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kingkaisen · 3 months ago

Note

hello. just recently started reading your dad!gojo fics and i am obsessed with them. i saw you mention taking requests for it, so i thought i would send something in. feel free to change any details.

i would like to request a scenario about megumi finally feeling maternal love. i noticed he's always afraid y/n and gojo will change their minds about adopting him and he always compares himself to yuji.

could i request some bonding time between megumi and the reader? maybe he opens up about his worries and feelings. i was thinking the reader could defend him when someone being rude to him as well, but any direction you go in, i will love. i just really am asking for bonding time between mother and son.

MY SON || SATORU G.

♡ — SUMMARY: After you & Satoru adopt Yuji and Megumi, Megumi can’t help but fear that you both will abandon him.

♡ — CONTENT: general angst with comfort, satoru being a great family man, mentions of depression, not eating, very brief mention of wanting to die, & happy ending. you & satoru have a biological child as well.

♡ — WORD COUNT: 4K

♡ — AUTHOR’S NOTE: This fic is part of my Dad!Gojo series, but reading the other parts isn’t necessary.

Megumi’s eyes snapped open. Beads of sweat coated his forehead and neck as he was greeted by the darkness of his bedroom.

Another nightmare.

His fourth one this week.

They weren’t about curses or haunting memories of his past battles, not at all. But, what he did dream about was equally as terrifying; his belongings tossed out on the streets in garbage bags.

“We don’t need two adopted teenagers,” you’d say, glaring at him with utter resentment.

“We have Yuji. He’s the perfect son,” Satoru would add on.

Just like that, he’d return to his old, familiar title of an orphan. Just like that, he’d have to wonder what it felt like to be loved by a mother and father instead of experiencing it himself. Just like that.

He tried to shove the memory of those dreams away because that was all they happened to be. Dreams. A manifestation of his horrid fears. They weren’t real, right? Not some twisted form of foresight?

Megumi rolled over onto his side. The digital clock on his nightstand flickered to 3:47 A.M.

His left pajama pant leg was rolled up to his knee, and the neck of his blue t-shirt was damp with sweat — all signs of a rough slumber, though he had hardly slept at all.

He pulled the messy sheets and comforter over his body, but there was no chance of him falling back asleep. He never did after his nightmares, and it was evident based on the dark circles forming underneath his blue eyes. He’d just lie awake, and let his mind wander . . .

It wasn’t a dream.

It would soon become his reality.

He knew it.

He wasn’t your biological kid like his little sister, Maya. He wasn’t even half as energetic or enthusiastic as Yuji. That boy constantly showered you both with appreciation. Beyond that, Yuji's sudden appearance in your life was the main reason you and Gojo considered adopting Megumi in the first place, despite you both having known Megumi for years prior.

Why did you never consider adopting him before you met Yuji? Why?

It could only mean that his suspicions were correct. You and Gojo didn’t want him. You wanted Yuji and didn’t want to hurt Megumi’s feelings. So, you ended up adopting two teenagers instead of one.

And it was only a matter of time before you and Gojo would get fed up with him.

He should leave first instead of waiting for the day in which you both decide you’re better off without some moody sorcerer bringing the rest of the family down during board game nights and movie marathons.

He’d do it.

He’d pack his bags and leave.

No one would notice.

No one would care.

He was unwanted.

He wasn’t your son.

He was stowaway.

—

It was edging closer to 9:00 A.M., and there was an empty spot at the breakfast nook in the gourmet kitchen.

The table was packed to the brim with servings of toast, meat, eggs, and rice. Satoru took a bite of his egg, watching Maya spread jam on her piece of toasted bread as best as she could, all while Yuji gobbled down his food as if someone was going to snatch it from him.

“Slow down,” you approached, coffee in hand, ruffling your boy’s messy hair.

“Huh?” Yuji paused with a mouth full of food. He swallowed, then said, “Oh, sorry. Everything’s just really great!”

You took a sip of your coffee, frowning upon seeing that Megumi wasn’t at the breakfast nook.

“Did Megumi oversleep?” You locked eyes with Satoru.

“I’m pretty sure he’s awake,” Satoru said, grabbing a napkin before gently wiping strawberry jam off of his adorable daughter’s face. Speaking to the young girl, he mumbled, “careful now, Muffin.”

You took a tentative sip of your warm beverage. “I’m gonna go check on him.”

—

Three gentle knocks sounded from Megumi’s bedroom door.

“Megumi?” You called from the other side. “Breakfast is ready.”

There was a beat of silence, then, he weakly replied, “Not hungry.”

“Can I come in?”

Megumi sighed, but even so, he said yes, and you entered your son’s room to see him still in bed, curled up underneath his covers, the majority of his body hidden underneath the thick fabric.

“You barely touched your dinner last night,” you said, leaning against the frame of his door. “You’ve barely come out of your room at all. Are you feeling sick?”

“I’m fine.”

It was a lie.

You read enough books about raising teenagers to spot false tales. Even so, you didn’t press him, even when an enormous lump of worry started to form in your throat.

“Alright. Food’s here when you want it.” You grabbed his door handle, closing it slowly, awaiting his response, but one never came.

—

Two hours had passed. This time, when someone knocked on Megumi’s door, it was in the form of a rather silly tune, and that person did not wait for permission to enter. Megumi knew exactly who it was without emerging from underneath his comforter.

“Fushigubro!” Yuji peeled the layers of covers back and shook the boy’s shoulder. “Wanna see if Nobara’s free later? Maybe we can all catch a movie or something.”

Megumi didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the covers Yuji removed, and rehid himself as if the covers served as some sort of protective shield.

“You seem kinda tired,” Yuji tilted his head a bit. “Did you stay up late?”

“Go away, Yuji.”

“Why? You’ve been ducking me all week!” Much like the conversation between you and Megumi earlier, Yuji, too, waited for a response that never came.

With a heavy sigh, he started to leave his brother’s room. “Alright, your loss. Some pretty great stuff is coming out this weekend.” It was one, last, desperate attempt. An attempt that failed. With another sigh, Yuji mumbled, “See you later.”

—

The pitter-patter of small feet could be heard approaching Megumi’s door around noon. For Maya, Megumi at least built up both the patience and energy to turn over onto his side, facing the door as the little girl opened it and ran into his bedroom.

“Meg-mi! Come on, let’s play! Let’s play!”

He gathered all the energy he could muster to say, as kindly as he could, “Not right now.”

“But we always play,” Maya frowned.

“Maybe later.”

“Pleaseee?” She tapped her feet.

“Go away.”

Those words hurt her. Maya was almost five years old, and though she was one of the kindest kids one would ever meet, she was still incredibly sensitive. It was no surprise to see the young girl’s eyes widen with sadness and her bottom lip start to quiver. Megumi, who was the coolest person in the world to her, had never spoken to her in such a way. It hurt.

Her little sniffles grew louder as she left his bedroom.

—

By the time Maya made her way from Megumi’s room to the living room, she was practically drowning in her own tears. Through blurred vision, she sought out the hazy figure sitting on the couch, her arms outstretched.

“What’s wrong, Muffin? C’mere.” Satoru scooped her up, sitting her on his lap. “What happened?”

Hearing the commotion, you stepped into the living room, your eyebrows knitted together in great concern.

“Meg-mi didn’t wanna play,” she sniffled. “He-he said to go away!”

“I’ll play with you, sweetheart. We can play whatever you want until lunch is ready, hm?” Satoru wiped her tears away with the end of his sleeve. “Don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Okay,” she spoke with a little mumble. “Does Meg-mi hate me? ‘Cause he’s my brother . . . and brothers aren’t s‘posed to hate you.”

“No, no, he doesn’t hate you. I think he might just be a little sick right now,” Satoru paused. “Sometimes people want a little peace and quiet when they’re not feeling well.”

“And soup.”

“That’s right, and soup,” Satoru gave her a soft smile.

“How about I make you something special for lunch, Maya?” You suddenly caught the young girl’s attention, faking a bright smile with the hopes of cheering her up. “What do you want to eat?”

“I . . . umm . . . uh . . . sandwiches!”

“Sandwiches it is. Mommy’s gonna make you the biggest sandwich ever,” you promised.

“Let’s go play,” Satoru said to Maya.

She hopped off of his lap, running as fast as her tiny feet would carry her to the backdoor, where she and her dad would spend the next hour playing together in the enchanting backyard.

—

Beautiful sandwiches were stuffed to the brim with meat, veggies, and sauces — every sandwich customized to each specific family member’s liking. They were cut in half, resting on plates with apple slices served on the side.

Satoru and Maya would be inside soon to gobble their sandwiches down. Yuji wasn’t home, and would perhaps grab lunch with his friend, so you stored his sandwich away in a Tupperware container, popping it in the fridge for later.

You held on to Megumi’s plate. He had skipped breakfast. He hadn’t left his room all day.

Approaching his bedroom, his lunch in hand, you noted that his door was open. This little fact would have made you smile under ordinary circumstances, but today, it snapped your heart into pieces.

You knew well that Maya never remembered to shut doors. Therefore, it was easy to gather that she left it open earlier when she asked Megumi to play, and if it was still open, then that meant your son couldn’t even find the strength or desire to close it himself.

You stepped into his room as quietly as you could. You eyed the lump underneath the covers, hoping Megumi would emerge, but at best, you were only able to see the very top of his head. Even his black hair wasn’t as spiky today.

The plate clanked against Megumi’s nightstand as you sat it down. He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of the covers, in sync with his slow breathing, you would have assumed he was dead.

It was motherly instinct that made your hand reach out, wanting to touch his shoulder or pull him in for a hug or even just pat his arm — anything. But you didn’t. You didn’t touch him at all. You only turned around and left, hoping that when you returned, it would be to collect an empty plate that needed to be washed.

—

The afternoon sun had warmed the big family home, casting gentle orange sun rays through the windows with drawn curtains, natural light filtering in.

A half-cold mug of tea sat on the coffee table in your den, right beside a closed novel you grabbed off of the bookshelf to read, but you had no desire to do so right now. Not when you could only think about your son.

It was time to check on him again.

His room, unlike the rest of the house, was dark. Chilly. His blackout curtains left the sunlight no chance of entering his space.

Megumi himself was in a slightly different position than he was when you stepped into his room earlier to give him his sandwich. He was still under the covers, still hidden, breathing slowly, but the shape of him indicated he was curled up into a ball.

The sandwich.

The plate was sitting on his nightstand. Not a piece of the sandwich had been nibbled on, not even a crumb. The untouched apple slices were starting to turn brown around the edges.

“Megumi . . .”

He shifted a bit but didn’t respond. Earlier in the day, he would have at least mumbled something, but now, he no longer bothered with doing that either. It was as if he was worsening by the hour.

You were on the verge of tears. What was wrong with him? What was going on with your boy?

—

Satoru joined you in the living room fifteen minutes later. During that time, you weren’t aware of your own endless pacing until your husband wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, halting your footsteps.

“Talk to me,” he whispered.

“I’m really worried about Megumi,” you wasted no time pouring out your grievances, resting the back of your head against your husband’s chest. “He won’t eat. I thought it was my cooking at first, but he won’t take a bite, Satoru. He won’t leave his bed, he’s barely sleeping . . . if he was sick, I think he’d tell us. And it’s not like him to hurt Maya’s feelings.”

“I think he’s depressed. It’s rare when a sorcerer isn’t depressed.”

“None of his latest missions have been too . . . traumatizing,” You turned around in Gojo’s arms, looking up into his eyes. “Why would he suddenly start to act this way now?”

“Sometimes that’s just how it works. All we can do is continue to give these kids the world, and hope that it balances out the shitty job that comes with being a sorcerer,” Satoru planted a kiss on your forehead. “Want me to talk to him?”

You shook your head as a way of saying no. “I want to do it. But I have a gut feeling he’s depressed about something else. I just know it.”

The white-haired man cradled your head, guiding it towards his chest. His other arm was still wrapped around your waist, and for a moment, he simply held you.

—

“Megumi?”

You stood at Megumi’s bedside. He didn’t answer at first, but you called his name again; this time, in a more pressing manner.

“Megumi.”

“Hm?” He mumbled. It was so low, that your ears almost didn’t catch it.

“Is it too lame for a teenager to spend a Saturday evening with their mother?” You questioned.

With a slow, exhausted tone, Megumi said, “It’s not personal, Yuji just likes hanging out with Nobara-”

“No, I mean- sorry. You misunderstood me. I’m not asking you about Yuji. I’m asking you if you’d like to spend time with me. Just you and me.”

For a brief moment in time, Megumi didn’t respond, nor did the covers rise and fall with the movements of his body. The teenager was holding his breath.

Suddenly, he pulled the covers down. For the first time in what felt like ages, you could see his face. It both sparked internal fireworks of joy and snapped your heart into pieces. You were happy to finally see him, but the sight of his pale skin, eye bags, and absolute misery glistening within his eyes broke you.

For Megumi, hearing your offer to spend time alone with him was confusing.

“Why?” He asked.

“Because I want to have some quality time with you, silly. There’s a new cafe, just opened up down the street. I checked out their menu online and I really think you’d enjoy it,” you smiled at him. “Best black coffee in town, so I’ve heard.”

“Satoru must be busy,” Megumi mumbled, “If you’re asking me to go with you.”

“Satoru is napping with Maya and doing absolutely nothing with his life right now. I could go with him, but I want to go with you.”

It was no understatement to say that Megumi’s mind was often unkind to him. Right now, a thousand different thoughts were flooding in: Was this some sort of tactic to get him out of the house, leave him stranded somewhere, and tell him to never return? Or was it more so a Last Good Day sort of method, where you’d give him special treatment to lessen the incoming blow: hey kid, we don’t want you around anymore.

What if this was something else entirely?

What if this determined whether you’d love him as a son?

If he said no, if he continued to sulk in bed, would that make you despise him? Send him back to the unwelcoming school grounds run by, as Satoru called them, “conservative fools?” Reduce him to nothing more than an orphan once again?

But, maybe, just maybe, if he said yes . . . if he said yes, he could prevent that from happening. Maybe.

—

“Isn’t this nice?”

The quaint cafe was so new, Megumi could still smell the fresh paint, though it was faint. Beige and brown tones were broken up with green plants placed nearest the entrance, and the late afternoon sun only made the atmosphere that much more cozy.

Megumi stared down at the hot black coffee in his mug. “Did you really want to spend time with me, or did you just make that up?”

Your eyes snapped away from the menu in your hand. “Of course I want to spend time with you. Why are you having such a hard time believing that?” You wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but noting how he wasn’t the biggest fan of physical affection, you sought against it. “Megumi, what’s going on? Please talk to me. I’m trying to hide how worried I am, but I-”

“Well, well, well, you look like shit,” an unfamiliar voice started to speak — or, rather, unfamiliar to you, as Megumi’s face twisted into one of discomfort as a teenage boy approached your table. “Surprised to see you out of the infirmary for once, Megumi. You sure that coffee isn’t too hot for you? I bet you-”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” You put your menu down on the table, folding your hands. You gave the sorcerer student a threatening smile. “Please don’t speak that way to my son.”

