs. The friction, however light, against where you have been waiting for him all evening, is too good to give up, and you keep searching for his hardness to rub against.

Eddie releases your breasts with a grin. “You want it bad, huh, Princess?”

You whine, melting when he presses his hips forward to give you more delicious friction along your pussy. He huffs a laugh, sitting up and quickly reaching out for the pack of Trojans on his bedside. You watch him kneel between your legs, the way he fists his cock while he tears at the foil square with his teeth, his desperation to roll the condom over his length. Eddie shuffles forward on his knees and presses his wide hands to the back of your thighs. He gently guides your legs back, hitching your hips up for better access to your pussy, wet and swollen under his gaze.

“Wanted this for so long, Princess,” he says. “You’ve been waiting too, hmm?”

“Yes, Eddie. Been waiting so long.” You nearly cry from relief when his cock latches at your entrance, then from despair when he stills instead of filling you. The headboard creaks from your squirming. “Please,” you whisper, sounding pathetic in a way that would embarrass you if you weren’t aching from the emptiness.

Eddie stretches you perfectly as he presses inside your slick cunt. The tease of pain feels good now that your body recognises what it means, where Eddie filling you up leads. “Good?” He asks, once he’s deep enough inside that the curls of hair above his cock are teasing your clit.

You mean to answer properly, but the intention is overtaken by the need for him to move. Waiting for him, your fingers tighten around the wood so much you swear there will be marks from your nails. “Eddie.” It comes out whinier than you intended, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

“Eddie,” he mimics breathily, his teeth showing as the heat of pleasant humiliation crawls up your spine. He doesn’t keep you waiting any longer, snapping his hips to draw back and press deep again through your clenching cunt.

You’ve been under him every time, but like this you feel helpless. Hands voluntarily useless, body tilted up and legs opened by his hands, your body presented to him and positioned perfectly for him to set the pace. It feels right for this - you know now what the romance novels you hide under your bed mean when the heroine is taken.

Your toes curl when Eddie’s hips roll just right, the heavy head of his cock hitting the end of you. When he reaches between you to press a thumb to your clit and rub in tight circles, your body tilts, hips trying to chase the pleasure, only for Eddie to press you back down to where he wants you.

“I like it,” you answer. “I like it, Eddie.”

“You like it, like this, hm?” Eddie asks. You blink at him slowly, wondering if it’s your boyfriend or Eddie the Banished asking. ��Tell me.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe it, hair shaking. “Knew you would. Pretty Princess just needed to be fucked right, mm?” You shudder, tightening around his cock enough that he gasps, “fuckfuckfuck. S’good. It’s so good, honey.”

You breathe a laugh. “Princess, to you.”

“My apologies,” he says, snapping his hips to land heavy against the spot at the back of your pussy. You gasp, legs kicking out against his grip involuntarily only for him to tighten his grip and push them back to where he wants them. You can hear how wet you are, the sound of him moving inside you as loud as the bed springs, as loud as your moans. “Mine now, aren’t you, Princess?”

You nod easily. “Yes.”

“Gonna give me everything I want from now on, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes-”

“Made it so easy for me. Should have just done this in the beginning, just taken you for myself.”

“Yes. Yes, Eddie.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, head tilting back as his hips speed up. “Fuck, I can’t- Can’t get enough of that.” When he looks back to you, the detached, mocking look is gone. He’s all intensity and warmth, your Eddie again. Your whole body tightens. “Tells me everything I need to know when you say my name like that.” He gives you a mean thrust, tongue peeking out as he watches where you’re connected, the slick coating his cock, before his gaze returns to your pleasured, sweaty face. “You’re so fucking good, you know that? So fucking good, the way you talk to me. Telling me what you want. Not gonna hide anything like that from me again, are you?”

“Nuh,” you manage, legs twitching. “Eddie.”

”Again,” he gasps. “Please. My sweet girl-”

“Eddie. Eddie-”

Maybe you keep chanting his name, maybe you cry it out, maybe you stop altogether to scream out instead. You don’t know. You just know he’s all you’re thinking of as the pleasure crests, spreading out from the back of your cunt through your body until it’s intense enough you think you might cry. Then it fades to the gentle delight of Eddie still moving inside you, the warmth and weight of his cock when he buries himself deep. You hear him groan, feel the potential for bruises blooming where his fingers dig into your thighs. Then it’s his weight easing down on top of you, the ache in your shoulders and your legs as you let them relax before wrapping yourself around him.

