#this fic gives me so much joy but it also hurts me like hell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thriftedtchotchkes · 1 year ago

Text

switching the positions

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: a collection of micro-fics chronicling the days of a very eventful week in the lives of you and joel miller (inspired by ariana grande's positions)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral (f&m receiving), 69ing, mutual/guided masturbation, edging, mild exhibitionism, consensual somnophilia, squirting, rimming, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, panic attacks, mentions of parents, mentions of food

word count: 16.2k

moodboard by my sweet girl @cavillscurls ♡

a/n: whew, my pride and joy, a whole two months in the making. tysm to everyone who voted on the poll, and especially to @dinsdjrn for helping me tie this whole thing together and mya for listening to me yell about this for weeks. as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated!

SUNDAY

"Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday."

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“She’s not gonna hate you.”

Oh, you know this woman is going to hate you. It’s not that parents don’t like you. On the contrary, you actually get along great with people’s parents. Your friends’, your old roommate’s, your coworkers'—hell, even your own. It’s just that moms, specifically, can smell fear, and Joel’s mom is going to smell the terror wafting off of you from a mile away.

Not that it’s personal or anything. You’re pretty sure she’d hate anyone dating her baby boy. It’s like, a boy-mom thing. Still doesn’t make you feel any better about your boyfriend’s mom potentially hating you.

“Whose idea was this dinner again?” Because if it was Joel’s, then he can still reschedule or fake an illness or, better yet, call the whole thing off.

“Baby, you know it was hers,” he replies from his spot at the edge of the bed, where he’s been watching you pace the room and throw half the closet on the floor for the past hour. You shoot him an exasperated look.

“But did you have to say yes? Isn’t it kind of early for me to be meeting your mom anyway?”

He looks at you like you have ten heads, but you ignore him, debating two shirts in the mirror, then deciding they’re both terrible and adding them to the pile on the floor.

“It’s been a year and a half. If we wait any longer, she’ll be meetin’ you at the weddin’,” he sighs, running his hands frustratedly down his face. You pause your closet tornado to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I think it’d be good for y’all to meet, is all.”

Good for who? Certainly not you. Honestly, this dinner could have serious repercussions for your relationship. It’s entirely possible she could convince him to break up with you after the night’s over. Or that you’re a bad role model and shouldn’t be allowed around Sarah anymore. Your stomach lurches violently at the thought. Then, it hits you—

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair enough—but have we thought about who’s gonna watch Sarah tonight? We can’t just leave her by herself, and I’m sure your mom would totally understand that,” you try to reason but, again, Joel’s not going for it.

“She’s 14 years old, I think she can handle a couple hours alone,” he deadpans. “Baby, c’mon, it’s not gonna be that bad. Please? Is it really too much to ask for the woman I love to meet my momma?”

You soften at that. Logically, you know he’s right and it’s not fair for you to keep giving him such a hard time. You’re also pre-judging someone really special to him, and now you feel like the shittiest girlfriend in the world.

“You’re right. I know you’re right—I’m sorry,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re not sure why you’re feeling so insecure about all this. “I just want her to like me, you know?”

He nods, lips quirking into a small smile, and pats his lap. You fall into his arms and he rocks you for a moment, kissing your hair, then your cheek. The anxiety’s starting to subside and you’re grateful for him, your sweet boyfriend who never asks you for anything. Your eyes meet his, and he leans in to kiss you softly, deeply, then pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know ya do,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh. “And she will, alright? Just give her a chance like she’s givin’ you one.”

So, for Joel, you do. Turns out his mom is lovely and wonderful, just like her son, and now you have a lot to make up for.

MONDAY

"Then make a lotta love on a Monday."

It’s early and yet, somehow, you’re already awake and feeling like it’s going to be a good day. There’s no alarm clocks blaring, no feet stomping up and down the stairs. Just sweet, blissful sunlight, and it feels so good this morning. Warm and wet and, god, right there—please, keep going right there.

You reach out to feel its light against your hands and between your fingers, and it hums, sending sweet vibrations up your arms, all the way down to your thighs. Heat starts to bloom in your belly as the sun rises higher, burning hotter and hotter, and your fingers tense, tugging at its soft rays.

Everything feels so much wetter now, and there’s no way you’re not sweating right through your shirt and into the sheets. Even your underwear is soaked, your cunt pleasurably slick and dripping as you pant softly into your pillow.

Then, all of it suddenly intensifies and you’re enveloped by a wet, dextrous warmth that circles and circles, dipping into you, fucking into you, and suddenly, you’re so, so close—

And then you’re cumming with a loud sob, hips bucking with every spasm until something broad and strong splays across your stomach and pushes you back down into the sheets.

It's…you realize it’s Joel. Balmy and beautiful like the morning sun. He groans as you gush into his mouth, lapping up everything you give him, and you’re vaguely aware of the bed shifting under you as he grinds his hips into the mattress for relief.

“…B-baby? What—what’s going on…,” you slur sleepily, hands tugging harder at his hair as he continues to suckle your clit through the aftershocks. You whine at the oversensitivity, and he pulls off to press one last kiss to your heat before throwing the sheets off behind his head.

His eyes meet yours and, fuck, he looks wrecked. His hair is in complete disarray and his eyes are a little wild…and then there’s the giant tent in his boxers and that delicious wet spot that makes your mouth water. He doesn’t respond—just crawls up your body to crash his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, and all you can taste is yourself when his tongue brushes against yours.

You moan into his mouth as he grinds into your sensitive core, then parts from your lips just long enough to pull your sweat-soaked shirt up and over your head. The cool morning air feels like heaven against your feverish skin and, with the sheets gone, you can feel a cool breeze coming through the open window, amplified by the oscillating fan next to the bed.

Christ, he must be so pent up by now. Your brain is finally starting to clear from its post-sleep fog, and now you’re wondering how long he’s been between your legs, eating you out like you’re the heartiest breakfast he’s ever had in his life.

But that train of thought is quickly derailed when his lips find a new home around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and circling his tongue around the nub until it hardens. The delicate skin feels especially tender, and you whimper quietly as the roughness of his beard scrapes against you. Your fingers thread back into his hair and you tug, urging him back up so you can feel his mouth on yours again.

“Joel, fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, and his breath hitches. “Wanna feel you—please.”

The sensitivity must’ve already subsided because your hips are steadily meeting his and you’re feeling so desperate to have him inside you. His cock feels heavy as he rubs himself against your slick cunt and, while the fabric provides the most incredible friction when it grazes your clit, you want him bare immediately.

“Now…ngh—now,” you whine, and you’re stunned he still has the patience to tease when he pulls away slightly to smirk down at you.

“Needy girl this morning, ain’t ya?” His voice is thick with sleep and so much desire, and it makes your still locked-down pussy clench painfully. “S’alright, baby, ‘m gonna give it to ya.”

Wrenching his boxers down, he grips under your legs to push both of your knees to your chest before nudging the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. He inches in just the tip and immediately lets out a whoosh of air.

“So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ,” he grits through his teeth, working himself in and out of you until he’s buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against you just right. He lingers for a brief moment, grinding into you deeply, languidly while you adjust to his girth.

"S'good. Feels good," you murmur, sighing contently. He's brushing that spot he can only reach when he fucks you like this, so you lock your ankles behind his back, silently telling him to stay. But it feels a little selfish, and you can feel how much he's holding back.

"Baby...I gotta move," he pants, trembling with the effort it's taking not to lengthen his thrusts. Pulling out slowly, he presses back into you deep enough to nudge that spot again, and your vision goes hazy. "Promise, I'll take care of ya—"

You moan in unison as you flutter around him, and he takes that as the go-ahead to continue, his cock reappearing wetter and shinier after every stroke. His skin is glistening, too, slick with sweat that runs down his temples and pools where your bodies connect.

The heat of him is addictive and it's everywhere—blooming in your chest, blazing between your legs, and igniting something fathomless inside you. But somehow, it's still not hot enough. You know he can give you more, your blindingly beautiful sun.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, you squeeze your thighs into his sides to pull him flush against your body, and you can feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest. The steady rhythm matches his thrusts perfectly, but he's groaning so sweetly in your ear that you have a feeling it won't for long.

You belatedly realize how hard you're clenching around him, suddenly so close to tumbling over the edge for the second time this morning, and he redoubles his efforts to follow you.

"L-like that, keep going just like that," you encourage between sharp exhales. "That—that's it."

He braces a hand next to your head on the pillow to stabilize himself, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, grounding yourself to him. His eyes meet yours fondly before he buries his face into the crook of your neck to do the same, panting heavily against your skin.

Soft, brown curls tickle your cheek, and you turn your head to nose into his hair, breathing him in. He smells earthy like freshly-mown grass and sawdust, and it fills your lungs, surrounding you just when you need it the most.

You gasp in his air, hips swiveling into his desperately as you chase your release. He's slamming directly into that spot now, pushing your knees back into your chest to reach even deeper, but his thighs are starting to tense.

"'m not gonna last long," he admits breathily, all but folding you in half so he can brush his lips against yours. "S'too good...gonna make me cum so hard."

"Please...please, please." Fuck, you want to feel it. To feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up so good, so much. "Joel, cum—please cum."

So close, you're so close. Your soft sighs have evolved into something louder and higher-pitched. Too loud for this early in the morning, and enough to wake up the entire house if you're not careful.

Joel seals his mouth over yours, swallowing every noise that escapes your lips as he pounds into you with purpose, dragging against your walls, and it's...fuck, you're—

Gushing, sobbing as you cum, and he groans, long and drawn out, immediately following you over the edge. Releasing your legs, he digs his fingers into your hips to hold you in place, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as you milk him dry.

"Fuck me," he exhales shakily, pumping into you twice before pulling out and collapsing on top of you. "Good fuckin' morning."

A breathy laugh bubbles out of your chest, but you immediately cringe at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. You wedge a hand between your bodies, reaching down to swipe your thumb between your folds and procure a glob that you suck wetly into your mouth.

"Very good fuckin' morning," you smile cheekily at the look of awe on his face. He shakes his head, chuckling as he wraps you up in his arms and rolls you over onto your sides. His chest expands into you with a massive yawn, and you're helpless but to mirror him.

"How much time we got until the alarm?" he mutters sleepily, sounding like he could pass out at any moment. You're craning your head back to check when—

The damn thing starts blaring before you can even catch a glimpse of the time. Not that you need to now—it's 6 a.m., your mortal enemy. You glare at the clock like it personally offended you, and Joel only chuckles, pulling you back down with him.

"Snooze it," he murmurs, mouthing damply at your neck, his hands exploring your soft, bare skin. "We still got time."

You barely hear him, already lost in the feeling of his fingers skimming up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He leans over you to hit the button himself before returning to you, kissing you like you've both got all the time in the world.

Neither of you makes it to work on time.

TUESDAY

"Cookin' in the kitchen, and I'm in the bedroom."

The oven is broken. Probably. The stove, too. It’s really not your fault—all you did was turn some knobs and stand there, but for some reason, none of the burners are catching and the oven sure isn’t cooking this chicken like it’s supposed to.

You don't even like chicken but, for some ungodly reason, you've had a wicked craving for it lately. And Joel loves it, so. That explains why you’re in the kitchen, getting side-eyed by a very skeptical 14 year old, trying to cook a nice dinner for her very overworked father. It’s not going well.

“Did you hear it click when you tried turning it on?” Sarah asks patiently, and now it’s your turn to look skeptical.

“Uhh, the knob or the stove?” You eye the appliance dubiously like it’s doing whatever it’s doing on purpose. She laughs pointing to one of the burners.

“So, when you twist the knob, gas comes out of here,” she taps the grating around the burner, “and the clicking creates a spark that ignites the gas so it lights. Then, voila, you’ve got a working stove.”

“Oh,” you reply dumbly, looking back and forth between her and the stove until she finally gets the hint.

“Fine, fine. I can do it,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. And of course, the stupid thing works with zero issues when she does it. You give her a grateful smile before throwing the dirtiest glare you can muster at the oven.

“What do we do about that one? I guess I could try cooking the whole chicken in a big pan, but I can’t guarantee we won’t all die from food poisoning…,” you trail off, starting to feel a little useless.

It’s not like you’re completely inept in the kitchen. You can use a toaster or a microwave like a damn pro, and even the blender if you’re feeling especially adventurous, but you’ve never made a big meal like this before. Sarah likes to cook when you’re not ordering out, which admittedly is most of the time, so this was supposed to be something special for her, too.

“It’s the same general concept,” she says, still kind and patient as ever, squatting down to show you a different set of knobs. You observe her for a moment, missing the start of her explanation, because it’s times like these where you can see so much of Joel in her.

It’s that spark in her eyes when she gets to share bits of her well-earned knowledge. To use her expertise to teach someone something brand new. Joel gets the same look when he’s trying to teach you guitar. His eyes shine when you finally get a chord down, and he downright beams when you can finish an entire bar by yourself.

You must’ve zoned out for too long because she’s suddenly waving a hand in front of your face, smiling her dad’s sweet smile as she waits for your focus to return to the task at hand.

“Shit, I’m sorry. What did I miss?” you ask sheepishly. She nods to the oven, already lit and heating up to the required 400 degrees Fahrenheit for cooking baked chicken.

“All good! It’s set for whenever you’ve got the food prepped. You just have to wait for it to hit temperature—it’ll beep when it’s ready,” she says, walking around the kitchen island to grab her backpack.

…Wait. She’s leaving?

“Woah, wait, where are you going? You can’t leave yet,” you plead, still desperate for her help. “What if I burn the house down?”

“You’re not gonna burn down the house,” she snorts, already at the door tugging on her sneakers. “Just remember to turn off the burners and you’ll be fine. And save me some food!… Unless everyone gets sick, then maybe don’t.”

You shoot her a look of absolute betrayal, and she laughs, opening the front door and waving over her shoulder.

“See ya later! Good luck, I believe in you!”

And then she’s gone, and you’re left alone with your misery and a bunch of random ingredients you still have to magically make into a meal.

You slump against the counter, lamenting the loss of your sous chef until the oven beeps, scaring the shit out of you. Oh, great. You’ve barely even started seasoning the chicken. It can’t be that hard, right?

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of a very peppery-looking raw chicken—which is officially disgusting again, you changed your mind—wishing you had just ordered Boston Market and lied about making it yourself. Lesson learned for next time. Like there’ll be a next time.

Well, at least no one can say you didn’t try. You throw a bunch of mixed vegetables into the bottom of the pan like the recipe says and pop it in the oven, setting the timer for 40 minutes and hoping for the best.

Glancing at the clock above the sink, you realize you’re cutting it close on time. You told Joel to be home by eight, which means he’ll probably actually get here at nine, and it’s already 7:30. Yikes. Time flies when you’re trying not to fuck up a dinner that was doomed from the start.

The last piece of the puzzle is thankfully the easiest. Now, mashed potatoes are definitely something you can make. Boiling water? Piece of cake. Pouring in the instant flakes from the box and adding butter? Done and done.

There’s no way anyone’ll be able to tell you didn’t make them from scratch unless they check the trash and, anyways, the instant stuff is better. You’ll go down with that ship.

Now for the pièce de résistance: the perfect evening attire. A cute, 50s-era apron you thrifted two weeks ago that’ll go over the teeny, tiny Victoria’s Secret lingerie set you’ve been hiding in the back of the closet.

Joel will probably think it’s hilarious, once he stops drooling. Hopefully you’ll even make it to dinner, otherwise, the stress of this entire afternoon was a totally moot point. But he’ll have to be a good boy and finish his food before he can have dessert—apple pie you definitely didn’t make, and you laid out on his bed like the best fucking treat he’ll ever taste.

You end up with enough time to take the chicken and veggies out of the oven—the meat thermometer tells you it’s cooked through and that’s good enough for you—and stir up the mashed potatoes before you have to head upstairs to get everything else ready. So far, surprisingly, so good.

You’re in the middle of patting yourself on the back for a job well-done, with time to spare, when you hear the front door open. At eight fucking thirty. This would be the one day Joel gets home early and, by the sounds of dishware and cutlery clinking around downstairs, he’s already discovered your big surprise.

“Baby, you up there?” he calls up the stairs. “What’s all this?”

Well. Guess it’s showtime. You finish tying the apron around your waist before giving yourself one last once over in the mirror. Everything fits perfectly, just like you knew it would, and the food’s done, for better or worse. So there’s no need to be nervous, right? It’s just Joel. Your Joel. He’d love it no matter what, even if it all ends up being total shit.

Taking a steadying breath, you head down the stairs, letting your appearance serve as his answer. The apron rubs scratchily against your skin, a reminder of how naked you actually are underneath, and you let your confidence in Joel’s inevitably wanton reaction make you brave.

And he doesn’t disappoint. His eyes rove over you greedily, from the pout of your lips to the tiniest slip of your nipple peeking over your bra, all the way down to the soft, bare skin of your legs. Yeah, no need to be nervous at all.

“Just a little surprise I cooked up,” you smirk a little deviously as you reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s on you in a second, hands exploring your body eagerly, impatiently, as he leans in to kiss you, but he’s halted by a finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. Can’t have dessert yet. There’s a whole meal waiting for you—I made your favorite.”

He chuckles, gingerly pressing a kiss to your finger instead before leading you backward into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s get started then. I’m starvin’,” he says, looking hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. You return his gaze, suddenly feeling ravenous yourself.

“Good. It’s dinner time.”

WEDNESDAY

"Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle."

Spin class sucks.

There’s really no need for the music to be this loud. And it’s bad. They say it’s supposed to amp you up for rigorous exercise, but it’s just giving you a headache.

It’s also about a thousand degrees in here, and you’d be leaving a massive pool of sweat on this seat if you were even allowed to sit on it. The whole concept of spinning makes no sense, and you’re starting to think it’s actually just a dance class on stationary bikes because no one in their right mind would ever ride a bicycle like this.

It’s embarrassing, for starters, and you’re surrounded by hot people that are way better at it than you are. You didn’t even know you could gyrate on a fucking bike until today, and they all somehow make it look sexy. Like they’re legitimately having a great time. Having fun.

But not you. The music might honestly be doing you a favor by drowning out your pathetic attempts to breathe. You’re starting to get a little lightheaded and feel like you’re about to be sick.

No workout is worth this. You can’t even pretend to follow the instructor’s directions, because you can barely hear her over the speakers. She probably can't even hear herself, yelling into the void of shitty EDM remixes, and expecting everyone to pick it up. If you’d known this was just some fucked up version of leg day, you would’ve skipped it.

There's no sneaking out early, either. You took the bus and Joel won’t be here to pick you up for at least another half hour. Honestly, you'd rather walk home and let that be your exercise for the day, but unless you plan on jogging along the highway, you're shit out of luck.

The beat abruptly picks back up, startling you out of your personal pity party, and then everyone's asses are in the air again, hips swiveling so perfectly in sync that it has to be choreographed. You're getting the hang of it now that you're realizing the routine just repeats itself, but it still feels mildly exploitative.

It doesn't help that your class is starting to draw in a crowd, likely attracted by all of the revealing athletic wear on display. At least you got that memo. Whoever had the bright idea to put a huge glass wall at the back of the room was either a genius or a pervert. Probably both, depending on who you ask.

Once the hardest section of the choreography passes, you look behind you to check the time, praying more than you think has passed, but you're sorely disappointed. And the crowd outside's only gotten bigger.

Don't these assholes have anything better to do than stand there drooling over a spin class? You continue to glare at them over your shoulder through the next part of the song, looking a little ridiculous grinding into your seat as you silently tell them all off.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of them off to the side laughing, but when you turn to send an even harsher look in their direction, you realize you recognize him.

What a dick. If you'd known he was going to be this early, you definitely would've snuck out and waited outside instead of becoming another piece of eye candy for a bunch of gym rats.

Joel looks a little too pleased with himself, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s enjoying the view as much as the rest of those creeps. Well, if he wants a show, then you’ll give him one. Now that you’ve gotten the movements down, you can put all of your energy into making him wish there wasn’t an entire glass wall separating him from you.

That one, grueling section of the song loops back around, and this time you put your all into it, arching like you’re supposed to, swiveling your hips into the seat with all of the muscle control you’ve got. Your shorts ride up your ass at the change in movement, probably giving you a wicked camel toe, but you let them. You can only imagine the look on Joel’s face now.

The song starts to wind down, finally coming to a stop, and you lower yourself back onto the seat, panting with the exertion of the past 45 minutes. Turning back around, you notice the crowd has mostly dispersed, save for a few stragglers and Joel, who’s panting almost as hard as you are.

Your eyes drop to his pants, and you quirk an eyebrow. His breathing’s not the only thing that’s hard. He looks a little wrecked and, suddenly, this whole workout thing feels like it might’ve been worth it after all.

You hop off the bike and retrieve your duffel from the back of the room, teasingly flicking the glass in front of his face before exiting with the rest of the class.

"Ready to go?" you ask brightly, still feeling high off the endorphin rush. He doesn't respond, looking a little dazed as he watches a droplet of sweat run down your neck, past your collarbone, and right between your breasts. "You doing alright there, bud?"

You laugh, enjoying your revenge a little too much, reveling in the way his jaw tenses and the muscles in his neck twitch angrily. It’s about to be a very interesting ride home—or it would’ve been if you’d made it that far.

On the way out, you pass an out-of-order men’s room, and he yanks you inside, locking the door behind you.

It's a little surprising he's this pent up after the night you had, especially with the sheer amount of sex you’ve been having lately—not that you're complaining. But what's even more surprising is that he's choosing right now to rectify it, basically in public where anyone could overhear or walk in on you. It's...really out of character for him. You thought he'd at least make it to the car.

“Joel, what the—,” you yelp as he lifts you up by the waist to settle you on the edge of a sink. It's clear his patience has completely run out because, within seconds, he's dropping to his knees, burying his face in your heat. "—fuck."

Your legs immediately try to close around his head, but he forces them back open with enough strength to overextend your already abused hamstrings. It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but the pain, combined with his blunt nails biting into your thighs, sends delicious jolts right to your core.

You exhale shakily, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a damp patch into your shorts, just slightly lower than where you need him. Your hips buck, urging him higher, but he doesn't allow that either, shoving them back down onto the hard porcelain beneath you.

Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. He's handling you aggressively, rougher than you would've expected, and that's when you realize he's mad.

