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megamindsecretlair · 10 months

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The King and I, Part 1

Pairing: King Ghezo x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. This is more background than anything, so mentions of violence, violence against women, brief mentions of rape, torture, murder, slave trade, and suicidal ideation. Hopefully this will be 3 parts, will lead to smut! Ya heathens, I know what you here for LOL. And you all deserve forehead kisses.

Summary: Raised to be perfect, your father has had it with your disobedience. He marches you to the palace and throws you at the King's feet. You'd rather die than be another person's property. But the King surprises you in many ways.

Word Count: 3,533k

A/N: Couldn't get this idea out of my brain and it definitely doesn't follow the canon in the movie. AH well, LOL. I love it and that's all that matters. Hopefully, my brain continues to cooperate. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion

Before you had a chance to be a little girl, you were coveted for your looks. How pretty you were. How nice your hair was. Paraded out in front of many odd, adult people who looked at you with strange things in their eyes. Things you were too young to understand.

As you got older, it only got worse. You were expected to sit there like a doll and let people talk over you or around you, as if you were no more than grass beneath their feet. Wind in their hair. Something always there and easily ignored.

So you made the decision to be seen. You gave opinions when they weren’t wanted. You stayed in other people’s business. You resisted and rebelled. It was nice while it lasted.

Your father made sure to curb you of such habits. But somehow, the punishments never took like they were supposed to. You continued to speak. To use the gifts the gods gave you. If they did not want you to speak, they should have taken your tongue.

At his end, your father gave up his pursuit of a wealthy match for you. “If you will not listen to me, I will give you to someone you have no choice but to obey!” Spittle flew from your father’s mouth.

As you were marched to the palace, that was the one thing you focused on. Your father was a proud man. Perhaps you had gone a step too far if he was letting spit fly from his mouth with abandon. This was the least of your concern, true, but being cast off on the newly appointed King Ghezo was too big to face head on.

People in the village watched as you were marched there, your father’s grip on your arm near bruising. His thick fingers were wrapped around your upper arm. He set a brutal pace and walked forward whether you were able to keep up or not. You stared at the people. You made them look at you.

You didn’t expect them to do anything to help you. No one ever lifted a finger to help little girls. You were many years an adult by now, but to everyone, you were still so young. Young in the ways of the world. But growing up, weren’t you taught the ways of the world?

The powerful were in charge with no one to challenge them otherwise. While everyone else was sheep, forced to do their bidding.

Your feet tripped over rocks in the dirt road. Your father continued marching. The palace gates were not far now. Dread started to inch its way to your heart. You had never seen the King, but you heard how your parents whispered about him. How he was both similar and different from his father and brother.

His father had been a cruel man, living in ways that your people hadn’t lived before. Surely, his son would be no different. When you learned that you were going to be given to the new king, you pictured how ugly he must be. How cruel.

Your father was handing you over like a piece of meat. Handing his daughter over as if he had no hand in birthing you, raising you, guiding, and protecting you. Now you were nothing to him. You looked at him as he jostled you down the street. His eyes were set forward, a frown on his face.

Did he not feel anything at all? All these years you had been in his care and there wasn’t an ounce of feeling in him.

“Did you ever love me?” You asked. You were out of breath and it was said softly. Perhaps he didn’t hear you. You hoped. You didn’t really want to hear his answer. Hear that despite everything else, he did not share that love for you as you did for him all these years.

“You are an insolent child. I will make more of you. I will instill in them obedience where you had none,” he spat.

You refused to cry. You had an idea that he didn’t truly love you. Sometimes he’d look at you with such…hate. As if you were a stubborn stain he could not remove. You thought it was because of your looks. Because it was all anyone could talk about. But even when it was just you and your mother, he would still look at you as if he could cast you out with a single look.

At the palace gates, the guards halted your father. The red doors were large, stretching high above you. Anyone who went in, never came back out. You heard whispered words about why the King would need so many women. There was talk of him eating flesh. If he sold it, was there a big stretch to eating it?

You’d die before you got eaten. As your father argued with the guards, telling how he had a disobedient child that the King could do whatever he wanted with, you made the second biggest decision of your life. You will die before harm befell you. In whatever form that was.

If the King forced himself on you, you’d kill him and take yourself with him. If he tried to put you in a stew, you’d make him watch as you bled all over his fancy robes. The guards finally opened the gates enough for you to peek through.

Women were engaged in combat. Your mouth dropped open at how fierce they looked. You were not allowed to look upon the Agojie when they returned from their battles beyond the walls of the kingdom. But now you dared not to look away.

Your father pushed you forward. One of the guards caught you and you turned your head to your father. This was the most satisfied you had ever seen him. He hoped that the King did something awful to you. He was counting on it.

You straightened up behind the walls of the palace. You looked your father in the eyes and you smiled. You spat on the ground at his feet, that smile still on your face. His smile faltered, rage contorting his features. You turned your back on him and walked into the lion’s lair.

The guards handed you off one by one until a young guard escorted you to the front of the palace. In the training yard, men and women walked around with heads held high. It had never been your intention to become Agojie, but perhaps the mad King will let you once he found out how unsuitable for a wife you were.

The thought of killing anyone made you ill, but it would be better than to be bound to someone who could have you killed with one word.

The guard took you to the door that led to the inner palace. An Agojie met you there, a tall woman with beautiful features and sharp nails. She looked you up and down and conversed with the guard. You didn’t pay attention. You were marching to your death, what did the particulars matter?

The woman took possession of you, leading you into the inner palace where it was women only. Everywhere you looked, there were Dahomey women walking freely. They laughed! They trained, they ran, and hugged each other without abandon. There were a few women from other tribes there, but…this sight robbed you of clear thought.

“You will catch flies if you leave your mouth open like that,” the Agojie said.

The Agojie stalked forward, a hand on the hilt of her weapon. You briefly wondered how you could steal one unnoticed. You searched around you. There were weapons everywhere but there were so many Agojie, you doubted you’d be able to capture one.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Nanisca,” the warrior said. “You’d do well to listen to whatever the King wants.”

You didn’t need to be reminded of the King’s cruelty. It was all your father taunted you with for days as he made his decision to hand you over. You followed Nanisca to the palace proper. There, a man dressed in bright purple robes greeted you. He was bald with lots of jewelry hanging from his nose, ears, and around his neck. He looked you up and down and then rolled his eyes towards Nanisca.

“I suppose we will have this to look forward to from now on,” he said.

“As long as our King breathes air,” Nanisca said. She left you there with the man.

“Come,” he said. You followed him, though dread made your steps wooden and your limbs frozen. You were too deep to escape now. But escape to where? Outside the kingdom, you ran the risk of slavers. Rapists. Murderous thugs who would know where you came from and kill you just for being born in the wrong tribe.

The palace was nice, almost peaceful. There was the clank of weapons outside. Grunts and sounds from the Agojie as they practiced. The palace was big but also felt empty. As if there weren’t a lot of people there.

The King must be fat then. Perhaps he ate all the servants and would-be brides. The bald man led you through to a chamber with many chairs. On a raised dais, there was a large throne and a smaller one beside.

“Wait here,” the man said. He twirled and disappeared down the hall. You took a step forward, looking at the displayed riches and art work. If a king was cruel, did he know anything about art? Or beauty?

“Is this necessary?” You heard mumbling and turned towards the door, ready to face the King head on. To see what kind of monster your parents have subjected you to.

A young man walked in, with thick curled hair and light facial hair. He wore robes of gold, his robe split open revealing a well defined chest. He stood in the doorway and gazed at you as you did him.

He certainly didn’t look monstrous. You knew that evil things often came in the prettiest packages, but he was beautiful. Strong. Solid.

He was still your new jailor, you mustn’t forget. So you stood there and looked him in the eye. You were not a victim and you will not be treated as such.

“What is your name?” He asked. He pressed into the room further, looking you up and down with desire in his eyes. Your parents taught you well. How to spot it in others.

You told him your name and he repeated it. As if to savor it around his tongue. He walked closer until he was within reach. Up close, he was even more handsome. You had to fight yourself from getting distracted by his looks. He was still cruel. You remembered all the horrible stories about his brother. He couldn’t be any different.

“So your father has given you away to me.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered anyway. “He has, my King,” you said.

“Do you wish to be given away?” He asked.

You gasped and looked at him. You looked to the bald man for help but he was turned away from the two of you. You looked back towards King Ghezo. It was the first time anyone had asked what you wished. For it to come from a king who should not care what you wanted…you weren’t sure what to do with the information.

“N-No,” you said.

King Ghezo nodded. “I wish I could make it easier for you. But you are too beautiful to be Agojie and if I turn you from this palace, you will have nowhere to go.” He reached for your hand and you snatched it from him. He smiled patiently as he held out his hand to you.

He was only pretending to be nice. A stupid, hopeful part of you had thought he wasn’t like the stories. He was worse. Still, he was correct. If he turned you away, you had nowhere to go. Once you had been here, everyone would assume the King used you and not deemed you worthy. Cast you out like a whore. You would be forced to sell your body.

You took his hand. He gripped it lightly and smiled. He kissed the back of your hand. “Welcome, my Queen,” he said.

The next few days were a blur. King Ghezo’s first wife saw to your preparation for the wedding. The eunuch from earlier saw to your lessons, what was expected of you. No different than what your father had wanted from you. To be on your best behavior and only speak when spoken to.

You hadn’t seen the King since then, but you caught glimpses every now and then. You were given your own quarters and servant, someone to tend to your needs. It was odd to have someone help bathe you, but the King preferred cleanliness to all else. He was vain on top of a liar.

The feast arrived in no time and you were painted up like a doll. At the wedding, you stood there as expected. If you had smiled any harder, it would have split your face in two. You had stood there like a goat on the pasture, ready to be bought and chopped up. King Ghezo studied you, encircled you, and found you acceptable. You had been tense, near trembling. You hated every second of it.

But now you are married. You sat beside King Ghezo at the high table, while he joked and laughed with his advisors. His other wife sat on your side, quiet and dull. You pitied her. The fight had left her long ago. You were still young. There was still time for you. While everyone smiled and laughed and enjoyed the feast, you hid a knife up your sleeve. It wasn’t that sharp, but it’d do the trick when the King tried to climb in your bed tonight.

You smiled in his face and feigned an innocent routine. You waited for the casual cruelty. When he would hiss for you to shut up, eat more, eat less, sit up straight. It never came. He only gave you brief glances, each always polite. A smile on those plump lips. You couldn’t shake your resolve though. Tonight, you’d be free. Whether free in death or free in life was entirely up to him.

That night, you lay in your bed. There was a door there that led to a small balcony overlooking the rest of the kingdom. It was mostly the trees in the forest, but they were tall and mighty and more than the view you got back home. You did not spare your father a thought, but you thought of your mother. It had not been her choice to marry such a cruel man.

It had not been your choice to marry a cruel man either. However, you felt as if you had a child, you would have moved the heavens and the earth to protect it. To not let what happened to you, happen to your own daughter. You supposed that dream was gone now. You’d either die tonight and never have a kid, or face the wrath of the kingdom and bear one without your permission. Somehow death seemed kinder.

You did not want to die. But how could you live within these walls? With that monster? Admittedly, you did not hear any screams late in the night. His first wife seemed unbothered. Untouched. She had borne him his first son, so perhaps he left her alone. And perhaps goats flew over the moon.

Men were only interested in one thing from a woman. And it was not her brain.

A soft knock tore you from your musings. You tensed up, sliding your hand beneath your pillow to wrap around the handle of the knife. Maybe if you pretended to be sleep, he’d come back another night.

The door pushed open, soft feet padded inside, and the door closed again. You lay on your side, turned towards the open balcony. If you screamed, would no one come to your aid?

“Are you awake?” King Ghezo’s soft voice reached you. You didn’t answer. Your breaths were stalled in your chest. Your hand cramped from holding the knife too hard.

The King poked at your shoulder before making you roll over. “I know you are not…”

You sat up and had the knife at his throat in one fell swoop. The King’s eyes widened, but he looked at you, not the knife.

“Will you kill me, my Queen?” He asked.

You pressed the knife into his skin, hard enough to know you meant business but careful not to break the skin. You were already committing treason, but somehow, it was important not to mar the king.

He stared at you. Those deep brown eyes set in such a handsome face. You looked for the cruel man you heard about. Where was he? You could harm a cruel man. They deserved it tenfold. Why wasn’t he making this easy on you?

“I don’t want to,” you finally admitted. “I have to.”

“Why?”

What did he mean, why? “Aren’t you angry?”

“Angry at a scared woman who has no one on her side? No,” he said. He was so calm, so patient. This was at odds with everything you built up about him in your head.

“Don’t pity me,” you said. You pushed the knife in deeper.

He leaned away and held his hands up. “I do not pity you. I will not pretend to know your life. But I can promise that you’re safe here,” he said.

You scoffed. “I’m not safe anywhere,” you said. You pressed your lips together. That hadn’t been what you meant to say. You meant to throw it back on him, that he could not promise safety when he dealt in the slave trade. When he looked at his people and only saw money from white devils.

His eyes softened and he slowly smiled. “No man intact can enter this palace. Beyond that, we are protected by the fiercest warriors in the world. Beyond them, there is a first legion still to defend this palace from enemies. Here in the heart of it, you are the safest you’ve ever been.”

“But who will keep me safe from you?”

King Ghezo leaned forward, making you choose between cutting him or retreating. You eased up on the pressure. “You can do a finer job protecting yourself than most women can,” he said.

You stared at him. Your arm began to shake from holding the knife for so long. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t kill him. You were weak and would never be accepted as an Agojie. You would never fare well beyond these walls.

You dropped the knife on the bed and held out your wrists. “I’m ready for my punishment, my King,” you said.

King Ghezo let out a long breath. You noticed now that he wore a deep, royal purple that highlighted his rich, dark skin. He wore minimal jewelry. He was just that magnificent on his own. Especially when the candle light flickered across his features.

“Punishment?”

“I’ve threatened the King. I am ready for whatever punishment you hand out,” you said.

The King ignored the knife on the bed between you. It was within his right to take it and kill you. Or take it as evidence of your deceit. He could brand it for all to see as he threw you out of the palace.

He did none of those things. He reached out his hand slowly and enclosed yours in his. You stared at your hands in comparison to his. He watched you as he brought your hands to his lips and placed a small kiss there.

“Plot how next you’ll kill me. If I have not convinced you of my intentions, of my character by then, you may carry through,” he said.

“What? No, no!” You said. You pulled your hands back but he held on. He pulled you closer until your hands were pressed against his warm, smooth chest.

“Keep the knife, my Queen. This will be interesting between us,” he said.

This was surely a trap. A way for him to play and toy with you while he tightened the noose about your neck. Or gathered wood to burn you alive. Or for the Agojie to sharpen their swords to take your head with it.