“Son?” The black-haired bully started to chuckle. “Are you-”

“Yes. Son. Now walk away.”

“Who do you-”

“Walk away.”

There was no cursed energy involved, no cursed speech, yelling, or anything of the sort, and therefore, the stranger couldn’t determine what about your presence made him turn on his heel and head in the other direction. Perhaps, it was just plain old fear.

“I oughta put him in the infirmary,” you frowned, turning your eyes away from the retreating bully and back towards Megumi. “Who was that?”

“Just some jerk. Don’t worry about it,” he said.

Though he was an expert when it came to neutral and emotionless facial expressions, you tried to read him, and noted that, shockingly, a small, amused smile tried to tug on Megumi’s lips.

“What?” A confused grin appeared on your face.

“Nothing,” he took a sip of his coffee. “Um, thank you, by the way.”

“Of course.” Your smile fell into a more serious expression. “But back to what we were talking about. Why do you think I wouldn’t want to spend time with you?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I’m just not as fun to be around as everyone else. Yuji, for example.”

The look on your face changed into one that was all too familiar. It was the look you gave him whenever he came back from a mission covered in bruises — the look of love and worry.

“Megumi, I need you to understand that Satoru and I adore everything about you. You are a joy to be around. You have this . . . this comforting and kind presence. We love your quietness just as much as we love Yuji’s hyperness. It just worries us when you shut us out completely. You won’t leave your bed, you won’t touch your food-”

“I know, I know,” Megumi took another sip of his coffee, avoiding your gaze.

“Please tell me why. I want to help.”

Megumi’s leg started to shake. He scratched at the skin surrounding his thumbnail.

“I just think you and Satoru will wake up someday. . .” he paused, taking a small breath. Right now, he wished he could die. “Wake up and realize you don’t want me around.”

Half of you expected some sort of punchline or fit of laughter to indicate that this was some kind of joke, but it never came. Your son only stared holes into the table.

“What? Why would you think something as ridiculous as that?” Your frown deepened. “Do you feel as if we don’t treat you well, or?”

“It’s nothing like that. I think you treat me better than I deserve,” Megumi scratched the back of his neck, though it wasn’t itchy. “But, I met Satoru when I was six. I met you the second you two started dating just one year later. I’ve been in your lives for years now, but you didn’t bother adopting me until you met Yuji last year. Don’t get me wrong, you and Satoru were teenagers when we met and he was nothing more than my teacher until recently, but I can’t help but think that I’m only here now because you would’ve felt too guilty had you adopted Yuji, and not me.”

The instrumental tunes playing softly within the cafe filled the silence as you took a moment to process Megumi’s words.

It was only for a couple of seconds, but to Megumi, it was enough time for him to start mentally preparing for the realization that, perhaps, he would be sleeping elsewhere tonight.

“Megumi, even when Satoru and I were just a few years older than you are now, we still tried our best to care for you as often as we could. I know it was nothing more than a warm meal every now and then or a new shirt for your birthday, but we still loved you.” Megumi looked up at you at long last, and you continued, “We should’ve adopted you sooner. You were always so independent and mature, so I guess we didn’t realize how much it would’ve meant to you. I’m sorry. But please don’t ever think we only adopted you because we wanted to adopt Yuji. Once we opened our minds to the idea of adoption in general, we adopted you because making you our son officially was a no-brainer. In our eyes, you were already our kid. Our very first kid. We love you.”

In our eyes, you were already our kid. Our very first kid. We love you.

Our very first kid.

We love you.

Those words were on a constant loop within Megumi’s mind like a broken record. The corners of his lips twitched, along with his eyebrows, and though his eyes were watery, it wasn’t from misery.

“I’m not used to anything like this . . . to people sticking around,” he couldn’t help but let one single tear fall.

“I know, hun. But you better get used it, because we’re not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere.” Reaching out, you touched Megumi’s hand, stroking your thumb across his knuckles. He tensed, but he didn’t pull away. “C’mon, let’s order. And don’t you dare try to order the cheapest thing. Order something you actually want.”

The teenager nodded, discreetly wiping away another tear, and together, you both got up and headed for the counter.

—

Dining on cafe food was an enjoyable experience. Megumi didn’t finish his plate, but he ate around half of it — it was better than nothing.

After returning home, you rested your head in Satoru’s lap as you recounted the details of the late afternoon. You both stayed that way, doing nothing but softly and lovingly chatting with one another — and exchanging a few kisses — until evening fell. Yuji came home with 3D glasses on his head, a cup of soda in hand, and the scent of buttery popcorn all over his clothes. By then, Satoru was tucking his little girl into bed while Yuji rambled on to you about the movie he saw, all before taking a shower and preparing for bed himself.

A few hours later, every member of the Gojo household was fast asleep — except for you. Your back was pressed against the headboard of your enormous king-sized bed — bigger than a traditional king-sized, truth be told — and Satoru’s arm was draped across your lap as he slept on his stomach. You flipped another page of your novel.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in your doorway, visible thanks to the warm light of your touch-controlled lamp.

“Can’t sleep?” You asked.

Megumi shook his head, “another nightmare.”

Of course, your comforting words weren’t enough to undo the depression itself. However, the fact that Megumi was coming to you instead of lying awake, alone with his horrid thoughts, was progress. Great progress.

“Why don’t you try sleeping in here?” You offered a smile. “Would you be comfortable with that?”

Megumi nodded. He left briefly to grab his pillow and a blanket from his room, but when he returned and tossed it down on the floor, you frowned.

“No, no, no,” you objected. “I’d kick Satoru out of this bed before I let you sleep on the floor. There's plenty of room at the foot of the bed.”

Though he was hesitant at first, Megumi eventually crawled over your silk comforter with his blanket and pillow. It was true. The bed was big enough for him to lay across the bottom of it horizontally and not touch Satoru, who was well over six feet tall.

Soon enough, Megumi started to sleep.

But said sleep wasn’t peaceful.

Looking up from the pages of your book, you noticed Megumi was tossing and turning. His blanket was no longer draped over his body but knocked onto the floor.

That was enough for you to shove your bookmark into your novel. It thumped lightly when you closed it before placing it on your nightstand. You moved Satoru’s heavy arm off of your lap — he groaned, but he didn’t fully awaken.

Quietly, slowly, you approached your restless son. God, how the sight of him suffering made your heart ache. Grabbing the fuzzy blanket off of the floor, you tossed it back over him. Then, as gently as you could, you raised the boy’s head, sat down, and guided his head to your lap.

Your soft fingers alternated between stroking his forehead and his hair. Your motherly touch was soothing. Unfamiliar. Healing.

“Everything’s alright, Megumi,” you whispered. “We love you.”

Megumi’s thrashing started to calm down. In his sleep, he released a deep breath, and the muscles of his face started to relax with every gentle brush of your fingers.

For the first time in quite a while, your son slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

— Next Part.

🏷️: @marvel-girl3 @goldenglow149 @luaqsv @sstoru @pinkfemdolly @satorusgummies @therealmrsgojo @leehriie @iminlovewqr0w @odessa-is-my-queen @melodycelos

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk angst #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff #gojo x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader angst #satoru gojo angst #tw eating issues #tw depression #x reader #jjk x reader angst

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4-the-l0ve-0f-art · 5 months ago

Text

Reverse isekai... Caleb... Cat... Part 2 Link Ao3 Link

Caleb loved you more than anything in this world.

Or at least, that's what you would've liked to imagine if he was real. But he isn't. And you're not in a pixelated little world called Linkon City and none of your hopes and dreams about having a happily ever after with your military husband and childhood best friend were coming true.

You stared at the fanfic left open on the phone screen, wishing to see your husband in your dreams to ease the ache of loving someone you could never have while in your loneliest moments.

If only he could be real. If only he could become real from Astra knows what power and fall in love all over again. With you this time instead of the MC who seemed to resemble anything but you. If only. Too much to ask for, yes, you know.

No, he wasn't real, and no, he wasn't there to fall in love with you as you did with him. And you had your own life to live and work to do and tough times to get through on your own tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

So, leaving you no other choice, you drifted off to sleep as the delusion shattering ache in your heart seeped in.

It was raining. You opened up your umbrella next to the entrance of your workplace, greeting your coworkers goodbye. You were tired. Your brain was fried from working since morning and you felt like the walking dead.

The thoughts of cooking something up for dinner made you feel like flopping down on the sidewalk you were walking on and passing out. You had the free will to do that, of course, but the rain pitter pattering along with your dragged steps only reminded you of all the cleaning you would have to do after practicing your so-called free will.

The street lights turned on and you continued onward, just a block away from your home.

As you walked by an alleyway, your heart almost jumped out of your chest at the sound of metal clashing onto the ground. You froze, holding your breath as you turned around.

You waited.

One beat. Two beats.

Nothing.

And then, there it was again, the sound of something thuding around.

Without thinking, you made your way towards the source of the sound, your heart bearing in your ears. A dumpster came into view.

Something, or someone, seemed to be struggling inside. You called out.

“Hello..? Is anyone in there..?” Your voice trembled.

No reply.

You slowly got close to the dumpster and opened the cover with shaking hands.

Widened blue-pink eyes with a pair of black ears and tail stared up at you through the piles of garbage.

“What the fuck?”

The cat jumped out of your hold as soon as you entered your home, shaking off water from its fur and scampering away from you as fast as it could while you were struggling to put down the wet umbrella.

“Okay, rude? I bring you home with me to avoid the guilty conscience that would follow tomorrow if I found you dead from the cold somewhere and you pay me off by drenching my floorboards!”

You let out a frustrated sigh.

He silently watched you from a corner of the room as you made your way to the kitchen island to wash off your hands.

“Make yourself at home, I guess..” You mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

I have a cat in my apartment. What now?

First and foremost, it was bathtime. You were NOT about to let a stinky ass wet fur ball run around your home.

You tried to pick him up again but he bolted around the living room, paw pads making skittering noises in the process.

After about 10 minutes of running around, you gave up, standing defeated. You called out to him as a last resort.

“I just want to give you a bath. Please.”

“Mreow!” He protested, sitting on top of the kitchen island.

“Fine. Whatever. Live with the stink all you want. I'm tired and you're taking up my gaming time.” You rolled your eyes.

Maybe leaving him alone for a while will ease him a little.. You hoped.

And so, you turned around and sat down on the couch with the TV remote in hand, ready to open YouTube and rewatch the same goddamn trailer for the 100th time.

[Love and Deepspace | Caleb's Trailer]

He didn't know how he ended up here. One moment he was feeling immense, needle pricking pain across his entire body, the next he was in a dumpster. With paws instead of hands. And the world seemed thrice as large and intimidating.

Well, At least I have shelter from the rain for now.. Though I feel like a wet rat.

He watched the girl settle down on the couch.

I wonder how long I can stay here. I need to figure things out..

Then, he heard something that caught his eye.

“What, you don't recognize me?”

He stared at the video playing on the TV screen.

“Did you honestly think I would always be the kind hearted boy from your childhood?”

His ears perked up, all pointy, and his eyes widened.

That's me.

He watched as the figure on the screen bit an apple as lightning flashed in the background.

That. Is. Me. On the TV.

A/N: Interest check? Very self indulgent... Kinda, sorta, really wanna turn this into a one-shot fic maybe... Haha.. Ha.. But I'll have to play through all the content released in the past few months.. 😭

Wrote this half asleep someone bonk me to sleep please

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x mc #xia yizhou #caleb love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads #reverse isekai

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the-modern-typewriter · 1 month ago

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Hello! I love your writing, specifically the soft-only-for-their-love villain ones! I was wondering if you’d write another one like that? Maybe a villain x civilian one? No worries if not! Thanks !!

"Do you think I wouldn't love all of you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You hide so much of your nature, with me," the civilian said. "Do you think I wouldn't love the rest of you?"

The villain slowly eased their jacket off, watching the civilian where they sat by the big window, framed by the city lights outside. The words rested heavily in the silence of their home, untouched by the roar of traffic and life so close beyond the sound-proofed walls.

"You're upset I didn't take you with me tonight," the villain said.

"Am I?"

"Well, you're still up and you're starting this conversation the moment I walk through the door, so..."

"You're deflecting. Avoiding the question."

It had been a gala night. Another gala night.

The villain kicked their shoes off next, before padding their way over to the civilian. They caressed a thumb along the line of the civilian's jaw, guiding their face away from ghostly reflections in the glass, to them. They kissed the civilian in greeting. Just the once. Sweet. The civilian craned into them like a flower to light.

"I think," the villain murmured, leaning their foreheads together, "that you would be crazy to love the rest of me."

"So you won't give me the chance?"

"And more importantly I think the rest of me wouldn't love you in the way that you deserve to be loved, darling."

The civilian's jaw clenched, stubborn, with the damning desire of so many in love to look. Glance back. Unlock the door. Turn around. Open their eyes. An endless litany of people who should have known better than to see but still intended to.

The villain sighed and kissed their forehead.

"For starters," the villain said, "no one else would dare even have this conversation with me. Do you want to be that scared of me?"

"Should I be?"

"No, not you." The villain paused. "Maybe. Probably. I don't know."

"I'm not."

"Good."

"Is it?" The civilian's head tipped. Their fingers slid deftly to unravel the villain's fine clothes with practiced ease, finding warm skin. Something human beneath the silk. "Because if you're so bad that I can't even go to a work event with you, then that doesn't stop you being a monster. It just makes you a monster on a self-imposed leash. Leashes slip."

"Yes."

"So?"

"So, I'm selfish, and I want to keep you anyway. On the off chance that mine doesn't."

"And if I leave?" The civilian pressed a kiss to the villain's chest.

"Do you want to?"

"I think I'd rather know your true nature now, than if I ever did."

"You know my true nature," the villain said, "in the way that you know water when it quenches your thirst and rain when it waters your garden, but haven't been crushed by the tons of the ocean. Haven't drowned."

"I like the ocean."

The villain huffed a laugh at that, closing their eyes. They nuzzled against the civilian's hair. "I like the ocean too. But not for you. Not where it gets dark and cold and humans can't survive."

"They have cool fish down there. Like in the Mariana trench."

"Sure. But you don't make love to the Mariana trench."

"Name of my next romance novel."

The villain snorted. They were quiet together for a moment, the possibility of an argument simmering down, though the question of it remained.

"I like the beach," the villain said. "I like the shallows where the water is pretty and blue and I can see the sky, even bluer. There are birds and ice cream and nothing to do except adore you."

