#but I have some thoughts about how he’s written | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wintrwinchestr · 3 days ago

Text

strangers | part 3

summary: when nothing comes of the frantic call for help you'd made just before joel had attempted to take your life, you realize that he had been telling you the truth—nobody cares about you, and nobody is coming for you. the fear of being forgotten becomes so overwhelming, you decide to go against your better judgement in a last-ditch effort to make sure that somebody knows you're still here. what you hadn't anticipated, is that you'd be putting more than just your own life in danger by doing so.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, talk of death/murder and blood, mommy issues, lying/gaslighting, manipulation, introduction of female original character, reader's skintone shows bruises, reader has at least shoulder-length hair, reader's hair texture can be put into ponytails, reader has pubic hair, groping, fingering, kissing, fingersucking (both reader and joel), mild blood kink, domination and control that is essentially abuse, development of stockholm syndrome, pet names (baby, darlin', babydoll, sweetheart), story inspired by "preacher's daughter" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 12.9k

a/n: heyyy... how y'all doin... it's been a while. i am very excited to share the next part of this story, written by some miraculous feat of perseverance. if you're still here, thank you for sticking around. i love joel and babydoll so so much and they have never left my heart or my mind, even when i was taking a break from them. i thought that putting a hard stop to my hobbies while i was having a difficult time at work was a good coping mechanism, but i realized last month that i can't let them take my creativity away from me no matter how hard they try. thank you @chippedowlmug and @polaroidpascal for always yapping with me and keeping their story alive even when i didn't have it in me to write it all down. there is much more of them still to come, thank you for being here <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 4

You can’t sleep.

Each time the air conditioning kicks on, or the pipes let out a rattling groan, or the mattress springs creak underneath Joel’s weight, your eyes snap open again. Each time you hope to awaken to the sight of blue and red lights streaming in through the crooked blinds, and each time you’re disappointed. Your heart rate hasn’t been able to settle into any kind of steady rhythm all night, the muscle beating erratically every time you hear so much as a cricket chirp or a gust of wind outside. You could’ve sworn at one point you had heard distant footsteps crunching through the gravel parking lot, and you’d held your breath as you imagined they belonged to a police officer coming to your rescue, sent by the woman who had picked up your call for help. Any minute now the footsteps would reach your room, and you’d hear fists pounding on the door as they demanded entry.

That minute had turned into five, then ten, and then fifteen, before the sound had repeated itself, and you’d realized it was just some nocturnal critter rustling around in the trash can outside the door.

It’s been hours now since you’d made your futile little escape attempt, since you’d uttered all of about four words to the woman on the other end of the line before Joel had pounced on you like an animal, ripped the phone out of your hand, and dragged you back into his lair.

…Someone had picked up, hadn’t they? Your memory is failing you now. Maybe the line was dead, maybe you hadn’t inserted enough coins for the call to go through, maybe you had only wanted there to be somebody out there who cared, and you had just hallucinated the woman’s tinny voice in your terrified state.

What you can be sure you hadn’t hallucinated, however, is the contents of the box you wish you had never pulled out from underneath the bench seat. You can’t escape the graphic memories of the polaroids that project themselves onto the backs of your eyelids each time they dare to close, jolting you back into reality the second your consciousness begins to slip away. You can’t help but think about how Joel had made you lay perfectly still for him while he forced himself inside of you, and you taste bile in the back of your throat as you wonder if he had ever really violated any of the other girls that way, or if it was just some sick fantasy.

You’re almost certain of what the answer is, but you try to swallow it down along with the sourness in your mouth.

You think about how scared you were, how scared you are, and how scared they must have been in their final moments, knowing there was nothing they could do anymore except submit themselves to his violence and hope he would at least make it quick. Eighteen or so years’ worth of dreams and desires and ambitions dashed in a single night, snuffed out in an instant as he reduced their bodies to nothing more than something limp and pliant for him to play with. You think about Ruby, and try to blink away the sudden vision of sunken glassy eyes and blonde ringlets covered in dirt and blood, skin pale and body decaying in a forgotten patch of land off the side of the road somewhere. You hope if he had ever spared even one of them from his grotesque defilement, that it was her.

You’re crying, you realize, when you feel a hot tear pooling in the shell of your ear, and you try to suppress your shuddering sobs as the guilt begins to feel all-consuming. How come you’re still alive to feel Joel’s hot breath raise the hairs on the back of your neck, and yet there’s a fucking shoebox full of dozens and dozens of girls who’d been brutalized and violated and discarded like trash? What makes you so fucking special? Being lost and naive and stupid enough to play into his little game without knowing what the cost would be if you’d tried to back out, to say that you’d changed your mind because he was too rough and controlling and it wasn’t fun anymore, like the rest of them probably had? It isn’t fair that you get to escape their fates just because you were the only one fucked up enough to enjoy the game, at least while it had lasted.

You’re going to wake him up with all your sniffling and shivering if you don’t get yourself under control somehow. You need to breathe. You need to get some air. Feel the breeze on your face and look up at the stars and calm yourself down enough to try and get at least a couple hours of sleep tonight. Lord knows you’ll probably need them tomorrow.

Although Joel had fallen asleep with his arm locked tight around your chest, it rests across his own now, rising and falling slowly with his breathing. He seems to be in true, deep sleep, having laid perfectly still for the past couple of hours save for the bear-like snorts he lets out every once in a while. Must have really worn himself out last night, you think to yourself, the tone of the voice in your head dripping with venom.

You wait another couple of minutes for the AC unit to turn back on, and use its obnoxious metallic rattling to cover the sound of you peeling back the thin sheet and musty comforter. You do so carefully, in as slow and as delicate movements you can manage in your current state, practically placing your feet on the carpet one toe at a time before pushing yourself up to a standing position. Joel makes some kind of grumbling cough just as you finish straightening out your spine, and it startles a gasp from you. You cover your mouth quickly and turn back to face him with wide eyes, afraid that you’ll find his own darkened ones staring back at you.

They’re still closed, to your immense relief, but his mouth is hanging open now, his sharp canines catching the moonlight in a way that sends a shiver down your back. You still have another minute or so of cover from the air conditioning before the room is cloaked in sinister silence once again, so you use your last remaining seconds to sweep the floor with your bare feet, blindly feeling around in the dark for your shoes. Come on, where the fuck are they? you wonder, sure that you would’ve kicked them over by now, if they were still in the spot Joel had put them after he had stripped off your clothes and pulled you into the shower with him.

Fuck.

He locked them in the fucking truck, along with the rest of your clothes, along with all of his clothes and both of your bags full of your modest belongings. You’d been tucked into bed already, sniffling quietly into the pillow as he’d made one last trip outside in nothing but his briefs just to ensure that you wouldn’t be motivated to try something again during the night. You’d hardly be able to make it anywhere without a stitch of clothing on your back except for his threadbare t-shirt, after all, the length of it just barely enough to cover the tufts of curls that poke out from the apex of your thighs.

“Just a lil’ insurance policy. You understand, sweetheart,” Joel had whispered, slipping the key to the truck underneath his pillow before slithering into bed behind you, wrapping his arms around you and constricting you like a snake.

Fuck it. It’s been too long. You tiptoe across the few feet of space between your side of the bed and the door to the room, thankful that the AC rattles out one last dissonant groan loud enough to cover the squeak of the hinges and the click of the lock.

Free from the confines of that cage-like room at last, you shakily exhale the breath you’d been holding, and the desert air is cold enough for you to see the pale cloud of it against the onyx-colored sky. With your back pressed up against the door and your hands splayed out against the wood, you look up at the endless expanse of stars above the treeline and let out a shuddering sob, the sight both comforting and overwhelming all at once.

You feel small. You feel lost. You feel trapped. Scared. Sick. Confused. Everything. Nothing.

There’s a whole world out there, right in front of you, all around you, and it was waiting to welcome you with open arms, if you hadn’t fallen into the wrong ones first. You feel both grateful and damned to be alive, relieved that you’ve been fortunate enough to live to see another day, but knowing that each one that follows will be spent with him. In his captivity, doing his bidding, spending the rest of your life trying to decide which side of his polaroid camera is the worse one to be on.

The polaroids. You just can’t fucking get them out of your head. The only physical evidence of what happened to any of those girls, now sitting at the bottom of a gas station trash can, likely covered up with empty soda cans and fast food wrappers and grease-stained napkins by now. That black plastic bag was probably tossed into a dumpster sometime last night, ready to be loaded onto a trash truck and taken to a landfill, never to be seen again. Discarded. Forgotten.

If anything, you wish you could at least provide some kind of closure to their parents, to Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter, who only gave up the search for their daughter because they had let the police convince them that their bright, beautiful, and promising child had just decided to run away that summer. You wish you could somehow make it back across the country, walk up to their home and knock on the door and be able to tell them “I know what happened to her. A man took her—a monster. He killed her. I’m sorry.”

But then, what condolence would that provide them, without a body to lay to rest? You wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for her. Joel probably doesn’t even fucking remember where she is anymore, where any of them are. He probably just picks the most unassuming, low-trafficked area he can find nearby to dump their bodies after he’s done with them, chosen as carelessly as he would the next cigarette out of his pack—a thatch of tall grass off the side of a back road, a pile of dry-rotted debris where a barn once stood, an algae-covered pond behind a long-abandoned farmhouse. Bleak, filthy, forgettable places, where nobody would ever be able to find them.

Another sob wracks your body, and you muffle the sound with your hand as you slide down the door, your knees giving out from underneath you as you collapse onto the sidewalk.

Nobody knows where you are, or what happened to you, and nobody fucking cares. Not the police, not your own mother. You’ll be forgotten just like the rest of them if you haven’t been already, whether you make it out of this alive or not.

You can’t bear the thought. You thought you could, when you had first left home and started following Ruby’s trail all that time ago. It had seemed inspiring at the time, the idea of leaving that suffocating little town in search of somewhere else to plant your roots and let yourself bloom. But now… you have to make sure that someone knows the truth. Whether they care about you enough to come to your rescue or not, you need at least one person out there to know that you didn’t just vanish into the wind. That you’re still alive. That you’re still out there. That you haven’t given up yet.

You close your eyes for a moment, taking a few steadying breaths as the cool night breeze dries your tears and the thin veil of sweat that your anxious spiral had produced. When you open them again, your gaze lands on the payphone across the parking lot, and you heave a despondent sigh as you study a moth fluttering dizzily around the bulb that illuminates the little booth. The phone is even more useless to you now than it was the first time, without access to the handful of quarters that are still locked inside Joel’s truck. With that option eliminated, you push yourself up to your feet, and feel the tiny muscles in your toes spasm with the desire to run. You try to rewind your memory several hours back, searching for even a glimpse of something that might tell you where the fuck you are, which direction to head in—had you passed any street signs, local schools, city halls, anything? You must’ve been too terrified to pay any attention to your surroundings as Joel drove from the gas station to the motel, devoting all of your focus to planning your failed getaway. Joel was probably counting on that, and had intentionally picked this drab little motel in the middle of fucking nowhere in order to imprison you here.

You finally tear your eyes away from that hopeless, trapped little moth, instead turning your head toward the motel office all the way down at the end of the row of rooms. There’s a dim light on inside, but no other sign of a person working there. Considering the isolated nature of this bygone stretch of highway, the motel might not even get enough business to justify paying a person to man the front desk all night. You chew on your lip, debating if it’s even worth a shot just to take a look around and see if you can find anything of use in there.

Your feet are stepping one in front of the other before you can stop them, leading you toward the door with “OFFICE” painted on the glass window in bold red letters. Goosebumps rise on the exposed skin of your legs as you walk, and you almost hope that there isn’t anybody in there after all, just to spare yourself the embarrassment of having to talk to some innocent bystander while you grasp desperately at the bottom hem of your shirt and your remaining shreds of dignity. You hate how well Joel’s little “insurance policy” is working exactly the way he wanted it to.

The doorknob is cold against your fingertips, and your breath hitches in surprise when you’re able to turn it with no resistance. You slip inside the office and close the door behind you quietly, taking a beat to survey the wood-paneled room—there’s a corkboard of room keys with only one empty hook, a clock on the wall that makes you jump with each startling tick, and a coffee maker in the corner covered in a thin layer of dust, illuminated by the slices of white moonlight coming in through the blinds. It’s all too still, too untouched, everything about the room only emphasizing how absolutely alone you are here. And yet, you can’t shake the eerie feeling of a presence, of eyes on you, watching you and waiting to jump out from the shadows and drag you back to your keeper.

Just find what you came in here to look for and get the fuck out, you scold yourself, stepping behind the front desk and opening each drawer one by one as you search for the handful of items on your mental checklist—a pen, paper, an envelope, and a stamp.

It’s not your brightest idea, attempting to send a letter back home to your mother. But it’s better than doing nothing, just disappearing into the forest and letting the monster that lurks there kick dirt over your trail of breadcrumbs. Even if just one remains, it will be enough to prove that you were ever there at all.

The pen and paper were easiest to find, sitting right on top of the desk in plain sight. You’d torn off a sheet of the motel’s personalized notepad, the place’s name and address printed neatly across the top. If your mother does find it in her heart to come looking for you, at least she’ll know where to start.

The envelope and stamp are proving more difficult to locate, and each deafening tick of the clock above your head taunts you with its reminder of how much time you’ve been in here, out of bed, away from Joel. Your searching becomes a little more frantic, less gentle moving of objects out of the way and more haphazardly swiping them around the drawers in your fruitless scavenging.

“Um… hi there—” comes a voice from behind you, nearly startling a scream from your throat as you whirl around. You hit your hip on the open drawer and wince, and the owner of the voice puts her hands out in front of her, as if she had just spooked a small dog. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…” She flits her eyes up and down your minimally clad form as she apologizes, and you self consciously yank your shirt down over your thighs. “Are you okay? Can I help you with something?”

She’s young, pretty, maybe a few years older than you, with doe-like green eyes and a pale face dappled with caramel-colored freckles.

“I-I was just, um… looking for an envelope? A-and a stamp, if you have any,” you confess shakily, your heart pounding and cheeks burning as you fidget nervously with the hem of your shirt. You glance over the girl’s shoulder and see a door you hadn’t noticed before, now open. There’s a drab-colored couch and a small flickering TV inside, playing at a volume low enough that you hadn’t heard it at all through the closed door. She must spend most of her night shift in there, watching reruns of old movies and munching on stovetop popcorn to stay alert just in case some poor soul comes stumbling into the office in need of her assistance. You feel a small pang of jealousy in your stomach as you imagine what a relaxed, carefree night she must have been having, while you were fighting for your life under the very same roof.

“Oh, sure! They’re just, um… Excuse me—” she says meekly as she steps in your direction. You scurry out of her way, swiping the pen and paper from the top of the desk as you do. She takes your place to crouch down and tug open the very bottom drawer in the stack you had been searching through, and rifles around for just a moment before she finds what she’s looking for. She hands the items off to you as she rises back to her full height, just a couple of inches above your own. “Here you are. Is that all you need?”

Yes. No. Not even fucking close.

You turn over the stationery in your hands, running your thumbs across the smooth surface of the envelope as you debate whether or not you should ask her for what you really need—help.

But the girl has so much life in her eyes, so much color in her cheeks that you can see even in the office’s low lighting, that you’d never be able to forgive yourself if you decide to involve her in this. Her face would be printed on the side of a milk carton the second you open your mouth.

“Mhm, just this stuff. Thank you.” You do your best to make it sound like the truth.

“...Are you sure?” She presses, gesturing to either side of her neck, her auburn eyebrows peaked with concern.

Shit.

In your effort to make sure your bottom half stayed covered, you had forgotten about the dark marks Joel had created around your throat just a handful of hours earlier. They must be pretty noticeable already, if this girl—Chrissy, her name tag reads—is able to spot them just by the light of one yellow bulb and a few slats of moonlight.

You nod, fighting the whimper that threatens to escape when you bring one hand up to press into your bruises, the other holding your letter-writing supplies in front of your lap.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” you lie, though you can tell she doesn’t believe you. You wouldn’t believe you, either. But you’re thankful that she decides to let it go, anyway.

Chrissy nods, too. “So… you’re trying to mail a letter, then? We can’t really send it from here, but there’s a few mailboxes in town, if you’re gonna be sticking around for a little bit.”

“Oh, um… I’m not sure. Maybe,” you reply, offering a small smile as you shift your weight awkwardly. “Thank you.”

Chrissy presses her lips together, giving you another quiet nod along with one last sympathetic glance at your disheveled form. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? I might have a pair of sweatpants with me if you—”

“No, no, it’s okay. I have to… he’s gonna, um…” You fumble, gesturing back to the room at the end of the row while you scramble for some kind of excuse that doesn’t give too much of your situation away. “I’m just going back to bed anyway, so… I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

A few beats of silence linger between you before you speak up again. “Could I write it in here, though? Just like… at the desk? I’ll be quick, I promise.”

She looks at you like you’re a kicked puppy as she replies, “Of course you can. I’ll be back there, if you decide you do want the change of clothes after all. If you could just close the door on your way out, and… be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” you half-whisper, and you can’t help the way your bottom lip trembles when Chrissy retreats back into that cozy little room, leaving the door cracked open just enough for the voices from her movie to keep you company while you write. You glance up at the clock once before you begin, promising to allow yourself no more than five minutes to say what you need to say, seal it away in the envelope, and sneak back into bed without Joel ever noticing you were gone.

You used to pride yourself on your neat handwriting, when you were still in school and a thing as trivial as that actually mattered. But you haven’t had to write anything by hand in so long now that you hardly recognize the disconnected capital “T”s and chaotically pointed “M”s as you scribble them down. The words are still mostly legible, though, even the ones that were accidentally blurred by stray tears you couldn’t wipe away in time before they hit the page.

You read over the letter once as the clock counts out your last remaining seconds, and decide it’s good enough to be slipped inside the envelope and secured with a swipe of your saliva. Your stomach flips when you go to write your home address on the front, fearing that you’ve forgotten it in all the time that Joel has spent scrubbing you clean of who you were before you met him. But when you close your eyes, you hear the song your father used to sing to you to help you remember it when you were little, in case you ever got lost and needed to tell someone where you came from. It had never really come in handy, until now.

With your sufficiently addressed and stamped envelope in hand, you quietly exit the office and pad your way back down the sidewalk to the room where your captor lies waiting. You press your ear to the door before entering, and wait until you hear the telltale groan of the air conditioning kicking back on. When the mechanical sound reaches its full volume, you slip back through the door and shut it behind you all in one swift, delicate movement. You slink over to your side of the bed like a cat, and tuck the envelope underneath the mattress as you gently crawl back underneath the covers, next to Joel’s still-sleeping form, in the exact same position you had left him in. The slight disruption of your weight depressing the mattress prompts him to roll over in his unconscious state, and his skin is scorching against your own as he wraps you up in his arms again, pulling you tight against his chest. He gives a slow buck of his hips against your backside and releases a quiet growl into your hair that makes you shiver despite the heat he radiates.

You can’t fight the pull of your heavy eyelids for much longer, the wave of adrenaline you had been riding all night finally coming to a crest and crashing against you all at once. Telling your story, getting the words down on paper, having some kind of half-assed plan to make sure you don’t just disappear into the ether, seems to have given you more peace of mind than expected, at least in your delirious, traumatized, and sleep-deprived condition. For now, you’re still treading water, still holding your head above the surface of the deep dark unknown that awaits, and it’s enough for your exhausted mind to finally show you a few hours worth of mercy.

You will survive this, you won’t disappear, even if you have to take it one excruciating day at a time.

—

The first day of the rest of your life begins that hazy morning after, when Joel finally rouses around ten o’clock from what seems to have been a relatively deep slumber. He tightens his grip around your upper body as he purrs out a sleepy groan, wetly kissing under your ear before mumbling, “Mornin’ babydoll.” Your body seems to have not caught up with reality just yet, evident in the way your cunt still flutters involuntarily at the sound of his gravelly morning voice and the warm slide of his tongue. You curse yourself for the instinctual reaction, wishing you could just reset all of the ways that your nerves have been trained to react to his touch over the past few months.

“Morning, Joel,” you whisper, and you can feel his half-hard length pressing into your back.

“You sleep okay, sweetheart?”

Your eyes go a little wide at his question, and you’re grateful that you’re still facing away from him. Is this a test? You can’t be sure anymore. But if he had ever realized you were gone during the night, surely he wouldn’t wait until the next morning to do something about it… right?

