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netherfeildren · 7 months

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Pink : Part II: I See Your Father as My Father

Series Masterlist : Part I

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Inappropriate relationships; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Ass play lite; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Praise kink; Aftercare; Size kink; Spitting; Come eating; Thigh fucking; Oral sex

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 12.3K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

2. I See Your Father as My Father

When he swings the door open, he’s still half pulling a t-shirt over his curl messed head, faded gray, rust orange longhorn across the front, a flash of hair sprinkled belly. All man, man, man. It stretches over his broad shoulders so the holes strewn there stretch and gape wide making your face heat unbearably. And he’s struck silent for a second, realizing it’s you taking up space on his front porch, trying to hide against the shadow of the wooden beam at your back, ringing his bell in the middle of the night like the Devil’s on your heels. Brow pulled low, he steps out onto the porch, into the shadows with you, his gaze flashing back and forth between your eyes. He says your name, and you hate it. “Did somethin’ happen? Are you alright?” And you want to say no, that nothing is alright. That you know you shouldn’t be here, but you’re here anyways now, and so he needs to tell you what’s going to happen next because this is as far as you’d planned. The sound of his voice, the sight of him, that’s as far as you’d planned. The rest is up to him now, even if he doesn’t know it. Your eyes fall down the long, broad length of him. Rumpled jeans, hastily pulled on, and his bare feet, oddly erotic. They’re paler than the rest of him, sun deprived, and briefly, ridiculously, you wonder if he has that funny sock tan men get around their ankles. The skin stretched over strong tendon and bone, beautifully arched. You give a tiny shake of your head, something like a whimper slipping up your throat. And you think he must realize or understand because he sighs, long and drawn out, dragging his palm over his mouth as he watches you struggle. You think that’s his tell, that dragging hand; he does it when he’s thinking, confused, worried, upset which leads you to worry that maybe he’s upset you’re here now, but it’s done, you’ve come. There’s nothing either of you can do to undo it now. Your eyes move back up to his face, and he’s taking stock of you now also. The soft, loose jersey shorts, too big pullover almost covering them entirely, the sleeves twisted around your clenched fingers. “You gotta tell me what you’re doin’ here, sweetheart. You gotta say it out loud.” You let out a rough, frustrated sound through your clenched teeth, looking away from him for a second.

“We never talked about it,” you say instead because you want to hear him acknowledge it, you want that to be said out loud.

He understands immediately, “You never gave me a chance to.”

You look back at him, he’s taken a step closer, and you wrap your arms back behind the beam, trying to meld yourself to the wood, keep yourself away from him.

“What else was I supposed to do? If we talked about it, it would’ve happened again.”

“Well, then that’s why – that’s why we never talked about it.”

“But did you want to?” And your voice breaks a little at the end, “Did you want to talk about it?”

He sighs again, a muttered curse under his breath. He isn’t going to give you the easy way out. “Tell me why he left you,” and you flinch. He, his son. It’s the truth, no reason to cower. You were left. You have to look away again, unable to confess this when looking into the kinder version of eyes that never loved you.

“I think you know. I think you could tell from the very first moment you saw us together.” He hums his agreement, and the sound fucking hurts. “He never loved me. He never even really liked me, I don’t think. But that became okay after a while.” A tear falls, and you listen to the sound of him suck in a sharp breath; it makes you smile just a little, that small sound. You look back at his face, “I don’t want you to think I’m not okay with that now because I really am. It made me realize that he’d never been what I wanted or needed either. That he couldn’t ever give me what I wanted either.”

“And what’s that?” His voice sounds gentle, but you know that it’s put on. You know there isn’t going to be anything gentle about this.

You choose to ignore that, “You know he said once, that I’d lied to him about who I was. But I didn’t– I really didn’t, Joel,” and you say it with such panic, or fervor, or something that’s desperate to ensure that he doesn’t think the same of you. That he doesn’t take you for a liar also. “He just couldn’t understand that this is the only way I know how to be. Being scared all the time makes you a liar. It makes you what the moment needs you to be no matter what that is. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know what you mean,” but he looks nervous, the truth of him too close to the surface, and it soothes you. The two of you are the same, you knew it.

You peek down at your twisted fingers, nails gnawed raw and bloody and disgusting. “I don’t think he ever loved me and that made me sad. But now, I don't think I ever loved him either, and that makes me sadder. It was all for nothing, I let him turn me into that thing for nothing, and I was always waiting for him to treat me better, different. But a person who can treat you badly once usually finds it quite easy to do it again.” You look back up at him, shocked for a moment at your sharp honesty. “I’m sorry. He’s your son. I shouldn’t say these things to you,” even thought it sounds like hypocrisy, for look at where you’re standing in the middle of the night.

“And you’re you.”

And the sober way he says it sobers you, recenters you. “Yes. I’ve always been only myself.” And it’s the truth, the most difficult one. That despite Sam’s claims that you’d made him believe you to be someone you weren’t, despite the sick desire for complacency, to please all those around you, you have always been only you. Even when they’d tried to force you to be something you weren’t, you were still always only yourself. You say it again, just to hear the sound of the words.

“You gotta tell me what you’re doing here then. You want to talk about that? About what happened that night? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, that telling gesture over his stern mouth again. “If we do this, there’s no goin’ back, and I–”

“There already is no going back for me. I can’t forget. I can’t stop remembering.”

“It would be different– if we– if I take you, it’ll be different. You get me? I won’t be able to stop. I know myself well enough to know that. I won’t be able to stay away from you after.”

“I don’t care.”

“So that’s what you want?” But you can’t say the words out loud, you can’t, you can’t. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated by your own desire, small and slanted. Despite all your progress, and as much as you want it, you still know you shouldn’t. “I gotta fuckin’ hear it, sweetheart. Is that what you want?” You shake your head a little, another tear, wrapping your arms around yourself. You can see the fight in his eyes, trying to hold you off from the inside out. I don’t know, another tear. He makes a frustrated noise, turning to pace to the opposite end of the porch, hand fisted in his hair. When he turns back he seems to deflate, eyes going cool and steady and then, suddenly, like a ricochet, bright and light, a flash fire. Once more: “What do you want?” To be wanted. To be good. “You want me to kiss you? You want me to fuck you?”

And your eyes flutter closed in relief, there it is, finally, the hard part’s over. It’s been said out loud. “Yes, that’s what I want.” He’s on you in three ground eating strides, big hand wrapping around the contours of your jaw, the other fisting in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on the tips of your toes. Your eyes fall shut, mouth parting embarrassingly ready for him to kiss you, but he gives your head a little shake between his palms. “You’re supposed to belong to my son, goddamnit. I’m not supposed to want you like this. This is wrong.”

“I never belonged to him,” and then bitter truth, honesty laminated in humiliation, “And I don’t care if it’s wrong.” Followed by a thought, a wash of shyness, held in his hands as you are, large strong hands: there is a part of me that feels very innocent still, naive, experienced hands that will finally teach you how to be good. You watch the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the sun roughened skin of his throat, and when you look back up at his eyes, there is nothing like innocence, nothing like naivety in them, only the reflection of something complex, something more. He goes very still, almost vibrational with restraint, his fingers clench around you once, and then, with unbearable control, his hands flex open, releasing you.

“Get in the house,” he says very, very quietly. You cup your own palm around the space of your chin where he’d gripped you and turn on your toes, scampering inside, into the home of the man who would have remained your father-in-law for the rest of your life had his son ever decided to love you. The door slams shut behind him.

He steps into the dark restroom with a staying hand out and ready, as if approaching a wounded, rabid animal.

His son, his son is a cruel and small man. Joel is coming to realize this with something like horror running in currents beneath his skin. Quick to anger, quick to aggression. And you, his daughter-in-law, no one knows this better than you do. He’d naively thought, when his fully grown son had appeared at his door steps all those months ago, that the question Joel had carried on the tip of his tongue for half of his adult life had finally been answered. Alone but never necessarily lonely, something like a film of boredom and monotony over his life. He was content with the place he’d made for himself; he had his business and his brother and friends, and Joel was fine. But a child of his own, he’d never expected it, never even considered it a possibility. And what he’d come to discover: his son, who shouldn’t still be a child, but in many ways, was.

He licks at the groove of his molar as he watches the tremble of your back, trying to hide your weeping face in the shadows of the bathroom wall. A small, anxious thing that had been, out of everything, perhaps the biggest shock of all. To learn that he had a son, an entire life lost to time, and that there was someone in the world that his son should have loved enough to tie himself to – it was shocking. To discover that his son was married when Joel was not, disorienting.

He says your name softly and watches the jerk of your frame, that vein of anxiety he’d sensed in you from the get go that he was fairly certain Sam had a large part in sowing. You’d shown up with your hair picked up today, only the second time you’ve ever worn it so. Piled messy at the top of your head, a few strands laying against the nape of your neck, the vulnerable slope of your shoulder. He feels strangely afraid of you, afraid for you. Unsure of what to say, heart beating out of his chest, rebounding against his ribcage so hard he’s sure you can hear it. “I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it. He–”

“Please, don’t apologize for him.” A tiny sniffle. “Don’t apologize for him,” you say again, and there’s a hum of exhaustion in your voice, brokenness, it makes Joel go from afraid to entirely terrified, but then angry too… angry too. He takes a step forward, another, he’s an arms length away from you now. He could touch you if he was brave enough. If the intent behind it wasn’t as wrong as it is. Angry because he’s looking at that vulnerable nape, imagining the fit of his palm molded over the delicate column, and you’re something to be taken care of. Something like a gift. Even though he doesn’t know you well enough to say such a thing yet, even though he shouldn’t be thinking such a thing about his daughter-in-law. Even though you hold yourself with a hard rigidness most of the time, quiet dignity and cold vulnerability that seem almost impossible to get through. And yet he suspects that with enough care and patience you could become immediately soft, easily penetrated. He should see his son as a gift, and he does, he does, he does, he swears he does. If Joel repeats it enough times in his mind surely he’ll come to believe it with his whole heart, but what he sees more than the gift of a child that was kept from him, is nothing but a boy beating down a creature that was not taught to defend itself. And that makes him angry beyond belief.

Joel can be a hard man. He is a hard man. Perhaps, a large part of the reason why he’s still alone, why nothing more than a quick fuck ever seems to work out for him. Women like him, they enjoy his company, they come to bed with him easily. But Joel is hard and cold, and he’s never much minded his aloneness, a difficult thing to sell to a woman, the reality that he doesn’t really care to need anyone else. And so perhaps, this is his son’s inherited vice, that coldness, but despite Joel’s preference for solitude, for the fact that he doesn’t care about making a person stick around, he tries to never be cruel, and he is sure to never hurt those that are more easily hurt than himself. He doesn’t think there’s any worse sort of sin, and so he knows that this cruelty he’s witnessing didn’t come from him. But then he thinks that if it didn’t come from him, then it surely came as a consequence of him, of his absence, and so he is just as responsible for it. So he can’t help himself when, instead of more platitudes in favor of his gift of a son, he says: “You should leave him.” You let out a bitter sound of a laugh, something that pokes at that wound of fear of his.

“Should I? I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Isn’t it? It’s the truth. It’s what you need to hear right now,” The sweetheart he adds at the end has a tiny shiver moving down the length of your spine that his own vertebrae can’t help but imitate. You hang your head, bearing more of that lovely nape, head seemingly bowed in supplication for something gentler than what his son can offer you, and he can’t help himself again. He wants to sink his teeth into that soft expanse of skin. You’re too pretty, pretty in all the ways a perfect thing can be, and Joel is a hard man, not a weak one, but he feels weak now. He feels brought to his knees, heavy stone of guilt weighing in his gut as he lays his palm on the back of your bared neck. Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, this doesn’t belong to you. He tightens his hand, grips the column, presses the calluses of his palm to the soft skin. “Look at me–” he gruffs, turns you by the pressure of his hand, a kitten gripped by the scruff and made to listen. “You deserve more than that shit.” That shit being his son, his blood. Joel is two feet tall and so ashamed he’s nauseous. But your eyes, they look up at him, tear filled and so lost, and he wants to show you how it should be. “You deserve more,” he says again. Later, he’ll tell himself he surely must have said the words out loud, asked for it with teeth and tongue. The blame can only be his, he provoked it, he soothed the wound, incited it, because you’re surging up and against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders and throat and pressing your mouth to his, clumsy and tear stained and open so that the first thing he tastes is your breath on his tongue, then your tongue on his tongue, and then absolution tinged with shame, gross desire like desperation. He groans like a dying man, clutching at you immediately, unthinking, pulling you into himself, soft, full tits against hard chest so that he feels like he’s burning and dying and coming back to life all with the taste of your spit and tears in his mouth. He holds you steady, hand still clamped to the back of your neck and thinks that if he’s going to commit a sin he might as well take his fill. He eats at you. Head held in place, knees bent and arm banded around your waist to bring you level with each other, he pulls your head back, mouth open and tries to swallow you whole. And Joel doesn’t think of his son, not for a single second, while he kisses his daughter-in-law.