You finally get your hands in his hair. The roots are damp from sweat, his curls tangled in knots. Eddie’s face is pressed so fully to the space between your breasts that you’re not convinced he can be breathing. He mumbles something that’s lost to your ears, then tilts his head up till you can see his face, and his goofy smile. Your heart aches even as you giggle. Then he’s crawling up your body to kiss you, his mouth warm and tasting like the sweat from his upper lip.

“I’m gonna pull out now but I want it known that it’ll take amazing strength of will on my part.”

He does so, disappearing from the bed for less than five seconds to throw out the condom before flopping next to you again and opening his arms to let you clamber into his hold again, you try to fight the rising worries by pressing your face into his neck. He hisses at the scrape of the plastic tiara under his chin, taking it off himself before returning to stroke at your temple with his fingers. “How do you feel, sweet girl?”

It takes you a minute to answer, sorting through all the complicated feelings that emerged the second Eddie wasn’t inside you anymore. “Good,” you murmur. Then, “weird.”

You hate how fast it all happens so soon after something so special. You feel overwhelmed and tired, like you want to scrub yourself raw under hot water, like you want to curl up in Eddie’s arms and smell like him forever. You feel like you don’t want to ever be touched again, but the thought that Eddie won’t makes your heart sore. You wish you were normal. You wish you didn’t have weird fantasies. You wish you didn’t feel guilty about what you want.

Eddie holds you tight against him, and you let yourself feel the comfort of that. Eddie doesn’t think you’re weird, or gross, or immoral. Eddie won’t ever leave you alone to cry and scratch at your crawling skin.

He presses his lips to your forehead, mumbles against your skin. “Gonna let me look after you?”

He keeps you with him while he runs a bath. You’re wrapped in a towel while he runs around naked, giving you mock coquettish looks over his shoulder every now and then until he gets a giggle from you. As steam starts to rise from the tub, he searches through the cabinet under the sink before emerging with a bottle filled with suspiciously bright orange liquid. “We don’t have bubble bath but, uh, this is six-in-one.”

You try sitting in the water together, wrapped up in him, but the pins and needles come too fast, eight limbs not quite fitting as they should. You end up facing him, legs tucked up to your chest, watching the water drip from dark ends of his hair.

“Not as romantic as I’d hoped,” he says.

“It’s okay. I like looking at you.”

His dimples show. Sweetest boy on Earth. He splashes at you a little, waiting for you to smile before talking. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you answer honestly. Somewhere between giggling at Eddie rushing to his bedroom to fetch towels for you both, a hair tie for you, with his hands covering the crack of his ass while leaving his dick uncovered and him quietly insisting on taking the side of the tub with the tap at his back, the grey cloud hanging over you faded. “Cause of you,” you say, splashing him back.

Eddie smiles, resting his face against his knee. “Is there anything I can do, you know, to make it better, like, before it happens?” He reaches for your hand in the water. “Cause it hasn’t, in a while. I know that this was, like, different, but if I did something-”

“No,” you interrupt. “It wasn’t you.” Eddie lets that sit for a while, waiting for you to continue. “When it’s just me and you, it’s like-” You swallow. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being really, actually myself for the first time in my whole life.” Eddie’s eyes are so soft, looking at you now. “And I know that you won’t ever judge me for…my fantasies, or whatever. But then it’s like, it’s almost like- Like without even wanting to, I imagine what other people would say, if they knew the stuff I told you. If they saw how I am, when it’s just us. And then I just feel like, even though they’re not there, it’s ruined it.”

Eddie squeezes your hand, sighs with his whole body. “That sounds exhausting.”

Tears prick in your eyes even as you laugh without real mirth. “It is.”

“Well, you know this stuff really is always going to be just me and you. Right?”

“I know, Eddie.”

“I wish I could fix it for you, sweet thing.”

You close your eyes tight, trying to force back the tears. You swallow the lump in your throat, thinking, me too. Instead, you sigh, remind yourself that however hard it is now, you’re sure it used to be worse. Before you had Eddie and his humour, his touch, his kindness. “You make it better, Eddie. I promise.”

He’s perfectly gentle with you the rest of the evening, curling back up with you on the couch when you’re dry to restart Theatre of Blood. You let yourself sink into his chest, playing with his rings. You are just about engrossed in the story again, watching with sick fascination as the first critic is stabbed like Julius Caesar. Then, a thought suddenly occurs.

“Did…did you say the soap was six-in-one?”

“Sure did,” Eddie answers. “Face, body, hair, laundry, pets and dishes.”

“That’s why it smells like the terrier next door.”

Eddie hums, lifts your hand to his face and sniffs. “You mean that’s why we smell like the terrier next door.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x shy!reader

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sports-on-sundays · 9 months ago

Text

us / OP81

Summary: Oscar x childhood friend!female!Australian!reader - 'She fell first, he fell harder' trope. You had a crush on Oscar for years but you never thought you and him would actually happen. Fluffy thing I'm banging out for his birthday.

