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macfrog · 1 year ago

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sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

#i think duckie is my favorite character i've ever written. that fetus has more personality than vanessa icl #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

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landosjpg · 9 months ago

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from my pov | ln

lando norris x fem!reader

word count: ~1.0k

warnings: heavily implied body dysmorphia, disordered eating, insecurities, COMFORT

note: based on this request. despite of the previous warnings and this being more of a comfort blurb, i feel the need to clarify that i am NOT encouraging these behaviors and, as some sensitive topics are discussed, please DO NOT READ if this could be triggering for you or have any kind of negative impact on your mental health. i am also writing this from my own experience with these topics; everyone’s experience is different, so please be respectful.

and last, but obviously not least, if you’re going through something like this (or through anything, really) PLEASE REACH OUT! and if you’re not ready to do so, for whatever reason it might be, reminder that my messages are always open for anyone who needs a little rant or anything i could potentially help with.

and lastly, i don’t know how i feel about this one (yes i’m insecure about everything i post, leave me alone) so please share your thoughts with me as always <3

it had started only a few weeks ago. summer was around the corner, and inevitably, your social media was filled with girls in tiny crop tops or “summer body” posts.

normally, you wouldn’t pay too much attention to them; you liked your body the way it was.

but this year it was different. the stress of the past few weeks had a bigger impact on you that you ever expected.

the first time you noticed you were trying your summer clothes on. the skirt you loved being a little tighter than the last time you had used it.

it was only a few pounds, no one could really notice. but you could.

you shouldn’t have give it a second thought, but insecurities got the best of you and that very same moment you had decided that you needed to do something about it.

you would just stop snacking in between meals. you had it all under control, and in to time you would feel good about yourself again.

that’s what you told yourself.

but your rule of no snacking soon turned into skipping breakfast quite often and trying to make your meals as light as possible.

but you found yourself checking your body in the mirror more often than not whenever you were left alone.

“i’m back!” you heard your boyfriend announce, followed by the sound of the front door closing.

you felt your heart skip a beat at the thought of lando finding you like that, so you tried to put on your clothes as quickly as possible and wiped your tears from your cheeks before walking out of the bathroom.

you slowly paced to the kitchen where you knew he was, one of his hoodies over your body and your eyes inevitably red and puffy.

when you entered the kitchen, you didn’t even need to say anything for him to knew you where there, even with his back turned to you.

“got us dinner,” he said, taking the food out of a white plastic bag. “your favorite.”

you could feel his smile even when he still hadn’t turned to look at you yet, and it broke your heart a little that you weren’t in the mood for some junk food.

when your eyes met his, his face softened at the sight of you. he knew you were feeling down, but he also knew better than to ask. you would tell him, eventually.

“go choose a movie,” he uttered, voice tender. “i’ll be there in a second.”

you nodded and walked to the living room, sitting on the couch and trying to find a movie that could lift your mood up. just a little bit, at least.

it worked, for the last half of the movie; it eased off your worries for some time, and you found yourself lying on top of your boyfriend, worries about your recent insecurities now gone for a while.

you heard him sigh, his fingers brushing your hair softly as you rested your head on his chest with your eyes closed.

“tell me what’s up,” he whispered. “you’ve barely touched your food.”

“i’m not hungry,” you answered, making him roll his eyes.

“don’t lie to me.”

despite his insistence, he wasn’t mad; his tone was still gentle, and one of his hands slipped under your shirt to softly caress the skin of your waist. the touch that normally would have made you feel instantly better, this time making you tense a little. and he noticed, so he squeezed your side, urging you to speak.

“i just haven’t been feeling good lately,” you mumbled after a few seconds, your voice muffled as you were hiding your face in the crook of your boyfriend’s neck.

“hm?” he only hummed in response, kissing the top of your head and waiting for you to explain further, not really wanting to push you.

“i’ve put on a few pounds these past weeks,” your words were barely audible, voicing your insecurities was never an easy task.

lando heard you, though.

“that’s not a bad thing.”

“but it is,” you cut him off before he could add something else. his hand slowly rubbed your back as he took a deep breath. “you’re only saying that because you’re my boyfriend.”

he chuckled, “don’t be silly.”

lando squeezed you in his arms and planted another soothing kiss to your temple, trying to find the correct words to say.

“i’m not saying that just because i’m your boyfriend,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. he held your chin and made you look at him. “you’re gorgeous, baby. everyone can see that.”

your lips formed a little pout as you heard your boyfriend’s words, which he was quick to kiss away.

“and nothing will change that, ever,” his eyes met your teary ones, the corners of his lips perking up at your vulnerable state.

“but i…”

“nuh huh,” he cut you off immediately with a slight shake of his head. “no ‘buts’, love. you look perfect to me.”

he softly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear as he spoke, his eyes soft and his touch gentle when he then cupped your cheek.

“i wish you could see yourself with my eyes,” his whisper made you sigh as he nuzzled his nose softly against yours, comforting and sweet. “you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen, baby.”

“do you really mean it?” your eyes fluttered closed as you spoke, eyelashes resting on your cheeks.

“of course i do,” you could hear the small smile on his lips as he reassured you once again, the fingers that slowly creeped up the side of your body tickling your skin.

a sigh escaped your lips, your arms circling around your boyfriend’s neck as you pressed your lips against his in silent gratitude.

how lucky of a girl you were, you thought, for him to be just yours.

#lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris blurb #lando norris drabble #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #ln #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff

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deliciousangelfestival · 3 months ago

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The Imperfect Couple - 12

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It’s just a bluff, one you’ve perfected over the years. You’ve pulled this trick countless times, especially when someone refuses to give you the information you need. Most crack under the pressure, some get nervous and spill their secrets, just as you want.

But a few? A few see right through you.

And Bucky? He was one of those.

He scoffed, leaning back with that infuriating smirk. "I like this mind game."

You sighed inwardly, knowing you’d lost this round. He wasn't going to give anything up.

The tension hung thick in the air until the bathroom door creaked open, and Nate emerged, oblivious to the storm brewing between you and his uncle. Spotting his small luggage by the counter, he beamed, zipping it open to grab a change of clothes and, of course, his stash of snacks.

With his arms full, Nate wandered over to the both of you and handed each a snack—his favorite, the snack he wasn’t allowed to have at home. His parents and Hazel were strict about it, but he knew he could get away with it here, as long as he shared. This was his little bribe.

"This is my favorite," he said, grinning up at you both.

You couldn’t resist. You pulled him into a tight hug, squeezing him gently. “Why are you so damn cute?”

Bucky, knowing exactly how strict Hazel and his parents were about junk food, raised an eyebrow. "Where did you get this? Did you ask the nanny?"

Nate shook his head, completely unfazed. "No. Uncle Steve gave it to me."

That name. The second Nate said it, it felt like an ice-cold bucket had been dumped over your head. You looked at Bucky, and his face tightened. His reaction told you everything—you weren't the only one feeling uneasy.

Something was going on, and Steve’s name was right in the middle of it.

You cleared your throat, determined to break the lingering awkwardness. “Let’s have lunch first. After that, what do you want to do next?”

Nate's eyes widened, his face lighting up with excitement as he turned to look at the spacious living room and the big TV. “Can we watch movies after lunch? Then take a nap together on that big couch?”

He’d seen that in a movie. With his grandparents, he could never relax like that, but he knew his uncles were much more laid-back. He wants to fall asleep while watching his favorite cartoon, being close to his uncle and aunt.

“Sure.” You patted his head gently, feeling a warmth spread through you. Besides, it had been ages since you’d enjoyed a good nap. It felt like a luxury for adults these days.

Lunch turned into a delightful moment of relaxation as the three of you settled around the table. Nate's innocent chatter filled the air, weaving a lightness into the atmosphere that slowly pushed away the tension between you and Bucky. Nate asked questions about everything under the sun—his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he talked about his favorite cartoons and the superheroes he admired.

After lunch, the three of you cozied up on the couch to watch a cartoon movie together. Nate nestled himself right in the middle, sprawled across both of you, laughter echoing through the room.

Within forty minutes, however, the excitement wore him out. He fell asleep, his head resting against your right arm. You smiled, reaching over to gently cup his cheek with your hand. “How did he get such a bubbly personality, considering the Barnes don’t seem to have it?” you mused aloud.

Bucky glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “He’s different, isn’t he?” He reached over to place a soft pillow under Nate’s head, ensuring he was comfortable.

“Maybe my parents realized how strict they were raising me, Shawn, and Hazel. When Nate was born, I was surprised by how much gentler they are with him,” Bucky added, his voice softer, as if reflecting on the changes in his family.

“Do you think Steve has a bright character too? I wonder,” you said, still watching the peaceful expression on Nate's face.

Bucky’s smile faded, replaced by a more serious demeanor. “Why do you have to ruin this moment, my love?” he teased lightly before standing up and walking toward the balcony door. He opened it and stepped outside, lighting a cigarette.

You were surprised to see Bucky smoking; he hadn’t done that since you arrived. You knew he wasn’t a regular smoker, but sometimes the stress got to him.

You followed him outside, the cool breeze washing over you as you stepped onto the balcony. Bucky turned to face you, resting his back against the railing. His head tilted back, looking up at the sky as he released a plume of smoke from his lips.

“There’s a difference between me and Steve,” Bucky said, his voice steady yet reflective. “I got into this because of connections.” He paused, knowing that his privileged background played a significant role in his current position. “While Steve? He started from the military. He had no backup. He had real ambitions.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "You see me as a manipulative person," he said, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "But you have no idea how manipulative Steve is."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Steve. The insinuation sent a chill down your spine, and you straightened your posture, folding your arms tightly across your chest. You weren't sure if Bucky was trying to manipulate you again or if he was genuinely warning you about something darker. Either way, the unease crept in.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you. “If you knew… compared to him, you’d think of me as an angel.”

You raised an eyebrow, your skepticism clear. “That’s hard to believe.”

A humorless smile tugged at Bucky’s lips. “He's a man of plans. If you and I think two steps ahead, Steve’s already thought 100 steps ahead.”

You let out a slow, steady breath, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. “That doesn't excuse what you've done,” you replied, your voice low but firm. “You’re still responsible for dragging me into this.”

Bucky's smirk returned, but this time it held something deeper—almost regretful. “You might think I brought you here just for my own selfishness, but it's also for your protection.”

You blinked, the words hitting you like a slap. “You? Protect me? That’s a joke.” You couldn’t help the bitterness that slipped into your tone. The idea that he’d done anything selfless seemed ridiculous.

Bucky's smirk deepened, almost daring you to challenge him. “Like I said before—you can hate me, stab me, poison me. I’ll take it. But you need to know, I won’t let you get hurt.”

The conviction in his voice sent a tremor through you, but you masked it with a sharp exhale. “Who wants to hurt me?”

Bucky's expression shifted, something darker brewing in his eyes. “You can figure out the truth about Nate. I’m sure you can connect the dots.”

You felt your stomach drop as your thoughts raced. Could he be implying…? No, it couldn’t be. But then again, there were too many unanswered questions. “Is this about the election? And Steve?”

Bucky took a long drag from his cigarette before answering, the smoke swirling in the cool air. “You were walking through a minefield, and I got you out before you stepped on something that could blow your life apart.”

His words struck hard, and you bit your lip, turning over the recent jobs you’d taken. None of them seemed directly linked to the election, but you were a journalist with many connections, many stories—maybe one of them had crossed the wrong lines without you realizing it.

“This… this just makes me wonder even more why you chose to support Steve,” you said, a bitter edge creeping into your voice.

Bucky stubbed out his cigarette against the balcony railing. “His leadership fits this country. You can disagree with that all you want. But Steve… Steve loves this country.”

You frowned, your mind spinning. Could that really be it? Could Bucky, despite all the manipulations and half-truths, genuinely believe Steve was the right person to lead? Or was this yet another layer of the twisted game they were all playing?

Bucky’s gaze softened slightly as he glanced at Nate through the glass door, the boy still soundly asleep on the couch.

“About Nate…” Bucky hesitated for a moment, and you could sense the weight of the words he was about to speak.

Your pulse quickened, your eyes narrowing as you waited for him to continue.

“I won’t add more to what you already know,” he finally said, his voice heavy with the promise. “Because I made a vow—I’ll take the truth about Nate and Hazel to my grave.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly, and a cold realization settled over you. Whatever secret Bucky was keeping, it was bigger than you’d thought. And it wasn’t just about the election… it was about Nate and Hazel.

“So, I should be grateful that you dragged me out of a minefield?” You raised an eyebrow, the skepticism clear in your voice. “I’m not even sure it exists.”

Bucky met your gaze, unflinching. “Why do you think I’ve supported the independent company where you work?” His tone was steady, calm. “I could’ve ruined it. Could’ve made it go bankrupt, easily.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, heat rising in your chest. His words stung, even though he wasn’t saying them with any malice. Still, you couldn’t help the tension building inside you.

But then his voice softened, the intensity in his blue eyes never wavering. “You probably didn’t realize it,” Bucky continued, “but you’ve already passed through a minefield that could’ve ruined Steve.”

Your breath caught for a moment. Wait. Does that mean he sees me as a threat? The thought swirled in your mind, unsettling you. Was that why Bucky had been hovering around, keeping a close watch?

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths. You searched Bucky’s face, trying to read between the lines. But there was no malice, no manipulation there—just something deeper, something protective.

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, your voice quieter now, a mix of confusion and frustration.