"Bet ya thought that was real funny, teasin' me like that," he growls into your clothed pussy, licking up the seam to swirl wet circles where your clit throbs under too many layers. "Don't feel very nice, does it?"

His eyes meet yours as he sucks a little harder, and you whimper, tugging at his hair in a silent plea for him to take your shorts off and eat you out the way you both want him to. But he's going to drag this out and you know it.

Joel loves a little payback and has the patience of a saint unless he's pushed past his limit. To your detriment, you shoved him over that line with the stunt you pulled earlier, so now you'll have to convince him it's in his best interest to let it go.

Switching tactics, you tempt him with what he could have if he just gave in. Your fingers dip beneath your waistband, and you sigh as you slick them up against your folds before dipping them inside. You're already soaked, and so tight, even around two of your own fingers, and you tell him as much.

"No, it doesn't feel nice...but I know something that will," you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the muted sound of wet squelching reaching your ears. "Hear that?—," you gasp, hips lifting off the sink as you accidentally graze something spongey and sensitive, "—t-that's all for you."

And it works like a charm. Your shorts and underwear are pulled off in a single, hard tug, his tongue fucking into you before you can even fully inhale, and you choke out a strangled moan instead. He eats you out like a man starved, his nose nudging your clit with every dip of his tongue, and it feels so potent, you practically see stars.

Your combined slick and his saliva are starting to leak over the edge of the sink but he catches every drop, and the way he slurps you up makes your cheeks burn. Joel's a lot of things when he's between your legs—enthusiastic, generous, and a little sloppy, but he's never wasteful.

Two thick fingers prod at your entrance, and then he's pressing them into you, the slide snug, but easy with how wet you are for him. Finally, finally, you can feel your orgasm building, and you're sent reeling when his tongue fucks into you between his fingers, filling you up—it's...yes, right there—

But he abruptly pulls his mouth away, still not done making you pay.

"Damn right, it's all for me. Ya think those jackasses watching you weren't thinkin' about this?" he growls, his fingers slowing to leisurely stroke your walls as if they weren't about to throw you over the edge a moment ago. "Think they could make you feel this good? Make you cum like I do?"

Your pussy flutters pathetically around him, and the false look of sympathy he gives you makes you want to cry out of sheer frustration.

"Gonna need an answer if you want me to keep goin'," he drawls, still close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your cunt.

You bite down on your bottom lip, just hard enough to momentarily distract yourself from the aching between your legs so you can respond, but you're taking too long. His fingers have all but stopped, so you panic.

"Fuck those assholes. Fuck all of them," you grit through your teeth. He quirks an eyebrow, marginally picking up the pace of his fingers.

"Fuck 'em, huh? That what you wanna do?" He's teasing you, and even though it's obvious, you fall right into his trap, anyway. Blanching, you shake your head furiously.

"N-no—no, no, no. Just you, only wanna fuck you," you gasp, frantically trying to convince him of something you both already know to be true without a shadow of a doubt. It's honestly impressive that he can work you like this and, even more so, that he's the only one that can.

"S'okay, I know...I know. This right here—," he gives your clit a few kitten licks, the pads of his fingertips rubbing that perfect spot inside you, "—s'mine."

Then, he's burying his face back between your legs, redoubling his efforts, and it's so fucking sloppy. Wet and hot, and hungry, as if edging you has the same effect on him.

You feel him groan into you as you start to tighten around his fingers, loud enough that his chest rumbles with it, sending sweet vibrations up your thighs. The sound of his belt jingling, then hitting the floor vaguely makes it past the blood rushing in your ears, but his broad shoulders and head bobbing between your legs are blocking your view.

All you can see or hear is the frantic movement of his arm, his hand working up and down his cock, and the sound of skin slapping on skin. Fuck, that's—so hot, you're so close. So fucking close—

But he's got one last edge left in him.

You're throbbing so violently that for a second you're terrified he ruined your orgasm, but no, you're still teetering on the cusp, thighs quaking so hard, you can’t believe you haven’t crushed his head between them already. At this point, the smallest touch, even the tiniest puff of air would send you hurtling over.

He's still jerking himself off, sounding delirious as he separates his mouth from you to speak.

"Need to hear ya s-say it...," he pants, and you cry out, angrily reaching down to roughly shove his face back into you, but he resists. Spurred on by your reaction, he only fucks into his fist faster. “Nobody else gets to taste ya like I do…do they? Say it. Say it and I'll…ngh—let you cum,” he moans lowly, possessively.

Joel sounds completely gone. You never could've imagined dry humping a fucking stationary bike would set him off like this, or that a bunch of dumb muscleheads would make him this jealous. He's so lost in it, in you.

But the way he's looking up at you right now—it's like he really does need you to do this for him. To tell him that it’s just him, and it’ll only ever be him. It’s the truth. No one else has ever made you feel the way he does, with his mouth and hands, or his heart, and they never will again.

You whine, shaking your head pleadingly, ready to tell him whatever he wants to hear. Anything for him to put his mouth back on you again.

"T-they don't—no one else gets to, but you...only you," you keen as he seals his lips around your clit, all of his fears and insecurities finally soothed. Your head tips back, the feeling of his hot tongue laving over the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thick fingers—three of them, now—dragging against your walls exactly what you need.

You cum frighteningly quickly, your orgasm so powerful and overwhelming that you start to black out. Your eyes squeeze shut, and then it’s all just pleasure—the tension in all of your limbs slowly bleeds out with every spasm of your cunt, and something wet…so wet, splashes against your inner thighs.

Joel groans louder than you think you’ve ever heard him, the sound practically punched out of his chest as he licks broader lines up your pussy, sucking and slurping, and what…what is that? Why the fuck are you so wet? He—did Joel cum on you, and you didn’t even notice?

But that’s impossible because now his body’s completely seizing up, the hand around his cock stilling as he spurts thick ropes of cum across the bathroom floor. Or at least that’s the image your brain conjures up, unable to see it for yourself.

Your vision’s only just beginning to return to you, and you immediately look down to see what actually happened...and fuck. It was you. Joel’s head is resting on your thigh, nuzzling into your soft, very damp skin, and he's looking up at you in awe.

“Shit, baby…,” he pants, chest heaving, cock still twitching in his hand. "Ain't ever seen you do that before."

You blink blearily, lips parting as you take him in. He's a goddamn mess. His face and beard are soaked, and his shirt is splattered with what you can only assume is your release. You fucking squirted? In a dirty gym bathroom?

"What the fuck?" you mumble, still dazed and a little in disbelief at how your first, and probably last, trip to the gym went. You shake your head, clearing up the brain fog enough to quickly process the past two hours, and now you're in shock. "Joel, what the fuck?" you ask again incredulously.

He has the nerve to look sheepish where he's still happily nestled between your legs post-orgasm, and you bop the top of his head with your palm, eyeing him expectantly.

"Wanna explain what all of that was?"

"Look—," he starts, lips quirking down into that little frown you know so well. "If you'd've heard the shit those fuckers were sayin' about ya. Probably would've said worse if I hadn't told 'em to fuck off before they got into some real trouble."

"Wait, you were the reason they all took off? Joel," you laugh because suddenly it all makes sense.

You just learned the hard way that a grumpy, jealous Joel means getting edged until you black out. Pretty good knowledge to have for future reference, to be honest. Now that you're not sobbing with his head between your legs, it all seems so silly.

"What, did ya expect me to just stand there and let 'em talk about fuckin' my girl right in front of me?"

"I mean, no, but...I dunno, maybe just take the compliment next time and don't threaten a group of scary, muscular men," you chuckle fondly, cupping his wet cheeks in your hands. "Okay? It basically just means you have a hot girlfriend. Congratulations!"

But he only grumbles in response, still pouting like a child. You bend down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he sighs, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

"What if, when we get home, I show you some of the techniques I learned in my class?" you murmur into his hair. He tilts his head back, eyeing you skeptically.

"Baby, we don't have a stationary bike," he says, brows furrowed in confusion. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes dropping to his lap.

"That's okay. We won't need one."

THURSDAY

"You can't imagine what I'm 'bout to say. You really wanna know? You'll have to wait. (It's a surprise, surprise.)"

Blue, blue, blue. Just do it, just be blue! It's a great color—the best color, maybe even your favorite color.

You keep chanting at it, loudly and in your head, but the plastic stick doesn't seem to appreciate your encouragement. It just stares back at you, blank and unhelpful.

How much longer do the instructions say you have to wait? One to three minutes, that's it? It feels like it's already been two hours, but it's actually only been...30 seconds. What the fuck.

Maybe if you shake it, it'll develop faster. It's basically like a polaroid, right? And Outkast has never steered you wrong, so. You lean over from where you're still sitting on the toilet, pants around your ankles, to test your theory but it's too late.

It already has an answer for you. ...Wait, what? Both of the lines are blue. So...does that mean you're extra not pregnant? You snatch up the pamphlet again, actually reading through the directions this time, and your stomach drops. Pink was never even an option.

Two blue lines. Pregnant.

You knew this week was going a little too well.

Those random bouts of nausea, the weird cravings, the fucking breast tenderness. They didn't need to mean anything. They shouldn't have meant anything.

Fuck. Fuck. What are you supposed to do now? You're way too young to have a baby. Well. Okay, that's a massive lie, but still, you're definitely not ready to have one. Or to be…pregnant. You shudder at the thought.

Swollen ankles, morning sickness, mood swings. You’re already a walking rollercoaster of emotions, and your back hurts from just existing. No, you can’t do this.

It's not about the finances, either. You and Joel both have steady jobs and could make it work if you wanted to, but do you want to? Will he? He’s not your husband, not even your fiancée, so there’s no reason for him to stick around. It’s not his burden.

There's just too many unanswered questions. And Joel's already someone's dad. He did the whole baby thing by himself and got it right the first around.

Sarah's perfect—fuck, what is Sarah going to think? Stupid, this was so stupid. You thought you were being so careful. Sure, Joel cums inside you basically every time you have sex, but that's totally beside the point.

You take those dumb little pills at the same time every day, just like you're supposed to. Except…when’s the last time you had a period? Did you even get it last month? The month before?

Shit, that wedding—when was that wedding? Your coworker’s, the rich one who decided to have a fucking destination wedding in Hawaii a couple months ago. It was decadent. You and Joel were super drunk the entire time and fucked like rabbits for three days straight.

Fuck.

Don't cry. Do not cry. Joel will probably be back from picking Sarah up from soccer practice any minute, so you need to hold it together. Maybe you just won’t tell them, at least not until you’ve had more time to process everything and decide what you’re going to do.

But, god, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, and even more so on your face. They’ll know something’s off the second they look at you, and you won’t be able to talk yourself out of it. You’ve always been a shit liar.

Tears start to fall without your permission. You slump slowly to the floor, pants still around your ankles, and curl up into a ball, willing it all to go away—the tiny clump of cells growing inside your belly and the regret of being so careless, of letting yourself get caught up in a serious relationship in the first place. This isn’t something you can just wish away. It’s life-changing and nothing will ever be the same again. Was it really worth it?

No, no. Of course, it was. Snap out of it.

If only it were that easy. Sobs wrack your entire body, and you can barely hear yourself choking on them, unable to hold them in anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to block out your reality, but it seeps up your nose and into your mouth, salty and unignorable.

Blood rushes in your ears and you realize belatedly that you’re starting to hyperventilate, but you can’t stop. You’re drawing in too much air all at once and it’s making your vision go fuzzy. It’s all just too much. Anger, sadness, and fear consume you until you’re screaming with it, desperate to expel it from your body any way you can.

So, you don’t hear the front door opening or Joel and Sarah running up the stairs, completely panic-stricken.

Joel reaches the ensuite bathroom first and all but breaks down the door, but he’s met with the sight of your half-naked body in a heap on the floor. Immediately, he turns to block Sarah from getting in.

“Hey, hey—no,” he says firmly, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her from seeing past him. “You’re not goin’ in there. Ya gotta give us some time, alright?”

She looks up at him, scared and visibly shaken.

“What if—do you think she’s okay in there? Was she hurt…d-did you see her?” she asks softly, eyes wet. “Can I see her?”

“Not right now, kiddo,” he mumbles, kicking the bathroom door shut behind him before leading her out of his room and into the hallway. “‘m sorry.”

The crestfallen look on Sarah’s face is the last thing he sees before he closes the door on her. But he has to ignore how badly it feels to keep her away from you, at least until he can figure out what the hell is wrong and how he’s going to fix it.

Your cries have quieted since earlier, but not nearly enough to ease Joel's fears. He can still hear you through the door, hiccuping softly, and opens it gently this time, entering slowly as if he's trying not to spook a scared animal.

It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped. Your head shoots up, a small gasp escaping your lips as you dizzily pull your pants back up.

"Easy there, s'okay. Baby, s'just me, don't worry," he murmurs, dropping to his knees on the floor next to you, but you flinch away. You can only imagine the hurt in his eyes, and the mental image tugs at your heart. "I need ya to tell me what happened. Did ya hurt yourself?"

Yeah, you could say that.

You shake your head, the only thing you're capable of doing in the state you're in. Trying to speak would be useless after all the screaming you just did and you can't bear to look him in the eye.

"Hey, talk to me. If somethin's the matter, I need to know, 'specially if we gotta get you to the hospital," he says, reaching out to touch you.

His hand grazes your shoulder, and your body jerks so viscerally that you slam your knees into the bottom of the sink. You let out a tiny whimper of pain right as you hear something small and plastic hit the ground next to you.

Oh, no. Shit. You desperately try to kick the test out of reach, to cover it with your body—anything to keep him from seeing it—but his fingers wrap around it before you get the chance. He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth and you feel your whole world shattering.

That's it, then. Even just a glance at those two blue lines will have immediately told Joel all he needs to know. Now he'll leave and he'd have every right. This is all your fault.

Your cheeks are wet again, but this time you can't bring yourself to care. Turning away from him, you curl back into a ball, ignoring the angry throbbing in your knees as you wait for him to yell or throw the test, or finally get up and walk out.

But he doesn't. Instead, you hear him delicately set the test back on the sink and then he lays down behind you on the floor, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest.

His heartbeat is fast. It's racing against you and, yet, somehow his breathing is still so calm. The calm before the storm, you're sure of it. You tense, anticipation sitting heavily on your chest and lungs, and he can feel it.

His lips press into the back of your neck and even though the action is so tender and so Joel, you still can’t convince yourself that maybe you’ve misjudged this entire situation. Or that you’ve misjudged him.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he isn’t calling you baby anymore. You can’t tell if that’s for your benefit or his. "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Time feels like it's moving in slow motion. You really don't mean to ignore him…it’s just that you’re not thinking anything. Lying there in his arms, your mind goes blank, giving in to the white noise of his heartbeat syncopating your own fragile rhythm.

But somehow he seems to understand you completely, filling the silence himself. His voice lulls you into a false sense of security, or…no. No, that’s not right. It’s real. His security, his safety, is real and reliable, proven and palpable.

“Listen to me—I need ya to hear this, alright? I want whatever you want and if ya don’t want this, we’re not doin’ it,” he says firmly, like he means it with every fiber of his being. You do hear him. But your heart and mind are still rebelling, begging you to see their own senseless logic. Joel won’t stop until he convinces them, too.

“But if ya do…if—,” his voice trails off, cracking almost imperceptibly. At least, to anyone else but you. “—if ya wanna do this with me, then ‘m with ya. Every step of the way, ‘m with ya.”

Then, for the first time since those blue lines appeared in your life, you feel peace. And it's all him. He’s given you a choice—one you knew you always had, but never thought to factor him into. You didn’t think you deserved to involve him. But he does. He deserves that choice, too.

The floodgates open and soon you’re sobbing uncontrollably again, but this time it feels cathartic. Like he’s freed you from a prison of your own making. You find your voice, wet and shaky.

“Joel, I’m scared,” you weep, turning in his arms to finally meet his eyes. And there they are. Brown and beautiful and clear, unclouded by fear and regret, and you let them make you brave. For him and your tiny clump of cells.

“What if I can’t do this? What—I…,” you hiccup through the disjointed thought, “—if I give up…if it’s just too hard...”

“S’why there’s two of us,” he bends down to murmur soothingly into your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your own. “But ya can’t push me away anymore. If we do this, then we do it together,” and that lances straight through your heart, obliterating all doubt and setting your decision in stone.

Together. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you croak, sniffling as he wipes away your tears. You repeat it, clearer this time. “Okay.”

FRIDAY

"You might think I'm crazy, the way I've been cravin'. If I put it quite plainly, just gimme them babies."

Doctors' offices have no business being as scary as they are. Bare and sterile, and not an ounce of color to be found anywhere but those creepy posters of in-depth diagrams of the human body. Gross.

You fight the urge to turn around and head straight back to the truck but, as if he can sense your plan to make a run for it, Joel places both hands on your shoulders and leads you toward the reception desk.

“C’mon, we got this,” he says quietly in your ear, likely reassuring both of you. “We go in, they tell us you ’n the baby are healthy, then we get out.”

You grimace. The baby. That’s still so weird. There’s literally a tiny being growing inside you, eating your food, and sitting on your fucking bladder. It’s like that thing in Alien that bursts out of people’s chests.

Great. Well, that’s officially off the list for movie night later, which Joel promised you'd have if you got your check-up without trying to escape. Technically, you’re doing great so far. And it’s an extremely tempting offer.

Movie nights at the Miller house usually include a trip to 7/11 for popcorn, soda, and a box of your favorite candy. Those annoying cravings you’re just now realizing are because you’re pregnant would be extremely satiated by that.

You’ll also get to curl up on the couch with Joel all night in a childless house because Sarah's staying at a friend’s. Win-win. But first, you have to make it through this check-up.

Everything up until you’re inside the actual examination room isn’t actually so bad. The receptionist is nice enough, even though you can tell she deals with a lot of first-time moms by the way she treats you with baby gloves, and the wait time is less than 10 minutes.

Yeah, you’ve totally got this. Or at least you did until the doctor shows up with an ultrasound machine and lifts your shirt to squeeze that freezing cold goop all over your stomach. You look up at Joel, scared and a little bewildered, and he takes your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. The screen lights up with what you assume is a real-time view of the inside of your belly and, after that, it’s all sort of a blur.

Six weeks. They tell you that you’re already six weeks pregnant, so you definitely conceived at that dumb wedding. At least you’ve got a story to tell. You’re also entering that fun stage where your nausea’s mostly cleared up, but now you’ll either be super tired or super horny at any given time.

You try not to laugh when you feel Joel’s hand subtly twitch in yours. Of course, he perks up at that. Honestly, you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t going to enjoy it, too. Immensely.

Then, comes the big one. The entire point of this doctor’s visit, and the reason you and Joel are gripping each other so tight, you’re cutting off the other’s circulation. But it’s good news. Luckily, it's all good news.

Your tiny clump of cells is healthy, you’re healthy, and you can go home now, equipped with all of that very calming knowledge. One day, you’re going to have to stop calling them a clump, but you’ve decided today is not that day.

“Told ya it wouldn’t be so bad,” he teases as you walk out to the truck, still hand-in-hand.

But his eyes betray his tone. There’s a seriousness to his joy, and you can see it so clearly in the way he’s looking at you like you’ve given him the greatest gift in the world. It makes you feel warm and…important. Loved. He continues, his voice tinged with something a little softer.

“Thank you…for goin’, I mean. S’good to know that everythin’s alright. That you’re alright.”

You stop next to the car, meeting his gaze with what you hope is the same amount of love and affection you see, and throw your arms around his neck.

“Thanks for taking me, and just…being here. Like, really being here, not just showing up so you can say you did,” you say earnestly, and he leans down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you close.

“‘Course, baby. Don't have to thank me for that,” he mumbles against your lips.

Not ready to separate from him, you deepen the kiss, running your tongue along his bottom lip until he opens for you and licking into his mouth freely. He groans as you press him into the side of the truck, his hands trailing down your sides to grip the plush of your ass through your jeans.

You can feel him starting to stiffen against your belly and that carnal hunger the doctor warned you about takes over, the need to feel more, more of him overwhelming you. He’s just so solid everywhere.

Your fingers skim underneath his shirt to feel his stomach flexing beneath your palms, and you roll your hips into his, gasping into his mouth at the friction. You’re so caught up in his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, that you don’t hear the group of people passing by on the other side of the truck.

But Joel does. He begrudgingly pulls away from you, hard as a rock and panting heavily. You whine at the loss, and he twitches against you in response.

“C’mon, baby, I’m not fuckin’ you in a goddamn Planned Parenthood parkin’ lot,” he chuckles, leading you to the passenger’s side of the car. He smacks your ass when you resist, and you shoot him a wounded glare. “Uh-uh, none’a that. ‘m takin’ you home. Owe ya a movie, don’t I?”

You perk up at the mention of his promise from earlier.

“You sure do. And candy, and popcorn, and soda,” you list off, easily distracted by the prospect of shitty junk food. You bounce into the car, shifting the seat to recline as far as it’ll go. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want, baby."

Well, he did say he’d give you whatever you wanted. And for a while, it was the movie—you’d even picked out your favorite. But you only manage to get about 20 minutes in before Joel's arm around your shoulder and chest under your cheek become an unignorable distraction.

Now, you want something else.

You don't bother teasing or playing coy, not when he’s so solidly pressed against you, just begging to be had. Your body rises and falls with every breath he takes, and it’s so visceral, being close enough to touch and taste him, and yet not doing either.

His neck looks especially delicious under the faint, fluorescent lighting of the TV, and your lips press wetly into the underside of his jaw, sucking delicately as your tongue darts out to taste him. His breath hitches, but he shows no other signs of being affected at all.

Taking that as your cue to up the ante, you drop your hand onto his lap to tug at his belt, but he catches you before you can make any progress. You tilt your head back to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion, but he just smirks, eyes still locked on the TV screen.

"You wanted a movie, didn't ya? Thought ya loved this one," he says teasingly. "You can wait a couple hours—I know ya can."

Yeah, you can, but that doesn't mean you want to. He was so into it in the parking lot, so what happened between then and now? You didn't think he liked this movie that much, but apparently you were mistaken.

Settling back into his side, you try to shift your focus back to the movie, but then the hand on your shoulder starts to play with your hair. His fingers graze your neck, and you're back to squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

He has to be doing this on purpose. Riling you up so much that once the movie’s finally over, you’ll be putty in his hands. Well, two can play that game. If he won't let you touch him, then you'll just have to touch yourself.