“My King…”

“One day, I wish for you to call me your love,” he said. “But I will earn it or die trying.” A cocky grin spread across his face. It transformed him from a king to a man. A man who you were married to, sitting on your bed, with intentions involving you.

He placed one more kiss on your hands and then retreated from the room. He never gave you his back, but he did smile and bow. Then he was gone from your room. A chill from outside caressed your bare skin and you shivered.

Was the king truly mad? Or were you? And why did he make you want to find out which?

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret King Ghezo Files #Ghezo x Black!reader #Ghezo x Black reader #Ghezo x Fem!reader #Ghezo x Fem reader #Ghezo x virigin reader #x Black reader #The Woman King fanfic #The Woman King fan fic #The Woman King fanfiction #The Woman King fan fiction #The Woman King #King Ghezo x Black!reader #King Ghezo #King Ghezo fanfic #King Ghezo fan fic #black writers #Black writers on tumblr

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hellishjoel · 1 year

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7.2k // pairing:dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

summary: Joel whisks you away to Houston for the weekend under the guise of a work trip. You keep a secret from him to try and keep your fling undetected from your parents. warnings: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, dbf/neighbor!joel, smut, swearing, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel in his 40s), pet names, fingering, oral (f! receiving), unprotected p in v (shower sex hehe), a little overstim if you squint

A/N: sorry not sorry this chapter took a month+, but I hope you like it! A little drammaaaa. and a reminder, they still have all day saturday and sunday together ;)

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You gulp. “Joel-”, it’s almost in a warning tone. “I don’t- fuck, it feels-” “Uh-huh,” Joel murmurs against your core, nodding gently, grazing his nose against your clit in the process before his warm mouth tightens around your clit. And he suckles. You cry out, walls clenching around his fingers as he milks an orgasm from you. You damn near crumble, but he tightens the hold on your hip to keep you afloat. “There ya go, princess, come on my fingers,”

June 23rd 7:48 P.M.

I’ve had some time to think about Joel, and how much I like to think about him, and how things aren’t an accident.

Thinking about how unlikely it is that we sparked.

How Joel could have turned left, and I could have turned right. But we didn’t.

Instead of running away, I said yes, and so did he.

The impossibility of us seems so incredible, almost unbelievable.

I love that so many things had to happen for us to be where we are right now.

I saw the sun melt his eyes into amber, and he liked the way I smiled in the moonlight.

This feeling was radical, unnerving, scary.

I didn’t know why it was called falling or crashing into love. Perhaps I do now.

“You could sit there and read all day, huh?” Joel interrupts your thoughts as he starts to guide his truck off the freeway, passing a large aluminum Welcome to Houston! sign lit up by the truck’s headlights.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach, cheeks squished from smiling as his hand settles on your upper thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles on your sweet skin.

“I’m not reading anymore. Got too dark.” He’s referring to the novel you brought for the trip from your to-be-read pile that you started when you first got on the road.

The drive from Austin to Houston was two-and-a-half hours long, so you decided to saddle the passenger seat with different activities and snacks to keep yourself busy and out of Joel’s hair, much to his behest. He said he enjoyed letting you ramble on about whatever you were thinking about; said it was like listening to a podcast.

“But I am writing.” You hum quietly, penning in your last thought before it gets lost in the black of night.

“What’cha writin’, then?” Joel's curious eyes wander to the nest you had made for yourself in the passenger seat as he tilts his chin up to try and read beyond your journal cover.

You snap it closed and slip the pen in somewhere between the pages. “Keep your eyes on the road, old man.” Your tone is teasing, making you grin even more as he grumbles in annoyance under his breath as the truck slowly approaches a stop light.

Once off the freeway and down to the local roads, you roll the window down. You watch the moon start to rise in the sky, feeling goosebumps grow on your arms and exposed legs while the wind lazily flows through your hair. The gentle night breeze is welcome to air out Joel’s stuffy truck.

You were supposed to be his navigator once he got off the freeway, but you were a bit preoccupied looking around yourself.

You and Joel left Friday evening as soon as he was done with work, and now you were lightly coasting the streets of Houston as the sun finished setting. You could see the diverse architecture of downtown, the skyline of skyscrapers and high-rises were all crowded together. As you moved further into midtown, Joel drove past small businesses and parks. You let your hand float out the window, surfing the wind like a wave.

“Hey, space cadet, if you’re not gonna give me the directions to the motel, the least you can do is toss me a french fry.”

Your head cocks back to him, curiously smiling as you reach your hand aimlessly into the fast food bag, retrieving a fry and bringing it up to his lips. You settled on McDonald’s before you left Danbury, partially because Joel felt like being a little cheap, and you agreed they had the best, saltiest french fries.

You feed it to him, and he teasingly sucks the salt off your fingers.

“Gross, Joel.”

He sneers as he watches you wipe your hands on your thighs to rid yourself of his saliva. “You like it.”

He’s not wrong. You force yourself to look back out the window again to hide the heat creeping up the back of your neck.

Joel smirks and squeezes your thigh to bring you back to him. When you look over to the handsome man donning his usual green flannel, the wind furles your hair in messy, unkempt streaks.

He hesitates for a moment, but now that you’re no longer preoccupied with reading or writing, he holds your hand. You feel him test the waters, settling for just lightly clasping it in your lap, but it’s not enough for him. His thick fingers and calloused hand meets the heart of your palm as his fingers weave with your own. He lets out a little sigh and settles himself there.

You feel like teasing him. You’re afraid to hold my hand but not to fuck my throat in your woodshed with a party right outside? But then you remember how difficult it was to kiss him. It still felt like a slip-up, you had to admit. Especially if this was supposed to be just a casual relationship. It felt intimate and emotionally charged. But it was just kissing, right? And this was just holding hands.

Your thoughts wrestle around your head a bit. Joel feels it. You’re not sure how he always seems to know what you’re thinking, but he does. His thumb strokes a gentle line up and down the muscle of your thumb, a silent way of saying stop thinking for once. It’s appreciated, the sense of care and thoughtfulness he provided without even speaking a word.

Ever since he took you to that bar, Past Lives, all you could think about was Joel. Joel on repeat. Joel taking you away from the distracted environment of the lakehouse. Joel showing you the map, saying there was more to the world than Texas. Joel kissing you. Joel touching you. Joel fucking you. Joel protecting you. Joel saving you.

As much as you’ve had time to reflect on Joel, you’ve also reflected on your parents. They were hardly bad people, but they didn’t respect your adult choices. You came to tearfully realize that your relationship with them had slowly deteriorated since leaving for university. You grew independent, and that was especially hard for them. Something you had trouble understanding, something Joel didn’t understand either.

You called Joel Thursday night before your trip under the guise of asking if you should pack any specifics, but the conversation ended up landing on his relationship and parenting with Sarah. You told him how you appreciated the way he let Sarah grow and experience things, that it was good for her.

“She’s a tough girl, and I trust’er. Nothin’ much left to say.”

“So, what-” you stumble and scoff over the phone. “My parents don’t trust me? Or think I’m not tough enough to tackle the world?”

“S’not what I’m sayin’, darlin’. I don’t know what’s up with your folks. But you don’t need their approval, you’re an adult. All you need is t’… t’ trust yourself. Sounds fuckin’ cheesy, but it’s true.”

You pause, twisting a strand of hair around your finger as your eyebrows furrow, thinking over his words. “Y’think if I act a little more confident about it, they’ll start believing it too?”

Joel’s chuckle is a little crackle-ey on the line as he wanders around his house talking to you, going in and out of good reception. “Gotta start somewhere, buttercup. At the end of the day, it’s about your happiness, not theirs. Don’t gotta be such a people pleaser all the time.”

Yes, I do, you think.

“Thanks, Joel.”

“Sure thing, hon’.”

Dusk on the outskirts of Houston. The houses become few and far between. There’s more green grass and flourished trees. Joel slowly pulls into a small driveway, a large blue neon-lit sign designated that you were at your motel for the weekend. The entire truck is highlighted in a pale blue from the illumination, you nearly have to squint. There were no more than two or three cars parked outside. It was a two-level motel, with an outside staircase to navigate the different floors.

“The Blue Swallow Motel.” Your attention strays to Joel with furrowed brows. “Why here?”

Joel shrugs and navigates himself into a parking spot with ease. “Don’t know. Like blue swallows.”

Curiosity sparks you.

“You like blue swallows? You’ve seen one in person?”

He shakes his head and says nothing for a moment, but it almost looks like he can’t help himself to dispel some information. “They’re native to Africa, only ever seen the North American variants ‘round here.” He lets the engine grumble down once he pulls the key from the ignition, but you’re still awestruck in his passenger seat.

“I’m sorry- Joel Miller Bird Enthusiast?” The eager tone in your voice gives away your excitement, and Joel seems to despise it when you get too excited about him. He has to close his eyes and hang his head, wishing he never said anything.

“Oh, Joel Miller, don’t even try to deny it, I’ve seen those bird guides on your bookshelf, you’re a birder.”

His neck swivels, eyes wide and defensive. “I am not a birder.”

You throw your head back in laughter, and eventually, he cracks a smile. “They’re interestin’, okay?”

You playfully pat his shoulder with reassurance, nodding in agreement. The two of you settle down from your fits of laughter and look over the exterior of the motel once more.

“Y’said you wanted somethin’ quaint? Small?”

Being with Joel and having no other distractions was your goal for this weekend. Since this trip was coming out of Joel’s pocket, you insisted you didn’t need some fancy hotel. You’ve traveled to Houston a handful of times before, and the last thing you wanted was for your view outside some high-rise hotel to be Danbury in the distance.

You squeeze his hand once more and nod, stars lighting up behind your eyes. “It’s perfect. Thanks for finding something simple.”

Joel teeters on your appreciation but ultimately ends up shaking his head. “Could’ve gotten something a little nicer for ya, maybe closer to downtown-”

You stop him right there and bring his rough knuckles to your plush lips, adding a kiss to each one. “I said it’s perfect, so it’s perfect. I like it, it’s got charm, chutzpah even. Plus, looks like we’ll have the pool to ourselves.” You hum with a devious little smirk. You hop out of the truck and open the backdoor to grab your things.

“Pool, you say?” He retorts, an eyebrow raised with narrow eyes on you. You lightly shrug as you grab your backpack.

“Might have forgotten my swimsuit, though. Shame.”

You brush past Joel, who is scoffing lightly under his breath in disbelief, duffel bag brushing against his calves as he walks with you towards the motel office. You would be the death of this man.

“Damn shame.” He mutters, a smirk hanging low on his lips.

---

Room 135 was marked on the dark chestnut door, a small white plate with black numbering decked on.

There wasn’t much to be said about the motel room itself. You tried to stifle a laugh when you and Joel both walked in to see two separate queen beds. The sheets were white, but the top cover was an extravagant red pattern that looked like it got lost in the 80s. A side table was resting against the wall towards the headboards with a beige telephone placed on top, resting over a few local restaurant menus. Two small lamps were attached to the wall above the beds, perfectly opposite of the television sat on top of a tall dresser.

“Is this your idea of a romantic getaway?” You teased as you walked further inside over the beige carpet. “Two beds don’t exactly scream romantic.” You set your backpack down on the foot of the bed furthest from the door and closest to the bathroom around the corner. You assume this bed will just be used to hold both of your luggage, not a person.

“No,” Joel said through a tight gruff as he strained to lift his bag of tools and luggage onto the edge of his own bed. “S’a work trip. Not a romantic getaway.”

Your smile falters as you purse your lips and fiddle with your hands behind your back.

“So, this really is a work trip?” You clarify, to which Joel looks at you a bit confused.

“Course it is.”

A light boil simmers through your chest. Maybe you will be sleeping in your own bed tonight. Joel could sense your flattened mood, and he quickly felt the need to sweep up the pieces of what he broke. He was bad with words, terrible really, but he tried to find the right ones for you.

“I said that wrong. It’s a work trip but,” he trails off and falters as he saddles his hands on his hips for a moment and sighs, your doe eyes looking up to his own. “But I brought you here to spend some real time with ya. Didn’t wanna,” he shrugs and rolls his eyes. A classic Joel Miller sign that he wants to say something a little personally emotional.

“What?” You probe him, a smile tickling your lips as you loop your hands to rest just above the ones on his hips. “You didn’t want to what, Joel?” You ask, setting your chin on his chest and looking up at him with a goofy grin.

He sighs and rolls his eyes again, having a hard time looking at you. “I didn’t wanna go on this trip alone. Didn’t want to leave you at home when I could bring ya with.”

Joel wasn’t a social man. In fact, if the world went to shit, you think he might really enjoy the solitude. But for him to admit that he would rather have you in his space than out of it, it’s quite endearing.

Now you’re the one who's hiding a blush. You settle your cheek against his chest and sigh, soaking in his scent and his warmth. Joel’s hand comes to rest on the side of your head, gently stroking your hair away from your face as the two of you relax into a gentle hug.

“Were you serious about that no bathin’ suit thing?” He asks after a moment of silence, causing you to roll your eyes and shove him a good distance away.

“As serious as a heart attack.” You sneer as you round the bed to the bathroom, needing desperately to relieve yourself after the drive. Of all colors, it’s a beautiful mint green. Incredibly retro, you think as you use the toilet and stare at the shower absentmindedly. You roll your phone around in your hands once you finish washing them, a lump rising in your throat.

Your mother’s words echoed in your ear.

“If it gets serious, we want to meet this young man.”

There was no young man. The young man your mother referred to was really Joel. Panic was spreading through your body just at the thought of trying to fix this situation. They figured out you were seeing someone, they just didn’t quite know who. A few heavy breaths labor out of you, anxiety nestling in your chest.

“You okay, buttercup? Been a minute.” Joel asks cautiously from the opposite side of the door, his knuckles offering a few polite knocks.

Your chest surges. You didn’t want him to know you’d slipped up, half-told your parents the truth. You didn’t want him to end things out of fear of them finding out. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine, Joel. Just.. gimme a minute.”

His feet don’t move on the other side of the door. He doesn’t want to leave you, feeling something slightly wrong.

“Really, Joel, just- checking out the facilities.” God.

He sighs before you hear him back off. “Alright. Lemme know f’you need anythin’.”

You need to act, or else this feeling will eat you alive. Finally, with some accurate cell service, you text the first person you think of. Nathan. Remember that childhood crush of yours? You hadn’t seen him in years, and with how gorgeous he was growing up, there was a scary feeling that you might be texting a man who had a girlfriend. But he was your only hope to cover up the mess you had made.

Growing up with Nathan and his parents being friends with your own always felt like a setup. Your mothers always cooed that you two just might end up marrying one another. At the time, you wished it was true, that all this exposure with him would lead to something romantic. But then you grew up, saw each other a little less over the summers, and grew apart. You still kept in contact via social media, but not often. You saw his life in pictures. One from a homecoming dance, a group picture of him and his friends, an action shot of him playing basketball, a high school graduation picture, and a similar one for college graduation. He was still alive somewhere out there, you just didn’t know him like you used to.