Bucky’s eyes softened. “I’m not here to control you. I just… don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire of something bigger than either of us.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, the tension still lingering, but his words had shifted something inside you.

"Crossfire?" you scoffed, shaking your head. "It’s ironic, isn’t it? We can talk about other people, stay calm. But when it’s about us? All we ever do is argue."

Bucky’s jaw tightened at your words. She’s right, he thought, his heart aching with guilt. It’s always a fight when it comes to us.

He wanted to say something to ease the tension, but every word seemed wrong. He watched you—how your arms crossed defensively, how tired your eyes looked. Not angry, just… tired of it all.

“I know,” Bucky finally admitted, his voice rough with regret. “I’m the one who keeps messing this up. I keep dragging us into this same damn fight.”

You didn’t blink, didn’t soften. You were too worn down by it all. "Then why keep doing it?" you asked, voice tinged with exhaustion. "Why keep playing these games, Bucky? I’m tired. I’m so tired of being caught in your manipulation. It’s like… you don’t even care what it does to me."

Bucky winced at the rawness in your words, the reality of it hitting him hard. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his mistakes like never before. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping. “I know it looks like that, but… I never meant for it to be this way. I did it because I was scared.”

Your heart clenched at the confession, but the exhaustion was still there, weighing you down. “Scared of what? Of just talking to me? Of being honest?”

Bucky shook his head, stepping closer, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you but unsure if he could. “I was scared of losing you again,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I did everything I could to keep you here, to keep you close. But I know I went about it all wrong. I twisted things, manipulated situations, because I thought it was the only way.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as his words sunk in. He wasn’t trying to push you away—he was clinging to you, so tightly that it hurt.

“You have no idea what that feels like, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “To be pulled into your games, not knowing why, thinking I don’t matter to you. It’s exhausting.”

Bucky’s face fell, the guilt in his eyes unmistakable. “I know. And I hate that I did that to you,” he said softly. “I hate myself for it. But it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It’s because I care too much, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You could see the truth in his eyes now, the desperation behind his actions. It didn’t erase the pain, but it explained it.

“I was afraid that if I didn’t do everything I could, you’d leave me again,” Bucky continued, his voice shaky. “And I couldn’t take that. Not again. I know I’ve been manipulative, and I know I’ve hurt you because of it. But I was doing it to keep you close… not to push you away. I’m sorry.”

Your throat tightened, the weight of his confession settling in. You hated what he had done, but you could finally see where it came from—fear, desperation, and a love so deep he didn’t know how to control it.

Bucky stepped closer again, this time more confident. “I’ll stop,” he said, voice steady but full of regret. “I’ll stop with the manipulation, with the games. You deserve so much better than that. You deserve better than me, but I’m not giving up. I’ll make things right if you let me.”

You didn’t answer right away, the ache of everything still too fresh. But before you could respond, Bucky took a step back, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Bucky whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I’ll understand if I already have.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Death Wish 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

You close the cupboard and nearly jump out of your skin as Adrienne stands on the other side of it. She stares at you soberly before she cracks a sheepish smile. You show your fright with a hand on your chest.

“Ade,” you huff.

She laughs, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“No problem,” you assure her. “What’s up?”

Her nostrils flare and her smile dulls, “it’s been a week.”

One week. Your father’s been away for a whole week. He’s rarely been gone that long. His jobs are never more than a couple days. And you haven’t heard from him, but that’s not unusual or disappointing.

“Hopefully it will be another,” Kitty says as she walks into the kitchen with a half-finished glass of water. “It’s calm around her. Isn’t it?”

You nod. A silence rises around the three of you. You think back to the one memory you have of a peaceful house. When it was the three of you and your mother.

“He got that kidney stone,” Kitty says. “Had him in the hospital for days. Ma said it was barely the size of a bead.”

“Best days of my life,” you agree.

“I don’t remember,” Adrienne says.

As the youngest, she doesn’t remember everything and you sometimes think that’s better for her sanity. Even your memory is splotchy. There are fractures of noise and vision. Sometimes you only see, other times it replays like a record on a player and crawls through your ears.

“So, Ade, why are you so concerned?” Kitty inquires.

Adrienne hesitates. She shrugs and looks away guiltily. She’s a bad liar. You all are despite the typical consequences.

“Mitzi wanted to see a movie. They’re screening Breakfast at Tiffany’s at the Golden Reel.”

“Audrey?” Kitty preens. “My favourite.”

“You can come. I was going to ask both of you but I thought if daddy came back--”

“And we’re all gone...” you add. “You two go. I can deal with him.”

“That’s not fair,” Kitty says.

“Really, go. I can’t focus on a movie right now.” You insist. “Have some popcorn for me, alright?”

“He probably won’t be back,” Kitty argues.

You wave her off, “really, it’s fine. You know I hate crowds. That theatre is tiny and it’ll probably be packed on a Friday night.”

“Okay, but I’m bringing you back raisinettes. I know you love them.” Kitty insists.

“Have fun. Tell Mitzi I said hello,” you turn back to the cupboards and run your hands over the laminate.

You’ve been restless. You clean just to keep yourself busy. To keep from thinking. And when you lay down at night, you’re not kept awake by your usual dread. It isn’t your father standing on your chest, it’s Barnes. In your dreams, he doesn’t strut into the bakery, but into your house. And he sits at the table where your father would usually be and sits silently, waiting.

That’s why this calm unsettles you. There’s always a storm to come after the quiet. It will unfurl soon enough.

“Hey, you okay?” Kitty’s gentle touch makes you wince.

“I’m good,” you assure her and nearly gag on your tongue. For a moment, it wasn’t your voice, it was your mother’s. That same lie she told for so long. You both hesitate at the echo of your lifetimes. “Really,” you face her, “you know I’m dying to have this place to myself. When does that ever happen?”

She stares at you then smiles. “Yeah, enjoy it while it lasts.”

She falters again. It’s what you’re all thinking. You want to milk every bit of joy out of your father’s absence.

Kitty turns and grabs Adrienne’s hand, quickly redirecting from the threat of inevitability, “Ade, what are you gonna wear?”

You take out the flour and all the other ingredients you need. For once, you can afford to spare a bit extra. When you were really young, your mother made her own bread. That stopped shortly after she had Adrienne. She changed after that. She was exhausted with all three of you.

You measure out every part before you begin. Your precision has always tied you in knots. You find it hard to get anything done unless it’s entirely orderly. In a house full of chaos, that means often you don’t get much done at all.

As you knead the dough, Kitty and Adrienne’s voices garble on the stairs. They stomp down to the first floor and call a goodbye to you through the doorway. You holler back but keep your hands working.

You get the loaf in the oven and clean up the mess. The empty house is eerie. You can’t remember the last time you were all alone. Really alone. Ever, if at all.

You wash the bowls and the whisk and the roller. You put it all away, step-by-step, running through every single detail. The timer counts down, the small windable egg-shaped device your mother always had going for one way or another. Tick, tick, tick.

It goes off and you jump. For a moment, you’re back in your memories. You’re a little girl at the table, watching your mother rush around the kitchen. Kitty’s beside you with a colouring book and Adrienne’s in her high chair.

Your mother limps from the fridge to stove. She doesn’t let it deter her. She bends to take out the pan of food as the timer buzzes. Adrienne wails at the noise as you cover your ears. The smell of cigarette smoke singes in your nostrils.

You twist the timer so it goes silent as you return to the present. The scent of tobacco fades as the fresh baked bread wafts through the kitchen. You open the creaky oven door and use the stained oven mitts to take the pan out. Your mother always wanted a new stove. You assume she wanted a lot of things that she never got.

You put the pan down and shut off the oven. The doorbell pierces the air and you spin, your back hitting the counter. It wouldn’t be your father; he wouldn’t ring the door. He always comes in screaming, even in the middle of the night.

You put the oven mitts on the table as you pass and step out into the hall. You near the door, a shadow on the other side of the marbled glass. It’s a man. Your heartbeat spikes. Your father is a criminal and a strange man knocking at your door could be dangerous.

Is death so bad when living is terrifying?

You open the door. A wash of deja vu flows over you. It isn’t a strange man, it’s Steve Rogers. Again. That doesn’t ease your worries.

“You. Come.” He orders you.

You hold your breath. That is unusual. Your father’s associates come and go, most times they barely acknowledge you, they’re just there to talk shit with him or drag him off on some caper. This is different. Different is dangerous.

“Yeah, you,” he snaps his fingers. “Look, I don’t got all day. Let’s go.”

You look down. “My shoes...”

“Get ‘em,” he sighs and crosses his arms.

You step back and leave the door open. You step into a pair of scuffed flats and turn back to him. You don’t even grab your keys as you step outside. You’re shaking.

“Is it my father?” You ask.

“No questions.” He snarls as he turns and marches down the narrow walkway.

You follow him at a bouncing pace, struggling to keep up with him. He leads you to the car and opens the back door. It’s then that you notice the woman in his front seat. Her eyes are skittish as she peers back out at you.

“Get in,” he opens the door. “And be quiet.”

You put your head down and obey. The look on that woman’s face is enough to keep you in line. Besides, your father prepared you well. There’s an order to things and you’re at the very bottom. So keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #au #mob au #death wish #marvel #mcu #captain america #winter soldier #avengers

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jeannyjaykaydeh · 1 month ago

Text

Movie Lessons

(Part 1/3)

Fluff

Warning: Alastor is a bit jealous

Alastor x Reader

Imagine: Alastor goes to depths far below his level by starting to watch films to learn how to win you over.

There you are again. You're awake earlier than usual today. Why is that? Did you sleep badly? Did someone wake you up far too early?

Oh, the radio demon very much hopes that no wretched soul has disturbed you and robbed you of your sleep.

Well, maybe he kind of hopes so, because he's known to like tearing wretched souls to shreds.

But then again, that would mean you've suffered and must be tired now, and he never wants that.

Alastor watches you as you stride down the large, apple-shaped hotel stairs in that aesthetic way you move. Your beautiful hair that nestles against your shoulders and your beguiling body that triggers a hunger in this man. But it's not the kind of hunger he usually feels. No, this hunger feels different. Unusual. Strange.

And yet from the moment he sees you, hunger fills his chest with a warmth and he doesn't want this feeling to end.

The feeling is strongest when you talk to him. You're a clever woman, you have a good sense of humour (he loves the sugary-sweet laugh you give when he tells his typical jokes, but you always have a good line on your lips too) and - what turns Alastor on the most - you radiate warmth. It resembles a sense of security. As if you had a motherly side.

"Good morning, Al," you greet him with your angelic voice, which sounds like the magical sound of a delicate violin string to the demon.

"Good morning, my dear. It's unusual to see you in the lobby so early," Alastor replies with a sincere smile.

You shrug your shoulders sheepishly and reply: "Yes, I got up early today. I have quite a few plans."

Alastor raises an eyebrow curiously. You have plans without telling him in advance?! You just get up early and do your thing freely and don't have to answer to him?!

He clenches his hand around his coffee cup and has to be careful not to suddenly find himself holding ceramic shards.

He hates it when he realises that you don't belong to him.

This thought of somehow not being able to reach you torments him.

Normally, he knows how to deal with women. He respects them, he even loves to take part in feminist protests and fights, he has self-confidence, he's a charmer and he knows that there are some female souls in this hell who would get involved with him if he let them. He has no problem approaching someone and wrapping them around his finger with his charisma, but it's different with you.

As soon as you appear within his reach, it's as if he's forgotten everything: his good manners, his social skills, his self-confidence. He simply doesn't know how to talk to you to get closer to you. To show you that he's interested in you. And to find out what you actually think about him.

It's like a curse that forbids him from making you his own.

He manages to suppress the anger welling up in his chest and his grin intensifies as he says, "Well well, quite a few plans, hm? Don't make it so exciting, sweetheart. Tell me about your plans for today.“

As Alastor takes a small step towards you with interest, you blush slightly and bashfully tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Then you reply: "I want to go into town to buy a new outfit for tonight. Angel invites me to the cinema."

This is followed by static noise and a venomous sideways glance at the spider demon, who is lying on the sofa scrolling boredly through his smartphone. But the radio demon regains his composure and, clearing his throat, he turns to you.

"Now then, Y/N," he says with slightly lowered eyelids and a rather forced-looking smile, "I hope you have a good time. I hope you'll find something that suits you."

You say goodbye to him and leave the hotel.

Even after the door has long since closed, Alastor stares in the direction you disappeared in and wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"What are ya so stressed about, Smiles?" he hears Angel's voice from the sofa.

Without turning to the spider demon, Alastor replies: "What makes you think something is stressing me out?"

"Well. It's yer noticeably wry look after Y/N said we were goin' to the cinema."

While the radio demon adjusts his sleeves and straightens his bow tie, he replies in a patronising tone: "I simply have no understanding whatsoever for this affinity with this frivolous medium."

Angel giggles and replies with a wry grin: "What, huh?! Jealous that films are so awesome that no one listens to fucking radio anymore?"

Alastor lets out a low grumble under static before taking a deep breath and saying: "Your young minds have been poisoned so much that you no longer appreciate the true entertainment value of a good radio show. But the time will come when you'll realise that one day."

Disinterested in his words, Angel Dust shrugs his shoulders and mutters: "Fine by me. But it certainly wouldn't be a bad idea for ya to realise what a really good film would teach ya either."

