#this is why you got divorced twice

[cardinal-baenitez]

Got a bunch of these lying around

[selamat-linting]

have you ever like, see your friend dating someone and you just knew they're not gonna make it?

[pedrospatch]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

word count: 11.5k

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

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

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

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

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

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

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

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

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods, returning to her board.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?”

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

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

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

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

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

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

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s really not that long.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here for your father.

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

You force back a small, amused snort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

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

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

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

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

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

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

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

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

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

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

“You became a teacher?”

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

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

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

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

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

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

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

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

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

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

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

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

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

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

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

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

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

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

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

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

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

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

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

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

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

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

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

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

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Joel—”

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

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

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

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

“Yeah, I’m good.”

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

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

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

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

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

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

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

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

“S’it pretty bad?”

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

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

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

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

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

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

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

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

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

“You feelin’ alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he does answer, because he does know.

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

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

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

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

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

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

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

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

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

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

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

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

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

“Joel.”

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

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

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

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

Frantically, you nod your head.

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

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

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

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

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

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

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

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

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

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

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

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

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re milliseconds away from release.

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

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

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

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

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

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

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

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

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

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

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

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

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

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

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

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

That’s all he needed to hear.

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

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

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me get the blanket—”

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

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

“But baby, you’re cold—”

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

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

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

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

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

“Do you, now?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d do that for me?”

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

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

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[suguann]

SAY YOU'RE MINE—GOJO SATORU.

✎.You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. | wc. 1.4k+

tags. fem!reader, age-gap, very shy reader, exhibitionism, reader wears glasses, a/b/o, 18+ only

masterlist

The big, awful truth nobody tells you about hosting your fortieth birthday is how the shine of the day wears off once you see your friends and acquaintances laughing with their loved ones, talking about their kids, showing off pictures of newborns swaddled in soft linens, and making plans for upcoming holidays. 

Gojo sips his drink, pretending to understand. He’s never given much thought to settling down, to take an omega as a mate and fill his big empty house with the sounds of pealing laughter and little feet racing down the many halls.

Forty years old, and he’s ready to admit that living the life of a bachelor doesn’t hold the same appeal as it once did. That returning from a two-week-long business trip might be better if there were somebody to go home to.

Forty years old.

Instead of cozying up in the living room with a family he longs to have, he’s going to spend the rest of his night picking up plates and champagne flutes after everyone leaves because he forgot to hire a cleaning company—all alone in his big empty house, wondering if his secretary remembered to pick up his dry-cleaning for the week.

An unmated Alpha—the reminder chafes as much as the fact he’s getting older.

He finally understands why his late aunt divorced and got married again twice in the same year, why people buy nice vacation homes on white sandy beaches that make the crow’s feet around their eyes worse, and spend too much money on sports cars even though they stay parked for three-fourths of the year. He gets it now.

It’s more or less an epiphany of a sad, pathetic truth that he swallows down with something cold and bitter.

In the middle of his backyard, standing between his neighbor and his pregnant wife, Gojo wishes he were anywhere else. Inviting everyone he knows within driving distance no longer seems like the well-thought idea he’d presumed it’d been.

He makes a few more rounds around the garden before sneaking inside, escaping another conversation about engagements and wedding dates to hide away in his study.

That’s until he sees you out of the corner of his eye, looking through the bookcases in his living room.

A pretty slip of a girl in your modest cocktail dress and wide-framed glasses slipping down the slope of your nose. An Omega, alone, just like him; your clean, sweet, floral scent sticking to the back of his throat like syrup until it settles in his stomach. Enough to make him dizzy.

You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. Not that it really matters because his back straightens, no longer wallowing in self-pity, and he studies you with interest.

After a few moments, you finally glance his way, only for you to hastily return your attention to the book you pulled down from the shelf. Cute.

Gojo adjusts the tie around his neck and feels his lips twitch.

“Sorry,” you say softly, long lashes fluttering against the top of your cheeks. “I didn’t mean—I was only—My friend invited me, and she—”

You are too busy working yourself up over an explanation that you don’t notice when he sidles up next to you and reads over your shoulder. "I have more in my office if you want to take a look.”

“E-excuse me?” You make this breathy, choked sound and peer up at him from under your lashes. This visibly timid type of girl who bashfully looks away at the sight of his smile. For some reason, that makes his mouth go dry—makes his teeth ache. 

It’s rare to be so driven by instinct and rarer to actually listen to that instinct.

“Books,” he says. “Do you want to see them?”

His words take a second to sink in, and he smiles when he sees liquid clarity in your eyes. You blink owlishly, scent spiking, pleased. He stands there patiently, finding how you start rambling endearing, a slight, private grin splitting across his face—silently amused.

He thinks you'd bolt if it weren’t for the fact that he’s probably standing much too close, trapping a mouse by the tail.

“I–I g-guess,” you finally stutter.

It’s too easy: You letting him usher you up the stairs toward his office. 

If Gojo were a better person, a less lonely Alpha—a better man—he might feel bad for how well it works.

It’s no small thing to work the tiny zipper at your back and watch your dress pool around your feet. He barely gets the top three buttons of his shirt undone before you are—delightfully, inexplicably—up on the tips of your toes, timidly pushing your hands through his hair, mewling into the hollow of his throat, close to where his gland sits.

By the time he has you pressed against his office window, you’re this flustered little mess with crooked glasses, fingers streaking the once pristine glass to keep your balance, and breasts sticky and wet with spit.

“Good girl,” he mutters, pulling back to look down at where he’s splitting you open. “Such a good little Omega for me, aren’t you?”

You don’t answer, and he crowds you closer to the window, grasping your chin and tugging your head up until you’re looking at him upside down. He squeezes your cheeks together, your pouty, supple lips pushed out, and kisses your mouth, tasting you—unimaginably sweet.

“Tell me—tell me what a good girl you are,” even though he knows you can’t with his fingers pressing into your cheeks, but you try anyway.

“U-uh but—people c-can see.” 

The base of his cock tingles as he catches a line of drool spilling from the corner of your lips. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, soothing, and you steadily melt against him when he slips that same finger underneath the elastic of your underwear, lightly nudging your clit with the tip of his finger until you’re shivering beautifully again.

“That’s it. Don’t worry about them,” he coaxes lightly, but it comes out muffled because he says it with his mouth wrapped around the gland at the base of your neck, teasing himself with something he’s never allowed himself to have. Not yet. “Just you and me, okay?”

Gojo doesn’t let up until your back arches and shoulders tighten, his knot caught inside your cunt until all he can do is grind the tip of his cock against that spot that makes you squirm and whine. 

He smiles to himself when you hide behind your hands after realizing you ruined his pants, and he carefully falls back into his office chair, pulling you with him so you’re both looking out across the garden, where his guests walk around wholly unaware of the breathtaking little Omega who made his birthday worthwhile.

“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he muses, taking great pleasure in the way you start stuttering again.

On his forty-first birthday, he doesn’t throw his own party but still hides in his office, his pretty wife in his lap, flustered because he never turned the lights off this time. If anyone happened to walk by on this side of the house, they’d be able to see everything—his omega, soft and swollen from a piece of him taking root inside you.

Families are about making traditions, he thinks, and he’d like to start a few traditions of his own; leaving his party to fuck his wife in the quiet of his office being one of them.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 30] Graduation

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Fluff

*THIS IS IT thank you all so much for reading, this truly has been a journey and I couldn't have done it without your support. love you all so much🫂❤️

**Too lazy to put all the smut warnings, it's nothing too extreme just some face sitting and whatnot :p

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Are you ready to go?” Satoru asks, walking into your room to find you sitting in front of the vanity. You’re finishing up your makeup, putting the lash touch on your lips. His heart skips a beat, and he could faint right at this moment. He’s the luckiest man alive. He still has to rush you, “You can’t be late to your own graduation.”

“Is Anzu ready?” You question, and Satoru hums in response. He walks over to the bed and takes a seat to watch you.

“What? Do you not think I’m responsible enough? I can handle a baby.” Satoru says, as if you didn’t find your daughter nearly chewing an extension cord yesterday because he took his eyes off her for a second. You’re taking an awfully long time to answer the question which makes Satoru scoff, “She’s ready and with your mom.”

“Good.” You answer, turning your attention back to yourself yet again. Which type of earrings will be best? Satoru got you some beautiful diamond earrings for this occasion but you’re not sure you want to wear them– You don’t want to show off to everybody that your fiancé is filthy rich.

“Why don’t you put on the ones I got you?” Satoru sees that you’re struggling to pick the earrings you’ll wear for the night, so he’ll make a suggestion. You ignore him though, and he can’t help but laugh. He stands up, “I’ll go check on Ren while you finish up then.”

“Yeah, make sure he showered.” You tell him, and Satoru hums in response. He walks out of the room, getting ready to deal with the nine-year-old even though the child only seems to listen to you. The man feels like neither of his kids really listen to him, but he guesses he deserves it.

You smile back at yourself in the mirror, elated with how things go. Accepting Satoru’s breakfast offer as a date made your life change– You’d argue for the better, though some people didn’t want you and Satoru to get back together. It took you a while to officially start dating, since Satoru was married; even though you knew his marriage wasn’t authentic, you didn’t want to interfere with any of the mess that was going on.

Satoru began the divorce process with Sayo not too long after asking you out. It was a mutual decision that they kept hidden for as long as they possibly could. Even after their divorce was finalized, they refused to share the news with Sayo’s parents. You understood completely, knowing that it was a bigger issue than what it seemed. You had Satoru all to yourself either way, you didn’t really care what a random pair of old people thought. 

The truth came to light eventually, when you got pregnant with your baby girl. It ended Sayo’s relationship with her parents, but time has passed and she’s much happier without them. It was around two years ago, when Ren kept begging for a baby brother, and Satoru convinced you that it would be a great idea. You wanted another baby so there wasn’t the need for too much convincing either way. Unluckily for Ren, Anzu ended up being a baby girl. 

If you were given the chance to go back in time and change something, you’d keep everything the same. Maybe you would’ve kicked Satoru’s groin once or twice, but you’d do it all again. For Ren, for Anzu. For Satoru as well, though you wouldn’t admit it outloud.

“Ren isn’t ready!” Satoru yells, and you can’t help but chuckle as you roll your eyes. Your sweet baby boy is slowly becoming disobedient, and it’s a bit frustrating. You knew it was going to happen eventually, it’s just hard to believe that your baby boy is slowly setting off on his own adventure.

“Ren! Come here!” You yell, and within a matter of seconds your son comes running into your room. He doesn’t listen to Satoru, but you? He’ll listen to almost everything you have to say.

“What’s up?” He asks, and you look him over. You shake your head disappointedly, seeing that he’s still wearing pajamas.

“Do you want to stay home? Mrs. Gojo is more than happy to babysit.” Even when the woman is about to become your mother-in-law, you refuse to call her anything other than Mrs. Gojo. She’s the grandmother of your two kids, but you refuse to acknowledge her in any other way.

You barely have a relationship with her, for many reasons. Main one is that Satoru doesn’t really want to associate himself with her, not after everything that went down with Ren. Frankly, the only reason he even speaks to her is because Ren adores her– Though you believe that his opinion about his grandma is slowly changing because Ren quickly shakes his head.

“We’re going to her home later anyway, you can stand behind.” You assure him, but he shakes his head before darting out of the room. You almost laugh before yelling, “Make sure you don’t stink!”

“There she is!” You hear Satoru yell, and you turn around to find him with your little family. Your one-year-old squeals at the sight of her mother, while Ren glares at the baby for stealing his spotlight. You walk over to them, taking your baby Anzu into your arms before leaning down to kiss Ren’s forehead. 

“Did you have fun there, Ren?” You ask him, and he shakes his head. He’s not going to have much fun watching a bunch of people that he doesn’t know walk across a stage. Satoru didn’t even give the child his phone. 

“Ignore him, he’s been whining all day long. Where’s my kiss?” Satoru quickly changes the topic and you roll your eyes before pecking his lips. He tries to hug you without squashing the baby, saying, “Congratulations, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You respond, pecking his lips once again. You notice a couple of missing people from your group, and you question, “Where’s my mom? And Sayo and Shoko? Their little guy?”

“Bathroom.” Ren answers, and you raise your brows. All of them? You can’t exactly blame them, the ceremony was a long one.

“How about we–” You begin but you notice that your little guy is pouty. You know the reason immediately, so you hand Satoru your baby girl and crouch down to bring the child into a hug. “Am I not getting congratulations from the person that I care about the most?”

“Anzu can’t talk yet.” He answers, which almost makes you laugh. Almost. He’s so jealous of his baby sister, which is kind of ironic considering he begged you to have a baby. His attitude certainly changed when he realized that the baby requires a lot of time and attention.

“Ren, you’re the apple of my eye.” You tell him, though the child refuses to listen. Cuddles are less frequent lately since you have a crying baby that needs you, and you barely play with him anymore. “Can mommy at least get a congratulations?”

“Congratulations, mom.” Ren responds, and you feel your heart melt. Even when he’s mad at you, he’s your cute little guy. You’re rubbing your cheek with his, being as affectionate as you can be with the little guy. Though he ends up pushing you away, telling you, “You’re doing too much.” 

“Jeez, what is it with you? One moment you’re all jealous and the next you’re saying I’m doing too much.” You chuckle, standing up. You take the baby from your fiancé, knowing that she still has a long way before she can tell you that you’re doing too much. 

“Can we leave before we bump into any traffic?” Satoru asks, reading the time on his watch. Not that he’s thrilled to go to his mother’s house, but he’d prefer to be there than sitting in traffic for hours on end. He sees your eyes wandering around for the rest of your group but before you get any ideas he reminds you, “You don’t want to sit in a car with a screaming one-year-old, do you?”

“Yeah… I guess we’ll just meet them at your mom’s place.” You answer, knowing that once your baby girl begins to cry, it’s hard to get her to stop. Good thing for you, she’s usually all smiles and giggles.

“She’s drooling.” Ren points at his sister, who’s making a mess on your gown. Ren then turns his attention to his dad, asking, “I wasn’t a messy baby like her, right?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Satoru mutters, and you glare at him.

“Let’s get going.”

The graduation party is for you, a way for Mrs. Gojo to congratulate you on finally finishing your bachelor’s. In reality, it’s a way for her to see her grandchildren. A way for her to spoil Ren and dote on Anzu. 

Things between the two of you go back to the way they were: she barely notices you and you don’t acknowledge her. You’re no longer relying on her in any way, and apart from asking about your kids, the woman won’t bother to contact you. She’s fine with the change of you becoming Satoru’s fiancée– And even if she was opposed to it, Satoru won’t listen to her. As a matter of fact, Satoru never calls her first.

You’re in the kitchen, preparing yourself a plate of food, watching as Mrs. Gojo holds your baby. It’s odd to watch her be so… Soft with someone. Sure, she enables Ren and is willing to do anything he wants, but Ren sets the tone. You’ve never watched her with a baby before.

“Who’s my pretty girl?” The woman is putting a baby voice for fuck’s sake, something she never did for her own son. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s just grandma now, she doesn’t have to worry about anything but her grandchildren. Anzu is giggling, so Mrs. Gojo is doing something right.

“I can’t believe that’s my mother.” Satoru approaches you, a little disgusted to watch his mother like this. He should be happy, but it’s a little weird to watch such a cold woman put on a baby voice and entertain a baby. “That is my mother, right? They didn’t change her after her facelift?”

“I’m right here, Satoru. Just because I’m holding a baby doesn’t mean that my ears have disappeared.” She quickly scolds her son, and you can’t help but laugh. “I didn’t get a facelift either.”

“Right, you just spent two months in South Korea touring.” Satoru retorts, grabbing a plate for himself. They begin to bicker, and as entertaining as it is to watch them, you leave them alone to sort out their own issues.

You walk to the living room to find Ren playing with Shoko and Sayo’s baby– Something that he won’t do with his own baby sister. You’re not sure if it’s because she’s not the baby brother that Ren wanted or if it’s because he’s not getting the same amount of attention as before. Sayo keeps a close eye on the child, not because she doesn’t trust him, but because she’s an overprotective mother. You sit beside him, excited to watch him play and be sweet with a baby, even if it isn’t your baby girl.

“He’s so sweet. Is he like this with Anzu?” Sayo asks, ruffling Ren’s hair as he plays peek-a-boo with the ten-month-old baby. You scoff, as if. Your reaction is the best answer that she needs, and she chuckles. She’s not sure if that’s normal behavior between siblings since she’s an only child.

“What do you mean you aren’t the sweetest older brother to Anzu? You were so excited to be a big brother.” Shoko points out, and Ren’s brows come together. He knows he can’t be mean to his auntie Shoko… So he simply glares at her.

“I don’t want to play with your baby anymore.” He responds. It’s his way of punishing Shoko for the question.

“Damn, can’t take any sort of criticism. You really don’t need a DNA test, that’s one hundred percent Satoru’s kid.” Shoko says, which earns a laugh from you.

“Babe…” Sayo says through gritted teeth, which makes Shoko roll her eyes. God forbid she points out one thing.

“He’s just a little jealous, but he loves his baby sister.” You tease him, pinching your baby boy’s cheek, and he puffs out a breath. Maybe he does like her a bit. Ren doesn’t defend himself, deciding that he’s just going to grab some food from your plate as a punishment. Though it isn’t exactly a punishment for you, you’re always happy to watch your baby eat. “Do you want me to make you a plate, honey?”

“I’m not hungry.” He mutters, crossing his arms. He stands up from his seat, and walks to the stairs, planning to go to the room that his grandma has for him. He might not have his parents undivided attention anymore, but at the very least he still has a room that’s full of games that’s just for him (as if he didn’t have one in your home either). 

“He really is Satoru’s kid…” Shoko comments when Ren is out of sight, and Sayo scolds her again.

“He is, he looks just like me.” Satoru pops into the living room unannounced, which catches Shoko off guard. He wasn’t supposed to hear that, since it’s a critique of his character but she doesn’t find a care to give. He comes back holding Anzu after nearly having to fight his mother to get her. He sits down next to you, reaching for some of the food on your plate. “But I’m guessing it wasn’t a compliment since it’s coming from you.”

“I can be nice, you know.” Shoko responds, and Satoru laughs as if a joke had just come from her lips. Nice… He’ll believe it when he sees it though. Satoru takes a bite of the food that he’s taken from your plate, and he grimaces.

“Did my mom cook or what? This is disgusting.” Satoru can’t even chew the food. Unluckily for him, he doesn’t have anywhere where he can spit the food so he’s forced to swallow. Anzu is screaming, little hand trying to reach for the food. Satoru covers her eyes, “Don’t even look there, my love. There’s no way I’m letting you eat that.”

“It’s not that bad.” You tell him, tasting the food yourself. 

“Well what is it? Am I getting a plate for myself or not?” Shoko asks, reaching over to grab some food from your plate as well. Suddenly your plate has become everyone’s plate; you’re used to it at home with Satoru and Ren, but now Shoko is on the list.

“I wouldn’t trust her with food, she’s always claiming she wants to eat the baby’s cheeks.” Satoru argues, and you click your tongue knowing damn well that he says the same thing.

“Anzu has the cutest, chubbiest cheeks, I understand.” Sayo chimes in before looking at her own baby and kissing his cheeks. Shoko takes a bite, keeping her face neutral as she chews the food. 

“It’s not that bad, Satoru. You’re just dramatic.” Shoko responds, and Satoru pouts. He brings some of the food to the baby’s lips– Even though he claimed he wasn’t going to let her taste, he needs someone to prove him right and that someone will be his one-year-old daughter that spits everything back up.