Nathan was always kind, goofy, very golden retriever-like. Summers spent apart created a rift, but he was your childhood best friend and crush once upon a time. If he was willing to help you out, you owed him big time. So you shoot him a text and cross your fingers that this is still his number. The last thing logged in your messages was a silly conversation about cheetahs versus jaguars. You were team cheetahs, obviously.

You felt a slight sense of relief once you came up with a plan. Talk to Nathan. See if he can act as your fake boyfriend for your parents. See if he doesn’t think you’re damn crazy for concealing your forty-something-year-old fuck buddy.

You’re not really sure how to reignite the conversation, it’s been so damn long. You stare at the blank screen before you craft the brilliant message:

A sigh leaves your parted, anxious lips, and you shove your phone away.

---

You really did bring a bathing suit, much to Joel’s eagerness for the rumor to be true. You change into it with your back turned to him. You feel his eyes boring holes into you, sending a small dash of goosebumps up your arms. “I’m going for a dip before bed.” You say as you fiddle with the strings of your bikini top, struggling for a moment before you feel a warm presence step in behind you and fuss away with the strings himself.

You hum softly as he fastens the strings, making a bow at your midback. Joel’s lips brush against your shoulder before they start sponging gentle kisses up your neck. The hair you tied up into a loose bun tickles his nose.

“Such’a pretty girl.” He hums against your skin, a soft shiver trickling up your spine, lips parting in pleasure. “Too bad you’re not a very good girl.” Joel murmured as his hands slipped lower, past your hips, past the curve of your ass, until he was cupping both cheeks in his large palms. You gasp at the sensation, feeling his fingers squeeze at your flesh. A moan escapes your lips, you just can’t help it. You love it when Joel is handsy for you, the needy one.

You swallow the lump in your throat and turn in his arms, eagerly kissing him as you cup his cheeks. He fights for control instantly, pulling you in at your hips so your back arches backward out of habit. You let your head dip back, eyes dipping closed as his lips trail down your neck, then between the valley of your breasts, all while his wiry beard creates scratches in his wake.

“Do you have swim trunks?” You ask breathily, shoving him lightly by the top of the head further down your body. He drops to his knees and continues to trail kisses down your stomach.

The question catches him off guard.

“Do I- what?” He asks breathily, looking up at you as he sponges kisses over your clothed center.

“If you don’t have swim trunks,” you try to continue, “you can’t go swimming with me.” You say with a teasing smirk, stepping around Joel, who was awestruck kneeling on the ground, his hands still in place where he was cupping the backs of your thighs before he slaps them down on his own to show annoyance.

He was probably thinking how you just up and disappeared when you were just standing in front of him a moment ago. Joel grumbles something, but you’re already out the door of the motel room.

---

The pool is glowing in its blue hue, lit by dim lights around the perimeter and the silver moon in the sky.

In a world so vast, you couldn’t help but feel a little lost in wanting to explore it.

You take a breath in through your nose and test the water with a dip of your toe. A bit cold for your liking, but the warm Texas summers make your skin sticky and the air a bit stale. So you dive in.

The cool water is a shock to your system at first, with goosebumps growing on your skin like wildfire. Your face breaks the seal of the water, emerging over the light ripples you created upon diving in, catching your breath. You take a few leisurely laps along the outskirts, feeling weightless, free.

“Nice night.” Joel’s brassy voice breaks the gentle chorus of the summer cicadas. You hum as you carve your way through the water until you meet the pool’s edge. You rest your arms on the lip of the pool, bringing your breasts just above the surface of the water.

“Get. In.” You say with an authoritative voice, despite your eager smile.

He cocks his head a few degrees to the right, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No. You look like a shivering chihuahua.”

His joke elicits a giggle from you.

“It’s only cold for the first few minutes. You’ll warm up.” You’re only half-lying, the pool was so fucking cold.

Joel merely shakes his head. “You’re crazy, buttercup.”

You hum as you push off the edge of the pool, moving towards the center, letting the water dance around you as your arms glide back and forth to keep you afloat.

“Sounds like you need some motivation.” Your eyes lock on Joel’s as your fingers navigate to the back of your bikini strings, slowly pulling the tie loose, feeling the water aid you in floating the material off your upper half. The top strings around your neck are still tied, concealing the full reveal of your breasts.

Joel’s once secure face fizzled, eyes straying and lips parting. A soft sigh escapes his lips as he kneels down, pointer finger curling towards him impatiently. “Get over here.”

You shake your head disobediently. “Now.” His barking urgency makes you stifle a smirk.

“Joel Miller afraid of a little cold water.” You shrug and move your fingers to the strings tied behind your neck, slowly tugging loose the threads. The material falls limp into the water, floating in front of you free from your body.

Joel watches with impatience, the spill of your breasts making his cock twitch inside his swim trunks. The mesh material was forgiving, allowing him to swell at the sight of you. The cold water has your nipples taut, drawn into sweet peaks. You’re just out of his fucking reach, too far into the pool for him to grab you.

He grunts quietly, jaw tight as you slowly swim closer to him. You shiver at his glance alone.

“If you want me,” your voice drops innocently, doe eyes making their appearance to reel him in, “you’ll get in the pool, Mr. Miller.”

Just out of his reach once more, you swim back to the center and push your thumbs into the band of your bikini bottoms, down your legs, leaving you bare in the pool for anyone to see from the highway or their own motel rooms. You must admit, Joel’s desperate gaze filled with want makes you squirm with excitement. Disobeying him lights that explosive even more.

He offers you his hand, one final offer. “Last chance, angel, get out of the pool.”

“Why do you even have swim trunks on if you aren’t going to get in?” You ask, eyes gazing over the tangled hair he has scattered across his chest.

“I was hoping these would appease you alone. Now come here,” he juts his hand out as an offering one last time.

You roll your eyes and swim closer, your breasts lapping in the water as you take Joel’s hand. And tug with all your strength.

His feet skid to try and hold him back, but he ultimately summersaults into the pool. You cover your mouth with your hand, unable to conceal your laughs as Joel emerges, sopping wet, cold, angry.

“Y-You-” He chatters his teeth, eyes screwed tight on you as he pushes his hand back through his soaked curls and down his face, grazing his wiry beard. “You’re gonna get it.”

Joel’s threat makes you squeal. You attempt to doggy paddle away, but the grip he catches on your arm is iron. He pulls you back to him, and your body glides through the water, arms securing on his biceps once you’re locked in his hold. He’s threatening, but not as much so when you wrap your legs around his waist and feel his half-hard length.

You raise your eyebrow at him, and he half-chuckles.

“Such a fuckin’ piece of work you are.” He grunts out, hands searing the flesh of your hips as he skirts his hand down lower, cupping the globes of your ass.

A hum tickles your throat as you lean in and press your lips to his jawline in a tempting kiss, smiling as Joel’s nose playfully nudges yours, leaning in for more.

It’s stomach-twisting how you feel so comfortable with Joel, how you sink into his body, and how he warms your core. You kiss him until your lips feel bruised, and he grips your beautiful curves with eagerness. The two of you kiss like hungry teenagers, finally outside the watchful eyeline of your parents. Joel’s cock is hardening against your naked core.

He forces himself off of you, groaning lightly as he strays from your eyes. Cupping his jawline, you angle him back to you, resting your foreheads together.

“Makin’ me get all riled up like a damn teenager.” His warm breath puffs across your face, his words make your bundle of nerves tingle.

“I like that I’m the one causing it.”

Joel chews at the inside of his cheek before giving you a tight little nod. “Me too, buttercup.”

---

Joel decides pool play is over. He gets out first, snags your bikini pieces that floated to the edge of the pool and starts walking leisurely back into the motel room.

He only hears your cursing and belligerent rambling after he returns from turning on the shower, piping hot.

“Can’t hear ya when you’re chatterin’ your teeth.”

Joel returns to the bathroom and strips his swim trunks off, still half-hard. He tests the water with his hand, giving you an affirming nod it was okay to step in.

You’re still angry and seething, having to streak your way back to the room naked and freezing your bare ass off. He looks at your crossed arms and playfully tuts. “You’re the one that thought t’drag me in there with ya, princess.”

Joel follows you into the shower, the water splashing searing hot droplets. It only feels that hot because you’re readjusting from the pool’s temperature. You find yourself huddling into Joel’s warmth.

He finds it endearing, the way your head settles on his chest, your ear to his heart, too chilled to let him go. He angles the showerhead downwards, letting it focus on your body first. He could wait.

You gently release your crossed arms, letting them wrap low around his hips. He had a few extra pounds of flesh low on his tummy and on the sides of his waist. You gently pinch the area and smile.

“Stop that.” He hisses, eyebrows knitted together.

“But I like it. You’re my favorite person to hug.”

The sentiment splashed warmth on the back of his neck. Joel has picked up a few extra pounds from town barbeques, and beers tossed back during football games. He used to not like it, the way he had to loosen his belt after a big meal, or having to purchase his new t-shirts in a size up. He didn’t think about it much, but naked with you in the shower, feeling you admire his ever-changing body, was a comfort.

You look up after a few moments of silence, setting your chin on his chest and feeling his chest hair graze against your skin.

Joel wants to warm you up, get you to relax under the showerhead. He presses a nimble kiss to your lips, pitter-pattering kisses along the extent of your body before he is down on his knees, angling your back to rest against the shower wall.

Tired after your car ride and melting under the shower’s sprinkling water, you ache for a relief that will come from your head hitting a pillow. But Joel had other things in mind, things that would make you forget you were tired in an instant.

Now under his watchful eye, lips and wiry beard scratching at your soft skin, you lightly part your legs for his entrance. God, please don’t let me slip and embarrass myself right now. Let me have this one good thing, this man’s tongue against my pussy would make me a God-willing woman.

Joel can feel your exhausted body, begging to find a bed. But he had you where he wanted you, and his mouth was watering to taste your sweet musky arousal. His hands settle themselves on the backs of your thighs, supporting your weight as his head leans into your warmth.

He brings two fingers forward, parting your center, licking a slow draw up your core. His tongue flicks off your clit, your bundle of nerves twitches. Something flips in his stomach, and his cock grows heavy against his thigh.

You taste sweet and serene, something he’s grown an appetite for. With several days apart awaiting your weekend trip away, he often found himself at night, spilling into his hand thinking about your young, beautiful pussy flushed against his mouth. He takes this opportunity to relish in you moaning his name, without any curious ears.

His tongue sinks lower, swirling around your tense entrance. The swell of his tongue gushes more arousal from you, and he gets a proper taste that isn’t mixed with water from the shower.

Joel’s grip on your thigh tightens, and he laps at your clit like a famished man.

The constant flicks have you gasping for air in the all-too-warm shower. Your fingers weave into his soaking wet curls, still finding a grip as your thigh twitches against his hand.

Joel’s two fingers parting your center gently massage at your entrance, wiggling in gently as he suckles on your clit, and you mewl weakly.

His tongue and teeth lightly graze your sensitivity, feeling stars clouding your vision as his fingers set a gentle pace.

“Ooh,” you sigh weakly, feeling his fingers hit the perfect spot, one that makes you shake.

Joel knows that sound, knows the feeling. He looks up, admires the way your pretty lips are parted in bliss. The hand on your thigh is brought to your stomach, gently stroking over the flesh.

You watch him a little curiously, a little fucked. His mouth returns to your clit, but his hand still falters on your lower abdomen. You whimper as he adds a little pressure, and quickens his fingers. It’s jaw-dropping, the friction and pressure, piling on top of each other.

You gulp. “Joel-”, it’s almost in a warning tone. “I don’t- fuck, it feels-”

“Uh-huh,” Joel murmurs against your core, nodding gently, grazing his nose against your clit in the process before his warm mouth tightens around your clit. And he suckles.

You cry out, walls clenching around his fingers as he milks an orgasm from you. You damn near crumble, but he tightens the hold on your hip to keep you afloat.

“There ya go, princess, come on my fingers,” he grunts, jaw tight, and teeth clenched as he watches your cum-arousal mixture glide down his fingers in a sticky mess. He slowly stands, watching you pant for air, as he sucks his digits clean with an evil smirk.

The temperature in here is too much, heat consumes your body as you weakly grip his biceps.

“God damn, Mr. Miller.” You say breathlessly. You take him in a quick kiss, moaning weakly into his mouth at your taste. His tongue tangles with you, and he keeps his fingers on your core. His first two fingers start to slowly circle your clit again, but it’s entirely too soon.

You whimper weakly into his mouth, your clit aching and still recovering from your oral orgasm.

“Mmm- can’t do it, Joel.”

Joel snarls as he swiftly turns you around, his foot hitting the insides of both of your ankles to spread your legs. Your face is plastered against the shower wall, watching him out of the corner of your eye with your jaw dropped.

“Be good for me, baby girl, show how thankful you are.”

You whine at his raspy voice, feeling its timbre bounce against the walls.

“Please,” you beg in a whisper, inching your feet farther apart for him to take you in the shower.

Joel strokes his cock, seething through his teeth at the desperate relief he’s feeling. His swollen tip vies for your attention. He lines himself up, his other hand on your hip as he notches himself inside.

You visibly flinch away, Joel hushing you softly as he tries again.

“Gotta relax for me, pretty girl.”

You sigh weakly and let yourself melt with the warm water, fluttering your eyes closed as you gently jut your hips back into this, needing to be filled.

Joel tries again after lining his tip up and down your slit and gathering your arousal. He notches inside of you once more, causing your eyelashes to flutter. He slowly presses on.

The drinks must have really loosened you up since the last time the two of you fooled around in his truck. He wasn’t so hard to take then, but now he feels thicker, rounder. You could feel the thick vein on the underside of his cock as he ruts his hips into your ass.

Finally, you will yourself to breathe, moaning his name in desperation.

Joel’s trying to contract his lungs, but you’re gripping onto him so tight, the heat of the shower going to his head.

You hum and purposely grip your walls around him, squeezing for his last breath.

Joel snarls and smacks your ass from below, watching the fatty flesh jiggle. It stings, but you like it, thinking about his large handprint marking you red. He winds his hips back up and presses in, groaning lowly as he fills you to the brim.

He sets a decent pace, one that robs you of what air you have left in your lungs. Your entire body feels sensitive, your cheek growing sore from being fucked against the shower wall. But it feels entirely too good, a certain itch that only Joel Miller can scratch.

Every thrust he makes, you moan his name like a broken record. “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you moan and grunt it so much, that it starts to sound like it’s not a real word anymore.

You reach back an arm blindly, gripping his bicep and stitching your nails into his skin.

Joel grunts out weakly, the burning sensation you caused on his arm making him go wild. He reaches for both of your wrists and plants them at the base of your back, forcing your face to be your only weight to keep you up against the shower.