Warnings: censored cussing

Requested?: No.

Author's Note: It's raining right now, so that kind of inspired this.

"Ugh!" you suddenly groan when you feel a raindrop on your arm. "You've got to be kidding me! I thought it wasn't supposed to rain for another two hours!"

"It's raining?" Oscar asks, looking up at the grey sky. "F*ck, you're right."

"Yeah! I hate the United Kingdom!"

He snorts. "I can't say I disagree."

"Weather sucks. Can't even go for a nice walk with my friend without it starting to rain halfway through it!"

"Want to turn around, then? Head back to my flat?"

You groan and nod. "Sure." The two of you begin walking, retracing your steps.

You're just celebrating his birthday late with him, spending some time, and plan to give him a little gift later.

"Getting chilly?" Oscar asks as you walk, amused. "And you were so sure earlier, before we left. 'Oscar, it's fine!'" he begins imitating you, "'The rain won't begin for another two hours! I'll be fine in just this!' You're going to freeze."

You sigh. Yes, it's true. You were stuck on wearing the orange papaya crop top you just bought for this date afternoon walk with Oscar. He kept asking you why you were so stuck on it, but of course you couldn't answer. Because then you'd be admitting to his handsome face that you like him, and that you want to impress him.

He's not very impressed right now with your foolish decision to not bring a jacket, and makes this clear as he mutters, "You're so weird."

You frown. Well, that's the opposite of your goal. You want Oscar to like you, not think you're weird.

But when he catches your eye, there's a teasing look to it. "But I don't mind you being weird. Just becomes a little annoying when I have to give up my jacket in order to keep you warm."

You stare at him as he grins, slipping off his black windbreaker/rain resistant jacket and lays it over your shoulders. He's wearing a long sleeve shirt under it, but still, you feel bad.

And you're definitely not cold anymore, as you're heating up with embarrassment by the sweet gesture from him. You slip your arms into the jacket, which is big on you, and smells like whatever cologne or laundry detergent or whatever he uses.

You look up at him, catching him staring at you, with a little smile on his lips.

He looks away.

"Wha-?" you demand.

"Nothing. It's just kind of big on you."

"Right."

Well, now it's awkward.

Oscar seems to make a point of always walking on the side of the street on the sidewalks. You're not sure if it's because it's specifically you, or if he would do that with anyone, but either way, you like it.

As you walk, the air seems to get more chilled, and the rain picks up. Suddenly, there's thunder in the distance, and you flinch.

Oscar looks to you. "Don't worry. That thunder is far off. We'll be home in no time."

You frown, not convinced. "Oscar, I don't know..." You tighten the hood of his jacket around your face.

"Hey," he says suddenly, meeting your eyes. Locking your eyes with his. "Don't worry."

"It's so rainy, Oscar... I'm raining so hard now..." you wipe a raindrop from your forehead.

Oscar seems to pick up your discomfort at the rain and fear of a potential lightning storm. He suddenly grabs your wrist (which gives you a bit of a rush) and pulls you up some stairs, so that you're standing under the overhanging roof of some closed business.

"Let's just wait it out here, then," he says simply, still not letting go of your wrist.

In fact, his hand just slips down a bit, so he's holding yours.

You stare at the ground. At your hands.

And you can't help but feel butterflies.

"Hey, uhm, Oscar?" you ask.

"Yeah?" he asks back.

But you don't know what to say, so you stay quiet, watching the rain with him.

"You're feeling okay?" he asks after a while.

You look up at him. Because of his jacket around you, you're mostly dry. His shirt is wet and hanging from him, and his wet hair is stuck to his forehead.

You reach up, and without thinking, ruffle his wet hair a bit.

He just laughs, saying, "What you doing?"

You shrug, smiling at him.

And then more silence. Other than the rain beating on every surface around you, there's not noise. Other than the two of you, standing here, alone but together, there is no one else around.

Suddenly Oscar says, "I've been thinking about something."

"What's that?"

"You."

You look up, just in time for Oscar to gently put his hand on your waist.

You blush bright red.

"You like me, don't you?" Oscar asks softly, searching your eyes for something.

"Y- Yeah..." you mutter, looking away from his eyes.

He smiles. "You're so shy. Look at me."

You force yourself to look back at him.

"How long?" Oscar asks. "How long have you liked me?"

You clear your throat. "Quite a while now. Like, years."

"Years?"

"Yeah... Like, since we were eighteen, maybe."