"Je suis désolé, quoi?“

"Come on, smiley face, every idiot in this hotel realises how much ya fancy the girl but have no idea how to pick her up. Go see a few romances and ya'll know what women want."

Alastor raises an eyebrow. Strong scepticism, but with a hint of curiosity, can be seen in his facial expression.

Films are supposed to teach you how to get close to a woman?

That sounds completely idiotic.

Doesn't it?

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americanwh0rerstory · 5 months ago

Text

The evans: sex after a fight

CONTAINS: Tate, kyle, jimmy, james

Content warning: dacryphillia, choking kink, unprotected p in v, knife play, blood play, finger sucking

NSFW: Minors DNI. by reading past the cut off any media consumption is your own fault

A/N: it’s my first time writing smut, so it’s poorly written. hopefully it’ll improve in the future🙏

Tate Langdon

feels guilty for arguing with you

doesn’t want to lose you

is gentle and loving with you

holds your hand whilst he fucks you, murmuring apologies in between thrusts

cuddles and aftercare afterwards

… after giving you a half hour to be alone, he slinked back into your room, bringing you into a gentle hug whilst he ran his hand up and down your back. “sorry” he mumbled almost inaudibly into your hair whilst holding you against his chest. “lemme make it up to you” he whispered gently whilst beginning to pull your hoodie over your head, and slipping your panties down so they were bunched around your ankles. he then gently pushed you back onto the bed, laying you down before crawling atop you; he peppered gently kisses along your neck before slowly becoming more needy and aggressive with them, leaving small hickeys in his wake whilst he trailed down your body, whilst he laced his fingers with your own. he also paid extra attention to your tender and sensitive breasts, using his free hand to line his dick with your entrance and slowly push into you whilst he kissed your body. “i love you, im sorry” he mumbled in between gentle thrusts, and kitten licks to your boobs

Frat boy!Kyle Spencer

would not fuck you after a fight unless you explicitly said you wanted it

cuddles, snacks, drinks, and a movie night would be his go to apology for you

if you were to have sex, he’d do so gently and constantly ask for your consent

doesn’t want to make you mad, very mindful of your triggers

“is this good, do you like it?” kyle asks, lifting his head from between your thighs and looking up at you through his lashes with slightly disheveled hair; all he wanted to do was make you feel better - as per your request - and he wouldn’t stop trying until he knew you was happy with him again. “Ky i would’ve stopped you by now it i didn’t like it” you responded gently, using your hands to cup the back of his head and lightly tug on his hair so he would continue, and after a small hum of agreement he did just that. his lips latched around your clit and gently sucked, before using the flat of his tongue to run along your slit. everything he did brought waves of pleasure to you, everything he did would bring you closer and closer to climax. so when you eventually did, he’d look up at you with glistening lips, “was that good? did you like it?” he’d ask almost instantly, hoping his oral skills were good enough to make you forgive him

Jimmy Darling

would lose his temper and drink A LOT before coming to talk to you again

is a mess but gets his point across

uses his hands because he knows how good he is with them (remember his side hustle)

very apologetic after the sex and the next morning

“there ya go, let go baby” he slurs drunkenly to you, his deformed fingers pumping in and out of your tight and wet entrance and bringing you over the edge for the 3rd time that night. tears of pleasure and overstimulation pricked at the corner of your eyes, causing him to smirk ever so slightly “want me to stop, toots?” he’d ask in his ever so cocky tone, looking down at your spent body with a look of satisfaction. even though you had to guide his hand you entrave due to his drunken state, he never once failed to impress you with his abilities, it was just one of many. Once you finally blubbered out a ‘yes’ in response to his question he’d lick his fingers clean, savouring your taste, before gently laying down beside you. “you still mad at me? want me to do another round?” he mumbled with an undeniable smirk plastered on his face, flashing you his charming grin and a wink

James Patrick March

would spoil you with gifts in a hope to earn back your love, he doesn’t wanna risk losing it

would offer to murder someone for you, and let you partake if it’s your kinda thing

definitely have sex with you whilst covered in blood afterwards

showers you with compliments

despite you being mad at him, he couldn’t resist a little bit of minor knife and blood play

“I killed him, dearest” james states with a grin when he re-enters your hotel room, still wearing the leather mask he wore for the murders which slightly muffled his velvet-smooth brahmin accent. without taking his mask off, he drags the bloodied dagger along your clothes perfectly so they’d fall off and expose your body to him. “you look ravishing as always, like a renaissance piece” he’d say with a grin, a grin so big it was evidential in his voice. He gently traced your bottom lip with his thumb before pushing it into your mouth, the metallic taste of someone’s blood filling your senses. “come now, let me show you how perfect and ravishing you are” he’d say, using his free hand to gently push you back onto the bed. he’d then remove all his clothes aside from the mask, sliding himself into you with a soft groan. “perfect, heavenly even” he murmurs before removing his hand from your mouth and wrapping it lightly around your throat, not enough to hurt but just enough that it was pleasurable. he pumped in and out of you, lightly choking you whilst secretly staring at how your boobs bounced with every thrust, prompting him to go a bit faster and bring him to his inevitable climax. “you’re simply splendid, dear, not even words can describe how perfect you are”

A/N: i was gonna inclure kai but tumblr started lagging rlly bad. my requests r open. NOT PROOFREAD BTW

#american horror story #evan peters #ahs murder house #ahs tate #tate langdon #tate langdon ahs #tate langdon smut #ahs coven #kyle spencer #kyle spencer smut #ahs freakshow #jimmy darling #jimmy darling smut #ahs hotel #james patrick march #jpm #smut #evan peters smut

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 7 months ago

Note

somnophilia with John wick from the prompts? 👉🏽👈🏽

jw & fem reader

gif by the wonderful @scarlettspectra. TRIGGER WARNING(s) Somnophilia (from Latin somnus "sleep" and Greek φιλία, -philia "friendship") is a paraphilia in which an individual becomes sexually aroused by someone who is unconscious. & a bit of exhibitionism

You had waited for him all day. Flitting around the house, cleaning and cooking and making sure everything was in line for his arrival. Wearing his favorite dress, playing his favorite music on the stereo, chilling a fresh bottle of his favorite bourbon.

A month and a half. That’s how long it had been since you last saw the person whose presence gave meaning to your life. So, naturally, you were brimming with excitement, heart pattering wild and strong in your chest, body giddy and jittery—unable to regulate haywire nerves. John was coming home.

He wasn’t often gone for this long. It was an important job. Something involving a very, very rich man paying him to complete a very, very difficult task. Of course, you knew what his tasks usually included, but didn’t like to think about it too much—couldn’t think about it too much…

It was just hard to imagine…your John killing someone. The same John that took bugs outside instead of squashing them, who cleaned up his bar table and tipped more than generously, who always held the door open and returned shopping carts. Who was sweet and kind and treated you like you were made of paper-thin glass unless you specifically requested otherwise.

The text comes in mid-evening, just as you’re putting his untouched dinner away and cleaning up the kitchen. Hey, dollbaby, my flight got delayed until tomorrow at six AM. I’m sorry. Don’t stay up worrying about me.

It’s disappointing, but you have to admit you’re used to this. It just comes with what he does, and you’ll gladly endure it with a smile for him. However, that doesn’t mean you can grant his request and stop yourself from worrying. With a little sigh, you type back: Okay, John. Love you.

I Love you, too.

You try and pass the time; go for a late swim, read a book, snuggle up on the big leather couch to scroll TV channels for movies. Except none of that works to distract you from John’s missing shadow, and you just end up with your head buried in a throw pillow, inhaling his residual scent and pretending the cushion is his chest.

You decide to invite some friends over for a good distraction, and they bring card games and beer and wine. You have your own stash of alcohol, so between you and three of you closest, you end up drinking a little too much and passing out halfway through game night.

John finds you in the icy blue light of breaking dawn, breathing even and slow and slung haphazardly on top of your mattress. The residual burn of spirits heat your skin ruddy, and you have long since kicked the comforter off to leave yourself bare and unsuspecting of the hungry wolf who’s cock fattens at the sight of you—his big tshirt snuggling against your curves, the hint of a panty seam visible along the soft skin of your hip

He discards his clothes into a pile on the floor, too starved for flesh to care about being his usual tidy self, and climbs on the bed to run the tip of his tongue along that delicious cut crease of supple flesh.

You stir and whine, hand coming up momentarily to bat the tickly feeling away, only to weakly fall back down onto the bed, its task lost in the dark deep of your slumber.

With a wicked grin, he moves his mouth down your thigh, licks into the seam behind your knee, then treks a wet path of kisses over your calves. You squirm and kick, trapped by heavy sleep, defenseless under his tongue.

He knows that, by now, you’d be begging him sweetly to make you cum, arching up into his teasing mouth for more, hanging on to his beautiful throw of silky hair as he laps at your panties. Always so impatient, his sweet girl.

God, he missed you. Missed your smell and taste, the way you buck your hips, that little tender space between thigh and cunt that makes you squeal when he flicks it with his tongue.

He nudges your panties to the side to reveal an already glistening wet and swollen pussy, your clit ripe and fresh, ready for his mouth to pluck and taste. Even in your sleep, you’re more than ready to sheath his cock.

He suckles at your folds gently while you stir awake with a sleepy little moan. “J-joh-jjj,” you slurr, gripping at the plump pillows while your cunt tenses and thighs attempt closing.

So sensitive in that foggy place between sleep and wake, with his familiar mouth on you, impatient and insistent.

He holds your thighs open and eats—devours your cunt sloppily from the back, groaning about how good you taste and how much he missed it. “It’s okay, baby, no no no, come’ere, I gotcha. That’s my girl.” Two fingers curled inside, coaxing a fast approaching orgasm from your perfect little pussy.

“Gonna, gonna-ah c-cum,” you tell him, clenching on his fingers, once shy clit now grinding down onto his tongue. You’ve just missed him so much, and it’s been so long, and you haven’t even touched yourself at his specific request, so it’s no surprise that it only takes seconds of cunnulingus just the way he’s learned you love it to have you soaking the sheets below your hips.

“Good job,” he coos, bringing you down with little kisses to your puffy lips and chafed thighs, sucking his fingers clean and closing his eyes against the savory flavor of your slick. “You okay, babydoll?”

“Uh huh,” you tell him, still twitching from the heavy orgasm, eyes threatening to close again, too tired to wipe the little bit of spittle off your chin.

You feel him shift behind you, and then his thick tip press against your still spasming entrance, ready to overwhelm and overstimulate and leave you a babbling mess. His cock is built for your pleasure and demise, and as he enters, invading and pillaging the sensitive walls of your cunt, your eyes fly open and you sob into the pillow.

Something like, “o-oh fuck-“

“Shhh, baby.” His warm touch finds the base of your skull, that soft tug on your unkempt tangles guiding you back into his slow, deliberate thrusts. “Your friends are in the living room, gotta be quiet for me.”

“Y-yeah Jo-ohn.” You try and tell him just how much you missed him, but the words jumble and stick, translating to half-muffled moans. Tears bead at your waterline in submission to that first stretch of his unfairly girthed cock.

He understands your incoherent babbles perfectly. “Fuck,” he growls, tip kissing your cervix, “I missed you, too. Missed this tight little cunt.”

You have to bite down on your knuckles to keep the animalistic sounds of pleasure at bay, as he fucks you. So often, this beautiful man makes love to you, slow and soft. This is not one of those times.

If you could think, it would be about how loud the sound of his hard pelvis clapping against your soft ass is, as he chases that otherwise unobtainable high that only your cunt can bring—that he thought about every single minute he was gone…the reason he’s alive.

You’re sobbing from it all—the way he splits you open so perfectly, the tiny dark whispers of reassurance, the fact that he’s alive and well and all over and around you; big hand pressing your lower back down for better and deeper access inside your cunt.

The way he just knows, even in his own rough desperation, how to unravel you—make you see the cosmos and beyond, into the soupy blackness of unexplored universe.

“You coming again, baby?” He doesn’t have to ask, because he knows you are, more than familiar with the way you unfold and shatter.

“Y-yeah-huh.”

He puts you on your back with practiced gentleness, and cups your sweaty cheeks in his hands before sucking your bite-swollen lower lip into his mouth, managing to stay buried inside you through the easy transition, swallowing your whimpers while his cock works out the final flutters of your orgasm.

“Oh, John,” you say, when he stops licking at your throat to allow the both of you some much-needed, panting breath. “F-fuck, John.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, brushing the sweaty hair off your temples and pecking tiny wet kisses over your face. “I gotcha, it’s okay. Johnny’s here. Open your pretty eyes, let me see you.”

In a deep, stuttering thrust, when you clamp like a vice around him, he loses himself inside of you, and you are with him. Utterly overtaken, love burning through your blood, body singing in rapturous heavenly choir. This is as close to the pearly gates you will ever get, you think, as you float down from the high.

There is a cut on his temple that you failed to notice, and you touch just below. “You got hurt.”

“I’m better, now.”

With him nestled beside you, arms wrapping around and sheltering your body with his own, legs supporting your bottom and cock still softening inside your cunt, you feel sleep creep back up like an old friend.

It isn’t long before he’s succumbed to it, himself, happily snoozing nestled in your hair. You don’t know what he’s been through in that long stretch of absence, but it doesn’t matter now.

He’s here with you, and that’s enough.