His lips slide to your throat, hunting for your pulse, tasting the tiny flutter, going weak at the knees at the whimpered sound you make, cock harder than it’s been in years, a noise like begging, like more. He sucks hard at that thrum, but your noises shift to frightened, protesting, fingers digging into his shoulders to warn him. He can’t leave marks, he can’t leave marks on something that belongs to another. His erection is an iron band down the leg of his jeans, and he has to force himself not to thrust the aching cock into the soft apex of your thighs, feel your warmth there. He has to stop, he has to– to what? To let you go back to a boy that mistreats you? Even if that boy is his son, it’s wrong, it goes against everything Joel is as a man. He presses his face into the blistering heat of your throat, a muttered fuck under the ledge of your little chin. A rattling shiver has started up in you, teeth chattering with the force of it, and he bands his arms around you tightly, pressing the air out of your lungs, hand smoothing up to twist in the back of your hair and force you entirely still. “Don’t,” his voice is so deep he almost doesn’t recognize it coming out of his own mouth, “Don’t be afraid.” The sound of his popping knees as he unbends to his full height, your weight still in his arms. He lets you go in increments, slowly so as not to jar you further, hands holding tight until the last moment when he forces them to unclench, let you go. “Don’t be afraid,” he says again. “You did nothing wrong. This was all me.” Your eyes are huge, but you’re not crying anymore, and that feels like victory to Joel, despite the rest, the only thing that matters.

You run from him after that, because of course you do. What’s the other option? That he’d keep you there in that dark restroom, from his son and your marriage and the world, forever? He clutches at his chest and is swallowed whole by his shame and his guilt, the terrible fear that he isn’t the sort of parent that can blindly see past their child’s faults, love them despite everything else, not the type of man who can keep himself from wanting something he shouldn’t, he hadn’t felt so when he’d kissed you with that sick desperation on his tongue. And once he hears the sound of a slamming car door, and Sam’s truck peeling out of the drive and speeding away, he takes out his hard cock and fucks his fist until the heat of his semen is sliding over his skin, a handful of pathetic strokes and the sound of your name almost like a sob in the dark.

You listen to the sound of his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, and your head feels like it’s breaking water, seeing clearly for the first time in years. It’s a rich parquet, gleaming in the dim light of the street lamp glow. You wonder if he installed it himself, like the wallpaper, proof of the care and attention to detail in his home. You think you would like to be cared for as such also. There’s a soft green throw draped over the back of the chocolate leather couch, and you dig your fingers into it, twisting amidst the knitted weave as you turn to face him, and he has that look in his eyes again, the one from before. The one like too much, too much, the one like fear and want. Stopping just in front of you, the tips of his bare toes meet the front of your shoes, and he reaches to drag the pad of his thumb over the high slope of your cheekbone, the fine skin catching beneath his calluses. “You’re too beautiful,” he says, and you wish it sounded like an accusation, but it doesn't, and you want to tell him you don’t believe him, just to be difficult, just to be contrary, but you know he’s not the sort of man that lies. It only sounds like praise. His eyes are so dark in the shadow of the house, the green and brown and caramel striations gone away in the night, and he’s shifting his jaw, chewing on a thought before he spits it out. His other hand comes up to gently, so gently cup the other side of your face, and he holds you there, just so, angling you this way and that, appraising you, chewing, chewing slowly. “Too beautiful – I never even stood a chance,” he says more to himself than to you. This is a man that does things with intention. This is a man that sees you as a complexity, as something more. This is a man. “He told me something – last time we saw each other.” Your heart beats painfully in your chest, you can feel it in your eyes and ears and the backs of your knees.

“What’s that?”

“That the two of you were havin’ problems. In– in the bedroom. That–”

You try and jerk away, but he holds you trapped. “Stop. Please. Don’t–”

“Is that all this is? Older man – want me to teach you somethin’?”

Cradled as you are, you close your eyes, brow folding in a frown, unable to refute him with a shake for the way he’s captured you. You bring your own hand up to circle his thick wrist, fingers not meeting around it. He has hair here, your palm slides further down, hair here too. All man, man, man. No longer in the hands of a boy, and you’re touching him. Now you’re touching him too. “That very first time I met you– I wondered what you’d taste like. How heavy you’d be inside of me. If you’d be rough, leave marks, or gentle. You know I– I wanted– If he hadn’t been there, if–” Now he’s the one that begs you to stop.

His hands on you are tighter now, almost strangling, squeezing a moan out of you. “Are you going to tell him?” His grip goes loose again, caressing. “ If we do this– are you going to use this against him? It’s yours to do with as you will, I just want to know beforehand. It won't change the way I have you tonight.”

“Only tonight?” Your voice sounding strange, hungry.

His eyes move entirely around your face, taking you in, held as you are. His gaze is manic, fevered, but his words are slow, stacked one on top of the other for you. “No. No, I don’t think it’ll only be tonight.”

“I’m not going to use this against him.” For the first time in two years, what you’re doing, the decisions you’re making, have nothing to do with your ex-husband. This is only for you. Joel is only for you.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks for the last time.

“To be good,” you finally say, and the rough sound he makes, the flush you can faintly see crawling up the column of his throat, it has a painful knot of want tightening your cunt, the wet drip of slick pooling in your panties, all hot and bruised feeling on the inside.

He lets his hands slide slowly from your face to hang loosely by his sides, and you take it as your invitation to touch him as you like now. He’s so much taller than you, your neck craning back to look up at his face. You start there, the crest of his cheek, the strong, curved nose, plush mouth that looks specifically made for kissing a cunt until it cries. He makes your thoughts feel savage, he makes you feel like something you’ve never been before. “You’re just a little girl, aren’t you?” He says softly. Your hands move down to his thick neck, and you try and cage him there, hands too small to circle him entirely, the insinuation of a strangling. Too small, too small, too small. You shake your head, mesmerized by the contradiction of your small fragility trying to capture all that strength held inside of him. You look up at his eyes, holding him around the throat as you are, and shake your head. You’re not. “Then what are you?”

“I don’t know. I want you to show me.” And that does something to him. You see the change come over him in that very moment, something chimeral in the change your words provoke. He’s made of nothing but vibrational restraint, giving you your moment of peace to explore him as you need to before he takes you for himself. You’re almost certain you can hear the sound of him grinding his molars to dust inside his mouth. And you want him to show you, it’s the truth. As wrong or whatever it is that it may be, it’s your truth. You’d always felt like you’d done being a woman the wrong way, a grating way, an unappealing way, but you didn’t want to be unappealing or wrong. You only wanted to be yourself. And worst of all, you’d been made to feel like that, over and over again, by the man who should have done nothing but the opposite. And you know it might be bad now, to want to be shown or that there was no right way, but still, but still, you want it. You would still like for someone, for Joel, to teach you how to be better, how to be good. Was that really so bad?

Your hands slide down to the thick muscles of his chest, thumbs dipping into the dents of his collarbones, lower to the soft of his belly, the edge of his jeans. The both of you are trembling now, you in lust, desperation, him in restraint maybe. There are beads of sweat dampening the curls at his temples. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Do you think so?”

He nods, but he’s cupping your elbows in his big hands anyway, pulling you towards him so that your breasts graze the top of his belly. “But we’re doin’ it anyway.” You go up on your tiptoes, hand cupping the sharp edge of his jaw to pull him down towards you, and he’s like a leashed wolf; heavy, hot breaths fanning across your face, and he slowly does as you bid, mint, mixed with something sharp like whiskey. He’s watching you so intently, watching to see what you’ll do with him, but your eyes are only on that soft wet mouth. You want his tongue inside of you, and that first press is so, so soft, barely there. A sound like dying, you can’t tell who it comes from, another soft brush, and you’re taking his top lip between both of yours, sucking on it lightly, hands snaking over his thick shoulders to bring yourself up closer so that he’s finally wrapping his arms around you, pressing you tightly to himself, belly to belly. He still hasn’t closed his eyes, he’s still watching you, and your heart is beating so fast and so hard and you want this so much that you’re sure he can feel it reverberating into his own chest cavity, spurring his own beating muscle on. You press another tiny kiss to his full, open mouth. “I’m scared,” you whisper onto his tongue, and he smoothes a staying hand down your spine, settling over the curve of your ass and squeezing there, holding you in his snare. He’s barely even touched you, and yet, you already know that no one else has ever been like this.

“That’s alright. Got nothin’ to be scared of – I’m gonna be so gentle with you, baby.”

“I’m not your baby,” hint of an obstinate, provoking whine in your voice.

“But that’s what you are.” He changes the angle of his descent, and now he’s the one moving in for another tiny kiss. “Just a little baby.”

“And I don’t want it gentle.”

“You’ll take it how I say. How ‘bout that?” Another kiss, and now the taste of his tongue. You’d never forgotten it, the slick, hot slide of it, from that other time. He licks into you, takes away your ability to talk. In a single blink of an eye, less than a second’s thought, he’s taken all control from you, made the game his own, and now you’ve finally gotten what you’d come here for. Now you can finally say it out loud. He wraps a massive fist around the length of your hair and eats at your mouth, makes it his more than it’s ever been yours. All tongue and teeth and wet spit, the sound of his pleasure for you vibrating in your ears, and there is it, the pressure of his hard cock as he slides his hand lower, between your legs to feel the heat and damp of the pussy that’s wet only for him, pulls you further into himself. The heft of the bulge has you whining and squirming in his hold, clawing at his shoulders and the skin of his neck to climb up the length of him, get closer, get more. You want that cock, you want it inside of you, filling you with its weight and its come. You’ve wanted it from the first time you’d met him as his daughter-in-law, standing beside his son in the place of his wife. You’d wanted his cock more than you’d ever wanted his sons, and you’re only ashamed that you’re not ashamed at all. And he tastes that desperation on you, nips at your lip with a gruff settle, a little yank of your hair to tug your head back and unlatch his mouth from yours, sliding in a wet trail to your neck, settle, settle. He bites at the line of your throat, hard. Sucks even harder, leaves a mark, leaves a claim he wasn’t able to last time. The deeply rumbled sound that comes from him attests to his intention and your answering, whimpered mewl is nothing but a cry for more; I know, baby, I know, he whispers into your ear. His mouth moves down your chest, pulling the already stretched neck of your pullover wider to nuzzle at the deep groove of your cleavage. You want to ask him if he’s worried, guilty, if he’s wanted you for as long as you wanted him, if he was hard when you kissed him that night in his little wallpapered restroom, but then the heat of his mouth is clamping around your nipple and sucking, wetting the fabric of your top with his tongue, biting down at your breast, the sharp of his teeth clamping down around your sensitive flesh, nothing but your soft sleep bra beneath to protect you. You yank hard at his messy curls, trying to pull his punishing teeth away and pull yourself closer, all at the same time. His eyes flash up to yours, mouth latched at your breast, cheeks hollowing as he takes a hard, wet pull and there’s laughter in his gaze, hot and bright and infectious. “I’ll be gentle, but I’m not gonna be nice, baby.” He nuzzles into the wet spot left behind, presses another kiss, soft and conciliatory now over your throbbing nipple. “You want me to be nice? Want me to be nice to this little pussy?” He rubs the flat of his fingers over that desperate place between your legs as he turns to walk the two of you back towards the front of the sofa. There’s no response to be given, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He turns to sit, pulling you to remain standing between his spread thighs, hands wrapped around your hips. “Gotta use your words, pretty baby. I wanna hear what you want.”

“I want whatever you want. I want it however you want it,” you say through your flush and your shyness. You want to be honest, not a liar here in this moment with him.