You nod. “Mhm, fine.” Your voice cracks a little, but Joel doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good, tha’s good…” he snakes a hand between your legs, finding its way underneath your—his—oversized shirt to lightly prod at your bare little hole. “And how’s she doin’, hm? Was dreamin’ about her all night, how fuckin’ good ‘n tight she was for me… She feelin’ sore at all this mornin’, babydoll?”

“A little, yeah.” His touch makes you shudder, but you know better than to try and reject it.

Joel tuts, circling the roughened pad of his finger over your clit. “Poor thing… ‘M sorry about that, baby. Jus’ got a lil’ carried away last night, tha’s all. You forgive me, don’t you, sweetheart? You understand?”

You hesitate, swallowing down the bitter taste of the lie you’re about to tell. “Yes, it’s… it’s okay, Joel.”

“Mmm, just the sweetest lil’ girl, ain’t you?” Joel says, swiping two of his fingers through your folds to collect some of your involuntary slick. He pulls his hand out from under the covers and sucks one of the damp digits into his mouth, releasing a pleasured groan. Joel gives another slow grind into your ass before bringing his hand in front of your face, pushing the other still-wet finger between your lips and forcing you to taste yourself. “See how sweet she is for me, baby? Think she forgives me too, don’t she?”

You nod around his finger, humming in pretend agreement.

“Perfect… so perfect for me, my lil’ doll,” Joel muses, sliding his finger back and forth across your tongue and teasing the back of your throat with each intrusive thrust. You fight to suppress your gag reflex until he eventually removes his finger from your mouth, wiping the dampness off on your shirt. “C’mere, pretty girl. Gimme a kiss,” he grumbles, gripping a paw onto your shoulder and pulling backwards, using the leverage to get you to roll onto your other side to face him.

The warm morning light coming in from the window illuminates the back of his head, highlighting the way his mussed salt and pepper locks stick up every which way. This is the first time you’re getting a good look at him since you had first spotted his disturbing keepsake box peeking out from underneath the bench seat, since he had snapped at you for trying to grab it, since you had still thought that would be the worst thing he’d ever do to you. It’s almost comical, in a sinister sort of way, how harmless Joel looks like this, with his scarred nose and stubbled cheeks still rosy from sleep.

You hadn’t anticipated how complicated it would be to still have to feign intimacy with him, how dizzying it already feels to stand on the sidelines in your own mind and watch your desire wrestle with your disgust. Joel presses his lips against your own, and you do your best not to grimace as you kiss him back. He still feels the same, still tastes the same, like black coffee and cigarettes and spearmint. But he isn’t the same.

Joel parts your teeth with his tongue as he deepens the kiss, hungrily lapping into your mouth as you let him take what he wants, only pulling away from him once he breaks the connection first. He brushes some of your hair away from your face when he does, admiring your slightly swollen lips as he rubs his calloused thumbs across your cheeks.

“Whaddya say we just have ourselves a nice afternoon together, hm? Think there might be a lil’ town nearby, could get us somethin’ to eat, maybe even do some shoppin’, dependin’ on what’s there.”

There’s a few mailboxes in town, if you’re gonna be sticking around for a little bit, you hear Chrissy’s voice repeat what she had told you last night, and feel an exhilarated pang in your chest when you remember the envelope you have hidden beneath you.

You try not to answer too eagerly, taking a beat before you respond with a quiet “Really?” “Yeah, babydoll. Why, you don’t wanna?”

“No! No, I—that sounds good. I just didn’t think… I thought you’d wanna get going again, or something. After… you know.” You bring your hand up to touch the sore sides of your neck instinctually, unable to bring yourself to say it, to think about it for longer than a couple of seconds.

“Like I said, sweetheart. We’ll just leave your hair down today, nobody’ll see ‘em,” Joel says casually.

It’s unsettling, the evenness in Joel’s tone as he suggests having a normal day together, attempting to just move on as if the contusions you’re discussing aren’t a direct result of his abuse. You’ve only just woken up, and you’re already feeling the whiplash from the softness of his words in comparison to the degradation he was spitting at you last night. You wonder how much of it he even remembers, if he had really just let some entirely separate entity inside of him get “carried away”, or if it was all Joel. He couldn’t have been that good at hiding his true self from you the entire time you’ve known him, could he? What does it say about you if the signs had been there all along, and you’d either chosen to ignore them, or missed them completely? How can you ever be sure now which Joel you’re in the company of at any given time?

“Okay,” you agree, putting on a small smile that he’s quick to return.

“Alright, we’ll get to it, then. Jus’ stay put, sweetheart, lemme bring our stuff back inside, find you somethin’ to wear.” Joel plants a whiskery kiss on your hairline before tossing the sheets aside and rising to his towering height, retrieving the key to the truck from underneath his pillow in the process. You can’t help the way your stomach flips as you watch him lumber towards the door, squeezing your thighs together under the covers at the sight of his visible morning wood bobbing in his briefs with each heavy step. You roll back onto your other side as soon as he steps over the threshold, letting the corners of your mouth drop as you curse yourself again. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? A constant battle between wanting to forget and feeling disgusted with yourself for even trying to? There has to be some way to navigate this without completely fucking loathing yourself for just trying to stay alive.

Joel returns to the room a few minutes later with his arms and hands full of the clothing he’s chosen for both of you. He drops his boots onto the carpet with a heavy thud, but sets your own shoes down next to them with more care. He tosses a few articles of his own things onto his side of the bed before coming around to yours, holding out his free hand for you to take. “Up you go, babydoll, c’mon,” he commands. You grab hold of his steady hand, using it for support as you slide out from underneath the covers and push yourself off the mattress, the springs creaking in protest.

Joel entwines his thick fingers in yours as he leads you toward the small bathroom. You loosen your grip to shut the door behind you, expecting him to drop his handhold to allow you some privacy, but his grasp only tightens. You inhale sharply at the dull pain caused by his fingertips digging into the back of your hand, and turn to face him with panicked eyes. The stern expression you’re met with makes your heart rate quicken, terrified that you’ve already somehow found a way to upset him again.

“I just need to use the bathroom first, I’ll try to be quick,” you insist, still attempting to untangle your fingers from his.

“Not with the door closed you don’t.”

“...W-why?” You question timidly.

Joel jerks his head toward the shower, his gaze still trained on you. “That lil’ window up there. Just gotta make sure you ain’t gonna try anythin’, tha‘s all.”

You glance over to the tiny window he’s referring to, the kind that doesn’t even open all the way, just cracks open enough to let the steam out.

“But… I couldn’t even fit through there. And I… I learned my lesson, Joel, I promise—”

“Shh, don’t gotta get all worked up, ‘s alright, sweetheart. Jus’ do what I ask, okay?” Joel finally drops your hand in favor of cradling the side of your neck, brushing his thumb across the tender cartilage at the front of it. “You understand, don’t you, baby? ‘S just a precaution.”

Joel speaks to you so gently, with such adoration in his tone and in his expression, even with the threatening placement of his hand on your throat. The blatant display of manipulation makes you dizzy. You drop your gaze from his face to the bathroom floor, and try to use the cool sensation of the tile against your bare feet to ground yourself.

“Are you gonna watch me while I… go?” You ask meekly, your cheeks warming with embarrassment.

“No, no, sweet girl,” Joel placates, using a hooked finger to lift your head back up. “I’ll wait outside for you. Jus’ leave the door ‘bout halfway open, ‘s all I’m askin’. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before, hm?” He pinches at your chin with a teasing smile, continuing to act as if everything he’s asking of you is completely ordinary.

“Yeah, but…” You start, but Joel huffs in warning.

You concede with a sighed “Okay,” and he finally leaves you to conduct your business. You’re thankful that he at least isn’t watching you, instead just leaning his broad back against the doorframe outside the bathroom with his arms crossed. Although, you think he might’ve taken a peek when you had first sat down, in the brief moment when your oversized t-shirt was rucked up to your tummy. You go through the motions as quickly as possible so as not to prolong your mortification, practically flushing and stepping over to the sink all in one hurried movement. Joel slides himself behind you as you’re washing your hands, setting your clothing down on the back of the toilet before placing his hands on your hips. His hard length is slotted against your backside, and you do your best to ignore him as you dry your hands with the bleach-stained motel towel. He only continues to use his weight to press you harder against the edge of the sink, undeterred by your efforts, and you wince a little at the pain that begins to pulse under your ribcage.

“Lemme tell you how this is gonna be from now on, okay babydoll? Look at me,” Joel orders, and you meet his darkened eyes in the mirror where he towers above you as he continues, “You ain’t gonna do nothin’ for yourself or by yourself ever again, ‘s that clear? Nothin’. Know we had some of that before our lil’... incident… and you liked that, didn’t you, baby? Liked me takin’ care of you like that?”

You nod, because it’s true.

“You’re nothin’ but a lil’ doll to me from now on. Gonna let me dress you this mornin’, do your hair up, brush your teeth, everythin’... And when we go out today, you ain’t gonna talk to anybody, ain’t even gonna look at anybody, you understand? Nobody except for me. I’m all you got for the rest of your life. And that’s what we always wanted, ain’t it? Just each other…” He says the last part almost wistfully, letting go of your waist with one hand in favor of twisting a lock of your hair around one of his roughened fingers. “You’ll come to like livin’ like this, babydoll. Got no other choice, do you?”

You swallow, biting your lip to stave off burning tears that you know will only upset him if you let them spill.

“Do you?” Joel repeats.

“N-no, I don’t,” you reply, and he hums in satisfaction before rewarding you with a wet kiss to your temple that makes your skin crawl.

“Yeah, tha‘s right… Turn around now, arms up for me, sweetheart.” Joel steps back from the sink to allow you room to obey his command, and you don’t hesitate to do so. He carefully lifts his t-shirt over your head before tossing it to the floor, and you shiver as the breeze blowing in from that one cracked window wraps itself around your naked form. Joel tuts when you wrap your arms over your pebbled nipples on instinct, gently scolding, “Nuh uh, don’t cover up what’s mine. Lemme look at ya.” He uses a light touch to guide your limbs down to your sides, whistling low as his predatory eyes roam around your trembling body, spending a few extra moments on your exposed chest. “Most gorgeous lil’ thing in the whole world… Would jus’ parade you around with me all bare like this if I could, show y’ off to everybody. Bet you’d like that, huh babydoll?” He taunts, pinching at one of your hardened buds.

“Y-yeah, I would,” you appease quietly, but he doesn’t seem to pay your unenthusiastic response any mind, too preoccupied with shimmying a new pair of panties up your legs. He takes a little too much extra care in settling them around the creases of your thighs, and huffs to himself when he notices the way your little hole squeezes around nothing at the sensation of his fingertips sliding underneath the elastic, just barely teasing your folds. Joel has you turn around to face the mirror again so he can clip your bra behind your back, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips despite yourself when he zips on the pretty blue dress he picked out for you. You like how it compliments your eyes, even with how tired they look.

Just like Joel had told you he would, he doesn’t allow you to do a single thing for yourself as he completes the rest of your morning routine, holding your chin securely in the dip between his thumb and forefinger as he brushes your teeth and tips a glass of water into your mouth for you to rinse out the minty paste with. He cradles the base of your skull with one hand, using the other to scrub the sleep from your eyes and the oils from your cheeks with a damp washcloth. Joel gets to work on your hair next, pulling the top half of it into two small ponytails and tying each of them off neatly with ivory-colored ribbons. You’re surprised at the delicate movements his hands are capable of despite their size, despite the damage they’ve caused. He’s clearly had some practice with this, but you try not to think about it too hard.

Once Joel deems his doll pretty and presentable, he leads you out of the bathroom and has you sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling before you with some protest from his aching joints. He slips a pair of lace-trimmed socks over your feet, one at a time, followed by the same canvas sneakers you were wearing when you had first met him. The sight of them brings you a little comfort, somehow, the discolored laces and smudged rubber soles making up just about the only familiar things you have in your possession anymore. Nearly everything you own, everything about you, has been tainted by Joel in some way now. You should’ve just taken off in the other direction when he’d pulled over his truck, left nothing but a cloud of dust in your wake and never even have given him the chance to ask you in that stupid disarming Southern twang of his if you needed a ride, if you were lost, if you had family or a boyfriend who cared about you enough to come looking for you. You’d advertised yourself in big bold lettering that you were the perfect fucking victim, practically wrapping the rope around your white woolen neck yourself so he could lead you to slaughter. This is what you deserve, stupid lamb that you are. Look at you now.

Joel instructs you to stay perched on the bed while he completes his own morning regimen, and you hang your head low as you rest your hands in your lap, picking at the skin around your fingernails. They’re practically raw now, but you can’t stop even though you should, even though it hurts, even though you’ve made yourself bleed. It had always been a nervous habit of yours, and you hadn’t noticed until you started up again last night that this was probably the nicest your nail beds had looked in years. You’d felt so comforted, so safe with Joel that you hadn’t had a reason to continue the self-destructive behavior, until all those fluttery feelings were ripped out from under you in a second. You’d been biting and tearing at your skin all night in addition to the many other things you’d been doing instead of sleeping, the habit having returned with a force as you’d used the pain to… what? To make up for the lack of blood you’d shed, to apologize to the ghosts of Anna and Elizabeth and Ruby and ask them please not to haunt you, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry. See? He’d made you bleed, too.

You’ve been attempting to balance your attention between your hands and the bathroom, waiting for an opportunity to arise where Joel is distracted enough for you to retrieve the envelope from its hiding place without him seeing. You keep your chin close to your chest as you observe his movements, trying not to make it too obvious that you’re watching him. After a few minutes, he finally bows his head into the sink to splash some water onto his skin, and you quickly reach behind you to swipe the letter and shove it underneath the waistband of your panties. Joel still hasn’t lifted his head back up by the time you’ve got it situated, and the corner of your mouth twitches in satisfaction. For a plan that you’re basically just making up as you go along, it’s going better than you expected.

You return to your preoccupation with your hands as you wait for Joel to finish up, and you remain hunched over yourself even as he flicks off the bathroom light and stalks over to where you’re now sucking the taste of bitter iron from one of your fingers. He startles you out of your focused state when he asks, “What’re you doin’, babydoll?”

You lift your head up, releasing the smarted skin from your mouth as you hold out your hand to examine the injury. Both of you watch a little crimson pearl begin to swell in the groove where your nail disappears into the skin. “Oh…” Joel sighs, grabbing your hand gently and raising it closer to his face, turning it this way and that to admire how your blood catches the light. You swear you can see his pupils dilate before he sucks your finger into his own mouth, swirling his tongue around your skin as he savors the metallic tang mixed with the remnants of your saliva. You feel the sharp edge of his teeth graze the pad of your finger, and your breath catches as you fear he might just bite the thing clean off from the last knuckle down. He doesn’t, of course, just lets his eyelids quiver and his cock twitch before releasing the digit from his mouth and rumbling out a quiet growl. You can’t help the somewhat sickened expression that overtakes your features as you watch Joel’s perverted little display, but work to fix it into something more neutral as he opens his eyes again.

“Pretty sure I got some bandaids in the truck, lemme get dressed ‘n then we’ll hit the road, hm?” he says, in a tone too casual to belong to someone who’d just had a near orgasmic reaction to tasting your blood. You suppose this is just another consequence of your survival—having to endure Joel’s unconcealed freakish tendencies now that he knows you’re not a flight risk anymore.

Joel tugs on his standard uniform—his thick canvas jacket layered overtop a simple undershirt and earth-toned flannel, paired with tattered jeans and his sturdy leather work boots. You allow him to help you to your feet as he leads you out to the truck, his thick fingers laced tightly through the ones of your non-bloodied hand. You have to squint at how bright the late morning sky is, your eyes aching as they adjust from the dim lighting of the motel room.

“Hey, morning!” Comes a cheery voice from down the row. You turn your head in the direction of the sound, and put your hand up to shield your eyes from the sun in an effort to get a better view of the person it came from. When your gaze finally focuses, you’re able to make out a feminine figure with auburn hair and alabaster skin, her slender arm waving at you in greeting—Chrissy.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You dip behind Joel, attempting to hide yourself from her view. He puts a protective hand across your body, and takes the lead in responding to her. “...Mornin’. Can we help you with somethin’?”

Her footsteps pause on the pavement, and there’s a beat before she says anything else, likely not expecting Joel’s less-than-friendly response to her sunny demeanor. “...No. Well, I just wanted to say ‘hi’, check in on you—Both of you,” she corrects herself quickly. You’re staring straight down at the sidewalk, avoiding eye contact just like Joel had demanded of you. But you can still see her out of the corner of your vision, attempting to lean around Joel’s large form to get a better look at you. You feel like your heart is about to burst out of your fucking ribcage as Joel turns his head toward where you’re cowering behind his arm, then slowly back to Chrissy.

“We’re fine,” he says plainly.

The silence that follows feels like it lasts an eternity. You hate how weak you must look in front of her, practically shaking where you stand like a newborn fawn while you seek the protection of this much older man whose hands, Chrissy must notice, are large enough to have created the marks on your neck that she had pointed out last night. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, to figure out the reason—the person—behind your flighty, nervous, and fidgety behavior in the office. Chrissy takes a few steps backwards, away from this strange couple standing before her, one she realizes is in her best interest not to engage further with.

Her voice comes out noticeably more unsteady now than it did when she had first approached you. “W-well, I just like to say ‘hi’ to guests on my way out if I see them. So… ‘hi’, and, um… if you need anything, someone else will be here soon to cover the office.” She rushes through the latter part of her sentence, like she just wants to spit all the words out as quickly as possible so that the interaction can be over with. You can’t see his face, but you suspect Joel is giving her some kind of hooded-eyed look that’s making her stumble over her words. “Have a good day, you two. Be careful,” she adds before she departs, and you know that those last two words were meant for you.

Joel watches her as she disappears around the corner of the building, only lowering his arm once she’s completely out of sight. You don’t look up until the sounds of her footsteps dissipate, until Joel’s arm is on your lower back as he ushers you into the truck.

“Get in, baby,” he commands, opening the door for you and helping you up into the passenger side of the bench seat. He reaches across your body to buckle your seatbelt for you before you can even lift your hand to do it yourself.

Once you’re situated to his liking, Joel closes your door and makes his way over to the driver’s seat, climbing inside and igniting the rumbling engine. He roots around in the truck’s center console, tossing aside cigarette butts and gum wrappers and loose change, eventually coming up with a single bandaid. Its paper sleeve looks crumpled and neglected, and you suppose it’s because he’s never really had a use for it until now. There isn’t much of a point in trying to bandage the type of wounds he typically inflicts, anyway, the damage already having been done.

“Gimme your hand, darlin’, hold it still for me.” Joel tears open the wrapper with his calloused thumbs and flicks away the little paper tabs from the fabric’s sticky surface, wrapping the bandaid around your finger tenderly. It would be a sweet moment, if it weren’t for the way he adjusts himself upon seeing the deep red droplet bloom on the other side of the little cotton pad. You make a mental note to work on finding a different self-soothing mechanism, lest you want to wake up in the middle of the night with his knife at your neck and his cock in his hand, deciding that you weren’t worth keeping around after all, that he just had to know if you really are just as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside, to know if the rest of your volume tastes as sweet as the small sample he’d already taken.

You sit on your hands the entire ride into town.

—

The drive was mostly silent, but actually kind of pleasant, finally giving you a real opportunity to take in the vast surroundings of… wherever you are, New Mexico. Your hands had gotten uncomfortably warm where they were squished under the bare skin of your legs for the entire half-hour or so drive, but you didn’t dare remove them. You’d have had nowhere else to put them anyway, not with the way Joel’s large paw was clamped onto your upper thigh, his pinky finger slipping underneath the hem of your dress and tracing the edge of your panties. You were grateful you’d had enough forethought to slip the envelope into the right side of your underwear, predicting that he’d get handsy like this in the truck. You’d just kept your body perfectly rigid with your head turned away from him, and tried not to descend into madness thinking about what he had made of your interaction with Chrissy earlier, if he suspected anything, if he knew you were hiding something, if he suddenly developed x-ray vision overnight and knew exactly what you were concealing under your dress.

Relief washed over your nervous system as you’d observed jagged rockwork and ochre-colored scrub brush gradually turn into modest Pueblo-style homes and businesses, glad to have finally been granted an opportunity to escape the motel after your twelve hours of terror. The steadily approaching signs of civilization had served as a reminder that the world does actually have other people in it besides you and Joel, despite what he’s been attempting to convince you of.

