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shellshocklove · 3 months ago

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brat two: i might say something stupid | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel is continuing to have a brat summer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, use of pet names, smut, brat taming?, dom!joel, some daddy!joel, manhandling, some light bondage, a little exhibitionism? a little dacryphilia, praise, degradation (whore, slut), some sub space territory, edging, creampie, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: ok, so a part two to this!! i’m giving reader a backstory in this so if that’s not your cup of tea and prefer the reader to be a blank slate, then maybe this isn’t for you. as always i wanna give a little shout out to @dustydaddyyy for always helping me when i'm stuck! <3 i know it's demure fall soon, but there's still some brat summer left, so happy reading! 💚

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Joel.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

Joel Miller.

Miller. Miller. Miller.

The cicadas rattled in the breeze coming through the window of your childhood bedroom. It was hotter than Satan’s ass crack, and sleep couldn’t pull you under. The hem seam of your ratty sleep shirt was fraying, and you couldn’t keep yourself from picking at it – pulling at the threat.

Pull, pull, pull.

Joel Miller. That was his name on the mailbox, but he’d only told you Joel. Just Joel.

Yes, sir. Please, Daddy. Bye, Joel.

With a huff you sat up, your back resting against the headboard as your eyes rolled over the darkened room. The shadows shapeshifted before your eyes like ghosts, and you wondered if you deserved to be haunted.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours.

You could still feel the phantom stretch of his cock inside you, and your cheeks were sore from his spanking, but it was nothing compared to your thoughts plagued by him.

God, you felt crazy, like a little girl with a school crush on the teacher.

Except, you didn’t have crushes, didn’t like, or fall in love, with anyone. People had a crush on you, people fell in love with you, people liked you.

Biting down on the soft skin of the inside of your cheek, you ripped away the thin blanket covering your bottom half as your feet touched the cold hardwood floor.

The switch on your bedside lamp clicked as the warm glow seemed to scare the ghosts away. The ratty shirt fell over your knees as you walked across the room and flung open the door. A triangle of light cut the hardwood floor in two as you made your way down the hall and stairs. The slapping of bare feet against wood echoed against the tall ceiling, and eyes followed you from the faces on the wall.

Stepping into the kitchen, you were alone. Pierre had left right after dinner, and Eva had left early with her daughter. You didn’t like to keep them longer than needed, especially on weekends. Your father would pay them the same, anyway – and it was just you here.

You hated the other house. It was no place to live, it was a place of business, for politics. You hated this house too, but for other reasons – too many memories, plastered on smiles and lies. The dentist had told you to start wearing a night guard when they divorced, but you’d stopped wearing it when you went to college.

Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, you made your way over to the fridge. Your whole body felt heavy, your head rolling off your shoulder when something caught your eye in the backyard.

It was gone.

“Shit.”

An ice cube escaped the rim of your glass and split into a thousand pieces on the tiled floor. You pulled your glass from the dispenser in the fridge, and hunkered down, ice melting between your fingers.

With a sigh you watched the splintered ice vanish, dripping in an erratic rhythm that added to the small puddle on the floor. You didn’t want to feel like this. Why were you feeling like this?

You left the glass of ice on the counter– let the ice melt on the floor and escaped through the sliding doors into the backyard. The sky was bright with light pollution over the trees, and everywhere the buzzing of cicadas filled your ears. With a sigh, you fell into one of the chairs, the cushion stiff against your back as your eyes landed on the large oak. You trailed your eyes over the branches, the one’s you’d known every crook and cranny of when you were a child.

It was gone.

The small crooked, and probably dangerous, treehouse where you’d spent so many hours hiding away as a child. Not that they ever noticed, your parents, too busy yelling at each other to see where their daughter had vanished.

Of course it was gone.

Gone, like the happy little girl you’d used to be. And what had taken her place? A party girl? A mess of a woman hiding behind the disguise of a sharp tongue?

Jesus Christ, you needed to get your shit together. Distract yourself– pull yourself away from all the feelings you couldn’t control.

Shifting uncomfortably, you fished your phone from where it had drowned in the cushions. The bright blue light burned your eyes as you scrolled, pulling you from everything real to unreality. Plastered on smiles and perfect bodies, sunny beaches, and aesthetic photos. You handed out hearts like they cost nothing, and pretended you hadn’t seen your DMs.

Still, you couldn’t shake the thought of him. The way the weight of him had felt over you, how he’d spoken, voice rough and commanding, but still playful. It was like you were guided by a puppeteer when your thumb hovered over the google search.

Joel Miller.

You didn’t know what you’d expected – Joel Miller wasn’t a one in a million name, and now you were scrolling through every Joel Miller famous enough to throne at the top of a google search. But, you weren’t going to give up that easily. You moved on to Facebook. He was old, he’d have to have one.

Bingo.

There he was. A few years younger, his hair a little messy, smiling bright. His profile was private, and you sure as hell weren’t sending him a friend request, but something inside you screamed to know more about the man you’d let come inside you less than twenty-four hours ago.

You tried to click your way through his pictures, but there was nothing to see. Next, you tried the about page: Lives in Austin, Texas (this you obviously already knew)… born September 26th… Male… Single… You felt a smile tug at the corners of your mouth, as you continued to scroll... Works for Miller Contracting… And finally, his family: Tommy Miller.

His brother’s profile needed a lesson in internet safety. This man shared everything and all for strangers to see. You flicked through photos of neighborhood cookouts, date nights with his soon to be wife, the same graduation pictures of a girl you’d seen hanging on Joel’s wall.

‘Proudest uncle in the world! Congratulations, Sarah Miller! 😄❤️ The smartest and most talented Miller! 🙌’

Your finger hovered over his daughter’s name, curiosity gnawing at your insides. Shaking your head, you clicked away. You could own up to stalking his Facebook, and his brother had basically invited you to stalk, but his daughter? It felt like crossing a line you couldn’t come back from. Back on Tommy’s profile you noticed he also worked for Miller Contracting.

A family business.

Continuing your research, you clicked through to the business’ profile. The profile looked to be run by Tommy, with frequent updates on projects they’d worked on, from renovations to outdoor landscaping, to new condos, Miller Contracting had a broad resume, but the contact person was set to one Joel Miller.

A thought tickled at the back of your brain then, and your gaze flicked from your phone to the low-lit backyard. A smile you couldn’t fight back pulled at your lips.

The sun beat down on the men as they worked. A bright yellow dot in the clear blue sky. From your bedroom window you watched them, how they’d turned the previous green patch of grass into a deep moldy hole.

Convincing your father had been easy enough; he’d shrugged, and given his default answer to pretty much any request you had, which was a bored ‘Yes, sweetie.’ For years now, the rule of thumb with your dad had been: as long as you didn’t bother him and his busy schedule, he didn’t care what you did.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. As long as nothing you did reflected badly on him, and especially on the carefully curated image of ‘loving family man’ his constituents seemed to love so much, he didn’t care. The Governor of Texas couldn’t have his daughter’s bad decisions cost him votes, after all.

Your mother had always said it, always complained over her extra dry martinis, that your father only cared about one thing in his life, and it wasn’t his family. Your face soured as you thought about it.

Votes.

Your mother hadn’t been right about a lot of things in your life, but she had been right about this. Votes, and power. That’s all he’d ever cared about. It had been like that ever since you were a child, and over time, you’d learned to exploit that fact like you would a weakness, holding it as leverage over his head if he ever told you no, which he naturally never did. The agreement was silent, but clear as day; as long as you got your way, you would cater to his image, and behave.

And you did; showed up when needed with a smile that hurt your cheeks, kept up his image, and in turn you got your way.

The swimming pool was just another ask in a long line of wishes. He’d questioned you at first, ‘You want to build a pool in the middle of summer?’ The pool you didn’t care for, it was the men who’d build it. You’d given your father your look, the one where you tipped your head down slightly, bit your bottom lip and looked at him with doe-y eyes. He’d had a landscape architect draw up something for you by the end of the week, and by Monday he’d had the city approve the changes to the premises. He’d given you a rise of his eyebrow when you’d pitched the contractors you wanted for the job, but nevertheless, he’d put his assistant on the job right away.

They’d arrived bright and early this morning, their shouts over loud machines pulling you from your slumber. You’d pulled your pillow over your head, dying to catch some more Z’s, it was summer break after all, but the pull of seeing him again was too strong. The excitement bubbled in your chest, and a satisfied grin spread across your face when you’d realized your plan had worked.

Joel Miller was in your backyard, standing under the oak tree with his hands on his hip, as he carefully watched over his crew. His work clothes fit him just as well as the t-shirt and jeans he’d worn at the club, but he looked less polished– his hair messier with a carpenter’s pencil tucked behind his hair. Your eyes trailed over him from where you watched from the house, how he moved about the site, helped his men when needed, evaluating every step, studying the drawings carefully as he ordered his men around with the same authority you’d come to know him for after the night you’d spent together.

If all of this went well, you’d have him again.

“Looking good, guys! But it’s a bit loud,” you shouted over the excavator, one arm raised to shade your eyes from the sun from where you stood at the edge of the veranda.

You watched how the men milled about, squinting up from their work at you. Their gazes lingered over your body, they weren’t subtle about it, and the little outfit you’d thrown together seemed to do its job, a short summer skirt with a matching top– it was hot out in the Texan sun, and you wanted to make it hotter.

“We’ve been disturbin’ your beauty sleep, princess?” One of the men spoke up, and your eyes narrowed at his use of the pet name. His grin was too confident, hiding his laugh between his teeth. You set your eyes on him and gave him a pitying look.

“Yes, actually! It’s hard work looking this good, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” you snapped back. A sound of snickering laughs from the men at their coworker’s expense could be heard through the yard, and you felt a saccharine smile cover your face.

“So, who’s in charge of all this noise anyway?” you asked, voice bored, when the laughter had died.

“You gotta take that up with Miller,” another one of the men replied, your first victim quickly forced into silence.

“And who’s that?”

The man nodded his head in the direction of the man you’d weaved into your web. He didn’t look impressed where he stood under the shade of the oak tree watching you. He had his arms crossed over his broad chest, the fabric stretching around his biceps, as he shook his head at you as you walked closer.

“Mr. Miller.” You couldn’t help the pleased smile spreading across your face.

Clasping your hands loosely behind your back as you pushed your chest out innocently, you slowly stepped closer, his jaw clenching tighter with each of your careful steps through the grass.

“We’ll try ‘nd keep the noise down f’ya until nine am, Miss, but after that we’ll need to use our bigger tools if ya want this done before the summer ends.” He kept his voice steady and professional, his southern drawl like soft silk in your ears. His eyes never left your face once, even with the deep neckline of your top.

Standing a little too close to him, to be considered appropriate for someone who you’d just met, your teeth caught on your bottom lip coquettishly. “Oh, I want you to use your big tool that’s for sure.” It sounded ridiculous, and you had to bite down harder to keep from bursting out laughing.

Joel didn’t seem to think it was funny. Something flickered in his gaze, before it hardened, eyes boring into yours as he asked you through his teeth, “Whatchu think your doin’, huh?”

You shrugged playfully with an exaggerated sigh, “I don’t know, Mr. Miller, isn’t it obvious?”

“Oh, ‘s obvious alright.” He shook his head in disbelief, and looked away for a beat, before his eyes found yours again.

“It’s so hot out this summer,” you continued your jest with a hooked finger along the hem of your shirt, tugging at it, “I just wanted something to cool down.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “‘m sure you did.”

Continuing your game, you widened your eyes in an attempt at feigning innocence, “But I don’t mind breaking a sweat if need be.”

“’nd how do you like to break a sweat, princess?” he asked, putting pressure on the nick name his men had given you.

“Oh, I think you already know that, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes hardened as the flirty words fell from your lips. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other he raised a finger at you. “Listen’ up, brat,” he told you in a lowered voice, “Ain’t nothin’ more happenin’ between us, you understand? It’s inappropriate– you’re my employer and I don’t do that shit.”

It was almost too easy. Biting back a smile, your thoughts wandered back to the last time you’d had him like this; riled up, and willing to put you in your place. A slick wetness coated the gusset of your panties, already, at the thought.

“I understand, Daddy.”

With a sigh Joel turned away from you with a shake of his head, muttering under his breath, “You’re ridiculous.”

You were, he was right. But it was so fun.

A smirk tugged at your lips when he turned back to look at you. He wanted to say something, you could see it in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting on his hip, but he changed his mind as he shook his head again.

Victory had never tasted so sweet.

All week you’d played a game of cat and mouse with Joel. One day you’d ignored him completely as you flirted with the crew, exaggerating your laugh at jokes that weren’t even close to being funny, and touching too many sweaty biceps to count. Then the next you never left him alone, buzzing like a mosquito in his ear asking all kinds of silly questions, slipping in an innuendo or two, and teasing him for a reaction other than an annoyed grunt.

He’d have to break at some point. You could see it in his eyes. He might play the annoyance up, but there was a softness to the way he looked at you. It was there– you weren’t making that up!

The sound of the juicer buzzed in your ear as you chewed on your lip. Your hand rested lazily on the kitchen counter as you stole glances out the window as you waited. Pierre was quiet as he worked, only throwing a curious glance your way every once in a while, as he mixed together the jug of lemonade you’d requested.

The day had scorched since early morning, and you’d had no choice but to throw on your skimpiest bikini. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth at the thought – well, there was more appropriate outfits for this heat, but you didn’t want that.

What you wanted, was to get your brains fucked out.

You’d played all your cards right, but nothing had seemed to make Joel simmer over with a need to put you in your place again. In the need for a new plan, you hoped showing off your body to all his men while serving them a nice cold glass of lemonade would do the trick, hoping he’d get jealous. The pool had already started to take shape, and your time was starting to run out.

“Here you go, ma belle,” Pierre slid a newly filled jug of ice-cold lemonade down towards you over the marble, “let me know if you need anything else, yes?”

Nodding your head in gratitude, you lifted the jug onto the tray you’d prepared, “Merci, Pierre.”

Slipping carefully through the sliding doors you made your way across the veranda to place the tray on the outdoor dining table. The tray was heavy, and you moved fast to make sure you didn’t spill the lemonade all over yourself.

“HEY BOYS!” you shouted over the sound of the heavy machinery, waving a lazy hand at them, beckoning them closer like a siren. “I hope you’re thirsty,” you laughed.

A low whistle could be heard as they came closer. Eyes lingering on your skin, trailing over your body as they gathered around the table, helping themselves to the citrus-y delight.

“If this ain’t the sweetest thing I think a client has ever done for us,” Tommy smiled as he helped himself to a glass, “You mind if I take a picture of this setup? To post on our Facebook page.”

You shook your head, “Take as many pictures as you like,” you told him, but your eyes wandered.

Joel had hung back, walking slower behind the rest of his crew, and was finally walking up the couple steps to the veranda. His work boots echoed over the planks as he walked closer. He didn’t seem happy as he locked eyes with you, his eyes quickly rolling over your almost naked body.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, you poured him a glass; the ice cubes splashing as you poured, cold drops splashing and coating the skin of your exposed chest. Joel pretended he didn’t notice, but you saw the way he looked at you. You’d seen that look so many times, eyes hungry and desperate for something they knew they couldn’t have, shouldn’t have. The only difference this time was that you’d let Joel do whatever he wanted to you.

“Here, Mr. Miller–”

Your voice was cut off by the sound of a phone ringing at the loudest volume. The suddenness of the sound made you jump, spilling the glass of Joel’s lemonade all down your hand and chest.

“Yellow,” you heard Tommy shout into his phone.

“Oh, oops,” you said, your voice laced in an innocent laugh. Drops of sticky lemonade ran down your body, darkening the fabric of your bikini, and making your skin shine with wetness under the Austin sun.

Looking up from your body at Joel, your teeth caught on your bottom lip at the way his jaw clenched, his eyes running down your body like they were drops of lemonade. You laughed again, sugary sweet as you made a show of placing the glass on the table, spreading your arms like you didn’t know what to do.

“Y’need to be more careful, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled as he fumbled for some napkins from your tray.

You shook your head at him when he handed them to you, instead you ran a finger up your chest, catching the drops and sucking the cool drink from your fingers, slowly, licking up every drop. It was bold, and you couldn’t contain your giggle when Joel’s eyes widened at you. It was quick, the wave of shock at how blatantly you’d flirt with him like this, before it crashed into the shore with a stern look. The other men had to be looking too, you could feel the way their eyes burned your skin, but you only cared about one man’s warm eyes on your body.

“That was so clumsy of me,” you giggled, the laugh forced and too sweet, but it didn’t matter, Joel didn’t buy it either way.

“’m sorry ‘bout that,” Tommy’s voice boomed, as he hung up the phone, “It was the missus– or soon to be missus.”

“Oh, you’re getting married?” you queried, the lemonade soaking you forgotten now that the moment had been ruined. Beside you, Joel picked up the glass you’d tried to hand him, drying the sides with the superfluous napkins.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tommy beamed, “tyin’ the knot this Saturday in fact.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you smiled, an idea popping up in the back of your head, “Congratulations!”

“Thank you, thank you,” he beamed, taking a big gulp of the lemonade.

“So…” You stepped closer to Tommy, leaning your hand against the table. Joel’s eyes followed you, you could feel it, so you sneakily popped your hips out, giving him a nice view of your ass. “What’s the plan? Big church wedding?”

Tommy laughed, “Don’t know ‘bout big– we’re doin’ one of those barn weddings, you know? Out on a ranch and everythin’, they got it all on those big ranches nowadays.”

“Really?” you smiled, “Which ranch?”

“Oh, it ain’t far! Only ‘bout a fifteen-twenty minutes’ drive from downtown. Pecan Grove Ranch it’s called. They even got these nice cabins on site, for accommodation– which is nice for close family and those who’ve traveled far. You know, Maria’s family ain’t from Texas, so we got lots of folks flyin’ in.”

“Is that her name? Maria?” you asked. The way Tommy’s face lit up when you mentioned her name made your heart squeeze.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “love of my life she is!”

“I need to talk to you.” Joel cut your conversation off while his hand snaked its way around your upper arm, tugging you lightly towards him. When you turned your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised, his face shifted into a deep frown. “’s ‘bout the tiles,” he grumbled.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Finally.

You excused yourself to Tommy, and let Joel drag you with him. Throwing your head back you watched how the rest of the crew enjoyed their small break in the shade sipping on Pierre’s lemonade.

Joel crossed the yard in big steps, making a beeline for the shed tucked away in the back corner of the yard. He pulled at the door harshly, like it couldn’t happen fast enough, and pushed you inside. The door to the shed slammed shut behind him and covered you both in a cool darkness. Your eyes relaxed as you adjusted from the bright daylight to the dim lighting – the only light coming through a small window almost completely overgrown with climbing vines. Joel’s grip around your arm loosened as he pushed you deeper inside.

Taking small steps, you looked around, eyes scanning over the room as a thought of how you couldn’t remember the last time you’d stepped a foot inside the shed crossed your mind. It was hidden away in the corner of the garden, overgrown in a tasteful way, like how you’d see in garden magazines. These days the only person who used it was the gardener, if the miscellaneous tools and garden machines were to be believed.

“Put your hands on the table,” Joel ordered, his voice a low hum.

Outside you could still hear the shouts of his men, laughter, as they lounged about on their break. Every one of his men had seen you step into the shed together, and the thought sent an electric bubbling feeling straight to your cunt.

“Y'got cotton in those ears, girl? Put your hands on the table.”

A shiver traveled through your body, and you had to bite down on your lip to hold back your smile. Finally, finally, finally. With your back turned to him, you shook your head slowly, daring him to put you in your place again.

And Joel took the bait.

His rough hand slid over your waist as he stepped closer. He let it glide across your exposed skin, the dried lemonade sticky as he teased you. His rough hand slid upwards, hooking a finger under your bikini strap, slowly, pulling at it before he unhooked it, letting it fall to the concrete floor.

“Aren’t you gonna behave, princess?” he spat out the new nickname. “Didn’t I teach ya last time what happens when you ain’t a good girl f’me?” The low bass of his voice ghosted over your ear and had your blood buzzing under your skin.

His rough hands continued to explore you, gentle touches over your skin, getting you worked up, but never where you wanted his hands the most. When he pressed himself against you, letting you feel the hard shape of him through his work pants, you let your head fall against his shoulder with a content sigh.

“No, Daddy,” you shook your head.

Joel couldn’t hold back his groan at that word. The gentle hands who’d explored your body, tightened across your chest, pressing you tight into his chest as he bucked his hips harshly into your ass.

“I think I did,” he spoke into your ear, “broke that pretty brain on my cock, didn’t I, and now that greedy cunt wants more, ain’t that right? Can’t get enough of this big cock?”

A breathy gasp escaped you when he bucked his hips against you again, and you shook your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

The speed at which he moved almost gave you a whiplash. He pushed you against the table along the wall, your hands coming down to brace yourself as he pressed your chest down and put your ass, covered only by your skimpy bikini bottoms, on display for him.

“Such a slut for cock she can’t be a big girl and ask for it– no, princess, you’re so desperate for it, you make me come all the way to your rich daddy’s house, bring my crew and everythin’ just so I’ll fuck you again.”

Joel laughed and you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together. “That’s ‘nother level of desperate, ain’t it?”

You felt a heat spread across your face at his degradation, but it just turned you on more, and Joel knew it. He trailed a finger down between your cheeks, pressing down to feel how you’d soiled your bikini bottoms in your arousal.

“But that’s just what you are, aren’t you? A desperate whore dyin’ to get fucked?”

The hand between your legs vanished, and you braced yourself for a spanking, holding your breath as the excitement grew, but the slap of his rough hand never came. Instead, he unhooked a rope off the peg board in front of you.

You resisted a little when he grabbed your hands, slipping your hands from his grip playfully, your face turned to watch how his face grew sterner. The tired, disappointed sigh it earned you made you smile.

Gripping both your hands tightly, he crossed one wrist over the other before he tied them together at the small of your back, and you let it happen. Under your skin, the anticipation buzzed. With nothing to help you brace yourself, the hard surface of the table pressed harshly against your naked skin.

“Hey,” Joel’s voice was suddenly gentle as he cupped your face and turned you to face him, “you remember our rules?”

A small ache stung in your heart. Our.

You nodded, “I say ‘red’ or pinch you if I want you to stop.”

A pleased grin spread across his face as he tapped at your cheek gently, “That’s a good girl, baby.”

His hand slid down your body, from your face down your neck, from your neck over your shoulder, and then from your shoulder down your naked back. “How’s this?” he asked, hooking a finger under the rope, “Not too tight?”

You shook your head, or tried to, with the way your cheek was mushed against the table.

“Words, princess, need to hear ya say it f’me.”

The softness in his voice when the pet name left his lips, made a fluttering feeling bubble in your core, and it was hard to fight the grin from pulling at your lips.

“Am I your princess now?” you asked with fluttering eyelashes, “I thought I was your desperate slut?”

Behind you, you could hear Joel let out a deep sigh. A finger traced small circles over your ass, making goosebumps blossom over your skin, before it hooked into the band of your bikini bottoms, tugging them slowly down and exposing your wet cunt to him.

“You know,” Joel sighed again, pausing to let the sound of his fly being undone fill the space between you. You almost moaned at the sound, pushing your ass out, desperate for any kind of friction. “I was plannin’ on bein’ nice t’you, but now…”

The blunt head of him pressed against you, running it up and down your cunt, coating it in your slick arousal, and you almost held your breath. The anticipation like a fist around your chest. Your heart drummed in your chest, almost drowning out the wet slick sound between your legs.

“I don’t want you to be nice,” you almost whispered, your fist tightening around each other at the small of your back.

“I know, princess…” he whispered back, and pushed at your opening, “I know.”

He was too big, the girth of him splitting you in two on his cock. It burned deliciously, and you savored every inch he gave you until he was fully seated inside you. Only then were you able to whimper out a moan, your breath finally released.

His hands gripped your wrists like a handlebar, something to hold on to, something to guide you back and forth on his cock. He pushed himself even deeper, releasing a deep groan in your ear as he leaned over you, the weight of him heavenly as he made room for himself inside you, his heavy balls pressed against you.

This was what you’d wanted. Just to feel him again like this.

“Shit…” you sighed, eyes almost rolling back into your head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispered in your ear, “get a cock in you, and you turn into a good girl f’me.”

You wanted to push back, to give him something to prove him wrong, but you had nothing.

“Please,” you whispered, your eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“Please what, princess?” You could hear the smile in Joel’s low rumbling voice.

“Fuck me, sir,” you pleaded, “Fuck me, Daddy, please.”

“Oh, now she’s askin’ nice.” Joel pulled back and thrusted back inside in one hard thrust, pushing your body against the table, a line surely indented in your skin by now.

A whimper fell from your lips.

Joel started fucking you slowly, but hard, the table rattling with each thrust, one hand wrapped around your wrists to keep his balance. Under him you couldn’t fight back your moans, small content squeaks escaping you when he pressed himself firmly against your ass, burying his cock deeply inside you with every thrust.

“That’s it, slut, that’s a good girl,” Joel praised over you, “takin’ that cock so well, princess.”

The world started blurring around the edges with each thrust, a soft, warm feeling wrapping itself around your heart as he thrusted inside you. You were dying to touch your clit. His cock reached so far, pressing perfectly against your g-spot with each push. You were so close. If you could just touch your clit.

“P-please,” you mumbled lowly, your face scrunched tight as you clenched around his cock.

Joel grunted behind you and stepped away. You could almost cry, and maybe you did because rough pads ran over your cheek as he shushed you.

“No-no-no, it’s okay baby,” he mumbled, “calm down.”

“Please,” you tried again. Please let me come.

“I need you to do somethin’ f’me,” he told you as he guided his cock back to your ruined entrance, slick with want.

“I’ll do anything you ask,” you hurried.

“Anythin’?” Joel rubbed his cock up and down your slit as a slick sound filled the air.

“Anything.”

Behind you, Joel laughed, and pushed inside you again, making a big smile spread across your face.

“Alright, princess,” he said with a hard thrust, “what you’re gonna do f’me is when you feel like you’re close, you’re gonna tell me, tell your Daddy, alright?”

You nodded into the wood, head almost delirious with want, “Okay.”

“You wanna feel my cum inside you, don’t cha, want me to fill y’up to the brim?” His voice was so soft, almost soothing, as he fucked you hard.

“Please, Daddy, want you to come inside me, please.”

A grumbling laugh escaped Joel as he continued his harsh thrust – your skin clap clap clapping together as he hauled you towards the edge of your orgasm. It built deep in your core, coiling in on itself as he brought you closer and closer and closer.

“Joel,” you gasped, “I’m gonna come.”

Quickly, and without warning, Joel pulled out, leaving you trembling, and on the edge.

“No, you ain’t,” he told you sternly, “you’re gonna hold it.”

A rough hand smoothed over your right ass cheek, small taps to your skin reprimanding you as he rubbed his cock over the other, soiling you in your own desperation.

You felt like you were heaving for breath underneath him, eyes squeezed tight as you tried to stave it off.

“That’s it,” he praised, “that’s a good girl. Hold that orgasm f’me.”

Focusing on the way his hand rubbed over your skin, you tried to calm down and steady your breathing. It could’ve taken a minute or an hour, you didn’t know, but the feeling of falling over the edge of bliss fizzled out slowly. Joel leaned over your body, whispering praises into your ear, telling you how good you were for him. When you’d calmed down completely, you lifted your head to look at him, to catch his eyes.

Blown out and big, the warmth of them looked back, a deepness to get lost in. A small smiled tugged at his lips before he leaned down and peppered a soft kiss to your shoulder. It lasted only a second, but it made fluttering wings expand in your tummy.

When he pushed inside you again, your tied hands reached for his. His thrust came quicker than before, sloppier, as he chased his own high, his hand interlaced with yours.

“God fuckin’ slut,” he rambled.

“Takin’ that cock so fuckin’ good.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ come– gonna fill that cunt up.”

With a hard slam of his hips against your ass, pushing himself as deep as he could, Joel came inside you with a deep grunt. “That’s it– take all that fuckin’ cum inside.” A warmth filled you from the inside as his cock twitch inside you, coating your walls in thick spurts of his cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, as he thrusted his cum back inside you, making sure he’d emptied himself completely before pulling out, sliding his softening cock from your denied cunt.

“Joel,” you whispered, but he didn’t hear you, too busy with tucking himself back into his work pants, and pulling up your bikini bottoms, soiling them in his cum starting to leak out of you.

“What about me?” you asked, confused, as he undid the rope around your wrists.

“What ‘bout you?” he repeated, helping you up and turning you to face him.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he took in your disappointed face, a large hand coming up to cup your chin. “What?” he teased, “don’t like your punishment?” He padded your cheek and pulled away, picking up your bikini top from the floor.

