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#new kids on the rock edit
pasta-pardner · 1 year
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Butch and Sundance have shared quite a ride together. They're going down-- guns blazing and side-by-side.
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xcziel · 10 months
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currently cranky that kpop is never played on the radio??
i am old and i just want to hear txt's tinnitus while i'm driving home from work without like having to hook up a phone playlist
why are radio stations so stupid?
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cerealbishh · 9 months
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"I've recently made a momentous decision. I'm going start a cafe for cats and then I'm going to college for one year. And then after that, I'm going traveling India... and you're all invited!"
🎥: @bikinibottomdayz
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queers-gambit · 1 year
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Not So Heavenly Surprise
prompt: you share exciting news with your husband but don't receive the reaction you thought you'd get. and then, the Outbreak.
pairing: Joel Miller x female!wife!reader only height mentioned: you're shorter than Joel
fandom masterlist: HBO's The Last of Us
word count: 7.2k+
warnings: angst, angst, angst, slutty angst club, cursing, character death, major major major spoilers, death of a child, descriptive language - we talk about death and dead bodies!!! canon-level violence! NOT edited!!! (will get around to it) this work is super NOT FOR MINORS ❗️season one, episode one spoilers
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September 02nd, 2002 one year before Outbreak Day
"You're going to have to tell him," you sighed to your reflection, trying to amp up the bravery. "He's gonna notice, you don't want him questioning anything, now do you? No, nope, no way, you don't. Okay, so, that's it - you're gonna tell him when he gets home. No big deal."
There was a knock at the door, Sarah calling, "Are you okay in there?"
"Girl!" You laughed, reaching for the knob and opening it to see her. "Ever heard of this thing called 'privacy'?"
"Not in this house," She smirked. "Can I get in? Wash my face?"
"Oh, yeah, totally," you moved out of her way, continuing with your nightly routine.
"So, who were you talking to?"
"Myself," you mused. "It helps me work out big decisions."
"Oh, so, you're finally gonna tell Dad you're pregnant?"
"What!?" You yelped, dropping the jar of night cream and groaning when it dolloped out from the fall - landing on your foot. "What the hell, Sarah?"
"What? You're surprised I figured it out?" She teased. "I found the pregnancy test."
"What? You were digging in the trash?"
"Well, if you must know, I dropped the toothpaste in there and found it when I was fishing it out..."
"Sarah," you sighed.
"You know he's going to be really happy, right?" She smiled at you, massaging her cheeks to curate foam from her face wash.
"Maybe," you sighed, stooping to clean your mess. "But I've been trying to figure out what to say."
"What's to say? Just tell him," she giggled. "C'mon, you guys have been married 8 years now! Isn't this, like, what was supposed to happen?"
"Well, yeah, but - "
"But nothing," Sarah laughed. "You're getting all nervous for nothing. It's just Dad, he loves you. He's going to be happy, I promise."
You sighed, nodding slowly, "All right, well, I'll try to tell him tonight."
"There is no try, only do."
"You did not just quote Star Wars to me!"
"Well, is Yoda wrong?"
You whined a little, "No..."
"So, get it done," she smiled. "This is really exciting."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she smiled, "I've always wanted to be a big sister."
"You'd kick ass as one," you agreed.
"Think how upset and flustered Dad will be when I teach Baby to curse!"
"Sarah, you teach the kid any curse words and I'll wash your own mouth with soap," you teasingly warned with a pointed finger. "I'm a little nervous, I think," you admitted.
"Why? Daddy loves you, he'll be really happy," Sarah defended. "Maybe a little shocked, but he'll be over the moon with joy."
"You think?"
"I know," she nodded. "Tell him tonight!"
"Tell who, what?" Tommy asked, appearing in the doorway to make you both shriek.
"What happened!?" You heard Joel, but then, everything was drowned out as you and Sarah started yelling at Tommy for scaring the shit outta you both. Joel appeared in time to see his little brother throw his hands up in defense, laughing at the two of you.
"Not cool, man!" You barked, shaking your head. "Didn't hear y'all come in, the hell's wrong wit'chu?"
"Y'all didn't lock the front door, again," Tommy smirked. "I came up real quick and quiet."
"Jackass," you muttered, wiping your hands on a towel before exiting the room. "Hi, baby," you muttered to Joel, pausing to rock onto your toes and plant a kiss to your husband's lips.
"Hi, honey," he mused, arm anchoring your waist. "What's with the screamin'?"
"Your brother's an ass," you pouted, giving your best exaggerated bottom lip.
"You had it comin', darlin'," Tommy teased. "Told you to lock up, huh?"
"Why're you even here? Why are you always! Here!?" You whined lightly. "Go home!"
"I'm staying the night," he mocked gently.
"You better not clean my fridge out," you warned him with slitted eyes. "I just went to the shop."
"You get them cookies you like?" Tommy perked a brother, watching your eyes widen a small fraction. "YOU DID!" Tommy laughed, turning, and bolting down the stairs - making you yelp and start yelling after him, following closely.
Joel and Sarah could be heard laughing from upstairs.
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It was close to midnight by the time you and Joel finally settled for bed. Sarah's homework was done, whole family fed, Tommy was nursing a bonked head with a small ice pack, and you and Joel were turning your bed down.
"Hey, uh," you cleared your throat as you both got in the sheets, "so, I was wonderin' somethin'."
"What's that, sugar?"
"What do you think of when you consider the future?"
Joel paused, then shrugged, "We go to Nashville with Sarah this summer."
"No, baby, I mean the future - like, years from now."
Joel chuckled, "Uh, I don't know, baby, I just think of you and Sarah and Tommy... There's not many others left 'round."
"That's all?"
"I don't know, I think sometimes when Sarah goes off to college, that girl's goin' on a scholarship, you know? So, you and I could maybe take some time for a vacation. Finally take you on that honeymoon I promised."
You hummed, settling against his chest, "Where we goin'?"
"You know I'd take you wherever you wanted," he sighed, "but maybe we could afford... I don't know, trip to... Vegas?"
"So we can renew our vows with Elvis?"
"Why not?" He chuckled, squeezing your hip. "Might be fun, right?"
"You just wanna see the strippers."
"Can you blame me?"
You laughed and smacked his chest, "Easy, mister, you're on thin ice."
Joel laughed lightly, "You know I'm teasin', darlin'. C'mon, anywhere we could, where would you go?"
"Oh, the Maldives, without a doubt.," You smirked. "But how about we keep it simple? Go to, say, Paris?"
Joel snickered, "That's simple?"
"City of Love for our honeymoon? Baby, I'd say that's more cliché than anything. Besides, don't you wanna kiss me at the top of the Eiffel Tower?"
"'Course, sugar, but the food there?"
"Oh, like you've ever been!" You laughed, looking up at him. "Don't talk shit when you don't know."
"Hmm," he considered, "solid advice, sweetheart."
He reached out to caress the side of your cheek, making you sigh, "One thing's missin' though..."
"What's that?" Joel smirked.
"We'd have to find a babysitter."
"Sarah will be older than - "
"No, no, baby, not talkin' 'bout Sarah."
"Who, then?" He chuckled. "Tommy? Though he likes proving us wrong, he can take care of himself."
"No, I'm talking about a babysitter for us."
"Lost me again, sweetheart."
You stared at him for a moment, then admitted, "I'm pregnant. So, we'd need to find a sitter 'cause we'd have a little one by then." However, Joel just stared down at you, brows slowly furrowing as he processed your words. "Joel?" You wondered when he didn't answer, but instead, looked off past you. "Honey, you still with me?"
"I heard you," he grit, making you instantly sit up and off of him.
"Joel?"
He sighed deeply, "Why'd you have to do that?"
"I'm sorry?"
Joel sat up and swung his legs from bed, making you feel instantly smaller than you actually were. "Why'd you have to go and do that? Huh? Get pregnant?"
"Joel - "
"No, what the hell's this!?" He demanded, looking far too upset than you ever considered. "You're pregnant? You're really pregnant?"
"Yes - "
"God fuckin' damn it!" Joel swatted at a lamp, knocking it over, and waking the entire house - not that either Tommy or Sarah were asleep yet. "You can't seriously be pregnant!" Joel barked at you, and if he could, you knew he'd be gnashing his teeth.
"Why is this such a shock?" You asked. "This is what happens when you're married - "
"You were supposed to be on birth control!"
"It's only so much effective when you're cumming in me like some sex doll!" You snapped back, aware of your loudness.
"Don't turn this on me!"
"I'm not! Fuck's sake, I'm happy about this!" You stood from the bed, too. "I'm happy we're havin' a baby! Why're you reacting this way?"
"We can't afford a baby right now!" Joel looked enraged now. "We don't got the space - fuckin' Tommy crashes the couch! Where we puttin' a whole baby, huh? Where we puttin' a kid? How're we gonna afford more groceries? More schoolin'? You didn't think this through, now, did you!?"
"Fuck's sake, Joel, do I need to give you a sex-ed course? Explain how you're just as much in this as I am? I didn't do this to myself, we both took risks - but I didn't think this was gonna be an issue! I thought you'd want this!"
"When have I ever said I wanted another kid? Huh? Don't put words in my mouth, woman! I got Sarah, ain't no kid better than that! Why would I even want to bother? Knowing our situation!? You think you're ready to be a mom? All you do is work, and it makes you a pretty shaky stepmother! Neither of us are in a place to just stop and take care of a kid, we're in too deep with our current bills!"
You felt too stunned to speak, every defense you had lowering in pure sadness as tears collected in your eyes. "You serious, right now?"
"Completely," he sighed, hands to his hips.
"So, you... You don't want this baby?"
Joel's jaw flexed. "Not right now, no."
"Okay," you sighed.
"I can't take care of another kid," he shook his head. "Look, why can't Sarah be enough? You've known her her whole life."
"Why is it so wrong to wonder what it's like to be pregnant? To have my own child? Since you have Sarah."
"We have Sarah," he snapped.
"No... We don't, since I'm only a shaky stepmother."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"No? How'd you mean it?" You wondered sarcastically. "Maybe that I won't be a good mother? That you don't want a kid with me, is it? Whatever, Joel, look, there's no compromise here. You don't want this baby, but I do... So, this it is."
"What is? To what?"
"Us," you sighed, gesturing between you. "If you really don't want this baby, then I don't see how we can still participate in a marriage."
"The fuck - "
"I won't stay where I'm not wanted."
"I want you, just not the baby!"
"So, understand this. Because I'm growing that baby currently, you simply don't want me. So, it's all right, now. I'll get my shit and get out, figure out what to do movin' forward, and I'll have the divorce papers sent - "
"Like hell, you are!" Joel raged.
"How're we gonna fix this then!?"
"Fuckin' Christ, woman, you really know how to piss me off! This ain't my issue - this is your problem. But we ain't gettin' a divorce, so, you better figure it out."
You scoffed, "Who the hell even are you?"
"Come again?"
You gestured at him, "This is not who I married."
"Neither are you. When we got married, you said Sarah was more than enough - "
"You know what? Feelin's change!"
Joel scoffed, "Yeah, fuckin' tell me 'bout it."
"Wow," you sighed, turning for the closet, muttering, "wow, wow, wow, wow, WOW!"
"Fuck!" Joel snapped. "C'mon, doll, don't do this."
He watched you pack a suitcase frantically, the fight continuing to wage farther into the night. Back and forth, you two went round after round after round, trying to make the other understand and see reason. To Joel, it was a matter of financials and space. To you? It was everything else.
By 3 am, you had finally packed your necessary belongings into two bags - a suitcase and purse - before you were charging down the stairs with Joel still hollering after you. Tommy was in the living room, pacing, and Sarah was laid on the couch, eyes red and swollen as she clutched a pillow to her chest. You came to a halt when you saw them both, Joel still sneering but silencing himself when he saw what you stared at.
Just like that, he understood his brother and daughter had heard every word he shouted at you, and never had he felt such shame. You swallowed harshly, nodding at Tommy before looking to Sarah. With a wobbling smile, you managed to garble, "I'm sorry."
"Mama, wait!" Sarah gasped, shooting off the couch as you fled for the front door; Tommy catching her around her waist. "No! No! Daddy, go get her! Don't go! Mama! Please! What's happening? Why won't you go after her!?"
But to Tommy's shock and horror, Joel silently descended the stairs to push the front door closed and locked it - bolting them inside and his wife outside. "Joel," Tommy shook his head, confusing marring his features. "The hell happened?"
But Joel only sighed, turned, and headed up the stairs again. Not a moment later, his bedroom door closed - making Tommy release Sarah. She rushed to the door but stopped, only staring out, and Tommy understood she could no longer see your car.
"Hey, Sarah?" Tommy called softly. "You can stay home from school tomorrow. All right?"
She only nodded silently, taking a seat at the front door and just watching. He frowned, wanting to shoo her off to bed, but understood that her child-like mind could only understand so much. She wanted to wait for you to come home, she wanted to see you coming... However, the following morning, Joel found his daughter slumped against the front door and his brother on the stairs from watching her.
His heart had plummeted to his feet when he saw them, more so when he understood you weren't home. The house already felt colder.
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September 26th, 2003 Outbreak Day
Your daughter was barely a few months old by the time "it" happened. After leaving Joel, you went home to your parents and they were gracious enough to welcome you and the babe growing in your womb.
They made up your childhood bedroom into a nursery and let you transform their home office into a spare bedroom as your little brother was living in the guest room and older sister in the basement. It was an incredibly tiny room, but it worked for now; and your little girl was a ray of sunshine that you barely noticed how miserable you truly felt.
You hadn't seen Joel since the birth... And before that? Not since your fight. He really didn't want shit to do with your daughter, and while you always told him when your appointments were, he never showed. When you went into labor, your father was the one who called him because you only sobbed through the pain that you wanted your husband. So, Joel showed that day, but didn't go into the delivery room. He just waited outside it, listening, feeling his heart shatter again and again as you begged someone to find your husband, but no matter how your mother and father begged him to go in, he wouldn't. He couldn't.
It was only after the baby was born did he venture in.
You looked beat to hell and the sheets seemed bloodier than usual, but he didn't want to linger. He only nodded at you, hands in his pockets, "Good job... She's real beautiful."
You blinked, glancing over to where a nurse was swaddling the just-cleaned baby. "Thank you," you whispered. Then, he turned to leave, "W-Wait!" You begged, making him pause. "Don't you... I-I don't know, want to help name her?"
Joel sighed, glancing at you over his shoulder, "No, 's all right. Whatever you want, she's your daughter."
Your heart broke all over again, watching him leave. So much so, when the nurse brought your daughter over for you to hold, you broke down in horrendous sobs that the nurse actually shied away. You couldn't breathe from the pain, and it actually set off a few alarms on your hospital monitors.
Your mother watched in despair as a team of professionals had to sedate you in order to calm you down enough; holding her grandbaby and rocking her arms. She waited for days, hoping you'd ask to hold your daughter, but never did. Only when the lactation expert came in to help you nurse your daughter did you actually "willingly" hold her.
It just broke your heart to even look at her because she looked so much like Joel that it should've been illegal. Eventually, you came around and felt as if you couldn't set the baby down, but for the first few days were exhaustingly tough. Your parents were a huge help, but that didn't make it easier on you to try and process life without Joel. You loved your husband, wanted him back, but after his behavior, you couldn't fathom being within 6 feet of him again.
However, life had much different plans.
You didn't feed your baby formula, opting for breast feeding. Ironically, during your pregnancy, you had developed an intolerance to gluten and never wanted flour-products even after giving brith to your daughter. However, your father loved your mother's cookies...
It was nearly 2 am when it happened.
Your father had been the first "Infected" of the family, and only your mother was in their room with him. You heard the thumping and screams, peering out of your room only to see blood pooling from under your parent's closed bedroom door. "Get back," you hissed at your little brother, darting down the hall to your daughter's nursery.
"DADDY! NO!" You heard your brother scream a minute later, panic enveloping you as your daughter started to cry.
"No, no, no, it's okay, hey, hey, it's okay, sweetheart," you whispered, trying to shush her. There wasn't time to spare, and just as you secured your daughter to your chest with tight arms and made it from her room, your father came barreling out of your little brother's room - scaring the shit outta you. "D-Daddy?"
He snarled, neck snapping when he looked at you - but that wasn't your father. No, this creature was something else and while it was in your father's body, it wasn't your Daddy, and you weren't safe here.
"Down here! NOW!" Katie, your older sister called, making you shoot off down the stairs in a blind panic. Your father came crashing down behind you, knocking into your legs as you reached the bottom - forcing you to turn over and land on your back to protect your kid.
"OH MY GOD!" You screamed when your father bolted upright.
"STAY DOWN!"
Your sister swung her softball bat, knocking your father's head back with a sickly snap. He went down, and for a moment, it was all quiet. "What the fuck?" You panted, baby still crying.
"I don't know," Katie panted, reaching for your arms and helping you up. "I-I didn't - I didn't think," she stuttered, looking at your father, who's head was split open and spewing blood. "I-I killed him."
"Between us?" You nodded, "Think he was already dead."
"Where's Mommy? And Billy!?"
"Upstairs..."
"You don't think...?"
"Should we check?"
"What if they're alive and we just left them?" She worried, blinking back tears. "I-I don't know what to do."
"I think we need to get the fuck outta here," you admitted, looking around you two. "We aren't safe here, Katie, we should move."
Just then, there was a thud from upstairs. Your sister uttered your name in fear, and you had to steel yourself. "What do we do?" She whispered.
"Kitchen, there's only one door and the basement," you nodded, the two of you turning and hustling into the room. You looked around and found a long cerated knife, standing at the ready with one arm around your baby.
"What's gonna come for us?"
"Whatever the hell happened to Daddy," you gulped. "I still think we should run for it."
"But Mama - "
"She's probably dead!" You snapped. "But we aren't. We don't have to die if we play smart. I say, we get what we need and get the fuck out of here."
However, before she could answer, there was a snarling from outside the door. Your baby still cried, and soon, the door was bursting open with your mother's Infected body being hurled through the door. Your sister begged your name in a yell and you repeated at her that it's not really your mother - keeping the kitchen island between you three - and that she needed to swing the bat.
However, your little brother came barreling inside right after and knocked into you. It was a struggle as you had to let go of your baby to keep the 10-year-old demon off your body; hip teeth gnashing as pale tendrils came curling out of his mouth.
"NO!"
You couldn't look back at your sister, struggling to keep the suspiciously-strong boy at bay. You used your feet to kick him off you, snatch up the knife, and as he came back - snarling and screaming - you only stabbed the knife up into the underside of his jaw. Yanking free, blood and more came gushing out, and your brother when down.
When you turned, your sister was panting and leaning against a counter. Mother laid dead at her feet. "You good?" You asked.
"Yeah... You?"
"Yeah," you sniffled, moving to collect your baby from the bloody linoleum floor. "Can we get the fuck outta here now?"
"There's no more threat."
"Seriously?" You snapped. "Honey, if it happened here, it's happenin' elsewhere and we need to fucking move before we get left behind. Understand me?"
But then... There was a sickening sound from the only other door in the kitchen... The one leading to the basement...
"Katie?" You called your sister's name, "it's time to run."
"GO!" She screamed when a new body, that of your next door neighbor, came bursting through the door. You both ran, your daughter tight to your chest, and just made it outside your family home when a truck was screeching to a halt.
Joel leapt from the passenger seat, hollering your name in panic, and making you shoot off like a Roman Candle towards him. He caught you easily, holding you and your infant close to his chest as Katie came sprinting from behind you - taking cover behind Joel.
"What - "
"JOEL!" Katie screamed, pointing towards the body rushing from your home.
"Tommy!"
There came a gunshot, making you flinch into his chest as he turned you from the sight. "Get in the truck," Tommy called, Sarah opening the door from the inside to invite Katie in.
"We gotta go, darlin', it's time to go, let's go," Joel muttered to you.
"What the fuck is happenin'?"