“Taste this, love.” Satoru says as Anzu bites into the food. Within moments it dribbles down her chin, and back into Satoru’s hand. He’s grossed out, but at least his point has been proven. “Anzu doesn’t like it so…”

“Are you trying to prove your point by using a baby that just stopped breastfeeding?” Shoko questions, and Satoru glares at her. She can’t help but chuckle, “Man, your son is just like you.”

“I’m going to talk to him since he appreciates me.” Satoru stands up, and begins to walk to the stairs, but your voice stops him. You call out his name, and he expects some sort of apology from you but instead you ask,

“Have you seen my mom?”

“She popped into the kitchen to talk to my mom.” He answers before leaving. You’re unphased by the response. The women that don’t get along in any other circumstance, sit together to talk about their grandchildren. They can be cordial with each other once every six months.

Though Satoru doesn’t pay much attention to them, his focus right now is on his baby boy that sits alone in the game room. Ren sits down on the floor, reading to himself. Satoru doesn’t want to interrupt the healthy habit, but at the same time he doesn’t want Ren to sit by himself during the party. He takes a moment to wash his hands before joining Ren.

“Why are you here, honey? We’re celebrating your mom downstairs.” Satoru sits down beside Ren on the floor, and he feels ten years older as he hears his bones crack. Ren barely looks up from his book, side-eyeing his sister, which makes Satoru want to roll his eyes. Isn’t he a little too old to be jealous of a baby? Matter of fact, he begged to be a big brother. “What is your issue with her? What has she done to you?”

“Nothin’.” Ren claims, his eyes landing on his book again. Satoru sighs, letting the baby on the floor so she can walk around and do as she pleases. She chooses to stay nearby, walking over to her brother to take the book that he has in his hands. “See.”

“Anzu, go over there. Chew on the power cords.” Satoru redirects her elsewhere, and the baby whines because she wants something else. “So she takes all your stuff, is that why you don’t like her? You have a lot, Ren.”

“Not just my stuff. Everyone likes her better. You, mom, granny, grammy, the nanny. I used to be everyone’s favorite but then the cute baby came along.” Ren confesses, and Satoru fights back the urge of pointing out that he called Anzu cute. It’s not about the baby right now, Satoru reminds himself.

“You’re still everyone’s favorite, Ren.” Satoru tells a little white lie– There are no favorites in the family, he loves both of his kids equally. But the baby can’t understand him, it’s why he told her to chew on a power cord. “Everyone is just excited about the new baby, it’s not that you’re not the favorite anymore.”

“Why does she get away with everything then?” Ren asks as if he didn’t know any better. He’ll act dumb simply because he’s jealous. He doesn’t ask why Sayo and Shoko’s baby gets away with everything, because Ren knows that it’s just a baby… He just doesn’t have the same feelings about Anzu.

“Well for one thing she goes potty in her pants so… She isn’t really conscious about her actions.” Satoru answers, and Ren puffs out a breath. Satoru got him there. “Anzu just needs a lot of attention because she’s–”

“Don’t do that!” Ren cuts off his father when he realizes that Anzu is doing what Satoru told her to do earlier. Ren takes the cord out of her hand, and she lets out a cry. He’s going to complain about her, but he loves her.

“She’ll grow on you.” Satoru says, standing up to grab his walking baby and get out of Ren’s hair. Ren doesn’t like the baby but he certainly loves her. “But come downstairs, Ren. We’re celebrating your mommy’s achievement. She was talking about hanging up her diploma next to your kindergarten diploma.”

“Can you tell them I don’t want to talk about Anzu?” Ren asks, and Satoru hums in response. Satoru extends his hand for Ren to take, and the child takes it without an issue before both head back downstairs to spend time with you.

“What are you doing here?” Satoru approaches you as you sit on the ground outside, in his mother’s garden. You’re hiding from everyone. After hours of talking to people inside, you need a break from the small group.

“Need a minute.” You answer, and Satoru decides to sit down next to you. The kids are fine with their grandmothers, he can take a moment alone with you and properly congratulate you. He throws his arm over your shoulder and brings you close to him. “We should’ve just gone out to eat at a restaurant and called it a day. I don’t have the energy to be so social.”

“I got you a trip to Bora Bora. You just have to power through these last couple of hours… We can get Anzu to throw a fit and make it a few minutes.” He responds and you chuckle. You rest your head on his shoulder and shut your eyes for a moment. Being social shouldn’t be so draining.

“Can we leave the kids with granny?” You ask him, and he hums in response. He had no plans on taking them; he loves them, but they sure know how to ruin a vacation. 

Your gaze falls on his face, looking into the blue eyes you fell in love with so long ago. Even though it was an eternity ago, he still makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t let you stare for too long before he steals a kiss from you.

“If you stare for too long you might find me ugly.” Satoru tells you and you roll your eyes. If you don’t find him ugly first thing in the morning then you’re definitely not finding him ugly now.

“Are you saying that because–” You begin but the man cuts you off before you can finish your question. He knows you, he knows that you’ll start a petty fight with a dumb question.

“Because I love you so much, and I think I’m not good enough for you– I know I’m not good enough for you, you’re perfect.” Satoru responds, making you grin from ear to ear. He isn’t exactly wrong, he’s lucky that you considered getting back together with him at all.

“I love you too even though you’re…” You bite your tongue before you insult him. He raises a brow and before he can question anything, your lips land on his. His cheeks begin to turn pink when you peck his lips over and over again, feeling like a teenager all over again.

You stare into his eyes when you stop, watching the sparkle in them as he looks back at you. He’s utterly in love with you, and the feeling only gets more intense as time passes. He caresses your face with the back of his hand ever so lovingly. You get lost in his loving eyes until your eyes shift to the flowers behind him.

“Oh my–” You gasp, your eyes widening as you realize. “This is where you used to pick flowers for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” Satoru laughs, turning to pick a lily for you. It’s been years since he’s been in this place. Maybe he should come here more often. “A flower for my flower.”

“Cheesy.” You take it from his hands, wanting to roll your eyes because of his comment– But your face is getting hot. Even when he’s cheesy your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“Yeah, cheesy is what got me two kids.” He retorts. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Gojo?”

“Calling me Mrs. Gojo is going to make you single.” You warn him, and he fights back on laughing. “Don’t make me divorce you before getting married.”

“What? Are you going to Suguru for a rebound again?” Satoru questions, making you glare at him. Maybe he should just listen and agree, not everything needs a response from him. “I’m just joking, baby. He has a girlfriend now and whatnot.”

“You better stick to your day job, you have no future as a comedian.” You say, standing up from the ground to go back inside, and of course, Satoru follows like a lost puppy. He’s simply lost without you.

You love spending time with your kids, you love them more than anything– But you’re not going to pass up on the opportunity of a sleepover. Having them off your hands for the night is a blessing sometimes. You simply want to celebrate with your fiancé in a way that your kids make difficult.

“I’ll run you a bath.” Satoru tells you, running to go upstairs to get to the bathroom before you. Running you a bath that he’ll end up joining, that’s not too bad. It’s a nice way to end the night, that you know for sure.

You give him a moment to set everything up, pulling out your phone to answer a couple of messages of people congratulating you for finishing your degree. What’s next? You’re not too sure. But whatever you decide it’s fine. You have Satoru and your kids by your side no matter what. The money also helps.

Right now, you know you want to relax in a bathtub full of bubbles. Maybe have Satoru right next to you. You’ve been looking into the future for the past ten years, for once you just want to sit back and appreciate the moment. 

“Are you coming?!” You hear Satoru as you walk up the stairs. He’s so impatient, he can’t even wait a minute. You won’t hurry up to please him, as a matter of fact, you walk slower. Satoru is tapping his foot on the floor when you finally get to the bedroom.

“Finally.” He says, walking over to you to zip down the zipper that holds your dress together. He’s desperate to get you naked. You’re chuckling, reminding him,

“No need for you to be in a rush, we have all night.” But it goes in one ear and out the other. Before you know it, he turns you around, his lips landing on yours. His kiss is full of desire, needing to feel your every touch on his skin. He’s burning up to feel you.

“Fuck, I want you so fucking bad.” He pulls away from the kiss as the dress drops to the ground. He picks you up from the floor and puts you down on the bed, smirking at the black lingerie that will soon be removed. “So perfect for me, love.”

“Fuck me, Satoru.” You tell him, voice seductive that can get him to drop to his knees in an instant. The bath that’s filled up and with bubbles is long forgotten by both of you. He takes off his shirt and pants, leaving his briefs. Your eyes stare at the tent that makes him ever so uncomfortable. You sit up on the bed, your fingers going directly to the erection.

Your index finger goes underneath the band of his underwear, eyes looking up at him as you pull his briefs down. Your eyes quickly avert to his cock, wrapping around the base of it. You slowly move your hand from base to tip as pre-cum leaks from the tip. Your tongue licks it up, circling around it as the man bites down on his lip.

Your mouth wraps around all it can take, bobbing your head slowly. You take what your mouth can handle. He can’t complain because it’s just perfect. Everything you do in Satoru’s eyes is perfect. The pace is slow, but it gradually gets faster. 

You look up at him to find him biting his lip, his eyes shut. You take his cock out of your mouth, and begin to run your hand up and down his shaft, your saliva serving as a lubricant. He finally opens his eyes to look down at you, but his teeth remain on his bottom lip.

“I want to hear you.” You say, a rather demanding tone in your voice. He stops biting down on his lip, and your hand continues to jerk him off for a couple of seconds before your mouth wraps around his cock again.

He’s groaning at your every move, which is like music to your ears. You look up at him to find him looking back down at you. He knows you’re more than satisfied with him, with how he sounds. It’s nice to be as loud as he wants to be, without worrying about someone barging in.

You try to take his whole length in your mouth, making you gag. Tears quickly form in your eyes as you remove your mouth from his cock, and try again. He throws his head back, breathy moans escaping his lips at your every move. 

You take your mouth off his cock and begin to jerk him off. Your mouth goes to his balls and you begin to suck on them. Satoru got louder and louder by the second, his release approaching. 

Your mouth goes back to his cock while your hands begin to play with his balls. It doesn’t take too long for his cum to hit the back of your throat. Your mouth remains on his cock for a couple of seconds before pulling away. You make sure to swallow all the cum, sticking your tongue out for him to see and proudly admire.

“My good girl.” He praises you. He reaches behind to unhook your bra and slide it off you. Once it’s off, he desperately tries to take off your panties. It’s unexpected when he gets on the bed and lays down. You crawl to where he is, positioning yourself on top of him. You get ready to ride him, but it takes you by surprise when your fiancé says, “Sit on my face.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, though it’s not unusual from Satoru.

“Just come here and sit.” He responds. You do what he wants, but you are hesitant to fully sit down. He’s the one who pushes you down onto him. His tongue is quick to wander around your cunt.

His tongue begins to flick your clit over and over again, making low moans leave your lips. His arms go over your thighs, pushing you down further. You’d be worried about him breathing, if you weren’t too focused on how his tongue moves around your pussy.

“Toru!” You moan. Your moans serve as encouragement, and are a sweet reward for the man, moving his tongue faster. His tongue stops flicking your clit, and moves down to your hole. He teases you, threatening to enter but never really doing it. 

“Baby please.” You beg. His tongue finally enters your cunt. You shut your eyes, getting lost in the feeling. But out of the two of you, Satoru is enjoying it more. He finally takes his tongue out and goes back to your clit. 

He begins to suck on your clit, and you swear you see stars as your orgasm builds up. Your hips raise a bit, but he pushes you back down. You get louder and louder. “I’m gonna- fuck- gonna cum-”

You moan loudly as you reach your climax, his tongue still working wonders. A minute later he stops, and you get off him, sitting down on his torso. He raises himself a bit, not completely to sit up but enough to wrap his hand around your throat and pull you into a lewd kiss.

“Should we continue in the bath?” Satoru asks when he pulls away and you can’t nod your head more frantically. You get off the bed and practically run to the bath. Satoru gets in the bathtub first, and you follow behind.

“You’re so lucky.” You point out as your back presses against his chest. He’s never doubted it. He peppers your neck with kisses, while you align his cock with your entrance. You lower yourself on his cock.

“How about another baby?” Satoru asks, making you click your tongue while you begin to move.

“Leave me alone” You reply, and he wants to chuckle but he’s biting down his lip as he feels your pussy wrap around him. He loves your mouth but it can’t compare to this. 

He’s kissing your back, showing you how much he loves you in every possible way as you move up and down his cock. His hand moves down to play with your clit, making you shut your eyes. Every little touch is enough to make you insane lately and Satoru loves to touch you.

“You’re so perfect around me, baby.” Satoru whispers into your ear before nibbling on your earlobe. 

You’re softly moaning his name, your walls tightening around him. You’re so close to finishing. You’ve been so touch deprived lately since your schedules make spending time with each other impossible– Maybe now you’ll have more time to spend with each other.

“Fuck–” You curse as you finish on his cock. You hold to the edge of the bathtub as Satoru continues to move in and out of you. 

He’s not going to last long. It’s too hard for him to contain himself when he’s inside of you. He comes to a complete stop when he finally reaches his release, finishing inside of you. He remains buried inside of you as you pant to catch your breaths, but after a minute you lift yourself and take his cock out of you.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Satoru asks, hands caressing your arms as your head goes to his chest.

“Just sleep.” You answer as Satoru kisses the top of your head. He squeezes your hand before bringing it up to his lips to press a subtle kiss on it. “I need to get some rest.”

“Sleep sounds nice.” Satoru responds. You’re getting comfortable in the bathtub as your eyes begin to get heavy. You’re tired. Satoru notices and he splashes you, “Don’t fall asleep in the bathtub, love.”

“Just carry me to the bed.” You reply, making him roll his eyes playfully. He can, but if you don’t drag him out he’ll stay in the water and get all pruny. He’s warm by your side, too comfortable to leave. This is the reality he wanted ten years ago, and he finally has it. He’s not leaving this comfort no matter what gets in the way.

You’ll be the one to get up first and drag him out, that’s how it usually is in the morning. But you’re falling asleep. He doesn’t want to disturb you either. So he’ll just stay in the bathtub. 

“Don’t let me get all pruny, Satoru. Carry me out.” You warn him, and he hums in response. He’ll have to eventually because you’ll end up killing him if you wake up in ten hours, and you’re still in the bathroom.

“You know Ren is going to call later to say goodnight?” He points out, but you don’t care to talk about it. You’re sleepy. He kisses the top of your head when he’s met with silence. He mutters softly to not disturb your peace, 

“I love you. Goodnight, baby.”

[zarnzarn]

i see all these comments talking about this after the new episode, but. i would like to state for the record that stolitz isn't. toxic.

first off, the concept of a toxic and a healthy relationship are such... vague terms. when you're online, drenched in language and tight moral boundaries, trying to put a nuanced story like helluva boss's into boxes is easy to attempt and impossible to do.

a toxic relationship is one where one or both parties is maliciously affecting the other. I'm talking fetid, nasty, rude interactions where there is more hurt than love. they're unhappy more often than not when they're with their partner, there's no respect or give from the other side.

stolitz is nothing like that.

Stolas actively cares about Blitz and actually has no fear or hesitation in ADMITTING IT OUT LOUD TO OZZIE. he has been calling, texting, commenting, laughing and finding ways to spend time with Blitz. he's throwing everything he has to the wind, finding the courage to move forward with the divorce, putting everything he has into trying to keep him. he's been alone in a palace since he was born, on medication, with such less people dear to him that he remembered the circus boy who spent a day with him DECADES ago- so when blitz comes into his life and brings back in laughter and color and sex, he's holding on with everything he's got.

and blitz does care!!! he cares a LOT, the whole series we see him falling in love with stolas through SHOW NOT TELL (his expressions, his choices, his fear, his lashing out) and utterly unable to process that stolas cares about him too when talking to fizz; almost a desperate kind of denial-

cause yknow. the first time he tried to confess something to someone he really liked, he accidentally killed half the people he knew and ruined the lives of the rest?

thats gonna leave just a teensy impact on the will to express your emotions in the future, methinks.

even before that, he clearly felt like on some level that he was unworthy and he's said twice that he despises himself for the accident even though it wasn't actually his fault. being self aware doesn't stop the emotions from emotioning.

he keeps insisting its only sex so urgently to anyone who doesn't ask because he can't even imagine it being anything else. he's both disappointed and relieved when he repeats that stolas sees him as a novelty, because what else can it be?

(there's a whole other spiel of how brave both Stolas and Blitz have to be to say it out loud even when asmodeus can't afford to, considering how publically and completely beaten down both were at the club.)

(there's also another whole spiel about how frustrating it has been for ME to see all these comments over time with such bad takes based on like,, 20 min worth of info of a show that takes months to release an ep. like godDAMN have some patience?? let the story UNFOLD MAYBE? IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE AN EXPLANATION WHY WOULD YOU CRITICIZE THINGS THAT ARENT EVEN FINISHED ESPECIALLY AN INDIE ANIMATION- i digress)

mind you, this has NOTHING to do with abuse. an abusive relationship is one where one is actively harming the other with full awareness. Stella is an abuser and their marriage is abusive.

and stolitz isn't that; it isn't even unhealthy or toxic. it's a consensual, transactional fuckbuddy relationship that slid into something more for both of them.

but!!!!! one of the main reasons for the problems that everyone looks over is-

they're in a BDSM relationship.

I can't possibly delve into dynamics without making this a 10k research paper BUT even though we've gotten only hints and costumes and dialogue- they're very clearly and undeniably in a BDSM contract. Behind the scenes of this crazy show is a whole different story, of these two delving into the most hardcore kinks out there- knifeplay, painplay, bondage.

if you've gotten into the community, if you've read a couple dozen particularly good fics by authors who know what they're talking about, hell; even if your only experience is fifty shades or 365 or whatever- you gotta know that BDSM scenes are crazy fucking emotionally heavy. there's so much that has gone down between them during their full moons that helluva can't get into!!

but you know how in so many of these popular medias and fics, the dom in the relationship is also like,, the billionaire/mafia heir/prince, etc, the one with financial and physical power? this isnt that. it has been very clearly stated that stolas is subbing, blitz is domming.

now take a moment and think about how much that fucks up the dynamics.

in stolas' eyes, blitz is a confident, dangerous individual who's an old friend and cherished memory of his, who he's trusted wholly with his safety during sex and he's lucky to have; and he has been in an abusive arranged marriage for the past eighteen Years, he's probably not going to be pushing his luck with his dom that much in the first place. plus, blitz is never cowed by him during their conversations- think back to the first phone call right after he stole the book, completely unafraid.

and for blitz, it's someone trusting him again- but it's also a royal- a blue blood who's nearly untouchable and so much more powerful- who couldn't possibly like a piece of shit like him, apart from the sex he gets out of it. he only flirts once he gets some sort of cue from Stolas; he's desperately trying to view this as only a Goetia trying to get his rocks off, despite all the evidence to the contrary, because anything else is unfathomable to him, no matter how clearly Stolas shows it, because of the ptsd.

both of them thinks the other has the power. both of them aren't expecting the other to keep shut if something's bothering them.

and there's so much conflicting messages from the other too!

stolas calls him a plaything when trying to intimidate the humans; stolas cups his face gently and asks if he's alright

blitz asks him on a date and tells him to get better soon; blitz yells that it's only sex and doesn't reply to his messages

ya see?

bring it to fizzozzie for a second now; even though they do look all good on surface, you can still see fizz's trauma and doubt in all their interactions, they're still forced to keep the relationship secret. do you see his face when Ozzie says in hyperbole that he's never leaving the house again, or when someone accuses him of being a pampered house pet or when he got sexualized in the 7th ep? whatever happened in the interim between the accident with mammon, it fucked him UP. even though oz seems to be well aware of this when he tells him not to apologise and in their general interactions, fizz still visibly has trouble separating plaything/commodity from healthy relationship.

shout the fuck out to Ozzie btw, man knows whats UP. rooting for these two so much omg.

i forgot where I was going with this point, I'll edit it when i remember. but yeah! lovely fucking relationship, but damn what angst filled issues.

anyway, to sum up- stolitz is not a toxic relationship. the relationship is stuck sludging through misunderstandings and careless microaggressions and trauma responses, but it's not unhealthy or toxic because of the simple reason that most of the current hurt comes from... a misunderstanding. stolas didn't realise blitz would need reassurance about what they were and blitz didn't see stolas as someone who could get hurt.

unecessarily calling it toxic, even online, is more impactful than people think too. almost all spindlehorse ARE on all social medias; so MANY YouTube animators i know have found jobs there; they see your words, especially since a lot don't tag posts with "anti hb" correctly to keep them out of the main tag. there are Very few queer medias made BY queer people that haven't gone through heavy corporate revisions- helluva boss is practically a historical landmark in its success. it's very very very fucking easy to forget that not ten years ago some of the only queer videos on YouTube were butter lover (one kiss at the end post credits), dirty paws and welcome to hell (subtext).

the amount of "critical talk" helluva boss gets for what it is is very unprecedented. it's a beautiful show. can't wait for the next episode.