“’f you’re gonna act like a fuckin’ brat– havin’ your daddy hire me to have an excuse for seein’ me again, when you could’ve just called, then you’re gonna get treated like a brat, you understand? You gotta earn your orgasm, and you ain’t earned yourself nothin’ prancing around half naked in your garden while I’m trying to work, princess.”

With that, Joel threw you your bikini top, and you barely managed to catch it between your fingers before you watched him walk out the shed, leaving you half naked, as his cum leaked down the inside of your leg.

part three -> here!

hopefully this was okay? please let me know what you thought of the new part! a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou fanfic #pedro pascal

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k0yaz · 3 months ago

Note

(I don't do requests often, so I read your rules like three times out of nervousness 😭)

Could you write an Il Capitano x fem!reader where the reader is forced to walk home by her family after a ball. While walking back, Capitano picks her up and offers to take the reader to where she lives. Maybe toss in some soft/kind Capitano?

Thank you so much, I hope this is an ok request!

pitch black.

Pairings: capitano x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, assy family members, written before natlan, so capitano might be slightly ooc, can be read as platonic or romantic, yum frostbite yay, ngl id cry myself to sleep if I was in snezhnaya bc I can’t handle cold weather, probably an iron deficiency, lazy writing at the end again AUUUUGHHHH, freakytano my glorious king, not proofread.

A/N: HIHIHIHI ALSO IM SORRY IF I MISREAD THE FAMILY THING BUTTTT I ACTUALLY WROTE ON A WEEKDAY YAY also guys should I do like a special for 1k cause my followers are eating rn ok but seriously thank u so much for all the support love yall!! 🕯️

Cold swishes of air circled the pitch black sky faintly illuminated by a star or two, ruffling the silky fluff of a heavy coat adorning your figure. You firmly tightened your grasp around the lapels of the large coat, fabric wrinkling and dragged between the clutches of your paling knuckles tinted a soft pink from Snezhnaya’s biting cold.

Hollow crunches of your footsteps simply rang aloud in your years as your father’s words piled up in your mind. They were merely harmless, yet the intent behind your family’s dismissal stung like a sharpened blade spearing into your chest. But of course, it wasn’t anything new. A gust of wind howled into the canal of your ear sharply, ringing the ill memory of your family spitting the venom laced words of ordering you to trudge home in the nation’s burrowing winter. They didn’t even bother to provide a coat or furnish your body in any way, simply shooing you off as if they were desperate to make you keep your distance from them.

You had been awkwardly situated next to them, the chatter making you shift uncomfortably in an off putting stance, similar to that of an upright statue. Their exasperating laughs bellowed throughout the ballroom obnoxiously, catching an occasional glance of a person or two eyeing them. If hunching your shoulders in embarrassment wasn’t enough, their attitude was more than enough for you to have a strong urge to pray for the Tsaritsa’s wrath to be bestowed upon them.

People had noticed your huddled stance, tracing the rim of your glass in circular motions in hopes to distract yourself from the growing oddity of your placement in the ball. And without hesitation, they would of course begin to approach you. Possibly out of pity? Perhaps even the goodness of their heart wanting to accompany the girl who wasn’t very engaged in the celebration. Each person would approach you, friendly smiles stretching their face as they’d attempt to greet you—only for it to be cut short by your parents’ attention snapping to the guest stood before you, slicing the conversation short as they’d beckon the person to come speak with them instead.

Tremors of disdain pooled inside of you upon seeing your family members so obviously attempt to shove out any possible chance of a trail of hopeful socialization paved on your direction. Your isolation only grew more and more frustrating as indistinct chatter bounced off the walls of the ball, your eyes following the sound of the echo trailing from the marble structure to the intricate chandelier and candles flickering. At this moment, you purely felt alone. Isolated from everything as you mentally stood still in a pitch black void, with drowned out voices clouding the lonesome darkness.

“(Name). I think it’s about time you headed home.” Your father rasped out, not even making eye contact with you as his gaze was locked onto the champagne bottle and glass snug between his hands. “The ball is over anyway. We’re only staying for extra drinks. Your mother and I will be out meeting some other relatives at the nearby restaurant.”

“Father, it’s too cold for me to walk back home. You know how-“

“Oh, (Name). You’ll be fine. I raised you to be an independent woman. You’ll find the way home just fine.”

Pushing past your father, your mother pokes her shoulder out as well, casting you a glance as she chimes in to the conversation.

“He’s right, dear. Go ahead and head home for the night. I trust you’ll fare just fine without us accompanying you home.”

“Mother, that’s not what I-“

“(Name). That’s enough. You should head home. End of discussion.”

You knew you couldn’t properly explain to them. They’d always toss you aside and swat off your remarks as such. You bit back your protest, swallowing as you scanned the ballroom for a spare coat anywhere. There were a few harbingers around, so a raggedy stray coat shouldn’t be too uncommon.

“Sorry. I’ll be heading home now.” You submitted under your breath, masking your mixed irritation dissolved into your tone. You only further grimaced slightly as your mother smiled and leaned over to place a faux affectionate kiss to your forehead. With one dismissive wave once more, her and your father turned their back to you to exit the ball, shouldering through the heavy spruce doors packed with people crowding them.

You blinked, fervent shivers making you tremble against each flake of snow that brushed along the exposed parts of your skin as you realized you had just stepped midway through. The searing cold made your head spin as you began to lose yourself, frostbite clouding your senses and enveloping the tips of your fingers slowly. No matter. You could make it home if you simply stopped spacing out and thinking about your shitty parents. Just then, a loud crunch resounded with the howling wind, heavy clanks of metal being heard in addition to the crunches.

The heavy thuds only seemed to become clearer as they grew closer and closer, a light drag of chains shuffling behind you as well. Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest in anticipation, a sense of apprehension overtaking you as you clutched the coat draped over you tighter in a pathetic attempt to shield yourself using the thick fabrics. The thuds came to a halt as your eyes slowly roamed over the man who halted before you. His figure loomed over you, as his towering frame was quite intimidating to the least.

The metal lining of his mask enshrouded his face in a sightless black, cloaking his face completely as it seemed like an empty void bore into the gap of his helmet. Streams of jet black hair along with that adorned along the cheekbone of his mask and down his shoulders, a few stray strands of his long hair edged along the sharp steel edges of his mask. On top of that. A thick white coat with black fluff was draped along his shoulders, the small fabric emblem in the corner pertaining to that of the Fatui. If he was wearing this coat, your best bet was he was definitely a Fatui harbinger. Likely a strong one at that.

Backing up slightly, your eyes wandered over the man’s figure as you stood neatly frozen in place, the wind swaying his streaming hair while the harbinger looked down upon you.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?”

His low voice cast the illusion of protruding through the thickened frozen air, a faint muffle present in his speech considering he had spoken through the hollow opening of his seemingly endless mask.

“I was just walking home..”

“You seemed to be troubled, though.”

You simply wanted to scoff, yet you only tilted your head away from the harbinger in shame. Had your family humiliated you this much to the point where a figure of such high status took pity on you?

Sucking in a breath, you slowly turned your head back towards him, his body frozen in place, and looking down at you like a great statue. His gaze remained locked on you—yet you couldn’t tell due to the hollow blackness pitched into the carving of his mask. “Your name?” He hummed lowly, his body still enveloped by his large coat, and arms hidden under the sides of the thick pale silk.

“(Name).” You replied bluntly, clearing your throat and lowering your voice almost immediately after as to not give a rude impression. “Yours?”

“Il Capitano.”

Capitano seemed to follow your lingering gaze as he spoke, tracing each spot your eyes transfixed on periodically. However, there was one particular spot you couldn’t take your eyes off, and he didn’t take long to notice you focused on the Fatui emblem at the corner of his harbinger coat. “First of the Fatui harbingers.” He added, sensing that you had been wondering his relation to the infamous organization serving under the Cryo Archon dispersed across Teyvat.

Sensing your evident shifts and subtle kicks of your feet, he didn’t take long to pick up on your troubled state fidgeting before him, as if you were afraid of a train of emotional danger clouding your judgement to even think properly—much less walk in such bitter conditions.

“Where are you off to so late, miss (Name)?”

“I’m just walking home…it’s important family business.”

You immediately added that last part as an audible afterthought, not wanting to involve a harbinger in your personal affairs. Capitano wasn’t stupid, however. The clouds of tension and fear were palpable amidst the indifferent expression of yours, flaked white from the occasional crystals of snow fluttering onto your face. Heavy clanks followed your words as he stepped forward carefully, not wanting to startle you as he made his way directly beside you.

The black fur lining the neckline of his coat brushed against your collarbone as he stood closely shoulder to shoulder with you, head kept high. He continued to stare off into the distance ahead of him, as if the burrowing fog wasn’t enshrouding the entire vicinity before the two of you and dimming your line of sight.

“Do you mind if I accompany you home?”

You blinked out of pure surprise. A harbinger? Walking you home? At first it was too much, you couldn’t possibly accept this, much less waste his time like this! However the chilling thought of walking alone at night so late sent a shiver down your spine, and it was definitely not just from the cold.

“Not at all, Sir Capitano.”

He shook his head, stepping forward as he beckoned you to catch up to him.

“No need for formalities. Just Capitano is fine.”

Nodding, you briskly walked beside him to match his pace. The two of you were purely silent as he walked into the swirls of fog patterned along the vicinity clouding the array of homes lined up on either side of the street. Shuffles of chains and howls of wind were the only noticeable sound echoing along the empty night roads, inducing a rush of calmness that replaced your previous anxious state. Halfway through, you proceeded to extend your arm out, pointer finger fixing ahead of you at a slight angle.

“My home should be around there.”

Capitano simply nodded, shifting his path in the direction of your finger’s aim as he slowly headed toward the squeezed space of homes cluttered along the sides. Once reaching your doorstep, he halted at the hardened spruce topped with a silver knocker situated above the center, as if he was awaiting your next words. You delivered him a sincere and thoughtful smile, folding your arms as you didn’t know what exactly to do with them. The freezing steel of the knocker uncomfortably brushed along the exposed skin of your shoulder, which was not effectively covered by the ragged coat, making you hunch over upon contact embarrassingly.

“Thank you, Capitano. I don’t think I could have reached home quick enough before passing out on the streets..”

He let out an affirmative hum once more, looking down at you through his helmet framed by his long hair which was now a bit unkempt from the winds mixed with the fog. But it was only a strand or two off anyway.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Name).” He paused briefly, before adding once more. “If you’re in any trouble that requires my assistance, don’t feel afraid to call me.” His words were sweet, yet they made you laugh faintly, making you biting your tongue at his low tone questioning what was so humorous about his statement.

“Ah. It’s nothing, Capitano. It’s just…we met under a few hours ago..”

“It’s not the time we knew each other that’s the matter. Rather, it’s the fact that it’s obvious you’re clearly going through something, (Name). I don’t mean to pry, I just want to do what is just for you. And I can tell you’re a good person.”

His words only brought that faint elated smile back onto your face, an unexplainable disappointment drooping within you when he steps away from the door to head back. You wave to him, and he gives a quick nod, turning his back to you and heading back to god knows where. That smile remained on your lips for quite a bit, even when you rocked open the door slowly into the comfort and warmth of your home.

What a respectable and kind man.

A/N: it’s 1 am and I have a quiz tomorrow morning LOLLL

Anyway I’m so happy I got this done yay

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novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

What about a Jace x sister

Where he fell in love with her and in the same time he is not ok with it. He might be the only Targaryen related who thinks that’s not okay to loved their related. But no matter how he can stopped loving her, she might have a look more “Targaryen” with white hair with some black in it (narcissia Malfoy style?)

He always do some weird shit to be closed to her without drow to much attention, And when they finally get really closed their mother call all the bastard to become dragon rider. And Ulf find them in the Pit and try to get something from them in exchange of his silence.

Jace wake up and choose violence 🫣 and just say no and fuxk her in front of him and say that if he say anything he make sure his dragon will eat him

Sins of the Blood

- Summary: Jacaerys always loved his sister, more than he should. It was wrong, he knew it, but the dragon in him claimed you as his long ago.

- Paring: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded the reader with Grey Ghost for the plot.

The sea breeze dances through the open halls of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant roar of the waves. You stand with Baela and Rhaena on the sun-warmed terrace overlooking the cliffs, the three of you bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Your laughter rings out, clear and melodic, mingling with the cries of the gulls that circle above.

Jacaerys Velaryon watches from a distance, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He knows he should not be here, should not be watching you so closely, but he cannot help himself. You, his sister, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, have been a constant presence in his life, a source of both comfort and confusion. His eyes trace the silver streaks in your hair, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, mingling with the deep brown inherited from your true father, though only you, he, and his mother know the truth.

He remembers when you were children, how you would chase each other through the halls of the Red Keep, your laughter infectious, your bond inseparable. He had always been protective of you, even when you didn’t need it. You were fierce, a dragon through and through, and yet, as you stand now with Baela and Rhaena, there is a softness to you, a grace that makes his breath catch in his throat.

"Do you remember the first time we flew together?" Baela’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. She grins at you, her violet eyes bright with the memory.

"Of course," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. "I thought Jace would never let me ride my own dragon, he was so worried."

Jace feels a pang at your words, both pride and regret mingling in his chest. He had always been overly cautious with you, more so than with Luke or Joffrey. Perhaps he had always known, even then, that his feelings for you were not entirely brotherly.

Rhaena giggles, leaning in closer to you. "He’s always been that way, hasn’t he? Always the protector, always looking after you."

You shrug, though the warmth in your eyes betrays your affection. "He cares. That’s just how he is."

Jace clenches his fists at his sides, torn between the pride that swells in him at your words and the guilt that gnaws at him for the thoughts he cannot seem to banish. He knows it is wrong—this desire that burns in him like dragonfire—but it is also undeniably a part of him, a flame that refuses to be extinguished.

Take what is yours. The words echo in his mind, a voice that is both his own and something darker, something ancient. The blood of the dragon runs hot in his veins, urging him to act, to claim what he believes is his by right. You are his sister, yes, but you are also so much more. You are the embodiment of everything he has ever wanted, ever desired.

You turn then, as if sensing his gaze, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, the world seems to stop. The laughter of Baela and Rhaena fades into the background, the sound of the waves dulls, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

"Jace," you call out, your voice breaking the spell. "Come join us!"

There is no hesitation in your invitation, no hint that you are aware of the storm raging inside him. You are just his sister, inviting him to share in the simple joy of the evening, oblivious to the battle he fights within.

He forces a smile, masking the turmoil beneath, and steps forward. "I was just enjoying the view," he says, his voice betraying nothing.

Rhaena giggles again, nudging Baela. "See, I told you he’s always watching over her."

Baela laughs, a sound like the tinkling of bells. "It’s because he’s a good brother."

The words cut deeper than they should, a cruel reminder of the line he cannot cross. He wants to be a good brother, he truly does. But the blood of the dragon does not care for such boundaries. The blood of the dragon demands more.

As he approaches, you smile up at him, that same smile that has always had the power to calm him, to soothe the fire within. But today, it only stokes the flames higher.

"Are you alright?" you ask softly, your eyes searching his face for something he cannot give.

He nods, the lie slipping easily from his lips. "Of course. Just… thinking."

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing look passing over your face. "You think too much, Jace. You always have."

He laughs, though it is a strained sound. "Someone has to, with you lot always running headlong into trouble."

Baela snorts. "As if you don’t love it."

He shrugs, unable to deny it. "Perhaps."

You laugh then, a sound so pure and unburdened that it twists something deep in his chest. How can you be so carefree, so unaware of the darkness that haunts him?

The conversation drifts to other things—plans for the next dragonride, the latest antics of your younger brothers—but Jace finds it hard to focus. His eyes keep returning to you, to the way the setting sun catches in your hair, to the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Every moment is a battle, every word a reminder of what he can never have.

Take what is yours. The voice whispers again, insistent, relentless.

He pushes it down, burying it beneath layers of duty, of honor, of love for his family. But it is there, always there, a part of him that he can never truly silence.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in shades of orange and gold, you turn to him once more, your expression soft, almost tender.

"Thank you, Jace," you say quietly.

He frowns, unsure of what you mean. "For what?"

You smile, and it is a smile that breaks him, because it is so full of warmth, of trust, of love. "For always being there. For always watching over me."

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "Always," he promises, and it is both a vow and a curse.

You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm, and the simple touch sends a shock through him, setting his nerves alight. For a moment, he forgets himself, forgets everything but you.

But then Baela speaks up, her voice pulling him back to reality. "We should head inside. It’s getting late."

You nod, but your eyes linger on his for a moment longer, as if searching for something, something you cannot name.

Jace watches as you turn away, following Baela and Rhaena back into the castle, your laughter fading into the evening air. He stays behind, his heart a tumult of emotion, his mind a battlefield.

He knows what he feels is wrong. He knows that he should push these thoughts away, should bury them deep where they can never see the light of day. But he also knows that the blood of the dragon is not so easily denied.

As the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky, Jace makes a silent vow to himself. He will protect you, he will care for you, as a brother should. But he will also fight this desire, this hunger that threatens to consume him. He will not let it destroy him, or you.

But deep down, he knows that it will be difficult.

And as he watches the last light of day fade into night, he wonders if it ever truly will be.

Months have passed since that evening on the terrace, and yet the fire within Jacaerys Velaryon has not dimmed. If anything, it has only grown stronger, a persistent heat that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to consume him at every turn. He has thrown himself into his duties, into training and studies, hoping that the rigor will burn away these unwanted desires. But nothing works. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the pull you have on him.

Today, he finds himself wandering through the halls of Dragonstone, his mind restless, his heart unsettled. The castle is quiet, the stillness only amplifying his thoughts. His feet carry him to the library, a place he knows you often retreat to when you seek solace or simply a moment of peace. He tells himself it is a coincidence, that he has come here to study, to distract himself with books and knowledge. But deep down, he knows the truth.

As he enters the library, the scent of aged parchment and ink greets him, a familiar comfort. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they find you, seated near the window, the light of the midday sun casting a soft glow around you. You are engrossed in a book, your silver-streaked hair falling over your face, your expression serene. The sight of you, so peaceful and unguarded, sends a wave of warmth through him, and before he can stop himself, he is walking towards you.

You look up as he approaches, a smile tugging at your lips. "Jace," you greet him, your voice soft and welcoming. "What brings you here?"

He hesitates, his mind racing for an excuse. "I thought I might find you here," he admits, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. "I wanted to see if you needed any help with your studies."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since when do you offer to help with my studies?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "I just thought... we haven't spent much time together lately. I miss it."

Your expression softens at his words, and you close the book in your hands, setting it aside. "I’ve missed it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He can feel the tension between you, a charged energy that crackles in the air. The pull is stronger now, a magnetic force that draws him closer, and before he knows it, he is sitting beside you, his body instinctively leaning towards yours.

"What are you reading?" he asks, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glance at the book, then back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "A history of Old Valyria. I’ve always been fascinated by our ancestors, by the dragons and the blood magic they wielded."

"Of course," he murmurs, though he hardly registers the words. He is too focused on the way your hand rests so close to his, the way your eyes seem to shimmer in the light. "Our blood is strong, isn’t it? The blood of the dragon."

You nod, your gaze holding his. "It is. It’s what makes us who we are."

The words resonate deep within him, a reminder of the truth he has tried so hard to ignore. The blood of the dragon is what binds you together, but it is also what drives him to the brink of madness. The fire that burns in his veins is not just a curse, but a part of him, a part of you. And he is no longer sure if he can continue to fight it.

"I wanted to ask you something," you say suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled between you.

He blinks, trying to focus. "What is it?"

You hesitate for a moment, as if gathering your thoughts. "I was wondering if you could help me with my dragon training. Grey Ghost is so much more... spirited than he used to be, and I thought maybe you could help me understand him better."

Jace swallows hard, the thought of spending more time with you, alone and away from prying eyes, sending a thrill through him. But it is also dangerous, more dangerous than anything he has faced before. Still, he finds himself nodding. "Of course. I’d be glad to help."

You smile, a smile that warms him from the inside out, and he knows he is lost. He cannot deny you, cannot deny himself any longer. The pull is too strong, the fire too fierce. And as you rise to your feet, gesturing for him to follow, he feels that pull tighten, like a chain around his heart, binding him to you.

The two of you walk side by side through the corridors of Dragonstone, the silence between you comfortable, yet charged with an unspoken tension. Your presence is a balm to him, calming and yet igniting something deep within, something he can no longer ignore. Every brush of your arm against his, every glance in his direction, fans the flames higher, until he feels as though he might burst from the sheer force of it.

When you reach the courtyard where the dragons are kept, you turn to him, your eyes bright with excitement. "Let’s start with the basics," you say, your voice full of eagerness. "You’ve always been better at this than I am."

Jace shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "It’s not about being better," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It’s about understanding them, forming a bond with them."

You nod, your attention fully on him now, and he feels a surge of pride at the trust you place in him. "I know," you say softly. "And I trust you to help me."

The words strike him like a blow, the weight of your trust almost too much to bear. He wants to be worthy of it, to be the brother you believe him to be. But he also wants more, so much more, and it terrifies him.

As you step closer to him, your arm brushing against his, he feels that pull again, stronger than ever. He knows he should move away, put some distance between you, but he cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, he finds himself leaning in, his body drawn to yours like a moth to flame.

"You know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I’ve always felt safest when I’m with you."

The confession catches him off guard, and he looks down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why?"

You smile up at him, a gentle, almost shy smile. "Because you’ve always been there for me, Jace. No matter what."

His breath catches in his throat, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. The pull between you is undeniable now, a force of nature that neither of you can resist. And as you stand there, so close that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, he knows that he is about to cross a line that he can never return from.

But before he can act, before he can make the decision that will change everything, you reach out and take his hand in yours, your fingers curling around his. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he is lost, completely and utterly lost.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken.

He looks down at you, his heart in his throat, and he knows that this is it. This is the moment he has been dreading, the moment he has been craving. The pull between you is too strong, the fire too fierce, and he knows that there is no going back.

But then, as if sensing the turmoil within him, you give his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes full of warmth and understanding. "Thank you," you say, your voice soft and sincere. "For always being there."

And just like that, the moment passes. The tension between you eases, and you step back, releasing his hand. The pull is still there, still strong, but it is no longer overwhelming. For now, it is enough to simply be with you, to feel your presence beside him, to know that you trust him.

As you turn your attention back to the dragons, Jace takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The battle within him is far from over, but for now, he has won a small victory. He has resisted the pull, resisted the fire. But he knows it is only a matter of time before the dragon within him demands more.

And when that time comes, he is not sure if he will be able to resist.

The winds howl around the jagged peaks of Dragonmont, the volcanic heart of Dragonstone. The sky above is dark, thick clouds swirling in ominous patterns, but here, beneath the shelter of the mountain, you and Jacaerys find solace in the company of your dragons. Vermax and Grey Ghost, their massive forms partially obscured by the mist that clings to the rocky terrain, rest quietly nearby, their watchful eyes ever alert.

The air between you and Jace is charged, as it has been for days now. Since the arrival of the Dragonseeds and the beginning of the Red Sowing, there has been an unspoken tension, a shared anxiety that neither of you has fully voiced. Today, it seems, that silence is about to be broken.

Jace paces before you, his brow furrowed, his steps uneven. "I can’t help but worry," he finally says, his voice low, almost a growl. "Mother’s decision to let these Dragonseeds try to claim the dragons… it could destroy everything. The only thing that sets us apart, that makes us legitimate in the eyes of the realm, is our bond with the dragons. What happens if anyone can do it? What happens if they succeed?"

You watch him, feeling the weight of his concern settle over you like a heavy cloak. You understand his fear; it echoes within you as well. "They are Targaryen bastards, Jace," you say softly, trying to find the right words. "The blood of the dragon runs in their veins, even if the world doesn’t see them as we are seen. But you are right to be cautious. We cannot control what might happen if they succeed. But we can control how we respond."

He stops pacing, turning to face you fully. His dark eyes are intense, filled with worry and something deeper, something you’ve seen growing there in recent days. "What if it shatters everything? What if the realm no longer sees us as the rightful heirs? If they can claim dragons, what does that mean for us?"

You rise from your seat on a smooth outcropping of rock, moving closer to him, your steps slow and deliberate. You can feel the warmth of the dragons nearby, the heat from the mountain beneath your feet, but most of all, you feel the heat radiating from Jace, a fire that matches your own.

"We are more than our dragons," you say, your voice steady. "We are the blood of the dragon, yes, but we are also our mother’s children, the heirs of House Targaryen. That will not change, no matter what happens with the Dragonseeds."

Jace’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the storm in his eyes momentarily easing. "You always know what to say," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid of what this means for us, for our family."

You reach out, your hand finding his, and the contact sends a spark through you both. "Then we face it together," you say firmly, your fingers tightening around his. "Whatever comes, we face it together, as we always have."

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the kind of silence that speaks louder than words. The dragons are quiet too, their presence a comforting weight in the background. Jace’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

Without thinking, you step closer, and suddenly the space between you is gone. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and unsteady, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear. The pull between you is stronger than ever, an undeniable force that you can no longer resist.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken, something that has been building for so long.

He doesn’t reply, at least not with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both hesitant and eager, as if he is afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands moving to cup his face, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks, months, perhaps even years, pouring out in that single moment. It is as if the fire that has always burned between you has finally found release, and there is no stopping it now.Jace’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the desperation in his touch, the need that mirrors your own. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"So have I," you admit, the words coming out in a breathless rush. "Jace, I—"

He silences you with another kiss, more urgent this time, and you can feel his hands moving to the fastenings of your attire. There is a moment of hesitation, a final chance to turn back, but neither of you takes it. Instead, you help him, your fingers trembling as they work to undo his clothing as well.

The air is cool against your skin as your garments fall away, but you hardly notice. All you can focus on is Jace, on the way his hands move over your body, on the way he looks at you as if you are the only thing that matters in the world. And perhaps, in this moment, you are.

He guides you down onto the warm rock, his movements careful, almost reverent. The heat from the mountain seeps into your skin, mixing with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself trembling, not from fear, but from anticipation.When he finally joins with you, the pain is brief, a sharp sting that quickly fades, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected to him. Jace pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for your permission to continue.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat, but the look in your eyes says everything. "Please," you whisper, and that is all it takes.

He begins to move, slow at first, almost tentative, but as the moments pass, the hesitation fades, replaced by a growing urgency, a passion that neither of you can control. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on, meeting his every movement with your own.

The world around you fades, the sounds of the dragons, the wind, the distant roar of the sea, all becoming nothing more than a distant echo. There is only Jace, only the fire that burns between you, the flames that consume you both, driving you higher and higher until you feel as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it.

Just as you reach the peak of your union, lost in the sensation of him, you hear a sound, the soft crunch of footsteps on the volcanic rock. Your eyes snap open, and you see him—Ulf the White, one of the Dragonseeds, standing a short distance away, his expression one of surprise and amusement.

Jace’s movements slow as he becomes aware of the intruder, but he doesn’t stop, his body still pressed intimately against yours. His eyes narrow, and you can feel the tension in him, the protective instinct that flares up at the sight of another man watching you in such a vulnerable moment.

Ulf’s smirk widens as he recognizes both of you, his voice carrying an easy confidence as he speaks. "Well, well, what do we have here? Prince Jacaerys and his fair sister, indulging in some… private time, I see."

Jace doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on Ulf, his body shielding yours from view. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous. "You will leave now, Ulf. And you will speak of this to no one."

Ulf’s amusement doesn’t fade. "And if I don’t? I imagine this little secret could be worth quite a bit."

Jace’s expression hardens, the dragon within him rising to the surface. "I have another proposition for you. Leave now and never speak of this, or tell someone… and Vermax will feast on your bones."

The threat hangs in the air, thick with the promise of violence. Ulf’s smile falters, the realization of Jace’s seriousness sinking in. He glances at the dragons, both Vermax and Grey Ghost now fully alert, their eyes locked on him, and he takes an involuntary step back.

"Fine," Ulf mutters, the bravado gone from his voice. "Your secret’s safe with me, Prince Jacaerys. I was never here." With that, he turns and hurries away, casting one last nervous glance at the dragons before disappearing into the mist.

Jace watches him go, his body still tense, but as the danger passes, his attention shifts back to you, his focus returning to the moment you had both been lost in. The fire that had momentarily cooled begins to burn again, his hands finding yours, his gaze intense.

"I will marry you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "In the traditions of our ancestors, in the ways of Old Valyria. You are mine, and I am yours, for now and forever."

The words send a shiver through you, the weight of them, the promise in them, filling you with a sense of certainty, of belonging. You nod, your voice trembling as you respond. "Yes, Jace. Yes."

And as he moves within you once more, the world around you falls away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by the fire of your blood.