Your eyes flutter closed as you run your fingers down your belly, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts to drag your fingers up and down your slick folds. God, you didn't realize you were already so wet. You gasp softly as you trail upward toward your clit, but Joel's voice startles you out of your reverie.

"Should ya be doin' that right now?"

There's a tinge of warning to his voice, and it burns hot in your veins. You open your eyes slowly and he's finally looking at you, his attention drawn to your fingers still moving under the fabric.

"Well, you weren't gonna. What, are you—," your middle finger brushes against that sensitive bundle of nerves and you bite back a whine, "—you...ngh—gonna stop me?"

The hand that was gently stroking your hair shifts back to firmly grip the back of your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your fingers stutter. He leans in, his voice dangerously low in your ear.

"No, I'll let ya keep goin'. But you're gonna do exactly what I tell ya to, ya got that?" he murmurs, watching as your hips begin to swivel into your own sweet friction. "'n if you're good for me...," he trails off, eyes dropping down to where he's slowly jerking off his hardening cock through his jeans. "...I'll give ya this. We got a deal?"

You want him inside you so badly, you almost say yes before he's even done talking, but then you have a wicked thought. A counteroffer, of sorts.

"I'll take your deal. But—," you start with a devilish smile, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. "Only if you touch yourself, too. Want you to fuck your hand like you're fucking me."

"Deal," he says without hesitation.

"Deal," you smirk, removing your hand from your pussy for him to shake, your fingers sticky and glistening.

He takes your proffered hand but, instead of shaking, he wraps his lips around your slick digits, sucking you off each one and groaning at your taste. What you wouldn't give to have that tongue in your mouth. Or buried in your cunt. Pulling off with a lewd pop, he nods at your lap.

"Take your fuckin' pants off. Now."

Shit, he doesn't have to tell you twice. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts and underwear, and wait for his next instructions. You'll be a good girl for him. The best girl he's ever had and ever will.

"Spread 'em. Show me how wet you are for me," he mumbles, kicking your legs apart.

You spread them as wide as you can. The cool night breeze filtering in through the open window meets your center, and you're suddenly aware of how much wetter you've gotten since you started. It almost makes your mouth water. You don't think you've ever been this turned on by your own body in your life.

Slick coats your thighs, seeping into the couch, and he looks pleased. You can see he wants to touch you just as badly as you want to touch yourself. Your knee bumps into his thigh and he hooks your leg over his, holding you open.

"Shit, would'ja look at that," he breathes out in awe. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

Your cunt visibly clenches at the praise and he hisses in a breath through his teeth, resting his hand on your thigh so he can lean over your body. He lingers for a moment like he's admiring you laid out for him like this, but then moves a little closer and spits a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit.

Your jaw drops, a loud gasp torn from your chest when he grabs your hand, using your fingers to gather it up and swirl it around your swollen nub. Shit, if he keeps going like this, you're going to cum and fast.

Dropping your head back onto his shoulder, you rock into your fingers, slipping through the mess he's made of your pussy, and your body starts to feel like a rubber band about to snap.

"Wanna taste you so fuckin' bad. Fuck you on my tongue 'til you're nice 'n ready for me," he growls, pressing your fingers harder onto your clit. "S'that what you want? Wanna cum in my mouth?"

You turn to bury your head into the crook of his neck, nodding frantically as you cry into the soothing warmth of his skin. You're going to cum. Fuck, fuck, you're going to cum. Your eyes start to roll back as you feel it crescendo, and then—

Then, he releases your hand, cruelly and unapologetically.

"Not yet, baby. We both gotta be patient, don't we?" he teases you again, and your eyes snap open.

What the fuck. No, you're not letting him edge you again. It was fun and all at the gym, but you're way too far gone to be playing games right now.

And how isn't he a total wreck? Both of his hands are on you, even though that wasn't part of the deal, so he can't be taking care of himself.

Your eyes drop down to his lap, and wow. This man has more willpower than you ever could've imagined. He's so hard, you can see the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband of his pants. And it's leaking everywhere, twitching and angrily dribbling precum all over the fabric.

He looks...so fucking good like this. Fuck, you want him so bad. But that means getting back on track, and it's obviously on you to make that happen. Clearly, he's more affected by all of this than he made it seem.

"Joel, please, just tell me what to do," you plead. You'll beg if you have to. Whatever it takes for you to finally get what you want.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, taking sympathy on you, likely reaching his limit himself. "'m gonna let you make yourself feel good, baby. Don't'chu worry."

"Great," you grit through your teeth. "Then start by taking your fucking pants off."

He chuckles at his words thrown back at him, but listens, regardless. His boxers and jeans are pulled off in two hard tugs, and his cock bounces against his stomach, thick and wet, and unfairly far from your aching pussy. The hand on your neck moves to gently caress the side of your cheek.

"Gonna start nice 'n slow, ya got that?" he says, biting back a groan as he wraps his fingers around his neglected cock. He starts to pump himself, and more precum leaks out. "Watch me."

But it didn't need to be said. You're already enraptured by the way he strokes himself, slow and steady, swiping his thumb over the head on every upstroke. He's panting softly, trying to keep his hips from jerking up into his fist, but you can see how much effort it's taking not to.

"C'mon, baby. Gimme one finger—your middle finger, all the way in," he commands, his voice as tight as his grip.

You tear your eyes away from him while you run your fingers through your folds, still slick with his saliva and your own desire, and then sink your finger into yourself knuckle by knuckle. It doesn't feel like much, and you both know it, but at least it's something.

"Now, follow me," he says, watching your hand as intently as you're watching his.

You rock your finger in and out slowly, just like he said. Because you're his good girl and good girls do what they're told. It’s already a sticky mess, your finger creamier with every thrust, and he groans out his appreciation.

"Good girl. Add another one. Not too fast, now."

Finally, you get some real relief. Slipping your index finger in alongside your middle finger, you feel that little bit of stretch you've been aching for and you can't help but whimper.

His lips part, brows furrowing as his hand speeds up. His eyes are locked on where your sopping cunt is sucking in your fingers greedily and, fuck, he's even more of a mess now. Sweat dripping from his temples, chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

So hot. So fucking hot. It's scorching, the way your cunt feels around your fingers as you fuck into yourself a little faster. They're rubbing your walls just right, your palm grazing your clit after every stroke, and his hyper-focused gaze makes it all feel that much better. You want to hear him say it again. For him to tell you how well you’re doing.

"—ngh...i-is this good?" you whine, knowing how pathetic you sound, but forgetting to care.

"Perfect, baby. You're perfect," he rasps, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his fist as the sweet sounds of your wet squelching reach his ears. "So fuckin' good for me."

Preening hard at his praise, you push a little too deep into yourself and graze something mind-numbing that almost hurts with how good it feels. You cry out, curling your fingers into it again and again as you bury your face back into his neck. His arm tightens around your shoulder and he leans over to press his lips soothingly against your forehead.

"That's it, baby, just like that. Doin' so well," he groans, lips brushing against your skin. His strokes are frantic now and you know he can’t last much longer. "Need ya to gimme one more. Just one—last one, promise. Then I'll give ya whatever you want."

Nodding quickly, face still cushioned against his shoulder, you add your ring finger, and fucking hell, you’re so full. You stretch your fingers apart, pumping them in and out the best you can, and they drag against that spot—every spot—with how tight you are. But somehow it’s not enough. It’s not Joel’s cock, so it’ll never be enough.

Everything’s drowned out except for the wet sounds of skin on skin, and Joel’s voice, still just above your brow, talking you through your almost painful pleasure. He’s panting, whispering tender words that you can’t hear so much as feel with those soft, perfect lips.

“…tell me when you’re close, baby. Can’t feel ya, gonna need you to use your words,” he barely chokes out, staving off his orgasm, waiting for you.

It’s already close, but you’re only teetering, stuck in a constant loop of almost there, and need more. You can’t reach where you need to, but Joel can. So easily and all you have to do is ask. He said he’d give you whatever you wanted.

But you didn’t realize he was already at his limit, and you don’t get the chance to tell him before he’s babbling, delirious with the need to cum.

"'m sorry—fuck, 'm sorry. Need...to—ngh, fuck, need to cum inside you...fill you up...," he moans, and he sounds upset like he can’t help himself, not anymore.

Abruptly, so much quicker than you can fully process, your fingers are yanked out of your cunt and replaced by his cock, and the thrust is so harsh, he hits exactly where you need him to without even trying. The whine building in your chest erupts as a wail as you immediately lock down around him, sending him over the edge with you.

Full. God, how can you feel this full? You’re so unbelievably aware of him cumming inside you and there’s so much, he’s already leaking out of you. And he almost seems angry about it. Your hips are roughly tilted up so he’s fucking down into you, eyes unfocused, and snarling like a wild animal.

And still so mouthy.

“You got no idea how good ya look right now. Fuckin’ glowin’,” he all but slurs, drunk on the idea of keeping his seed inside you. “S’that my baby in you, makin’ ya glow like that?”

"Oh...oh, god, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, your aftershocks still milking him dry. “Christ, y-you trying to knock me up twice?"

It’s like that alone makes him redouble his efforts. You’ve never seen him like this before, but you like it. Something primal in you wants this as badly as he does.

"Fuck yeah, baby, gonna pump you full'a twins."

Holy shit. You’re not sure if you’re still cumming or if you just came again, but you feel an entirely new rush of pleasure and he hisses out a breath through his teeth like he can feel it. Not long after, sensitivity starts to set in for both of you and he stills, seated deeply inside you, chest heaving and eyes shut tight.

His hands squeeze where they’ve been aggressively gripping your thighs before he reluctantly pulls out, but he keeps your hips tilted up as he drops to sit between your legs on the cushion below.

“There a reason I can’t lay down like a normal person?” you laugh, wiggling in his grasp. “Joel, come on, put me down. I’m already pregnant.”

“Just gimme a minute,” he mumbles, suddenly sounding so solemn. He turns his head from where it's resting on the side of your knee to kiss your damp skin. “Didn’t know I was knockin’ you up the first time, just…lemme have this, alright?”

Your eyes soften. How this man can be such a sap after fucking you like that is beyond comprehension, but if he wants this, then you’ll let him have his moment. It’s kind of sweet, anyway.

“Okay,” you reach up to brush your fingertips along his cheek. It's incredible, really, all of the things you see in Joel's eyes right now. That in this single, fleeting gaze, you can see forever. "Put a baby in me.”

SATURDAY

"Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight. 34, 35."

You’re convinced Joel tastes especially good in the mornings. There’s a hint of sweat to his skin, so naturally bitter and heady, maybe even a little tangy. It’s fucking delicious.

And he’s always hard in the morning. His cock is the perfect alarm clock, always reliable and super effective, whether it’s pulsing against your thigh or rutting into your ass. It’s your favorite way to wake up, but there’s usually not enough time to enjoy it to the fullest.

Not with work and Sarah, even Tommy showing up for breakfast unannounced. But it’s Saturday, which means you can keep your lips wrapped around him for as long as you want, make him cum as many times as you want, and taste him to your heart’s content.

He probably won’t even wake up, at least not right away. Joel sleeps like the dead, especially on the weekends, and it’s been a long week. Even now, as you suck the tip into your wet, very eager mouth and swallow him down halfway, he barely stirs.

That’s more than okay with you. You’d be happy to lie in bed, head pillowed on his stomach, keeping his cock warm between your lips while you wait. Relishing how fucking good he tastes and how your jaw pleasantly aches as you adjust to accommodate his girth.

But, soon enough, your jaw isn’t the only thing aching. The slick mess you’re making in your underwear right now is getting hard to ignore, but you don’t want to let him go. He’s velvety smooth against your tongue, dribbling salty precum down your throat, and his unconscious body is starting to respond to you more and more with each passing moment. This is your favorite part.

He lets out a soft grunt, twitching into the inside of your cheek, and your efforts become a little more concentrated and a lot more obvious. You try to forget about your soaked underwear and the pleasurable whoosh in your belly in favor of sucking a little harder, letting saliva pool in your mouth as you slurp loudly around the head.

His hips jerk up, surprising you enough to gag you, and that only makes your mouth and pussy wetter, the heat building in your core almost unbearable now. The moan that escapes you sends a drawn-out series of vibrations straight down to his balls that pulls even more noise from him, and your head steadily shifts with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He's starting to rut into your mouth, whimpering, and yet somehow still asleep, and it makes you feel powerful to have full control over him like this. To command his pleasure without any interruption or intervention, making him fall apart entirely at your mercy. You kind of hope you can get him to cum like this, to be his alarm clock for once.

Turns out only half of your wish is granted, but you don't realize it until Joel's fingers are threading into your hair and abruptly tugging you off. He's definitely awake now, but he also definitely didn't cum. Bummer. You try sucking him back into your mouth, but he tugs you harder even as his hips chase you.

"Joel, what—?" you glare up at him, but upon seeing him, you feel a little bad for your reaction. He looks so sleepy, still a little dazed from his unconventional wake-up call, blinking blearily like he's doing his best to stay awake. Your expression softens.

"Sorry, got a little carried away," you murmur sheepishly. "But, um, you taste really good, so if you wanna go back to sleep, I can just keep—"

You're cut off by a hand trailing down your body, following the curve of your ass to dip inside you. He smears the moisture around your entrance, pushing two fingers into you, then pulling out to hold them up to his face. You watch him, enraptured by the way he inspects your wetness, how it strings between his middle and ring fingers.

Then, he surprises you even further by sucking them into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he groans around them before slipping them out totally clean. His cock jerks next to your face and you belatedly realize you're drooling.

"Fuck, so do you." He's fully awake now, eyes clear, but dark. Hungry.

"Huh?" you ask dumbly.

"Ya taste really good," he mumbles, his voice low and so sexy, still thick with sleep. You feel your cheeks heat up. Oh.

"C'mere, baby," he tells you, patting his chest. You crawl up his body and lean up to kiss him, assuming he wants you to taste yourself in his mouth, but he stops you. "Other way, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in confusion as you try to work out exactly what he's asking for. Even though you've been awake and riling him up for what feels like hours, your brain clearly hasn't caught up yet. His eyes are unreadable, fingers tense at his sides. Like he's just itching for you to understand.

"Need you to figure this out—know you can do it," he rasps needily. "C'mon, smart girl, what do I want?"

And then it hits you. He's not asking you to sit on his chest, not really. He wants you to sit on his face. Needs you to. Sprawled out on your hands and knees where his spit-slick cock would be just within reach, bobbing temptingly with every breath he takes.

God, you want to. The idea of Joel fucking you with his tongue while he's fucking into your mouth makes you clench so hard it hurts. You bite your lip, meeting his expectant gaze.

Okay. Okay, you can definitely do that. Especially when he looks so...eager. It also has the double advantage of combining mind-blowing sex with a well-rounded breakfast. You have a feeling you'll both be full after this.

"Just so I have this straight—," you splay your fingers across his stomach, trailing down to wrap tightly around his length and tug upward until a single, perfect bead of precum leaks from his slit, "—you still want my mouth here."

Your eyes stay locked on his as you bend down to lick it off, lingering to suckle the tip and tease your tongue just under the ridge. When he doesn't immediately tug you off, you take him deeper, preening at his harsh intake of breath.

You don't want to press your luck, but he tastes fucking incredible, somehow even better than he did earlier. Maybe it's the way he's watching you, captivated and attuned to your every movement.

He’s already starting to buck into you, shallowly, now an active participant in his own pleasure. His knuckles are nearly white with how hard he’s fisting the sheets, teeth gritting as he fights the urge to rush you.

But his patience is wearing thin. Just a few thrusts later, he tugs you off with what feels like dwindling restraint, and your dazed, glassy eyes don't do much to help.

You look wrecked, and you know it. Lips swollen and slick with saliva, your lashes wet with unshed tears from the effort of taking him. He reaches out to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, hissing when you catch the tip between your teeth.

“Yeah...ngh—yeah, keep doin' that. Suckin' me just like that," he breathes raggedly. "And sit that pretty pussy right here—"

Then, without warning, he's suddenly manhandling you into position, throwing your leg over his head, and maneuvering you until you can feel him panting heavily against your cunt.

“Down, baby, let's go. Wanna taste ya. Now.”

Blunt nails dig into your skin and your hips stutter, dipping low enough for your clit to brush his bottom lip. It’s enough for him to get a taste of you. For him to finally snap and decide he’s done waiting.

Joel yanks you onto his face, licking a wide stripe from your clit to your entrance, his tongue immediately finding a home in your pussy. The motion knocks you off balance and you fall forward, his cock just inches from your mouth.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you wrap your other around him and he groans throatily in response, the sound deep and muffled as he licks into you with increased fervor. And his noises only grow in volume, vibrating against your folds and sending jolt after jolt into your very sensitive bundle of nerves.

His mouth feels so fucking hot, and the coarseness of his beard burns, making it hard to concentrate on what you’re desperately trying to accomplish. You’re already panting, hiccuped breaths puffing teasingly and cruelly against him until he’s pulsing in your grip.

The promise of him throbbing just like that down your throat makes you focus just long enough to take him back into your mouth, intent on sucking him down as far as your body will let you. But, by now, any sense of self-control he might’ve had before is totally gone. His hips buck clean off the mattress at the tightness of your lips around him, and he all but chokes you with the force of it, the size of him.

And, fuck, you love it. The way his stomach tenses, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins, not when he’s fucking into you every single way he can. His tongue spears into you and your pussy rhythmically squeezes him every time his cock grazes the back of your throat.

You’re audibly gagging around him and it’s filthy as hell, but you can tell how much it’s turning him on. Christ, can you tell. Maybe you were genuinely worried you’d suffocate him at first but, now, you probably couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into his face even if you tried. And that's exactly what he wants.

"...Harder—mmph, c'mon, baby," you feel him groan into your cunt, urging your hips even lower. "—ride me harder, harder."

How—he...fuck, he's...? Everywhere. He's everywhere. You struggle to do what he told you, to use him for your mounting pleasure, but it doesn't fucking matter anymore. You're helpless but to let him do whatever he wants to you.

Joel’s devouring you. Roughly grabbing your ass, moaning pathetically into you as he pulls your cheeks apart for better access. It’s almost like you can feel him swelling between your lips, and you try to pull up for just a second of respite.

But, then, he abruptly shifts. His mouth lowers to suck gently, yet fleetingly on your clit twice, then he licks a wide stripe back up to your entrance. Except, he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he continues his path up, gathering your wetness as he goes, and swirls his tongue around your other hole before sucking hard. And it sends you reeling.

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s new. Fuck, and it’s—so...so good. It’s indescribable, how he feels right now. How he sounds—slurping you up, whimpering desperately like he’ll cum at any moment.

And he’s loud, drawn-out moans escaping from so deep within his chest, they climb their way from that tight ring of muscle straight up your spine, where you can vaguely feel his arm snaking around you to claw at your back. You can’t think anymore—you’re done thinking.

Now, it’s just him trapping you in place, the three fingers he’s suddenly pumping into your spasming pussy, and his cock, now abandoned and leaking on his stomach. It’s so much, bordering on too much, and you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

Your head drops unceremoniously onto the puddle of precum and it smears across your cheek as his hips urgently roll into nothing. But you don’t even notice. Not even when your eyes roll back and you start to babble deliriously, your orgasm building quickly in a place between your legs you can’t even begin to explain.

“Joel…JoelJoelJoel—I…you…,” you slam a hand down on the mattress as your thighs start to quake violently. “…cumming—‘m cumming, fuck—fuck.”

It doesn’t just crash over you, it rocks you to your core. Everything below your waist locks down, squeezing his fingers so tight, you swear you can feel each individual knuckle. Your jaw drops, parting around what feels like a silent scream, but you can’t be totally sure because soon, Joel is groaning so gutturally, you can’t focus on anything else.

At least, until he cums completely untouched right into your face. And he cums hard. Thick spurts cover your lips and chin, landing haphazardly on your cheek, and your tongue darts out to taste him, salty and sated and perfect. Exactly what you've been waiting for.

His thighs tense intermittently, a few more drops dribbling out of his slit, and you crane your neck, letting your tongue flutter over his head. As it pulses weakly against your lips, Joel gasps out your name, burying his face in your swollen pussy again.

Lazily, you swivel your hips into his mouth despite the extreme overstimulation, hiccuping soft moans and nearly succumbing to the easy pleasure. He gently caresses your clit, enveloping you with a dextrous warmth that simultaneously makes you jolt and crave the sensation.

Neither of you want to stop. Truthfully, you'd let him do this to you all day, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other the way you have been all week. But exhaustion's starting to set in and you're not sure your body can physically take any more.

Joel slaps your ass and you huff out a soft laugh, deciding it's time to separate so you can get cozy with him again. The perfect end to your surprisingly athletic, lazy Saturday morning in bed.

“You gonna stop anytime soon, or do you just live there now?” you pant teasingly, grimacing as you slowly lift your head off his stomach.

Shit, you’re a mess. You’re practically stuck to him, his cum drying on his stomach and your face, and you can feel the stickiness of his saliva mixed with your juices dripping between your legs. His hand trails from your ass down to your inner thigh, painting mindless patterns on your sullied skin.

"Sure don't seem like ya want me to stop," he chuckles tiredly, managing to suck your clit chastely one last time before you jerk your hips away.

His head finally drops onto the pillow below him, and he lets out a disgruntled whine when you toss your leg over his head, plopping down on the bed beside him.

"Yeah, well, one of us has to have a little self-control or we're not leaving this bed today. And you, uh, look like you could use some tidying up,” you snort, scratching your fingertips against his already crusting beard. He mimics the motion on your leg, and you swat his hand away, rolling your eyes fondly.

It would be disgusting if it were literally anyone else but Joel but, here in this bed—your bed—it feels so natural. Like it’s totally normal that you’d be covered in each other’s releases, having a silly conversation on a Saturday morning as if you’ve done this all your lives.

“Might wanna look in the mirror, baby. I’d be more’n happy to keep lookin’ at ya like this, but—,” he leans up to wipe a streak of cum off your bottom lip. His hand lingers, cupping your damp cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch. “—you probably need more cleanin’ up than I do.”

You eye each other for a few seconds, taking in how truly disgusting you both are, before bursting into fits of laughter. You’re smiling so hard, your skin tugs under his drying release and that makes you laugh even harder.

“Alright, alright, filthy girl,” he jokes, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Lay down, I’ll take care of ya.”