[smutoperator]

can you write ex gf minju? minju and you broke up cuz of college and you meet again years later but she has a family now but she cheats on her new husband with you.

Blast From The Past

Kim Minju x Male Reader

Tags: big dick worship, boss chair blowjob, cheating, college sweetheart, creampie, cum licking, (lots of) facefucking, future, home office, housewife, long time no see, mating press, milfju, multiple orgasms, passionate sex, pregnancy

Word count: 3918

April 29th, 2041

Twenty years ago, Minju endured her most heartbroken day of her life. Her group had just disbanded, and you decided to break up with her to focus on your college graduation. As the years passed, Minju transitioned from her days as an idol and actress and is now a 40-year-old housewife working from home in the real estate market.

Minju has got into a business marriage. Her husband is sterile but wanted kids, so she found other guys to inseminate her twice. At this point, this is basically ten times Korea's fertility rate, so her 4-member family really stands out from her co-workers, who are all single.

Today, Minju was lonely. Her husband was on a work trip abroad. She then suddenly remembered her former college sweetheart.

"Could you come to my house?" Minju texted you. You two had met a few times since breaking up, but she never allowed such intimacy, especially as a married woman. Something must have changed then, but you accepted her invitation anyway.

You arrived at Minju's house just as she was starting to work. Minju welcomed you with open arms, feeling even lonelier as she had just dropped her kids off at school. "Sit here; I'm not feeling that well today," she said, pointing to her work desk. "What happened?" you asked. "My husband is away, and I feel so done with my marriage that I think I need a divorce," she continued. "And do you want to talk about this with me?" you asked. "Maybe," she replied.

Minju turned off the computer and went to the kitchen to pick up something to eat. But she couldn't help but look at you sitting at her workplace. Some burning feelings from the past were starting to creep back into her mind. You looked so handsome to her. So much so that she made an impulsive move.

"I need a break," Minju knelt under her desk and started carressing the area around your pants. You thought this was a little weird, but flashes of your college days came up immediately. You didn't say anything. It's her house; she can do what she wants. You'll just follow this beautiful noona, just like you did when she was just turning 20.

Minju knew you always had some love left for her. She could notice your erection bulging and wanted to see it after so many years, licking it while still clothed and then unveiling it. She was amazed; you truly hadn't changed down there in 20 years. That cock was throbbing and was bigger than the whole radius of her face. Still with her workplace outfit on, Minju dove onto your tip, licking it like a baby who discovers a long-missing toy. She really wanted to make up for the lost time, admiring that length and enjoying every second of it. It was so beautiful. Better, it was so big.

Minju licked your shaft from top to bottom and put it in her mouth, hitting her tongue with your tip. You really liked how submissive she was to your cock. Her angelic face always hides the fact that she can get slutty in a snap, and the way she worshipped your member was incredible. You tuck her hair out to get a better view of her beautiful face as she sloppily works on that shaft, twisting and sucking it full of lust and spitting on it like she's sucking a lollipop. She keeps going for five straight minutes. No noises except her naughty tongue, giving that cock the work it deserves.

"Come here after lunch, but instead of my mouth, you'll be inside my pussy," Minju says. "Ok, but why after lunch and not now?" you ask. "I need to solve some problems first." Before she moves further, she needs to free herself from this boring housewife life. "I'm calling it quits," she tells her coworkers at their online meeting. Her divorce papers will be ready for her husband when he arrives. A new Minju is about to be unleashed. Well, an old Minju.

A few hours later, you return to Minju's house. This time, she greets you wearing the lingerie she had under her office attire in the morning. "Take your clothes off, and let's go straight to bed," she says. Passionate kisses follow; this is already much better than the boring sex her husband has been giving her for over a decade. Minju pushes you into her bed and resumes the blowjob she had started that morning.

"You're still so big after all these years," Minju praises your length and makes sure to work the whole extension of it, even pouring lube for an easier slide into her soft little hands. "I fucking love this huge cock," she tells you.

"What made you decide to get back in touch with me?" you ask just as she takes a little break from filling her mouth full of cock. "Eunbi and Yeji were really noticing how unhappy I was, but it's all gone with you back in my life," she says, moving towards swallowing your balls, and you let out a groan.

Minju was really happy that she listened to her friends counseling. Your cock was double the size of her husband and very responsive to her stimulation, growing bigger as she kept working her magic on it. "I don't know how it's even going to fit inside me; my pussy hasn't taken a cock this big in, I guess, 20 years," she says. She might be concerned about showing her age, but to you, she is just as beautiful as she was two decades ago.

"I want you to fuck my face; I gotta test if I can take it," Minju tells you with a smile. You are over the moon, seizing the opportunity to use her beautiful, sexy, and warm mouth as a training ground before you get in her pussy. You give her no relief whatsoever, treating Minju like the slut she is and plowing her mouth upwards as you love to see her beautiful face full of cock.

Minju coughs and gags all over your cock. The truth is, all those years made her lose some of her deepthroating skills. Despite trying the hardest to engulf your hard boner, she can only take it halfway in. But she keeps trying, letting you push her head further down it. Your enormous girth barely fits in her mouth, turning her face into a mess as you make it red.

Your cock is full of Minju's saliva. Doubts arise in her mind about whether she can still take it. All those years with a vanilla husband might never bring back the young foxy queen Minju of the past. She can barely take half of it without gagging.

"That's so fucking hot," she says. "Do it again," Minju says, showing she won't give up and that a little extra training can bring her old self back. She closes her eyes and loosens herself up as more and more of your length goes down her throat, until she finally manages to deepthroat that anaconda for the first time in a long while.

"You still got it," you say, praising her. In the end, Minju is still the most beautiful woman on the planet to you, and she's even prettier when she's getting her face filled with your cock. You caress her pretty face as she sticks her tongue out to lick your cock. Slutty Minju has always been the best Minju, and you love how she slowly unleashes it and brings back memories of better days.

Minju throats your sword two-thirds of the way in now; get more accustomed to it. You know there is nothing this beautiful girl can't do and that she'll be taking it to the fullest soon. "Perfect, you're taking it so well," you tell her, diving your cock deeper into her throat, which makes her gag. 

"Maybe I'm ready to have it in my pussy," Minju says. "I want it so bad inside me; feel every inch stretching out my little pussy," she continues. You want it too; you love when she talks in a slutty way like this. 

Minju takes off the top of her lingerie, showing off her perky tits. She lies on her bed and spreads her legs as you kiss her little pink pussy that you haven't worshipped in a long time, before slowly eating her folds as she releases some cute moans. "You like licking that fucking pussy, baby?" she asks as she spreads her entrance for you to hit it deeper with your tongue.

"Keep going, baby; oh my god, lick my clit, I love it," Minju says as you take it in your mouth. "That tongue feels so good," she continues as you spit inside her and dive your head fully into her pussy. "Keep it there," she demands, getting her right leg up in the air. "You really like to worship my pussy, don't you?" she says. 

Minju grinds her breedable hips into your face as she enjoys your tongue; you get her really warm. "I want you to fuck me so bad; I want that big dick right inside my pussy," she begs with her beautiful smile. Soon, your face gets replaced by a long pole teasing her entrace.

You can feel that after all those years, Minju is still tight. "Nice and slow," she says as you rub your shaft into her entrance before teasing her into inserting just the tip. "Oh, Fuck, I love how you tease me," she says, as you shortly move straight into action and fuck her passionately in missionary.

Minju enjoys how your long length stretches her pussy. "Stretch it good," she says as you get deeper. Your cock slides with ease as you kiss her; her needy hole truly needed it. You go faster. "Don't stop," Minju says, "You're gonna make me cum already," she says, making you pick up the pace and choke her as she closes her eyes and you groan loudly.

"Fuck, I'm cumming, ah, shit." Minju has a fairly easy orgasm after a short few minutes. She really missed a long cock stretching her out; her pussy gets tighter and pinches your cock, but you remain strong, committed to stretching her cunt at all costs, as she softly curses and moans while kissing you in between. 

You lick Minju's neck as you give her a hard missionary pounding that sends her to the heavens. The way you wrap your body around hers makes her feel so loved, and the way your cock works hard in her pussy is so enjoyable to her. 

Your balls slap into Minju's clit as her right leg gets fully lifted and you press her back against the bed. Her orgasms continue as your cock gives her what she's been missing for nearly two decades. Minju just lets you dominate her and work as you please with her little breedable body.

"You're so fucking deep in me," Minju moans and laughs as you move to a mating press, her legs now all up in the air. Her pussy feels so good and warm the more you plow her. She's never felt that much pleasure since you left her. Minju starts regretting all those years you two were far apart, as your passionate pounding keeps giving her orgasm after orgasm.

Minju kisses you, thanking you for all the pleasure you are giving her as she goes back to worshipping your huge cock and tasting all her juices from it. She then rewards you with her wet pussy right in your face as she gets on top of you for a 69. You wrap your hands around her little waist, and you two compete to see who pleases the other the most. But Minju clearly has the edge. You can't match the way she massages your balls and gets you on the edge of unloading in her warm, cock-filled throat.

Truth be told, all Minju wants now is to be a sleeve for your massive cock. She gets on all fours as you spank her pale cheeks, her enticing pussy ready for more. "Ohhh shit," she moans as you insert just the tip, feeling very needy for that long dick. You grab the garters on her waist that are tied to her sexy black stockings as she swings her breedable hips to take more of that shaft inside her. Minju bounces on all fours as you spank her cute butt, tease her with slow pumps inside, and rub your tip on her beautiful wet entrance.

Slowly, you get your cock deep inside Minju; her pussy is wet but tightens fairly easily, giving you a huge challenge to stretch it out. "I love that cock stretching my tiny little pussy," she says. "Shit, you're so fucking tight after all those years," you tell her, barely able to get halfway inside as her pink hole clenches hard on every inch of that cock.

You have to take your cock out multiple times not to cum, her pussy gaping at each time. You then pump Minju faster, making her asshole wink at each thurst. "Fuck spank me like a slut," she begs as you increase the pace. Minju starts to regret not staying with you; she could have done that for years already, being the perfect toy for a massive cock that would stretch her out every single day.

Minju's little tits jiggle as she closes her eyes and explodes in louder and louder moans. "Don't stop," she demands, grabbing your hand as you wrap it around her waist. She's so slim and pretty—the perfect princess turned into the ultimate slutty fuck toy. "Take that cock," you tell her as you spank her further. "GOD, FUCK!" she yells. The line that introduced her to the world was about making it red, but now she's the one for whom you're turning the body red.

More spanks succeed in Minju's pale booty. And the more she takes them, the more she enjoys them. She's so overwhelmed she can't even stay on her knees anymore, cumming again as she gets pinned to the bed and turns your submissive doggy fuck into an even more submissive prone-boning of her pussy. You're now just her big bull manhandling her pink fleshlight, her torso and tummy hitting the bedsheets harder at each thrust you give her, her cheeks clapping as you put all your weight pressured against her hot body. 20 or 40 years old, Minju is still the same, perfect from head to toe.

"OH MY GOD, YOU'RE SO FUCKING DEEP." Minju screams as your cock fulyl bulges under her belly and shapes her pussy from her entrance to her cervix, molding it like it's your own work of art. You could cum right now, and that would be enough on its own. But you want more; you want Minju to feel every inch of your cock every day for the rest of her life. She'll be yours, one inch at a time.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" Minju turns into a screaming mess as you pound her harder and harder. Her ass is fully up against your hips as you destroy Minju like a fuckdoll. She may have had doubts at first, but even at this age, she can still take it. "Oh my god, I'm cumming again." These words make you craze as you pin her even harder against the bedsheets and choke her, making her pussy clench and unleashing a powerful orgasm that almost makes you finish right after.

You slow down and kiss Minju, getting completely on top of her, making her hot body into your property. Slow and deep, all the way in, you make Minju moan softly while stimulating her neck with kisses, her face now redder than a tomato. She could die right there, drowned by pleasure, and it would be a happy ending for her.

You set Minju free, and she immediately bends over to crown your cock, taking it deep in her mouth as she enjoys tasting herself, smiling and moaning. She then lays down, giving you a perfect view of her red cheeks as your member slides up and down her mouth. You caress her soft cheeks as her blowjob drives you to the edge—two lovebirds who feel like they couldn't have got a better comeback than this. 

Minju keeps kissing your dick. "Fuck, I can't believe this thing fits all inside of me," she says. "It felt so good inside of my pussy," she continues, with more kisses. You can't resist her warm mouth wrapped all over your massive monster, pushing up as you go back to fuck her face nonstop, treating her mouth the same way you just did to her pussy. "Fuck my face and bulge under my tiny little throat," Minju demands as soon as she gags, and you do it just as she asks.

After some rough throat pounding, you go back to your romantic ways, sliding back inside Minju in a passionate spooning position and kissing her as your cock hotly slides slowly in and out of her pussy. You caress her nipples as she demands that you go deeper. "Stretch my pussy all the way in,"  she says, fingering her clit to the pace of your thrusts while you hold the little string around her waist. 

"Fuck, you're stretching me out so good," she says. "You're getting so fucking deep AHHHHH," she continues as your balls start smashing against her entrance. 10 throbbing inches, and Minju is taking all of them, just like at your college dorms when your friends went out. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

"God, it's gonna make me cum again, yessss," Minju moans as she closes her eyes and releases yet another flow of juices into your massive monster, the orgasms her sterile husband could never give to her. Meanwhile,  today she's basically lost count of how many times she creamed herself on that cock. "I'm gonna cum all over that fucking cock, AHHHHH," Minju screams as you choke her, making her unleash it even quicker as you push your cock deep inside her with all your might.

Minju is still out of breath as you move slower to allow her to enjoy her orgams. "Keep stretching that pussy up," she says as she grabs her little tits. "I love feeling every single inch of you," she continues. "Make me your little fucking bitch; make me submit to all your desires," Minju keeps going, more satisfied than ever at each time you penetrate deep inside her pussy. "Harder, harder," she says as you clap your balls on her clit nonstop and make her scream even further as you groan and have yet another close call.

"Keep fucking me until I die, or until you cum," Minju says shortly after she gives you the most torrid round of kisses. "Let me sit on that fucking cock," she says, starting her ride slowly to adjust to that massive length impaling her. You wrap your hands around her waist and push her body down with your massive prick. Minju starts to move faster, getting better acclimated to that huge cock. "Stretch me out," she says as you push up her pussy and take control before resuming the ride.

"Spank my ass like a slut," she says as her bounces get harder to resist; each spanking makes her ultra-tight pussy clench. You can't resist and start manhandling her once again while slapping her hard, loving the way she moans.

Minju pulls out for a bit and gets on her feet on the side of the bed. You follow as you two kiss each other, feeling like this could be your last time together. She massages your cock, and you kiss her neck. "I missed you so much, my lover, especially your big cock stretching me out so well," she tells you. "But I'm still missing one last thing," she says. "Nobody has ever fucked me like you," she continues.

Minju then jumps on your cock, committing to make you drain her balls inside her. She's not going to stop until you do. Her ride gets crazier. You have flashbacks of her 20-year-old energetic self, which she brings back just for this moment. "Wanna cum inside me so fucking bad?" she asks. "I want you to fucking fill me up," she continues. "I'm ready to feel every fucking drop inside of my pussy; please shoot your load inside me," she keeps begging.

Not only did you shoot it, but the load that you had been saving for 20 years spurted out of your cock like a geyser, filling Minju's tight pussy to the brim, so much so that lots of it spilled into your navel. Your cock was throbbing so hard for her that it kept pulsating for 10 long seconds after you shot your cum inside her. Minju, not wanting to miss any drops, licks your cum-covered tummy with her mouth, swallowing what leaked out of her cunt. If this was your last time together, it was surely worth it.

"My God, you fuck me so good; you're incredible." Minju praised you and gave you more kisses, feeling loved in a way she hadn't felt for a long time. "Marry me, let's do this for the rest of our lives," she said, giving a final kiss on your cock.

But you two couldn't even enjoy it for much, as Minju's husband, arriving earlier, announced himself in the house. You, still naked, had to hide yourself in Minju's closet as you listened to both of them talking.

"Why are you almost naked in lingerie, Minju?" Her husband asked. "Nothing," she said, "just wanted to try some things I haven't done in a while.". "I saw you want to file for divorce; what are you hiding from me, Minju?" he continues. "Well, our marriage stalled out; honestly, keep the kids to yourself. You wanted them so much, but I had to find other guys because you're sterile," Minju continues, increasing her tone.

The arguing continues as you remain trapped in the closet. Her husband leaves and goes, taking "his" kids back from school. Minju cries as you try to consolate her and keep her calm. You had made her feel loved for the first time in years. "I hope this isn't the last time we see each other," she says, carrying you out of her house before her husband returns.

A few months passed by. Minju and her husband get into a divorce settlement. But she never called you after that night. You wondered if she had gotten back to her risk-averse ways and just wanted to play it safe. Until you receive a call.

"Hello," Minju says. Your eyes get bright instantly upon hearing her voice. "I have some news," she continued. "I'm pregnant," she tells you. "I want to move away from my home; would you follow me?" she asks. "Sure, anywhere you go, I'll follow you down," you tell her.

Last call: flight from Seoul to Prague. The aiport sound system announces. Minju gives one last hug to her longtime best friends, Eunbi and Yeji. "I'll stay in touch," she tells them. You two are ready to depart and start a new life. Meanwhile, the baby bump on Minju's belly is more noticeable than ever.

What was supposed to be the end was just a new start.

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

Shorter fic this time, busier week here. But on the 3rd year of my ult group's disbandment anniversary, I decided to drop this fic, which ends in the same way I feel about them today: Iz*one's end was just a new start, and its legacy has been enhanced by what happened after, as many of the most successful groups of the generation came from them.