"Oh, wow..." he nods. Thinks for a few seconds. "I've been thinking about you and me lately. Like, you know. Us."

You blush at just that word.

Us.

It's something you want, and you have wanted for a while.

Suddenly he begins to whisper. "I've liked you for not as long... recently, I've just kind of realized, but I haven't been able to get it out of my head. I just... I love your hair, and your eyes... You're so pretty, and caring... I love your teasing and your sweet personality... You feel so perfect. Like, where would I be without you. You're just, like, the missing piece to my puzzle. It's like... like, all the sudden, I just kind of realized... it just kind of clicked..."

"What did?" you breathe.

He stares at you intently, not letting your gaze escape, even if it wanted to.

"The fact that I know that I love you."

Your mouth drops.

Your head swarms.

What? How?

You have always said you liked Oscar. You said you had a crush on him, and you'd love to date him. You'd say he's cute, and you get along with him. But never had you thought you needed him, or in someway, he was your second half. You never really thought you were actually meant for each other. Never had you though you would be someone else without him. Never had you...

Never had you even considered those words.

I love you.

He loves me, and he knows it.

Without a shadow of a doubt.

He smiles a little, his cheeks finally reddening a bit. "I guess I just figured, you know, today was the day to tell you. Celebrating my birthday and all, with you... Sorry it's raining, though. It would've have been nicer news if it were sunny, and I wasn't soaking wet, looking like a pathetic wet wild animal," he jokes.

You laugh out loud, still a bit nervous, but say, "I'd still like you, even if you always looked like a pathetic wet wild animal."

He grins a little, nodding. "I mean, you know. Maybe it would be a little bit more impactful on a lovely sunny day in Melbourne or somethin', sitting with you on a park bench, overlooking-"

You giggle. "Are you fantasizing?"

He blushes. "So what if I am?"

You grin. "Well, next time we're in Melbourne... you better bring me to the park and make that come true. Buy me some ice cream. Then we can go for a real walk, without having to go home halfway through because of a rain storm."

"And without having to stop because it gets too rainy, just for me to confess my love for you," he adds, still grinning back, but his eyes softening at the same time.

I grin and mutter, "I never imagined you to be the type to fall hopelessly in love."

"I'm not," he laughs, "but maybe you're just the type to do that to me."

"Well, maybe rainy London isn't so bad."

He chuckles. "Yeah. Maybe not."

Later, after you've made it back to Oscar's flat, you're sitting on his couch, waiting for him to finish changing into dry clothes and getting some snacks. He comes back in sweatpants and a hoodie, and sits down next to you, turning on some cricket on the television. He hands you the plate of snacks, and you both start munching as you watch the television, sitting a healthy-friend-distance away from each other.

But Oscar realizes this and says, "Come on, now. You can sit closer than that." He tucks his arm around your back, gently pulling you into him. You head naturally falls to leaning against his shoulder.

You smile and shut your eyes a bit, content. "This feels right," you tell him softly.

"Yeah," he breathes, "I agree. It does, doesn't it?"

"Oh!" you suddenly say. "I still haven't given you your birthday present yet, Oscar."

"Oh yeah..." he smiles, watching you.

You reach in the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a little box. You watch him nervously as he opens it and pulls out the bracelet. You say quickly as he studies it, "I know you're not really one to wear jewelry a lot like some of the other drivers on the paddock... But I thought maybe, just, like, a bracelet... to remind you of me... because... you know... I like, miss you when you're gone and stuff... I know it's dumb, but..."

"It's not dumb," he says immediately. It's a little leather woven bracelet, with your name on it, written in morse code.

He grins and slips it onto his wrist, pulling it tight. "This is so sweet. And thoughtful. I'll wear it every race weekend. All the time."

You giggle, leaning even more into him. "I like that. You're so sweet."

Suddenly, he gently takes your chin in his hand, staring deeply into your eyes. "Maybe we'll have to get you one, too, though, so we match."

"Yeah, with your name on it in morse code."

"Exactly... And, hey..." he strokes your cheek with his thumb. "Can I ask you something?"

You nod slowly, completely taken by the romantic look in his soft, brown eyes. "Of course."

"Mind if I kiss you?"

Your face flushes bright red, but you shake your head. "I don't mind at all."

"Good," he says, and leans in. And his lips meet yours.

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nymphybae · 10 months ago

Text

Rainstorms with Alastor

It's unusual for hell to rain, yet this time the droplets grow heavier and thunders struck loud enough to make you unease. You shivered, covering your ears as you tried to focus on the television in front of you. Everybody else was asleep except for yourself, how can you when the storm reminded you of how you met your life's end.