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #IV Drabbles

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bones4thecats · 6 months ago

Text

Their S/O Being Based on Deadpool (MCU)

Characters: Kagaya Ubuyashiki, Tengen Uzui, and Shinobu Kocho Inspired By: The new Deadpool movie A/N: The Reader is female in Kagaya's part since he does have children. Other than that, have fun! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of spousal death in Tengen's part and threatening with a sword in Shinobu's ⚠️

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Kagaya Ubuyashiki ════════════════════════╝

🌸 When the Hashira had a meeting about Tanjiro, they were shocked to see you dangling upside down from the ceiling of the Ubuyashiki mansion, your eyes closed as you smiled underneath your mask

🌸 They knew that you were basically the polar opposite from your husband, but they didn't imagine it to this degree!

🌸 You landed on the ground and adjusted your dual nichirin swords before walking up and kissing your husband's head, making his gentle smile enlarge

"It is good to have you here once again, my love."

"It's good to be back, Kagaya. So, what's been happening while I've been gone?"

🌸 As your daughters explained everything to you, you noticed how the Hashira acted while Tanjiro laid there with confusion and slight fear in his eyes. He must be worried about this demon sister of his, how odd...

🌸 Kagaya merely nodded along with the girls and begin the whole scenario, being unaware when the young slayer jumped up and smashed his head against Sanemi when he attacked his sister in the box

🌸 To be fair, you would've done the same

🌸 As the whole ordeal ended, you looked at your husband and lightly grabbed his hand, and since you had taken your gloves off he could feel your slightly deformed skin with ease

🌸 You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead against his, making Kagaya sigh while the girls ran off to check in with your old friend and husband's caretaker, Amane Himorogi

🌸 While you picked up your husband and carried him back to your room, knowing he was going to have to take some medications here soon to help out with his worsening condition, and began to tell him about what happened during your nearly month-long mission to a town many miles away north

🌸 And as you recanted everything that happened, Kagaya noticed how you yawned and began to adjust yourself behind him before you stopped talking all together

🌸 Oh how he wished he could see your cute sleeping face like he could back when you both were younger... no matter, he'll see it once again someday

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Tengen Uzui ════════════════════════════╝

🔊 Your flashiness and his literally was the thing that drove you guys to speak a lot more

🔊 From your home lives, his being raised as a shinobi to yours being raised as a soldier serving an old -and now dead- clan, you guys just clicked. And it annoyed almost everyone

🔊 When he was about to head off for his mission to the Entertainment District, he had asked you if any letters from your wives had come through

🔊 You sighed sadly and stopped sharpening your blades, setting them down on the ground before standing up and hugging your husband, giving him your answer non-verbally, which was far from your normal nature. It was obvious this was affecting you just as much as him

🔊 Unlike Tengen, you had already lost a spouse just a few months after your marriage, so when you heard no word from your new wives, you just about lost your mind with the memories of your ex's death passing through

"I'll take this as a no." Tengen said, raising his hand to rub your back in a comforting motion.

"You'd be right."

"Damn. I hoped I wouldn't have to go. I don't want to leave you here alone."

"Tengen, I'll be fine. I have my friend's tsuguko and his strong-as-hell self here. Don't worry. No demon is getting past us, promise."

🔊 The Sound Hashira chuckled as you mentioned the young woman, while you rarely taught her, due to her breathing style being more of a explosion-force nature and not based on pure chaos like yours, you did treat her like a teacher would a student

🔊 Looking down at your masked face, Tengen lightly gripped the edges and pulled it up, allowing him a view of your lips and the ability to kiss them

🔊 As he raised his head once more and adjusted your mask back in place, the Hashira looked into your eyes and said his goodbyes

"Tengen. You better find the girls. If you don't, I'm not going to ever forgive you."

"Understood, dearie! See ya!"

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Shinobu Kocho ══════════════════════════╝

🦋 Shinobu and you were fairly different. She was always smiling and being kind to others while you were a lot less expressive (since you literally wore a mask everywhere) and more sarcastic/uncaring

🦋 She knew that you could care less for a majority of the world's safety, since you came from a rough home and had an even rougher growth, but the way you defended the very small amount of people you cared for was amazing

🦋 One day, you noticed that Kanao was a bit down, but instead of ignoring her like with pretty much everyone else, you sat down next to her and asked her what was up

🦋 Your longtime girlfriend just so happened to walk by and see how you let her lean against you and rest for a little bit. It was a sweet sight for her

🦋 Shinobu also liked to see how you attempted to be quiet and gentle with the butterflies around the mansion. Whenever one landed on you during your first few months there, you would normally squash them without a care, but now you would let them stand on you without a glance

🦋 And while you kept your more polite nature up for a while, when you were called for the meeting to speak about Tanjiro, who you just so happened to journey with for a bit, and saw how Sanemi had stabbed Nezuko's box... you snapped

🦋 Gripping your swords, you launched yourself forward before stopping abruptly, a huge gust of wind blowing in your fellow slayer's face

🦋 Sanemi stood there shocked as your glared at him strongly, ignoring the words of the others behind you

"Put the box down, Sanemi. Or else I may just have to treat you like the demon I slayed a few hours ago."

"Y/N. Calm down," Shinobu said.

"Not until he puts the little girl down."

🦋 Shinobu watched as Sanemi laid the box down next to you, allowing you to pick it up and lay it in the shade of the Ubuyashiki Estate. Though, you didn't move away from it, preferring to sit down next to it in an effort to relax the kind demon inside from the pain

🦋 The Butterfly-loving slayer kept her smile up, though there was an obvious sadness in her eyes as she observed you. You must have seen one of your past allies in her... like how she remembered Kanae when Mitsuri would smile sometimes

🦋 When the meeting ended, Shinobu had approached you, and instead of asking you why you threatened Sanemi, she just held your hand and ushered you back to the Butterfly Mansion kindly

"...Are you upset at me for that?" You asked.

"Oh beyond upset, but we must focus on the new slayers for now."

🦋 Oh you were in for it later...

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sweetiecutie · 1 year ago

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🖤Fuck or die🖤

Paring: slasher! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, dead dove do not eat, non-con so rape, cuckolding, unwilling cheating, oral, facefuck, dick piercing bc I know y’all like it, unprotected sex, blood, murder, gore in the end. This is only fiction, don’t take any of this too seriously! If you feel triggered by any of these tags - just scroll past!

Word count: 4k, holy fucking shit

A/n: not me writing this in one day, jesus fucking christ😮‍💨 It’s first time I wrote something so violent, but I think I did pretty good! Originally planned to post it on halloween night but I’m too eager to share!! Also, I tried my best to fix all mistakes by proofreading it 4 times, I really did, but I’m pretty sure that I left out some still

It’s been very uneasy in a small town where you lived - series of blatant murders shook up all inhabitants with their brutality. Cruelly butchered corpses gave a hint of culprit’s strength, so cops guessed it was a man. And the most terrifying thing about this whole situation was that this maniac was still on loose - he never left any evidences, not a damn thing - nothing that could give a clue of who he was. The only trace he’s ever left wasn’t an accident or his mistake, but a well-planned thing - after appearing nameless in numerous news reports and articles he finally decided to introduce himself, writing KÖNIG with his victim’s blood on white flooring, said victim’s two bloody teeth serving as umlaut.

And his motives behind picking out victims were just as unclear - there was nothing in common between all these people: he didn’t have any preferences in victim’s sex or age, their profession nor appearance - as long as they lived in one family house, to avoid anyone hearing their screams, you figured. It seemed that he simply loved killing, who that was - didn’t matter.

You can’t say how exactly it all happened. It was another evening that you were spending at your boyfriend’s place - Paul’s parents were out of town for a few days for anniversary of their wedding, leaving a huge house for their only son. You felt uneasy - there weren’t any new murders in over a month, people were scared that maniac will go “haunting” very soon, which meant that no one was safe.

Paul only cooed at you soothingly when you shared your worries with him, promising to “protect you from all weirdos out there”, placing a comforting kiss on your forehead. So to distract yourselves you decided to throw a movie night - stacking up with snacks and beer, Netflix window opened on a large tv-screen, ready to serve its purpose as you made last preparations.

Cuddled up on the comfy couch, your boyfriend’s comforting warmth slowly seeped into your tense muscles, you watched some corny comedy, groaning in tandem at poorly-made jokes. When suddenly a sound of shattered glass jolted you both up, staring tensely at each other.

- I’ll go check it, - Paul said, getting up and heading to the living room from where the noise came. Everything was quiet for a few long minutes, your fingers fiddled with loose string on the corner of fluffy blanket as you heard some crashing and your boyfriend’s angry shouting:

- Y/n, get out of here!

Then everything was as if in a blur; tall figure clad in all black stepped into the living room, white scream mask contrasting starkly, huge knife covered in thin layer of blood was shining in blue tv-light. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you stared at the man in front of you - sticky feeling of fear seemed to fill every muscle in your body with heavy lead, making it impossibly hard to move even an inch. And then something in your head snapped, you threw yourself off the couch and towards the door opposite from killer, but he was way quicker - huge hands gripped you by your shoulders, rising you off your feet easily and dragging you back towards living room, your struggling and screaming did nothing to help.

You were now kneeling in front of this psycho, hands tied up tightly with coarse rope that dug painfully into your soft skin, surely leaving deep indents and dark bruises. Your boyfriend was laying on his side a few meters afar - bound by his wrists and ankles with same rope, crimson blood oozed out of deep stabbing wound in his stomach, nose obviously broken and bleeding - all these a result of his grapple with intruder, which obviously didn’t end in Paul’s favour.

- Please, - you weeped, tears and snot covered all of your face, whole body trembled with fear and adrenaline. - Please, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill me, - you managed to choke out, silent cries tore through your chest, their intensity made it hard for you to breathe - you were hysterical.

- Oh, I know you will, sweetheart, - mechanical voice said in mock sympathy. One huge glowed hand came up to cup your chin, causing you to jolt violently upon feeling the contact; murderer tilted your head upwards, your insides churning upon laying your eyes on white plastic of his mask.

His thumb rubbed soft circles on your wet cheek - it was almost ridiculous how gently he touched you. This made you sob even more, but you didn’t dare to turn away, too scared to anger him.

- That would be a shame to kill such a pretty little thing, after all, - maniac said, glove-clad pad of his thumb swiped over your trembling bottom lip, soft cotton absorbing the mixture of your tears and saliva glazing it. - I may have an idea. Wanna hear it?

Silence set in for a few long gut-wrenching seconds which was interrupted only by your quiet sobbing and sounds of your boyfriend struggling against tight ropes. Quiet squeal tore through your chest as huge hand squeezed your cheeks harshly, yanking your face upward, forcing you to look up at König. Your bleary from tears eyes fixed upon two black holes in his mask, where man’s eyes supposedly were.

- I said “wanna hear it”? - slasher gritted out, his tone harsh as he put heavy emphasis on every syllable he uttered, making you shrink even further into yourself. You nodded your head hastily, not wanting to try out your luck any more.

- Y-yes, - you stammered, your voice giving out making your response sound more like a kitten’s squealing rather than human speech. König stared at you for a few long silent seconds, your knees beginning to tremble from both fear and painful exposure to hard flooring, which soon irradiated onto the whole of your body.

- I’ve been watching you guys, you know? For a few weeks now, - he said nonchalantly, his grip on your face loosened, long fingers tracing intricate shapes on your cheeks and temples, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ears, getting it out of your eyes. A wave of hysterical cries threatened to tear through your throat upon hearing his words, but you tried to suppress them as much as you physically could, staying still before him.

- Yes, - his voice sounded delicate - as if one of those passionate lovers who proclaimed their tender feelings. - Seen you guys do stuff… kiss, cuddle, fuck. A pathetic view, to be honest, - as he said so, his fingers came to tangle in your messy hair, massaging your scalp with soft movements. You felt sick. This man with a dagger bigger than your forearm clasped tightly in one hand, was caressing you so tenderly with another one - his unpredictable behaviour was making your guts churn.

He turned toward your boyfriend who was still thrashing harshly, struggling with all his might against secure confines of tight rope. Your gaze shifted towards your lover as well - the sight made your heart ache - his blood - some already caked and some fresh and shiny - covered the whole bottom of Paul’s face, a makeshift gag out of piece of some fabric was tied skilfully around his head - by the looks of it not to be untied by itself. His eyes met murderer’s, you could make out his muffled promises of killing the bastard, threats to not touch you and to get the fuck out of here. Murderer didn’t look impressed at all, staring silently at your man lying at his feet.

- Look at this pathetic scumbag - I tied your hands loosely, hoped for a bit of a fight, - harsh noise came from the speaker behind the mask, which you figured to be a sigh. König then turned back towards you, his head tilting to the side slightly, you could practically feel his intense gaze prickling on your skin. - Why are you even wasting your time on this piece of shit? He can’t even fuck you right, and you expected this piece of shit to actually protect you from danger? Provide for you?

Hot tears rushed down your cheeks at his words, as you stayed silent, not knowing what to say. König sighed again, rolling his shoulders to rid himself of the tension in sore muscles, his neck popping loudly, making you jolt at the sound.

- Now, my plan is - how about I show you what a real man is like? Set the bar high for you, hm? - he said, a cool glimmer of blood-stained blade caught your eye as König twirled his knife skilfully in between thick fingers barely twenty centimetres away from your face. He noticed your attention shifting from him to his little tool, softly nudging your chin up to look back at him. - Oh, don’t worry darling. If you’re being a good girl that thing won’t touch you, deal?

You nodded your head frantically, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. - Anything, - you choked out, voice hoarse and barely audible but it was enough for him to hear.