PS: hopefully we see more of Minju this year. 🦊

[americankimchi]

Do you have any tips for writing Obi Wan or any meta in mind with his characterizarion?

hmmm sure why not! i'll give a few tips on how i'd write obi-wan. mind you this is how i interpret the character, so ymmv.

i truly do not like it when fics have obi-wan voluntarily leaving the order. like it's so out-of-character for me in my head that the premise of the story + the writing would have to work triple-time to get me to stick around. now if he's been removed from it by an EXTERNAL SOURCE (not the order. i cannot stress this enough: the jedi kicking obi-wan out is so jarring to me i'll leave the fic in an instant) or somehow unable to return to the order for whatever reason, all is well.

not a prodigy, but a genius. obi-wan is an incredibly intelligent person with an absolutely staggering knowledge base in a wide variety of topics, but all that knowledge was earned through blood, sweat, tears, and time. he sat down with his game face on and put in the work. that's also why he makes an excellent teacher: he knows what most students will struggle with because he struggled too, and knows through experience how best to overcome them. i headcanon that it contributes to why he's such a good negotiator: he's really good at stripping down information to the essentials and communicating that information effectively and efficiently to others because of his intense study habits.

humble, but not ignorant of his skills. it's pretty impossible to fully divorce yourself from pride in your achievements, and i don't think it's healthy to not feel any pride at all, so i think obi-wan has a very clear understanding of his skillset and how best to use it. i don't think he'd be ignorant of how good he is at something, especially since the direct consequence of his aptitude led him to being a member of the jedi council. pretty hard to be blind to your strengths when you're being asked for your input on topics that directly draw from that knowledge.

averse to healthcare. listen i enjoy obi-wan whump just as much as the next obi-wan stan (the desire to put him in the cosmic salad spinner comes with the territory, i fear) but as a character who grew up in an environment that deeply cares for the well-being of all, and knowing that you cannot help others unless you yourself first have the ability to do so, i can't really see him ignoring injuries outside of combat scenarios. like on the battlefield he's got more pressing concerns than a pesky little shrapnel wound or five, but once the battle's over?? he might not be first in line to the medics but i can't see him avoiding them entirely. an army without a general is working at a sharp disadvantage and i don't think he'd risk his men by neglecting his physical health in that manner. note that i said 'physical'. make of that what you will :)

duty. obi-wan is the definition of a paladin. he takes an oath and by the force he's going to keep it. train the boy? absolutely, qui-gon. whether or not anakin chooses to respect that training is another matter, but he did definitively get knighted! refuse to kill anakin? listen he's handed vader his own ass to him twice post order 66 and each time he did it he did it nonlethally. that takes skill. that takes dedication. exile yourself to tatooine for 19 years and then decide fuck it, we ball, and die after Once Again Deciding Not To Kill Anakin Skywalker? step aside casper, there's a new friendly ghost in town. every time obi-wan commits to something the man COMMITS. you GOTTA respect that grind.

flirty but in the sense that he's going to match the energy someone brings to the table. like he's a negotiator. he knows how to read people and figure out the Vibes. if he thinks the other person will be 1) 100% receptive and 2) will respond with a delightful wit, why the hell not? obi-wan's highest stat is charisma and he's got expertise in persuasion. whether they're allies or not does not factor into this equation. he can have a little flirtation with morally dubious and potentially hostile characters. as a treat.

this has nothing to do with his character but i firmly believe that he and quinlan vos had at LEAST a fling when they were padawans. there is zero evidence to back this up aside from a few comics where they were being goofy teenagers together but i stand by this. it is an unshakeable aspect of obi-wan to me that has only gotten worse with the kenobi show.

no matter what, no matter how terrible or devastating or downright apocalyptic it gets, obi-wan kenobi will never fall to the dark side. never. it won't be easy, but that is a line he has never, and will never cross. i will not hear any "obi-wan touched the dark side during the theed generator fight" slander. if that was true tell me why the force theme was playing during his moment of triumph!!! Would John Williams Lie To Us Like That?? to our face?????

anyways i could go on forever about obi-wan because he is My Ultimate Blorbo but this post is getting super long so i'll leave it there. hope this helped even a little or at the very least was entertaining for you to read <3

[echoes-of-hee]

— Hundred Broken Hearts LHS

PAIRING ; heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE ;  enemies to lovers (one sided), angst warning ahead, fluff

SUMMARY ; If there is one constant in Y/n's life, it would be the hate she harbours for most men. Things worsened when her younger sister, Lia, kept on falling for the wrong guys.

wc; 5k for now

notes. exam is almost finished and I need to write something to release my stress asap.

Reply or send an ask to be added to the taglist !!

                   PROLOGUE BELOW

THROUGHOUT Y/n's twenty-one years of living, she had never once dated. Not once.

She did have crushes on guys and had even involved herself with a few situationships before, but it was nothing serious. To her, getting a boyfriend-a real one was a different ball altogether.

She had always viewed being in a relationship with men as "3C: creepy, claustrophobic and cringy!" for as long as she could remember. That was how y/n had always described it. Interacting or maintaining close relationships with the opposite sex was already too much for her, let alone having a real boyfriend. y/n could already picture how stressful it would be.

Sure, she talked and made a few connections here and there with guys she deemed tolerable, but that was simply the base of it: connections. They drifted apart, and she'd ring them once or twice to ask them particular questions and recommendations for the best university in town and what courses they'd recommend to major in. Everything was just for the sake of getting diverse and objective opinions.

Truth be told, y/n could care less about their mouly misogynistic opinions. she'd never forgotten their flustered faces and the changes in their voices every time she told them she was planning to apply for a Computer Science bachelor's degree at Whitsburg University, one of the top universities in Cardiff.

But for someone who has never been genuinely in love, that's a very courageous thing to say the '3C principle in general. Well, not so much if you're from Kim's household.

Growing up, she and her younger sister, Lia, had witnessed their supposed-to-be-loving mother and father fight through their teenage years. Until they got divorced (with the cons of having to eat together with her father and the new wife twice a month) to maintain the non-existent perfect father-and- daughter relationship.

The absurdity of it appalled y/n so much that she once questioned her mom. Still, after being scrambled out of the house, y/n learned the hard way never to defy her mom's orders anymore, as ludicrous as it seemed.

That's how you get a glimpse of why y/n would do this despite never dating anyone else. The only man who had ever broken her heart was her father.

That is until she stumbled upon a handsome and cute psychology major hottie who kept hitting on her after almost hooking up at karina's party.

[cobaltperun]

Darkest Part (3) - Remedy

Astrid Deetz x female Reader

Summary: You will never, in life or afterlife, if such a thing exists, meet anyone as infuriating, rage inducing, entitled, or frankly awful, as Astrid fucking Deetz. There isn’t a single thing you’d like more than to never be around her, but as your luck would have it, you just can’t stay away from her.

Masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next part

Word count: 5.2k

-Dance with the enemy-

He was dead. Her grandfather, the only person that was even a slightly bit normal in her entire family, was gone, yet she showed almost no emotions other than something that could be described as ‘bummer’. Sure, she felt sorrow and pain, it would be disturbing if she didn’t, but it was all beneath the rage, beneath the lack of understanding and support. And all of that was beneath the feeling of betrayal she felt whenever she was reminded of her mother's ridiculous bullshit powers.

Once upon a time you called her a typical teen angry at the world, you ended it at that, but Astrid knew you left out a big part. A spoiled brat given everything on a silver platter, that's what she got from your words, that's how she interpreted them, and it pissed her off. You had the guts to act like you knew anything about her.

That wasn't who she was.

If she could say so herself, she wasn't spoiled, and she was well aware off all the luxuries and privileges she had. There was just so much anger within her, so much anger at the family that didn't understand her that didn't try to connect with her. The same family that refused to believe that no matter how she was raised, no matter how much money she had, no matter how easy her life was or how difficult it could have been, that she would have turned out the same way she was now. That she would have the love for nature, and the desire to protect the planet. That she would see beyond just herself and her generation. That everything her father taught and passed down to her was the core of who she was. That those ideals would drive her no matter how she grew up and the only person that understood that about her was long gone and the mother that apparently could see and talk to ghosts could not see him.

So, yes, Astrid really was angry, but not at the world as you said it. Just at her family.

Deep down perhaps once or twice she may have thought that she appeared to be too cold and distant on the outside. The divorce of her parents followed by the loss of her father, and the distance between her and her mother and all the therapy she was forced to go to made her closed off and defensive, and she simply couldn’t deny it. Why should she show what she felt when there was no one trying to understand her? What was the point of showing weakness when it could easily be exploited, like what happened with her mother when Rory met her. “Let's just get this over with,” she said, annoyed and angry that her mother manipulated the principle into making her leave the school when there was something important to her going on.

“Astrid!” her mother called after her she was already on her way to the car.

She could see Rory and someone else in the car; and while that annoyed her because she didn’t want to spend the time with her mother’s boyfriend, she guessed there were worse things that could happen to her. For example, being in the car with you. That would make this day even worse. “Save your breath,” she didn't have the patience to listen to her mother right now, instead she just opened the doors to get in the back seat with Delia and there you were.

Her absolute worst nightmare just turned into reality.

Someone kill her.

She should have just turned around right then and there. She should have said to hell with going to the funeral or she should have found another way to get there. Maybe by an airplane, or by bus, or anything really, as long as she didn't have to spend hours upon hours with you right next to her because of course Delia wasn't going to sit between you.

“Why is this pinnacle of human ignorance here?!” Astrid demanded angrily, looking both at her mother and grandmother with unmatched fury. How could they do this to her? They both knew how much she hated you!

“Good to see you too, Chihuahua,” and there it was, your infuriating voice addressing her with that ridiculous nickname that had no basis in reality that you refused to replace or put any effort in. You were so unimaginative you just picked the first dog that came to mind and decided she was just like that dog. And no, the irony that it was an angry tiny dog that she herself considered to be made up purely out of spite was not lost on her.

“Fucking Barnacle,” Astrid spat as her mother just shrugged and pointed at Delia. At least her mother looked like she felt a miniscule amount of guilt over this.

“You do know I need my assistant, don't you? Doing all of this without Charles is already a nightmare, I can't do it without my assistant as well! Oh, Charles why did you have to leave me?! Charles! Oh, Charles!” Delia was screaming once again, calling out her grandfather's name at the top of her lungs and for once Astrid figured even you were better than being even more embarrassed by her family, so, she got in the car, just to escape the judging and mocking looks of the other students.

From the corner of her eye she could see you opened your mouth before her mother and Delia could get back into the car. ‘Oh, no, what now?’ Astrid could tell you were trying to tell her something and worst of all she could see that you were struggling to get it out of your mouth. Considering that, chances were it wasn't an insult hurling her way because you definitely didn't have issues saying those to her. Luckily, from the looks of it, you've changed your mind and chose to remain silent.

Rory turned around with that infuriating grin on his face. “Astrid, it's so good to see you again!” Rory exclaimed with that fake smile of his trying to get her to accept him or whatever. He’s been trying to make her believe he was actually in love with her mother and not just using her some time, but she was she wasn't about to fall for those tricks. Instead, Astrid just glared at him, finding a bit of satisfaction in the way he just turned back around.

~X~

You really thought spending an entire drive from Astrid’s school to Winter River was the worst thing that could ever happen to you. You were wrong.

You were a hundred percent absolutely wrong.

Risking your life was a lot worse.

This was going to be the end of you, there was no way around it. Delia was going to be responsible for your untimely demise. Why? Because it was up to you to put the shroud over the house because why the fuck not?!

You stared at the large house at the top of the hill overlooking the entire Winter River. And you had to get on the roof of it. Great.

Just great.

You turned to Delia, sending her a pleading look and hoping against hope that she would see reason. “Are you sure there is no one else who can do this?” your fear of heights aside, this was ridiculously reckless. You had no experience climbing houses, walking on roofs or placing these shrouds, it would be nothing short of a miracle if you didn't fall to your death

“Can't believe I'm saying this, but for once I agree with her,” who could have guessed Astrid Deetz actually agreed with you. She probably just didn't want to see another human die. “I mean if she falls it will be really difficult to cover up.”

You should have known that was her reasoning, you really should have known Astrid’s worry had nothing to do with you but the inconveniences that would put them in. “Geez, thanks a lot Chihuahua,” you said mockingly and turned to Lydia, you were still naively hoping at least she would see reason in this, but the woman had just lost her father and was not exactly thinking of how reckless of an employer her step mother was.

“Oh, Y/N will be fine! She's my assistant she can handle it, just have Rory hold the ladder,” most of the other time you would be beaming from the praise, but today things were different. Delia just brushed your concerns off, and you were just becoming aware of how little care the family had collectively. Well, if it really was true that Lydia could see ghosts and talk to them maybe she just got desensitized to the entire life and death situation and Delia being who she was just took it easy. In her head she could solve it all. She knew the people, she had the money, the entire building the family had gifted the school Astrid was enrolled in was enough of proof of that.

“Great, off I go now. Hopefully not to die,” you sighed and picked up as much shroud as you believed you could reasonably carry to the roof and resigned yourself to whatever was going to happen. “I am not being paid enough for this bullshit,” no money was worth this, but here you were, unable to back out.

“Well, she does have a point,” Lydia finally spoke up and it wasn't regarding your life but your pay. Were you suddenly feeling really bitter? No, no, you could never. When the one most concerned for you was Astrid you really had to question the life choices that led you to this situation.

You glanced back at Delia, who was now in deep thought. “Yes, I suppose she can get all raise considering all the extra work she’s doing.”

Well at least he would be paid more for risking your fucking life!

“I can't watch this I'm going inside,” you did not care one bit that Astrid couldn't watch you doing this. You still figured that was for the best. You didn't want to give to her satisfaction of seeing you fall from however tall the roof was.

“If I die I'm haunting this entire family,” you promised under your breath and looked at the Rory who was holding the ladder for you. “I'd like to come back down just so you know, and in one piece,” why did you need to clarify that? Well, you were talking to Rory, so it didn’t hurt to be more specific.

“Trust me I don't want any part in this either, but it's for Charles, we must do it!” of course he would say that. It wasn't him risking his neck because, apparently, he was the only one strong enough to hold the ladder in place so he couldn't go up the ladder. It just had to be you. Granted, if you really had to choose, you would rather avoid holding the ladder up while someone else was climbing it.

‘I really should have gotten that life insurance,’ you thought bitterly as you began climbing the ladder.

~X~

Social media was, in fact, not enough of a distraction for Astrid at the moment. Not even texting other students about the conference was helping her keep her mind off what was happening outside. Especially when a shroud dropped from the roof near the window of the room she was in and she had to move to another room.

No. She wasn’t worried.

She was just curious about what was going on outside. It was too silent, and no one was screaming so nothing happened, she was sure of that. Absolutely nothing happened.

Astrid finally, after an hour of being glued to her phone, looked through the window and saw a black shroud covering it on the outside. She looked at it, wondering if you were done. No matter how much she hated you this was still Delia being reckless as fuck. There was no other way to put it. Why couldn't they just hire a company that worked on doing these kinds of things? Just because you were her assistant didn't mean you had to fall from the roof.

Not that Astrid would ever admit she was worried about you. She wasn't. Really. She just couldn't watch, so she went inside to wait it out. How was Delia even going to explain to your family if something happened to you? Like: ‘I'm sorry. I didn't hire the professionals, so I sent your daughter to the roof and now, well… Accept my condolences?’  

Astrid bit her lip, doing her best not to be conscious of how worried she really was. She should have stopped you, said to hell with this hatred between you and acted like proper human being.

And then there was a scream. A bone chilling, loud, echoing scream and Astrid ran out not really sure what she was going to see once she was outside. “What happened?!” she demanded as she rushed outside and looked at her mother expecting an explanation. Her heart sank as she saw Delia crying and you weren't there. “What? No, don’t-“ her legs felt like they would crumble under her weight. This wasn’t happening. She didn't hear any anything, she didn't hear a loud noise, she didn't hear a thud, but there was a chance it still happened and she just didn't hear it. “She- she didn’t-“ she was at the loss of her words, speechless and affected a lot more than she thought she would be.

“She didn’t what, Chihuahua?” her eyes widened when she heard that nickname, and that stupid voice.

Astrid spun around, anger coursing through her veins as she glared at you. “Nothing!” she yelled and rushed back inside completely aware of the extremely puzzled look on your face.

“I'm not that easy to get rid of! I am a Barnacle!” you yelled after her once you realized that you were the ‘she’ she was asking about.

You looked perfectly fine.

You really were a Barnacle.

How dare you make her worry?

Stupid.

Asshole.

“Fuck you,” she cursed under her breath.

~X~

The funeral went about as on brand as it could for the Deetz family. A choir singing, a fin shaped tombstone, an imaginative text engraved upon it and plenty of colorful personalities, most of them dressed in black attending the funeral. Whenever you had the chance to closely look at the family you always had the feeling of absurdity surrounding you, they never truly conformed to the general norms but nothing showed that as much as this funeral.

You stood by the side observing, just taking the scene in as people began mingling around talking to one another. You didn’t know these people and they didn’t know you, neither of you felt the need to strike up a conversation in circumstances such as these. As the priest approached Delia and Rory the feeling of grief was mixed in with something else, something you couldn't quite tap into. You couldn't quite call it absurd or nonchalant but there was something about the way everyone acted that gave you this strange feeling. The last time you went to the funeral people cried, but the Deetz family took the loss proudly, not shedding a tear and leaving that for a more private moment. As for the others, well, you understood why most of the people here didn't cry. These people knew Charles but weren't quite close to him.

You glanced to the side where Astrid was sitting alone, somber-looking, serious, almost engulfed by that large coat she was wearing as if shielding herself from everything she was feeling. For a moment you could see that mask she used to wear cracking, just a hint of pain etching itself upon her face before she, as if she could feel your eyes on her, put the mask back on. You chose not to intrude, instead mixing into the crowd not quite intending to strike up a conversation but also not intending to avoid it.

The only thing you actually wanted to do was just to give Astrid some space. You knew deep down that even if she did look a bit worried when she thought you fell off the roof and met your untimely demise that the hatred between the two of you was still that strong. And that meant that you were not the person she would ever open up to or be vulnerable in front of.

And that suited you perfectly well because you did not need another Deetz woman driving you insane right now and that doubled for Astrid because damn was she still annoying. Damn Chihuahua.

The sound of someone approaching you from behind made you turn around just as Delia was coming up to you. She opened her purse and began looking for something. “I just forgot, we have to pack everything. Y/N, can you be a dear and go buy some boxes?” she handed you 100 bucks before you could even answer, but you figured anything was better than staying here surrounded by people you didn't know and not really knowing what to do with yourself.

“Of course, I'll come back as soon as possible,” you told her, taking the money and resisting the urge to run to the city.

~X~

You weren't lying to yourself, or overthinking things. You really didn't belong here, you didn't know anyone, no one from your family came from here, you just happened to work for Delia and thus were obligated to come and help her with the funeral. Still, you couldn't deny the place had a certain charm to it, there was something peaceful and calm about it something you couldn't quite explain with words alone.

It felt like Winter River was somewhat stuck in the past, like it wasn't keeping up with the rest of the world while still being welcoming to strangers. The man at the shop was welcoming, kind and helpful as you explained what you needed the boxes for and directed you toward the part of the store where you would find everything you need. From that point you could handle everything yourself.