"We don't know, but it's bad," he nodded, looking around frantically. "We need off the streets, baby, please, get in the truck."
But you paused, asking him, "You came back for me?"
"For the both of you," he sighed, caressing the top of your daughter's head - who still wailed in fear. "Please, baby, it's time to go - get in the truck." When you did, he rambled, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, all right, Tommy! Let's go!"
When everyone was in and doors shut, a new game began: Get the Hell Outta Dodge.
During the ride, Tommy and Joel filled you and Katie in with what they knew from the broadcasters that were once on the airwaves. Sarah held onto you tightly, infant child still wriggling in your lap and arms. You were trying to flee the suburbs, making for the highway, but it seemed, everyone else who hadn't been killed off had the same idea and created intense traffic.
"We're okay," you whispered to Sarah on repeat, almost in a chant. Katie frowned and slowly reached over Sarah's lap, taking hold of your daughter. You slowly let go only to latch full onto Sarah and try to comfort her with slow rocking and cooed words of encouragement. Joel knew that in your time apart, you and Sarah saw each other often - nearly on a daily basis - and could understand that you were her mother, through-and-through.
You both needed the comfort right now.
Someone to lean on.
Someone to be scared with you instead of saying "buck up."
"Take the field, Tommy!" Katie barked from the back, holding your screaming baby to her shoulder and trying to offer her warmth and comfort. However, it was impossible with the tangible panic and loud blaring of horns and cursing voices. "We can cut across and pick the road up on the west side."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. West, West, all right. All right, hang on," he turned the wheel, everyone bracing for the sharp movement before the bumping of the terrain became wildly uneven.
Around them, other cars followed suit, and the field was soon flooded with civilian cars trying to flee. "The fuck could be happening?" Katie asked you, gulping, "You're the doctor!"
"I-I don't fucking know, Katie, please," you whispered back, gulping in nerves as Tommy drove you all over the grass.
However, when they came over the hill to catch sight of their destination, there was a flooding of lights and choppers in the air. Tommy cursed, "Shit! Fuckin' Army!"
"Isn't that good?" Sarah asked from your embrace.
"It's good for them, but that's the highway we're tryna get to," Tommy explained, coming to a halt as cars flooded past them.
"All right, keep movin'. Head north," Joel advised quietly, his mind trying to settle.
"Could be a lotta people," Tommy argued lightly.
"Well, we can't go south, we can't go east, we can't go west," Joel pointed out. "Hell else we supposed to go?"
"Tommy, fuckin' drive!" You grit, Katie joining you in on the last word.
"Tommy, c'mon!" Joel followed right after. The tires squealed as Tommy pressed on the gas while turning his wheel, making the truck turn and speed off for a distant suburban town; lights in the distance guiding you. "Yeah," Joel muttered. "Yeah, I know that place. This can work."
"Yeah, all right, fine, cool, but then what?" Katie asked. "Where are we supposed to go then?"
"I don't know. Mexico. Just far, far as we can," Joel answered uneasily. "How much gas?"
"Three-quarter tank," Tommy answered.
"Go through town," Joel advised. "Golf course by the river, straight across, we pick up the highway on the other side of the blockade, then we're out."
"I'm gonna throw up," Katie whispered, head tilted back with her eyes closed.
"If you're feelin' sick, hand me my baby," you snapped, looking at her with fear.
"No, girl, it's anxiety," she snapped back. "I'm not sick."
"How can you be sure?" Sarah wondered.
"Cause it would've hit us the same as it did our family..."
"Who'd it hit?" Tommy wondered, looking back.
"We're all that's left," you sighed, saving your sister from answering. "Daddy turned first, then Mama... Billy after... We got out."
"They bite 'chall?" Tommy asked, glancing back.
"No," you answered, looking at Katie. "You bit?"
"Nope, I beat 'em to the punch," she sighed. "Ah, fuck, my stomach."
"Throw up in my truck, darlin'," Tommy muttered, sucking his teeth.
"Throw up on my baby, Kate, and I'll beat 'cho ass," you snipped, perking a warning brow at her.
"Girl," she sighed, glancing at Sarah - who had sat off you in contemplation. "Sarah?" She whispered in wondered.
"Maybe it's everywhere," she voiced, glancing at the two of you sat on either side of her. "Maybe there's nowhere to go..."
"Well, hey, we'll just have to find somewhere safe," you nodded back at her, but furrowed your brow. "Anyone hear that?"
"Oh, shit - "
"What the fuck!?" Tommy called over Katie, glancing up towards the roof as there came a deafening sound of a plane flying far too low to the ground.
"Cover her ears!" You begged Katie, reaching for Sarah to press your hands over her ears. Your sister held your daughter's ears closed - her still screaming bloody murder - as the plane flew over the truck.
"Fuckin' hell!" She looked back, noting the sky. Sarah whipped around, too, only to spy two more planes in the sky - all flying low and at odd angles.
However, ahead of them, cop cars were speeding around the streets and cutting off any route. "Son of a bitch," Tommy cursed. "Gotta go around. Grab somethin'!"
You held onto the designated 'oh shit!' bar over your head as Sarah leaned over to hold Katie and your baby. Tommy took a sharp right into an alley, between buildings. When you all rightened, it was only to see the people on the street running around, screaming, cars zooming past them all. Tommy took a left, then another right, and joined the bustle of the street.
"All right, keep goin', keep goin'," Joel pointed ahead, but tommy blew past a stop sign. "Shit - TOMMY!"
Another car came to a screeching halt, barely missing T-boning the Tommy's truck. They moved on, only to discover people mauling each other in the street - blocking most of their path. "Oh, my God," Sarah whispered, reaching for you as your arm came around her shoulders again as Tommy came to a stall.
"Tommy, you can't stop here," Joel reminded.
"I can't drive through 'em all!"
"Are you serious?" Joel barked. "Just keep goin'!"
However, ahead came the smashing of glass and a stampede of people - all running wildly and making you assume they were Infected, too. "Ohhhhhhh, shit," Katie whimpered.
"Go, go, go, go, back, back, back, back, back, back," Joel encouraged his brother, who hastily switched gears.
"I'm trying!"
However, when you and Sarah looked back to watch the crowd and stay out of Tommy's range of sight, you saw a distant threat and tuned everything else out. "Joel!" You begged, reaching for his arm as the sight of an airborne plane turning in the sky to head back your way was far too pressing right now.
"Dad!" Sarah echoed.
"Holy shit," Katie sobbed, cradling your baby tightly and without you even noticing, put her seatbelt on.
"Move. MOVE!" Joel told Tommy.
The plane took a nosedive into the ground, exploding, and send a flurry of parts around the surrounding area. One of those areas happened to the building you were driving past, and one of the steel parts ricocheted off it and into the truck.
Everything went black.
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"Baby? Baby, can you hear me? Hey, hey, hey, darlin', c'mon, open them pretty eyes for me, c'mon, baby, please."
"Fuck," you wheezed, eyes slowly opening.
"Hey, hey, hey, there you are, hey," Joel whispered, Tommy, Katie, and Sarah already out of the truck. "There you go, c'mon, you all right? You hurt?"
"No," you blinked a few times, wiggling your toes and fingers. "Fuck's sake, what happened?"
"Car accident," he nodded, "c'mon, sugar, gotta get up for me," he looked around. "We ain't safe here, c'mon, baby, that's it."
You nodded and let him pull you from the wreckage, grunting when shattered glass pressed into your skin to create long drips of blood that resembled a child's melted-crayon canvas from elementary art class. When out, Sarah kept weight off her ankle and wobbled in her stance, making you frowned, "All right?"
"Ankle," Sarah sniffled.
"We gotta get off the streets!" Tommy called from the other side of the car.
"KATIE!?"
"I got her!" She called back, and then, you could distinguish her shrill crying. You sighed with relief before Tommy was profanely screaming and Joel turned you and Sarah from the car just as an out-of-control police car came smashing into the truck.
"I got her," you told Joel, taking hold of Sarah in full as he nodded in thanks before turning for the wreckage they couldn't get around.
"Tommy!? Tommy!? Katie!? TOMMY!"
The brothers found a glimpse of each other through the flames, Tommy telling his brother, "Head to the river! We'll find a way! Get them outta here, Joel! Go!"
"Take care of my daughter," he nodded back.
"C'mon," Tommy told Katie, and the two were taking off with Tommy's gun slung over his shoulder.
Joel turned back for you and Sarah, gulping nervously at you, "Darlin', listen, I'm so sorry - "
"Joel, now's not the time," you panted. "We gotta go. Okay? We're good right now, but we gotta stay good. Let's get the fuck outta here, please. We can talk later!"
He nodded back, looking at Sarah, who refused, "We can't leave them! K-Katie has D - "
"They'll be fine," Joel insisted. "Tommy's with 'em, they'll look after each other. Can you run?"
"No," she shook her head, making Joel sigh.
"Can you?"
"I'm good," you nodded, worryingly looking at Sarah. "I can carry her - "
"'S all right, darlin'," he muttered, sweeping Sarah into his arms and making her arms latch around his neck. "You keep your eyes on me," he told his daughter. She nodded. "Okay?"
"Okay," Sarah breathed.
"Okay," Joel nodded. "And you don't look anywhere else." Sarah buried her head in her father's neck, his eyes meeting yours. "And you..." He panted, swallowing nervously. "You stay with me, you stay right with me, all right?"
"All right."
"All right," he agreed, hurrying off down the alley. You were true to your word, keeping up with him easily, but both slowing when the end of the alley only lead to a group of Infected motherfuckers feasting on the flesh of other humans.
You panicked for a moment, looking around you, and nearly missing the sound of the a distant explosion - sounding more like a crack from this distance. However, it was enough of a sound to draw the attention of at least one Infected Fucker - who looked up to stare at you, Joel, and Sarah.
Joel lead you to a building behind you - but the Fucker followed. "Joel, go, go, go," you hissed, easily taking the lead to use your body to burst through doors. Joel followed, understanding that because he was carrying Sarah, you had assumed the role of "guide" and wanted to clear his path - but it also cleared a path to be followed.
It made horrendous sounds as it chased you three, literally hauling it's body around as if it had no real control over it. The feeling inside your chest was chaotic, the tension tangible through the air as you lead Joel through the closed-diner.
The creature still followed.
Finally outside, you didn't have to restrict yourself but couldn't find it in you to leave Joel and Sarah behind. If this was the end, it was only right you fell as a family - and while deeply stupid of you, it was oddly poetic. However, as you heard the beast in pursuit just nipping at your heels, so sounded a reverberating gunshot.
It made you pause, looking back to see a headshot had taken the Infected Fucker out, and yet, no obvious sign of the shooter. Joel comforted Sarah, looking down at you - making you nod, telling him you were okay - before looking around again.
Then, a flashlight blinded you as a Humvee's lights flashed on, a voice demanding, "Don't move!"
"Joel..." You whispered, holding onto his elbow as he readjusted so he was slightly in front of you.
"My daughter's hurt!" Joel called to the military man. "Her ankle!"
"Stop right there!" He barked again.
"Okay," Joel muttered, nerves being shared as you had a bad feeling about this. "Easy now. We're not sick!"
But the solider, instead, radioed in, "I got three civilians by the river, one of 'em injured... Ankle..."
"What about Uncle Tommy and Aunt Katie?" Sarah asked her father.
"We're gonna get you somewhere safe first, with your Mama. Yeah? Then we'll come back for 'em, okay?"
"Okay."
"Okay."
"I'm sorry, repeat?" The solider asked into his comms system - earning your attention again. Joel tried to step forward, but the flashlight was right back up into your face, the man snapping, "Hey! No one told you to move!"
"Joel," you worried. "They have shoot-to-kill orders."
"What?" He whispered.
"In the event of extreme violence, similar to this, they have orders to shoot-to-kill," you told him shakily, watching the man. "I know you wanna trust 'em, but they're not our friend right now. Get ready to run..."
"Darlin' - "
"Joel," you hushed, squeezing his elbow.
The solider answered his commanding officer with three, spaced out, "Yes, sir's," before he was slowly picking up his firearm and the light was again in their eyes.
Joel realized how right his estranged wife was in that moment. "We're not sick," he tried to remind. But the man approached, making Sarah's breathing pick up as she held on tighter to Joel's neck - blindly reaching out for you. "Sir," Joel begged, "we are not sick!"
But just like you had said, the orders were shoot-to-kill, and the rapid gunfire sounded in the knight - only barely masked by Sarah's high-pitched scream. You felt a searing burn in your thigh, all three of you toppling over down the short hill you were heading towards; all three rolling away from one another.
When you came to a halt, you seethed in pain, holding your thigh, but hearing a much worse sound. Sarah hyperventilating. You looked up as the solider leered over Joel, army-crawling towards her just as a gunshot sounded. However, when you weren't struck, you kept going, and reached your stepdaughter.
"Baby?" You whispered.
"Mama," she begged. "Mama, Mama," she repeated, barely able to swallow her saliva - much less her fear. "Hurts," she grunted, soon losing the ability to form words.
Tommy had seen the scene and rushed forward to shoot the solider, leaving Katie at his side with your infant daughter still in arm. "I got'cha, hey, hey, hey, I"m here," you whispered, literally whipping your shirt off to press into her stomach. "JOEL!" You cried, looking over your shoulder to spy him on the ground.
He quickly scrambled to Sarah's other side, taking in the situation, and looking at you with absolute devastation. You cried as you held pressure, but you knew, from the entry wounds, Sarah didn't stand a chance. Her aorta artery had been hit and shredded by a bullet, only giving her moments left in this life.
Watching Joel was possibly harder than watching him walk away from you in the birthing room. He was desperate, trying to save his daughter but only being able to hold her as she grunted and sobbed in pain; bleeding out in her father's arms. Joel begged you to help but you couldn't, unable to form words, so, he turned to his brother and screamed at him - and your sister - to help him.
But in that moment he had looked away, Sarah's life had left them. "Joel," you whimpered, making him look down and realize what happened. He sobbed, drawing her in tightly; rocking helplessly on the ground as he couldn't fathom what had just happened.
However, amongst his mourning, there came a sound you never wanted to hear again. Whipping around, you caught sight of your sister starting to twitch and leapt to your feet; limping in hurried motions to snatch your screaming baby from her tightening grip.
"Katie," you begged in a sob, backing up towards Tommy, "oh, God, no... No, please."
But the bite on her forearm had turned a sickly black-and-blue, alerting she had been bit at some point and never voiced it. Before your very eyes, she turned from your dear, sweet older sister into a blood-thirsty monster. Yellowed and dead eyes, snarling and uncontrollable twitching, limbs that turned up in odd angles as the infection took over completely.
When done, you sister gave a shriek before you pleaded, "Tommy!"
He took aim and fired once, putting Katie out of her misery; sending her corpse crumbling to the ground. You panted, tears in your eyes as you couldn't process this night, but then... The unexpected.
"Oh, God, no," you gasped, wrenching your daughter from your chest as she started wriggling uncontrollably. "No, no, no, no, no, no," you sobbed, dropping to your knees and laying her down. Quickly opening her baby blanket, you noted the adult-sized bite on her whole shin, sobbing harshly. "Delilah! No, not my baby, no, no, oh, fuck, no, c'mon, not you, too. Not you, too, Delilah, please, my angel, oh, fuck, no, God damn it!"
"Darlin'," Tommy stuttered from behind you. He looked up in fear, finding his brother's confused gaze and calling, "J-Joel!"
"Delilah, please, fuck, h-how do I fix this!?" You begged. "No, fuck, God damn it! Why can't I help my daughters!?" You snarled at Tommy, sobbing until your chest hurt. "Why!? Why can't I save them!?"
"Doll," he whispered, his older brother slowly letting go of Sarah to lay her down, shut her eyes, and rest her arms over her stomach before turning for you.
"Not her, too, please," you begged. "That's everyone, please, no, please, th-this can't - please, this can't be happening! How do I help, Delilah, baby, please?" You still begged, looking at her bite. "I-I can - I don't know what to do! Wo-Would amputation work? Oh, fuck, no, no, it's - no, please!"
Joel stumbled to his feet, nearing you, but pausing as he could only stare as his infant daughter, whom he had only just seen, twitched and convulsed as the infection proved too great for her little body. It also wasn't lost to his that you had name her after his own mother, long since departed from this world and who would never meet her granddaughter.
"Oh, my God," Joel whispered, slowly nearing you as you sobbed over your daughter; hands hovering all over as you weren't sure where to touch her.
"Please!" You begged nobody, sobbing uselessly as Delilah came to a slow but jarring halt. "Oh, my God," you squeaked, leaning back in shock. "Oh... Oh, my fuckin' God, no... Not our kids, c'mon, no, God, please, fuck - this has to be some fucked-up nightmare. Right?" You looked desperately at Joel. "This... This isn't real, right? This isn't really happening? Please, Joel, you have to fucking tell me this isn't real - this can't be real."
"I'm sorry," Joel wheezed, slowly reaching for you.
"This didn't happen," you shook your head. "O-Our daughters - what the fuck just happened?"
Tommy slowly took the seat on your other side, Joel easily tugging you into his embrace as your sobs wracked your whole being. There were no words to be shared, only the grief of two parents who had just lost everything. Sarah's blood stained both your skin, Delilah laid perfectly still in her baby blanket right in front of you, and Tommy, who felt his gun weighed more than himself after failing to protect those he loved most in this world.
Joel, who lost his daughters but kept his brother.
And you... Who lost your husband a year ago and both your daughters, your mother, father, little brother, and older sister all in a single night. You, who would carry this night of great loss with you, for life. You, who felt confused on how "moving forward" was ever possible. You, who would eventually lose feeling in your head and heart that would result in years of violent turmoil.
You, who would eventually find a path to redemption, but for tonight, you, who grieved loudly and openly in the bloody arms of your estranged husband.
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TLOU masterlist
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hypewinter · 8 months
Text
At first he'd been overjoyed that the cloning had worked. Then, as the weeks went by, he realized just how messed up of a thing he had done. Tim still remembered the faces of everyone after he told them. There were mixes of shock, horror and disappointment. He'd been unable to face both Bruce and Clark for a while after that.
Now Tim sat in a rocking chair within the newly decorated nursery. He looked down at the baby in his lap, who returned his gaze with a blank one of his own.
He sighed as he turned to peer out the window. It was a full moon tonight. "They're mad at me, I know," he finally spoke. "I can't really blame them either. It wasn't fair to Conner. To his memory."
Tim turned to look at the baby once more. He stared into the baby's eyes. Those painfully familiar eyes that were at the same time new and foreign.
"It wasn't fair to you either."
Tim reached down and brushed a bang out of the baby's eyes. "But I swear I'm going to make it up," he continued. "Starting by giving you your own proper name."
Until now, that baby had been referred to as just that. Baby. If not that it was the clone, the child or Conner's clone. But now that Tim had firmly decided he was raising the baby, the kid needed a proper name.
"Hmm," Tim pondered. "What about.... Kevin?"
He received yet another blank look.
"Okay... how about Alex, Wes, Kyle? Timothy Jr?"
Blank stare.
"You could be Douglas. Doug for short."
At that the baby seemed to almost quirk up his eyebrow. As if to say, "Are you serious?" Though that was probably Tim's mind playing tricks on him.
"Yeah," he said with a soft chuckle. "I wasn't really feeling that one either."
Tim closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. "Mark, Luke, Ezekiel, Thomas, Elijah..." Great, now he was just listing off Bible names.
"Daniel..." he muttered absently.
Suddenly, Tim heard a giggle. He looked back down at the baby to see him cooing softly.
"Wait, you like that? Daniel?"
The baby giggled again. This time reaching up towards Tim. Hesitantly, he raised his hand towards the child. He couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped him as the child grabbed onto his pointer finger.
"Ok, Daniel it is."
Except for something still didn't feel right. Tim leaned back and stared at the ceiling as his tried to pinpoint the feeling of wrongness. Then it hit him. He hated whenever people used his full name. It always felt stuffy and formal. It reminded him too much of disappointed looks. Of hands gripping his shoulders or pulling at his ears, telling him to behave.