The civilian swallowed. "You have an idealised view of beaches. You ever been in winter when it's raining? Dire."

The villain laughed quietly. "I'll take the most dire beach you have."

"There's garbage."

"Well, I'm very good at taking out the trash."

It was the civilian's turn to snort.

"Also bribery," the villain said. They settled on the large window sill, drawing the civilian onto their chest, into their arms. "I smuggled you back cake."

"Bribery! Oh, gosh darn it," the civilian said. "I'm shocked and appalled. I never thought you'd sink so low."

"It's chocolate."

"It gets worse."

"Is it working?"

"I suppose you did bring the best bit of the party back to me. Luckily for you, I'm very susceptible to bribery. Did you kill anyone?"

The villain tensed a fraction at the question.

"Oh, everyone."

The civilian paused at that, glancing around to see if the villain was joking. They coudn't quite tell. The villain pressed another kiss to their head, relaxing.

"It's late," they said. "Can you love the bits of me I can give you in the morning? Like the chocolate cake, I do promise it's the best part of me."

"You're selfish. I'm greedy. I think I'd like all of you, one day."

"But not today."

"Not today." The civilian stifled a yawn.. "So long as the bit of you today carries me to bed."

The villain laughed again, soft, and shifted to scoop them up.

In the darkness, as the civilian slept, the villain watched them. They stroked their hair back from their fragile, lovely skull. Brushed their fingers along perfectly unmarred bones.

"I know you'd love all of me, darling," they said. "That's the scary bit."

In their sleep, the civilian turned over, and snuggled guilelessly into the villain's chest.

#civilian x villain #villain x civilian #villain #villains #writing #creative writing #original fiction #writeblr #i don't know how to tag this dynamic #my writing #relationships #fiction #short fiction

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blueberrypancakesworld · 21 days ago

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hii hope you're doing okay!! <3 i've just seen bloodlines and i'm absolutely NOT normal about erik, do you think you could write some smut about him, maybe related to that truck scene..... (if you know what i mean!!) if not that's totally okay feel free to ignore this ahah

A kinky discovery

Erik Campbell x fem!reader (girlfriend)

warning : +18, mdni, smut, oral - fem reciving, spanking, tiny teasing, fluff, no use of Y/n

Summary : Being Erik's girlfriend was never going to be boring, whether it was the new tattoos he was showing off, piercings on parts of his body that had a lot to offer or just his slightly weird but loving nature. But there was one side she hadn't seen yet and when she saw Erik flirting with the garbage truck, that interaction stirred something in her that she wanted him to do the same with her.

info : I'm not normal about Erik either, the truck scene showed me so much I wanted to know about Erik and of course you will get your request dear anon, best regards, thanks for the request and enjoy reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her boyfriend Erik was a ray of sunshine, the nice black sheep of the family, with his piercings and tattoos he stood out and yet once you were in a conversation with him you saw his nice, friendly and also funny side.

He was someone you couldn't help but love, not only his family but also his girlfriend, who he had been dating for almost a year.

It was like meeting a fairy tale, both of them reaching for fallen objects and immediately striking up a conversation, it seemed fated that they should meet.

His family the Campbells and the Reyes also welcomed his girlfriend warmly and soon she was spending family parties and celebrations with both of them, everything seemed perfect and it only seemed to get more perfect when she was with the Campbells one sunny afternoon.

After work, she had arranged to meet Erik at his parents' house for dinner, and now she was standing in the kitchen with Bobby and Brenda, peeling vegetables and chopping meat for the stew, “You two are doing a wonderful job,” the older blonde woman said, seeming completely exhilarated by the teamwork.

Bobby was fast and efficient and she cut the meat precisely into small pieces, "Thanks Mom" came from the son who gave her a smile and quickly slipped a lettuce leaf to his pet turtle who was watching its owner in a small glass box opposite.

Paco was cute, small and would live to be decades old, but the tortoise was always the star of the family. Whether in photos, at parties or for strangers, as soon as the animal was brought out, all eyes were on Paco.

“Really cute,” she commented and saw Bobby's grin, who was glad that Erik's girlfriend also liked the reptile so much.

The three of them in the kitchen kept talking animatedly about the upcoming celebrations, the recipe was carefully written down by Brenda and slipped to her, "Then you can cook something hot together," she said with a wink and the heat rose a little on the younger woman's ears.

Brenda seemed enraptured whenever her firstborn brought his fruit, she seemed so proud and happy that her 'special' son was finally living his life the way he wanted, that he had a future together...and maybe a grandchild soon.

She didn't know whether it was a sexual reference or just some kind advice, but in any case she'd had enough of both with Erik, partner time and sex.

She was just about to help Bobby cut the last pieces of meat and wash her hands when she heard voices from outside, "Erik, Stef and Charlie are back, I'll just say hello," she announced and heard the joyful noises of Brenda, who was already eager to have the family meal.

Walking out through the hallway and opening the front door, she saw Stefani, Charlie and Erik standing in front of the garbage truck discussing something, looking at the spectacle she stopped at the door and smiled slightly.

Stefani was excited and seemed to want to say something to the others, Charlie looked at her indecisively with his arms crossed before Erik walked towards the truck.

Already wanting to shout what this was going to be, the words got stuck in her throat when she saw Erik handling the truck.

The initially lascivious hip swings more dance than serious, almost funny and yet somehow cute, to Erik who put his hands on the yellow metal and she clearly heard the overloud French kiss as he seemed to lick the truck more than kiss it.

Already thinking that this was it, that her heart could calm down again, a warm pull ran through her abdomen as she saw the slap of the flat of his hand on the tire.

The slap as skin met rubber, so firm and yet somehow erotic that she didn't move from her place, not when Stefani and Charlie walked past her and not even when Erik dragged her back into the house with a puzzled look on his face.

Yet the image of her boyfriend spanking the tire and being so open about it didn't leave her mind for the next few hours, replaying over and over like a continuous loop...until they arrived back at the apartment together in the evening.

Erik had clearly noticed that he had become calmer since the meal, although he didn't know the reason, he feared it was something else.

When they had both hung up their jackets and put their shoes in the cupboard, they stood in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil for tea, his eyes searching hers but her gaze seemed to avoid his, “Is everything all right?” he finally dared to ask.

As if he had hit the nail on the head, she seemed to wake up from her thoughts and look at him questioningly, “What?” his girlfriend asked him, not even listening, let alone realizing what had happened.

A sigh came over Erik's lips as he grabbed two cups, put the tea bags in and poured the hot water, “I was wondering if everything was okay, since dinner you've been completely silent and seem to be avoiding me...is it because of my mom?” he asked, knowing that Brenda could sometimes be a bit tempestuous and well, pushy when it came to her loved ones.

Immediately she felt the guilt come over her, that was definitely not the reason, she loved Erik but since his show every time she looked at him she got more than just nervous.

Pulling on the teabag a little and feverishly wondering if she should try to talk her way out of it, Erik's behavior took the decision away from her when he walked up to her and put his hand on hers.

“No matter what it was today, I still love you and you're the most important thing” he made it clear to her and she found his words extremely sweet but that wasn't the reason or stopped her thoughts from showing the scene again.

Her slight shake of her head confused him even more, “That's sweet Erik but that's not the reason...you can't laugh okay?” she demanded and he symbolized that his mouth was closed before gesturing for her to continue.

“So well when you made out with the garbage truck and spanked the tire well that....it turned me on” she confessed to him and as soon as she had finished her sentence Erik began to laugh as if he couldn't contain himself, playfully wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oh-Oh sweetie that's good” he mumbled, still amused, taking a sip of the tea as he caught himself in his amusement, when Erik saw her serious, look, he paused, as if studying her, before a surprised, “You were serious,” actually escaped his lips.

Erik now realized what she meant, what she had really been doing all those hours before he shook his hands and a knowing grin appeared on his face, “So you were turned on by me giving that sexy, tight, hot tire a slap?” he asked, still looking at her brief nod in slight disbelief.

Yet the look in his eyes, the knowledge he now had of what this meant, seemed so much more delicious to them both than the tea that was forgotten when he put his hands on her hips.

He navigated them both towards the bedroom, greedy kisses providing space for air, the two of them only breaking away from each other when it came to getting rid of the now far too distracting clothing.

Every more piece of exposed skin seemed to spur them both on and when Erik sat down on the bed and just patted his thighs, her cheeks burned with heat, “I'll be very gentle with my good girl, of course,” he winked and that took the seriousness out of the situation, which relieved her.

After all, it wasn't about some bdsm relationship with rules and regulations between them, it was about having fun and Erik was just using the new knowledge that made his girlfriend horny.

Trying to relax, moving towards him and bending over his cock, he gave her a moment to get used to it, “So did you like it when I gave you a slap?” he asked, teasingly running his hand down her back, “Yes...I do” she said almost meekly, and he could feel his grin as he too got a taste of the situation.

Silence that wavered between them was broken by a clear slap on her ass, she flinched as a gasp escaped her and Erik gave her a brief moment, “Something like that?” he asked again, wanting to know how firm he could make it.

There was a tingling sensation starting from her cheek, which turned into a fuzzy interesting tug in her body and she only gave a “A little harder” as Erik lightly lifted his hand again and brought it down on her back again.

The sound of the slap went through the room, louder than before and a gasp escaped her, it was what she wanted, the tingling, a surface that would go numb with more slaps, an excited pull in her abdomen and her fingers clinging to the ceiling.

Erik seemed to have seen her reaction exactly when he immediately repeated the slap with roughly the same firmness and her panting mixed with a moan with each further slap, “You take it so well sweetie” he praised her.

After a few slaps let his hand run over the red spot, giving her the moment to recover from it, the stinging pain, the slight numbness and also Erik taking in the beauty he had in front of him.

She noticed the bulge in his black boxer shorts, “You're reacting to it” his girlfriend said as she found her words again and her gaze went to his bulge, which he only returned with a grin as he slowly lay down on the bed.

She slowly straightened up and settled on his clothed midsection, Erik's hands gripping her hips and she felt him press lightly against her, the almost exasperated sigh coming from his lips as she engaged him in another kiss.

“We still have plenty of time...show me what your tongue can do” she said this as she saw his grin when they both knew that they had taken their relationship to a new level thanks to a garbage truck.

As Erik spun her around in one motion and she lay beneath him, his lips parting hers, he began kissing his way down her naked torso.

The bites and caresses made her bury her hands in his dark hair as she let him know whenever he did something particularly well, “You seem to like my hands,” he commented as he took off her underwear and felt her wetness on his fingers as he ran them over her center.

Her giggle was shared as his 'wonder hands' spread her thighs slightly and she let out a sigh as she felt his tongue, she heard his almost smile as he sucked on her nerve spot and her wince only made Erik grip her thighs a little tighter.

The room that had previously been filled with the sound of slapping became filled with the licking and sucking sounds of Erik's head disappearing between her thighs, her gasps and moans whenever Erik teased her clitoris with his tongue.

Two bodies, one of which reared up and shook slightly when she could barely stand the waves of arousal and Erik's hips rubbed against the blanket and mattress to relieve his own arousal.

The aroused looks they exchanged, both of them dazed with lust, had seen nothing more beautiful as Erik heard her cries and her thighs wrapped around his head, his muffled grunts as he came and both heavy breathing came down from their high.

Exhausted and woolly, she heard Erik move closer to her, wrap his arm loosely around her and gently kiss her, “I must make out with garbage trucks more often ” she heard his comment and they both cuddled up, sharing a smile. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@nearest-x-dearest , @captainthomasrobbie , @monkeydoll5 , @zombiepoe , @starry-eyed-wild-child , @porterroths , @amandalove1355 , @mythicalcowboyatheart , @rhaenyrathecruell , @aashy723 , @luluscoff1n , @fapqueen , @sadslasher13 , @everdxen-mellark , @yearsbecomingcool

#final destination #final destination bloodlines #erik campbell final destination #erik campbell x reader #erik campbell #male x female #reader is female

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bruisedboys · 3 months ago

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Never listen to aggressiv anons, your garbage is really good garbage.

If you’re feeling up to it I’m always in a remus mood, you’re so good at writing him as confident and don’t get me wrong it always makes me swoon, but i was wondering if the roles were switched and remus was the shy one for a change🥰

hi lovely thank youuu for your request!! I’m very nervous cos this is the first proper thing I’ve written in like forever… if it’s bad don’t tell me 🙉

shy!remus x fem!reader

Remus can’t figure out why you like him. He’s awkward, and weird, and too tall, and he’s got two very handsome, much less shy, best friends, plus a lot of other friends (much cooler than him), whom he assumed you’d go for before him. He was mistaken. You’re all over him.

He watches as you approach the table where he, James, Sirius, and a few other friends have set up base for the night. It’s loud in the pub, busy and warm, but you’re moving towards him like he’s the only person here.

“Remus! Hello,” You say happily, coming to a halt in front of him. You don’t offer a hello to anyone else, though Remus chalks it down to the fact they’re all busy talking, or drinking, and he’s been sitting there at the edge of the group quite in his own world.

He blinks up at you. You look lovely. You always do, but you’ve put your hair up in a way he’s never seen you do before. Remus thinks it makes your shoulders look really nice, then realises that’s a totally weird thing to think.

“Hi,” he manages. He’s shy, but he’s not usually this shy. It’s just, you’re beautiful, and he’s got a huge crush on you, and you seem almost equally endeared with him. It’s a little absurd, in his opinion.

You give him a once over, eyes raking from his face to his knees and back up again. It’s quick enough that he shouldn’t catch it, but he does, and then blushes so hard he’s sure you could cook an egg on his face.

“You look nice,” you say breezily. Your eyes zero in on his hair. “Did you cut your hair?”

Remus blinks. “I— yeah, I did,” he says, a little stunned. He hadn’t expected you to notice. It’s not much shorter than it was before, and no one other than Sirius noticed it, and that’s ’cos Sirius is a hair freak.

He’s suddenly self conscious of it. His hand moves to the back of his head, tugging at the hair there. “S’it look bad?” He asks you.

You shake your head vigorously. “No, what? It looks good,” you say, like it’s obvious.

You reach out and run your hands through his freshly cut hair, fingers pushing against his scalp. Remus’ heart goes wild and his stomach does that thing where he suddenly almost feels nauseous, but in a good way.

“I like this length on you,” you say, giving his hair a gentle tug. There’s a sort of lilting cadence to your tone that Remus has come to learn indicates you’re flirting. It sure works. Remus feels like he’s been lit on fire, heat licking up his neck and settling at the tips of his ears.

“Thank you,” he says, almost choking on the words.

You grin. You must know what you’re doing to him, he can see it in your eyes. He figures the permanent blush on his face doesn’t help.

“You’re welcome,” you say back, dropping your hand from his hair. You give his shoulder a squeeze and it’s like jolts of electricity go through his arm. “Move over? I want to sit next to you, handsome.”