#house of the dragon #hotd reader insert #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #jacerys velaryon #jace x y/n #jace x you #jace x reader #jacerys x reader #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader

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noxtivagus · 2 years ago

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a night will never not be complete without me rambling abt ffxiv huh

#🌙.rambles #[ ffxiv. ]#i'm so happy i found smth like ffxiv for me n apollo. later in 2023 will be the third year of playing. which is a bit hard to believe #i'm so soft for the drk quests i did enjoy it in english or wtvr but reading those fanmade jpn translations rlly warms my heart even more #n then. uwahh listening to shb osts n other vg stuff rn n masquerade at this specific point just #eulmore ost means a lot to me i rlly love that kind of vibe n then. i have a lot of fond memories in that place.#w sm friends back on twintania n 5.5 days hehe.#i am srs rambling again but i just rlly like talking to myself ok pls don't mind me uhhhh #ffxiv helped keep me grounded yes it rlly helped me through hard times. w the world in it n then. the stories that helped me so much #n the music :<< n the charas mean so much to me n then. i just appreciate the game so much. it means a lot to me #thinking abt it n i've really never been good at friendships. i rlly do want to do better bcs i value them so much but hdfjalkfsjda T_T #i rmb fucking up smth late 2020 n then first half or so of 2021 i only interacted w my family n school ppl i think n. ppl in ffxiv #srs reflecting rn n for the longest time i think i genuinely rlly struggled w social anxiety. still do to an extent but it was sm worse #twintania n my fc then changed my life fr they helped me n i don't think i ever rlly directly thanked them but yh.#n then. those social interactions helped me later that year reconnecting w my longtime irl friends that i barely talked to for those past #years bcs of the pandemic n then earlier 2022 w making new friends that weren't online friends for the first time in so long #n then being more connected w my reality again w all that yes n then making more online friends. not a lot i'm still v shy but <3 #idk i know i rlly say a lot of the same things often n i write a Lot in tags n ramble sm n i genuinelly will be embarrassed if ppl actually #read this but pls i just like talking to myself i don't do it for attention T_T but I SHOULD REALLY FIX THESE STUFF UP #i think i've just been rambling for the past hour . idk i just really love n appreciate a lot of stuff in life n there's no end to what i #cld just write about like this to myself. n i write even more in my notes oh dear #i seriously look forward to so much this year i'm going to put my regrets behind me n just look towards doing the future #the best i can do is just be kind to myself n do what i can n do what i love uwahh #ok genuinely i still do feel rather stressed n anxious n i'm pretty sure i just wrote that earlier but uh my mind is a mess at this hour #i should not be on tumblr past midnight or when i'm sleepy . i've really made a habit of writing so much in tags #school starts like tmrrw now n thankfully my sleep got mostly fixed. i have so much more i want to do but i'll make sure to #take care of my health at least. for the past 2 weeks now i think i usually sleep around midnight (earlier typically) n never later than 3 #I'M HAPPY W THAT sleeping better rlly improved a lot but it's so hard to start making that change when. Yeah but here i am now <3 #that said though i'm gna stop. rambling now i wna be a bit more productive before i sleep but gn in advance ><

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aventurineswife · 13 days ago

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aventurine, sunday, and any others when reader pretends to not remember them after a bad injury hehe…[angst with fluff at the end] i love giving my poor babies heart attacks mwahaha

anyways love u and ur writings btw k byeee drink water ok byeee 💕✨

“I'm sorry, but who are you?”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Fluff, Light Humor Angst to Fluff, Established Relationship, Memory Loss, Reassurance.

Warnings: Emotional distress (brief moments of fear and confusion).

A/N: thanks for the reminder, anon! 😪😮‍💨I really need to drink some water

Aventurine's eyes widened, his usual playful smirk faltering as you looked at him, confusion clouding your gaze. He reached out, as though instinctively wanting to close the distance between you, but he hesitated. Your words cut through the air, soft and fragile.

"You… you are… who exactly?"

The words stung more than he expected. His heart raced in his chest as he observed the faint, distant look in your eyes. He had always been in control of the game, masterful in reading people, but this? This was a blow to his carefully constructed facade.

"You don’t remember me?" His voice was softer now, the bravado slipping as his pulse quickened.

You shook your head, an empty feeling creeping into your chest. "I don’t think so. Sorry… am I supposed to?"

Aventurine's smile faltered, and for a moment, you saw something raw beneath his cool exterior. Pain. Fear. He stepped back slightly, trying to hide the cracks forming in his walls.

"I suppose I’ve miscalculated…" he muttered to himself, voice barely audible.

But then, you reached out and touched his arm gently.

"I—"

Aventurine looked at you, his breath catching in his throat as you softly smiled. "I do remember you, though. Maybe I was just… testing you?"

The game was on again, but this time, it was different. He chuckled, a soft, relieved sound that made the weight of his worries lift just a little.

"You're dangerous, you know that?" he said, his voice returning to its usual lighthearted tone, though there was an underlying tenderness now.

You smiled. "I think I’ll keep you on your toes."

And with that, the shadows of doubt lifted, replaced by the warmth of your presence—one he could no longer imagine being without.

Sunday stood there, his eyes darkened with a mix of concern and confusion, staring at you as if you were a stranger. His fingers twitched slightly, an impulse to reach out, to make sure you were real, that you hadn’t slipped into some other world.

"You… you don’t recognize me?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper, fragile under the weight of his own disbelief.

You blinked at him, the blank look in your eyes unnerving him more than he cared to admit. "I’m sorry… I don’t think I do. Are we… close?"

The air between you seemed to freeze, thick with unspoken emotions. His mind was racing—how could you forget him, forget everything you had shared? The kindness, the warmth, the bond he’d built so carefully with you...

"I see," Sunday murmured, his gaze softening with a hint of sadness. "I suppose it’s a part of the dream, isn't it? To forget… to lose everything."

You could see the strain in his expression, the hope fading from his eyes. "Sunday, I… I didn’t mean to forget you."

You reached for him, your hand trembling as you touched his sleeve. The contact seemed to pull him out of his thoughts, and his breath caught.

A moment of stillness.

Then Sunday smiled faintly, the sadness still lingering. "I suppose we’ll just have to make you remember, won't we?" His voice was gentle, though you could hear the underlying fear in it.

You smiled, this time with a reassurance he needed. "I think I already do."

A sigh escaped him, a soft, grateful breath as he pulled you into his arms.

"Don't ever scare me like that again." he murmured into your hair, holding you close.

Ratio’s usual air of unshakable confidence was nowhere to be seen. He stood before you, his eyes wide with confusion and an almost frantic edge to his movements.

"You—don’t remember me?" he repeated, his voice betraying a crack he hadn’t expected.

You stared at him, trying to piece together the fragments of the world around you, the details of his appearance leaving you more unsettled than anything. "I… I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you."

His frown deepened, his expression unreadable but filled with something you couldn't quite place—was it hurt? Disbelief?

"I see. This is… unfortunate," he said, voice smooth yet tinged with something that didn’t fit. He folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing slightly. "I expected better from your memory."

You looked at him more closely, sensing a vulnerability underneath the sharpness of his demeanor. He was, despite his intellectual brilliance, losing himself in this.

You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, your hand reaching for his, gently catching his wrist. "I’m sorry… but I’m sure we’ve met before. I just—"

He paused, his sharp breath catching in his throat as he looked down at your hand on his. For a brief moment, his composure cracked, and you could see the raw emotion behind his usually controlled facade.

"Don't do this to me," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if the weight of the situation was too much to bear. "You must remember."

You smiled softly, understanding now. "I remember. You’re the one who always insists on teaching me things."

His gaze softened instantly, a relieved exhale leaving him. "Good."

Ratio’s usual brilliance returned, but this time, there was something gentler about him. "Perhaps next time, try not to lose your memory so easily."

And though his words were sharp, his hand reached out to take yours, a reassurance that you were not lost to him.

Me lmaoo

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lokidjarin-7567 · 3 months ago

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TTPD Contents

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

Erik Lehnsherr x Reader x Charles Xavier After joining the First Class of Professor X’s school with your brother Hank, you realised you have a connection with two of the mutants there, and that they might also have a connection to each other… fem!reader, M/F/M, 18+ MDNI 6,258 words EDIT: I'm super proud of this one, maybe my favourite thing I've written! Thanks for all the love on it so far <3

“It’s not going to happen, Charles.” You muttered, frustrated, putting all of your energy into stopping him from walking towards you, but only managing to stop his hand.

“You need to go to that place between…” He started to explain.

“Anger and serenity, I know, I know. I’m not Erik, its not working.” He sighed, moving his hand to his forehead.

“May I?”

“Sure, go ahead.” There was nothing he would see in there that he hadn’t before.

You realised early in your friendship that there wasn’t a lot of point hiding anything from him. You were never sure when he was reading your thoughts, only when he spoke to you without moving his lips, or when he would find a memory like he was doing now. You saw a few flash through your mind, recent ones. The relief when Hank had told you that there were others like you and him. The anger when Shaw had killed Darwin in front of your eyes just a few days ago. The moment your mother found out there was something different about Hank, and kicked him out, so you followed him. Your brother’s mutation was significantly more obvious than your’s, but you left with him regardless. He had always been more than family; he was your best friend, your true and sole confidant, your lifeline. Following your train of thought, Charles managed to find a memory synonymous to that - the day you found out about his mutation. The way he cried and broke down, explained the science to you to try and ensure you understood it, but you didn’t need him to. You whispered his name softly, and told him to wave at you. The perplexed look on his face, but you insisted so he did. Then you stopped his hand dead in its tracks. The shock and relief on his face, the hug you shared, the tears you both shed. It was a joyous memory, peaceful.

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye and Charles did the same, releasing you from the memory and now you were back in the bunker underneath his family’s house, watching as he nodded to you.

“Now try again.” He moved to the other side of the bunker again, and you concentrated hard, reaching your hand out towards him and trying to stop his slow walk towards you. You were technically telekinetic, but only when the other object was moving. The lighter the object, and the faster it was moving, the easier it was to control. And generally, you would just been able to stop it. You knew that you could move things as well once you had control over them - you had done it once, the day you had gotten your powers, but never since. And if it took that level of trauma to do it again, you hoped you never would.

“You’re moving too slowly!” You exclaimed, huffing in frustration.

“Ok, ok fine. Maybe we need to stop thinking of your powers as telekinesis.” You frowned, confused. Controlling objects was telekinesis. “Just trust me here for a moment…” Of course I trust you, you saved my life and continue to daily. “Close your eyes.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes tightly. His voice appeared in your head, a soft whisper that immediately put you at ease.

Telekinesis is about creating movement, but you can manipulate movement. And do that, you need to be able to sense the movement around you. I can’t manipulate or read someones mind without being able to sense it, even if I can see the person. It might be the same with you. I’m standing still but I’m going to move soon - keep your eyes closed and see if you can sense me.

You focussed, reaching out into the black space and it took a few seconds, but you could feel him moving. Slowly, his image formed in your mind. You could see the way he was moving: the large, over dramatic steps he was taking, the emphatic hand wave, and you smiled. You reached out to him with even more concentration, but you surprised yourself with how easy it was to stop him in his tracks, cementing his feet to the floor so he almost fell over.

“Holy shit, Charles, you’re a genius.” You opened your eyes, releasing him and seeing the grin that had spread across his face. It was contagious, your own smile growing.

“I know I know, but we’re not done yet, you have a lot more in you…” He was pacing, thinking, and high on the adrenaline, you reached out to stop him, to play with your powers, only to find… you couldn’t. You couldn’t sense his movement. You could see him, but there was nothing else.

“I can’t…” you muttered, continuing to try as hard as you could, but nothing. He frowned, and you heard his voice softly inside your head.

Close your eyes again.

You did, and sure enough, there he was, his movement growing clearer in your mind by the second. You opened your eyes, and it was gone, the tangibility somehow lost when you could actually see him.

“Ok, ok, let’s try this…” He looked around for something, then settled his tie, pulling it from his collar in a swift motion and striding over to you, making you blush. “Can you use this as a blindfold?” He asked, and you nodded, allowing him to press the soft fabric across your closed eyes, the world going black as he tied it in a gentle knot. The difference was instant. It was as though you could physically see him still, a soft, golden glow outlining his body and his movements. Every single detail was highlighted to you.

“Try standing still?” He did, stopping dead in his tracks, but you could still see him - every miniscule shiver across his skin, the rising and falling of his chest with his breaths, the slight tremble in his fingers. “Charles…” you muttered, “I can see everything.”

“What do you mean everything?”

“Look for yourself.” You watched as he raised his hand to his temple, and you saw the subtle changes in his face as it shifted from confused to shocked, a grin spreading.

“That’s incredible. Is it easier to stop movement now as well?” You smiled, instantly halting his arm in the air as he tried to return it to his side. He laughed aloud. “You’re amazing.”

“I know.” You shrugged, letting him go, hands reaching up to remove your makeshift blindfold when you felt something move across the room. Without thinking, you reached back towards it, spinning around just in time to see the door you just felt opening slam shut.

“What the fuck?” You heard an annoyed voice from the other side of the closed door, and you laughed in disbelief. You’d done it.

“Oh my God, did you see that?” You span back to Charles, smiling uncontrollably.

“Yes I did, my dear. Yes I did.” You squealed with joy, running over to give him a hug, which he readily returned. You still had your blindfold on, and you could feel his heart beating when you were this close, even the blood rushing through his veins.

“Thank you.” You whispered in his ear, and he moved back, holding your head in his hands.

“This was all you.” The moment was broken, though, by the door opening again, although slightly cautiously this time. It was Erik - you could see it was him by his movements, and the shape of his body.

“Did you just close the door on me? And why are you blindfolded?” He paused, confusion etched across his face, followed by an almost knowing smirk. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Jesus, no…” Charles piped up quickly, heart rate skyrocketing as he moved across the room to Erik, putting distance between you and him. “We’ve found a way to…”

“I closed the door with my power!” You interrupted, excited, but he did not have the same reaction as Charles did. He actually had no reaction at all.

“So… you can, what, control your power better when you’re blindfolded?” You nodded.

He cocked his head, then he stretched out his arm, and you presumed it was to see if you were telling the truth, but before you could open your mouth to tell him he’d moved, you felt something moving quickly towards you. It was your keys, and you stopped them in midday, before pulling them safely into your hand.

“Hey, that could’ve taken my eye out!” He just laughed.

“There’s a lot more where that came from.”

You often wondered about how your life would have turned out without this place. You hadn’t exactly been here long, but it had already transformed you into someone better, more powerful, more in control. You spent the day with Charles and Erik, getting to grips with your newfound power, figuring out how to use it fully, and that you should keep things on you that you could throw and move to your advantage in the field like Erik did. You felt like you could actually be helpful to them now. And only just in time. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

You finally got back to your room, laying down almost straight away, your feet aching from the long day. It was a beautiful house, and you would always be grateful to Charles for allowing you to stay, even if it only ended up being for a short while. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, after all.

You closed your eyes, grabbing the small, metal orbs Erik had given you from your pocket, and throwing them in the air, grabbing them with your power as they visualised. You smiled, remembering just a few hours ago when he gave them to you. The way your hands had grazed, his gaze as intense as it always was. The way he had encouraged you as you practiced, and been harsh when you made a mistake.

You had to be careful with your thoughts when you were around Charles. Guarded. There were a lot of things you thought about that you never wanted him to know.

He was one of those things. Erik was the other.

You couldn’t help it; they were both so attractive in different ways. Charles was soft and kind, a smile that could warm you from the inside out and a charm that could make you do anything he asked, no mutation needed. Erik was the opposite, harsh and damaged, cold in his mannerisms, but there was a concern to him that he tried to hide. He always failed, doing everything and more to protect the mutants around him. To fight for them. And to make sure you fought for them too.

“That wasn’t good enough.” You remember a moment from your day when he nearly shouted, frustrated that you had only stopped a flying chunk of metal he had flung at you rather than moving it as well.

“I’m not used to this, Erik.”

“So? We all had to learn to control our powers quick, you aren’t special.” You huffed, clenching your fists as Charles let out a soft, warning whisper of his name, but he carried on. “You can do more than that. I don’t care when or how you got your powers, but even if you got them yesterday, you would be doing a hell of a lot better than you are right now.” While he was talking, you were steadily getting angrier, and halfway through a sentence you noticed a new piece of metal hurtling towards you. You flicked it away without any effort, hearing it smash against the wall and falling to the ground, noticing that the white hot rage had sharpened your vision. He continued to throw more and more object at you, and you continued to retaliate, not realising you were moving towards him until he started to move backwards. He reached the wall, and threw a knife in a last ditch effort. Charles cried out in warning, but you didn’t need it, pulling the knife straight into your hand and holding it to Erik’s neck.

“You have no fucking clue what I’ve gone through to get this power.” You were close enough to feel the shuddering breath he let out, and you could see the way he clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning your face meticulously, as though you couldn’t see every minuscule movement he made through your blindfold.

“I know it was bad enough that you didn’t want to use your gifts for a long time.” You felt as though the wind had been knocked from your lungs, and you stepped back, dropping the knife to the floor with a clatter, making your way back across the room.

“Again.”

How you got your powers was a memory even Charles hadn’t seen. You had never let him. Some subconscious part of you protected it viciously; the first time he had even tried, your mutation had taken over, gripping the only thing you could sense moving and stopping it. That thing just so happened to be his heart.

He hadn’t gone near that memory since.

And neither had you.

You should be trying to get some rest. You had a big day tomorrow. You were going after Shaw. Saving the world. Letting Erik get his revenge on that bastard. It was going to be difficult. You just hoped you could be helpful in spite of everything.

It was no use though. You were unable to think about anything else, so you got up and ventured out to find Hank. You just wanted to check if he'd incorporated the blindfold into your suit, and maybe to get some reassurance from your big brother, but as you wandered through the expansive house, you noticed an unusual quietness. Glancing at a clock, you realised it was later than you'd thought—you should definitely be resting too. But as you were passing the main study, you heard voices and paused, listening for Hank.

Hank isn’t here, but you can come in.

Your heart lurched, although you couldn’t tell if it was from surprise, or an involuntary reaction to his smooth voice. Concentrate, you scolded yourself, opening the door. Both Charles and Erik were sitting in the study in big, leather arm chairs, chess board in front of them and glasses of whiskey nestled in their hands. God, you needed one right now.

“Help yourself.” He said aloud, and you laughed to yourself quietly.

“It still takes me by surprise when you do that.” You moved over to the cabinet, pouring yourself a generous amount, before turning around to see another chair being moved to where they were sitting, Erik’s hand outstretched towards its metal feet. He set it down opposite their’s, and you sat gratefully, tucking your legs up and taking a sip.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Charles asked, his voice strong and earnest. You frowned.

“Why do you ever ask questions when you could just see it?”

Would you really rather I was in here all the time?

“No of course not.” He already was. You took another sip. “And I’m terrified.”

“You don’t have to come, you know.” It was Erik this time. He spoke quietly, eyes never leaving the chess board.

“I want to.” You said it with finality, hoping to convey a confidence you certainly didn’t feel, but they both seemed to accept it.

“Your progress has been incredible today; you’re going to be a big help out there.” You smiled at the words but still not fully believing them, having another drink and averting your eyes to the chessboard.

“Do you want to play?” Erik asked, and you shook your head.

“No, thank you, I think I’ll watch if that’s ok.” Maybe they didn’t want you here. “Unless that would be crashing your evening, I don’t want to be a nuisance…”

“Never.” He muttered, moving one of his pawns. You smiled, settling further into the chair.

It was at times like this that you wished you had Charles’ power. They had been playing for a while now, and you wanted to know what they were thinking, their plans for the game. You tried to guess, but your chess knowledge was rusty at best, and you kept getting distracted. You hadn’t moved in the last 30 minutes - only once before that to get another drink - and they didn’t speak much when they played, so your mind wandered. Naturally. And it didn’t help that the thing your mind had been wandering to this past week was sat in front of you.

You watched as Erik’s hand gracefully moved a piece across the board from afar, the steel-tipped bishop gliding with ease, then returning to his thigh. His legs were spread slightly, hand resting on each while he continued to look at the board, shuffling slightly in his seat, his hips moving up and forwards and hands sliding further down them and you couldn’t help but think about…

Charles said your name, and you cleared your throat.

“Hmm?” You really hoped he hadn’t been in your head then.

“Weren’t you looking for Hank earlier?”

“Oh… yes I was but it can wait until tomorrow, it wasn’t important.” He’s telling you to leave. “Unless you wanted some space, sorry I totally crashed your night…”

“I promise you aren’t, darling, I just wanted to check you hadn’t forgotten something important.” Darling. He used nicknames a lot, maybe it was a British thing, but it still made your heart flutter every time.

“Thank you.” You smiled quietly as Erik stood up, offering another drink. You accepted, his hand grazing yours as he took the glass from it, fireworks dancing across your skin.

What should I do next?

His voice called out in your head, and you smiled lightly, knowing he didn’t need your help but wanting to include you nonetheless, probably after hearing you mind racing with thoughts of being an annoyance.

Bishop to F6.

I was thinking the same thing.

Erik returned, almost making you jump as the glass was placed back in your hand. Charles moved exactly as you had said as soon as Erik had sat down, and he paused, looking at the board intently, fingers running around the rim of his glass. Jesus, was he doing this on purpose? You twisted in your chair under the guise of getting comfortable to face towards Charles, but he was no better. He was stretched out, his legs wide, hand resting on his chin, shirt sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Fucking hell. It was barely anything, they were literally just sitting down, concentrating on their game, relaxing before what was bound to be a difficult day, but your mind couldn’t stop running away with itself. And to be fair to you, you were tipsy, stressed, and currently sitting in a room with two men who you happened to find insanely attractive. Of course you were going to have some thoughts. You couldn’t help it. About what they might be like. You figure Erik would be a little rougher, domineering, but Charles would talk to you, praise you. Use his powers to know exactly what you needed, to make you feel good…

His power.

Fuck.

You needed to get out of here before you just about died of embarrassment, and you could feel yourself blushing even though he showed no sign of knowing. If there was even a chance he knew, you needed to run, to leave, to literally never show your face here again. You downed your drink, a slight sting settling in the back of your throat.

“I should probably get going,” you croaked, barely managing to talk through sheer shame, “try and get some sleep before tomorrow. Thank you for the drink.” You had moved to stand, feet hitting the floor, but Charles held out a hand to you in a gesture to stop.

“Just one second…” He muttered, looking at Erik intensely. He wasn’t saying anything, but they held eye contact and you realised that he must be talking to him. Oh dear God. There was no expression on either of their faces, so unreadable it made you feel slightly insane. Oh God he saw it. What would he even think of you? Then, without warning, Charles stood up. You thought he might be going to get a drink, but he stopped behind you, and after an excruciating moment, his hands fell to your shoulders. You sighed and fell into them as he started to squeeze lightly, working the muscles that were there in a way that felt so good it was hard not to moan, so you hummed in contentment instead.

“I know it’s been a long day… maybe we can help you relax a little.” We? At that point, Erik stood up, expression still completely unreadable, and placed his fingers gently under your chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. His beautiful fucking eyes.

“Does that sound ok?” He whispered, and you practically melted.

"Yes, God, yes," you breathed. Erik closed the gap before you could finish, his lips capturing yours hungrily as his hand found your thigh. He pulled away, leaving you breathless, but before you could recover, he tilted your head back with a gentle grip on your chin. Charles' lips met yours, tender and exploratory. As he kissed you, his fingers traced soft circles on your collarbone. You sensed Erik's intense gaze, then felt his lips brush your neck—a fleeting touch, gentle yet promising more. You gasped into Charles' mouth, overwhelmed by their dual attention.

“My room’s closest.”

You made it there without bumping into anyone, a true blessing considering your hand in Charles’ and the strong grip Erik had on your hips the whole way. You had barely closed the door before he was on you again, lips on your neck and shoulder, hips grinding up against your ass, and something else too. You noticed Charles was standing just away from the two of you, watching intently with an expression close to disbelief. You smiled at him warmly, pulling him closer just as Erik lightly nipped your shoulder in a way that made you whimper. You reached back, running your nails in his hair, before pulling him towards Charles. They both smiled softly, lips meeting as you stayed in between them, both of their bodies pressed up against you. You took the opportunity to undo a few of Charles’ shirt buttons, and planting a couple of delicate kisses to the top of his chest. You felt giddy with arousal, mind completely taken away from the stress of the whatever was to come the following day, hands taking their time to explore his chest and further down as you continued to undo his buttons, his shirt falling open as you pulled him closer still, pressing his skin to yours.

Let me know if you want us to stop. There is no pressure here, sweetheart, just whatever you want.

You nodded, watching as Charles pulled back from Erik. His eyes scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, though he could surely sense the pleasure coursing through your mind — and they'd barely touched you yet. You hummed contentedly as Erik's hands found the hem of your tank top, pulling it off while Charles' fingers trailed down your arms, grasping your hands and guiding you towards the bed. Shimmying out of your sweatpants, you sat down and kicked them off, then shuffled further up the bed. You leaned back on your elbows, hoping to entice them to join you, but they remained standing, their eyes raking over every inch of you. Suddenly self-conscious, you realised that, apart from Charles' open shirt, they were both still fully clothed, while you lay before them in just your underwear. You would have to change that..

You closed your eyes tight, focusing on them. Charles must’ve heard your thoughts, and he was removing his shirt now, moving to his belt, but Erik just stood, watching you both. He looked so calm, but you could see his rapid, heaving breaths, and the desperation that was growing in his trousers. His breathing was just enough movement for you to latch on to, reaching out and starting to pull up the hem of his top, and he smirked, a grin spreading as he lifted his arms to help you, and you discarded the black material across the room. You blinked your eyes open slowly, and after a small pause where Charles glanced at him, presumably communicating where they were going to be, and finally got a good look at him before he knelt down before the bed, grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him, making you squeal.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, planting kisses up your thighs as his fingertips hooked under your pants, pulling them off. You sat up slightly as Charles moved behind you, resting your back against his chest. He grasped your jaw, turning your head to kiss him. "And this is quite a view…" You blushed, giggling, as Erik settled between your legs, his hands gripping your ass and angling you for access.

"So is this," Charles whispered, his hands finding your bra clasp as Erik's kisses inched closer to your aching core.

"Fuck, Erik…" you whimpered, your hand darting to his hair as his tongue delved into your folds, his hot mouth enveloping you with a groan. Your bra discarded, hands immediately cupped and kneaded your chest, making your head roll back, eyes fluttering closed with sheer bliss. Charles's lips found your neck, nipping the sensitive skin behind your ear and eliciting a soft moan.

"He thinks you taste divine, darling," Charles whispered, and you smiled, already panting as the pressure in your core built. "He does think you could be a little louder, though…" As if on cue, Erik's hands left your ass—one arm pinning you to the bed by your hips, the other at your entrance. Before you knew it, he was pushing two fingers inside you. You groaned, still holding back slightly, acutely aware of the house full of people.

Don’t be shy, I can make sure no one can hear you.

As his voice echoed in your mind, Erik's fingers inside you curled upward, hitting that sweet spot that made you melt. Simultaneously, Charles' fingers found your nipples, pinching and rolling them in a deliciously painful way that drew a guttural noise from your throat. The sound was loud and raw, tearing through your body just like the building pleasure was. Erik's tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit, never pausing. You writhed on the bed, so close to the edge it almost hurt, your moans and whines filling the room.

“Oh God… fuck I think I’m going to…” You felt Erik groan against you, and you looked down at him, seeing him peering up at you through half lidded eyes, lust on his face evident and a realisation hit you then. One of the most powerful men in the world was on his knees in front of you, and behind you was the other, lips planted on your neck, their sole purpose being to give you pleasure. It was enough to send you over the edge.

Your back arched, pressing further into Charles as a low, reverberating groan was pulled from your throat, riding out the waves with his mouth still between your thighs, and you couldn’t stop your hips from grinding into him. He finally realised you when you were done, shaking and quivering on the bed, slowly removing his fingers from you.

“You should really have a taste, Charles.” He muttered, moving up onto the bed and crawling over you to reach him, presenting his fingers to his mouth. You watch in awe as Charles took them into his mouth gratefully, sucking them clean as Erik watched, a dark look entering his eyes.

“You were right…” he muttered, hands moving to your hair and pushing it from your face as he kissed you gently. “Divine.” You hummed into his mouth and kissed him harder, tasting yourself on his tongue, which made that all too familiar ache build up in your core once again.

“Look at that…” you heard Erik start talking, alongside the sound of his belt buckle undoing, “she’s needy already.” You released Charles lips, sitting up slightly to grab a hold of Erik’s waistband, undoing the button and fly quickly and frantically, revealing the huge tent in his boxers.