- I like the eagerness, - murderer chuckled, straightening his back from semi-crouching position to stand to his full height. His hand left your face with a small pinch on your tear-stained cheek, tossing his knife from one hand to another as if he was juggling; finally gripping the handle tight König pointed the tip of sharp blade towards your boyfriend: - I want you to watch. You dare closing your eyes and she’s dead.

Your eyes widened in panic, staring fearfully at Paul, mouthing silent “please” at him. Maniac shifted his attention back to you; he put his knife into its holster which was attached to his thigh with tight leather straps, you noted that he didn’t secure the handle, making it easier to pull the knife out in one move if needed.

You watched as if in slow motion how his hands came to the waistband of his black jeans, undoing the button and tugging zipper down, pulling front pants pieces apart. Your gaze darted up towards his mask-covered face, confusion mixed with terror written on your face - your insides dropped as you finally realised what he actually meant.

- What? Doll, I promised to show you what a real man is like, - one big hand came to rest on the crown of your head, not pushing nor pulling, just staying there securely. - Now I warn you, you dare using your teeth - I’ll pluck every single one of them before gutting you like a fucking pig, you get it?

Your breath stopped upon hearing his words, shoulders started shaking as strong bout of adrenaline rushed through your veins, making your poor heart pound crazily, threatening to break your ribs from the inside. You nodded your head vigorously, all of a sudden extremely aware of the tight rope binding your wrists together, how your fingers prickled from constricted blood flow, how much your shoulders ached from being pulled back for so long.

- Good girl. Now, go on, - König said, lightly pushing your head towards his clothed crotch. You had to crane your head up painfully because of the height difference between you two in order to even reach König’s private parts. You gazed up at him, unsure of what exactly he wanted you to do, but he just stared down at you silently, not offering any instructions nor comments.

You darted your tongue out, licking a noticeable bulge showing through his boxers, soaking black fabric in your spit. You did it again, and again, fear and adrenaline subduing feelings of humiliation and shame, you could hear your boyfriend’s muffled “get your fucking hands off her”, but König didn’t seem to pay slightest attention to the other male. You tilted your head to the side, pressing your opened mouth to the thick shaft that was trapped between man’s v-line and his tight underwear, sucking on it softly. That made slasher heave a deep sigh, hand on your head tangled deeper in your hair, holding you firmly in place, indicating for you to keep going.

- Now pull my boxers down, - psycho ordered a few seconds later; his voice, though contorted by voice changer, now sounded deeper. You looked frightfully up at him, your hands still bound tightly behind your back.

- But… how? - you asked, a spark of hope igniting in your chest as thought of him untying your hands popped up in your head. But it was extinguished just as quickly as it appeared with his next words:

- Well, think about it, - he shrugged his broad shoulders ever so slightly, your mind racing at the speed of light as you tried to figure out the problem.

You opened your mouth, moving as slowly as you could to indicate that you didn’t mean to do anything reckless - baring your teeth and gently hooking the elastic of his boxers, your canines grazing slightly against warm skin of murderer’s lower stomach. Once you secured your hold on elastic you pulled down on it, managing to slide it down slightly. König’s hard cock sprung right out, standing tall and thick against his clothed stomach - tip was concealed by brownish foreskin, and your eyes widened at the sheer size of him. Your attention was caught by two symmetrical rows of shiny silver balls running along mighty shaft, glistening coldly is white light of living room’s chandelier.

- Now, doll, that’s what a real good cock looks like, - man said, his free hand came to wrap around thick shaft, pumping it a few times to reveal pink head, a shiny bead of precum sitting in the middle of it. - Open wide, princess. And mind your teeth.

You let your mouth fall open, sticking your tongue out; his cock was standing too high for you to reach it in your kneeling position so König had to guide his length down to your lips, your mouth managing to only take his tip and a little bit more inside.

With your mouth full of other man’s cock your eyes wandered in the direction of your boyfriend; thrashing around seemed to finally exhaust him, crimson blood oozed out of the wound in his stomach. His chest was heaving in tandem with his wheezing breath, angry tears streamed down his temples as he stared with fierce anger at your abuser, the sight made your throat clench, causing you to gag on killer’s hefty length.

- Aw, poor girl is not used to a decent cock, huh? Tell me, did the even reach down to your throat? Lemme guess - he was cumming a few minutes after shoving his pathetic ten centimetres in this precious mouth, wasn’t he? - König chuckled darkly, suddenly pushing down onto your head, forcing you to take half his length down your tight throat, keeping you in place as you choked around his thickness, metal balls were rubbing painfully against the softness of your tongue, irritating sensitive buds of it.

Murderer’s free hand joined the one resting on your nape, gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail, fixating your head in one position. Tears of pain and humiliation rushed down your reddened cheeks as man fucked his massive cock into your tight throat; his pace was erratic, without certain rhythm, making it hard for you to synchronise your breathing with his irregular thrusts. Your lungs burned with lack of air, dainty kneecaps ached from standing for so long on hard flooring, surely bruising your tender skin.

He let go of you only when you actually started to choke, your whole face reddening with exertion; thick strings of spit mixed with precum connected your swollen lips to glistening pink tip, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, dripping down your chin onto the floor below. A choked cry tore through your chest as massive hands manhandled you around, forcing your head down so that your wet cheek was pressed against cold hardwood facing your boyfriend, your back arched and ass up high in the air. König kneeled down behind you, backs of your thighs were touching coarse denim sitting snugly around his legs, cold metal rivets of his holster contrasting brutally with warmth of your skin. Broad palms kneaded on soft pudge of your ass, delivering a strong smack to the swell of your buttcheek, impact softened slightly by the fabric of your shorts and his glove.

Your boyfriend started thrashing as hard as ever, grunting and screaming as much as he could as König pulled your shorts along with your underwear down to your knees, huge hands resting on the bottom part of your ass, thumbs spreading your pussy open. Silent tears ran down from your eyes, gathering in a small puddle on the floor; you heard maniac tut behind your back, a pad of thumb swiped up and down your slit, making you jolt from sudden contact.

- What a shame, - he heaved a deep sigh, straightening his shoulders and looking up at your boyfriend. - She’s wet, dude.

A few small sobs left you upon his words. Paul tried talking back, but a horrible bubbling sound came out of his throat - gag in his mouth was completely red with absorbed blood, some of it oozed down the corners of his mouth, adding to the bloody mess on his face. You sobbed at the sight, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid looking at horrible picture.

- Turns out our little slut likes it rough, yeah? - König mocked, leaning over your frail form, one meaty forearm rested next to your head, huge chest pressed tightly against your back, overstimulating your thus on age senses. Terrifying mask was barely a few centimetres afar from your face as man whispered right next to your ear: - Did he ever fuck you rough?

His heavy gaze was fixed expectantly upon you, huge hand that still rested on your ass squeezed your flesh painfully, causing you to cringe. - No, - you mouthed, but that was more than enough for him. Slasher hummed in acknowledgment, straightening back into his kneeling position.

- Don’t worry love, I’ll give this pretty pussy what she needs, - psycho said, fisting his leaking cock a few times before aligning swollen tip against your tight entrance. With slow but persistent push of his hips König forced one third of his length inside your poor cunt, fresh dose of hot tears rushed from your eyes, pain of penetration adding to the ache all over your body.

With a sharp snap of his massive hips man forced as much of his cock as it’d go into you. Loud yelp tore through your throat, scratching it painfully; stretch of his girthy cock was too much for your pussy to take, ladder of piercings adding to unpleasant feeling. Tender walls fought against his thick length, such sudden stretch caused your muscles to reflexively constrict around him more, drawing a throaty groan to tumbling out of killer’s broad chest.

- There there, dearie. Poor pussy so used to pathetic cocks, can’t even take me whole, - König said in fake compassion, you felt his length throb within you, twitching a few times. Strong hands held you in place tightly, preventing you from moving your hips even for a millimetre.

Murderer generously allowed you a minute or so for your poor cunny to accommodate to his size before beginning to move his hips in shallow but quick thrusts. Soon enough König was full on fucking into you on rapid pace, your whole body jolting forward with intensity of his mighty thrusts, strong arms yanking you back in place every so often.

One of his deadly hands slithered around your ridiculously smaller form, index and middle fingers danced across your spread around his dick folds, causing your stomach to tense at sudden contact. Free hand yanked you up by the rope binding your wrists, urging you to raise your torso; your shoulder blades were pressed tightly against his heaving chest, warmth emitted off him like a fucking radiator.

Clothed fingertips rubbed tight relentless circles on your clit, causing thick pleasure to rush up and down your spine and your back arch uncontrollably. Your teeth clenched to suppress all the small sounds threatening to spill out of your lips; you felt König’s massive form shift behind you, cold plastic of horrendous mask pressed against the side of your face - he was whispering right into your ear, soft voice real and unchanged:

- I’m gonna slit your fucking throat if you’re not using it, - that caused a shiver to rush down your spine, arising goosebumps in its wake. You moaned out, doing as the murderer wanted, letting all the small sighs and moans flow freely from your lips, your voice lower than usual from all the crying and throatfucking.

Your breathing became shallow; your head just wasn’t working anymore - emotional shock along with physical abuse drained you out of all strength - you were a mere rug doll in psycho’s tight grip, and he could do whatever he pleased with you, you were too exhausted to fight back anyway.

Consciousness started to slip out of your grasp, vision blurred out with tears, dark spots appearing in the corners; König’s throbbing dick pounded your poor pussy mercilessly, thick cockhead nudged against all the sweet spots inside of you, his piercings stimulating you even further as if in spite of all your attempts to resist pleasure psycho was forcing onto you. A tight coil curled in the pit of your stomach, threatening to explode with every harsh snap of mighty hips against your reddened ass. Soaked with your slick fabric of König’s gloves felt overbearing against your clit, his fingers never once stopping to rub your sensitive nub.

A few moments later something deep within you snapped, like a rubber band stretched to its limit - suddenly the world around you turned white, ringing noise filled your ears as you had the most painful orgasm of your life being wrung out of you; your body quivered and thrashed in serial killer’s strong grip, unintelligible sounds and words poured out of your lips, barely louder than a whisper. And then everything became quiet. Soft velvet of darkness enveloped your bruised and exhausted body; you were drowning in warm waves of sleep, not finding it in yourself to try and fight them off. You gave in happily, trusting yourself in welcoming hands of darkness and quiet, afar from horrible reality, afar from fear and danger.

It felt as if your head was splitting in two - horrible ache settled somewhere deep inside of your brain, pain irradiated from within to the outsides of both hemispheres, causing you to groan in agony quietly in. Your whole body hurt, eyelids felt swollen and heavy even as they were closed; and then suddenly your eyes snapped open.

You were lying on cold hardwood flooring in your boyfriend’s living room, shorts and underwear still pulled down to your knees, but your hands now free from rope. You pulled your bottoms back up, hot tears pooling in your eyes as you let out a choked sob. You felt wretched, disgusting, dirty.

- Paul? - you called out to your boyfriend, the sound of your own voice startling you - hoarse and scratchy, total opposite from your usual octave.

As you turned around your breath got caught up in your chest, bitter ball of bile got stuck in your throat - you felt like you were about to throw up.

Here lay Paul - pale and lifeless, dull eyes staring blankly into nothingness, gag still fixed tightly around his head, now brown with dried out blood. Some of his insides spilled out of the gaping cut across his stomach, lying on the floor in a small heap right next to him, huge puddle of blood spread out on the floor, getting into all small cracks and gapes in wooden flooring.

And on the wall behind, in strange brownish color that looked all too similar to the caked blood on your boyfriend’s face, in sprawling handwriting were words:

SEE YOU SOON ♡

Slasher! König Masterlist

Another a/n: I’m planning on making it a series - let me know what you guys think<3 Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writes some love - we live off feedback<3

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fatkish · 8 months ago

Note

Heyy, if you dont mind. Could you do a dazawa oneshot in which he has a daughter and he found out she selfharms? Like, he finds her doing it. Practicly hurt/confort

Thanks, have a nice day

(Write it only if you feel comftable with it)

Aizawa x Daughter Reader

(Trigger Warning: the following contains mentions of self harm. If you’re sensitive to that please be advised)

Aizawa is a very busy man. And he’s also a very observant man as well as tired. As his daughter, you try to lighten his workload by helping and doing what you can. Every morning you make bento lunches as well as breakfast for the both of you. If you accidentally cut yourself then you just put a bandage on. Nothing too suspicious. You’re also in the hero course so it’s normal to be a little banged up. Aizawa knows that you’re a good cook but even the best sometimes make mistakes so he isn’t too worried.

You tend to cut yourself and hide them beneath bandages and other small items like watches and such. You had done really well at hiding them. You tried to not do it too often, but as your stress increased, so did your cutting. Eventually you were ‘clumsy’ too often but Aizawa chalked it up to you not getting enough sleep and told you to only make breakfast in the morning and stop making lunches since the school has lunches, so you could get more sleep. If that wasn’t enough then you guys could pick up breakfast.

But even so, the bandages being to stay longer, get bigger. Aizawa knew something wasn’t adding up but what was it? Late one night, Aizawa got home and knocked on your door, opening it only to see you with an Exacto knife at your wrist and multiple cuts. Aizawa’s eyes widened at the sight as the entire world stopped for a moment as he watched the blood drip from the cuts. Silentlyhe walked in and entered your bathroom, and came out with the first aid kit.

