#but the whole point of the HIGH in ‘high infidelity’ is that this isn’t infidelity in a traditional sense

[lunar-years]

High Infidelity isn’t about physical cheating it’s about emotionally checking out of a relationship that isn’t serving you and opening yourself up again for emotional vulnerability with others. Btw.

[pedrospatch]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[izvmimi]

cw: smut, minors dni. brat!reader. angry sex that turns soft. not really infidelity but a little targeted flirting on the part of reader. female anatomy for reader. f! receiving oral. penetrative sex.

“You’re getting way too good at getting on my damn nerves.”

The door to your hotel room is barely closed by the time he starts his tirade, but neither of the Itoshi brothers are particularly known for having any type of manners, and the current state of affairs is that you’ve successfully pissed Rin off the entire night. It doesn’t help that Rin’s kind of a crybaby, and his beautiful eyelashes line red-rimmed eyes right now; in fact his whole face is red from embarrassment, and as you kick your high heels off, he’s glaring at you with aggravation, hands balled into fists.

“So?” you ask flippantly, turning to him with a flourish in your satin, form-fitting dress that seems to practically mock him. You don’t intend to spin that joyfully but it works for you tremendously. After all, Rin takes himself far too seriously and it’s your God-given task to cut him down to size. Flirting with his brother - well, barely so - has worked wonders for you. Rin is now so hot he’s practically ripping his shirt off at the collar as he tries to loosen it, and you plop onto the king sized bed in practical glee. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve provoked him like this and it works every time.

You don’t have to do much. Just a few heavy lidded glances in Sae’s direction, a little too much interest in whatever the asshole has to say, letting your eyes linger on his drink then on the curve of his lips for a little too long, shrugging when Sae disrespectfully asks you, right in front of his brother, if you’re willing to spend time with an actual athlete before declining.

There will be a point in time where Sae’s advances towards you result in his face drenched in sweetened alcohol, but for now, when Rin’s waffling about how much you mean to him despite being desperate for your attention, keeping you on his arm for event after event, you don’t have to be his ride-or-die.

But you can ride him. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to prove but if you keep fucking playing with me, you’re going to end up biting off more than you can chew.”

He’s a lot of talk and a lot of energy as he tears off your panties, but he’s the one with his face shoved into your folds just moments later, sliding his tongue up and over and along every part of you, lapping up your cream like milk, drinking up your squeals and moans like sweet ambrosia. His arms are practically wrapped around your lower half, dragging your hips up to his face as he sucks and swallows, spitting on your clit the lesser half out of disgust, the greater half out of sheer desire. Face still covered in your slick, and practically drooling, he takes your lips in his mouth again and kisses fervently, pulling your leg around his waist as he descends on you.

“Stop acknowledging him,” Rin hisses. Your back arches as his cockhead presses first against your entrance, missing first before he re-steadies and slips inside you, biting your lower lip as they pull back in a wince. Your fingers claw into his bare back as he claims you, a shudder leaving his throat as he nestles inside you, warm, inviting, his, oh so necessarily his.

“Stop worrying about him,” you hiss back. “Focus on me.”

Your eyes narrow as they meet, but he’s softening as you look at him. The first few strokes into your center are fast, harsh, quick in the snap of his hips, but the next ones, with his eyes slowly filling with adoration as he watches your reactions, the scrunch of your face and the lust in your eyes as they roll back, are slow and tender. 

“Focus on me,” he whispers now as he rolls his hips against yours. “Be mine.”

Be mine, be mine, be mine. He kisses your neck, marking you with each press of the lips, each squeeze of his fingertips on your flesh, and he wishes you would scratch and claw your name into his skin if only it means he’s definitely yours and only yours and you’re only his, forever.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part one

authors note: well, i got some type of writers block working on two other RR wip's so opened a new google doc and ended up with this. prob gonna be 3 parts, maybe 4. there's an almost five year time jump after this one, can you guess why? also, joe's wife is an oc, not galina.

first time posting my roman writings on here and trying not to freak out tbh

warnings: angst, infidelity, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

word count: 4,000

You know that assignment everyone at some point in their education where they research what they want to be when they grow up and share it with the whole class for a grade? Yeah, that big mammoth of a question that somehow you’re supposed to have confidently answered before even reaching double digits.

That was always super easy for you.

From as far back as you can remember, you wanted to be a teacher. It took until you were in middle school, almost high school for you to settle on an elementary school teacher, college for a specific grade. But, the teaching profession always called to you.

You chalk it up to your grandmother, undoubtedly one of your favorite people in this entire world. She was also an elementary school teacher who taught until she was expectedly called home when you were 14. Some part of you wonders if you’ve never even allowed yourself to entertain any other professions because of her loss. She was your best friend, and following in her footsteps was wanted but also felt somewhat necessary. Like you had to in order to honor her and her legacy.

A couple years into your career, you still think about that, how you’ve known from such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Well, one part. 

In other areas, maybe the most important areas, you were lost as all of the outdoors. Mostly in one area, if you’re being honest, and truthfully, it’s not even what you want in as much as it is how you get there. The path is relatively simple: find a man, fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after.

It’s such a stereotypical trajectory, but one you’ve also envisioned for yourself since your late teens. You’d gotten partying all out of your system during the early college years, somewhat in high school as well. Now in your mid 20s, soon to be late 20s, all you want to do is prepare to eventually settle down. Sooner rather than later.

And the issue isn’t even having no prospects. You have a prospect, he’s just unavailable. 

Because he’s already fucking married.

But can you even call him a prospect when that implies there’s some chance? Because there’s zero chance. You know this. You know this very well, too well. So why you still allow him into your bed and inside of you is beyond you. Yes, the sex is out of this world, but you desire more than that. Maybe not at first, but almost three years deep into this arrangement, most definitely.

You still think back to your first meeting.

Your best friend won a contest that not only granted her two front row tickets to a Smackdown show but backstage passes as well. You met so many wrestlers that night, some you grew up watching on TV as the little tomboy that you were as a kid. But, it was one wrestler in particular: tall, muscular, hair more beautiful and silky than any silk press your beautician mother could ever style, that changed your life. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen. 

He was attractive, extremely, possibly one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. But, the attraction was short-lived when you spotted the wedding band on his left hand. You’d be lying if you tried to say that was when the attraction sizzled out. It diminished, but it was still there. Still, you didn’t think much of it, that was until you received a call from a number on your phone that you didn't recognize. 

Why you even accepted the call is still a mystery. You never answered random calls, yet that one was an exception, an exception that resulted in you having an unexpected phone conversation with Roman fucking Reigns. He explained that he got your number from your friend who’d exchanged contact information with a wrestler she met that night as well. They were messing around too, that much you knew. And good for her. He, unlike Roman, was not married and therefore free to fuck around.

The conversation lasted much longer than it needed to, especially given the flirtatious nature it quickly took on. It was wrong, you knew this well, very well. He took vows, but you were also aware of those vows. And heat no point pressured you into anything, you could have cut it off. Flirtatious he was, but forceful he was not.

The conversations increased in frequency and length over a matter of weeks that turned into months, and before you knew it, your day started and ended with either a text or phone call from the wrestler. 

A small part of you knew that it would eventually escalate into more, a man like him seemed like he needed more. But, you stupidly tried to tell yourself that when that time came, you would remain strong and draw the line in the sand with just communication. Even if it was just as wrong as anything else.

It was a silly thought. 

Your resolve was weak.

You absolutely did not need to accept his invitation to fly you out to one of his shows, and you damn sure didn’t need to allow him to take you back to his hotel where your legs ended up wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you—among other things—until the early hours of the morning.

The days after that were rough. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself. It was one thing to flirt with a married man, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck a married man. He wasn’t yours. He belonged to someone else. He had a life with some other woman. You had no right to insert yourself into that union, so you decided to sever contact with him, deleting his number from your phone and shoving the experience in the ‘biggest regret of your life’ box with no intention of reopening it.

Unfortunately for you, Roman, Joe, as he asked you to call him, was a persistent bastard.

You ignored his texts, so he called. You ignored his calls, so he texted. You ignored both, and this motherfucker showed up at your goddamn door. There were multiple times you could have and should have ended things, that being another perfect opportunity. If you told him to leave that night, not allowed him into your apartment, he would have listened. He was stubborn and resolute but also respectful. If you told him to leave, really told him, he would have done so.

But, you didn’t. You allowed him into your place and similar to the last time you were in his presence, ended up spread out on your bed with him balls deep inside you until you couldn’t feel your lower half. 

Now, fast forward three years later, not much has changed. You two don’t communicate quite as much in the day, and his visits are more spread out given the company’s current efforts at pushing him as the new face of the company. But, that doesn’t stop his visits to come see you and flights he puts you on to come see him, both of which always end with him leaving your legs jelly and throat raw.

All the while his wife sits at home unaware of her husband’s consistent residence between your legs.

The thought alone makes you sick, revolted at yourself, at how you’ve allowed yourself to reach this point in life. Closer to 30 than 20 and going on 3 years of being a mistress to a married man, a man who can never give you the future you want yet refuse to let go. 

Not that you’d ever allow yourself to really acknowledge why. 

That’s….that’s just too much.

________

Pillow talk was just something that naturally happened between the two of you. It made sense given that your relationship started out with just talking. He seemed interested in knowing more about you, about your likes and dislikes. He shared his as well. You weren’t beyond admitting that Joe was insanely easy to talk to, the flow of conversation always natural, never forced. There never seemed to be a dry spot between you two. 

And whether it was an innate ability to pick up on the emotions of others or just his, you could always tell when something was bothering him, could see when he came to you with a burden he didn’t want to discuss.

Not that that stopped you from asking. If he declined to talk about it, you respected it, didn’t push. But, more often than not, he would end up sharing things with you, mostly concerns regarding his career.

It seemed he visioned one thing for himself, while Vince McMahon saw another. He felt frustrated at times, especially when the fanbase started pushing back more. He never admitted as such, but you could see it hurt his feelings. How could it not? Kayfabe or not, Joe was still a real person with real feelings, regardless of the role he played.

And at some point, his visits to see you stopped always involving sex. That happened majority of the time, but there were occasions when he just seemed like he needed someone to be around, a distraction, someone to talk to. 

Someone like you.

“Come on.” You jumped up off the couch and offered your hand that he looked at with disinterest. “Don’t make me drag your big ass. It’ll probably break my back.” He lifts his brow, and you roll your eyes. “Joe, come onnnn.”

“Where are we going?” He finally asks, all the while sighing heavily and standing up. Though unnecessary at this point, he still takes your hand. You try not to think too much of the gentle squeeze he gives.

“To my kitchen.” 

Glancing over, he gestures with his thumb. “The place that’s like 3 feet away.”

You suck your teeth and shove against him. “Don’t be an ass. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Bake?”

“That’s what I said.” Though clearly skeptical, he follows you into the kitchen and watches as you start gathering supplies. “I spent a lot of summers with my grandma, and whenever either of us were having a bad day, she’d take us into the kitchen and we’d bake chocolate chip cookies. She’d always say there’s nothing a good chocolate morsel can’t cure.” 

Reflecting on those memories, so fond and cherished, brings a despondent smile to your face.

His eyes fall on you, sensing the sudden sadness. “You miss her.”

“Every day….” Shaking your head, you make a conscious effort to not make this about you and your grief. “Now, we need music.” You settle on some random “cookout” playlist that aids in setting the playful mood. To your surprise, yet not surprise, Joe keeps up without struggle. He's a fast learner, easily following along to your detailed instructions and explanations. Things get messy at times, as one does when baking, but it only causes the two of you to share laughter. Especially when you ‘accidentally’ get flour on each other. For you, it was an accident. His was definitely intentional. 

Still, between the laughter, light conversation, and New Edition serving as backdrop, it’s a sweet moment. 

“And now we wait,” you announce, plopping down on the sofa. “Wrestler by day, baker by night. Who’d a thunk it?”

He chuckles. “I never knew you could cook.”

At that, you nearly choke on the water bottle you’d grabbed off the coffee table. “Me? Cook? No. Not at all. There’s a reason every thanksgiving, my family only asks me to bring the drinks. My mom is the cook. Grandma was the baker. I can make cookies and a few select items. That’s it.”