Remus goes a bit blind. He obliges, much too happy to do whatever you want, shuffling across the bench to make room for you. You slide in next to him, somehow too close but not close enough, and start chatting to him animatedly about your day.

Remus tries to listen, he really does, but it gets a bit difficult when your hand finds his knee under the table. Your sweet perfume washes over him, your thumb rubs the knee of his jeans, and all he can think about is how much he’d really, really, like to kiss you.

Sirius catches his eye from across the table and smirks. He’s in for a long night.

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moonstruckme · 3 months ago

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Hello Mae! I hope you’re having a wonderful week so far. I have never requested before but I saw your requests were open and I felt inspired! (Forgive me if I do or say something wrong!) I saw that you write for stranger things but I’ve never seen a poly!steddie before! If it inspires you, I thought a little hurt/comfort with some angst could be fun with the boys. Maybe a miscommunication between them when they’re first figuring out the dynamic and one of the boys says something hurtful to writer by accident (we know those silly boys have no brain to mouth filter). Thank you for sharing your writing and working so hard for us, you’re so appreciated and loved! ❤️❤️

Thank you angel <33

poly!steddie x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“God, it’s worse than I thought.” Eddie rolls onto his stomach on Steve’s bed, dragging the chord of your headphones with him. “How many of these do you have on here?”

“It’s the whole album,” you say. You’re watching your boyfriends all tangled up on top of the covers, half tempted to join them but too shy to do it. The carpeting on Steve’s bedroom floor is soft enough anyway.

“Eugh, your poor ears!”

“You’re such a snob.” Steve gives Eddie’s ankles a halfhearted shove where they’ve fallen over his lap, but really you know he doesn’t mind the contact.

“No, a snob would tell her to listen to fucking strings music or something,” says Eddie. “I just have taste.”

“What’s wrong with U2?” you ask.

Really, you knew better than to think you’d actually get any studying done with your boyfriends. You knew it since Steve invited you over, but that didn’t stop you from going, pep in your step and textbook like a prop in your bag. You were barely ten minutes in when Eddie had plucked your headphones up from your head, taking a listen. He declared your taste in music “laughable.”

“What’s wrong with U2?” Eddie repeats incredulously. “Baby, where do I start? I didn’t know I had a pop princess on my hands here.”

You recognize the teasing in his tone, but the jabs at your music selection still taste sour in your mouth. “Oh, because Metallica is so underground.”

“See, that’s part of it. At least Metallica is real rock. U2 is just—like—I don’t even know what to call them. They say they’re a rock band, but listen to this shit!” He sits up and tries to put the headphones on Steve, who wards him off with a hand. “This is not rock.”

“You’re a total snob,” Steve repeats, laughing when Eddie only fights harder.

“No, seriously! This isn’t rock. Plus, have you ever seen Bono perform? It’s totally overdone.”

“I went to one of their shows,” you say. “Last summer.”

“Fuck.” Eddie blows out a breath as he gives up on trying to get your headphones on Steve. He collapses against your boyfriend’s side, grinning. “My condolences, then.”

“I liked it.”

“Awe. That’s probably because you haven’t been to a real concert yet, huh? Don’t worry, gorgeous, we’ll get you to a good one eventually. Your ears will be relieved.”

“Yeah, okay.” You roll your eyes. Neither of your boyfriends seem to have notice how you’ve gone quiet, both too absorbed in each other as Eddie lands aggressive kisses on Steve’s cheek and Steve grins and pretends not to like it. For the first time since you started dating, you feel bitterly alone.

Part of you thinks you might be overreacting. You don’t usually care what people think of your music tastes—they don’t usually fixate on them so intensely, but you generally tend to believe that art is subjective and everyone is entitled to their own preferences. The thing is, you know music is really important to Eddie. He’s made it his life. He plays in a band; half his shirts are band tees; there’s a guitar mounted on his wall that he talks to more sweetly than either you or Steve. So if he thinks your taste in music is garbage, what does that say about what he thinks of you?

“Hey.” Steve nudges you with a foot. You’ve been looking morose without meaning to, not realizing anyone was watching. “You know he’s just kidding, right?”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, still grinning, “I don’t kid about concerts. We’re fucking going.”

You start putting your textbook away. “I think I’m going to finish studying at home.”

“No, hey,” says Steve, frowning now. “Come on.”

Eddie’s eyebrows rise as he catches on. “Wait, are you seriously mad?”

“I’m not mad,” you lie. “I’m just going to go listen to my awful music back at my place, where I can actually study.”

“Please, you knew what you were getting into, babe. We were never going to study.” Eddie’s trying to joke with you again, but his tone turns serious when you stand up to leave. “Hey, hold on. I’m just messing around. Stay.”

You turn around, unsure what to say and not really wanting to look at either of them, either.

“I didn’t know you liked U2 that much,” he says in a softer voice.

“It’s not that I—” You sigh, crossing your arms. “I’m not, like, obsessed with them. I just don’t get why you have to rag on what I like so much.”

“I was just playing, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you cared, just—c’mere.”

Eddie wraps a hand around your elbow, tugging you onto the bed with him and Steve. Your arms uncross by the nature of the movement. He gets you between them, kissing the side of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, words all mushed up. Not teasing anymore. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I did, didn’t I?”

“No,” you say, partially because you don’t want to seem dramatic and partially because it really is difficult to blame someone who’s pressing their lips to your cheek like they plan to leech on and never let go. “Just, I at least pretend to like the things that you like.”

“Pretend?” Eddie pulls away, looking wounded.

“Try not to take it personally,” Steve tells you. His hand has found your neck, thumb rubbing at the tense muscles near your shoulders. “He really is a snob. He called me a philistine for listening to Tears for Fears.”

“Well,” Eddie cuts in, “you are a philistine.”

“But,” Steve goes on with a narrow-eyed look, “he doesn’t have to be such a dick about it.”

“Right. Right, yeah, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Eddie devotes himself to you again, hugging his arms around your waist. “Really. I was just messing with you, I thought we were joking around. We can listen to U2 if you want. We can even—if you want us to, we can go to a concert.”

He sounds so pained as he says it that it coaxes a small smile out of you. Steve, seeing, squeezes your shoulder encouragingly.

“I know you had to fight a gag reflex to say that,” you tell Eddie.

He grimaces. “I may need a vomit bag when we go. But if it’s important to you…”

“That’s okay.”

The sigh Eddie lets out is gargantuan. He sinks against your side. “Thank you.” He kisses underneath your jaw. It tickles, but he only latches on tighter when you try to get away. “I knew you loved me. I’ll never make fun of you again.”

“You can still make some fun of me,” you allow.

Steve makes a dissenting noise. “Not in an asshole way, though.”

“No, that’s it. I’m swearing off teasing for the rest of my life. The stakes are too high.”

“Right, sure.” Steve reaches around you to tug on one of Eddie’s curl gently. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

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ilxlita · 9 days ago

Text

｡ﾟ(｡ﾉωヽ｡)ﾟ｡ 𝙞 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙨, 𝙞 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩.

SYNOPSIS: a headcanon of how bnha boys (and toga) are whenever they miss you. PAIRINGS: various bnha boys x reader, also toga is included because it'd be fucked if i used her as an image and she weren't. like she is literally the definition of "i miss my wife tails". TAGS: pure fluff. so sweet. bakugou does have a VERY VERY small section of nsfw if you squint. all characters are aged up for my own mental health. in my head toga is also a pro hero but i guess you could picture her as a villain if you're a monster /j. AUTHORS NOTE: literally toga is not beloved enough. she is the literal defintion of "I LOVE MY WIFE SO MUCH". like hello, what?

IZUKU MIDORIYA ♡ the man that he is. izuku for sure misses you as SOON as he leaves the house whether that be for a pro hero mission or for work, he is missing you. ♡ 100% is texting you as soon as you or he leaves the houses. like he is such a needy husband. he will conjure up a reason to send you a cute little text whether that be asking what you want for dinner or sending you a picture of a feral cat. ♡ izuku, when you guys are married, is not shy about how much he misses you. whenever people ask him what he's doing after his mission he will announce "me and my wife are doing..." like even if you're not a pro hero other pro heroes KNOW YOU because of how much izuku gushes over you ♡ heaven forbid he ever goes on a multiple day long mission or else he might actually call you all the time. asks you to send him voice messages of your day, asks you to call him so he doesn't fall asleep alone. sends you little videos of him going throughout his day. ♡ when he gets back it is 100% date night !! he will take you to a fancy resturant he saw, or he will take you to a cute little store and insistenet you purchase as much as you want no matter how expensive it is. he really just loves his wife.

KATSUKI BAKUGOU ♡ katsuki bakugou never misses anyone ever. if you ask him he will say he does NOT think about you during his missions because he is locked into his mission. if anyone brings up the fact that katsuki DEFINITELY stares at a photo of you when he's away HE WILL DENY. ♡ katsuki shows that he misses you never through words, but always through words. he will text you randomly throughout the day just things like "what are you eating? has to be better than this garbage ass food" or "found this candle that you would like since you like spending money on useless crap i bought it for you." ♡ KATSUKI FOR SURE GETS BUTTHURT WHEN YOU LEAVE HIM ON READ. like you're working and cannot text him back immediately? he'll respond with "guess we're just leaving each other on read then" or something like "damn guess i should've married a wall at least im not expecting a text back from it." like katsuki is the sassy man apocolapyse. ♡ he 100% buys trinkets for you that reminded him of you. a little stuffed bunny from the store? that's literally you so usually when he comes home it's with a few cute gifts depending on how long he was away for. ♡ the day he comes home is reserved for "miss you" sex and him pampering you and treating you like a princess. he will cook you a beautiful gourmet meal, present his gifts and brush little kisses on your face.

HIMIKO TOGA ♡ as stated previously. himiko is quite literally the definition of "i miss my wife" along with izuku. like she HATES going out of town for missions because she is constantly thinking of you, what you're doing, if you miss her as much as she misses you. ♡ pro hero toga would NOT take your blood and drink it to comfort herself (but villain toga for sure would), my girl is for sure bringing things that remind her of you. if you bought her cute little hair ties she will only wear those! told her one of the necklaces she wore was cute and she will wear it always. ♡ toga for sure goes harder in battles when she's away from you because she HAS TO GET HOME TO HER WIFE OBVIOUSLY. like she will not be dying today, her wife misses her :/. furthermore she is also constantly calling and texting you even if she's in the middle of battle, like she will have you on a phone call in her ear buds while in battle. ♡ "how's your day, cutie patootie?" and all you hear is an explosion in the background before you go on about your day. it is very rare that himiko is not only given out of town missions but also takes them because she hates being away from one of the few people who loves her genuinely. ♡ himiko is absolutely putty in your hands when she does get home, like literally whatever you want. she'll cuddle you close to her chest and if you see a cute pair of high heels you want she is buying them for you INSTANTLY.

HITOSHI SHINSOU

♡ due to the nature of his work hitoshi will not be texting you or calling you during his missions. he is very rarely on his phone because he is often doing undercover spy work, but please do not take that to mean he does not miss you. ♡ hitoshi is very soft; he is not used to missing someone so he is not quite sure what to do with the feeling of wanting you next to him and that usually manifests in him doing things that remind you of him especially while he's undercover. ♡ your favourite meal becomes his favourite meal while he's away, your favourite colour is now his, your favourite scent is now his. hitoshi will always leave you with a hoodie that smells the most like him but in return he's taking one his shirts that you always sleep in so he can smell you while he sleeps. ♡ because hitoshi does undercover work, he is often by other people. often surrounded, but if he's not and he's going on a mission with aizawa or another undercover pro hero he is bringing you up so often in casual conversation, someone definitely has to tell him to stop because he doesn't realise he does it. ♡ when he gets home you are not leaving the bed. he is cuddling you close to his chest, explaining the mission to you and absolutely forcing you to tell him how your days were when he was gone. he will buy take out and pay that twenty dollar delivery fee just so you two can stay wrapped in each other at all times.

SHOUTA AIZAWA ♡ shouta, much like hitoshi, is usually constantly doing cover work which means that it would be dangerous to constantly be in contact with you and he tells you this each time before he leaves just so he can remind you that he is not ignoring you; he simply has to be locked in. ♡ shouta does not text you or call you, but whenever he's alone on a rooftop or in his hotel room he will look back at the photos and videos of you two especially your wedding photos where you are just glowing. ♡ shouta for SURE has a printed out photo of you laughing at him candid on the wedding day. he has it in a little necklace that he can look at whenever he misses you too much. feel like if you have stuffed animals he steals one so he can sleep with it (not cuddle it), but for sure sleep with it. ♡ shouta also likes to buy little knick knacks for your shared home whenever he is gone. it's usually like a little special magnanet, a teddy bear to add to your collection, a snowglobe if he goes to another country, just little things. ♡ shouta when he gets home is usually dog tired so he will insist that you take a nap with him regardless of the time of day afterwards he drowns himself in domestic tasks; cooking, cleaning the home, doing laundry. all things to try and pick up the slack that he left when he was gone.

KEIGO TAKAMI ♡ keigo is in the very awkward position of missing you immensely on his missions and having absolutely no idea how to express it because he has never been in the position to miss anybody ever. like he is used to a solitary life and now he has a wife that he is missing? he has no idea what to do with himself. ♡ the first day of him gone he is playing cool and nonchalant. each time he thinks he won't miss you, but it's always something little and stupid that triggers him spiraling and missing you (usually a song or a smell) and he is spam texting you. ♡ keigo also constantly wants to do phone calls, especially at night when he is calming down and relaxing becase he thinks of you the most when he is at ease. call you up so you can fall asleep to the sound of his voice and so he can fall asleep to the sound of you talking about your day. ♡ he is also definitely indulging in buying you trinkets, but it's usually not cute little one. it's usually expensive necklaces, beautiful earrings/bracellets, and if you have any body modifications he is 100% buying expensive body jewlerry. he is a bird and showers his partner in expensive and shiny things. ♡ usually when keigo gets back it's late so he will tuck himself into you and sleep. the next day he is taking you to an expensive fancy brunch or if you want an amazing homemade dinner. literally he just wants to feed you and take care of you, he wants you to know that there was not a single moment of the mission where he wasn't thinking of you (without actually just saying it.)

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thecloudsaremyhome · 5 months ago

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✧Pity party✧

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

TW: thoughts of suicide and depression

When have I ever been enough for them? When have they ever been their for me? When…when!

It’s like a constant void is inside of me tearing me from the inside and out slowly consuming my body and mind.