He opened it and sat down next to you. Taking the knife from you and without saying a word, he began to clean and treat the cuts before he bandages them. You were worried as he wasn’t saying anything but as you went to ask him something he spoke.

“Do you want to talk about why you’re doing this?”

“I-“

“It’s okay, you can tell me anything. If you need me to fix an issue then I’ll do that, if you just need to talk then I’ll just listen. If you’re uncomfortable with talking to me then we can find someone else for you to talk to. “

He spoke softly as he cleaned and rebandaged all the older cuts. Once he finished he set everything down and looked at you with teary eyes. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly as he kissed your forehead.

“I love you so much. I hope you know that. I’m sorry that you’re going through this but just know that I’m here for you no matter what. You’re my little girl and you’ll always be my little girl. Now, let’s go have some ice cream and maybe watch a movie, or we can just talk if you’re up for that?”

As he stood up and held a hand out to you to help you up off your bedroom floor you looked at him as he turned to leave.

“Aren’t you mad?”

“I’m not mad, I’m sad, yes, but I’m not angry at you. I know that you’re going through something. I’m just upset that I didn’t realize this sooner. You know you can talk to me about anything. Even girl stuff like boys and periods. But I doubt you’d want to talk to your old man about that stuff.” He smiled softly at you as you gave a soft chuckle.

“Dad, you’re not old”

“I know, now c’mon, let’s go”

He motioned for you to follow him as you walked into the kitchen. He pulled a container of your favorite ice cream out of the freezer and scooped some into a bowl before handing the bowl to you. He then scoped a bit out for himself before putting the ice cream back and joining you on the couch in the living room. That night you ate ice cream and snuggled with your dad in his lap as he held you, your head resting on his shoulder as he rubbed your back.

You talked to him about how you were feeling and why. He nodded and stayed calm, listening carefully and reassuring you that he loves you. You ended up falling asleep on his lap. He then carried you back up to your room and laid you down in your bed before pulling the covers over you and kissing your forehead goodnight.

The next morning, you and him, removed all the sharp objects from your room and put them in a box so you wouldn’t have the temptation. Aizawa helped you cook breakfast that morning. (Meaning he mostly watched and drank his coffee as you cooked since he was so tired) you both then left for school.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x daughter reader #aizawa x reader platonic #aizawa x reader comfort #aizawa x reader fluff #dadzawa #mha aizawa

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moomine · 2 months ago

Text

backwash III | daisuke

author's note: thank you to literally everyone who’s reading this! you guys are so so sweet and i love you all <3 if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me!! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) Sleep is increasingly hard to find on the Tulpar. At night the reader spends her time in the cockpit, thinking about home. When she feels the whim to sleep, she ventures back to the sleeping quarters, only to bump into Daisuke. Instead, she joins him for a midnight snack and some conversation in the lounge.

word count: 2,372

warnings: no trigger warnings! all characters are 18+

now playing: Dave Bixby - "Morning Sun"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 034—

There was this movie I watched once when I was a kid, about a little girl who falls from the sky. Although I can’t remember the title of it now. I do remember that she was a part of another world, a part of something bigger. She was important. I don’t think you have us write these to talk about movies, do you? I’m sure you’d rather hear about the operations on board, or the technical difficulties, or if there’s been any damage to the cargo. You know, the “important stuff”. Everything is running smoothly so far. Is that good?

I want to be a part of something bigger one day. Hopefully this experience will help me. I’m grateful to have this opportunity.

DAY THIRTY-THREE—

Pony Express allowed a maximum of five hours of sleep to their employees on haul. During those five hours, the Tulpar was shadowed by a veil of utter stillness. A silence not too dissimilar to that of a library, or that painful pause in awkward conversation. It was too quiet, which led you to stare at the ceiling until the fatigue of work or boredom got the better of you. Even when you could fall asleep, it was far from restful. Over the past month you had gotten the worst sleep of your entire life thus far. Worse than when you lived in those co-ed dorms with unruly neighbors and argumentative hallways. Worse than those nights thunder cracked down from the darkened sky and you clutched stuffed animals in your chubby, child hands. After a certain point, you had given up on finding sleep at all.

The computer screens within the cockpit would beep on occasion, the sound barely audible over the soft plucking of guitar strings in your headphones. The coords of some old folk song filled your ears instead. You sat in the captain's chair, curling in on yourself with your knees to your chest and arms around your person. Your head snuggled into the dip in your legs, cheek pressed your knee cap as you stared at the sea of glowing green.

Curly had given you permission not too long ago to sit in the cockpit at night. Within the first month of your apprenticeship, you had grown on him quite a bit. The captain had always been a kindhearted person. He was a people pleaser to his core, a man simply happy to help. Curly saw a lot of himself in you, and he knew what it was like to feel, well, restless.

“As long as you promise not to touch anything,” he had said, prefacing his next words with a comforting smile, “you have my permission to use your clearance to the cockpit at night. But if word gets to the higher ups, they’ll have my head, understood? We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Normally, you tried to pay attention to how long you had been sitting there, keeping track of each song that played to count the minutes as they passed, but tonight you hadn’t. With a sigh, you reluctantly stood from Curly’s chair, deciding to give sleep another try. You slipped your Walkman into the pocket of your pajama pants and left the cockpit. Each step you took was quiet, almost imperceivable, as you walked down the hall toward the sleeping quarters. You didn’t want to disturb the others, although you had a feeling nobody else was sleeping all that well either. The rusted, trusty pipes groaned as you passed, their settling moans somehow bypassing the volume of your music. It made you feel uneasy. You reached into your pocket and turned the music up a bit in an attempt to drown out the sound.

Rounding the corner, you finally reached the door to the sleeping quarters. Just as you reached for the door handle, it slid open seemingly on its own, causing you to flinch. Standing there—holding a flashlight in one hand and with the other placed against his chest—was Daisuke, looking far more caught off guard than you felt. You winced as he shined the light directly into your eyes.

“Holy shit, dude,” he breathed, voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “You straight up scared the hell out of me. What are you doing walking around in the dark?” Daisuke adjusted his aim and shot the beam at the ceiling instead, creating enough light for the two of you to see each other a little better.

With a soft laugh, you pulled your headphones from your ears, allowing them to hang around the back of your neck. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

“You too?” Daisuke questioned.

“I’m surprised anyone can sleep on this thing,” you whispered. “Where are you going?”

His eyes dropped in embarrassment as he used his free hand to rub nervous circles against the side of his neck. “I’m… I’m grabbing a snack from the lounge. You wanna come?”

“Yeah, if you want me to.” You didn’t hesitate. Anything sounded better than tossing and turning. You stepped to the side, permitting him enough space to walk out of the doorway then alongside you.

Daisuke breathed a chuckle at your response. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.”

“Then I guess I’m coming,” you said in a hushed, playful tone.

Daisuke looked at you with a smile and nodded, shining his flashlight down the hall as the two of you began to walk in silence. In the quiet of the hall, the door to the lounge seemed to open with a deafening wheeze. Deep, royal blue illuminated the large room. The night-time window screen displayed a starry sky with wisp-like clouds, bathing the room with an otherworldly glow. It reminded you of going to the aquarium as a kid, surrounded by water and the smell of saltwater. You half expected to look up and see sharks and fish swimming overhead, but you knew all there would be was a dull, blank ceiling and slumbering lights.

Daisuke stuck his head through the doorway, peeking to see if anyone was already inside. When he determined that the coast was clear—although it wouldn’t have mattered anyway considering the noise of the door, he motioned for you to follow him inside.

“Hell yeah! The place is ours,” Daisuke celebrated, speaking louder once the door closed behind you two. He walked toward the vending machines with long, intentional strides. You tread on his heels, gaze fixed on him in amusement as he looked over the different options.

You pulled your Walkman from your pocket, then leaned against the bar, palms pressed to the countertop as you pushed yourself up, and took a seat on the cool, brown laminate. “Is there normally someone else here?”

“Hmm?” He barely heard you, too fixated on what he was going to eat. As he processed what you had said, the words loading behind his eyes in a turning spiral, he ordered a pack of freeze-dried fruit and tore into the package. “Oh, nah. Not usually. I mean, I’ve seen Anya in here once or twice, but she’s always coming from medical bay. Getting coffee for those late nights, I guess.”

“She works too much,” you noted. “I wish she wouldn’t push herself like that.”

“You two seem close.” Daisuke approached, leaning against the counter beside you.

“Yeah. You could say that.” A tender smile graced your lips at the thought of you and Anya being close.

There was a pause, a brief lull in the otherwise newborn conversation. A series of crunches sounded from your right where Daisuke stood as he popped piece after piece into his mouth. You glanced over at him, the tenderness of your smile warping into something more entertained. He glanced over at you in turn, his mouth full of apple as he mustered a lopsided smile.

“Hey, it’s your Walkman,” he exclaimed after a swallow, pointing at the dated tech in your lap. “Whatcha listening to?”

“Oh,” you peeped with a suddenly flustered look on your face. “It’s a mix my mom made for me. Just a bunch of old folk stuff she used to play for me when I was little.”

“Can I listen?” he asked, shoving another piece of fruit in his mouth.

“S-Sure, yeah.” You unplugged your headphones and played the tape. It crackled, the old speaker not what it used to be. Or what it ever was, truthfully.

Maybe the quality of the sound would have bothered somebody else, but not Daisuke. As your small corner of the lounge filled with the sound of guitar—the stories of rural towns, first loves, and early mornings, Daisuke set his snack on the counter and listened intently. It was far from what he’d normally like, but something about listening to it here, with you made it sound perfect.

“It’s funny, actually. I never used to like this stuff back on Earth, but lately this is the only one I want to listen to,” you said over the music.

“You must really miss her.” Daisuke inched closer, standing less than a foot away from you as he leaned against the counter. His gaze flickered up to your face, quietly admiring the curves and arches of your profile. Under the blue light of the night time window screen, any blemish or imperfection on your face seemed to vanish. Not that he had ever noticed any imperfections on you. Matter of fact, for some reason, he couldn’t imagine seeing any part of you as imperfect. Even if he tried. There was a somber look in your expression as he spoke, one that made his stomach twist in knots.

“So much. I didn’t think it would be this hard being away from home.” Your voice was just above a whisper now. You felt your eyes begin to burn, the familiar sensation of tears welling in the corners as you tried to suppress the ebbing flow. With the shake of your head, you let out a quick laugh, feeling the tension gradually lifted from your shoulders. “What kind of music do you like?”

Daisuke didn’t blink or care about the change in discussion. He didn’t care about what the two of you talked about, and he wasn’t going to pry either. He knew that you would open when you felt comfortable enough to do so, and he was happy to wait however long that would take.

“A bit of everything, I guess. It kinda pisses me off when people say that and, like, they don’t actually mean it.” He slid his snack off of the bar and extended it to you, shaking it as the pieces inside rattled against each other. “I have a pretty impressive vinyl collection back home. Got everything from Etta James to Duster. You should see it sometime.”

Weakly, you smiled and took a piece of the fruit from the package. “Maybe when all of this is said and done. After the haul?”

“I’d love that,” Daisuke responded quickly, eyes trailing over your face. After another moment of silence, a brief break in conversation, he shifted on his heels and looked away. “So, you uh… you got anyone waiting for you back home? Y’know, like friends? A boyfriend? Or uh, a girlfriend? If you, like, swing that way or whatever. Which would be totally cool, obviously. I’ve got a bunch of gay friends-”

“Daisuke,” you said with a hint of that ever familiar amusement in your voice. “Relax, okay?”

He looked back at you and nodded. “Right, yeah… So, do you?”

“Friends? Yeah, a bunch. I miss them too. But a partner, not so much…” You felt your cheeks light up, a soft pink flush dusting the peaks of your cheekbones and the ridge of your nose.

“Hey, that’s cool,” he responded, bumping shoulders with you and trying not to sound too happy about your response. “Me neither. I mean, like I said, I’ve got loads of friends. Just not the whole girlfriend boyfriend thing.”

“Look at us,” you mused. “One in the same.”

“Yup, one in the same.” Daisuke glanced back at you hopefully, then looked away. He downed the rest of his dried fruit and crumpled up the package, tossing it in the direction of a nearby trashcan and missing by a couple feet. He winced, feeling a tinge of embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“You gonna go get that?” you asked jokingly, pushed yourself from the countertop, and landed on your feet, securely tucking your Walkman back into your pocket as the music stopped.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes and walked toward the trash before picking it up and disposing of it properly. “It’s on the way out anyway. In fact, I meant to do that.”

You trailed after him, following close behind as the two of you approached the exit to the lounge. “Totally,” you teased, smiling up at him.

Yet again, the door slid open with that deafening screech as Daisuke and you left the lounge. Together, you walked back to the sleeping quarters. At the door, Daisuke turned to you and stopped. His brown eyes trailed over your features once more in the darkness, illuminated only by the light of the flashlight in his hands. Even in the blackness of the hallway, his smile was bright. His gap-toothed grin seemed almost bright enough to flood the entire hallway with light.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he spoke quietly.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you responded.

Daisuke opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words he wanted to say seemed caught in his throat. Instead, he just nodded and displayed that same smile. Your brows furrowed questioningly, an expression that made his heart skip a bit. Before you could say anything, he opened the door to the sleeping quarters and ushered you inside.

“Goodnight, [Name]. See ya in the morning.” He bit his lip, walking backward toward his room and nearly stumbling when he reached the door.