The tv lost its signal and soon powered down, leaving you in an unsettling silence in the lounge room. You pursed your lips, feeling restless as you watch the rain pour from the window.

Footsteps were heard, coming closer into the room. You didn't need to second guess who it was, facing the red haired demon who looked down at you with a sly grin.

"Can't sleep my dear?"

"Yeah.. I just-" A loud thunder storm cut your sentence, immediately putting you in an anxious stance. Your hands were shaking, hugging yourself as an attempt to calm the pulsing in your heart.

Alastor puts his hand on your shoulder, giving you a faint squeeze. "Come with me."

You were a little curious, wondering why he's leading you to your own room.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" He asked, pulling the chair of the tea table you had next to the window.

"I'd love it." You smiled as he motioned for you to sit.

With a snap of his fingers, he conjured the equipments needed for the drink.

"This is my favourite batch of tea, it's aroma is just purely sweet as if it came straight from heaven, ha!" he brewed the pot with his dark magic.

"Here."

You took the cup, thanking him as you took a sip of the warm tea. Who would've thought the caffeine would help you so much. "It's really good! No wonder you order this batch every other month."

Alastor sat across you, holding a cup himself. He had a pleased smile on his face. "Glad to hear. Now, tell me what's troubling you so late at night?"

Should you really tell him? You figured it was too silly, especially for the radio demon himself. Out of all things that could displease you in hell are the vigorous sounds from outside.

"I hate thunderstorms." You admitted. He didn't say anything, as if waiting for you to continue so you did. You took a deep breath. "It reminds me of the little remnant memories I have left of my death. I lived below mountains, you see. My brothers locked me out of the house because I turned in on our family’s illegal trading to the police- which I obviously didn’t. Then a really terrible thunderstorm came, wiped out most of our crops and farmland. The heavy wind threw me down a lake and I drowned till water filled my lungs.” You took another sip of the tea. “I guess it wasn’t the death, it was the fact that my own blood betrayed me only because of their own assumptions, and I end up losing everything in the end. But they got to live, probably thinking that I left and never came back.” Your hand formed a fist at the thought. It was a short silence for a bit until Alastor spoke.

"Hah, Men.” He poured more tea into his cup. You chuckled at his remark. Who taught him that sort of phrase?

“When exactly did you die again?”

You hummed in thought. “Decades ago.. I can’t recall.”

Alastor’s permanent smile remains plastered on his face. “Men are soulless and willingly disobedient during my time! There were always reports of disloyalty in newspaper. I would know, I broadcasted them in my radio show!”

You clicked your tongue playfully. “So much for someone who was a serial killer.”

His grin grew. "Haha, But I was not a vicious idiot darling!"

“Oh? Did you happen to have any experiences with men in your li-“

A lightning struck at the hotel's electric circuit. electricity buzzed and every power in the hotel was cut off. The only bit of light in your room came from the windows.

"Shit, see this is why i fucking hate the rain." You panicked, shuffling around in the dark until a pair of hands grasped you from moving and hitting the furnitures. You look up and saw his glowing red eyes.

When you finally stood still, he pulled his hands off from you. "Don't worry yourself. I'll take care of this."

"Wait- You can't leave me here."

Alastor hums a familiar tune, holding up his cane as he gave you his arm to take.

You hesitated at first, taking his arm before you both teleported to his radio station.

"Why are we here?" You asked, looking around his personal building.

"Who did you think manages the electricity here? I can't let outsiders control our power supply, especially that excuse for a television head!" He opens a large electrical box, taking a glance at all of the smoked up wires. You waited there awkwardly, covering your ears in preparation for the next thunder strike.

"You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you~" he sung to himself, working on the wires.

"Frankie Valli's a classic." You spoke out. He's been humming the song for the whole week now.

“Couldn’t agree more darling! Apologies if it’s bugging you. I suppose the song is stuck in my head for some time.” he turned on the said music on his radio.

“How ironic! I remember my last theatre show was me dancing to this song.” You tapped your feet to the beat.

Alastor walks over to you, taking both of your hands that were covering your ears. “Let’s see if those dance moves are still in tact.”

The music swept through the room as they danced together, moving enthusiastically while you try to hold in your laughter.

I love you baby! And if it's quite alright, I need you baby. to warm a lonely night.

I love you baby, trust in me when I say

You felt warmth spread throughout your entire being as Alastor spun you around. All the anxiousness from the on going storm washed away as you lead the dance, guiding him through a series of steps.

And there, in the midst of the music and the rhythmic beat, he saw something in you that he had never seen before. A determination, a drive, and a passion that left him chuffed.