He lets his head fall forward to rest against your lower belly, nuzzles there, and you hear his whispered, Jesus, fuck, before he pulls back to look up at you, drags his palms down the back of your legs all the way to your ankles, nudging your shoes and socks off, and then sliding all the way back up, scratchy calluses making you shiver until he reaches the edge of your shorts and tucks the tips of his fingers there. “Take your shirt off,” he says gently, and you only pause for a second of timidity before you’re pulling it over your head, left only in your soft pink sleep bra not intended for the eyes of ex-father-in-law’s you’ve come to seduce. Your shyness flushes higher, burning your face, sprouting beads of embarrassed sweat at the nape of your neck. He untucks his fingers from the waistband of your shorts, smoothing his palms up the slopes of your curves, thumbs dragging up the plane of your belly, dipping into the dent of your navel to reach up and squeeze your breasts tight in his big hands, then pulls the straps down over your shoulders, the bra down over the curves of your breasts to leave them bare and heavy. And his eyes never leave yours as he gets you naked for himself, fingers sliding down your sides now to pull your shorts and panties and the scrunched bra down, the flush in his face deepening, heightening even though he’s yet to look at you. Don’t be scared, he whispers again, shaking his head a little when you wrap your arms around your breasts, trying to hide yourself away from him. When he’s taken your shorts from you, gripping each ankle to help you step out of their circle, he finally looks at you, takes in the entire bare expanse of your naked body, gently prying your arms from your breasts. “Lemme see, lemme see, you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby.” He runs his hands all over you, the slope of your belly, lifts the weights of your tits in his palms to let them fall and sway heavily, down the outsides of your thighs and back up and around to squeeze the lush of your ass. He pulls you further towards him with that clutch on you and presses his nose into the apex of your thighs, nuzzles at the soft thatch of curls there, brings his thumb up to pet at it and breathes deep. “I like this – so pretty,” he tells you again. If it was possible for a person to die of shyness you surely would in this moment, but this was what you’d come here for, this was what you hadn’t been able to say out loud. He presses his nose there again, takes another deep breath, and then starts to mouth wetly, pressing soft kisses and then the wet of his tongue, licking and parting at your slick seam. He groans so deep it sends you to shivering, hands coming up to cover your face, to hide away from that sound of lust, the feral look in his eyes when he looks up at you with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. He starts to lap at you in earnest, closing his eyes in sheer enjoyment as he pets at your clit with his tongue, shifting his angle this way and that to get at you more deeply. He pulls one of your feet up onto the edge of the sofa to open you, and you’re jostled forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulder as he spreads and eats you. His hand on your ass shifts lower, searching for your opening from behind and starts to pet at you there too so that he’s coming at you from the front and the back, and it’s too much, his sucking mouth and probing fingers. Your standing leg buckles, and he’s forced to pull his mouth from you, steady you. You let your knees give out slowly, coming to a folded kneel between his legs. He leans forward, mouth glossy with your slick and pulls your face to his, chin pinched between his fingers to kiss you, and the taste of you on his tongue sets something off within you.

Suddenly, your shy insecurity doesn't really matter as much with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. You surge up on your knees, pressing closer to him, pulling him to you with your arms twisted around his neck, moaning into his mouth as you taste the sweet muskiness on his tongue. Like kindling catching fire in your veins you start to claw at him, pulling at his clothes, his hair, scratching at his skin. He half pulls you up and on top of him, your steaming hot form, entirely bare and naked on top of his clothed one. You can feel the heft of his cock against your belly, grinding there, trying to find whatever friction possible, and he makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, pushing you back down onto the floor and pulling back to open his jeans. He’s panting and sweating, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a bright red. He wants you just as much as you want him. And it’s bad, it’s bad and wrong to compare, God knows, but when he finally pulls his cock out, he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, you know that this is a man unlike your husband ever was; long and thick, fucking big, swollen, flushed tip peaking out from soft surrounding skin, leaking a clear slick of drool. He takes it out and sits back, pushing his hips forward to settle into his seat and stretches his long legs on either side of you. You listen to the sound of the scooting coffee table as he shoves it back with his foot. His cock arches obscenely from his open jeans, and you reach up slowly, a little intimidated, to circle it with your fingers delicately. “You’re so hard,” you whisper.

He drags a gentle hand over the crown of your head, pulling the hair tie from your ponytail as he goes. “This is how much I want you. This is all you.” He circles his big hand around your much smaller one, squeezes his big cock tighter with both of your hands, and you flush with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. You can make a man hard, the proof is right here in front of you.

He’s uncut, and that’s doubly intimidating. “I’ve never seen one like that,” he pulls your hand up slowly with his, squeezes and twists hard at the sticky wet tip.

“It’s okay, baby,” he croons, looking down at you with a maniacal sort of glint in his eyes. “Just open your mouth,” he wraps his other hand around your jaw, “You don’t need to see it if it’s inside you,” wedges his fingers between your molars over the skin of your cheeks, prying your mouth open. You bend your head forward, tongue hanging out, and he taps the heavy weight of his cock there, jostles the wet tip slightly from side to side, the wet sticky sound of it has your pussy clenching around terrible emptiness. He slides his hand up your cheek, twists his fingers through your hair and directs you how he wants you, slides his cock further back on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him, give him your first real suck, tongue swirling gently around the fat head. Pulling back with a sharp hollowing of your cheeks, he squeezes his fist around yours almost painfully, and you press an open mouthed kiss at the spongey tip, gently tonguing the slit, lapping at it with the flat of your tongue like a little kitten. The sight of you licking his dick has him groaning, bearing the white line of his teeth at you.

“You taste so good,” you say up at him with big wet eyes, “Like I always imagined you would.”

“Fuck–” he snarls, “Killin’ me,” and he’s jerking you up off the floor roughly, pulling your knees apart to settle you in a straddle on his lap, pressing you close with a hand on your ass so that the wet heat of your cunt is meeting the heat of his cock. The both of you groan like it hurts, like you’ve been waiting for this for longer than is right, and he pulls your mouth back to his, wet and messy, sucking on your tongue, gripping your hair so tightly, your eyes smart and water. You claw at his shirt, pulling it up, trying to get at his skin, and he pulls back suddenly, frustratedly ripping it over his head, and then coming back to your mouth, single minded in his dedication to having the taste of you on his tongue. You try and grind down on him, but he hitches you up higher so your breasts are level with his face. “This’ll be over ‘fore it’s even begun if we’re not careful,” he laughs as he settles you, cunt leaking against his stomach and turning the hair there sticky sweet with your slick, and slots his hand between your thighs, gives you something to rub yourself against while he kisses you. “Oh, baby, you’ve got the wettest little cunt,” he says between kisses, lips sliding down to suck at your neck, lifting your breast to his mouth to lick and bite at your swollen nipple.

And past sense, past restraint, you beg: “I want your cock, please, I want it so badly.”

“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Not yet. You’re not ready.”

You whine and beg that you are, you promise you are, but he only sucks at your tits harder, presses his hand harder between your thighs, and you can literally hear the wet squelch of your pussy as you ride his palm, your clit grinding against his belly on the forward slide as you work yourself up into a frenzy, wet whimpers and a pathetic little tear or two slipping out in your frustration to come. Need you nice and soft to take me, sweetheart, he murmurs into the tender skin beneath your chin, but he decides to be kind, crooking his finger just so that it brushes up against your clit, setting off a shivery little orgasm fluttering through your belly. He laughs softly, humoring the silly little thing wiggling around in his lap that’s so desperate to come, decides to be kinder halfway through your orgasm and starts to slowly press a single thick finger into your hungry, clenching hole. Shit, you hear his curse, while you moan and cry into his shoulder, mouthing and biting at the sun freckled golden skin there, gnawing on him like some rabid thing. And then he says, a little teasing: “Just from this, huh? Just from a little wiggling around on daddy’s lap?” sending a wash of agonized relief through you as he wedges a second one of those thick, thick fingers inside to stretch you further. It’s what you’d wanted to call him from the first moment. Just one more thing said out loud. You nod your head against his shoulder, a whine and a breath and daddy, daddy, daddy, as he stretches you; make that sound again, he begs and pets and coos at you, yes, yes, I could come from that sound alone, gives you all the patience you’d always needed. “Look at all this slick you’ve made to take my big cock in your little cunt, baby. What a good girl you are.” He twists his wrist, fucks space into you with his fingers, “You’re so fuckin’ tiny – how’re you gonna take me in this little thing, huh?” He bites down on your soft breast, encourages the sway of your hips with his fingers hooked inside of you. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” presses a kiss to your forehead, scratchy beard against the sensitive skin there, gently stroking you into another orgasm around his fingers, petting at something raw and bruised feeling inside of you, sending you to tears.

He pulls his fingers from you slowly once you’re done, leaving your body to tighten and gape around terrible emptiness, and you feel the wet smear of your come on your asscheek where he grips you, searches and pets your asshole to slick it with your wet. “You want daddy to fix you?” He says then, “Want me to make you all better? S’what you want, right?”

You nod slowly, sniffle, “Make me good,” you mumble into his neck.

“But you’re already good,” and he takes away all your choices, the ability to argue or refute, “You’re already so good. A perfect, gorgeous girl.” Kindling in your veins, madness, something more desperate than anything else you’ve ever felt in your entire life, true hunger. Worse than your desire for your father to understand you, to love you, to not be angry, your fight to keep a husband that would have never stayed. You reach for his cock, trying to impale yourself on it blindly, shifting to press the hot, blunt head at your wet opening. He moans like a dying man, “Wait– wait, lemme get a condom.” He sounds like he’s begging.

“No, please, now.”

“Fuck– fuck, you’re so eager to jump on my bare cock without a rubber or anything.” But it’s only because no one has ever touched you like this, and when he grips the thick root of his cock and notches it as your cunt, pushes inside slowly, you realize he’s doing it in a way that makes you understand the difference between the man and the boy.

“I need to feel your skin,” you sound like you’re begging now too. Sighing in relief when he starts to stretch you, when it starts to hurt. It’s slow going, fitting the largeness of his body into your much smaller one. But his hands are steady and soothing as he works you down another inch, another, let’s you fuck yourself on his cock. Murmured praises and all of his desire for you and yeah, just like that, take daddy’s cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, holds you down, presses and grinds there, thick tip made fatter by his foreskin kissing your cervix. Finally, he pulls you back by the hair, and your father-in-law’s cock is inside of you. “Want you to look at me while I teach you how to fuck– how to take a cock,” because he knows, because he’s always known, had the gross ability to read you exactly as you are. He shifts his hips back, presses up, up, up, inside of you, and his eyes are so beautiful, and he teaches you how to take a cock, not a little girl now, only a woman. You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss his face, lick his tongue, nibble on his ears, feel him all over, he’s all over and everywhere, and it should maybe be humiliating, riding the cock that made the man that was your husband, it should feel wrong or something like a sin, but it only feels, instead, like it was made for you. Like this is where you should have been all along. Once you’ve adjusted, he grips your hips tight and harsh, makes your skin smart enough you know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers and pounds up into you, the slick slide of your cunt sucking him deeper, taking him as hard as he wants to give it to you, swollen and sensitive, squeezes your ass and grunts and moans and says, yeah, baby, bounce on this fat cock, like it’s the only thing you’d ever have to do for the rest of your life. You wish it was. And the sounds he makes, that’s what really makes you come again, what sets off your orgasm while you’re riding him – the desperate, rough sounds of a man fucking up into a tight, hot cunt that’s wet only for him. It coils in you so tight it hurts, it hurts, and then goes loose and fluttery, pussy flooding around his thrusting length. You can’t even moan, mouth hanging open, proably drooling a little, probably crying a little, nothing but hot air and wet and not a little girl anymore, only a woman, and he doesn’t gentle, fucks you harder, rougher, squeezes your ass and chases his own orgasm. His thrusts going sloppy and uneven, his moans turning to cracked whimpers.

“I’m not on birth control… but– but my period’s soon,” you whisper into his ear, and he makes a noise not wholly human, going still for a moment, throbbing inside you, thinking, thinking of the risk, decides he doesn’t give a fuck by the murmured, fuck it, I have to, and starts to move again, harder, hurting on every punch up against the mouth of your womb. I have to, is what he says, and that settles something inside of you. “Gonna come in this pretty, tight cunt. Gonna make it all mine.” You decide you don’t really give a fuck either. “Make daddy come. Squeeze down on daddy’s cock – yeah, just like that. You wanted to play at being the big girl? Now m’gonna treat you like one – gonna fuck you full, baby.” And you’re nothing but want and yes and please and thank you, daddy. And that first spurt, that hurts too, burns you, changes something inside of you that you know will never go back to the way it was before. You’ll want that hurt for the rest of your life, and you won’t ever be able to forget it, and it might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but the heat of it spurs on another small orgasm of your own, jars you with the swell and throb of his cock, fills you till the come from your cunt is leaking down onto his slick balls and the leather beneath. And he holds you through the whole thing, stroking and squeezing and tasting, taking sips of your mouth, pressing his breath back into you, breathing life into you. No longer a ghoul in the night either. You feel him go soft and yet still heavy inside, a muted bruise against your womb, sighing frequently as you settle, little kittenish sounds that have his spent cock stirring lazily inside of you while you leak and leak and leak and go drowsy and then just on this side of fully asleep.