But it unlocks a new angle, one that has you crying out curses and his heavenly name.

“Fuck me, Joel, fuck- fuck your favorite little pussy,” you mewl out, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

“God dammit, fuck me good like that, like that,” your eyes clench close, panting heavily. “Right there, daddy, please, Mr. Miller, touch my clit, please,” you beg, the pet name rolling off your tongue.

It makes him snarl. He sets a hellish pace. His chest puffs up, his broad biceps locking around you as his fingers stroke over your pussy.

He loves the way you wind him up. Because you are his favorite young pussy, one he’s made his own, railing you so good that you forget about anyone else that may have had you before.

All you know is Joel Miller.

His thighs and lower tummy smack your ass cheeks, a distinct slapping sound filling the shower and pinging off the walls right back into your ears.

Stars flutter behind your eyes, you feel light-headed. The water splashes warm across your back, allowing Joel even more slip.

The harder he fucks you, the closer he moves in. Now he has his entire torso flushed against your back, flicking his hips up into you with precision.

Suddenly he’s grabbing your leg by the underside of your knee, hiking it up, and planting it against the shower wall as he exposes a whole new sensation.

You can’t last any longer. His fingers circle dangerously around your clit, and now he’s pounding you into the wall, forcing friction against his glorious thrusts. You whimper loudly as his tip kisses your cervix repeatedly, feeling your walls clench around him as you come.

It’s jaw-dropping, heart-surging, mind-fucking how good he feels coming inside of you. It’s warm, warmer than the water still raining over you. It’s comforting the way his seed spreads throughout your core, his grunts filling the shower as he drops his last load inside of you.

And goddamn, he loves how you milk him dry.

You weakly slide down the wall, tiredly dropping your leg once he pulls out.

“No ya’don’t.” Joel quickly says, snagging a strong arm around your waist and hauling you up. You whimper as he peels your face off the wall, blinking rapidly as he spins you to face him. “C’mere.” Joel embraces you, and you lean weakly into his front like a bear hug.

“Water,” you whisper against his pec. He turns the shower temperature down, a more comforting heat surrounding you now.

“You’re alright.” He assures.

After time to recuperate, Joel reaches for the shampoo bottle, squirting a small amount into his palm and lathering it between his hands. You feel a little better standing, but you still stay wrapped up in his arms, in his hug.

He massages the shampoo into your locks, gently massaging it against your scalp, before he gently washes the bubbles out. He gathers conditioner next, letting it soak into your ends.

You hide your smile against his chest, knowing that he probably had to learn this type of stuff for Sarah. Hair care, skin care, tampons and pads, all the sort of stuff single dads fear. You wonder whatever could have been in Sarah’s mother’s mind to leave a guy like Joel Miller. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, but he seemed to fit into your life like a glove right now. For however long that perfect fit would be.

A weak sigh leaves your lips as he strokes your head sweetly, his fingers then grazing your cheek.

“Y’alright? Feel good?”

You nod weakly and smile, letting your arms drop gently as you pull away. “M’tired.”

Joel stifles a chuckle and nods. “Me too, baby. Sit tight.”

Once Joel is assured you’re not going to lose your strength standing up on your own, he shuts off the water and steps out of the shower, wrapping his towel low on his waist. You gaze at the lines around his hips, and how they dip down into his towel.

You clear your throat as you quickly look away once he approaches you with two towels. He wraps one around your shoulders, gently moving his warm hands up and down the sides of your arms.

You look so sweet, warm and cozy, cum-filled, at ease. The stress he usually sees you carrying around is wiped away. He hoped he had something to do with it.

Joel leans down and presses a light kiss to your lips. Not hungry, not desperate, not chasing. Delicate. Assuring.

You smile tiredly and shyly evade his eye contact, something that he hates to admit is goddamn adorable on you.

Both of you towel dry off any remaining droplets of water. Joel forces you to show him how you even get the towel you wrap around your hair on your head.

“This is girlhood, Joel Miller.” You say once you secure it on, watching him shake his head in disbelief.

“A mystery to me.” He says with a boyish grin.

You both exit the steamy bathroom and search your bags for pajamas. You packed a few comfy shirts for bed. And only one extra pair of panties. You better be damn careful with your one last sacred pair. You toss it back into your pack for now, deciding that they would probably be taken off in the morning anyway. You slip under the covers of Joel’s bed, saving him a space you hope he fills. Of course, he does.

Joel flips off the light switch, indulging the room in a black and blue hue. He grunts quietly as he slips into the covers. The both of you just melt into the mattress.

You nuzzle into his side, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders. He makes gentle circles into your back as your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You sigh and turn your back to Joel to retrieve it from the charger.

“Your parents askin’ if we made it okay?” Joel murmurs tiredly, eyes closed, waiting for you to return to his side.

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s a text message from Nathan.

Hey stranger

“Yeah,” you lie, your fingers gliding across the keyboard to configure a response. “They uh.. They’re tellin’ me to not bug you too much on the trip.” You awkwardly chuckle, your back still turned to him as you stare at Nathan’s message.

Joel dryly chuckles as he reaches a hand out and settles it on your hip. “Quite the opposite.”

You feel terrible concealing this from Joel. But you don’t want him to think you were young and foolish letting your secret fling slip. This was to make things work, to keep the secret buried from your parents.

Another message from Nathan makes your phone buzz in your hand.

Heard you’re in Danbury for the summer with your folks. Wanna catch up?

Your heart sits in your throat, shocked by his ask.

You flip over your phone, opting to reply in the morning. You’re beat. You sigh weakly and return to Joel’s side, hiding your face in his shoulder as you gently kiss along the muscle. He was already passed out.

As messy as this felt, being with Joel felt like being tossed a life jacket in open water. And you weren’t going to lose that safety, not if you could help it.

---

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sehyunie23 · 3 months

Text

Ditto - Haerin

"I like you Y/n... I admire you, for what you do and just how you act. I've been keeping this for a long time so yeah hehe~ I hope you take my confession," Haerin said to me.

"Good, now how do you feel?" I asked the girl in front of me.

"It felt good! I just felt like I have this incredible confidence flowing inside me!" Haerin said proudly which made me smile.

"Uhuh~ so, here's the question. Will you do it?" I asked. Haerin then puts her hand on the table while she thinks.

"Hmmm~ I don't know. I mean, practicing is one thing, but saying it directly to him, it's just like hard you know?" Haerin said a little bit sad.

"Yeah, I understand that but look on the bright side, you are in a group with him on a school project! Don't be sad Haerin~ all will be fine," I said, giving the girl some confidence.

"Yeah, you're right. I still have some time," Haerin said to herself, probably cheering herself up which is a good thing.

"Now that we are finished with that, could you tell me again how did you know that your feelings for him are like, you know, real?" I asked and Haerin smiled again.

"Well~ it all started like this,"

--- flashback ---

Haerin POV

Going on a trip with my family is something quite special for me. A time where we can bond, see, and catch up with each other.

Truthfully, there is nothing planned for our trip today, we will just go with the flow as they say because sometimes, something unplanned will leave the greatest memories. Well, that is what I believe in.

Moving forward with the day, my family and I are now in our car, seeing the trees and the neighborhood as we pass the road we are taking.

Comfortable as my brother is driving, I begin to enter a trance. A trance where I can peacefully talk to myself, admiring everything that we pass by.

Honestly, who doesn't like road trips? I like road trips.

Anyways, being in my comfort for about an hour, we then saw a place from a glance where giddy, happiness, and excitement combines. Once we saw the place, me and my family members glanced at each other, probably thinking the same... Go to the Amusement Park.

We then parked our car nearby and the adrenaline is slowly pumping in my body. I unbuckled my seatbelt and went out of the car to see the rides and stalls that offer different varieties.

Amusement parks brings me joy, it just takes out the sadness in my life. From the rides to the mini-games, it will guarantee me fun.

Walking in the crowded pathways I see some kids dragging their parents and people in cute costumes. The overall atmosphere makes me happy, truly one of the happiest places on earth.

I then see a rollercoaster that looks awesome, telling my plan to my family, they allowed me to go and immediately, I queued up for the ride.

The queue for the ride is not that long. Once the previous trip of the ride comes to a stop, the line starts to move, allowing new people to experience the ride.

Rollercoasters are a must when you come to an amusement park, not only that it is fun, the joy and the excitement will top our feelings.

The staff that is in charge of the rollercoaster ride then guided everyone, informing everyone to fasten their seatbelts.

I sat on the second train and fasten my seatbelt. Being giddy, I just look around with all smiles and then, a man sat beside me. Looking at the man, my eyes widen as I know him.

"Mark?" I said and the man, or Mark then looked at me, quite surprised as well.

"Oh my, Haerin? Is that you?" Mark retorted making me giggle.

"Hehehe, fancy seeing you here though, also, be my seatmate~," I cooed making Mark laugh.

"Hey, we are seatmates in school, and now until here, we are seatmates," Mark stated.

"Coincidence?" I said and looked at Mark.

"I want to call it fate~ *winks*," Mark said, making me scoff at the guy

"Flirt," I scoffed and then we looked at each other. Seconds passed until we laughed at nothing, but the two of us are sure enjoying each other's presence.

After some time, the ride then starts to move.

We all know the typical rollercoasters, slow at the start as the train starts to climb until... Free fall!

"AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

"THIS SHIT IS FAST!!!!"

"OH MY GOOOOOOOO!!!"

We can relate to that. But something everybody would not relate to, when it comes to riding a rollercoaster is holding someone's hand. Yes.

I held Mark's hand.

Mark didn't notice this yet but the warmth I immediately felt, the sense of joy, butterflies, and likeliness, it rushes in me.

Forget the ride, I'm holding a hand... his hand.

Mark sure is my seatmate but he is also my great friend. We've known each other for quite some time now and our friendship just strengthens when we became classmates.

The school projects we are involved in, nearly similar interests, and the way he portrays life, he just amazes me.

The admiration that I have for him is so great that this friend of mine that is dear to me, I begin to have some feelings for him as well.

Having a crush on a stranger is one thing, having a crush on your friend on the other hand is another.

Having a crush on your friend is like having a make-it-or-break-it moment. Lucky when I confess and he accepts it, but what will happen if he rejects me?

Will things around us be awkward? Will our friendship still be strong?

The tug of uncertainty surrounds me. The what ifs as others say. The ride is nothing on me now. What I'm more focused on is I'm holding his hand.

I looked at Mark who is clearly enjoying the ride, the wind blows his hair, smiling, and screaming in joy and excitement.

At that very moment, I saw his smile. I've made my decision. I like the boy who is beside me, my friend, my buddy.

--- flashback end ---

Y/n POV

"Like damn. The moment you knew you liked him is when you two are on the rollercoaster together?!" I exclaimed as Haerin just blushed at her seat while tapping her drink.

"Wah~ this is sweeter and cliché than I expected," I giggled as Haerin eyed me and gave me a playful smack to my arm.

"Hehehe, look at you~ but damn. Why not confess now then?" I asked.

"Pabo. You know him too and you know! Sometimes he will be giving signs and sometimes not!" Haerin stated to me.

"And your point here is?~" I asked, waiting for her response.

"I can't understand him..." Haerin said which quite surprised me.

"Oh... Well, that's something not extraordinary considering him but yeah. To make this all have sense, you're thinking if he is giving you or others a signal to love him or not, making you stay in a line where you are confused about your next move?" I summarized and Haerin just nods.

"To make it short, yeah. That's where I am right now," Haerin deadpanned as I giggle at the girl.

__________________

Haerin POV

Opening my eyes and seeing the dark surrounding my room, I sat up and rubbed my eyes, letting my yawns be free. After seating for a couple of minutes, I went out of my room, and then, my cat Taro went to me.

I picked up Taro and the cat just purrs in my arms. Stroking the cat's fur, I just let the peaceful silence takes place until my alarm rang.

Taro jumps out of my arms and curled herself on my bed.

Letting my cat be, I went out of my room, takes out some bread, and made myself a drink which is mocha, my favorite.

After my little breakfast, I readied myself for school. I replenished Taro's food supply for her automatic food dispenser before going to the cat, rubbing her soft fur, and saying my goodbye.

I then left my apartment then went to the bus stop. Seeing my bus is already loading up passengers, I ran fastly just in time to enter the bus and find a good seat for my mini journey.

10ish minutes passed and I arrived at my stop. The bus stops and I went out of the bus to take a short walk to my school.

Seeing the blooming flowers, pairing that with the cool gentle breeze of nature along with the bright sun, it's close to my definition of perfection.

Entering the school campus, the natural chattering of everyone is heard, some students running, and some just munching their food. A typical day in my school.

I then walked straight to my classroom and there I see some of my classmates and him, Mark, seated beside my seat.

Happiness starting to run through me, I let myself calm and walked to my seat. Mark then noticed me as he smiled and waved at me.

I reciprocated his actions and sat on my seat, from there, we talked and soon after, our teacher entered our classroom and started our lecture.

____________________

After our classes, my groupmates are now in the house of one of our members as we agreed to work on our shared project.

Our project is like mini-engineering stuff for us to understand the fundamentals of engineering itself.

"So we put this wire here to connect it from the sensor?" My classmate Minji asked.

"Wait, that wire is for the sensor to the power source," Hanni butted in.

"Wait wait, this wire is too thin to be placed on the power supply," Mark said.

"Then, let's agree on it, let's use this wire for our sensors?" Haechan asked us all.

We all nod at Haechan and he connected the wires to it's place.

After about a couple of hours of making our project, we decided to call it a day. We all thanked each other and went on our separate ways, while I on the other hand, Mark was with me as our home is in the same direction.

Mark and I walk under the moon and stars from above with peacefulness surrounding us.

I looked at Mark and asked myself. Should I confess?

Confessing to someone you like may be quite stressful for some, but regret is more of a loss than acceptance.

I decided to gather up my courage and face this thought of mine.

"Mark," I called him.

"Ne?~ What is it Haerin-ah?" Mark stopped walking as he looked at me.

"I like you Mark... I-I admire you for what you do and just how you act. I've been keeping this for a long time so yeah hehe~ I hope you take my confession," I said full of hope.

I then looked back at Mark as he looks at me. These are the time when silence is like deafening. Mark gave me a small smile as I await his answer.

"Haerin-ah," Mark said.

"N-ne?" I answered.

"Haerin- ah you're a nice and beautiful girl, but... I am dating Danielle now. I'm sorry if I will reject you but, I hope we can stay as friends?"

"O-oh, is that so? Hehe, I- at least I released this feeling building inside me hehe. I- I thank you for being honest," I said, preventing the tears fall out of my eyes.

Mark smiled apologetically and we continued our way to go home until Mark and I part ways. We said our goodbyes until I am left alone.

Not even hesitating, I decided to take a detour. Instead of going to my apartment, I decided to go to Y/n's apartment.