It all started when you lost your mother. She was never the best person figuratively but she was the best to you. She loved you so much and that’s all that mattered to you. Well at the time it did but you can't take anymore of the lonely nights alone you cant take the missed birthdays and missed events only to be forgotten later you cant take it anymore and the sad part is…. You only blame yourself every false promise, every forgotten birthday, every holiday spent alone you blame yourself. Why is that? Well you won't ever be good enough you'll never be good enough to be considered part of their family to have dinners in the dining room instead of up in your old room alone. To have movie nights together, to cuddle with dick and be on the receiving end of his affection to paint and draw with damian as we banter, to go shopping with Cassandra and stephanie, to at least hang out with barbara or to at least sit in silence with jason. You'll never be good enough ever and its hard to admit that fact but you had to have the universe have it out for you to make you suffer and it did its job well. It hurts it hurt so fucking bad that it just wants to make you scream to bang your head into the wall until it bleeds to cut yourself over and over again until the pain stops until the void is filled. Because in reality it will never be filled, the void in your heart and soul can never be filled. It will grow stronger and stronger until it bursts until you make the final decision to grab a knife and slowly slit your throat. Because when your mother died your soul died with her. But the only thing stopping your from achieving your plan was Alfred, he was your only solace and no matter how bad it hurt seeing him prioritize them over you he was still their at least. But it was never enough you will never be enough thats what you constantly reminded yourself throughout the fourteen years you've lived in the manor that you will never be good enough for anyone and you've accepted that fact over and over again with dicks false promises, damian's harsh words stephanie's pitying stare cassandera’s ignorance to your presence tims calculating gaze looking at you as if your an object and your fathers ignorant look to your absolute existence. It hurt it hurt so fucking bad seeing them bond seemlessy togther but then excluding you like your nothing more than trash maybe you are? Maybe you really are just a piece of garbage to them a fly in a room of butterflies you'll never shine like they do you'll sit in the background hoping and waiting for the chance to be loved the chance to feel affection for the first time, and sense well you don't know. All you can understand is you'll never be enough and thats fine youll just sit in the background as they shine you'll always be heard but never seen. You’ll wait and wait until its finally time to mae your exit and leave to go beyond the land of butterflies and explore a new and brighter land but be carefully little fly butterflies may be pretty but they are just as dangerous as well.

Authors note: hello everyone welcome to a series called pity party! This is a prologue! But you can all send in asks!

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 1 year ago

Note

Read your post about something other than angst for Simon so I have a thought that needs to get out. Morning routine with Simon. Obviously, the man is military and has a strict routine but that all goes to shit with you. Sleeping in, lazy lunch, all that cute couples shit but with Simon.

hello! tyvm for sending this idea! cute and silly couple’s domestic fluff is sweeettt!! I hope you will enjoy this :D 💖

A Day of A Cute (and Silly) Couple - Simon Riley*Reader

[6:00]

Simon doesn’t need an alarm, he automatically wakes up at 6 am.

Jogging is an important part of his morning routine when he’s on leave, a nice way to maintain his stamina, and to keep him from getting too loose.

“Where you... going...”

Oh, he forgets he has an unavoidable barrier, between him and his morning jog.

Simon looks down at you, clenching at the hem of his shirt. Your eyes aren’t even open, you just catch him in instinct and now refusing to let go.

“Go for a jog, you know it, love.” The calmness of morning makes him explain in a soft tone unconsciously.

“Stay... please...”

“You can hug your blåhaj first, I will be back soon, yeah?”

“You feel better than blåhaj...”

“...”

It’s too cruel for him to just leave you here, not when you choose him over that bloody shark you always squeeze against your body.

Simon secures the curtain so the room won’t be too bright after the sun fully rises, and lies back on the bed.

Your limbs immediately twine around him when you sense his figure is nearby, and scoots closer to him.

Jogging is important to keep him from getting loose... it’s a must for him to be strict with his morning routine...

The voices in his mind are gradually replaced by the little snores of yours as he drifts back to sleep.

[12:00]

“Can we eat fries for lunch?”

you yell at Simon who’s preparing lunch in the kitchen.

“No”

“WHYYYY!”

“UNHEALTHY!” He shouts back so his voice won’t get covered by the noise of the range hood.

okay then... you feel a bit disappointed, but you can’t come up with a convincing reason, so you just back to sweeping the floor.

just as you’re cleaning the last few spots, a scrumptious smell catches your attention, it’s not those chicken breast or salad or scrambled eggs that Simon deems healthier.

“Do you make fries?!” You knock open the kitchen door with excitement.

What you see is Simon sprinkling some salt and pepper on a bowl of fries, and he turns to you when you rush in like an energetic child.

“A few fries are tolerable” He shows you the bowl, and you can’t wait to reach out and take a bite on the crunchy and golden fries.

“Thank you, baby.” You press an open mouth kiss on your lover’s cheek.

“Don’t kiss me with your greasy mouth...”He growls, but you’re already leaving the kitchen, lilting an off-key song with the bowl of fries in your arms.

Simon just shakes his head and starts cleaning the countertop. If some fries can make you this happy, then fuck those healthy diets.

[18:00]

You two sitting face to face on the couch, the air is full of tension when you speak first.

“Mushroom”

“Mango”

“Oreo”

“Orange”

“Egg”

“g...”

“It’s over 2 seconds! Go take out the garbage, silly!”

“Fucking hell...”

Snickering at Simon’s loss, as he grumbles and on his way to grab the garbage, you add another star under your name to ‘the winner of the week’ sticky note that’s pasting on the fridge.

[23:00]

“Time to sleep.”

“but I want to watch this movie.”

“You can watch it tomorrow.”

“pleassee I want to watch it nowww Simonnn”

“...Fine.”

(00:00)

Simon looking at you sleeping like a log, whole body leaning on him and tangling him like an octopus, totally ignoring the wretched screaming from the movie, sighs and turns off the TV.

He leaves a night lamp for you, in case you need to get up for water during the night, and adjusts you two into a more comfortable posture.

He hears you mumbling something like donuts or maybe your favorite character, and chuckles quietly at how silly you are.

He already knew you would fall asleep during the movie, so that’s why he gave in, and time proves that his prediction’s correct since he’s looking at your serene face now.

“Goodnight.” Satisfied with you resting safe and sound in his arms, Simon plants a kiss on the top of your head and closes his eyes, hoping for a sweet dream that has you in it.

a/n: blåhaj sorry I love u I don't mean to harm u

#cod imagine #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley fluff

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dilf-docs · 3 months ago

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Saturday But in Your Sunday Best

bfd!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel has a co-worker's wedding in las vegas. everything that can go wrong, does.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., creampie, oral (f. and m. receiving), breast play, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation kink, ANGST (as in i've suffered so will my characters. this wasn't at all what i had envisioned at first for this part), hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff (that's new), pls be nice this writer's block shot me in the foot

word count: 11,121 words

side note: sorry this took so long. between movie watching for the oscars, my other works, midterms, pedro pascal horny hours, my wattpad fic, the max fic you citizens let flop (ĉüřşę ÿoụ āĺļ), the brat taming fic that made numbers among my oomfs on twitter, a very shitty date (the situational irony of letting a man ruin my women's day) a ptwt fic gc in twitter (love u frens), and uni again, i let the ttdik series collect dust, my bad. as compensation, take this girthy chapter altho it makes me kinda insecure IDK. this is why i don't do series okay!! i'm my worst enemy and i fear procrastination is a chronical disease of mine atp

part: prev | masterlist | next

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas

His foot taps anxiously against the marble floor, sound drowned by the bustling crowd.

People come and go. Some hug, others cry. And Joel? Well, he's just waiting for you to come.

He checks his watch, the one Sarah gifted him, and sighs. Should've known better.

It's been two months since the pregnancy scare, and ever since then, you have put a bit of a distance between yourselves.

It was slow, gradual: first the excuses then nights were you wouldn't stay or ask him to. And, even if your affair was that, just an affair, he missed sleeping in the warmth of your embrace. He also missed the way your nose would crinkle when you laughed. You didn't laugh that often anymore, and if you did, it sounded like you were holding in: as if you were afraid to let loose and let him see through you. And to be honest, it was killing him.

So when he reached out to you for this, he should've expected for you to say no. That you wouldn't show up after that I'll see if I'm free text: no, Joel Miller simply shouldn't have harbored that much hope for his daughter's bestfriend he happened to be banging.

If he hadn't confirmed his invitation, he'd probably gone home and layed down. Watch some garbage TV with Sarah and some beer in hand, but here he was, like a lonely loser, luggage in hand.

(Sarah helped him pack. He didn't even know what to wear to a wedding, and then she showed up with his old suit-- that still fit, somehow, albeit a bit more tight, from the dry cleaning. Joel would be lost without her)

The speaker announces his flight is about to leave. Joel gets up, trying not to be dissappointed about the whole thing. He's got no right to, after all.

"Joel?"

He'd end up breaking his neck by how fast he turned.

There you are, and it's like the weight he wasn't aware of, settling on his chest, had been removed.

"You made it" is the first thing that makes it out of his lips.

You softly laugh, "Hello, Joel"

He gets closer to you, slowly, like if he where to do it faster, he'd scare you off. Or you'd be gone, as if a dream.

(It'd be a nightmare, though, because you wouldn't be here)

"Sorry. I-" he cuts off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. There's some tension lingering in the air, the same when you left his house a week ago. Joel had been too much of a coward to invite you then, rather hiding behind a screen.

But now you were here.

"I didn't think you'd come" he says after a beat of silence.

You tilt your head to the side, eyebrow up as if you hadn't been acting weird at all.

"Why wouldn't I?"

(Because it seems like being in the same room as me tires you. That your eyes don't shine anymore, and the starry sky looks like a storm when you dare search my gaze as we fuck. Every time you breath, its like breathing the same air as me burns)

He rather not press, so instead, he says:

"I'm jus' glad ya' came. 'S all"

You nod, not adding anything at all. Then, both you walk to your gate, side by side in silence, the same that had seemed to seep inside your romance for the past weeks.

Well, romance was definitely a stretch. An affair seemed more like it.

Of course, you're aware the change it's on you. It would've been dumb of you to think Joel wouldn't notice your withdrawal, or how more often than not you'd be stuck in your head. But still, he didn't comment on it, and like you, danced around the subject, afraid for different reasons as yours. Or the same. Yet, you'll never know. No, you're aware you both are too stubborn, and that whatever it started on that day, had settled in between like a burning flame.

(Had you been engulfed by the fire yet?)

You try not to think about it. After all, you had the option not to come. But a weekend away in Las Vegas after midterms? Too tempting to let go.

(And it's not like images of a stood up Joel in the airport, looking miserable, had made you restless the last couple of days after his text)

"Ya' can take the window" he says, even if it's his seat.

He knows you're nervous about flying, a little detail that came up during a post-sex small talk.

(What're you're dreams? Joel asked. You had answered that you'd love to travel the world after graduating, but that you had a fear for flying, despite having only done it once. It may have been because the first time you did, it was to fly for your grandma's funeral. Perhaps it was by association then, that the bad feelings about boarding a plane could be related to that)

"Thanks" you mumble, sitting down. You're avoiding his gaze, but know he's looking at you.

"What?" a little harsher than intended.

He looks taken back, looking at his lap as he let's out a soft whisper, sheepishly:

"Nothin'. Jus' thinkin' you look pretty today"

A light blush creeps up your cheeks as you huff out a Whatever.

Joel let's a breath of relief out his tight chest and allows himself to smile.

(At least, he's still got an effect on you)

The wedding Joel was supposed to attend is in the Ángel De La Guarda cathedral. You'd be staying nearby, at a hotel room Joel's coworker had paid for, the same where the reception would take place.

Being in the same room as Joel one night should be the least of your worries, but then the space is even smaller than it was supposed to (given by Joel's cursing as he paced around, anxiously), and the strain of your relationship settles in the air, physically so, tight around your throat.

Then, it's the bed issue: there's only one. It's not like you haven't slept in the same bed before, obviously, but there's a certain dread deep in your stomach about sharing the enclosed space when you're at your most vulnerable. He moves around a lot during night, and something tells you you'd wake up to his strong arms and hot breath fanning over your neck, hairs rising at the proximity, making it harded to calm your heart.

"You okay?" he's asking, dropping the bags in a corner.

"At what time is the wedding?" you ask.

He checks his watch. "In about seven hours"

The glass bounces a ray right into your face, and you have to close your eyes at yet nother reminder of why this is all so wrong.

Sarah.

"We should rest..." he says, plopping on the bed. His plaid t-shirt rises up at the same time the color of your cheeks does, when the glimpse of soft tanned skin reveals itself. He looks up to your stiff standing figure, bulk arms behind his neck as he rests his head on his biceps. "Don't 'cha think?"

Lay with me. Not outloud.

"No" you say, hastily so, not missing the way a flicker of dull akin to the pain of rejection finds its way to his brown eyes. "I..." your voice softens. "I'd rather take a tour of the place, you know? It's not like I'll come every weekend here"

He's about to raise up. I'm coming with you, again not out loud, in case you'd reject his offering again.

Which you do.

"I'm fine" you say, grabbing your purse. "Just... I need a moment"

Away from you.

"Suit yourself" but there's a sharp edge on his apparent kindness.

Closing the door behind you, it takes all of you to not turn around and see his face one last time.

You wander off through the bright lights and noisy hallways, walking until the sun of the outdoors filters a ray over the carpet through the glass doors. Strides take you to the pool area, kids giggling, parents sunbathing and youngsters chilling.

You sigh, dipping your feet in the pool, chlorine up your nose and water baterly grazing your sundress.

But you're drowning.

Drowning on his presence, every room he's in now smaller. Walls of the room collapsing, as the ones of your lungs, every breath tight if your nose catches a whiff of his scent lingering in the air. You'd wash the sheets almost immediately, crying when your head hit the pillow and it smelled like lavender and not Joel.

It was the only right choice: to erase him out of your life, because with every new kiss and thrust, he'd take another part of you with him, and you don't know how much more you can give of yourself without dying. A part of you dies every time he walks out the door, anxious heart pondering when will he walk out for good. When he'll realize the thrill is gone, that your escapades were all but a product of his crisis, and what started as a mutual use of bodies, ends in the waste of your heart.

Joel has become a drug for you: knowing it's destructive, but the high so addictive, you don't mind the crash. It's unevitable, and a small treacherous voice in the back of your head says you're just postponing a foretold death.

Yet Joel Miller makes you feel alive. Alive as a spring, grassbed full of blooming flowers. As sun carressing your skin: if you stay too long, the warm becoming burning.

A kid walks up to your sad lonely pensive corner, splashing water onto you.

"Hey!" but he's gone, and it's Vegas, so his parents are three mojitos down from the open bar, asleep under the sun. You curse, getting up and back to your room to change.

When you get to your room, is eerily quiet. And dark, the curtains closed.

You rumage through your suitcase, pulling out a change. The dress slips off, falling to the carpet with a pathetic drowned sound. You're about to change into the t-shirt when the lights flicker.