“Are you okay?” You remember to ask in a small voice while his fingers play gently in the wet where you’re connected.

He makes a soft sound, like he’s humoring you, like you’ve surprised him. “Course I’m okay,” presses a kiss to your forehead.

When he shifts you off of him to stand, a protesting whine at the back of your throat, he shucks his jeans off with a soft grunt, finally as naked as you’ve been the whole time, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs, shiny with your cunt as you stare up at him while he looks down at you. Afraid for a brief uncertain second before he’s lifting you in his arms, and when he carries you to his bed after, you feel terribly like a child. Again that naivety, that hope, but it isn't a bad thing, here and now with him. Not something to be used against you, not a bruise or a wound or a lost limb, and you haven’t failed at being good because he’s already made you so.

You’re pressed right up beneath his chin when he wakes up. Your soft, warm form all along his side, lush tits and the vulnerable slope of your belly against his skin, and it feels so intimate, entirely twined around him as you are. He brings his palm up to cup the small bowl of your skull, and in the hushed morning light, your mistake breathes life into the world. Joel has always been a hard man. Joel has always been a hard man, but never weak, and certainly, not good, per se, but never cruel. But there’s something like weakness, there’s something that should be like cruelty here, waking up with you bare, still leaking his spend in his bed, and Joel can’t tell if that weakness, that cruelty is his, born of him or of his own making, he only knows that it should be here, probably is here. It’s difficult to gauge the moral acumen of what he should or should not be feeling when he has you like this beside him. And most confusing of all, that it actually feels nothing like a mistake. Only like it was always meant to happen, and now it finally has.

He’d come inside of you, worst of all, sense gone away in the night, couldn’t claim exemption from weakness now, filled you until you’d leaked down his balls, the woman who’d been the wife of his son, and he should feel guilty, he should feel disgusted with himself. A betrayer of his own child. But all he feels is that he needs it again. That he needs you again. That if he could, he’d keep you.

Joel had never wanted children. The thought or desire had never really crossed his mind… and yet– You make a sweet little keening sound in your throat right before you open your eyes, and he feels the stretch and wiggle of your little toes against his shins, the flutter of your long lashes against the tip of his chin. “Good morning.” Soft hand coming up to cover his mouth, hold him in place while you wiggle and slither all over him.

“How do you feel?” He’d expected you to be shy, regretful, nervous waking up, and to find you entirely not, to get to wake up to you like this, soft and warm and lovely in his bed smelling of his come and his sweat, smiling that pretty little smile; it’s the mightiest sort of victory. You drape yourself on top of him, all soft limbs and softer tits, and the heat of your cunt pressed against his belly as you nuzzle into his chest hair. You’re different now, compared to before, that exhaustion he’d sensed is closer to the surface now, more easily visible, as if your body’s been collecting it, pulling it from the depths of you, getting ready to finally expel it. But there’s a clarity about you now too, you’re tired, but you’re also more yourself. Or on your way there. So lovely it hurts, vulnerable and fragile but entirely yourself. Afraid too, he can tell, because it’s your right to be afraid, because it’s normal, because we’re all afraid sometimes. “Sore?” Another nuzzle, and then, settling on your cheek to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes that’d damned him from the very first moment.

“Just a little.”

“You did so well last night,” he pets your hair slowly. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you.” And oh, you like that. Blooming, the temperature in your body seeming to spike suddenly, suffusing all your limbs, radiating from your belly. Shifting and squirming on top of him. His half hard erection, trapped between the two of you, aching already, and you try and rub yourself all along its length, hitching a knee up by his hip to open yourself. He gives you a rough sound to settle, but you want something from him now, trying to rub your wet pussy all over him. If he was younger, a man of less control, he’d be fucking into you already and without thought. “It’s time for listening now, little girl.” He grips your hair tightly, tilting your face up to look at him, uncurls his fingers to cup the small bowl of your skull and hold you in place. “Sometimes people need time, sometimes they need us to be patient with them, wait for them. That’s what you needed, and there ain’t anything wrong with that. And you’re not gonna feel bad or less for getting there a little more slowly than others. Everything comes in its due time, and that’s okay.” You’re staring up at him, wide eyed, something like fear or panic, but you’re going to listen to him if it’s the last thing he does. He fists your hair again, gently forces your head into a nod. “Agree with me now. Say yes.”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper very softly, pressing up to peck him lightly on the mouth. He catches you by the nape, a kitten picked up by the scruff, and holds you there, immediately turns the kiss wet and savage. You feel, so much, like you’re his, and this terrifies Joel. You aren’t his to keep, he knows this. He is not unaware of what’s happening here, of the consequences. He is not delusional about how this will end. But still, but still, you feel like his.

You’re back to you’re squirming now, whines and pleading moans as you try and rub yourself against his cock, and he reaches down to cup you, gently fingering at your folds, feeling the havoc he’d wrought on your pussy last night. “You’re so swollen, baby. Can’t fuck you again so soon.”

“Please, daddy, please, please. I can take it, I promise.”

“Not gonna hurt my soft little cunt.” The start of another whine, but he cuts you off, gives you a staying look, cranes his neck to lick into your mouth. “I’m not.”

“I want you so badly. I want you to make me come.” Tiny kisses and kitten licks to his jaw and throat. There’s fire in his belly, cock throbbing something fierce. He grips beneath your knee, opens your leg and pulls back to slot his cock between your thighs, up against your slick, swollen cunt, then presses your thighs closed back together tightly.

“Just like this – how ‘bout that?” He says as he starts to thrust up slowly against your pussy, trying to keep his movements gentle, careful not to hurt you. He runs his palms along the length of you, squeezes your tits and pinches and plucks at your swollen, sucked dark nipples. The signs of him are all over your body, and it makes him something like wild, infuses him with something like madness. Joel has never felt like this about any woman, ever. And to have it be you – to have this happen to him with you, there is something like weakness and like cruelty here. He needs to keep his head on straight. Remember what can and cannot be. He squeezes your ass tightly, digs his short-shorn fingernails into your soft cheeks, brings one hand up to get his fingertips spit slick, and then pulls your cheeks apart again to pet at your asshole. His gut goes tight and fire hot, he wants to fuck you here too. He wants all of you to be only his, his, fucking his. You hitch your hips in a desperate little arc as he presses gently on the tight ring of muscle, teasing you. “You like that?” He gruffs. “Want me to fill your little ass too, sweet girl?”

Yes, daddy, and he’s sure those must be the greatest words ever uttered to any man in all history.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he says while you sing and moan for him. “When I touch you like this,” he moves down to the wet mouth of your cunt, taps on it gently, “And like this,” further, a flutter at your clit while he fucks between your thighs, “And the way you cry when you come for me,” back up to press at your asshole again. “Will you do it for me again?” Christ, he’s going to end up taking you if he doesn’t stop, and he will not hurt you. With a rough sound of frustration, he flips the two of you over suddenly, laying you flat, kneeing your thighs open wide and spread for him. He shakes his head down at you, squeezes his eyes shut because the sight of your bare tits and messy hair and swollen lips, cock hungry blurry eyes, isn’t helping his restraint. “Gotta stop provokin’ me.”

“But it’s so fun, daddy,” you whine, arching to brush your breasts up against his chest. He lets his head fall, opens his mouth wide and takes the whole, heavy weight of your tit into his mouth, sucks hard, bites soft, switches to the other one, gives it the opposite. He pulls back then, going to his knees between your spread thighs and holds you open for inspection. Cunt all red and swollen and shiny with slick just for him. He’s sure if he pressed his fingers inside he’d be able to feel the slippery slide of his semen still. Another shake of his head, and he runs his palms down the soft of your thighs, cups the round of your knees in his palms. You jerk the right one back when he squeezes you there, and he fingers the sore spot, “What’s this from?” bends forward to press a soft kiss to the small hurt.

“I was in a rush last night,” you say shyly.

“Rush for what, silly girl? I was right here waitin’ for ya.” Your face does a little spasm at that, confused and vulnerable and then maybe even a little hurt, brow crumpling, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When they spring open again, they’re feverish, “Please, please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t–”

“Quit.” He pinches the inner slope of your thigh. “Not gonna convince me to hurt you.” You moan, frustrated and wanton, on the verge of tears, petulant and trying to twist away from him, but he traps you in place, stretches himself over you, propped up by one thick arm, and you drag your palms all down the length of his chest and belly. He squeezes your jaw with his other hand, pries you wide, “Open, lemme see.” He tilts your face this way and that, inspecting the wet gleam of your mouth, your little tongue and shiny, white teeth.

“Wha’re y’lookin’ for?” You mumble with your jaw wedged open, eyes comically large.

“Hmm, wonderin’ what it’d look like filled with my come,” he says with a laugh. He feels like a teenage boy, all the excitement of discovering sex with a woman for the first time. And it makes his stomach hurt a little bit, his heart pinch in fear. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, widening the angle, “You think my cock’ll fit in that little throat?” And you moan, eyes fluttering shut, writhing beneath him, begging for it, a garbled groan that sounds something like please, let’s find out. “Dunno… should we?” He let’s go of your face, goes back to his kneeling position between your legs, and finally gives his aching cock the relief of his fist squeezing tightly around it. He could come just from the sight of you, he’s sure, is just there on the edge already. He squeezes hard, almost painful at the root, sliding up dry, scratchy calluses catching at the soft skin around his head to make it hurt and sting, strangling the heat he feels pooling at the base of his spine and in his balls. He smiles at the memory of your wide, comically shocked eyes when you’d realized he was uncircumcised. I’ve never seen one like that before, and all he’d stupidly wanted to say was that you’d never see any other ever again. Ridiculous.

He drags his thumb over the head of his cock, through the sticky drool of precum there, then reaches to pet through your slick soaked folds, parting you down the middle. You watch him with wide, wet eyes, as he pops his thumb into his mouth, humming around your combined tastes. “You wanna taste how good we are?” All you’re able to manage is an open mouthed nod. He leans forward and over you again, “Open,” he orders, and spits onto your waiting tongue, hand clamped around her jaw. “Close now – swallow. How’s that taste?” He asks when you obey so nicely. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw shifting from side to side as you savor the taste of your shared want for each other.

“S’good. Want more.” You look back up at him, mouth open, and nothing in his whole life has been scarier than this. Not even a twenty something year old son, who should have been a man, but was still nothing but a child in such desperate need of his father, showing up on his doorstep one day out of the blue. There should be guilt in that Sam-shaped spot inside his chest, he’s sure of it, and maybe there is, maybe there’s a bitter ribbon of guilt threaded all the way through him, but it’s also entirely overpowered, overshadowed by the desire he feels for the little girl splayed out beneath him. He pulls back again, tries to temper the rising heat in his core, takes hold of his cock again and starts to slowly jack himself. “Finger that little pussy, lemme see. Be gentle with her.” But he grips your hand right as your fingertips are about to make contact with your glossy folds and brings them to his mouth, spit slicking them, there you go, before giving them back. You play in your wet, watching mesmerized as he slowly jerks himself off to the sight of you, circling your swollen clit, thrumming at it gentle, gentle, be soft with her, petting at the leaking mouth, winking at him, begging to be filled. He shifts closer, squeezing and twisting at his tip, pulling the skin back to make the bulbous dark head bulge. He wants it to hurt, he deserves for it to hurt. You watch the rough handling of himself like you’ve never seen anything like it before, head tilted on your neck so your cheek is squished against your shoulder to get a clear view of what he’s doing to himself. “You want it so bad,” he teases, and you nod, looking back up at his eyes. He shifts forward a little closer so that the backs of his knuckles are brushing up against your sex now, wet and sticky, and you let your fingers trail up his wrist, his forearm, while he quickens his pace, moves against you, over himself. You spread yourself a little wider, bringing your knees up higher to your chest, opening yourself for him, and he pulls his hips back a little, you want to come, he can see it in your eyes, you’re almost there, presses the tip to your wet clit, slides down the to the hungry mouth, circles, circles there, presses just a tiny bit. You’re nodding your head up at him, goading him on, please, please, just do it, please. “Not gonna,” he gruffs. “Not gonna convince me.”

“You’re so mean,” you cry, arching your hips, writhing, trying to find firmer pressure.

“Didn’t I tell ya last night I wasn’t gonna be nice?” But he takes pity on you, presses the fat head just a little harder, gives you just the tip, grinding breathlessly against it, popping it in and out of your hot little cunt. “Better?” His whole body feels like one boiling vat of hot blood, sweaty and desperate, grunting, more animal than a man. “Gotta come just like this.” He quickens the jerk of his fist, bumping it into your clit on the slide forward, watches the stretch of your cunt taking just the first inch of him. He feels unhinged, thinks for one second of just fucking all the way in, hearing the sound of your cry as you take the hurt. He has to be able to do this all again, entirely, have you again the whole way “God, baby,” he groans, “You’re gonna let me fuck this tiny little pussy again, right? Tell me you’re going to let me fill it with my cock again?”