The town had become more populated the further the truck had chugged along down the main street, with a few friendly-looking people walking their dogs and carrying paper grocery bags as they strolled along the storefronts. You had even found yourself staring at a group of girls around your age sipping their coffees together on a bench, giggling and gossiping and making you wish you had problems as superficial as theirs. They reminded you of the type of girl Ruby was, bright-eyed and carefree and beautiful, and you’d tried to swallow down the bitter resentment that had begun to simmer in the pit of your stomach. Joel hadn’t even seemed to notice the girls as the truck passed them by, and you weren’t sure if his disinterest should make you feel satisfied or hopeless. Yesterday, you would’ve told yourself that you’re the love of his life, of course he wouldn’t dare have eyes for anyone but you, he’ll never leave your side for the rest of his life. But the sentiment takes on a much different connotation today, feeling more like a life sentence than a daydream.

You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the truck had finally rolled to a stop outside of a quaint little restaurant, its terracotta awning decorated in twinkling lights. The sign on the facade read The Coyote Café, and had a little silhouette of the namesake animal painted next to the words. You could see through the turquoise-trimmed windows that there were already a handful of other patrons inside enjoying their meals, and it made you feel a little safer, knowing that Joel would be more motivated to put his mask back on in front of so many pairs of eyes. In a town this small, the two of you probably stick out like a sore thumb enough as it is, the café seeming like the kind of place where the waitresses know the regulars by name. You were eager to finally be able to drop your defenses, at least for a little while.

Joel had chosen a table all the way in the back corner of the place, furthest from the door, and had insisted on the both of you sharing the same side of the booth. Although you could feel a few stares on you, you’d remained steadfast in your obedience of the rules he had laid out for you this morning, and kept your head down while he placed your orders with the waitress—a plate of enchiladas and a beer for him, and a cheese quesadilla with a glass of water for you. You probably would’ve been able to eat more, but you suspected that his choice of meal for you was deliberate, so as not to provide you with too much energy that you might use to make another break for it. It had reminded you of the way he had convinced you to take your coffee decaf at Moody’s that night, all of it seeming so fucking obvious now, in hindsight.

“You know somethin’, babydoll?” Joel suddenly asks through a mouthful of beans and rice. “Think I saw a lil’ consignment shop just down the way. Whaddya say we head on over there next, let you pick out somethin’ pretty for yourself since you been so good today, hm?”

You hadn’t exchanged many words as you’d been eating, other than the occasional semi-awkward comment about how nice the weather is or how good your meals are. Ordinarily, you’d be making up stories about the interesting-looking strangers sitting at the counter, or quizzing each other on the country songs playing over the radio, or debating whether the color of his flannel was really green or brown. You’d sometimes hang out at diners so late into the evening that the waitstaff would have to kick you out, and you’d be apologetic as you made your way back out to the truck, hardly able to believe how much time you’d lost track of while you were flicking wadded up straw wrappers at each other or taste testing each other’s desserts. You mourn the version of Joel in those memories as you push around the crumbs on your plate, quietly responding to him with, “Really? You’d let me?”

“‘Course I would, sweet girl.” He wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin before lowering his voice, leaning down closer to your ear. “Long as you let me take it off of ya later tonight.”

“Let me.” As if you have any other choice.

Joel chuckles at his own crude comment as he slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you flush to his side. He finishes the rest of his meal with one hand while he rakes the other along your upper arm, occasionally sliding a finger underneath your bra strap and snapping it against your skin. You’re only able to let your posture relax for just a moment when the waitress brings around the check, and he finally removes his scalding hand in order to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket. He slaps a few crumpled bills onto the table, and then his thick fingers are forcing themselves in between your own smaller ones as he pulls you up from the booth and leads you out of the café. You spare a glance at the motherly-looking waitress on your way out, and you exchange sympathetic looks with each other behind Joel’s back. You wish she didn’t look so sorry for you, like you’re a wounded animal being dragged around by the hunter who shot an arrow through your heart. But isn’t that what you are?

Your feet stop dead in their tracks when you step down onto the sidewalk outside the cafe, your brain too enamored with the landscape of the surrounding valley to tell them to keep moving. The wide open sky and limestone hills dappled with towering evergreens almost look like a painting, the way the mountains turn paler shades of blue-green as they extend further into the distance. It’s so unlike the flat, beige midwestern states where you and Joel had begun your journey together, it almost takes your breath away.

“You just gonna stare up at the sky all day, or d’you wanna get to shoppin’, hm?” Joel says, startling you from your state of wonder.

“Oh, no, we can go. I’m sorry,” you submit, hurrying to Joel’s side. He makes an enamored little hum and kisses the top of your head before continuing to pull you along the storefronts. You keep your head down, counting the cracks in the pavement as you work to keep up with his long strides.

“See that buildin’ down there, the one with the pink siding? Tha’s the lil’ clothin’ store I was talkin’ about.” You flick your eyes upward to where Joel is pointing a lazy finger, immediately spying the technicolor little shop he’s referring to. The unusual choice in paint color is certainly eye catching, but what you’re really drawn to is the dark blue metal receptacle standing on the sidewalk just in front of it—a mailbox, just like Chrissy told you there would be.

This is it. This is your chance. When you get up to the mailbox, you’ll improvise a way to direct Joel’s attention elsewhere, and use the opportunity to slip the envelope from under your dress and deposit it into the box without him noticing. You’ll have to move quickly, precisely, quietly, or it’s all over.

You should start tugging it loose now, so that it’ll be halfway in your hand already by the time you reach the store. You pat your hand against your upper thigh, expecting to feel the paper crinkling against your skin.

Except, you don’t. You can’t feel it. It isn’t there anymore.

You feel panic start to bloom in your chest, but try your best to keep your cool. The mailbox is only a few paces away now, and you’ll have nothing to deposit into the slot, because your chance at preventing yourself from being completely forgotten by the one person in your life who might actually care, is gone. Vanished.

Where the fuck is it? Had it fallen out when you were exiting the truck? Is it laying on the floor of the cab for Joel to discover when he helps you back into your seat later? Where could it possibly have—

“Hey, excuse me! Mister?” A young-sounding voice—male, unfamiliar— shouts from behind you, followed by the sound of jogging footsteps. Joel turns around, your hand still held securely in his own. Your feet stay planted exactly where they are, your eyes unblinking and locked onto the mailbox, just barely out of reach. “Did one of you drop this? Found it on the floor by your table when I was cleaning up, didn’t want you to leave it behind.”

“Uh… don’t think so. Lemme take a look—” Your arm pulls in an uncomfortable direction as Joel reaches toward the boy to retrieve the mystery object. Well, it’s a mystery to him, you already know exactly what it is. All you can do is hold your breath while Joel undoubtedly reads your handwriting on the front of the envelope, hoping that if you stand perfectly still, you might really be able to disappear. Without the letter, that’s the ending you’re destined for now, anyway.

Joel laughs breathily. “Y’know what, son? Think we did drop this. Thank you kindly for bringin’ it back to us.” Joel squeezes your hand so hard you think all the fragile little bones might shatter, and you bite your lip to stifle a pained whimper. Your eyes start to water as the crippling fear you had felt last night begins to climb its way up the back of your throat, and you wonder if this bus boy in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico, might just become the last person besides Joel to see you alive. Or at least, the back of your head. Without giving him a good look at your face, he wouldn’t even be able to recognize you when they show your picture on the news a day or two from now, or be able to go to the police and tell them that this lumberjack-looking older man he encountered was the one he saw you with last. You should’ve known better than to try tempting fate again.

“Of course! Have a good one,” says the bus boy, and a tear escapes your waterline as you wait for the sounds of his footsteps to fade. You can’t be sure if the wetness collecting on your lashes is from the pain of Joel’s iron grip on your hand, or from the sheer terror of being found out by him again. What you do know, is that he doesn’t seem like the type to let you go through all three strikes before he puts you out.

“We will,” Joel responds, but only loud enough for you to hear.

He turns back around after what feels like an eternity, sighing disappointedly. You don’t need to look at him to know that he's upset, angry, furious. It radiates off his skin, penetrates your soul, wraps itself tightly around your throat in replacement of his hands. Your palm is sweating, but he doesn’t let go, just digs his dull nails into the back of your hand as he snarls a one-worded command close to your ear—”Walk.”

Joel drags you the rest of the way to the mailbox, shoving you down onto the wooden bench just beside it. You’re surprised that whatever it is he’s about to do to you, he’s confident enough to do it in broad daylight, in front of a few dozen potential witnesses. You keep your eyes on the ground, waiting to hear the flick of his pocket knife or the cracking of his knuckles, but all that comes is a tired groan as he kneels before you, lifting your chin up to face him.

Joel wags the envelope in front of your face with his other hand, looking at you with a more pitied expression than an enraged one. “You wanna tell me what this is, babydoll?” He asks in a confusingly even tone. You search his eyes for the reddish hue they had become last night when he was spewing obscenities at you and threatening your life, but you don’t find it.

“It’s… it’s a letter,” you admit, blinking away tears. You avoid his gaze even with your chin raised, looking around at the townspeople to see if any of them are staring at the little scene the two of you are putting on.

“Don’t look at them, baby, look at me. They ain’t gonna help you.” Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you flick your eyes back to him immediately. “I can see that it’s a letter, sweetheart. Who were you plannin’ on sendin’ it to, hm? Whose name is this?” Joel prompts, using his thumb to tap the name and address you had scribbled onto the center of the paper.

You let out a sob, the patronizing tone of his questioning making you feel so fucking stupid with just a few words. How is he so fucking good at this? At breaking you down, spinning the effects of his own actions back onto you, making you feel like the one in the wrong.

“My mom, I… I wrote it to my mom,” you reply through little sniffles, and you can hardly stand the exaggeratedly sympathetic way that Joel’s eyebrows peak at your answer.

“Babydoll… What could you possibly have to say to her? You ‘n I both know she don’t care about you anymore, never did. She’d open this up and just throw it right in the trash… I mean—” Joel releases your chin from his hold in order to slide his thumb along the envelope’s seal, tearing open the flap and removing the page of motel stationery you had written your plea on in the dim lighting of the office. “Here, sweetheart. Why don’t you read it to me, lemme hear what you wanted to tell her so badly you decided to do it behind my back. You snuck outta bed last night to do this, I assume?”

You nod, taking the letter from his hand and unfolding it.

“Hm… Have to do somethin’ else about our sleepin’ arrangements from now on, then.” You don’t know what he means by that, and you aren’t looking forward to finding out. “Read it to me, darlin’, go ‘head.”

You take a deep breath, blinking hard as you try to get your watery eyes to focus on the page. “I s-said that, um… that I was sorry for leaving, that I don’t blame her for the way she treated me growing up.” You pause to swallow the moisture collecting in the back of your throat as you cry, and attempt to steady your wavering voice before you continue. “A-and… that I was with you, that we’ve been traveling together, but… But I got scared, and I w-wanted her to come get me. Um… ‘Please don’t forget about me. I love you. I’ll see you when you get here.’ That’s the last thing I said.” You set the letter down on your lap and collapse in on yourself, burying your wet face in your hands as your sobs become full force.

“Oh, babydoll…” Joel soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your arm as you cry. “Where did you get all these ridiculous ideas, hm? Sayin’ that you love her, that you forgive her? I mean, do you really believe she’d come lookin’ for you all the way out here, snatch you up and take you home ‘cause she cares so much about you?” “I… I don’t know, maybe. I just couldn’t sleep last night, I got so afraid of—” “That girl in the parkin’ lot this mornin’... it was her, wasn’t it? You moseyed on into the office lookin’ all pitiful last night and she talked you into doin’ this? She took advantage of you, baby?” Joel brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his face contorted in dramatic concern.

You’re so caught off guard by his accusations, your shuddering body finally stills. You lift your head up from your hands, wiping your eyes on the backs of them. “...What?”

“I mean, I know you know better than this, so it must’ve been her, puttin’ all these nonsense ideas into your head, convincin’ you to do somethin’ that’d only get you hurt… She don’t know what’s good for you like I do, baby. What was gonna happen when you sent off your lil’ letter, and you waited ‘n waited ‘n waited, and your mama never came for you? Who’d be there to take care of you, hm? Me. Always gonna be me.” Joel gently swipes his thumbs underneath your eyes, collecting the salty dampness still there. He sounds so sure of his own words, they’re almost convincing you that you’re misremembering your encounter with Chrissy last night. It was late, you were exhausted, and Joel is right, you do know better, you’ve told him yourself. Had she done more than just provide you with the envelope and stamp? Was the idea in your head before you walked into the office, or had she somehow persuaded you of it without you being any wiser? You’d remember if Joel’s version of the story is the one that really happened, wouldn’t you?

“No, Joel, she didn’t—” you start, but he cuts you off swiftly.

“She did, baby, I think she did… Poor girl, must’ve been too out of it to even remember what really happened. D’you see now? This is why it’s gotta be just you ‘n me from now on, sweetheart. ‘Cause there’s all kinds of people out there like her who wanna get inside your head, convince you of things that ain’t true…”

As undeserving as Chrissy may or may not be of the blame for your childish endeavor, you feel relieved that your most recent act of defiance doesn’t seem to have the same effect on Joel as the one you attempted last night. He seems more… sorry for you, than anything else, and you aren’t quite sure why he seems to feel differently now than he did a mere twelve hours ago. Maybe he views it as proof of your loyalty, the fact that you had made it outside, gotten yourself a small taste of freedom, and still decided to crawl back into bed with him afterwards. You could’ve taken off running down the road if you’d really wanted to, his “insurance policies” be damned, but you didn’t. You stayed. And you hate what that says about you—that you’re fucking weak. But you’ll take “weak” over “dead”, at this point.

You decide to poke the bear a little bit, just to confirm if you’re in the clear the way you seem to be. “So… you’re not upset?”

“No, no, I ain’t upset with you, baby. But this is why you can’t do things without me no more, okay? Can’t trust nobody out there except for me, can you?”

You pause, then shake your head at him.

“Good, good girl… Y’know what, baby? Here—” Joel reaches into the pocket of his jacket, and pulls out a tarnished silver lighter. “Why don’t we just forget about all this, huh? Forget about your mama, that girl back at the motel… All those people who don’t care about you the way I do.” He places the cool metal object in your hand and closes your fingers around it.

“You… want me to burn it?”

Joel shrugs, quirking his mouth into a pout. “Don’t see why you’d wanna keep it… Ain’t goin’ anywhere, is it?”

“...No, guess not,” You mumble under your breath. You know what this means, what it symbolizes, why he wants you to do it yourself. So you can bear witness to your one last glimmer of hope dissolving into embers and ash on the sidewalk at your feet, so you can understand that there is no other outcome other than the one Joel had predetermined for you the second you had agreed to let him take you to Moody’s that night. There is no way out. There is submitting to him, and there is death. Take your pick.

You flick open the lighter, raise the flame to the paper, and watch it ignite. It only takes a few seconds before you feel the heat begin to lick at your fingers, and you drop the still-burning remainder of the letter onto the pavement below so as to spare your hands any further injury today. It curls in on itself and crumples as it chars, and the two of you stare at it until it’s nothing more than a smoldering pile of cinders. You swear you can see an amused smile tug at the corners of Joel’s lips in the edge of your vision.

“Don’t that feel better, baby? Finally lettin’ go of her?” he asks, taking the lighter from your hands and shoving it back into his pocket, along with the envelope.

You sniffle once, shrugging. “A little.”

“I know, sweet girl. It will, in time. You’ll understand sooner or later.” Joel groans as he pushes himself back up from his kneeling position, then extends a hand down for you to take. He helps you stand, then adjusts your hair to sit nicely over your bruises again, before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Now, that red-headed girl… Did you get her name, sweetheart?”

“...Chrissy. Her name was Chrissy,” you answer hesitantly, the intonation of your response sounding more like a question.

“Chrissy…” Joel repeats, letting her name settle on his tongue. “Whaddya say we just head on back, see about payin’ Chrissy a lil’ visit, hm?” He retakes your hand in his, then starts in the direction of the truck.

Your heart sinks into your stomach, realizing the hidden meaning of his words. “Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run,” Joel had rasped into your ear last night, when he was describing the role you’d be forced to play in continuing his sick habit.

“W-what? Why? She won’t be there anymore, remember? She said she was leaving, that somebody else would be working in the office for the day,” you frantically remind him, hoping that she can be spared after all, hoping that you can be spared from your first time acting as bait.

Joel stops walking for a moment as he considers your words, then pulls you along with him again. “Pay a visit to whoever’s workin’ in there, then. See if they know where she might be.” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, just stares straight ahead as he hones in on the truck like a missile. The overly concerned facade he had put on earlier seems to be faded now, replaced with something more akin to bloodthirsty determination.

You scrape the far corners of your mind for something, anything you could say to him that might talk him out of this. “But… I thought you said she took advantage of me? Why would you want to see her if you think she tried to hurt me?”

A muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. His nostrils flare.

“You know why.”

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @joelsdagger @natalieispunk @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @galway-girlatwork @pinkiec6-rubi @wand-erer5 @arminsbf @shivispunk @gigistorm @theoreticalfreak @vinceelser @always-andromeda @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @zliteraturehoe @k1l4ni @hjzghi-blog @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @kay1805 (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader

161 notes · View notes

markleessodalite · 1 day ago

Text

Letters to Lovers: NCT Dream

content: letters that lover!dreamies write to you. some cute and sweet, some a little angsty, some are short and some are a little longer. i wanted to have a lot of variety in these so hopefully i accomplished that

warnings: none that i can think of, chenle's letter is written after he calls reader annoying so if you're sensitive about that i guess maybe don't read that one

a/n: i wanted to intentionally keep the dreamies' roles as just lovers here bc its a vague term that can mean anything, so you can imagine them as whatever that term means to you :) but if you're curious about how i viewed them as i wrote these: mark, jaemin, chenle and jisung as established bfs (jaem is maybe a lil husband coded too), jeno as a friend, haechan as a skinny love of sorts, renjun as a situationship

Mark:

Hey baby! I hope you’re doing well… we’ve both been pretty busy, yeah? I guess that can’t be helped. But I’ve been missing you a lot, and I guess that can’t be helped either. I feel like our signals have been constantly getting crossed lately, don’t you? It just seems like anytime we make plans, one of us gets the time confused, or something else comes up, or one of us is just too tired from everything else going on to make any plans… Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I’m writing this on paper instead of just texting you. Calling you would be the preferred method anyway, but you’d probably be too busy to answer. I know there’s been a lot of times when you’ve called me, but I was too busy. But anyway, I guess a letter feels more important? Or like… sentimental? That word sounds so dumb right now for some reason. I guess what I want to say is that I don’t want this weird rut we’re in right now to prevent us from getting closer. I want to turn this into something that makes our relationship stronger instead of weaker. You kind of alluded to that last time we met, that you were getting fed up with how things are right now, but I think you were trying to pretend like you were joking? But I could still tell you were disappointed, y/n. When you think about it, there’s so many reasons why we decided to be together, right? It just seemed so obvious. Like we’re meant to be, as cheesy as that sounds. So I know that right now it kind of looks like this is something that’s gonna break us, but I think we should just change our perspective a little bit. This isn’t like a mountain that’s gonna block our path, its just a hill we have to climb over. And then we can keep on going. Last night I was listening to that one song by The Script, For the First Time, I think you should listen to it too. I think it kinda explains how we feel right now. Just don’t give up on us yet, okay baby?

Renjun:

Hey y/n. I’m sorry for ignoring your calls. I’ve never liked talking on the phone. I was gonna text you, but I never really found the courage to, or the right words. I still don’t think I have the right words, but I really need to say this. This needs to be said now. I can’t keep putting it off. That night we spent together, it was amazing. Please don’t misunderstand. I don’t think I’ve ever been that comfortable with anyone before, and I walked away from it feeling something that I don’t think know that I never felt before. I think you thought that I regretted going that far with you or something, but I promise there is nothing about that night that I regret. And this is where I always get stuck. I don’t know how to say what I want to say from here. I’ve tried to think about how to say it without causing you pain, but I’m not sure that’s totally possible. So I’ll just say it. We can’t be anything more than friends. I’m sorry. I know we said a lot of things that night that may have given us false hope, or made us think that we should be together, but I’m thinking realistically now. We have nothing in common. We don’t want the same things in life. There’s nothing really bringing us together besides a mutual physical attraction, but that’s not something that can last. Its not a you problem, believe me. You’re beautiful, and you definitely would make a wonderful partner for someone– just, not me. And I don’t think I’d be good for you either. So, I’m sorry if I said or did anything that night that may have given you a certain impression. I really, really am sorry. But, I’m not sorry that we got to share that experience with each other. I don’t know what exactly makes people a perfect fit, but I’ve always imagined it has a lot to do with how a person is raised. Our experiences shape who we are, right? Maybe if I was raised differently, or if you had different experiences, maybe we could have worked out. But, not in this lifetime… But I’ll always be your friend, y/n. Always, until the end of time, in every lifetime. I love you, my friend.