“Looks like I’m not the only one…” you whispered, moving into a seated position on your knees as your hands ran gently across his bulge, seeing his hips move towards you instinctively, begging for more even though the rest of his body language said otherwise. “I can help with that.” His eyes darkened, and you wondered where he would want to be, but Charles was one step ahead of you.

He wants your mouth, darling. You smiled, guiding him back to the headboard with a gentle push on his chest, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles before letting him get comfortable. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to Charles, putting on a show as you kissed him again, but deeper this time, your tongue taking its time to explore his mouth. Your hands deftly worked at his trousers while his roamed the lower half of your body, all eager grasps and breathless pants against your lips. You loved seeing him come undone beneath your touch, his raw desire palpable, and yours was evident by the slick forming between your thighs.

"Turn around for me, sweetheart." Erik's gruff voice rang out behind you. You obliged, settling on your knees to see a beautiful sight. He had finally taken off his trousers and boxers, and you paused to drink him in. Relaxed against the headboard, legs spread wide, his posture screamed dominance, accentuated by the small smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. Your gaze wandered down, taking in his toned body, strong arms, and down to the happy trail leading to the thing you wanted most. He was hard—painfully so, it seemed—and he stroked himself languidly while waiting for you. And he was big, bigger than you expected, and you swallowed hard at the thought of him, of how he would feel….

Charles had also stripped down completely, and he moved right behind you on the bed, hips pressed to your ass, and his erection pressed against your back.

“Come here…” Erik said, leaning forward and pulling you close by the back of your neck and smashing his lips into yours. You could feel Charles behind you, pulling your hips back and setting you up for him, his hands kneading your ass in a way that made you moan into Erik’s mouth.

Are you safe?

On the pill, I’m all yours. Erik released you from his lips and sat back, giving Charles a small nod and using the hand on your neck to keep your head up and facing him.

“Eyes on me, babygirl.” You nodded, eyes widening and a moan escaping your lips as you felt Charles press up against your entrance, fully sheathing himself in one swift motion.

“Fuck, darling, you feel so good.” He groaned, breathing ragged.

"God, so do you," you whispered, breathless as you adjusted to his size. Your eyes remained locked on Erik's, whose expression darkened as he stroked himself faster. Charles pulled out slowly, taking his time, before thrusting back into you forcefully, his hips colliding with yours. You moaned and whimpered as he set a rhythm, his hands roaming through your hair and up and down your back, murmuring praises and curses. You had finally caught your breath, and you knew it was time someone else got a little attention, so you lowered your head. Your tongue swirled around Erik's cock as his hand gripped your hair tightly. You took him into your mouth, managing just over half before pulling back, one hand moving to his base, the other steadying you on the bed. Matching Charles' pace, you bobbed up and down, drawing a growl of satisfaction from Erik that made your cunt clench, eliciting similar sounds from the man behind you. He pulled you into him by your hips, each thrust pure bliss, and you knew another climax was imminent if he just...

The telepath clearly sensed your thoughts, his hand reaching around to find your clit with precision. He rubbed tight circles in perfect rhythm, building the pressure once more. You could only moan weakly around the cock deep in your throat.

"She's close, Erik. I want to hear her," Charles said breathlessly. You could tell he was nearing his peak too as Erik lifted you off him by your hair, gripping tightly.

"Are you going to come for him, sweetheart?" Erik asked, his low tone making you whimper.

"Fuck... so close... I—" Your words dissolved into a moan as your orgasm overwhelmed you. Your eyes fluttered closed, and your head rolled into Erik's hands. Your body melted into blissful jelly, your core pulsing around Charles, and he followed shortly after, his hips faltering as he pressed deep into you. With a groan in your ear, he filled you, then bit your shoulder as you both rode out the waves of pleasure together.

You were a shuddering mess by the time he was done, barely holding yourself up as he pulled out of you with a deep sigh. He pressed soft kisses down your spine as Erik lifted your head up, lust etched on his face.

“You still up for me, sweetheart?” His fingers ran across your lips and cheek, and you nodded, still breathless.

I’m going to clean up, can I leave you two to it?You heard Charles in your head, and you sent over a yes, turning your head to kiss him goodbye.

“Shall I clean you up before I go, darling?” He asked, clearly having asked Erik the same thing, before standing and moving over to him, kissing him deeply.

“I think we’ll be ok.” Erik muttered, a mischievous look on his face. You smiled, forcing your weary legs to move towards him. He held you up by your hips as you heard the bathroom door close, a quick have fun thrown into your head. You kissed him softly, tenderly as you sank onto him, a sweet, low growl filling your mouth as your hips met his—a surprisingly easy feat despite his size thanks to what had been left behind by Charles. Your legs trembled, worn out, but you pressed your body close to Erik's, draping your head over his shoulder as he guided your movements with his hands. It was intimate - hands tangled in hair, soft, short breaths mingling with deep, grinding strokes that quickly brought you to the edge yet again. Panting and whining in his ear, you tried to tell him how close you were, but the sensation overtook you before you could form the words. Your nails dug into his back as pleasure washed over you. He whispered your name in a dark, husky tone, and then he was coming too, deep inside you. Somehow, he ground even deeper as you managed to lift your head just enough to kiss him.

You both stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath, bodies intertwined. Erik's hands traced lazy patterns on your back, sending shivers down your spine. As your heartbeat slowly returned to normal, you lifted your head to meet his gaze, finding a mix of satisfaction and tenderness in his eyes. With a soft smile, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheek. You wanted to stay like this forever, feeling his heartbeat against your chest, but the moment was broken by the shower turning off. You blushed, climbing off him slowly, slumping next to him on the bed, feeling empty without him inside of you. You knew you would have to go and clean up soon, but you felt so comfortable with his arm draped around you, you didn’t want to move. He pulled the blanket from the bottom of the bed up, draping it over you as you waited for Charles, your eyes fluttering closed peacefully.

“Well, this is nice sight.” You smiled, opening your eyes to see him in the doorway to the bathroom, wet hair hanging over his face and towel wrapped around his waist.

“This is a pretty nice view from here too.” You replied. “Can I…?”

“Go ahead.” Erik muttered, planting one last kiss on your lips as you headed to the bathroom. You had just closed the door when you heard the bed creak, and they started talking.

“We got lucky with her, didn’t we?” Charles muttered, and you heard Erik sigh.

“Yes, I think we did.”

#x men #erik lensherr x reader #charles xavier x reader #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #cherik #reader insert

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dwaekkicidal · 5 months ago

Note

js had a thought of skz dom-ing usually dom!fem. reader and they fuck her so hard that she cant walk anymore n they laugh at her. please write this one 😭

-👾

First-Time-Subbing!Reader[Hyung Line]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1.8k (in total)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings are under each pic. just keep in mind its fem reader and generally rough, some of them have stuff that comes off as dubcon BUT this is in the context that they spoke about it beforehand so it's 100% consensual

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: OK first, this took me like A WEEK to post because I was trying to get all 8 of them into 1 post 😭(spoiler: i gave up. its too long) I'll post the maknae line version of this in a few days (with an extra part hehe) <3 anyways, this ask is so hot and brings out the brat in me so i got carried away

Maknae Line

𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗

reader was a brat about it, kinda meanie chris?, use of 'pretty girl', Daddy kink (are we surprised)

"Where did all that confidence go?" His hands hold both of yours against the small of your back, pushing you farther into the arm of the couch. You whine into the cushions where your face is smooshed, crying out into them with each cruel thrust.

"What was all that stuff you said earlier, my love? 'The day you dom me is the day pigs fly'? Hmm?" The night and day difference between the nickname and his hips has your head spinning.

"Fuck! Hold on-" His free hand wraps around the back of your neck and pushes you farther into the cushions, muffling your moans. "What's wrong, hm? Can't stand the taste of your own medicine?" You hear and feel his balls slap against your clit as he continues to use you thoroughly.

Once he feels you getting close, his thrusts slow down drastically. He lets go of your wrists and pulls you up, leaning you against his chest as he tediously rolls his hips against yours. "What do we say, pretty girl?"

Your eyes manage to crack open and you turn your head to look at him, "H-Huh?"

His chin rests on your shoulder and his eyes are lidded as they stare into yours. His heavy breath fans on your cheeks as he repeats himself, "Don't you have something to say to me? After being so rude to little ol' me earlier?"

"I-I'm sorry..?" His hands trail down your stomach, stopping at your clit and rubbing soft circles around it.

"Hmm." He smirks cockily. "Are you asking me or telling me? And I think you're missing something, don't you think?" You stare into his eyes confused, until you faintly remember the talk the two of you had about this exact dynamic.

You gulp, not at all familiar with the feeling coursing through your veins, but pushing yourself through it regardless. for him. "I'm sorry, D-Daddy.."

He smiles sweetly, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before he bends you forward again. He holds onto your elbows and uses them as leverage to fuck you, giving you no time to think as he starts another rough pace that has you seeing stars.

"Oh my G-God! Chris-"

"Atta girl. Tell the neighbors who owns this pussy."

𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠

reader was a brat about it, kinda mean dom min, spanking, hair pulling, edging

"Thought you said I could neeeever dom you?" The makeshift ponytail in your hair is held tightly as he holds you in place and mocks you. "Even after we talked about it and you agreed to let me dom, you still have the audacity to say all that in front of the guys?"

"M-Min! I'm sorry-"

"Mmm~ Yeah. You're gonna be sorry, kitty." His hips slam against yours even harder than before as he makes himself even angrier with the memories from the earlier events. He watches your arms wobble, struggling to hold up your body weight, and takes the chance to shove you down. Your cheek is squished against the covers and the angle causes a deeper arch in your back, allowing him to bully himself even deeper into your cunt. Pretty cries and desperate gasps continue to fall from your lips each time he pushes in and out.

Eventually, the hand in your hair is removed in favor of resting opposite of his other, caging in your torso and sinking his fists into the mattress by your waist. His chest swells with pride at the sight of you below him, at his mercy for once, and fucked completely stupid. A hand comes down on your ass cheek once before moving to your hip to hold you in place. You miss the way he licks his lips and watches you squirm below him.

Once your cries turn squeaky and your legs struggle to slam shut around his thighs, he pulls out abruptly. "Min?!? What the fuck??" You crane your neck to make a face at him but he stares down at you with a blank expression, still unmoving, so you take it upon yourself to finish yourself off. You quickly trail your hand between your legs in an attempt to rub your clit, but he catches on immediately. He uses those cat-like reflexes to roughly grab your wrists before they even get past your belly button and holds them above your head with one hand. Then his other comes down multiple times against your ass cheeks, swapping sides and never letting up.

By the time he's finished, his hands are a bright pink and burn when they squeeze and message the red flesh of your ass. Your complaints have died down alongside your disobedience, making him finally allow you a break. A very short one, however, as he slides himself through your sopping folds and pushes back in, causing you to hiss when his hips meet the abused skin of your ass.

"Bad kitties don't get to cum. Be good now and let me use you."

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚋𝚒𝚗

reader was a brat about it, kinda bondage?, hair pulling, dubcon, overstimulation, bin puts reader in a chokehold hehe

"C'mon Binnie~ Surely you can do better than that? My baby boy needs me to take the lead, again?" You laugh as he whines and tenses up, making you bite your lip at the sight of his arms flexing. He's trying so desperately to undo the pink, silk ribbons that currently restrain him to the chair in the middle of your room.

You hop off the bed, legs slightly wobbly from the orgasm you made him sit through, and skip happily to the wide dresser. You go through the more intimate drawer to find your favorite toys when you hear the floorboards creak. You crane your neck to the side only to have your face shoved into the dresser. The things on it rattle as you're held roughly against it and your underwear is pulled to your knees.

He holds you down and pumps himself a few times, lining up with your hole and pushing in slowly. The way he slowly grinds his entire length into you gives you a false sense of comfort, it's almost as if he's trying to make love! Except he's not. The hand on your head pushes you against the flat surface of the dresser top, holding you there as you start to borderline scream loudly from his quickening thrusts.

You squeak out his name with every other thrust and he tightens his hand into your hair. The other reaches into the drawer and pulls out a vibrator, turning it on and holding it against your clit. He holds it there, almost meanly, until your walls start to constrict tightly around him. When you start to cum he slows his thrusts, giving you a moment to ride out your high against the hard silicone's vibrations. But he quickly finds his pace again when you start to twitch from overstimulation.

"B-Binnie! Fuck! Wait- gimmie a minute!"

"I don't think so, Bunny. Wanna see you come again."

"Bin- No I can't, please!" His thrusts falter for a second and the hand in your hair moves to rest his arm around your neck, putting you in a light chokehold as he pulls you backward into his chest. Your bodies are glued together as he thrusts shallowly, still stretching you out as if it were your first time. The vibrator is turned up a notch and pushed back against you. When you start to convulse in his hold, he tightens the grip on your neck and chuckles at your choked cries, watching intently as you come undone again. Your eyes drop down to the mirror, watching his smirk and the way his eyes stare into yours, narrowed and darkened.

"Again."

𝙷𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚓𝚒𝚗

reader is compliant, bondage, overstimulation, kinda dacryphilia, pretty soft sex tbh??

Your legs shake as you cum for the 3rd time that night. Hyunjin finishes right after you and pulls out, backing away from you momentarily to catch his breath. You struggle to rise to your knees, the tight ropes around your chest and arms making it almost impossible. But then you're pushed back into the mattress. "Oh, I don't think so. I'm not done with you yet. You're gonna come until I'm satisfied." Your head snaps to his face and you frown deeply at him.

He simply laughs and flops on the bed, finding a spot against the wall to rest against as he pulls you to hover over his lap. One of his big hands massages your hip as he smiles up at you teasingly. "Sounds familiar? Haha.. You don't remember what you said and did to me the other day? Hmmmmm?" You roll your head, obviously annoyed with the brattiness he's giving off even as a dom. He continues to smile, chuckling as the fingers on his free hand ghost up your body.

It starts at your thighs, then moves almost leisurely upwards. His featherlight touch slithers up your tummy, between your chest, and up your neck, where he takes a firm hold of your chin. He uses the grip to pull you closer to his face, ghosting his lips over yours. "Don't be mad, my love. It's just payback... karma even." You whine loudly and nod, finally giving in to his efforts and he rewards you by pushing his lips against yours.

His tongue pushes past your lips and you give in easily. He smiles against your lips and pulls you closer, allowing the both of you to make out with skin-to-skin contact. After a minute or so you feel his tip run through your folds and he pushes in not long after. You moan into each other's mouths as he pulls you down, slowly but surely.

He takes his time with you, no longer feeling hesitant that you are the one tied up all pretty for him. Your arms wriggle from the position you're tied in, desperate for more of him. He giggles at the sight and pulls you farther onto him, sliding in impossibly deeper as your legs spread farther. He finally disconnects his lips from yours and looks down to watch his cum get pushed out of you with each slow, meticulous thrust.

It doesn't take long for him to become desperate so he begins to thrust his hips upwards into you with more vigor, meeting you halfway as your hips descend to meet his. You moan into his neck as his hands move to your ass, squeezing your cheeks and spreading them in an attempt to go even deeper. His lips meet yours as you both finish, your bodies shaking slightly from the overstimulation. You slump against him, thinking it's over until the hands on your ass tighten their hold and lift you. He continues lifting and dropping you until your eyes prickle with tears. Tears that he kisses away only to use it as a motive to go faster.

"Haha... you don't know what you started princess."

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina @rylea08

@grandma143 @caught-in-the-afterglow @yaorzu-blog @jabmastersupriseee

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 7 months ago

Text

The landing | joel miller x f!reader, 13.2k

Summary: You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you. Or The one where your orbits finally collide for the final showdown.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, NO SPOILER (read A/N), ANGST, cheater!joel, discussions of infidelity, mention of food consumption, yelling, crying, the briefest mention of smut thoughts, sprinkle of fluff (blink and you'll miss it), as always let me know if I missed anything 👀

A/N: Ok, *deep breath* I know I can't make everyone happy unless I write alternate endings 😅 and I understand that infidelity can be a very triggering concept. I gave them the ending I felt they both deserved, but if you're looking for a story where they are at each other's throats for 13k words, maybe this is not for you and you are more than welcome to kindly move on. I won't spoil the ending in the Warnings, so proceed with caution, you know what the main theme is all about. All I can tell you is that this part of the story is divided into two main scenes because I didn't want to drag it out with one little scene after another. *she says after spilling 13k words🙄sorry about that👀* As always, I would love to read your thoughts on the last part and please keep in mind that writing is almost always self-indulgent.

P.S. I want to thank each and every one of you for the love I received for this mini-series, I never thought it would engage so many people. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You've all been so kind and sweet to me, so this journey filled my heart with joy! I love you all, take care of yourselves and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! Oh! My asks are always open if you want to know more about their story. I could even write drabbles or one-shots about anything you'd like to know in particular. Ily, bye 😘

P.S. I deliberately left the last two lines without clarification of who says what, I leave that up to you. 🤍

Dividers by @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics @plum98

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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FOUR YEARS AFTER THE FALL

Are you still falling?

You’re not sure anymore. Maybe you’re just used to it. Or maybe you just learned how to fly. It certainly feels like everything has slowed down. Sometimes it feels like floating. As if you’re a feather, so lightweight, swirling around aimlessly. But you can never touch the ground. Gravity can’t quite pull you down. Every time you feel like you’re finally landing, a force of nature pulls you back up.

Maybe it is a soft, warm, summer breeze, a memory of Joel.

Maybe it is a whirlwind, a contact from the lawyers.

Maybe it is a snowstorm, sign the papers, please.

Maybe it is the whispering of a gentle wind, the possibilities of what might have been, or the lack of real closure.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

You never thought you’d enjoy leaving the big city and making a home for yourself on a ranch. But you loved it. You loved the peace and quiet, you loved this new community of people, you loved taking care of the horses, riding them, being around them. And then there was the house. A place you could almost call home. It was beautiful, rustic, warm, inviting, lacking none of the comforts a modern house needs, because you can’t quite get the big city girl out of you. The entire land had a soft, yellow-golden light enveloping every tree and every rock, everywhere your eyes reached, as if the sun shone differently here.

The days are easy. The chores are more than enough to keep you focused, there’s always something to do around here. It feels good to be busy, to keep your mind from dwelling on the past. You welcome the exhaustion of a full day’s work that accompanies your body when night comes.

Evenings are mostly good. You shower the day off, you cook, you chill on the couch with a good book or a film and more often than not, as the time passes and you feel more comfortable sharing the privacy of your home, you have friends over for dinner and drinks.

Nights though, nights are hard. At night, you pray that you are tired to the point of exhaustion so that you can sleep through it peacefully. Sometimes it works, but most of the time, not so much.

Time has intensified and lessened your emotional burden simultaneously.

The sharp pain that feels like thick acid being poured into you mellows in an inexplicable way. It still hurts, the pain oozing out of your every single pore even in a physical way. Only now, it has transformed into a sweet, slow poison conquering every hollow of your body, every vein leading from your heart to the ends of your limbs.

It’s almost a welcoming feeling, this pain, reminding you that you’re still alive, that he was real, that everything that happened was real. Because sometimes, sometimes, when you let yourself relax, when you let your guard down, all of this feels like a dream. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night, confused, reaching with your hand for the other side of the bed and finding it empty. And for a split second you get that feeling. The feeling of how it used to be with him next to you.

Then you remember.

You know why this is happening and who’s responsible for it. This is a mix-up. This is what your treacherous brain does to mess with your resolve. It blends the bad stuff into the good, creating the strangest of concoctions. The clear image of black and white, neatly and perfectly hung in the center of the walls of your mind is now splashed with colorful memories from your life together, like a Pollock painting. You do your best to resist, to bring back scenes from all the vivid recollections of the night your life changed forever but your uncooperative brain pops another memory up, a good fuckin’ memory, like a projector, illuminating those bare imaginary walls with laughter and touches and whispers and scents and warmth. It’s relentless.

This dichotomy creates an uneasiness inside you, you choose to reject and pretend not to notice. Which in turn leads to self-contempt because, as always you can’t lie to yourself. You may lie to others but deep in your core you have to be honest with yourself. That is something you’re owed. To be aware, present in the reality of your life. So, you know, you know, you just sweep things under the carpet as a copy mechanism. You know what you should do.

You should confront him. You should demand answers and then finally say what you need to say to him. Not for him, not for his sake, but for yours. But you can’t. You've lost count of how many times you've picked up the phone and your thumb hovered over his contact to call him but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. And every time you tried to text him, to start a conversation, it felt too awkward. The only acceptable subject of discussion initiated by you was the progress of the divorce papers. You were unable to even remotely insinuate a more meaningful encounter. And he didn’t make any advances either. Not that you gave him any room to try and talk to you, but still, he seemed more settled with that, rather than not.

Maybe that fact itself was your cue to let it all go. He’s probably moved on. You don’t cheat on someone so blatantly and then want them back. Obviously, this whole delaying of the divorce is a power play, like everything else, it seems.

Good, yeah, that’s it. That’s it.

Now, let go. Move on. You solved it. Let go.

But this annoying little voice is scratching the walls of your weary brain, nudging the limits of the carefully made up serenity that’s hanging by a thread.

You should confront him. For your peace of mind, for your equilibrium.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

It’s early in the evening and you’re in the garden in front of the house near the porch, on your knees, plucking a few weeds from the ground. The fatigue of the day’s work has begun to take its toll on you, your shoulder is slightly trembling as you rest your weight on one palm to dig around with the other. Sweat covers your torso, rolling down between the valley of your breasts and the hollow between your spine, leaving your t-shirt clinging to your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead, which is lightly covered in a thin layer of dirt at some places as you keep wiping your forearm over the little beads of salty water that concentrate over your brows.

You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you.

There's an overload of sensations before you shift your body around to confirm what you already know in your bones. You can smell him, taste him, feel him on your suddenly tingling skin, all at the same time.

You turn slowly and your breath hitches on your throat. You just stay in place, frozen, time infinitely stretching as you take him in from where you kneel on the ground. He stops abruptly the second his eyes meet yours and you could swear he’s holding his breath, his face completely unreadable.

He looks.. he looks like your Joel and nothing like him simultaneously. Soft yet imposing. Handsome yet battered. Determined yet lost. His clothing is simpler, dark jeans, green flannel over a black t-shirt and laced boots, as if he just returned from a working site. His curls are longer, framing his handsome face in a ridiculously good way, more white hairs nestle in his beard that is not that trimmed. Neither of you speak quite yet, taking each other in.

Your mind, your bizarre, ridiculous mind is working on figuring out what day it is. Why does it matter? Did you have an appointment? This is unexpected and a long time coming all at once, regardless of the day of the week. What comes next? Do you draw up an astrological map to determine if it's a compatible date for you to meet? Get it together.

Your facial expression must be pretty funny because Joel smiles awkwardly while scratching one side of his bearded cheek; hey, it’s me.

No, shit, you mentally respond, as if you could ever forget him. Furious is the word that best describes you because these are his first words? Hey, it’s me? And that feeling escalates into an explosive retort because you now realize that you had expectations. His first words? Who cares what his first words are? Were you expecting a tearful reunion, masterfully staged and executed like a romantic film? The guy betrayed you in your own house, sorry, his house. Wake the fuck up.

“Did you sign the papers?” you spit as you rise from your spot and he reacts as if you have punched him in the stomach. His face falls; you see a series of micro-expressions pass over his features before he settles on the last one. Has he been hurt? Did you hurt his feelings? Did he also have expectations?

“Uh-”, Joel raises his brows in genuine surprise, things probably not going the way he expected or hoped.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”, he replies with mild mockery.

Your eyes snap shut and you laugh in anger, lowering your chin to your chest and then looking back up at him, your eyes blazing, your brows mimicking his previously surprised expression, “Are you serious right now?” you cross your hands defensively over your chest.

You stare at each other for a good minute, both of you taking a moment to compose yourselves and regain your balance.

You break first, dropping your head back to your chest, looking down at the heel of your shoe scraping the ground beneath you, exhaling audibly.

“Hey,” Joel tries again, after speaking your name tenderly, your name on his lips, his head dipping down and to the side to try and get your attention back to him, his gaze filled with a mixture of warmth, regret and fear, “hi.”

You shake your head from side to side in repentance, what a great start this is, you keep thinking, “Hi.” is all you give him, still not looking at him.

“Hi,” he repeats, “it’s really nice to see you, bab-, shit, sorry.”, he winces, covering his mouth with his palm, embarrassment creeping into his features. You let out a quiet laugh, exhaling through your nose. You don’t comment on the slip of endearment that leaves his mouth, you don’t correct him, accepting privately that you liked it, you missed it, you longed for it.

Joel studies your face, but makes no comment on your silence. “You look...” he pauses for a split second before deciding to continue, “you look really good.” He hesitates, he doesn't want his compliment to come across as a feeble attempt to patronize you, because he really means it. You do look good, all sweaty and muddy and human and real. You are real. If he took a few steps forward, he could actually reach out and touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips, smell your heady scent, perhaps discreetly lick the remnants of your sweat from his thumb after carefully removing the strands of hair sticking on your forehead. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t do any of that.

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, any answer crossing your mind seems stupid or cheesy or dismissive. How do you respond to a compliment from the man who made you worship in his altar, only to have your faith ripped out of your heart?

His eyes keep roaming over your face, your figure, memorizing everything he can, like a blind man who has finally found his light, while he fidgets with an envelope in his hand which reminds you-

“Did you sign the papers, Joel?”, is what escapes your lips before you can think twice.

“No.” and now it’s his turn to lower his head, his eyes avoiding your gaze, as he looks down at his feet.

“Joel!”, you exclaim infuriated, rolling your eyes at him, knitting your brows together in a sign of frustration.

“No, no, it’s not like that. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”, Joel raises a hand in your direction to stop you from what seems to be a fair assumption, his palm up, facing you in an unspoken surrender. “I thought that- me, not signing, was a way of showing you how deeply sorry I am, how much I wanted to fix our marriage, but I understand now,” his voice wavers slightly, “that I need to respect your wishes. It’s the right thing to do. If this is still what you want, I’m gonna sign it.”

You don’t reply to that last part, only pointing out that “You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel agrees.

“Then why are you here?” you insist, reluctant to entertain the idea that he has actually come all this way to apologize.

“Because I owe you an explanation.” is his honest and direct answer, sending little jolts of electricity through your nerves.

“Joel..” you sigh in exasperation. Not in warning or frustration, not really, but in something else. A feeling you can’t really put a name to, the closest you can come to describing it is that of a burden, woven deep into your heart, blossoming rapidly with each beat. There are so many things left unsaid; it makes you feel helpless, like you’re drowning. You want the dam you’ve built around your soul over the years to break so everything you've been holding back can finally pour out of you, but there’s just so much of it, of everything, that you’re terrified. Will the overflowing tank of emotions be completely empty? Will there be anything left unsaid? Untouched? What if the remnants left behind keep licking around your wounds, their waves pushing, shaping what’s left of you into something new, unrecognizable?

And what if, the tank will indeed be completely empty? What you’ll be left with, then? Nothing? Just.. empty? Will you remain empty? What, if anything, will take its place? Will you recognize your new self? Will you like yourself? Will you be able to live in harmony with this shell of a person? This you; you know. You hated and pitied and caressed and comforted and forgave and nurtured you into some version of a new you. But this? Everything will be torn apart, the wounds will be freshly opened, accessible to be examined in detail, plucked and bled and bruised in an all-too-familiar way.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your trance, “No, I do. I owe you more than that, actually, but that’s the least I can do. And I wanna do that while I’m still your husband. I want to explain myself as your husband. Apologize to my wife, as her husband. Then I’m gonna sign anything you want me to.”

“And if I don’t wanna hear what you have to say?”

“Then I’ll just sign the papers and leave you in peace.” Joel confesses in all his honesty.

You just nod, looking down on the ground. You take a deep breath to ground yourself. You can do this. You want to do this. You need to do this.

You walk towards the house and sit down on the steps of the porch, as he looks at you awkwardly, not knowing where to stand. You gesture with a tilt of your head for him to come sit next to you. You can do this. You realize that you didn’t invite him into the house and you feel a bit rude for that, but it's beyond your empathetic capacity to deal with him being here and to let him into the house as well. “I just like it out here, it’s calm and-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, whatever makes you feel comfortable; I know you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be..” he interrupts you as he sits down next to you, his one side pressing against the end of the stairs, where the railing begins. He places the contract between your bodies, on the wooden floor.

It makes you uncomfortable, his statement, you always want people to feel welcome and relaxed around you. You internally chastise yourself for worrying about his feelings instead of yours, but you can’t help it, it’s embedded in your DNA. “It’s OK, Joel, I don’t mind, we can talk.”