He sits up and slowly slides off the bed, yanking your legs out from under you as he goes. Still giggling, you flop onto the damp, cotton sheets with an oomph and immediately take the opportunity to stretch out your sore limbs. You nuzzle into your pillow with a soft mewl, practically purring as you try to soak up the warm morning rays streaming through the gaps in the curtains.

You glance over at Joel as you continue to nest like a gigantic cat, but he's already watching you, paused in the doorway to the bathroom. His eyes rove appreciatively down your naked body and you observe him quietly, deciding you'll let him stare for as long as he wants to. There's no rush. Sure, you're still a mess and probably have the worst bedhead imaginable, but despite it all, he makes you feel beautiful.

When he returns with a cool, damp washcloth a few minutes later, he's much cleaner and you're only a little bummed that the evidence of your explosive morning is gone. He's gentle and attentive as he wipes the remaining streaks off your cheeks and chin, and bends down to kiss you once your face is officially cum-free.

Okay, maybe you lied earlier. This is your favorite part. Joel taking care of you, choosing to express his affection through his actions and touch. You sigh into his mouth, melting into the first real kiss you've shared since waking up, and it takes his tongue tangling with yours for you to realize he tastes minty. He's always so delicious.

Trailing further down, he wipes his release off your stomach, pressing his lips to each freshly-cleaned inch of skin, and then crawls between your legs to wash away the mess he made of your thighs. Your eyes start to flutter closed at the repetitive shift in sensation, his hands lulling you to sleep, until the washcloth hits the floor with a dull splat.

Well, that was over way too soon. But you quickly forgive the horrible transgression once his warm, welcome body sinks into the bed next to you, and his tousled head of hair and beard nuzzle into your stomach.

He mouths at your skin, his lips pressing sweetly around your belly button, and it tickles, making you laugh as you thread your fingers through his curls and scratch his scalp affectionately.

After a moment of comfortable silence, his hand splays warm and broad next to his head. His expression shifts and he looks unexpectedly pensive. Uncertainty creeps into your chest before you can logic it away, even though you know without a doubt that he wants this. His lips begin to move against your stomach and it takes a second for you to realize he's saying something, almost too quietly for you to hear. But when it finally registers, all of that fear completely fades away.

"Hey there, kiddo. It's me, your daddy," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin as soothing as his words. He has the tiniest smile on his face, and it's growing wider by the second. "We're all so excited to meet ya. Me, your momma, your big sister, your uncle...we already love ya so damn much."

The room starts to blur into a wash of colors and figures, and shit, you're crying. But how could you not be? He's...talking to your tiny clump of cells. To your baby—who can't possibly be bigger than a pumpkin seed—with so much adoration, it makes your chest ache.

You're trying so hard not to tremble or sniffle or breathe too heavily so you don't startle him, but that doesn't exactly work out. A few stray tears make their way up your nose, and you snort around your next inhale. Classic, clumsy you.

Joel's head shoots up like he's been caught and his cheeks flush that beautiful shade of burgundy you love so much. You don't want him to stop, but he looks so embarrassed like he thinks he's done something wrong. That couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm just emotional from the hormones, it's totally fine. I'm totally fine," you give him a reassuring, watery grin. "Keep going. I think they like the sound of daddy's voice."

He chuckles and reaches up to wipe your tears away, gently cradling your face in his hand before he slides it back down to your belly. He continues where he left off, just like you asked, but you have a sneaking suspicion he would've anyway. Joel's just one of those men who was born to be a dad. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.

“Heard that? That's your momma, kiddo. She's....well. She's somethin' else. Strongest, most lovin', person I've ever known and fuckin' sharp as a tack," he smiles up at you, eyes crinkling and bright as the goddamn sun. "And she's beautiful. She even sounds beautiful, don't she? Hopin' you'll come out just like her."

You scoff affectionately, shaking your head as you share a look that tells you he knows exactly what you're thinking. If this baby pops out without his brown eyes and curls, you're going to be so pissed. You teasingly tug his hair, willing him to take it back, but he won't. If your baby's getting anything from the two of you, it's stubbornness.

Then, before you can blink, there's a sudden tone shift. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, and he turns his head so he's speaking directly into your belly. An exchange just between a father and his child.

"Wanna know a secret? S'just between you and me, though, alright? Don't go tellin' your momma," he says nosing into your soft skin, his voice barely above a whisper. You watch him curiously, squeezing his hand to get his attention, but his focus remains on your stomach. "'m gonna ask your momma to marry me. Think she'll say yes?"

Your heart stops and it feels like all of the air's been sucked out of the room. That's—fuck...that's one hell of a secret to share with your baby. You can't even imagine the kind of trouble they're going to get up to if they're already keeping secrets like that.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, but they're not questioning or expectant. He isn't wondering what your answer will be. He just looks peaceful. Blanketed in an easy calm because he already knows what you're going to say. Of course, he does.

Propping his chin on your hip, Joel quietly observes your reaction while he strokes the back of your hand with the rough pad of his thumb. You wonder what he sees on your face and in your body language right now because you're positive it's not the elation or excessive joy anyone else would expect.

You're not squealing or jumping up and down, or whatever newly engaged people usually do. No, that blanket of easy calm is more than big enough for both of you, and it feels safe and warm, just like you always knew this moment would.

And you wouldn't want it any other way. Lying here together after possibly the most eventful week of your lives, filled with so much sex and love and family, and deciding that you want to keep doing this together, over and over. Forever.

You guide his hand up to your lips, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his palm, before placing it over your racing heart. That tiny smile returns to his face and he crawls up your body so he can kiss you properly, conveying his love better than words ever could.

It's still way too early for your baby to kick or give their daddy any sort of sign that they heard his question, but you're sure they wouldn't mind if you answered for them. It's a no-brainer, anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

2K notes · View notes

herefortheships · 27 days ago

Text

Here it is! My first fanfic in over TEN years! This fic is for today's Destiel fandom event Electric Boogaloo, hosted by @blanketforcas in celebration of the anniversary of the Latam dub giving us canon reciprocal Destiel.

The theme of the event is reciprocation, and that is the theme of my little fic. I hope you like it!

(I wanted to also share this to AO3 and contribute to the over 100,000 Destiel fanworks, but I haven't gotten my invitation yet! So this will go over there eventually.)

Word count: 1,778 words

No warnings of any kind. I think it's a sweet kind of story.

Short summary: Dean sits down to write a letter for Cas with all the things he didn't get to say.

Felicidades a Dean y Castiel en este aniversario. Siempre quiero recordar la alegría (y el DOLOR de ALMA lol) que estos dos me han dado desde el 2012 hasta el día de hoy. Los amo. 😊✨

(Congratulations to Dean and Castiel in this anniversary. I always wat to remember the joy (and the PAIN of my SOUL lol) these two have given me since 2012 until today. I love them. 😊)

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

The words he never said

A short fic by Here for the Ships (Des 💚)

Dean Winchester sat at his desk with nothing but a pencil, a sheet of paper, and a bottle of booze. Sam was out in an early morning run with the dog, so Dean was alone with some time to kill and some thoughts to finally drag out of his head and smother away with this one sheet of paper. It had been over two months, now, since he had been forced to part ways with Cas; since his entire world had been turned inside-out and upside-down.

He wasn’t sure if he had processed everything; from the loss of Cas, to defeating Chuck (aka the God), to living in a world where his new God had been a surrogate son to him only a couple of months ago.

The events of those days played often in his mind, when he found himself alone; they paraded in his dreams as he tried to sleep at night… The grief of what was lost had become a constant companion, peering through any moment of peace in the most unexpected ways. A song suddenly playing in the radio, a scent attached to a moment he would never get back.

Dean had considered taking it on as his one mission in life, hunting down the Empty and getting Cas back. But no. He had learned it well and deep by now, that revenge never resulted in anything good. Plus, he’d had enough of dealing with supernatural beings with ineffable, omnipotent powers. Chuck was the final Big Fish he took down, and he was good with that.

Dean took a look at the bottle of room-temperature beer for a few seconds, and he pushed it back on his desk instead of taking a sip this time. It’d hurt, but these words needed to be said. Or at least, he needed them out of his head and stored somewhere else.

“Well, Cas… These are the things I never said…” he said to himself, picked up the pencil, and got to writing:

Last night I prayed to Jack, again… And Cas, buddy, you know how much I hate having to do that. But I had to. You know, I thought I had accepted it, that I was over it. You did what you had to do, and I did what I had to do… We were all doing what we thought was right. But it just keeps playing over and over, and over in my head.

Cas, what the hell were you thinking? I’m not one for judging… I’ve done my share of stupid things, too. For love, for not wanting to be left alone… But Cas, how could you do this to me? I know it sounds fucking selfish, because you’re gone, and because of that we’re all safe and your sacrifice wasn’t it vain—it was never in vain, I really hope you know that. But Cas, now I have to live knowing that you’re gone because you loved me. You loved me. You said all those things about me, I can scarcely remember all of it (trust me, I’m kicking myself about it every freaking day), but I can feel it, everything. I can feel every damned word, every damned day.

Just so you know, because of you… Because of you I could see more in me. Because of you I could see myself differently than I ever did before. Man, I wish I wasn’t so bad with this… That I could put into words just what that all meant to me, what it means to me.

You said all those things about me, and I didn’t get to say anything. And yeah, just like I’ve prayed to you, hoping you could hear what I had to say, I’ve also prayed to Jack. I’ve prayed almost every single night for him to get you out of that place; for him to set things right… But I haven’t heard a word from Jack, and I haven’t seen a flutter of angel wings anywhere; nothing to connect me to Heaven, nothing to give me a clue on what to do….

Every night, the scene of your death plays inside my head, like a freaking movie I can’t look away from no matter how much I want. And in my head, I always stop it from happening. In my head we face the Empty together and we win. We always win.

Dean stopped for a moment, gathering his thoughts, wondering if writing this would be enough.

I think I took it for granted, that we always win. I think at some point I felt invincible. You know, you and me, and Sam, we’ve taken some pretty Big Fish. I think something inside me always felt like we’d always win, that we’d always come back to the bunker together and share some beers. I think something inside me always believed that, even though I didn’t fully realize it. Looking back now, I see it. Cas, when you said those words to me, I froze. And it took me a while, you know? To understand what really happened. That I was your happiness.

“No, I don’t think I should put it like that…”

That I was your happiness. That just letting me know how you felt about me was enough to make you truly happy. Enough to make the Empty come and take you. But Cas, now I have to live with that knowledge and it’s driving me fucking crazy, because… Alright, I’m not good with words, and I’m sure by now you know that about me, Cas, but I just wanted you to know, I needed you to know

Dean sat back and sighed a long sigh, staring at the page like it was staring right back at him, somehow shaming him, even though there was no one here to read over his shoulder. “I can’t even write the motherfukin’ words.”

There was no time to finish this now, anyway. He’d heard the door a few minutes ago: Sam was back, and he should be in the shower now. There was a case they were driving up to today, and he’d already made up his mind: it would be his last. He was officially retiring after today (not that he’d told Sam anything about that yet, but… he’d figure out how to say it on the way back).

They were supposed to leave after breakfast for a whole day of driving.

Chuck was defeated and Jack had vanished, having become the new God (that was still crazy to think about). There were no immediate world-ending threats and no more infinitely powerful surrogate son to take care of anymore. He was done hunting. If Cas was truly gone forever, then he’d honor his sacrifice by living the best possible life he could live. And that life, however he looked at it… That life didn’t include hunting. Not anymore.

Dean sat down to tie his boots, and as he did, a second pair of boots appeared right in front of him. “Man, that was fast. I didn’t even hear the damned door just now. You’re gonna have to give me a break, Sammy.” But when he raised his gaze, he found himself looking at Jack, standing there with a small smile.

The color drained out of Dean’s face. For a moment, he could only stare at Jack, wondering if he was imagining it.

“Hello, Dean. You’ve been okay?” Jack said, sounding a little timid, to which Dean replied, “Yeah… I’m fine, no thanks to you… Almost gave this old man a heart attack…” Dean joked, a little breathless, and God or not, this was Jack, so he pulled him into a hug. “Come here. How’ve you been? It’s so good to see you…”

“I’ve been good,” Jack said, and he pulled away. “There’s someone else who’s been wanting to see you." Jack beamed. "Believe me, it took me a while to negotiate (you won’t be surprised to know, not even God is entirely all powerful), but I finally did it…”

And that was when Dean felt it, the powerful presence behind him.

He could do nothing but stand there as the realization of what Jack meant dawned on him, until the words broke him out of the spell, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean turned around, and there he saw…

“Cas…”

Castiel was standing there, right in front of his bed. He was fully restored; Dean didn’t need to see a shadow of his wings to know this was Cas in his full angelic power, safe and alive and standing right there in his bedroom. “But… how?”

“We heard your prayers,” Jack said, “and Cas didn’t belong in the Empty. I had to right a wrong.”

“You damn well had to…” said Dean, still staring at Cas. “Jack…” He finally turned back to thank him—to say anything—but Jack was gone.

“Dean… I’m so sorry…” Cas said. “I should’ve—”

“What are you talking about, man… You’re back… That’s all that matters.”

“I owe it all to Jack. He is everything I hoped he would become,” Cas said, and he smiled.

And then, there was silence. Even though Dean had been writing a long letter just moments ago, full of all the things he wished he could have said to Cas that day, here was Cas in the flesh right now—his Cas—and not a single word would form.

So Dean just pulled Cas into a hug and squeezed him tight, breathing him in.

“I’m sorry it all happened so abruptly; I wish I could—” Cas started.

“I don’t care. Cas… I don’t care.” Dean pulled back from the hug, staring Cas straight in the face with his hands still on his arms. “All I care is that you’re here.”

Cas looked sad, or perhaps, conflicted. “Dean… I know… What I said before…” he started, but Dean stopped him again.

“Cas… If you heard me just now… If you’ve heard my prayers, to you, to Jack… Then you know. But still… I feel like I should say something.”

“Dean… You really don’t have to—”

“But I’m not good at saying something, so…” he pulled Cas into a kiss. It was warm and tender, and salty with the tears that had finally pushed their way out. Cas kissed him right back, and when they stopped, they stood there sharing each other’s breath, with their lips just an inch away from another kiss.

“I think that should be enough of an answer… But if it wasn’t, Cas…” Dean smiled, a small, trembling smile, and it was almost a whisper when he said, “I love you, too.”

26 notes · View notes

takaraphoenix · 2 months ago

Text

Four months into my Teen Wolf renaissance and I am kind of fascinated by the way my interaction with it changed and shaped with this current rewatch of the show, the shift in priorities.

I used to monoship in this fandom. There was Sterek and nothing else.

Now I'm juggling multiple ships and my first ever poly-ships for this fandom. Which is a delight, because I'm a polyamorous person first and a writer second so to actually have poly-ships in this fandom sparks a whole lot of joy for me. So does generally having multiple ships, because I've always been a multishipper.

It's interesting though, that with these multiple ships, it has become very clear to me what's my actual most important dynamic for this fandom. Because it doesn't matter what the Stiles ship is, it doesn't even matter who the pack Alpha is and what pack we're talking about, I need Boyd and Erica to be alive and to be in Stiles' pack. These three mean the fucking world to me, they're the core. The pack around them may change, the romantic ship for Stiles may change, but those two are alive and together and beautiful and Stiles' pack.

Other things, I am much more flexible on. There are characters I don't particularly care whether they're portrayed as good friends or bad friends, but if a fic goes outta their way to keep Boyd and Erica alive just to have them be bad to Stiles, I am out of that story faster than you can look.

Jackson is slightly more negotiable. He's still very important to me and I prefer him to be in the pack, but there is also something appealing to him being in London and him and Stiles building a long-distance friendship after the Nogitsune, that phone calls and texts might make it easier for Stiles to talk about what happened, that the Nogitsune trauma and the kanima trauma bonds them. I prefer them to be pack, but they don't have to be, as long as they are still friends. If I have to see Jackson post season 2 sticking around and being pack, just to then be a bully to Stiles, I am also out.

Like. I do fully understand that all three have, you know, more or less antagonistic pasts toward Stiles. I also understand fics that just turn everyone aside from [romantic partner] against Stiles for max angst. It's just that these three? These three hurt me to read as bad friends.

The more I write and read for the fandom, the more important does Alpha Peter become to me too. Even outside of romantic Steter, it just... feels wrong to me when he's a beta even more wrong when he's Scott's beta ngl. There is so much healing, redemption and hope in the idea of Peter as an Alpha who gets to rebuild the Hale Pack and keep his family's legacy alive.

Used to be Derek for me, but the more I think about it, the... unhappier he seems as an Alpha in canon and the fonder I grow of the idea of him getting to be a Right Hand. Of him getting a second chance with a Hale Pack but without the burden of having to try and be the Alpha. (I do still love writing and reading Alpha Derek though, especially when it's Sterek. But if I had to pick a favorite Hale Pack dynamic, it'd have to be Alpha Peter and Right Hand Derek.)

Now, out of this list, Peter was the only real surprise. Even back in 2014, when I first got into this fandom, I preferred my Berica alive and as friends with Stiles and I liked my Stackson brOTP.

But genuinely the biggest surprise to me is how much I latched onto Spark Stiles, because this was something I used to actively avoid. I used to think of that as nonsense. I mean, come on, that was one episode and canon moved on from that, how did you grow that attached to it.

Somehow, this rewatch, I just feel very indignant about the fact that they really gave Stiles magic for one episode and then did jackshit with it. What the hell. After ten years, I finally understand why the fandom couldn't let go of that.

Comfortingly enough did my favorite thing not change in the past ten years though. Give me Pack Mom Stiles or give me death. That's still the best damn thing this fandom ever did, in my opinion, and whatever the ship or the pack or who the Alpha is, Stiles is Pack Mom.

But it is interesting to see how my own interaction with the story and the characters has changed over the past decade and on this third to fifth watch (depending on what season we're talking about. I've seen the first two seasons more often than the rest).

#I dunno what this is #Fandom Introspect #or sth #Teen Wolf #About Me

29 notes · View notes

deathmetalunicorn1 · 1 year ago

Note

Can you make a fic or anything with reader who litteraly doesn't have a moral code. Like they wouldn't care if a species would go instinct or if a god dies. They also happen to be the most powerful, like gojo. But suddenly, Tesla came in, and made them feel something. This just leads to then wanting to be close to them. Eventually leading to them threatening Brunhilde, and make herself become there weapon (Like a valkyrie). Also refuses to let them die, and doesn't give a shit about the others.

Thank you in advance 💗💗💗💗

-You gave no dangs. You had no cares. You did what you wanted when you wanted and didn’t care who or what got in your way.

-You weren’t the easiest deity to get along with, mainly due to your rather…crass personality. You made Loki look like a cake-walk some days which would always rile him up to outdo you, which would always lead to prank wars, much to the ‘joy’ of the other citizens of Valhalla.

-Many knew not to cross you, as you were quite strong, and you didn’t care about who you killed, if you had been disrespected, you wouldn’t hesitate to make sure nobody else around would forget it.

-This made you extremely difficult to approach, as nobody could tell what you were feeling, you could be seething with rage but smiling brightly like you got your favorite treat.

-When Ragnarok was announced, you hadn’t planned on fighting, finding the idea a bit boring, wandering around the stadium until you heard Brunnhilde speaking with something.

-Brunnhilde was one of the few people that you… tolerated, as she always showed you respect even if you were threatening her, and you found her serious nature amusing.

-You rounded the corner and found her talking to…a literal ray of sunshine! The man before you was tall, built, and incredibly handsome, he was the whole package!!

-You never really clicked with anyone before, but this man, Nikola Tesla, as you overheard Brunnhilde saying his name, made you feel so alive!!

-You peeked around the corner like a creeper, making goo-goo eyes at this hunky man as you listened in on their conversation, learning that Nikola was going to be fighting next.

-When Nikola went to get prepared, you quickly approached Brunnhilde, nearly knocking her down as you leapt up and hugged her from behind, “Brunnie~~~!!!! Let me do that Valkyrie partner fusion thing with that hunk!!”

-She turned, surprised to see you and she was even more surprised to see that you looked excited, as your curiosity had been piqued, an eyebrow lifting, “You want to fight with Nikola?”

-If you had a dog’s tail it would be wagging a million miles per hour, “I do- let me fight!” she was initially going to refuse, but then she had to pause, realizing that this could give humanity an advantage, “Will you keep him safe?”

-Your rare serious face stunned her, giving her a firm nod and she agreed to which you cheered for, spinning her around, making her shriek in surprise, much to your amusement.

-Nikola wasn’t sure what to make of you as you had leapt into his arms, introducing yourself as his partner, “I thought a Valkyrie was going to by my partner.” You just beamed at him, “Not today- I’m strong and I’ll make sure you stay safe!”

-He cupped your hands between his own, his eyes bright in thanks, “Thank you so much Y/N!” you think your heart just swelled and popped from happiness in less than a second as the two of you fused.

-He felt so warm, so comforting, you felt like you could stay here forever while Nikola felt rushing energy and fierce determination, your determination to keep him safe.

-When Beelzebub managed to hurt your man…oh hell no!! To say you were pissed was an understatement and Nikola felt another rush of energy, one that boosted his strength as he charged.

-Your hands were felt on Nikola’s shoulders as you spoke, “I’ll keep you safe, handsome!” your declaration would have been embarrassing, had he not been locked in life or death combat. He could be embarrassed later!

-As Nikola stood the victor, he felt your arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him from behind as you had yet to leave him, “Told you- I always keep my word.” Nikola beamed, seeing you in spirit form next to him, “You have my thanks Y/N! I’m glad I could depend on you.”

-Brunnhilde couldn’t help but grin as you unfused with him, covering your bright red face with your hands, sounding like a deflated balloon.

-When the gods started yelling at you, outraged that you helped a human, but Nikola was surprised when you didn’t look concerned. You sent a harsh glare that shut many of them up, “Want to repeat those words?” nobody spoke back up and you grinned, seeing that nobody was brave enough to oppose you, which stunned Nikola.