"You back?"

You scream, trying to cover yourself.

"Woah!" Joel covers his eyes, both your reactions ironically funny. Your cheeks burn as you finish dressing yourself up, and if he takes a small peak between his fingers, well, you'll never know. "Jesus, doll. If ya' wanted it so bad, could've asked"

Something akin to anger and deception morph into a burning flame in the pit of your stomach. Even after all this months, after this imminent fight, Joel can't bring himself to ask, dancing around the fragile line that barely holds on with the clap of skin against skin and sweat, as to replace the tears that will never see the light of the day.

"Right, because that's all I want"

He raises an eyebrow at your tone. "S' a joke"

"Jokes are supposed to make people laugh"

He shoots you a look, before standing from the bed.

"What's gotten into ya'?"

He walks closer, yet you give him your back, tossing the sundress with too much force in your bag.

"Don't know what you're talking about" as nonchalant as you can muster.

"Look at me" you keep the harsh packing going on. Joel grows impatient at your confusing demeanor, not just from today, but days ago. He's had enough. He spins you around, losing his cool as he shouts. "Damn it, y/n, stop actin' like a brat!"

"Don't touch me!" you yell back, pulling away.

"So that's how's it now?" Joel lets out a scoff. "Y' get on ma' bed but the moment I put a finger in ya', y'act all coy and angry?"

"Right, 'cause I'm a slut. That's what sluts do: we get on lonely men's bed and fuck them"

He grabs the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily. His voice is laced with frustration, and you know it's your fault.

"Never said that"

Why not talk it like adults? No. Too much of a coward to do that.

"Jus' tell me, doll. What's goin' on?"

I think I love you, and I'm fucking scared.

His voice is soft, pleading. In your lifetime, you never thought you'd see Joel Miller beg. You did once, but it wasn't like this. Please, he'd say. Now, here he is, standing before you like the smallest man who ever lived and not the unstoppable force you made him out to be.

It should be easy. But words never come easy. Not to you. Neither love, so foreign it makes you shiver with fear. So natural, one day you opened your eyes to him laying next to you, Sarah staying in another city for a soccer tournament, and decided that was what you wanted. All his mornings. His bed voice, thick from sleep. His droopy eyes and tired smile, facil hair tickling your face as he says Good mornin', Southern drawl never more prominent, kisses in between. Let's get sum coffee after, because he always had to drink the bitter liquid out of his owl mug or wouldn't be able to make it through the day.

You want him to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes.

You want Joel Miller. Want. Want. Want.

"I hate you"

You have ruined me.

He probably expected anything but that, given his crestfallen face. Joel wishes for time to go back, at the beach. He'd say no, push you away. Fought a little harder. Never gotten into your bed.

The worst part is, he's a fucking liar: he'd probably still choose the same, even if the end is near.

"You ain't mean that" not knowing if he's trying to convince you or himself. "Jus' wanna hurt me"

You don't humor him with an answer.

"I shouldn't have come" is what you say instead, the bitter taste of defeat and hurt etched in your voice.

Would've been easier to stop when we should've.

His words run through the tense air like a bullet.

"I agree"

Weddings had always made you cry.

You weren't even a romantic, but the whole thing-- the promise of forever, it seemed to move your heart a bit.

So, if your eyes shimmer when the bride makes her entrance and the groom, Joel's co-worker, tears up, you feel your chest tight and stomach drop. It clenches with something akin to dread and want, as if suddenly, all that mattered to you was love. A year ago, if you told yourself-- the one who got on her knees to suck Joel's dick at the beach that night, that you'd be here?

You would've laughed.

Falling for the grumpy old man who also happens to be your bestfriend's dad?

Right. Imagine that.

Except there is nothing to imagine. All of it is real.

From his quiet laughter, the sound foreign and not frequent by the way it rasps against his throat. But now the wrinkles around his eyes are more prominent, forbidden laughs marking his blushing face. as he looks away, embarrassed. You can laugh, you had said, I won't tell anyone, yet he made you swore like the sight of Joel Miller laughing was the worst thing in the world. So had become the grey strands on his hair, more sprouting each time, as his damp curls twisted in your fingers.

It is also in the way his sweat that drops over your body as he tries hard to last longer, to his grunts that fill the room as he fills you to the brim with his warm cum. How his rough seems to meet every inch of your soft skin, like pieces of a puzzle.

Something clicks when you're with Joel, and you can't help but feel it's your fault this rift has been created, aggressively peeling the white off your nails as some form of anxious torture. But, he too, aside from his initial Just glad you came, hadn't said a word about it again. Even if he had noticed it all, before Vegas too. Nothing. And then Joel told you it was best if you didn't come. Fucking great.

You feel him tense next to you, body stiff when your arm accidentally brushes his when you stand up from the bench, making you roll your eyes.

The fallout had been awkward. The elevator ride took forever, and then the space on the cab felt too small. He took you to the back, on the benches near the exit, like he didn't want to be seen with you. It got you fuming: why bother to invite you at all?

In all truth, you could've picked up your bags and left after the fight, yet you stayed. You wonder who's more of a coward. In this weird dancing around you've got going on, walking in circles over the words Stay and Leave, like both are too delicate to say out loud. Even as the couple speak their vows, amid the claps and tears, your mind keeps drifting back to one question: Which would hurt less?

It's not until it ricochets on your arm that you realize the tears are also your own. You brush it fast, but by the corner of your eye, you know Joel notices. Still, he doesn't say anything, which contributes to your spite.

The ceremony is over, and just as you can feel the anticipation of the reception's drinks to buzz your nerves down, someone blocks you the exit. A couple, more like it.

Before fully registering their faces, Joel's hand flies to your back, pressed in a firm manner that oozes protectiveness. It makes your heart flutter, no matter how much you try to suffocate the treacherous butterflies in your stomach. You try not to think too much about it as you take them in: a man, looking in his middle forties, probably around the same age as Joel, so as the woman next to him, who smiles warmly. Not like the man, who seems unwelcoming.

"Joel" he pronounces his name, manners coming out cold. "It's nice to see you made it"

His grip on your back becomes more firm.

"Mark" he uses the same tone. "Well, when ya' confirm, y'gotta come"

"And who may this be?" Mark's wife asks, not thinking there's harm in her words. You swear you can hear him snicker next to her.

"She's-"

Joel stops midtrack. How is he supposed to even call you?

"I'm his girlfriend"

You don't know why you did that but you did. You also don't know why it causes you such satisfaction to see their wide eyes and Mark's disdain.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a girlfriend. How lovely!"

His cheeks go pink. "Thanks, Laura"

"Yes, Joel. Didn't think you'd move on" but his tone isn't like his wife's. "I just assumed that being with someone wasn't on your list anymore, you know, at your age. Especially one so... young"

Laura shots him a look.

Maybe it wasn't your place to get angry, not after how you've subjected Joel to your silent treatment this past months. Not after the fight you've just had hours ago. But he is also the same man who held your hand after you thought you were pregnant. He was the one who stayed. It is too how his shoulders slump, like he believes it to be true. You can't bear to see him sad, as contradictory as that may sound.

"Mark, right?"

The man nods, still sickly smiling.

"To me it sounds like you're jealous. Which is awful, because you've got a lovely wife" she looks away embarrassed while Mark fumes. "Also, when I turn around, try not to stare at my ass. I saw you when we arrived"

There's nothing left to say, so you walk past them.

"I think that was funny. Don't you?"

He avoids looking at you.

"I called a cab. Should take us back to the hotel"

No thanks. Nothing.

"Alright" your tone is dry. "Do as you please"

He opens the door for you, but his movements seem stiff and unnatural. Like he's second guessing every breath and step.

The car begins to move. You lean against the window, seeing the hues of neon through the glass. Joel's eyes burn holes on your head, a glimpse of brown in the reflection.

"I liked the wedding"

Joel looks at you properly for the first time since the fight. Your hair falls gracefully in cascades, hinting at an effort that tries to pass as a nonexistent one. Your makeup is soft, but your lips are in a shade he can't quite name, yet manage to make them even more fuller than usual. God, he thinks of it smeared on his clothes and mouth, feeling dumb all of the sudden. Then there's the dress. He doesn't have a favorite color, but as of now, it may be red: specially if its the red that hugs your curves, pushes your tits up and gives a little peak of your leg with its open cut, dangerously close to the start of your inner thigh. Not appropriate to wear at a church, maybe not a wedding either, but fuck didn't he care. He'd even rip it off, if it was such a problem.

"It was beautiful" he agrees, softly. "Never been to one. Maybe's why I think so"

You remove yourself from the window, now holding his gaze.

"What?" your mouth drops in surprise. "What about yours? Weren't you married?"

He smiles, but it appears to be sad. "Never got time for a wedding thought"

Joel has told you things. Things he'd never say outloud to anyone else. So whenever he opens up, letting you in, you let him, feeling that familiar pleasing ache in your chest at the thought of being enough: enough to be trusted with a piece of him. Of Joel Miller's heart.

The rest of the ride is silent, your mind still on Joel's hand on your back, on his words, and how the sting never goes.

In every thought of yours, he is.

"What'appened to your nails?"

The question catches you off guard. You're surprised he even noticed at all. But your hand lays in the space between his and your dish, stiff, as if waiting for him to hold it.

"Oh" you remove it from the table, placing it in your lap. "I chipped the polish off"

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, brown eyes examining you curiously, as if he didn't know you. Like he hadn't almost whisper those three words you had been tettering around as well.

"Why what Joel?" tone brash.

He scoffs at the change again, shoulders slumping a bit. Probably in annoyance, perhaps in defeat.

"Dunno" he goes back to his dish, cutting the steak with a bit too much force. I thought we were okay again. "S'rry I asked"

Your chest tightens, as it had been doing lately.

Was this the only thing you knew how to do now? Hurting Joel?

"No, I'm sorry"

It's his turn to get back at you. "Sorry for what?"

You swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, avoiding his gaze.

"I-"

Your eyes nervously dart across the room, trying to ignore the churn of your stomach and knot on your throat. You then catch the perfect distraction.

"I think Mark is staring at us again"

"What?" Joel asks in disbelief at your change of topic.

"Mark is staring" you sigh, getting up and dusting your dress off. "Wanna put on a show?"

"I didn't come to a wedding and wore this dress to be seated all night" you extend your hand. A quiet truce settles in between. "Let's dance"

At some point he gets up and takes your hand. It feels good. For a moment, be it childish or foolish, your mind thinks this is how it is: with no one around to know you, you're his and he's yours. It's just the two of you, dancing and laughing under the lights. He'd know the song that's playing, and when you'd ask, unfamiliar, Joel would joke: how could ya' know it, if you ain't even born yet?

For just a moment, it feels like it could be.

The music is soft. It's some sort of rendition of Lady, Lady, Lady by the band Jim hired to play at his wedding.

Joel's clammy hands slip against your cold palms as you walk to the dance floor.

"Nervous?" you ask, biting back a smile.

He squints his eyes at you. "I'm just outta practice, 's all"

You laugh. "I would've never guessed"

He shakes his head, but the ghost of a smirk hides in his lips.

"Cheeky baby. Now you actin' funny?"

Joel's hand finds its place in your waist, holding firmly as the first verses go by.

Dancing behind masks, just sort of pantomime.

But images reveal whatever lonely hearts can hide.

"Maybe I'm just tired" you reply, placing your head against his chest. His heart starts drumming faster, and you hear him gulp.

"It ain't even midnight yet"

You close your eyes, feeling every breath of his chest against your cheek.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

I know it's in your heart to stay

"Y/n-"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

"I'm sorry" this time clearer.

His body rocks yours slowly to the tempo of the music, and for a brief moment, amongst the sea of guests and the voice of the singer, time stops, and it's just him and you.

"Don't"

He can't bear it. Not tonight.

When will I ever hear you say

I love you

Not when your body feels so well against his, your head resting on his chest like all those nights ago, where Joel held you close, the silent promise of never letting you go on his warm strong embrace. Not when just the thought of losing you is too unbearable to even think of. Not when today, he can let his mind drift away and heart beat, dreaming of things that'll make him the butt of the joke. For a moment, you're not wearing this red dress that's making him insane. You're all in white and there's a ring in your hand, just as there's one in his. You'd dance and say I'm yours, forever. A giggle. You can't get rid of me. And he'd smile and reply a Good, wasn't plannin' to.

But now he feels like he's going to lose you forever.

"I missed you" it's your way of trying, again.

His head is a whirlwind of emotions.

"Yeah?"

You lean closer, until his cologne burns in your nostrils.

"Yeah"

Time like silent stares, with no apology

"Joel"

Move towards the stars, and be my only one

This time, he finds it impossible to shut you up. Not when you've raised your head until your eyes meet his, and the constellations he very much loves are ever present in your stare.

Reach into the light, and feel love's gravity

"Yeah?"

You pull in closer, and he can feel the whiff of champagne coming out of your mouth. Your lips are parted, and a shaky whisper is all it takes for his head to spin, drunk in love.

"Please"

That pulls you to my side, where you should always be

Your lips are so inviting. All he has to do is cut the centimeters separating your mouths.

But it's a wall. One filled with doubts, fear and the quiet rage of rejection.

His voice wavers when he starts speaking.

"I think-"

He hasn't even finished his sentence, but your heart is already broken.

No wonder why you've always treated it like a burden: nothing is worst than a heavy heart.

Maybe he'd come to realize just how absurd this all was. Him, much older than you and Sarah's dad. How could he let his daughter's bestfriend go this far. That he was a forty something guy, dancing with a twenty two year old girl. That love comes in all shapes and sizes, but there's no name for this you have going on since last summer. Perhaps, there'll never be.

"Please" you hear yourself repeat.

It started as a plea for a kiss. You don't know what you're begging for anymore.

"No, baby-"

And Joel is the first to step back.

Lady, lady, lady, lady, I know it's in your heart to stay

The cold water of rejection hits you in the face, far from his warm embrace, the contour of his face, centimeters away, now meters.

"We can't"

An ocean away.

"Joel-" your throat tightens, panic bubbling in your chest.

"I think we should stop"

The whole world around you does as soon as those words leave his mouth.

Sorrow is quick to turn into anger, and all those months of guilt, rush, thrill, labored breaths, broken rules and promises you held to your heart as an oath, sweet whispered cons in your pillow that smelled like him. It all comes crashing down with force.

A dry laugh escapes past your lips. Joel winces at the sound.

"A bit too late for that, isn't it?"

"Baby-"

"Don't call me baby" you hiss, feeling your vision blurry. "Don't call me like you meant it"

"I do" the music has reduced to a buzz in the back of your head. His firm voice borders between desperate and pathetic. "Which is why am making 'tis"

"Fucking coward" you spit, feeling your skin on fire.