It was kind of funny how used you were to this particular part of helping Delia. You have gotten quite an experience with packing things between working for Delia and your work at the library, packing wasn't something you were unfamiliar with. You came back to the house coming from the back and doing your best to avoid the crowds that gather in front of it because for whatever unexplainable reason you simply didn't do well with the crowds. Especially if you had to just walk through them and you figured it wasn't the best look to just walk through them with bags of tapes and other supplies as well as a bunch of boxes neatly packed underneath your arm. What you definitely didn't expect was to see Astrid storming off from the front of the building, getting on a bicycle and furiously riding off.

“Chihuahua!” you called out to her, not because you were worried or you cared to know where she was going, but because she didn't look like she should be driving off by herself. In fact, you swore you could see a single tear falling from her eye which was probably a mistake because Astrid did not cry. Yeah, it was definitely just you seeing things. You've been seeing things you couldn't quite explain lately, so maybe this was one of them too.

She didn’t turn back, or even slow down, she just left without even reacting. Not even yelling at you, and that was unsettling.

You put the boxes at the side of the house and placed the bag on top of them, and then went to search for Delia only to turn the corner and see a… celebration? “What the hell just happened here?” you muttered to yourself. Why were people suddenly celebrating like someone just got engaged or announced they were pregnant or something as ridiculously out of touch with reality and current situation as that. This was supposed to be a funeral and now it didn’t feel one bit like one.

You approach Delia and you were sure she could see you were puzzled. How couldn't you be? When you left graveyard things were somber, people talked but it was quiet and reserved, you could feel the grief in the air and now it was like you stepped into a parallel dimension where everyone wore black to celebration. It was like you were suddenly in the Addams family universe, well, Astrid did kinda give off the Wednesday vibe.

That was a strange thought.

“Did I miss something?” you asked almost fearful of the answer because if you didn't step into a parallel universe then you could probably guess that this was Rory’s doing. Somehow. How he would manage to do that was beyond you but if anyone could do it, then it was him.

“Turns out we'll be organizing a wedding in two days,” wait, what? “Lydia just accepted Rory’s proposal,” Delia explained as if she couldn't believe it herself and your jaw dropped prompting her to just nod and shrug.

What the fuck? Lydia was… She was burying her own father!

You turned to look at Lydia still puzzled by her decision. Rory you could understand he was an inconsiderate asshole of a man that manipulated everyone and everything in his favor just so he could gain something, prone to exploiting vulnerable people- oh, that's what happens. “And let me guess, Chihuahua was here right when it happened,” maybe you weren't seeing things, maybe she really was crying.

Delia pointed toward the porch as subtly as she could. “Right there,” yeah, that explained everything.

For once you felt sorry for the girl.

You probably should just go back home because this was not a healthy realization to have. You actually felt sorry for Astrid, you must be going crazy. “I'll, uh, started packing things, you know just the small stuff that whoever wants to buy the house won’t notice or care about,” anything really, just so you didn’t have to come to terms with feeling empathy for Astrid Deetz.

“Thanks, I'll be meeting you later to take some photos so get the equipment ready, please,” Delia said ‘please’ the world really was ending, or she really was that affected by Lydia’s decision.

~X~

A few hours later, when all the crowd was gone, you finished setting up the equipment for taking photos for Delia. You one again caught yourself thinking you were in the most absurd situation you could possibly be in as Delia began explaining to you exactly what she wanted you to do.

“So, what I want is that primal scream filled with grief! The scream of pain captured at the exact moment where it reaches the pinnacle, I want it to be guttural, to be raw emotion, the pure anguish and uncontrollable. To create the image of a deep wound inflicted upon the very heart of the one screaming and the one observing the work of art. I want to capture that visceral feeling of remorse, to show it as beautiful and ugly at the same time!” she explained passionately and you could feel your heart racing.

How were you supposed to be behind the camera, responsible for capturing that? You would be lying if you said you didn't understand the thoughts behind the idea or that it didn't sound inspiring, but how were you supposed to capture that? You just got into this business as Delia's assistant months ago and now this was thrown upon you? This responsibility? Capturing something so specific?

At this point you actually would have taken climbing on the roof again instead of doing this because it just felt so daunting and above your skill level.

“Sure, I'll help you with that,” and instead of saying how you felt went and agreed like a dumbass.

Well Alex did have a habit of saying you were a hell of a people pleaser, as long as those people weren't Astrid that is.

“Great, let's start!” Delia was surprisingly excited about doing this, but you supposed the artist within her overpowered the grieving widow. She sat down in front of the camera and give you a moment to get into position. You stood behind the camera, checked the lighting once more, did the test photo to make sure everything was fine and it was because you learned how to do it damn well.

“OK. I'm ready whenever you are,” you gave her a thumbs up and she took several deep breaths, getting in touch with several feelings within her, letting that gried come out and show itself and she screamed. She screamed so loud and with so much pain and though you struggled, you captured the moment. Deep down you probably just realized that this was her way of releasing the grief that was consuming her. So, you pushed away all the doubts in your skills and all the other ways you were reconsidering your position as her assistant and just silently took part in the process of Delia handling her grief and emotions that came along with it.

That is until the rest of the Deetz family and Rory, well you guessed he now was a part of the family as well, came running due to hearing Delia screaming. You choose to keep busy by going through the photos and picking out those that looked the most like what Delia described to you earlier and let Delia explain the situation to her family. that is until Astrid Charles to address you.

“I thought Barnacle finally snapped and tried to murder someone,” she commented and you saw the smirk appearing on her face when you took the bait like the fool you were.

“Don’t worry, if I start murdering people, I’m starting with you, Deetz,” you grumbled, not in any way serious, but you were fairly annoyed by that comment.

“There are three of us here, you might want to be more specific?” Lydia asked completely out of blue and you resisted the urge to look at her and raise and eyebrow at the clear failed attempt to play ignorant of the way things were between you and Astrid.

“The chihuahua,” you still clarified.

“That fits two of them,” Delia did not just challenge you there.

Fine, you could play this game. “The pain in my ass,” you added, surely that would do it.

“Two again, try harder,” Lydia knew well enough Delia meant ‘chihuahua’ fit her as well as Astrid, so she was just getting back at Delia. And stating that Delia was, indeed, also a pain in your ass.

That was on you for not noticing your mistake. “The one who thinks Rory is annoying,”

“Still at two,” Lydia once more countered and you were running out of things that described Astrid.

“Mommy issues?” you tried, now getting a bit desperate as you watched the amusement on Delia and Lydia’s faces and the pure look of annoyance on Astrid’s. At least that was a good thing. Any day you made Astrid annoyed was a win in your book.

Delia glanced at Lydia and Astrid and nodded. “Hmm, definitely two.”

“The one that hates me,” you would do everything in your power to never say Astrid’s name.

“Hm, for your sake I’ll say that’s at one,” Delia took pity on you.

Wait a second… “What’s that supposed to mean?!” you demanded, certain that only Astrid hated you. Did Lydia hate you? Or Delia? But you worked for Delia and you barely talked with Lydia. Well, you did hate her daughter so… That made sense?

“Nothing!” Astrid screamed so loudly you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Fucking Chihuahua,” you cursed under your breath and went to pack things from any other room, as long as Astrid wasn’t there. Or Rory, you really didn’t want to be in the same room as him either.

~X~

If there was one thing that kind of made Lydia nervous it was the realization that her daughter had grown up and that she should probably be getting ready for the inevitable moment where Astrid comes out to her. And not preparing in the: ‘What do I do?! My child is gay!’ way but rather in the: ‘What do I do?! My child is now an adult and is falling in love and getting into a relationship and she is going to start dating and might get her heart broken and might find the right person right away or might never find the right person!’ way. And that’s not even considering all the other things that could go right or wrong and she was already panicking and overthinking it and she really needed something to calm her down.

If Rory just didn’t throw her pills away.

“Something needs to happen to just to end this charade those two have going on,” and Delia was not helping with her comments because even as few times as Lydia saw you and Astrid interacting she could tell it wasn't really that black and white between you two and Astrid's reaction to you being in danger, which was still reckless on Delia's part, only strengthened that belief. What was she going to do?! You were a good kid; she couldn't deny that. You were hardworking, you weren't spoiled and from what she heard from Delia you actually shared some of Astrid’s core beliefs, but she was still a mother, and she was still worried about her precious daughter getting her heart broken.

“They are too stubborn at this point,” at least she could take some solace in that. It would probably happen at some point and you and Astrid would probably settle your differences and start seeing each other for what you really were and not just the initial impression you made it one another. But from the looks of it, it was still somewhat far off and so Lydia hoped she had at least some time to prepare. More than anything, she hoped that you would first be friends instead of jumping right into a relationship after apparently hating one another. She sighed and went to pick up a box Rory brought along. There was still so much to do, especially with the wedding coming and all the cleaning and packing would help her get her mind off of her daughter's love life.

Delia actually laughed. “You're right, unless something life threatening happens to either of them I don't think they are going to make any real progress anytime soon,” she was joking of course but just the idea of something like that happening to Astrid really didn't sit well with Lydia.

“Please don't joke like that,” Lydia pleaded, sighing again and looked up the stairs her daughter went. “I should probably go and check up on Astrid,” she decided, especially knowing what was in the attic and especially since she was seeing him again.

Taglist: @alexkolax @osnapitzmel1 @bee-keeping @nebthetautora @lololauser

@nwestra @rroyale-109 @gemz5 @social-pomegranate @mirage018

@the-thing-withfeathers @hello-mtf @leafanonsforest @jaxon-nathaniel-drake

Masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next part

[lovelywyenn]

“Three Days|Day 2”

★Makio Uzui x fem!Reader★

Synopsis★After Hinatsuru tells the rest of your wives how you had been feeling. Makio was determined to prove how much she loved you. And taking you against the wall was her way of doing so. It definitely wasn’t fueled by wanting to make you cum twice as hard as Hina did yesterday.★

Includes★Feelings, comfort, making out, groping, slight dirty talk, squirting, cunnilingus, overstimulation★

★W.C★3.8k

Day 1; Day 2; Day 3;

Hinatsuru was feeling really good this morning. She woke up, well rested, at a good time…oh! And with her wife tucked up against her side for the first time in months. It was nice to be so close to you again.

She was in such a good mood, she decided to make breakfast for the whole house.

When she got downstairs she eyes her two wifes, Makio and Suma. They seemed to not have gotten as good of a night's rest as you and Hina had.

“What’s wrong with the two of you?” Hina asks as she reaches to grab the ingredients she needs for breakfast.

Makio, ever the flaring temper, stared at Hinatsuru with the deepest sigh of annoyance she’d ever mustered slipping out. “It’s hard to sleep when you’re making Y/n sound like she’s being attacked by a demon.”

“I swear, I forgot how loud that girl is,” Suma sighs.

Hinatsuru just shrugs, “You all are just mad I made her cum three times last night”

And it was true, after the two of you’s little humping sesh, clothes got pulled off fast and the two of you got off fast. Probably why you were upstairs still asleep. She had exhausted your poor little pussy.

“We haven’t had sex in so long” Suma sighs, “Whenever i’m alone with Y/n she acts like I haven’t known her for years!” Suma complains and Makio totally understands, adding on as she speaks, “I know right! How the hell did you get her in bed Hinatsuru?”

“...It was- Tengen told me about some things Y/n has been feeling lately” Hinatsuru says, “She…hasn’t been happy.

Those words concern both Suma and Makio. Their tired states are soon forgotten, traded for thoughts of you. Sure you didn’t hang around them often. And you often kept to yourself or Tengen instead of them. But the two had always thought you were just…a little shy with them.

“As in…she wants a divorce unhappy?” Makio questions with wide eyes, shaking with mild fear.

Hinatsuru is quick to dismiss their worries, “No, no nothing like that. She just needs a little more reassurance from us is all”

And the two girls quickly let out sighs of relief.

“So all that noise last night was your way of ‘reassuring’ her you cared?” Suma questioned and Hina blushed a bit. Perhaps she had gotten a bit carried away. But once she got a taste of your pretty moans she just couldn’t hold back.

“Listen, you try hearing her moan your name like you're some saint. That’ll drive a girl wild” Hina sighs.

Light footsteps trail down the kitchen hallway. All three women in the room turn their head to a sleepy you, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “Good morning” you say softly to everyone. But you make a beeline for Hina, wrapping your arms around the woman's waist to give her a hug. Hinatsuru gladly hugs you back, gently kissing your forehead.

But you grumble, pulling her closer to steal a deeper kiss from her lips. Suma and Makio stare with wide eyes as you sensually squeeze at hina’s hips, taking the elder girl by surprise. But she’s quick to recuperate, arms coming to encircle your neck and let you kiss her as you desired.

The sight of the two of you kissing without a care in the world has Makio biting at her lip and Suma clenching her thighs. The two almost feel a sense of disappointment when you pull away. And your gentle voice rings throughout the room, sweet as ever, as if you hadn’t just taken Hina’s breath away.

“M’gonna go take a bath baby, i’ll be back” You tell Hina, walking away to do just as you said.

Hina turns to her two wives smugly, “That girl is something isn’t she?”

And Makio makes up her mind right at that moment.

“I’m gonna have her kissin on me just like that, just watch”

—--------------------------

Your day was going well. It was a bit rainy today, so most of your chores were to be done inside. As much as you wanted to be downstairs with Hina, the bookshelves upstairs needed dusting. And no one else in the house ever wanted to do that task. You didn’t mind it though. It was a peaceful and easy job.

At least it usually was.

For some reason, Makio had decided to join you, attempting to assist you. It was a bit of a nuisance, as she put books in the wrong category, didn’t dust the shelves off before placing books. All in all, she made the process far more difficult than it usually was.

However…you didn’t mind it as much as you thought you would. Because for once in a long while, you and your wife got to talk to each other. There was no rhyme or reason to the conversation. Just absentminded comments and small compliments. It reminded you a bit of old times. When you had first gotten to spend time with Makio.

She was a little scary to be around when you two first got alone. But once you learned that she was often just as nervous as you were…she got easier to understand. Makio was sweet, always making you laugh. She had a way of bringing comfort to you just with her words.

But after so long not being able to really talk, a bit of that previous connection had broken off.

Makio watched as you tried to reach up to place a book on the top shelf. Naturally, she stood to help you, a hand running along your hip to stabilize you as she reached for the bookshelf. “Don’t strain yourself shortstack, let me help” she offers.

You giggle and roll your eyes, “You’re like an inch taller than me. You can’t reach the top shelf either!”. And you had a point. You two were practically the same height.

That doesn’t stop her from trying. At first she is really trying to put the book back, but when more of your pretty little giggles fill her ears, she struggles a little more on purpose. Just to hear the joyful noise come from you.

Eventually you grab at her arm, coaxing it away from the book, “Alright, alright,” you smile. “Let's just call Hina, she’s taller” you say, preparing to call for your wife. But Makio shushes you. “Nonsense woman” she says, and the next thing you know your wife is reaching down to lift you up.

A faint blush dusts your cheeks. You always seemed to forget that your wives were kunoichi, and picking you up like this was an easy feat. Now with the boost you are able to put all the books back. Enjoying the new height you gained while within her arms. When all the books are back and the chore of cleaning the bookshelf is finally done, Makio gently eases you on your feet. One of her hands linger on your hip, the familiar yet distant feeling making you smile.

Makio can’t help but smile back when she sees your pearly whites on display. That was one of her favorite parts about you. That precious smile that she had somehow gone so many months without truly appreciating.

You feel ridiculous for how hard it is for you to make your smile go away. But it was impossible to stop, because you couldn’t remember the last time Makio had smiled at you so brightly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you giggle nervously.

And Makio shrugs, the lingering hand on your hip growing sure of itself as it squeezes at the flesh, “I can’t appreciate my pretty girl?” she counters your question.

You feel heat creep up your neck at the compliment, “You still think i’m pretty?” you ask and Makio finds the question ridiculous. Pretty was an understatement when it came to you. In Makio’s eyes you were a work of art. After all, you have been blessed with beautiful skin, smoother than the petals of a wisteria flower. And eyes so big and bright, as they shone with more beauty than this world could ever comprehend. How could anyone think you weren’t the most gorgeous thing to exist on earth.

“...Is that even a question?” Makio speaks up eventually, “You’re gorgeous.”

You glance away, playing with your fingers gently. “It’s just…it’s been a while since i’ve heard you say it” you express honestly, “But we don’t talk much anymore”

The truth in your words hits Makio hard. Because you were absolutely right. At some point along the lines, when she noticed your slight pull away from her, from all your wives. She took it a bit personally, instead of considering that those moments you pushed her away were moments you needed her most.

“Yeah…we don’t” your wife agrees, “I miss talking to you” she tells you.

And the hurt that had come from all these months of not talking seems to disappear when Makio says that she’s been feeling the same thing you have. A yearning to be as close as the two of you were before.

“I miss talking to you too” you say quickly, as if the moment would slip away from you if you let even a second pass.

Makio offers you a soft smile, pulling you a bit closer. She sighs as your own hands brace against her shoulders. You still fit so perfectly in her arms, like a puzzle piece made to fit with her. “No reason we can’t start again” she says.

And she’s right. “We can always talk to each other” she continues, “We can always laugh together”

“...We can always love each other”

The sweet words pierce right through your heart, and seep into your ears. Next thing you know your hands are gently cradling your wife’s face in your own. Looking up at her with so much love. Love that Makio was almost certain she didn’t deserve but was glad to have.

“I’d like that baby” you say and Makio grins at the nickname. Your wife can’t help but pull you into her, burying her face into the crook of your neck. The hug was secure and warm and everything the both of you had been needing.

And when the two of you pull back you suddenly feel hyper aware of how close you are to the woman…and how the girl is staring at you. Her grip on your hips seems to be a bit tighter too but you don’t mind. You missed how good it felt to be held like this, to be looked at like you really were the most desirable woman on the face of this earth.

“I heard you and Hina last night” She whispers. Though her voice is low, she was so close to you pick up every word.

The events of last night sent a shiver down your spine. It had been a long time since you had cum as hard as you did yesterday. “S-Sorry, did we wake you?” you ask.

And Mako nods her head, rubbing her thumb against your waist. “Woke me up with that pretty voice screaming Hina’s name.” she says, “You started getting really loud after the second time she made you cum, on her fingers i'm guessing?”

She was right, how she knew this you weren’t sure. As if hearing your question, your wife answers for you. “By then I had my fingers just as deep as Hina had hers in you” she tells you, “I had to stop myself from screaming just as loud as you did when i came with you.”

Her lips are practically right on yours now. One slight move and you could kiss them which is exactly what you do.

The kiss is nothing but sexy, slow and full of suppressed need. Makio’s chapped lips chased after the softness of yours, lost in the sensation. The two of you were attempting to pull each other closer and closer, attempts slowly growing more desperate.

Things always got heated fast between you two. A simple kiss could turn into a messy sexy marathon if you two were really needy. And that’s exactly what the two of you were.

As soon as Makio was able to stick her tongue down your throat she knew she had you, your attempts at taking over the kiss reduced to submissive whimpers, exactly what she wanted to hear from you.

Your wife's hands were all over you, pinching and squeezing at your ass. Anything to get you to be loud. Partly for her own enjoyment, but mostly to get back at her smug ass wife downstairs.

Makio’s hands slide to undo your kimono and you don’t protest, the excitement and speed of everything only making you more needy. As the fabric pooled around your ankles, your wife’s strong hands trailed down to the backs of your thighs. “Jump woman” she instructs. And you listen. The jump lets her hike you up, your bare legs wrapping around her waist. Next thing you know she has you pressed against the wall. Mouth trailing warm and wet kisses down your neck.