"Say," he murmured. "Mind if I give you a nickname buddy? How about Dan?"
Daniel scrunched up his eyebrows. "Ok ok, you don't like that one. I get it. Then how about Danny?"
Daniel seemed to appreciate that nickname a whole lot more as him went back to cooing contently. Tim couldn't help as a smile of his own crept onto his face. "It's settled then," he grinned, holding his child up in the air. "Welcome to the family Danny Drake-Wayne!"
He then pulled Danny close into an embrace, closing his eyes as he took in the scent of baby powder and formula. "I promise, you'll have a better childhood than either I or Kon did. I'll make sure of it."
Edit: original prompt for anyone interested
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eddiesdreamgirl · 1 month
Text
Movie Night
This is a repost from eddiesdreamgirl
Summary: Friday night with your FWB, Eddie. Totally NOT idiots in love. (Both Eddie and reader are about 19 in this)
Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY) unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it, kids. there are no consequences in fics), oral (m and f), smoking weed, cursing. No use of Y/N. Eddie calls reader Sugar. Also baby. I didn't edit this, and I wrote the first 1,000 words while stoned. Good luck.
wc: 2.9k
You knocked on the door of Eddie’s trailer holding pizza for your regular Friday night hang out. He opened the door and bowed to you theatrically. “Welcome to my castle, m’lady.”
You laughed, pushing your way past him. “Nerd.”
It wasn’t like you weren’t there at least once a week. Always on Fridays after he finished up with Hellfire, and sometimes whenever one of you needed it. You used to be a member before you graduated from the hell that was Hawkins High and entered the new hell of Roane County Junior College. Back in your Sophomore year, you had brazenly sat at the Hellfire table and made yourself part of the group. Eddie was impressed, said you had balls. After that, you two were inseparable partners in crime. The shenanigans you two got into were legendary, landing you in Principal Higgins’ office at least once a month, giggling to each other.
When you both turned 18, he made an unexpected proposition. “Y’know, neither of us are ever getting laid in this shitty town. Why don’t we just take care of each other?” he had asked.
“Huh?” You hoped you hadn’t looked as stunned and perplexed as you felt. He wasn’t wrong, but you never thought he’d suggest doing anything about it, especially not together.
“Let’s have sex. With each other. I mean, if you want to.”
You considered it for a moment. He was right. No one at Hawkins High was looking at the town freak and the fat girl. Might as well. “Sure. How about a discount on weed for my trouble?” you had joked.
“Deal.”
Now, you settled on the couch in the living room to eat pizza and smoke weed before heading to the bedroom. He grabbed beers and joints and popped in a movie. It didn’t even matter which one; you’d end up grinding on his lap halfway through it anyway. You always did. The two of you hadn’t finished a movie in his trailer since you started sleeping together.
He lit the two joints as you grabbed a slice of pizza. You’d eat and get stoned then gradually move closer to each other before the clothes came off. It was like this on your Fridays together, and you liked them that way. Nothing ever got complicated between you two. You were best friends who slept together. 
Right on schedule, Eddie stretched his arm across the back of the couch behind you. The weed left you both feeling nice and floaty. Whatever he got from Reefer Rick this week was better than usual. It had actually been a decent shade of green rather than the sad, little brown nugs he usually dealt. You considered throwing in an extra blowjob if he’d send you home with a couple more joints.
Then you decided to speed things up, climbing onto his lap instead of leaning against him. By that point, you knew exactly how to get him excited, rocking your hips back and forth on his lap so you could feel his cock get hard. He reached out to grope your tits. You could feel yourself getting wetter with each roll of your hips. 
His hand unexpectedly moved to your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss. “Havin’ fun, Sugar?” he murmured against your lips.
You hummed in response. “Mind if I suck you off first?”
“Would I ever say no to an offer like that?”
“I dunno. Would you?” you asked, sliding off his lap and onto your knees. You palmed at his hard cock through his jeans before getting impatient and tugging the zipper down.
He lifted his hips and helped you pull his jeans and boxers down to his ankles. “Depends on whose offering.”
“How about the only girl who’s ever touched your dick?” 
He snorted at you playfully. “I’ve never said no to you before. Why start now?”
You smirked at him. “Maybe you can give me a little extra weed this week? It’s really good shit.” Your hand reached around his cock, stroking him fully hard before leaning down to softly lick his balls. He’d agree to anything while you licked his balls.
“Shit, that’s good. Yeah, I’ll roll you as many joints as you want, Sugar.” He let out a groan as you took his cock into your throat, getting him wet and messy the way he liked.
You hollowed out your cheeks around him and started bobbing your head. His fingers tangled through your hair, scratching at your scalp so you’d suck him off harder. The sounds he made above you were enough, though, encouraging you to give him exactly what he liked. Your tongue lathed over the vein that ran the length of his cock, making him moan even louder. You knew where he was the most sensitive. He had never been shy about letting you know. His philosophy was that if you two were doing this because no one else would, you might as well learn what the other one liked.
He bucked his hips up, driving his cock all the way down your throat, and you gagged messily around him. At first, you had struggled to take all of him. He was so long and thick. But now, you could get him down your throat, and that was the way he wanted it. You were always willing to give him what he wanted. 
That was how the arrangement worked. You knew what each other liked, and each of you gave it willingly. In your mind, that was the best part of your situation with him. No pressure, and you two knew each other intimately. Why seek out anything else when a satisfying and uncomplicated arrangement existed right in front of you? 
“My god, Sugar, you’re so good at that,” he whimpered as you eagerly sucked on one of his balls then the other one, alternating back and forth until you could feel his legs shaking. 
You winked at him playfully and spit on his cock before sinking your mouth around it again, swallowing him whole. You drooled down his shaft as you sucked him off, delighting in the symphony of moans you could pull from him so easily. He was always putty in your hands when you did this.
He was getting close now; you could feel it in the way his cock twitched and throbbed in your mouth. If you wanted to draw it out, this was the perfect time to slow down, to edge him until he literally couldn’t take it anymore. But he got too sensitive when you did that, and you really wanted to be fucked tonight, too. So you sped up, making his pleasured moans echo through the small trailer. 
He came so fast that he didn’t even have time to warn you. Not that he needed to. You knew he was about to cum when his cock kicked up between your lips, and his release spilled down your throat. You sucked a few more times for good measure and slid his messy cock from your mouth. When you looked up at him again, he had collapsed back against the couch, a sure sign he liked it.
“Doing okay there, Eds?” you asked, wiping your mouth as you sat next to him.
He pulled you against his chest, which was new. Usually he didn’t bother with cuddling until he wanted another round some time after midnight when he woke up hungry again. “I could get head from every girl in Hawkins, but yours would always be the best. I dunno how you do it, Sugar.” His voice was softer and raspier than normal from his vocal enjoyment of your services.
You would have shrugged if he hadn’t been holding you so tight. “I know what you like, I guess.”
“Let’s move this party to the bedroom. I’ll return the favor. Sound good?”
“I can live with that,” you agreed, trying to wriggle out of his arms. 
He pulled you up with him instead, grabbing at your clothes on your way to his bedroom. When you looked around, you noticed it was less messy than usual. You could actually make it to the bed without stumbling over something on the floor. Behind you, however, was a trail of clothes leading from the couch to the bed that you had practically ripped off each other. 
His mouth trailed along your jaw down to your neck, making you shiver. He was paying more attention to you than usual. “Make yourself comfortable, Sugar,” he crooned to you, guiding you to the bed.
You laid down, and he settled on his knees at the edge of the bed, tugging you closer with his hands on your hips. His hands pushed your thighs open, and he spent a long moment looking at your bare cunt. “Take a picture of it if you’re gonna stare at it like that. I wanna get fucked.”
“Wait, are you serious?”
“That I need you to fuck me? Yeah, I’m serious.” 
“About the picture. It’s so pretty I wanna record of it.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “How about after?”
He licked his lips. “I’ll eat you out then take a picture of your pretty cunt all wet for me. Then I’ll fuck your brains out. Okay?”
“Fine, but use the Polaroid. I don’t want you taking this to Melvald’s to get developed.”
“Obviously,” he scoffed at the suggestion. “I’m not lettin’ anyone else in on how hot your pussy is. That’s my secret. And if anybody else knew, I wouldn’t have you all to myself.”
You would have laughed at him, but his mouth was on you before you could. Instead, you gasped as he licked a fat stripe up your eager, dripping pussy. You had been ready for this since you got on your knees for him. “Mmm fuck, that feels good,” you whined. 
He grinned against your pussy. He didn’t eat you out very often, but he was always enthusiastic when he did. You would frequently moan at the same time, the vibrations from his mouth sending shivers through your entire body. He was so good at it, too, knowing exactly where to lick and suck and press his tongue. He’d even asked you to ride his face a few times, but you didn’t want to smother him, so you always dismissed the suggestion. You did wonder what you were missing sometimes, how it would feel different, but it didn’t matter when his soft lips were already sucking feverishly at your sensitive clit.
The sensation made you cry out unexpectedly, just barely louder than the sounds he was making against your pussy. He finally stopped teasing your clit and slid his tongue inside you, lapping at you until you were a quivering, moaning mess. You couldn’t even tell him how good it felt, already rendered completely brainless under his touch. All you could do was let the sensations  and the pleasure overtake you.
His name came out slurred on your lips as your eyes rolled back in your head. You couldn’t see him looking up at you from between your legs and over your tummy, but he was. He stared at you as he ripped the orgasm from you, watching the way you surrendered yourself over to everything he was giving you. His big hands squeezed your thighs, keeping them spread wide for him as you trembled.
“Eddie, please,” you whined, his tongue still sliding through your cunt. He was starting to overstimulate you.
Finally, he pulled away and looked up at you, his face slick with your release. “Yeah, Sugar?” He pressed soft, gentle kisses to your thighs as he waited for you to come down from your high enough to talk again.
“Take your picture, Eddie.”
He grinned. “Oh, yeah. She looks so pretty right now dripping on the bed. Don’t move. This won’t take a minute.” 
You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. You agreed to it, and he definitely wouldn’t share it with anyone. He fumbled with the clunky camera, trying to take the picture. Finally, the camera spat out the photo, and Eddie eagerly waited for it to appear. “Gorgeous. I’m saving this for the nights I don’t get to spend with you.”
A moment later, he was on top of you, crawling up your waiting body, his skin warm against yours. He groped at your tits, your hips, any part of you he could get his hands on. Even though you desperately needed him inside you, you could get used to his hands roaming your body and his lips trailing along your neck. “Eddie,” you whispered in his ear, “need you.”
“So impatient.”
You laughed at that. You could feel his cock pressed against your thigh, already hard again. “Maybe, but I think you are, too.” 
He silenced your giggles with another kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You could still taste your release on his tongue. “Ready for me, Sugar?” he whispered to you, his nose brushing against your cheek.
“I’ve been ready, Eds. Fuck me, please.”
Eddie stroked his cock a few times before sliding into you without resistance from how wet he made you. You both let out a moan as he pushed himself all the way into your eager cunt. He moved back slightly to watch you suck him in, always amazed at how well you fit together, the way your warm, wet pussy enveloped him.
It took a few tries to get it right, but now you knew what felt good to him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him close to your body as he started pumping his hips slowly. Occasionally, he’d push even deeper inside you, the blunt head of his cock brushing over that spot. You moaned loudly every time he did, which only encouraged him more.
His thrusting sped up, and the wet squelching between your legs drowned out everything else. He knew exactly how to press at you, to make you fall apart completely beneath him. Or however he happened to be fucking you. But this had become his favorite in recent weeks, him on top, held close by your legs around his waist. He used to prefer taking you from behind, never missing the opportunity to give your plump ass a hard slap.
His rough hand moved between your bodies to tease your clit, still swollen from all his attention earlier. You cried out at the new stimulation, your back arching off the bed. He moaned in your ear with every thrust. The sounds he made were intoxicating; his closeness was enough to make you delirious. 
“Oh, fuck, that feels good,” you gasped, barely coherent. 
“I know, Sugar, I know,” he murmured sweetly, his lips brushing along your neck. 
You could feel his breath huffing against your cheek as he thrust into you. Normally by this point, he’d have been pounding you at a brutal pace, but his pace tonight was almost leisurely, like he wanted to draw it out a little bit longer. 
It still felt incredible, maybe even more than his roughness. You could feel him everywhere, and the slow drag of his cock inside you was addictive. “Eddie! I’m getting close!”
“Can feel it, baby.”
Baby? That was new, but you were too distracted by how good you felt to really notice. He kissed you again as the tension in your body tightened and your soaked pussy fluttered around him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”
“Oh, fuck, me, too, Baby. I love you,” Eddie murmured.
You weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Did he say I love you? Did he mean it? And why did you want to say it back? “I…Eddie, I love you, too.”
You caught the surprise on his face just before he kissed you again. His hips stuttered against yours, and you felt him cum inside you, more than he ever had before. It just kept coming, and even he couldn’t believe it.  “I’ve never cum like that before,” he panted. “Baby, we need to talk.”
“Yeah, we do,” you agreed, realizing everything that just happened and hoping he didn’t regret it. And that you loved him. You loved your best friend.
He rolled onto his side to look at you, his hands seeking you out and pulling you closer. “Did I fuck everything up?”
“Only if you didn’t mean it,” you admitted timidly. You two were navigating new territory, and you didn’t want to say anything wrong.
“Of course I meant it! Didn’t you?”
“I’m in love with you, Eddie.” His confession surprised you, but you knew it was true. And you knew you loved him back. Maybe you always had, or maybe it happened over time. 
“What do we do now?”
You looked at him. He looked more nervous than you have ever seen him so you reached out to touch his cheek, hoping to ease his anxiety. “Hey, what do you want?” you asked gently. Truthfully, you didn’t know how dating would change anything, but neither of you have ever been in a relationship before.
“You. Is-is that okay?”
His gaze shifted back and forth from your lips to your eyes, so you leaned closer and kissed him. Your relationship with him was about to change, and you were happy about that. Maybe it could still be uncomplicated. “You have me.” 
“Guess we’re officially a couple now.” He grinned at you, and you cuddled closer to him. “Should we actually finish the movie this time?”
tagging @starksbabie @corrodedcorpses @celestialserenity24 @stqrgirl3 @elvirasleftnipple (Hey, love, I deleted and created a new account)
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gh0stlyfixation · 1 year
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Five AM
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Warnings: none, reader has like 4 kids.
It’s been 8 months, will the kids remember me? Will my wife hate me for not having any communication? That is all Simon can think. He’ll certainly be surprised when he sees a new baby in your arms. Just two weeks old
It’s five am, and all four of your kids are awake, including the newest edition, a little two-week-old baby girl, girl number 4. You found out only weeks after Simon left and he was cut off from communication. You didn’t know when he’d be home or if he'd be home.
You did it all by yourself. Your oldest did help the best she could but she was only 8, she couldn’t do everything that Simon could but it was better than nothing. The littlest was born a month early, but to your hopes and prayers, she was as healthy as could be. She came home a few days after she was born.
This morning though, you were overwhelmed and stressed. You didn’t know if Simon was alive or dead, and if he was alive, what would he think of his fourth little girl? The kids screamed around you as they chased one another, who has energy this early in the morning?
You stand in the kitchen holding the crying baby who for the life of her, wouldn’t stop crying. You bounced her in your arms as you start to cry yourself. You don't know how much longer you can deal with Simons job. It's about time he does down. You needed more help now with the fourth but you didn't want to seem selfish, he did love his work.
Little do you know, Simon is on the other side of the front door. He too had his worries, would his kids remember him? Would you hate him for having zero communication? What if things changed?
But all of that is wiped away when he hears the screaming of kids inside and running footsteps all around. It was never a dull moment in the Riley house. He opens the doors and there’s running feet circling back around to the front door, they all stop and stare at Simon for a moment, “DADDY!” They all scream running into his arms.
They all push him down with their force, climbing all over him telling him how much they missed him, and kissed his masked face multiple times before one of them eventually rips it off, but he hears one say something about a baby, then he hears a baby crying.
Your ears perk up when your girls yell daddy, and how their running ceased and all of them yelling together, your eyes tear up more, he’s home.You walk to the front room to see Simon laying on the floor with the girls sitting all over him laugh and giggling. You see the smile on his face, he’s really home.
Eventually the girls get up, “wanna see new baby sister?” The youngest ask.
Simon looks up and sees your red teared face. You smile at him, but he can see the exhaustion behind it. He looks over your body, he sees your wearing one of his large t-shirts and slippers, you looked like you’ve just given birth. His suppositions are right when he sees the bottom of the “fancy underwear” as you say.
“Simon,” you say quietly rocking the baby who has now quieted down. He stands up and walks to you, his towering body looking down at the newborn. You don’t notice the tears falling, you are too shocked to see Simon in front of you.
“Mommy? Why you crying?” The middle child asked.
You snap back into reality, rubbing away the tears as you see Simon has his eyes fixed on the newest addition, “mommy is just really happy daddy is home.” You finally say with a few sniffles.
The kids shrug and run away leaving just the three of you, “what’s her name?” Simon asked you.
You smile, relieved he isn't angry. “Emma, I remember you saying you liked it when I was pregnant with our last little.” You say as you look down at her, she sleeps peacefully now. “Wanna hold her?” You ask Simon. He nods and gently takes her from your embrace and rocks her softly as she stirred awake.
Simon smiles at her, looking up at you and he sees the love and adoration in your eyes as you watch him hold his fourth little girl, you smile, but he sees how tired you are. It is now only five-thirty in the morning.
“Go back to sleep. I’m home now, your not alone anymore. And I don’t want you getting out of bed, you need to heal.” He tells you.
You hold yourself with your arms and nod your head feeling emotional again, “how long until you leave again?” You whisper. You knew his line of work and that his calls could be unpredictable, but this last deployment messed you up, he can’t leave you again.
He sees a few tears slip, “I’m retiring love,” he tells you wiping away a tear with his thumb. Your eyes brighten at those words. You hug him as tight as you could with the baby in his arms. “I’m gonna send the kids over to the neighbors for the night, just us three. You can fill me in on what I’ve missed.” You nodded in his shoulder.
“Lyssa says she has a boyfriend.” You start with information.
“What? She’s only eight!” Simon speaks and you giggle taking the little one with you as you carefully walk up the stairs to your room.
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wandasfifthwife · 4 days
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(1) a classic get-together | I got a bad idea series
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southern!wandanat x fem!city-girl reader
tw: mention of past animal death (horse), alcohol discussion and consumption (r), r gets drunk, messy family dynamics, R is an emotional drunk lmao (enjoy the embarrassment), introduction chapter (I’m sorry if it’s boring, but this sets up the story haha)
a/n: NOT proofread. I’m so sorry for the choppy writing and if there’s any grammar or spelling errors. I’m publishing this right after I had finished writing it. Please be patience with me, I’ll edit later tonight :)
The fields that stretch in for miles and fresh breeze brings a sense of nostalgia when you step out from the car. Small rocks grind together under your feet as you make your way up towards the door. You greet your grandparents with a smile, shrugging your bag further onto your back to hug them comfortably.
“Oh dear, let me grab that for you.”
Your grandpa reaches behind you to remove the weight from your back. You thank him and turn back to your grandma.
“It’s so good to see you,” she starts, “how’s the job doing?”
“Good, pretty good.”
Your mom comes up behind you, resting a hand on your shoulder, “my sister’s family is coming behind us. Can you help them bring their stuff inside?”
You nod at her request, kicking your shoes off and following them inside. Being in the city you’ve had a few dreams about their home. Now being back in town, it feels unreal.
“You can take the guest room upstairs, I have set some blankets out since our AC doesn’t work very well keeping the chill out.”
You thank her and walk behind your grandfather towards the stairway. Each step elicits a cracking sound from the old wooden stairs. He sets your stuff on the bed and pulls you into another hug.