Don't give up. Please.

Fight for me. Fight for this.

For us.

"Coward?" it's Joel's turn to laugh. His dark chuckle sends shivers through your skin. "Y' shouldn't be talkin' 'bout that"

"Don't put all of this on me" you raise your shaky finger, accusing. "Don't you fucking dare"

"Thought Mark was watchin'. Or 's that 'nother one of y'r lies?" Joel seethes. "Or maybe ya' don't give a shit 'bout it. Jus' like you ain't give a shit 'bout us!"

"You think this is easy?" your voice raises. "You think I wanted this?"

You think I don't care? That I'm doing well? That I wanted to pull away from you? That I knew things would got as bad as they are?

You think I wanted to fall for you?

His eyes darken. "You started this"

Your heart stops beating. People laugh, the band is still playing and chatter bubbles like the champagne flutes waiters carry by.

But all you can hear is the moment your palm meets his face.

"I wish I never met you, Joel Miller"

And then you rush out the door, your heels burning as much as your eyes and chest. Far from the party, far from the world.

Far from him.

"We ain't done yet!"

You hear him bark behind you, yet your legs don't stop, despite the buzz in your ears and the slight stumble in your walk.

Your voice sounds like it doesn't belong to you when you hear yourself speak, without turning around.

"I think we are"

But Joel doesn't give up, making you feel trapped between wanting to hit him again and let yourself be held.

"Y/n!" he calls out just like he used to when you were a kid. Like you knew no better. Reckless. Berating. But now the taste of bitter mingles with his punishing demeanor.

You spin your heel, walking menacingly towards him.

"Don't call me that" you seethe, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"That's your fucken name!" he shouts.

Tears spring in the corner of your eyes. "You know what I mean"

"Enlighten me, doll" the nickname feels like a slap to your face, and for a moment, you wish he called you by your name again, instead of tainting the always sweet calling with his vitriol, as if the four letters meant something sacred he had profaned. "S'a matter of fact, why don't y'enlight me 'bout everythin' that's goin' on. 'Cause guess what? I'ont know what the fuck is happenin'!"

And it terrifies me.

His shout probably ran across the empty hallway. The music coming from inside sounds like a muffled heartbeat, mirroring your own.

To lose you. I might as well have.

"I don't know why you seem'a hate me now" quiet this time, like every word coming from his mouth take his voice little by little. "Why ya' get all sweet on me after weeks of leavin' me, pushin' me to the side... I'm old, doll. I ain't capable of takin' this anymore"

I'm not capable of surviving a broken heart.

The possibility of losing Joel, foever, had never crossed your mind, not even as you closed off, ignoring the way his brown sad eyes would search yours to try and find answers, maybe scraps of the... whatever it was you shared.

Now, it was real, and it shook you to the bone.

"Was fun while it lasted" closing off, trying to shut the doors he let you in, clawing back to that Joel Miller who couldn't be bent. The one Sarah deemed unbreakable. But it's the same that didn't know when to back down, now praying the price of his foolishness.

I don't regret it, but Joel doesn't have it in him to give you more of his heart for you to take. If he cuts it now, from the root, he'll spare his brain from saving more seconds of the image of you he'd have to get rid off: you, taking your coffee with two bags of sugar because you hated uneven numbers, and three seemed too much for your latte. You, standing on his room like you belonged there. You, on his car, the leather having absorbed some of the floral scent you seemed to carry with you. In your clothes, your skin, your hair. He'd have to go to bed knowing he'd never get to feel your strands in his fingers, tickling the remmanents of desolation he'd been carrying like a second skin ever since Sarah's mother walked away.

Your blood runs cold.

"Fun?" the words spill in a bitter incredulous tone, all the while you're trying to hold to him without raising your hand for him to take it, like just the thought of it would be enough to choose you. Words seem to fail you, and grasping at him feels like holding sand: it keeps falling from your fingers, a cruel reminder of your borrowed time. "Joel"

"Fun" he repeats the word, feeling sick. "As in, you'd marry someone who's worth for ya'. Probably choose Texas, maybe you'll stay away. 'Cause you're smart, and know what's good. But if ya' came back, livin' at the same neighbour, in the house across mine, you'd glance up and see my porch, thinkin' 'bout us, and this will become a joke with y'r husband, 'bout your rebel days. To your kids, summ cautionary tale. To you? An'scape of summ sorts of y'r other wise boring life"

Your shaking at this point, not knowing if it's anger, humilliation or sorrow.

I'm sorry. Please, don't give up on me. Stay.

"I'd be an experience. But to me? Doll" Joel chuckles, humorlessly. "You were everythin'"

A choked up sob bubbles from your chest.

"So that's what you think of me?" you laugh, a sound so hollow it makes his skin shiver. "That this is for the thrill? For the fucking anecdote?!"

"Trust me. I've lived long 'nough, kid. You'll understand later"

It's like all those months next to him meant nothing. Like pulling away from your lips was the easiest thing to do.

"Don't you fucking dare call me a kid!" you push him. "I'm not a kid"

"I know you ain't!" he roars back. "But you don't know shit!"

"Neither do you!" your quick to counter. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh? Bet you think that I'm some helpless naive idiot who doesn't know what I want. I don't know what I'm doing, that you're right. But I do know what I signed up for, the price I would pay" losing you or Sarah. Both. "I wanted it, and newsflash: so did you" you breath, running your hands through your hair, trying to comb some sense of normalcy to ground yourself while you try to recover your composture. His arms lay weakly by his sides, restraining himself from running to you and craddle you on his arms. "You chose this. You chose me, Joel Miller" each word pronounced with contempt. "I'm not a victim. Neither are you"

A dry chuckle escapes past his chapped lips. "What are we, then?"

(Two lonely souls who seek warmth. People who fell into the same bed. Shared time they shouldn't have. Selfish. Living on borrowed time. Always tettering around the edge, so easy to fall. History repeating itself. The dancing around. Dirty, like the Texan roads: and they all lead back to his bed)

"So do it" you shove him again, as if by doing so, you could push him away forever. From your mind, from your heart. From your life. "Say it"

He shakes his head, as if you'd insulted him.

"Sweetheart-"

"Say. It" you bark, tasting the venom on your tongue. "Say it!"

"I can't" looking so small, your resolve almost crumbles. Almost.

"Coward" you spit, repeatedly punching him feebly on the chest as tears stream down your cheeks. He tries to grab your hands, to stop you. "Don't touch me! Let me go"

"I can't" this time louder.

Tears sprout with more intensity at the desperate weight on his tone.

A single drop runs down when you say, defeated: "Quit me"

"I can't!" he shouts in your face, voice breaking slightly.

"Why?!"

"'Cause I fucking can't!" Joel breaks. He crumbles in your arms, body shaking as he buries himself in your reluctant embrace. He speaks again, this time softer, "I can't lose 'cha, baby. If that makes me sum goddamn coward, then so be it"

Something in you stirs. Like a lost boat, finding a lighthouse during a storm. Arriving to shore with gentle waves. Home, where it belongs.

"Joel-"

"I'm sorry for bein' selfish" between agitated and terrified, afraid of the silence and what you may say. "For noticin' your quiet and still carryin' on"

"Joel"

"Believe me, doll. I tried to stop. To leave ya'" he swallows, "but then I got invited and my mind went to ya'. Fast. You were the first person in my mind. Always are. I think that's when I knew. S'okay if you don't-"

"Joel!" you shout this time.

He raises his view from his little spot on your chest.

"It isn't just you" in a whisper that could easily pass as the wind that sweeps inside from the main door. Voice so fragile it hurts like glass. "I feel this too"

Just like that, he's both gone and back. His heart beats on his throat, voice raw when he searches for your eyes and asks:

"You do?"

The big unbreakable Joel Miller, looking at you not like a force to be reckoned with, but as a man, worn down by years of solitude and the weight of a secret.

You smile through the tears. "I've been many things, but a liar never"

He chuckles, softly. "Always was a bad one"

"See?" softly teasing, "you can attest to that"

"Twenty one years seem 'nough"

"Soon to be twenty two" pause. "And I would love it if you were there to see it"

A breath hitches somewhere in the middle of the new aphonia that's settled.

"You don't mean all'at. Think 'bout it-"

"I do" you interrupt him, firmly. You hold his gaze while cupping his face, the fright on his face mirroring your own. "You asked before, remember? There's your answer"

Joel is at loss for words. Was never good with them, less when it came to you: like your presence unsettled him in the same way tornadoes made him quiver when he was a child, rattling him to the bone. But there was a morbid fascination to them, in their destructive nature. Like beauty could be horror too, and he had learnt it thanks to your unforgiving winds that had swept him away from his feet.

He was flying. Fucking flying. Never quite landing. Afraid of the fall.

"I'm scared"

Joel leans in, forehead touching yours. His skin is warm, something about it soothing your nerves down.

"Me too"

You bite back a smile. "Big broody Miller, scared?"

"Y' know how'da disarm a man. I'll give ya' that"

You laugh, eyes crinkling while you swat his chest playfully. It's the same sound he missed so dearly. Joel can feel himself breath with relief.

"Now that's the story I'll tell my kids" could be our own. "The one where I won over Joel Miller"

A deep, rich rumble erupts from his chest as he pulls you even closer, this time, your head the one on his chest.

"I'll do you one better" he slowly moves his leg closer to the inner part of your thighs. "Wanna hear how it ends?"

"Jesus, Joel" laugh tense. Your heart pulses like his cock. Hard. "You sure are a mood killer"

He presses further. "But ya' want it, don't 'cha?"

You whimper, weakly. Truth is, you've been wet since you saw him dress on his rather tight suit. Now, after what you just confessed, you're not sure you can hold back any longer.

"Use y'r words, baby"

"Our room" the possesive adjective making his stomach rumble with need. "Now"

Stumbling feet. Whispered breaths oozing with drunk desire. Giggles. Buttons of an elevator pressed forcefully. A crammed space that felt even smaller. More giggles in a hallway full of doors that looked the same. Some mumbling, trying to remember the room. Grabbing the card from his pocket. You somehow make it to your room. Fumbling fingers. One swipe. Two. Try slower, but his voice is as urgent as strained. The door gives in. Finally, couldn't wait any longer. And he's chastising you, for being so impatient. Yet his eyes are all dark and sweet when looking it at you.

"We're here" and then the door closes with a loud thud. And Joel is yours again, just like he was that night, and forever was since.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back fervently. You open your mouth and let his tongue get inside as you moan his name.

"Please" you whine.

"Please what?" Joel chuckles, enamoured at your hanging mouth and heaving chest. Fucking tease. "Use y'r words, doll"

"Please, Joel" and hearing your name fall out of your lips like it's the most sacred prayer brings him weak to his knees. "I need you"

(I need you, as in I need you here. With me. Now. To never let go and hold my hand, not only when we fuck, but also when we walk, side by side, hands brushing like a touch it's too much to bear. Because if we held hands, I'd never be able to pull back. I need you to look at me as you undress me, because I'm bearing all of me for you, scars, body and secrets, trembling like a scared child, because no one's ever had me. Not like you. Not like you)

"'S right, sweet thing" he drawls out in a husky whisper, like his slick tongue was coated in honey. He pulls your head back, nipping and sucking on your skin. "Say ma' name like 's the only thing you know"

And in a way, it is. Because you'd always call Joel, fingers itching at a number you've memorized until it's burned in your eyelids, like when you close your eyes, you can see him standing in front of you, Texan accent and heavy boots in your doorstep, later to be discarded and hidden beneath your bed.

He pulls back, making you involuntary whine at the loss of his lips and tongue on you.

"Tell me you want this" he's saying, and for a moment, past the fire and the need, you see Joel as not the man who can bring you to come two times in a row, but your bestfriend's dad, who's slept in a bed alone for the past two decades, who can't meet you in the eyes when he undresses himself, looking like the one who's got the more to lose when his lips press aginst yours in a soft manner, not out of tenderness but out of fear.

"I do" without hesitation, as if you would tattoo your promise and wear it like your heart on your sleeve. "I want you, Joel"

You want all of him: from his boring Sundays sprawled on the couch watching a rerun of some old sitcom to his greying hair, aching joints and creaking bones, that despite so, would still kneel and eat your pussy like a man starved, tongue sliding through your folds with a learned ache, pouring the same yearn, longing and hunger that he wears on his eyes when they land on you, no matter if his brown are miles away, because they'd always find your own, like a boat lost in translation and a sea of sorrow coming back home, as if you're the only important thing in the world. His anchor. The lighthouse of his vast ocean of forlorness.

"That's my girl" but no smirk adorns his face, rather a small smile that warms your chest, right as he pulls you back in. There's a shift in the aire as he kisses you know, as if not only his tongue is in your insides but his soul, without holding back this time, like all limits have blurred and melted into a pool of desire and affection.

Joel pushes you down onto the wide bed, climbing on top of you as he kisses your jawline, leaving wet kisses along your warm skin. You moan as every contact of his mouth sends shudders to your body, him taking his time as he works over your jaw, down to your chest.

"Such'a pretty doll. And's mine" his calloused fingers fiddle with your bra, unclasping the lingerie until it falls messily discarded next to the bed. "Got summ nice tits on you, baby" and Joel's eyes sparkle with excitement, lighting up like the neon lights of the Vegas sign, "don't 'cha think?"

Your back arches with his touches, mouth ghosting over your nipple, already pebbled at just Joel's breath.

"Fuck, Joel" you mewl his name, dragged with difficulty as he laps his tongue over your breasts greedily. You can feel Joel's cock pulse and throbb in your thigh as his body hovers over yours, lips still wrapped around your nipple as he suckles and nibbles at the tender flesh.

"'S sorry, doll" he's apologizing in a mocking manner as you whimper at the contact of him against you, suckling hard, tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive bud as he drew it deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. "Ain't know you'd be so fucken responsive with just a lil' lick at y'r pretty tits"

As your body trembles and quakes, he speaks again.

"Open y'r mouth" you do so, because honestly, you'd never deny him a thing. "Want 'cha to suck on 'tis fingers, like the slut ya're. Get them wet so they feel good against 'tis greedy pussy"

You take the fingers as you'd take his cock, sucking on the skin that tastes like salt and gasoline, a slight bitter taste but you take them as deep as you can, until your lips brush his rough knuckles.

"Good greedy whore" he praises. "Now let me help ya' with that"

Joel gestures your damp panties, taking them off and putting them up his nose, inhaling like he did the first time you ever fucked, back at the beach house that summer that feels a life ago, seawaves crashing onto the shore as they drowned out your moans.

"Sweet" as if your arousal was his favorite dessert, gripping the sticky lingerine until his knuckles turn white. "Fucken wet and drippin', and s'all for me"

He feels your greedy hands fumble with his pants and belt, pulling him closer as the feeling of unfairness at his clothed figure dawns upon you.