Please, please, daddy. Please. “Just do it now.” Joel doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything like the sound of you begging for his cock, anything as pretty, ever. “I– I need to–”

“I know what you need, baby. Just let daddy put his come in you, and then I’ll take care of you.” He’s just there, one last harsh squeeze and twist, and there’s warmth flooding his cock and balls as he starts to come for you, covering the entirety of your sex with his white milky spend, groaning like he’s dying. He pulls his hand from his spent cock, smearing his semen into your skin, little begging whimpers of his name and daddy, please from your mouth, and he spreads your legs and lowers his mouth to your swollen sex, eats his own come out of your cunt, pressing two fingers inside, slow and gentle as he can, to give you something to bear down on. He laps softly at your clit, soothing the ache, eats you until you’re going tight as a fist, cunt sucking his fingers as deep as it can and gushing all over his face, slick pooling in his palm where he laps and slurps at it when he’s unlatched his mouth from your pulsing clit.

“I don’t think I can stay away from you,” he tells you later, while he dresses you slowly, sits you on the bathroom counter and brushes your teeth for you with his own toothbrush and combs the knots and gnarls out of your hair. Holds your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand as he drags a warm washcloth over your sweaty face.

“Don’t want you to stay away,” you say in a small voice as you paw at his chest, twisting his t-shirt in little grabby fingers, pulling him into the cradle of your hips with sharp heels at the small of his back; needy, needy, needy thing. And worst of all, a sick part of him, something bitter sitting heavily on his tongue, wants to be the thing you need, the thing you’re desperate for, the thing you cry those pretty tears for. He’s weak now, he is. Joel finds in himself that he does have the capacity to be a weak man when the moment demands it of him. He shucks the washcloth into the sink, cups your face in his hands like something precious. He’d said once you were a gift, he’s sure of this now more than ever.

And he tells you, because he knows he must: “We can fuck, but we’re not allowed to fall in love,” and tells himself that he only imagines the glint of defiance in your eyes when he says it.

- That meeting in the dark had stayed with you, the sound of his voice telling you to leave his son, that you deserved better. The sound of his kindness, you’d stretched toward it like a flower seeking the light, the singular attention of a man like that. You’d gone over the memory of it over and over again in your mind, worn the edges of it until it was faded and worn. And when Sam had served you the divorce papers, and you’d all but gotten on your knees and begged him to please, please, stay, please, don’t leave me alone, that sound of kindness had been what you’d clung to through all the rest. That terrible clamor of failure and abandonment and not good enough, his kindness had remained, and you’re sure now, that it had brought you here too, to his home, to his bed, into his arms. This was where you’d always been meant to end up, perhaps, even from that first moment you’d met Sam all those years ago on the college green, in the arms of his father. Nothing could feel wrong after kismet like that, even if you weren’t allowed to fall in love.

Part III

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bakugoushotwife · 7 months

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kinktober day twelve: threesome kink

>>> brain go brrrr! i can only write a stsg threesome i swear it's bad these days. i just love this dynamic so bad and am clinically addicted omfg i hope u all love it as bad as i do--it is officially the longest piece thus far

>>> starring: satoru gojo x curvy!fem!reader x suguru geto >>> cw: mfm threesome, m/m interaction, fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! receiving), spitroasting, reverse cowgirl, double penetration (same hole), overstimulation, hard dom!geto, pleasure dom!gojo, switch gojo, switch reader, squirting, creampie(s). >>> wc: 5.3k >>> event masterlist

he’s not sure when things changed. he’d always seen you in one light, he thought: his friend, his teammate, and a powerful sorceress that made the group a triple threat. you were easy to get along with and impressive to work alongside. you were also funny and had the same taste in music as him, which was a method of bonding during your early years of school. and sure, you were also insanely beautiful, but it was inappropriate for him to have a crush on his classmate. besides, yaga says it’s best not to intermingle with other sorcerers anyways. it would only complicate things, especially as you grow to be closer friends. so geto dated around to distance himself beyond missions and tried to to forget the butterflies your smile gave him for the sake of your group. with his luck, you were probably into satoru anyway.

he’s always been in love with you, he thinks, but enjoyed playing hard to get. unlike suguru, he didn’t shy away from spending time with you. he loved to follow you around campus with his arm hooked around your waist, all big grins and pick up lines that made you roll your eyes every time. he was able to play it off on his nature, claiming that annoying you was worth every extra second of his time. he was all too fond of your amazing skill and intellect, your immense beauty and body for days was only an added benefit. gojo made it a point to train with you exclusively, something that brought the two of you closer and allowed you to see the serious side of one of your best friends. he could never bring himself to make a real move. with his luck, you were probably into suguru anyway—like everyone else.

this delicate balance continued through the rest of your years at jujutsu tech and into your young adult years. the strongest, the curse-eater, and the girl that captured both of their hearts–and connected theirs to each other. gojo was able to satiate himself on his little touches and glimpses of your flustered smiles, shamelessly jerking off at night to the daydreams he has of his precious little girl best friend bouncing on his cock and moaning his name. geto tries to delude himself into feeling like a protective older brother, making it his job to monitor your safety and suitors. but no matter how much he tries, his hand still finds his cock in the comfort of his own bed in the middle of the night, shamefully pleasuring himself to the idea of having your body rocking beneath him and his hand around your neck.

everything gets worse—or better, depending on who you ask— when you all move in together. it was gojo’s idea, claiming his home was too big for just one singular man. so of course he would invite you to come live with him, he hoped to make you woman of the house at some point in the future anyway, so why not now? he extends the same invitation to his other best friend, only because he knows geto would kill him for taking you for himself. the men were close, closer than most friends in multiple ways, so it was no mystery that their shared crush on you eventually became common knowledge. neither of them minded the competition, seemingly convinced he would win your heart on his own before the other could do the same—or in the worst case scenario they would share you! (and whose idea do you think that was?)

but they had to up the ante.

it started small, geto dropped all his flings, even earning a few comments from you about how lonely he must be with his lack of company these days. he always chuckles and give you that suave smile of his, purring out a it’s time i get serious with a wink. he offered to make dinner nightly, making sure the brunt of housework didn’t fall on you since you were already on laundry duty. he always gave you rather selfish relationship advice, making sure you knew how differently he would treat a woman. it wasn’t lost on you, nor were gojo’s efforts.

he encouraged you to take his card and go crazy, often accompanying you on shopping sprees for the house and making sure you leave with an armful of new clothes and whatever else your eyes lingered on too long. satoru showed you his serious side, keeping the house regularly dusted and the floors cleaned, insisting a family should clean up after themselves and not keep servants to make their lives more detached. he invested in your hobbies, letting you try to teach him how to knit, play video games, even trying to do a little book club with you—that unfortunately, suguru was better at, much to his disappointment.

you weren’t dim, you could tell what was happening. you had your suspicions for a while, the two of them practically glued to your sides at all times nowadays—unless one of you was away on a mission, which happened far too often for their liking. you would be lying if you said their attention didn’t make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, the two were easily the strongest sorcerers the world had to offer if you didn’t take one of those spots for yourself. they were both undeniably gorgeous in their own ways—so how could you possibly choose? your forced obliviousness is the only thing keeping you three firmly planted in friendshipville. though, it’s been more than obvious that you haven’t been seeing anyone outside of them, thank god, and you’re getting antsy. you have to apply more pressure, figure out something that would push them over the edge. you had to keep them competing for you since you couldn’t pick one over the other on your own. aha, you’ve got it—it’s low, scheming even, but you’re growing desperate. you’d just have to dust off your best acting skills and sluttiest outfit.

it was late that night. you knew the boys were still awake, able to hear their laughter from your room. with one final and steadying breath, you peeked into the living room. they were sitting together on the couch watching a movie that was forgotten about as soon as you walked in, the soft sound of your door closing behind drawing their attention. you were evil in your cropped tank that made it painfully clear that was the only thing covering your perky tits, and it didn’t stop there. you didn’t bother with shorts, a cute thong cupping your pussy and sitting along those glorious wide hips. they could die–the effect you have is clear immediately. suguru clutches a throw pillow over his lap, hoping to smoothly hide the throbbing erection just looking at you gave him, while satoru only makes his more obvious by spreading his legs—at least geto tried to respect you. their eyes are practically bulging from their heads, suguru’s lip was between his teeth meanwhile satoru’s curls into a smirk.

“you guys are being so loud out here.” you bat your eyes innocently, twirling a lock of your hair around your finger as you let your gaze bounce between them. gojo slides his glasses off, a bit starstruck as he sets them aside and looks over to suguru, needing him to be on the same page.

“sorry princess,” satoru pouts, patting the spot in between him and geto. “since you’re up…why don’t you hang out with us?” you note the greed swimming in those all-seeing eyes. you force some bashfulness.

“oh–dressed like this?” you rotate your hips a little bit to further your point and suguru has to clench his jaw tight to not groan aloud. “i wouldn't wanna make you guys uncomfortable.”

“you won’t.” suguru blurts out, tucking some of his overgrown bangs behind his ear. satoru nods his agreement.

“yeah! you’re our girl, you could never make us uncomfortable.” the white headed one says, cunningly petting the cushion again. you smirk to yourself, giving them a faux-reluctant nod before striding to sit. your ass ripples as you step past suguru, and his dick throbs pathetically. as soon as your back touches the couch, satoru’s arm is around your waist to tug your upper half into a lean; then suguru puts a massive paw over your thigh, kneading and stroking the exposed skin gently. they’re both so close, the heavy feeling of their hands on your skin was intoxicating; you could hardly tell where one stopped and the other one began. their scents were so overbearing, suguru’s spicy cinnamon and bourbon contrasted the honeyed vanilla sweetness of satoru so perfectly it had you drunk and losing sight of your master plan before anything had even really happened. but don’t worry, they’ll take very good care of you. you’ve gotten the ball rolling, which is good enough, right?

they pretend to keep their eyes on the tv, heads forward like they don’t notice what the other was doing. satoru’s hand starts to creep under the hemline of your tank top, sinewy fingers long enough to brush against the underside of your breast. you hum softly at the touch, only encouraging the lean man to do it again. suguru watches patiently, waiting for more of your approval. you burrow deeper in his side, pushing your chest out even further. he could practically giggle with excitement at your eagerness. suguru scoots closer, sliding his arm across your lower back to grab handfuls of your thick ass free to fondle thanks to your slutty panties. your weight falls back to the middle, wanting to give geto more of your attention. he smiles at satoru at the action, taking it as a sign of your affection. the other man rolls his eyes, leaning into your side to nuzzle your cheek.

the black haired man does the same into your neck, their hands kneading and rubbing and stroking your skin. you lean your head back against the couch, throwing your arms around them to encourage them further with a blissed out grin of your own.

“our slutty little roommate came dressed like that for a reason.” satoru snickers, bringing his other hand to cradle your jawline, tossing a wink towards his dark haired counterpart.

you hum, prying your eyes open to look at him with a smirk. “course i did…just like you asked me to move in for a reason and sugu gives me back massages for a reason.” you muse, humming as you walk your fingers down their spines. they look at each other with slight surprise, clearly they thought you were unsuspecting of them all this time. you chuckle softly, trailing your digits down their arms to close around their wrists, moving their massive hands to your chest, a boob each. you smirk at them. “everything that’s about to go down is only because i want it to happen, understand?”

you look at gojo first, reveling in his amused expression. he hadn’t expected you to take over and become the boss, but he wasn’t necessarily opposed either. it was sexy to think that he had fallen for your trap, and not the other way around. he’d happily do anything that you wanted, all he wanted was you. you arch your brow and he nods dumbly, nuzzling into your cheek again to show his devotion. no woman had tamed him before, but it wouldn’t be so bad to start now, especially not when the woman in question is his very sexy best friend. you give him a soft smile of approval before turning to the real work, geto.

many women had tried and failed to tame him, and he thought it was pretty funny each and every time. but now here you are, his gorgeous lady best friend, prepared to tell him what to do and exactly how to do it. now that was just plain adorable. you could see see the flames of intrigue flicker in his obsidian eyes, a gaze so intense it made you shrink into satoru a little bit. suguru was being hand gifted the only thing he’s ever wished for, but he would still have it on his terms. he squeezes down harshly on your breast, making you squirm. “cute. we wanted this longer though, so. how about you listen to me instead?”

you scoff, looking down at his hand on you. “don’t act so bold now, sugu. if you wanted to be in charge, you should have acted like it.” you tease, and even gojo smirks behind you. he thought it would be pretty amusing to watch you two battle for dominance, though he’s smart enough to capitalize on an opportunity when he sees one. he pulls you against him, kneading your hips and giving your exposed neck sweet sloppy kisses, all playing into your favor. “maybe i’ll let you give out orders next time–but if you want to be a diva, i’ll just fuck satoru—i’m sure he’s more than enough.”

the mentioned man hums, happy to be in your good graces and your leveraging tool. nothing drives suguru crazier than watching gojo get all the attention. geto gives you a look of dissatisfaction, only pushing you to climb onto your lanky friend’s lap, smiling down at him like an angel from heaven. gojo thought he may die right here. you’re perfect, the way your weight feels in his lap pressing up against his semi is so glorious already he’s afraid he may embarrass himself. his hands find your waist, and he’s looking up to you like he has no idea what to do next. he really is so clueless that it’s adorable. satoru acted like a pussy magnet, which wasn’t necessarily wrong since he is so gorgeous, powerful, and tall, but he never knew how to interact with them—especially since all his fantasies consisted of you, anyway. you smile down at him again and he knows it will be alright, that he’ll do what he does best and learn on the fly—he has to make you feel good.