“It’s so good to see you again, it’s been what, almost five years?”
“That’s too long,” you relax into the hug, “it’s good to see you too.”
“We got a new horse. We’d love for you to take him out sometime to get him used to another rider.”
“Well, I can try later in the week.”
He leaves you alone, giving you time to unload your stuff into the drawers. You’re tucking your duffel under the bed when excited voices from below float into the room. There were five more entering into the room, exchanging hugs with one another.
You wonder down the stairs, a smile on your face as you greet everyone you from across. Keeping true to your promise, you walk out to their car to carry any extra luggage they had during their drive down. Your aunt pulls you into probably the tenth hug you’ve had today, and definitely not the last.
“You’ve grown so much. Last I saw you was when you were a senior in high school.”
“And since then you’ve had another son,” you squeeze her hands to show your elation, “congrats.”
She laughs and waves you off, “thank you. How’s your job been treating you?”
“It’s good,” you almost wheeze from the weight of her suitcase. Trying to drag it up the stairs was impossible, she had to help you lift.
Each hour passed brought more people until almost fifty people were residing in the house. There weren’t enough rooms for everyone. Those who didn’t have a room had booked a hotel room not too far away.
It was a flurry of people back to back. The building wasn’t small, but it wasn’t the best space to host multiple family members.
A surprised noise sounds from you when your grandpa comes up behind you and drags you towards his bedroom.
“I’ve been re-fixing the fence out there after that storm a couple weeks ago, and I found this. I want to give it to you before I forget.”
He places a heavy object into your hands. You turn your wrist, flipping the item to look at it better.
“Is this the international coin I lost as a kid?”
He nods and you look at him crazy, “how?”
“You raved over that. Came and told me you were going to be an archeologist. Now here you are in corporate.”
You roll your eyes dramatically and put it in your back pocket, “life isn’t very fair. I would have done that if I could understand math.”
“That’s alright. I’m not good at math either, I leave that to my wife,” he says with a weird laugh, leading you back into the hallway.
The youngest in the family, a cousin of yours, comes barreling towards the two of you. You’re quick to pick him up and rest him on your hip. Though having three younger siblings was a mess in and of itself, it helped you and other’s when you were able to care for the kids during events like these.
“While the others finish setting everything up, would you be alright with watching him until then?”
“I don’t mind,” your answer brings a smile to his face.
You wondered back into your bedroom, reaching into the old closet to grab a few things before heading back downstairs. He squirmed in your arms, whining about being let go so he could find the horses.
It was a matter of time before him, and the three other little ones, spent their time outside with the animals. They believed it was a 24/7 petting zoo where they could slap their hands on an animal for hours and laugh at every movement they made.
For now since the sun was beginning to set, the entertainment had to be inside. That news was seemingly the worse thing to tell him.
“But why?”
“Because it’s dark, there could be a fox out there. They’re not like the horses, they’ll bite.”
“Horses bite.”
“Yes, but for a different reason. That’s because you’re giving them food.”
He has yet to understand that horses can be devils, but now isn’t the time to scare him of the one thing he enjoys seeing. Your aunt is happy to see you with him, and she tells you such.
“Oh it’s no problem.”
“Thank you still for watching him. Once everything is set I can take him.”
“All good. I’ve done this for most of my life it’s like second nature.”
With a squeeze to your shoulder, she’s left to head back to chatting with your parents.
Your grandfather brings you to sit on the couch, letting your cousin play on the almost uncomfortable rug.
“We now have a minute to talk. How’s New York?”
“It’s beautiful, definitely smells at times.”
“Ah, just like here. Your mom told me when you got here that you’re thinking of staying up there, is that right?”
“I think so,” you look down, watching your cousin, “I feel more at peace there.”
“You mean scooping up horse manure isn’t for you? Or hauling hay? Or driving an hour to the store to get more feed?”
“No, not anymore.”
He laughs, “and I was going to ask you to help around this week.”
“Oh,” you start to feel bad, “well I don’t mind—“
He jumps up from his seat, the action causing you to jerk back, “alrighty, thank you.”
He allows no do-overs as he wonders towards the front door. His hands come to grab a nearby person and he shoves them towards you.
“I watched you get roped into work.”
“I didn’t get roped in. I was going to help regardless, or else I’d be staying here for free.”
Your younger brother grins, “or maybe it’s because I’ve had to do all of it while you’ve been gone.”
“I know, you’ve told me this every day since I’ve gotten back.”
He shrugs, “it’s the truth.”
He reaches behind himself and reaches into the cooler, handing you a can. You go to move it out of your face, but he persists.
“I know you’re a lightweight, but one drink? Gonna turn down one?”
The door opens and another group you don’t recognize walks in, you’re taking it from his hands while he’s distracted. You crack the top off on the opener beside you.
“It’s not that I don’t want to be here, it’s that I don’t want to be here with so many people,” he tells you, jumping back when the bottle cap flings at him.
“That’s because you’re an introvert.”
“I can talk to people though.”
“Are you stupid? I’m not calling you awkward, I’m saying you don’t like crowds.”
“That’s the same thing.”
He watches you drink it with a wince, “you didn’t have to do all that to prove a point. You’re still a lightweight at the end of the night.”
“No, I did that because ma’s coming toward us.”
He gives you a faux pout as you get dragged off by your grandma. She brings you to the front of the house, past where a few people had gathered in random spots of the living room.
“I wanted to introduce you because I’m not sure if you remember who they are,” she begins, and her words hit a nerve. She acts like you have dementia after a five year break, but still you put your hand out.
“It’s nice to see you again.”
“You as well,” she responds, and it’s then you realize you don’t remember who they are. The room fades slightly as you wrack your already dizzy mind for something.
Your grandma looks at you funny, “have you had something to drink already?”
In the distance you swear you hear your brother laugh. The mood grows more awkward with each minute. You’re grateful for the people around giving a sense of community while you feel like strangers to those in front of you.
“Neighbors, right? I think we met just before I left for college.”
A short conversation later and the memories appear more clearly. The two talking with your grandparents just before they had driven you to the airport. It was short, but you’re thankful you remember as it allowed you to dodge your grandma’s last question.
Your grandma seats them in the sun room and promptly leaves the three of you, saying she needed to make sure her husband wasn’t ruining the labeling of food.
“How was college?”
You look to the one with a braid, the one whose hands were rough when they shook yours, “it was alright. I graduated.”
“Glad you did what you go to college for.”
Her delivery falls flat and it makes your heart race. Your eyes slightly water, the sight making her face squeeze into confusion.
“How much have you drank tonight?”
“One,” you say with a pitiful sniffle.
“Lightweight?”
You nod and they look at you in amusement. Your eyes follow where they’re looking and they land on the half full bottle in your hands, “oh whoops my bad. Actually this is my second.”
You lift the bottle with a proud look and one has the audacity to clap. You smile silly at the affection and ramble into your city life, delving deep into the tea between you and your boss. The two stay seated, hands interwoven as they enjoy the show you’re giving them.
The wall against your bicep is cold. With the way your body was warming, your skin chased after the feeling. You find your face leaning into it before your whole body is on the ground, right by the doorway.
You were sure you were maintaining wonderful conversation with the two new faces, but everything you remember was becoming a blur. It felt like ten seconds, but it happened open the span of ten minutes. The embarrassment had completely disappeared as you laid there unsuspecting, growing incredibly wasted.
One of the women, the one you recognize as short braid, sits beside you. She puts a hand to your forehead but you try to push it off.
“No,” you cry, “you’re mean.”
“Her face is burning,” she relays the information to her wife. The two look at you in amusement as well as concern.
“I’m burning because a beautiful woman is touching me.”
Your sober self is grateful she chose to ignore what you said. Hands lift you off the ground until you’re lying down on a softer surface, and definitely colder. The pressure on your arm leaves and it spirals you downwards.
You can hear them talking in the back, a man’s voice between them. What they’re saying, you can understand but you’re not grasping anything. With your mind focused on how the cold hand left you, nothing else seems to be your focus. It’s the creaking of the door shutting that feels like you’re drowning.
“Don’t leave me,” you look blearily at the door, “please.”
You hear a laugh, but it doesn’t register as anything other than someone mocking you.
“Fine, then leave me here like to always do.”
“Nobody’s leaving you.”
“No it’s okay. You just hate me”
The expression and dramatic nature exuding from you is hilarious. Every small laugh coming from you throws them off when more tears glisten down your cheeks
“Nobody here is upset at you, angel,” wanda’s hand rubs gentle circles against your back. You find yourself leaning into it, the tears stopping as your mind clears. The floor creeks and you’re being sit up.
“I don’t feel super great,” you mumble to them, “I’m sorry for being annoying.”
“Not annoying,” wanda responds and tilts to your head back, “I have some water and I’d like you to drink some, okay?”
After you’re laying back on the bed immediately. The world had begun to feel dizzying, almost nauseating when she held you upright. Without her hand there, you’d surely pass out.
The room is suddenly too quiet. You had tried to see them but the overhead light took a stab at your already overwhelming headache.
“We’re still here. How’re you feeling?”
“Death.”
Wanda laughs softly and Natasha feels your forehead again, “you don’t feel as hot.“
Your mother enters in then, and you attempt to sit up but you wince. A cry spewing from you, “I can’t see anymore, mom.”
She clicks her teeth, “mom told me you drank too much. Should’ve known. Thank you for helping, I can deal with her from here.”
Natasha’s wrists are enclosed in a tight embrace, your hands squeezing the life out of them with as much strength as you had.
“Please don’t leave me with her,” you whine, “she’ll toss me around.”
The clock beside them reads 11:28PM. She looked to it and sighed, deciding it was too late to deal with anything. Wanda stood from the bed, crossing the room to stand by her.
“I love her but she’s as stubborn as a mule.”
“Completely up to you, but we could her stay on our mattress downstairs?”
“That’s fine. I don’t think she’ll allow any of us to help her, I mean look at her.”
You were half lying in Natasha’s lap, tangled with her body. Dried tear marks lined your cheeks, dust from the floor lining your jeans.
It was a journey trying to drag your body down the hallway. A moment collapsed where you tripped over the rug. The best plan of action was Natasha carrying you princess style. Your grandma got a glimpse from where she sat in the living room.
She rushed to your side, “you taking her back to your place?”
“Only if that’s alright with you. She starts to cry almost everytime we begun to leave.”
“Absolutely,” she pats her shoulder with a slight laugh, “she got wasted, I could tell right away. I’ll have to talk to her brother, he’s collapsed on her bed right now. I’m sure he’s initiating something.”
They wish you a goodnight, stepping back and letting them through. You tilt your head back once they’ve stepped outside.
“Feels nice.”
You back far enough that Wanda reaches a hand to cup your head. Natasha adjusts her hold on you while looking to Wanda.
“I’m betting she’s going to get sick. Our guest room is the closest to the bathroom?”
“I won’t get sick of you,” you tuck your head under her neck. The first minute of the breeze was wonderful, but since then and due to your lack of layers, you’re relying on her body heat.
It gets darker the further you walk from the house. Wanda takes out her phone, using the flashlight to help guide their steps.
The pond nearby holds a connection of small critters, their sounds echoing through the trees. The married couple makes small conversation. Every two minutes they’re trying to keep you awake, but it grew difficult.
“Hey, stay awake. We’re almost there, you can see the porch light.”
“I can’t see shit, I’m drunk.”
Natasha laughs at the quip, enjoying the look of annoyance on her wife’s face. Wanda walks up the porch first, the keys jingling in her hand as she searches for the right one. Their home smells like clean fabrics and floral perfume. Your eyes grow heavy, each step and soft sound luring you in deeper. The gentle nudge does nothing to stop you completely falling under this time.
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gracieheartspedro · 7 months
Text
Crave
Part 3 of "How Long"
pairing: f!reader x brother-in-law!joel miller
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find part 1 and 2 here!
dedication: @jenispunk <3 I love you sm jen. thank you for always supporting my writing and being the best wife a girl could ever dream of. you make my heart so happy. thank you for helping me edit and being the first to read this and encouraging me no matter what! love you love you love you!!!
description: a weekend escape with joel and sarah, kinda. the bed situation is a little confusing. luckily you and joel make it work. when sarah's not around, of course.
word count: 5.5k
warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, pre!outbreak joel, there is smut in this part!! unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), joel is a CONSENT KING AGAIN, dirty talk, daddy kink (aha), hotel sex?, begging? lmao I think that's it.
author's note: finally. it's here. I feel like I've been staring at this doc for 7 years. thank you all for your patience. I want to continue this series but I have to sit down and really brainstorm what I'd like the next parts to be. let me know your thoughts! THANK YOU FOR READING!
“My favorite Millers!” 
Your face was beaming, seeing Joel hop out of his truck with Sarah in tow. The truck was still running, the diesel engine chugging louder than any truck you had been in before. Joel always had a nicer, newer truck. He made great money and he was always having to go into construction zones that needed an all terrain vehicle. They always got pretty banged up with dirt and rocks, but he took excellent care of the interior. 
Joel grabs both of your bags, taking them to the backseat where Sarah would be crammed in with all the luggage. You give him a nod, silently thanking him. Sarah wraps her arms around your waist, giggling with excitement. 
“I’m so happy you’re coming with us! It’s going to be a great weekend,” She explains while you two walk over to the tall truck. You always found climbing into a truck unnatural and awkward yourself, but it was hot watching Joel hop in with ease. You agree with Sarah, all the while opening up the door for yourself. Sarah springs up to her seat, and you struggle to crawl up into the cab. It makes Joel chuckle. 
“I’m making you lift me into this thing next time,” you joke, easing back into the fabric seats, “Especially since you think watching me struggle is funny.”
Joel looks back in the rear view to see if Sarah’s paying attention, “‘s no problem at all, darlin’. I will gladly help you next time.”
You knew he was flirting. It makes your stomach bubble with excitement. He makes sure you two are buckled and starts on the two and half hour journey to Houston. Once you leave your neighborhood, Sarah taps your shoulder and holds out her new CD player. It’s purple and covered in sparkly stickers. 
“Looks like your Dad is supplying you with all the ways to listen to music,” you observe, glancing over at Joel. He’s just watching the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other propped up on the shifter. He looks younger, the dusk sky the perfect back drop for his pronounced nose and beautiful eyelashes. You couldn’t help but stare, even as Sarah’s talking your ear off. He just nods along to her, making sure she knows she’s heard. 
“Think I’m gonna listen to my Kelly Clarkson CD this time,” Sarah explains, putting her earphones over her voluminous curls, “So don’t try to talk to me!”
You and Joel giggle, shaking your heads at her comment. It’s not like you were the one’s talking before, you both think. 
It gives you both a moment without a kid’s ears nearby. 
“How was the rest of your work week?” He asks, tapping the shifter to the soft hum of the radio.
“Boring,” You mumble, “Think one of the guys in marketing has a crush on me and he’s making it impossible to avoid him. I can’t even go to the break room without him bothering me.”
You didn’t know why you felt the urge to tell Joel about the situation. It wasn’t even a real situation, it was just an annoying thing happening in your life.
“Hmph,” he ponders for a moment, “Want me to kill him?”
His tone is serious, but you know he’s just messing. You grin, nudging his arm with your elbow gently, ensuring it doesn’t move the steering wheel. 
“My hero,” You comment as you watch a smile crack across his face, “No, thank you, though. If it starts to get to stalker status, I will call you.”
“Seems like stalkin’ already, baby girl.”
The nickname makes your stomach flip. You purse your lips, contemplating his words. Sure it was creepy, but the guy was scrawny and you could probably snap him in half with two fingers. He had nothing to really worry about. Right?
Joel steals a glance over at you. 
“Maybe, but I’ll handle it.”
You wanted him to think you were strong enough to deal with unwanted attention, but to be honest, you weren’t sure how to say no to most men. You only ever had Tommy and he scared everyone away. Now everyone around town knew you were on the market, and men were drawn to your natural beauty and somewhat sassy attitude. 
Little did they know, you were hung up on the other Miller boy. 
“You let me know if you need me to talk to him,” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, just reaches his right hand out to rest on your thigh, “Man to man.”
His hand is so warm, you feel it through your black leggings. He was almost always like a furnace, but it was okay, because you always ran cold. But every time he touched you, you felt that warmth trail up your arms and legs. He made you feel different. Every fiber of your being became electrified when he was around. It was a sensation you never noticed when you were with Tommy. You begin chalking it up to just being nervous because he was older and larger and… well, hotter. 
“Again, my hero,” you respond sarcastically, letting your hand rest on top of his. It makes him more confident, gently massaging that area. You watch as his hand creeps closer and closer to the crack between your legs. You practically gasp at the contact, but you catch yourself before you do, remembering there’s a child behind you. 
So you smack his hand away, shooting him a glare. 
“What are you doing?”
“Nothin’ just… sorry.”
You didn’t want him to pull away, your leg already missing his touch, but you knew what would happen if you did stuff like that in front of Sarah. She’s a teenage girl. She’ll talk. It’ll find it’s way to someone’s ears. 
You wanted to act like you didn’t care if Tommy found out, but deep down you knew it would be a disaster. You didn’t feel like being the talk of the town. You didn’t feel like explaining yourself to Tommy. You didn’t feel like watching Joel deal with the flack from his family, especially his mother. 
If you two wanted to continue this… game… you would have to keep it secret. That included keeping it away from Sarah’s eyes and ears. You and Joel would just be friends. You would just be her aunt. That’s it. 
“Don’t apologize,” You whisper, “Just not here.”
You two let the radio take over the rest of the trip, occasionally chatting about a song or what the newscaster says about the weather. Once you get into Houston, it’s already 8:30 at night. Joel pulls into the parking garage to the Marriot and you already start craving the bed that awaits you inside. 
-
“I call the bed near the window!” Sarah throws her stuff down, jumping straight onto one the huge queen size duvet. The room was nice. A large television set catches your eye immediately, proving that this was probably an expensive room if they were giving you free cable tv. The curtains were open, giving a beautiful view of Houston’s skyline. 
One thing you notice, too, is the fact that there was only two beds. You knew this, but it still made your stomach sink a bit. 
You realize you three hadn’t discussed the sleeping situation. You didn’t care where you would sleep, honestly. You just knew Sarah was a restless one, having slept next to her in a tent when she was 9. Family camping trips entailed you, Tommy, Joel, and Sarah sharing a 6 person tent and being absolutely miserable the whole entire time. Between Tommy’s snores and Sarah practically flailing all around the tent at night, you remember not getting a lick of sleep. 
“Go get a shower, Sarah. We will figure out who’s sleeping where.”
She groans at Joel, like usual. 
“Dad!”
“Shower,” he throws his bag down on the ground near the dresser, “No arguin’.”
Sarah sulks, her bag in hand, straight to the bathroom by the front door. You don’t say anything. You just start following Joel’s lead by putting your bags down next to his. You stand a bit too close to him, waiting for him to say where you’d be sleeping.  
He clears his throat, “I will take the recliner, if you want the bed.”
“Of course I want the bed, but I don’t want you to have to sleep in the recliner.”
It makes him laugh, how matter-of-fact you are. 
You hear Sarah start up the shower. You wouldn’t have to fear she hears you and Joel talk about the possibility of sleeping with one another. Again.
“It’s not a big deal,” He explains, unzipping his bags to grab his pajamas, “Sleep on the couch all the time.”
“But you have a nice plush couch,” You gesture towards the hard and structured looking recliner, “That doesn’t look comfortable at all.”
For a girl who didn’t want Joel touching you in the car, you were practically begging him to sleep next to you in the big comfortable hotel bed. 
“So, where do you want me to sleep?”
“Just take the bed.”
“But you want the bed.”
You swallow, not even looking up at him, “We both can have the bed.”
He’s silent, gripping onto his sweatpants and t-shirt. He slowly looks down at you, his eyes carry a curious glint in them. You cock your head, giving him a mischievous smirk.
“You and Sarah?”
“No, you and Sarah.”