Jeno:

Y/n, I hope this doesn’t make you feel weird or uncomfortable. I would have preferred to do this in person, but I guess I’m a coward in that way. Last night you said some things that really made me think. You said that I don’t move very fast, that I just let opportunities move past me. You’re right about that. I think that I’m very comfortable in my own bubble. I like my home, I like my friends, I like my job, so I guess I decided I don’t really need or want anything else. I just like the things I’ve always liked. I like doing the things I’ve always done. I think part of me doesn’t like change either. Or just not knowing what’s coming next. After what you said, I realized I want to change that. If I’m being blunt, the main reason I want to change that is because I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. I don’t think I wanted to admit it at first, because it makes me feel vulnerable in a way, and I hate feeling vulnerable. So I guess my plan was to just… keep it to myself. But I realized if I did that, I could be missing out on so much. I don’t want to miss out on things with you. (I mean, only if you feel the same way, of course) So, that’s all. I really, really like you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it in person, but I hope this letter conveys what I want to say. Although I don’t think I’m the best writer either to be honest, haha. I guess just, let me know what you think? I’ll talk to you later, hopefully. - Jeno

Haechan:

Dear Y/n, Ha! See? I told you I have pretty handwriting. It looks like one of those old romantic letters from the 1800’s or something, right? Back when they used a bunch of fancy expressions. Like saying you could swim in someone’s eyes. I wonder who was the first person to ever say that… Another thing they used to do was put stuff in their wallets, like photos and stuff. My dad had photos of me and my siblings in his. But then he started using Apple Pay like everybody else and now no one carries wallets anymore. What a shame. The whole thing is so romantic– the wallet thing, I mean. So, here’s what I think we should do: we should start carrying wallets with us, and you’ll put this letter in yours, and you can write me a letter to carry in mine. Isn’t that cute? I’m actually curious to see what your handwriting looks like, I know its not as pretty as mine though. Okay, I should probably end this so that it will be small enough to actually fit in your wallet. Wait, what if we got MATCHING wallets? Love, Donghyuck <3

Jaemin:

Good morning, pretty! Sorry you didn’t get to wake up to my kisses, I needed to make an early run to the bookstore before it gets busy (definitely not to get that book you’ve been talking about lately or anything…) I brewed some coffee, I put some in the fridge for you so you can make your iced latte :) Also, did you know you mumble in your sleep sometimes? I could’ve sworn you said my name this morning, but I was too enamored by your cute sleeping face to really pay attention to what you were saying. Actually, I realized that I might do that pretty often. I know sometimes you get annoyed with me, for spacing out or not paying attention. I’m sorry for that. It’s really not intentional! Honestly, how can I not be distracted when you’re the most beautiful person in the world? Sometimes when I look at you it takes my breath away– literally, and then I have to focus on breathing and I might miss a detail or two. That usually happens when you wear those pink diamond earrings, they bring out your eyes so well… But I’ve been getting better! At the detail thing, I mean. So hopefully by the time I get back you’ll be awake, and I’ll have a new, collector’s edition of this book for the prettiest person in the world. I love you y/nie! <3

Chenle:

I know a letter slipped under your door is probably the last thing you would expect or want to see, but you’re not answering my texts or calls, so this is my last resort. I’m sorry for what I said. All of it. I was out of line. I was just angry, and like the immature brat that I am, I just wanted to make you angry too. But I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you, especially since I wasn’t even angry with you in the first place and you were just trying to help me. I think it hurt my pride a little bit that you had to help me. It made me feel inadequate, or like I can’t do anything. But that’s not something that’s your fault. That’s my own insecurity that I need to deal with, because there’s nothing wrong with receiving help from people that care about you. I don’t know why I was so sensitive about it. I think part of it was that I didn’t want to seem weak in front of you– I want you to feel like you can rely on me, and instead I made you want to avoid me. But all those things I said, about you being annoying or too much, none of it is true. I was annoyed and frustrated with myself. I could never be annoyed with you. I want you to be around all the time. I want you to come back. I understand if you don’t want to, if I hurt you enough to make you leave for good, I know that’s my fault. But I really, really hope you don’t feel that way. I think that’s all I can say. Please come back. Please.

Jisung:

Y/nie, Happy birthday! I hope you like this gift! I’m sure you probably will. Its all you’ve been talking about lately. You weren’t kidding when you said it was super rare– I had to basically stalk this one eBay account to make sure I won the auction thingie (I’ve learned that I HATE using eBay by the way) So, I can imagine what you’ll say when you get this. You’ll probably be like “something like this is way too special” but that’s… kind of the point. We’ve been dating for a while, and it’s been mostly casual stuff, but I’m at the point where I want to be serious with you. I want to be your boyfriend, officially. I would have told you this in person, but a letter seems better. Because you said once that you love having mementos to remember good things, so maybe you can keep this letter and it will remind you of a good feeling. At least I hope this letter gives you a good feeling… So yeah, I’ll leave this gift in your living room and just wait for you to call me when you get it :) P.S. I know you said the extra key you gave me was just for emergencies and this isn’t really an emergency… oops!

141 notes · View notes

ippilulu · 2 hours ago

Text

Kanna and Yume oh my god

In honour of this severe call-out post, here's a snippet from a fic I'd written around this (from Kanna's POV):

"I heard about your show for Father. I personally thought it was wonderful, Kanna. A pity that they don't feel the-" "Yume one-san, they're our parents. They have our best interests in mind." Do you even believe that anymore, though? His sister sighed and Kanna's skin prickled. He could see the echo of his father in her, sometimes. It didn't help improve his perception of her. "Okay, Kanna. I apologise. But speaking about the performance, I caught most of it! I especially loved the twirl you had towards the end, the one before the jump..." Yume continued to speak, her eyes glittering as she recollected the morning's events.

So she watched everything, huh?

Why didn't she step in when it mattered, then? Why wait until after, when it was safe?

Kanna knew why. After all, he'd just said it to her a few moments ago. But some part of his heart lurched in a burning feeling he hesitated to give a name to. All he could do, however, was smile and pick at his food, waiting for her to leave.

And another, cause I love angst:

Kanna could imagine Manya there, alone in the magnitude of her grief. She’d have been informed of Kanna’s defection, have had to hear him labelled as a traitor. The last one who knew the woman she loved the way she deserved, and he couldn’t even be there. Surrounded by people like their- his, now- parents, who were surely scrambling to save their own image, to portray themselves as the bereft parents left behind in a tragedy… And who knows- maybe they actually felt the grief they were showing. After all, it was Yume, they had to have loved her. How must his mother be dealing with it now? Did they know that he was the one… who killed their beloved daughter? The son they’d always chastised, who could never measure up to the heights his sister had crossed. And now, he’d let them down in the worst way possible. Surely, they’d hate him forever now- no more birthday gifts and guilt-trippy letters, huh? The timing of it was so horrible that he’d have laughed if he could find his voice.

"After all, it was Yume, they had to have loved her."

Does bro know what he does to my psyche? Every time he enters he does 1000+ emotional dmg and leaves me on the curb.

But I love him anyway he's my bb 🫂

Doomed siblings enjoyers when the one that dedicated their whole life to trying to live up to their parents is still worse at it than their sibling who spent their whole life rejecting them

#no we do not consider the fact that i created Kanna #i don't care #no i am not doing this to myself #yes i am an angst enjoyer #but especially doomed siblings enjoyer #jinx and vi? that's my jam each episode of arcane felt like a stab to the heart #my ocs #oc stuff #ocs #kanna #mochizuki kanna #ippiocs

9K notes · View notes

httpsdana · 3 days ago

Note

Have you planned to do some boyfriend headcanon for Pedri, Kenan and Jamal aswell? I would love to read then > ^ <

Boyfriend Headcanon~Pedri González

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: this has got to be my fav headcanon I've written. i hope you enjoy <3

❖ bf! Pedri is the type to always have a hand on you. Whether it’s holding your hand, resting his palm on your thigh. He's always absentmindedly playing with your fingers, tracing over your knuckles, or squeezing your hand in random rhythms. Sometimes, he intertwines your fingers and murmurs, “Your hands are so tiny.”

❖ bf! Pedri is lowkey obsessed with your scent. He buries his face in your neck just to breathe you in, and if you ever leave a hoodie at his place, he refuses to wash it for a while.

❖ bf! Pedri gets jealous when you call someone else ‘love’. You could be talking to a waiter, a friend, or even your mom, but the moment you say “Thanks, love” to someone who isn’t him, Pedri side-eyes you. “I thought I was your only love,” he grumbles, pulling you closer.

❖ bf! Pedri randomly texts you “I miss you” even when he just saw you. If he’s in training or sitting at home, you’ll get messages like “I miss you.” Sometimes, they’re followed by pictures of him looking dramatic or a voice note with a sad sigh. If you respond teasingly, he’ll double down with “It’s serious, cariño. I think I need to see you right now.”

❖ bf! Pedri secretly loves when you steal his hoodies, but he pretends to complain. Every time you take one of his hoodies, he sighs dramatically. “Amor, I’m running out of clothes.” But in reality, he loves seeing you in them. Sometimes, he ‘forgets’ to take his hoodie back, just so you’ll wear it again.

❖ bf! Pedri knows the sidewalk rule. Without fail, every time you walk together, Pedri subtly moves you to the inside of the sidewalk. If you try to switch back, he gently tugs you closer, shaking his head. “Just stay here, princesa,” he mutters, like it’s non-negotiable.

❖ bf! Pedri kisses you randomly, especially in the middle of conversations. You could be in the middle of explaining something, and suddenly, he leans in to kiss you mid-sentence. When you blink at him, he just shrugs. “What? You looked too cute not to kiss.”

❖ bf! Pedri always pulls you onto his lap when you sit next to him. It doesn’t matter if you’re at home, at a friend’s house, or in a casual setting. If there’s space, Pedri pulls you onto his lap. “Sit here,” he says, already guiding you over. If you try to protest, he gives you a look like “You belong here, end of discussion.”

❖ bf! Pedri gets grumpy when you take too long to reply but won’t admit it. If you take longer than usual to text back, Pedri starts overthinking. He won’t say anything, but the moment you text him, he replies within seconds. If you ask if he was waiting, he scoffs. “Pfft, no. I was just already on my phone.” He was absolutely waiting.

❖ bf! Pedri insists on choosing your nail color and paying for them. Every time you book a nail appointment, Pedri gets excited like it's a national event. He’ll scroll through Pinterest, sending you options like “This one would look so good on you” and “What about red? You know I love red.” No matter what color you end up choosing, he always pays, leaving a generous tip for the nail tech.

❖ bf! Pedri sends you videos of dogs and says “this is us”. Out of nowhere, Pedri will send you a random video of two golden retrievers cuddling and caption it “Us”.

❖ bf! Pedri gets pouty when you wear socks to bed. He loves feeling your bare legs tangled with his under the sheets, so when you crawl into bed wearing socks, he immediately frowns. “Amor, take them off, por favor,” he whines, already pulling at the fabric. If you refuse, he’ll start a whole argument about “How can I warm you up if you’re wearing these?”

❖ bf! Pedri gets jealous but in a quiet way. He won’t make a scene, but you’ll notice his arm tightening around your waist or the way he stares down the guy talking to you. Later, he’ll casually ask, “So… who was that?”

❖ bf! Pedri insists on carrying your bag, no matter how small it is. Even if it’s the tiniest purse imaginable, Pedri insists on carrying it. “It’s fine, give it to me.” He’ll throw it over his shoulder like it’s the most normal thing, completely unfazed when his teammates tease him about it.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha @universefcb @mariejuli (lmk if you want to be added!!)

137 notes · View notes

concretejunglefm · 2 days ago

Note

You know that one video of Noah taking a picture of fans? Could you do a one shot about that but y/n is his girlfriend and the fans are super excited to meet her as well and maybe one fan is holding a sign asking y/n to sign it so y/n asks Noah if she can go up to the fans. I'm not sure if I'm explaining this right but I just thought about it and thought it would be a cute fluffy type thing idk 😭.

enjoy nothing but pure fluff anon <3

As you exit the venue, you find yourself lingering behind Noah, enticed to shield yourself from the adoration of the fans who had patiently waited for them backstage. While you could have easily slipped away, you’re kept in your spot behind Noah, with his arm tucked behind him, hand holding yours, and your fingers intertwined.

Before he climbs into the minivan, he turns his attention to the crowd, snapping a photo of them with the disposable camera in his other hand. It’s the same camera he’s been using backstage for most of the day, capturing his own memories of their second visit to Australia, and your first.

Nicholas slips past you, banana tucked against his ear as he continues his long-standing joke of using the fruit as a phone. Meanwhile, Jolly breaks away from the group to distribute the remaining guitar picks among the fans, expressing his gratitude and engaging in a few words with them.

As you climb into the van, following Noah’s lead, you hear your name being called amidst a cacophony of voices. Turning your attention, you scan the small crowd of faces to find the one calling out to you. To your surprise, they’re holding up a sign with your name written on it.

You believed no one cared about you, being the girlfriend of a lead singer, despite being the sole lifeline that allows them a glimpse into his life, amidst baking posts and tour-related ones where you express your pride in him. You never flaunted your relationship with Noah; you were quite private about it. However, seeing a sign bearing your name made your heart flutter.

When you glance back at Noah, you notice a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes are fixed on yours, radiating a gentle warmth that you had always noticed when he was gazing at you, even when you weren’t aware he was.

“Head over there, you have your own fan.” He nods his head, gesturing for you to approach the fan who was proudly displaying the makeshift sign in a small crowd of people, alongside other fans holding their own signs.

“Are you sure?” you murmur, noticing his head tilting and nudging you to walk over there.

As you approach, Noah guides you with a hand at your lower back, while Jolly calls you over.

“Hi,” you begin hesitantly, unsure of how to act in this situation.

You’ve encountered fans who’ve recognized you in the past, but they tend to jump in, making comments about Noah, the band or even requesting a photo when you’re seen with him. While it’s rare, it does happen, but Noah is polite enough to respect your privacy and politely decline. The only exception has been at music venues, after a show, or at festivals.

“Hi!” A girl around your age eagerly steps forward, restrained only by the barrier that had been erected to prevent fans from encroaching on the bands personal space. “I’m a huge fan. I absolutely adore all your baking videos.”

“Oh gosh! You watch those?” You shake your head with a soft laugh, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.

You love baking, and while only a hobby, you take it seriously enough to document it on your Instagram, occasionally featuring moments of Noah’s playful antics, like him jumping in and stealing some of the mixture or a freshly baked good while they’re cooling.

“Would you mind?” she asks, holding out a sign and a Sharpie. As you get a closer look, you notice the decorative colored sprinkles and cupcakes around your name. For a moment, you’re speechless.

A gentle nudge from Noah brings you back to reality. His hand slips around onto your waist, giving you a soft yet possessive squeeze.

“So, you came to the show for her?” Noah asks, as you grab the sharpie and start scribbling your signature, wondering how any of the guys—or even celebrities—can possibly decide on a single one.

“Of course!”

You catch Noah’s mock offended gasp, quickly giggling in response. As you return the sharpie, you whisper a quiet thank you to the fan.

“How does it feel to be known as her boyfriend?” she asks.

You tilt your head slightly against the front of Noah’s shoulder as he draws you closer to him, your brow raising, as if waiting for him to respond.

“It feels pretty good.”

That makes you scoff and roll your eyes, playfully swatting at his chest with a hand. “Oh, please. I bet that hurt to say, ‘Mr. big egotistical rockstar’,” you quip, your tongue pressing between your front teeth as you scrunch your nose.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grins, and it melts your heart when you catch that familiar soft look in his eyes. “Why don’t you get a photo together?” he suggests, gently releasing you and guiding you towards your fan.

“Really?” you both reply in unison.

Noah pulls out his phone, Jolly reaching for the fan’s, as you move to stand as close to them as you can, awkwardly deciding how to pose. It was easier when you were backstage, working with Bryan, where he would snap numerous photos of you being silly, in between their usual takes.

“Oh my god! Thank you so much! The group chat won’t believe this!” She practically squeals as Jolly hands back her phone. You smile, offering your own gentle thanks, before feeling the gentle pull of Noah as you’re called back over to the minivan.

As the fans bid their farewells, you settle into your seat, gazing over the photo on Noah’s phone screen.

“Your very own fan. How does it feel?” Matt asks, leaning over the back of your seat to glance at the phone.

“Insane,” you exclaim, your bewilderment evident in your voice.

“You’re officially a part of the crew now, kid,” Matt says, ruffling your hair before he settles back down. You shake your head, laughing.

When you glance across to Noah, seated beside you, you notice his mischievous wink before his knee gently nudges yours across the narrow walkway, easily done due to his long legs.

It really did feel like you were part of the Bad Omens crew now.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades

#anon ask 💕#bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens fluff #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfic #concretejunglefm fics #i really needed this one

121 notes · View notes

littlefankingdom · 3 days ago

Text

Bruce tried to avenge Jason, not Dick

This is just a rant about a lil thing that keeps coming up in fics I read. Often, Dick is "forgiven" by Jason because he "avenged Jason" by killing the Joker and Bruce "ruined it". Or Dick is written to have tried to kill the Joker after Jason's death but not Bruce, and Bruce may have tried to stop him.

First of, Dick did not try to avenge Jason. Y'all really want him to be okay with killing and ready to kill to avenge his loved ones, but Dick is better than Bruce, and that also means he is less likely to cross the line. No, Dick did not want to kill Zucco (Apart from the Titans show, but this show's characterization is awful), and no, he did not want the Joker dead. When Dick killed the Joker, it was in a moment of rage because Tim was in danger. He did not plan it and he immediately regret it. Bruce, with the help of HELENA who is fine killing people, brought the Joker back to life for Dick, because it would have broken him. And Dick still hates himself afterward, for killing the Joker even tho he is alive. And, again, he did not do it for Jason.

And, sure, you can have your hc, but the moment they are in conflict with who the character is (Dick is disgusted by the idea of being a murderer, killing someone or letting someone be killed, even the murderer of his brother), then we are going to have a problem.

Now, about Bruce. Upon discovering Jason's body, Bruce was settled on avenging him. It's why he took away every evidence, so he would not have anyone interfere between him and the Joker. He spent the days following Jason's death, and then Jason's funerals, looking for the Joker to kill him. He refused to call Dick because he did not want him to interfere, he was only thinking about his revenge and did not think the emotional importance of telling Dick about Jason.

The man is not thinking straight. And when he thinks he found where the Joker may be, Superman shows up, telling him that a Gotham's criminal is now under diplomatic immunity and the US gov doesn't want Batman being a bitch about it. And Bruce punches Clark in the face. That's how fucking unstable he is at this point, punching Clark without kryptonite because he is standing between him and killing the Joker.

Clark learns the Joker killed Jason, and he tries to make Bruce accepts to only kill the Joker, the only justice Bruce is accepting at this point, once he isn't a diplomat. YES, SUPERMAN DID NOT STOP BRUCE. Batman nearly succeeds in killing the Joker, but the helicopter they are in is going down, so Superman saves him. Bruce, the fucking madman he is, obsessed over bringing justice to his boy, doesn't care about his safety, he wants the Joker's body! And when it isn't found, he isn't satisfied but accepts to go home.

The Joker will come back at least a year later, and with some ptsd from his last encounter with the Bat and escaping death. Bruce, doing better mentally now that he has a new child to take care of (which he sends with his whole class to Japan to protect), is afraid he will kill the Joker. He keeps bringing up to Alfred how much he wants to kill him for TAKING JASON FROM HIM. But Alfred reminds Bruce again and again that he is a good man and he will resist. He does. This was not the last time Bruce faced the Joker after Jason's death and thought about killing him for Jason.