You can still hear your grandma’s voice in the back of your head, chiding you for never allowing your mom to teach you how to cook. It just never garnered your interest, even when they swore up and down you’d never find a husband without knowing how.

Maybe they were right.

He joins you in the living room, settling on the other end of the sofa. “Maybe I could teach you then.”

His words—and offer—suprise you. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his blue eyes. Some days you love the contacts, others you hate them. Today is a love day. They make his beauty even more exquisite. “Because of the big age difference between me and my siblings, it was just me and my mom a lot of times. They were either out and about or had either moved out. She’d ask me to help her out in the kitchen, and I picked up on a couple things.”

“You’re a fast learner.” That much is very obvious, in several areas of his life. “Was it ever hard? Like, not really having them around?”

He seems to think about her question before answering. “Yes and no. The twins moved to Florida when I was like three, and we became close instantly. It was like suddenly having two new brothers. Obviously, they didn’t live with us, so they weren’t always around, and those times were hard, I guess. But the older we got, the more we did together.”

The Usos. Also wrestlers trying to make names for themselves. He really does hail from a legendary dynasty. “I get that. It was just me and my mom, and she worked a lot to support us, so that’s why I spent so much time with my grandma. And I loved it, but sometimes it got lonely not really having siblings.” You look over at him, studying this massive specimen of a man who seems so unsure of himself right now, unsure of his future. He’d hinted at such during their prep, but you bookmarked the comment to revisit. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

His gaze is on you, partially disinterested, mostly in disagreement. Joe knows what you're referring to. He chuckles, darkly, “you sound sure.”

“I am,” you counter calmly. Moving to sit on your knees, you continue, “no matter what it takes, you make them respect you. You can do it, and when you finally find your footing, you’ll be one of the best to ever do it. Mark my words.” 

You’ve never been one to build up false hopes in anyone, far too familiar with the sting of disappointment. So every word leaving your mouth drips with sincerity. Joe is so much more than a “pretty face” or someone who got lucky by being born into a wrestling dynasty with a golden spoon in his mouth. He’s worked his ass off, you see how he works his ass off, so the last thing you’d want to witness is him become his own worst enemy by getting too into his head.

“You’ll see. They boo now, but pretty soon they’ll be cheering.” Moving to your knees, you lift your arms in a theatrical display. “Roman, Roman, Roman.” You yelp when his strong arms pull you into his lap, legs spread on either side of his thick thighs. “Would you let me hype you up? Like, damn.”

His smile, so beautiful and genuine, warms your soul. His spirits are lifted, and that’s all that matters. Joe’s hands are on your hips, palms massaging you through your shorts. You move your arms around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment, you foolishly allow yourself to wonder. Wonder what it would be like for this to be the norm, for him to always return to your place when he has time off or in between shows. Wonder what it would be like to consistently be this safe space for him, to be in his corner and not just in the shadows, but in the light. To be supporting him ringside. To be his.

And for a second, you pretend. You pretend that you are his, and he’s yours. That this is your man, and you’re his girl. Just the two of you. Nobody else.

But the comedown from that is devastating, like a boulder sitting on your chest, a butcher knife to your heart. Because he isn’t yours. He never was, and he never will be. 

Mood sullen, you lower your arms to separate yourself. “I should…” You clear your throat, climbing off of him. The air is suddenly too stuffy, the room too small. You need space. “I should go check on the cookies.” 

Joe’s not stupid, far from it. You know that he has to pick up on your 180 in mood, yet he doesn’t pursue you, doesn’t ask questions, and you’re thankful for that. You need to not be around him right now, not so close, not so connected, not so in love.

You need to let him go. ________

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

Joe’s in the midst of sliding his shirt over his head, sitting on the edge of the bed when your voice, low and quiet, stops him mid movement. “What?”

“I said.” You blow out a big breath, unsure why your chest suddenly feels so heavy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

At that, he angles his body so that he can look at you, assess your face. He’s a big eye contact person. “What are you talking about?”

Irritation piques. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joe.” Gesturing between the two of you, you kick the blankets off and quickly reach for your t-shirt that got discarded last night. Being naked in front of him suddenly feels uncomfortable. “This. It’s done.”

He pauses for a second and then shakes his head, resuming his dressing. “Okay.”

His tone is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he thinks you’re playing around. Of course he would be in one of those moods, where he’s more irritable, less receptive and fucking stubborn. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not doing this shit with you right now.” Joe gets up and continues dressing himself, prompting you to climb out of bed and move in front of him. 

He can’t avoid his way out of this. You won’t allow it. It’s time to finally rip the bandaid off. 

You’ve sat on this for the last two weeks, since he last left your apartment and you realized you’d stupidly allowed yourself to fall for this man. Fall for a man who walks around with a wedding ring on his left hand, who’s always had that wedding ring from the moment you met him. You’re not upset with him, not as much as you’re upset with yourself.

You grew up the product of an affair, felt the stinging pain of being rejected by a parent whose selfishness resulted in the creation of life, a life he wanted no part of. Seen how your mom literally begged your piece of shit father to be in your life, to play some role. Heard how he cruelly rejected her, rejected you, calling you your mother’s bastard. A mistake.

It devastated you so deeply that you still can’t really talk about it without getting emotional. 

And yet, you idiotically found yourself playing the same role you used to judge your mother for: the other woman. 

It’s a role you stepped in, and one you must now step out of.

“There’s nothing to do.” You run your hands over your face and shake your head. Choosing to have this conversation at almost 4 o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the best move, but you also know that if you give yourself more time, you’ll find a reason not to do it. And you need to do this. “You have a wife, Joe. A whole ass woman who loves you and would probably let you fuck her just as much as you like to fuck me. Go be with her, and if not her, find someone else, cause I won’t be that for you. Not anymore.” 

You’re not exactly sure what part of what you just said registered with him, but it’s obvious something did by the change of tone he takes. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from where it should have come a long time ago,” you answer, crossing your arms over your body. “This was never right, and I refuse to partake in it anymore. I won’t be your whore anymore.”

You didn’t expect hurt to flash in his beautiful eyes nor for him to move closer to you, that hurt intensifying when you back away. He can’t touch you. You can’t allow that, because all it takes is only touch, one longing gaze, and you’ll be putty in his hands. This has to end. “Is that really what you think you are to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you, Joe,” you answer, honestly. It’s something you’ve battled back and forth with for nearly three years. Just what is it about you that keeps him coming back, keeps him in your bedroom, inside of you. At face value, it’s the sexual compatibility between you. Below the surface level though, there’s maybe more. You’ve never allowed yourself to venture there, and you’re certainly not about to right now. You know how you feel about him, but you refuse to really ask yourself how he feels about you. “And truthfully, it doesn’t matter, cause it doesn’t change anything.”

“So, that’s just it?” His voice is wounded, handsome face painted into a mixture of scowl and a frown. “Almost three years, and you want to throw it all away, for what?”

“For what…..Joe, you are married. You have a whole wife at home. Whatever issues you have that cause you to step out, work that shit out. Learn how to be with her. Cause I’m not doing it any more. I—I can’t.” Emotion imbues your voice toward the end, and you hate that shit. You don’t want him to see, to know, how much this has been eating you up as of lately. “I’m gonna be 30 in a few years. I want to be married. I want to have a family. I deserve that, and I’ll never have it as long as I’m messing with you, so I’ve gotta let you go.” You swallow the deep lump in the back of your throat. “And you’ve gotta let me go.” 

This time, this time you can see the part that wounds him, that digs into his chest. You’ve gotta let me go. 

Joe is fast, fast enough to move directly in front of you, large hands holding your face. He says your name, desperate almost. “Tell me what to do, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just….” He stops, and you close your eyes, refusing to see if it’s his own emotions coming up. You can barely handle your own cascade of feelings right now and refuse to take on his. “I can’t lose you.”

What you want…..

What you want is for him to never leave. What you want is for him to stay with you, to be with you. What you want is for him to have never met Jadah, never married her, never committed his life to her. 

What you want is for him to be yours and only yours, but what you want….is also what you can never have. 

“I—I want you to leave, Joe.” The words burn your lips, scorch your throat, ache your soul. “And this time….don’t come back.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, to see the result of your heartbreaking, even if honest request. It’s because you know seeing him hurt will only cause your resolve to crumble, and you can’t have that. You have to be strong, have to be the woman your mother couldn't.

So, you remain there, remain silent as he steps away from you, his touch vanishing. There’s such an emptiness in his wake.

It’s only when you hear the front door of your apartment shut that you finally feel it, the caving of your stomach, the heavy lump move from the back of your throat, the release of the loud sob you didn’t realize you’d been keeping at bay. 

It’s when you finally allow yourself to feel all of the emotions of a woman who just told the only man she’s ever loved to leave. 

If only you knew his departure was just the beginning of the rest of your life.

[keepingsecretstokeepyoutk]

This imagery immediately made me think of Emily Dickenson’s poem “Tell all the truth but tell it slant”

I’ve always associated this poem with Taylor and her truth, so it was fun to see a possible reference to it.

Now if the poem isn’t clear enough, look at this explanation of its meaning:

As others have already pointed out, the room is also partially upside down like the orange room in the Lover house, which we have suspected represents bearding/stunting. The room having some of its furniture on the ceiling (fully upside down) and some of its furniture simply slanted, might represent her inching her way out of the closet or getting closer to daylight.

Dickinson even envision’s the truth as a light “the truth must dazzle gradually/or every man be blind” - similar to Taylor’s truth being represented by daylight and leaving the dark.

It feels fitting that a Dickinson poem would be directly referenced since the time period of the aesthetic lines up with the poets life. There was even an episode in Dickinson (Apple TV) about women being sent to a psych ward for hysteria. In the very next scene she’s in an 1800s style dress, writing.

The poem also uses the word “infirm”, here meaning weak (that people are too weak to absorb a whole truth), but is the root word for “infirmary”, another word for hospital (or a place caring for those who are ill), where this music video takes place.

“Success in Circuit lies” means you must skirt the truth, tell it at a certain angle, which reminds me of the epic song, High Infidelity, where she imagines her fans finding out her truth and hating her for “lying” to them for years, she sings “I was dancing around, dancing around it”.

I was literally just thinking about this poem yesterday, I’m so tickled that she might have referenced it.

Not to mention fortnight is a word used more often in that time period…

[lightlycareless]

Omg the toji threesome fic is just...wtf there's no other worlds to describe it it's wtf in a good way omg what if she gets pregnant? What if it's not naoya's?! WHAT WILL TOJI FJCKING SAY?! GET RID OF IT?! GIVE BIRTH AND GIVE IT TO ME?! WHAT WILL NAOYA DO?! OMGGGGG PLEASE MAKE A FIC ABOUT THE AFTERMATH AHHHH!!!!! if you want baby no pressure <3

Hello! :>

I don't know if you saw my sneak peak, but I ended up writing a sequel to this heheh I'm so glad you liked it!!

Ngl, I wasn't planning on writing more of it, but then I saw this ask and... you know, I just had to do it to 'em.

Anyways I won't say anything more; except for the warnings: mentions of infidelity. mentions of smut (the word cunt is used) angst I believe. it's sad at the end, or I try to make it sad lol. Mentions of pregnancy. Also, I am no expert relating to pregnancy matters so take it with a grain of salt and lots of plot convenience 😅.

Happy reading!!

sequel to this.

Toji’s not to disclose if you or Naoya came back for a repeat of that night’s succession, though he will admit your pregnancy was not surprising.

It’s not like he could run away from it either, for as soon as news graced the elders’ ears, it’s all the estate spoke of.

From enthusiasm to welcome the next generation of Zen’in sorcerers, to the ever-growing hope of recovering their prized cursed technique, which has been absent for hundreds of years…

Expectations for this child were at an all-time high.

But to you and Naoya, all you could care about was the blessing this baby represented.

A family.

The pinnacle of all their yearnings, the fruits of their never-ending efforts finally appearing as the positive pregnancy test you took one morning after feeling particularly nauseous…

Or Toji’s, perhaps.

Toji initially didn’t think much of the “shocking” announcement. Not even after his behavior that night—they were just heat of the moment things, nothing that he meant nor really cared about, simply said to get a rise out of Naoya; and oh, was his reaction satisfying.

In other words, he really, genuinely, couldn’t care less about what the wimpy heir and his ditzy wife were to face from that point forward.