The music faded away, and so did the rainstorm. You were quite pleased at this, looking at Alastor with a bright smile. "That was fun. Didn't even realized the power went back on halfway through the dance."

He tilt his head, planting a gentle kiss onto your knuckles. "It's been a pleasure. I suppose now you'll feel much better to lay off in bed?"

You nodded. Why of course, as from now on the heavy thunderstorms will only remind you of this unforgettable night with your beloved co worker.

#hazbin hotel fluff #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel x reader

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pupyuj · 1 year ago

Text

→ “simple solutions.” || kim minjeong (winter) x reader fic.

— you always knew that your friend minjeong would never leave you to rot in your apartment all alone, so you make sure to call her over just to pass time. and today was one of those days...

word count: 2.7k

dynamic: g!pswitch!taken!winter x switch!bimbo!reader.

content warnings: smut, hate/angry sex technically, cheating, oral, blowjob, deepthroat, throatfucking, unprotected sex, meanjeong!!!

requested? : nope.

a/n: a gift for the most normal winter fan i know, @wintersera 😭❤️‍🔥 i made this when i was half-asleep so sorry if there are any mistakes, loves 🙏

clear skies and crisp air; you could literally do every outdoor activity imaginable right now. cycling, walking, jogging, and all the things you normally do on days like this. yet somehow, you felt like doing the opposite of going out. somehow, you didn't want to feel the sun on your skin and bask in it's late-morning, early-afternoon shine. you wanted to stay in your apartment, right under the comfort of your super-soft blankets and pillows, and—there is really no other way to put it—get fucked raw.

and so you message the only person who you knew would be more than willing to fulfill your needs.

you smiled at your phone screen, satisfied, before turning it off and focusing your attention on the movie in front of you. but of course, your mind was still elsewhere. you were practically buzzing with excitement—what with the small smile on your lips, the way you couldn't stop looking at your phone for any notifications, and the wet spot that was starting to form on your panties solely due to the thought of her.

ah, speaking of which—you heard the familiar sounds of a car engine coming to a stop, and a few minutes later, your front door opening and closing, and then the thundering footsteps coming up the stairs. you leaned back on the headboard of your bed as your bedroom door swung open, revealing an out-of-breath kim minjeong, handsomely pretty as ever.

you bit your bottom lip as you stared at her... and the sweat that made her hair stick to her damp forehead, her mindlessly-put-on jacket, and oh that big fucking tent in her stupid baggy shorts... she looked like the lamest loser in the world, but you still got up from your bed in your oversized tee and panties-only glory, grabbed minjeong's sleeve and pulled her in for a searing kiss. one where you found your hands on her hair, and she puts hers on your hips. her lips moved in sync with yours—desperate, hungry, and so fucking needy—as it always did.

you pulled minjeong's jacket off her body, smiling into the kiss seeing that she had only been wearing a cropped tank top underneath. you always have been a sucker for skin-to-skin contact. one of your hands move to the back of minjeong's neck to deepen the kiss, and you wrapped your other arm around her, pulling her closer and finally making her give in and completely melt into you. minjeong's hands start roaming your body, groping and squeezing everywhere like she has never touched another girl before. it was cute. she squeezes your ass with both hands and then slaps it, making you moan and giving minjeong the opportunity to shove her tongue inside your mouth, getting a better taste of the sweet apples you had just before you decided to invite her over directly from your tongue.

eventually, you stumbled back into your bed, still kissing minjeong until she reluctantly pulled away, gasping for air.

"oh." minjeong suddenly picks up her jacket from the floor, fishing for something in the pockets.

you leaned back on your arms as you waited for her to return in front of you, where she held a condom between her fingers. "forget it, minjeong," you said, swatting the condom out of her fingers and smirking at the sight of her annoyed expression. "i want to feel your cock inside me without some stupid rubber getting in the way." you tucked your fingers underneath the waistband of her shorts and pulled it down. and minjeong did wear the briefs that you loved seeing on her so much.

"would you look at that," you poked her hard dick, giggling at the sight of the wet spot that was presumably because of her precum. "and you said you didn't want to come over."

"shut up."

you almost considered just making minjeong dry hump you until she comes in her cute briefs because you really did love them on her but fuck, you needed her cock inside you. immediately.

you pulled down her briefs, letting it fall to her ankles, and was met with the sight of her throbbing hard dick that was more than ready to fuck into you. "everyday i wonder why people keep getting surprised whenever you tell them you have a dick when it's this big." and it was nearly as thick as your wrist too. just so fucking perfect. minjeong really was.

minjeong was sensitive, already whining as you started stroking her length slowly. or maybe she just really liked the way you touched her. either way, she sounded so cute. you stuck your tongue out and licked off the precum leaking from her slit with a satisfying hum, making minjeong bucks her hips into your hand, hoping to get you to suck her off already. "fucking get it over with, (y/n). i have to leave quickly." minjeong was saying, taking a hold of your wrist but you push her hand away.