“take my shirt off, baby.” you coo to him, lifting your arms a bit so he could peel it off. He leans forward unsurely, almost looking to geto for approval before he pinches the fabric and brings it over your head. your tits fall from the little tank top holding them in place, a beautifully heavy chest with pebbled buds wait, calling gojo’s name. his face turns red and he looks up to you for the next order, feeling his semi grow into a full blown problem. geto watches you with narrowed eyes, aching bulge straining against his pants still, and you were only making it worse. he curses himself for being enamored with someone like you, an expert in pushing buttons. you’re his woman whether you know it or not, and he’s only willing to share you with his bestest of friends, even if you were grating on his last nerve.

“do what feels natural, sato.” you breathe out, focused on the way his eyes grow at your permission and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. he’s been fixated on you as long as he can remember, and now it was his time to prove that he was the one for you. he drags your hips closer, wanting you to feel his erection pressing into that tiny thong you had the nerve to put on. you gasp in surprise, though a giggle quickly replaces the sound. you rest your arms on his shoulders, content to twirl locks of snowy white around your fingers. he groans at the sensation, struggling to keep his head on straight already. your body is so warm beneath his hands, so soft and pliable. you duck your head down to kiss him, and he tilts his head up to receive it. it swallows up all his senses, tunneling out everything around him to only focus on your touch, taste, and smell. he’s hungry, eager to prove his worth as a lover, wanting nothing else but to make you feel good. he grabs at your hips to feel you closer, and you indulge by circling your movements in his lap. he moans into your mouth as he feels your tits brush up against his shirt, making him break the kiss and lean back so he could get it off. he does it so quick that you aren’t prepared for his mouth to smack up against yours again, teeth clashing. you giggle again, enchanted by his boyish charm and overwhelming affection for you. it was sweet, and even though he was inexperienced, his kisses were full of passion and heat.

geto had mixed feelings. on one hand, you looked magnificent. your body is like nothing he’s ever seen before, almost to the point of unfairness. no woman could ever compare after this. he’d either have to marry you or be forever disappointed. but, on the other hand, you were wiggling around in gojo’s lap instead of his, and that’s only tolerable for so long. gojo is lucky still, if it were anyone else there would be no tolerance at all. but his patience is wearing thin, especially once you start letting little moans of your own go because of satoru’s big hands massaging your tits and his bulge catching on your puffy clothed clit. you even sound angelic, and it’s pissing him off. this was just a display of your power over them, but suguru wanted to teach a few lessons of his own. he scoots closer, letting his hands mingle around with satoru’s, feeling the dips of your body.

you can feel his touch, easily differentiating between satoru and suguru. your lanky friend’s hands were slimmer and warmer–moving around clumsily. your dark locked counterpart moved with more experience, his fingers thicker and rougher. you smirk at his impatience, clearly not able to be as obedient as dear satoru. you knew it would go like this, with gojo doing anything to please you and geto vying for control himself. you didn’t mind—you know it would push gojo to compete.

geto wastes no time in pulling you off of gojo’s lap and into his own, much to his friend’s disappointment. you give him a pointed look, brow raised and all, but you still wrap your arms around his shoulders the same way you did your other bestie. he smirks up at you, expecting nothing but your compliance once he sees how wet gojo got you. he can tell from the look in your eyes that you don’t have a lot of fight left in you despite the way you act, and that’s perfect for him. he plans to make you brainless, able to remember nothing but him anyway.

“greedy much?” you tease, tossing a look to the pouty white-haired boy watching with contempt. suguru shrugs.

“hardly, just proving that he is not all you need.” he smiles up at you innocently, raking his touch over your thighs. unlike gojo, he knows exactly how to work you up and melt in his hands. gojo harrumphs in the corner of the couch. geto’s brow creeps up even though his head is laxly leaned back against the sofa. he watches you like he owns you, and you love the contrast between the two boys. you roll your eyes and lean down to kiss him anyway, and his lips tell you that the show is over. he gnashes his teeth against your lip, making you squeal and open up for him, wherein he promptly shoves his tongue in to smother yours out. your fingers card through the black tresses cascading over his shoulders and down his back as you hum into his mouth. he’s humming at your eagerness, letting his hand drift from the meaty parts of your hips over to the wet patch on your panties, grinning when you gasp. he works his deft fingers over your heat, and gojo makes a strangled noise as he watches you lewdly suck on geto’s tongue. you let your hips roll into his hand, his other one coming down on your rippling ass. you moan softly, prompting him to spank you again, much to satoru’s enjoyment.

“s’fat, looks so pretty when you do that.” he compliments his friend, shoving out of his pants in anticipation of what comes next. his hand grabs around his proud length, pumping the curved shaft for minimal relief. geto hisses, feeling your hips move desperately towards your own release. he slaps your ass a third time, making you groan out and toss your head back, the picture of a perfect mess.

“gonna cum already?” he tsked, though the smirk on his face betrays him. you nod, tugging on the roots of his hair hard enough to cause a little sting. satoru groans, tired of watching and desperate for any form of aid, but you’re too intoxicating to rush. “then cum.” he demands, stopping his touch.

he knew he had pushed you far enough already, feeling your pelvis stutter against his hand. he watches you come undone, digging pearly white teeth into swollen lips as you dampen your panties another level. he doesn’t give you any type of reprieve before he’s pushing and tugging and arranging you for his preference on the cluttered couch. your brain is foggy already, clit throbbing from satoru’s craze and suguru’s abuse. he’s got you on all fours, face positioned over a huge cock nestled in trimmed white hair.

“be easy on her, satoru.” geto warns as gojo gets to his knees, fisting your hair to get your attention. if you enjoyed suguru’s dominance then he would try some of his own. he directs your mouth over his leaky tip, and you stick out your tongue to encourage him. he nearly shudders just from that, and you whine at the feeling of geto sliding his hands down your ass and thighs with his breath fanning over your shiny hole. you’re gagging on satoru’s length hitting the back of your throat as suguru his fat tongue licks a teasingly slow stripe down your slit. you can’t help but pressed yourself further back into his muscle and force yourself down to the hilt of satoru. he groans loudly, giving you a taste of your own medicine with how he pulls on your hair. he guides you along him, amazed at how much better you feel than his hand. your velvet cheeks feel so wet and warm, it’s amazing he doesn’t cum down your throat instantly. meanwhile geto eats you from the back, sucking on your lips and nudging up against your bud in alternating motions, making your head cloud up with dizziness. that could be from the lack of air you’re able to get in around gojo’s cock stuffing your mouth, tears sliding down your flustered cheeks and drool spilling out around him. he’s whimpering, the sound of him coupled with squelching from both ends had suguru grunting into your folds, letting your sweet essence dribble down his chin. he’s grabbing handfuls of your ass, bruising and smacking the fat. your hands explore the lean expanse that is satoru’s body, muscular thighs keeping you steady and flexing abs making you clench around your other friend’s tongue.

“gah, this—is amazing–fu-huck.” satoru whines, fisting your hair as his cock jumps at the sight of you. you moan your approval, pussy spasming for geto once again without warning, releasing on his face this time. your vision is already blurring, pleasure ripping through you all at once. he’s drunk on the taste of you, sitting upright on his knees as he scoops some of your cum out, coating his fingers with the slick. he may be the slightest bit possessive, but what’s his is gojo’s, and he had to let the other man taste you and get just as pussydrunk as he is. his other hand tugs you off his friend’s dick with a pop, pushing his hardness to the crack of your ass. he leans over you, body like a slab of concrete as he extends his hand to gojo. he leans up immediately, and you’re amazed at the sight of satoru sucking your juice off of suguru’s fingers, moaning slightly at your taste. geto smirks at him, settling back to his original spot. gojo grins widely as he wipes some residual tears from your face.

“she’s so pretty, tell her suguru.” he sings, pushing some hair out of your face as the aforementioned wraps a beefy arm around your waist and pulls you to a sitting position against him. he’s so solid, you can feel how thick and long he is against your back, and it makes you tingle with need like you haven’t came twice already. he pulls you along as he repositions himself, sitting on the couch like it’s intended to be used for with you balanced on his abdomen.

“oh of course, our pretty lady is the only girl i see.” suguru croons, pulling your hair into a ponytail just because he could. you look down at his cock, biting down on your lip at the sight. he was an inch or two shorter than gojo, but made up for it with his thickness. he had veins running along the shaft much like his muscular arms, and a dark tip growing impatient. they were perfect, you knew they would please you in different ways, but you had to have them both.

when satoru gets to his feet and stands in front of you, pale fingers stroking his pretty cock, you knew that was their plan.

geto snakes his hands to your thighs, prying them apart with little resistance from you. he lifts you with this grip, lowering you down all at once on him. he chuckles when you hiss and squirm at the stretch, feeling like a hot knife just gutted you. suguru continues sinking his hips into the cushions below and slamming them back up into you, locking eyes with his best friend eagerly awaiting his turn. you were a whimpering mess, falling back against the man railing you and leaving him responsible for holding you upright as your head finds home on his shoulder.

“if i go easy on you now, you won’t be able to fit us.” suguru explains with a labored breath, your walls so tight he didn’t know if you’d be able to take them anyhow—but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. you nod your understanding, moving your hips to help his strokes hit even deeper. you already feel so full, you can’t imagine what it’s gonna be like when satoru tries to push in. “so fucking wet for your best friends, you’ll take us, won’t you?”

you nod vigorously. it feels like you’re floating, every snap of suguru’s hips slammed his cock impossibly deeper. you knew your little act of control would only last so long, but it worked beautifully. if not for you, they’d probably be jacking off to you for the foreseeable future.

“say it, wanna hear it from our girl’s mouth.” he coos, the tone of his voice so contradictory to what he actually says. it makes your pussy squeeze him anyway.

“wanna take my best friend’s cocks.” you babble, feeling satoru’s hands on your waist again.

“and what else?” suguru groans, almost irritated that your pussy fucked this good and you’ve had the nerve to keep it to yourself all this time. his hand closes around your throat this time, trusting satoru to keep you from falling over. you were so pliable and it was such a treat to hear you talk like this.

“and i’m soaking wet for you both, god–stop teasin’.” you whine, batting your eyes at satoru. he’s sympathetic to your cause, wanting nothing more than to shove his rod deep in you and wonder who makes you feel better, not keen to wait for orders anymore, eager to earn your praise. suguru has your legs spread open perfectly; so while geto snickers from your answer, gojo steps forward and shoves his cock over his best friend’s and into your choking cunt. the feeling takes even suguru aback as you cry out from the stretch. It’s impossible, it’s too much, you feel like they’ll break you in half if they start to move, but the burning subsides, your fingers digging at gojo’s chest when suguru starts to move.

all three of you moan. it’s too good not to, your cunt locking the men against each other, rubbing against your silken walls and the bumpy texture of the other’s ridges was the best way to fuck, they found out. suguru is slow, and prompts gojo to go even slower, feeling you loosen up as the pressure of them in your gut only makes you delirious. you’re so loud, nasty moans and curses coming from your lips as their pace increases, the two men locked in competition to make you and even the other cum first. satoru leans in, pressing his rock hard abdomen against you and deepening his angle. he has to balance himself by bracing his hand on suguru’s other shoulder, both of you close enough to kiss. this was how it was always meant to be, the three of you. he gives you a sloppy kiss, his free hand cupping your cheek to tell you how much this means to him. geto’s caught up in the moment, he tells himself, but everything feels so clear. they were never in competition—you needed them both, and he needed you both, and satoru needed the two of you both. then he feels it, a sloppy kiss meant for him, and he hums in realization. it wasn’t much different from kissing you, though satoru certainly needed the practice. you moan lewdly, the sounds of your cunt being stuffed and their grunts and groans of pleasure provide the soundtrack as they work in tandem to drive you crazy.