But when their behavior towards him, the engaging conversations, invitations to drink tea, amongst other activities, drastically ceased, to the point of them turning on their heel and going the opposite way when bumping into him…

It didn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place, and when the puzzle was complete, Toji could only laugh.

It’s like an open secret, albeit solely for those involved.

The baby inside you wasn’t Naoya’s.

It was Toji’s.

And this filled him with morbid fascination no other high had been able to provide.

To know that the baby everyone was praising as the future of the Zen’in, a promising sorcerer, as expected of the heir, was the ultimate irony, the exact anti-thesis of all they once declared of Toji.

He was very tempted to let everyone know.

Proudly announce the truth to the world, screaming to the top of his lungs that that baby isn’t Naoya’s, it’s mine.

The scandal this revelation would bring was nothing short of earth-shattering, and more likely than not, the elders wouldn’t even know where to start from. Although your infidelity could be a good reference.

Followed by the fact that no matter how much they try to get rid of him, he’ll always find a way to haunt them—like a ghost shackled to the estate walls, Toji would always remain in the back of their minds, unsettling them whenever they did as much as breathe.

Although for this to work, he’d have to wait until the child was born, officiated as son of Naoya, before he could do any true damage.

To see the kind of face the Zen’in would make upon finding out the truth… is one that makes his prolonged stay all but worthwhile.

As well as knowing your reaction towards the whole ordeal—if you’ve even been able to sleep knowing well that your life was on the line by carrying such a frightening secret in your womb.

Considering the way you frequently sought him out during those lonely nights where your husband would be away for long periods of time, this probably didn’t perturb you as much. After all, what did you expect after receiving his seed as constantly as you did? That nothing would happen? No consequences to be suffered?

You were many things, but he never thought you as delusional.

Or perhaps, you were hoping for this. To have his child. He’d come to believe so after the tight way your cunt squeezed him.

Well, that would only make him the delusional one.

Either way, he suspects that while your secret might’ve prickled the back of your mind from time to time, it didn’t bother you as much as he hoped—not with the way your staff coddled your every move, how the clan would gift you expensive items to celebrate the future head of the clan, per tradition, or how happy you appeared to be with your growing bump, gently caressing it and beaming while confessing oh how much you longed to finally hold your baby.

It irked him.

To see that even through this deceit, you were still blissful.

It was undeserving. Wrong.

At least to the man who has been sentenced to nothing but pain and disgrace since the moment he was born, that’s how it was.

Because it was impossible for him to grasp the innocence of others—To accept that some were just simply… with better luck. Free to live as they desired, and without having to pay for the prejudice of others.

Toji, now more than ever, felt that he was being used. Plucked from his misery, toyed with, and discarded once dried out of his benefits.

Thus, his motivation to ruin your and Naoya’s happiness became as palpable as ever—hastily making his way towards you once catching you by one of the many gardens, intending to remind you of the power he had, how easily it would be for him to plant the seed of doubt amongst the staff, let it flourish up to the elders, and ruin your and Naoya’s life forever.

Unless your anguished face was to stop him.

It was abrupt, happening in less than a second, yet enough for him to understand it wasn’t because you were upset by some redundant folly, but rather, of pain.

With one of your hands rushing up to your stomach while the other to your back, it was as if the weight of your baby had suddenly become too much to handle; you’d then anxiously looked for a chance to sit down, frowning when realizing the only option was the strenuous engawa in front of you…

Before freezing, face quickly void of any color, when seeing Toji abruptly standing by your side, with mysterious intentions you were not interested in finding out.

“Toji, you— You breathe as you do your best to walk away from him, just for him to keep up with you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Gee, that’s the thanks I get for getting you pregnant?” he sneers. “Never thought you to be as prejudiced as the rest—”

“What—what is wrong with you?!” you condemned, snatching your arm from his grasp. “How dare you?! Don’t you ever say something like ever aga—ah!”

“Y/N.” Toji’s eyes widen when he sees you lean forward, wrapping your arms around your stomach as you hiss and cuss, while tightly closing your eyes in what he recognizes strenuous pain. “What is happening?! Are you—”

No.

Could it be? And so soon?!

”Are you having the baby??”

“What? N—No—!” you whimper, squeezing tears out of the corners of your eyes. “It’s just—it’s just this pain that comes and goes sometimes—I—I need to sit down—”

Toji doesn’t hesitate to help you onto the engawa by firmly, yet gently, holding your arms and lowering you down to the wooden floor. You didn’t plan on accepting his help at first, but when a sharp pain reminds you that you couldn’t really pick and choose in this situation, you end up agreeing.

Once seated, Toji concludes this was much better off in the hands of a staff member, or even a doctor if he could somehow manage to do that, so he quickly stands up and turns towards the hallways—but the moment you see him take as little as a step away from you, your hands fly to grab his sleeve, stopping him on his tracks before looking up to him with the most pitiable look on your face.

“Stay.” You breathe, swallowing. “Please.”

And whether because of your pleading, teary eyes, or because it had been so long since he’d basked in your warm company, Toji obliges, soon taking the spot besides you as your hand now securely gripped his, with such an unprecedented force that has him both amused and concerned by your pain, while offering whatever little comfort he could with his touch.

It’s in these quiet yet tense moments that he finally gets to see the certainty of your situation.

While you expected to happily enjoy your future life as a mother, relish on the compliments of those around you, the praises of your in-laws, and the company and support of your husband…

Reality had been nothing short of deviant from your dreams—starting from the high risk your pregnancy was labeled as…

To the haunting consequences of your past actions.

“Are you sure this is normal?” Toji asks, seeing that your pain was not subsiding. “I think you need help—”

“No shit, Toji!” you gasp, he raises an eyebrow. “I mean—I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, princess. It’s nothing I’m not used to already.”

“… is that—is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. Not really.” He snickers, a smile that’s quickly wiped off his mouth when hearing you hiss. “But I’ve seen it work with others, so why not give it a shot?”

“I’m not—I’m not going to do that.” You huffed. “I—I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“But you’d ignore me?”

“If you’re here to scold me, this is not the right time.” You hiss again, feeling a sharp pain attack your lower back, making you press your lips and whine.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do something? Bring you something to drink—or… something?”

“Yes, but—but it’s not like you can help me anyways.”  You confess, he frowns.

“What? Why? How hard is it to get something for you to take?” he scoffs.

“They don’t want me to—they say—they say it might hurt the baby.”

Toji blinks.

“And so, what? They’re just going to leave you to suffer?”

You don’t respond.

He sighs. Toji should’ve known better.

“Where does it hurt?”

“My—my back and stomach” you breathe, another sharp bolt of pain on those places precisely, making you hold his hand even tighter, once again, he’s surprised someone like you could even dent his skin. “And no matter what I do—nothing helps! Not even that stupid warm bath, or the massages Junko-san told me to do—”

The desperation for failed solutions after failed solutions is clear in your voice, a consistency that effectively shows your growing frustration at being reminded again and again that not even when carrying the future of the Zen’in, are you respected as a person.

It’s always the needs of others first, the beliefs of the rest—only this time around it was your baby, although through the twisted words of your in-laws.

“I’m so, so tired of feeling exhausted, I just want to—”

“Let me try.” Toji interrupts, offering a solution that initially catches you by surprise, a part of your mind urging you to decline and get away as far as possible, the dangers his closeness could give are far bigger than you’re willing to put up with—

Yet, another part of you is telling you to allow him, if only for a moment, to help you.

To enjoy his company, something you’ve been unjustifiably deprived of.

Something you should’ve had now more than ever due to your pregnancy, but for many painful reasons, you didn’t.

But just because you wanted it, does it mean you should?

…

…

…

It wouldn’t be the first time you succumbed to these desires.

Thus, the decision is made when freeing his hand and gesturing to him to proceed with a nod. Toji then places his hands over your shoulders, firmly pressing his fingertips against them before beginning to ease the tensions and stresses away from your body through circular motions.

Had you known of Toji’s talent, you would’ve asked for massages more than anything else from him—for the way he carefully worked over your knots, starting from your neck and shoulders, down to your spine and to your lower back… it was simply amazing.

And for a moment, it’s like you’ve forgotten the strained relationship you had with him in favor of wondering where he even learned to do something like that.

“Oh my god—” you sigh, shoulders relaxing as Toji continues to massage you. “This is so much better…”

“Well, know you can always count on me to make you feel better, right?” He teases, your satisfaction dwindles for a moment with a frown. “It’s just a joke.”

“It’s not the time for jokes.” You respond. “but at least my back doesn’t hurt anymore….”

“That’s the reason why you’re so tense— it’s because you can’t take a joke.” Toji adds, as if he were finding out how much he could push it before you snapped. So much for his concern… or perhaps it was his way to lighten up your mood?

“Yeah, how horrible of me—it’s not like I’m carrying a baby.” You chided, and once again, his arrogance is smacked out of him.

After a moment of silence and brief repentance, Toji speaks.

“How did Naoya take it?”

“…I don’t want to talk about that.”

It went bad. If not horrible.

Naoya was excited at first, over the moon to know that he was finally to be a father after all their attempts.

But when doubts began to plague his mind, eventually leading to the DNA test… his absence was the clear indication of his feelings.

However,  if his reaction hurt you and your marriage so badly, then why did you keep the—

“I always wanted a family.” You say, succumbing to one of the many questions you rightfully assumed Toji to have. “From the moment I married, no, even before that, I knew that’s what I wanted in life. To have a little girl, or boy, that I could endlessly dote and spoil on… And once I got with Naoya, realizing he too shared my dream, I literally felt it was only a matter of weeks before we’d have our own family.

But, when we began to try, and try, and try… what I once felt just by my fingertips was slowly transforming into an impossible dream.

People say that these things happen unexpectedly, just when you need them the most.

… and I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. Remain hopeful and believe that the gods had other plans for me in the meantime. But… the two of us knew it. There was something wrong, and we didn’t know what—

Or more like we didn’t want to know.

Naoya couldn’t even consider himself as the possible cause. And I… I also didn’t want to believe I was the obstacle between me and my dreams.

And then, you came along.

I guess it’s the weight of our actions that eventually made Naoya… hesitant for the baby.

We always knew that it was yours, it’s just that maybe… maybe we hoped it wasn’t. We so desperately wanted to believe the baby was his, ours, and not fruit of something we perhaps should’ve never done.”

Feeling both confused and slightly angered, Toji scowls.

“I can understand one thing—I was used. Fine, whatever. Nothing new. But the rest? If it was such a big issue your marriage, then why did you keep the baby? Surely Naoya considered getting an aborti—”

“Because I wanted to keep the baby.” You confess. “I was growing so desperate and lonely—to be married and yet be as isolated as I’ve never felt before, what was I supposed to do?! In a house full of people… do you even know how that feels?!”

“Like you wouldn’t imagine.”

Your eyes widen, and soon, a crushing wave of regret inundates your mind.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, Toji sighs. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You’re just stressed.” He concludes. “Pregnancy stuff, I guess.”

“…I want my husband, here, with me.” You quietly admit. “I don’t want him to work anymore, spend days and weeks far away. But instead, he’s out there, angry with me and the baby…”

“He’ll come around.” Toji doesn’t know why he said that, only that he had to. You frown.

“How do you even know that? How do you know he won’t divorce me—or worse, cheat on me?”

“Do you hear yourself?” he scoffs, partially holding back his laughter. “Do you actually believe he’d be capable of cheating on you?”

A woman as special as you?

“Everyone else did at one point.” You remind him, he rolls his eyes. “Well, what else am I supposed to think after his absence?! He doesn’t even love me anymore for all I care!”

“That’s stupid.”

“Maybe for you it is.” You cry, tears begin to pool in your eyes. “It’s just a matter of time before he files for divorce and leaves me for someone else! Someone that can give him children of his own! Oh, I should’ve never allowed—"

“Naoya isn’t going to divorce you because I’ve seen how he treats you.” Toji interrupts, hurt by your blatant disregard of him, and yet, something about seeing you so distressed like this, heartbroken, makes him want to console you even more. “He could’ve divorced you the moment he saw the results, but he didn’t. Have you thought about that?”

“Perhaps he’s waiting for the right moment to humiliate me before his family—”

“Naoya loves you.” Toji says, and the words hurt him more than he anticipated. But… why? “I’ve known the kid since he was born—I’ve seen how he treats the people he doesn’t care about. And you’re nothing like that, not even close. So no, he won’t humiliate you.”