Walking at a faster pace, I reached Y/n's doorstep in no time. I knocked at his door and Y/n immediately opened it for me.

I immediately hugged Y/n and cried as my emotions begins to grow. The sadness, disappointment, and even some shame come up to me.

"Woah, Haerin-ah, what happened to you?" I heard Y/n say as he hugged me back.

___________________

Y/n POV

I was cooking my dinner until Haerin knocked on my door and cried on my shoulders. After calming the girl down, Haerin told me that she confessed to Mark but got rejected by him because he have a girlfriend already.

I calmed down the girl who is clinging to me as she sniffles and wipes the last tears that went out of her eyes.

I patted her head and hummed music just to calm her down quickly. Haerin was looking at the show, sometimes giggling when the show throws jokes and funny scenes.

But while Haerin is watching the show, I was watching her.

Her beauty, her smile, her wit, and her cute habit of staring at people cutely, even sometimes mimicking thing that she saw. The way I unexpectedly fell for her charms.

Funny that the very same scenario is happening to me. Haerin fell for a friend, I fell for her.

I've been with her too, we bonded and shared laughs as well but, I think she has no interest in me...

Looking at the show, I just smiled at myself and accepted my role in her life. A reliable friend that she can lean on and a crying shoulder where she can find comfort.

"Y/n," Haerin called me.

"Yeah?" I answered.

"I wish the person we love can love us back..." Haerin softly muttered as she snuggles at my hug.

I smiled hugged her a little tighter and lean my head on hers.

"Ditto,"

______________________________

#haerinfluff #bxg #kpopfluff #malereader #asks #newjeans #Haerin

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abbyromanoff · 2 years

Note

Can I request GP Photographer Wanda x Model Reader

The Phone Call

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x reader, Tony and Pepper x reader (Parents/child)

Word Count: 1976

Warnings: Smut, Wanda has a dick, pervert Wanda, phone sex, mommy kink, bottom!Wanda, guiding, handjobs, jerking off to photos, praise, degrading, punishments, edging,

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

Wanda had a love for taking photos, especially when you’d be the model. She loved seeing you pose with a silly face, and she loved making you dress up in cute little outfits. Whether it was a dress or skimpy lingerie, she adored staring at the pictures she had taken of you. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but admire the polaroids when you were gone. And sometimes, she couldn’t help but bring a hand into her pants.

You had left only three days ago on a small road trip to visit your family. Wanda had wanted to go, but her classes and schedule restricted her from doing so. Your family loved her and wanted to see her, but they understood the stress of college.

Wanda had a small box under her bed filled with small polaroids painted with your body. She ran the pad of her thumb over your gorgeous face, smiling to herself when glancing at your beauty. The next photo she grabbed was one of you in only her sweatshirt. It was large, restricting her from seeing the cute pink panties you wore that day. You were smiling whilst holding the ends of the fabric, it was one of her favorite photos of you. The innocence laced in you could only make her imagine the things she’d do to you. Your thighs were exposed, begging to be planted with marks and love bites. Oh, how she wanted to fuck your thighs more than anything.

The next polaroid she lurked upon was one of you wearing a pair of red panties and stockings. Your arm was covering your bra-less breasts as you sucked on a lollipop. You stood on your tiptoes and looked up at nothing, a sweet smile being hidden beneath the sugary treat. Images of you teasing her cock with your mouth filled her mind. The way you licked over the tip so gently as to barely graze it made her go feral. And when you’d take her down to the base, crying and gagging as your hand would massage her balls with the sweetest care, it ruined her.

She couldn’t stop. No matter how hard she tried to stop herself from going through the box, she just couldn’t help it.

You were finishing up dinner with your family, eating the remains of the dessert your mother had baked, and creating a small talk between you and your parents.

“So, Y/N, how’s Wanda?”

“I swear you guys love her more than me at this point.” The two chuckled humorously as you smiled gently, staring down at your food to avoid them seeing your reddened cheeks. It was crazy how she could make you blush from miles and miles away.

“She’s great, yeah. She actually is waiting on her results for her final before the break.” You filled your mouth up with the moist cake that earlier was coated in a ‘Happy Birthday Pepper’ and waited for their response.

“You guys planning on doing anything over break?” Your father asked, your mother nodding along with his words.

“Well, we both want to take time for ourselves but at the same time, we want to explore. If we were to travel, we were thinking Puerto Rico would be nice. It would be great for some pictures and definitely a nice place to visit.” You all continued on for another half an hour before you separated ways and started to walk into your childhood bedroom. The two of them were in their room doing god knows what when you got a call. You looked at the name and saw that it was Wanda. Excitedly picking up the phone, your smile soon got replaced with a look of confusion as you heard small groans on the other side.

“Wanda? Are you okay?” Hearing your voice only made her harder. Her hand was wrapped around her length, slowly stroking the shaft and lightly grazing her thumb over the pre-cum leaking tip.

“Fuck! Y-Y/N, please, it feels so good.” Whimpers left her cracked-open mouth as she expressed her needs to you, only leaving a smirk on your face.

“Wanda, are you touching yourself?” She nodded, only to then remember that you couldn’t see her. But you needed to, you needed to see the way her cock twitched in her hands from the thought of you.

“Wanda, why don’t you facetime me, let mommy help you out.” In a quick few seconds, the camera was being turned on as you got the notification that she was trying to video call. You accepted, being greeted with darkness until you saw her breathtaking face make its way onto your phone.

“My angel is so beautiful, isn’t she? My pretty girl, tell mommy how pretty you are.” She tried to speak, but the moan that left her lips cut her off. She knew she should’ve slowed down her pace, making it easier for her to not cum right away. But it was impossible when picturing it was your hand instead of hers.

“Baby, what did I say? Do you think mommy will be so nice to you if you don’t listen?”

“I’m sorry! Please let me be your good girl tonight, just wanna please you.” She whimpered out in fear and frustration. She tried to listen, she really did. But sometimes, all she wanted to do was be a little brat. She only thought at the moment, not caring about the punishment that she could receive later on.

“I’m your pretty girl, I’m mommy’s pretty girl!” You smiled at her through the camera, now being dressed in nothing but your panties. You rid her of seeing your bare chest, her favorite part of your entire body. She would worship your breasts all night long if she could. She had hundreds of pictures of your chest alone, she went through them all nearly every day.

“Yeah? You’re my girl? My princess?” She groaned in annoyance, watching as her pre-cum continued to drool down her awaiting cock. She wasn’t going to last long, her best bet was just to give in.

“All yours, mommy! I’m your girl, your princess. I’m yours to touch, to own, to fuck, all yours!” She swapped the camera around, letting you watch as her palm pumped her throbbing cock. Her thighs occasionally twitched upwards, her toned abs becoming visible as her chest went up and down due to her rapid breathing. Your breath hitched when hearing footsteps from outside of your old bedroom.

“Sweetheart, you’re going to have to be quiet, okay?” She agreed in hopes you’d show her some gratitude for listening, even if deep down she knew you wouldn’t.

“But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? What if they came in here and saw what you were doing for me? I don’t think they’d like you very much if they knew you’re slutting yourself out for their child in the room next to them.”

“God, keep talking to me like that, I’m gonna cum.” She set her phone down, holding the small piece of paper that was marked with your naked body close to her pulsing cock. In the photo, your mouth was split open, your eyes closed as drops of her juices painted your face. She remembers exactly how that night went. You were tired, sleeping as you waited for her to get home from work. She came home needy and woke you up, crying as you jerked her off slowly, not letting her finish until you said. You edged her over and over, only letting her cum when she was shaking and twitching. That night, you cockwarmed her as you slept. She tried to sleep just like you, but it was impossible with the way you clenched around her so tightly. You woke up to her release dripping out of you and a sleeping Wanda that you soon woke up to head.

“Darling? You still there?” Wanda hadn’t even realized that she was stuck in her head and missed what you said. You were sat with the phone in your hand, the other in your underwear, and toying with your clit. You weren’t going to let her cum until you did, it was one of your rules that she despised and loved at the same time. She loved making you finish more than anything, but she hated waiting when she was so close to tipping over the edge. You knew how desperate she always was, and you loved that dearly. And what you loved most of all, was knowing that it was all because of you.

“Y-yeah, I was just thinking.”

“About what, baby?” She contemplated telling you, worried you’d think she was a pervert for looking at your photos. Even though you knew all about them. But you wouldn’t tell her that, you liked knowing how gross she was for you. That she’d get hard just from looking at your photos.

“C’mon, Wanda, tell mommy what you’re thinking about.” You egged her on. She could feel herself falling into that headspace, the one only you could cause. Her mind would go fuzzy, any thought leaving her mind as all she could focus on was you and your angelic voice. You loved when she got like that, when she was so needy that she couldn’t even think without your help.

“Of you, I was thinking of you, mommy.” You hummed, clearly not satisfied with her answer.

“Yeah? What about me?” When she didn’t give an answer, you forced it out of her, threatening her with a punishment if she didn’t speak.

“No! No! Please, I’ll tell you.”

“Go on then, tell mommy what nasty thoughts are going through your pretty little head.” She took in a deep breath, preparing herself to hear the degrading words that would leave your mouth.

“I was thinking about- ah! Mommy, please!” She was so close, basically on the verge of cumming as you only mocked her desperate antics.

“Baby, you know I won’t let you cum if you don’t tell me all those sweet little thoughts.”

“Fuck! I was thinking about you, and about you sucking me off. The way you wrap your mouth around me and go all the way down. The way you gag and cry. The way you moan around me. The way you look at me and talk to me. God, it’s so hot, I can’t stop picturing it.” You circled your clit faster as you listened to her speak, making a mental note to exaggerate those actions the next time you’d be with her.

“You get mommy so wet, baby. Do you like knowing that? You like knowing that mommy is dripping just for you.” She whined out pathetically.

“Hmm, what a shame you aren’t here, I would’ve had you licking me up in no time.” She begged and begged for the next few minutes, hoping you’d finally let her cum. And you were getting so close to breaking.

“Shit! My God- please! Please, mommy, I’ll do anything. You can punish me, I don’t care, just please let me cum. Just this one time?”

“Do it, Wanda, cum for me.” The second you let out those words, she let herself go, spurts of her release coating her hand and lower stomach. She moaned louder than ever before, the picture that was still in her hand being covered in her juices. You let yourself finish with her, covering your mouth to hide any noises to make sure your parents wouldn’t hear. It was late, you didn’t want to wake them up to hearing your moans for someone who they thought was so sweet and innocent.

“Holy shit. The second I come home, I want you on your knees, naked, and waiting for me on the bed.” And with that, you hung up, leaving her with a slightly hardened cock and the perfect image of what was to come.

Taglist: @boredandneedfanfics @obsessedwithhereyes

#wanda x fem!reader #wanda imagine #wanda maximoff angst #wanda fanfic #wanda x y/n #mommy wanda #wanda my beloved #wanda maximilf #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda smut #wanda marvel #wanda x reader smut #wanda x you #wanda x gn!reader #wanda x gender neutral reader

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youcouldmakealife · 14 days

Text

SOTM: Finn, James(/Holden); private number

For the prompt: Please, we need Finn’s POV of James and Holden!

This is 99% a loving but honest treatise about Finn's Bestest Friend, because Finn Schneider, everybody.

James has always been someone who keeps things close to the vest. Some of their teammates have referred to James as secretive, and every time Finn’s overheard them he’s corrected them.

Private, he says. James is private.

But honestly, Finn doesn’t actually disagree with them.

James is private, Finn means that, but it isn’t just privacy. Privacy is a preference. Secrecy is something else. Finn doesn’t know how to explain the difference, but he thinks most people would agree there is one, and most people who’ve met James would agree that James is the latter.

Finn is private. James is something else entirely.

Finn had known James for almost a year before he learned he had a brother. Even though James had met all his siblings by that point, Finn had only heard about Chelsea, and he probably only knew about her because, besides his parents, she was the only person who ever called James. Or, Finn supposes, not necessarily the only ones who called, but they were the only ones whose calls James actually picked up.

It took Finn five years, give or take, before he knew, really knew, that James was gay, and even then, it wasn’t because James told him. And maybe he isn’t gay, maybe he’d prefer Finn use another word entirely, but it’s not like Finn can ask him, considering if James does know Finn’s aware, he’s doing a very good job of pretending not to. Or maybe he’s just trying not to think about it. He does that sometimes.

Five years. Finn’s not saying that he didn’t suspect before that, but —

He doesn’t like that word, ‘suspect’. It makes it sound like James has done something unethical, illegal. Or alternately, that Finn spends all his time gathering intel about people, putting together data like pieces of a puzzle — adding up a glance, an awkward pause, a smirk, forming a clear picture out of signals that most people don’t even know they’ve been making.

Maybe the second one’s a little too close to the truth for his liking. It’s not that he does it on purpose, exactly — he doesn’t want to be nosy, or overstep, and he thinks he mostly manages to avoid that.

But he can’t keep his brain from cataloguing all those pieces of information, can’t keep it from noticing which ones might fit together, even if he never confronts someone with the information, never mentions it to anyone else, never lets it change the way he treats them.

Giving someone clues, often unknowingly, isn’t the same as telling them something, and in his experience, people don’t appreciate you knowing things they haven’t told you. They certainly don’t like knowing you can predict their behaviour — people really hate thinking they're predictable — so Finn’s learned to keep his mouth shut, let them think that they aren’t.

But he still knows all those things about them. He can't help that.

Five years, it took. At least four of them as James’ best friend. Because that's what he is, he knows that even though James doesn't say it. He’s the only person James can still tolerate by the end of a long road trip, the first person James would call if he needed a hand, an ear, a guide. On most things, at least, and he’s thankful James can go to his sister or his mom for all the stuff Finn's just as hopeless with. The first person James would call in an emergency — after 911, obviously, if it was that kind.

It’s not like that doesn’t go both ways — he’s Finn’s best friend too. Finn probably wouldn’t call him in an emergency, but that’s because James usually has his phone on silent, and he probably wouldn’t pick up. Also, Finn loves him, but with the exception of a couple very specific scenarios Finn can see James being extremely helpful for, most of them hockey related, his particular skillset doesn’t exactly match the ones needed during most emergencies.

Finn had a flat last month. Not a real emergency, honestly, but close enough for the purposes of illustration. The first call he made was to AAA, and the second one was to Georgie, who lived nearby, and came to pick him up so he didn’t have to catch a ride with the tow truck.

If Georgie hadn’t answered Finn probably would have called Logan, though he’s almost as bad at picking up as James is, then maybe Greg, who also lived around there, or his right-side neighbours, who are the genuinely neighbourly kind, and wouldn’t be going out of their way on the ride back home, at least.

He texted James while he waited for G, though. James replied three hours later with You have AAA right?