“g’na–ngh–cum boys, ohhh~” you cry, legs starting to shake in suguru’s grip. they break their kiss to watch you jerk and jump, fucking into you as deep as their hips will allow. Satoru presses his fingers to your clit, hoping to increase your cute little spasms, but what you do instead is even sexier. you push at his shoulders, a clear liquid gushing and spraying over his abdomen and dripping down your cunt to cover suguru’s balls, leaving them both gaping in amazement.

“that’s a good fucking girl, shit–” suguru mumbles, watching satoru’s face scrunch up in overwhelming pleasure. he doesn’t warn you, holding your hips down to receive all of his cum, the hot feeling making you writhe and moan in his lap to send satoru spurting too. it’s so much, the burning warmth in your gut, their seed mixing together inside of you and gushing out around them both, making such a mess you’re almost embarrassed. satoru slumps forward to kiss you all over, mumbling out thanks for letting them destroy you like this as he lifts you off of suguru, cuddling up with you—mess be damned. you’re panting, sensitive, and dripping but you can’t stop grinning at your success. suguru rolls his eyes at satoru’s childishness, but it really just amuses him. he’d rather you have company as he cleans up the messes anyway, cleaning you and even satoru up before himself. satoru spoons you from behind and suguru shoves himself on the couch to hold you the other way, content at his display of power over the two strongest sorcerers in the room. everyone settles their breathing and into a lull of peace, the only sound in the room was the forgotten movie on the flatscreen, until.

“hey—i didn’t get to eat her outtttttt.” gojo whines, squeezing your body. you laugh, expecting geto to do the same, but he entertains this argument.

“you got your dick sucked—i didn’t get that—”

“we have plenty of time to even the score, shut up and let me sleep before i use my technique to un-fuck you.” you giggle.

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thebearer · 10 months

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i'll make you so sure about it |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: a run in with "claire-bear" leaves you bristled with jealousy. carmen assures you there's no need to be.

contains: minors dni 18+. mean-ish reader (she's jealous), dom/sub dynamics, dom!carmen, kinda brat tamer!carmen too, language, mentions to past relationships, fingering (fem rec), p in v sex, aftercare.

“What else is on the list?” Carmen pushed the cart through the aisles of the grocery store, tossing the figs into the basket.

“Black garlic.” You marked through the scratchy handwriting that belonged to Carmen, pen tapping on the small notepad. “Never heard of black garlic.”

“Really?” Carmen hummed in amusement, a tiny smile that was soft but warm- just for you. “You’ve had it before.”

“Have I?” You lifted a brow. “You’ve been sneaking things in my food, hm?”

“Tryna expand your palette, babe.” Carmen scoffed, pulling you in by your waist into him.

You laughed, looking down at your list, squirming when his fingers ghosted over your sides. “Oh, shoot, I forgot we need detergent.” You hiss, looking at the bottle of Tide in the cart beside you. “I’m gonna go grab that, and you get the rest on the list?”

Carmen nodded, taking the pad and pen out of your hand. “I got it. I’ll be over here, alright?” He nods towards the produce.

You head in the opposite direction, spilling off in the frozen aisles to head back towards the cleaning section, snatching the detergent off the shelf. You’d have to run by the little apothecary shop down on Main to get more of the scent boosters you liked- that Carmen liked. He liked how your sheets always smelled when you first started dating, soft and clean and sweet somehow? Fuck, he wasn’t even sure how, but when you moved in with him, that smell lingered into his clothes, his sheet. He’d catch whiffs during the day at work, a calming breeze that grounded him, kept his mind rushing back to you.

You scanned the produce section, finding the familiar head of curls tucked under a Bears hat. You had bought him that hat, a little playful joke since some customers were always asking if the restaurant was named after the team. It infuriated Carmen, annoyed him to no end, but the hat? He rolled his eyes, muttering something about you being “real funny” in a sarcastic tone, but he wore it anyway. It was a nice hat, what can he say?

Carmen was on the end, a grip on his basket that had you a little suspect, until you saw the other basket, parked next to his, a girl leaning towards Carmen. Your heart dropped, a spike of jealousy, hot and blinding shooting through your spine.

“...You know I meant to stop by the restaurant last week, but I was so busy with rounds. You were closed by the time I got off.” The girl bragged, loud enough so the ones around her would be impressed. You wanted to scoff, did she not know this was Chicago?

“Oh, that’s too bad.” You could hear the edge in Carmen’s voice, and not the usual one that accompanied with unprompted social interaction. This was one harder, a strain that had you suspicious at the defensiveness.

“Hey, Carmy,” You muttered, stepping beside him. He jumped when you did, eyes wide and scared like he’d been caught. “I got the detergent.” You placed it in the basket, trying to avoid the eyes of the girl in front of you.

“Oh, uh, that’s great. Thank you.” Carmen’s hand found your waist easily, but you didn’t miss the way his hand rubbed on his jeans first, wiping the sweat off.

“Hi,” The girl said, a tight lipped, forced smile that you knew all too well. “I’m Claire.”

You gave it back, a snarl and cutting eyes, letting your name slide through your clenched teeth- a threat. “Yeah, uh, Claire and I…we, uh, used to go to school together.” Carmen stuttered.

“Really? That’s it, Bear?” Claire laughed. Your spine straightened, the primal urge to ram your cart into hers so it sent the handle flying into her stomach because she used your nickname- maybe she’d break a rib.

Your eyes cut to Carmen’s, lips rolling into a pursed pucker. Carmen flushed, red cheeks that spread to his ears, down to his neck. “Well, I mean, Claire’s real close with my family too.” Carmen offered, looking down at you, his heart dropping when he did. Fuck, you were pissed.

“Richie and Mikey used to call me Claire Bear all the time.” She laughed, a forced, mean girl-esque laugh. “Used to tease Carmy for always drawing me.”

“Oh?” You quipped, turning to Carmen with narrowed eyes. “Well, that’s funny. You must’ve been really close to get the Bear nickname too.” You hummed, an edge to your voice that had Carmen’s stomach dropping. He felt like he was going to be sick, under your gaze, hard eyes that questioned and challenged him.

“Oh, yeah, we were always really close, weren’t we, Carmen?” Claire batted her eyes at him, and for a moment, you had to grip the basket. Stop yourself from slamming her head into the fridge.

Carmen looked like he might pass out, palms rubbing against his jeans, eyes bouncing from you to her. “Y’know we should catch up sometime, Carmy. I’d love to see Sugar and Richie.”

“Yeah, I-I’m not sure what they’re-”

“-You know what.” You snipped, teeth ground tight. “I think I’ll finish shopping, and you two can catch up, alright?” You snatch the list out of Carmen’s hand. “It was so nice to meet you, Claire.”

Carmen can feel your anger even after you stomp away, whizzing into the next aisle, slinging the basket with so much fury the detergent slides and he cringes as he thinks about the plums that probably got crushed.

“Uh-oh,” Claire snickers. “Looks like I got you in trouble.”

“Yeah- I mean, no, she’s just… We have plans later, so I gotta go. Tell your family I said hello.” Carmen nods, barely hearing her reply before he’s chasing you down the aisles.

“Baby, hey, c’mon-”

“Don’t.” You hissed, shoving Carmen’s hand off you. “Go back and talk to Claire Bear.” You snarled, voice rising in pitch to mock the name.

“Don’t do this.” Carmen’s stomach turned, twisting with that familiar twinge of anxiety. His eyes were already darting towards the far end of the store, feeling like he needed to get a bottle of Pepto… maybe two.

“Do what?” You snapped, huffing at him. “Honestly, Carmen, how would you feel if I ran into one of my old exes and they were talkin’ to me like that, huh?”

“She’s not an ex-”

“-Oh? She isn’t?” You deadpanned, glaring at Carmen. He faltered, eyes darting from your gaze just for a moment. “You’re such a fucking liar, Carmen, I’m not stupid.” You huffed, shoving the cart.

“Hey,” Carmen snapped, heavy hand landing on the cart’s handle to stop it. “Cut it out, alright?”

That only made you bristle even more, bouts of fury that spiked through your body. You wanted to scream, cause a scene and storm out, leaving him mortified and standing there with everyone staring at him. A few years ago, you would have.

Instead, you slammed the rest of the list into the seat of the cart. “Give me the keys.” You huffed.

“What? You can’t-”

“-I’m going to sit in the fucking car, Carmen. Give me the fucking keys.” You growl, louder this time, turning the head of a passerby.

Carmen flushed, furiously, shaking hands fishing his keys out of his pocket, dropping them in your hand. “D-Do you need anything else not on the list?” He asked softly, a hope that you might soften at his tone.

You didn’t reply, turning on your heel instead, stomping out of the sliding doors. Carmen felt his stomach turn, lurching in his throat, heart hammering so hard sweat was forming at his hairline under the hat. He definitely needed that Pepto now.

“She’s just a friend! A childhood friend, that-that I don’t even talk to!” Carmen huffed, his voice rising. You had been on him, furious and accusing from the moment he got in the car, all the way home, carrying the groceries up the steps of the apartment.

“That you fucked!” Your voice shrilled loud enough Carmen flinched, knowing the neighbors would hear. “You fucked her!”

“I-I… like one time!” Carmen stuttered, throwing his hands out in exasperation. He set the detergent with a heavy thud on the counter, glaring at it. It was the detergent’s fucking fault this happend, Carmen thought. He should have just gone with you or gotten the detergent instead- fuck, why did he have to run into Claire out of all people.

“I knew it!” You smacked your hand against the cabinet. “I fuckin’ knew it! God, you are such a liar, Carmen!”

“How did I lie? How? Hey, get back here, I’m talkin’ to you!” Carmen had reached his breaking point, beyond irritated and frustrated.

“Fuck you, Carmen. Just a friend, my fuckin’ ass.” You growled, pushing the door to your bedroom open so quickly it hit the wall, the door stopper buzzing angrily.

“Can you- Can you just listen to me, please?” Carmen took a grounding breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with clammy, uncomfortable hands.

“Listen to you what? Listen to you tell me how you’ve known Claire Bear your whole life? And how the two of you have sooo much history together?” You sneer, teeth baring in a sort of growl that made Carmen’s heart spike with anger…maybe fear… maybe both?

“We don’t have… Baby, I-I really don’t fuckin’ know what you want from me here, alright? I don’t like Claire.” Carmen huffed.

“Anymore.” You muttered, bitterly.

“Yeah, anymore. I don’t- wait.” Carmen held up his hand, realization washing over him. “Wait a fuckin’ second. Are you- Are you jealous right now?”

“Shut up, Carmen-”

“-Oh my God! Holy shit! You’re jealous?” His tone was far too light, nearly mocking, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Why the fuck are you jealous?”

“Oh, fuck you, Carmen! Like you wouldn’t be jealous if my ex was all over me like that in front of you!” You countered bitterly, satisfied at the way his jaw flexed at the thought.

“Yeah, but your ex doesn’t have you, I do.” Carmen said, an edge in his voice that had ice shooting down your spine, a tingle spreading between your legs. He took a step forward, so close to you, his eyes were piercing into you, cutting right through your soul. “And Claire or-or anyone else doesn't have me, alright? You fuckin’ got me.”

You tried to stay strong, keep your facade up for a little longer, not let him know how your knees were buckling under his stare. “Still, Carm,” Your voice was softer now, on the edge of a whine. “‘S not fair you let her talk to you like that in front of me.”

“What did you want me to do?” Carmen scoffed, his hand finding your hip. “She only talked like that because she knew I was with you. Wanted to get under your skin, and you fuckin’ let her.”

“I did not-”

“Oh?” Carmen’s tone lilted, leaving you blushing furiously under his challenging gaze. “That’s why you threw a whole goddam fit? Fuckin’ leavin’ the store? Bitchin’ me out the whole way home?”

You pouted, huffing at the meanness in his tone. Carmen’s hand caught your jaw, pulling your gaze back to him. “You acted bad, and for what? I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone but you, you know that.” Your cheeks burned with heat, hoping he couldn’t see how flustered he was making you, scolding you like this. Oh, you were fucking throbbing.

“Even when you’re mean to me like that. You know I only want you. Don’t insult me like that, thinkin’ I’d ever want someone else, you got me?” Carmen snapped.