“And what makes you think that?”

Toji goes silent.

He’s acting as if he doesn’t know why he’s out here insisting so much on comforting you. And honestly? It made sense, for just a few hours ago he couldn’t care less any for a woman that played with two men and now had to pay the consequences—

But the truth wasn’t as cryptic as he liked to believe. All that he needed to do was dive a little deeper into his own thoughts and he’d soon find out why, as clear as day, he was fighting so hard to make you feel better.

And it all started the moment he accepted one crucial detail:

You were the mother of his child, his firstborn, and so… it unknowingly evoked a sense of protection towards you, deep underneath the layers of his disbelief and mockery…

Or more like further developed.

Since the first night the two spent together without Naoya, or perhaps even before, there was something brewing inside him, slowly, but surely. The first foundations of the feelings that would only flourish the night he had you alone, completely for himself.

In those moments of solitude, Toji liked to imagine that you were his wife; accompanying him underneath the covers, seeking his embrace, his touch, while telling him of your tedious day and how you so desperately looked forward to seeing him again—

And not Naoya.

The possibility of coming home to a warm bed, with a wife that treated him like an actual person, not a stain in the long history of the clan, contrary to the cold, empty room he has been condemned to since birth… is something he didn’t know he wanted, until you stumbled onto his path.

To be able to seek your figure whenever walking across the estate, hoping to catch you just around the corner, gossiping with your ladies about whatever it is that you liked to talk about with them, before you notice him by the corner of your eyes, lifting your gaze and seeing the lovely way your eyes would brighten at his presence—

A wide smile adorning your face, cheeks quickly turning red as you shyly dismiss your staff in favor of receiving him. Running to him to tightly embrace him, subsequently standing on your tip toes to land a kiss on his lips before murmuring the sweetest welcome home and tending to him.

And eventually… getting to hear your moving cries upon learning you’re expecting a baby. After many weeks of trying, both their efforts are finally met with the most beautiful reward life could give, letting your imagination run wild with all the things you wanted to do as a future mother—and yet, you’d still find a way to reassure him that he’d be a good dad.

That the disgrace of the Zen’in, the wretched man no one deemed respectable, less capable of harboring love, was still capable of being a good father. A caring husband.

…

But this was nothing but a silly desire of his, a response to the horrible things he’s endured.

…Perhaps if things had been different, had he been born as literally anyone else but himself… or maybe even met you under different circumstances, his life would’ve been completely different.

One with you, hopefully.

“Toji!” you suddenly gasp, startling him and concernedly looking at you.

“What is it now?” he frowns.

“The baby.” You say, which does nothing to ease his worries. “It’s—”

“It’s what? What’s happening??”

“The baby is kicking.” You reveal, swiftly taking his hand and placing it over your round stomach and onto the area you feel their kicks to be. “I can’t—I can’t believe it, look!”

“What do you mean they’re—”

Toji’s eyes widen.

A kick.

And another. And another one.

You weren’t lying, the baby was kicking.

And unbeknownst to him, this was their first time doing it too.

“Can you feel that?” you say, and all past worries were now replaced with excitement and overwhelming happiness for this special moment. “The baby is finally kicking!”

“I… can.” He demurs, trying his best to comprehend what was happening just beneath his palm, before noting the peculiarity of your sentence. “What do you mean finally?”

“It’s the first time he does it.” You reveal. “It’s supposed to happen around this time, but I didn’t know when, of course. I guess… now’s the day.”

“That means…”

Naoya didn’t get the privilege of feeling the baby’s first kicks.

No.

Not any baby.

His baby.

And now that this truth settled in his mind, it quickly became the sweetest moment he had ever experienced in his life. Something he wishes to preserve for all eternity…

Just after dealing with the enormous sense of guilt and shame settling in his heart.

For how could he ever consider bestowing the same fate as his to this innocent child, just to get a rise of the family that wronged him? Towards someone whom he hasn’t even met… simply because he couldn’t deal with his own emotions?

Just when did he turn so despicable? Embracing the kind of malice as his clan?

He should be ashamed to even be beside you.

“It’s a boy.” You say, abruptly cutting through his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“The baby—it’s a boy.” You repeat. “We’re having a boy.”

Toji doesn’t know why, nor thought it possible, but the news somehow makes him feel even happier.

“A boy.” He repeats. “A son.”

“We haven’t decided a name yet” you confess. “I was thinking something in honor of Naoya, continue the tradition like him and his father.”

“Why not something for you?” Toji suggests instead; his concern might be disguised in favor of your emotions (and partially, he was) but it was mainly the distaste of having Naoya’s, or technically Noabito’s, name anywhere near him.

But he wasn’t going to tell you that, obviously.

“After the way he’s acting, you deserve that much.”

You press your lips together before lightly chuckling, finding some truth behind his words.

“I guess so… but then, which name?” you ponder, frowning as you go deep into thought, yet nothing seems to arise for the occasion, certainly not when you’ve done nothing but consider names with the same kanji as your husband whenever touching the subject.

Thinking you needed more time to consider, or perhaps needing to admit there was nothing else you wanted but honor your husband, you accept defeat with a sigh.

“I don’t know, Toji. Maybe I should just name him after Nao—”

“Megumi.”

“What?”

“Megumi. Blessing.” Toji explains. “I thought it’d be fitting with what you told me.”

“That’s… very straight forward.” You say after a few seconds of quiet consideration, “Unusual, since it’s mostly used as a girl’s name, and I don’t know if the elders would approve—”

“Look, if it’s that much of a problem you don’t have to use—” Never one to happily accept rejection, Toji quickly feels both embarrassed and frustrated by you, which he does not hesitate to let you know.

Only to be surprised yet again.

“But also, very sweet.” You smile, briefly looking up to him before glancing back to your stomach and onto your hand resting on top of his.

He blinks, perplexed by your sudden admittance—and such, all he can do is stare at you while you keep pouring your heart out.

“Even with the things I had to endure to have him here… he’s still my blessing, and I wouldn’t want him any other way.”

At your declaration, Toji is pushed down onto another turmoil of emotions.

It shouldn’t be that hard to conclude this is something he should isolate himself from.

Remember that he isn’t part of this marriage, no matter if he had permission of the other two involved, or how much he tries to convince himself—Understand that his blood means nothing, both inside and outside the clan, and that’s how it’ll always be.

But when your hand gently squeezes his for a moment, thumbs caressing his knuckles as you let him know your pains are slowly disappearing and how grateful you are for his help—all his worries are quickly discarded, allowing him to once again imagine live out this faux reality a bit longer.  

A happiness that comes from the notion of being your husband, simply enjoying a quiet afternoon, the refreshing spring breeze, while sitting by the engawa, in front of your favorite garden, trying to make up for all the time he spent away from you.

Time Toji knew he should’ve spent either way by trying to get close to you, see your growth firsthand, check on you from time to time, assist whenever possible— instead of plotting a stupid plan to ensure your and the baby’s downfall.

He reproached himself for having fallen for such an arrogant trap, and convinced himself this was the way to go.

Yet, he didn’t allow that thought to interfere much with the present. He shouldn’t either way—not with the lovely bumps of his son’s kicking against his hand, almost as if he recognized it was his father finally acknowledging him…

And certainly not with your warmth reminding him of what could’ve been.

A moment he’ll preserve in his memories for the rest of his days, because while relishing in your company, he had already made up his mind.

One that fitted with the idea that all good things must come to an end.

Especially those that are simply not meant to be, less for someone as disgraceful as him.

It hurt him to come to this conclusion. To acknowledge what his mind, and existenceconstantly reminded him about.

But he knew he had to do it.

From that point forward, he’ll do everything in his power to keep away from you.

Toji would no longer watch you from afar, nor ask for your whereabouts, whether directly or indirectly.

He’ll simply limit himself to hearing of your wellbeing, or how your relationship began to flourish yet again, through rumors of the staff, if he was ever around the estate to acknowledge them.

He was right when he said Naoya would come along, you know? He might be wrong in some things, or most, but when it comes to judging other’s character, Toji never misses.

It was nothing but obvious that Naoya loved you very much, after all, if he no longer wanted to know anything from you, you wouldn’t have lasted as long as you did.

Naoya kept you at the estate, fed, warm, tended for, because he loved you—to the point of going against his own clan to provide you with the much-needed assistance you required for your oscillating pains.

With such gestures, it shouldn’t come to him as a surprise that you also loved Naoya very much.

And yet, it hurt him to realize such a thing.

But who was he trying to fool?

At the end, he had always knew he had no place in that marriage. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that the reason you kept returning to him was because you wanted something more from him—it was never the truth to begin with:

Your mind was always in Naoya’s wellbeing, and in his love.

He was ultimately a step towards your goals. Whether for pleasure, or for something deeper, it didn’t matter—they all went to the same target.

So, when he hears from the gossiping staff that you’ve named your child Megumi, he doesn’t get his hope ups anymore.

Instead, Toji simply takes it as what it is: a way to thank him for the blessing he’s given you, honor him one last time, before cutting ties with him forever.

Because the moment anyone catches wind of his relationship to your son… everything will collapse, and that is something he is no longer willing to allow.

Thus, he stays away. Keeps his distance from you and Naoya as both continue to tend for their growing family, giving Megumi things he had only dreamed of getting:

A warm, cozy bed to sleep in, where he’d be able to dream about all kinds of things he’d like to do when the following day arrives.

A roof over his head, guarding him from the cold pours of the rain, or the burning rays of the sun, as he watches the world go by.

Food to fill his stomach, every day, whenever and whatever he wanted, ensuring his healthy growth or an occasional craving.

A set future that would reassure him of any misgivings, permitting him to fail and not worry if he’ll have anyone to back him up, or start from zero.

But most importantly—

Love.

To remind him that no matter what happens, whatever he does or doesn’t do, he’ll always have a family to support him just the way he is.

…

…

…

Yeah.

It’s clear to him now.

It had always been better this way.

In other words, Toji disappears from your and Naoya's life to ensure your safety. Woaaah. I hope I was able to convey that kind of sad redemption (?)

Also, I was debating whether to actually name the baby Megumi or not, since it's a whole other character—but then I thought, why not? and thus this happened.

I guess we get to the conclusion that if there's one person that's most deprived (and in need) of love, it would be Toji. We all saw how he got after mamaguro died... so I think him doing an 180 to protect the mother of his child and son is 100% accurate and sad omg. jesus, how different from the Toji I portrayed in the previous oneshot.

Anyways, I hope it was to your liking :3 Thank you for sending in this ask, I really enjoyed writing it!

Take care, and hope to see you soon ❤️❤️

[sweetprfct]

High Infidelity

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Did you really have to chart the constellations in his eyes? Did you really have to tell him how he brought you back to life?

Author's Note: Babe by Taylor Swift, High Infidelity by Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift, My Tears Ricochet by Taylor Swift, Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift. I don't know... I don't know... I don't know. My mind is all over the place the past week and needed to write this down for some distraction. I don't know... I never done a back to back series nor have written something like this, so yeah. Forgive me for all the trigger warnings. Everything is all so crazy. This is a very very hard thing to write because of past emotional abuse experiences in real life that still terrorizes me and maybe it's a letter for the past experience to let it go.

Disclaimer: 18+, emotional abuse, mention of harming, infidelity

(Please, please don't read this if it triggers you. I need you all to think hard about it before reading this one. This is a bit of a dark fic).

Wordcount: 3.2K

part one - part two - part three - part four - epilogue

“Late again?” 

Your boyfriend, Eli, asked you the moment you entered the flat. You were kicking off your shoes by the front door, eyes full of exhaustion as you sighed. He was by the kitchen heating up some leftovers. You didn’t exactly understand how it was “late” because technically it was only 9pm.

“Yeah, the event went pretty late.” You replied.

You technically left the event early knowing that Eli would start asking where you were. That was how he was these days. Keeping count of everything you did.

You were technically not an official assistant in the team. You just started this job, and it was more of a paid internship that you applied to because you needed the money, and it paid really well. You worked for Joseph Quinn’s team. A British actor who got pushed into the limelight too fast after his appearance in Stranger Things.

Joe was nice. His team was nice and very organized and all you had to do was bring Joe’s things, get coffee, and help his team organize whatever they needed for Joe. 