He groans, “You are a fuckin’ tease.”
You giggle, watching him brush pass you to position himself close to the closet. He opens the closet door, slipping in like he’s looking for something in there. 
“What are you doing?”
“Changin’.”
“In the closet?”
He grabs his shirt from the nape of his neck and pulls it off smoothly. You can’t peel your eyes away, partially seeing his right peck from how he’s standing. It was like the morning after having sex with him. Your eyes were glued to him, his tanned skin practically asking to be touched and licked. 
You horny bitch. 
“Joel, get out of the closet.”
He chuckles, “Why? You want me to give you a show?”
Why yes, I really do, Joel. You think to yourself. You hum a response, peeling your eyes away. You needed to find your pajamas, a pair of Nike sports shorts and a black tank top. Lately, you’ve been sleeping completely naked, but that was obviously not an option here. 
Sarah finally leaves the bathroom as soon as Joel slides his pants up. She has her hair wrapped in a towel, which makes you smile. She looked so grown up, it’s hard to believe you met her when she was 6 years old. You wordlessly walk into the bathroom, beginning to change your outfit for your sleep wear. You splash some cold water on your face, your cheeks still blushed from seeing Joel shirtless. 
You hear the door outside open and close. You peak out, your traveling clothes wrapped up in your arms. Joel stands in the middle of the room, fiddling with the remote for the TV. 
“Where did Sarah go?” You question, packing your clothes back into your duffle. 
“She wanted to go get ice from the ice machine,” He grumbles, “Said she wanted to see if any of her teammates were awake or nearby.”
“Is her whole team staying here?”
“Yeah, pretty much every team gets a floor. Last year it was a like a huge sleepover. Fuckin’ nightmare,” Joel mutters, flicking through different channels, before landing on some westerns. You smirk, deciding to plop down on one of the beds. As soon as you lay back, Sarah comes back in, bucket in hand. 
“Can I go stay in Amelia’s room? Her mom is there, just two doors down.”
Well that solves the bed problem. 
Joel rolls his eyes, you can tell he’s already annoyed. “Is Amelia’s mom okay with that?”
“You want to go talk to her? I promise Dad, we will get up at 5:30 like we need to. Pleas-”
“Let’s go talk to Amelia’s mom.”
You hear them leave the room without saying anything else. 
You were tired from a long day at work and the long drive. But some excitement blooms in your stomach when you realize it may just be you and Joel, all alone in a hotel room. 
Before you have time to ponder all the wonders that may be in store for you, Joel comes back with a frustrated huff. 
“She staying over there?”
“Yeah, Amelia’s mom said it was fine. Then she started askin’ who you were. Guess they saw us in the hotel lobby.”
Your stomach twists, nervous at what his response was.
“And?”
“Told her you were Sarah’s aunt. She gave me a weird look.”
“Great, now the soccer mom’s will be oogling me tomorrow.”
“Well they will anyway,” Joel responds, finding a spot next to you on the edge of the bed, “Single ones won’t leave me alone.” 
You know he’s really just seeing if you’ll get jealous. But you don’t play into his little game. You just let out a loud hearty laugh. 
“The ladies just love a Miller.”
He grumbles something inaudible, nudging you with his elbow. “You do, don’t ya?”
“Sure do.”
His face softens, his eyes flicking down to your lips. 
You grin, “She’s 14 and super goofy. Loves to play socc-”
“You’re truly testin’ me today, ain’t ya?”
You can’t help yourself at that point. The way he’s flirting only gives you more reason to taunt him. 
“Is Sarah seriously going to be gone from the room all night?”
“Yeah,” He nods, leaning back on his palms. He acts like he’s watching TV, ignoring your not-so-subtle hints that you want his eyes on you. 
“So, I can finally ask you why you think it’s okay to tease me in the car?”
“Don’t know what you’re on about, darlin’,” He smirks, he knows.
You tilt your head to the side, finally lifting your hand onto his lap. You immediately start toying with him the same way, your hand creeping towards his crotch. His eyes peel away from the TV. He watches you closely, his eyes trailing from your gaze down to your fingers dancing on his pant leg. 
“You put your hand on my thigh and started inching closer and cl-“
“Are you tryin’ to make a point or pose a question?”
He was getting annoyed with the games already. But you’d only just begun. 
“I’m just trying to explain how you can’t do things like that to me in front of Sarah,” You remark, flicking your eyelashes up to his glare, “Especially when you can’t finish it.”
“Who said I ain’t gonna?”
You huff, “Well here we are, all alone in a hotel room. No kiddo in sight. Still not touching me.”
“Don’t think you deserve it cause you’re a tease.”
“How am I a tease, Miller?”
“You exist and that’s enough. Walkin’ around in a tank top,” He gestures to your chest, “Just beggin’ to be touched.”
Your skin is set alight. The words go straight to your core. 
“Joel-“
You’re cut off. His hands work quickly, pulling you by the nape of your neck, right to his eager lips. You begin to realize you had been longing for this moment for so long. He couldn’t resist anymore, his whole body buzzing at the fact that he finally has you again. 
His lips are soft and slow as they make their way around yours. His hands eventually trail down to your butt, his hands cradling both cheeks. He lifts you forward, sliding you up and onto his lap. 
“Been wantin’ this for months, baby.” 
Butterflies erupt in the pit of your tummy. You can feel them travel up to your chest as you look down at him, his eyelids heavy and his lips pursed.  
He waited for you to respond to his calls, knowing you needed time. He needed to be patient. You would come around, he knew it. After months, here you are. 
He thinks back to every time he was touching himself late at night, he would imagine the night you two shared. Your soft curves and needy dripping pussy. It drove him wild imagining you like this again. 
“I think it’s been more than wantin’, Joel,” You grind down on his prominent bulge growing in his sweatpants, “Think you need it.”
He grins, finally getting out of his own head.
“Such a little tease, damn it.”
You lean down, mindlessly speckling kisses behind his ear and neck. Your boobs rest right in front of his face, and you’re right, he needs it. His hands leave your behind, reaching up to the straps of your tank top. He tugs them down your biceps, allowing your cleavage to spill out more. 
Your hands find his dark peppered curls at the nape of his neck, pulling downward. You needed him closer and he obliged. He starts to kiss your collarbones, wandering down to the swell of your breasts. You can feel yourself staining your sports shorts with anticipation. 
You rock your hips, craving more. He takes the hint, reaching back down to lift you from your ass. He switches spots, laying you on your back on the plush white duvet. He’s leaning over you now, which gives you a great view of how spent he looks already. His gray sweatpants are hanging lower, tenting where his cock has grown hard. 
He smirks, taking off his shirt the same way he did earlier. With one hand, it slips right over his head and onto the floor. 
“Jesus,” You huff out, using the time to remove your top, “I need you, Joel.”
The smirk never leaves his lips. He leans down, pushing your legs apart with his pointer and middle finger. You open up for him, wanting nothing more for him to dive into you in every possible way. You watch as he slides his fingers up your thigh, past the openings of your shorts. 
He realizes you aren’t wearing underwear. He sighs as he swipes the pads of his fingers across your wet slit. 
“I know you do,” He drawls, watching you writhe under his touch, “You need me as much as I need you.”
He practically tears off your shorts, not wasting any time fighting with the fabric. 
You adjust how your laying to accommodate him laying between your thighs. He lays down on his stomach, bringing your hips close to his mouth. You watch as he kisses your inner thighs, his breath hot fanning against your skin. 
You remember the last time you were in this position. You spent night after night remembering the best head you’ve ever gotten, from the one and only, Joel Miller. And you could tell Joel was not going to go another moment without making you cum on his tongue. 
When his tongue hits the top of your slit, you whine at the contact. He presses his face in, diving deeping into your lips. As soon as he finds your clit, he puts all his attention there. His nose is pressed against your mound as he hums against your sensitive bud. 
“Joel,” You cry, reaching down between your legs to grab the crown of his head, your hands lacing into his locks, “Right fuckin’ there.”
He continues his movements, only increasing in speed in which he flicks his tongue. He wraps his lips over the swollen area, sucking and lapping your sweetness. He pulls away, the slick between your thighs missing him instantly. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and wets them with saliva. He glances up at your completely dazed face. 
“‘M gonna fuck you with my fingers first,” His voice is deep and hushed, “Make you cum. You gonna cum for me like a good girl?”
You don’t even know where it comes from. But you say it with your chest.
“Yes, Daddy.”
You never expected the moan to come out of his mouth. It’s deep and guttural. He couldn’t believe his ears, and he can’t believe the words came from your mouth. His good girl? That fuckin’ flithy?
He slips his fingers into you without resistance. His mouth finds it’s way back to your core, fucking you in unison. 
You reach up to your chest, cradling your own boobs. Joel’s still only in sweatpants but they are riding low on his hips. As he’s giving you his all, he’s grinding his hips into the bed, trying to get whatever friction he can. Watching the motion alone is driving you wild, sending your hips rotating on his tongue. You knew the release was coming, you could feel it in your fingertips. 
And when it comes, it’s like fireworks inside your stomach and chest. You lurch forward, crying out his name. You knew it was probably way too loud for the thin hotel walls, but you couldn’t help yourself. The orgasm sends stars speckling across your vision. 
Joel fucks you through the comedown. You are the hottest thing he’s ever laid eyes on, he thinks. When your body rests back, you’re panting, trying to ground yourself for a second. Joel pulls his fingers out and sucks each digit. 
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” You mewl, reaching out for him. You just need to touch him. 
He shimmies his sweatpants down and off his legs. He’s sitting back on his knees, smiling down at your desperate eyes. He crawls on top of you, his dick prodding at your thighs. He leans down, trapping your lips into another longing kiss. His hands trail down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He pulls back after a couple seconds, gazing into your eyes. 
“You still on that birth control?”
You hum in response. 
“Need me to pull out still?”
You smirk, lacing your arms around his shoulders, “No. Need you to cum inside me.”
He shakes his head, sitting back to line himself with your entrance.
“My dirty girl,” He runs his cock head between your swollen red lips, triggering your hips to move closer to him, “You drive me insane.”
“Come on, Joel. I’ve been waiting for ages for you to fuck me. Need you. Now.”
He chuckles darkly, still not giving you what you want. “Waiting ages, huh?”
“Joelllll,” You beg, smacking his chest, “Please.”
“Mmm,” He pushes forward just enough to relieve your ache, “Love it when you beg for it.”
He practically splits you open when he snaps his hips. You both groan simultaneously, unable to hold back this sick fantasy you’re both playing into. You feel more full than you ever did before. You don’t remember it hurting this good. 
“Holy fuck,” you whine, “So fucking full, Joel.”
He slowly pulls back, “You tell me if it’s too much, ‘kay?”
You shake your head, throwing your head back as he sets a cautious pace. He’s watching all your facial expressions, making sure he’s not hurting you. You wince when he starts to pick up the pace, which causes him to halt completely. 
“No,” You plead, “More. Faster. Please, just please.”
He says nothing, just pushes up your thighs so the back of them are flush with the front of his. He leans over you, his elbows on each side of your head. He grinds into you while his dark curls fall into your face. You tilt your head up, finding the crook of his neck again. 
His cock felt so good dragging in out of you. You felt like you could stay in this position forever. You molded so perfectly around him. He treated you like this beautiful mural, taking his time with delicate strokes. His hands wrapped around the back of your head, holding you in the curve of his body.
You latch your lips onto his neck, peppering lovebites everywhere. You didn’t even think about if they could be seen later. In the moment, you only thought of him as yours. He was yours and everyone would fucking know it. 
He’s starting to get more greedy. He pulls back, his warmth moving away from your perked up nipples. His upper body the best view you could get, so you couldn’t complain too much. He grabs behind your knees, using them as leverage as he starts to pound into you. 
Your eyes meet and for fuck’s sake, he’s perfect. You never knew you could see Joel Miller like this. Like someone who fucked you so good, but also cared so tenderly for you. He wanted to see you in the throws of pleasure, not even worrying about when he’d get his rocks off. He got his rise out of seeing how much you enjoyed yourself.
His ravenous drive to bring you to the edge is causing the headboard to slam against the wall which each stroke. He brings his left hand up to your bouncing tits, grabbing your nipple and tugging on it. He knew what touching your boobs did to you. He remembers watching your visceral reactions to him toying with them before. It brings a smile to his face. 
“I’m gonna-”
You don’t even finish your sentence, you just gasp as you feel his cock head hit the deepest parts of you. A place no other man has made it to. 
“I don’t want anyone else,” He musters out, his teeth clenching as your pussy restricts around him. He means it. He may be drunk on you, but he feels those words down to his bones. “I only ever want this.”
It was never just about the sex. Joel cared for you. Fuck, maybe he even loved you. 
You swallow, propping yourself up on your elbows. You glance down, watching his cock slip so perfectly, in and out of you. 
“I’m yours, Joel,” You manage to peep out before the orgasm you’ve been holding back builds to a maddening point, “I’m yours.”
The words make his cock twitch. He can’t help himself, he needs you to cum right this very moment. He doesn’t say anything, just unhooks your legs and uses his right hand to put pressure on your clit. Tears start to prick in your eyes as he lazily rubs circles, humming in satisfaction. He feels you tightening up, he knows your close. 
Your vision goes white. You body starts to vibrate, the pure bliss he’s sending you into takes you to a whole other dimension. You want more. More. More. More. 
As he watches you seize up, he can’t resist his own orgasm. The explosion sends him into a moaning mess. He fucks into you, painting your walls with his cum, not letting a drop go to waste. 
He collapses on top of you. You don’t even care, you feel like jello anyway, he could melt right into you.
He rolls off after a minute. 
You always miss him when he’s not near you. 
You stare at the ceiling, pondering the right words to say to him. Nothing comes to mind. He gets up, walking naked to the bathroom. He grabs a rag from the shelf above the toilet, running it under some warm water. 
When he returns, you let him clean all around your body. You make sure he doesn’t wipe away the wet kisses he left all over you, though. 
“You okay?”
You finally look at him. 
You want to say yes, because you were okay. Physically. But your heart wanted to pulsate out of your chest. 
“I will be,” You state simply, “Just tired.”
He slowly starts grabbing all your articles of clothing off the floor, dressing you once he collects all of them. He’s careful with you. Gentle. 
“Do you want to sleep in the same bed?”
The question rings in your ears. Of course you did. 
“As long as you get up at the ass crack of dawn and move before Sarah comes in.”
He chuckles, pulling his sweatpants back over his waist. He doesn’t even bother to put on his shirt.
“Will do, baby.”
-
When you wake up, you realize the overheard light flickered on. You contort your sleep dazed body, Joel’s upper body practically laying over you. You try to blink the haze out of your eyes, but your tired mind is completely shocked when you see an outline of a girl. 
Shitshitshitshitshit.
You fling your body upward, rattling Joel awake. He’s startled, his arms flinging off of you. 
“I knew it!” Her voice is piercing. “I knew it! Holy shit!”
“Sar-”
“Are you two dating? Or are you just… wait, ew!”
She’s rambling, her words clashing together in confusion. Your heart is about to hammer out of your chest. 
“Sarah, we aren’t dating,” You declare, your voice shaking. 
“But you’re sleeping together?”
You could cut the silence with a sword. It’s so thick and awkward. 
A 14 year old girl shouldn’t know you’re sleeping with her Dad. Let alone walk in after you spent all night tangled up in him. 
“Sarah,” Joel’s voice is buttery and raspy after he wakes up. You hold the comforter up to your chest. You had your tank top on, but it hangs so low on you, you don’t want to risk anything. “Grab your uniform, get dressed. We can talk about this later.”
“Does Uncle To-”
“Sarah! Stop!”
It scares you since it’s so close to your ear. His voice changes so abruptly, it makes you cringe a bit. 
Hearing the question from Sarah’s lips makes you feel queasy. Having the girl who you always considered your niece ask if her uncle knew you were sleeping with her dad... God what a fucking mess. 
You watch her storm across the room, grabbing her backpack and race to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. 
Joel groans next to you as he slams back into the plush pillows. 
“She will be fine. We will talk about it later,” Joel says under his breath. 
You open your mouth but nothing comes out. 
You hadn’t thought much of this through. Ever since you and Joel first slept together, you pushed your harbored feelings to the side. Sometimes they creep in, which would send you into a panic. Because deep down, you knew you felt something for Joel. Something you hadn’t felt since you first started dating Tommy. Maybe even ever. It was exciting. He made you feel special. After everything he said to you last night, you knew he possessed some similar emotions and feelings.  
You felt crazy for believing this could work. 
You knew this would be complicated. Now Sarah is involved. How do you explain these emotions to a child? You don’t. 
You think about all the horrible outcomes to this situation. Tommy wanting to fight Joel. His mom never accepting you back into the family. Who knows, maybe Sarah gets so upset at the situation, she never treats you the same again. 
But then you think about Joel. How he’s a night and day difference to what Tommy was to you. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. He wanted to protect you. He wanted to take care of you every chance he could. 
You start to think back to the times when you were still with Tommy. Joel defended you when you two had a blowout fight. He always made sure to have a watchful eye on you when you all went out to bars. He was even there when you graduated college, giving you a bouquet of beautiful daises he swore up and down Sarah picked out. But you knew the truth. Joel loved daisies. He even had his Mom plant some in his front yard last year. 
You were just so scared. You didn’t want to be hurt again. You did not want your feelings to be wrong. 
You glance down at him, your back still turned. He could read your face, he knew you were overthinking everything. Your mind was working overtime, trying to muster up some excuse to run away and forget everything that happened between you two. There was nothing normal about this situation. 
But fuck, you both really wanted it. So bad. You couldn’t keep lying to yourself. 
His hand creeps up your back, resting a reassuring palm on your aching shoulder. 
“Stop thinkin’ for a minute,” he whispers, “You don’t need to make any decisions right this minute. We will just take it one second at a time. Ain’t no way ‘m lettin’ you go. I want you here.”
You didn’t know if he meant here in general or in the figurative sense. 
He meant it both ways. 
Maybe it was crazy, but that feeling was deep in your chest. This palpable inkling that this could evolve into you being his. 
This being more than sex? More than a crush?
Being Joel’s sounded like a fever dream.
He wanted nothing more but to wrap you up into his arms, hold you and kiss your head, reassuring you that you two can figure it out together. But instead, Sarah walks out in her soccer uniform, squashing the moment. She stands in front of the bed, finally making eye contact with you. 
“You guys gonna get up and watch me kick ass, or are you gonna to lay in bed all day?”
You smile at her. You silently prayed this girl would stay in your life forever.
“I know my answer.”
Joel smiles, “’s go kick some ass.”
-
again thank you for reading!! let me know your thoughts!
find part 1 and 2 here!
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munson-blurbs · 11 months
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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Summary: With no friends and the looming threat of losing custody of his son, Eddie's the lowest he's ever been. But you know what they say: “Rock bottom just means there’s nowhere to go except up."
Warnings: angst, visits from CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's
WC: 6k
Chapter 5/20
Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika
The phone rings as Eddie wrestles Harris into his jacket. He still hasn’t figured out how to break the news about his classroom change; at this rate, he’ll be dropping him off at school before he works up the nerve. Is there any good way to tell your kid that he no longer gets to spend his days with his favorite teacher?
“Keep that on,” Eddie instructs Harris, pointing to the navy blue sweatshirt. “I’ll zip it for you in a sec.” He jogs over to the phone, answering with an irritated, “Hello?”
“Ed?” Wayne’s voice drifts from the receiver. “It’s Wayne.”
Eddie nods before remembering that Wayne can’t see him. “Y-Yeah, hey,” he says, tone softening at his uncle’s familiarity. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he thinks of how he willingly shut him out over the last month. “How’ve you been?”
“Good. Can’t complain.” Wayne clears his throat. “I’d love to see you and Harris. Whenever you get the chance.” Eddie can hear his concern, the unasked questions that dissolve on his tongue: Are you okay? Is Harris? Do I need to file that custody agreement?