If you weren’t loud before, you definitely were now. Moans reverberating off the walls and back onto all the ears in the house. You gripped onto Makio, pulling her closer by whatever you could reach. She was always so good at working you up, reducing you into nothing but a pathetic and whiny mess.

Though you only cared less and less about how filthy the sounds coming out of you were as her kisses trailed back up your neck and to your jaw, words just as nasty as your moans whispered into the shell of the flesh she licked along. “I wanna make you cum harder than you did yesterday,” Makio admits. “Just bury myself between these pretty thighs until you’re shaking and begging for a break.”

The words make you whimper, a desperate plea leaving your lips, “Yes, all of that yes!” you speak. The permission was all Makio needed before her tongue trails down your body, prodding at your nipples just to see you jump before she kisses farther down. She holds your thighs to the chest, keeping you pinned to the wall securely as she drops to her knees.

Now face to face with your pussy, she stares in awe at the pretty little thing. Already so wet, glistening in the dim light of the upstairs hallway. Your clit perked out between two fat lips, just begging to be sucked on.

Makio’s tongue dragged through your folds ever so slowly drawing the most sinful moan from your throat. She kisses at your pussy, tongue not yet focused on your clit, but your slit. And it feels nice, she always was excellent with her tongue.

Even after all this time she never forgot what you liked. Which became even clearer as her lips finally zero in on your clit.

You make the mistake of looking down at Makio, who seemed to have never taken her eyes off of you. Eye contact always drove you wild and it made the filthy, squelching sucks she gave your clit that much more pleasurable.

In this moment, Makio wished she had a camera to take a picture of just how pretty you looked. Mouth open and eyes rolling back in your head as she harshly suckled on your clit.

She made you feel so sloppy, sucking on your clit just as easily as she sucked Tengen off. There was spit and slick everywhere. Dribbling on the floor, on your thighs, all over her chin. But that didn’t stop her. That never stopped her, the only thing that could when she was this into feasting was a warning tap on her shoulder or a spew of a safe word. But until she heard that she’d keep going until you were a filthy, crying and shaking mess.

Which you were close to being honestly. You understood why she took her time warming you up to her tongue. Because she was fucking relentless. Once she started working over your clit she didn’t stop, and it was driving you crazy. There was no escape, no way for your his to squirm in her strong hold and nowhere to run. She had you pinned. All you could do was stay put and whimper from overstimulation that came from the constant stimulation that graced your clit.

One of your hands came to pat at her head, as a way to ground yourself but also as a silent way to ask her to let up. But you should have known better. You had made a monster. A sexy ass woman who was addicted to tasting you on her tongue.

As if to reprimand you for even thinking about making her stop, she doubles down. And you swear this is the day you die. It was so much, too much. But she sat there, daring you to try and push her away again as she made you take every bit of pleasure she was feeding you.

You had the cutest pout on your face as the overwhelming feeling was starting to tighten the coil in your belly.

“O-oh m’god” you moan, it was hard to even form coherent sentences at this point. Only Makio could ever have you going dumb just from her nimble fucking tongue. “You’re gonna make me cum baby, fuck!”

Makio doesn’t move at your warning. Nothing could pry her away from your pussy right now. She could feel your thighs quaking as you grow impossible close. And she could feel your clit pulsing between her lips. Your poor pussy was almost done and she had barely had her fill yet.

But as long as she got you to cum loud and hard, maybe have you limping just a bit when she was done, she’d be satisfied.

For now.

You barely have time to warn Makio you’re cumming. The sensation feels so foreign right now you barely register it’s happening until it's happening. You’re rendered speechless for a moment. And only for a moment as your body registers Makio’s lips aren't stopping.

You didn’t try to fight her hold before as you knew you wouldn’t win. But your body was eager to escape now. Squirming and begging for freedom from the treacherous hands of overstimulation that clawed at your body. You wanted to cry and you swear you did as her ministrations drew a flurry of your juices from your slit, squirting over her face.

“Fuck baby please” you cry out, barely recognizing your voice from how broken it was from how loud you had been screaming .

And you actually sob as not even your soaking pussy isn’t enough to stop Makio, who definitely lied when she said that just getting you to cum would be enough for her.

“Makio please!” you plead with her. You didn’t even know what you were asking for, brain to dumb to really care or know. “F-Fuck, i’m gonna cum again!” you wail.

Makio knows of course, you’d be saying that a couple times this afternoon before she was ready to let her pretty baby’s pussy rest.

soul eater MIGHT be peak~ Kinktober Masterlist|2024

[scimagic]

do you have any headcanon about mr puzzles dad/his and mr puzzles relationships?

BOY DO I!!!

Sit down let me take you on a sad sad journey about a sad sad man

Let me get this one right off the bat:

Puzzles is an only child of divorce

His parents took a shared custody when he was really young, leaving little Puzzles in a shaky unstable situation

The only good side to that is that he was able to go to amusement parks twice on his birthday

Hence, his love for amusement parks (practically his happiest memories)

It was a twice-a-year happening. Two whole days to have fun and ignore whatever the hell was happening with the adults!

Best of all it was all about him!! His birthday! His gifts! His big day! He loved seeing everyone in the park having fun just like him

But of course, when he told his dear old papa about his brilliant idea, he was shut down

That's when the problems began to brew a little more

His relationship with his father was always a strict one; Mr Dad was a strict man, straight to the point and harsh towards life

I imagine he was in some sort of white collar job, manager or administrator, some type of job that slowly kills your creativity and makes you a strict parent

So you can imagine the type of relationship a parent like that would have with his creatively-inclined son

I don't necessarily think he was a bad person, none of that physical abuse stuff. More like- raised his voice a lot, spoke in harsh tones and widely misunderstood his kid

Because of that, Puzzles began to dislike his father when he stayed with him, even if most of the time he was up in his room watching TV by that point

They never really saw eye to eye after that, Mr Dad kept trying to move his son away from creative fields and Puzzles just kept pushing against authority to pursue his dreams

By the time he grew up, he practically cut off all contact with his father

He's still angry and bitter that his old man never even gave him a chance to prove that he Does have creative vision and can make something truly great

And to rub it in his face and say "I told you so" and give him a big finger FHDJKSA

Even if his father doesn't see what Puzzles accomplished (for whatever reason), he would still be able to say he did it

Now that he's in prison though, now he regrets it even more because he never got to show how wrong his father was

The hate has been brewing, got spilled, and is still brewing

He's a very vengeful-driven man hfjkdsa

Sometimes the thought of his father being right crosses his mind but he tries to shut it down

However- the only thing that Puzzles wants more than to prove his father wrong, is to prove himself right

That's why he's a lil fucked up and is where he is right now <3

[literaryslapshot]

LOVESTRUCK, WENT STRAIGHT TO MY HEAD ⎯ S. CROSBY

y/n just wants the best for her son, she thinks the program rule of no freshmen players on varsity is stupid. she just did what any mother would do...right?

coach!sidney crosby x teacher!single mom!reader

warnings: angst, smut (fingering, handjob, sex on a table), somewhat of an inappropriate relationship, single parent content, light talk of divorce, lowkey based off of "slut!" by taylor swift

word count: 4,244

a/n: look at that....i do still know how to write

The bitterness of the coffee wasn’t doing it’s job. On her third cup and it’s not even ten in the morning, Y/N waits for the next period of students to walk through her door. Taking in one of the few moments of silence she has, she refreshes the page on the sports page on the school website, itching to see her son’s name. 

Carter had tryouts with the hockey team last week, he had been talking about it since the beginning of the month. He was training every day to make varsity; in leagues ever since he was ten years old every single coach and spectator could not brag enough on how much talent he had. Y/N was pressured to send him across the country, even out of the country, to go to the top hockey camps but as a single mother she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to send her baby off to some strangers for a few months, and she couldn't afford to move away from family either. 

But her heart dropped as she refreshed the page, pulled up this season's roster, and saw her son’s name and number on the junior varsity roster instead of varsity. She didn’t understand it, she was told by the coaches herself that he was the best kid on the ice that day. Why didn’t he make varsity? 

Her questions were interrupted by students flooding into the classroom for the start of the next period. She pulled herself out of her thoughts to then teach this class period. Reluctantly though. 

-

The final bell rang and that meant she was done for the day. Saying goodbye to her students Y/N started to gather papers and put them in the “to grade” folder to take home with her before tidying up some areas of the room. She anticipated her son’s arrival. Ever since moving up to high school he always stopped by her room at the end of the day to talk about school and help her carry things to her car. 

“I didn’t make it.” Carter said as a greeting when he walked in the empty room. His face was defeated, his tall slender frame was slumped over in sadness and his eyes welling with tears. Out of all people Y/N knew and saw how hard he worked to make varsity his freshman year. He skated over fifty laps a day, worked on shots in the garage until way past dusk, he also started to lift more weights. 

“Oh baby, c’mere,” Y/N pulled her much taller son in for a hug. There he broke and rested into his mother's arms like a little kid again. He softly cried before pulling away. 

“I don’t get it mom, they told me i’d make it for sure, why would he tell me-” “Don’t worry about it son, I will talk to the coach first thing in the morning. I promise. But for now you have to play the cards you were dealt,” Y/N consoled her son in the way moms know how. Gathering her bags she gave the heaviest one to Carter to help carry out the building. They continued chatting on the way to her car, talking about school and homework he had for the week. Carter was a special kid, he deeply cared about his grade and education. He remembers promising his mom when he was younger that if he ever got to play hockey in college that he would get his degree and not go to the draft early. 

Carter was a momma’s boy through and through. His dad lived an hour away so he spent the weekends there twice a month, but he’s at his mom’s house the rest of the time. Carter is also protective of his mom too. He never told her this, but he’s beat in a couple boys’ faces because they made some lewd comments about her. He’s respectful of her, more than any other man on earth ever has been. Y/N is very proud of how she’s raised her son. 

“Okay son, go to practice. Have a positive attitude, don’t do anything stupid okay? I know you’re frustrated but just go into practice and do you, maybe they got you mixed up with someone else. But-” she saw his facial expressions change and get tense, she knew that he was still angry inside, “hey, don’t get mad at them. Wait until I talk and then you and I will figure something out.”

They walked in opposite directions, Carter to the athletic building and Y/N back to the school for one more item in her classroom. Hustling as best she can so she can get home, she runs into the person she didn’t want to speak to until in the morning. Coach Crosby. 

She felt her body coil and tense up in anger at just the sight. She was supposed to wait until morning, but her tongue got the best of her. 

“Coach! Hey, can I ask you a quick question?” she pulls him to the side, into an empty classroom where the teacher had left for the day. 

“What’s up?” Sidney asked, sitting down on one of the wooden desks. He was wearing black joggers, a tight pullover with a school cap on. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how the material of his clothing clung to his toned body. He had been out of the professional league for at least two years, but he still kept up the physical shape of his body, and it was obvious by the way his pants were stretching at the seams on his thighs. 

“I really don’t want to be that parent, but can you tell me why Carter didn’t make varsity?” Sidney cocks his head to the side. He’s only been on sight three months and he’s already dealing with this. 

“Well, it’s my understanding that freshmen must be on the JV team, no matter how good they are. That rule was put in place before I got here.” He explained while crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles making his pullover look incredibly small on his frame. “He’s a good kid though, he’ll make great improvements this year and I'll look forward to having him on varsity next year.” Sidney said, trying to end the conversation and smooth things over.

“But…you’re the new coach. This is your program now, not someone else’s.” Y/N couldn’t really understand what he was getting at. Did he not see the potential in her son that everyone seemed to say? Did he not see the great player, the great athlete that Carter was? Maybe it was just her being a mother, and so obviously her child is the best compared to other kids. But she swore she didn’t want to be like those parents. She remembers being a kid in youth sports herself and hated parents who thought their kid should be player of the week every week. In her mind, she needed to earn player of the week because of her work ethic, not because her parents were board members. 

“Right but I'm not trying to ruffle any feathers my first year. This is barely my program, I need to establish relationships before I change things here,” Y/N takes a step closer to Sidney, her hands folded in front of her. 

“But you’re Sidney Crosby, who can say no to you?” God she feels horrible for doing this, she feels like…like some junior league mom whose husband has nothing between his ears. But she thinks, if she can just rile him up for a minute, startle him, then he’ll change his mind and put Carter on varsity. That’s her end goal, get her son feeling better. If that means pretending to be a horny college student again, so be it. “I mean really, they had to give you this job cause they trust you. So obviously you can do what you want, like putting my son on your varsity team.”

He sighs, looking down at his shoes. He knows what she’s doing…and he can’t believe it’s sort of working. He hasn’t had a woman flirt with him in heaven knows how long. He doesn’t even know how to respond to such a thing anymore. His life for the past almost twenty years has been nothing but hockey. Sidney’s family has been asking him for a long time when he is going to settle down with someone, but nobody ever scratched that itch quite like hockey did. But now? That he’s got a woman in front of him, a gorgeous one at that, who’s buttering him up? Maybe he’ll give in…just to see what it feels like. 

“Your son is a hell of a player, Y/N. He really could go far,” His words got heavier as she got closer, he could smell her perfume, he could feel her breath, he could see her chest move up and down with every huff she took- “so put him on your team, Coach.” she put her hand on his chest softly and she sighed feeling his stern muscles. “C’mon, what’s it gonna take? Dinner and a show?” 

His eyes, dark and blown, looked into hers and if he remembers what the term eye fucking means then that’s exactly what they were doing. His breaths became short but heavy as she left a heavy hand on his chest. She rubbed her thumb over his cheek, trying her best to work her charm that she used to have. She hopes she’s still got it. 

He thinks, thinks, and thinks. This is a bad decision. 

“My place, six thirty tomorrow evening. Give me your best sales pitch, and we’ll see about the show.” 

Sidney stands up and for a brief second his nose bumps hers, an innocent touch but it makes him take a deep breath in to calm himself down. He exits the empty class room and takes long strides to get to practice, glancing at his watch he’s already a few minutes behind. 

-

She’s eternally grateful that Carter is with his dad this weekend. How could she explain to him that she’s not really going on a date…but she’s going to his coach's house with plans to seduce him..but again it’s not a date. Of course, she’d have to leave out the seducing part. She put on her best dress that she had, it was pretty simple but it hugged her figure nicely. She made sure to spritz some extra perfume on as well. 

The drive to Sidney’s house is silent, it’s her having fake conversations in her head about what to say or what not to say. Debating on if her seduction speech was still on date or if it’s too cheesy now. She suddenly feels like she lives in the lowest tax bracket possible when entering his neighborhood; she's never seen so many fake lawns before. She’s actually never been on this side of town much, except to look at christmas lights when Carter was younger. Now that he’s older he doesn’t care for that stuff anymore. 

“Nice place you’ve got,” she said walking into his entry way. To her surprise Sidney dressed up a little bit, wearing a button up with a nice pair of slacks, the top two buttons undone for visual purposes of course. He takes her coat and her purse, hanging it up by the door. “What’s on the menu?” 

“Well, I figured I'd go simple with just spaghetti and toast, with dessert to follow if that’s okay.” Sidney went into his pantry and pulled out a bottle of red wine. “This okay?” He holds the bottle in the air and she nods her head, sitting at his kitchen bar watching him pour a glass. She takes a glance at the label and she’s taken back. On her teacher salary she definitely can’t afford that brand.

Maybe she’s in over her head here- she didn’t think about any of this stuff. Suddenly she’s this woman who doesn’t have much to her name, sitting in a millionaire’s kitchen drinking wine that costs well over two hundred dollars- but damn if it doesn’t taste good. 

They make small talk before heading into the dining room where he sets dinner onto the table for her, such a gentleman. Continuing the semi dull conversation she thanks him for making a meal for her, joking that she’s never had a man make dinner for her. Only half true, her dad growing up would make dinners for her family. But when she married Carter’s dad, she was the chef in the family. Not that she was complaining, it was just odd for her to be on the reverse side for the first time in a while. 

“I am sorry about that idiotic rule, Y/N. Carter can easily be a varsity player.” Sidney broke the minute silence after finishing off his second glass of wine that night. She huffs, finishing her plate and scooting it away from her on the table. Was she really about to do this?

“Is there anything I can do, sidney? C’mon my boy’s in shambles, he’s thinking that he’s not as good as everyone makes him out to be,” Y/N reaches her hand out to rest on his softly. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Y/N hoped he knew what she was implying and that she didn’t have to say it out loud. 

And he did. 

He understood every word she said and the words that were left unsaid. He knew what she was implying and he knew what she was getting at. But Sidney hated that he was willing to do what she wanted. Y/N was leaning forward on the table, getting close enough to Sidney where he could smell her perfume and her lotion mixed together, he could see a couple small freckles up close as he couldn’t see them from a bit further away. 

There were no words exchanged between them, his eyes kept drifting from her tinted lips to her lustful eyes, back and forth a couple times before resting his hand on her cheek and pressing his lips against hers gently. Immediately he felt a rush of arousal- it’s just a kiss, really? He silently asked himself. He hadn’t gotten this aroused in a while, a long while. 

Both parties leaned into the kiss, wanting and aching for more. They tasted wine on each other and felt each other’s temperature begin to rise. Sidney got out of his chair, lips still connected to hers, and got closer. She stood up, one hand cupping his chin and the other resting on his chest, and she leaned against the dining table. She hadn’t made out with someone in years, she hopes she’s doing it right. 

She gets pushed onto the table just by the force of his body so now she’s sitting on the wooden table, Sidney standing in between her legs with both of his hands cupping her face. He doesn’t care if he seems desperate or if he seems needy, or if this is totally wrong and against almost all of the words he signed in his contract, he can’t seem to get enough of her. Sidney feels her play with the buttons of his shirt and how she begins to pull the shirt up and out of his dress pants. It was easy since he wasn’t wearing a belt. 

He didn’t even know that she completely unbuttoned his shirt until he felt her hands roam all over his naked chest, her hands slowly raking up and down his toned muscles. He takes a breath and scans her body. Her skin is hot to the touch, her eyes are completely blown now and her lips are parted. “How do I get this off you?” he asked, taking a fist of the hem of her dress.

“There's a tie in the back,” she huffed out, not able to take her hands off his body. Plus, she wants him to take it off of her. 

“You tied this yourself?” he asked in shock, surprised at how she tied such a perfect bow on her back with such thin strings. 

“I’ve been tying, zipping, buttoning my dresses myself for the past twelve years now, safe to say I got pretty good at it.” God- has she been alone for the past twelve years? Nobody to love on, kiss on, touch on this wonderful body of hers? Sidney takes in a sharp breath when he pulls the dress off of her and he gives her body a quick scan over. Wearing a strapless bra that she’s almost spilling out of, she has on silk leopard print panties that he can’t help but notice a significant damp spot on. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, hands roaming over her soft skin. “Don’t make fun of me, it’s been a long time since I've hooked up with someone.” because that’s just what this is, a hookup. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“I haven’t since I got divorced, so it's the same here.” she hooks her leg around his pulling him closer. He pressed his lips against hers again this time most softly. His hand goes down to play with the hem of her panties, “you sure about this?” 

“Very sure, don’t mess with a pissed off mama sidney.” she pulls him down with her as she lays down on the table. He kisses down her body, she arches her back and lets him take her bra off. Tossing it onto the floor Sidney wraps his lips around one of her hardened nipples. She lets out a heavenly sounding moan at the action.

It’s been so long she could cum just from Sidney doing this for a couple minutes longer. One hand slips down over her clothed cunt, rubbing her sensitive and wet area. She arches her body into his, already she’s lost in a great euphoric high that she can’t even mumble words. All that’s coming out is moans and gasps. 