That was all. 

Nothing too complicated.

Nothing for you to really complain about nor do something that could ruin this whole internship that you applied for. 

Well, at least that was what you thought. 

“That’s a nice dress.” Eli stepped out of the kitchen, his eyes studying you as he ate a piece of chicken. 

For some reason, his eyes studying you like that made you feel angry and annoyed. It wasn’t like he was doing anything to you, but the tone of his voice was making you feel annoyed. 

“Thanks. I’ll go freshen up.” You gave him a small smile, giving him a quick peck on the lips before heading down the hall. 

“I’m sure many men were staring at you tonight.” Eli added his little comment that made you stop halfway from your steps and looked over your shoulder.

“I was just doing my job, assisting.” You reassured him before continuing down the hall and into your bedroom.

You weren’t going to lie. Your relationship with Eli for the past two years has been rough. He was constantly jealous, constantly making rude comments about what you wear and how you wore your makeup to the point where you had stopped putting makeup on. You had changed your whole closet to just jeans, t-shirt or jumpers. You changed your whole style and personality because you didn’t want any trouble from Eli. You didn’t want to disappoint him. 

However, this new job of yours came with the responsibility of dressing up and wearing makeup when you accompany Joe through the many events or movie premieres. That made Eli squirm even more for the last four months whenever you came home wearing a nice dress and nice makeup. He would comment how the dress was too short or the dress was too revealing. 

“I wore a jacket, don’t worry.” You would tell him. 

“Next time, pick one that isn’t so revealing.” Eli would scoff. “You’re mine. You don’t need other men looking at you.” 

You could feel the love in your relationship was slowly fading, and you didn’t know how to get out of it. You were too scared to do something about it. Terrified even what he could react or say towards this decision of yours if you ever decided to cut this off. Eli had been very aggressive towards his words to you and sometimes, even if he wouldn’t say something, you could see the disappointment all over his face. You were a people pleaser, and you were the kind of person who didn’t want any trouble, so you tried to give what he wanted most of the time.

It made you hide inside yourself even more. It made you feel insecure. It made you terrified of every decision you made because you didn’t want to upset him. You didn’t want to see that reaction on his face even if his lips were saying something else. It made you feel like you were walking on broken glass every time. 

Sliding yourself under the covers next to Eli that night, you saw his eyes studying you the moment you entered the room and brushed your hair in front of your vanity. His eyes never left you until you laid next to him. He immediately moved himself close to you and pulled you in his arms, hugging you from behind. 

“So, how many more events do you have to go to?” He asked.

You sighed, closing your eyes. Eli was never interested in your job. You knew he was asking about it, so he knew what he was expecting. By that, it meant he would be monitoring the outfits that you would wear and the people that would be around you in that event.

“Not sure.” You murmured. “I’ll let you know once my supervisor lets me know.”

Eli lets out a soft hum and kisses you on your cheek before turning you to face him and kisses you roughly on the lips, towering over you. For a second, you went with it and kissed him back, pushing your body against his and letting him have what he wanted. He lets his soft fingers slide the strap of your tank top, kissing your bare shoulder. His lips found the skin of your neck as he softly sucked onto the skin, a small gasp escaping your lips.

“Babe.” You whispered, slowly pulling away. “I’m tired. I’m early tomorrow.”

Eli sighed, letting himself laid back down on the bed next to you. 

“You’re always tired.” He argued. “The last time we had sex was last week.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just tired today, and I have to get up early tomorrow.” You turned your back on him, closing your eyes. 

“Right.” Eli said sarcastically, getting up from the bed.

You looked over your shoulder, sitting up on the bed as he made his way towards the door.

“No, c’mon. Don’t be so upset.” You said.

You could see it all over his eyes that was getting upset, and you knew if you didn’t do something about this, he wouldn’t talk to you for the next two days. He would make up an excuse that he was busy and that he would be with his friends. 

“Come here.” You reached your hand out to him as he paused in his tracks and stared at your hand. 

He gave you a small smile and walked towards the side of your bed, taking your hand in his as he kissed you hungrily and towered over you on the bed. You let him touch you in all the ways he wanted to, but you just felt numb. You couldn’t breathe as you stared into the white ceiling and kissed him back softly, letting his fingers brush against your burning skin. You felt disassociated as he kissed you hungrily and pushed himself inside of you. 

You felt nothing but disgusted with yourself for being so weak.  

That was how you have been feeling lately with your relationship. You felt trapped and you felt like a chain has been around your neck lately, and Eli was pulling it every chance he got. 

“Hey, could you go to the coffee shop down the block to get everyone coffee?” Alex, Joe’s manager, asked, interrupting your thoughts the next day. 

“Uh…sure.” Alex handed you a piece of paper with everyone’s orders. 

Your job was always simple but as time went on, your interaction with certain people became more frequent. In the beginning, Joe couldn’t even look at you nor acknowledge you that much unless he was thanking you for bringing him the things he needed. Then, Alex and his team had gotten busier that the things in your list were starting to add up. Part of your job has been added to “make sure Joe is in this place at a certain time,” or “make sure Joe wears this suit instead of this.”

Then, there was the chore that Alex would give you to make sure that his collar, tie or buttons on his shirt was perfect before he stepped out of the red carpet. 

“Do you enjoy your job?” Joe had asked you that one time when you had sat on the sofa of his dressing room, waiting for the rest of his team to arrive. 

“Sure.” Your voice almost sounded so monotone that Joe couldn’t even believe your answer. 

He sat there and tilted his head at you, one brow raised and waited for your real answer. You let out a deep breath, closing the magazine that you were reading and set it back on the table.

“I guess it’s okay. Couldn’t complain.” You shrugged.

Joe let out a soft understanding hum and focused his attention back to his phone, scrolling his time away. He was getting ready for his movie premiere, and you were there to make sure that everything he needed was there. That he looked perfect right before he stepped out of the red carpet.

Not that you hated your job but sometimes, it could get so repetitive that you looked bored after the events. The rest of Joe’s team would go and prepare whatever they needed to, and you would just make sure Joe was fine. That he didn’t need anything. 

“Here.” Joe handed you a glass of martini at the after party of the premiere.

“No, thanks. I’m technically still working.” 

“And looked bored.” Joe’s face was a little too close to yours as he whispered those words.

You hesitated, your eyes scanning the room trying to look for a sign of Alex. Joe couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head.

“They went home. So, technically you’re the only one left here.” Joe answered the question that you were asking in your head. “C’mon. You deserve it for working so hard all the time.”

Pursing your lips, you stared at the glass that Joe was holding before finally taking it from his hand and taking a sip of it. Joe smiled and took a sip of his own drink, his eyes scanning the room before falling back to you.

“Are you usually this quiet?” Joe asked.

“I’m just doing my job.” You answered, a small smile creeping up on Joe’s face. “I don’t want to interrupt anyone.”

“You’re not interrupting me.” Joe smiled, taking another sip of his drink.

You could tell he already had a few drinks before this conversation. You continued to drink the glass of martini in your hand and didn’t reply a word to what Joe said. You could tell the alcohol was making him a little bolder, and he was trying to flirt. You didn’t want to step into any boundaries because first of all, it was inappropriate, and you didn’t want to lose this job either.

“So, how long have you been here in London?” Joe asked.

“About two years.” Your answers were plain and simple as Joe continued to play 20 questions with you. 

By the end of the night, you both seemed to open up to each other a little bit more, and you were able to learn Joe more personally. The thing was that you didn’t realize that night was going to be a start of something new between you and him because ever since that event, Joe’s attention was on you most of the time. He would gaze down at you and give you small smiles, while you would fix his collar or tie before he stepped out onto the red carpet.

Then, during after parties, you would be left to babysit Joe, and you would notice how his eyes would catch your eyes across the room. You sat in the corner and minded your own business, your focus on your phone. However, Joe would walk towards you and catch your attention.

“Wanna dance?” Joe held out his hand.

You bit your lower lip and said, “I don’t dance, sorry.”

Joe sighed and sat next to you, his eyes lingering on the screen of your work phone. 

“Whatever Alex is telling you to do can wait ‘til tomorrow.” 

“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have a full to-do list.”

Joe laughed softly, raising his brow at you. “A full to-do list? I’m the one who has to stand in front of those cameras and do the interviews, remember?”

Joe had a point. 

Though, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “True.” 

You and Joe would talk for the rest of the night. You both would laugh and tease each other. You both would start talking about personal things, and he somehow was able to understand you well. It made your heart swell a little bit. 

It wasn’t right that you felt this way towards Joe because you were in a relationship. You could just easily let Joe know that you weren’t single and that whatever flirty tricks he was trying to do to you, it wouldn’t work. However, you kept dancing around that subject. You didn’t bother bringing that subject up and towards the end of the night, you both would start flirting a little bit more. Besides the fact that you were in a relationship, you also didn’t want to do anything unprofessional or inappropriate because at the end of the night, you were technically still working for Joe’s team and Joe. So, you tried your best not to lead him on. 

That was until you had come home one night and found Eli waiting for you in the living room. You arrived home half an hour past nine, and he already looked upset the moment you had stepped inside the flat. 

“Where have you been?” Eli’s tone of voice wasn’t what you liked at all. 

“I’m sorry, I had to finish some things. I texted you I was going to be late.” You explained.

“No, you didn’t.” Eli argued.

“Yes, I did. Didn’t you get my message?” You knitted your brows, making sure your voice was calm because you didn’t want to upset him even more.

You watched Eli pick up his phone from the coffee table and looked down at it and let out a deep breath.

“You know, maybe you should look for another job if they keep making you stay up this late.” 

You slid your coat off and hung it on the coat hanger and said, “It’s only 9:30. It’s not that late, Eli.”

You heard Eli scoff and shook his head. “So, you'd rather be with them than with me?”

You were confused. 

Where did that subject came from?

You didn’t understand why Eli was acting like this. Shouldn’t he be more supportive about your career? Didn’t you tell him that you needed this job because you needed the money? What else did you have to say or do to make sure he would stop this jealousy thing because it was making you so exhausted.

“I… I didn’t say that.” You murmured.

“Maybe you just don’t love me the way I love you. Just tell me, and it’s fine. I’ll happily go.” Eli shrugged, looking down at the floor.

You walked towards him, taking his hands in yours. The guilt inside of you brewed in your stomach but at the same time, you wanted to vomit. 

“I do love you. I told you that, remember? I love you.”

You felt nothing.

“Then, find another job… for me.” Eli looked into your eyes.

“I… I can’t. It’s hard to look for another job out there and this pays me well, while I’m able to learn the entertainment industry. You know how much I want a career in that industry.”

Eli’s eyes suddenly turned glum again. He slid his hands away from yours and exhaled sharply. 

“Why would you even want to be in that industry? So you could be naked and show everyone that?” 

You couldn’t understand what he was saying. You couldn't understand why he was acting like this.  

“You know that’s not true!” You argued.

You were exhausted from explaining yourself over and over again, and he just didn’t believe you. You felt like whatever you did was never enough for him. Tears started welling up in your eyes as you watched Eli grab his car keys.

“Wh…Where are you going?” Your voice stuttered, terrified of what he might do.

“Obviously, you don’t love me. I mean… no one loves me, so what’s the point, right?”

You grabbed his hand, trying to take the keys away, but he had his hand in a fist as he tried to slide his hand away from your grip.

“No, stop! Please.” You begged, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Don’t do this.”

“If you love me, you’d do this for me.” Eli replied, his eyes hardened as he stared at you.

You didn’t say a word because what he was asking of you was impossible. You already had lost yourself and your dignity. Your job at the moment was the only thing that you have that could maybe help you get back up again. After a few seconds of not replying, Eli pulled his wrist away from your grip, shaking his head.

“If you find me dead on the road then that’s on you.” He stated before walking out the front door. 

“Eli!” You cried out, running out the door, but it was too late as he had already gotten in the car and drove off.

Going back inside the flat, you laid on your bed that night, sobbing and questioning as to how you have gotten yourself into this situation. Questioning every decision you made as to why you were too weak to break this off. 

What if you break this thing off, and Eli would actually harm himself? It would be all your fault like he said. What if no one could love you after this? What about the happy memories that the two of you had at the beginning? What if you would regret it at the end for letting him go? You knew you were the only one that he had left in his life. You couldn’t do that to him either. You couldn’t easily just get out. 