He glances over at his son, who, despite Eddie’s promise, is unsuccessfully trying to thread the zipper with its teeth. He motions him over, cradling the phone to his ear and stretching the cord while he kneels to fasten the jacket. “We were actually about to head to the park if you wanted to meet us there,” he says. “This kid’s got way too much energy to keep him cooped up in the apartment. We’ll both lose our minds.”
Wayne lets out a kind chuckle. “Sounds like a Munson.” Eddie can hear the tinny jangle of his keys. “The park over on Porter Drive?”
“Yup.”
“Dad, let’s go!” Harris whines, twisting the doorknob back and forth to emphasize his impatience.
“We’ll be there in ten,” Eddie tells Wayne, catching a glimpse of the neon orange cast peeking out from under Harris’s jacket. It’s now adorned with his classmates’ names. Your signature seems to beckon Eddie, taunt him, even, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because it’s the only one that doesn’t resemble chicken scratch. “Oh, Harris broke his wrist, but he’s fine. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”
“Hoo boy,” Wayne breathes. “Definitely a Munson.”
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Harris spends the short drive to the park bouncing in his carseat. “Is Grampa Wayne gonna play with me?” he asks, rocking back and forth excitedly.
“Mhm,” Eddie nods, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He nervously thrums his fingers along his jean-clad thighs. What if Wayne still didn’t think he was a responsible parent? What if he took one look at Harris’s injury and raced home to call his lawyer? “But I gotta talk with him first, okay? You can play by yourself for a little while.”
Harris hums his agreement, eagerly unbuckling as soon as Eddie parks the car. He starts to run towards the field, and all Eddie can picture is him tripping and hurting himself again.
“Harris, don’t–” he starts, but he then remembers those magic words: “Walking feet, bud. Don’t want you breaking that other wrist.” He grabs the soccer ball from the trunk and kicks it in Harris’s direction.
Wayne pulls up in his truck a few moments later, almost as exuberant as his grandson. “Har-Bear!” he calls out, opening his arms wide for a hug. Harris picks up his pace, slowing down when he remembers his dad’s instructions.
“I’m using my walking feet!” he chirps proudly, and though they’re fast walking feet, Eddie beams at him.
Wayne squeezes Harris so tightly that Eddie worries he’ll inadvertently cut off his oxygen supply. When the boy starts squirming, Wayne laughs and puts him down.
“Go ahead and play,” Eddie tells his son. “Grampa Wayne and I are gonna catch up real quick.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence as the two men sit on the bench, waiting for the other to say something first. Finally, Wayne breaks through the tension.
“Missed you two,” he murmurs, not looking at Eddie. “‘S too quiet around my place without that little rugrat.”
“We missed you, too,” Eddie admits, chewing on his thumbnail. “Harris won’t stop asking for Grampa Wayne.”
Wayne preens slightly at this, shifting in his seat. “This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since…”
“I know,” Eddie cuts him off, not wanting to revisit the part of his past that Wayne’s referencing. “I, uh, started working at Rock Records,” he tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It sucks, but it’s a job.”
He feels Wayne clap him on the shoulder, pulling him closer to him for a brief side hug. “I’m proud of you, Ed.” He purses his lips before asking, “and no more of the…”
Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I’m done with that. Returned the rest of what I had to Rick; told him I was out.” His gaze drops back to the ground, and he stares intently at the blades of grass as though they might disappear if he blinks. “But that might not matter anymore anyway, so…”
“The hell you talking about?” Wayne pinches his eyebrows together, adjusting his position to face his nephew.
Sighing, Eddie tells him about what happened at the hospital last week. Wayne’s eyes widen when he hears that they filed a report with CPS. “That’s some bullshit,” he mumbles, scratching at his gray beard. “Kids get hurt all the time. Can’t keep ‘em in a bubble.” He shakes his head incredulously. “They’re not gonna take him from you, okay? They’re gonna see how you provide for him, how great you are with him, and they’re gonna be sorry they wasted their time.”
“I’m not great with him,” Eddie mutters, standing up in a feeble attempt to exert some of his nervous energy. “I’m ruining his life.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He had this teacher, and he adored her. Calls her ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’ And I was just…just a total asshole to her. I accused her of telling people about the CPS thing and said some really fucked up shit about her sick grandma and…fuck, Wayne. She had Harris transferred to another class just so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And now I have to say, ‘Hey, you know that teacher you fuckin’ loved? Well, she’s not your teacher any more, and it’s all my fault.’”
Wayne absorbs the information, contemplating what he says next. “So fix it,” he shrugs.
“It’s not that simple,” Eddie argues, plopping back down onto the bench in defeat. The wood digs into his lower back uncomfortably, so he stands up again.
“It’s not?” Wayne questions, digging a pack of Newports out of his jacket pocket and offering one to him. “Because it sounds to me like you owe this ‘Ms. Sweetheart’ an apology.”
Eddie takes a cigarette, toying with it before tucking it between his lips. It takes a few flicks of his old Bic lighter to get a spark, and he lets the nicotine calm his nerves before speaking again. “I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”
“Never said she would,” Wayne counters, plucking the Bic from Eddie’s hands and bringing the flame to light his own cigarette. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologize.”
Inhaling sharply, Eddie watches his son kick the ball around before letting out a slow, controlled exhale. “My boss asked if I could teach guitar lessons once or twice a week,” he says, using his empty hand to toy with the frayed holes in his jeans. “If…if you wanna, could you watch Harris? I can pay you.”
“Don’t insult me, boy,” Wayne scoffs, but a playful smile dances on his lips. “You’re not gonna pay me to watch my own grandson. Just let me know the day and time, and I’ll have a pot of mac and cheese ready to go.”
The pent-up tension dissipates from his body at Wayne’s easy agreement. An unspoken I love you floats between them, and he could cry from the sudden surge of relief.
“Daddy! Grampa!” Harris calls out from across the park. “Let’s play!”
Wayne stands up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up. “You heard the man,” he jokes. “Up and at ‘em.”
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It’s your first day off of work since the start of the school year, yet all you can think about are your students. Well, one particular student and his god-awful father. Eddie’s comment replays in your mind, cutting through you like the chilly mid-October air. The sting still hasn’t faded, despite it being three days since he’d said it. 
You say goodbye to your grandma and Elise, her home health aid, grabbing your car keys and closing the door behind you. This morning was already overwhelming; Grandma had woken up at 5 AM, ready to start her day. The sound of her TV blasting at the highest possible volume jolted you from your sleep, and you’d spent the following twenty minutes trying to persuade her to go back to bed. Unsuccessfully, you might add. 
You wince when you see your reflection in the rearview mirror. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, with pouches developing beneath them that only emphasize your exhaustion. You practice smiling a few times before starting the car, peeling out of the parking lot to meet Jess, Viv, and Jeff for lunch.
The pleasant aroma of burgers cooking on a grill wafts past your nose as you push open the doors to the restaurant. It isn’t too crowded when you arrive; you assume that the usual lunchtime rush is quelled by the Columbus Day holiday. Your new friends are already waiting at the table, waving you over excitedly.
“Hey,” you call out, forcing pleasantries into your otherwise flat tone. You slide into the seat next to Jess and across from Jeff. “How’s everyone been?”
“Better, now that I’m out of the first trimester,” Viv says with a small laugh. “Now that I have my appetite back, I’m definitely getting the grilled cheese.” She glances at the menu again, adding, “and a side of fries.”
Jess nods. “I think I’ll do the same.” She turns to you and her cheerful expression shifts to one of concern. “You okay?”
“Y-Yeah, just tired.” Your lackluster reply is unconvincing, but she doesn’t challenge it in front of Jeff and her sister. “Chasing after kids all day is wearing me out.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Viv exclaims, taking a sip of her water. “You’re a preschool teacher. The one with Eddie’s kid in your class!”
“Mhm,” you manage; the mere mention of Eddie’s name turns your throat into sandpaper. “Well, not any more, I guess.” Your throwaway comment is met with inquisitive stares, so you give the group a rundown of last week’s events, watching their eyes grow wide.
“He’s such a fucking douche,” Jess grumbles, resting her hand over yours. It feels like forever since you’ve experienced the simplicity of a kind gesture, and you have to swallow the emotion that comes with it. 
“Seriously,” Viv agrees, looking over at Jeff. “Why were you even friends with him?”
Jeff lets out a terse chuckle and shakes his head. “Believe it or not, he actually used to be a good guy. The best, in my opinion.” Disappointment flashes across his face as he continues. “Something changed when he went to Chicago. He was always on-guard, had his walls up, but it used to be more of an ‘if you mess with me, I’ll mess with you’ attitude. But when he came back home, he was…different.”
“Different how?” Curiosity gets the best of you, and the question slips off of your tongue before you can stop it.
“It was like he was determined to hurt people before they could hurt him. No matter what I did, he never fully believed that I was on his side. I was constantly trying to prove that I wasn’t out to fuck him over.”
Viv drapes an arm over her fiancé’s shoulder. “How long did he live in Chicago, again?”
“Long enough to knock someone up,” Jeff muses, mind wandering for a moment before he brings himself back to the conversation. “About four years, I think? He left to chase his dreams of being a rockstar. Then one day, he shows back up in Hawkins with an infant, trying to act like nothing had changed.” He snorts at the very idea of it. “But it obviously did–I mean, besides the fact that he had a whole child, the rest of us had grown up, too. College, work, all that stuff.
“When he suggested getting Corroded Coffin back together, we figured, why not? It seemed like a decent way to chill out, blow off some steam at the end of the day.”
“Let me guess,” you chime in, cocking your head knowingly. “Eddie had other ideas.”
Jeff nods. “He still wanted to do the rockstar thing. And he’d always get angry at us because we didn’t. Not professionally, anyway. Kept mocking us for having 9-to-5 jobs, like it was the worst thing in the world.” He pauses, screwing up his face in contemplation. “Which, come to think of it, was weird. Because back in high school, he told me that it really messed with him, not having that stability growing up. Y’know, before Wayne took him in.”
There’s so much more you want to know, but the waiter striding over to the table to take orders brings the conversation to a natural conclusion. What you’ve gathered so far is that Eddie Munson is a many-layered man, each one more puzzling than the last. Despite your festering hurt and anger, you can’t help but hope that he untethers himself from his complicated past. If not for his sake, then for Harris’s.
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“Daddy, what’s a new cents?”
Eddie’s taking the left turn onto the main road when he hears his son speaking from the back seat. “What’s new since when?” he asks, craning his head to check for oncoming traffic. 
“Noooo,” Harris whines, letting out an exasperated sigh. Eddie has no clue where his new attitude came from, and he can’t say that he’s a fan. “A new cents.”
“That’s not a thing, buddy,” Eddie answers, starting to twist the radio knob. 
“Yes, it is!” Harris insists, clearly growing frustrated. “Ms. Marion told Ms. Paula that I’m a ‘new cents.’”
It suddenly clicks for Eddie, and he grips the steering wheel tighter and hopes Harris doesn’t notice the edge in his voice. “You mean a nuisance?”
“That’s what I said!” Harris groans. “What does it mean?”
Eddie pushes past the question to ask one of his own. “What exactly did Ms. Marion say?” Maybe there was a misunderstanding, he reasons with himself. 
But Harris’s answer only confirms his initial suspicion. “She looked at Ms. Paula and said, ‘this one’s a ‘new cents.’ An’ then she pointed to me.”
“Why the hell would she say that?” Eddie’s speaking to himself, but his son replies, still too young to grasp the concept of rhetorical questions. 
“‘Cause of my shoes being untied. An’ she doesn’t like when I ask her to tie them.”
Eddie cringes. He’d meant to teach Harris how to tie his sneakers, but the lessons had to be put on hold when the kid had broken his wrist. Pausing before posing his next question, Eddie carefully selects his words. “Did…Did Ms. Sweetheart ever do that? Get mad about your shoes or call you a nuisance?”
“Nope,” Harris shakes his head. “An’ Mr. Will didn’t either.” And considering that his laces had always been tied in neat bows when Eddie arrived to pick him up, he can only assume that the two of you did this without a second thought. Jesus, why even bother to be a preschool teacher if you’re gonna bitch about tying shoes?
“So, what is it?” Harris snaps him from his thoughts. 
“Huh?” Eddie’s right foot presses on the brake as he approaches a stop sign. “Oh. Um, I don’t know. Sorry, Har.” It’s the second time in as many days that he’s lied to him in order to spare his feelings. Yesterday, he’d waited until they were already in the school to tell Harris that he was picked for a super special project where he’d act as a secret agent in another class. He didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed that he’d spent all night thinking of that excuse. 
“‘S’okay,” Harris shrugs, raising and dropping his legs so they bounce off the bottom of his carseat. His ankles are exposed, and Eddie realizes that he must’ve grown. Again. Which means that he needs to scrape together some money and buy him new clothes. Again. “How much more days until I get to go back to Ms. Sweetheart’s class?”
“Not sure.” Lie number three. He flicks on the radio, the sounds of Ozzy effectively distracting Harris for the remainder of the car ride. 
If only it was that easy to fool himself. 
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A harsh knock on your classroom door and the formality of your first and last name draws your attention from the mountain of paperwork on your desk. Will left thirty minutes ago with the rest of the TAs, so you’ve been sitting alone, humming a song you’d listened to on the car ride to work.
“Yes, that’s me,” you tell the tall man standing in the doorway. His intimidating stature and sullen disposition juxtapose the orange and yellow hues of autumn-themed artwork lining the walls. “Can I help you?”
He flashes a name tag as he steps into the classroom. “My name is Andrew Smith. I’m here on behalf of Child Protective Services to speak to you regarding one of your students…” he checks his notes, “Harris Munson.”
“Oh, um,” you stumble over your words, “he’s–he’s not my student any more. Not since Tuesday of this week.”
“Right,” the social worker nods slowly, patience already running thin, “but I briefly spoke with his new teacher, and she said that she didn’t have enough information to answer the questions, and directed me to your classroom.” When you don’t respond, he gives the legal rundown about the process and your obligations as a mandated reporter. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s proceed with this, shall we?” He clicks his pen, eyes boring a hole into you as he speaks. “How well would you say you know Harris’s father, Edward Munson?”
More intimately than you know, you bitterly think. “Fairly well. He dropped Harris off and picked him up every day.”
Mr. Smith scribbles that down. “Was Edward Munson punctual? Did he drop off and pick up Harris on time?”
“Yes,” you confirm, and your mind flickers back to the very first day of school. “There was only one time he was late for pick-up, but it’s common for that to happen once in a while with any parent.”
“Right, okay. And how would you describe Harris’s disposition around his father?”
“He adores him. He’s a generally happy kid, but he lights up around his dad. Or even when he’s just talking about him.” One lunchtime conversation in particular centered around how his dad could play anything on the guitar, even “Old MacDonald.” Harris had been bursting with excitement to report that Eddie made the funniest animal sounds, and you’d be lying if you’d said your interest wasn’t piqued. “I’ve never seen Harris act nervous or scared around him.”
Pen flies across the paper, and you swear he’s writing more than you’d even said. “Besides the broken wrist, did you ever notice any injuries or abnormal bruising anywhere on Harris’s body?” 
You shake your head before realizing he’s waiting for a verbal response. “Nope, never. Just the usual bruises that come with being a kid.”
Mr. Smith cocks his eyebrow, pressing his lips together. “And where were those bruises located?”
Shit. Did you say too much? Why can’t you just shut up when you’re nervous? “Knees and calves?” You point to the spots on your own body, as though the social worker needs visual aides, while silently berating your own stupidity.
“And based on your interactions with him, how would you describe Edward Munson as a father?” It’s a loaded question, and its magnitude is a weight on your chest. 
“Caring, attentive, very loving,” you answer honestly. “Responsible. Harris always showed up with lunch and a snack, bathed, clean clothes, whatever supplies he needed. I never worried that Harris was unsafe or in an unhealthy environment.” You force yourself to meet Mr. Smith’s gaze when you say the next part. “We, um, actually were at the hospital at the same time. My grandma got hurt, and we bumped into them when being discharged.”
This grabs his attention. “And did Mr. Munson appear to be impaired or otherwise behaving out of sorts?” The way he looks at you could easily be mistaken for a glare. “Under the influence of any substances, perhaps?”
“Not at all.” You keep your tone firm and even.
He shoves the paperwork at you, pointing to where your signature is required. “Thank you for your time,” he says flatly, leaving the room before you have time to reply. It seems nearly impossible to go back to the task you were working on before the interruption, but you try to push away the intrusive thoughts about everything that could possibly go wrong.
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An hour later, the heavy-handed knock raps on the door to the Munson’s apartment. Eddie knows the drill; unfortunately, this isn’t his first run-in with Child Protective Services. He’s double, triple, quadruple-checked that every electrical outlet is covered, the matches and lighters are far from Harris’s reach, and there’s no remaining product from his recently-abandoned dealing days. The visit is technically unannounced, but since he’s not getting many visitors these days, there are limited options of who could be at his door.
“Edward Munson?” The social worker asks, giving him the same opening spiel he gave you. “I’ll just need to take a look around your home and make sure it’s a suitable living environment for your son.”
“Of course.” Eddie hopes he sounds more confident than he feels, but he can sense the waver in his voice. “Yeah, come on in.” He opens the door a bit wider and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, drawing unwanted attention from the social worker.
“Something the matter, Mr. Munson?”
“N-No,” Eddie insists, shaking his head. If he confesses to being nervous, this Smith guy could mistake it as an admission of guilt, and that’s the last thing he wants. “Just, um, long day?”
Smith recognizes the response with nothing more than a disbelieving glance as he makes his way through the apartment. Eddie watches silently, pushing down his anxiety with a thick swallow. His mind races when the social worker rummages through the refrigerator. Are there fruits and vegetables in there? Did I throw out that container of leftover spaghetti that overstayed its welcome? His stomach sinks when Smith marks something down in his notes but doesn’t have time to ruminate over it before Harris pokes his head out from the bedroom.
“Daddy? You gonna come back an’ play Hot Wheels with me?” His big brown eyes instantly melt Eddie’s heart, and all he wants to do is scream at the man, See? See how much my kid loves me? See how happy he is? Now, why don’t you go deal with the parents who actually deserve to lose custody and leave me to play with him.
Before Eddie can stop him, Harris traipses out and sees Smith rifling through the pantry. “Who’re you?” he asks.
“Har-Bear, this is Mr. Smith. He’s, uh, one of my friends.” Eddie scrunches his face and shakes his head defeatedly at the blatant lie, but Harris doesn’t notice.
Mr. Smith gives a short wave, neither kind nor impolite. Just one slight movement to acknowledge the boy’s presence. He’s determined to get back to his job, but Harris has other plans.
“I like your glasses.” He points to the wire-rimmed frames on the man’s face. “My Grampa Wayne is s’posed to wear glasses, but he doesn’t. Daddy says it’s ‘cause he’s a mule.”
“Stubborn as a mule, Har,” Eddie gently corrects him, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “I’ll be in in a minute, okay?”
But Harris ignores his request, forging towards his dad’s friend. He lifts his arm and flashes an innocent smile. “Look at my cast! It’s from when I jumped on my bed and breaked my arm.”
“Harris!” Eddie hisses, trying to keep his cool. “Can you go play? In the room?” Pleading with him is like negotiating with a terrorist, and he knows his efforts are futile.
“Actually, I do need to take a look at Harris’s bedroom,” the social worker muses, tapping his pen against his lower lip. Eddie has to stifle a scoff at the charade that this just occurred to Smith. Like he didn’t have this mapped out, another bullet point on the list of uninformed judgments he needed to make.
“We, um, we share a room,” Eddie mumbles, as though there would be another possible reason as to why there’s a twin bed nestled into the same space as Harris’s race car bed. “I used to sleep on the couch, it’s just easier to be close to him when he has nightmares an’ stuff.” His heart races when Smith jots this down. “N-Not that he has nightmares a lot. I don’t let him watch scary movies or anything. Just normal kid stuff.”