Joel nods, but he remains silent. You don’t break the silence, giving him time to collect his thoughts. He chuckles defeated, shaking his head while rubbing his hand over his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you don’t look that mighty to me anymore.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and you immediately regret it. It didn’t sound so insulting in your head. You only meant to say that he doesn’t intimidate you anymore. Which is sort of a lie and a truth at the same time. You used to find him imposing, even his mere presence had the ability to make your skin crawl, your heart flutter and your words get catch in your dry throat, you were in awe of him. Every time you laid your eyes at him, even when you were straddling his lap or gazing at his profile as he slept beside you, you always felt as if you were looking up. You admired him.

His heart loses several beats to that. He can read between your lines now. He has lost your respect. Your admiration. The time when you looked up to him in awe is long gone.

“You know, my therapist warned me about this.”, he chuckles bitterly.

“Your-” you can’t hide your shocked expression from him as you search his eyes for any sign of him joking around, but you find none. “You’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah, I-, I spent two years hating myself,” he chuckles deprecatingly, “and then I realized it was time for me to stop being an arrogant prick, so I spent another two doing it all over again with the help of my therapist.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his entire life. “OK, somebody’s off to a good start. Go on.”

“You mean about the therapy?”

“I mean about you admitting you are an arrogant prick”, you say playfully.

He really laughs now, his eyes crinkle up at the sides. You used to love that. You feel your heart warming up. “You can thank Maria for that.”

“For what?”

“For kicking my ass and pushing me to help myself.” Joel admits. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she is.” you agree through your laughter, the image of Maria actually kicking Joel’s ass is priceless.

“I missed that sound.” Joel is looking at you softly, as if his gaze could break you.

“Hm.” you simply smile at him, not finding it in you to respond with a snide remark. The time for that feels like it has passed, like it’s irrelevant at this point. All you really want is to have an honest conversation, irony be damned.

You both look at your feet in silent consideration for a minute or two. “I thought you’d be mad at me.” Joel reveals.

You exhale through your nose, the edges of your mouth turning up in a gentle smile. “Four years is a long time to be mad at anyone, Joel. Even you don’t have that kind of power over me.”

“Good. I have enough burden on my shoulders as it is..”, he mumbles and you decide to change the subject.

How do you admit that you are still mad at him but in a different way? How do you describe the deep scar his existence has carved into your soul making it almost unbearable to even exist without him? How do you explain that you’ll always carry him with you, no matter what? How do you instill in him that you still believe in the best version of him, the best version you know he can be, the best version of him you once lived with. Yes, you’re not mad at him for the reasons he thinks you are. You’re mad at him because the way he made you love him is stronger than any hurt he’s ever caused you.

“So, what did your therapist warn you about?”

“She, uh- she tried to prepare me for this.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“That I should not be prepared.”, he laughs in earnest. “That I should not obsess about what I want to say and just be open and have an honest interaction.”

“I like her, already.” you say with a straight face.

He smiles softly, looking down at his boots, while he rests his elbows on his knees, one palm encircling the other. “Yeah… I had some digging to do; I still do for that matter and will be for a long time it seems.”

“Anything you wanna share?” you reply, raising an eyebrow as if you had no idea why he was here.

“Oh, boy-” he squirms in his seat, already overwhelmed by the turn of the conversation, his chest almost vibrating with anxiety, he can barely swallow, small beads of sweat starting to form around his temples. You reluctantly reach for his forearm, trying to calm him down. “Hey, Joel?”

His whole body stiffens at your touch and he wishes his clothes would evaporate so he could feel your skin against his. He fixes his eyes on your delicate fingers lightly squeezing his tight muscles underneath the fabric. “The worst part has already happened four years ago, so-” you shrug, “just breathe.” Joel keeps his eyes on your hand, his heart rate dropping slightly; you ground him. You retract your arm and keep your hands to yourself in an effort to maintain a respectable distance between you. You shouldn’t have touched him at all.

“I think- I think I understand now.” he begins, still feeling the ghost of your touch on his forearm. “How I made you feel, what your words meant. You always did that, you know. And I found it so fascinating and so exhausting at the same time.”

You look at him, confused. Joel continues, “You always chose your words carefully. You had a reason for every single thing you said. In retrospect, I realized that you were handing me everything on a silver platter, but I was too self-absorbed to see it at the time.”

You nod in agreement, gesturing with your head for him to keep going.

Joel takes a deep breath, holding it inside his lungs for a while. His exhalation is controlled, measured. “Fuck. Okay. It was not just the fact itself. It was not just the cheatin’.”

Your stomach clenches violently at his words. The time has finally come and although you know what happened, you where there, when the words come out of Joel’s mouth it's as if you're pulled back to that threshold all over again. It really happened. You feel your hands sweating. “Go on.”, you pronounce carefully, already anxious your voice is going to betray you. You can do this.

“I don’t want to sound all full of myself-” Joel hesitates.

“You won’t.” you interrupt him with conviction. The truth has never frightened you. You welcome it. It feels like a form of catharsis, it feels like you’re finally being seen. Every nerve in your body is on fire. You’re ready for this, for the truth, if only he gives it to you. Please, set me free.

“I was your everything.” he whispers, almost embarrassed, his eyes not meeting yours. You don’t respond to that, not until he looks at you, although the admission shoots straight through your heart. You stare at the side of his face, almost forcing him to turn to you. He does.

“You were.” Simple. True. Clear as the light of day.

“And I ripped that from you.”

“You did.”

“In the worst possible way.”

“Hmhm.”, you don’t trust the stability of your voice.

“And no matter what I say, I can never take back what I did. I humiliated you, our home, our relationship, everything. I-” his brows furrow in an expression of disgust, “I disrespected myself. I burned everything down. I left nothing for you to hold on to, nothing for me to hope for, nothing.”

His chin trembles and his voice wavers as he continues. “The words to describe how sorry I am have not yet been invented. And even if they had, they still couldn’t take the pain away; what’s done, is done.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the railing. “I don’t know what I wish for anymore. That you had never met me, so you could be spared all this pain? But I can’t. I can’t wish that, because I’m so grateful to have met you. I married you, I had you. That is what has comforted me all these years, what has got me through all those sleepless nights.” He looks absolutely devastated, desperate.

It feels genuine, because he’s not directing it at you, he’s not trying to convince you, he’s not trying at all. “I have not thought about my pain or what I want from all this for a long time. All I pray for is-” his glistening eyes are searching frantically on the ground, his brows knitted together in a painful grimace. You rest your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow on your knee. Watching this moment like an outside observer, you realize that he's trying to live up to your standards, reminding you of a child trying to impress his parents, only to fail regardless of the outcome.

“Look, Joel, couples break up, divorce, all over the world, all the time. And I guess, they all thought their partners were their everything until they finally weren’t.”, you rationalize, putting everything that has happened into some kind of perspective. It is not the end of the world. It is the end of your world. He doesn’t have to carry this burden on his shoulders for eternity. All you need from him is to understand, to acknowledge what he's done to you, how broken you’ve been.

But if he acknowledges that, if he truly comprehends the tremendous pain he’s put you through, won’t all that anguish be transferred to him? Isn't it unbearable for a truly repentant man to know that he has deliberately caused so much pain?

“But, you see; I wanted that, I needed to be your everything.”

“It certainly fed your ego..” you grin at him.

“No, no- I craved that- that look on your face when your eyes were on me, like there was nothing else, no one else around you, but me. You drove me to be better, to move forward; I felt I had a purpose. You were my purpose.”

“Well I didn’t do much of a job then, did I?” you smile defeated.

“No, honey, this-” he’s determined to make you understand that it wasn't your fault, even if it is the last thing he is going to do. He licks his lips trying to formulate his thoughts, “-what happened, had nothing to do with you, I- I was just- I got in my head..”

You shake your head dismissively, “It’s a terrible burden to put people on a pedestal and expect them to-”

“But you see, baby, that’s the thing. You didn’t.”Joel dismisses your comment and if a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over your head you wouldn’t feel so frozen. You search his eyes for meaning, because deep down it stings to hear that you could give more. Is that what he’s saying? You didn’t love him enough? Joel catches on and rushes to explain. “You-” god this is so hard, he’s struggling, can’t he just rip his heart open and let you examine it? “You loved me so much, baby and you never asked for anything in return. You let me be who I was. You accepted me completely. You set me free.” His eyes are blown wide, burning into yours with intensity. You look so lost, how does all this fit in with what he did then?

“Darlin’,” he expands further, “we live in a competitive world. Everyone aims to control each other, from business partners to lovers and spouses; everyone manipulates, everyone tries to tell you where to look, what to do, how to act, how to fuck, how to love. Except for you. You let me be. You put your heart in my hands and you set me free. And I took advantage of that and I am truly sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. That’s how fucked up I am.” you look at him dumbfounded.

“I can’t connect the dots; I don’t get it, Joel, I’m sorry, I-” you run your fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp in frustration. What does he mean?

Joel winces mid-sentence because he can’t escape what’s coming. This is his last resort. And he knows it is going to sound cruel and he doesn’t even mean the first part the way you're going to perceive it, but for lack of better words, for lack of the better person he could have been, a person who should have never put you in this position in the first place, here goes.

“She made me feel wanted; you made me feel free.”,

he spits out in a hurry, praying to whatever god is listening, that you won’t even catch it, knowing full well that these may be the last words you'll ever let him speak to you.

You are utterly, completely, perfectly shocked.

Then you feel it for the first time in what feels like ages. That old friend consuming you. Rage. It burns your lungs, twists your guts and pierces your heart like a thousand needles. Everything becomes crystal clear. You’re so infuriated, that your mind goes blank. A million words and nothing at all come to your mind simultaneously.

“Let me- let me rephrase that, because actually it was never even about her, I just-” Joel begins, in a vain attempt to stop the tide from crushing you both.

Your palms become clenched fists in front of your mouth, pressing against it, crushing the velvety skin of the inside of your lips against your teeth until you draw blood, in an effort to control yourself. You inhale sharply, keeping your eyes fixed on the land in front of you, blurred by the tears gathering in your waterline.

“She- what?” are the only words you manage to choke out.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter, it was never about her, she was a means to an end and-” your eyes bulge out of your sockets at the statement, “I know- I know how that sounds- just-” his palms come together in a prayerful gesture, begging you to give him a chance to explain.

“A means to an- what the fuck are you talking about, Joel?” the veins on your forehead swell under your skin, creating a map of the river of wrath flowing aggressively through your body.

“It was never an affair sweetheart, but a transaction; one I initiated. She was only a boost to my ego.”

..she made me feel wanted..

..a boost to my ego..

It's all starting to make sense now, and it's the last thing you expect to be confronted with. You've always imagined either a heated affair, a secret love story, him realizing he had found his soul mate in someone else, or him getting bored with you, finding you too much or too emotional or too unlovable. It turns out that you were accused of the one thing you never were.

“Are you-, oh god,” you can hear your heart pounding in your ears now and it takes every ounce of strength not to vomit, “are you saying that you fucked someone else; you fucked your secretary for fuck’s sake, you fuckin’ cliché of a man, because I wasn’t jealous of you?”. Your throat is so swollen, you try to scream your words at him but they only come out in wrenched whispers.

You stand up abruptly, dizziness causing you to close your eyes tightly as you see a million white dots behind the blackness of your eyelids. Your whole body vibrates with rage. You steady yourself on the railing and then begin to pace back and forth, your hands unable to stay motionless, but moving over your face, through your hair, lowering and squeezing the sides of your waist as you lean slightly forward in a subconscious way to soothe yourself.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” you laugh hysterically now, as angry tears run down your cheeks, as if you've been let in on an inside joke. “It’s my fault, everything is my fault-”

Joel is frozen in place, he’s not sure if he should get up and try to reason with you or stay where he is.. or run for the hills. He��s witnessing the unleashing of a caged animal. His tongue feels heavy and numb in the cavern of his mouth but he dares to speak again, “That’s the exact opposite of what I said, sweetheart,” he tries to explain in vain, “I’m sorry if that’s what I-” but you’re not listening to a single word he utters.

“People kept telling me, urging me on, all my life;” and you slap your palms on the sides of your thighs, looking at his direction, but not really looking, “I should be more controlling, more pushy, more..” your voice begins to fade, muttering to yourself through your teeth. “They warned me, you know, that the lack of pressure in any kind of relationship would be perceived as a lack of interest.”

Don't trust completely; hold something back; men like the illusion of power; show them you need them; make them jealous; be jealous, like a manual to a pre-installed setting.

Do you agree to the Terms & Conditions?

Press ‘Enter.’

“But I didn’t listen. I never listened. Because in what world do we choose a leash over freedom?” You turn to look at him now, addressing him as if you were talking to a third party, an outsider, asking for advise or affirmation.

Maria’s words come back to Joel’s mind, words that he had long forgotten about, finally fitting like missing pieces of a puzzle to the bigger picture.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”

“I was really stupid, was I not? What on earth made me think that this time would be any different, what made me think that you’d be any different? You’re just- you’re just another man-” you spit your vile angrily as your eyes sweep over him. The look in his eyes is devastated, he feels shuttered, reduced to nothing.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl. When the fuck will I learn? When the fuck am I going to accept that I don't really belong? When?”

Joel is staring at you bewildered, he never felt more helpless in his life. A thousand new thoughts and questions form in your head, things you didn’t even begin to imagine would cross your mind.

“Did you use her?” you ask with renewed vigor, a surge of energy running through your body.

Joel’s cheeks burn with humiliation but he has already admitted it once, what will it do to him to say it one more time? “Yes, I never had any feelings f-”

“No,” you interrupt impatiently, you don't care about his feelings right fuckin' now, “that night, did you use her? On purpose?”

Joel looks lost for a second but the cogs in his head finally turn and “NO! No baby, I wasn’t even aware of you coming home earlier than expected, no. Don’t even entertain this idea; it wasn’t intentional, I swear to god.”

Oh. There’s a new question for Joel. Why did you leave your business trip early? He had never thought about it before, solely focused on everything else that had happened, which now made him wonder, “Did you- did you know?”

“What?” you frown, lost in your own thoughts, not following his line of logic.

“Did you know? Is that why you came back early from your trip?”

You’re still a bit too far gone in your head to think clearly and try to prevent the next question from coming, “Of course I didn’t know, Joel, did it look like I did?” is all you say with a bite, annoyed.

“Then why-” Joel insists, pressuring you for an answer, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I- fuck- I need a minute.” you declare and start to walk towards the house.

Joel waited on that porch for almost an hour, watching the sun set behind the mountain, afraid to move, barely breathing in case you stormed out and threw him back where he came from as if him standing still would somehow make him part of the landscape; as if he belonged.

And you certainly delivered.

He hears the screen door open, his back still to the house. You are standing behind him, your arms crossed stiffly over your chest, your face tilted down, to avoid his gaze. He could see the red-rimmed and swollen eyes of yours, despite your efforts to hide them.

“I can’t do this-”

“Please,” his whole face contorts in agony, “please, hear me-” you both speak at the same time.

“-tonight.”

“What?” his voice matching the look of confusion on his face.

“Maybe another time, but not tonight.”

“I-” he doesn’t know how to articulate his thoughts without sounding like an idiot. He drove all this way, four hours straight, to finally get things straight. His brain has short-circuited, unable to put a plan into action. Should he check into a hotel or a motel or whatever the fuck is around here in the middle of nowhere? Should he go back to his place? Do you really want to talk again? You sort of said you did. You said maybe. Fuck. What does he do?

But honestly, what did he expect? That this would be over in the course of one evening? Of course he would have to come back. His eyes are fixed on yours like a deer caught in the headlights. “I came all this way-” he mumbles, choking on the last part, already regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

“Well, too bad.” you spit emotionless as you turn and head for the safety of your house, leaving him stunned on the goddamn porch.

Joel returned the next evening, but you weren't there. He made the four hour journey and came back empty-handed. And you weren't there the next evening, or the evening after that. But he kept on driving the miles, hot wheels under the Texas sun. He didn’t check in anywhere near your small town. He went back home and then back to you again.

The last time he found nothing but a closed door, he finally got the message, so the next time he left the house, before he turned on the ignition, he texted you, as a sign of respect for your boundaries.

Is it all right if I come and see you?

Backspacebackspacebackspace

Is it OK if I come and talk?

And the answer was

Not today.

So, every day he texted you. He didn’t mean to be intrusive, he just wanted to remind you that you were never far from his thoughts, that he was always ready and eager to finish what he started.

You denied him for quite some time. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him again. The confessions he made have knocked you off your axis. Just when you finally felt like everything was falling into place, he dropped this bombshell, making you rethink everything you thought you knew and had sorted out in your mind. You just couldn’t wrap your head around what you’d heard coming out of his mouth. How could he think like that? Why couldn’t he just talk to you? You used to talk about everything; what the fuck happened? How did you not see that coming?

You were sure that he would give up, that he would stop bothering to contact you at all. Was it the monster of self-deprecation? Was it a deep disappointment in human beings and their general lack of persistence in trying to nurture and repair a relationship, or at least trying to give it a proper closure? You didn’t give it much thought afraid of the answer you might get. But you kept saying Not today, until one day, for some reason-

Can we talk?

Yes.

Joel’s heart is beating through his chest so rapidly, he has to cough to regain some of his composure. He almost drops his phone, trying to confirm the most convenient time for you before you change your mind.

That was the first Yes after the day you saw him again. You weren’t sure what you wanted to talk about; if you could pick up exactly where you left off. You weren’t even sure you could look him in the eye again, but you had to see this through.

When you hear the sound of his engine and tires on the dirt road, you take a deep breath and walk out of the house to wait for him on the porch.

“Come on in, I’m cooking dinner.” you announce as you open the screen door for him to enter the house.

“Are you sure?”, Joel is taken aback, he thought the inside of your house was strictly off-limits to him. You were also cooking dinner as if he was an old friend visiting you. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should lower his defenses or not but with the way you looked tonight you didn’t give him much of a choice.

You’re wearing a pair of warm cream jeans, paired with a white front tie shirt, the first few buttons left open, giving him a glimpse of your tanned sternum. It almost looks like a man’s shirt, just messily tied up over your soft skin, revealing bits of your stomach. Could it be another man’s shirt?

You are barefoot. The nails of your toes are painted in a fresh glossy black color. Your hair is casually tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around your beaming face. Joel has to restrain himself from pushing you against the wall and fucking you on the spot, by clenching and unclenching his fists. His mouth is salivating at the sight of you, excitement building in his groin. It's been so long since he's felt this way, a different kind of hunger is growing in him at a rapid pace, as if something buried deep inside his masculinity has just awakened from hibernation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you quirk back at him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, what you’re both doing. “I’m starving. Coming?” you leave him at the entrance and go back into the house.

“You have a beautiful home.”, Joel admits as he takes in his surroundings, thinking that this is going better than he expected. He also can't help but prepare himself for the fact that this might not end the same way.

“Thank you.” you laugh nervously.

“What?”, he catches the note of disbelief in your voice. “I'm serious, the light is just right, it’s open and warm; it actually reminds me of you.” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, no, I know you mean it, it’s just- I guess it’s high praise, coming from you.” you admit. You always admired what he did for a living and how good he was at it and him seeing your place for the first time gave you another reason to feel kind of nervous.

“Oh, come on, none of that now.” he dismisses the compliment, his voice wavering slightly at the praise.

“Well it’s true, you are excellent at what you do, I mean, the house you built is a work of art and that’s a fact.”

“Which one?”, although he knows exactly which one, he presses on.

“The one we used to live in, together.” You can’t call it your house. You cannot. The mere thought of it makes your tongue feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh.”, Joel smiles as he presses his lips together in a thin line, “You mean our house. It was built out of love, that's why. It's the one I'm most proud of.”

“Hm.”, is all you give him. Déjà vu brings back memories out of the closet -pun intended- for both of you.

“Ok, now you really have to tell me. What is it?”, Joel crosses his forearms over his chest. He has to know.

“What do you mean?”, you try to buy some more time, cause you’re not so sure you want to go in there.

“You had the exact same reaction when I mentioned that, four years ago.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s just- it always felt like it reflected your personality rather than mine. Or at least ours.”

Joel looks at you perplexed.

“I’m not complaining, I mean, how many people can claim that their husband built them a house the size of a small hotel as a wedding present?” you chuckle while you continue as nonchalantly as you can muster, “I would have lived in a cave with you, Joel, you didn’t have to go to these lengths to house two people. If you want my honest opinion, this was an ego project. I let it slide because it made you happy. And I liked you happy.” Joel looks stunned, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Baby, I- I wanted to make you happy, to give you the best I could-”

“Joel, I’m not judging you. I am not. But you didn’t show me a single blueprint while you were designing the damn thing. You didn’t ask me what I wanted or how I imagined it. Sure, you equipped it with all the best stuff money could buy, but you never asked me what I thought about it. Not really.”, you see the hurt in his eyes and it unsettles you, but now the rabbit is out of the hat. “Again, I’m not judging you and I’m not being ungrateful, all I’m saying is that for some reason you needed your shinny new wife to live in a shinny new castle. It was a prestige thing. Just think about it.”

“Jesus..” Joel mutters, pinching the sides of his forehead with one hand, feeling defeated.

“Hey,” you give him a wry look, “I tried to avoid answering that question for four years. You were the one who insisted.” you defend yourself, clearly amused by his reaction.

“What else do I need to know?”, Joel wonders in a desperate manner.

“Well.. for how long can you keep coming back?” you joke absentmindedly.

“For the rest of my life..” Joel answers a little too quickly, not a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Your heart tightens at his eagerness, forcing you to admit a consideration that you have had more than a few times before. “You know,” you look over at him, lost in thought, almost like reminiscing, “sometimes I wish I had met you before your company took off.” You snap out of your daydream and consciously look at him and he looks pained as if some kind of realization has hit him. You change the subject for the sake of both of you. “Anyway, speaking of which, how is work? I heard you closed that deal, after all.” you grin mischievously.

“Yeah, I did.”, his voice takes on a strange timbre, almost like regret. But you’re not so sure about anything these days, so you let it pass. He puts the envelope with the contract on the counter in the kitchen and sits down in the chair next to the table already set for dinner.

“Good, that’s good. Let me guess, you’re all over it? First in, last out? Is it almost done?” you word vomit to cover your nervousness.

“Uh,” Joel rubs the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t know.” is all he gives you, clearly trying to avoid getting involved in the discussion.

“Um, you don’t know?”, you laugh lightly in confusion. “How is that possible?”, you ask stirring the vegetables in the pan.

“I’m not involved in the project and I have no idea about the status of the construction;” Joel answers your question and continues, revealing, “I quit. Sold my shares and got out.”

“Yeah,” you draw the vowels, still not looking in his direction, “right. Big, mighty Joel Miller left his enterprise-” you laugh mockingly, but you are met with silence. “You’re joking, right?” You turn to look at him, not believing what you have just heard. You feel your blood freeze in your veins.

Joel shakes his head in denial, “I’ve actually left the city and the only reason I haven’t sold every asset in my name is in case you want to claim any of them. They’re all yours if you want ‘em.” Your mouth is slightly agape, as you try to process what has just been delivered to you.

You open your mouth to protest but he beats you to it, by raising his hand to stop you. “I know you don’t want anything from me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want them either. Not without you. Just take them. Burn them for all I care, liquidate them and use the money as you see fit.”, Joel insists, trying to find ways to convince you.

“You can do that yourself, Joel.” is all you say; you don’t give a damn about his money. Joel nods and leaves it at that, he knows better than to talk about money right now.

You’re curious where he lives now, but you’re not sure it’s appropriate to ask, so you don’t. You prepare dinner and make small talk about simple things like your lives over the past four years. Joel asks you about the ranch, the horses, the chores; you ask him about Tommy and Maria, their newborn son, whom you haven't had a chance to meet yet. None of you dare to break the bubble of normality in which you have effortlessly found yourselves.

It feels like coming home after a long day, the way you both fall into a comfortable silence. Joel speaks your name softly, drawing your attention and your gaze back to him. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re eating?” Just a little longer, let me have it just a little longer.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “no, I mean, what are we doing?” he gestures with his fingers between him and you.

You look at him and then at your plate, playing around with your food, lost in thought. How do you acknowledge that? How do you confess that you’re trying to stretch time? How do you admit that you’re scared out of your mind of how it's all going to end? How do you even come to terms with the fact that you’re not sure you want any of this to end? How do you accept how natural it feels to have him back in your life? How do you admit that after four years the pain has never stopped, but the force, the roughness of it has changed into something softer, yet persistent; never quite going away, lingering.

How do you admit that all the good memories are emerging, because that’s what the mind does, that’s how it protects you, that’s how it helps you survive another day, that’s how it tricks you into falling back into a comfortable routine with him. Even if what binds you together now is his betrayal. How do you admit that you’re afraid of what will become of you once you've finished confessing your truths?

Will he cease to exist for you? Will you cease to exist for him? Will he ever bother to contact you again? Do you really want him to? Will you matter to him or will he move on, start again and shake off the last vestiges of your life together?

Or maybe- maybe he has moved on with his life and that's why he's doing all this, putting all this effort into it. Maybe he is preparing a new, clear path for himself and whoever is in his life right now. Is it her? Is it still, her?

You’re spiraling, lost in your thoughts, biting your lower lip anxiously, like a snake eating its own tail. “Baby?” his baritone voice snaps you out of it, he must have called you several times before you heard him, suddenly aware of hot, fat tears streaming down your face, his thumbs gently brushing them from your cheeks.

You let out a shuddering breath; it’s the first time he’s touched you, in so, so long. And here he is again. The familiar, old friend. He’s pounding on your door now, relentless as he is, screaming for you to let him in, lead the way, take charge, take care of you. You can almost feel his maniacal banging, vibrating through your chest, let me in, let me in, let me in.

Let me in, better angry than scared.

Better angry than scared.

Your shoulders slump, your head feels unbearably heavy. The world has stopped moving. The world is moving too fast. You savor his features as he leans further in, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, his eyes pleading, the brown of his irises inviting you to let him in. Joel’s face is that of a man still in love as he continues to caress your skin and you let him.

You let him, because you are a weak person.

You let him because you have been deprived of his touch, of any touch really, for far too long.

You let him because you want to have something for yourself, selfishly.

You let him, because for once you just want to take. Take, take, take.

You let him because you just want to be held and touched and loved.

And even though your mind knows that you shouldn’t want all that from him, your heart allows you that little moment.

“Joel, I’m tired.” you begin, your voice breaking as fresh tears run down your face and onto his thumbs. “Tired to my bones. All I want is to be honest with each other. Do you think we can do that? Can we talk like two adults with nothing left to lose? Can we just be truthful to each other? I know there’s too much history between us, too much hurt and resentment but we both have to try and put it all behind us. I can’t go on like this.”

There’s a stillness in him, realization and clarity dawning on him. He thinks he understands now and it shocks him somehow, as a fact, that there are still things to uncover, to revel in, to acknowledge. Every time he thinks he’s reached the end of this journey, a new sun rises over the horizon.

You don’t need the specifics of his action, at least not right now, or not anymore. What you need is closure. True, honest closure. And that can only come from him baring himself to you. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. We can do anything you want, baby.”, he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing where to begin, but resisting the thought. He leans back in his seat, dropping his hands from your face as he lets out the breath he seems to be holding in and begins.

“Remember that night before your business trip when you came to my office?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”, what a strange thing to mention, you think confused. “What about it?”

“You came to me for sex.”, Joel says bluntly, no need to beat around the bush. This is it. This is how he loses you. Once again.

You stare at him and then, for some reason, look down in embarrassment. You’ve fucked him in almost every way you can think of and now the very admission of that fact makes you feel like an exposed nerve. It dawns on you, how far away this era has slipped away. You feel vulnerable as if you’re talking to a total stranger about your most intimate moments. At the same time, you still know exactly how to touch him, how to please him and a light warmth begins to shimmer inside you.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it, but- yeah..”, you admit, still nervously picking at your food with your fork.

Joel sees your apprehension but he presses on. This is what you asked for. “And I refused you.” The look on your face betrays your confusion. Where is he going with this? Only now, he sees more. He can finally see more. The hurt. The disappointment. “What happened next?” is his next question and does he really think that you can remember all these years later? Does he honestly believe that you can recall yourself leaving his office defeated and crying yourself to sleep? “I don’t remember.” you lie, shrugging your shoulders as convincingly as you can muster.

“You said you loved me and then you left.”, Joel reminds you.

“You- you remember all that?”, your eyes are wide and the look on your face vulnerable, Joel wants to pause it all and hold you in his arms.

“I can’t seem to forget anything about you,” he reveals, “believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Uh.. why did I do what?”, you narrow your eyes in confusion.

His eyes are piercing yours, provoking you to figure it out on your own.

“Loved you?” He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Your eyes widen again, in surprise this time, as you finally see what he means.