You were trapped. 

Stuck. 

Frozen.

Around midnight, Eli had come back home. You weren’t asleep when he had entered the bedroom, but you had your eyes closed. How could you sleep after tonight? How were you able to have a peace of mind if he was out there? How would you know that he didn’t do anything to himself? It would be all your fault if something happened to him. 

You just couldn’t shut your mouth and agreed with what he was asking, couldn’t you? 

Feeling his arms wrapped around your torso, you felt him nuzzling your hair. You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. You knew he wasn’t going to apologize, so you didn’t try to hope for that. Eventually, he had fallen asleep, holding you that night. A tear rolled down your cheek as you covered your mouth with the palm of your hand to block out your sobs, so he wouldn’t wake up. 

At this point, you didn’t know who you were anymore. 

You just felt numb and lost, choking in your own tears. 

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @bylermaxmayfield @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf

[saintmagx]

I Knew you were Trouble❤️‍🔥

Part 2

Pairing: Jimmy Uso x reader

AN: if you would like tagged let me know 💖 Trinity is still with WWE. No specific timeline

⚠️ Warnings: 18+ , swearing, violence (this is the WWE after all) slight smut, infidelity, jealous Jimmy, bad writing, cringe story telling, the Usos (because they are a warning in themselves) ⚠️

The privilege of being a WWE superstar is you can get in almost anywhere and tonight was no different. LIV a well know nightclub in Miami is one of the toughest places to get into due to the high calliper of clientele - and somehow we made the cut.

The music was pumping, the air thick with stress and tension being danced away. We found our way to the back of the club to sit in one of the enclosed booths, accompanied by a server bringing over a bottle of their finest champagne.

Josh quickly fills the glasses up and starts us off:

“A toast, to these two badass ladies, congrats on your title win. It’s only up from here.”

“Josh, we haven’t actually won the titles yet, in-fact it doesn’t even feel right celebrating before we even have them, isn’t it like bad luck?”

“Yn, girl, let’s just enjoy the moment, we can worry about actually getting the titles tomorrow - tonight is about celebrating. Celebrating success, our future title reign, our new found friendship and everything in between.”

I hadn’t known Trinity long but her positivity and light is captivating. People gravitate towards her because of how she makes them feel. She loves and gives with her whole being.

“Okay enough of the chitchat, let’s dance”

Before I know it I’m being dragged to the dance floor by Trin. We dance the night away, laughing and having potentially a little bit too much alcohol.

“I’m going to use the restroom, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Trin just smiled and nodded - I want to say she heard what I said, but at this point I can’t even register my own inner monologue.

The bathroom was at the back of the club and it was hidden well - not sure how safe that was. Distracted by doing a bit of social media stalking, I walk into something solid.

“Ouch” I say.

I’m so embarrassed - praying no one saw me do that or worse having caught it on camera.

“I think I should be the one saying ouch”

Stunned, i look up and see Jon who is towering over me, with a lustful darkness lingering in his eyes.

“Jon, shit, sorry, I thought it was the wall or something. Are you okay?”

“Well except a bruised ego, I’m fine.” He pauses then continues “A wall huh? You think I’m that built?” His signature smirk creeping onto his face. My cheeks instantly flush pink. Does he know what he’s doing? Or even the effect he’s having on me? Am I reading too much into this? Wait, shit - becoming aware of the the fact I’ve been staring at Jon blushing, I have to say something, anything.

“Trin seems to be having a good time, I left her on the dance floor if you wanna join her.”

He inches closer, his scent fills my nose. My mind, body and soul is hypnotised by him.

“Well that depends, will you be coming back to the dance floor?”

Will i? Technically I wouldn’t be doing anything wrong, On one hand I can be close to him, looking and not touching but then on the other hand, he’s married, married to Trin, I couldn’t do that to her, right?

“I’m not sure that’s such a goo-”

“Yo uce, come get your wife, she’s had one too many drinks and I think she’s ready to start a fight.”

Saved by the bell.

Jon looks me up and down one more time, as if he’s trying to tell me we have unfinished business, he then heads off to get Trin and play the doting husband once more.

“I think I’m going to call it a night Josh.” He agrees and we head to the main entrance to wait on Trin and Jon before heading back to the hotel. I’m not sure what happened back at the club, I’m torn between wanting to find out, and just ignoring it, act like nothing happened - because nothing did happen right?

Trin

(8 New Messages)

I had so much fun tonight, we gotta hit the club more often.

We should think of a cool tag name

Oh and matching outfits

Should we come out together or separate

Omg there’s so much to think about

I know we haven’t known each other that long but I’ve got a feeling we are going to be such good friends

Jon says I’ve to leave you alone and let you sleep

Goodnight girl

Okay, my decision is made, whatever this is or isn’t stops now. Trin is a sweetheart and doesn’t deserve any of this.

I never understood people who said working out is good for the soul, I thought you had to be mad to enjoy it. However over the past few years an early morning hotel gym session has become my inner peace. Whether I’m running on the treadmill or lifting weights my mind is in blissful state of serenity. No craziness, no fuzziness, no overthinking and no Jonathan fucking Fatu. Calm.

Sitting on the gym floor, a sweaty mess from my workout I take a quick look through social media, trying to catch my breath. Trin had posted photos from last night to her private Instagram, guilt washes over me, I quickly shake the feeling and type a cheesy comment on her post - cheese is good, more focus on Trin less focus on Jon.

“Well shit, didn’t expect to see you down here this early.”

“Well Josh, early bird gets the worm and all that jazz.”

He walks over to join me on the floor, Josh is such a great guy, why couldn’t it have been him I was so captivated with and not his married brother.

“Did you have fun last night?”

“Honestly yeah, it was good to let my hair down and just enjoy myself.” Pausing for a second, “what about you? I didn’t get to see you all night.”

“Aw, did yn miss me?” He laughs

“Shut up loser” I say while nudging him.

“What’s going on here?”

I stiffen, Jon.

“Yo uce, about time you got yo ass down here, we ready to work out?”

Jon sits on the floor right next to me, the heat from his body already surrounds mine.

“I’ll take that as a no, I’ll be warming up for whenever yo lazy ass decides to join me.”

Josh gets up and heads towards the gym equipment to start his workout leaving just me and Jon, an awkward silence lingers.

“So last night was fun” I say trying to break the silence.

He just stares at me, looking into his eyes I see conflict, tension, desire? Finally breaking his silence.

“Yeah, it was a good night, shame it was cut short.”

Playing blissfully ignorant I push him for more information.

“It wasn’t cut short? We had been there for hours.”

“Let me rephrase that, our time was cut short.”

My heartbeat picks up - I’m playing with fire here and I know I’ll get burned if I continue.

“I guess I was to busy dancing with Trin to spend time with you and Josh.”

He smirks, his pinky inches closer to my hand, finding it’s destination he starts caressing my hand.

“No, our time. Me and you. If J hadn’t have came in…”

“Jon, come on we ain’t got all day.” Josh interrupts

“I’m coming I’m coming.” He replies back irritated.

Jon leans over inches from my ear he whispers “This ain’t over.”

And with that he is gone, away to join Josh to start their workout. Leaving me confused, conflicted and a little bit hot. Im definitely getting burned.

tagged: @southerngirl41 @missfamilyjeweles @jeyusos-girl @christinabae @jeyusosgirl @raya-hunter01

[britcision]

My brain keeps giving me the dumbest half-baked Mithrun thoughts and I’m fucking loving it he’s so self contained

—————

Brain: wait the Canaries’ whole thing is that they’re each super specialized in their field of magic Solely For Dungeon and Mithrun is the teleportation specialist, why did they fly-

Me: his fucking sense of direction. He’d kill them both and can’t be trusted. Now QUICK, who the fuck made them the scroll?

Mithrun’s got a homework duty of making matching scroll sets on his downtime

OR

They’re standard Canary gear - Mithrun just doesn’t carry his squad’s because he doesn’t care

OR

They had to go tell another squad they lost their fucking captain please can we borrow your teleporter

————

Brain: man when you think about it “I wish I hadn’t joined the Canaries” is an incredibly basic wish compared to Thistle’s whole mess

Me: This is probably why the demon decided he was a weak ass bitch and spat him out unfinished when it couldn’t gather enough power from him to go critical

(And was murdered by Milsiril and co, wonder what they were doing for 5 years while Mithrun was the dungeon lord. Hopefully they left and came back with reinforcements… they were the same squad)

—————

For bonus points: Mithrun’s family is known for silver hair and eyes, which his older brother lacks.

Mithrun is definitively his mother’s child, and has those traits. He’s the bastard, so he could not have gotten them from his brother’s father.

3 options in ascending order of unhingedness:

1) it’s the mother’s side that are known for the silver hair and eyes. Unlikely, unless the father carried his older brother since assuming infidelity means it must be the sire in question, not the parent who carried the baby.

It’s harder to fake who a baby came out of, he’d be “swapped at birth”, not a bastard

2) Mithrun’s mother cheated with a member of her husband’s family (known for their hair and eyes). More likely, best option, the normal one.

3) both sides of the family are known for silver hair and eyes. Charitably, this is a fun coincidence. Uncharitably, they’re European royalty (prone to marrying cousins)

Statistically speaking 2 is probably the one but there’s mileage to get real fucked up and frankly, precedent among nobility for 3

——————

Also, Fleki likes to do drugs and use her magic in her off hours and the convicts can’t use magic without their warden’s permission

(wording unspecific but the direct quote until I get the official translation is “the convicts are unable to use magic without permission from their warden”, singular - each warden gets two specific convicts, which would imply that only that warden can give them permission

It’s not unreasonable to assume their captain or other wardens on the same team could give them permission if their warden dies, so that’s my head canon but it cannot be supported definitively by the text)

The point being:

Fleki’s texting someone for permission to go flying after she gets high and the boring version is Mithrun’s given her blanket permission to use her magic how she wants one time and it doesn’t need reupping

(Also possible that since familiar stuff isn’t specifically combat magic, she’s on a longer leash than Cithis or Lycion - but she can still fuck people up as needed)

The fun version is Fleki texting Pattadol at whatever hour she’s successfully acquired her shrooms and just bugging her until Pattadol gives in and tells her to go for it

——————

This is what my brain does at 3am instead of sleeping so like enjoy that

It’s possible my ADHD meds aren’t working as well as I thought tbh

[nightshadehoney]

The “Tom is a gold digger/status chaser and never really loved Shiv” take drives me up the wall. 

Firstly because it’s often trotted out as an excuse for Shiv’s poor treatment of him. Like even if that was 100% true (I don’t think it is), it still wouldn’t justify treating him the way she treats him. Willa wouldn’t be with Con if he didn’t bankroll her lifestyle; their relationship started because she was an actual prostitute who he paid to be around him. Yet I somehow doubt that most of the people who say this about Tom would also say that Willa deserved it if we saw Con cheating on her and belittling her in public and pressuring her into sex acts she didn’t want. 

But more the point, you kind of have to be watching the show with your eyes closed if you think Tom doesn’t love Shiv. You think someone only after money would’ve initially refused to read the the pre-nup before signing it? That someone who only cared about getting ahead would be constantly reeled back in after personal and professional mistreatment with “I love you”s and “I need you”s? If Tom was in this relationship purely for career reasons, he probably would’ve agreed with Shiv on their wedding night when she said the business part of the relationship made sense and wouldn’t have cared about having an open relationship. He was absolutely gutted that she cheated on him and called the idea of being married to him a “box set death march” because he loved her.

Tom is very much enamored with the power and prestige of the Roy family; he loves being rich. But those aren’t separate things from loving Shiv, I think it’s really part of it for him. People being into a someone because that person has what they desire but feel thet lack is pretty common. Shiv isn’t just rich: she’s a Roy and he’s attracted to the kind of power and confidence she has because she is a Roy. He’s so high off the idea that someone like that would want to be with him, that he let’s her walk all over him. A level-headed person would’ve gone running in the other direction after their fiance handed them a pre-nup with no infidelity clause and then implied that they will probably cheat on them and likely already have, but not Tom because Tom is a romantic deep down. He doesn’t want to look at that pre-nup because that would mean he has to acknowledge that there is any transactional part of their relationship. Tom essentially wants to have his cake and eat it too: he wants to to have a normal marriage where him and his wife love each other and have babies together and he wants to have a successful prestigious career. But openly talking about the latter interferes with his ability to believe he has truly has the former. 