The man nods, visibly irritated by his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut to inhibit the flow of unnecessary explanations that freely pass through his lips without a second thought.
Harris motions Smith over, using his uninjured hand to grab the stranger’s and leading him into the room. “That’s my bed,” he announces. It sounds like he’s giving a tour, and Eddie almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. “And that’s where I falled,” Harris points to the unassuming patch of carpet alongside it. 
“Ouch,” Smith mutters, and Eddie swears he can see a semblance of a smile. Leave it to Harris to thaw the most hardened of hearts. “I bet that hurt.”
“Yeah, but there was no blood,” Harris says nonchalantly. “An’ I didn’t need a shot. Just this cast. All my friends signed it. Even Ms. Sweetheart!”
“Ms. Sweetheart?” Smith repeats.
“She’s my teacher. Well, she was my teacher. Now I’m a super secret spy in Ms. Marion’s class, but don’t tell anyone!”
Eddie scoops up a couple of toy cars off of the floor and hands them to Harris, determined to end the conversation before anything else can be revealed. Can you get your kid taken away for being an asshole to his teacher? He doesn’t want to find out. “Here ya go, bud. Why don’t you get the racetrack set up, and I’ll play with you as soon as Mr. Smith leaves.”
“Actually,” Smith says, “I’m about finished. Mr. Munson,” he says, his natural stoicness settling back in as he turns back to Eddie, “after completing this investigation and conducting our interviews, I’ve determined that Harris may remain in your custody. I’ll just need you to sign a few forms and I’ll be on my way.”
Eddie’s relief is palpable. He sweeps Harris into a hug, clutching him to his chest and wordlessly swears to never put him back down. “Th-thank you,” he mumbles, acutely aware of the tears leaking from his eyes. “Wait–what interviews? No one interviewed me.”
Smith nods. “Yes, we spoke with Harris’s teacher. She only had great things to say about how well you take care of him.”
She did? He barely knows the woman; Harris has only been in her class for two full days, and she never indicated any partiality towards him. He makes a mental note to thank her tomorrow at drop-off. For now, all he wants to do is treasure every moment with his boy.
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Eddie doesn’t want to let Harris out of his sight, but he begrudgingly takes him to school, not wanting to add a truancy charge to his growing list of misgivings. 
Ms. Marion greets both Munsons with a muted stare, harsh enough to drain Harris of the excited energy that typically buzzes through his little body. “Are we going to listen today?” she quips.
“Yes,” Harris says.
“Yes, what?” 
“Yes, ma’am.” Harris’s affect is robotic and monotone, and the uncharacteristic spiritlessness nearly distracts Eddie from thanking the older woman for her interview.
“The guy–um, the social worker–he told me that you said some nice things about me. About how I am with Harris,” he stammers. “So, uh, thank you.”
Ms. Marion crosses her arms over her faded pink sweater, pursing her overlined lips. Her forehead is marred with frown lines. “That wasn’t me, Mr. Munson. I directed him to speak to Harris’s previous teacher, since she spent more time with him.”
Ms. Sweetheart.
After everything he’d said and done, you’d still vouched for him. Spoken so highly of his parenting abilities that CPS allowed him to keep custody of his son. You could’ve easily ruined his life, but you didn’t. 
What Eddie doesn’t understand is why.
Perhaps he doesn’t need to; at least, not immediately. Right now, he just needs to fix this. And he knows exactly where to start.
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Friday marks one week since your blowout fight with Eddie. One week since he’d caught you pathetically crying in your car because of the venom he’d spewed. One week since you’d informed him that you’d had Harris transferred to another class.
Which is why you’re confused when the boy bounds up to your classroom door, shouting, “Ms. Sweetheart! Ms. Sweetheart!”
“Hey, Harris,” you greet him, unable to mask your confusion. “What are you doing here? You’re in Ms. Marion’s class now, remember?”
Harris nods, his curls bouncing with each movement. He drops his backpack to the floor with a thud and unfastens the zipper, tongue poking from between his lips as he digs through it to brandish a cassette. “This is for you.”
You take it from him, eyes widening as you take in Toni Braxton’s face staring back at you. “Harris…where did you get this?”
“My daddy put it there and said to give it to you. So I did,” he answers with a shrug. He looks up at you, innocuous and angelic as he adds, “I miss you. I wish you could be my teacher again.”
“Me, too,” you reply before thinking. Clearing your throat, you kneel down to meet him at his height. “Thank you for my gift. It was very sweet. Go ahead and head to class now, okay? I don’t want you to be late.”
“Mmkay!” he chirps, slinging his still-opened bag over his shoulder. “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart.”
Why would Eddie buy you a tape? Why this tape, the one you’d come in for when he’d said such malicious things to you? You can’t make sense of it, regardless of how many times you try to piece together the puzzle.
At dismissal, you find yourself waiting by the door, hoping to catch Eddie before he can dash out of the school. There’s no logic to his actions: he despised you enough to weaponize your grandma’s cognitive decline, and then he gives you a gift with no further explanation. 
You distractedly hand parents the sign-out sheet, barely registering when Joshua Harrington’s dad asks you about any upcoming plans for a class Halloween party. 
“Is there gonna be a list of things you need? Candy or cupcakes or something?”
“Oh, uh, I’m gonna send home information about that next week,” you stumble over your words as you try not to make it obvious that your mind is elsewhere. 
“Great,” he says, stretching out the word as he tracks your gaze to the spot behind him. “Everything okay?”
“Yup.” You slap a smile on your face just as you spot the mane of frizzy curls you’d been searching for. “Um, excuse me for a second.” You call out to Will, letting him know you’ll be right back, before sprinting down the hallway. 
“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris’s eager face twists into a frown. “You gotta use your walking feet in school. Or you could get hurt.”
Eddie moves to correct him, but you just smile sweetly. “You’re right, Harris. Thanks for reminding me.”
You allow your gaze to travel upwards, eyes locking onto Eddie’s. You can’t quite read his expression; his brows are furrowed in confusion but the flush in his face indicates that he knows why you’re here. 
“Harris gave me the tape. The Toni Braxton one.” Like he’d gifted you myriad cassettes that required this distinction. “You really didn’t have to do that.”
“Don’t mention it.” The right corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile. “Besides, I  should probably be the one thanking you.”
“Me?” What is he talking about? As far as you know, you’re the bane of his existence. 
“Yeah. For, uh, what you said to that social worker guy. Even after I treated you like a piece of…” he presses his palms to Harris’s ears and lowers his voice, “shit.”
That makes sense; he was relieved that you’d sang his praises when it had mattered most. This was an expression of gratitude; nothing more and nothing less.
“You’re a good parent, even if you’re mean to me,” you say nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to make up lies and ruin your lives out of spite.”
The statement hangs in the air, gathering an awkward silence that has you and Eddie both grappling for ways to end the conversation. 
He’s the one to interject. “Well, anyway, I hope you like the tape.”
“Mhm.” It’s all you allow yourself to utter in front of Harris. A thousand questions swarm your head, threatening to spill off your tongue, the first of which is simply: why? “I’ve gotta get back. But, um, enjoy your weekend.” You pivot on your heel before Eddie can wish you the same. With the necessary chaos of your life, you can’t invest any more time trying to unravel him. 
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“Daddy, when is Ms. Sweetheart gonna be my teacher again?”
Eddie knew it was inevitable that Harris would ask about going back to your class, but he thought he’d bought himself more time with the spy game he’d concocted. He can’t delay the truth any longer. 
“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t think you can switch back.” There’s a pang in his heart when his son drops his hand, digging his heels into the parking lot asphalt. 
“Is it because you were mean to her?”
His question catches Eddie off-guard. “Wh-What?”
“In there,” Harris points towards the school, “she said you’re mean to her.” He squints when he looks up at his father, the midday sun shining in his eyes. “Why were you mean?”
Eddie exhales, puffing out his cheeks and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes grownups accidentally hurt each others’ feelings.” Or purposely, in his case, but he omits the complexities from his explanation. He reaches out to once again take Harris’s hand, but the boy pulls back. 
“Ms. Sweetheart says that when we hurt someone’s feelings, we gotta say sorry. Even if it’s on accident.”
“I did,” Eddie counters, raising his brows. “I gave her the tape.”
But Harris remains unconvinced. “That’s not saying sorry. You gotta actually say it. Or else it doesn’t count.”
“It doesn’t count, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue and puts his hands on his hips. “All right, I’ll say it the next time I see her.”
“And then you can be friends?” The question is posed innocently, but it rattles Eddie. Friends? Did he even know how to be a decent friend any more? He’d fucked it all up with Gareth, Jeff, and Danny, and he’s known them for forever. “Daddy?” “Uh, maybe,” Eddie replies meekly; this time, Harris grabs his hand when he offers it. “We’ll just have to see.”
--
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chronically-ghosted · 4 months
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i crawl home to her
rating: 18+ explicit
pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
word count: 8.2K
summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.
warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands
a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!
🤍Masterlist
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You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 
And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.
And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 
“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 
You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 
“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.
“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 
The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 
“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”
“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 
“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”
“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”
You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.
“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”
There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 
“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”
Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:
“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”
“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”
“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”
You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 
He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 
By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 
“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 
“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 
“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 
Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 
History says no. 
So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 
You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.
“I’m not going anywhere.” 
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The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.
“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 
His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.
“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”
You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 
You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 
Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.
She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 
“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”
She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 
“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”
“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 
As it is every year.
“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”
Here it comes.
“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”
“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”
“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”
Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.
Rings gone.
Earring gone.
Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.
His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.
Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 
You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.
“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 
To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 
“Poinsettias! My –,”
“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”
Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 
“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 
The bastard winks at you. 
Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 
“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”
She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 
“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”
A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 
So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.
Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??
God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.
He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 
And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 
“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”
Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 
“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”
“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 
You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.
“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”
You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.
“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”
“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.
She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?
“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”
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Schmooze he did. 
From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 
For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 
In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 
“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 
“Mhmm hmm.” 
“When are you going to have some of your own?” 
And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.
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It would be insulting to call it eerie. 
It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .
You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 
Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 
This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 
You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.
This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 
Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:
Anger. 
Shame. Guilt. 
Hot embarrassment. 
You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 
You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 
But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 
A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 
“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 
“Dieter, what are you–,”
“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 
White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 
“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 
“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.
“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 
“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 
You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.
“Dieter, please, just –,”
He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.
He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.
“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”
The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.
“This isn’t you.” 
You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 
“What’s not me?”
A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 
“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”
Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 
“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”
“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 
And out of nowhere, he smiles. 
Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.
“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”
You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 
“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”
“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 
Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”
You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 
He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.
“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 
You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 
“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.
“Just . . .”
His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 
That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 
“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”
You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 
“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 
Oh. 
Maybe he did mean it like that. 
You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.
Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 
“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 
He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 
“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”
You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 
He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  
“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 
“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 
The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 
His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 
With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 
  “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 
“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”
His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 
This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.
You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 
When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 
“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 
“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 
He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 
With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 
“Face down, baby,” he says. 
“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”
He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.
You do. 
Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 
He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.
“I’d rather just show you.” 
Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 
Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 
But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 
You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 
“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 
You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 
It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 
The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.
“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 
There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.
He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 
You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.
“Hard, baby. Please.”
For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.
“Okay.”
He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.
His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 
“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 
He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 
Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 
“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 
Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.
“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 
“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 
Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 
“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”
Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 
“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”
He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  
“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”
His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 
You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 
“Dieter, please –,” 
“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”
The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.
“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 
Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.
“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 
He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 
“Harder again, please.” 
Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 
You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.
“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 
“Say it again.” 
With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 
“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”
The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.
He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 
His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 
“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 
The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 
“Oh – oh, shit –,”
The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.
“Wait – fuck,”
He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 
The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 
Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.
Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 
You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 
“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.
In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 
And you’re laughing. 
You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.
He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 
“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 
You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 
He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 
“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”
You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 
“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”
Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 
“Dieter, I –,”
“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 
You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.
“Okay.” 
The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 
At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.
But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 
Your heart says yes. 
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atsumulogy · 1 year
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WHO’S DADDY? PRANK WITH YOUR DAUGHTER. FEAT. DAD!ATSUMU
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synopsis: dad!atsumu and uncle!osamu play a little harmless prank on yours and atsumu’s daughter, aki, what could go wrong? right?
featuring: dad!miya atsumu x AFAB! reader. miya osamu, hinata shoyo, sakusa kiyoomi, & bokuto koutaro.
cw: kids, mentions of pregnancy and labor, kids crying? um … yeah that’s all i think. LOL and maybe grammar errors
naia’s footnote: dad!atsumu fluff to make up for my last atsumu angst <3 this is an edited version of the one i posted in my old blog.
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Soft coo’s and aww’s filled the room, as cute baby twins were laying in the crib together, looking at the people that surrounded them in curiosity as the two of them tilted their little heads in unison, consequently eliciting another batch of coo’s and aww’s from the people in the room.
“Aren't they just the cutest?” Atsumu gushed over the children that you two created, and you swore you heard him giggle like a school girl in love.
He’s beaming, pride blooming from his chest seeing the small features they inherited from him and, most importantly, you. You, who struggled every day during pregnancy with your morning sickness. You, who had to endure the pain of labor just so you could give him the privilege of loving two more new people for the rest of his life.
Osamu nods in agreement as he caresses his nephew's cheek with his knuckles, smiling at how he reminds him so much of his brother.
“Atsumu-san, what if you two do that thing where you and Osamu-san confuse one of the twins on who’s their dad?” Hinata excitedly suggested, jumping a little in his place while he looks at the twins, recalling a video on YouTube that went viral.
“Don’t plant any ideas in his head, Hinata.” Sakusa starts telling Hinata off before getting caught off guard by Bokuto backing up Hinata’s suggestion.
“Noo do it! I saw a video like that once on Twitter and it was so adorable and funny. C’mon, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“Mm, I mean, Bokkun’s right — what’s the worst thing that could happen, right?” Both Atsumu and Osamu agreed — but mostly Atsumu, curious about what would happen. While Osamu on the other hand, was dragged into the scheme.
“Come to Daddy, baby.” Osamu tries to mimic his brother’s voice, making you and the others snicker, while Atsumu scoffs in offense before rolling his eyes at his brother.
Aki, being the daddy’s girl that she is, did not hesitate to raise her arms out to Osamu after hearing what seemed to be her “daddy’s” voice, making Atsumu, once again, dramatically scoff and huff in slight offense and disbelief at his daughter’s betrayal.
“Daddy?” She tilted her head at Osamu. She looked at him with doe eyes as she furrowed her eyebrows, curious about her “daddy’s” new hair color. Lowkey making Atsumu jealous because he wasn’t the one that she was calling daddy.
“Noo baby, Aki, come here, I’m daddy.” She turned her head towards Atsumu, confused at how there were two daddies now.
Looking at Osamu again, and at Atsumu who had his arms out for her to reach for, was far too overwhelming for her and her little head to fully comprehend why there were two daddies at the same time.
And before you all know it, your baby girl was crying — fat tears running down her chubby cheeks as her lips wobbled in distress.
(And alas, curiosity killed the cat.)
“I told you,” Sakusa mutters.
“Oh shit,” Atsumu curses as Osamu cringes at the baby in his arms that was now crying with her snot and tears all over him. Both of them feeling awful that they made Aki cry, remorse setting in.
Aito, Aki’s little brother, heard his sister’s wails. And as if sensing that she was in distress, started crying too, as he empathized with whatever his sister was crying about.
“Aww, sweetheart,” you coo’d, taking him from the crib as you cradled him in your arms, rocking him back and forth, trying to ease his cries. Which, fortunately, worked as his cries died down soon after.
“I want my daddy.” Aki demanded in tears, and Atsumu was fast to grant his little girl her wish, hastily taking her from Osamu’s hold. His dad's instincts flipped a switch inside him that he didn’t know he even had.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, Daddy’s here now. Were you scared? Hm?” He slightly rocks her, whispering more apologies as he starts drying her salty tears with his free hand.
“Daddy is sorry, I’m here baby.” He assures her, making her nod her head and follow his soothing voice as she automatically wraps her little arms around his neck.
“Wow, I've never seen Atsumu-san look so distraught before, let alone this soft and gentle.” Hinata comments after he and Bokuto both apologized to you for bringing the idea up.
“I admit, Miya’s a lot more tolerable — I guess — when he's with his kids.” Sakusa hummed in agreement with Hinata, looking at Atsumu with a now merry Aki in his arms while they both beamed at each other.
As you looked at the baby boy in your arms, sleeping peacefully, and at the sight before you, you smiled. Despite the little mishap that happened just a minute ago, you were happy. You were in a state of content and tranquillity — secretly, you concluded to yourself that you wouldn’t trade these moments for anything in this world.
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© ATSUMULOGY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ANY FORM OF PLAGIARISM AND REPOSTING OF ANY OF MY CONTENT IS PROHIBITED AND WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.
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kaciidubs · 4 months
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Rock and Roll
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❣ Summary: Jeongin's new comeback look was truly irresistible. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 2.08k ❣ Warnings: This specific Jeongin, Dom! Reader, Switch! Jeongin, use of honorifics [Noona], smut, semi-public sex [bathroom], fingering, clothed sex, praise, begging, desperation, slight degradation ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Jeongin is referred to as Innie, baby, baby boy, and IN-ah [once], Reader is referred to as Noona, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist
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He looked too good with that hairstyle.
He looked way too good with that hairstyle.
Maybe it wasn't just the style, maybe it was a combination of the split dyed golden blond, curled into a messy mop, paired with the fake lip piercing, colored contacts, and collar that shouldn't look as enticing as it does around his neck.
Yeah... That was it - that explained away the way you were practically vibrating in your seat across the room, watching as one of the stylists fixed a curl at the back of his head.
She patted his shoulder with a nod, her lips moving with words you couldn't catch before he nodded in response and slipped his way out of the styling chair.
Making his way over to you, he stood in front of you with a smile brighter than the sun, truly resembling the fluffy fox he was personified as.
"What do you think, Noona?"
Truly, this was the universe testing you, waiting to see if you would stick with your morals or succumb to the irresistible charm of your darling boyfriend.
Humming thoughtfully, you made a thorough up-down of his full attire, "How much time until you're needed for the pre-recording?"
Slipping his phone from his front pocket, he tapped the screen and watched the device come to life, "About... 45 minutes?"
You stood from the couch with a dignified nod, sliding your hand in his before leading him toward the door of the communal dressing room. "Great, I'll only need 30."
Morals be damned.
It took; two minutes to slink your way into the bathroom down the hall, tugging him in behind you and locking it the second it shut, another two minutes to silence his jumbled questioning with a kiss, hard and statement making, and one minute for him to succumb to your stellar persuasion.
"Have I ever told you how fucking hot you look?" You moaned against his lips with no intent to give him the time to answer, your own lips barely leaving his for even a second.
"I-" Jeongin gasped, returning your heated kiss, "You've-" a whimper cut him off, his hands holding onto your hips, "-mentioned it-" you nipped at his bottom lip and his knees buckled, "-once or twice."
Pulling away, you gazed at him with lust fogged eyes, "Well, baby boy, you look so god damn hot, I wanted to fall to my knees the moment the stylist finished curling your hair - but then..." Your eyes dropped to the collar resting against his neck, sliding your hand from his shoulder to dance your fingers along the silver letters, 'IN'. "When I saw her put you in this, it made me want to put you on your knees."
The whine he let out was sinful, almost pitiful in the way his hips rocked against yours - arousal evident in the presence of his dick filling out the front of his pants.
"C-Can you? Will you?"
His expectant pout made your heart swell, and your lips to curl into a pitying frown, "Oh, baby, you're on the clock, remember? We wouldn't want to give Jiyeon more work in fixing you back up again, now do we?"
"But- But-" he moved his head, making a point of the locked personal bathroom you all but dragged him into, "You brought me in here! I thought you'd at least-"
"Let you fuck me silly on that insatiable, deliciously long cock of yours?" You finished for him in more colorful words than he would've chosen, "I know, but you're already in your makeup, and you and I both know that less than 30 minutes isn't enough to get you off fully."