-You turned and grabbed his hand, “C’mon cutie- we’re going for a drink! You can tell me science stuff while we spend time with each other.” Nikola could only blush, surprised by your bold nature, but didn’t fight you.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror nikola tesla #ror brunhilde

146 notes · View notes

tenpintsofsundrop · 1 year ago

Text

What would Dick Grayson be like in bed? (Titans Kink Headcanons)

A/N: So originally I was going to publish all of these for all of the characters in one long post, but I got tired/creatively stalled out about halfway through, and it's just been sitting in my drafts unfinished for weeks now. So I have decided to post them for the characters one at a time so that way I can catch up on them and have the energy to complete them really well. The reader is meant to be completely gender neutral, and I don't really know how to put warnings on this, because there is mentions of kinky topics throughout, but it's basically just a list of kinks? Like, the content itself is like a warnings list for a fic. Main warnings are for kinky topics, Daddy kink, and discussions of BDSM.

DC Titans Masterlist

...

So... one of those things that is totally obvious to me from the source material is that Dick Grayson is Daddy.

Not just when it comes to Daddy kink (although he definitely does enjoy being called Daddy for sexual gratification). He is the living embodiment of the title of Daddy. And tbh, I think he would love being called Daddy in a non-sexual context - which might sound weird if you've never been in that kind of relationship before. But when you try it out with him, you would probably love it.

It's something he would find comforting. You calling him Daddy in completely non-sexual contexts when you have no sexual intent behind it - it would make him feel good because it brings the joy of having a long term partner who feels comfortable calling him that. And he would definitely also love the casual dominance of it. He would love feeling owned by you because he gets to wear that title 24/7.

But he would be likely to say that it's something the two of you can only do in private - like in text messages or when nobody else is around to hear it, because he holds the title very sacred and he doesn't want others to mock him for it, because it is like a safe space for him. Even if he would 'laugh off' any mockery of it, he would feel hurt deep down inside.

But anyway, speaking of casual dominance - it's something he is obsessed with. I think he loves BDSM as a lifestyle, and for him, when he has a partner, it definitely doesn't stop in the bedroom - he loves setting lifestyle rules for you as a way of taking care of you.

He will set rules about when you eat (to make sure you never miss a meal), what you eat - he wouldn't ban you from eating junk food, but he would limit your intake of sugar and make it mandatory for you to eat a certain amount of healthy foods, and if you have a bad habit of consuming too much caffeine or soda, he is sure as hell gonna use sexual punishments to curb it.

His goal with casual dominance and the rules he makes will always be to take care of you and improve your quality of life - including your physical health and your mental health.

Is he always dominant?

I think that he vastly prefers being dominant because he is a control freak who hates giving up any kind of control, and funnelling those feelings into a BDSM relationship can keep him from exerting his intense need for control in other areas of life - like having emotional fits when other people don't do what he wants and violently beating up criminals. And on very rare occasions, when he is with someone he knows very well and trusts, he will play the submissive role. But I don't think he would ever be a submissive in a long term relationship.

If his sub misbehaves, I think he would avoid using pain as a punishment. I genuinely think he wouldn't be into spanking or any other type of painplay, because at the end of the day - even if he's strict about rules, it really makes his soul ache to hurt you.

One of his favourite punishments is overstimulation. He loves giving oral simply for the fact that he loves overstimulating you with his tongue for hours, and he loves vibrators and even fuck machines for the same reason.

He would use attention denial or ignoring you as a punishment - denying you of affection, or going as far as to ignore you completely if you want to talk to him at all (unless it's an emergency, of course).

He would also use this punishment in combination with overstimulation - setting you up with a vibrator pinned between your thighs and leaving you alone until you're whining and desperate, begging for his attention and ready to apologize for whatever rule you have broken.

I can also see him being into semi-public sex. He would be the type of dom to enjoy putting a remote control vibrator in your underwear just to push the button and watch you squirm at the most inconvenient times. He would also love taking you out to dinner somewhere nice and teasing you under the table, living to see you squirm and become desperate for him.

He would love any kind of bondage - tying you up in different complex ways, blindfolds, gags, all of those kinky things. As long as it doesn't hurt you, he would love seeing you vulnerable and wanting - he would love seeing rope against your skin. (And he would absolutely have the patience and intellect to learn complex shibari just to tie you up.)

And lastly (one that is obvious to me from the show) - Dick has a breeding kink.

He wants to be a father so badly, even if it's unconscious for him - it would come out when he feels you squeezing around his cock. And whether you can get pregnant or not (and whether you want kids or not), he would be obsessed with roleplaying the act of knocking you up. He would be obsessed with seeing his cum leak out of you, and telling you how he's gonna knock you up while he's deep inside of you. The first time you tell him to ditch the condom while having sex, it drives him insane, and it's the best sex of both your lives.

(A/N: I think that's a good round-up of all my headcanons for him lmao.)

#sundrop writes #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson headcanons #titans!dick grayson #dc titans #titans #dc titans fanfiction #dc titans x reader #dc fanfiction

174 notes · View notes

kandisheek · 3 months ago

Text

FIC REC WEEK 37 – ACTION / ADVENTURE

One Hell of a Wild Ride by missbecky

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 2,817 Tags: Car Chase, Adrenaline-Fueled Sex, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary: A recon mission turns into something a little more than Steve and Tony bargained for. Good thing Tony's got a fast car.

Reasons why I love it: Holy shit, the suspense in this is unreal. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. And the fact that the whole thing ends in cathartic thank-fuck-we're-alive sex makes it even better. I love this fic so much, and I bet you will too, so I hope you check it out!

absence makes the heart by fantalaimon

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 4,835 Tags: Kidnapping, Humor, First Dates

Summary: “One night,” Tony says, and just flies himself bodily into one of the canary yellow beekeepers like a red and gold battering ram. “I ask for one measly night. One single goddamn night with my boyfriend—” “Oh, is the boyfriend label on now?” Clint asks over the comms.

Reasons why I love it: This fic is the perfect mix of action and humor. The dialogue is hilarious, oh my god, there are so many fantastic lines. And I especially loved Steve and Tony's interactions with the female AIM goon, she's a hoot. Definitely check this one out if you haven't already, it's fantastic!

isolated system by isozyme

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 1,737 Tags: Blood Loss, Bombs, Hurt Tony

Summary: Here’s the basics: Tony’s bleeding internally, going into shock, and there’s an improvised explosive device fastened to the ceiling of the subway above his head.

Reasons why I love it: I love the Tony Whump in this, he's such a badass. And Steve's heart must have stopped multiple times over the comms, the poor guy. This fic is amazing, and if you haven't read it yet, you definitely should!

If I Die Young by MusicalLuna

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 7,778 Tags: Superfamily, Alien Invasion, Hurt Peter

Summary: Tony and Steve are trying to keep their little boy (who's not so little anymore) out of the superhero business for as long as possible, but when a kid's as stubborn as Peter is, they can't always stop him. And sometimes things go wrong. Really, really wrong.

Reasons why I love it: God, this whole fic makes me so goddamn emotional. Everyone on the team being worried sick for Peter while Peter just wants to protect his dads, it's just - agh, it makes my heart hurt in the best possible way. I love this fic, and if you haven't yet, you should definitely read it!

What You Don't Know by Sineala

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 9,808 Tags: Marvel Noir, Identity Porn, Hero Worship

Summary: In 1941, two strangers meet in a bar. And then Captain America meets Iron Man. And then Steve Rogers meets Tony Stark. They get it right. Eventually. And also they fall out of an airplane.

Reasons why I love it: Tony truly is a lunatic, and I (and Steve) sure as hell love him for it. The airplane sequence is really fun, and the way it ends gives me all of the delicious tension that I love in action fics. And who doesn't love Noir identity porn? This fic is a joy to read, and I hope you go and experience it for yourself!

#marvel #fanfic #a year in fanfic recs #fic rec #fanfic rec #stony #ficrec

21 notes · View notes

eating-plastic · 2 months ago

Text

Turn That Frown Upside Down: Jester!Maison Talo x Fem!Reader

Warning: Fluff, comfort, angst, swearing, reader has a shitty (ex) boyfriend and (ex) friend, unhealthy relationship, cheating, they get their comeuppance in the end, so that means brief mentions of blood, injuries, death at the end, Maison becomes obsessed with reader which leads to blossoming yandere-esque tendencies basically, I wanted to imply that reader kinda matches his freak tho, reader is fem because I kinda got bored with keeping it gender neutral, jester AU (you'll see what I mean), probably some grammatical errors

Word Count: 7874 words

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone (early, late, or on the dot. Depends on when you read this)! So I know this seems really random and out of nowhere but let me explain. Basically I reblogged fanart of Maison dressed up as a jester by @voqalber. I wrote in the tags that I had an idea for a Jester!Maison x reader fic, and they encouraged me to actually write that fic out so here it is! A big thank you to them for giving me the inspiration to write this and also being super sweet! Enjoy everyone 🎃!

--------------------

"Come one, come all, for the show of a lifetime! Witness thrills, chills, and laughs unlike ever before! Hurry hurry to the big top now! The show will begin in ten minutes!"

Your head shoots up to the speaker that was hung up near you. You can feel your hand slipping out of the grasp that was holding it as you listen to the announcement. Giddiness fills you as you turn your attention to the two other individuals you were attending the Uncanny Valley Halloween Carnival with.

"Hey guys, maybe we should go!" you chirp and motion towards the large tent in the center of the whole carnival.

"Why? it's probably just gonna be some lame magic act or clown show," scoffed your friend. You could practically hear her rolling her eyes at your childish joy for the main event of the night, though her face didn't convey it.

"Yeah, it sounds like a waste of time. I'd rather go on one of the rides. Seems like those are the only things worth doing around here," said your boyfriend, who didn't try to hide his dislike for your delight.

"Well, I-I don't know. I think it sounds fun...," your face drops and you can feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "I mean...maybe it's a little childish, but what's wrong with that? It might still be fun."

"Well then why don't you go by yourself?" your friend shoots back, sounding rather pushy. "We don't want to go, so why don't you? We'll catch up with you when you're done."

"Oh...um, okay," you mumble and watch as both your friend and boyfriend don't waste any more time abandoning you where you stand.

You let out a disheartened sigh and swallow a thick lump that was forming in your throat. You hate how much you feel like crying right now.

You don't know why you even bothered bringing them or even why you still had them in your life, honestly. Your relationship with your boyfriend felt like it was beyond salvaging at this point, it felt like he merely tolerated you now. Scratch that, it was more like barely tolerated you because of how often he would snap at you when you'd go on about your interests and say straight to your face if they were stupid and immature. Not even you directly tearing up from this would stop him as he would then just yell at you to "grow up." Sure he'd attempt to make it up to you afterward, but that still didn't stop it from hurting like hell though.

You knew you should just leave him, but there was still this foolish little voice in your head that said it would get better. You didn't know why; fear of loneliness perhaps? Like at least being in a relationship was better than being in none at all? Either way, that was why you wanted to invite him to come to the carnival with you, even though you knew he would hate it. It wasn't until you mentioned that you would just go with your friend that he seemed to oddly give in.

Speaking of your friend, you noticed how she seemed to be acting a bit colder towards you as well, or at least she was being less secretive about it. At least she tried to seem polite towards you and your likes despite it becoming more and more obvious that she truly couldn't care less. What good are someone's manners if they aren't genuine, you'd sometimes wonder. And yet, just like your boyfriend, you kept her around. At least she gave you the excuse that she's just been very stressed lately. Whether that was true or not, you didn't know, but hey at least it was something.

All you wanted was to just make them both feel better. To try and have fun with them. To see them laugh and smile after who knows how long. And what better place to do that than at a place that was known for smiles and laughter?

'Whatever,' you thought. 'They'll find something they enjoy. And I already found mine.'

You make your way to the large tent that was beckoning to you, following the small crowd that was also heading to see the show. As you pass through the opening flaps of the entrance, you can feel your breath being taken away as you stare in awe at how spacious the inside is; it honestly felt like it was bigger on the inside. You gaze up at the lights that decorate the roof of the tent, bathing everything in a bright, vibrant glow. You find a seat, making sure you are sitting somewhere that will help you see everything the show has to offer.

After some waiting, the lights dim, and a disembodied voice begins to speak.

"Ladies. Gentlemen. You have all made an excellent choice tonight. Under this big top, you will witness sights unlike ever before. Sights meant to amaze, sights meant to scare, but above all, you will witness sights meant to amuse. It is my greatest honor and privilege to welcome you all...to the greatest. Show. On Earth!"

The lights begin to flash bright colors, almost giving the illusion of orange, green, and purple fireworks, making the crowd roar with wonder and excitement. You yourself can feel your eyes widening as you stare at the beautiful display. At the center of the tent, a spotlight shines on the source of the voice. A tall man stands clad in a red and black jester uniform and a white mask with a little red diamond on the left cheek covers his face, almost making him look like a mannequin from afar. You're honestly impressed that his voice can even come out so loud and clear despite him wearing it.

It's an odd uniform for what you assume to be the ringmaster to wear. Then again, you can see that the other performers in the shadows were also adorned in similar jester costumes. Even some of the booth workers you had seen previously wore the same jovial outfits, albeit without the masks.

'Must just be a part of the attire,' you figure. No matter, you already knew you were going to enjoy the show.

--------------------

Every performance was phenomenal to you. The suspenseful acts had you on the edge of your seat, the scary acts would make your heart jolt in the best way, and the funny acts would have you bursting out in laughter unlike anything you had ever experienced before. You were so enthralled by the show that you didn't even notice the pair of eyes that would always drift to you at every chance.

The jesters always scanned the crowds, looking for the right person to lure to their private tents to consume. It could get quite competitive amongst them, often fighting over one person, before one would have to step down and find someone else. No matter what though, the ringmaster always had first pick.

Maison always got a better look of the crowd first. There in the center of the tent, arms spread and gazing out at everyone who had decided to see the show.

Tonight was no different as he panned his eyes from left to right, scanning every person in the audience. Just then, his eyes caught on to someone, but...not on someone he wanted to eat.

The first thing that he thought when he gazed at you from his place on the show floor was one word.

'Beautiful.'

He stared at you in your seat on the top row. Sitting so high up so that you could see everything. It made you look more angelic to him. But what really won the ringmaster over though, was your smile. It shined so bright that even in the dim lights of the crowd, it looked like the spotlight was on you. At least to Maison it was.

As the show continued, his eyes would constantly drift to you, taking in every one of your reactions like a sweet breath of fresh air. After each act, you would always clap with such enthusiasm, indicating your enjoyment. What he loved the most though, was how you would laugh at the funny acts. You wouldn't hide your mouth or try to stifle your laughter like most people. No, you let it out proudly, even grasping your stomach and rocking a bit at something really outrageous. Oh how he wished he could hear it clearly.

You didn't hide your joy, you flaunted it without a care in the world.

And Maison loved it.

After the show wrapped up and he gave his "end of the show" speech, he was antsy to find you again. He knew he'd have to meet with the other jesters to discuss who was going to be their potential meals, and he knew he'd have to say you just so he would ensure none of his fellow performers would lay a hand on you. After that, he didn't care about what the others decided or fought over. He excused himself quickly to look for you.

He needed to see you again. He needed to know your name, he needed to know what else brought you so much joy in your life, he needed to actually hear your laughter, and above all, he needed to know if he would ever see you here at the carnival again.

--------------------

When you exit the tent, you don't see your boyfriend or friend waiting for you like you thought. You honestly figured that those two grumps wouldn't find anything they found fun, so they would be stuck just waiting for you and being bored.

You wander around, looking from booth after booth, ride after ride trying to find them. You try not to get too distracted from how fun a game looks or how thrilling an attraction looks. At the time, you would've thought that it would've been better if you had gotten side tracked. Now though, you're happy you discovered what you did. If you didn't, you wouldn't have ended up having such a wonderful night.

As you round a corner to look down a dim alleyway, you spot the two figures you were looking for. Just as you are about to approach them and call their names, you almost trip over your own two feet and let out a soft choke at the sight.

Everything looks like it's happening in slow motion as if your brain still doesn't want to process what's going on right in front of your eyes. Your "friend" practically throwing herself onto your "boyfriend" as they begin to make out like two shameless teenagers at a drive in. Their hands roaming everywhere over and underneath clothes.

Tears sting your eyes as your cheeks heat up in rage and humiliation. Your feet feel like they are glued to the ground despite you wanting so desperately to just turn and run away. To just jump in your car and speed off to your apartment, where you would just hide away for the rest of your life. There is also a tiny voice in your head though, that wants you to run up and kill the both of them with anything you could find in that dingy alley.

Eventually, you finally feel your legs moving, but they choose to go with the former thought you had over the latter. You dart around, looking for the entrance of the carnival so you can get in your car and cry properly, but there are so many people and your tears feel like they're coming down hard now. You ultimately decide to just hide away in a dark corner devoid of all people. You curl up into a ball, hiding your head in your knees as you begin to sob.

Your brain is a melting pot of sorrow and complete hatred. Hatred at both your now ex friend and ex boyfriend for betraying you, hatred at them for never even really liking you in the first place, hatred at them for fucking around behind your back and hurting you. But above all, you feel hatred towards yourself. You hate yourself for being so trusting, and naive, and childish and pathetic, and stupid.

"Stupid stupid stupid," you cry, shaking your head. "Worthless, no good, w-waste of space."

You mutter out every single cruel thing you could think of calling yourself because you really do feel like those things were what you were.

"...Unlovable," you finally choke out as a last nail in the coffin to your self esteem and happiness. If even your own boyfriend and friend didn't love or care about you, then you truly must be unlovable.

"Oh dear, what's this?" a male voice questions.

Your head rockets up and quickly turns to the sound. Through your blurry vision, you can see a tall man standing before you with his face obscured by a white mask. You completely forget that what this man is wearing is simply the attire of the performers at the show you had seen earlier, and instead assume it to be a masked psycho ready to kill you. A dark voice in your head tells you that you would honestly be okay with that after everything that has happened to you.

Seeing the look of fear in your red eyes, the man raises his hands to absentmindedly run his fingers along the porcelain lips of the mask. He then perks up in realization.

"I suppose you would feel more comfortable if I removed this, wouldn't you," he says while motioning to the mask.

You feel yourself being weirdly drawn towards this man's voice; it sounds so smooth and comforting, familiar even, but where did you hear it? Either way, you nod slowly.

"I figured. One moment, please," he says, before raising one hand to hold the front of the mask, while the other moves to the back of his head to undo the straps.

Once his mask is undone, he carefully removes it from his face and attaches it to his belt so it would dangle off of his hip. He then smooths over and adjusts his gray hair.

"There. That's better, right?" he asks, his voice sounding more clear and soft. He kneels down to look at you with warm eyes that hold a hint of empathy in them. Now seeing him better, you realize why his voice sounded so familiar, even without it being loud and grandiose. How could you forget the ringmaster of the show that gave you a moment of happiness before it was destroyed?

You don't know why, but you didn't expect him to look like an older gentleman despite seeing his gray hair, not that you were complaining. He was very handsome, and here he was feeling concerned for you. You even notice the little red diamond painted on his cheek corresponding with the mark on his mask; you find that to be oddly cute. When your brain finally registers that he asked you another question, you once again nod.

He then reaches into one of his sleeves to pull out a red handkerchief and holds it out to you. Tentatively, you take the cloth and wipe your eyes with it, sniffling all the while.

"Tell me, my dear, what has made you so miserable?" he tilts his head to rest his cheek on the palm of his hand. When Maison wanted to find you after the show, he absolutely did not want to find you like this.

'Oh you poor thing,' he thinks. Mere minutes ago you were all smiles and laughter. Now here you sit, sobbing and saying the most horrible things about yourself. It was awful, sounding akin to nails on a chalkboard to the ringmaster. He has to know what upset you, and he has to know how he can fix it.

"W-well mister...um," you begin, waiting for him to give you his name. You feel like you honestly have nothing left to lose, making yourself even more pathetic to a complete stranger.

"Talo. Maison Talo," he answers.

"Well Mr. Talo, I was a complete idiot," you restart, bluntly.

"Idiot? Come now, dear, you're being too hard on yourself," his face drops at the harsh word you are using to describe yourself.

"But it's true. I'm a complete fucking idiot!" you cry. "I came here with two people that I thought loved me, but no! I should've known they never cared about me! I should've known they'd do this to me, I should've left him, and I should've stopped having her as a friend, I-I should've...I sh-should...."

Your voice dissolves into another round of sobbing, causing Maison to carefully pull you into his arms to hold you while you cry. He gently pets your hair while softly cooing to you like a mother would to comfort her child; though he only got bits and pieces of the whole story through your rant, he could understand just what happened. You don't know why you're allowing a stranger to hold you, but you figure that you just don't have anything to lose anymore; you just don't care anymore. Besides, his embrace was warm, his voice was nice, and it felt like everything about him was wrapping around you like a blanket.

Even when your second round of tears ceases, you don't want him to let you go. Luckily, he doesn't. Despite not hearing your sobs anymore, he still holds you close to his chest. Your eyes drift around to look at anything to keep your mind off of the people who hurt you. They eventually settle on a weird pin that you hadn't noticed on Maison's jester costume before: a blue house with a yellow roof.

'How odd,' you think, though you guess jesters are supposed to be a bit strange and random. 'I saw those on the booth workers too. Must just be another part of the weird attire.'

You sigh and finally pull away to slump onto the ground, hand smoothing over some patches of dried grass and orange leaves.

Just then, a pleasant smell catches your attention, making you look around due to how strong it is. Maison seems to smell it too and gets an idea.

"You know, maybe a little treat would cheer you up, hm? Something sweet," he throws out, before standing and holding his hands out for you. "Come on, I know good food tends to cheer me up."

You look from his hands to his face. Staring into those soft eyes of his, this time with a jovial spark mixed in. The combination of his gaze with a small grumble in your stomach tells you that maybe a bit of food is what you need. You give him a weak smile before taking his hands into your own, allowing yourself to be pulled up.

Now that you both are standing, Maison holds his arm out for you to loop it with your own. You look at him oddly for a moment before you decide to do just that.

'Why not?' you think.

You are then led back to the main part of the carnival, though your eyes do dart around to try and spot your ex friend and ex boyfriend in the crowd. What would you do if you saw them? Ignore them? Try to hide again? Actually go up and confront them? No, if you tried to confront them, then you knew you would try to kill them, even if it was in front of everyone.

"Anything piquing your interest, Miss um...oh dear, how rude of me. I never asked you your name," Maison realizes, turning to look down at you.

"Hm? Oh! It's Y/N. Y/N LN," you squeak out, getting too lost in your thoughts for your own good.