“Walked away?” You’re fucking shocked to the core, your voice choked, you’re not sure you spoke out loud.

“Why didn’t you insist?”

Your mouth is wide open, you’re speechless, you flatter your eyelids in search of the right words. This is your second encounter and once again he says what you least expect him to say.

“You refused” you remind him now, “and I respected that.”, your hand moves to rest on your chest, palm open, to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You know how that sounds, don’t you?”, you mock with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please,” Joel is quick to respond, his brows knitted in a dismissive frown, “like you could ever force yourself on me.”

You genuinely are at a loss for words, your gaze unable to stay in one place, your mind running a million miles an hour.

Apparently you both are, because Joel is no better at explaining how he feels. “I wanted you to-”, he stops, his eyes still searching yours for the right words, pleading with you to feel him.

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

It dawns on you. All at once. You see it all playing out. You know exactly how this conversation is going to go. “-claim you? You wanted me to claim you?”, your voice rises, as does your tone. You feel the presence of your abandoned friend again. You don’t want him here. But he creeps in through your veins, nonetheless. He is not giving up. If the pounding doesn’t work then he’ll poison you, slowly and persistently.

“From who? You were supposed to be mine!”, you exclaim exasperated, immediately correcting yourself “-not that I owned you, you know what-”

“That! That’s what I’m talking about!” Joel points his finger at you, “That’s what I needed. To be yours!”

“But you were! Are we really haggling over semantics? Of course you were mine! I just never wanted you to feel suffocated by me. You were not my possession Joel, you were my partner!”

“I swear to you, I would die a happy man, baby.”

“I- I tried so hard to control myself-” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back to your head as you shake it in denial, “-all that hunger inside of me, eating me up-”

“What?” is Joel’s turn to look like a lost puppy. What the fuck is going on here?

“You,” you point a finger at him, “you were my first and last thought every passing day, it wasn’t even healthy anymore, Joel. But- I saw that look in your eyes sometimes, a hunger, one I thought mirrored mine and then it was gone in the blink of an eye and I thought that something was holding you back; I- I was holding you back. I thought- maybe I was undeserving..” you divert your eyes from him, embarrassed at your feeling of inadequacy, “So, I accepted what you gave me if it meant I could have any part of you.”

“Oh, baby..” Joel’s hiding his face in his palms and his heart breaks as he realizes where you both stand. How did the two of you get to this point? How could his judgment be so clouded, how could he be so blind to what was happening under his own roof? How could he be so arrogant as to seek validation, one he didn't even need, from someone else? Someone whose validation he didn't even care about. It didn't matter to him. She didn’t matter to him. How could he not sense the insecurity tantalizing your very core to the point of feeling inadequate? If only you had told him sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you mirror his thoughts with your voice.

“What should I say to you? I couldn’t put it into words, even now I'm not sure I can. It was an all-consuming feeling, an absolute necessity, an overwhelming need that was impossible to handle. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with it. I loved you with such force that it became an obsession. I couldn’t even entertain the idea that you might not want me back in the same way. I felt helpless, vulnerable. How could I come to terms with this? With the realization that I had fucked someone else just to get a rise out of you or to prove to myself that I didn't need you that much after all?”

Joel’s palms are clenched into fists on his thighs, trying to keep himself from pressing his lips against yours. Feelings and desires that had been buried in his subconscious for too long came back as he tried to make you understand.

“A r- so, you did fuck her on our bed on purpose.”

“You asked me that before, darlin’, I promise you I did not.”

“Then how would you provoke me if you didn’t mean for me to find out?” you look at him incredulously.

“I-” Joel winces, “it wasn’t a conscious thought, I just kept fantasizing about you finding out and burning the house down for me and that single image made me so h-” Joel shuts his mouth abruptly, not the best idea to describe to you how fuckin’ hard he got, fantasizing about you while fucking someone else. You, bursting into the bedroom all raging and furious, turning the whole place upside down reclaiming what was rightfully yours.

Him.

What a sick fuck he was. “I swear to you, no. I’m not that fucked up. It was a gigantic lack of judgment, I was fuckin’ drunk, my mind was a mess at that point. That whole week was-” he’s biting his tongue hard to stop himself while rubbing his forehead with his fingers, “I was just being an idiot.”

“The week I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, ‘snothing.” and he doesn’t elaborate. “Just a bad fuckin’ week.”

The atmosphere suddenly feels suffocating, as if all the words that have spilled out of both your mouths are hovering over your heads like a black cloud. You need some air to clear your mind, so you make your way out of the kitchen without looking back and walk slowly to the porch, sitting on the steps at the bottom of the stairs. You know he will follow. Your bare feet touch the soft soil beneath you and you try to ground yourself through the little patch of earth you call your own. It doesn’t quite work. There’s a beautiful golden glow, a last gift from the parting sun, warming your soul. Everything is going to be all right.

“Strange fantasies we both had.” you say as Joel seats down next to you, the contract once again a barrier between you. “You kept fantasizing about me finding out about your affair-”.

“It wasn’t an affair-” Joel corrects you. “Fine, fine. You imagined that, while I kept fantasizing me holding you so tightly while we fucked that our flesh became one; that’s how deep I needed you inside me, that’s how obsessively I wanted to carry you with me all the time, isn’t that totally fucked up?” you laugh dejectedly.

“I guess we are the same kind of fucked up. If only we could admit it to each other..”

“Did you really feel that I didn’t love you enough?” you whisper, almost too scared to be heard and to get an answer.

“I think we loved each other too much. I think we were both too afraid of losing each other. I think,” Joel pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts and calm his voice, “in our efforts to keep each other we did the exact opposite. More me than you, for sure. I have handled things badly and badly is an understatement.”

“You were always so patient with me. You’d always wait for me to come to you, to take my time. I needed the savage in you, or I thought I did at the time. That desperate thing I felt creeping out of you in stolen glances or bitten lips between your teeth, or when we fucked; no one has ever fucked me like you did. I did see all of you then, you know. And I think you saw all of me. If I made you feel confident or safe enough, you would have talked to me. And if I wasn’t so self-absorbed I would have asked.”

You never thought you’d hear these words from Joel, but all this time of self-reflection has changed him in a way that reminds you of the Joel you fell in love with. The one you could see behind all those layers of self-protection, the one you’d always hoped would emerge for you. And then he goes on, and you wish you knew what was coming so you could protect your heart from being torn to shreds.

“Maybe-” he closes his eyes looking pained, “maybe I was a narcissist. Maybe you gave me all you had and I kept wanting more, maybe I needed every part of you for myself. Maybe I needed you on your knees, on a leash, at my mercy, just to have the illusion of the certainty that you would never leave me. Maybe freedom is for those who can bear it, after all. Hell, maybe I was the one who needed the leash in the end. Maybe you gave me too much credit, my love, when you deemed me worthy of freedom.”

His words are earth-shuttering, obliterating, final. There’s nothing left to be said, at least nothing of substance. Final. The fucking word plays over and over in your head. Final. This is final. You could swear that you have felt every possible kind of pain during these four long years but new depths of agony are being discovered right now. The acid in your stomach makes your throat constrict. You feel petrified.

Joel can sense your distress, his words have been of no comfort to you. Your skin looks pale, covered with a thin layer of cold sweat; you look physically ill. Your forearms rest on your knees and he gently cups your elbow to check in on you. Are you OK? You smile weakly at him, the expression not reaching the corners of your eyes.

“You know I would give anything to take it all back, right?”

Your laughter is more lively now, not with malice or sarcasm, but with a sense of humor.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”, you shake your head in twisted amusement, tilting your head up, to let the last rays of the sun warm your face, maybe bring back some of your lost color. It's getting dark now, the day is coming to an end, the curtains of the last sunlight are almost closed. Your eyes are closed too, your head still tilted back as you laugh to yourself, “You did that backwards, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You have burned everything to the ground, only to realize that you want to get it all back in one piece. I mean it’s- it’s-” you struggle to find the right words but Joel offers one of his own.

“Ridiculous..”

“I was gonna say pointless.. But that’s the thing, Joel. Choosing to be with someone is like faith. You believe because you just know. You don't have to find evidence to prove your choice at every turn, otherwise it’s just exhausting. You choose to trust yourself.”

“Trust me as your partner, you mean, not yourself.”

“Joel, it was never about trusting you..”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand..”

“I’m not sure how to explain it- uh..”, you raise your shoulders and your brows in unison as you shake your head slightly, searching for the words. “Trust is a personal journey. ‘Trust’ doesn't mean ‘trust in you’, I’m not trusting you. No one can be sure of anyone. ‘Trust’ means that I have faith in myself, that even if you hurt me, even if you abandon me, I will not fall apart. And..” you shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself with your hands, “look at me, Joel..”, you finish, suggesting that you’re still here, still standing.

“I am, baby; I am..” Joel replies, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last time he’ll ever have the chance to, utterly compelled by your inner glow.

“I’m not mad at you Joel, not anymore. And I believe you, I really do. But I can’t get that scene out of my head. I just can’t. I can still hear the sounds, I can even recall the way you smelled when you were standing next to me.”

His hands are shaking.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, really.”

“I know.”, his voice is barely audible.

“I think you’ve done enough of that yourself. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”

“Do you?” Do you, really? Do you forgive him after all that has been said? Do all these confessions illuminate the facts from a different perspective? Does it change what he did and what you went through? And if so, does that mean you're letting him go? Are you leaving him behind? Is he leaving you behind? Why is it so hard to let go? Why do you choose the safety of the known, even when it hurts you?

You choose not to answer and instead firmly insist, “You have to forgive yourself, Joel, it’s okay.” Be the better person. If not for him, then for yourself. Let him go.

“I can’t do that.”, Joel is adamant, shaking his head while he rejects your request.

“Yes, you can.” you urge him again. “As I can and do.” Let him go.

Joel never thought he would listen to those words coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t deserve them. He hasn’t earned them. “You forgive me?”, he repeats in utter shock and disbelief.

“Yes.” Loud and clear as daylight.

“I- You can’t- I don’t- I don’t deserve that.” Joel feels like he’s drowning in your so graciously offered Holy Grail, desperately trying to keep his head above the waters of your absolution.

“I can’t be the judge of that, Joel, hell, I can’t be the judge of anyone. The way I see it, you chose your actions and I chose mine. You chose to hurt me and I chose to walk away. We both lost something. Have we not suffered enough, Joel?” you ask him honestly.

“I don’t want to presume, but- isn’t it a great burden to carry on your shoulders when you try to move on? All this anger, all that bitterness?” you search his eyes for an answer but he doesn’t give you one.

You continue, hoping to get through to him. “Your feelings are your burden Joel and it doesn’t matter if I forgive you. That’s why it is you who needs to forgive yourself.”

His eyes still refuse to meet yours, stubbornly glued to the ground. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for me. We need to move forward, both of us.” is the last thing you say to him, not knowing if he even listened to half of what you just said.

You both fall into a thoughtful silence, but something you said is bugging him. He can’t quite figure it out, so he turns to look at you, to savor you while he still has the chance. He knows that his time is limited.

You’re just sitting there with him, trying to comfort him, you of all people. You seem lighter now, fidgeting absentmindedly with your fingers as if some of your burden has already been lifted. And as his gaze sweeps over you, he sees it again. He sees the white shirt hugging your body and he knows what’s troubling him.

I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, panic rising inside him.

“I’ve been with you for the last four years.”

“Excuse me?” your hands freeze as you turn to face him, clearly confused.

“You said you didn’t want to presume anything and I need to set the record straight. There was and is no other woman in my life except you.”

“Joel,” you blush shyly, “this is none of my business, you are free-”

“No. No. I need you to know this, it’s important to me. I meant everything I said. You have done nothing wrong. My feelings for you have never changed-”

“Joel, please..” you beg him to stop, you can’t have this conversation now, it’s too soon. No, you’re wrong. It’s too late; too soon means there’s a future ahead of you. A future where you both fit in the same universe.

“I don’t want you to think that I came all the way out here just to tie up some loose ends and move on. That is not what this is about.”

“If you expect me to tell you about my personal life..” your what now?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t think I could handle it, anyway. You are a free woman and you deserve the world. Unlike me; I don’t deserve anything and I’ll never be free of you.”

Your chin is now trembling and you bite your lower lip to stop the involuntary muscle contraction. You can’t decipher if it’s from anger for the way things came to be or from deep, excruciating sadness for how Joel feels. For how he makes you feel.

“Free woman, huh?”, you whisper bitterly, looking down at your feet, willing yourself not to cry.

“Yes, free, as you should always have been and I’m sorry I couldn’t see it sooner.”

Joel then picks up the divorce papers from the floor next to him as he’s fishing a pen out of his pocket. He stares at you and then at the blank space where his signature should be, next to yours. He splays his palm over the last page as if to straighten it out, but it almost looks like he’s caressing it. He brings the ball of the pen to the white surface and for a moment his hand lingers over it. He doesn’t dare look at you again, his resolve is not that strong. Finally, finally he signs, filling the empty spot and he hands you the contract. It’s a strange moment, the one before the signature and the one after it.

Everything seems to be the same; it is just a signature.

Everything feels completely different; it is not just a signature.

Your fingertips brush his as you reach out to take it, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Your slightly trembling hands hold the papers gently, not sure you wanna hold on to them or scatter them on the ground. Your thumb swipes softly over his signature.

You feel it, now. You feel the ground beneath your bare feet, the warmth of the earth, the weight of your footing. The falling has stopped. The feather finally rests. You have landed.

Joel moves to stand on his feet, as you keep staring at the drying ink, when you feel something fall from above onto your thumb; but you can’t see anything as it is immediately absorbed by the hungry pores of the paper, slightly smudging his signature. You look up to catch him as he dries his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Free as a bird, baby, ready to fly over the world.”, Joel smiles at you with a look of reverence and devotion in his eyes.

You picture the floating feather in your head and smile back at him with a serenity he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“I think I just want to walk for a while. One step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes still full of emotion and you watch as he begins to walk slowly towards his truck, when suddenly he turns his body to face you but continues to walk backward in the same direction.

“Hey!” he calls to you with a mischievous smile, raising his chin to you.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice wavering slightly as you try to hide your smile.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?” he asks as he reaches for his driver’s door and opens it, waiting for your answer, which never comes because you think he’s joking. But he continues to stare at you, with no expectations, quietly, earnestly, sincerely, with a soft, shy smile on his lips. Oh.

Oh.

“Joel..” is all you breathe out, closing your eyes for a moment before you look at him again, because his name is all that is left in your very being right now. Joel.

He seems lighter, too.

“Maybe, one day..?”

“Yeah.. Maybe, one day..”

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dark-moonlust · 25 days ago

Note

Heyyy so im so weak for bear hybrids and i just saw the one you posted, (LOVE IT btw), and i was wondering if you could do a sequal where reader decides to stay and lives a happy cozy life, with like cozy fires and all the bestest fur blankets and coziest bed and BIG FLUFFY BEAR MAN CUDDLES, but also like yk mad crazy sex where he likes to show off his strength and just like tosses her around, like up against walls, that thing where u like hold a girl on ur shoulders to eat her n stuff, if not thats ok i love all ur work sm 🙏🧎‍♀️🤍

Hello anon!!! Thank you for all the lovely words and the smutty idea!! I love bear hybrids, too. I'm sorry I took so long to complete. I have a lot of requests and I've been so busy lately. I'm trying to catch up on them slowly. Anyway, I hope this is to your liking!

Happy reading everyone!

Check out the first part of my bear hybrid oneshot here.

Cozy Life with your Bear Hybrid

Pairing: bear hybrid x fem reader Summary: you live a cozy life with your giant bear of a man. And you love it. Warnings: minors-ageless accounts don't interact, 18+, smut, size kink, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), huge 🍆, p in v sex, lots of 💦.

The wind screamed outside, rolling through the trees, yet it was only a whisper in the warmth of your cave. The fire crackled in the hearth and you were wrapped up in your mate's thick, muscled arms—the big bear of a beast who smelled like woodsmoke earthy perfume. He was warm and super cuddly, his big frame spooning you from behind.

Thick furs were heaped high on the bed their softness wrapping around you like a cocoon. Your bear hybrid always ensured you were warm and cozy, and took great pleasure in cuddling and loving you for hours on end. That night, he had a fond deep look in his eyes that spoke of his desire to keep you close and shield you from the outer world.

His mate. Forever.

Yes, you loved your life as his other half.

Shifting slightly, he moved, drawing you even closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his furred bear face scratchy but exquisite against your skin. His fingers, strong and calloused, trailed carefully down your belly, over your thighs, making sure his sharp nails were sheathed. Humming in satisfaction, you sunk deeper into him.

There was nowhere else you'd rather be, nothing else you'd rather do than spend every day surrounded by the warmth of your giant, soft bear, who was just as possessive and tender toward you.

"Hmmm, I could stay like this forever," he drawled in a low voice that vibrated through your chest. “But I’m also thinking about all the things I want to do to you.”

“Like?” you challenged, hands caressing his furry arm.

“Taste your sweet honey for one,” he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that sent goosebumps all over your skin.

“You just love to use this reference!”

He cocked a brow. “Why not?” His voice deepened. “Your cunt leaks the sweetest honey there is. I can vouch for that.”

“You are a horny bear beast.”

Chuckling, his hand moved down your thigh, fingers pressing just hard enough to cause you to open. “Hmm, and as the bear beast I am, I should taste again. Make sure your lovely cunny is as delicious as before. I love honey. Your honey.”

“You are insatiable.” Your face felt warm at the memory of him eating you out just hours ago. Your pussy had no issue whatsoever; it clenched and pooled with your juices.

Damn… You were both insatiable.

He grinned, that familiar, smoldering look blazing in his eyes. “Sleep, cuddle, eat you out, fuck. Then repeat. That’s our schedule. Now come, mate,” he playfully tapped your thighs. “Time to let me taste your pussy.”

His tone was straightforward. As if what you did every day was perfectly normal. You touched each other, rolled around in bed, kissed, made out (a lot), and couldn't keep your hands away from each other.

And you weren't a coward or an idiot to turn away from such joy.

In a playful mood, you smacked his hands playfully and scooted off the bed. You were in the mood to tease him. He growled and you hardly had time to move when he lifted you effortlessly, as if you were weightless in his massive arms, whisking you off the ground. You hugged him firmly and moaned as he hoisted you again, slamming you against the wall.

Strong hands maneuvered you so that your legs were draped over his shoulders, your pussy exposed and dripping in front of his eager mouth. You clutched his head and peered down at him, seeing the passion in his eyes as he licked up your mound, manipulating your folds with his long thick tongue. Your head tipped back, spine arching as he sucked you in, savoring your juices as if he were eating his favorite meal—which he was.

You were his favorite delicacy.

It went on and on, his tongue playing with your tender clit, circling the tender nub. You went wild, buried your fingers in his silky fur, and tugged violently as you shattered, your body coming alive with energy. He kept going, his big hands clutching your ass, his tongue thrusting inside to taste your honey. He growled primitively, his breaths vibrating over your clit.

He could go on for hours if you let him, feasting on your cunt and doing incredible tongue tricks just to see you lose yourself in pleasure.

“Pl—ease…ha~” you trembled, your voice strained from the toe-curling orgasm he’d given you.

With a husky moan, he gently flung you back into bed, onto that sea of fur covers, his large bulk crushing you with this delicious, heavy warmth and scent. You sighed with happiness and stretched your legs wider. He leaned over you, his cock thrusting up from between his broad thighs, already dripping seed.

His hands robed over your body, caressing your legs, belly and your breasts. You arched against him, whining when his leaky cock pressed against your entrance. He toyed with your nipples and leisurely rubbed his cock across your slit, his massive shaft appearing inhumanly large in comparison to your little human hole.

“Want my big bear to fuck me,” you whispered, fingers reaching down to open the outer lips of your pussy. “Pretty please?”

He whined and pushed the blunt cockhead a tiny bit inside. “How can I deny you, love?”

“Yessss,” you moaned, wiggling your waist. You were half-dazed with pleasure and you craved every inch of him inside you.

The spark in his eyes told you he was barely holding back. He was always so gentle despite his raw desire for you.

“Easy. Look at you,” he drawled, eyes on your pretty cunt, spread by his cockhead. “Every inch of you… mine, open and soft for me.”

“Come on, no more looking,” you warned. “Inside. Need you inside. All of you.”

A gentle roll of his hip, a little wiggling from you and he was inside, every inch of him buried in your depths. He was so deep you could feel him throbbing in your bellybutton, his balls crushed against your bum. You clutched his biceps, let out a gentle pants at the thick girth spreading your hole. You felt full, but not uncomfortably so. You’d learned to take him, to accommodate his hybrid cock.

“Good girl,” he drawled, his tongue plunging into your mouth.

Tongue down your throat, he fucked you, pounded into you in deep, unhurried thrusts. He kissed you as if he was starving, as if you were the only precious person he’d spent his entire life searching for. Which was entirely true. His hands cupped and kneaded your tits, his breath warm on your mouth.

Pleasure hit you again, and you sobbed mutely, your fingers tangling in his furred shoulders as he continued to claim you, his magnificent cock pumping in and out of your slick cunt. You heard his feral grunts and the squelching sounds of your bodies colliding. Two more thrusts and he exploded, loads of cum filling you up. He spurted for several minutes, your cunt overflowing with hot seed.

“Pretty, so damn pretty,” he roared. “Good mate, taking my cock and my seed. It drips so beautifully down your thighs.”

“Too much! It always is,“ you whined, feeling the final spurts of his release.

“Oh, that’s nothing.” His eyes had that dark hungry gleam, one that told you he wasn’t done with you. “Let’s see just how much more you can take, mate, ‘cause I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

Did you enjoy?! Like, comment or reblog! It would make me so happy!

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hom3landr · 5 months ago

Text

Tea with Honey

Bakerverse

Every relationship has its firsts. Homelander’s budding romance with his Baker is no different. But not all firsts are pleasant.

Homelander can’t wait any longer to visit her. His heart stings and aches from the weight of rejection. There is a hole inside him that he hoped the promise of family would heal. He has no experience with Fatherhood but he’d figured that it would be natural; instinctual. But one can’t learn love in a lab. Even his best intentions came up lacking, a fall from a roof seemed like such a necessary harmless casualty. He doesn’t know how to handle things that were raised soft. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, so he spits it out and seeks reassurance from the hands of a ghost.

Deep deep down, he can’t forget. But that’s ok. The Madelyn in front of him lifts two milk covered fingers to his mouth and he willingly takes the offering given. If she is a ghost then she is one with a warm body, an eager mouth, and a soft lap. She is one with assurances and words he needs to hear. She is one that he can keep on a leash and who won’t disappear into smoke. This is a ghost who knows his sins and lets him sigh them into her skin.

He can’t forget but he can control the memory left behind.

He tells her about you and she eagerly responds to his tales of your softness. She urges him to take you. If he could watch from outside himself, he would see it as the plea it is. For Doppelganger is willing to feed you to the lion, toss you like a piece of meat to a snarling dog, wave you like a flag in front of a bull. Homelander hears Madelyn’s voice as a kindness and doesn’t see it for the desperate distraction that it is.

“What are you waiting for?” She coos. “You’ve shown her that you can be good but have you considered that she longs for the raw power you hold? Once she has experienced your strength then she will beg you to take her.”

It’s what he wants to hear. He’s proven that he can be good yet still your kisses remain sweet and your touches light. The beast within him is growing more difficult to quiet when it howls for that sweet heat between your legs. Your gentility is starting to feel like rejection. The hunger inside him is an empty ache. He needs to take up space in you.

———-

He grins at the fat raindrops that dampen his hair as he leaves the cabin. The ozone is a pleasant scent that lingers in the back of his throat and on his tongue. It tastes like power. He can relate to the wild fury of a thunderstorm. He wishes that his rage could also be seen as something natural and not some sort of flaw. Thunderstorms can rain hail and destruction without consequence and people will still find comfort in the rumble of thunder. Perhaps that is another reason why Stormfront makes him so bitter, he envies that she takes on the characteristics of the storms he loves so much. How dare she show her edges and still be adored?

But Stormfront can’t have you. You’ve told him as much. You admitted how much she gets under your skin. You told him that you don’t trust her and that the very sound of her voice makes your flesh crawl.

The only storm you’ll know is him.

————

Homelander’s hunger for you clouds his judgment and the cracks of thunder echo the hot pounding of his arousal as he contemplates his plan. He can’t wait to surprise you and finally show you what he’s capable of. He’s on autopilot as he flies to your apartment, mind busy with fantasies. He intends to make you scream so loud that even the fiercest weather would be deafened by your pleasure.

He lands on your fire escape and knocks cheerfully on your window. He can hear you startle through the walls, your heartbeat fluttering with surprise. He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms under his cape. He has to suppress a grin when he sees your distorted face through the rain smeared glass. You’re a watercolor painting and Monet can go fuck himself cause your beauty makes his works no more than trash. He longs to keep you hidden away so only he can appreciate you.

You open the window wide so he can climb inside. His wet cape drips puddles all over your floor and your brow furrows briefly at the mess before meeting his gaze with a quizzical smile. He takes a brief glance behind you to inspect your place. He hasn’t been inside since that perfect Christmas night and without the decor it’s painfully obvious that your apartment is in a poor state. He huffs a tiny laugh to himself. It wouldn’t take much to convince you of structural damage. He’ll make sure you have a place to stay.

“I didn’t know you were coming over! I’d have made dinner.” You lament, flustered at being caught in such an unprepared state. He waves your concern away. As pleasant as your cooking sounds, he still fully intends to eat.

“I wanna show you something.” He replies with a smile, gesturing to the open window behind him. He’s surprised that he hasn’t done this sooner. What better way to wow you than to give you a practical application. He’s been good but now he’s starving for you to see behind the gentleman’s mask he wears. He takes a closer look at you. You’re wearing nothing more than an old white t-shirt and some sleep shorts. He thinks if he looks close enough he can see the shadow of your nipples through the material. With the way it’s pouring, he’s bound to get an even better look soon.

Madelyn’s voice still echoes in his ear.

He’s so excited that he doesn’t notice things he’d usually be laser focused on. He doesn’t register the shiftiness of your eyes or the anxious way you fidget every time the thunder rumbles. Your heart is racing because you must still be surprised by his arrival. The scent of fear can’t be because of him. You were probably watching something scary. He can hear the strains of a true crime podcast that you’d turned down playing on the tv.

It’s not because of him.

“Right now?” You ask, nervously scratching your arm as a streak of lightning briefly lights up the sky. His hackles instantly rise at your apparent lack of enthusiasm.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He replies sharply, sharper than he usually is with you. The instant rejection is a fierce sting to his ego. His fantasy already isn’t working out how he planned and he’s starting to feel annoyed and out of sorts. He was so sure you’d be wowed but apparently you’re feeling prissy tonight.

You wince at his tone. You glance anxiously out the window and bite your lip. He begins to tap his foot in impatience. You exhale roughly as though you’re preparing yourself for some great trial.

“I’m sorry you came all this way. I’m not feeling well so maybe we should reschedule. You’re welcome to stay and watch a movie! I can order us some takeou…” You don’t get to finish your sentence.

“I didn’t come here to watch a fucking movie!” He snaps and he hates the way you flinch. It makes his throat tighten up and his chest ache with hurt. You’re making him feel mean and foolish, needy in the way he seeks your attention.

This is all wrong. You’re not being you.

“We don’t have to watch a movie! I have some board games and I know I have a deck of cards somewhere.” You try to do damage control but your continuous deflections only make him more frustrated. Your gaze is wary now; it’s the first time you’ve been wary around him.

He stomps over and grabs your arm firmly. It’s not tight enough to bruise but you can’t pry him off as he guides you over to the window. You struggle and try to stutter out excuses and explanations but he doesn’t want to hear it. He scoops you up in his arms and is out on the fire escape in the blink of an eye. The rain immediately drenches you and he’s so frustrated that he doesn’t even register the way your clothes cling to your form.

“Stop whining. You’re gonna fucking love this. Don’t worry.” He attempts to soothe you. You have to like it. You have to like him. You’re frozen solid in his arms but he knows you’ll relax once you’ve adapted. Without a warning he shoots up into the air like a rocket.

It’s beautiful up in the storm clouds. Despite the flashes of lightning, Homelander knows you are safe even up in the sky. He can sense the sizzle in the air and smell the ozone before electricity splits the sky. He’d never let you be harmed. He wants to share this with you. He wants you to know this part of him. This is what you hold in your hands when you kiss him.

He looks down at you, anxious to see the awe on your face. He wants to smell your need for him mixed with the heady smell of ozone. But instead he’s met with your pounding heart and trembling form. Your hands are curled into icy claws and your breathing is rapid and shallow. Tiny pained noises escape your mouth with every panicked heave. You’re fucking terrified.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve got you.” He reassures you but he’s not even sure you can hear him right now. You shake your head jerkily and a wail escapes you as lightning flashes in the distance.