One of the central ideas in Succession as a whole is that when you have as much money as the Roys, there’s no such thing as a relationship that isn’t colored by their wealth. Even Rava, who really seems to have loved Ken in spite of his of him family rather than because of it, apparently did quite well for herself in the divorce.  That scene is Austerlitz where Marcia asks Willa about her plans and tries to give her advice is all about this really highlights this. If you marry into this family you need to look after your position. It’s not a  coincidence that Tom is also part of this discussion. Marcia acts like this is just a normal conversation about whether or not Willa wants children someday, but the subtext of this conversation, (that both Marcia and Tom understand, but maybe Willa doesn’t or is at least uncomfortable with) is “hey if you’re smart, you’ll cement your place in this rich man’s life by having his child as soon as possible, otherwise you are disposable”     

This comes back in season three when Tom and Shiv talk about freezing embryos. That it’s embryos and not eggs is a concession to Tom; it’s Shiv saying “see you have some insurance because I am tying up my reproductive future with yours”. But Shiv is doing such a poor job in disguising how much this is a business discussion that Tom is uncomfortable; normal people talking about having children do not immediately start talking about the scenarios in which they would destroy their frozen embryos. So Tom just sort of flounders is like “I would want you to have my babies if I died” so he can pretend that is at all what they are talking about. It doesn’t make sense for him to act this way if he only cares about his position, very little of his behavior makes sense in this context. The only way it makes any sense is if, again, you are watching the show with your eyes closed and somehow believe that Tom is doing all this to somehow trick Shiv into thinking he’s nice. Shiv doesn’t like nice; she is uncomfortable with emotion and open affection--that Tom acts this way annoys her and makes her respect him less.  

Shiv was never going to marry anyone who didn’t care at all about her money and name because it’s nearly impossible for anyone to exist in the family and not care. The only way any of the Roys could ever really have something like that is if they were with someone who was an equally successful billionaire from an equally prestigious family and Shiv would never marry somebody like that.  Logan’s assessment of Shiv that she was marrying Tom because he was beneath her and she didn’t want to risk being betrayed, while cruel, is accurate. He’s a trophy husband--he’s “plausible” as Caroline puts it--plausibly successful that they would be together but unambiguously beneath her because he doesn’t come from the same kind of money she does and relies on her for his career advancement.  People act as if poor Shiv was duped into marrying someone who only cared about her money like...she’s not blind. She’s not unaware of Tom’s naked ambition and social climbing--she knows who he is and uses it to her advantage.  She sought out a relationship that is transactional in this way because that puts her in control. She would never feel safe marrying someone who wasn’t in a subordinate position to her; it would make her too vulnerable. Frankly, anybody who wasn’t enamored by her lifestyle wouldn’t put up with her shit. She married Tom because he’s safe--he won’t really push back on her treatment of him both because he’s a a huge simp and because he would jeopardize his career by leaving. She conducts her relationships the way her father does, using wealth and status in the company as a form control in her personal relationships.      

[audrinawf]

Honestly I feel like the toxic dating advice of marrying a rich and wealthy man is getting to these peoples heads. Sorry you had to go through that. That is so sad, because these women claim they have these “high” standards but yet they are so picky about the men they want, and if the man does one thing that doenst seem like it’s with their standards— the women would dip and ghost, on to the next guy.

Very red pill tbh.

It’s really sad, I would stay away from people like that :/ I used to think the same way until I saw a video pointing out how delusional and ignorant these women are. It’s so complicated — it’s not just money and “feminine” energy. We are talking about actually men who are human beings, not walking bank accounts!

I wish you and fiancé the very best 😊

Thank you for this message 💕💕💕💕

Yeah it’s so sad how some people just dehumanize men like that. I don’t even bother with people like that cause they just lack depth. Some people are incapable of loving others so for them it makes sense to throw away a 5 year relationship cause their partner isn’t perfect.

Also the double standard in this whole situation when she actually didn’t dump her cheating boyfriend but thinks I should dump my loyal man because he wants to get married in a church and I want to get married in a castle as if that is worse than infidelity and disrespect.

[asterdeer]

my hypothetical ao3 collection of midnights-based songfic, no other unifying factor - 40% serious, 50% if-i-was-good-enough-maybe, 10% shitpost.

“lavender haze” this one is a jonmichael fic purely off the “talk your talk and go viral / I just want the love spiral / get it off your chest / get it off my desk” bridge. that’s a mostly canon compliant jonmichael bridge if i ever heard it. they are holding hands at jon’s desk

“maroon” I'm going to ask you to hang with me for a second: richard maxwell/greg kelly. look it's canon that they knew each other (i can't remember if they knew they both worked for blackgaard? don't make me reread any of the blackgaard chronicles again ffs.) and if there's anything i love doing in fic it's turning a single line or two of throwaway canon into melodramatic soap opera nonsense. they lived together in chicago and did sketchy jobs together and fell in love and it was messy when richard left. and then waylaid in the windy city happened. yeah the blood is definitely just talking about a blush

“anti-hero” THEE richard maxwell character study of all time. i can hear i have this thing where i get older but just never wiser in his voice fr.

“snow on the beach” this is a steveloki song and specifically in my ideal stoki fic where it's loki who saves steve instead of the other way around. this pairing IS peak ‘weird but fuckin beautiful’

“you’re on your own, kid” i want to make this about morgana so bad. idk how but this should be a morgana fic.

“midnight rain” tbh i hate this song, no fic

“question…?” ditto

“vigilante shit” this is sheer richard maxwell revenge bait. idk how the fic would actually go but suddenly i’m picturing nb!richard and connie screwing blackgaard over and driving away in his car and making out at a fancy beach house, and it’s making me really happy

“bejeweled” this one gave me the most trouble but listen: IRONIC VILLAIN SONG FOR MORGANA. morgana wins au, she glows up and reclaims the throne and she does, in fact, polish up real nice!! she has been too good of a girl!!! it is time to teach some lessons!!!!!!

“labyrinth” look this song bores me to death, go queen give me nothing, but like. obviously it’s a steveloki song, the bit about the plane? the bit about everyone expecting him to bounce back? this one isn’t clever but it would make a cute enough long fic concept. probably in my loki-saves-steve idea as well, definitely the ‘oh’(tm) chapter for steve’s pov.

“karma” sorry that i think this would make for the funniest steve-centric anti-tony fic in the whole entire world. sorry that i'm objectively right. sorry that i will never write it but like, imagine. IMAGINE

“sweet nothing” this would be the epilogue fic to my jonmichael misophonia fic series. after a certain point, jon being the archivist means everyone wants something from him, usually something destructive or hurtful or just plain something he doesn't want to do, but now jon and michael are free somehow and jon gets to be loved by someone who wants nothing from him except himself.

“mastermind” this is richason to a TEE. a cute little “i am secretly Courting You, haha you’ll never find out until it’s TOO LATE” fic, richard thinks he’s so smart. jason does too but def not about this.

“the great war” i read the lyrics for this one time and decided it would make the most steveloki fic of all time and i was and still am correct

“bigger than the whole sky” this is the fic where jason and richard have a whirlwind romance during DBD but richard dies when he gets caught (either murdered or dies when he jumps out of the car). this song also bores me to tears but the sentiment of jason not getting to know richard the way they should have been, after richard has finally been able to clear his name and have a more peaceful life sans regis, is a pretty compelling one to me.

“paris” nah this is my least favorite song on the album

“high infidelity” i love this song but i can’t imagine a character/pairing/situation that i’d want to write about with actual infidelity?

“glitch” EUGENE/RICHARD FANS COME GET YALL JUICE. i know i know, it's tacky and gimmicky, but, come on, it's adorable! geek love! this is a "falling in love while deep-diving into the imagination station's code" fic. literally the cutest. i haven't quite figured out how i would actually write eugene/richard but y'all have convinced me that it would be adorbs.

“would’ve, should’ve, could’ve” the spiritual sequel to the "you're on your own, kid" morgana fic. i mean the line about spitting out poison??? there's a lot here that could make a good uther angst fic but tbh i want to zero in on a morgana vs merlin dynamic where morgana knows about his magic and that he still chose to turn his back on her. not in an anti-merlin way but still in that "how dare you betray me like that" vein. god "give me back my girlhood, it was mine first" in a morgana context absolutely KILLS me.

“dear reader” oh man you could write the most crushing jon jarchivist study off this song. and by you I mean someone else who isn’t me. but i can pretend i have the competency to make this work

[trulyinspiringmovies]

The Fabelmans

“The Fabelmans” is the semi-biopic of Steven Spielberg and has me conflicted over how I felt about the movie.

Sammy Fabelman is being taken to watch his first movie back in 1952. While his parents reassure him that the movie isn’t scary, Sammy is deeply affected by a scene of a violent train crash. Obsessed with recreating the crash, Sammy asks for a toy train for Hanukkah. Crashing the toy train over and over again requires Sammy’s father to fix it. Sammy’s mother decides to buy him a camera so that he can crash the train once and rewatch the footage. This is what sparks Sammy’s desire to become a filmmaker.

I went into this movie blind. All I knew was that this movie was made by Steven Spielberg and was about movies. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that this was based on Spielberg’s own life. Spielberg is a master at transporting his audience into his worlds and I genuinely loved the look of his 1950′s America. The warm, bright lights really romanticized the time period for me. It truly felt like a special time to be a cinephile. There were also a lot of great shots that got me giddy. One example was the tracking shot of Sammy’s toy train into a close-up of his face after the train veered out of frame. That kind of dynamic camera movement feels so inspiring and never fails to make me happy. There was also a match cut that seamlessly transitioned the story of Sammy to an older version of himself. Everyone’s been talking about the final shot of the camera adjusting to make the horizon more interesting and I loved that. The performances were great all around. Paul Dano is an automatic win in my book every time. Michelle Williams truly carries the movie with her performance. Even Seth Rogen was good and I usually don’t like him in movies. But, I think the star of the movie had to be Gabriel LaBelle as Sam himself. The whole movie hinges on his performance and he delivers the perfect mix of teen drama and nuanced artistic passion. I was truly into the first half of the movie. I just liked being in the company of the family. There were hints of drama brewing underneath the surface that also had me intrigued. When my suspicions were confirmed with an amazing revelation scene, I was hooked. I was ready for the ride. I was ready for the drama to come crashing down. Then the movie lollygags and never really pays off the drama in a cathartic way. Because of this, the two-and-a-half-hour runtime really started to get to me. There was a point in the theater where I genuinely felt like I might be in purgatory because I couldn’t remember a time outside of the theater room. Granted, I was more tired than usual while watching this film. Still, the movie goes from fun slice-of-life to familial melodrama to a by-the-books high school drama. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. At that point, if the movie turned into a spy thriller, I wouldn’t have batted an eye. The tonal whiplash almost made me forget that the throughline of Sam being a filmmaker kind of gets lost in the middle of the movie. He quits and only really makes a school beach day compilation. Then he suddenly decides that filmmaking is his only passion after going to college for a bit. It frustrated me that there was no big payoff for his mother’s infidelity. She spends the majority of the movie being a bad person and then gets away with it and even is shown as the victim. The father is spineless throughout and doesn’t have the strength to deal with the problem head-on. I know this was supposed to be accurate to Spielberg’s life, but as a movie, it’s a bit annoying to watch. A lot of people seem to have liked this movie and had a deep appreciation for it, but I don’t want to invalidate my gripes because it’s blasphemous to talk ill of Steven Spielberg’s semi-biopic.

★★★

Watched on December 17th, 2022

[discdetective]

MIDNIGHTS

TAYLOR SWIFT

2022 / 24 songs / 1hr24mins

⭐️⭐️⭐️

AVERAGE SONG RATKING - 5.67

TS discog ranking pt 1

Lavender Haze - 7

fun! definitely sets the scene for the album - this is probably so hugely ranked because it’s the opener and the production hasn’t had a chance to become gratingly repetitive yet - which isn’t to say it’s the most exciting thing in the world to begin with. enjoyable lyrics and mostly okay production.