And, let me be clear, I do not expect Jason to know Bruce did that. The only people who know he did that are Clark, Alfred and Bruce himself (who will probably never tell Jason himself what he did). And maybe Dick, if you want to think (like me) that Bruce sat down with him (way later, after Tim is in the picture so Bruce is better mentally) and explained his mental state when Jason died, and how he didn't tell him not because he was trying to push Dick away, but because he was obsessed with killing the Joker he wasn't thinking rationally about his decisions; not to excuse his actions but to explain how it happened.

Dick is better than Bruce, which is why he grieved Jason surrounded by his friends, people that would support him and listen to him. He did not went on a vengeance mission because he had a support system. Was he mad? Yes, but he tried to open about it to others (the Titans, Koriand'r who was his gf,...) Bruce, on the other hand, is one unhealthy mf that immediately isolated himself once Jason died. He stayed in the cave and dedicated himself only to work, taking all his emotions out on beating people up because he was sharing it. And when people tried to talk to him, he would explode the moment they say anything that he could interpret badly (Clark telling him the Joker has immunity, Dick blaming Bruce for Jason's death...) This is why Bruce tried to avenge Jason and then went out every night being extremely violent and suicidal, and not Dick.

Dick did not avenge Jason and he did not try to, but that doesn't make him a bad brother. He cared deeply about Jason's death, but he is not Bruce, he is better, and that means he is also better at handling grief and not become a self-destructive bomb like Bruce was.

Avenging our loved ones is, in Batman & co's comics, demonstrated to not be the healthy way to deal with grief. Revenge isn't the healthy way to deal with lost, it will only lead to more destruction and pain. It will not bring the dead back, it will only add more bodies in the ground, and it will not heal the wounds.

#jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batfam #batman #red hood #nightwing #the joker #dc comics #my ramblings #one of the tragedy of Under The Red Hood is that Jason thinks Bruce doesn't love him when he does #That Jason doesn't know how much his father was wrecked by his death #That Bruce finally accepting life over death was the best solution for him to heal from losing his son #Anytime I see people say Dick is fine with killing or would kill for his loved ones I roll my eyes he would not #Dick is better than Bruce how can you not understand what that means?!#Seeing fics where Dick is wrecked by Jason's death but Bruce isn't makes me insane like no Dick was wrecked Bruce was unstable #that man punched Superman in the face for just bringing him info he didn't like he is not acting fine he is agressive af #I would not want to interract with Bruce during that time between Jason's death and Tim showing up #I just need people to understand how unwell Bruce was like this is beyond how people normally react to the death of a loved one #ngl the narrative is right about revenge and you would agree if you knew about vendetta in Corse where families are killing each other #like you kill someone they kill someone as revenge you kill someone in as revenge they kill someone it never ends #and being forcus on revenge and punishment is literally why the justice system in the US is so bad

90 notes · View notes

ere-the-sun-rises · 2 days ago

Text

Y'know, my sister reads a lot of fantasy and romantasy books written by men and women and I've noticed a few things.

1 - "Fairy smut". What the fuck does this mean? What the fuck are you referring to here? What are the conditions that make it so? Because otherwise it just sounds derogatory to an outsider like me.

My sister read a series authored by a man (not GoT) that had copious - arguably even gratuitous - amounts of sex it in. Graphic sex, both consentual and not. Sex that arguably did not serve the plot or mean anything to the character. It didn't build depth or attachment or do worldbuilding - it was just there. The woman the MC wound up with was underdeveloped and kinda inane, but he still got one despite eschewing women's company most of the series and being hostile to any he came across. Is that not "fairy smut" too? It had lots of sex in a fantasy world - does that not count or something? Was it the rape and/or sexual coersion that disqualifies it? Because more than one of the "booktok" romantasy books have that too.

And arguably, all the sex that happens in romantasy books DIRECTLY serves the plot of the book. That's it's primary objective. So, checkmate, I guess.

2 - Content warnings. I've noticed women authors have started to put little spoiler-free warnings flagging things like rape or sexual abuse content while other "regular fantasy" books don't.

This isn't a complaint so much as a curious observation. Perhaps these women have fanfic roots or realize that getting jumpscared by a graphic rape scene is not very fun. (That is a personal experience - was reading a book about dragon riding and literally out of nowhere the MC got graphically and violently raped by an otherwise inconsequential character. Afterwards, the book moved on like it hadn't happened and I was so upset I never finished it.) I actually quite like those little notes. Maybe more authors should do it, but I also understand why they might not.

3 - "Romantasy". What? Why? It's just fucking Fantasy, babes. I was always under the impression that Romance books were real-world AUs, be it present or historical (ei. regency, medieval, etc.) and Fantasy books were defined by elements of supernatural/creatures/other humanoid species/taking place Not Here. If a book has a fantasy setting, it's a fantasy book. Does that make sense?

And don't get me wrong - I understand that there is genre crossover. I'm not saying that's bad or wrong or non-existent. My point is that labelling it separately demeans it. Kind of like when Sci-Fi disinherited the dystopia!AU progenitors that formed YA.

[Side Tangent] Let's be real here, dystopia!AUs are Sci-Fi. Halo: SILENT STORM and The Hunger Games are both about a 15 year old forced into a do-or-die situation where failure and/or disobedience can get them killed and their whole home annihilated. Never thought Master Chief and Katniss Everdeen might have something in common, huh?

4 - I think men should read fantasy romance more, actually.

A lot of men whine about not having access to the way women think or want to be wooed. Well sweetheart, work your way around a few of these books and you'll have a better idea. Just be aware that some of the stuff you'll encounter is kink shit (ei. anything about being "tamed" is kink fr fr - she wants to be taken care of without having to ask for it and by god does that get her off).

Also, it will improve your dirty talk. Ever wonder why women can summon up some of the nastiest, filthiest dirty talk you've ever heard? Because they read and/or write it. Who knows, maybe you'll discover something about yourself too. After all, porn only shows you how it looks, it doesn't describe how it feels.

300 notes · View notes

nnnaaahhhiiiaaa · 2 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐭.2 - choi seung-hyun

Summary | Now that you know who your secret admirer is, the two of you go on a small date.

Pairing | Bully! Choi Seung-hyun x Fem! Reader.

Genre | 2000s school era.

Warnings | Fluff, veeery romantic.

Author's note | English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

Honestly, you never would’ve expected it. You never thought a few letters could change your perspective so much. But here you were, trapped in thoughts and emotions you didn’t know how to handle. And, strangely, for some reason, it didn’t completely disgust you.

During class, your mind wandered. It was hard to concentrate because every time you could, your eyes would find him. It wasn’t something you were looking for, but it happened inevitably. And though you tried to look away, a part of you stayed focused on him.

You hated to admit it, but you knew the truth: you had fallen for the person who had been sending you letters without you knowing his name. Now that you knew it was Seung-hyun, you refused to accept those feelings. But inside, you knew that denial was costing you more than you wanted to accept.

You decided to talk to your best friend to distract yourself a little, but that didn’t help much either. She, with her mischievous smile, couldn’t help but bring up Seung-hyun, the letters, and the expensive gifts. She was subtly pushing you to take the first step and approach him.

“Come on, girl. I know you’re dying to talk to him and tell him about the letters.”

Mi-eun looked at you with a teasing smile, enjoying your reaction too much.

“Stop it, Mi-eun.” You rolled your eyes, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “We’re supposed to not get along. I don’t know why he sent me those letters… He didn’t even seem like the one writing them.”

Mi-eun didn’t insist anymore. She just shared a meaningful look before letting the topic fade. You both waited for class to end, eager to head home and relax.

When the moment finally came, you followed your usual routine. You changed your shoes at the locker and prepared to leave. This time, you were calmer. You didn’t expect more letters or gifts. After all, everyone knew who had been sending them.

But apparently, that didn’t matter to Seung-hyun.

Because there it was. Another letter.

“What? But…” You murmured, confused.

The envelope rested in your locker, untouched, as if it had been waiting for you. With trembling hands, you took it and opened it quickly. This time, the scent was unmistakable. A faint trace of cologne that he always wore.

Your pulse quickened.

Impatiently, your eyes scanned the words written in a familiar handwriting.

“For you, one last time,

I suppose it doesn’t make sense to hide anymore. You know who I am.

I didn’t plan for you to find out this way, but now that you have… I don’t see why I should keep avoiding the inevitable.

I know you probably still don’t understand why I did this. Maybe you think it was a joke or that I’m not the kind of person who would write something like this. But the truth is, every word you’ve read was sincere.

I don’t expect an immediate response. I don’t expect this to change what you think of me overnight. But I want a chance.

If you’re willing to listen, I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow at Cheonggyecheon Park at 6:00 p.m. Just you and me.

If you don’t go, I’ll understand.

But if you do… I promise you won’t regret it.

— Seung-hyun”

Your eyes remained fixed on the letter, your thoughts racing at full speed. You couldn’t stop thinking about how all of this felt so… unreal. The guy you barely ever talked to, the one who annoyed you with his arrogant attitude, was now inviting you out, for a date. And the most surreal part of it all was that, despite everything, a part of you felt an odd excitement as you read his words.

The heat rushed to your cheeks so fast you couldn’t even control it. Your heart was pounding in your chest. You looked around, nervous, afraid someone might see you like this, so exposed. But at least, to your relief, the hallway was practically empty. There was no one left. It was the perfect time to process what you’d just read.

But then, just when you thought you were safe, Mi-eun appeared out of nowhere, her energy overflowing. Without thinking, you grabbed her arm and pulled her toward you, seeking comfort in her presence.

“Mi-eun, he sent me another letter…” you whispered quickly, your heart still in your throat. The paper felt heavy in your hands, as if you were carrying a huge revelation.

“What?!” Mi-eun let out a shriek, making you jump. But you quickly gave her a light tap on the arm, silently asking her to lower her volume. You didn’t want to attract attention, but the excitement on her face left no doubt she was as surprised as you were. “Sorry, sorry. But, another? Didn’t you already know who it was?”

You lowered your head, feeling a whirlwind of emotions. What you felt was confusing. Part of you still couldn’t believe it was him, the guy you’d considered arrogant and annoying so many times. But at the same time, a spark of curiosity grew inside you.

“Yes, but this time…” you stopped for a second, looking at the letter in your hand as if you were searching for an answer in the words written. “He asked me to meet him at Cheonggyecheon Park.”

Mi-eun’s expression changed instantly. Her face lit up with a smile so big you could almost hear it from far away. You knew what that meant. You knew she wouldn’t let it go until you figured it out, and she’d pressure you with questions until you agreed to the date.

“WHAT? Cheonggyecheon Park?” she repeated, her eyes shining with excitement. It was so obvious she was enjoying every second of your confusion.

You looked at the letter again, as if hoping the words would change, that it would all be a joke, but no. It was clear. It was real.

“Yes…” you responded, with a sigh, feeling a mix of uncertainty and excitement taking over you. Mi-eun didn’t take long to start jumping up and down, excited.

“Oh my God! This is epic!” she said, almost shouting at you, as if she were living the situation instead of you.

You covered your face with your hands, though you knew there was no way to hide what you were feeling. Not only because now Seung-hyun knew you knew who he was, but because the date seemed more real than ever.

“Mi-eun… I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” you confessed, a sigh escaping your lips. You knew this would change everything. The letters, the mystery, now everything was about to become much more personal.

Mi-eun looked at you, her eyes gleaming with complicity.

“Ready? Who needs to be ready? You’re going, of course! And you’ll see how all this gets even more interesting.”

You sighed. You knew there was no escape. And even less, because you knew Mi-eun would be your personal stylist tomorrow.

The next day arrived faster than you expected. With it came the bags of clothes you had bought with Mi-eun the previous afternoon.

You weren’t exactly a fashion expert. Most of your wardrobe consisted of hand-me-downs from your older sisters, which had never bothered you. In your family, there were no unnecessary luxuries or excessive spending on superficial things like brand-name clothing. Your mother had always done everything possible to support the family since your father passed away four years ago, and you never wanted to be an extra burden.

But this time was different. This time, for some reason, you had agreed to buy something just for yourself. And although the idea still felt a little strange, you had to admit it excited you more than you had expected.

"Alright, what do you think of this one?" Mi-eun asked, holding up an outfit with evident satisfaction.

It consisted of a long-sleeved black sweater that left the shoulders bare, a brown plaid skirt that reached just above the knees, elegant black shoes, and a beret in the same color as the skirt. The combination was simple, but it had a sophisticated and feminine air that you would never have chosen for yourself.

"Wow, you really know fashion," you commented with a light laugh, surprised at how well all the pieces fit together.

"Obviously." Mi-eun smiled proudly. "Now try it on, come on."

You didn’t argue and went to the mirror after putting it on. The image your reflection returned left you speechless. You weren’t the type to dress up too much, but you had to admit the outfit suited you better than you imagined.

"What did I tell you?" Mi-eun clicked her tongue, triumphant. "It looks perfect on you. Seung-hyun is going to go crazy when he sees you."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile.

Time advanced mercilessly, and soon the clock hands marked 5:45 p.m.

"Alright, it’ll be six soon. You’d better head out now," Mi-eun urged, giving you a thumbs-up with an enthusiastic smile. "Good luck!"

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of nerves swirling in your stomach. Finally, you gave your friend one last smile and hurried out of the house, not wanting to risk being late.

Cheonggyecheon Park wasn’t too far away, so you decided to walk instead of taking the bus. The cool evening air brushed against your skin, and with each step, you felt your heart beating harder.

When you arrived, you spotted him immediately. Seung-hyun was already there, standing next to a lit streetlamp, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. The soft glow illuminated his face with a warm light, highlighting the gentle features of his face and the deep gleam of his dark eyes. It seemed like he had been waiting for a while because as soon as he saw you, his expression lit up with a mix of relief and admiration, as if his whole body relaxed upon confirming that you had really come.

For a moment, it felt like the entire world went silent. The distant murmur of the city, the footsteps of passersby, even the cold wind sneaking between the streets—all seemed to fade as he looked at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore. His gaze traveled over every detail of your outfit, lingering just a second longer on the beret that matched your skirt, as if engraving the image into his memory. The way his eyes sparkled made heat rise to your cheeks before you could stop it.

"Wow…" he finally murmured, his voice barely a whisper that the wind almost carried away. His lips curved into a lopsided smile, one that couldn’t hide the awe in his expression. "You look beautiful."

The blush on your cheeks deepened. You weren’t used to receiving compliments like that, especially not from someone like him, whose mere presence had the power to make your heart race. You lowered your gaze slightly, playing with the sleeve of your sweater in an attempt to disguise your sudden nervousness. "Thanks," you replied softly, unable to stop a small smile from forming. "You look good too."

And it was true. He was wearing a gray turtleneck sweater, an elegant black coat that gave him a sophisticated air, and dark jeans that accentuated his natural poise. His hair fell slightly over his forehead in that perfect balance between messy and carefully styled, as if it hadn’t taken him much effort to look that good.

Seung-hyun let out a soft laugh, lowering his gaze for a second before looking back at you. There was something in his expression, something sincere and warm that made you feel special. "I’m glad you came," he said honestly. "I was afraid you’d change your mind at the last minute."

"And miss the chance to see you this nervous?" you teased, trying to lighten the tension in your chest, though deep down, you knew you were just as nervous.

He let out a low chuckle and shook his head, amused by your comment. Then, without losing that playful air that characterized him, he took a step closer, reducing the distance between you. The scent of his cologne, a mix of wood and something subtly sweet, immediately enveloped you, making your breathing slow down—a little more conscious of his proximity.

"I don’t want to sound impatient, but…" he raised an eyebrow with a smile that sent a shiver down your spine, "can I hold your hand?"

Your heart skipped a beat. The question was so simple, so innocent in essence, but the way he said it—with that soft tone and expectant gaze—made a chill run down your spine. You didn’t trust your voice, so you simply extended your hand toward him, feeling your fingers tremble slightly.

Seung-hyun took it gently, intertwining his fingers with yours in a warm, secure grip. His touch was firm but not dominant, as if he wanted to make sure you were comfortable, that you wouldn’t let go unless you really wanted to. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stayed like that, feeling the light but significant weight of the contact, letting the night move at its own pace.

Finally, he gave your hand a small squeeze and smiled tenderly, tilting his head slightly. "Come on, there’s a place I want to show you."

As you walked together along the sidewalk illuminated by streetlights, the atmosphere took on a special warmth despite the cold night air. Seung-hyun never let go of your hand, and though at first, the contact sent a tingling sensation through your stomach, you soon got used to the comforting feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. As you walked, the city’s bustle faded into the background, and the sound of your footsteps became the only thing perceptible in that quiet corner.

"Where are you taking me?" you asked curiously, watching his profile as he kept his gaze forward, a faint smile drawn on his lips.

"It's a surprise," he replied with an air of mystery. Then, he turned his face toward you, his eyes shimmering with an amused glint. "I promise it's worth it."

The tone of his voice and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. You didn’t insist any further; you simply let him guide you, enjoying the walk and the slow pace at which you moved forward. Every now and then, his thumb would gently brush the back of your hand—an almost unconscious gesture that sent warmth spreading from your chest to the tips of your fingers.

After a few more minutes of walking, you arrived at a small park hidden between the buildings. It wasn’t luxurious or particularly striking, but it had a special charm. The streetlights cast a soft glow over the stone pathway, and the trees swayed gently with the night breeze. In the center of the park, there was a small, tranquil lake reflecting the starry sky.

"Wow…" you exhaled without realizing it, mesmerized by the view.

Seung-hyun glanced at you out of the corner of his eye with a satisfied expression. "I knew you’d like it. Not many people come here at night, so it’s a good place to find peace… and to share special moments."

His last words made your stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You felt the air grow a little heavier as he, still holding your hand, led you to the edge of the lake. Seung-hyun stopped and, with a smooth yet deliberate motion, turned you slightly so that you were facing him.

"You know…" he began in a low voice, as if afraid of breaking the magic of the moment. "I've been wanting to do this for a while."

Your breathing became erratic. His hands slowly slid to your wrists, his touch firm yet delicate, as if testing how close he could get without startling you. His gaze flickered to your lips for a fleeting second before meeting your eyes again, and your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could hear it too.

"If at any moment you want me to stop…" he left the sentence hanging, giving you the chance to step back if you wished. But you didn’t.

Instead, you raised one hand and placed it on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his sweater. It was just as fast as yours. That gave you the confidence to slowly close your eyes, leaning in just a few centimeters toward him.

He needed no further invitation. Seung-hyun closed the distance with gentle ease, and with a contained sigh, his lips brushed against yours in a slow, warm kiss—filled with emotions that had been held back for too long. The entire world seemed to disappear in that instant. It was just the two of you, with the reflection of the stars in the lake and the cold breeze wrapping around you in a silent embrace.

It was a sweet kiss, unhurried yet full of meaning. His hands traveled up to your face, holding it tenderly as he deepened the kiss with care, as if wanting to etch every second into his memory. And you reciprocated with the same intensity, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of being exactly where you wanted to be.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested against each other. Seung-hyun smiled softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"Definitely worth the wait," he murmured with a playful smile, making you laugh softly as warmth crept back into your cheeks.

And in that moment, under the starry sky, with his hand still holding yours, you knew that this night would be engraved in your memory forever.

@leni111

#choi seung hyun x reader #thanos x reader #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p x reader #bigbang #bigbang x reader #bigbang top #bigbang fanfic #fanfic #choi seunghyun #choi seung hyun #2000s #2000s emo #bigbang choi seunghyun #kpop #kpop bigbang #squid game x fem!reader #top x reader

63 notes · View notes

lilangelbud · 1 day ago

Note

Darling, your talents for the written prose are, a word; magnificent.

40s daddy, with a 19 year-old Babygirl Fuckdoll.

You've no idea how many times over the past week my Babygirl and I have read your erotic tales, growing slowly and slowly more aroused until we both unravel into a desperate frenzy of crasping limbs, hissed curses, and heavy thrusts, and I growl like an animal as I creampie her tiny tight pussy. You are quite the powerful aphrodisiac for us, beautiful AngelBud.

My Babygirl is shy, but she wanted me to make a request.

Scenario: Loving, beautiful father/daughter relationship. They have already fucked before, and still powerfully hungry for each other, but at some point in the past have agreed to restrain themselves so she can experience her youth with boys her own age first and then decide.