His heart drops and shatters on the ground far below as he realizes that this isn’t some passing anxiety.

Homelander wants to fucking shake you in anger. How come you’re overreacting now? This is him. You’re supposed to share this with him. He’s giving you this privilege and you’re spitting it back in his face.

You’re supposed to love (him) this. Why don’t you?

“P…please,” You manage to stutter out weakly. “Can we go back now?”

He should fucking drop you.

His fingers twitch with temptation. Of course he’d catch you, but you’d learn there are things worth crying about.

You anxiously paw at his chest.

“I want to go down now!” You sob. His fingers twitch again. You don’t smell like brown sugar anymore.

He startles as he feels a sharp sting across his cheek. You’ve grown wild in your terror now. While he lacks the capacity to bruise, the shock of the impact still has him rattled. Your chest heaves.

“PutmedownPutmedownPutmedown!” You repeat in a furious panic as you pound on his chest with your hands. Your fight response is fully activated and logic is clearly no longer in the picture as you lash out at the very thing keeping you in the air.

He almost lets go.

But instead he slowly glides back down, drawing out your torment out of spite. He drops you coldly onto the slick metal of the fire escape. You grasp the bars like a lifeline and Homelander’s nose wrinkles as you spit bile. You still haven’t ceased wailing.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” He hisses. His mood is blacker than the stormy sky. You don’t even look wounded. You might as well still be stuck in the air as you tremble and wheeze.

He wants to put his hands over his ears to block out your cries. He wants to fly away to safety. He wants to crush your skull. He wants to pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless till you calm. He wants to hold you. He wants to kill you. He wants to beg your forgiveness.

He wants. He wants. He wants.

As if on autopilot himself, he scoops you back up into your arms to carry you inside. He deposits you on the couch, gentler this time despite his whole body shaking with restraint. You curl up into a ball and hide your face from him.

This is like Ryan all over again.

He clenches his fists and storms into your kitchen in a rage. He needs distance from you before he does something rash. He paces like a caged animal in the small space. His reflection in the glass cabinets is judgemental but he refuses to acknowledge them. He ignores the soft calls of his name itching at the back of his consciousness.

“Look at me, Tiger.”

“You need to calm down John.”

“Pathetic! She’s gonna fucking hate you just like everyone else does.”

He slams his fists down on your counter and he hears a crack.

FUCK

His eyes land on a lone mug on your counter. It’s colorful and chipped and so you that the unexpected rush of endearment he feels helps direct him out of his rage. His brow furrows as an idea begins to form. He can fix this. He just needs to do what you would do. He looks around, pointedly avoiding the cabinets. He sees a box of tea bags. He exhales sharply. He opens the fridge and fills the mug with water from your filter. He heats it with his vision till it's bubbling. He dips the tea bag in it and with one last flourish because he’s not sure if it’s safe to face you yet, he locates a container of honey that he gives a generous squeeze.

He takes a deep breath as he exits the kitchen.

You’ve calmed down considerably although your head is still buried in your knees. Your breathing is a little steadier and your agonized wails have quieted into soft sniffles. You’re still shivering as the fading adrenaline and damp clothes send chills through your body. He grabs a blanket from a nearby basket as he tentatively walks over. He sets the tea down on the coffee table in front of your spot on the couch and wraps the blanket around your shoulders. It feels strange, taking care of somebody else. Especially someone he’s still angry at.

“I’m sorry,” Your words are shaky and muffled. You sound so sad. “I’m so so so sorry. I ruined everything”

Homelander freezes, his brow furrowed in confusion. You’re apologizing?

“I have a phobia and I should have said something but it happened so fast. I was so scared and I lost control and panicked. I shouldn't have hit you.” Your voice is thick with guilt.

“Please,” He scoffs, weirdly amused and a little unsettled by your concern. “You couldn’t have hurt me if you tried. Now c’mon and look at me.”

You lift your head. Your eyes are red and swollen.

“I shouldn’t have hit you.” You reiterate and Homelander’s chest tightens. “I’m sorry. It was wrong.”

For a moment the silence is deafening. The sincerity in your gaze unsettles him. You reach out and your fingers tenderly brush the area of impact. It’s not tender. It barely even hurt

Shocked hysterical laughter starts to build in Homelander’s throat at the solemn look on your face.

Well fuck.

Isn’t that a fucking first.

You watch him quietly as he doubles over and holds his stomach. It’s not a laugh of amusement and if he was an outside observer he’d realize just how wounded it sounds. It’s pure emotional release.

You’d barely even given him a love tap. You’re sitting over there with your big wide weepy eyes as though you’d fucking beat him senseless. You’re acting as if you’d thrown him into a fucking oven.

He wheezes until his chest hurts. All the repressed anger and anxiety now flooding out in sheer astonishment. He was so sure you’d hate him.

He feels something warm wrap around his shoulders and his giggles begin to quiet. He looks over to you only to startle for a second at how close you are. You’ve wrapped the other end of the blanket around him. Your expression is soft but unreadable. You rest your forehead against him and he shudders.

“I…” He pauses. He can’t quite articulate what he wants to say. It’s not your fault. He didn’t pay attention. He didn’t listen. But admitting such feels like a weakness. It chokes him.

“I made you some tea.” He says instead, pulling back to hand you the mug. His voice barely shakes.

You smile and as you cradle the mug and take a sip, he notices that you smell like brown sugar again.

“Tea with honey is my favorite.” You reply sweetly, after giving a pleased hum at the taste. He may not have said it out loud but he can tell you understood with the way you look at him. Things are so easy with you. He turns to bury his face in your wet shoulder as you sip.

“I forgive you.” He mumbles, half hoping you don’t catch it.

“I forgive you too” You reply.

He doesn’t sleep with you that night…at least in the primal sense. But it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep on his chest once the two of you decide that a movie might be just the thing for a stormy night after all. Lounging on the couch, while dressed in some soft sweatpants, and with you warm and sleepy on his chest, he comes to the conclusion that this is just as good as fucking anyway. You make soft noise in your sleep and snuggle further into the whorls of hair on his bare chest. (Something you’re absolutely delighted by if your physical response at the reveal was any indication)

In fact, it might even be better than fucking.

He lazily decides that he can love storms enough for the both of you.

#it was storming as I wrote this lol #this was supposed to be for Domaystic but OOPS #also this fic was planned out for ages but s4e4 gave it extra context I didn’t intend #procrastination win ig #homelander #homelander x reader #x reader #bakerverse

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bi-writes · 9 months ago

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ex-tf141!mercenary!fem!reader x ex-husband!simon because there's nothing hotter than being covered in blood and debating whether or not to kill him or fuck him (18+) ⚠️🔞

cw: reader is curvy (deal with it), mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dramatization + graphic depictions of murder + violence, criticizes military service, blood kink, size kink (simon's huge ok), pet names (luv, sweetheart, baby, honey), mw3 spoilers, reader is unhinged and unapologetic about it, dark content ahead, unprotected piv, cumplay, (can this also be considered a throuple fic? maybe...)

this isn't her. he doesn't recognize her. she doesn't fight the way he remembers, she doesn't look like she used to.

she wears all black. the black cargo pants are tight around her perfect thighs, and the way they cinch around her waist makes his mouth water. her vest covers her torso, but he has vivid memories of ripping an identical one off of her, ripping the fabric of her shirt so he could bury his mouth between her tits.

when she used to be his. when she used to be a good girl.

he watches, frozen, as she shows off her newfound ruthlessness. she fires her weapon at one man's knees, bringing him to the ground. he feels sick when she kicks him onto his back, getting on top of him, and uses her tactical knife and shoves it into the softness of his neck. she leans over him, splatters of blood freckled across her face, and she watches the life leave his eyes.

she doesn't get up until he stops twitching.

he doesn't remember this. when she used to watch his six, he remembers having to hold her close at night, quieting her cries. he remembers the conversations they used to have, where she used to tell him that whenever she closes her eyes, she sees every person she ever killed.

the justification of murder behind the patches she wore on her vest had never been enough to quiet her nightmares. she was always so soft-hearted. she was always too good, too considerate, too kind. it was something her superiors always wanted to rip away from her; it was something simon fought hard to keep.

he had lost his humanity, but she had not, and he remembers smoothing his hand over her chest and across her heart, telling himself that he would never let it go, never let her lose it.

it is gone. he knows it--he knows it because she doesn't just kill her opponents, she tortures them. she aims for vulnerable places, and then she kills them angrily. she likes to hear them scream. she watches them cry. she wipes the blood of her enemies on her thigh, and then she gets up and does it all over again, in different ways, in heinous ways. she's terrifying, and she's laughing, and there is nothing behind those fucking eyes.

he holds her in his sight. he adjusts the scope, gripping the rifle tighter, and suddenly it feels too heavy in his hands. he can see her in it, and he watches in horror.

he knows his orders. permission to kill on sight, those are his orders--mercenaries had gotten the same intel as them, but they are not here to destroy the biochemical weapons. they are here to steal them.

he can kill her right now. he has her, right where he wants her, and even from this far away, he knows he won't miss.

when she's finally alone, she stands, and she looks up, turning in a slow circle. his heart squeezes--she knows he's here. she holds up a hand, four fingers held up. he reaches up to his radio and turns the knob to the right channel. it crackles, and then he hears her voice.

"hey, baby," you coo, and he sees you smile, and it's ugly, and he hates it. "you miss me that much that you gotta follow me around at work?"

"'f y'know wot's good for you, you'll pack up your shit and leave."

you tsk, spinning the knife around in your hand before sticking it back into your boot. you wipe the sweat from your forehead, and blood smears along your brow.

"awww, teddy bear, don't be that way," you pout. "how about you come down here?" you grin wide, turning just his way, giggling when you see him perched for overwatch. "hmm? you're just cranky, baby...need me to help you relax..."

"you're right fuckin' mad," he spits, and you reach down at the man beneath you, snatching his rifle off his back and making sure it's loaded. "and i'm gonna fuckin' kill you."

you wink up at him.

"yeah? so take the shot, honey," you challenge. the smirk that blooms on your face infuriates him. he hates you. but then you turn around and keep walking, knowing that he won't shoot, and his gaze follows the sway of your hips. instead of thinking about your brains splattered against gravel, he thinks about when he used to bend you over his bed in the barracks and eat your pussy from behind you--when he used to get on his knees and fuck you with his tongue and make you cum into his mouth.

when you disappear from his view, you laugh over comms. "you're pathetic, simon," your murmur. "could never trust you to get the fucking job done."

he remembers when you left. johnny had left a scar on you--an angry one, one that refused to heal. and while simon was equally as buried in his grief, he always felt just a little better when he was kissing you, holding you, feeling the warmth of you, knowing you were alive.

"you didn't love him. not like i did--" you snap, continuing to pack.

"are you fuckin' mad?! do y'hear yourself talk?! wot the fuck do you know about me and johnny?!"

"then how are you not angry?!" you scream. "how are still standing there, so fucking normal, how are you so fucking calm?!"

"sweetheart--"

"don't fucking touch me," you bite. "you don't get it--" angry tears flow easily down your face. "--you didn't love him the same."

"i did--" he grips your face, making you look at him. "i loved him like i love you, don't say that. don't fucking say that, don't you dare pretend you're the only one that feels anything--"

you rip his hands off of you, narrowing your eyes, and he does not recognize you. this is not you.

"y-you're a liar," you whisper. "you're a fucking liar. and you make me sick."

ghost steps over the bodies that you left behind. it is a massacre of men that you leave at your feet. slit throats, bullets in knees, in stomachs, little finishers you leave between their legs. you are not a fan of men--he knows this because of how hard it had been to get close to you. how difficult it had been to even so much as touch your arm, your face--to get you into his bed, to marry you in secret and fuck you spineless. the only easy thing that had ever happened to you was the way johnny fell right into step with you.

and the hardest thing that he had ever done was fucking die.

when he finds the trunk of biochemical vials, you are not there. he has found it first, and he bends down to inspect them, closing the lid and securing them inside before moving his hand up to press on the button of his comms to alert his team.

"uh uh uh," a low voice warns. "take your hand off the radio, sweetheart."

he moves, but the bloodied tip of a tactical knife is sharp against his throat, and he swallows hard. he calls your name, and you just giggle. this is a game to you. he lowers his hand, and you reach down, grabbing his rifle and tossing it. you also unholstered his handgun and the throwing knives from his boot, throwing them behind you.

"mmm..." you smooth a hand down his back. "you're as hot as the day i met you, baby..."

ghost grunts as you grip one side of his ass, and you grip his shoulder tight, kicking him just right so he was kneeling on both knees now. you lean over him and plant a warm, wet kiss to the jaw of his mask, moving so you were standing in front of him now. you kick the trunk of vials to the side, looking down at him, digging the sharp edge of the blade harder against his neck.

"look at you..." you hum, licking your bottom lip. "you're still so big, teddy bear..." he hisses when you lean over, cupping him through his pants. your warm hand squeeze the length of him, and you whine when you feel how hard he is, how much he still feels for you. he glares at you under that plastic, terrifying mask, but your panties are soaking. "so fucking hard for me, too...you miss me, baby?"

he leans over, into the blade, growling.

"'f you leave now, you can still take your life with ya."

you pucker your lips, and he snarls. your face is not one he knows--you have drying blood along your cheeks, smears of it along the softness of your neck. you have blood and dirt under your fingernails, and there is fire in your eyes, and you are not the good girl he fell in love with, but you look like her, and it scares him.

"awww, baby, if i thought you would kill me, you would be dead--" you lean forward and lick along his hard jaw, tasting the salt and sweat of his mask. "...right along your other boys. don't lie to me. it's not a good look for you."

he bites, and you laugh, and then you nod your head.

"sit down," you demand, and he sits. he is big, and his gear is heavy, and he sits with a grunt, and you climb over him, into his lap. you reach down, your eyes on his, and you unzip his cargo pants, your hand slipping under and pulling his cock out, and you smile when it stands hard and heavy. "oh, baby...you want this, don't you?"

you lean in, kissing him through the mask, sucking along the fabric and whining.

"you want this, don't you? you still want me? you still love me?"

"fuckin' hell--"

"you wanna fuck me, teddy bear?" you spit into the palm of your hand, reaching down and smoothing your wet hand over the red tip of him. "you're so big...as big as i remember..." you whimper. "say you wanna fuck me, simon--" fuck, you're using his name, "--say you want me."

against your lips, you feel him whisper yes--fuck--yes, luv--and you can't help it. you can't help yourself.

he's so warm and big. you hold onto his shoulders, still gripping the bloody knife, and you sink down on him. it's easy though, because you're soaking, and even though you're so fucking tight, you suck him in, right until your clit is grinding against the little hairs at the base of his cock and you're bouncing in his lap.

simon is weak. he's weak, and he knows it, because he loves you, and your pussy is so tight, and your moans are music, and fucking you is the only thing he truly understands, the only thing that still makes sense.

you smooth your hands along the back of his neck, and when you whimper and moan, simon thinks he sees you. his good girl, his pretty little wife, the soft girl that he loves, the one crying as she rides his cock because he's hitting all the gooey, pretty places inside of her that make her so fucking wet. he grips your ass tight, guiding you up and down, fucking up into you as he feels his stomach turn and his balls tighten.

"simon--" you cry, and he nods his head, cradling you to his chest, his head tilted back as he looks up at you. there is blood on your skin and a knife digging into his back, but you're saying his name, and his heart aches, and your pussy is so good-- "gonna come--gonna come--"

"yeah--" he growls, and you push up his mask, lick into his mouth, kiss him sloppy and hard and desperate. "fuck--fuck, yeah--"

he takes off his glove to touch you, two big fingers on your clit as you fuck him desperately. when you come, you soak his cock, and when you tighten, he comes, too, rolling his hips as he spills out of your tight hole and onto your thighs, onto his.

it feels so good. it feels so good to be full of him, to feel him deep, and you smooth your hands down your stomach, feeling him there, stretching you so wide with his come on your thighs, and when he pulls out, you giggle when he gathers the slick onto his fingers and feeds it to you.

you suck his fingers, tasting him, and you whine, looking right into his dark eyes. your heart hurts for a moment--but only a moment. when he pulls his fingers from your mouth, your eyes flicker.

because he still wears his fucking wedding ring.

at the sight of it, you grip your knife tight, and you sink it right into his stomach.

he is laying there in a pool of blood when you're dressed, when the trunk of vials is secure for you to take. you lean over him, pressing on the button of his radio, and you call for medevac to his team, and then you rip the radio in two.

you cup his cheeks, kissing him softly over the mask, and you smooth a finger down his cheek.

"don't pull the knife out, baby, or you'll bleed out," you coo. you tilt your head to the side, knowing you only have a few second window to leave, and you smile down at him.

"until next time, simon."

when you go, you take a piece of him with you.

and fuck--fuck you. because he wants it back.

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khioneee · 19 days ago

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No nonono no no no. I just found Wilted 😭😭😭😭😭my heart can’t take it I think this is one of the best angst fics I’ve ever read😭😭 like it needs so much more recognition. But it can’t end like this.

Idk if you do request and if not that’s completely fine, but could you do like a part two or an au where something triggers her memories (bonus if she gets them back when she’s with her new boyfriend) and she so angry so she asked her mom then maybe she sees Simon walking or she calls him and demands he tells her the truth and that he take her home(with him) even though everyone is telling her Simon’s no good for her(including him), she wont listen and tells him the wreck wasn’t his fault and that nobody decides who she can and can’t be with that it’s her decision. And they get back together you know happy endings.

You can change some stuff if you want I just want to see Simon happy. Ok that’s all don’t forget to eat something and drink some water. Great authors have to take care of themselves too, bye👋❤️.

you got it, nonnie! been cooking this up since you sent the req, and it’s already at 3.4k words 😭. but more importantly, remember to take care of yourself too! here’s your reminder to eat and drink your 12 cups of water 🥹. hope this is close to what you were hoping for 💗 enjoy.

The days had stretched too long without him, the anticipation growing each time you glanced at the door of your flower shop. His deployment was supposed to end a week ago, and every day you found yourself waiting, feeling a quiet ache that had started to bleed into worry. Simon always visited the shop as soon as he came back, his presence slipping in like he was part of the space, a rhythm that had somehow settled into your life.

And then, finally, he arrived.

Simon stepped through the door, and the world felt like it clicked back into place. Everything seemed normal again, like he belonged there, in that space filled with soft greens and blooms. He moved among the flowers like they were as much a part of him as the silence he carried, and you thought that maybe it was just the frequency of his visits. But there was something more—a quiet sense of homecoming, of something unspoken that settled deep inside you.

“What took you so long?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light. Yet the relief that seeped through your words betrayed you, slipping out despite yourself. It was almost silly, really, to feel so much for a man you barely knew.

But here he was, standing in your shop again, and the warmth of his presence seemed to fill a space that had felt empty in ways you hadn’t known.

Simon hesitated, his gaze dipping downward for a moment before he looked back at you. “I… needed to get settled,” he murmured, voice soft. His hand reached into his bag, pulling out a small, nearly-dry purple plant, its leaves curled at the edges. He held it out with a strange kind of reverence, as if it held a secret. “Got this for you. They were all over the ground in Brazil… tried not to hurt it on the way back.”

The plant lay fragile in his hands, bruised but beautiful, and something twisted inside you. As you took it, your fingers brushed his, a moment too brief, too fleeting, and it sent a warmth up your arm.

“It’s lovely,” you whispered, your voice catching on something you couldn’t name. There was an ache there, beneath the words, an unspoken weight that hung in the way he looked at you.

He took a slow, deep breath, his gaze drifting around the shop, his eyes touching each corner as if memorizing it, as if gathering it all up in a way that felt final.

“Listen,” he began, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, every word feeling like a struggle. “I… I don’t think I’ll be back for a while.”

The words struck you, sudden and sharp, and you couldn’t help the way your chest tightened. “What do you mean?” you asked, barely managing to keep your voice steady.

“It’s not healthy… coming here again and again,” he replied, looking away as though the words were too heavy to say while meeting your gaze. “Buying flowers, visiting her grave…” He paused, swallowing, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the grief that clung to him like an old coat. “I can’t keep holding on to someone who’s already gone. If I stay… it feels like I’ll never move on with my life.”

You couldn’t fully understand—why he felt like he had to leave you behind along with the girl he’d lost. He could still visit, couldn’t he? It didn’t make sense why he had to leave you too. But you knew better than to argue with a grieving man, especially one who carried loss in a way that had become part of him.

Your fingers tightened around the plant, holding it like it could keep you steady.

“I understand,” you said softly, though your voice wavered. “But… can’t say that I won’t miss you.” You forced a faint, sad smile, but the ache in your chest felt like something breaking, something you couldn’t quite name.

Simon’s gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours with a look that felt like he was holding back a thousand things he couldn’t say.

“Can’t say I won’t miss you either,” he murmured, his voice raw, as if he were trying to contain everything he felt. “You’ve been… well, you’ve been more than you know.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with things unsaid, memories neither of you would speak of. You felt the weight of it all—the quiet understanding, the way you were both holding on to something that seemed to slip further away with every breath.

You took a shaky breath, struggling to find the words to ease the ache blooming in your chest. “I hope you find peace, Simon,” you whispered, voice barely steady. “Real, honest peace. The kind that lets you finally be happy.”

A flicker of something passed over his face—gratitude, maybe, or just understanding, but it was enough to send another pang through you.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough but sincere, like the words themselves held a weight he couldn’t release. “I’ll try.”

He turned to leave, his steps slow, each one feeling like it carried more than just distance. He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder one last time, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“Take care of yourself for me, yeah?” he said quietly, almost a plea.

You nodded, feeling a sting in your chest, like you were letting go of something you never even knew you had. “You too, Simon.”

And then, without another word, he walked out of the shop, his presence lingering in the silence he left behind. In your hands, the purple plant sat like a quiet promise, a reminder of something both lost and found.

A goodbye that felt like an ending and a beginning all at once.

You were watching your boyfriend move around the kitchen, chatting with your mom as they prepared dinner together, their voices blending with the warmth of home. Yet, despite the comfort of the scene, something kept pulling your gaze back to the small vase on the counter.

Inside, the purple flower Simon had given you was wilting. Its petals, once vibrant, were curling at the edges, their color fading—a quiet reminder that something beautiful had started to slip away. You couldn’t ignore the faint pang that stirred within you each time you looked at it.

Your mother noticed and smiled, gently suggesting, “Why don’t you press it into one of your journals? You’ve got that lovely collection of pressed flowers. It’d be a shame to let this one go to waste.”

Her words caught you off guard. A collection of pressed flowers? You tried to recall the last time you’d pressed a flower, but nothing came to mind. The idea felt foreign, yet strangely familiar, like an old habit you’d somehow forgotten.

Driven by curiosity, you excused yourself from the kitchen and headed to your room. There, on a dusty shelf, you found a stack of journals that looked well-worn, as though they’d been opened and closed countless times. You selected one at random, and as you opened it, a few pages slipped loose, drifting to the floor.

Kneeling down, you picked up the scattered pages, pausing as your fingers brushed over a pressed daisy, faded but delicately preserved. Beneath it, there was a note written in neat, careful handwriting. You held it closer, heart pounding as you read the words:

Every time I see a flower, I can’t help but think of you. You’re everywhere, even when I’m miles away.

The signature was unmistakable: Simon.

You stood frozen for a moment, rereading the words that felt intimate yet unfamiliar. Simon’s handwriting… words from him, words that seemed to speak to you in ways that went beyond the surface. You couldn’t quite place the feeling, but it was as though he were reaching out to you from a memory you hadn’t realized you’d lost.

Compelled to understand more, you flipped through the pages of the journal, finding more pressed flowers scattered among the entries. Each flower seemed to carry its own message, its own secret memory, and tucked between them were letters—some in Simon’s handwriting, some in your own.

Another note slipped out, this one written by you, the ink familiar and clear:

Home is not the same without you. Every corner feels empty, every morning too quiet. Please, come home safely, Simon. This place isn’t home without you in it.

You felt an ache spread through your chest as you read the words. These weren’t just casual messages—they were parts of a shared story, a connection you hadn’t known existed. Every letter spoke of moments between the two of you, woven together like threads in a tapestry you’d somehow forgotten.

Heart pounding, you reached for another journal, one that looked older and more worn. As you flipped through, more letters and flowers revealed themselves, each one adding to a picture that was slowly coming into focus. Memories of travels, quiet conversations, promises made under moonlit skies—all preserved, pressed between petals and pages.

And then, nestled near the back of one of the journals, you found the last note, written in your handwriting, simple yet filled with a love that resonated through every word:

I love you forever, Simon. And to answer your question… yes, I’ll marry you.

The words seemed to leap off the page, a promise sealed between petals and time, hidden but unforgotten. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the weight of the letters settled over you, filling the gaps with emotions you hadn’t known you were missing.

This wasn’t just a collection of flowers—it was a history, a story of love, of quiet moments and shared dreams. Simon hadn’t just been a visitor to your shop. He had been a part of your life, woven into it in ways you were only beginning to understand.

As you sat there surrounded by journals and petals, the wilted flower on the counter took on a new meaning. It was a reminder of something fragile yet enduring, something that had managed to survive through time, waiting patiently for you to remember.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by pieces of a love you hadn’t known you’d lost, you felt the weight of that history settle into your heart, filling it with both sorrow and a newfound understanding of the promise you’d once made—one that now, despite everything, felt as real as ever.

You sat there, surrounded by scattered journals, pressed flowers, and letters that hinted at a life you hadn’t remembered until now. The words on the pages blurred as tears slipped down your cheeks, the weight of each revelation pressing heavily on your heart. This wasn’t just a collection of flowers and notes—this was a love story, preserved between petals and pages, hidden from you until this moment.

Just then, your mother appeared in the doorway. She took in the scene—pages strewn across the floor, tears streaming down your face, and the shattered look in your eyes. Concern deepened in her gaze as she slowly walked over to you.

“Sweetheart?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with worry. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

You looked up at her, voice breaking as you clutched the journal close to your chest. “You kept everything from me.”

You clutched the letters tightly in your hands as you made your way to the field. You didn’t know how you knew he’d be here, but somehow it felt right, like an unspoken understanding guiding your steps. The sky was a muted gray, casting a somber light over the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze.

And there he was—Simon. Standing alone, hands in his pockets, his gaze distant as he looked out over the field. The moment he heard your footsteps, he turned, his eyes meeting yours. His gaze dropped to the letters in your hands, and as realization dawned on his face, his expression softened, then crumbled, and for a second, he looked as vulnerable as the words he’d written so long ago.

“Were you ever planning to tell me?” you asked, your voice shaking as you tried to hold back tears. You took a step closer, feeling the weight of each word pressing down on you. “Or were you just going to let me go on without ever knowing?”

Simon’s face fell, and he took a deep breath, his gaze shifting down, unable to meet your eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you… didn’t want to put you through that again. Everyone thought… it would be easier for you to heal without knowing.”

You shook your head, the letters trembling in your grip. “But I loved you, Simon. I deserved to know that much. I deserved to know what we had.”

The words hung between you, heavy and raw, each one carrying the weight of what had been kept from you. You watched as he took a step closer, his own eyes glistening, his hands clenching at his sides as if he were fighting to keep control.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “The last thing I wanted was to bring you more pain.”

“Pain?” you repeated, voice rising. “Do you know what it feels like to find letters and memories that don’t feel like mine, but are? To feel like a stranger in my own life?”

Simon’s shoulders slumped, his gaze filled with guilt. “I’m so sorry… I never wanted this for you.” He looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… maybe I could just leave you with a clean slate, let you have a life without the weight of what we went through.”

“But it was my life too, Simon,” you replied, voice soft but resolute. “I had a right to know the love we shared, the promises we made… and you took that from me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, as you stood facing each other in the empty field, the letters a fragile testament to what once was.

Finally, Simon looked up, meeting your gaze, his own eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I loved you more than anything,” he said, his voice rough, each word like a confession. “And I still do. That’s why it was so damn hard to watch you live without knowing… but it felt selfish to want you back, to bring you all the hurt that we went through.”

Your throat tightened as you looked down at the letters, the words that held pieces of a love you’d somehow forgotten, promises you hadn’t known you’d made.

“But maybe that’s not your choice to make,” you whispered. “Maybe… maybe I needed to remember, even if it hurt.”

Simon’s face softened, his eyes filling with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before, glistening with unshed tears as he took a shaky breath.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice barely holding together, each word heavy with remorse.

“You owe it to me, Simon,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache. “I have a right to know who I was—to know who we were. And if it hurts, then that’s mine to bear.”

He looked away, jaw tightening, struggling against the emotions that threatened to break through. “I just… I thought maybe if you had a fresh start, it would be easier. You could move on without… without the memories.”