He removes his mouth and Sidney stands up, she watches up on her elbows as he takes his pants off and removes his boxers. She bites her lip at the size - the sight - of his hardened dick in his hand. She reaches out for it herself, “you’ll give me what I want, and I promise you won’t regret it.” he thought for a moment too long, she began to doubt herself but he spoke up, “deal.”

She licks her hand before taking a grip on his cock. Slowly she starts stroking up and down, keeping harsh eye contact with sidney. She gives him a nice squeeze and a twist of her hand which makes him throw his head back in pleasure. He can only do so much with his hand, it’s nice to have someone else for a change. Y/N scoots closer to him on the table, with one of his hands he works his hand over one of her breasts softly massaging it. She leans into his touch and continues to work her hands over his hard cock. 

He moves his hand from her breast down and slips it into her soaked panties. At first his fingers were a little cold but they quickly warmed up after being immersed in her sex. He circles around her clit a couple times, getting familiar with the female body again. He explores for a minute or two, his middle finger teasing her hole. The more he teases her the harder her grip gets on his cock. He pulls his hand out of her panties, they’ve never broken eye contact this whole time and he sucks everything off of his hand. God that was hot. 

Sidney removes her hand from his cock fearing if she kept going he would cum all over her hand and that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He’s panting heavy now, his body forming sweat on his forehead. He pushes her down onto the table with a palm on her chest lining his cock up with her entrance, “wait do I need any-”

She chuckles, “that ship sailed a while ago, just fuck me like you mean it coach.” 

With her permission she slides in and she lets out a long, loud, moan as he does it. He wants to hear that on repeat for the rest of his life, he swears. Sidney puts both hands on her hips, keeping her body steady as he rocks in and out of her, his hips meeting her every time. 

Sidney allows to feel himself in her warm, wet walls. He throws his head back in pleasure and she shuts her eyes tight. Her hands come up to her breasts to add to the pleasure, fingers pinching both of her nipples as she feels his huge cock pump in and out of her small hole. He feels like he’s three feet deep inside of her, he feels lost in how good she feels. His head grows foggy each time he squeezes her. 

Sidney hits the spongy spot in her tight cunt that made her gasp out in pleasure, she sang his name like a chant over and over which made him fuck her harder and harder. She warned him about her orgasm and he did the same, begging her to cum with him. A few more pumps of his cock he spilled his heavy load inside of her and she moaned loudly like a queen when he did. He pulled his cock out of her, watching his load spill out with it. 

Maybe it was the post orgasm haze she was in, maybe it was the lovestruck feeling she had the minute they began making out, but minutes later she’s standing between him and the cold shower wall. His forehead pressed against hers. His fingers knuckle deep in her cunt and a hand wrapped around her throat as hot water rained down on either of them, her cunt squeezing his thick fingers while she couldn’t even say anything but his name. That’s exactly what he wanted. 

The hot shower water kept her eyes shut but she knew that he was gazing at her. He was in awe of her facial expressions, how she bit her lip through a smile with every jerk he made with his hand, when she furrowed her eyebrows when she was on the edge of cumming, and how she cocked her head to the side while he kissed around her neck silently asking for more. 

He took his hand away from her pussy, licking the honey off his fingers. He stayed that close to her though knowing her legs were probably jello and she wasn’t able to stand for at least a minute or two. 

She took a deep breath, “got what you wanted?” she asked in a joking tone, moving her hand up and down his chest in the hot steamy shower. He chuckled, his hands never leaving her body. He palmed her breasts, he seemed to have a thing for those she contemplated, heavy lustful eyes staring into hers. 

“How many more you got in you?” he asked, spreading her legs with his thigh.

“I can give you as much as you want.” Y/N answered, her hands slowly roaming down lower and lower on his chest and stomach. 

“Then no, I didn’t get what I want yet.”

-

She woke up in Sidney’s bed the next morning with messy hair and sore muscles. Looking over on the nightstand the clock read 8:02 AM. She was glad that it was a Saturday and she was able to sleep in. She saw that Sidney was still asleep, he laid on his stomach with his head facing the other way. Looking over his back, studying the freckles, the faded scars. Y/N wants to stay in this moment for as long as she can. 

She hates to admit but she really fell for Sidney. Not because of how skilled he was in bed, or because he could do wicked things with his hands, but she shared a few heartfelt conversations with him before tryouts even began. 

He cared for the kids at school, the kids he taught and the kids he coached. He had a heart for the coming generation. He wanted them to have someone in their corner, and some kids don’t have that at home and he wants to be that. She got lovestruck in the past few months, sure she never planned on sleeping with him, she felt young again with how big of a crush she had. It went straight to her head, it all moved so fast. 

God if her mother were still here she could just hear the word “slut!” come out of her mouth if her mom found out what happened. But she wouldn’t care. She enjoyed it, and she was sure Sidney enjoyed it too. 

But still, she can’t help but think to herself what did I just do?

Sidney turns his head and sees that she’s also awake. Raising up he sees the time, 8:10. He doesn’t even care that he missed his morning workout session an hour late. He puts his arm around her and pulls her closer to him, tucking his head in her neck. With dry lips Sidney placed a tender lingering kiss on her hot skin.

It might be worth it for once, she thinks. 

feedback | masterlist | au tag

tagging mutuals to boost, let me know if you don’t want to be tagged! @fallinallincurls @nylwnder @bitchinbarzal @ilyasorokinn @leafsbabe @twinklelilstarkey @raysofcrosby @lcandothisallday

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

VIII. whatever keeps you around.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce has a proposal for you. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here. words: 6.9k. a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string

“…You won’t like it.”

It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."

Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."

"What? What else can I do?"

"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"

Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."

"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."

When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.

It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"

"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."

"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."

"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"

Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"

"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"

Your stomach drops, "He saw me."

"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."

You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.

You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."

"And put yourself in danger? No."

"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."

"This isn't the only way."

"It's the best way."

"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"

"So what, you just want to do nothing?"

Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."

You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."

Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.

The you in this vision has no weapon.

"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.

You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."

"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."

"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.

Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"

His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"

Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.

It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"

You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.

You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.

You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.

After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.

And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.

It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.

You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.

After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"

"To disappear."

You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"

"I've considered it from all angles-"

"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"

"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."

"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."

"You're shitting me."

After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.

You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."

"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."

You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."

"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."

"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"

"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."

"The detective?"

"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."

"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."

"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"

"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"

"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."

"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."

"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."

"What part of disappear do you not understand?"

"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."

Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"

It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.

"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"

Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."

"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."

"Really?"

"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."

He says nothing.

Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.

Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.

You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.

Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.

Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"

"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.

"Are you always this... chaotic?"

Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."

You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."

Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."

You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"

"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."

"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"

"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."

You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"

"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."

"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"

Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."

"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"

"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."

How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.

Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.

Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."

You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."

Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.

For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.

He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.

The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.

"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."

"Don't leave me hanging."

"We could go public."

"What?"

"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."

For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."

"Did you just... proposition me?"

"I made a proposal."

"You're asking me to date you."

"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."

"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."

"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.

You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."

Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."

You suppose you deserve that dig.

Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.

You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.

You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.

You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.

Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."

He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.

After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.

It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.

Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.

You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.

"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that."

"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.

Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.

"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"

"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."

You wince, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.

"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.

"Yes, I'm well aware."

You glance up at him, "You saw?"

"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."

You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."

"Yes."

"If you were there, why-"

"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.

You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.

"I've done alright, haven't I?"

"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."

You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"

You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"

"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."

"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."

Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."

"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.

In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."

Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."

So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.

The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"

"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."

"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"

"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."

You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.

But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?

You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.

The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.

"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"

You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."

The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.

Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.

You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.

Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"

James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."

Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"

"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."

Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.

Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."

You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."

"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"

"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."

"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."

"And that cause is...?"

Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."

This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."

"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.

"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."

"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."

"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."

Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."

"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."

James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."

James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."

"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."

James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."

You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."

The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."

Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"

"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."

"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."

"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.

By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.

You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?

"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"

Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.

"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."

He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.

And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.

"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."

Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."

"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"

"We're going to get the sedative."

"You're going as Bruce?"

"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."

"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."

"You will stick out like a sore thumb."

"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"

You're aware of what he's really asking.

You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."

a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible

[hihhasotherfixations]

Can you make a Drabble of reader telling price she has a teen from a previous relationship and the teen doesn’t trust price with their mom.

Why of course UwU Hope it came out like you wanted!

CW: fem!reader, no further warnings

Word Count: 1825

Dating in his late thirties wasn’t a thing Price was used to. Nor was it something he ever expected to happen. But you? You turned his world upside down.

It had been a casual thing. Price and you, both a little unsure, seeing each other every other week. Sure, deployments sometimes got in the way, but it was consistent. It was nice.

But casual slowly started to change to something more. And now, you had invited him to your house. For dinner, and to come meet your son.

Price knew of your previous relationship and divorce, the two of you had spent several nights at dinner tables bashing the things your ex did - much to both of your enjoyment. So he knew about your son. He was fifteen now, right around that age where everything parents do are wrong and unjust.

But you had explained your son was not like that. He was kind, a complete mama’s boy. He was your rock and your life and everything Price heard about him made him gain an appreciation for the kid.

Surely if he was like that, meeting him wouldn’t be a problem, right?

Well, that was the attitude he’d went into this dinner with. And he was sorely regretting not preparing more thoroughly now.

He’d been called away on a mission last minute, getting back into the country literally an hour before he had to be at your house.

So now here he sat, hair still damp from his quick shower, clothes the fastest thing he could find - a crumpled dress-shirt stuffed into maroon pants - and an overall flustered look to him.

After all, he just flew across the continent twice within 38 hours.

He’d tried to be casual, tried to introduce himself well to the kid. You seemed to approve of everything he’d said. But judging from the scrutinising stare down he was currently getting, your son didn’t think the same.

“So… Do you know what you wanna study after high school?” Price asked, trying to keep the conversation afloat, but it’d felt like a sinking ship for the last twenty minutes.

In response, the boy just shrugged and Price hummed, rolling the pasta on his plate with his fork a bit, trying to think of anything to say.

“Lew.” You sighed at your son.

“What?” He huffed back, twirling the salt shaker on the table. “It’s a stupid question. I don’t know yet. Of course I don’t.”

At that, Price watched as you turned a little more stern, looking at the kid. “Then you can say that politely. Come now, John tried his very best to be here today.”

Glancing at you, Lewis scoffed, giving Price a brief glare that made the military captain tilt his head in both confusion and intrigue. After all, he did nothing wrong as far as he knew.

“Sorry to have brought uncertainty.” He decided to speak up, getting the teen’s attention. “It’s sometimes a bit dodgy with my line of work.”

What was supposed to be a lighthearted comment meant to shed light, instead caused Lewis to glare at Price, slamming his fork down “You gonna leave my mom behind too then?” He spat and you gasped.

“Young man, that’s quite enough!” You started but Price then held up his hand.

“I get it, Lewis.” The man sighed. “Trust me I do. It’s been something your mother and I have talked about a lot.” He started, clasping his hands together in front of himself, elbows on the table as he put his thoughts into words. “My work is… well, shifty.” He sighed. “I’m not a fan of it, but it is what it is. I can’t guarantee that I’ll always be around, that I won’t ever disappear with minimum notice.”

Lewis’ jaw clenched as he listened. But Price kept going, because the kid was fifteen, and he didn’t feel like sugarcoating it. He was smart and old enough.

“But I can guarantee this: I will always keep your mother - and if you wish, you - in the loop. I won’t just leave. I’m not that kind of man.”

Crossing his arms, Lewis leaned back in his chair. “What kind of man are you then? Military big shot?”

Chuckling a little at that, Price looked at the boy. “Tell me this, do you trust your mom?” He motioned to you at that and, confused, Lewis nodded.

“Of course, why?”

“Then trust her that she won’t date some pompous asshole who can’t see beyond his own rank.”

Pursing his lips, Lewis had nothing to say to that, grumpily looking down at his plate instead.

“Kid-“

“Don’t call me that!” He snapped and John shut up. Almost instinctively, his military commander side wanted to rear up, scold him for yelling at his senior, but he restrained himself, instead looking at the angry teen. “You can’t just barge in here, into mom’s life, and expect me to take it laying down!”

Hearing that, you leaned forward onto the table. “Lewis, we’ve talked about this. You agreed to this dinner, you cannot act like this!”

A frown was on your face, almost borderline angry - something John hadn’t ever seen before.

But Lewis didn’t budge, now looking at you. “I won’t stop, mom! It’s obvious, I mean look at him!” He angrily gestured to the brunet, making John’s brows furrow.

“What about him?”

“Don’t make me say it out loud!”

“Lewis.” Your voice was hard and concise.

“He’s not good enough for you!” Lewis then yelled, a silence immediately falling.

Hearing it, Price clenched his jaws, a tightness forming in his chest as he then looked over to you. You held a frown, looking at your son.

“Lew…”

“I’m not hungry.” Without another word, the boy shoved his plate away and got up, storming off.

Speechless, you went to open your mouth, to get up to chase after him, but Price stopped you by placing his hand over yours, his eyes calm, hiding the hurt as he just looked at you.

“Just let him go. Speaking from experience, it’s best to let him cool off and gather his thoughts.”

Conflicted, you looked at him. “I- I don’t get why he’s being like this…” You said softly and John squeezed your hand, a loaded sigh leaving him.

“It’s a big change for him. You can’t blame the boy.” He said, pulling his hand back as he glanced to where Lewis left. “Admittedly, I didn’t think it would go like this. But I also didn’t think he’d accept me into the dynamic instantly. Just don’t take his words to heart right now.” The captain spoke, turning his head back to face you as he then gave you a kind, little smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling gently.

Sighing, you nodded as you placed your head in your hands.

“Dinner’s great, by the way.”

At his sudden comment, you let out a startled little laugh that made John’s heart flutter.

- - - -

Sitting on your porch with a cigar, Price looked out at the night sky. After he stormed off, neither you nor him had seen any sign of Lewis. It truly did put a damper on the evening.

Smoke gently exited Price’s mouth before being picked up by the wind and blown away.

Behind him, the door then opened and he glanced back, his eyes widening a bit as he saw Lewis standing there, a sour expression on his face as he kept his eyes firmly to the ground.

“Hey.” He muttered and Price took the cigar out of his mouth.

“Hi.” He replied, analysing the teen. He didn’t seem entirely thrilled to be here, possibly sent out here by you. It made the captain want to scoff a chuckle. But he didn’t and instead patted the spot beside him where he sat on the stairs of the porch. “Wanna sit?”

“I don’t like-“

“I’ll put it out.” John shushed, holding the cigar away a little. It made Lewis look up, however.

“Aren’t those crazy expensive?”

Chuckling a little, Price crossed his ankle over his knee, pushing the cigar into the underside of his boot. “Yep. But that’s okay.”

Tentatively, Lewis walked over, sitting down besides the man.

“I have to… say sorry. For what I said.” He mumbled and John turned his head, a kinder look on his face, almost serene.

“By your mother?”

Pursing his lips, Lewis turned to look at Price, only to see an amused twinkle in the older man’s eye.

“Maybe.” He instead grumpily mumbled and John just huffed in amusement, turning to look forward as he leaned his elbows on his knees, absentmindedly starting to twirl the extinguished cigar in his hands.

“I get it, Lewis.” He started, his eyes focused on the night sky and his voice soft - almost as if he didn’t want to break the serenity of the night. “Your mom? She’s a wonderful woman. Kind, generous, sweet.” Looking down, Price then focused on his cigar. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but I really like her. And I think she likes me too. I hope so, at least.” With that, he turned his head to the teen.

Lewis was looking at him, a conflicted expression on his face.

“I don’t want to come in here to play family, kid. I’m not your dad and I won’t pretend to be.” He said and then glanced at the door. “I just want to give her what she deserves.” He nudged his head towards the house.

“What I said about you not being good enough…” Lewis mumbled and John sighed, now turning to face the teen.

“Don’t bother. Honestly, you may be right.” He hummed, leaning his head back into the porch railing. “I won’t say I’m a perfect man. Far from it. But what I said at the table is true. I will always try to do right by her. And you too - if you’ll let me.”

Contemplating, Lewis looked out from the porch.

“Why mom?” He said after a moment and Price looked at him.

“Because she’s the first one in a long time to give me a chance. Despite my job and what I’ve done.”

At that, the teen angled his head, taking the brunet beside him in. “Really? What have you done?” He asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

Seeing it, Price huffed a chuckle, pocketing the dud cigar. “That’s classified, I’m afraid.”

“Lame.” Lewis scoffed, but there was no animosity in it and Price smiled to himself.

“Tell you what.” He said, sitting upright and looking at the boy. “You give me a chance and I might tell you some stories.” He held out his hand.

Looking at it, Lewis seemed skeptical at first, glancing at the peace offering. But then he sighed and reached out, shaking hands.

“If you hurt my mom I will kick your ass.”

Laughing, John slapped the kid on the shoulder. “If I do, I’ll let you.”

[gayerthanevertbh]

my tears ricochet.

pairings: older!natasha romanoff x fem!reader

n.r masterlist | navigation | n.r one-shots masterlist  

summary: after your divorce from natasha, life was never the same again. and when you and her revisit the past, it made you realize how much you were always in love with her.

warnings: unprotected sex, g!p natasha, dirty talking, pet names, sex on the couch, fingering, dry humping, angst, and fluff - 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count: 4.7k

author’s note: hopefully you’ll enjoy this one! 

You were once married to an Avenger. You felt seen and loved by this Avenger at some point, and you never doubted their feelings for you. But as time goes on, you two grow apart and lose touch with one another's emotions. You've become the stereotypical housewife who cooks for their individual party, provides the best sex that they require so that they never have to seek it elsewhere, washes their clothes, and takes care of them as they should be taken care of. But as the routine continues, you find yourself wanting more. The problem is that you feel guilty. Why should you feel bad about wanting more? Why should you feel guilty when everything is perfect? That's where you feel completely alone and unnoticed by the woman you love.

It continued for a year or two after your daughter turned six. You remember vividly that night when you had dinner with your family, and Natasha came home that night on a very cold night – well, morning. She was devastated, her hair was all over the place. She looked unhygienic, and you didn’t want to admit that to yourself. When you saw her by the door, you were angry. You were demanding her time for your daughter, but she always gave the same excuse. I’m doing this for our family, Y/n. Can’t you see that? You do appreciate what she gives. In fact, you never complained in your life.

After that argument, you brought a file of divorce papers and gave it to her before she left for another mission the following month. She appeared distressed by your actions and begged you - repeatedly - to wait for her until the mission was completed. But you simply told the older woman, "I'm done with this cycle, Nat. I can't do it anymore." When she got tired of convincing you to stay, she just nodded and left.

She was gone for at least 3 months around that time.

And when she returned home from Budapest, she found an empty house. The couch she bought in the first month of marriage was still sitting against the wall, but the majority of the furniture had vanished. She dashed into the bedroom, where she found the bed clean and an old vintage lamp on the floor. That's when she broke down - that's when she realized she'd messed up her marriage and that she'll never get you back.

Five months later, you won custody of your daughter with Natasha. Although Natasha could still see her daughter, you had complete control over whether or not she could take her out of the state. But Natasha mostly just listened to you and respected your wishes. She would come to see you twice a month, mostly to look after Riley while you were at work. And when you returned home, Natasha would leave you food that she had ordered while you were away.