"says who? you're gonna fuck me and come inside me until you're drained and i'm full to the brim with your cum," the thought alone makes your clit twitch. you leave several kisses down her stomach, and left a hickey right on her abdomen. "right now, you're mine, minjeong. forget about your girl."

that's exactly what happens the moment your lips capture her tip, sucking on it and making minjeong moan loudly grab your bedside table for support. her other hand goes to your head, slowly nudging you downwards as you eased more of her length down your throat. christ, no matter how many times you take her cock in your throat it was always hard and painfully slow because of her sheer size. but see, that's what you loved about it all. the challenge, and that gratifying feeling that washes over you when minjeong's cock hit the back of your throat.

"fuckfuckfuck... (y/n)..." her little whines were a bonus too. her clutches your hair tightly and starts moving your head back and forth on her full length, not at all minding the pain she was feeling from how your nails dug so far into her thighs. you were sure to leave marks there but minjeong's girlfriend wouldn't notice. she never notices anything.

"mhm...! fuck, you dumb slut...!" she was completely fucking your throat now. minjeong held your cheeks in her hands, thrusting her hips into your face aand fucking your mouth like it was your ass. ugh, she drove you crazy. every time you gag and clench your throat around her, it pushes minjeong closer and closer to the edge. eventually, she starts moving her hips desperately, chasing after her orgasm.

"(y/n).. ah—i'm c-coming... fuck..!"

one last thrust and your mouth was filled with her warm cum as she came with a cute whine. as hard as it was to breathe with minjeong's cock literally just spurting semen down your throat, you still made sure to swallow every drop, not wasting a single one. minjeong pulls out of your mouth, cheeks flushed and breathing heavily — fuck, she looked hot.

you cleaned up her cock with your tongue while minjeong watched looking all flustered as if the two of you hadn't been fucking behind her girlfriend's back for months now. minjeong cups your cheek with one hand, wiping the tiny spot of cum that managed to get there and then inserted her thumb inside your mouth.

"were none of your other friends available?" minjeong asked, her nail pressing hard against your tongue.

you shook your head, and minjeong removes her thumb to let you speak, "you know you're my favorite, minjeong." you kissed her hand and stood up, letting her grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. you weren't wearing a bra, so minjeong quick to take your breasts in her hands, relishing in the sounds of your soft moans. minjeong dips her head and starts leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses all the way down to your collarbone, where she leaves several marks.

"mine." she whispered and nibbled softly on your skin.

minjeong might allow other people to kiss you, touch you, and fuck you, but she always made sure to make it known that you truly belonged to one person only and it was her. she said it through the hickeys she left on your neck and chest, through the fact that you owned several shirts of hers, the fact that she had a custom-made guitar pick with your initials on them (you didn't know of this), and the way she would almost always drop anything and everything to meet up with you.

it would've been romantic had minjeong not been cheating on her current girlfriend, but not everything works out fine. and there was really only one simple solution this problem... and that was cheating, apparently.

minjeong didn't like it. she was a good person. she believed she was, you knew in your heart she was, everybody knew she was. but something pulled her to you, and it was unbreakable no matter how much she tried to stop herself. you were beautiful, you were captivating, mesmerizing—everything about you just pulls her in.

"hm." minjeong traces her finger along your collarbone where she has left more than a lot of hickeys. you didn't care that it was messy. whatever minjeong wanted, you were willing to give it to her.

you sat further on your bed, pulling minjeong down along with you while you kissed. her tongue was once again inside your mouth, not even letting you get a taste of dominance with the way her tongue expertly wore you down. she swiftly pulls off of panties and breaks the kiss to look at your now fully naked body. so fucking perfect, and it's all for her.

"what's the hold up, minjeong? hurry. your girlfriend's waiting back home, right? let's get this over with." you teased, spreading your folds open to give her the full view of your pussy, clenching around nothing and so deliciously wet. minjeong doesn't even make an effort to talk back to you, she simply grabs her dick and puts her tip right along your entrance. you hold onto her arm and your bedsheets as minjeong thrusts her cock inside you, both of you moaning in unison at the feeling. as soon as your warm cunt surrounds her cock, minjeong's brain just shuts down and she's focused on only one thing: to come inside you.