On her homecoming date, the dad is meant to chaperone the daughter and her date, riding along in a limousine he rented. On the way to picl up her date however, the daughter asks if the dad can join her in the back. She is so horny for him but very shy, and eventually provokes him to take her and finger her right there. Scene break after she orgasms, instead of going to pick up the boy, they go to a lavish hotel room where their passions overtake them both and they fuck until he creampies her over and over again all night.

Hope y'all enjoy this one together! (Also, I want to mention this again; all people I write about are of legal age)

"Do you even want to go?" His voice was low, almost a growl, as he adjusted the rearview mirror to catch her reflection. She sat in the backseat of the limousine, her homecoming dress pooling around her like liquid silk, the deep red fabric catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they rolled through the quiet suburban streets. Her legs were crossed, but her fingers fidgeted nervously in her lap, betraying the calm facade she was trying so hard to maintain.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I mean, I thought I did. But now…" She trailed off, her breath hitching as she looked up and met his eyes in the mirror.

Now. The word hung between them like a spark waiting to ignite.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening. Don’t do it, he told himself. Don’t give in. But the air between them was thick, charged with the kind of tension that made it hard to breathe. He could smell her perfume—something soft and floral—and it was driving him wild.

"Dad," she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can you… can you come back here? Just for a minute?"

His heart slammed against his chest. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. They’d made a promise—a pact, really—that she would live her life, explore her youth, and only then, only then, would they revisit what had once burned so brightly between them.

But her voice… it was so small, so unsure, and yet there was a longing in it that he couldn’t ignore.

He pulled the car over to the side of the road, the engine idling softly as he turned around to face her. "Why?" he asked, his voice rough. "Why do you want me back there?"

She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at her hands. "I just… I need to talk to you. Alone. Before we get him."

He hesitated for a moment longer, his resolve crumbling with every second that passed. Finally, he nodded sharply and climbed out of the driver’s seat, sliding into the back with her. The limousine was spacious, but suddenly it felt impossibly small, the air heavy with the weight of their shared history.

She scooted closer to him, her dress rustling softly as she moved. "Dad," she began, her voice trembling. "I’ve been thinking… about us. About what we said. About waiting."

He clenched his jaw, his body rigid as he fought to keep his composure. Don’t touch her, he told himself. Don’t even look at her. But it was impossible. She was too beautiful, too close, too hers.

"And?" he prompted, his voice strained.

"And I don’t think I can do it," she admitted, her eyes filling with tears. "I don’t think I can wait. I don’t want to wait. I want you. I’ve always wanted you."

His breath caught, his chest tightening as her words washed over him. She looked so vulnerable, so open, and he could see the truth in her eyes—she meant every word.

"Sweetheart," he said softly, reaching up to brush a tear from her cheek. "We agreed. You need to experience life without me. You need to know what it’s like with someone your own age."

"But I already know," she protested, her voice breaking. "I’ve tried. I’ve gone on dates. I’ve kissed other boys. But it’s not the same. It’s not you."

He swallowed hard, his resolve wavering. "You’re young," he said, his voice rough. "You might change your mind."

"I won’t," she insisted, her eyes locking with his. "I know I won’t. Dad, please… I need you."

Her words were his undoing. With a groan, he pulled her into his arms, his lips crashing down on hers in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and relief. She moaned softly, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with everything she had.

It had been so long—too long—since he’d touched her like this, and the feel of her lips against his was almost too much to bear. His hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her dress.

"Dad," she gasped, pulling away just long enough to catch her breath. "Please…"

He didn’t need to ask what she was begging for. He knew. With a growl, he pushed her back onto the plush leather seat, his hand sliding up her thigh and under the hem of her dress. She whimpered as his fingers found the soft, wet heat between her legs, her hips arching up to meet his touch.

"You’re so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Is this all for me?"

"Yes," she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as his fingers began to move, pressing against her in slow, deliberate circles. "Only for you."

He kissed her again, swallowing her moans as he worked her closer and closer to the edge. Her hands clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as her body trembled beneath him.

"Dad, I’m… I’m gonna…"

"Cum for me," he whispered against her lips. "Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you."

And she did. Her body convulsed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, her cries muffled by his kiss. He held her through it, his fingers never slowing until she was completely spent, her body limp and trembling in his arms.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. She looked up at him with wide, dazed eyes, her lips swollen from his kisses and her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"Dad," she whispered, her voice shaky. "What do we do now?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead before reaching for his phone. With a few quick taps, he canceled the pickup for the boy and booked a room at the most luxurious hotel in the city.

"Now," he said, his voice low and full of promise, "we’re going to make up for lost time."

The limousine pulled away from the curb, the city lights blurring past as they drove toward their destination.

...

The hotel room was everything she could have imagined and more. The bed was massive, draped in silken sheets, and the room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight.

"Dad," she said softly, her heart racing as he closed the door behind them. "Are you sure about this?"

He turned to her, his eyes dark with desire. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

He crossed the room in a few quick strides, pulling her into his arms and kissing her with a hunger that left her breathless. His hands roamed over her body, tugging at the straps of her dress until it pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before him in nothing but her lace panties.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes drinking her in. "So perfect."

She blushed, her hands trembling as she reached for his tie, loosening it and pulling it free. His shirt followed, then his pants, until they were both standing there, bare and vulnerable and completely consumed by their need for each other.

"Dad," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything."

And then he was lifting her up, carrying her to the bed and laying her down gently on the silken sheets. His body covered hers, his lips trailing down her neck, her chest, her stomach, until he reached the very core of her.

She gasped as his tongue found her, her hands tangling in his hair as he brought her to the edge again and again. She was shaking, her body on fire, when he finally pulled away and moved up to kiss her.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his eyes searching hers.

"Yes," she breathed. "Please, Dad… I need you."

He entered her slowly, giving her time to adjust to the feel of him. She moaned, her nails digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

"Daddy," she gasped, her voice breaking as she clung to him. "I’m so close…"

"Cum for me," he growled, his pace quickening. "Let go, sweetheart."

Tip me

#fauxcest #fauxc3st #1cky family #!cky thoughts #dad k!nk #dad kink #dad k1nk #dadcest #dadcon #dad x daughter #dad daughter #1cky daughter #1cky d@d #1cky d4ddy #!cky k!dd0 #!cky daddy #!cky k!ddo #!cky daughter #lilangelbud

61 notes · View notes

howdeepthegrave · 2 days ago

Text

This would be gut wrenching. Agatha would so deeply want to believe that somehow the universe was giving her a chance. Just one more chance. Just a little more time. And no matter who tries to tell her, or how, she would refuse to believe that's not her precious little boy back with her somehow.

Here have some poorly written claptrap.

"Mama, please, let's go now."

Agatha looked down at her son and smiled.

"All right, Nicky, we'll go. We'll go where no one can bother us or hurt us, okay?"

Billy stepped in their way.

"Agatha! Agatha, that is not Nicky!"

All Agatha could do was laugh at the boy's pathetic attempt to turn her away from her child. From her own flesh and blood.

"Jealousy almost suits you, Billy. It makes you seem even more like Wanda, somehow."

"Agatha..."

"Billy, leave her," Tommy said. "There's no point."

"But she... We have to get her away from that thing!"

"Oh, you'd love that wouldn't you, Mommy Issues?" Agatha spat.

"Please, Agatha, you have to know that..."

"That what? That you thought you could replace what I lost? How could you ever hope to do that? You're just the nasty end result of the Scarlet Witch not knowing what she was doing with herself. You're no one's son! You're nothing!"

Billy staggered back, the words striking almost as solidly as a weapon. Tommy ran to his side, buoying him up and pulling him away.

"Forget that old witch, man. What'd she ever do for us?"

"She helped me to find you. Tommy, she... I can't let her end up like this. She helped me, even when she didn't mean to."

"Billy, anything you've done, you did on your own, with your own power. Sure, maybe she helped you with some control..."

Turning, Tommy and Billy saw Agatha reach out and take the hand of the thing she believed to be her son. Billy fought back tears, horrified to know that perhaps there was nothing he could do. Agatha waa lost to this thing. Already he could see how it had dimmed and drained her, could envision what would happen to her under its further control.

"Have you tried tugging at her heartstrings with your mind again?" someone suggested.

Looking back, Billy saw Death, Rio for now, casually leaning against a light post. She seemed deeply unconcerned that the woman she once claimed to love was walking away hand in hand with a simulacrum of their dead son, a disguise for codified evil.

"Stop her! Please, Rio, you..."

"Silence, Abomination. I can't stop Agatha from doing this anymore than I've ever stopped her from doing anything."

"Can't you?"

Rio shrugged.

"So you'll just let her go? Let her keep rotting away again under the influence of that... That thing?"

"She never wants to see me again. And if she's content to end her days enslaved by delusion, by a... By an image of Nicky, who am I to stop her?"

"It's lying to her! It's lying about Nicholas, about her child. About your child. Aren't you..."

"OF COURSE I'M OUTRAGED!" Death roared, surging forward to knock Tommy back and grab Billy by the throat.

"Then do something," Tommy said.

"I... I can't," Rio said, releasing Billy.

"If you love her, please, please help her," Billy gasped.

"I..."

"Just prove it's not Nicky! You should be able to do that."

And then Rio was gone. Further up the way, Agatha and the thing pretending to by Nicky had paused.

"If they wanna go, why doesn't she just, like, teleport 'em away?" Tommy asked.

Billy shrugged.

"AGATHA! AGATHA, THAT IS NOT OUR SON!"

The voice was like thunder surging around and over them. They saw Agatha stop, saw her release the hand of the Nicky-thing, and Billy thought they ought to take a chance.

"Tommy, go grab it!"

"What? I..."

"Just go!"

In a flash Tommy cleared the distance, made a grab for the Darkhold Kid, and snagged the back of its jacket.

"Mama, help!"

Agatha heard her son cry out, turned aside, and blasted Tommy. He fell to the ground, screaming, and Agatha smiled, though she staggered as she moved to take Nicky's hand again.

"It's okay, Nicky. Mama's right here. We'll never be apart again."

Why did she feel so tired? So drained? She could feel Billy approaching, rushing to check on that brother of his. Would it be worth it to turn back a moment and bait him to see if she could siphon off his power? After all, he had given willingly before.

He had given willingly.

"Mama, come on. We have to go before..."

"Agatha, that boy is not ours."

Spinning, Agatha snarled, pulling Nicky behind her.

"You won't take him from me again, Rio! You can't."

"Agatha, Nicky... How could that be Nicky? I know you can feel that's not him. Not our blood. Not the sweet soul we made."

"My blood. The soul I made. You never cared about Nicky, or you would..."

"Agatha Harkness, I have loved two souls in my existence! You are one. The other... The other is still in my realm, safe from pain and harm. I love our son, Agatha, as much as I have always loved you. Please, my love, turn from this illusion. From this lie."

"You... You monster. You took..."

"Only when I had to, my love. Only when our boy, our son, was so tired that his soul could not stand a moment more. I gave you all I could. I would have given you anything."

Agatha felt Nicky's grasp on her hand tighten, felt her mind waver strangely.

"Mama, she hurt me! She took me so I could never see you again! She killed me, Mama!"

A jolt went through Agatha, and she looked back at Nicky... At her son... At...

At whatever this was.

There was a gasp, not of breath, but of reality tearing. Again Agatha turned and saw that Rio had sliced the veil.

"I can offer a moment," Rio said.

"Mama? Mama, when will you come home and see me?"

There he was. Nicholas. Her son.

"Nicky?"

"Mama, I miss you all the time."

"Nicky, I... Oh, sweet boy, I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything. Everything I did. Everything I exposed you to. Everything after you were gone."

"Mama, you were scared. You get scared a lot. It's not a bad thing. Scared makes you pay attention. You told me that once. Maybe you just pay too much attention."

Oh, that was him. That was her boy. Her sweet, sweet boy.

"That's the lie, Mama!" the Nicky behind her cried. "That's not me! I was never like that! I'm your son. I'm just like you; I do what it takes to survive."

"No, Nicky," Agatha said, "you were never like me. Not that way. You... You were more. You were always, always good."

Something snapped, not in Agatha's mind, but at it. Something sharp and cold and heavy that made her physically stumble back away from Rio, from their son on the other side of the veil. She felt the hand if what she perceived as her child latch tight onto her wrist.

"Come on, Mama," it said, and she could hear how its voice was a cruel parody of Nicky's.

"Agatha, let it go!" Billy shouted, and he was close by, so close by, kneeling over Tommy, but he seemed leagues away.

With all of her strength, Agatha sent a pulse of power down her arm, just enough to knock away the grip of the child-thing, the creature.

The Darkhold.

She felt laughter bubble up from her throat and she fell forward onto her knees, shaking not so much from the laughter as from the utter lack of surprise. Of course. Of course she had lost control again. That was how she was, after all. Uncontrolled. Wrong. Bad. Evil, straight from the womb.

"You're not evil, Mama."

Nicky. Her Nicky. Her baby. He was right there, still right there, but oh, that tear in the veil was closing so fast.

"Our son is right, Agatha. You're many things, but you're not evil."

Looking up at Rio, Agatha smirked.

"Aren't I?"

"Not quite, my love. You're not that thing, at least."

Rio's blade was pointed beyond Agatha, to the place where the Darkhold stood.

"Do you not know how to expel evil, mi corazón?"

Agatha knew hundreds of ways to banish evil, from simple incantations to master workings. She knew many, many ways to do away with darkness.

"I may need a little hand this time, my love," she said.

She slumped, feeling Rio catch her by the shoulders and turn her so that they both faced the Darkhold. It was standing there, looking so like Nicky, so like their son, but its face bore an expression of ancient hatred.

"You think you can stop me? Prevent my dominance over this petty world? You think..."

Curiously, Rio's dagger suddenly sprouted from the Darkhold's neck. Agatha's stomach lurched, her mind straying again to imagine that it was Nicky who had been hurt, Nicky whose hands were scrabbling at his throat, seeking to pull the blade free. A moment later she was back to herself, back in the moment, and she raised her hand.

"No one needs you," she said, feeling strength flow into her and unleashing a wave of power that knocked the Darkhold back.

When it hit the pavement, it was a book again, much like it had been once when she had first taken possession of it. Of course, this copy had Rio's dagger jammed through it.

Rio eased her down, left her lying there on the pavement a moment, walking over and grabbing the Darkhold, wrenching the blade free and then vanishing. Agatha pushed herself up, shook her head, and saw Billy and Tommy nearby.

"Boys, are you..."

"We're fine," Billy said, his voice with a sharp edge that she was unused to from him.

Struggling to her feet, Agatha tried to think, and then tried not to think, of the things she had done under while once more under the influence of the Darkhold. The pain she had unleashed. It was probably pretty on par with most of what she had done down the centuries, but now...

"Tommy, Billy, I'm sorry. I... Wasn't myself."

"You were, actually," Billy said, "but just your worst self."

He was still looking at her with eyes full of betrayal as he helped Tommy up and they walked away from her. Agatha closed her eyes a moment.

"You know, getting away from it all for a while is great for mental relaxation and recovery."

When Agatha opened her eyes, Rio was right in front of her.

"You know some good little getaway spot?" the witch asked Death.

"Baby, I know 'em all. But right now, if you're interested, I'm thinking a secluded little woodland cottage. Simple, quiet, and cheap since no one's lived there since, oh, 1750."

Chuckling, Agatha shrugged.

"Sounds cozy. But before we head off, the Darkhold..."

"Threw it in a black hole. It's now cosmic spaghetti."

When Rio offered her hand, Agatha took it.

"Like old times, huh?"

Death smiled.

"Yeah. Like old times."

Other characters touch the Darkhold and their life turns to shit

Meanwhile Agatha takes it, uses it, plays with it and is fine and unbothered. And it’s all to get away from her baby mama

Honestly what is there to be afraid of when you can get Death to bend the rules of nature for you

Agatha Harkness, the woman you are

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #Darkhold #marvel #agatha harkness x rio vidal

279 notes · View notes

aionishoh · 22 hours ago

Text

realized I haven't posted anything so take this:

Male!Yandere x former yandere! reader (Highschool setting)

originally written in a they/their, so im sorry if i missed a spot

There he were. Absolutely doing nothing but catching your attention. he blended in perfectly in the crowd but your mind made them the only thing you see. It was almost funny how you could miss such a thing.

It started with a simple pass by. You walking in a direction, and them walking in the opposite way. You didn't really pay attention to them and assumed it was a normal stranger. Completely unknown.

But it was when you saw him again. You realized how nice he looked. You began to notice his fashion sense. Shirt always a bit ruffled, bag swung lazily, hair clean but a little disheveled.

Then, on the third meeting. It was more of a fate. "Ah! You again. We have met, have we not?" He asked, looking at you with a sense of rememberance.

Did i mention you accidentally bumped into them during your second meeting? Hopefully i did.

"Ah! Uhm, yes. We did meet."

He introduced themselves, and you got welcomed into a side you didn't expect. Infatuation.

It turns out, he often frequented the places you went to. Along with sharing the same classroom. But, you went ahead and got a bit greedy.

"Hey, do you mind if i could borrow some notes?"

"Oh, sure."

You memorized his handwriting. Noticing how it was consistent and messy at the same time. The notes scattered but placed into relevant areas. You noted the way he wrote their o's and a's.

"Can i borrow a pen?"

"I don't really have the pens you use. But yeah, here."

You noted the way he held their pen. The way he looked when writing down. The way he magically made their handwriting look smooth with ease. You noted the pen he always uses.

Then, it started getting more personal.

A camera.

In a modern world, who would need cameras when its already built in with phones? But, you couldn't deny the thought made you giddy.

As days passed, you made a little home where you can devote yourself to him. A shrine.

All the pictures hung up were him. All in various locations, all unknowingly taken. You were fully convinced you should be in a mental asylum but a little memorabilia wouldn't hurt a person.

In the shrine itself, was a couple of few things that belonged to him. A few strands of hair, a toilet paper that was used to dry his hands. A handkerchief that he thought fell off a roof but was miraculously landed in your everyday spot.

It was perfect. All that needed was a candle to light up your world full of him.

You walked past the cafe where you had the same order as him, your bag behind you and filled with materials needed for a group project with him.

A couple of few steps, you arrived at his house.

"Oh hey, welcome to my humble abode."

"Very humbling indeed,"

You placed your bag down, sitting on the couch, admiring his home before getting reminded of her "excuse". "Ooh, sounds really bad but can i use your bathroom?"

"Yep, its just down the hall. Mind if i take the materials out of your bag?"

"Not at all!"

With much haste, you went to his room after three tries and one of them finding the actual bathroom. The room seemed to be his taste, which led you to knowing it was his in the first place.

With a hum, you quietly snooped around. Finding personal belongings, such as their watch, diary, wallets. But then you reached the closet.

A voice in your head said take a small piece of clothing, but you knew better. Although you were creepy, taking pictures and knowing things about him. You knew this was a line that you shouldn't cross.

You carefully returned the things back to the way they were before heading back to the living room.

"You sure took a while."

"Spent most of the time trying to find it."

While doing this simple project with him. You realized your actions was almost concerning. I mean sure, you looked like those creepy guys from Wattpad, but this was borderline concerning.

As soon as you two finished the project, you went to your once safe shrine and removed the pictures from the wall. Taking one last look at each one before tearing them up.

This was bad. And all because of a crush. You werent even aware that your infatuation turned into an obsession. An addiction.

You threw the keepsakes and gizmos into the trash. Removing every hint of your previous crush.

You mentally set a line. If you were gonna have a crush, it wouldn't have to end with you taking photos of them and praying to them like a God.

It would be normal. A normal crush where you admire them and where you confess to them during Valentines day.

This is the end for your obsessed self.

The next day was a bit of a awkward situation. Usually you were talking to him about random yaps, making sure you would be remembered but you didn't need to anymore.

"Heya Y/N, ready for the presentation?"

"Hm? Oh sure! I already got what i need to say memorized."

During these times, you would usually scooch much closer to him as possible without being too obvious. But now, you just did as you normally did.

The project got graded well, and that was your last interaction with him for now. Atleast thats what you thought.

As days bled into weeks, he noticed how you weren't as clingy anymore. He noticed how you would usually wait for him after school but now he's the one waiting.

Only for you to be walking with someone else on the way home.

He began to pay attention on how you didn't have that same glint in your eyes whenever you looked at him. His eyes noticing how you seemed more calmer near him instead of you fidgeting.

Soon, he heard wind from your friends that you found a new crush.

It wasn't that he didn't know you had a crush on him, oh, no. Absolutely not.