Maroon - 6.2

i mean. it’s just about better than alright. the lyrics are definitely the best part - like the whole thing about the chorus having a bunch of ways to say red (wine, blood, scarlet, rust etc). at this point in the album i was already over the production.

Anti-Hero - 6.4

refreshingly bright and open production, could’ve maybe done better further into the album when you’re more fatigued from every song sounding the same. one of those taylor swift songs that’s corny but good enough that you allow it - and it’s just good enough for that. it’s no shake it off.

You’re On Your Own, Kid - 8.5

track five and it’s the first bridge that really makes you go yeah, this is a taylor swift bridge - a double edge sword of success and the notion that it shouldn’t have taken that many songs for the album to warm up. emotional and somehow nostalgic while falling firmly in with the newfangled Midnights sound - doesn’t rely on production to make you a bit sentimental. one of the most original on the record.

Snow On The Beach (feat Lana Del Rey) - 3.7

why credit someone as a feature for background vocals? other artists don’t! false advertisement and overall kind of corny. fun idea though, reminds me of when i actually did go to the beach when it snowed. points for that..

Question…? - 1

oh my god i fucking hate this song 😭😭 at this point in the album the boredom created by the repetition of the production is aggravating and maybe they tried to combat this with some of the oddest mixing choices i think i’ve ever heard - none of which work! they’re not enjoyable and don’t aid at all in making the album less boring. it’s a failed attempt that just upsets you more and leaves you yearning for another YOYOK or something similar.

Vigilante Shit - 5.8

all i can say is that it’s boring

Bejeweled - 7.7

finally something interesting again. listening to midnights in one sitting is like being drip-fed alright music in between some of the worst and/or dull production i’ve ever heard. sparkly!

Labyrinth - 3

forgettable

Karma - 8.2

like Bejeweled, Karma is a droplet of refreshing sound in a desert of Jack Antonoff being what i can only assume is lazy. fun, reminds me of halloween parties because it was released around that time. partyable, evidently

Sweet Nothing - 6.7

just like the title. cute, but ultimately leaves almost no impression on the listener.

Mastermind - 4.5

why has jack antonoff forgotten that just because it sounds polished doesn’t mean it’s produced well. at this point in Midnights it feels like the only thing being prioritised is the smoothness of the vocals or synth. just because they sound technically good doesn’t mean they’re interesting or even alright. i’m bored of saying this album is boring!

The Great War - 5

five is the only rating for this song. unbelievably - like actually they must’ve been aiming for this - mid in all senses of the word.

Bigger Than The Whole Sky - 7.9

a harrowing entry to be the one that finally begins to break free from the Midnights Mold. incredibly sad despite the production not trying particularly hard to evoke any emotion. stripped back. hate the vocal mixing, doesn’t fit the song at all.

Paris - 6

cute. above average for the below average record. not much else to say.

High Infidelity - 4

hey kids, cheating is fun

Glitch - 2

could be the most boring on the album - one of the most uneventful albums i’ve ever listened to

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve - 9.5

best song on the album as a bonus is boldddd… one of swifts best, top thirty at least. incredibly raw and emotive, beautiful lyrics and manages to lunch through the rigid production walls Midnights imposed on itself

Dear reader - 3

nothing to say, once again. what’s the point in making so many songs no one has anything to say about.

Hits Different - 7.8

fun! i actually like the production on this one, which brings its score up. the writing is mehhish at times but it keeps up the pace throughout even when it wants to lul.

Snow On The Beach (feat more Lana Del Rey) - 2.9

why is this one worse !!!!!!! it feels like they’ve taken things OUT of the mix in this one ?? what the fuck ?! all of these songs are 1 synthesiser a snare a hi hat and maybe the top two strings of a guitar at any given time why would you ever need to take anything away from any of them ?? all of these songs sound like stripped down acoustic versions of original tracks in a world where synthesisers are acoustic and we never invented guitars

Karma (feat Ice Spice) - 4

whyyyyy is ice spice’s verse in half time it doesn’t work at all even for a couple lines did anyone listen to this as it was made or did they just send her into the recording booth and put it out after a couple takes

You’re Losing Me - 7.6

while i would say YLM is overall one of the better songs off the album, it ultimately suffers the Mignidghts curse - everything bar the lyrics sounds identical to every other song on the record, and even then it’s you have to put in effort to recognise this due to the vocal production being, again, identical to every other song on the record. good bridge, verses and choruses forgettable in all honesty.

CLOSING ARGUMENTS

Midnights can often sound like how bad trips are represented in mediocre movies. the production is disorienting at times, with lyrical deliveries that repeatedly feel stumbly or out of place. in my opinion there was a clear idea, an aesthetic that someone had definitively chosen for the album, but most of the lyrics just never feel truly suited to it. if you wanted an album full of sparkly skywashed pink-blue synthpop smoke clouds, write an album full of Karmas, Bejeweleds and Lavender Hazes. leave the Question?…s and Snow on the Beach-es in the vault. sounds like a bad trip but probably made during a couple good ones.

if i was like 24 i bet i’d like it a lot more. not in a “this was made for millennials and i’m not the target audience” way, (although that’s probably at least partly true) but i just feel like 24 is the age to enjoy this album. maybe i’ll give it a call in six years.

in a word? disappointing. give it a listen anyway, you’ll like at least one song.

[cabeswaterdrowned]

just saw the Camila and Daisy conversation with the line change from the book “you two think your lost souls…” quote and pausing the episode for a second because I’m kind of of two minds about this choice, and I’m similarly of two minds about a lot of choices that have been made with the portrayal of Camila throughout the adaptation I think. Because on the one hand it kind of makes sense, the whole point of Camila in the book is that she’s the one character being portrayed as unilaterally good in every person’s account of what happened because of her recent passing and who the interview is, I love Camila in the book but portraying her as exactly as perfectly poised and reasonable as the book did would not have been a good move in the tv show (and she’s still like, unequivocally the person with the most moral high ground here in the show, she just has more range in the way she reacts and is allowed to make mistakes which are still minuscule ones compared to what Daisy Billy and other characters do regularly). Daisy reframing that interaction to Julia and even to herself could make sense, and in a sense it makes sense Camila would experience and express more bitterness or jealousy (and I mean it’s still not That much compared to other takes I’ve seen on this storyline) than she did in the book. On the other hand the choice to lean into that portrayal is uncomfortable to me because the show runners so clearly Love D/B (and I do too in case you are new here) and care most about exploring it, so some choices made with Camila’s character are like: how much of this is because she can’t be the exact character she was in the book for the reasons I stated before, how much of it is in the genuine interest of exploring her character more than the book allowed for, how much of it is to prop D/B because while any sane person watching the show knows Camila is the most in the right (and I say this when I love other chars more) the tiniest increase in flaws leads to the most violently misogynistic takes in a heartbeat (for instance the person who I saw on Twitter say they had no sympathy for Camila because she had sex with Eddie while Billy isn’t a saint but as least he didn’t have sex with Daisy 💀🔪🔪) and then there is this phenomena with these types of infidelity-related triangles where viewers tend to salivate over the tears/pain of the female character who’s not their favorite/in their preferred ship and I find it really nasty when fans and writers lean into that, regardless of the fact that in this case my ship is the one the writers obviously favor. And that all makes the portrayal concerning. But then on the other hand would it be better if Camila didn’t express any pain or hurt or bitter/jealous emotions, that could make her come across as shell like and make her into a passive brown woman character who is there to do emotional labor for the more flawed and volatile white characters (the racial elements to how the book and show treat Camila also definitely exist, but I need more time to gather my thoughts if I ever want to post about that in depth). Both ideas of the portrayal have issues. I need to keep watching because I don’t know if the show is going to stick to Camila being the one to ‘think Daisy is worth saving’ and I’ll have thoughts and that depending on whether or not that’s incorporated and how it is handled. Idk I’ve seen Camila stans on Twitter call everything about her character in the show assassination and I don’t think that’s the word for it at all and at the same time I think they have valid reasons to complain about her treatment, (even if I don’t always agree with what they think the specifics of that are). This was just a Camila-centric tangent and now I need to watch the rest of the episode (which might also change my POV on what I just said more).

[lightlycareless]

so, I wasn't planning on writing a continuation to the naoya/yn/toji threesome but an anon sent me an ask and the rest is history. This is a sneak peak of that sequel. 🤭

also, I'm slowly writing the new chapter for my main fic in between requests :') thank you so much for your patience!!! I shall do my best to finish soon. ❤️❤️

warnings: mentions of infidelity. mentions of previous smut activities.

the complete version can be found here.

Toji’s not to disclose if you or Naoya came back for a repeat of that night’s succession, though he will admit your pregnancy was not surprising.

It’s not like he could run away from it either, for as soon as news graced the elders’ ears, it’s all the estate spoke of. From enthusiasm to welcome the next generation of Zen’in sorcerers, to the ever-growing hope of recovering their prized cursed technique, which has been absent for hundreds of years…

Expectations for this child were at an all-time high.

But to you and Naoya, all you could care about was the blessing this baby represented.

A family.

The pinnacle of all their yearnings, the fruits of their never-ending efforts finally appearing on the positive pregnancy test you took one morning after feeling particularly nauseous…

And Toji’s, perhaps.

Toji initially didn’t think much of the “shocking” announcement. Not even after his behavior that night—they were just heat of the moment things, nothing that he meant nor really cared about, simply said to get a rise out of Naoya; and oh, was his reaction satisfying.

In other words, he really, genuinely, couldn’t care less about what the wimpy heir and his ditzy wife were to face from that point forward.

But when their behavior towards him, the engaging conversations, invitations to drink tea, amongst other activities, drastically cease, to the point of turning on their heel and going the opposite way when facing him…

It didn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place, and when the puzzle was complete, Toji could only laugh.

It’s like an open secret, albeit solely for those involved.

The baby inside you wasn’t Naoya’s.

It was Toji’s.

And this filled him with morbid fascination no other high had been able to provide.

To know that the baby everyone was praising as the future of the Zen’in, a promising sorcerer, as expected of the heir, was the ultimate irony, the exact anti-thesis of all they once declared of Toji.

He was very tempted to let everyone know.

Proudly announce the truth to the world, screaming to the top of his lungs that that baby isn’t Naoya’s, it’s mine.

The scandal this revelation would bring was nothing short of earth-shattering, and more likely than not, the elders wouldn’t even know where to start from. Although your infidelity could be a good reference.

Followed by the fact that no matter how much they try to get rid of him, he’ll always find a way to haunt them—like a ghost shackled to the estate walls, Toji would always remain in the back of their minds, unsettling them whenever they did as much as breathe.

Although for this to work, he’d have to wait until the child was born, officiated as son of Naoya, before he could do any damage.

To see the kind of face the Zen’in would have upon finding out the truth… is one that makes his prolonged stay all but worthwhile.

As well as to know your reaction for the whole ordeal—if you’ve even been able to sleep knowing well that your life was on the line by carrying such a frightening secret in your womb.

Considering the way you frequently sought him out during those lonely nights where your husband would be away for long periods of time, this probably didn’t perturb you as much. After all, what did you expect after receiving his seed as constantly as you did? That nothing would happen? No consequences to be suffered?

You were many things, but he never thought you as delusional.

Or perhaps, you were hoping for this. To have his child. He’d come to believe so after the tight way your cunt squeezed him.

Well, that would only make him the delusional one.

Either way, he suspects that while your secret might’ve prickled the back of your mind from time to time, it didn’t bother you as much as he hoped—not with the way your staff coddled your every move, how the clan would gift you items to celebrate the future head of the clan, per tradition, or how happy you appeared to be with your growing bump, gently caressing it and beaming oh how much you longed to hold the baby in your arms.

It irked him.

To see that even through this deceit, you were still happy.

It was undeserving. Wrong.

Certainly, for a man who has been sentenced to nothing but pain and disgrace since the moment he was born, it’d be impossible for him to grasp the innocence of others.

To understand some were simply with better luck, free to live as they desired, and without having to pay for the consequences of others.

Toji, now more than ever, felt that he was being used. Plucked from his misery, toyed with, and discarded once dried out.

And because of that, his motivation to ruin your and Naoya’s happiness was present as ever in his mind, heading your way to remind you of the power he had, just how easy it would be for him to plant the seed of doubt amongst the staff, let it flourish up to the elders, and ruin your and Naoya’s life.

Until your anguished face stops him.