"Such a pretty name, it's quite fitting for you," he smiles. His comment and look made your cheeks heat up. "Tell me, Miss. Y/N, what sounds good to you right now?"

"Hm," you think, looking from booth to booth before you just shrug. "I don't know. What do you like?"

The question causes Maison to freeze, but only for a brief moment. His eyes begin to dart around a bit, before settling on the first food booth they landed on.

"Apple pie," he says. Despite how quick he said it, it still sounds genuine, and you don't think anything odd about it. To really sell it though, he adds on. "I've always been fond of that dessert, over others."

"That does sound good," you nod. "I think I want that."

"An excellent choice, my dear, a very excellent choice," he grins and leads you to the titular booth.

Both Maison and the booth worker share a brief interaction of recognition before ordering a nice slice of warm apple pie for you. Before you can even get the chance to pay for your dessert, the tall jester at your side takes the plate and leads you to a picnic table off to the side.

"Huh? Hey, wait! Don't you want me to pay for that?" you stutter out, confused.

"Please, it's my treat. You've had such a rough night, allow me to make it better," Maison says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Why?" you ask, while you both take a seat at the table. "I mean...why do you care?"

"A carnival is no place for sorrow. It is a place where you leave all sadness at the door. If you cry at a place like this, then it truly must've been hurt by something awful. Something that just a simple joke can't fix," he explains, resting his elbows on the table and interlocking his fingers.

"Ah," you begin to think while breaking off a piece of apple pie with a plastic fork. "I see that joy is a big deal to you. Your costume makes sense now."

Maison let out a short, endearing chuckle at that, making a small smile break out on your face.

"Happiness is a very beautiful thing," he begins, a fond grin on his face. "A smile is worth more than the finest of art, and laughter is more melodic than the finest of symphonies. When I gaze up into that crowd during a show, it is the greatest pleasure of mine to see the looks of delight on the audience's faces. And when I saw you in the crowd tonight, it was perfect. Your smile was so bright, and when I watched you laugh it felt like I was admiring a flawless painting. "

If your face wasn't warm before, then it was on fire now. You think back to how you must've looked while watching the show, and a wave of self consciousness washes over you.

"Wow, uh...hehe. Well...I've never heard anyone tell me that before," you laugh nervously. You aren't used to this kind of attention, being doted on like this and getting complimented in such a way. Despite the fluttery sensation it formed in your heart, you can't help but feel suspicious of Maison's intentions thanks to your damaged self esteem after seeing you-know-what. Surely there was no way that this handsome, older gentleman sitting in front of you could actually see you as akin to a work of perfection.

"Really?' he asks, confusion and even a hint of sadness embedded in his voice.

"Ah...well, no," you admit. You just shake your head and wave your hands dismissively. "Oh well, whatever. It really doesn't matter. I really don't wanna think about it, this is all about having fun right?"

Maison opens his mouth to speak, but closes it and changes the direction of the conversation.

"You're right. But just know that what I said is true," he flashes you a reassuring smile before motioning to your pie. "Now, why don't you finish that before it gets cold."

He didn't have to tell you twice. You go back to eating your dessert, savoring the tastes of apples, cinnamon, and brown sugar. It's a pleasant silence until you suddenly perk up when you realize something.

"Hey, I just remembered. I made you laugh. I made a jester laugh. That gives me extra points, right?"

Maison laughs once more, just as endearing as it was previously. He was wrong when he saw you in the crowds previously that night. You weren't just a little delight. No, now that he has had the chance to properly sit down with you, he could see that you were the embodiment of complete sunshine.

--------------------

"Really? Huh, I didn't know that was how that trick was done. That's so cool," you say in awe.

"Isn't it? It is amazing the kind of illusions you can create using something so simple," Maison replies.

The two of you had been walking around the carnival, talking about different acts and tricks done during shows, your conversations being broken up by the occasional game.

"Oh! Maison! Can we try that one!" you suddenly pipe up, pointing to another game booth.

"Of course we can," he grins and ushers you up to the booth.

Like with getting your slice of pie, the ringmaster gives a greeting of familiarity to his fellow jester when you two get close enough. The game you had pointed to was a simple game where you would try to knock down stacked milk bottles.

The booth worker sets three baseballs on the counter, but before you could grab one, Maison stops you.

"Wait a moment," he says while taking the balls from you. You cock your head to the side in confusion until you watch in awe as the older gentleman juggles the three baseballs. You almost think he's trying to show off until he successfully stops without having any of the balls hit the ground, and hands them back to you. "A bit of good luck for you."

You take them from him with a cheerful "thank you" before turning your attention to the bottles.

First baseball, two bottles down.

Second baseball, three bottles down.

Only one baseball and one bottle left.

You take a deep breath through your nose as you carefully line up your shot. You squint one of your eyes and your tongue creeps past your lips in concentration. Maison had seen this look of focus on your face during some of the previous games; he found it to be absolutely adorable. You move your arm back and....

The last bottle clatters loudly to the floor!

You stare in shock for a brief moment, before a noise of triumph escapes you.

"Wahoo! I did it! I did it!" you cheer.

"All thanks to my little bit of good luck," Maison jokes, but still proudly applauds your work.

With a polite "here ya go," the booth worker hands you your prize: a cute ghost plushie with a red and black ribbon tied around its neck as a bow. You notice how it reminds you of Maison's jester uniform, and it makes you love it even more.

"Thank you!" you grin at the other jester before turning to walk with Maison some more until you suddenly stop.

A soft gasp leaves your lips as you stare at two familiar faces in the crowd ahead. Both your ex friend and ex boyfriend were looking around and calling your name as if they didn't just get done fucking in a dingy alley. The sight shatters the perfect bubble of fun Maison had constructed for you that night, and you squeeze the plushie in your arms for comfort like a child would after having a bad dream.

Maison quickly follows your line of sight and can feel the rage boiling within him at the sight of the two individuals who had broken your spirits. He quickly motions his fellow jester closer to him and mutters something in the booth worker's ear. They pull away and share a nod of understanding before the ringmaster wraps his hands around your shoulders and turns you both around so that you are standing in front of him and out of sight from the two most loathed people in both of your worlds.

"It's okay. Just keep walking," Maison whispers comfortingly into your ear.

After maneuvering deeper into the crowds for a bit, you both come out on the other side of the carnival by a ferris wheel.

"Thank you," you mumble, still holding your ghost plush close to your chest. You let out a disheartened sigh though, when you realize how late it is and that the fun would have to come to an end. "I should start thinking about heading home though. As much as I don't want to...I know I have to go back and gather them to head on out. I am their ride after all. Augh and then I'm gonna have to confront them about what I saw."

You can feel tears welling up in your eyes at the thought. Even though you hated them and would give anything to call them the most abhorrent shit you could come up with, hell you literally had the brief thought about killing them, you are filled to the brim with anxiety about the whole thing and knew you wouldn't be able to do any of those things despite how much you wanted to.

"Hey, it'll be okay, shhh," Maison coos and pulls you into his arms once more, although this time you notice how he seems to be holding you tighter than he did previously.

"Why can't they just go away? W-Why can't they just disappear?" you sob and bury your face into his chest.

"Shh shhh, I know I know," he says while petting your hair like before. He replays your questions in his head though, and has to keep from having a sinister smile spread across his lips at the thought.

''Why can't they just go away? Why can't they just disappear?' Oh, my darling, they will disappear before the night is done,' Maison thinks as he continues to console you.

"Why do you need them to ride back with you?" he asks. You pull away confused, and give him a look that says 'isn't it obvious?'"They betrayed you, hurt you, you want to cut them out of your life entirely, so why give them kindness and courtesy that they don't deserve?"

"I...I can't just do that," you say, but your stutter gives it away that you are considering it.

"Yes, you can. You can, and you will. If you do this, the fun will last just a little while longer. Besides, taking the bus won't kill them," Maison pushes. You mull it over in your head for a bit, before looking back up to him.

"Okay...I'll do it," you decide, nodding your head to confirm it to both him and yourself.

He carefully moves his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, before resting his palm against your cheek. He takes in just how beautiful you look under the bright, colorful lights of the ferris wheel, cementing your face in his mind.

Slowly, Maison's eyes travel from your face and then upwards and he looks at the large attraction you both were standing by. A small smile forms and he looks back to you.

"How about one last bit of fun for the night, hm?" he asks. You look behind you at the bright, spinning wheel and feel a smile form on your own lips as well.

"I'd like that very much," you beam, looking up at him.

With that, you both turn to go on the ride. Once your car comes to a halt and it's safe to board, Maison opens the door for you and motions for you to enter. You smile at that and take a seat on the bench inside. The older man enters after you and sits at your side.

There is a pause before the ride starts up and the car slowly begins to rise upwards. Without noticing, your hand grasps Maison's instinctually from the sudden movement.

"You're okay, look," he reassures and squeezes your hand. He then points out the large window in front of you. You look ahead and your eyes widen as you slowly begin to see more and more of the Uncanny Valley from above. Though it is dark, all of the lights from the street lamps, windows of buildings, and signs for different establishments illuminate the island perfectly.

"Woah," you breathe, completely mesmerized by the view. "You can see everything from up here."

"Indeed," Maison agrees, taking in his own beautiful sight of your wowed face. "Everyone seems to prefer seeing the view during the day. I suppose you can see everything clearer then. But I have always been fond of seeing lights when it's dark. And then there are the stars and the moon that make it all seem so right."

You stop your task of trying to spot your apartment complex from the ferris wheel as his words begin to sink in. You quickly noticed how he talks about the things he finds beautiful. He talks about them like they are fine art, mentioning every detail he loves about them. Happiness, the view.

You.

The gentle feeling of Maison's fingertips against your chin makes you turn to face him. If the view of the Uncanny Valley at night didn't take your breath away, then the realization of how close you two are does. All thoughts in your head seem to cease as you stare into his eyes and notice him carefully easing your face closer to his.

Would you have done the same thing under different circumstances, or even under the same circumstances? You have no idea. And yet you can't stop yourself from saying "yes" every time. As long as it was with Maison, then yes, you would've done what you did at the end of the night. He turned your night from horrible to perfect, resurrected your happiness after you thought your cheating ex boyfriend and ex friend killed it, made you actually feel cared for and loved for the first time in forever.

It felt right. You and him felt right.

It was gentle, his lips softly brushing over yours for a moment, savoring it before kissing you properly. It feels like he's treating you like you're made of porcelain like his mask, as if the most sudden movement would make you crack.

No, Maison will make sure you never shatter on his watch. As long as you are his, you will never feel neglected or unloved. This carnival would become your new home, his tent would become your new home. The whole fairgrounds would be your shelter from the cruelties that come with life. A place for him to construct a perfect bubble for you to forget your worries and grief, just like tonight.

Maybe he'd even make you a performer as well, if that was what you wanted. He has seen your interest in different acts during the show. With some practice, you could become a star, though you already are in his heart. Just imagine you in your jester costume and mask, captivating the audience, wowing them, scaring them, or making them laugh. Of course some of the others would probably protest that decision, hell they'd probably protest him loving you, but he was the ringmaster and he had the last say. If he said you're staying, then you're staying. And if he says you would perform, then you'd perform.

Slowly, Maison pulls away, getting a brief view of the look of content on your face. Your eyes flutter open and you raise a hand to touch your lips.

"You kissed me..." your voice comes out a little bit louder than a whisper as you utter the only thing your reeling mind can come up with.

"I did," the ringmaster says with a warm smile.

You can't think of anything else to say, so you just beam back at him and rest your head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around you and holds you closer as you both feel yourselves starting to descend back down to the ground.

Once the car stops, Maison steps out and holds the door open for you just like before. With his arm held out for you, he leads you through the carnival and towards the entrance. You expect to say your goodbyes there but to your surprise, he continues walking into the parking lot, slowing his pace and moving you in front of him so you can find your car.

Now standing by your vehicle, you turn back to look up at the jester that made your night so wonderful.

"I guess this is goodbye, huh?" you mumble while rubbing your arm.

"Goodbye for now," he corrects, holding your face in his hands and giving you one last smile for the night, which you return. "If you ever need a bit of cheering up again, you know where to find me. Until then however...how about a little something to remember me by?"

Suddenly, he pulls out a deck of playing cards from out of nowhere and fans them out to you.

"Pick a card, but do not tell me what it is," he says, speaking like he's performed this trick a thousand times.

You look at the cards carefully, eyes panning over each one, until you finally take the one that speaks to you. The card is the ace of diamonds.

"Good, now set it back in the deck," he continues, waiting for you to do as he says. With that, he reshuffles the cards, even closing his eyes to really show off to you. Once he's done, he stacks the deck nicely in his hands and takes the first card on the top. "Is this your card?"

Staring back at you is the same red diamond you had seen previously.

"Yes sir," you chirp, taking the card again." But I know the trick to this one."

"Oh? And what's that?" Maison questions, intrigued.

"The whole deck is the same card; they're all the ace of diamonds," you nod confidently.

"Really?" he turns the deck up so that the front of the cards is facing you. To your surprise, you can see that it really is a normal deck with the different suits and all.

"Woah," you breathe, amazement in your voice. "Must be great being so lucky."

"Of course it is. I wouldn't have been able to meet you if I wasn't," Maison then moves his hands around the deck of cards until they vanish into thin air.

"Wait, don't you want this card back?" you ask, all while you are trying to figure out where a whole deck of cards went.

"I said I was going to give you something to remember me by," he retorts. "Think of it as a good luck charm. Besides, I'm sure I have another one lying around somewhere."

You look from the card then back to the ringmaster, smiling.

"Thank you, Maison. Thank you for everything. You really made the night perfect."

"It is my pleasure, always," he gives you a little bow, before taking one of your hands into his own and raising it to his lip to plant a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Please be safe my dear and sleep well."

"Y-Yeah, of course, "you let out a shy chuckle, still not used to this level of affection, but you can certainly get there. "Goodnight to you too."

With that, Maison takes a step back, giving you the space to climb into your car. Once you start it up, you look out your window and give him a small wave, which he returns.

The tall jester stands there watching as your car gets farther and farther away until it disappears from view entirely.

--------------------

You can practically feel yourself dance walking down the hallway to your apartment, as the sounds of carnival music still play in your ears. After letting yourself in and locking the front door behind you, you set your ghost plushie down on a counter in your kitchen along with the card. You fidget with the little stubby arms of your soft specter, humming a tune you hear sometime tonight, your eyes drifting to the familiar colored ribbon around its neck.

You then turn your attention to the card, just flipping it between your fingers until you stop when you notice something that definitely was not there before. The front of the card is the same, it still shows the ace of diamonds, but on the back there is writing; a little message addressed to you.

To my dearest little diamond, Y/N,

Your beauty shall remain in my mind always. Your smile, your laugh, and you, sweet little you. Please don't be a stranger, my heart would never be able to take it.

With love,

Maison.

Underneath the sweet message, was a phone number.

You place your hand over your heart and grin widely from ear to ear. How could you possibly stay away from the ringmaster after tonight? The affection he gave you was addicting. He was addicting. And you were obsessed. You fell right into his trap, right where you wanted to be.

His plan was to win you over and he got it and so much more.

No, you definitely won't be a stranger at all.

--------------------

It was very late at night, and all light had been extinguished from the carnival, making you think that no one was around. However, if you went just a little bit deeper into the fairgrounds, you would notice the lights still on in the large tent at the center, and speaking could be heard from within.

"Ladies. Gentlemen. What a very special performance I have for you tonight," the loud voice came from none other than the ringmaster, wearing his signature mask as always, but the audience was not his usual audience. No, the audience was of his fellow jesters.

The voice caused two figures that were tied to the spinning wheels used for knife throwing to stir. Their heads pounded hard and they could both taste a hint of blood in their mouths.

"These two 'delightful' individuals decided to so graciously volunteer for this act. Isn't that just so 'polite' of them?" Maison continued on, bitter sarcasm heavy in his voice. The whole crowd began to jeer at the two partially conscious people.

Once they fully awaken, both your ex friend and ex boyfriend try to speak, to ask what the hell's going on, but are prohibited by the large clumps of cloth in their mouths.

"I must admit, I have never performed a live dissection act, but do you all, my lovely performers, not deserve something new? Something fresh?" he carried on, voice becoming even more grandiose. The crowd responded with a noise of uncertainty until their ringmaster continued. "I know what you are all thinking: isn't this all a waste of two perfectly good meals? Oh, I can assure you all, these two are much too rotten for consumption. No no no, these...things are only good for an act now."

The crowd only got more rowdy at that, but Maison raised his hands to calm them.

"Ah, I knew you all wouldn't want to take my word for it, so why don't we all get a little taste?" he moved to stand in front of a table that was covered with a black and white checkered cloth, making sure his fellow jester and the "performers" would be able to see what was underneath the sheet.

With one swift motion, the cloth was ripped from the table, revealing a row of sharp knives varying in size. If the two hostages weren't panicking already, then they definitely were now. Muffled cries of fear fill the show floor, and your ex friend even had tears streaming down her cheeks.

Maison picked up a steak knife and slowly crept towards your ex boyfriend, like a predator stalking its prey. Once he got close enough, he speaks quietly, so only the two unwilling volunteers could hear.

"It's funny," he began, dragging his red nails along the edge of the blade. "I think I would've done this, even if you hadn't hurt Y/N."

His eyes went wide at the sound of your name and at the jester in front of him bringing the blade closer to his face.

"No matter what, you never deserved her," Maison purrs, sinisterly. "She was mine the moment I laid eyes on her tonight. No matter what, you were never worthy of her, you stupid boy."

He let out a sickeningly playful click of his tongue before quickly turning to your ex friend.

"And you," he sneered. "What kind of friend are you?" Had you been nice, you wouldn't have been here. You would've been at home, sleeping in bed like an infant....Yet here you are."

He then looked between the two of them. Though they couldn't see his face, they could see his eyes through the holes in his mask, and oh, how they were seething with rage.

"I don't know which one of you is more rotten," Maison said, though his voice was much louder so his audience would hear him. Slowly he turned to look back at the male hostage, and a cruel grin formed under his mask. "But I think I'll try you, just because I hate you more."

Like a flash, he swiped the knife across your ex boyfriend's cheek, carving it so it looked like half of a bloody smile was on his face. The crowd roared with excitement at that, antsy to get their hands on some of the knives as well.

With one hand, Maison raised his mask up enough so that his mouth was exposed. Carefully, he dragged the bloodied knife across his tongue, getting the taste of the crimson that stained the blade. In an instant, his face contorted in disgust and he pulls his mask down.

"Bitter, not to my liking...but I'm sure some of you may enjoy it," he announced, watching as his consensus seemed to intrigue some of his fellow performers. He then motioned his knife to the female hostage before continuing. "As for her...well...I think I'll let you all find that out for yourselves. Ladies and gentlemen, I now invite you all to come. On. Down!"

With that, a number of jesters got up from their seats to line up and take a blade while others sat back to watch the carnage just as their ringmaster was doing.

Such a gruesome display was before him. Something that would've made him sick had the "volunteers" been different. But for you, he got nothing but a sick sense of catharsis watching it.

Maison smiled as he thought about you. He thought about what you had whimpered when you both found refuge at the ferris wheel.

"Why can't they go away? Why can't they just disappear?"

'Well, my little diamond,' he thought. 'They're gone now. They'll never hurt you again. No one will ever hurt you. I will make sure of that.'

#house hunted #house hunted game #house hunted visual novel #maison talo #maison talo x reader #x reader #rita writes

7 notes · View notes

mcl4r3n · 2 years ago

Note

heyyy, first of all, i just wanna say that i absolutely adore your fics and i wanna thank you for all the amazing works you’ve put up on the internet <3 second, may i ask for 29 dando? (fun fact: your fics got both me and my gf into dando) thank you and i hope you’re having a great day <3

Wait wait wait this is so. THIS IS SO VERY. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 oh my god. You have NO IDEA how much of an honor it is that not just you but also your girlfriend got into Dando because of something I wrote? I will CRY on YOU BOTH. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 thank you so so much for your kind words. I hope this (not so little) drabble is an adequate amount of a gift to express my gratitude for this ask 🥹🫶🩷

29 Dando “I never thought you could make such sweet noises.” - “Me neither…”

—•—

Between him and Daniel, Lando knows that there have been an entire orchestra's range of sounds that have left both their mouths.

He's well aware of his own high-pitched laughter when he loses control over his giggles; he's memorized the exact cadence of Daniel's loud guffaws. Hell, they're immortalized everywhere, including F1's official YouTube account where have compilations of pressers and "funniest moments."

He knows what they both sound like when they're happy, when they're angry, when they're gossiping under their breaths while some host prepares them for yet another one of those ridiculous drivers' entrances.

But Lando has absolutely no idea where the hell the sounds he just made came from. That is, the sounds that he makes when Daniel enters him for the very first time.

It should be mortifying. Daniel's so much more experienced at sleeping with men than he is, and by that, Lando means that Daniel is his first guy, and no amount of gay porn and heavy rutting and training his asshole with a metal butt plug could have prepared Lando for the overwhelming, full-body consumption that is feeling Daniel Ricciardo slide his dick into him and settle against his hips.

He's panting into Daniel's hair, his temple, his fingers clutched so tight against Daniel's deltoids that he wouldn't be surprised if he left finger-shaped bruises there later. It almost hurts, but it really only just skates the surface of it.

Everything else is a stretch, and he tries to see how he feels clenching around Daniel's girth, but that proves to be detrimental to Daniel's health, and subsequently, Lando's, too, because it makes Daniel's hips, which he was doing his best to hold in place while Lando adjusted to him, stutter and fuck into him like it's a reflex, and oh, oh fuck, that's good.

Lando honest-to-god mewls, his thighs spasming around Daniel's hips, his back arching, pleasure jolting electric through him better than any adrenaline rush from the lights going on out on the grid.

"M-move, Danny," is all Lando can manage before Daniel is pulling out halfway, and then slamming full force back into him.

Lando loses all sense of time, all sense of coherence. He learns, in such few, frantic minutes, the absolute batshit joy of having a hard cock pressing against his prostate, and Daniel learns the absolute batshit joy of anal with someone who has never done anal before.

Their kisses feel less like kisses and more like shared breathing, panting against each other's mouths while they make all the noise they want because Lando has thick walls and neither of them have a race to drive at for the next three weekends.