Deflating against the door, his hands squeezed your hips in disdain, "So, what? I can't just leave like this, Noona, I'm so hard it hurts."
Smirking, your fingers cupped his chin, "Well, you're lucky I have a plan, a deal if you will." Watching as he nodded for you to continue, your smirk grew into a grin, "I want you to finger me, Innie - make me come before you have to go and I'll do anything you want once your performances are over. Can you do that for me, baby boy?"
A light sparkled in his eyes, the urge to please you making him straighten up, "Anything?"
"Anything, baby, just as long as you make me come with those pretty fingers of yours."
Before you knew it, his lips were on yours and your position was switched; one hand protecting the back of your head as the rest of your body thudded against the door, while the other got to work on unbuttoning the button of your jeans.
Five minutes for him to get them unbuttoned and down your legs, your right shoe paying the price for your right leg to be freed and hooked around his hip - your panties simply pulled aside by his thumb and his fingers sliding along your folds. His left hand relinquished its cradle on your head to hold onto your waist, keeping you as stable as possible in the precarious position.
"Wet." He murmured against your mouth, middle and ring finger curling and collecting the arousal practically dripping from you, "So wet for me, Noona."
Your head fell back against the door, an airy moan floating past your lips as he focused his attention on the column of your neck. "A-All for you, Innie - only for you, baby."
You needed to play your cards right, push all the buttons that would get him ticking just the way you needed.
"Can't wait to have you in me, maybe I'll just drag you back in here after the show - won't even wait for you to change."
He moaned against your neck, his fingers pressing against your entrance before slowly sinking both digits in at once with learned ease. "Wanna fuck you, Noona, please - I'll be quick, w-won't mess up anything."
Bringing your right hand to the nape of his neck, you curled your fingers through the hair at the back of his head - a taste of what he could have later. "You know our deal, baby boy; make Noona come and I'll be on my knees faster than you know."
With a shivering breath, he steeled his resolve and curled his fingers inside of you, targeting that spongy spot at the front of your vagina and hitting it with ease.
Your left arm tightened around his shoulders, working double time to keep you balanced with the help of his left hand holding you against the bathroom door.
"T-That's it, baby, fuck-"
He didn't give you any time to revel in the sensation as he tilted his hand down, the drag of his fingers bringing a low moan out of you before he flicked his wrist up, thrusting his fingers back into you at a speed that made your toes curl.
"Fuck!"
That was your test run, the calm before the storm, and with a slight adjustment of his arm, the bathroom was soon filled with the sounds of your moans and the slick squelching of your cunt around his fingers.
"Innie- Innie- Oh, fuck me-"
There was no desire to keep quiet - it wasn't a secret that whenever you and Jeongin disappeared, someone was getting their rocks off, but what happened next came as a shock.
When your mouth opened to let another wanton moan float through, a large hand covered the bottom half of your face, his fingers just barely resting below the bottom of your nose.
"Be quiet." He practically growled against your ear, fingers flexing against your cheek, "J-Just shut up and take it."
You were shocked you didn't accidentally break a finger from the way you clenched at his tone, eyes fluttering as he ground the palm of his hand against your pussy, your clit getting the stimulation it deserved.
This was the Jeongin you were going for, your darling boy who switched hard with the right provoking; the one who had you seeing stars in ten minutes flat.
His hand was hot with your muffled moans trapped behind it and he couldn't care less; not when your walls fluttered around his fingers, and your arousal puddled in the palm of his hand and dripped off the back.
"W-Wanted you to make me fall apart," he scoffed, rutting his hips against your left thigh, "but now I'm making you fall apart first - just like you wanted, huh, Noona?"
His quick thrusts were subbed out for rapidly jack hammering his hand against your pussy, the sopping noise practically bouncing off the walls of the bathroom.
"I could've filled you easily - bent you over the sink to watch me fuck you dumb through the mirror," pulling his head up, his dark eyes held a glint, stunning and all encompassing, "but I guess you love my fingers too much to even care."
Your left hand tightened in his curls, an unabashed moan catching in the palm of his hand.
Just a little more - you just needed him to-
As if reading your mind, he sunk his fingers in to the knuckle and traced fast, tight circles around your puffy clit, "Come for me, Noona - make a mess of my fingers."
Your body trembled, limbs all but locking him in place against you as you came with a loud cry - even muffled, he could make out the whined scream of his name vibrating against his hand.
He worked you down with gentle thrusts, groaning at the sensation of your cum dripping down the back of his hand, "Oh god, you're so much warmer now... S-So slippery."
You came back to your senses enough to realize he was still grinding himself against your thigh, the once dominant air surrounding him now melting away into the needy baby bread you loved even more.
"I-I did good, right? Made you come like you said - now, can I?" His hand dropped from your mouth in favor of gripping your waist, quickly succumbing to the deliciously harsh rub of his denim pants against his boxer-brief hidden dick. "Can I come, Noona? Can i? Can I, please?"
Knowing you wouldn't forgive yourself for letting him ruin himself in his stage clothes, you dropped your right hand to his wrist; pulling away the fingers that were still nestled inside of you before untangling yourself from him and unceremoniously getting onto your knees.
A short cry fell from his lips when you pulled away from him, but when he saw you kneeling with your hands working fast against the button of his pants, he nearly came then and there.
You got his pants undone in record time, tugging them - and his underwear - down just enough to pull his cock out and wrap your lips around the shiny, precum covered tip.
"S-Shit, Noona- 'm gonna- I-I'm-"
A flick of your tongue against his slit, a gentle suck, and in no time a desperate whine fell from his lips as he came in your mouth, the slight tang coating your tongue with each wave that coursed through him.
Swallowing in kind, you stroked him a few more times to make sure that was all he had - albeit a bit greedily - before pulling off of him with a soft pop.
You tilted your head to look up at him, and you met his familiar, bright eyed smile - even after fingering you like a man possessed, then coming down your throat in mere seconds, he still looked like he didn't even break a sweat.
"Wow," he breathed, a breathless laugh escaping him, "that was ama-"
"IN-ah! We're leaving in 15!"
The sound of Minho's voice on the other side of the door nearly made you both jump out of your skin, urging you to scramble back into your jeans while Jeongin hastily tucked himself back into his boxer-briefs.
"Don't forget to get your makeup touched up again!" Came Hyunjin's teasing voice, laughing as if he could see the blush currently turning your boyfriend red.
"See?" You huffed, pushing yourself off of the ground and fixing your jeans as casually as you could, "Told you I only needed 30 minutes."
Rolling his eyes, Jeongin fixed his shirt with his head held high, "That just gives me 15 minutes to think about what I want you to do to me when we're done."
You laughed at his haughtiness before tugging him by the collar, pressing your lips to his in a soft, sweet peck.
"Go on and get touched up, rock star."
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✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @instabull, @maximumkillshot, @bandolls, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @sunnyhonie, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @all4innie, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson
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quirkedupfandom · 1 month
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Q!PHIL SAYING, AND I QUOTE "It's nice having a lot of stuff" and things on the last vod, and also just being all weird about getting new stuff from *supposedly the federation* (cough ender king cough cough)
Combine this with how much he used to say he doesn't value material wealth and family always comes before anything. Heck, he even BURNS the feds money like 10 minutes ago before going right back into this weird new hoarding mode.
And the fact that his whole philosophy of not getting too attached to worldly possesions is something he kinda passed onto Tallulah and Chayanne, and THEY NOTICED HIS ODD BEHAVIOUR.
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LIKE. THEY KNOW!!! q!phil was able to pick up when something was off when the codes were imitating them, and the kids know him Just As Well. They can tell somethings up and i'm SADD
Because it was q!phil who was sad that Chayanne and Tallulah were thrown into battle and not able to just enjoy themselves. So what do they do when it's their own parent who's now needing saved. Their rock. The constant support in their life. I'm SO scared that this is going to result in a fight or something between them.
Edit: LOOK AT THIS CLIP. WATCH THIS. TALLULAH KNOWS!!!
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Anyway yeah normal fun times on the QSMP amiright hahaha...
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sqiim · 4 months
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Little by Little
mdni
leon kennedy x reader
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warnings: sex pollen, sub!leon, religious themes, oral (m recieving), fem!reader
a/n: i've edited the intro to this fic because it was just pure waffle. title is from little by little by oasis!! (my british ass sorry)
edit: credit for the new and amazing banner goes to @fictionalslvr !!!
this is my first fic btw, so enjoy!
First, it was nothing. Only the raw panic of having inhaled some weird pink shit after being tossed around like a rag doll by a licker, before he'd had enough and shot the shit out of it.
Second, was the headache. It was a nagging feeling more than anything, licks of pain at the front of his head which he could ignore as he traversed the underground lab, knowing it was insignificant to the pain thrumming in his shoulder.
Third, was the heat. He could stand hot weather, sure he could, but this made him feel like he was having a hot flush, cheeks red yet there was no sweat. However, his gear felt tight, like it was clinging onto him like a third skin.
Lastly- well, a rather embarrassing symptom. His trousers felt tight, and awfully so. And when he's currently in the company of a very pretty lady, you.
You looked far prettier than he'd realised, that sticky pink gloss coated on your lips, hypnotising him more than he'd like to admit, making him harder than he's ever felt before.
“Leon?” You call out his name, worry in your voice. He wondered what you'd sound like begging for him, maybe even telling him what to do, ordering him around like a dog, maybe even-
No Leon, Church taught you better.
That right, those rites of passage he had to read when he was a kid at Sunday Mass, being so devoted and loyal to the Catholic Church, believing that a life must be devoid of anything sinful in order to go to heaven.
He believed that deeply, wearing his heart on his sleeve and never lying to anyone, until one day he saw one of the regulars he liked a lot after mass on her knees, shamelessly sucking off the priest in one of the secluded corridors of the church.
After that he never went back, feeling a high sense of… guilt, despite not really losing that much at all. He'd already grown bored of attending church despite being a devotee.
The image never really left him, instead of leaving as soon as he saw the shameless two, he stuck around, taking in their expressions, wondering what it would be like to be in the priest's position. That plagued him for a while.
“Are you alright?” Oh, you, yes. Your brow creased with concern about him. He didn't get it at first, until he realised he was panting heavily like a dog and leaning against some wall in the midst of it all and sliding down to the floor.
God, where were you again? Fuck it, he couldn't remember, could only think about you now once you took a few steps closer. Is that your perfume? The sickly sweet mixed in with zombie guts made his brain go all fuzzy- not like it already was.
“Leon- talk to me.” Oh yeah, he hadn't answered you, too pent up in staring at your low cut top to appreciate your cleavage and curves to realise and remember his predicament.
“You're hard?” Jesus, your voice sounds good like that, breathless and bewildered at his state, and bold too. Your hand is already reaching for his crotch, cupping it nervously until he whines like a kicked puppy.
“Don't- don't know what this is- must've- the pink clou- no- gas- I breathed it in- I'm sorry-” Fucking hell he's stuttering like mad, can't put two words together because he's already rocking into your hand, relishing in the little friction it's giving him.
“I'm here, Leon.” You must've been sent down from the gods as a gift, with the way your hand now moves to unbuckle and lower his jeans and boxers, his cock standing and crying with precum.
“Will you- please- I'm sorry- need it- need you.” You've barely known each other, but it seems he's a wet fish when he's desperate. He's never done this, never even attempted anything sexual to appease God, chastity and all.
“Deep breaths, Leon, I'll help you.” He's already got tears in his eyes from how much he needs you, it's like he's got withdrawal symptoms from something he hasn't even tasted, like he's hooked on it.
He's able to get his breathing down, though it was a bitch to do so. But he's very glad he was able too, your cute grin you're giving him as you lower your head and holy fuck.
It's almost cute, adorable even, the way he moans and also whines at the same time, his hand shyly resting on your head as you give his tips kitten licks, cleaning up the precum and replacing it with spit as a glob lands right on his cock.
“Keep talking to me.” You whisper. When did you get so close to his ear? He doesn't know, doesn't care all that much ‘cause your hand is still on his cock and doing a pretty good job at coaxing out breathy whines and moans that he didn't know he was capable of.
“Your hand- oh- wow- it's so- too good- can I have more?- Please give me more- need it so bad-” He's so embarrassed, acting like a desperate dog in front of a pretty girl like you. He loves his hand on you, but whatever the shit he inhaled is making him greedy.
Warmth coats his dick and wow is this what the priest felt all that time ago? Because fucking hell, it makes sense now. You, looking up through your lashes as you take him, gagging noises coming from your throat despite it all and holy shit you're taking the whole thing.
“Oh- please- please- can't wai- wait- please” Oh he's pleading now, are you supposed to sound so pathetic when you're close to climaxing? Then again, he wouldn't know. Never touched himself in his life and doesn't know what a good wank session feels like.
You pull back, swirling your tongue around his tip and he's already itching to grab something and squeeze the life out of it because whatever you're doing with that tongue of yours is driving him fucking nuts. “Can't- you look so- you're so- your tongue-”
He's whimpering now, and it's downright sinful how loud he's being. He once cared about dignity, but considering you're sucking his cock in the middle of an underground lab and zombies could possibly find you at any moment, he doesn't care all that much.
Leon spills into your mouth with a breathless sigh of your name and a whimper after, unannounced ‘n all, but it's fine, ‘cause you take it anyway, swallowing it like it's the wine of Jesus’ blood, giving a few more licks and handstrokes.
But wow- fuck, is that what it's like when you cum? He's in awe almost, how amazing it felt, yet how strange and hot it was. In his 21 years of living he'd never thought he'd be doing this with a pretty girl like you.
Then again, you were in the middle of some weird apocalyptic setting. Zombies and shit.
A wet pop resounds in his ears, before he realises that you're now off his cock and- god, is that his cum spilling down your chin without a care in the world?
He weakly reaches out, brushing his thumb to scoop up the cum, forcing his thumb into your mouth, feeding it to you and staring at you like he was in a daze (post nut clarity ‘n all) as you sucked on his thumb lazily.
Your teeth lightly bite his thumb, making him huff and give you a grin as he pulls away his saliva coated thumb.
“How are you feeling?” Your voice seems less hazy now, and the heat is calming down, but he knows that's not the end, that it's not going to be finished, but he nods, weakly taking a deep breath.
“Better.”
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azirafuck · 8 months
Text
GOS2 Spoilers Masterpost (ONLY EP. 1-2)
alright, you read the title, you know what's under here - gonna tag everyone who helped this if I know them, thanks to everyone for their contribution and for being agents of chaos the way satan intended. love you all
[Last update/edit: 24/07 - 14:10CET]
first of all, we got some amazing posts from @incorrectquoteswwdits mostly about the first scene in heaven with crowley as an angel:
angel!crowley creating stars and aziraphale thinking he's calling him beautiful
more on that
aziraphale's lies make the lesbians have problems, apparently
communist aziraphale be like OUR CAR
isolation and doubts
THEN we have a detailed recount of the first episode by a kind anon! again, thank you @incorrectquoteswwdits for sharing <3
@goodomens-hints posted a lenghty and detailed recount of the first episode as well with some little hits at future episodes (nothing too big on the post itself, but BE CAREFUL, the blog is actually posting some other spoilers from episodes past the second one!)
@goodomensjail gave us a detailed recount of the first scene, with angel!crowley starting to question stuff and eventually shielding aziraphale with his wing
@mikubinders gives us SOME GOOD GOURMET SHIT by telling us that:
"Beelzebub kidnaps and threatens Crowley, tells him that ze could put a price on his head but ze doesn't want to. After that Crowley comes back to the bookshop and Good-old-fashioned lover boy plays while he drives there. "I'm back" happens. Aziraphale makes Crowley do a silly little apology dance so he forgives him and so they work together"
after thinking this last spoiler was fake, an anon came through and confirmed its real! we also have new context! (sent by an anon to yours tuly)
anon came through with some details about the Everyday record, told us Queen is actually tied to CROWLEY and not to the Bentley, and gave us more context to the OUR CAR and OUR BOOKSHOP bit (sent by an anon to yours tuly)
as for what happens during the Job flashback, after which the sitting five feet apart on a rock in front of the sea happens, a bunch of different versions of what actually happens are going around. @thesherrinfordfacility kept up with the madness surrounding it, so im gonna post here the last two versions of events/details.
first one:
In the Job section, Aziraphale is questioning gods decision of punishing Job. Then u see him in heaven w Muriel here and they are looking thru a long scroll that has instructions from god and he's trying to make sense of it. Muriel is telling him that god and satan made a bet about what Job would do and that's why they are testing him. And az is like whatttt why would god do that that's mean!
When Az finds out they're going to kill Jobs kids, he goes down to Earth to save them while using his angel voice until he realizes he's speaking to Crowley. He sees Crowley about to enter the kids room and tells Crowley "I know you, you wouldn't do this" and Crowley tells him he doesn't know him really. (
AND TY TENNANT IS SASSY AND FLIRTS W AZ??!??!? (*) And THATS when crowley goes "well he seems nice" from the clip. He wasn't jealous tho, like he thought it was funny since they are literally there to supposedly kill these kids and one of them is flirting lol.
The moment of 'weird-beard Crowley' was actually more focused on azi and him questioning God. Crowley tempts Azi w food and u see him struggle but then he gobbled it down and he cries bc he thinks crowley is going to bring him to hell (that's the scene where they are sitting on that thing with the pretty horizon) Crowley tells him "you're just an angel who follows gods as will as much as he can" and Az says that sounds lonely, and Crowley agrees, which is a callback to when he asked Crowley if he was lonely being on what Crowley calls "his own side", and Crowley said no. Crowley then tells him "i'm a demon. I lied"
(*): it was told this isn't actually canon canon, it's up for interpretation - some reported Ty's character is just the classic bratty teenager UPDATE: NOPE anon cleared it up and apparently it DOES read as flirty because ty's character is a little bitch, love that for us
and then we have the second one:
"Episode 2 is half present day things [...], and half the Job story/flashback. Crowley is the demon sent by Satan to torment "God's favorite human" Job to see if Job will curse God, in one big bet between God and Satan. Aziraphale comes to try to stop him, discovers they recognize each other but haven't seen each other since "the flood" and that Crowley seems to have changed since the flood, because he is willing to sacrifice the goats, and ruin Job's house. Crowley says he "has a permit" to torment Job FROM GOD. Aziraphale brings this up to the archangels that gleefully explain that yes it's a bet with Satan and that Job will suffer, but he will get everything back 3-fold by the end. And he will get NEW children. This disturbs Aziraphale, he does not want the CURRENT children to die, he understands the familial love that the archangels do not. He goes to stop Crowley not with power since he has the permit but to reason with him. Aziraphale says things to the effect "I KNOW you don't want to harm them I KNOW you and you don't want to kill children" and Crowley is defiant, but then…. It is revealed that he never killed any of the goats either, he transformed them into pigeons to hide them. And he is hiding the children away in the basement but destroying the house to make it look like they died. He transforms the three kids into lizards to hide them, then when the Archangels descend to give Job his rewards and tell him his wife will bear 7 new children, Job and his wife are in despair because they love their children. Crowley comes in pretending to be a human doctor and he and Aziraphale LIE to the angels faces about how babies are made and trick the angels into thinking Jobs three original children are NEWLY BORN children. Which fools Gabriel, who has only ever seen God make Eve fully grown from Adam's ribs. Crowley then meets Aziraphale at the rock. Aziraphale is crying and says "im ready for you to take me to hell" because he has LIED to angels and foiled God's plans. Crowley is gentle and comforts him that he is still an angel and "I won't tell anyone if you won't" and they reminisce that it's lonely being a different kind of demon and a different kind of angel that sort of do what they feel is right. Heavily implying that they are the same and have each other now. The end of episode 2.
that's what's going around for now, but ill add stuff if we find anything new - also feel free to add to this yourself or send me stuff!
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