"I like how you look in a suit, but right now-"

He laughs, a deep rich sound bubbling up from his chest.

"Ma' baby wants it that bad, huh?" you nod your head feverishly, a beg threatening past your lips.

"Please, Joel. I want to suck your cock" the dirty words come out as quick as a breath. "I missed it so so bad" not caring at all about how desperate you come across or the pitiful begging that's a plea away from drooling out of your mouth with an aching hunger.

"'S that what you want? Draggin' me out'a reception 'cause y'r greedy dirty mouth couldn't keep still? Bet you'd crawl on da' floor just to get a taste of this dick" every word makes you mewl. "Might have to see ya' beggin' for it"

"I'll do it" you beg, voice a wanton plea. "I'll do whatever, I just need to-"

"I see ya' really do"

He removes your hands from his body, chuckling as you pout and whine like a baby.

"Love hearin' ya' so eager fo'me" Joel says, tugging the pants finally down. Through the cloth of his underwear, it's impossible not to see the silhoutte of his hard throbbing dick.

The sight of him, hair disheveled, pupils blown wide, white button shirt now wrinkled and sticky with sweat, tie loose and that faint smell of champagne that clung to his mouth and scent like a second layer of his skin.

"Get on the floor. Now" he commands, and you're quick to obey. "Gonna fuck that dirty mouth of yours until my cum dribbles outta your cheek. S' now? Be obedient if ya' want a taste, slut"

You let out a small whimper as Joel frees his cock from his underwear.

"That's right, baby. Like what ya' see?" his cock is straddling your face in your current kneeling form. "Need that mouth to open wider"

You obey in an instant.

"Good girl"

Joel shoves his cock inside your mouth, giving you a few seconds to adjust before pushing a little further. You bob your head forward but the task proved to be hard when he was thrusting at the same time. His big hard dick hits the back of your throat, a gag dying past your busy lips.

"'S it bad if I tell ya' I like watchin' you squirm and struggle with my cock? 'S fuckin' hot"

You narrow your eyes, struggling to keep your throat relaxed as he thrusts forward, fucking your mouth and throat. Your thighs clasp together, the slick pooling down your legs in the absence of underwear.

Joel's groans become raspier as his body begins to tense.

"'M gonna fuck y'r throat raw, doll. And then, I'm gonna cum. Down y'r greedy throat. 'S my girl okay with that" he can see the plea in your eyes as you choke on his cock once more. "S'alright then. Ya' know I love to spoil ma' girl"

As his body starts to edge closer, his tongue runs loose.

"Love watching you suck ma' dick" he looks down on you, eyes glossy, probably because he was drunk in alcohol and you. "Love how it feels. Love how you feel. Love- I love you"

(There's an involuntary gag somewhere)

Joel's body tenses and it doesn't take that much for you to feel the warmth of his cum go down your throat.

You choke again and he brings his dick out of your throat and let you swallow the rest.

There's a beat of silence, as dense as his fluids down your throat. You avoid his gaze, heart drumming on your chest.

"Doll..." he whispers, the last bits of climax sweating off his skin; all that's left is shame. "C'mere"

(Say it back, he should plead. I know your eyes don't lie, but if I heard those three silly words out of your mouth, I could die happy tonight. A bigger man would beg, but he's never been good, even if he tried)

He helps you get up, wobbly legs not being of help when it comes to the shock of his confession.

I love you.

As much as a tender touch as a knife slitting your chest open in a clean cut.

(You're bleeding love)

Love.

Such a foreign word, one you've never felt before. Yet, what's scary is recognizing that latent warmth on every stolen glance; brush of a hand. The tingles provoked by getting the largest serving, even if his daughter sat at the same table. The flutter of your chest when he tried to be there for you when you thought you were pregnant, even if he was as scared as you. In every little thing he had done since you first started playing with fire, how you wore his heartbeat as an echo and his skin like a second layer to your own.

His lips are swollen when they take yours.

"'S fine" some kind of tiredness seeping through the cracks of his gruff exterior and composed rejected posture. "Ya' don't have to-"

"I love you" you croack out.

His voice comes out impossibly small as he whispers. "What...?"

A fireworks show explodes out somewhere in the background.

"I love you" you repeat, words dripping with an adoration only known to captain's going down with their sinking ships.

You're drowning, but the water doesn't burn your lungs anymore.

"Lemme help with that sore throat of yours" he's tugging down your bottom lip, fingers playing with your mouth to open it. He gazes at you with a look that tugs at your heartstrings. "Open, baby"

Your dry throat and warm mouth welcomes the spit he lands inside.

"There ya' go" and you swallow it, making him curse. "Fuck. 'S so hot seein' you do that, my lil' sweet slut"

"Joel" you whine, hands curled up in white fists as you grab him by the collar of his button shirt.

"Whoa, baby. What's goin' on?" he chuckles softly. "Use y'r words"

"Y-You made a mess-" you blabber, the wet slick between your thigh sticky. "I-It hurts, Joel"

"Hurt?" he cocks an eyebrow. "Care to show me where?"

You sit in the bed, parting your legs, finger pointing out the moist zone.

"Here"

His adam's apple bobs, and the gulp reverberates against the walls of the room.

"Fuck... I see" each word strained. "Don't worry, doll. I can help ya' with'at"

It's his turn to kneel, knees burying on the carpet.

He places one of his big hands on your knee, his calloused fingers tracing absent patterns over the skin. His other hand drums slighty against your trembling leg, so close yet so far. You're so impossibly eager, and a part of him, that fragile ego, is boosted to the roof at your (actual and very real) want for him.

All that glistening pussy was his work. Joel really disarmed you like that.

"If I do this, maybe it won't hurt anymore" his mustache and recently trimmed beard tickle against your sensitive folds as he presses a kiss to your core. You writhe, throwing your head back as your hands fly to his hair, gripping the greying loose curls tightly at the contact. "Will ya' let me eat out this pretty pussy, doll?"

"Please" you let out, breathlessly.

"Love hearin' ya' beg" and he dives in, strong hands holding your thighs on place as he sucks your clit lightly. Your hips buck, his face burying into your cunt to the point his nose touches the warm folds. You moan at the feeling, his tongue now circling against your center.

"J-Joel"

"Feels s'good, right? As good as I feel feastin' on this tight little cunt" and his deep voice sends jolts when it echoes against your walls. You squirm at the sensation, stomach tight with his sucking and licking, misntrations sending you to the edge.

"Joel?"

Barely above a whisper, voice tight.

He looks up to you, pupils blown wide. "Yes?"

"C-Can you finger me, please?"

"Fuck, baby" he whistles. "You really know how'da bring a man to his knees"

And you chuckle at his lame attempt of a joke, not laughing at him but with him.

Joel slides one of his thick, calloused fingers through your soaked folds, feeling the velvet softness of your inner walls clench down on the invading digit, a demonstration of how impatient they were to take his cock. He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight, slow circles.

"Wanna hear you, y/n" just your name alone on his mouth makes you writhe, and Joel's encouragement as his finger dips lower to tease at your entrance. He slides a second finger into your cunt, pumping in and out of your tight walls in a steady, driving rhythm. You roll against his hand as he curls his fingers. "Fuck yourself on my fingers, baby. Wanna see you ride 'em 'til you come undone. Wanna taste your cum on my tongue as you scream ma' name"

He can feel your body start to tremble, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks you with a relentless pace.

"Shit" he groans, tongue lapping firmly at your clit, "s' fucking tight"

"I-I can't help it" you feel the burning sensation in the corner of your eyes, "I-I feel every inch of you in me"

(Up to your body, head and heart)

"And you ain't even had my cock yet" he's quick to tease. "But I know you'll feel s'good, baby. Takin' my cock like da' good girl y'are"

Tears begin to stream down your face freely, the salty drops hot against your warm skin.

You sniffle, and Joel's movements stop for a bit.

"You cryin'?" but you know damn well he's aroused, by the way he licks his lips absentmindedly as his brown orbs stare back at you, dilatated. You still remember the last time you cried during sex, and how his reaction was practically the same, except this time, it's received with a grateful welcome home. "Fuck, baby- I love when you cry like a lil' cocksleeve over ma' dick"

Despite the lewd words, he's wiping your tears away with his thumb in a soft gentle touch.

"S'okay, baby" he coos, kissing up your throat and onto your chin. Then, you feel a wet sensation on your cheek: but it isn't the tears, yet his tongue, licking the hot stream. "I'll give ya' ma' cock if you want it so much. Now quit your cryin', yeah?"

But you keep sniffling, impossible to close the dam once it's broken.

"My sweet crybaby" Joel mumbles, "I love ya', doll"

"I love you too" each time you said it, a new flower blooming in your heart. It could be. "I do, Joel"

He smiles, the kind of smile that is painful to watch. The kind that says: Is this real? Do I deserve this?

"Y'know I'm bad with words, so lemme show you instead"

He's climbing on top of you as you push yourself into the middle of the bed, lips tangled into a demanding kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth like he wants to tame it. He drops his underwear again, but he's still wearing the goddamn shirt. You whine, and for a second, while over you, he stops.

"What is it, baby?" Joel pants.

"T-take it off" you huff, worked up. You let the tie loose first, starting to unbutton his shirt after. "I want to see you, Joel"

His hand is quick to fly and stop you from taking it off. Even in the dim lit room, you can see the faintest of a blush covering his cheeks.

"Sweetheart..." he mumbles, "I dunno-"

"Please" trying to remove his hand.

"You really wanna?" but behind his teasing smile there's both a hopeful and vulnerable glint to his voice.

You extend your hand, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it's just you, your ragged breaths and the light tickle of his growing beard on your palm.

It could be.

"Because I love you" holding his gaze firmly. "All of you"

"Fuck, baby" Joel starts to get off the shirt, "ya' really made those fuckers downstairs drop their damn mouths when ya' walked in with me. Couldn't believe it, such'a pretty girl could be mine" he snarls, grabbing your face by the chin. "Hell, I'ont believe it either. That you could wanna be with me"

But then you're touching his now naked form before you, fingers slowly tracing through his face to his tense jawline. Then across his broad shoulders to his tummy, feeling the soft swell against your stomach as he leans over your eager form. It's the way you look at him, as if he's the most beautiful man in the world, that makes his breath catch on his throat, staggering.

Your sweet broken voice rings in his head.

It isn't just you. I feel this too.

(Scared. Confused. Happy. Grieving. Loving)

It should be his ego boosted and cock stroked, but when his eyes find yours, it's his heart that feels the fullest.

Fuck, he was too old for this shit.

"Look at 'cha, making lame ol' me a sappy motherfucker" he laughs, the same blush from earlier now more prominent. He leans down to kiss you, his moustache brushing your lips. "If ya' don't stop, I'll take ya' right now and we're gettin' married tonight by summ random Elvis guy"

"What If I wanted that?" you challenge as your mouth presses fluttering kisses to his caging arm, lips stopping on each spot and mole peppered through his thick bicep.

"Then get dressed" you feel him squirm under your insistent lips, "'cause I ain't gettin' married again while naked"

"Where you married, Joel?" you can feel the salt air up your nose of the first night again, asking the same questions. The fact that he's opening to you warms your chest in a pleasant way.

He looks at you absentmindedly, humming as to confirm.

"We were too damn young. Had to, for the baby on the way" he tells. You remember Sarah's aversion to the topic, and given his next words, it makes sense. "Then she left"

I would never leave.

"I'm sorry" you offer instead.

"Don't" the atmosphere is quick to change again as thise words leave his mouth. "Now, where were we?"

You're quick to spread your legs to him, gilstening cunt on full view.

"Good girl" he smirks, lining himself with your warm entrance. "If ya' keep behavin', I might give ya' my cum"

His tip against your clit for a few seconds before pushing down against your hole. Joel groans as his length sinks in your gummy walls, feeling the tightness from before.

"You feel s'good" grunting as he slowly pushes in, letting you adjust to his girth. "Always do"

He presses a gentle kiss to your sweaty hairline.

"Tell me how it feels"

"Good" you mewl. "Big"

"Ain't that right" he chuckles.

"Need it all. Please" and you grip his neck tightly, arms around it. His nose brushes against yours as he grunts out a You little minx. "Want it, Joel. I can take it"

He bottoms out. "Then do"

"Fuck" you curse, cunt stretched to adapt to his girth. You breath in painfully, and Joel's eyes lace with concern. "I-It's fine"

"Sure? I can wait"

"I’m okay" you assure him, moved by his care for you. You buck your hips. "You can move"

He starts by setting a slow pace, taking all the space insade your clutching heat. Joel groans at the sensation, your walls gripping him like a vice as he continues to move in a slow motion, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes. Yet, as his arms cage you by your sides and you look at him with certainty, he picks up a brutal pace, just as you like it, slamming into you over and over again, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small bathroom.

"K-keep going" you grip his left arm. Joel lets out a hiss as your nails dig on his skin. "Feels so good"

"Good'nough for you to cum on m'dick?" he groans huskily in your ear, breath ghosting on your skin like a hot kiss. "Gonna fill you up, doll. I'll mark you as mine, now and for da' rest of y'r life"

The way his voice drips with dominance as he commands you, filled with a rough rich baritone tinted with a possesive hunger, his hips moving faster as he drives into you with force, pistoning harder is enough to set you on edge.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss.

"Cum f'me, baby. Let me hear ya' cryin' over my cock"

Tears. Stars. Grunts. Moans. Cum.

Your cry for his name against his lips is how you announce your orgasm, washing over you. Your walls flutter as Joel lets you ride slowly through your climax.

"There ya' go, baby. Go on, ride it" then, he pauses. His face strains. "Hold on tight. I'm gonna- I'm gonna cum. Right there, baby. Stay"

Somewhere along the moans and the writhes of your soft skin against his hard planes and soft belly, Joel asks where you want it. Inside, you hear yourself say, eager to feel all of him again, filling your insides, invading every inch of your body until a part of himself leaks into your heart. He's then blabbering as your walls and heart flutter, about kids and other things you both want but can't have. Tonight, though, as he Joel buries himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come, grinding against you, making sure you feel every last spurt, every last bit of his release, you allow yourself to believe.

He pumps some shallows thrusts inside of your slick dripping cunt, emptying himself, before pulling out and looking down at you with a tired smile.

"I love you" he says again in fervent whisper, as if by repeating it, he could materialize it. "I love you so fucking much, y/n. And if ya' can't accept that, can't believe in that, then... then I'ont know what the fuck I'm gonna do. 'Cause I can't lose ya', baby. I can't"

"You won't" you don't know why it comes so easy, or why the promise slips as natural as a breath. "I'm here, Joel Miller. You won't lose me"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #bfd!joel miller #bfd!joel #tlou #tlou fanfiction #to the devil i know series

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