Lando is crying now, he can feel it, consumed by the push of Daniel's body into his, consumed with the need to take Daniel in completely, to not give him any more space than necessary to just come back and fuck into him. He catches snatches of Daniel's litany of words, dirty and desperate.

He calls Lando "baby" and that shouldn't feel nearly as good as it does, to be held like this, equally like a precious doll and a free-use whore.

Sweat falls from Daniel's forehead to Lando's lips and even that, Lando goes crazy for. Daniel's working up a sweat because of him. Daniel's losing control because of him. Daniel's going to come because of him.

Lando's hearing goes out when he feels Daniel's calloused hand wrap around his dick and jerk him off. He comes after a few strokes, and he feels the mess between them, feels the coolness that touches the skin of his back because his spine has curved concave against his mattress.

He wraps his legs around Daniel's waist and refuses to let him pull out, so Daniel braces himself over Lando with both his elbows on either side of Lando's head and pushes in hard, and finishes inside him.

The comedown is slow, syrupy in the summer afternoon. Daniel flops on top of him, breathless, panting.

“I never thought—" Daniel starts before cutting off to take a breath."—you could make such sweet noises.”

"Me neither…” Lando's tongue feels too large for his mouth. He might actually be dickmatized.

"Dickmatized?" Daniel laughs, sounding like he just ran a sprint but is too busy laughing to take a proper inhale.

"I wasn't supposed to say that out loud," Lando says, closing his eyes and shoving his hand in Daniel's face to shut him up.

"Baby, if that is what you always sound like in bed, I want you to say every single thought and make every single sound you wanna make, got it?"

Lando has to suppress his eye-roll at his ex-teammate, though "boyfriend" would be the more appropriate title.

His face is burning, though. He figures that's enough of a reply for Danny at the moment.

#dando #dr3 #ln4 #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #asks #moss.txt #f1 rpf #prompts #prompt fill #ns*w #smut prompts #my fic

51 notes · View notes

whaleofatjme1920 · 2 years ago

Note

How about a Scp 2030-1 (Laughy) x reader public s//e//x smut fic? I only found one lemon fic of him on wattpad so maybe you can give him a shot lol

A Good Show

[SCP 2030-1 X GN!Reader, AFAB]

[Warnings: general smut, creampie, biting/marking, Kinda public. MINORS DNI]

[AN: Sorry this is literally months late idk how to explain I’ve been up a wall. Anyways, here’s this. I don’t actually know what mood this is, and had a hell of a time even remembering what tense I’m writing in. my bad lol. 2212 words <;3]

It’s not everyday that you have a skip absolutely obsessed with you, but working for the Foundation has its merits. SCP 2030-1, also known as Laughy McLaugherson, had attached himself to you sometime last year. You had been working under someone, watching tapes, when he’d found himself captivated with your beauty. Though, through the late night visits where he would materialize through your laptop screen, your TV, at one point your shower where there were no electronics to be seen, he’d found himself helplessly infatuated with your mind too.

His obsession is dangerous, anyone could see that. You knew it, but still, here you remained. Laying on your bed, you flicked absentmindedly through channels you had no intention of actually watching. Your other hand pressed on your phone to check the time. Relatively pleased it was past midnight, you tapped the remote to the channel you knew would guarantee his.

His face wasn’t visible, but the rest of him was. He was animated as he explained the joy of coffee houses before his body paused. “Well, lookie here, folks,” he stated in his jovial, upbeat tone. “Seems we’re due for a commercial break! We’ll be back right after these short messages from our sponsors.”

You watched as his body language shifted before your TV displayed ads for products that couldn’t have existed in your current time. You squinted with a small scowl lining your lips. You wondered if he’d step through as dramatically as he usually did. You chuckled when the screen warped, suddenly holding the viscosity of warmed honey as he crawled through similar to the girl from the Ring.

“You have such a pretty laugh,” he noted as he stepped through in full, briefly fixing his tie and smoothing out his dark blue suit that almost hurt your eyes to actually gaze upon. All of this time with him slinking through your various devices and you still haven’t a clue what he looks like. You can feel that he’s smiling, but some part of his anomalous nature blocks your mind from perceiving his face. He’s got tanned skin, a light shade of brown, with dark brown hair that curls like the remnants of a gameshow host pulled from the 60s. But you don’t know the finer features of his face.

You could recall asking him about that when he first started appearing in your home. He told you he did it for your benefit.

“I’m glad you think so,” you finally replied.

He mirrored your chuckle and sat down on your bed. “I know so,” he said simply. “How are you?” He’s already gotten comfortable behind you. His long, lanky body curls around you warmly, a perfect fit to spoon you. He rubbed over your hips, your waist, and your chest before finally cupping there. His hand pressed against your chest, the pads of his fingers gingerly slipping over your nipples.

“I’m fine,” you hummed, clearly turned on by the physical touch. Your hips rolled against his subtly, or as subtly as you could manage. “What about you?”

“Eh,” he began. “Could be better.” He sounded so much more relaxed there in the space of your bedroom than when he would play host to his weird little show. “Did you want me to make some tea?” He asked as he rolled his hand down your stomach again to the hem of your shirt. He played your body like a violin, slowly coaxing your warmth without ever touching it as he moved his hand against your flesh from under your shirt. His fingers didn’t feel calloused at all, but not soft either. He works, but not in the way that shows.

You moaned softly at how easily you fell into his grasp. It isn’t the first time you’ve slept with him, but this is one of the faster times he’s managed to get you to bend to him. “No,” you answered as you bucked your hips back against him. You were nearly desperate to feel him. “You feel different,” you noted.

“Is it bad?”

You shook your head. “What’s gotten into you?”

His lips danced languidly over your neck as he continued to rub you in the right places. “You’ve never really responded to me like this before,” he mumbled. His teeth, just barely sharpened past what’s considered normal, nip at your soft skin. His hand left your nipples to fall between your legs. He let the waistband of your underwear dig into his wrist as his long fingers rolled against your lips, his thumb rubbing ghost-like circles along your clit.

You hummed once more. “You feel good,” you managed to wisp out. On the TV, you saw his show was back on. It was an empty stage, of course. He was in your room entertaining both of your combined desires. “Laughy-”

“Should we give them a show? A real show?” He inquired, voice dripping with lust and the desire to entertain. He felt you flutter even though he hadn’t pushed inside of you. On the TV, your heaving chest caged by his strong arms displayed lewdly. The audience made no sound, but he could feel they were entranced. He didn’t care whether they liked it or not, but chances are they were just as captivated in the good way as he was.

There it was. His cock, already semi-hardened, pressed against your ass. He growled playfully in your ear when you moaned once more upon the sensation of his index and middle fingers just barely dipping into your already weeping pussy.

He chuckles in that slightly condescending way that makes your heart pound. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He worked your body a little faster. His other hand wrapped around you, not caring of the somewhat awkward position as he groped at your chest again. He reveled in the pretty sounds that softly poured from your lips. “I’m going to fuck you,” he whispered in your ear before he bit down on your neck, his sharpened teeth leaving a bloomed mark on your smooth skin.

You nodded fervently. “Please,” you mewled. Usually, you’d let him take his time with you. He was the biggest fan of nestling between your legs and showing you his inhumanly long tongue and all it could do, but you wanted nothing more than for him to bury deep inside of you. The two of you shifted on the bed. You whined at how his warmth left from between your legs but you grinned when he positioned himself above you. The sound of his buckle clicking and sliding off made you press and rub your thighs together. You looked up at him hungrily, even if you couldn’t actually register his face.

He slid off your pants, your underwear, and chuckled once more upon seeing you hurriedly slid your top off as well. He puckered his lips together and you recognize the sounding whistle as that of a wolf, which garnered soft laughter from the audience. His head tipped back while your hands eagerly wrapped around his long, thick cock. He exhaled deeply while your fingers traced over his veins, working him up to that unbearable hardness. His hands spread your legs apart while he fell to his forearms and loomed heavily over you. “You okay?” He checked once more as his hardened cock pressed against your entrance.

“Yes,” you said as you angled your hips upwards. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as the tip of his cock slid up and down to coat itself in your arousal. “I want you to fuck me and for them to watch.” You watched with wide eyes as the head of his cock split you open. Your breath hitched as he disappeared inside of you, inch by inch. Your pussy fluttered. Instinctively, you reached your hands up to his biceps and dug in as hard as you could. You gripped his dark blue suit and let your eyes squeeze shut as he pushed in deeper.

“How long has it been since I last fucked you?” He asked through grit teeth. “You feel so good but I-goddamn it-!” The words were lost on his tongue as he bottomed out deep inside of you. He moved his equally blue eyes over to the TV where the audience could clearly see he was balls deep inside of you. Your pussy stretched to accommodate him, and he reveled in the sight. He pulled his hips back and let himself become absolutely mesmerized by how his cock dragged back before burying deep inside of you again. He groaned deeply upon feeling you grip him harder.

You cried out softly and wrapped your legs around his waist. “Oh gods,” you moaned. “Laughy please-” you pleaded wantonly, “don’t keep me waiting. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me-!”

Not one to disobey a request said oh so sweetly, he did as you asked. “Your wish is my command,” he smoothly granted. His hips snapped back and forth. He groaned deeply and let his lips fall back to your neck as he pressed hard against you. Thrust after thrust, he found himself absolutely lost in the pleasure of your body. “Keep moaning for me. I don’t give a damn who complains, I want them to know you feel so fucking good because of me.”

Your songs of pleasure grew louder and louder. A tight, warm coil in your belly grew hotter as his cock pressed you open. You panted like a bitch in heat. You suppose that’s how he made you feel. It was appropriate for the situation. Your legs locked so tightly around him refused to loosen as his thrusts grew erratic. You squeezed his cock tightly. “Cum inside of me.” Your mouth was speaking faster than your head could rationalize. “Please, cum inside of me. Fill me up.”

Something about your words spurred him on. He bit at your neck once more to leave those pretty marks your supervisors would positively detest as he grew rougher. He nudged your vision over to the TV to let you see exactly what he was doing to you. He was pounding into you at a dizzying pace. You were so wet that you’d soaked the bed and still had the potential to keep going. He grinned upon seeing your reaction. “You want me to cum inside of you?” He teasingly prodded.

“Yes,” you answered. “More than anything. Fill me up so much I can’t take anymore.” Your body craved him and needed him.

“Then cum on my cock first.” Cockily, he sharply rolled his hips forwards so the tip of his cock pressed against your cervix. In any other situation, it might’ve hurt but gods, part of his anomalous nature must have been suppressing all sensations even hinting to that. He pressed so thickly against you, the tight coil cracked under the pressure, snapped and rushed out from you in white hot pleasure.

Your pussy fluttered and squeezed around his cock as you arched your back and screamed. You didn’t mean to scream, at least not like that, but the pleasure was far too great to ignore. Tears welled in your eyes and clumped together in pearly beads before they rolled down your cheeks. You gripped him tightly as you rode out your orgasm all the while still begging him to unload everything he had deep inside of you.

He was never terribly loud when he came, but something about seeing his cock pressed deep inside of you, it made his heart spin. He groaned deeply as he rutted against you and stilled, his cock twitching as his balls rested flush against your ass. “Fuck you feel so good,” he rasped breathlessly as thick, sticky ropes of cum spurt against your cervix and filled you to the brim. He rolled his hips against you as if to fuck it deep inside of you. His lips pressed gingerly to your neck, even going so far as to flit across your jaw before his eyes caught the sight of the thick white liquid dripping out from your pussy and around his cock onto the bed. He laughed softly before pushing his hips forwards once more.

“Look at that,” he cooed as ons of his hands moved up to your lower abdomen and softly pushed down. “Some of it escaped.”

You looked up at him and felt more heat rise to your face. “Laughy,” you warned. Your tone may have conveyed some form of annoyance but he could recognize that hunger from miles away. “You don’t want me to give you another load?” He cocked his head to the side like a lost puppy. He started to move his hips back. “And I wanted my audience to see an x-ray view,” he trailed off.

You squeezed your legs around his waist once more to draw him in closer. Too embarrassed to say it outright, but craving him oh so badly, you pulled at his collar.

Laughy himself was surprised at the action. He suppressed a yelp before his lips met yours. And he laughed. Genuinely this time. “You have such an odd way of telling me what you want. Don’t they, folks?”

From the TV, a stereotypical chorus of ‘aw!’ filled the room followed by the manufactured wave of clapping.

#scp x reader #minors dni #scp 2030-1 x reader #scp 2030 x reader #x reader #reader insert #secure contain protect x reader #scp headcanons #scp smut

63 notes · View notes

david-powers-simp · 2 years ago

Text

What the lost boys would be like as fathers

What's good, my homies. This idea came to me and I knew I just had to write it so enjoy my peeps. I didn't proofread this either, so my apologies for any mistakes.

Also besties really quick before we get into the headcancons. I just want to thank all of you guys so much for all the likes and reblogs you've been giving me and all the sweet comments on my writing it means so much, so thank you guys 😭💖🩷

Now, I think it would be pretty interesting how the boys acquire their kids. I think it's possible the boys could get a human pregnant. But i also think the boys might would wait until their partner was a vampire before having kids. However, I have no clue how the child would grow. Would they grow normally? Would they grow rapidly? There are so many unanswered questions. So, for the sake of this fic, I am just going to say that the boys have children that grow at a relatively normal pace. Maybe a little faster than humans. But not drastically.

Marko

This man. This man right here would be such a fun dad. He would take his kids on so many adventures. Like he would go to the boardwalk and make it his mission to take his kids on every single ride so that they could have the absolute most fun possible he would also buy ~steal~ his kids anything they wanted. His little hell raiser happiness is a top priority. Yes, marko calls his kids his " little hell raiser." And yes, I've been saying kids plural because I feel marko would have more than just one little munchkin he'd have at least 3 kids. Now, I don't think he would have all his kids close together. There would definitely be a few years age gap in between. I think marko is a very fun dad and not very stern. Don't get me wrong, marko can be stern in certain situations. Like if one of his kids could've gotten serious hurt/did get serious hurt. Marko then would have to be a little stern and tell them that what they did was dangerous and not something they should be doing or should even do again. However if his kids started to cry because of his stern words hurting their feelings he'd immediately go into soft dad marko and apologized for making them upset and that he was only stern because he was scared and worried than probably offer to take his little bundle of joy out for ice cream. Also, an important note is that the age I see marko having kids between the ages of 3 - 5. So he would have a ball with all the stuff he'd get into with his babies. Piggyback rides are a must. Marko carries his kids almost everywhere. Even when him and the boys are going out, he even installs a little seat onto his motorcycle so his kid will have a place to sit and not fall off. Now, if marko had more than one little one at a time, he would have one of the other boys ~most likely dwayne~ hold onto his other munchkin.

Paul

Sweet Paul. He would be baby crazy. I see Paul having one, maybe two kids. Paul would be the dad that says yes to anything and everything. He'd be the fun dad but with no limits. That's where he's different from marko, marko also is the fun dad, but marko has boundaries. Paul, not so much. Don't get me wrong, Paul loves his babies so much, but the way Paul sees it, if they aren't going to die doing it, let them have fun. I do see Paul as a boy dad. Maybe even a boy and a girl. I think he would find his kids absolutely killer outfits for them to wear too so if he has a son hed def find and outfit for his son to match him and for his daughter he would also match her but this time hed probably put a bow in his own hair to match her. Bro, imagine how sweet paul would look with like a punk bow in his hair to match his daughter im crying. He would definitely be a cuddly dad. I can see him playing with his bundles of joy for hours before settling in for a cuddle pile with them. I think the age range for Paul's kids would be 7 - 9, so close to laddies' age. Paul definitely would show his kids his music so they can rock out together. Cartoons are a must for Paul. One day, he brought home a portable TV for the kids since the cave doesn't have electricity or power outlets, for that matter. And even since then, paul and his kiddos would be obsessed with cartoons. Everyone's favorite is definitely care bears. Paul may or may not have gotten obsessed with care bears, and he may or may not have a growing collection of stuffed care bears he's got for his kids. I could also see Paul as like a pop tart dad. He'd let his kids eat sugar if they wanted even for breakfast. Now, don't get me wrong, he'd make sure they eat healthy sometimes, but mostly, they could have whatever they wanted. Paul will 100% draw and color with his kids too. He'd spend hours with them, making different master pieces of artwork.

Dwayne

Ah, daddy dwayne. Look, dwayne is prepared to be a dad. He was born ready. I think being a parent comes so naturally to dwayne. Like the instant dwayne sees his child. boom. He's in dad mode and just knows exactly what to do. Like I'm talking, he knows when the baby is crying a certain way, dwayne knows exactly what his baby wants. I think dwayne's kids would be newborn - one year old idk I just think dwayne loves babies. He adores kids as well. But come on, I don't think any of us would complain about seeing dwayne be all soft and sweet for his little baby. Dwayne would probably have like 5 kids, so good luck. What can I say? Our man loves kids and loves sex so win win on his part. And I know im not the only one that thinks dwayne would be a girl dad. Hed make and amazing girl dad. He would cradle them so gently when they're little, but once they've gotten bigger, hed treat his daughters like absolute princesses. Hed pick them flowers, braid their hair, read to them, paint their nails. I believe in my soul that dwayne would take a scarf and wrap his kids to his chest when he's busy. This includes when he's riding his motorcycle, walking around the boardwalk just anytime, really when he needs both his hands, but his baby wants to be held. I think dwayne would be a pretty relaxed dad but very cautious. Hed make sure to keep a close eye on his kiddos so that'd they don't get hurt. He has lightning fast reflexes, too. He'd be able to see an accident waiting to happen miles away so you can be rest assured that the kids would always be in good hands with dwayne. He would be very responsible with his kids, making sure they are always safe, happy, and healthy.

David

Believe it or not, I think david really wants kids. I just think it would take a little time for him to admit it. David would be a sweet dad, just very worried and stressed, I think, at first. I see david having either one kid or four. There is no in between. He would thrive with kids ages one to two. Because for david those ages are the best because they can sit up, crawl, maybe even walk. Plus, the cute baby babbles. David would love that part. He'd definitely be over the moon his his baby started calling him "dada." He would love milestone. He'd love watching his sweet little one grow and succeed at things. I think david would either have a son or three boys and one girl. Now, with that being said. David would be very, very protective over his kids. Not a soul could speak a bad word about his precious angels, and if so, they'd end up being dead in a ditch somewhere. Simple as that. David would be stern but not overly stern. Like david would correct his kids but in a soft way. Like if his baby was trying to chew on his earring. Instead of getting frustrated or scolding his baby. David would simply pull out an antique silver teething ring he had on a chain underneath his shirt. And he would simply give it to his baby. I think david would also consistently carry his baby everywhere. Even if his little one can walk, he'd prefer to carry his baby so he knows that his son or daughter is safe. David would always be extremely alert when out with his bundle of joy. I think it would definitely take david a while before he let any of the boys watch his baby bat. Even though david does trust the boys, he believes his his baby is safest with him.

#the lost boys #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #the lost boys as dads #headcancons

28 notes · View notes

macabr3-barbi3 · 3 months ago

Text

New Love, New Skin (Chapter 5)

I realized I hadn't updated this fic since June and the brain worms finally decided to start earning their keep again!!! Just so y'all have an idea going forward- we've got 5 more chapters in this fic, which will land us just before the events in Heart Reset. Then we move on to 'Memory vs Time,' which will be from Kora's POV and give us a little more of her backstory and her side of things before we move past the events of the oneshot and onward💕 Thanks as always to my love @fraugwinskaFrauGwinska for her love and support (and the awesome banners she makes for me out of the goodness of her heart 😭) Also: you can see the playlist I made for this fic and series here!

Chapter 1 📺 Chapter 2 💛 Chapter 3 📺 Chapter 4 💛 Chapter 5 📺 Chapter 6 💛Chapter 7

January 1960

After this year’s extermination, Vincent made plans to take Kora somewhere nice. It’s not any sort of real anniversary- though he realizes he’ll have to figure out when exactly they had started officially dating, so he wouldn’t miss the real thing- but it had been officially two years since they had met, since she had rescued him from the streets and gotten him on his feet. She deserved to be treated, to see how those that looked down on them lived.

It would, hopefully, be a nice little sneak peak into the life that he wanted her to have- the life that they would have, if he could keep his head in the game like he planned. Vincent was making headway at the station, finally actually on the screen with Rich and Joy. Sure, it was as a meteorologist, and his lines every day were, “it’s hotter than Hell; watch out for that acid rain!” But it was something. It was progress. That was what mattered, and the slight pay bump he had received was fantastic as well. His savings were untouched, growing steadily at one of the least shady (and least robbed) banks in Hell; he wasn’t doing quite as well on the ‘one year’ plan he had set out on, but these things took time! And he was happy to take some time off to spend with Kora, to thank her, to show her how much she meant to him.

She was everything. The reason for his drive, why he worked so hard, why he wasn’t rotting away in a ditch somewhere with a still busted screen, instead getting to come home to this beautiful woman in their cozy apartment where he was happy and safe. He would do anything for her- a nice night out for dinner would just be a small token of his affection for her.

When Kora came home from Viv’s and spotted him still on the couch, her brow had creased with concern and she was immediately on him. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Can… can a television get sick?” She worries her lip between her teeth, running her hands along the sides of his screen. “Do you feet hot? I can’t tell.”

“I’m fine, Goldie,” he tells her, and takes her hand in his to press a kiss to her palm. “I asked for the night off to take you somewhere- if you’ll come with me, of course.” He flashes her his smile- his real one, soft and sweet, not the one that he used for the news that was wide and would make his face hurt if he had a real one. “Got a special evening planned for us.”

She eyes him in suspicion. “Really? You’ve been kind of tight on spending lately- not that there’s anything wrong with that!” She assures him, stepping closer to drape herself across his lap. “I just don’t want you to waste money on me-”

“It’s not a waste,” he immediately interrupts, and he can hear the click of her teeth with how fast her mouth closes. “Really, baby, it’s not. I wanted to treat you- you deserve it. And it’s been two years since you pulled me out of that scrapyard so, it’s kind of a special occasion, yeah?” He pulls her closer so her head is resting against his screen, the heat of her breath fogging the glass. “Let me do something nice for you tonight.” Forever, his mind corrects, but he doesn’t want to spring that on her so early into their relationship.

Kora smiles, the lines under her eyes crinkling as she does. “You’ve convinced me,” she says, pressing a kiss to his casing. “Where are we going? Somewhere nice?”