He knew you looked into his room during the group project day. He had a camera set up in the corner and watched you shovel through his stuff. Watching you open his closet and only to pause.

Why? He had perfectly set up everything that day. The way to the bathroom had an easier shortcut, but he led you to the longer way where you can find his room. He purposefully left the door unlocked and his belongings out.

He neatly placed his most favorite clothes out front where you could easily take them. But in the end, you didn't take anything. Even placing back where the items belonged.

He always pretended like he didn't see you scuttling around whenever hes out. He always made sure he looked good in every photos you tooked. He knew that he was your Sun and it inflated his ego.

But why the change of crush?

He noticed that you aren't that clingy with your crush. You didn't take strange photos anymore. You didnt take any stray hair than fell from their head.

You were disinterested in him.

Merely seeing him as a old crush, and one you quickly got over of so quickly.

After all these times of pretending to be dumb, you let him go?

After all this time he spent trying to remember the things you talked about to him?

Impossible.

The new guy didn't even look closely to him. In fact, he was the complete opposite of him.

He hated how you weren't there to be his number one fan. He despised the way you seemed more far away than usual. He hated how you would only give him a wave or a nod when you pass by him in hallways, and not running up to him with a cheeky smile.

Well, might as well buy a camera and some thumbtacks. He's gonna need it for his shrine.

Oh, did i mention hes more crazier than you?

56 notes · View notes

aconitum009 · 1 day ago

Text

Noah's urethral birth

A/N: It's a mpreg birth story with long labor. As mentioned in the title, this is going to be a urethral/penis birth. Refrain from reading if you are not into it or it's too graphic for you. Characters, places, and stories are all imaginary.

word count: 4k+

Story:

In this realm, Kunki has great influence and is highly respected by society because of that. He is a cold and sharp man. He was roaming around the streets alone when he saw a guy being dragged out of the hospital and thrown on the streets by the guards. He was full-term pregnant. He just lowered his head, and sat leaning back in the alley. Kunki approaches him.

“What’s your name?” Kunki’s voice cold.

He noticed Kunki’s presence and stared with his glazed eye, covering his pregnant belly.

“..It’s Noah. Master…please, can you give me some money? I really need some.” He glances towards the hospital.

Kunki observes him up and down, "I'll give you money, if you come with me."

Noah hesitates, glancing nervously between his stern face and his swollen belly. "With all due respect, Master, I... I don't go with strangers." His voice trembles slightly, defensive hands cradling his midsection protectively.

"Are you rejecting me now?" Kunki ask. He’s voice ice cold.

Noah freezes, eyes wide. "No, no! I'm not rejecting you. I just... I don't sell my body, Master. I'm a man. I have pride. Plus," He swallows hard, lowering his voice, "I'm heavily pregnant”

"Who said I want your body? You look ready to pop. I'll deliver your baby, that's it," Kunki says blankly.

Noah stares at him, shock written all over his face. "You... You're serious?" He laughs softly, disbelieving.

"Are you coming with me? Or do you wanna pop in the middle of the street?" Kunki’s voice eerily cold.

Noah closes his eyes briefly, knowing he has no choice. "Fine. Anything's better than giving birth in an alley." He pushes up from his seat with some difficulty. "Lead the way, Master..”

Kunki takes a glance at his belly and starts moving.

Noah follows slowly, waddling slightly. His belly is so distended that it seems like the baby could spill out at any moment. He breathes heavily, hand resting on his lower back. "How far is it?”

"Keep walking.”

Noah follows obediently, but his breath grows more labored with each step. "You know, most people don't offer to help without wanting something in return." He pants slightly, wiping sweat from his brow. "What's your game, Sir?”

"I just want to witness your delivery" Kunki says blankly.

Noah stops abruptly, turning to face him with wide eyes. "You... You just want to watch me give birth? Like some kind of... medical curiosity?" He sounds both offended and confused. His hand instinctively moves to protect his belly. "You are really messed up.”

Kunki gives him a stern look, "How am I supposed to help you give birth if I'm not watching it?”

Noah scoffs, shaking his head as he continues to walk slowly beside him. "Right, because that makes perfect sense. You want a front-row seat to a pregnant man’s most vulnerable moment." His tone drips with sarcasm. "Tell me, does witnessing a birth get you off?”

Kunki ignores him and tells him to get inside. They reach his private space, a secluded place with no one around. There are large walls but no ceiling. They get inside, and Kunki locks the gate.

Noah enters slowly, wincing slightly. The baby presses heavily on his lower back. "Damn, this place is huge." He looks around, eyes widening when he sees the open ceiling. "No walls?"

"It’s my personal space. Nobody knows about it. You are the first guest" Kunki says as he unroll a soft mattress on the floor that one can lie or sit.

Noah watches carefully, his expression thoughtful. "You're not what I expected." He mutters softly. "Most would throw me on the ground and have their way. You... You spread out a mattress like you're preparing a bed.”

"Are you thinking of birthing on the floor then" Kunki says nonchalantly, his voice cold and calm.

Noah glances at the floor, then back to the mattress, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Guess not." With a groan, he lowers himself onto the mattress, immediately looking more comfortable. "Happy now, Master? The pregnant man is properly situated for your viewing pleasure.”

Kunki looks at his gravid belly. His gaze unreadable, "It looks ready to pop.”

"It is. Too ready, really. The doctors refused to help when they found out I couldn't pay." He strokes his belly absently. "I'm actually surprised I'm still walking. Could go into labor any minute now." His voice shakes slightly, betraying his fear of what's to come.

"Hmm. I can see" Kunki goes to an almirah and rummages for something. "Take off your clothes.”

"W-What?" Noah stutters, eyes widening. "You can't be serious. I'm not going to give birth... Naked." He swallows hard, his heart racing. "Please, just let me keep my clothes on. It's cold.”

Kunki looks at him coldly, "It’s not cold. The sun is very bright in the sky. And you need to be naked to give birth. Be logical."

Noah hesitates, looking up at the bright sky visible through the open ceiling. "Fine," he mutters, his voice barely audible. He starts to undress slowly, wincing with each movement as his belly makes simple tasks more difficult. "Happy now?”

Kunki looks at him, his belly gravid, being full term. He looks at his puffy manhood. "Your type give birth through dick, right?”

"Yes," Noah hisses through gritted teeth as he looks down at his swollen belly hiding his manhood completely. "..It swells during pregnancy to accommodate the baby's head.”

“Hmm..”

Noah raises an eyebrow, his breath hitching slightly as he shifts on the mattress. "Then you know I can't just push it out like a female. It's going to be... messy." He looks down at his belly, his voice softening. "And painful.”

"Brace yourself if you know that much" Kunki says coldly as he starts preparing for other stuffs.

Noah watches him move around, preparing things he can't see from his position on the mattress. "You're really going to make me do this, aren't you? Give birth like an animal in the dirt." He swallows hard.

"This is the cleanest you could ever afford.”

Noah flinches at his cold words, his lower lip trembling slightly. "I suppose you're right," he murmurs, looking down at his naked, vulnerable body. "At least I won't be lying in my own filth when the contractions start." He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

"How are you feeling?” Kunki asks as he puts some towels nearby.

"My back hurts. My legs are swollen. And... and I feel pressure down there." Noah shifts uncomfortably, his hands instinctively moving to his belly as if to protect the baby inside. "The doctors said first labors are usually long and painful." His voice cracks slightly on the last word.

"It is.." Kunki starts making fire in a distance, to boil water.

Noah watches as he moves around, his eyes following Kunki’s every action. He shifts again, wincing at a sudden twinge in his belly.

As the fire grows and the water begins to heat, Noah's breathing starts to change. He inhales sharply through his nose, his chest rising and falling rapidly as a contraction hits him. "Aaahh..." He lets out a soft, pained cry, his fingers digging into his belly.

Kunki kneels in front of him, "How’s the condition?"

Noah doubles over, clutching his belly with both hands. "It hurts..." He gasps out, his face contorting in pain. "The baby's moving differently. I can feel it kicking harder, lower..." He trails off, another wave of pain hitting him.

"Hmm. It's starting. Bear with it”

He laughs bitterly, his eyes squeezing shut as another contraction comes. "Easy for you to say," He grits his teeth. "You're not the one with something the size of a watermelon trying to squeeze out of your dick." He hisses out a breath, his body going rigid with pain.

"Save your energy.” Kunki says coldly.

Noah’s inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling slowly through his mouth between contractions. As the minutes tick by, the pain becomes more intense, stealing his breath and making him feel lightheaded. "It's getting worse...”

Kunki put his hand over his pregnant belly.

Noah's belly is rock hard and taut under his touch, the muscles contracting powerfully. "Ahh, fuck! Don't touch me there!" He cries out, his hips bucking reflexively away from his hand. But then he collapses back onto the mattress, exhausted and sweating.

Kunki starts pressing around on his bump softly.

Noah lets out a strangled noise as he presses on his belly, the sensation overwhelmingly painful. He lays there panting, his eyes closed tightly.

Kunki press around on his belly to feel the baby’s position.

"Mmmph..." He whimpers softly as his hands move over his distended belly, feeling the movements of the baby beneath his skin. "It's moving around..." he manages to say between heavy breaths. "The doctor said it was engaged last week.”

"Hmm. It's head down, in good position.”

"Really?" Noah opens his eyes and looks at him for a moment before another contraction hits. "Fuck..." His voice breaks as the pain washes over him. "How do you know so much about..." He trails off, another contraction stealing his words.

"I just know." Kunki starts slapping softly the sides of his belly, around his baby, so the baby keeps in the straight position.

Noah lets out a startled yelp as his hand slaps his belly, the sudden movement causing the baby to shift slightly. But it seems to work, as the next contraction feels like the baby is pressing down more firmly against his cervix. "Ahh! That actually helped..." He pants, surprised.

"Hmm.." Kunki stops and heads toward the fire.

The pain is really getting intense now. "I feel like it's getting worse... Aaahh!" Another contraction hits, and Noah curls in on himself. "Ahhnnn..." he moans loudly, clutching at his swollen belly as the contraction peaks. "Fuck fuck fuck..." He pants rapidly, trying desperately to ride out the pain. Suddenly, he feels a strange, urgent pressure bearing down on his dick. "Wait, wait...”

Kunki was preparing towel and hot water, "What happened??”

"I... I think my water just broke..." Noah looks up at him with wide, panicked eyes as he feels a gush of warm fluid between his legs. "And... and something's pushing down there... like the baby is trying to come out already!" He starts to hyperventilate.

Kunki sees the water dripping. "Don't push yet. Let me see.”

"I-I'm not trying to push!" He exclaims, his voice shaking with fear and pain. "It just feels like everything is... moving on its own." He spreads his legs wider, looking down at his distended belly and the clear fluid pooling beneath him. "Hurry, please...”

"Take deep breaths" Kunki positions himself between his legs. "Your manhood has not expanded enough to fit the baby inside it. You have to hold.”

"How much does it need to expand?" Noah asks between deep breaths, only halfway listening as another contraction bears down on him. "God, it burns..." He spreads his legs even wider, giving Kunki a full view of his puffy manhood.

"Expand enough for the baby to drop inside it," Kunki says as he brings a hot towel and massages Noah’s manhood with it. Noah whimpers, feeling his dick starts to tingle and swell slightly under his touch.

"Relax, it's an automated process of birth. It will happen naturally. Give it time," Kunki says as he presses the hot towel over his manhood.

"Ngh... it feels like it's getting bigger..." Noah pants heavily, his manhood starting to engorge. Another contraction hits, and he cries out, feeling the throbbing in his groin synchronizing with the pressure in his belly. "Aahh! It's...”

"Keep breathing," Kunki says as he massages Noah’s lower abdomen.

Heavy panting mingles with painful moans as Noah feels his manhood swelling dramatically. The heat from the towel sends waves of tingling sensation straight to his core. "Ahhhnnn... It feels so weird... like everything's getting so sensitive..." He pants heavily, his manhood now throbbing and fully expanded. "Oh god... I can feel it... the baby is pressing...”

Kunki put away the hot towel from his manhood. "Relax and breath". He can feel Noah’s belly tighten under his hands.

"I'm trying... ngh... trying to breathe!" Noah moans, arching his back slightly as another powerful contraction hits. His fully expanded puffy manhood stands tall and proud, dripping cum, "The baby's dropping... I can feel its head...”

Kunki can see Noah’s groin and manhood’s upper side are getting fuller means the baby's head has reached there. "Keep breathing, it's happening.”

"Aaahh! It's burning so bad... my insides are stretching..." Noah pants heavily, gripping the sheets beneath him. "The head... it's really dropping... nnn..." His fully expanded manhood throbs visibly as the baby's head applies pressure to his perineum.

Kunki wets the towel in hot water and press it softly around his manhood. "I know. Let it happen naturally. Don't push it”

"Nhn... the heat is helping... but it's so painful..." Noah bites his lip, feeling the baby's head dropping into his dick. His manhood continues to leak cum. It’s now dripping onto his belly. "The head... it dropped... ahhhh...”

Kunki can see Noa’s manhood is getting puffier with the baby inside it. "Breath. Keep breathing. Let the baby drop completely inside your manhood first.”

"Fuck... it feels like there's a bowling ball in my manhood..." Noah tries to breathe through the intense pressure and strange sensation of having the baby's head inside his manhood. His fully expanded member continues to leak cum, becoming even larger and more engorged. Kunki keeps rubbing it softly with hot towel.

"Aaahh... that feels nice... but ..." He whimpers, his entire body trembling with a mix of pain and pleasure. His manhood is now at its maximum size, completely stuffed with the baby's head and upper body.

"Okay okay, try to hold. Hold for now. Your manhood is stuffed completely.” Kunki says calmly despite the tension.

"Mhm... God..." Noah leans back, trying to hold still despite the intense pressure. His fully engorged manhood is throbbing visibly with the baby safely inside. "It's so full... I can feel it moving around in there... nnnggh...”

Kunki touches the top of Noah’s manhood, the hole. It's puffy red but not fully dilate. "Okay, hold for now. Your hole is only 3 cm dilated. Keep breathing”

Noah manages to nod, taking deep breaths as instructed. His puffy, red hole twitches slightly around the baby's head, still not fully dilated. "Three centimeters? Isn't that... slow?" He pants, trying to distract himself from the overwhelming fullness in his manhood.

"it is. It's your first delivery. Obviously things will take time. Bear with it. It's going to be a while.”

Noah sighs, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "Right, of course. First time and all..." He takes another shuddering breath, his abs contracting involuntarily around the bulge of his stuffed manhood. "God, is it supposed to feel this full?

Kunki rubs his lower abdomen to relieve some pressure. Noah hisses in relief as he rub his lower abdomen. His manhood remains fully stuffed, the baby's head and upper body taking up all the space inside. His hole is still only 3 cm dilated, slowly stretching around the baby's head.

Kunki wets the towel in hot water again and puts it around his manhood. He keeps massaging his lower abdomen. "Keep breathing”

Noah leans into the comforting touch, breathing deeply as another wave of discomfort passes through him. The hot towel wrapped around his immensely swollen manhood brings some relief, but the baby's presence remains acutely felt. "Breathing... yeah..." He mutters, squirming slightly.

As the next wave of labor hits, Noah's entire body tenses up. His manhood throbs in sync with his distended belly as the muscles there tighten and relax rhythmically. He gasps, clutching at the sheets as he struggles to breathe through the intense sensation.

Kunki touches the head of his manhood, "4 cm. Still too far”

Through gritted teeth, Noah manages to glance down. Seeing the dilation progress to 4 centimeters only makes him whimper in frustration. "Too far... I know..." He pants, his body shaking with another contraction. "It's still so full...”

"Relax and keep breathing. How are you feeling?”

"Ugh... it's... it's intense," Noah manages to say between breaths. "Every contraction feels like the baby is trying to burst out of my manhood. It's so full and tight, and every time I feel a contraction, it’s like the baby is pushing harder against my insides.”

"Hmm. it's normal. Try not to push though. We don't want you to tear apart.”

Noah nods weakly, gripping the sheets tighter as another contraction ripples through him. "Right, right... no pushing." He bites his lip, trying desperately not to bear down despite the urge. "God, if I didn't know better, I'd think my manhood might explode...”

Kunki takes another towel to clean up around Noah. Noah watches him move around, appreciative of his care. The hot water on his manhood feels heavenly amidst the intense pressure and pain. As another contraction hits, he unwittingly lets out a long, low moan. "The baby's moving more... I can feel it kicking inside...” Noah shifts uncomfortably, trying to find a position that alleviates some of the pressure from his enormously swollen manhood. Each tiny movement sends jolts of sensation through him, the baby's vigorous kicks adding to the overwhelming stimulation. "When will it dilate more?”

Kunki puts his fingers inside his manhood's hole. "Six. There's progress. Give it more time.”

Noah gasps as he feels his fingers slip inside his dilated hole, the sudden intrusion making his entire body clench. His manhood throbs around Kunki’s fingers, the walls spasming as another contraction washes over him. "Six... that's... that's a lot, right?”

"Right. But it needs more" Kunki massages his lower abdomen. Noah lets out a shaky breath, his whole body going limp with exhaustion against the bed. "More... I'm so full already..." His manhood aches and pulses with each contraction, the baby's head creating intense pressure against his entrance. "How much bigger does it need to be?”

"Almost 10 cm. It will happen soon. Keep breathing," Kunki brings some water to him. Noah gulps down the water gratefully, his dry throat burning. As he swallows, another contraction hits, and he has to pause, panting through the intense pressure building inside him. "10 cm... That sounds huge... Will it hurt more when it's that big?”

"We have to see." Kunki put away the glass and goes back between his legs, "Seven.”

Noah’s eyes widen as Kunki announces the dilation, his body instinctively trying to push despite his earlier warning. He grips the sheets tightly, his knuckles turning white. "Seven... that's almost there..." He lets out a whimper as another contraction hits, his manhood throbbing violently.

"Do not push. Breath through it.”

Noah inhales sharply, trying to follow his instructions as another powerful contraction wracks his body. He can feel the baby's head pressing against his stretched hole, the pain becoming unbearable. He pants, his body trembling. "It's too much...”

Kunki puts a hot towel above Noah’s lower abdomen. And with another, he rubs his manhood. Noah moans softly at the sensation of the hot towel on his lower abdomen and the gentle rubbing of his swollen manhood. The warmth helps to ease some of the tension, but the contractions continue to intensify. "Ahh... that feels... a little better," he admits between ragged breaths. He looks down at his manhood, watching as it pulses and throbs with each contraction. The sight is both mesmerizing and terrifying. "I can feel the baby's head... it's right there..." He lets out a low groan, his body shaking with the effort to not push.

"Yeah, it is.”

Noah nods, his breath coming in short gasps. The contractions are now almost continuous, and he can feel the baby's head pressing firmly against his entrance. Kunki mops some of his sweat from his neck and forehead, "You will soon be fully dilated. Try to relax.”

Noah leans into his touch, finding a small measure of comfort in the cool cloth against his heated skin. His body trembles with the effort to relax, but the relentless contractions make it nearly impossible. "Relax... right..." He lets out a shaky laugh, his voice strained.

As Kunki positions himself between his legs again, Noah's breath catches in his throat. He spreads his thighs wider instinctively, giving him a better view of his stretched and throbbing opening. "Ah..." He bites his lip, trying to stay still despite the intense urge to push.

"Try to relax. It's too tense.”

Noah takes a deep breath and forces his muscles to relax as much as possible, though every fiber of his being wants to push the baby out. "I'm trying... it's just... He whimpers as another contraction hits, making his opening twitch and contract rhythmically. His eyes widen as he feels the constant pressure and pain of the contractions. He can no longer tell where one ends and another begins. "They're... they're non-stop... ahh!" He arches his back, his hands gripping the sheets tightly. His face contorts with pain as he bears down involuntarily, his body pushing against the baby's head despite his attempts to hold back. "I-I can't... I can't stop pushing..." He looks at Kunki with panic-stricken eyes, his voice breaking. "It hurts so much...”

Kunki’s hand above Noah’s manhood hole. "Relax, relax Noah.”