"you're so slow... fucking move, minjeong or else i'll— ahh...!"

annoyed, minjeong was quick to shut you up by giving you what you wanted, but in a pace faster than you expected. not that you were protesting. she pushes you down on the bed so that you were laying on your back, holding onto your thighs as she pounded your pussy just how you like it. fuck, she filled you up so good... her cock was just the right kind of thick that it made you feel so full. it was almost hypnotizing, and you get so lost in pleasure that you almost turn into a completely different person.

you were whining, whimpering, and saying minjeong's name in such a sweet way. "m-mminjeong-ah...! fuck... please, harder..." you were gripping the bedsheets tightly underneath you, and your back arched with every thrust. minjeong just knew where to hit you, how to use her cock in a way that would drive you to insanity.

"harder, minjeong...!" you pleaded again, wrapping your legs around her waist to pull her closer. minjeong was always quick to give you what you want but it was never enough. you needed her to to use you, to ruin you, to act as if you were nothing but a toy to her. but unfortunately, minjeong was too fucking nice for all that... so you have to push her.

grabbing her arms, you pulled her down for a kiss. you wrapped your arms around her neck, your moans now getting higher and sounding more desperate now that minjeong was fucking you so much better. she was getting into it now, knees planted on your bed and your thighs right over hers. she was holding your legs back by the back of your knees, making sure that every thrust was hard and went deeper than the last. she looked so cute with her eyebrows furrowed, so focused on the pleasure of it all.

you couldn't help but look down to watch as your pussy got pounded, only getting even more horny at the sight. the two of you looked too good together.

"i b-bet she doesn't let you fuck her like this, right, minjeong?" you took note of how her eyes snapped at you, all annoyed now. "or at all... what do you even see in her...? mmhm.. so fucking pretty, but such a prude... even jimin-sunbae was more interesting—mmph..! ahh..." you bit your lip when minjeong takes a hold of your waist with both hands and slams into you, effectively shutting you up but only for that one moment.

"ever think about her while you're f-fucking me, minjeong? huh? maybe you... god... maybe you're even imagining that she's me right now... fuck you if that's the case but.. ahh... whatever makes you use me better," you grinned at the way minjeong's eyes bore through you, so filled with anger. more. you have to push her more. "leave her, minjeong. you know t-there's only one pussy in this world that can satisfy you... and that's mine—mmf!"

"shut up. just shut up." minjeong clamps her hand around your mouth and pounds you harder than ever. any trace of that careful and gentle good 'friend' of yours was gone, and you had to admit that this is the version of minjeong that you liked the most. the one you brought out of her, the one you practically created.

your minjeong.

minjeong's thrusts were getting sloppier, and clumsier as she neared her climax. moaning and muttering profanities in your ear, biting into your shoulder, her nails digging into your waist even deeper. all of these habits you were so familiar with. the way her cock dragged within your walls had you mind reeling, you were practically drooling—she just fucked you so good.

minjeong lets go of your jaw to clutch the bedsheets, "i'm coming again... (y/n)...!"

"don't you dare pull out," you held onto minjeong's neck, pulling her face close. "come inside me."

"you're f-fucking crazy... i won't do that..." but minjeong knew you wouldn't let her pull out. especially when you kissed her deeply and started clutching on her neck. "(y/n)... shitshit..." minjeong shakes her head and buries her face on your shoulder, letting you lock your legs around her waist and hug her.

"i got you, baby... just come..! fill me u-up, please, minjeong...!"

merely seconds later, minjeong releases her load inside you with a gasp, and you held onto her for dear life as you came undone yourself. your juices mixing with her own and spilling out of your cunt, making a mess of your bed but you didn't care.

an hour or two later, when you and minjeong have fully recovered from your high, she pulls herself out of your embrace and started dressing up. you merely watched, being familiar with this situation already. before minjeong could finish getting dressed, you grabbed her shirt and gently tugged her down, capturing her lips in a soft kiss before you pulled away.

minjeong stares at you, and for the first time you couldn't get a read on her.

"we can't keep doing this. i can't."

she sounded like she meant it, you could hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes. minjeong left quickly after that, leaving you alone in your bed that got increasingly cold as soon as she went out the door.

but the thing is, minjeong wanted to mean it. and you wanted to believe that she meant it. but it was hard to do that. it always has been.

especially when two weeks later, minjeong stands on your front porch drenched from the rain. eyes red and puffy, lips quivering from both the cold and her emotions. and she says the words that immediately made you tug her inside your home.

"i broke up with her. i need you."

#aespa smut #aespa x reader #aespa imagines #winter x reader #winter imagines #winter smut #kim minjeong smut #kim minjeong imagines #kim minjeong x reader #girl group smut #girl group imagines #girl group x reader

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