Finn doesn’t mean to make James sound like a bad friend, because he isn’t one. He’s kind, and hard-working, and brilliant about the game. He has high standards, but he holds himself to even higher ones. He can miss the obvious sometimes, but he's uncannily observant about other things — he probably knows more about Finn's preferences than he does, and notices before anyone, even the coaching staff, what isn't working with a drill.

He makes Finn laugh too — sometimes it's unintentional, but it usually isn't. James is funny, though Finn knows nobody believes him, because James doesn't tell jokes, he mumbles them, and he only does it with a few select people, Finn luckily among them. And the comments he mutters to Finn under his breath are usually snarky enough to make Finn struggle to keep a straight face, things that Finn would never say, or even mutter, but does sometimes find himself thinking.

And he’s — he’s comfortable. Or more, Finn’s comfortable around him, the way he hasn’t felt with anyone but family before, not even G.

Around James, everything is just a little bit easier. It’s easier to step up, easier to speak out, easier to know what to do, to trust the decisions he makes.

It probably helps that James always looks like Finn’s saved his ass by ordering his drink while he’s in the bathroom, grabbing him OJ across the street because the hotel ran out and James isn’t nearly awake enough yet to go himself, checking in after James notices a call-up has been putting it back after games. Like Finn’s some kind of really boring superhero. Super Schneids, saving the day one glass of orange juice and possible intervention at a time.

Finn didn’t tell James, because it wouldn’t have helped anything, but he wasn’t any more enthusiastic about Holden joining the team than James was. It’s taken years for their team to grow up, grow closer, for the room to gel. It's their team — all of theirs, of course, but it’s James' and Finn’s and G’s. Like some sort of Charlie’s Angels, where G’s got the good looks and charm, James is the strategic genius, and Finn’s — well, Finn knows how to talk to people.

Adding anyone to the room can change the dynamic, no matter who they are, and Holden Chase wasn’t just anyone. He had a history with half the roster, some of it pretty ugly, and James didn’t hide the fact he detested him. Detested him a way Finn hadn’t seen him act with any other opponent before, though James has nursed more than a few quiet vendettas, ones Finn’s probably the only one aware of, because, well, James is private. But everybody on the roster knew how he felt about Holden Chase well before he got here.

It makes Finn wonder if this was something — inevitable, maybe. That line about a thin line between love and hate. James doesn’t pay much attention to anyone unless they impress him, but he paid a lot of attention to Holden, even as he claimed he wasn’t impressed at all.

Inevitable, though Finn doesn’t know what started it, can’t quite peg the moment, though he bets it wasn't when James was clenching his jaw the second Chaser walked in the room, certainly after he lost his composure in practice for only the second time Finn’s ever seen, and more...spectacularly than anyone would have expected, Finn included, and Finn’s pretty sure he knows James better than anyone.

But still not well enough, apparently. Not well enough to know what changed, or more, how it did — when it was, who made the first move — though he assumes it had to have been Holden. He knows James at least that well.

But he doesn't know exactly what it is, or more, how James would describe it. Beyond ‘someone special’, at least, though those are the words from Finn’s mom, not him, he just acknowledged there was someone. The first time he said it, Finn assumes to anyone.

A confession he followed up with an uncomfortable, roundabout series of questions that Finn was pretty sure boiled down to ‘do you know it’s Chase? Please don’t actually confirm that, I’ve already dealt with enough tonight’, judging by his visible relief when the subject was dropped. Right before he lit up at the suggestion of going to meet up with the team, even though a year ago he would have made a face at Finn for the question, like ‘obviously not, who do you think I am?’.

But then, a year ago, Finn wouldn’t have asked him that question, because he does know James. Not perfectly, or even as well as he wants to, because James shrinks back from interest like a turtle hiding in its shell, but as well as James allows.

And, as well as he knows James, he still finds it all a little — inexplicable, maybe. Or not, maybe it isn’t, but nobody’s explaining it, certainly not to him. But Finn keeps his mouth shut, keeps his eyes forward, the first rules of the locker room, probably even more important than ‘don’t suck’. If James wants to explain it, Finn’s happy to listen, but in the meantime, he picks up the pieces, fits them together the best he can, and hopes like hell this all won’t blow up.

#fic snippet #finn schneider #james erickson #holden chase #SOTM

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mynameismckenziemae · 8 months

Text

In Case You Didn’t Know

Part 2

(previous part here, next part here)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OFC

Summary: Jake struggles to ask for your help.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI (no smut in this chapter but there will be in future ones), mentions of teen pregnancy, adult language, etc.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

“Charlie, we need to talk. I need you…r help.”

“Name it,” you reply.

You meant it too. You could never repay him or his family for everything they did for you and your mom.

Starting with your mom. You had been conceived on prom night, shortly after Lisa turned 18. Your sperm donor was the town’s golden boy who denied you were his and took off for college without looking back. Her parents wanted her to ‘get rid of it’ and kicked her out when she refused.

With $700 in cash, a suitcase, and her car, she drove west with California on her mind. Life had other plans though; her car broke down in the middle of Texas. The heat mixed with lack of water and abundance of stress brought her to tears, but then Ruth pulled up with a matching pregnant belly of her own.

Ruth and Tom helped Lisa find a job, a place of her own, and made her a part of their family by the time you came along. They helped raise you too.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he sighs, rubbing his temples.

“You had to eject and then were in the hospital, right? What did the doctors say?” You prompt, sensing there’s more but allowing him to leave out what he isn’t ready to share.

“Yeah. They wanted to send me for rehab at Naval Hospital Camp Pendleton and I just…panicked and said I’d go home, not remembering that Ma and Dad are gone for another 2 weeks. I was fine with asking if you’d help me out with the physical therapy but this-“

“Will you stay with me and let me help you? There, I asked so you don’t have to,” you smile.

“That’d be great,” he laughs, squeezing your knee.

“Did you call your parents? Do they know?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’ll know they’ll turn right around if I did and you know how special this is for them.”

You nod. They were on a road trip, spreading some of Lisa’s ashes in the favorite places she and Ruth traveled to.

“Your mom is gonna tan your hide…and probably mine when she finds out you,” you sigh. “Did the doctor send your records? Orders? A plan of care?

“Yeah, in my bag,” he winces as he tries to sit up.

“I’ll get ‘em. What hurts? Leg? Shoulders?”

“Everything,” he sighs.

“Why don’t I get you in the tub and you can soak while I look at your records?”

“That sounds good.”

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

After feeding him and another round of NSAIDs, you hand him the crutches.

“The crutches are set too low,” you observe out loud.

“That doesn’t surprise me. I pretty much took them and ran.”

You shake your head.

“You’re a terrible patient,” you say as you guide him to sit at the edge of the tub.

“I know.”

“You better not pull that shit with me,” you tease as you kneel and begin to wrap the cast with plastic wrap.

“I won’t, I’ll be good for you.”

You gulp, hoping he doesn’t notice the flush rising to your cheeks.

“How’d you manage to get all the way here on a bum leg?”

“Rooster. He picked me up from the hospital, helped me pack, and then brought me to the airport. He sweet-talked TSA and they let him bring me all the way to the gate,” he laughs. “It got a little tricky when I landed but an older guy saw me struggling and brought my suitcase to the Uber. The driver took it out of the trunk when he dropped me off and was going to bring it to your porch but I insisted I was good. As you could see, I was not good.”

“No, you were not,” you agree, rising to help him stand and step into the tub. “Okay, now shirt off.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies, pulling off his shirt and tossing it past you.

You can’t help but gasp at the deep bruising on each shoulder. “Oh, Jake.”

“It’s okay. So how…?” He trails off wondering how much of him you’re going to have to see.

“I’ll help you down if you can slip your shorts and underwear off like that?”

“Yeah, that should work.”

It’s a process but you do it and close the curtain to give him privacy and he drops his shorts out of the side.

“All set,” he says.

“Not a fan of underwear?” You tease.

“One less layer to try and pull on,” he replies.

You toss a washcloth over so he can cover up while you place a bath stool in next.

“It’s gonna be cold,” you warn once his leg is propped, turning the water on.

He hisses when the water touches him, but it warms quickly.

“A bath bomb? Really?” He asks as you drop one in.

“Yes, an Epsom salt bath bomb. Should help with the soreness.”

“Mmkay. Smells nice,” he sighs.

You leave to find the paperwork and turn the water off when you come back, sitting on the closed toilet lid.

“It looks like they want daily PT, a follow-up with orthopedics this week and…for you to see a counselor,” you say, reading the notes.

“Yeah, they think I have PTSD,” he says quietly behind the curtain.

“Okay well I can see if my counselor can take you on, she does virtual care. I will obviously take care of the PT, and I’ll ask Dr. Hayes if he’ll fit you in,” you say.

“I’m sure he’ll fit me in if you fit him in,” he mutters.

He almost sounds jealous.

“I’ve never ‘fit him in’. It was one date. He’s a great guy, it just…wasn’t right.”

He wasn’t right because he wasn’t Jake. Just like every other failed relationship.

“You see a counselor?” Jake asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah, I started after mom died, it’s helped a lot.”

“Good, yeah that’d be cool if she could see me. God this feels amazing. I don’t know the last time I took a bath.”

“Enjoy it. The hard work starts tomorrow.”

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

You throw a load of laundry in and start on supper while he relaxes.

“Charlie? Can you help?” He calls from the bathroom, frustration lacing his tone.

“What’s up?” You ask from the doorway.

“Every time I raise my arms to wash my hair I start sliding down,” he sighs.

“Hand me the shampoo.”

The groan he lets out when you massage it into his scalp is downright sinful and sends a shot of arousal straight between your legs.

“That good, huh?” You laugh, hoping he doesn’t notice the flush rising up your neck.

“Mmm,” he hums in agreement, and your eye catches the washcloth over his groin twitching.

“Sit up a little and I’ll get your back,” you tell him as you soap up your hands.

He obliges and his head drops forward with a heavy exhale as you wash his back.

“Feels good too,” he murmurs, sucking in a breath tensing when you get to his lower back, almost to the top of his butt.

“Sorry, does that hurt?”

“No, I’m uh…ticklish.”

“Your back is ticklish?”

“No, but my ass is,” he mutters, pink staining his cheeks.

“Interesting,” you laugh, scoffing when he gently splashes you. “I assume you can get the rest? Wouldn’t want to tickle you.”

He snatches the washcloth from your outstretched hand. “Yes. I got it.”

You laugh, closing the curtain to let him finish washing before handing him the detachable showerhead to rinse.

You manage to get him out of the shower with only one accidental view of his butt and no falls, but you’re just as wet as him now.

His eyes darken when he looks over your chest at the wet t-shirt clinging to your bra-less breasts.

“I’m uh…gonna go change. I’ll grab your clothes. Be right back!” You rush out as you close the door.

Your heart races as you pick some clothes out of his suitcase.

What is happening?

His phone is vibrating nonstop, so you bring it too.

“I’m decent,” he says when you knock.

“Here, I brought your phone too. It was buzzing like crazy.”

“Thanks, I’ll be out in a few.”

“Holler if you need me,” you say as you walk to your room, fanning yourself the whole way.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

Jake ignores his erection as he unlocks his phone, realizing he forgot to let Bradshaw know he made it safely.

🐓: You make it okay?

🐓: Have you fallen and can’t get up?

🐓: ?

🐓: I’m about to text Charlie. Maybe I’ll ask her out too.

🐓: Dude. I’m actually starting to worry.

3 missed calls from 🐓.

Jake: Sorry man, I forgot. I’m exhausted.

Jake: Also, fuck off. Leave Charlie alone.

🐓: Glad you’re okay.

🐓: You finally gonna tell her how you feel?

Jake: I can’t. I can’t lose her if she doesn’t feel the same.

🐓: Pretty sure she does. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.

Jake: I don’t know…I just don’t know. Where would I even start?

🐓: Tell her how you called her name when you were about to die. Chicks dig sappy shit like that.

Jake: 🤦🏼‍♂️ and you wonder why you’re single.

•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•

A/N: Got a little bit of their families histories and why they’re so close. The tension is starting to rise ☺️

Let me know whatcha think!

Tagging:

@mamachasesmayhem

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd5

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

@atarmychick007

@vixenobrian

@86laura11

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@dempy

@angelbabyyy99

@buckysteveloki-me

@djs8891

@mizzzpink

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun smut #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x ofc #jake hangman seresin x ofc #jake seresin fanfiction

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tanoraqui · 8 months

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Having just read/reread 2/3 of the serieses, the most interesting side character in the assorted Percy Jackson books is definitely Chiron. Explicitly or very clearly implicitly canonical facts about PJO!Chiron:

Obviously, Chiron is the metaphorical heart of Camp Half Blood, and the one actually in charge of it regardless of whoever the gods appoint as Camp Director. He’s the best parent a lot of these kids ever have. If Chiron isn’t at Camp, something is wrong, either at Camp or something is so wrong elsewhere that he’s off dealing with it. If Chiron goes down in a fight, it is quite literally time to Panic.

He was blessed/cursed by the gods with immortal life “so long as there are heroes to train.”

Because demigod lives are the way they are, this has trapped him in an endless grieving cycle of training young people just enough to survive for a little longer before they’re killed. Enough to die heroically at age 15 rather than desperately at age 12, like.

His unhappiness with this mostly comes out in vague allusions to the fact that you will probably die on this quest, which he refuses to elaborate on, instead forcing a smile back into his face and handing you a first aid kit for the road.

Because of this? he never goes to Olympus unless explicitly summoned. This isn’t something that’s been barred to him, it’s a matter of principle.

Because of all this? the gods immediately scapegoat him for tree!Thalia’s poisoning, despite the fact that literally half of them are also Kronos’s children.

Despite all this, there is absolutely no indication that any villain ever attempts to suborn Chiron by offering him, and/or the youths under his care, a better deal. Presumably because they know he’d tell them (politely) to fuck right off.

Grieve though he does, care deeply for every child who comes under his care though he does, he is never (outright) cynical nor does he hesitate to embrace the mythological genre and role he’s in. He trains, guides, and guards where he can…and he encourages them to be heroes, risky though that is. The second it might be safe, he helps Rachel attempt to become the new Oracle, even though the last person to try went mad. He takes a dozen kids who came to Camp Half-Blood for the first time 2 weeks ago into potentially deadly battle to save NYC, as a “field trip.”

Chiron is as good at archery as Apollo at his best (Apollo admits this, privately). I don’t think we ever see him shoot an arrow that’s not a successful kill shot.

In about 36 hours, Chiron can raise a small army of wild centaurs from any or all herds throughout North America. There is no indication that centaurs will regularly listen to anyone else.

He’s an honorary member of the ruling council of satyrs.

Chiron periodically coordinates with hero-trainers from other mythologies to avert truly world-shattering disasters. He does not seem to regard this as the gods’ business.

He likes Dean Martin.

Truly the epitome of that one good teacher who genuinely understands and supports you as best they can while dealing with an unhelpful and often unfriendly school administration, whom you eventually realize is somehow even cooler in their non-school life!

#pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #chiron #pjo chiron #chiron pjo

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vanillashusband · 2 years

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For those who have missed important milestones in their lives for one reason or another, who haven't gotten the chance to do things that are "universal" experiences to others, you're f/os would want you to experience these things and help you catch up on the things you never got to do! It's even better because they get to be right by your side for all of it!

Never went to prom/Nobody took you to prom or a high school dance? That's unacceptable! Your f/o is planning a whole party just so they can ask you to it! Even doing an over the top promposal.

Never took a road trip with friends? Grab your other f/os and let's go! You'll sing along to music, make jokes, play car games, stop at convenience stores for snack runs, and stop at tourist traps and goof off together until you reach your destination. If you have one in mind at all or just want to drive and have an adventure with your f/os.

Never gone to an ice cream shop on hot summer day? You're f/o is taking you out and you get to try all the flavours you want! Never had a sleepover? Your platonic f/os are so excited to spend the whole time hanging with you in their pjs and watching movies and having fun! You never had a parent teach you how to drive? Your parental f/o will gently guide you and teach you everything they now (even if you already know how to drive).

And there are plenty more. It can be deeply frustrating or depressing feeling that you haven't experienced certain things that everyone else has and feel like you've been left behind. Your f/o would never make fun of you for not having these experiences or memories, no matter how trivial or mundane. If it's something you've always yearned for, they will help you achieve it.

[pr*ship dni]

#Self ship #self shipping #self shipping community #self insert #self insert community #f/o imagines #imagines #imagine your f/o #romantic f/o #platonic f/o #familial f/o #f/o #f/o community #f/o comfort #self ship imagines #🧍‍♂️ me making this post this might be. uh. slightly personal hjkghfdkjg #god i hope other people relate to this hjkghjfdg #bug dad txt

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candycandy00 · 11 months

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The Scarecrow Walks at Night - A Shigaraki x Reader Halloween Fanfic

You spend Halloween night alone at your grandparents’ farm, but there’s something strange about the scarecrow you’ve always felt a connection to.

Part of the League of Villains Halloween Horror Anthology! Featuring Shigaraki as a scarecrow!

Smut. 18+. Horror (the creepy kind not the gory kind). Mild blood. Fem Reader.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

On your way back from a concert you just attended several states away, you decide to stop and spend the night at your grandparents’ farm. You thought it would be fun to drive to the concert instead of flying, make a solo road trip of it and stop here and there along the way, seeing the sights.

Turns out there aren’t that many sights to see in rural farm country. So you decided to just drive straight home after the concert, but you’ve been getting drowsy and decide you need to stop somewhere today and rest. That’s when you remember the farm your grandparents live on, just a thirty minute drive out of your way, sitting at just about the halfway point between the concert venue and home. It’s the perfect place to rest, and you just know your grandparents will be thrilled to see you.

As a child, you visited the farm often, spending many summers there. But when you were around nine years old, your parents stopped taking you to the farm. Something about your grandparents buying an RV and looking for any excuse to travel, so they came to visit you and your parents instead of the other way around. You missed playing on the farm, feeding the animals, running through the massive cornfield. But over the years your memories of the farm faded, until your time there was more like half forgotten dreams.

Still, you had GPS, and when the signal cut out on your phone due to the unreliable rural cell service, you had your hazy memories to guide you to the farm.

It was hard to miss actually, being large and having a beautiful big white farm house, a bright red barn, and various other structures like tool sheds, storage buildings, and things of that nature. All things you suddenly remember playing around or in as you pull into the driveway.

You immediately notice that there are no vehicles in sight. You know they still own an SUV and an old pickup truck aside from the RV, but none of them are parked nearby. You tried to call them a couple of times before you lost service, but couldn’t get through to them. They were old fashioned though, and disliked cell phones. If they were not home, chances are you’d never get ahold of them.

After getting out of your car, you walk to the front door and knock. No answer comes. The whole house is silent. In the distance you hear chickens clucking, but no other noise. With a disappointed sigh, you walk over to a free standing garage your grandpa had built way before you were born. There’s a crack between the heavy wooden doors big enough for you to peek inside. You can see the SUV and the pickup, but no RV. They must be out traveling somewhere.

You’re about to give up and go find a motel in town when an idea strikes you. When you were a child, you remember your grandparents leaving a house key under some stones in the front yard. You jog over and search, easily finding a shiny metal key. It was amazing how many memories were coming back to you now that you were here.

You step back onto the front porch and use the key on the door. You know your sweet, easy going grandparents wouldn’t mind you staying at their house even if they aren’t home.

As you open the door, you notice a homemade wreath decorated in orange and black colors, a plastic pumpkin glued to it. You’d almost forgotten that today is Halloween!

After carrying in your overnight bag and looking around the house a bit, you walk back outside. There’s something you need to see before it gets dark out.

You walk through the cornfield, the path feeling familiar to you, almost like second nature. Yes, you remember now. How could you have ever forgotten? You walked this same path so many times as a child, walking it now is like muscle memory.

Finally, toward the end of the cornfield, close to the edge of the property, you find it.

“I’m back, Tomura,” you say, looking up. “Did you miss me?”

High above you, affixed to a wooden stake, is a scarecrow. He’s dressed in faded denim pants and a red and black flannel shirt that is in surprisingly good shape. On his head sits an old hat, long scraggly corn silks hanging out from under it serving as his hair. Two red-colored stones function as his eyes. As always, he seems to be looking right at you.

While there are many scarecrows on the property, this one is special to you. Even as a child, you were drawn to it. You came out here to play every day, and you pretended he was your “boyfriend”. Which meant you had tea parties with him and imagined him dancing with you at Cinderella-style balls. Most of all, you just talked to him. You told him everything, every mundane detail of your day, every secret, every fear. And somehow, it felt like he was listening.

Some local kids who came over to play with you occasionally told you his name was Tomura, and you never forgot it. You almost forgot the scarecrow himself, but not that name. It was burned into your mind.

They told you other things about him too. Things that made you cry. What was it again? Something about Tomura once being a real young man. Ah, the memories were coming back more clearly now.

It was the kind of silly story kids make up to scare each other. They told you that long ago, way before your grandparents owned the farm, Tomura lived there with his family. When he became an adult, he wanted to leave the farm and move to the city. But his abusive father wouldn’t accept that, and as punishment, Tomura was tied to the stake like a living scarecrow and left in the cornfield. It was just supposed to be an unpleasant afternoon, but something went wrong, and Tomura died out there.

For some reason, his corpse was left tied to the stake, and exactly one year later, on Halloween night, Tomura came back to life and slaughtered his entire family in his madness.

But that’s not the part that bothered you. No, you were crying over the cruelty of his father, the sadness Tomura must have felt. As a child, you ran to the scarecrow and hugged his feet, sobbing out apologies for what had been done to him. Around that time your grandparents told you to stop playing with the scarecrow, apparently worried that you were growing too attached to the thing. Come to think of it, that was the last summer you spent with them.

There was another part to the story the kids told you, a part that did actually frighten you, but you can’t remember what it was. As you gaze up at the scarecrow, you wonder if that memory will return while you’re here.

When you were here last, you could barely reach his feet, but now you’re tall enough to reach his waist. You step closer to him, feeling oddly shy before giggling to yourself. He’s just a scarecrow. It was just a dumb story. You find yourself wrapping your arms around him, giving him the hug you couldn’t quite manage before.

Looking up into those red “eyes”, you smile at him. “I don’t know if you remember me,” you say, feeling a little foolish for talking to him but also feeling the need to say this, “but I came here a lot when I was little. I played here, talking to you and pretending we were friends. I know you couldn’t talk back, but I always felt like you heard me. Thanks for that. You made my childhood a little less lonely.”

You release his straw body and back away. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I came to see you. I’ll be here tonight and a little while tomorrow. I’ll come say goodbye before I leave.”

Blushing slightly at your own silliness, you walk back into the cornfield, toward the house. You feel a little better now that you’ve gotten that off your chest. You knew he couldn’t actually hear you. He was an inanimate object after all. But you said those words for yourself, not him.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket just a few feet into the corn. You check it to see that you have two bars of signal out here. You make sure there are no important messages or missed calls, no contact from your grandparents, before going back to the house.

The sun is setting as you step onto the porch, and you take a moment to appreciate the view of the lovely pink sky over the farm before going inside.

Over the next hour, you make yourself comfortable. You shower and change into comfy little knit shorts and tank top, what you use as pajamas, and help yourself to some snacks in the kitchen before curling up in front of their surprisingly impressive tv to watch a movie. Being Halloween night, most channels are having horror movie marathons, so you settle on part eight of a random horror franchise. It’s a movie you saw when you were a teenager, but you’ve forgotten most of the “plot” by now.

Only twenty minutes into the film, you hear a knocking at the front door. Your first thought is that it’s your grandparents, but then you quickly remind yourself that they wouldn’t knock on their own door. So who could it be? Trick or treaters? Possible, but this house is practically in the middle of nowhere. Maybe your grandparents are known for giving out great candy? If so, these kids are going to be disappointed.

You grab the Little Debbie cake and small bag of chips you’d laid out for yourself and head to the door. When you open it, no one is there. You sit the snacks on a nearby table and step out onto the porch.

“Hello?” you ask, rubbing your bare arms with your hands. You didn’t realize the nights were so chilly here in the fall. The porch light is glowing bright yellow above your head, and you get the distinct impression that someone is looking at you, watching you. It suddenly feels like you’re under a spotlight as you gaze out over the inky black darkness of the farm, only broken up by a couple of lights situated near the tool shed and the garage.

Mildly creeped out, you hurry back inside, making sure to lock the door.

You return to the movie, having apparently not missed much. As the minutes pass by, you begin to relax again, figuring you were probably just mistaken when you thought you heard the knocking. This is an old house that you’re not overly familiar with. Of course it’s going to make creepy sounds occasionally.

Just as your eyes begin to slide closed, drowsiness overtaking you, the knocking comes again. This time louder, more frantic. You practically jump off the couch in alarm. You stand there for a moment, listening, your heart beating wildly. This is not your imagination. This is definitely not just the sounds of an old house settling. This is literal banging! And it won’t stop.

You mind races. Could this be trick or treaters? Doubtful. The banging certainly doesn’t sound like it’s coming from children. A Halloween prank then? Perhaps some local teens spotted your car in the driveway and decided to have a little fun with you?

As the banging intensifies, you can’t help considering the darker possibilities. Maybe someone had planned to break into your grandparents’ house while they were away and now you’re just an unexpected obstacle they would have to deal with. Or maybe it’s a serial killer on the prowl? Or hell, maybe the house is fucking haunted.

You slowly step closer to the door, and when you’re just a few feet away, you scream out, “What do you want?”

The banging immediately stops. You stare at the door, disappointed that it’s an old wooden type that has no peephole or windows. You don’t hear a response. You don’t hear anything. No voices, no footsteps walking off the creaky wooden porch. So are they still there? Just waiting on the other side of the door?

“I have a gun!” you shout. “If you try to come inside, I’ll blow your fucking brains out! I don’t care who you are!”

You listen for any sort of reaction, but hear nothing. You creep closer to the door, trying to hear footsteps, hoping to hear them leaving. Just as you get close enough to press your ear to the door, something on the other side bangs against it loudly, making the wood tremble on the hinges. You scream and leap back.

That’s it. You’re not putting up with this any longer! You run over to the landline phone in the kitchen and pick it up to call the police, but to your horror, there’s no dial tone. You check two more phones in the house, but get the same results. Did the person outside cut the phone line? Or had your grandparents been off traveling for so long that they didn’t bother paying their phone bill? Either way, you’re fucked.

You check your cell phone just in case, hoping for a miracle, but there’s no service.

Suddenly you remember something, more of that story the kids told you all those years ago. Something happens every year on Halloween night, that’s what they said. But what was it? You try to force yourself to remember the rest, but you just can’t. Anyway, it was just a dumb kids’ story. You have more important things to deal with, like the banging on the front door that just won’t stop.

All you want to do is run to your car and drive away from here, but you’re too scared to go outside. Also, you’re parked close to the front porch, which is exactly where the threat is.

“Go away!” you scream through the door. “I called the police! They’ll be here any minute!”

The banging suddenly stops again. Did your bluff work? You creep closer to the door again, cautiously. Then you hear it, the sound of footsteps! The porch floorboards creak and groan as someone makes their way across it, slowly and steadily. Then it sounds like they’re going down the steps.

You run to the living room and try to peep out the window without being seen, but you only catch a quick glimpse of a shadow going around the corner of the house, toward the back.

Is the back door locked? You never checked it after you got here, but surely your grandparents left it locked. Then again, this was exactly the sort of place where people would feel safe leaving their doors unlocked.

You make a mad dash for the back door, running through the living room, kitchen, and laundry room to find the brown wooden door.

It’s unlocked!

Just as you reach for it, there’s a sudden banging on the wood, making you jump back in terror. You’re too late! You back away from the door, waiting for it to open and reveal some dangerous figure ready to kill you.

But it doesn’t open. The knob never even turns. Are they not even going to check to see if it’s locked? The banging stops then, and is replaced by another sound. Scraping. Like metal on wood. Like a blade scratching the door.

What the hell is going on?! If they’re not coming in, are they actually just trying to terrify you? Is it a Halloween prank after all? Or is it a killer who just wants to toy with you for a while first? The fact that they’re still here after your bluffs about the gun and the police suggests they aren’t just pranksters.

But… something else occurs to you. If they’re back here, then they’re not on the front porch. Which means you could possibly make it to your car! There’s a risk involved. If there’s more than one person out there, one of them could be waiting to ambush you. Or the person could run around to the front before you make it to your car. But the risk of staying put is even greater. Whoever is out there could come in at any moment. Even if the back door was locked, there were several windows that could easily be broken and climbed through.

With no time to give it any more thought, you make a split decision. You dash through the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the wooden knife block on the counter as you go, then to the living room where you grab your keys and your phone. You cram the phone into your bra, having no pockets in the tiny, thin pajama shorts you’re wearing, then you unlock the front door and fling it open.

Thankfully, there’s no one on the other side, and no one on the porch when you step outside. With the coast clear, you run straight for your car and throw yourself into the driver’s seat. You stick the keys in the ignition, still clutching the knife in one trembling hand. You turn the key, and you hear the engine begin to start, and then… nothing. It dies. You turn the key again, but the car still won’t start. You try several more times, growing more panicked and frantic with each attempt. Screaming in frustration and slapping the steering wheel, you accidentally cut your own hand with the knife.

“Shit!” You wipe the blood off on your white tank top and jump out of the car, popping the hood at the same time. You know nothing about cars, but you feel like you should check anyway. When you look under the hood, you feel your stomach drop to your feet.

The engine is completely demolished. It looks like someone took a large blunt object and just… wrecked it. Destroyed it. You close the hood and look toward the house. Do you have time to make it back inside and lock the front door? What if the person outside the back door finally tried to open it and is now hiding in the house?