“Sweet dreams, Daisuke.”

With that, you slipped into your room with a strange feeling in your chest. A tightness you hadn’t felt since high school, since hallway crushes and etching names into wooden picnic tables. An ache at the loss of his presence. How strange.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

pookies (taglist): @xcryptk33p3rx @freakyydaisukee @sanctuaryofsmartiess @st4rrysblog @academiq @c4t-n1pp @iiveraii

#reader #x reader #reader insert #daisuke mouthwashing #mouthwashing daisuke #mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing x reader #daisuke x reader #daisuke #fem reader #curly mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #mouthwashing daisuke x reader

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kaybreezy3000 · 3 months ago

Text

Inside of You ~A Five Hargreeves / Female reader insert request

(5714 words) Rated Mature for sexually explicit content.

While joining Five for family night at his brother's house, he gives you an unexpected treat to add to the fun, ending the night by leaving you feeling more loved than you ever thought was possible.

Warnings and more summary: Five and Reader are adults, Smutty smut, Cock warming, Dom Five, cocky Five and sweet vulnerable Five, s4 setting-assuming that all that sort of went down only with a twist in brief mention that Five in the end saved the day (because he's the man of course and I can't do it any other way), also Lila and Five never got stuck in the subway-so no worries on triggers for that-pretending that didn't happen, this one's all about you and Five 😉

2 days ago, Anonymous asked:

Hi! Thank you, that other fic was amazing! Can I request maybe a dom five smut where he's really cocky at how quickly he can make the reader cum, maybe with overstimulation and cock warming? Thank you!

Answer: Sure, here you go. 😊😉 TY for the kind words.

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

Inside of You

“Mommy!!! Daddy! we can’t sleep!”

“Me either!” Grace yelled.

“Bloody hell.” Looking tired, Lila glared at Diego. After finally agreeing on a movie to watch, it had only been quiet for about thirty minutes into the film, and this was the third time a little voice had called out, needing something.

“I’ll take Grace this time, if you take the twins,” Diego grumbled, already getting up. Stomping down the hall towards the kid’s bedrooms like a dad sized Godzilla, he turned back, looking at Five as he said, “I know you two kids are getting serious, or you never would have subjected her to one of our family nights, so I’m going to give you a little piece of advice. Unless you want to be interrupted every five minutes for the rest of your life, put a rubber on it.”

Casually swirling his drink between his legs as he sat there across from you on their couch, Five’s usual mask indifference was the only reply Diego got, but as soon as they were gone, he turned his attention to you, a playful smirk making him look so handsome but also so characteristically smug and dick-ish.

He knew that he didn’t need to wear a rubber with you, but he’d also made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t opposed to somewhere down the road performing the act of breeding with you with the intent of starting a family, not just to get you screaming his name.

All night long, Five had been looking at you like he was up to something, and knowing he was probably up to no good, you decided to stay in your chair on the other side of the room.

He quirked a dark brow at you, and his dimple deepened. Leaning back, his thighs spreading wide, undeterred, Five padded his lap. “Join me?”

A rush of wetness leaked between your legs from just looking at him over there, dressed in his slim-fitted dress shirt with his long silk tie dangling down between his legs.

You knew about the Hargreeves family and their powers and how they’d saved the world multiple times. Everyone knew about them after they averted The Cleanse, but even so, you swore Five’s real power was not in his ability to blink, or time travel, or in how he and a deli full of other versions of him had figured out how to destroy new elemental forces that were set to bring on the end of the world. His gift wasn’t even in his ability to have a cocky answer to everything.

No. All that was true, but Five’s real power was in how easily he could take away your ability to think of anything other than pleasing him, all with nothing but one of his mischievous smiles.

As if drawn to him by a magical force, you stood up, coming his way as you anxiously ran your hands down the front of your skirt to press out the invisible wrinkles.

As soon as you were within arm’s reach, Five reeled you in fast, knocking you off balance, making you land on top of his thighs, straddling him, face to face. The second you were touching him, he nuzzled his face into your neck, inhaling deeply.

“I love when you wear these girly little skirts, and the way you smell,” he whispered as you delighted in the sensation of his lips pressing against your skin, and your bare thighs resting against the softness of his wool dress pants.

Springs, squeaking from two very naughty twins jumping on their beds down the hall, accompanied by the sound of glass smashing, and Diego and Lila simultaneously swearing, your head swung that way.

“Sounds like they might be busy awhile,” Five chuckled as he continued placing slow kisses in a carefully charted line along your throat.

Unable to help yourself, you tilted your head to the side, giving him more skin to work with as your hands ran up his arms, your fingers digging into his shoulders, shaking him a little. Your mouth dropped open. “We really shouldn’t- “

“Shooooosh.” Five laughed, cutting you off as his hand slid up your thigh, moving under your skirt. When his mouth reached your collar bone, he started sucking, making the blood rise to the surface of your skin.

Forgetting any argument you had about why this wasn’t a good idea, a soft moan fell from your lips. The feel of Five’s semi hard cock under you had you craving more friction between your legs, so you began to rock your body against him. The movement got Five growling so cutely in response, but it was the painful points of his teeth biting into you where your neck met your shoulder that made your entire body go completely still.

His firm hand moved further up your leg, blazing a predatory trail of warning along the creamy span of your flesh. Then one of his fingers glided along your underwear, playing along the slightly damped slit splitting the mounds of your arousal.

“So wet for me already, sweetheart. You are too easy,” he mocked, his lips spreading in a wicked smile against your neck.

With that shit, you no longer cared that Five’s brother’s family, all seven of them when you included Lila’s parents, were on the other side of the house. All you could think about was that unbelievably sexy jerk who was laughing at you for wanting to jump his bones.

Five wasn’t wrong. You never could get enough of him. You’d been dating for months, but almost as soon as you’d taken your flirtations past antagonizing each other daily while in passing, and into the more physical joys of getting to know each other, as soon as his hands were on you, a desperation like you’d never experienced before felt like it was going to consume you if you didn’t have him.

“Please, Five,” you moaned.

Giving in, Five’s fingers shifted the thin swath of material covering you to the side, so he could slide his finger up and down your soaking folds. Your breaths soon turned to pants as his thumb found your clit, circling the spot over and over.

Your forehead limply fell to Five’s shoulder. His erection was so hard underneath you, and as pathetic as it was, you were about to beg for him to take you, right there, hard and fast, on someone else’s couch, when you could be walked in on at any second.

To your relief, he seemed to be thinking what you were thinking because his thumb moved away, and just as fast, he was gripping your embarrassingly wet underwear.

“These need to go,” he gently whispered in your ear, just as he tore the small piece of lace from your body.

Your startled yelp was quickly followed by the sound of Five unzipping his trousers and your shocked state was made no better when his cock sprang free.

Knowing Five could blink you both out of there if you couldn’t finish fast enough, you eagerly attempted to rise to mount him, but he stopped you, gripping your hips, so he could forcefully turn you, so you were sitting on his lap, facing away from him. Your sudden change in position momentarily threw you off balance, but as soon as his hands gripped the outside of your thighs and his lips found your neck again, it grounded you to him.

The tips of Five’s fingers dug into your backside, his palms against your thighs as he urged your hips to move. He’d purposefully wedged his cock between your legs from underneath, and the sight of it being long enough to protrude out from between your thighs, making a little tent in the fan of your skirt, had you cursing under your breath.

Reaching around, Five flipped his hand under the frill of your skirt, and started in again, pleasuring you, only this time by pressing the warm tip of his cock against your clit.

From there, you fell into a smooth rhythm, of you doing the moving, and him letting you use him to get off.

You knew this couldn’t go on. You could hear your hosts tell their kids that this was it; we aren’t coming back in here even if Godzilla comes out of your closet!

You were dying to get Five as excited as you, to suck his dick, to have him fuck you properly, anything to have him inside you, but to your dismay, he didn’t seem to want that.

With what he’d been through with being trapped and alone, and being used and abused, over and over, normally all it took was the go ahead from you, and that chocolate haired menace would be slamming his dick inside you, grinning ear to ear, looking every bit the horny young man he was, while also proving he was the old deprived soul he claimed to be.

Five was always a paradox of extremes, but when he was with you in bed, he was like a man possessed, hell bent on making up for lost time. That was what you were used to. Not this…this poorly timed patience.

As soon as you started shifting your body up and down with any real spunk, Five’s hands flew to your hips, forcing you to slow your grinding.

“And they say I’m the one who has no impulse control,” he breathed in your ear, which earned him a frustrated groan. His chuckled laugh rumbled along your back, but again, he gave in, seemingly listening to your silent plea.

Removing his hand between your legs, Five readjusted your position, leaning back into the couch. He gripped your hips and lifted you, so you were hovering over him. After lining you up to his length, he slowly guided your body down.

He let out the sexiest sounding hiss of satisfaction as his slicked length impaled you.

You mewed and thrashed as the thick head of his cock came to a stop when your ass pressed back down in his lap. You couldn’t stay still. “Holy ff-ah-ck, Five!” you quietly stuttered as you moved up a little, only to fall back down when your legs went weak, causing the fullness of his cock to overwhelm you all over again.

Adjusting himself so the angle of his dick wasn’t quite as jarring had you both panting breaths of relief, but your quiet exclamations were still coming out much more panicked sounding than his.

Again, when you tried to move, Five wouldn’t let you, going so far as to wrap his arms around your waist, causing you to have to lean back against him, fully flush.

“Don’t move,” he warned.

You felt helpless, like you were nothing more than an object put there for Five to use as he pleased, and as messed up as that was, that idea and reality of it happening was making you so aroused it hurt.

At the new sounds of Diego and Lila talking in the kitchen, only a room away, and the popping of popcorn, you were so wound up, just waiting for Five to take you over the edge, and end this, that your body started to tremble. You started rolling your hips, but Five’s hands gripped you tighter, insistently keeping you still.

“We tired the little beasts out this time! We’ll be right out,” Diego’s annoyed voice floated from the kitchen.

To that, you tried to get up, but Five held you tight with one arm, the other reaching for the throw blanket hanging over the back of the couch, covering you both like he planned on staying right there, and he confirmed as much when he said, “I think it’s time I give you a lesson in delayed gratification.”

When he shifted to better kiss your cheek, his cock buried snugly, ended up shifting too, and that didn’t help delay anything you were feeling. You let out a little whine from that reminder of how good it felt having Five moving inside you.

Five adjusted your thighs, spreading you wide, and getting even more aggravated, and knowing he wasn’t going to let up on this, you rapidly started bouncing up and down, your breathy moans of exertion bitten back by your teeth studding into your lower lip.

Behind you, Five’s body tensed each time you tried to fuck yourself down on his cock. Thinking you could get him to see the light, you reached back, running your fingers through his hair in way that usually made him turn into a mindless puddle of goo, but to that, he only started in again, peppering kisses to the nap of your neck, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Letting you do all the work, only not very successfully with the way he had you detained, he moved his hold to your breasts, groping them through your shirt.

“What are you doing!” you huffed at him as you wriggled. He was still refusing to thrust himself up into you, even though you were wildly kicking your heels into his shins like he was a racehorse you were trying to get moving for the win at the finish line.

“I’m enjoying you to the fullest, but I promise I’ll make it worth it if you’re a good girl and you warm my cock until I say you can please me differently,” he calmly explained while dragging the tip of his nose along your hairline.

The feeling of his fingers skimming under your skirt left you burning up in confusion as your skin tickled with the prickle of goosebumps. You could feel the coil inside of you tightening with every second that this denial went on.

Five always felt so fucking amazing, and the things he did to you were, just wow…but holy hell! All he needed to do was…

“Fuck me, Five! Please!” you begged, but he didn’t move, and not being allowed to do more than torment yourself, you defeatedly stopped fighting and flopped back against him.

Of course, that was when he started rocking his hips needily, pounding up into you, doing it hard enough to make the legs of the couch cry out in protest.

Your body strained as waves of arousal washed through you, making it feel like the temperature in the room had just increased by a zillion degrees. Your muscles squeezed around his shaft, trying to make him cum, so you could at least get the satisfaction of milking him dry before they came back.

Not having it, stopping completely, Five said your name in a very strained voice, followed by a hot puff of air blowing past your ear. “I told you to behave, and be my pretty little cockwarmer, and now look what you made me do, you willful little brat.” Five grunted so annoyingly adorably as he proceeded to rock shallow thrusts of his cock into you while you squirmed in his lap.

You were so turned on now as he attempted to punish you in your favorite way, your cries of pleasure rose with each tug and push of his dick. “Daddy, I am sorry. I need it! I need you,” you whimpered.

You gasped as the heels of Five’s shiny black shoes dug into the floor and his dick bottomed out, making it feel like he’d just stabbed you in the stomach.

Pushing his hands into your abdomen, feeling his own cock inside you, tearing you apart, Five’s hips stilled again, making you take it. You felt a pulse of excitement quiver up his length as aching pain filled you, and the breath you’d been holding came out in a flood of fucks.

Five opened his mouth, his warm breath hitting your ear as he started to say something, but he was interrupted by the loud beep of the microwave, and Lila talking about him. “That demented little pervert better not be trying to screw that poor girl on our couch.”

That snapped you out of your daze and both your backs stiffened. The smell of buttery popcorn wafted your way as Diego’s shadow began moving down the hall in your direction.

Your face felt like it was on fire as you moved to get off Five before they caught you, but to your horror, his fingers tightened on your rib cage, digging in so hard that you couldn’t help it when you started laughing uncontrollably.