“But they aren’t just memories, Simon,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “They’re pieces of me, of us. And you had no right to decide I didn’t need them.” You held up the letters, trembling in your hands, a tangible reminder of the love you’d both lost. “These aren’t just words on a page—they’re moments, promises we shared, a life we built together. You can’t erase that, no matter how much you try.”

Simon’s gaze returned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and longing that mirrored your own. “You’re right,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I owe you that, and more. I was wrong to keep it from you. I was wrong to think I could just let you go and pretend it would be better that way.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything that had been kept from you since the accident, the loss of something you never even knew was yours.

“My life… it hasn’t felt right since the accident,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’ve been living in a place that doesn’t quite fit, like I’m walking through someone else’s memories.”

Simon’s expression softened, his gaze filled with an ache that mirrored your own. He didn’t say anything, waiting, giving you space to continue.

“When you came to say goodbye, it hurt in a way I couldn’t understand,” you continued, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know why I felt so empty watching you leave. But the only thing that’s made sense… the only thing that felt real was when you walked into the flower shop. Every time you came by, it was like… like a part of me recognized you, even if I didn’t know why.”

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours, grounding you as he spoke. “I should have known. I thought I could walk away, let you find your own peace, but it’s clear now… I’ve just been trying to hide from something we both needed.”

You held his gaze, pain, regret, and quiet understanding filling the silence between you.

And then, your eyes drifted downward, noticing something glinting at his chest. Hanging alongside his dog tags was a delicate silver band—a ring, familiar in shape and weight. It took you a moment to realize what it was, but when you did, it felt like the ground slipped out from under you.

It was your engagement ring.

The ring you’d once said yes to. An evidence of a love you couldn’t remember but somehow felt deep in your bones.

A fresh wave of emotion surged through you, your gaze lifting to meet Simon’s. He noticed your stare, his fingers reaching up to touch the ring as if it were a talisman, his face softened with both pain and something that looked like hope.

“Simon…” you whispered, words catching in your throat. “I don’t know if what I feel right now is love. I don’t know if I can call it that… yet.” You took a deep, steadying breath. “But I feel like it could be someday. Like there’s something here that could grow into that.”

His eyes glistened with something close to relief, and he nodded, his lips pressing into a faint, bittersweet smile. “That’s more than I ever thought I’d hear from you again,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You held his gaze, a strange peace settling over you as you spoke. “I know I loved you once. And maybe… maybe I’ll love you again. In this life, and whatever comes after.”

A quiet, vulnerable smile touched his lips as he reached up, his fingers brushing over the ring, the same band that held so much history, so much unspoken promise.

“I was waiting for you to come back,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “Waiting for you to remember.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his words settling deep within you. Stepping closer, you gently placed your hand over his, your thumb brushing against the ring he’d held onto all this time.

“I’m here now,” you whispered, meeting his gaze.

The pain, the longing, and the love that had waited in silence between you found its voice in that moment. You didn’t need memories to know that this was where you belonged, and for the first time in a long time, the pieces of your life began to feel whole.

As you sat there with him, surrounded by the stillness of the field, you noticed a lone dandelion growing nearby, its delicate seeds waiting to be carried away by the breeze. You reached over, plucking it gently, and held it out to him with a soft smile.

“Make a wish,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the quiet around you.

He looked at the dandelion, then back at you, a tender smile crossing his face as he shook his head. “I already got my wish,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a warmth and sincerity that made your heart ache in the best way.

In that moment, words felt unnecessary.

You leaned into him, feeling the quiet reassurance of his presence, knowing that whatever lay ahead, you would face it together.

#asks #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost angst #simon riley x reader #simon riley #angst #cod ghost #ghost

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mini-minish · 2 months ago

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nathaniel wesninski & andrew doe au i picked up from a 2021 sketch 🪓🖤🔪

notes under the read more!

• andrew doe gets adopted into the wesninski family when he's just a little older than nathaniel, who hasnt been sent to edgar allen tryouts yet, and andrew doe is trained to be his bodyguard since childhood

• mary doesn't like it, he becomes a weakness for her son and when she leaves she refuses to take andrew with them, so nathaniel stays, and in that mary never really gets to leave

• on the same day she fails at running away and nathan finds them, nathaniel loses his eye lolastyle

• one time when he's a little older, andrew receives a letter, from a boy who claims to be his twin. andrew minyard doe throws it to the fire, and nathaniel picks it up while he's turned, before it burns completelly

• from the day nathaniel gets injured because he refused to leave andrew behind, they go from annoyed acquaintances to inseparable friends

• he calls andrew "drew" and andrew pretends to hate it. later when theyre older the name "nathaniel" starts to weight, starts to sound weird, so he asks andrew to call him something else, and andrew calls him alex, stefan, adam, until they get to neil

• but he only calls him neil when theyre alone, when its a secret, when nathan cant hear them

• "nathaniel" takes up the axe. he's as good a hitman as the little devil of baltimore has to be. he hates it, hates the color red, the color of his hair

• one of andrew's first memories at the house is of nathan cutting a man to pieces and making him watch, making him learn not to flinch, but red is the color of neil's hair, soft, safe, soothing

• before that, though, theres little league. theres learning andrew is talented at exy, theres kevin day, and riko moriyama, and theres jean moreau

• i want jean and andrew to be funny about each other just for some levity here ok

• the reynolds are a renowed fashion brand, far from them to refuse big mafia money, so they work on suits, on silk shirts, on tailored pants, and allison reynolds is always joined by her friend renee when she goes with her parents for fittings

• renee walker meets andrew doe, and andrew thinks shes silly enough to keep in touch.

• kevin day leaves them, and neil realises he doesnt have to be kept either. kevin day gets to get out and nathaniel wesninski gets quieter.

• neil finds his uncle's contact among some of the things his mother left behind. from stuart he gets to ichirou. from ichirou he starts to make a plan

• riko moriyama is going to make a big announcement soon, something about the perfect court, something that will finally brand the rest of them as his, and well, andrew has always told neil how much he hates that the pen's ink makes the skin of his face break out

• and neil still has the address of a boy who claims to be his andrew's twin

• for whatever reason the moriyamas and the wesninskis have one of those rich people dinners planned. neil gets kevin to show up, nathaniel gets andrew to leave, kicking and punching and a promise broken

• later in the night, a little after the first course is served and they begin the socializations, neil gets kevin to leave, leave, run as far as possible, *now*.

• he sees jean, grabs his wrist, and takes him outside. theyre walking fast before neil starts running, and then the explosion comes from inside the house, from the basement, and knocks both of them out before they turn the corner. the hathford's men long gone from the scene.

• all renee walker and andrew doe see from where he's been waiting for the little voice at the back of his mind to make sense, is the house bursting on fire, believing that it does so with what he's supposed to protect still inside

• but since i can't bring myself to do this to them, andrew finds him, finds jean, and at the hospital finds stuart, who takes his nephew in

• he gets contacted by a man called david wymack, who was convinced by kevin day to offer them a place among his foxes :)

#andreil #tfc #andrew minyard #neil josten #the foxhole court #all for the game #aftg #dood #nathaniel wesninski #renison #if u squint #kevin day #jean moreau #pookies #i know most of this doesnt make sense but thats where the fiction in fanfiction comes from <3 #jean stays with the foxes for a little bit as if this isnt self indulgent already #and then usc! usc! usc!

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sashi-ya · 1 month ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

WHITE INTIMACY 🍼 KUCHIKI BYAKUYA X F! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 12: LACTATION

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. day 12 with Aizen or Byakuya with fem reader? <3 ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. you can tell when I'm deeply in love with a character because I write him with purity and love... so yes, this is the case. Husband and wife sharing a sweet moment with their baby that leads to them trying a new "kink" after they put the baby to sleep on their room. Again, the baby sleeps in a different room. please, never EVER have sex close to your kids, it doesn't matter if they are "babies". it is still a form of abuse. Thanks. 🐙 wc: 1,3k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

To the past, those days in which Byakuya felt alone, belong. It was difficult for him, for his heart to finally open. He still remembers that dream with Hisana; she told him “please, be happy”.

And so, he did…

The cries of his first born keep him and his wife, you, woke up. Tired, almost asleep, both drag to the baby’s crib.

“What, little sakura bud?” you ask, holding him in arms. “Daddy needs to sleep. Daddy’s a captain, baby…” you whisper, rocking your body to lull the bundle of joy to sleep… yet, nothing, not even your scent and profound maternal love, could calm (him/her) down…

Byakuya’s hands surround your waist from behind; he is asleep as you are. His hair’s a mess. His eyes barely opened.

“Is he/she ok? Something’s hurting? No fever, right?” Byakuya asks; he is and will always be extremely afraid of you or his baby being sick.

“Probably just hungry. Go back to sleep, love. I’ll feed him/her”

But he is not just a man; Byakuya is a gentleman. And despite not being able to bare nor give birth to his son/daughter, he will be next to you no matter what. How could he sleep knowing you aren’t?

“Come on… let’s get comfortable” he commands, kissing your head and grazing his baby’s crying face.

You walk -drag your body- to the bed and wait for Byakuya to sit with his back against the headrest. Then, you sit in between his legs, with your back against his chest.

Byakuya’s soft hands hug you while he waits for you to prepare yourself to feed your child. Soon, the cries stop, as nurturing begins.

Sleepiness still remains, but the moment that soon will turn to a memory… none of you would have chosen to let exhaustion take it away from you.

You look at him when your child is finally fast asleep; a soft smile, a silent complicity between the love of your life and you.

He smiles back; a smile nobody is used to seeing but you and now the little “consequence” of your love.

“You know, sometimes I’m jealous of him/her” Byakuya jokes; yet behind a joke there is always a little bit of truth.

“Mhhj…” you giggle low.

“Don’t laugh… It used to be me…” he continues, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“Let me put him on his bed and I’ll feed you as well. There is no point in me going back to sleep, it’s almost morning” you joke, even though Byakuya took it pretty seriously…

He helps you with utmost care and delicacy not to wake the baby up to stand up. You blow a kiss his way before dragging back to the baby’s nursery -a couple of steps from your room, but still outside it-.

As you walk back, you notice him pretty much awake… in more than one way.

“Still awake?” you ask, ignoring his very noticeable hardness through the fine silk of his sleeping yukata.

“Well yes, didn’t you tell me you were gonna feed me?” he asks, leaving you startled. Suddenly, sleepiness eased as fast as his did.

You open your mouth and close it back. You were about to laugh; but was him being funny or was that for real?

Indeed, Byakuya rarely jokes… and that sounded absolutely serious.

“You- you really want to- uh- this?” you ask, pointing at your -very- swollen breasts. If there was something that wasn’t hard for you, was to produce enough and even more nourishment for your offspring.

“Well, considering is pretty common in our culture…” he tries to convince you.

You giggle; there was no need for you to be convinced. You would give him anything he could asked for, after all.

“Then, my sweet big baby… feast on it” you whisper, getting into bed right next to his horny self.

Byakuya and you giggle sweetly, both covering your whole bodies with your silk sheets. Enough has happened in between the both of you for shame and formalities.

It is Byakuya who willingly gets comfortable on your legs; his back on your lap, while your fingers brush through his beautiful hair back.

Lust and intimacy have transcended; his skilful hands free your breasts from your nightgown. The sakura man enjoys the effects of gravity on them, as they heavily fall close to his lips.

“I wonder if it’s as sweet as your core” he purrs.

Your insides become a mess; tensing muscles on your womanhood, oh the gracious changes of your body he adores… he praises… what a blessing is to have a man like him to venerate you.

You help him reach your nipple; it gets hard, and it begins to drip. And you suddenly understand the difference, nurturing your child has nothing to do with this; two different types of bonding, you are so willing to enjoy.

Byakuya sticks his tongue out, allowing the very few drops of semi white elixir to fall on it. He takes some time to enjoy the taste, like a fine wine, like a delicatessen a noble deserves.

“More” he demands.

You smile pleased; impulsive shameless and whimsical Byakuya only comes out when he is either truly free or unable to control himself; and right now, he is both.

Your hand passes under his nape, lifting, with so much expertise, his head for his lips to finally trap your nipple.

A little clumsy, he first tries nibbling on it, making you jolt. It hurts, but it feels so good. Yet, it is definitely not enough to start the flow of motherly product happening.

“Suck; try pressing your tongue against your palate as you suck” you guide him; it is much easier to explain this to an adult it kinda makes you giggle.

“Uhhumh” he hums, taking notes of your instructions. And with a couple of tries, he finally manages to make it happen.

“Good boy” you compliment him; for the first time, you discover the joy of being the one in charge, of being the dominant one.

Deep blue eyes open big, fixing on yours. They both show a certain amount of shame… because your “mommy” attitude has made him harder than ever before. It feels to Byakuya both incredibly hot but also degrading… and that, at the same time, becomes feedback for more and more lust.

His hips, on his own, buck up ever so slightly. Yet, enough for you to notice. Ah, he needs relief…

You use one of your hands to guide your right breast more and more into his mouth, as he sucks harder. While your left hand slowly slides from his belly to his sex.

Byakuya spasms violently when your palm reaches his already wet crotch area. You are not surprised; this man gets so hard sometimes that it kinda scares you he might explode at any moment.

“Would you like mommy to help you with this?” you ask, amazed by those naughty words that make you even wetter.

“ngh… mhg… yes-“ he barely words, with his mouth full of your milk, overflowing from the commissure of his lips.

You bite your lower lip; if this isn’t the epitome of arousal, you don’t know what it is.

It takes nothing for his yukata to finally slide open, uncovering a hard manhood that has already impregnated you with all of his masculinity before.

You begin to pump; jerking him off with no mercy, making him tremble, making him choke with the white liquid coming from you.

A little bit more, he is close… so close. more, more, more. Precum flowing from his gland as milk flows from your breasts.

White sometimes associated with purity, is now being depicted as total concupiscence and erotism, in the middle of a night that slowly becomes a dawn.

And like the Sun, unstoppably rising every morning, Byakuya’s climax hit his body like the strongest Bankai…

Spasms that accompany every sprout of cum abandoning his body and into his belly; Spasms that you somehow experience as well, as all of the sucking and such imagery has made you incredibly hot to the point of also cuming.

“Byakuya, love… save a little bit for your son/daughter, yes?” “Just a little bit more for breakfast, my love…”

Taglist of amazing babes: @awas-posts @missfuriosa @theneighbourhoodferret @cyberdazetragedy @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919

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quintinh43 · 9 months ago

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Feels Like Home | Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack brings his girlfriend to meet his older brother Quinn and his parents. [Requested By Anon]

Pairings: Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, I think, just fluff. Maybe some anxiety?

Wc: 2.9k

---

With the off-season officially kicked into gear, you, Jack and Luke were headed to Michigan to meet up with the rest of their family. As the three of you collected your luggage you bounced on the balls of your feet nervously. Today was the first time you'd be meeting Jack's older brother Quinn and his parents.

Your meeting with Quinn being in a matter of minutes, as he was picking the three of you up from the airport. "Relax, sweet thing," Jack hummed, squeezing your hand, "he'll love you."

"What if he doesn't?" You mumble, squeezing his hand back.

"He will." The three of you grab your luggage and head to the baggage area, Luke walking ahead, headphones on, music full blast, ever the emo youngest brother. Jack traces comforting patterns across your knuckles as you get more and more nervous.

Honestly, meeting Quinn is more nerve-wracking than the prospect of meeting Jacks parents. Older brothers are on a whole other level. You feel bad for Luke, for whenever he has a girlfriend to introduce to not one but two older brothers.

Quinn is leaning against the back of his car, arms crossed over his chest, smirking as he lays eyes on his younger brothers. And by extension you. He radiates, cool, calm, and collected. Somehow, that makes it even more scary.

Luke is the first to reach him, wrapping him in a hug. Luke has a good four inches him, but you can tell by the way his body relaxes as soon as Quinn locks his arms around him that their bond is as thick as thieves. He puts his luggage into the car and takes the front seat.

Before he closes the door, he mouths a teasing "good luck" at you. You glare at him, while Jack lets go of your hand, he a Quinn to pack the remainder of the bags in the trunk before he throws his arms around his brother.

"Hi Quinny," you hear him murmur, "Hi Jackie," he grins back, patting him on the back.

"This must be the girlfriend," he says, eyes twinkling with mischief as he squeezes an arm around Jacks shoulders.

"That I am" you smile, holding out a hand for him to shake, "I'm Y/n, its good to finally meet you."

"You too," Quinn says, shaking your hand, "Come on, let's get going, i'm not in the mood to run into people, especially not with all three of us out and about."

Jack nods, opening the back door for you to get in. You slide in behind Luke, and Jack takes the seat behind Quinn. He links his hand with yours and rests them in his lap, tracing patterns on the backs if your knuckles. For all his trying to keep you calm, he was nervous too. It was very important to him that his family loved you.

"So, Y/n, what are your intentions with my brother?" Quinn asks, fingers tapping on the steering wheel while he glances in the rear view mirror.

The tips of Jacks ears turn a vengeful pink. "Quinn!" He huffs in disbelief.

"Straight to the interrogation." Luke snorts. He looks like the only thing he's missing is a bucket of popcorn.

"You don't have to answer him, Sweets" Jack says, glaring at Quinn through the mirror.

"It's ok, Jack," you laugh, squeezing his hand, albeit a bit nervous, you turn to Quinn, feeling more confident now that you get to talk about Jack. "My intentions with Jack are to love him for as long as he'll have me, which is hopefully the rest of our lives." Jack gives you a soft smile, full of promise, and you pocket the memory for later.

"I wanna be his number one supporter, through the good and the bad, I wanna be there for him no matter what. I wanna take care of him when he's sick and celebrate with him when there's something to celebrate. I want to be apart of his family, to love and care for the people he cares for" you shrug sheepishly, like it was the easiest thing in the world to say. Frankly it was.

Jack looks like he might cry. Quinn has a subtle but surprised smile on his face.

"Y'all are fucking disgusting" Luke grins "I can't wait for you to get married, so I can have a sibling I actually like."

"Get fucked!" Jack says, leaning towards Luke to yank on a strand of his hair.

"Bitch!" Luke hisses, twisting to swat at Jack. Quinn rolls his eyes at the two of them, turning up the music in favour of listening to them bicker. He's eyes keep flicking toward you in the rear view mirror, glinting with a pleased look.

A warm feeling floods your chest. If you had to guess you would say won Quinn over. Now for the parents.

The remainder of the fourty minute drive to the lake house consists of Quinn asking you questions, Luke being a little shit, and Jack holding your hand and being a sweetheart or bickering with Luke.

You and Quinn aren't sure how the got the point about arguing over who would be Jacks best man, but here they were.

"You're delusional if you think I was gonna ask you to be my best man" Jack laughs.

"Shut your bitch ass Jack, I wasn't talking about you. I'm gonna be Y/n's best man. Or man of honour I guess. Right

Y/n?" He asks, full blown puppy dog eyes.

"Of course, Lukey," you grin, ruffling his hair. Quinn picked this moment to chime in.

"That means I have to be Jack's best man?" He screechs with mock offense. "No thanks, I'm wanna be Y/n's man of honour"

Jacks jaw drops, and he stares at you with mock betrayal. "You've stolen my family!" He gasps.

You giggle behind your hand, "well maybe if she wasn't one hundred times better than you, we wouldn't like her so much" Luke says matter-of-factly, sticking his tongue out at Jack.

"Do they always argue this much?" Quinn asks you, "if so, how are you sane?"

"Not usually, clearly you bring out the best in them," you grin, patting Quinn on the shoulder. He rolls his eyes, the slip of a smirk on his lips.

"As much as I love that were planning our wedding right now, I think we'd better save it till I have a ring on my finger" you say, throwing a wink at jack.

"Baby, if it were up to me, you'd already have a ring," Jack grins, winking back at you.

"It is up to you dumbass." Quinn says, brows raised. Luke cackles, and Jack blushes, grumbling about how they don't understand. You lean over and kiss him on the cheek sweetly.

"Don't worry Jackie, I know" you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. You wrap an arm around his Bicep, drawing gentle circles with your thumb. Meeting and getting along with Quinn had vastly eased your worries about meeting his parents.

As if on cue, Quinn pulls into the driveway. And the four of you stumble out of the car, grabbing luggage from the trunk and heading into the house.

Mr. And Mrs. Hughes are hanging out in the kitchen, prepping salad ingredients side by side. As soon as they heard the car pull up, they were waiting by the front door for their boys. Quinn slipped by them, squeezing his dad's shoulder and giving his mom a side hug before the absolute commotion that was his brother's entered the house.

"Welcome home, my boys!" Ellen grinned, Luke had to lean down a comical distance for Ellen to hug him around the neck. She patted him on the back, and he hugged his dad and smartly disappeared up the stairs behind Quinn for you and Jack to have a bit of privacy with their parents.

You hover awkwardly at the door frame while Jack hugged his parents.

After he's hugged them both, he drags you forward by the hand. "Mom, dad, this is Y/n, my girlfriend." he voice has an edge of nerves, and you squeeze his hand.

"Hi, Mr. And Mrs. Hughes, " you smile politely, extending your hand for then to shake. Ellen all but slaps it out of the way as she pulls you into a hug.

"So good to meet you dear. Jack loves you so very much amd we are so happy he found you" she murmers gently. The urge to cry is strong. Jacks family already feels like home.

His dad wraps you in a side hug, "Welcome to the family." He smiles softly, "and please, none of this, Mr. And Mrs. Stuff, it's Ellen and Jim." You nod, even though you know there is no way you'll be calling them Ellen and Jim anytime soon.

"Lunch will be ready in ten. Why don't you guys go get settled and freshen up, and then we'll eat? " Ellen suggests.

"Yeah, we will. Thanks, Ma," Jack grabs your hand and leads you up the stairs to his bedroom that you'll be sharing for the summer. It's spacious and decorated in a way that's most definitely Jack's.

"Do you think they like me?" You ask nervously, putting your toiletries bag in his bathroom.

Jack can hear the worry in your tone. He pulls you into him, rubbing his hands up and down your arms soothingly, "I think they love you sweet thing" he pecks your forehead sweetly, "almsot as much as I do" with that the two of you get settled in comfortable scilence.

Quinn is knocking on the door, "lunch is ready," he calls, going to knock on Luke's door. Jack is dragging you down the stairs, excited to eat. The three of you had snacked on the flight a little bit, but beyond that, you hadn't had a real meal for the day.

Luke is already piling his plate with food. By the time the two of you are down the stairs. "Better get going before Luke eats everything," Ellen smirks, handing you and Jack plates, respectively.

"Mom!" Luke whines, around a piece of garlic toast. Ellen just laughs at her son and waiting for you and Jack to grab food. Everyone piles onto the couch, and Quinn plays a movie. It's more like background noise, as you all chat happily.

Luke leans over you and tries to snatch a piece of garlic bread off of Jack's plate. Jack pokes (stabs) him with his fork, pinning him with a glare. Luke hisses, shaking his hand out dramatically.

"So rude to me," he pouts.

"Maybe don't steal his food then?" Quinn says matter-of-factly. Luke makes a face at him.

You grin at their antics, used to this particular argument by now. Honestly, you're surprised Luke doesn't have permanent fork scars on his hand. You hold out your plate to Luke, and he grins, taking a slice of your garlic bread. Luke sticks his tongue out at Jack.

After a few months of dealing with Jack stabbing Luke every time he tried to steal food off of Jacks plate, you had started putting a little extra food on your plate just for him. Honestly, you could blame Luke. Food just tasted better when you were stealing it off someone else's plate. You did it to Jack all the time, but as his girlfriend and the love of his life, you get a free pass.

Ellens smile is so soft as she watches. She is so happy for Jack that he has someone as amazing as you, she can tell Luke loves you too.

"Whats after lunch?" Jack asks, setting his empty plate on the coffee table. He throws an arm around your shoulder, and you kean into his side, running your fingers along his bare knee absent-mindedly.

"Boat, if you guys are down for it?" Quinn suggests, stacking his plate on top of Jacks.

Both Luke and Jack light up at the idea. You can't help but smile at the look on Jacks face. What you would give for that look never to leave.

"Yeah, let's do that, Y/n has never been on a boat."

Your cheeks flush, a little embarrassed. "What?!" Quinn practically screeches, "alright that settles it, were going on the boat."

You grab the stack of plates from the coffee table, "oh hon, leave it, well take care of it"

"Nonsense, Mrs. H, I want to help."

"Don't worry Mom, I got her" Jack grins, taking half the plates from you. The two of you load the dishwasher together, while the others get ready to go on the boat. You quickly sprint upstairs when you're done, changing into your swimsuit. You throw shorts and a hoodie over it, and slap some sunscreen on your face.

"Jack, did you put on sunscreen?"

He shakes his head, and you dab sunscreen on his nose. He grins, pecking you on the cheek before rubbing the sunscreen into his skin. "Lets go" he hums, throwing a towel over his shoulder for the both of you.

Quinn is already in the driver's seat, scrolling through his music options as he decides what to play. Jack hops over the edge of the boat and offers you a hand to pull you in. You take his hand gratefully as he hoists you over the ledge. You stumble into him, giggling a little.

He smirks, wrapping his arms around you to stabilize you. "Hey, didn't know you were falling for me." He says cheesily.

You hear Quinn snort, a smile playing on his lips. He's happy to see his brother happy.

"Baby, I fell for you a long time ago," you grin, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him.

"Ewwww, no kissing on the boat!" Luke yells as he hops over the ledge and throws a towel at the two of you for good measure. Jack catches it and rolls it up to whip luke with it. You and Quinn laugh at the two of them as Jack chases Luke around the minimal space of the boat hitting him with the towel.

As soon as Ellen and Jim approach Jack drops the towel all innocently, pulling you against his side. Ellen rolls her eyes at their antics and sits beside Jim, who wraps an arm around her shoulders. You can't help but smile. They are so cute.

Jack does almsot the same, tucking you into his side securely. Luke looks at Quinn miserably. "we are so single it hurts," he pouts.

Quinn snorts, "Speak for yourself, Moose, I quite enjoy my singularity"

Luke rolls his eyes "singularity my ass, thats not even how that word is used."

"Sorry, but I don't take advice from collage dropouts." Quinn smirks, flicking his head so his sunglasses fall onto his face as he takes off.

"I am not a collage dropout!" Luke scoffs

"Yet," Jack adds with a smirk.

The wind whips you hair into Jacks face, and he laughs as you tuck it into your hoodie. You stay curled into his side happily, enjoying the view as Quinn cruises along the coastline. Then he's slowing the boat to a stop, throwing the keys to his dad, tugging off his shirt, and back-flipping into the water.

Luke follows immediately, whooping as his head breaks the surface. "Your turn Y/n/n."

"Oh no, absolutely not, no thanks." You shake your head with a smile, pulling off the hoodie to lay in the sun.

Before you can fully process what's happening, Jack has his arms around you, and is standing on the seat. You lock your arms around his neck tightly.

"Jack Rowden Hughes, put me down this instant!" you say panic rising in your voice. His parents laugh, hearing you scold him with his full name.

"Catch" Jack grins, prying your arms away from his neck and tossing you in the water.

You scream as you fly through the air, the cold water is a shock as you kick to the surface. "I got you," Quinn smiles, reassuringly, as you emerge. He's got a hand wrapped gently on your arm, providing some stability while you get your bearings. And then, Jack is jumping into the water, splashing you and Quinn in the faces. "Thanks Quinn" you smile softly.

As Jack resurfaces, you swim over to him and attach yourself to his back like a koala. "How dare you!" You hold his head underwater for a few seconds, and he still comes up laughing.

"It was fun, though, wasn't it?" He asks, eyes glinting.

"Yeah," you grumble reluctantly.

"And now you'll jump on your own?" His brows are raised knowingly. Sometimes all you need is a push, or throw in this case.

"Yeah," you grin, pressing a kiss to his hair.

The four of you spend hours jumping off the boat over and over and horsing around in the water while their parents laugh, and throw snacks in your mouths from the boat and take plenty of pictures. Until the sun starts to fall lower in the sky, and Ellen deems it time to head back.

You climb into the boat and throw jacks hoodie on before you tuck yourself into his side as Quinn drives home. The rest of the evening is spent in the pleasant company of Jacks family. Eating dinner, playing board games, roasting marshmallows over the fire pit, and sharing embarrassing stories about Jack.

All in all, his family feels like your own, and being with him feels like home.

---

Notes: First Jack fic!! I'm not too sure how I feel about it, but eh, here we are. Thank you, Anon, for requesting, Love Soph ♡

#qh43 #quinn hughes #nhl imagine #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x reader #jh86 #luke hughes #nhl x reader #hughes brothers #jack hughes #nj devils #vancover canucks #lh43 #love soph

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