Everything you two had in the past had come to an end; you were now civil with her, which was a new routine - and you liked it at times, but you missed her. You must have missed her terribly. It's as if whenever she was away on a mission or simply unavailable, you would reflect on the times you spent with the woman. She was so caring, intelligent, and romantic that you wondered if you could ever be as romantic as her. She gave you everything you deserved in life. So most of the time, you felt guilty and unwanted.

You wanted your wife back, your wife that she used to be.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and you looked at the window noticing that the skies were gray once again. It had been raining in your state for quite some time, but you’re sure enough that there’ll be a storm around nighttime. You were making lunch while listening to quiet jazz music until Riley came to the room and asked: “Can I see Francis today, Mommy?”

You turned over your shoulder and jutted your lower lip out, knowing that it was too dangerous to go out and play.

“Honey I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s possible today.”

She sighed, holding her teddy bear close to her chest.

“Francis wants to play with my dolls,” she said in a very tiny voice. “And there’s no school today, why can’t I play with her?”

“Because there’s a storm coming, sweetheart. We have to stay at home for now,” you walked towards your daughter and pecked her left cheek. She smiled at your gesture, it definitely warms your heart. “But guess what? Mama will be visiting later! She brought something for you.”

Her face brightens up, as her grin widens. “Really? Mama bought me another set of trains?”

“Well, she said it was a surprise,” you responded, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “But don’t worry, I’m sure my little girl would love it.”

After you finished preparing lunch, Riley went back to her room, and you continued working in the kitchen. Suddenly, you heard a bell coming from the front door. Natasha came into the house after hearing your daughter squeal before you could turn around. She ran to her mother and immediately embraced her tightly around the neck.

“Oh, my baby,” Natasha sighed, kissing her forehead. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Mama,” Riley whispered, giggling as Natasha pinched her soft cheeks. “Did you bring me a toy?”

“Hmm, if I could get a kiss first.”

After giving Natasha a second peck on the cheek, Riley jumped to the ground to retrieve a box from behind her. You looked back at your daughter, curious to see what she had received from Natasha this time.

“It’s a train! The one I wanted!”

“I’ll give you everything you want, my darling. Everything.”

You chuckled, your arms crossed tightly across your stomach. “You’re spoiling her too much, Nat. She’s gonna expect this from you whenever you come back home from work.”

The older woman smiled at you kindly, and replied: “It’s the only time that I get to see her, so she deserves everything.”

You could tell by her smile that she yearned for you to give her another chance, which caused you to look away from her gaze and give your attention back to the kitchen, leaving the two pairs alone and playing.

You had this strange feeling inside of you that yearned for her as well, but you couldn't say it out loud. You could never admit that you missed her, despised her, and still loved her. You noticed Natasha playing with another toy train with Riley as you brought three plates to the dining table. You enjoyed watching them play; it was one of your greatest joys.

You can't say that out loud either.

You kept your mouth shut as always and continued to become hysterical.

As the hours passed, Natasha was putting Riley to sleep in order to get back to her house before the storm hit. You had just finished picking up, which meant that you were prepared to head to bed as soon as the older woman departed. As you passed by your bedroom, you noticed that Riley's door was cracked open just a little bit.

You decided to give it a shot and observed the two girls conversing.

“Do you miss Mommy?" Riley inquired, her face stricken with sadness: "It hurts you to see it.

Natasha nodded, which wasn’t so surprising.

"I do," she said quietly, as if it were a dirty secret, and pushed some of Riley's hair away from her face. “But it’s over now, sweetheart. We both agreed to be with you, though. So you’ll always see me, okay?”

“You’ll never disappear?”

Natasha smiled, tears welling up in the brim of her eyelids as she softly kissed her daughter's forehead. This scenery made your heart clench, and you realized how much it hurts to lose someone you care about in this way. It hurts way too much, it’s almost insane that you feel this way.

“I will never disappear, baby. I promise.”

“Do you still love Mommy?”

Natasha chuckled, placing the teddy bear in between your daughter’s arms.

“I love her with all of my heart, Riles. I will always love your mother.”

This feels like a train wreck for you, and you absolutely hated it.

"I hope Mommy loves you too," Riley yawned, her eyes fluttering shut as slumber overtook her. Natasha sighed deeply and turned off the bedside lamp. You hurried downstairs and prepared her jacket for her before she could leave the bedroom, so you wouldn't have to talk to her when she leaves.

You turn your head when Natasha comes back down, rubbing her left eye tiredly before smiling sadly at you.

“You have a place to stay?” you asked, knowing that somewhere deep in your heart, you’ll always be concerned for her.

“Yeah, I’ll be in New York for a little while before I find a new job.”

A new job? Since when did she want a new job?

You couldn’t help but ask, “What do you mean by a new job?”

The older redhead looks at you briefly and gazes at the ground, replying quietly to your question. “I retired.”

“From being an Avenger?” she nodded. You never expected this from her, not in your damn life. Why would she quit now? Her being an Avenger revolved around her life, it was her first happiness before she met you. So why would she quit now? You can’t keep your mouth shut.

“Why?”

She tucks her hand into her pockets, looking at you with bright green eyes.

“Because I’m done being an Avenger,” she said. “I just… want to live a normal life.”

“H-How are you going to get a job? You’re a criminal everywhere, Nat. I don’t think it’s–”

“Tony will be sending me money every once a month,” she chuckled, taking a few steps closer to you. “I deserve every ounce of it, anyway. But while he does that, I’ll do my best to find a job. Probably work as a mechanic, who knows?”

You nodded, giving her a sidelong glance.

“You’re gonna have a hard time.”

“I know,” Natasha whispered, giving you a sad smile. “But I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

For a while, neither of you moved, until a thunderclap shook the sky, causing you to jump. You chuckled as you walked into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t like the sound of… that.”

“I know,” she chuckled wholeheartedly because deep down inside of her, she knew everything about you. Likes and dislikes. “You’re still cute.”

“Don’t flirt with me like that.” you pointed out, straightening your voice.

“Don’t flirt like what?”

“Like you want me back.”

Natasha pushes back her hair – which you notice how short it was – and asked quietly, “You don’t want me to flirt with you?”

“Does it look like I want you to?”

"No," her heart clenches at the sound of your voice, making her more tense - which sometimes scares her because she doesn't like seeing you angry; it's one of her flaws. “But you know my answer, you know what I want.”

She can be too honest at times like this, too bold whenever she has the chance. You gave her a solemn look before turning away. Because showing your vulnerability to her will make you appear to want her as much as she does. But you want her, and you want her badly.

Natasha walks in front of you and kneels on the ground, softly touching your knee with her calloused hands. You look at her gesture but don't appear to move away from it. She looked at you with puffy cheeks and eyes that were more sorrowful than usual.

“Have you found someone else?”

You shake your head, she continued.

“Do you want me back?”

You shake your head once more, and this is when she lets out a quiet sympathetic laugh.

“You’re lying to me, Y/n.”

“I’m telling the truth,” you stated, pushing the tears away from your eyes. She tries to hold your hand, but you pull away from her grasp – showing a hurtful expression on her face. “Natasha, we can’t.”

“I promise I’ll be good to you this time…”

“That’s–” you let out a stressful sigh and pinch your nose bridge. “I don’t want to fight, okay? We both agreed to be civil for our daughter, so let’s just keep doing that.”

“I never stopped thinking about you.”

“Nat–”

"I still love you," her voice and touch become more desperate. "When we divorced, I never looked at anyone else in my life except you," she sniffled. “I never dared to touch a woman because I still love you. Did you know that? You have no idea how many times I've thought about you in a day, how many times I want to love you all over again - like you deserve to be loved."

You pushed her away as you turned your body away from her, more tears streaming down your cheeks. You've become weak once more, far too weak when it comes to her. Natasha tries to touch you, but she stays put.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you muttered, throwing your hands in the air. “Who asked you to be devoted to me after our divorce? You’re making yourself miserable because I’m never going to fall in love with you ever again!”

“You know what you’re saying is not true, Y/n,” Natasha shakes her head, biting her lower lip. “You know that’s not true.”

“You’re just a pain in the ass for not believing it then! God, you’re so hard to talk to.”

She mumbled, “Fine. Maybe I’m a pain in the ass, but at least I have never lied to you. I have been devoted to you since I first met you, and I never looked at anyone the moment I fell in love with you. You’ve become my whole world, my entire being. You are what I breathe and what I take, you are what I need when I go to bed and when I need to be loved. Every time I get back home from a mission, I crave your hugs. Because they only make me feel better when it’s you because it’ll always be you!”

You let out a hiccup, which you never expected, and watched Natasha’s throat bobbing as she controlled her tears. You were supposed to have a good night, but things got out of hand once more and you just painfully wanted to go to sleep and forget about how you two got here. But your emotions took over you, and it did for her as well.

“You were always gone, Natasha,” you sobbed, feeling your voice lighter as you hugged your torso. She turned her gaze away from you, knowing what she had done. “I respect what you do, but I needed you as well. I needed you to help me take care of Riley, I needed you when we were going broke. I needed you when Riley turned s-six, and I needed you when I couldn’t handle that cycle anymore.”

"But you weren't there," you sniffled, wiping your tears with the hem of your shirt. "You decided to spend more time with your friends at the pub, decided not to read my message when I needed money for the rent, and especially when it was our wedding anniversary! You didn’t give a damn about me and our marriage, you only cared when you were hurt! But what about me, Nat? What about me? I was always hurting when you were gone!”

“Baby…”

You lift a finger at her, letting out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t call me that, you don't get to call me that.”

“I’m sorry–”

"I know you're a loyal woman," you said, smiling briefly. "I believe you would never cheat on me. But sometimes maybe I prefer you cheating on me so I have a reason to leave your stupid ass! You hurt me, Natasha. You're always causing me pain! And you know what’s worse? I still fucking love you!”

You tried standing up to avoid the agonizing silence, but two strong hands held your waist down, her head motioning to your chest. She sobbed alongside you, desperately kissing your neck. You tried to push her away, but you let her hand move to your torso until she wrapped her arms around you tightly. Natasha sobbed until your shirt was soaked in her tears.

"I'm here now," she said quietly, looking you in the eyes as she always does. “I’m here now and I’m so sorry you felt that way, darling. I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry for everything, I didn’t mean to hurt you this way. I just… I wanted what’s best for you a-and our beautiful daughter.”

You were aware of this. Of course, you were aware of this. Natasha would go out of her way for you and your daughter. She would move the moon for you, giving you what you needed until you could truly say you were satisfied. But money, even if it was luxurious, was not always the solution. It was her love that prevailed.

“We’re meant to be together,” she continues to sob, holding your face as she brings your forehead against hers. “You’re always going to be the first girl I’ll lay eyes on. I love you so much, darling. I love you too much to let you go.”

You shake your head, knowing that you could always come back to her with her sweet words and innocent touch - which you didn't want. But, knowing yourself too well, you desired that above all else in the world.

She took advantage of the opportunity to softly kiss your lips, letting out a quiet moan as she feels your lips after a long time of desperately wanting to taste you again. She draws your face in closer, refusing to let you go. She probes the depths of your mouth, re-memorizing you - as she always does. You couldn't push her away because you felt her tongue on the roof of your mouth. Natasha has captured your heart once more, and you know you don't want to let go.

The older woman pulled away with a smacking sound before whispering, “I fucked up bad, I know that now. But I promise you, I will be good to you this time, little girl. I promise, okay? I’m here now, I’m never going far away again.”

Give her a chance, explore the moment. You want her, you know it yourself.

You stared deeply into the wonders of her eyes, taking a moment of happiness. After months and months of sorrow, of mourning for that matter, you finally have her again – you needed to take it all in.

“I know,” you smiled, feeling more tears in your eyes. “I’m giving you another chance.”

Natasha gently pushes you back onto the couch and separates your legs so she can get in between them. She kisses you slowly and sensuously, her hands exploring the side of your waist until her fingers are hooked into your shorts. "I've thought about this moment, did you know that?" she pulls her lips away for a brief moment.

You moaned when you felt your shorts being pulled down from your legs, feeling the cold air hit your skin as you felt more of her open-mouth kisses on your jaw and all the way down to your neck. The redhead brought her thumb to your face cheek and made circular motions while staring down at you, smiling to herself. Finally, she had you once again. She couldn’t believe it.

“D-Do you want to do it here?” she asked hastily, after removing your undergarments. You nodded, looking from the side to find protection – which seems to be not in the living room since you don’t put those kinds of stuff in your house. And plus, you haven’t had sex in a while. “Baby, I don’t have a condom with me.”

"It's okay," you said, catching her lips and feeling her warm breath enter your mouth. She moaned lowly above you, unbuttoning her pants and pulling them down to her ankles. “You have to pull out, though.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, her tongue darting on the skin of your neck, groaning to herself. “Oh, you make me so happy… You want me to fuck you here? Out in the open? What if our Riley–”

“She’s dead asleep,” you giggled, massaging her dick through her boxers as you received a long, strained moan from her, which turned you on even more. “You’re getting hard, Tasha…”

“Rub it, baby,” she whispers, rushing down her words. You squint your eyes to see an evident wet patch on her underwear, continuing to stroke your hand onto her covered cock. “Oh fuck, that’s it–Mmph… your hand f-feels so good.”

You take your time to stroke her cock through her boxers, watching her whimper and biting her lip to prevent letting out loud sounds wake your daughter up. You enjoyed doing this, watching the woman immensely falling apart for you, and the more you stroked her harder and faster, the more she rolls her hips down on you.

You began to ask, “You want to fuck me?”

“Uh-huh,” she muttered, her thumb circling your clit, smirking as you began to let out tiny moans. “Y-You like it when I touch you like this, kotenok?”

“Please–”

"You're so wet for me," she says softly as two of her fingers spread through your folds, almost entering your tight entrance. She shudders above you, then continues to finger your cunt until she is satisfied. “I’m gonna put it in now, okay? Let me just pull down my underwear.”

Her cock grew another inch after she removed her boxers. She almost sits up and strokes her thick length, watching her bulbous head turn red with torment. You observe her hand stroking her penis while your inner walls clench each time pre-cum dribbles on your lower stomach, a string connecting to your skin and to her head. She slides her hand beneath your shirt, gasping as she feels your nipple harden against her palm.

“Gonna break you in, again?” she chuckles, strongly kissing your lips. You held her face as the tip of her cock was at your entrance, moving the head up and down to gather more of your juices – which felt sensitive. “Shh, keep your voice down little girl, you’re gonna wake our daughter up.”

Once she slid inside of you, you and her moaned together as the air thickened around the room. Natasha holds your waist closer to hers, slowly ripping you apart once again. She stutters out a moan before pressing her lips on the corner of your mouth, pushing more of her length until both of your pelvises have touched.

“Fuck,” she whispers, looking down at both of your sex. “Y-Youre so tight, and so warm… you take my dick so good, little girl.”

“Tasha,” you moaned out her name as your voice got pitchier. “T-Too big.”

“You can take it,” Natasha mumbled as she slowly pulls out, pushing back in once again without any restraints. “Too small for my dick, huh?”

She continued this motion, slowly pulling out and pushing back in while peppering kisses all over your face. You scratched her back, wanting to hold onto something while she let out a hiss, but smirked because she liked it whenever you did that to her. The older woman starts to pick up an unusual pace since you both had to be quiet or else you would get caught red-handed.

“I like the way your pussy clenches around me,” Natasha grunted as she got turned on even more by the sloshing sounds coming down from your cunt. “You like this, huh? You like being fucked by me? Ruining you all over again? Tell me you like this…”

You gasped for air as you fluttered your eyes closed, feeling her thick cock pounding into you slowly. “I-I love this,” you mewled. “Go faster, Tash. Ruin my pussy.”

“Argh, you want me to ruin your pussy?”

“Uh-Huh…”

She withdraws her length from your pussy, slapping her head against your clit, causing you to moan aloud. “Okay, baby. I’ll ruin this fucking tight pussy.”

Natasha covers your mouth with her damp hand as she continues to roll her hips into you, the couch creaking and shifting slightly. She thrusts into you at a faster pace, your skin slapping together, filling the room with wet noises. She smirked, biting her own lip and containing her own pleasurable moans as she looked down at your sweaty face.

“Can’t c-control myself when I’m with you,” she whispers breathlessly, whimpering each time her head hits your spot. “Fuck, you’re taking me all in, huh? You’re such a good little girl, baby. Such a good little girl…”

"Ah!" you screamed into her hand as you felt her penis pistoning inside of you, the creaking of your couch becoming more audible, and you're sure Riley's room can hear it. You put your hand on her hips to slow her down, and she did. But she kept giving hard thrusts, moaning each time she was buried deep inside you.

“You make me want to bust my nut into you,” the woman panted hard, her hips making circular motions to keep maneuvering her cock inside of your depth walls. “Gonna remove my h-hand now, okay? Stay quiet.”

She slowly moves her hand away from your mouth and kisses your lips with such need, her hands moving up and down on your waist as she continues to fuck you on the couch, her ass clenching each time she hits the spot inside of you that she loved. She looked behind her shoulder to see if her daughter was awake, but she was glad she wasn't anywhere near both of you.

She continued to pound you hard into the cushions, lifting your hips to the side so she could go deeper into you.

“Ugh yeah,” she whined as she shut her eyes tightly. “Shit, shit shit… Take it all in, sweet girl. F-Fuck me!”

“You feel so good inside of me,” you let out a long moan, threading your fingers through her short hair. “Keep going, Tasha. K-Keep going.”

"Oh my fucking god, you're taking me so well," she begins, making the entire couch shake and creak loudly. She didn't care if anyone heard you both, but if her daughter awoke from the strange sound coming from the living room, she would quickly pull out. Despite knowing her daughter was a heavy sleeper, she continued to rock her hips back and forth until there were red marks on your thighs. “Take it, take it, take it…”

Your moans started to get louder and louder, and you were holding Natasha tightly from her back as you felt your inner walls being abused by her penis, her thick long dick. The woman starts to helplessly moan and kisses your mouth hard.

“I’m gonna fucking cum all over your stomach,” she whispers slowly to you, bringing your hips up and down to take her length all the way inside of you. “You wanna cum with me, baby doll? Wanna cum with me? Oh fuck, I’m going to blow–”

Natasha pulls out quickly as she presses the tip of her cock against your clit, furiously rubbing it to catch your orgasm. You grabbed her neck and screamed, "I'm cumming! I’m gonna cum–Oh my god, Nat… I’m gonna cum!”

“Me too, baby! I’m here now–shit!”

You roll your eyes back as you feel your legs twitching from your orgasm, the head of her cock rubbing up and down on your clit, intensifying your orgasm. As the world darkens around you, you arch your back, knowing that it has become this much for you. Natasha looks down at your face and pumps her cock hard, spitting thick sperm all over your cunt, coating your clit and folds. She lets out a deep moan and thrusts her dick into her hand as she continues to cum. Her thick sperm coated your cunt, but most of it was on your lower stomach.

Her balls contracted as she continued to pump herself. As soon as she slows down, she sighs heavily and hugs you from behind, kissing your reddened cheeks while smiling softly down at you. Natasha whispered, “That was amazing, baby girl. You did such a great job for me.”

"Thank you," you muttered as you fell asleep, too tired to speak and too tired to think. Natasha recognized this and decided to kiss you on the cheek one last time before standing up to find a blanket for the two of you, butt naked. She decides to slip her unhardened cock inside your vagina once she is comfortable with her position behind you and sleeps peacefully on your warm walls hugging her dick.

i got lazy at the end but hope you enjoyed this one!