While you’re still debating with yourself on what to do, you see movement coming from the side of the house. Someone is coming! You want to see who it is, but you don’t want to be discovered out here. You had the good sense to shut the front door, so it might take them a while to realize you’re no longer in there.

You dart into the cornfield, using it as cover. You try to look through the stalks, but you can’t see the person clearly. You can only make out what looks like a red shirt, and some sort of long, shiny weapon.

Suddenly you remember that your phone got a couple bars of service earlier today when you were close to the end of the field, near Tomura. Deciding this is your best shot at getting help, you run through the corn as fast as you can.

It takes several minutes for you to reach the end of the field, and you’ve already got your phone out, checking for bars, staring at the brightly lit screen in the darkness. When you reach Tomura, you’re focused on your phone, but there’s still no service. When you finally glance up, you realize something is wrong. You step back and tilt your phone up, using its light to see.

The stake is empty. Tomura, the scarecrow, is gone.

The confusion is so strong that it briefly overrides your fear. Did someone steal him? For what purpose?

And then, like puzzle pieces fitting together, you remember the rest of the story those kids told you so long ago.

“Every year, on Halloween night, Tomura comes back to life. He climbs down from his stake and stalks the farm, killing everyone he finds!”

You stare at the empty stake, trying to convince yourself that it was just a story, that someone is pulling a very elaborate prank on you. But somehow, in that moment, you know the truth. You sense it. Tomura had been outside those doors. Tomura had destroyed your car. And Tomura was going to kill you.

The vibration of your phone startles you, causing you to yelp in fear. You look at the screen one bar! Praying it’s enough, you quickly begin dialing 911, but the bar disappears before you can finish.

“No!” you hiss at your phone, trying to walk around to different spots to get more service.

You’re so focused on the phone again that you bump into something in the darkness. You freeze, swallowing and slowly turning the phone’s screen around to illuminate what your body is currently pressed against.

A red and black flannel shirt. You scream and jump back, realizing that Tomura is right in front of you, narrowly avoiding the blade of an enormous reef hook that he’s swinging at you. In the chaos and the dark, you don’t see his face clearly, but you know it’s him. He swings the reef hook again, then a third time, each time barely missing you as you shriek and dodge.

“Please stop, Tomura!” you cry, still holding the knife in your hand but unable to get close enough to use it.

He freezes mid swing, the weapon held high above his head. The shiny metal blade seems to quiver for a moment as you scramble to back away, but then he swings it down. You try to jerk out of the way, but it swipes your shoulder, severing the strap of your tank top and leaving a thin, bloody slice in your skin. You cry out in pain and clutch the wound. It’s not very deep, but it hurts, and blood is leaking out around your fingers.

Again, Tomura seems to freeze in place. This time you manage to run back into the cornfield, turning off your phone so the light doesn’t give you away. You run and run, not even sure which direction you’re going in. Are you going back to the house? Or somewhere else? Where even is the nearest neighbor?

When you finally break free of the corn, you find yourself in front of the old barn. It hadn’t been used in years even when you used to visit as a child, so you’d often played in it. You remember being scolded for climbing into the hayloft. With precious few options, you decide to try hiding inside it.

The barn smells a bit musty, but not too bad otherwise. Your grandparents were sticklers for maintenance, even on old buildings they no longer used. You find a corner, behind some hay stacks, and hide there, trying to be as silent as possible.

If the story those kids told you is true, and it’s certainly looking that way at this point, then Tomura only has Halloween night to roam about. So when morning comes, he’ll have to return to the stake. You look at your phone. It’s not quite ten yet! You don’t know if you’ll be able to evade Tomura until sunrise.

Sitting here hiding, you finally have a moment to think about what’s happening. Tomura is alive. He’s a scarecrow, but he’s alive! But his body didn’t feel like straw when you bumped into him in the cornfield just now. It felt more solid than that. Almost like a real human body.

Regardless, he is trying to kill you, and that thought pains you even more than it scares you. Why is he doing this? You’ve always felt a connection to him, an affection for him. Did he hate you all along? Or does he simply kill whoever he sees on Halloween night, no matter who they are? Maybe he doesn’t even recognize you. Maybe he doesn’t even have an actual consciousness, but is just a killing machine. Every possibility seems sadder than the last.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the door to the barn swing open. You clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle your breathing, and try to sink closer to the ground, to blend in with the darkness and the hay.

You hear footsteps walking through the barn, stacks of hay being tossed aside. He’s searching for you! This is a bad idea. You need to get out of the barn, try to get to another house, maybe even flag someone down on the road. Before he gets any closer, you jump out of your hiding spot and run toward the back door of the barn. He sees you, of course, and you hear the footsteps running behind you. But you’re close to the door. You can make it! You can disappear into the cornfield again and-

It’s locked. Just as you reach the back door of the barn, you realize it’s locked up with a chain and padlock. You let out a frustrated whine and turn around just as the reef hook swings toward you. Ducking to avoid it, you run to the side, where you find a ladder to the hayloft. You know climbing up there is a terrible idea, that you’ll just be trapped up there, but at the moment, it’s the only path open to you. Maybe you’ll get lucky and be able to push him off the edge.

So you climb, and you feel a strangely warm hand grab at your bare thigh. That’s definitely not straw! You jerk away, shaking off his grip as you climb further up, finally reaching the hayloft and then backing away from the ladder, watching him climb up after you, his weapon’s handle stuck in the waistband of his jeans.

Once he’s up here with you, he walks slowly toward you, and when he steps into a beam of moonlight shining in through a small window in the barn, you finally see his face.

Oh. He’s not a scarecrow at all. Not anymore. Standing before you is a totally alive human man. Young, early twenties you’d guess, with long silver hair that looks almost blue in the moonlight. He’s pale, with a few small but noticeable scars on his face, and striking red eyes that are staring at you as he gets closer.

He’s beautiful. He’s everything you imagined all those years ago, when you dreamed of him being a “real boy”.

You back away, almost in a daze, and end up tripping on some hay and falling to the floor. You manage to get to your knees, but by this point he’s reached you, looming over you with his weapon gripped in both hands. You’re a mess at this point. There’s blood all over your tank top, cuts on your hand and your shoulder that are still bleeding, one strap of your top sliced through and hanging low, almost exposing your breast, your shorts ripped.

You look up at him, knowing there’s no escape, deciding to at least die seeing your precious Tomura alive and real. He lifts the reef hook over his head, still staring down at you, and all you can say is one word.

“Tomura…”

He falters. The reef hook trembles in his grip. “Why are you here?!” he screams, his voice strained, his face twisting in pain. “Why would you come here, tonight of all nights?! Any other day… any other night… and I would have been so happy to see you…”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, totally confused.

He growls in frustration, the weapon still shaking in his hands. You get to your feet. The knife from the kitchen is still in your hand. Right now, you could stab him. You’re close enough. But that’s not what you want to do. Instead, you do the one thing you’ve always wanted to do, since you were a little girl.

You hug him.

The weapon slips from his hands and lands with a dull thud on the hay strewn floor as you hear him make a faint gasping sound.

“Please talk to me, Tomura,” you say. “I can finally hear your voice. So please just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s Halloween night!” he yells, his arms dropping to his sides, not touching you. “Don’t you know? It’s the one night a year my body is restored! And I… I can’t control myself… all I can feel is rage and hate and… I just want to kill, to destroy… that’s the only way I can feel alive!”

He stops for a moment, and you can hear him breathing, feel his heart beating in his chest. He truly is alive!

“Every year, your grandparents leave the farm on Halloween,” he says, his voice a bit calmer now. “I haven’t killed anyone in years, and all this bloodlust I feel has been building and building… and then you show up. You! The one person I never wanted to hurt!”

You look up at him. “You recognize me?”

“Of course I do! For years you were the only person who talked to me! I knew you the moment you came to see me today in the field, even if you’re grown up now.”

His red eyes seem to sweep down over your figure, and you feel heat in your face. “Wait… does that mean you’re conscious when you’re a scarecrow?”

“Yeah. I’m aware of everything that goes on around me.”

Now you’re really embarrassed. All that time you were talking to him, he really was listening! But you can’t dwell on it for long. He pushes you away from him suddenly.

“You need to run. Get off the property. Or get inside the main house. I’m not allowed to go inside it.”

You shake your head. “No, Tomura, I don’t want to leave you out here. I dreamed of you being real, being alive, all my life. I want to stay with you!”

His beautiful face looks anguished. “I don’t know how long I can keep myself from attacking you! Every inch of my body is screaming to hurt you, to do anything to feel alive!”

You step closer to him again. You thought you felt something when you hugged him before, but you want to be sure. You press yourself against him, and sure enough, you can feel that he’s hard, his erection straining against his pants. You reach down one hand and lightly rub over it. His breath hitches as his eyes widen.

“Maybe there’s another way you can feel alive,” you tell him.

A faint blush spreads over his face. “Is that… something you want?”

You nod. “Do you want it too?”

Without a word, he suddenly kisses you, finally wrapping his arms around you for the first time as his lips press to yours. You breathe out a sigh against his mouth, content to be held by him.

Then his hands are moving over you, a bit clumsily, tugging at your tank top, trying to pull it up. You laugh as you pull back from him. “Have you ever done this before? I mean, before you…”

“Before I died?” he asks, looking a little shy. “Yeah, a few times. It’s been about a hundred years though.”

You slip your tank top off and unhook your bra, letting it fall to the floor while he stares with wide eyes. “It’s okay,” you say as you wrap your arms around his neck, “I’m sure it’ll all come back to you.”

He smiles then, his warm hands sliding down your bare back, stopping to squeeze your ass through your shorts. You kiss him again, this time more deeply, your tongue in his mouth, and then your hands fly to the buttons of his flannel shirt, undoing them as quickly as you can. When he lets you pull his shirt off his shoulders, your eyes rake over his toned body appreciatively. In life, he was a farm boy, and it shows.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them both down in one go. You step out of them, then unbutton his jeans. Before you can slide them down his hips, he’s pushing you gently down into the hay, on your back, and climbing on top of you.

You’d been chilly before, but now your whole body feels hot as his half-clothed body grinds against yours, his mouth warm on your neck. One of his hands is gripping your thigh, pulling it up beside him and making it easier for him to position himself between your legs.

His mouth moves down from your neck to your chest, his lips enclosing over one nipple, his tongue darting out to flick it. You moan, your hands in his soft hair. When he slides one hand down to stroke the wet, hot flesh between your thighs, your back arches automatically, your body smashing against his.

You can’t wait any longer. You shove his pants down to his knees, not entirely surprised that he’s not wearing underwear. He was a scarecrow until a few hours ago after all. Even though you know he’s a living breathing human right now, you’re still relieved to see that he has all his parts and they’re in working order.

He begins kissing you again, and when his hand brushes over your shoulder, it grazes your wound, making you wince. He draws back, looking at the cut. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding hurt, “I was so confused. I wanted to kill you, but at the same time I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. So I held back, and I hesitated.”

“I’m glad you did,” you say, raising up to kiss him again. “You could’ve taken my head off if you hadn’t held back.”

“I could never…” he murmurs, moving himself against you, rubbing his warm body across your form. You open your legs, giving him easy access, closing your eyes with a moan.

“Tomura… I want you inside me…”

His breathing gets faster, more ragged, as he gets into position, then he gently pushes inside you, slowly filling you up. His mouth finds yours as he slides all the way in, and then begins thrusting into you, carefully at first before picking up speed. When you respond with moans and cries of his name, your arms tight around his neck, he begins thrusting more deeply, more roughly, using your reactions to judge how you want him to move.

He fucks you so well, his body must have remembered exactly how it was done. He’s good, good enough to make you tremble in his arms, clutching him with all your strength as you cum on his cock.

You wrap your legs around him just to steady yourself as he fucks you through your orgasm, and he kisses you, groaning into your mouth as he cums deeply inside you.

The next few hours are precious to you, because you know he’ll go back to being a scarecrow when morning comes. You feel like Cinderella enjoying her last few minutes at the ball.

The two of you sit in the hayloft together, you snuggled up in his flannel shirt, and talk. He tells you about his life before, what really happened to him and his family. His father really had strung him up in the field as punishment, and Tomura really had returned to life one year later and killed his whole family. Aside from his older sister, who had married and moved away from the farm before his death. He seems happy that she was spared, and regretful about killing his mother and grandparents, even though the rage was at its strongest that year.

He doesn’t know why he comes back to life every year, what sort of magic or curse restores his body and drives him to kill. But the biggest surprise is that your grandparents know about him.

“They’re nice. I like them,” he says. “They’re a little scared of me, I think. They tend to stay away from me even when it’s not Halloween. But they put new clothes on me when mine get worn out and they even throw a tarp on me when it’s raining real hard.”

The fact that your grandparents take care of a cursed scarecrow makes you smile. But then a thought occurs to you. “Has anyone tried to destroy you?”

He laughs. It’s the first time you’ve heard it but you like the sound of it. “Some have tried over the years,” he says, “but even when someone burned me up in a fire, a few hours later I was back on my stake like nothing happened.”

Happy to know he’s indestructible, you lean your head on his shoulder as the last bit of time you have together slips by. When the sky begins to lighten outside, the two of you walk into the cornfield and to his stake, hand in hand. When you reach it, you pull off his shirt and help him put it back on before he climbs onto the stake and holds his arms up to the wooden frame.

For a moment, you just watch, but then you climb up onto the stake with him and give him one more kiss. “I’ll come back to see you, I promise,” you tell him.

“I’ll be waiting,” he says back, and then his head droops as rays of sunshine spread across the farm. In an instant, he’s no longer flesh and blood but made of straw. You hug his now thin body before climbing down from the stake.

****************

It’s Halloween night, one year later, when you park your new car close to your grandparents’ farm house. They’re gone, of course, and despite their misgivings about you being there on Halloween night, they ultimately agreed to let you stay there.

You’ve been back to the farm several times over this past year just to visit Tomura and talk to him. But today is special. In just a couple of hours, he would come to life and be able to speak to you, touch you, hold you.

You walk through the field until you reach Tomura. Knowing now that he can hear and see you, a smile spreads over your lips.

“I’m back, Tomura. I’m really excited about tonight. You are too, right?” you ask, standing at a perfect distance for him to see the cute outfit you wore just for him. You reach down and take hold of the hem of your flowy skirt, then slide the fabric up your thighs, revealing your black lace panties.

You know it must be your imagination, but you could swear his red stone “eyes” are shining. You laugh and drop your skirt back down. “Just a little preview of what’s waiting for you in the barn tonight,” you say, giving him a sensuous smile before walking back into the field. As you disappear into the corn, you call out, “Happy Halloween, Tomura!”

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki smut #shigaraki #lovhalloweenhorror #shigaraki x you

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