“Stay put,” he ordered as he attacked you.

You whipped your head around, your eyes wild. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes,” he said, totally straight faced, then he gingerly kissed your shoulder, and removed his hands from under your clothes, just as Diego came around the corner with Lila right behind him.

It was impossible to ignore that Five’s length was still rock hard inside of you. You were frozen like a deer trapped in the headlights, but that asshole just sat there and nonchalantly plucked at the cuff of his shirt sleeve, glancing at his watch, like he was irritated they had taken so long.

You were torn between getting up and putting as much distance between you and him as possible, or proving that he wasn’t the only bat shit crazy one, by staying there to finish what he’d started and making it to where you both were never asked to come over for family night again.

“Sorry. Like I said, kids are-” Diego started, then he paused, eying the blanket wrapped around your laps. He raised his eyebrows to the ceiling. “Well, well, well… You guys look cozy.”

Smiling innocently, Five pulled the blanket around you a little, making it cover a little more of your legs, but it still wasn’t long enough to hide that you were basically sitting not just between his legs, but on his lap.

Giving Five the stink eye, Lila smiled just as fake as him, then sat down in her recliner. “Here,” she said, reaching back, offering you the larger afghan in her hand.

She was way too far away for you to reach it, and not at all thinking, you started to rise, but at the feel of Five’s cock slipping out of you, you quickly sat back down. Your eyes felt like they may have rolled back in your head, and your neck turned a million shades pinker from the feel of it. Also paying for that mistake, you heard and felt Five let out a sharp intake of breath.

“What’s the problem?” Lila asked, scowling at him.

“Just throw it over,” Five angrily grumbled at her, and your stomach quivered from the deep tenor of his voice, and your walls reactively clenched around him, trying to prolong the feeling.

Clearly aware something was up, coming over, taking the blanket, before either you, or Five, did something stupid, Diego kindly handed you the blanket and then Five the bowl of popcorn he’d bought for you to share.

“You think you two kids can be good and watch the rest of this movie?” Diego questioned, “Or do you want to call it a night?”

“We’re good. Start it back up,” Five cooly replied, and again, just the feel of his body inside yours as he spoke was making it hard for you to resist moving your hips. How he could act so relaxed was beyond you. You felt like you were going to burst at the seams, and when he leaned forward to set the bowl on the coffee table you almost came right then and there.

What the hell was he doing!!!!!!!

As the TV screen came to life, there was no way your mind could go back to the romantic comedy that was playing, not with Five moving himself, and you down, laying so your heads were resting on one of the end pillows. His warm, heavy cock slipped in and out from the motion, giving you the slightest friction from the adjustment, but just as fast, with one deliberate thrust, burying himself full deep again, he had you. “Oh! Shoooo.....ooot,” you accidentally cried out, quickly acting like you had your hair tangled under him in a way that hurt.

Pretending like he was unaware of what he'd done, Five kicked his shoes off, and his feet joined yours at the other end of the couch.

“Isn’t this nice?” he whispered in your ear, and again, Lila glanced your way, but this time, you swore you saw her trying to hold in a smile.

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing. The joy in Five’s voice proved he was thrilled, and that he knew just what he was doing to you, which was driving you insane.

Laying there, mostly hidden under the blankets, Five moved his arm that was draped over your body, his fingers soothingly moving along your side, then your stomach, up and down, over and over.

It felt amazing. This was so sneaky and dirty, but still, you’d never felt anything even remotely like this. All you think about was him. All you could feel was him.

As Five slowly caressed your body, every so often your hips would reactively start moving. You pushed your butt against him, trying to increase the sensation, and just that tiniest movement would make you want to cry because it felt so good.

Planting his feet on the arm rest, doing you even more dirty, Five slowly began to work his hips, fucking his cock into you, so shallow and so agonizing slow. Letting go, you shut your eyes, your pinched breaths falling into cadence with his.

Creeping his hand between your legs, Five was greeted with the fresh wash of wetness of his making. “I could hold you like this forever,” he whispered with his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

His loving words and the feeling of what he was doing made it feel like you were being lit on fire. You were sure that you were glowing with Five’s ethereal aura of blue light, and he was about to blink you out of there, but that didn’t happen.

Instead, gripping your hips to prevent you from grinding back against him, he stopped rutting himself against you.

“Perfect little cockwarmer,” he breathed, so quietly, only you could hear it.

As he worked a single finger, back and forth across your clit, the only sign something was going on over on the couch was the soft, wet sound of movement, but it was too quiet for Diego or Lila to hear it. That was until Five hooked his finger, dragging it up and down even faster. Holding the blanket away from you, so they couldn’t see the quick thrusts of his wrist, the quietest whimper crept from your lips.

Diego looked your way for a second, but Five had already stopped moving his hand, so his brother looked away again, and turned up the volume on the TV. When Five pulled his hand back out from under the blankets, your shamefully slicked thighs helplessly clamped together in protest, then he brought his finger to your mouth, pulling at your bottom lip.

“Open,” he quietly demanded, peering down at you with a glint of fondness in his darkened eyes.

Not wanting him to draw more attention to the fact that you weren’t just sprawled out, spooning on their couch like you appeared to be, you did as he asked, and Five slid himself inside your mouth, the weight of his finger firmly pressing down on your tongue.

“Suck,” he breathed.

Obeying him again, your lips closed, and you were met with the taste of your own lust.

Debasing you as he discretely fucked your mouth with his pussy-soaked finger, Five’s cock twitched with excitement. He was so hard, that he was throbbing. You knew that he had to be out of his mind by then, but then just like that, he pulled his hand away from your mouth and he reached for the bowl of popcorn, instead.

You were going to die.

Yup. This was it. You were dead. Klaus was going to end up being your only company.

On purpose or not, you weren’t sure, bringing a handful back, Five dropped a piece of the puffed corn, and it fell on the couch cushion right next to your face. Going all in with Five in this madness, you shuffled our hand out from under the blankets and popped it in your mouth, chewing angrily.

“I hate you,” you murmured, and Five kissed your temple in reply, then he continued to crunch on his salty treat.

At this point, it had been over a half hour with his cock inside you, stretching your walls, but hardly moving. You were so beside yourself, and you weren’t sure which you wanted to do more, kiss him silly, or slap him sillier. Both seemed like viable options, and knowing Five, he’d enjoy it way too much one way or another.

By the time the movie ended, Five had been quiet for the last thirty minutes, and so had you. You could feel his breathing, deep and slow, as if he was sleeping. When you’d looked back at him, even before the credits had rolled, his eyes were closed, his thick lashes laying in stark contrast to his flawlessly pale cheeks.

He was so beautiful.

Wanting to be with him, even in sleep, you closed your eyes too.

“Should I wake him up so he can get her home?” Diego whispered a few minutes later.

Lila’s reply was just as quiet. “No. Let him have this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that evil little ghoul look so peaceful.”

The sounds of Diego and Lila turning the movie off, and the click of the lights going out, were followed by their feet, treading down the hall towards their bedroom.

You were sure that at some point during all that, you’d feel Five’s dick softening, but you hadn’t. You were also sure that he was out, sleeping just like they thought he was. Then, suddenly, the floor felt like it was dropping out from under you. You were floating through space, crashing through time and space, then thrown back into reality, met with the chill of cold blankets under your back.

Clinging to Five, even though his weight was holding you down, head spinning in a way that wasn't enough to make you sick, but was still plenty alarming, you shivered from head to toe.

Looking around, you realized you were back in Five’s apartment.

“Don’t worry, that feeling will go away in a minute,” he apologized. “You did so good, sweetheart. Now it’s time for your reward.” He pulled out of you, leaving your body bucking, and your cunt spasming from the loss of him filling your hole.

One second, illuminated by nothing other than the dim light filtering in through his bedroom blinds, Five was kneeling between your legs, tearing off his shirt, throwing his tie off in the darkness, and the next, you were blinded by a flash of light and he was back, totally naked, having ditched his pants and socks.

Bearing down on you with his dick bobbing against you, Five frantically worked your shirt up over your head. Once exposed, his lips came crashing down against yours.

“Five, please,” you whimpered as his tongue pushed inside your mouth. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Moving his kisses down your neck, then to your chest, giving your nipples each a few hot licks, Five braced himself on his forearms, then mounted your clit with his mouth, violently and relentlessly sucking you off.

The sloppy sound of him eating you out, and the heat of his breathy growls against your clit, sent jolts of electricity through you. Gripping his messy hair, you forced his face down harder, and Five took it like you knew he would, lapping at you, his tongue and teeth and his whole face fucking you delirious.

He was so fucking good at this, and you were so swollen from hours of him toying with you that all it took was less than a minute and your thighs were quivering around his youthfully smooth cheeks.

“Yes, Five, yeeeesssss!” you wailed as you came, seeing stars as your body writhed and twisted in his sheets and your walls tightened over and over, getting nothing but the empty ghost of him that had been there before. “Five…” you cried, tears streaming from your eyes as you looked down at the dark-haired boy who was giving you a misty-eyed look of his own that was so loving and broken it only made you want him more than you already did.

Barely a moment passed, and you were flipped over, blinked around in the other direction, and Five was entering you, fucking you with a messy pace, so hard and angrily as he slapped your ass, over and over, not hard, but hard enough. “That’s it, baby,” he growled in your ear as he draped himself over your back, using your arm to pull you up from the mattress. “You’re warming daddy’s cock so well.”

At that point, you could only repeat the words please and fuck like a broken record playing a background song of a porno. When Five finally let you drop back down to the mattress and his tightened balls started slapping into your body even harder from the momentum of him fucking you, your hands immediately balled into fists, your knuckles turning white from how hard you were clinging to the bedsheets.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight,” he praised, “Daddy is going to fill you like the perfect little cock warmer you are.”

Again, you were thrown into space, your entire body feeling like it was being ripped apart, then slammed back together in a blast of blinding light that left tingles zipping up and down your spine and your eyes darting around, trying to understand what had happened.

Slamming you back down on his mattress as you both landed, falling from his portal, but with your body flipped the other way again, Five moved his hand under your thighs, pulling you to him. Once positioned, he gripped himself, giving his entire length a few long strokes.

“All I have ever wanted was this,” he whispered as he slid inside you, letting out a hissed, fuck as his jaw dropped open.

You could feel nothing but every slow thrust of him pushing deep inside you. You could hear nothing but the sound of your heart beating in your ears and the contented moans coming from his gently parted lips.

Rocking his hips harder and faster, Five jerked his head back, trying to whip his hair from his eyes. Looking utterly shattered, completely focused on you, his eyes narrowed with a darkness that you feared would always haunt him, but you weren’t scared of it, or him.

Lifting you from the bed, thwacking his body into yours, he let the bulbous tip of his cock fuck into you just right, before he’d fuck you balls deep again, making you cry out his name even louder.

With the pattern he’d was laying into you, your second orgasm hit you fast and hard, turning your entire body into a warm pool of nothing, and Five followed you right after, his breathy groans and grunts sweet and innocent as he started to fill you.

You purred into his pillow as you felt the hot trickle of his fresh cum running out of you as he moved his hips, shifting back and forth, trying to coax more out of his orgasm and yours by not stopping even though he was spent.

This was your favorite part about sex with Five, him never giving in, of him falling down on you after you fucked, his breathy declarations of love softly caressing your senses as he kissed you sloppily, any where his lips could reach as he rut out his high.

Once the room was no longer filled with the sounds of you both blissfully losing yourself in the other, and the wet slow slap of skin-on-skin came to a stop. Five could no longer pump his softening cock inside you, but still, proudly knowing that he’d drawn out this moment he’d created to the absolute fullest, he finally pulled out, admiring his hot seed as it drizzled out of you until he reached for his shirt, carefully and gently whipping you down.

Reaching for him, Five was silent as he lay himself behind you with his sweat covered chest pressed to your back.

There was no need for words to say what doing this with you meant to him. You knew.

Five may seem all self-assured most of the time, but somewhere inside him there would always be that lost boy who desperately craved the warm feeling of human touch and the feeling of what it meant to be loved that he’d been denied for so long. Your heart felt so full. Out of everyone it could have been, he’d chosen you to finally have this with.

There was no one else like Five Hargreeves, and he was yours, and you were his, and you kissed the top of the hand that he had clinging to yours, for good measure, just in case he needed more proof of your devotion.

The quiet of the room remained, and you were lost in sleepy thoughts of happy things when suddenly your eyes popped open.

“Five? Where are my underwear?”

His adorable titter of boyish laughter shook you, then the cool feeling of his comforter fell over your bodies, and he threw a leg over yours, ensuring you couldn’t get away.

“Nothing says I am the dirty old pervert Lila said I was than the sight of your torn up panties laying on their couch in the morning. I just thought while I was taking full ownership of your heart, and your sweet pussy with my magical dick, I’d own up to that title too.”

“Five!”

Still chuckling, he snuggled himself into you, his smile plastered to the back of your neck as he breathed you in.

Within minutes of you stroking your hand along his arm that was still holding you tight, Five’s body relaxed into your touch.

He did own your heart and he knew it.

With your eyes drooping, and a soft sigh, you both slipped away-together, warm, and safe and loved.

~~~~~Repost an hour after original post because it wasn't showing up in any of the tags. 😉 Hope you find it anon.

Thanks again anon for reading my stuff and the kind words of support. Let me know if I did okay. ❤️

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