“Upper Ring, baby- I’m taking you to Dante’s.” It was one of the higher class places in the Pride Ring, where Overlords held meetings on neutral ground and the security was tight, and the chaos of Hell around them was left at the door- he had practically begged Rich to vouch for him when he made the reservation, needing personal references before he would even be allowed within a mile of the place, and Rich had done him one better by offering a reference for Kora as well.

She does an excited little dance in his lap, twisting to face him properly. “You really broke out the big guns, huh? I’ve been looking for an excuse to wear this dress Eris gave me- but you’re sure it’s okay to spend that much money on a date?”

“I had to pay to make the reservation, sweetheart; we’re not backing out now.” He pulls her closer, chest pressed to his and letting his tongue trail softly along her neck- she shivers in his arms, adjusting her seat in his lap to settle more comfortably against him. “We’ve got a little time before we have to get ready,” he murmurs against her throat. “How about you let me treat you a little more?” He runs his hands down her sides, slides one up into her hair to pull her into a kiss- when she nods her affirmative, he stands, wrapping her legs around his waist and carrying her to the bedroom, depositing her onto the bed where her hair fans golden across the sheets. She lifts her hips up, slowly shimmying her bottoms off, and reaches to twist a hand into his shirt.

Vincent wants to spoil her. They could fuck now, but this night was about her, what she meant to him, what he was becoming for her.

Her eyebrow quirks when he drops to his knees, rising up on her elbows to look down at him. She can’t even get a question out before he’s ducking his screen between her thighs, pulse pounding at the cry of his name as he circles his tongue around her clit and sucks. His cock throbs at the sweet sounds that she makes for him, but he ignores it in favor of holding her hips down with one hand and using the other to slide a couple fingers into her wet heat. Kora clings to his arm, her own claws scratching tiny marks into his skin as she’s overwhelmed by sensations while he fucks her on his fingers and tongue.

He keeps an eye on the clock, and keeps her on edge for a while- bringing her right to brink before easing off. She’s cussing above him when he finally pulls back and presses a kiss to her thigh, glaring down at him with glazed, teary eyes. “Keep in mind where your throat is,” she remarks, “because if you don’t make me come I’ll strangle you with my thighs, and the reservation won’t do us much good.”

“What a way to go,” he says with a dreamy sigh, leaning down to nip at her sensitive nerves- she jerks in his hold with a halfhearted pull at his hands. “But don’t you worry, baby, I’ll get you there.” And he’s back to the task at hand, careful of his claws as he crooks his fingers and sucks harder, wishing he had hair she could yank on as she came with a low whine and her fingers scrabbling at his casing. He cleans her up with his tongue, licks the remnants of her release from his fingers while holding her gaze, pleased when she finally flushes and looks away.

He makes a show of looking at the clock, like he hadn’t known exactly how long he had the whole time. “Look at that! Just enough time to get around, who could have guessed?” He stands, holding a hand out to his girl to help her up on her unsteady legs.

“Wait, let me-” She reaches for his zipper and he stops her, threading his fingers through hers. “Vin- let me do you, please?”

And it’s hard to tell her no when she makes that fucking face, but they had a schedule. If he let her get a hand or a mouth on him, it would be blown to shit. “Not yet,” he tells her, and lands a kiss on her forehead. “You can ravish me after dinner, okay? The cab is prepaid, we have to be out the door by nine thirty- and even though you’re perfect as is, I know you think you need time to get ready so I accounted for that.”

He can almost feel plastic melting inside his screen with the smile she gives him. “Maybe if I’m quick enough we’ll still have an extra minute,” she offers, squeezing his hand before she steps back and heads towards the bathroom.

Something Vincent was thankful for since coming to Hell was that ‘getting ready’ for him took a lot less time- without hair, the time it took to head out the door was cut in half. He had been horribly vain about it when he was alive, meticulously grooming it, going to the barber every other week to maintain the shape and length. And he missed it sometimes, but he couldn’t deny it made his life a little easier at times like this. He stepped into one of his news suits (borrowed from Rich until he could justify buying his own), laced his shoes up, and he was all set. He caught a glimpse of Kora in the bathroom mirror as he left the bedroom- she had some sort of shimmery shit on her eyelids and was lining her eyes with a dark pencil that looked like a torture device until she spotted him and stuck her tongue out as she worked. He rolled his eyes fondly and went to wait on the couch for her.

He wished he had a cigarette. He had taken up smoking at the station, stepping out when everyone else went out for a break and thinking it would be rude to decline when someone offered him one. He kept it social though, only lighting up when he was with his coworkers so that Kora wouldn’t find out about the habit. But after doing it for months the craving for one would hit him out of nowhere, when he was bored or waiting like he was now- even though he knew Kora would be worth waiting for.

Vincent had never been more correct in his life. When Kora stepped out of the bedroom she glowed; she was wrapped in fitted gold and silver, folds of fabric that reached outwards from the center like sun rays and looked stunning with the soft tan of her fur, the blonde of her hair. Thick straps came over her shoulders, a couple thin, golden chains dangling off her shoulder on either side, drawing attention to the soft curves of her. The makeup she wore was light and ethereal, her hair in soft curls pinned back with a little clip that had the sun on one end of it.

She crosses one foot behind the other, a simple gold heel that she rocks on nervously. “Do you think this is okay?” She asks, like she doesn’t look like a Goddess that had lost her way and ended up in Imp City by mistake. “I got it from Eris, it was a little too big for her- do you think it’s nice enough for Dante’s? I don’t think I have anything else that would work-”

“Kora.”

Even Vox is surprised by the roughness to his voice, and he clears his throat before he stands and approaches, gently crowding her against the wall with the bracket of his arms and brushing a piece of hair back from her face. “I need you to understand how beautiful you look right now,” he says seriously. “And I also need you to know that if the cab outside and the reservation weren’t already paid for, I would have you against this wall right now, Dante’s be damned.”

She flushes under his intense gaze, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You don’t have to go overboard, jeez,” she mutters, but her smile is still firmly in place as she ducks under his arm and escapes towards the door; he takes a deep breath, willing his body to get it together before he follows her into the dark outside their apartment.

Vincent fights to keep his hands off her on the drive to Dante’s, something that Kora enforces by sitting all the way across the seat from him. He’s just managed to pull her closer when the cab rolls to a stop and the driver hops out to open Kora’s door for her. He shoots the bug a glare- he was being the gentleman for Kora tonight, not some lowly chauffeur- but still takes Kora’s arm and leads her to the velvet rope in front of the restaurant.

There was no line because they didn’t allow walk-ins, the Hellhound bouncer at the front more for appearances than anything else, since everyone knew that you just didn’t mess with this place. He gives them a nod as they approach, the photos he had submitted with the references from Rich enough to verify their identities and let them into the establishment.

Kora’s gasp at the crystalline chandeliers that dangled above them was worth every penny that the night was going to cost him. The blue of her eyes fucking twinkled in the soft amber glow from the candles that reflected the lights, casting it across everyone else that dined in the building. She clung to his arm as they were lead to their booth, her smile warm and genuine and fucking perfect in it’s sincerity as he guided her into her seat. Immediately there was a waiter at their side offering them wine, which Kora gladly accepted a glass of and took a sip while casting her eyes around the room.

She looked at ease in the environment as they looked over the menu and ordered, and he wondered distantly if Gideon had ever taken her out like this; dressing Kora up when he couldn’t appreciate her beauty, just to keep up appearances for the people around them by showing off his ‘pretty wife.’ His eye twitches thinking about the bat that hadn’t deserved her, his mood easing when he reminded himself that it didn’t matter- once he had accomplished what he was setting out to do, they could be regulars here at Dante’s. He would spoil her to no end; she could primp and pamper herself on a weekly basis if she wanted to, he would take her anywhere she wanted. The power he would have once he got where he wanted to be at the station- next to Rich, in Joy’s place, or even front and center on his own- was inconsequential compared to the thought of having her beside him, taken care of, happy.

They ordered some fancy appetizer, something that Kora was resisting the urge to dig into with her fingers if the look on her eyes was any indication- thankfully she resisted, using her fork to spear the croquettes that were placed down, her eyes fluttering and a soft, pleased moan escaping her lips. “You’re sure this is Hell?” She asks him, stabbing another and holding her fork out to him to sample- he minds his teeth to avoid the screeching noise that he knows her ears are sensitive to as he takes it into his mouth, and yeah, people weren’t kidding when they said the food was good. “This tastes like heaven.”

“I’m sure you’d know all about that,” he says softly, trailing a claw down her arm, “considering you look like an angel tonight.”

The blush that takes her face over has perhaps a little to do with the wine, but it’s charming nonetheless. “You’re too sweet,” she says earnestly, and takes his hand across the table. “And you know how to show a girl a good time, because wow.” She gestures out across the restaurant, the other patrons that dined and laughed under the soft light, alongside the sweet music that played. “Come on, stop holding out on me- what’s the real occasion?”

They’re interrupted by the waiter coming over with their dinners, placing steaming plates piled high with food in front of them. He takes his time before he answers, taking a few bites of his meal- rich, decadent, everything he wanted from a meal, from life- while he thinks about the ‘occasion.’ He wants to sound genuine but not sappy, a thin line that he seemed to constantly balance on when it came to Kora. “I wanted to thank you,” he tells her, and she pats her mouth with her napkin so she can properly listen to Vincent. “It’s been two years now since that first extermination when you found me, and without you I would probably still be a pile of busted parts in the street. I probably wouldn’t have my job at the station without you helping me get back on my feet. I definitely wouldn’t be here, at a high end restaurant with a beautiful woman at my side that I can’t wait to ravage when we go home.” He releases his fork to slip his hand under the table and trace his fingers up her thigh, grin triumphant when she blushes before he backs off. “You just… you deserve so much more than Hell has to offer you- more than I have to offer you. I just wanted to show you that I’m thankful for you, and glad you’re in my afterlife- you’ve made it a hell of a lot better than it ever was up top.”

He thinks he catches the glint of tears in her eyes- fuck, fuck, had he said something wrong? Hurt her feelings somehow?- before she takes his screen in both hands and kisses him soundly. Perhaps not an appropriate display for a restaurant like this, but Vincent wasn’t going to complain right away when Kora was being so enthusiastic in her thanks. He does catch a couple whispers from nearby tables within eyeshot, so he eases her back into her seat and towards her meal. “Easy, doll,” he murmurs, and she chuckles while she brings a finger up to gently wipe the unshed tears away without smudging her makeup. “That wasn’t too much?”

“No,” she sniffs with a chuckle, “no, Vin, that was beautiful. Thank you.” She keeps one hand placed firmly in his even though it means she has to eat with her non-dominant hand, something that she manages to do rather well still. And throughout the meal she keeps releasing these soft, pleased noises- relishing in the taste of the food, the atmosphere, his presence beside her. Vincent wants her to make those sounds next to him forever; not even anything sexual, but auditory confirmation that she was here and she was happy with him.

She releases him for dessert, a decadent affair of chocolate and cream and sinful cake, and when he calls for the check she rests her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh, trailing her finger up and down his forearm and sending pleasant tingles across his skin. He pays the bill, ensuring that Kora doesn’t see how much the evening cost- it actually wasn’t as much as he had anticipated, but he knew she would still make a fuss about the number- and has the waiter call for their cab to come back. He escorts her outside, draping his suit jacket around her shoulders, and they stand there in the dim street lighting while they wait.

She huddles into his chest, her hands never ceasing in their movements as she slides them along his back, his casing, his waist. “I cannot wait,” he tells her earnestly, “to get you home and take this off of you.” He emphasizes his point by fingering the golden chains that hang over her shoulders, and she smiles brightly at him.

“If you really can’t wait, there was a bathroom inside,” she offers, probably only teasing, and she laughs when his face glitches as he seriously considers it.

“You deserve better than that,” he tells her earnestly, and cups her face in his hands to press his screen against her forehead. The wine he’s drunk has gone to his head, everything tingly and light and radiant when he looks at Kora. “You deserve better than all of this. You deserve Heaven.”

She looks away from him, hiding her face in his chest and fisting her hands in his shirt. “I love you,” she says softly, it feels like everything in his body simply freezes- biological and mechanical grinding to a halt at the words, the sincerity that she whispers them with. “You don’t- you don’t have to say it back, I know it’s early. I just want you to know.” She burrows further into him, so all he can see is the top of her head, the little sun pinned to it on the side. “After marrying Gideon and then ending up here I didn’t think that I would ever find that, this happiness that I have with you. So thank you.” She falls silent, her breath heated through his shirt as he processes what she’s said.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

It’s not the first time he’s heard the words from a woman before; when he was alive they were usually whispered late in the night between silk sheets from someone that he had taken out a few times, and he used it as the indicator that Vincent needed to end things before they got too serious. It was usually met with a laugh or a lewd joke, so he could play it off without hurting the girl’s feelings (or even acknowledging them).

They’ve never shot through his entire nervous system before, leaving him reeling at the revelation and struck speechless.

How did she continue to do this? To catch him off guard with her words and her actions, her goodness. First with taking him in in the first place, when she could have easily left him to die; announcing their relationship publicly before he had even fully defined it; and now this, shyly declaring her feelings for him after a beautiful night out, somehow confident and demure about it at the same time, refusing to take the words back even though she had buried her face in his shirt as she said it.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He’s saved from having to answer when the cab pulls up, that same bug driver leaping from the front seat to open Kora’s door for her. He guides her in gently, throwing a leg up onto the seat so he’s semi reclined, creating a flat surface for Kora to lay against on the drive back down towards Imp City. He runs his hands along her waist and she snuggles further into him, releasing soft breaths that tickle his neck when she exhales. She doesn’t fall asleep, but he thinks it’s a near thing, and he keeps her present with the hint of his claws through her dress as he trails them over her frame.

They head inside after he pays the driver, Kora’s arm looped through his, and he thinks he should say something as they climb the stairs, as Kora unlocks the door to let them into the cozy darkness of their home. But what to say? He couldn’t say it back- just thinking the words makes his throat burn unpleasantly, like he was going to cry if he forced them out, and what would she think of him then? But he doesn’t want to let them linger between them, unacknowledged, because what if she interpreted that as a rejection of her feelings? He’s distantly aware of her helping him remove his jacket, slipping her shoes off by the door, and it takes her saying his name a few times before he registers it and is pulled back to the moment.

“Vincent?”

He blinks hard and looks down at her, her eyebrows creased in concern like they had been when he came home. “Are you okay? Was the date more expensive than you were planning? I don’t have much as far as savings, but-”

“No! No, you don’t have to worry about that, Goldie. The date was perfect, you don’t need to pay me back for anything. And I’m fine, I just-”

“You’re thinking about what I said.” It’s a statement rather than a question, but just like usual for his girl, she doesn’t back down from his stare. “I’m sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable. But I’ve just.” She cuts herself off, bringing her arms up to fold across her chest, like she was protecting herself. “I’ve spent so much of my life and my afterlife letting emotions just bottle up inside of me and I don’t want to do that anymore. I won’t take it back, but I won’t say it again if you don’t want me to.”

“God, Kora,” he breathes, and he pulls her into his arms again like they had been on the street. He holds her tighter than he had been, enveloping her completely and mindful of the way she shivered in his embrace. “It’s not anything like that. You caught me off guard, yeah, but that’s not- I just can’t-”

“It’s okay.” Her arms come around his back as well, a complete link between the two of them. “You don’t have to say it back- and I won’t say it again.”

“Please do.” The words spill from his mouth before he can stop them, his arms tightening around her. “It’s- I’m not uncomfortable. I like it; I like hearing that you feel that way about me, that I haven’t irrevocably fucked all of this up somehow. I just have my own shit to sort out before I can- you know. Express feelings like a normal fucking person.”

He wants to say it. He just knows that her face would simply light up with joy at him saying that he loved her back, but something dark and ugly claws at his mind and prevents him from doing it- does he love her? Surely if he did the words would just come forth, not get stuck in his throat like bad bread, thick and cloying and making him feel like he was going to choke. It wouldn’t be so hard to tell her if he did; she had made it look so easy.

Kora pulls back, looks him in the face this time with a smile so soft it makes him ache. “I love you,” she tells him again, and something whirs inside his head at the sound. Hands on either side of his screen she pulls him down, kisses the words into his mouth. “Take me to bed now?”

Vincent is looking down at Kora, spread naked beneath his hands atop the sheets of the bed, and wondering how he got so lucky.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words rattle off the parts and components in his head, as he takes his time in kissing her from head to toe. She sighs contentedly as he works, his fingers gentle where they touch her as he moves down her body, his lips pressed to her collar, her wrists, her navel, her thighs. His head is still a little fuzzy from the wine but even with the excitement of the night, here he knows what he’s doing.

He lets his fingers part her folds, groaning at the slickness he finds waiting for him and relishing the sharp breath she takes in anticipation. He presses one into her, slow and deliberate the way she likes it best, before he adds another to crook against the sweet spot inside her that always makes her whine and tremble. Thumb pressed gently against her clit, he works her to a swift climax that leaves his fingers drenched, his name having never sounded better when torn from her mouth.

“Please,” Kora whines, and uses a gentle hand on his screen to try to guide him up towards her mouth. “Please, I need you.” Her hips rock against the bed, eyes glazed and needy while she looks down at him, and suddenly he can’t bear to have her gaze on him.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He guides her to flip over, her hips in the air and her head buried in her arms as he slowly sinks into her cunt, his breath catching at the way she shakes in his hold with his cock reaching so far inside her. Kora was so tight like this, her slick walls clenching and fluttering around him with such intensity he found it hard to focus on thrusting and not just staying buried as deep into her as he could get. He focuses on his breathing when he pulls out and slams back in so he doesn’t immediately finish, determined always to make sure she got there before he did. He keeps his pace steady and his thrusts hard, muffled sounds of pleasure escaping from Kora’s mouth to be lost in the pillows.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He leans forward presses his screen against her back, closing his eyes against the words while he fucks her, hands roaming over her body; pulling her harder into his hips, running his thumbs over the peaks of her nipples, spreading the wetness from where they’re connected to her clit to rub at the sensitive nub with care. She had come for him twice this evening already but he needed it again, the sweet clench of her on his cock when he brought her to the edge before he would allow himself to spill inside of her.

“Say it,” he murmurs against her skin as her volume increases, still stifled into the pillows- he fists his free hand in her hair and tugs back so she’s lifted from her auditory protection, her whines and cries now out in the open with nowhere to hide them. “Tell me again, Kora- please.”

“Fuck, Vin, love you- oh God, there…” She might have been crying, likely overstimulated by the two orgasms he had already wrung from her, but her hips still rocked back against him, chasing the promise of a third. Her tail moved jerkily, pressed between them as it was with little room to move with how close Vincent was holding her. “There, there, there,” she chants as he angles her hips ever so slightly, pulling back enough that he has the leverage he needs to ram the tip of his cock against the tender expanse of nerve endings inside of her.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Her voice is a tethering thread to keep him in the moment as their orgasms crash into them at the same time- Kora’s cunt ripples along his length as she comes, his name a keening cry from her lips while he fucks her through it, finally spending himself with a drawn out groan against the delicate heat of her back. The rhythmic clenching of her walls draws it out, as do her soft mumbles against the skin of his forearm when they both collapse forward, her lips sweet and gentle against him.

They stay like that for a moment, stuck in the position of their frantic coupling until Kora wiggles her hips beneath him- his cock twitches inside of her, making them both gasp. “Come on,” she whispers hoarsely, and he realizes he definitely is going to owe her some sort of honeyed tea after how loud he he had made her with pulling her hair like he had. “We can’t stay like this all night.”

He nips his teeth against the back of her neck and she shivers. “Why not? Seems optimal to me- when I get hard again we can start over, and then you only have to clean up once.” He doesn’t actually think he can go again. His nerves are shot, a slight tremor to his frame that he hopes she can’t pick up on with their positioning, and the alcohol has left his system. He no longer feels tingly or buzzed; he feels raw, exposed, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t familiar or comfortable with.

He pushes it aside in favor of gently pulling out, smoothing his hand down her flank and helping to flip her over again. Her hair was a disaster from being wrapped in his fist, tear streaks beneath her eyes from the stimulation, but she’s still a vision of beauty as she watches him with softened eyes and a sweet smile. She lifts her fingers up to trail them down his screen, down his arm, to tangle their fingers together and lift them to her mouth to kiss before she gets up from the bed to clean up.

When she comes back, she’s dressed in the ‘fuck’ t-shirt, the one she had let him borrow his first night, and his chest aches at the sight of it. She clambers back onto the bed, flops herself down on his chest with a giggle and a contented sigh. “You okay?” She asks, concern lacing her voice, and he kisses her before she can ask anything further.

“I’m great,” he whispers into her hair, despite the frantic kick of his heart inside his chest. “Tonight was perfect. You’re perfect.”

She hums happily and settles down, and it isn’t long before her breathing slows and her body goes limp against his. He extricates himself from her weight, making sure she’s comfortably settled in the bed before he goes to the bathroom.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Finally alone, he watches his reflection- there’s a tremor to the pixels on his screen, and his breath is coming in faster. He thinks he might be freaking out a little, bent over the sink and trying to breath as steadily as he can, the sound of it a harsh rasp to his auditory processors. And fuck, he knows this isn’t a normal reaction; Kora loved him. He should be fucking ecstatic, because that meant she wasn’t going anywhere and all the hard work he had been doing wasn’t a waste, that there was something he was working towards and doing it for her meant something.

But his dad’s voice creeps back in, like it had been since that conversation with Eris. Telling him that when someone loved you, you could disappoint them. You could hurt them. It wasn’t Kora’s confession that had rattled him- it was the idea that her feelings might inadvertently turn against her if he fucked up. And Vincent would never forgive himself for that.

He watches himself in the mirror and slowly, finally, he calms. He would just have to work harder, he reasoned- if he was perfect, made the right moves at the station and got where he wanted to be, Kora’s heart would be safe. He would be worthy of her then, and there would be no risk of hurting her.

And hopefully, he could repeat it back to her.

Chapter 1 📺 Chapter 2 💛 Chapter 3 📺 Chapter 4 💛 Chapter 5 📺 Chapter 6 💛Chapter 7

#goldenvision #vox x kora #vox x oc #hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #vox smut #vox hazbin hotel #vox fanfiction #ily frau <3

3 notes · View notes