Noah feels his hand hovering above his throbbing opening, and it sends a shiver down his spine. He tries desperately to relax his muscles, but the overwhelming urge to push is too strong. "I-I'm trying... ahh!" His body convulses with another powerful contraction. He grunts softly as the contractions milk his swollen manhood, pre-ejaculate leaking out of the tip. His body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, his hair damp and stuck to his forehead. He whimpers softly, his lower abdomen hard and taut. He takes shallow breaths. His body is shaking with the effort to relax his muscles. "I-I'm trying... but it feels like my body wants to push so badly..." He looks down at his distended belly, watching it contract rhythmically. His eyes widen as he feels a particularly strong contraction. "Ahhh... I can feel the head... it's right there, right at the entrance..." He lets out a low moan, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. "I can't... I can't keep from pushing much longer...”

Kunki inserts two fingers inside his manhood's hole. "Okay, Okay, it's 10 cm". Kunki pulls out the fingers and put away the towels from his lower abdomen and manhood. "I want you to push with next contractions, but not so hard.”

Noah lets out a relieved cry as he hears the words "10 cm." His body, which had been fighting against the urge to push, now has permission to do what it desperately needs. He nods vigorously, his breath coming in short gasps. "Okay... okay... I can push...”

Kunki rubs around his puffy hole and expanded manhood. Noah gasps as he feels his fingers rubbing around his sensitive hole and manhood. The touch is a little too intense for him, his voice cracks as he tries to push gently with the next contraction, his face contorting with the effort. "Aah... it's coming... the head is crowning...”

"Yes. Push!”

With a choked moan, Noah bears down, pushing with all his strength while trying to keep it controlled as instructed. His hole stretches obscenely around the baby's head as it begins to crown. "Oh god... it's... ahh!... it's really coming out!” He throws his head back, his mouth open in a silent scream as the baby's head slowly emerges from his manhood's hole. The stretching and burning is unlike anything he's ever felt, his muscles quivering with the effort. He pants heavily, his body covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Push Noah. Keep pushing!”

"I-I'm trying!" Another powerful contraction hits, and with a guttural moan, Noah bears down again. The baby's head finally pops out completely, stretching his opening painfully wide. He immediately feels lighter, but the relief is temporary as another urge hits him. "Oh god...”

"The head is fully out! Take breaths. Take a break and relax.”

Noah collapses back against the mattress, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Tears stream down his face as he stares down at the baby's head protruding from his manhood's hole. He feels exhausted but relieved that the hardest part is over. "It's... it's out...”

Kunki’s hand cupping the baby head to guide it safely. "Breath, breath.”

Noah nods, focusing on his breathing as instructed. His body trembles with exertion and relief, but he knows the process isn't over yet. He takes deep breaths, trying to relax his muscles even as another contraction begins to build. As the next contraction hits, Noah lets out a loud moan. He pushes again, his body shaking with the effort. The baby's shoulders start to emerge, stretching him even wider. Tears of pain and relief mix on his face as he feels.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Keep pushing.”

Noah bites his lip, pushing with all his might as the baby's shoulders fully emerge. He feels like he's being ripped in half, but the knowledge that the baby is almost out keeps him going. "Almost... almost there...”

"Yeah almost there. Keep pushing Noah." Kunki’s hand is guiding the baby out.

With a choked cry, Noah pushes with everything he has left. His body convulses as the baby's hips and legs slide out in one final, agonizing push. As the infant emerges completely, Noah collapses back, his body limp with exhaustion.

"It's out! It's out" Kunki holds the baby in his hands.

Tears of joy and relief flood Noah’s eyes as he hears those words. He looks down, his body shaking with the aftermath of the intense labor. He reaches out a trembling hand to touch his baby.

#birth #birth kink #mpreg #mpreg birth #mpreg kink #mpregnancy #penis birth #urethral birth #mpreg birth story #birth story #orgasmic birth #graphic birth

57 notes · View notes

1982grapejuiceblues · 3 days ago

Text

The Lingering I

Official Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

The Wrong Pitch Part 3

Summary: In the quiet aftermath of their almost, Harry and Y/N navigate the silence of what wasn’t said. Through unsent drafts, pacing thoughts, and overthought messages, one of them finally reaches out — and the other answers. It isn’t grand. It isn’t dramatic. It’s careful. Intentional. Honest. And it’s enough to change everything.

A/N: AHHHHH These two are back!! I really love this story and the slowburn of it, The Lingering is going to be at least three parts, I have it all written out its just the editing that takes FOREVER. I do it in batches though so thats how I'm able to upload these so quickly! Let me know what you guys think so far!

Word Count: 3.5k

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Saturday — 6:42 p.m. — Y/N’s Flat

Y/N didn’t turn on the lights when she walked in.

She didn’t like the way switches filled the room too fast. There was something about the soft, creeping dusk she preferred — the natural fade of light across her hardwood floor, the dim orange glow of a streetlamp just starting to warm the sidewalk outside her window. It gave her time to land. To figure out who she was again, alone, after being something else in someone else’s company.

She slipped her shoes off one by one, the way she always did — toe to heel, heel to toe — and left them by the door. Her coat slid down her shoulders in a single movement, familiar, practiced, and landed on the hook like it had been trained to return there.

Everything about her flat was warm and quiet and intentionally hers.

Usually, she liked that.

But right now, it felt a little too quiet. A little too much like a place that expected her to think.

She padded into the kitchen and turned on the kettle out of instinct. Not because she wanted tea — not yet — but because she didn’t know what else to do with her hands. She moved slowly, methodically: mug, spoon, tea bag, water. Not committing to it, just lining up the options.

She wasn’t hungry.

She wasn’t tired.

She just felt… untethered.

The moment she sat down on the couch, the silence hit her square in the chest.

It wasn’t harsh. But it was immediate.

The kind of quiet that creeps in when you realize someone else’s presence had taken up more space than you thought. That Harry had taken up space — not just in her periphery, but in her head. Her day. Her body, somehow. Like his voice had carved out a rhythm and her breath was still matching it.

She hated how much she noticed the absence.

She hated even more that it didn’t feel like an absence at all — just a… pause.

A question mark.

She reached for her phone almost reflexively. Unlocked it. Didn’t open anything yet.

She stared at the home screen for a few seconds, as if some app she hadn’t downloaded yet would offer a solution.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she tapped into the message thread.

Harry Styles.

The name felt strange every time she saw it written out. A person who had once been a complete stranger — someone with a name that meant nothing to her, just a man sitting at the wrong table — was now… something else. Undefined. Quietly insistent.

A presence she couldn’t unfeel.

She scrolled up.

Read what she had sent. What he had sent back. The part where it stopped.

Thank you for saying that.

I was scared too.

Still am.

But I’d rather be scared with you than wonder if we missed it.

That last line hit her harder than she expected. Again.

She had read it before. She’d felt it earlier, in the booth, in the quiet between them. But here, in her flat, in the silence of her own space, it felt sharper. Heavier. More true.

And still, she hadn’t answered him.

She opened the keyboard.

Typed:

Are you home?

Deleted it.

Typed:

I haven’t stopped thinking about earlier.

Deleted that, too.

Tried again:

I want to see you again.

Her thumb hovered.

She knew what that meant.

She also knew she couldn’t send it yet.

Backspaced. Cleared the screen. Let her fingers rest over the glass.

What was she doing?

Why was this so hard?

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped around her phone like it might reveal something if she just held it tight enough.

And then she whispered it out loud — just to herself, in the soft, safe dark of her apartment:

“I liked being with you.”

The words surprised her. Not because they were true, but because of how much they meant. How heavy they sounded in her own voice. How simple they were, and yet how deeply they landed.

She rested her phone on the couch beside her. Let her hands fall into her lap. Stared out the window as the last of the daylight bled into blue.

She thought about the way he had looked at her when she walked into the café again.

Not surprised. Not alarmed.

Just… relieved.

Like she had made a choice he hadn’t wanted to ask her to make.

Like he had hoped — quietly, without pressure — that she would come back.

“You already are,” she had told him, when he said he wanted to show up.

That sentence had stayed with her all the way home. It was still here now, in the room, in her hands, in her mouth like a thing she might say again if he were sitting beside her.

But he wasn’t.

And she didn’t know when he would be.

Or if she’d be brave enough to ask.

7:09 p.m. — Harry’s Flat

Harry had stared at the same sentence for thirteen minutes.

It wasn’t even a complicated sentence.

It was just the close of a paragraph — something small and transitional. Something that should’ve taken thirty seconds to finish and forget. But instead, it was sitting there like a brick in the middle of the page, daring him to make it sound like he believed it.

He leaned back in his chair and pressed his knuckles against his temples.

Focus.

The cursor blinked at him.

It wasn’t the writing. He could write. Had written better speeches than this one in worse conditions. It was the space he was writing from — the place in his head that felt suddenly unfamiliar. Crowded. Warmer than usual.

Full.

Which was ridiculous. They’d only seen each other again this afternoon. They hadn’t even kissed. Had barely touched. Had said maybe two sentences that could be considered emotionally intimate.

But God, the silence after?

It felt like it carried weight.

He pushed the chair back from the desk, stood up too quickly. Pacing helped. Usually.

He ran a hand through his hair and crossed the room toward the kitchen, trying to remember what he even came in for. Opened the fridge. Closed it again.

There was a time when a quiet Saturday night like this would’ve felt like relief. A long exhale. A moment to recharge.

But tonight, it felt like too much room.

Too much space to think about what he should’ve said when they were standing at her door.

Or what she hadn’t said.

Not in a way that made him second-guess her — he didn’t. He just knew that she was trying. That she was letting herself feel this in real time, and he didn’t want to be the reason she retreated.

He didn’t want to fill the space too quickly. But he didn’t want to leave it empty either.

He opened their text thread again. Not for the first time. Not even for the fifth.

It wasn’t that he expected anything new.

He just wanted to remember the way her words sounded.

Even when they were just black text on a white screen.

“I was scared too.”

“Still am.”

God, that had floored him.

Not because she’d said it — but because of how much he’d believed her.

He hadn’t had that in a long time. Someone honest enough to admit fear, but steady enough to still show up anyway.

He wanted to tell her that. Not poetically. Not dramatically. Just plainly. Just… truthfully.

But every draft he started felt like it leaned too hard in one direction — too casual or too intense. Too soon or too vague. Too much or not enough.

He hated how much he cared about getting the tone right.

He hated how much he wanted to get it right.

He sat back down at the desk. Pulled the laptop toward him. Tried to re-engage with the speech. Something about unity. Shared vision. The usual stuff.

But even those words felt hollow.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her — sitting on her couch right now, probably. Maybe drinking tea. Maybe overthinking this the same way he was.

And maybe she wasn’t.

Maybe she had already moved on from the softness of the afternoon. Maybe he was reading into something that had already cooled.

But then he remembered the look in her eyes when she walked through the café door.

The way she looked at him.

It wasn’t casual.

It wasn’t over.

It was something waiting.

He typed a new message.

Let it sit on the screen.

I’m not going to crowd you.

But I do want to see you again.

Read it. Reread it.

Then deleted it.

Too soon.

Or maybe not soon enough.

He stood up again and rubbed his palms over his face. Walked to the bookshelf. Pulled out the small notebook he kept on the second shelf, tucked behind the short story collections.

It was older. More scribbled than sorted. Just fragments, mostly — moments, half-thoughts, things he couldn’t shake.

He opened to the last blank page and scribbled one sentence.

I don’t want to be afraid of this before it even starts.

Then closed the notebook.

Slid it back into place.

Walked away from the desk and sat on the couch.

He didn’t touch his phone again for a long time.

But he didn’t stop thinking about her, either.

8:14 p.m. — Y/N’s Flat

She hadn’t moved in over twenty minutes.

She was still in her jeans. Still sitting at the edge of the couch. Still staring out the window like something might happen if she just stayed still long enough.

Her tea had gone cold.

She hadn’t touched it.

Didn’t even remember making it.

Everything around her looked the same as it had this morning — the blanket folded neatly at the corner of the couch, the stack of manuscripts on the dining table waiting for her notes, the email inbox she hadn’t opened once.

But she wasn’t the same.

And that realization — as soft and quiet as it was — made her sit up straighter.

She felt unsettled in a way that didn’t have a name. Not anxious, exactly. Not regretful. Just… aware.

Of how much had shifted in such a short span of time.

Of how little it took for someone to take up space again.

And how badly she wanted him to stay in it.

She picked up her phone and stared at the blank message screen.

Typed:

I made it home.

Paused.

Deleted it.

Typed:

I haven’t stopped thinking about the booth.

Deleted.

Then she did what she’d been trying not to do all evening — she opened the notes app. Scrolled past her work drafts. Her to-do lists. Her grocery reminders. Until she found the untitled one from earlier this week.

It was a draft of a message.

One she’d written but never sent.

Dated two days after she left him sitting in that café alone.

I don’t know why I left the way I did.

I panicked.

You were kind and good and you didn’t deserve the silence.

I haven’t stopped thinking about that conversation.

About you.

She read it twice.

Then hit select all.

Deleted it in one tap.

She didn’t want to send him something old.

Not now.

Not after seeing him again. Not after the warmth of the afternoon. Not after the quiet understanding in his eyes that said, You don’t owe me anything, but I’m still here if you want to try.

She opened the thread.

Typed:

Hey.

Waited.

Then added:

I don’t know if I’m doing this right.

Deleted that.

Typed:

Is this still okay?

No, not that either.

She let her hands fall into her lap and stared at the screen for a while.

She thought about what she really wanted him to know.

What wasn’t performative or clever or distant.

What she would say if he were sitting right here, across from her on this couch.

And slowly, carefully, she typed:

I’ve been thinking about earlier.

About how easy it felt.

And how hard that is to find lately.

I don’t know what this is.

Or if I’m supposed to know yet.

But I’d like to keep figuring it out.

With you.

She stared at it.

No emojis. No qualifiers. No softening the landing.

Just truth.

She hit send before she could overthink it.

Then set the phone down, facedown this time, and stood up.

She turned on the light in the hallway.

Went to the kitchen.

Poured out the cold tea.

Started boiling the water again.

She wasn’t going to wait around watching the screen this time.

She already knew she’d hear from him.

8:51 p.m. — Harry’s Flat

Harry was lying on the couch with a record playing low when his phone buzzed.

He almost didn’t check it.

Not because he wasn’t waiting — he was, in the quiet, resigned way people wait for things they know might not come. He’d done it before. Had entire evenings pass with his phone untouched, just to prove to himself that he could.

But this buzz felt different.

It wasn’t the group chat. Not a push notification. Just a single, simple vibration against the wood of the coffee table that made his eyes flick open and settle on the screen.

And then he saw it.

Y/N.

He sat up too fast.

The message preview was just a few words, cut off mid-line — but his chest tightened before he even unlocked the screen.

I’ve been thinking about earlier…

He blinked.

Held his breath.

Opened the thread.

And read.

I’ve been thinking about earlier.

About how easy it felt.

And how hard that is to find lately.

I don’t know what this is.

Or if I’m supposed to know yet.

But I’d like to keep figuring it out.

With you.

It took him three full reads to stop blinking.

Then he exhaled — loud and uneven, like it had been building all day and only now found a way out of his body.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Just held the phone in his hand, let his eyes trace the words over and over. Let himself feel every inch of what she was offering: not certainty, not resolution — but permission.

A beginning.

An opening.

A reach.

His first instinct was to reply immediately.

To give her what she’d given him — honesty, vulnerability, forward motion.

But then the overthinking kicked in.

What tone? What length? Was he allowed to be excited? Should he be measured? Was there a way to say me too without sounding like he’d been waiting by the phone all evening?

Because he had.

But still.

He opened the keyboard.

Typed:

You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.

Paused.

Backspaced.

Tried again:

Me too.

Too short.

Tried:

I’d really like that too.

And I think maybe we don’t have to know yet.

We just have to keep showing up.

He stared at it.

Nodded to himself.

Then, instead of hitting send, he set the phone down beside him and stood up.

He walked to the kitchen.

Opened the cupboard.

Pulled out the tea he had no intention of drinking — just needed to move. Think. Let the weight of her message land.

It wasn’t romantic, not in the sweeping-movie-score kind of way. It was grounded. Measured. Real.

But it meant something.

And the way it made his hands shake a little as he poured water into the kettle — yeah, that meant something too.

Back in the living room, he picked up the phone again.

Read the message again.

Still hit him like a warmth in his chest he didn’t know how to name.

He typed:

Can I see you tomorrow?

Then paused.

Edited:

I know it’s soon.

And I know we said we’d take it slow.

But I think I’d like slow better if you were next to me while we figured it out.

He didn’t overthink this one.

He just hit send.

And leaned back.

And smiled.

Not because he was confident.

But because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone in the wanting.

9:03 p.m. — Y/N’s Flat

Her phone buzzed right as she was pouring the hot water over the tea bag.

It was quiet, almost tentative — like it didn’t want to assume it was important.

But her body stilled anyway.

She reached for it with one hand, the other still holding the kettle mid-pour, and nearly spilled it when she saw his name.

Harry Styles

I know it’s soon.

And I know we said we’d take it slow.

But I think I’d like slow better if you were next to me while we figured it out.

She didn’t breathe for a full second.

Then she exhaled all at once.

The kind of breath that felt like she’d been holding it for days.

She put the kettle down.

Left the mug where it was.

Walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room, phone in both hands, rereading the message over and over.

She smiled.

Then bit her lip.

Then sat down on the couch and tucked her legs under her, trying to figure out why this — this exact combination of words — was hitting her so hard.

It wasn’t flowery.

It wasn’t performative.

It was just… him.

Direct. Earnest. Just vulnerable enough to feel real.

He wasn’t asking her to give him certainty. He was asking to sit in the uncertainty together.

And she wanted that. Badly.

She typed:

You’re very good at this.

Paused.

Backspaced.

Tried:

I think I’d like that too.

No.

She wanted to be sure. She wanted him to feel it.

She typed:

Yes.

I’d really like to see you tomorrow.

And I think you’re right.

Slow might feel less terrifying if it’s next to you.

She stared at it. Her fingers trembled a little.

But this time, she didn’t doubt it.

She hit send.

Then she dropped the phone in her lap and just sat there.

Let herself feel how good it was to say yes to something that didn’t demand her to be perfect — just present.

A minute later, her phone buzzed again.

I’ll make the plans.

She didn’t even realize she was smiling until she saw her reflection in the window — soft, lit by the glow of the lamp behind her, eyes tired but bright in a way she hadn’t seen in a while.

Okay, she thought.

This is something.

Let it be something.

Sunday — 9:03 a.m. — Y/N’s Flat

Y/N woke up before her alarm.

Not with a jolt, not in a panic. Just… aware. Like her body had been keeping time without her.

She stayed under the blanket for a few minutes longer than usual, watching the light crawl in through the window. It was that kind of golden pale that made everything look like a film still. Like the city was trying to convince her to say yes to things before she could think of reasons not to.

And for once, she didn’t try to talk herself out of it.

9:17 a.m. — Harry’s Flat

Harry stood at his kitchen counter, eating toast he hadn’t meant to make.

He kept glancing at the clock like he was going to be late for something, even though there was nothing scheduled. Nothing formal. Just a maybe. A sometime today.

But it felt like a thing he didn’t want to miss.

He’d already checked the weather (mild, clear, cool breeze). Already shaved. Changed his shirt twice. Put on the one that didn’t look like he was trying, even though he definitely was.

He didn’t know where they were going yet — not exactly. He just knew he wanted it to feel easy. Low pressure. Like an extension of the café booth, but out in the world.

Like something real.

10:14 a.m.

Do you trust me to pick somewhere?

As long as there’s coffee involved.

I’d never disrespect you like that.

Then yes. I trust you.

That last part wasn’t just about the coffee.

She hoped he knew that.

She had a feeling he did.

11:08 a.m. — Somewhere on the Northern Line

They weren’t meeting in the city proper. That had been a conscious choice on Harry’s part. He figured a smaller street, a quieter café, fewer things pulling at their attention — it might give them space to just… be.

He had no idea if it was the right call.

But when he got off the train and stepped out into the soft, sun-filtered morning, he felt like it might be.

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, checked his phone again.

No new texts.

But she was coming.

That was enough.

11:26 a.m.

She saw him first.

He was leaning against the wall just outside the café entrance, phone in hand, one ankle crossed casually over the other like he was built for waiting. Like he didn’t mind it.

She stopped just short of being in his line of vision.

Took one second.

Then walked forward.

He looked up just as she reached him.

And smiled in that small, surprised way — like something he’d been hoping for had just appeared in front of him.

“Hi,” she said, soft.

“Hi,” he replied, quieter still.

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles slow burn #harry styles fan fiction #the wrong pitch

56 notes · View notes