“Yes, Carmen.” You muttered, eyes rolling to the floor.

“Who?” Carmen growled, jerking your chin back to him.

You blushed, thighs rubbing together. You knew what he wanted, what was coming. “Yes, Daddy.” You muttered, pitch rising in your tone to that light airy voice you used when you played, reserved just for him.

Carmen hummed satisfied, letting his hand slide down your jaw, fingers curling and tilting your chin upwards towards him. “Why would you think I wanted anyone else, hm?” Carmen rasped, lips brushing over yours but not giving into you yet- teasing you. His free hand slid down your waist, slowly, pinky toying with the edge of your leggings. “You know you’re it for me. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You hummed, his hand sneaking under the stretchy elastic of your pants, sliding closer and closer to where you needed him most.

Carmen’s lips slid over your soft skin, finally pressing to the corner of your mouth. His fingers cupping your mound, sliding over your clothed slit teasingly. “Think I need to remind you, hm? D’you forget? That’s it?” Carmen rasped, pointer finger pressing against the cotton of your panties, circling over your clit.

You gasped, clawing at his shoulders, his lips trailing down your jaw, free hand moving to hold you by the back of your neck, keeping you still while you squirmed against his touch. “Think I need to remind you, baby.” Carmen growled, the vibrations from his voice muffled on your skin, sending shockwaves to your core. “That what I need t’do, huh?”

“Yes.” You whined, nasally and desperate, abdomen already clenching at the way he was working your clit. “Please.” You begged.

“Please, what? Huh? Who’re you talkin’ to?” Carmen hummed, teeth grazing over the sensitive spot on your neck that had you lurching, knees buckling at the combined sensations.

“Please, Daddy.” You panted, eyes rolling back when he licked over your neck, fingers pressing harder, rubbing tighter circles around your clit.

You could feel how hard Carmen was, bulge rubbing against your hip, trying to satisfy his own throbbing. Your nails sunk into his skin, sure you’d leave marks, but you were sure he wouldn’t care. “You want me to take care of you? Want me to show you?” Carmen asked, so sweetly it made you gush, clenching around nothing, desperate for him to fill you up.

“Yes, please, Daddy. Please.” You shuddered, a strangled breathy moan falling past your lips. “I need it so bad, please.”

Carmen’s pace picked up furiously, a groan leaving his lips when he sucked at your sensitive skin there, hand tightening around the back of your neck to keep you in place. You could feel your legs shake, Carmen’s pace steadying and keeping tight circles around your clit, sending you reeling and jerking with every graze of his tongue, clinging to him while you fell apart- too easily. He did this to you too easily, knew you too well so he could.

Carmen’s hand pulled out of your pants, your panties soaked with your own slick, some coating his fingers where you leaked through the fabric. Carmen let them pass in front of you, eyes locked to yours when he slipped them in his mouth, your breath hitching when he cleaned your release off his fingers.

“Out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I want anyone else.” Carmen’s eyes darkened, holding your gaze in a menacing way. “Nobody tastes fuckin’ better than you, are you crazy? Thinkin’ I’d want someone else.” Carmen scoffed, leaving you shuddering, still reeling from your own high.

“Take those clothes off and get on the bed. I’ll show you who you belong to. Who I belong to.” Carmen’s head jerked towards the bed.

You scrambled towards it, shoving off your legging and peeling off clothes, tossing them into the corner of the room. You were slick, still pulsing from moments before, lying back on the edge of the bed with parted legs. The sick click of your own wetness filling the room when you spread yourself- oh, Carmen was sure he was going to pass out, looking at you spread and wet and waiting for him. All for him. If it wasn’t for the near painful throbbing of his cock, he would have devoured you, made you cum over and over and over on his tongue until his mouth was drenched with you, your scent filling his nose. Another time, he decided, pumping himself a few times.

“You know, you really piss me off sayin’ shit like that.” Carmen huffed, pushing his hair back with his hand, inked fingers running through those blonde curls that were your weakness.

You look at him, feeling the fat head of his cock rubbing through your folds, teasing you already. “Actin’ like I’d ever want somebody else. Gettin’ jealous and for what, huh? Just actin’ out.” Carmen leaned down, folding his body so it was over yours, his face inches from your own. “You know you’re the only one for me. Only one I’d ever want.”

He didn’t give you a chance to reply, pushing in deeply in one swift movement, filling you entirely with his length. You gasped, clawing at his shoulder blades until he was flush against you, your breath stammering, eyes rolling back at the stretch.

Carmen waited, feeling you relax around him until he moved, a hard snap of his hips, unforgiving and painfully slow, rolling into you. You whined, a high pitched gasp, Carmen’s lips pressing to your wrist gently. He let his hips roll, getting into a steady, hard pace that left you drooling, eyes rolling back at each calculated jab to the sweet spot inside of you. The way you were clenching, Carmen knew he wasn’t going to last long.

“Thinkin’ I’d want somebody else,” Carmen scoffed between gritted teeth, swallowing back the groan in the back of his throat at the way your pussy was strangling him right now. “I told you a million- shit- a million times before, baby. You’re it for me. You got that?”

“Y-Yes, Carmy.” You shuddered, eyes already glossing over, mind numbing and reeling all at once. Your legs were shaking, burning already with another build up of pleasure. Carmen’s hips snapped, leaving you crying out, your own moans bouncing off the walls.

Carmen chose not to correct you, muscles tightening in his legs and abs, trying to keep himself from spilling too soon. He knew you were close, could see it in your eyes, the rounding of your mouth. Leaning down, Carmen buried himself back into your neck, pushed into your skin. His own soft whines muffled against you, leaving you soaring with adoration, swimming in pleasure.

“I don’t want anyone else but you.” Carmen admitted, hidden in the slick skin of your neck, a much softer admission than anything before. It was sincere, leaving you burning with heat, shaking as the tight coil in your tummy unraveled.

Carmen felt you gush over him, wetting the hair at the base of his pelvis, before he pushed himself back up, pounding hard and deep inside of you to finish himself off. Hot breath hitting your neck, tiny whines and groans of pleasure buzzing in your ear before he finished, spilling inside of you with long, slow strokes.

Carmen collapsed on top of you, his own mind racing and cloudy, chest heaving against yours. You sighed, welcoming the weight of him on top of you. It was heavy, a little crushing, but safe in a way. It was him, smothering you in the best way.

He rolled off, a few huffs before he was beside you, feeling his release run out of you. You didn’t even care, you had the detergent- you’d clean the sheets.

“You know I don’t like her.” Carmen muttered, still staring at the ceiling. You turned to look at him, silent but questioning. “Claire, or-or anyone, right?” Carmen’s eyes were rounded, filled with a familiar guilt that told you his mind was racing again.

“I only like- I only love you.” Carmen corrected, lips pressing together, jaw flexing with emotion. “I-I don’t know why she did that, but… Like, you’re it for me. You know that? I don’t care about any of that other shit with Claire or-or anyone, because I just want you.”

It was raw, a little hushed like he was scared to admit it, to say it too loud and scare you off- scare himself. But you did know it. Even through your blind, jealous rage, you knew it. You knew Carmen only cared for you, only loved you. And you felt the same way about him.

“I know.” You nodded, reaching out to grab his hand, curling your fingers around the calloused fingers, bringing them to your lips. You kissed the inked ‘O’ on his middle finger, letting your nose nuzzle the skin.

“I’m sorry I got jealous.” You muttered, leaning into his hand, hoping it would hide your flushed, embarrassed cheeks. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t like how she was trying it with you. Trying to come at what’s mine.”

Carmen grinned, the possessiveness in your voice, it made his heart skip. Knowing there was someone out there so fiercely protective of him- wanting to keep him and love him that way. It was something he never imagined having. He was glad he had it with you.

“I know.” Carmen nodded, biting back his own grin. “You got me, though. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carmen nodded, sliding closer to you on the duvet, letting his leg fall over your hip.

You settled under the weight, still cradling his hand to your cheek. “Good.” You hummed. “‘M not goin’ anywhere either, Bear.”

“You better not.” Carmen grinned, playfully but he meant it.

You laughed, a breathy light huff, lips pressing a kiss into his thumb. “Well, except to clean the sheets.” You muttered, feeling the wetness pooling around you. “Probably need to do that.”

“Yeah,” Carmen sighed, looking between the two of you. “I need to put the rest of the groceries away, too. Kinda got… distracted, ya know.”

You blushed. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” Carmen muttered, sincerity in his tone. “You-You don’t have to be sorry for that.”

You didn’t argue, simply melting into his touch, leaning forward so his lips were on yours, body pressing your into the mattress, pinned by his kiss. You could feel the burn between your legs, the raised skin on his shoulders where you’d clawed at him- marks that he was yours, reminders that you were his.

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abowlofsourcream · 2 months

Text

💫⏳ The Switch-A-Loop AU Guide ⏳💫

In this Au, Everyone Loops except Siffrin! This Au will focuses more on the party’s dynamics outside of just Sif. They try their best to figure out what is going on with the help of the mysterious Loop. They will find out more about the curse, the king, and most surprising their lovable rouge! Whether they want to or not…

Have fun!

Special Memories Here!

v The Characters v

- Mirabelle, The Chosen Heroine: Chosen by the Head Housemaiden, She first believes that the loops were the work of The Change God. A silly idea if you knew what she knew but a pleasant idea nonetheless! Besides, this way, she may be actually able to prove herself! This blessing would somehow give her the change she needed! At least… That’s what she thought… So why are they still here? What more does she need to prove? Maybe, the Head Housemaiden would know what happened to the world… Oh, if only there is a way to ask Siffrin what she said to him?

- Isabeau, The Beloved Warrior: You know it’s funny, he always thought that defeating the king would be more impactful. Like in those books you read as a kid! The hero goes on this incredible journey, growing stronger, falling in love, all that jazz! But boy, these Loops took the wind out of his sails! Like, he barely try’s to confess to Sif anymore (not that he feels any less about them). However, now knowing that beating the king wouldn’t stop the loops, the next best thing is to try other ways! Now he doesn’t like to brag, but he’s a pretty smart guy. Siffrin has something to do with what’s happening, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. Maybe, there is a way to help them help the others! It just might work!

- Odlie, The Wary Scholar: Well, this turns out to be quite more than she signed up for. Not to say that she entirely regrets meeting any of them, they are quite the enjoyable lot to be around… However, it seems these Loops are taking a toll for the lot of them. Fortunately, she is ready to find out what exactly is going on. Luckily, she has taken the time of taking notes, oh she loves her notes! Although, there is a part of the puzzle that at every angle doesn’t quite fit. Siffrin. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, they are in the middle of all of this Somehow… The fact that they don’t remember the loops, the way the king talks to them, even when he talks to the Housemaiden. The other’s try tell Odlie that it’s probably nothing, that Siffrin is in just as lost as the rest of them. But she just can’t let this go. She will find out why this is happening to her family, whether Siffrin is guilty or not…

- Bonnie, The Pure Hearted: Now, they may not understand what is happening and why all the adults are scared. But that is okay! The party snack leader is here to keep everyone safe, especially Frin. Frin can’t remember like the rest of them, so Bonnie has to make extra sure that he’s okay. Making sure he avoids all the tears, not to hit their hip against that counter, not to eat the pineapple and all that stuff! After all, it’s the least they can do. After what they did to… Anyway, they already somehow got Frin to let them hug him and sometimes he even call them “Bon Bon”! So, the other’s say that Firn and the king might be from that country that everyone forgot or something. Maybe, if you can get the King and Frin to talk… Maybe the King will help them! Like, What’s the worst that can happen! :)

- Loop, The Starstuck Guide: It’s Loop! The incredibly helpful and informative guide to this party! The only one that seems to know all about the loops. The party is unsure about what Loops wants out of this, and all the advice they give is weird/confusing! Also, they are kind of mean? Like, they try to comfort the party the best they can. However, when it comes to Siffrin… They don’t say anything out front about Sif but they do say things about him. Like pointing out all of his deaths or mistakes, lightly insulting him and making fun about how forgetful he is. It’s not great! Like who do they think they are. They just don’t know Siffrin like the rest of the party do… However, there is something familiar about this stranger.

- Siffrin, The DAMNED Traveler: ………………….. It’s all their fault………… just you wait……

#in stars and time #isat #isat spoilers #isat au #isat fanart #isat odile #isat siffrin #isat mirabelle #isat isabeau #isat bonnie #isat loop #switch a loop au #creamie's art

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driaswrld · 6 months

Text

cash in, cash out — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 1.7k

summary : the one where the boys pick the kids up, satoru loses his wallet, megumi almost throws up, the twins argue color theory, tsumiki gets the aux and suguru has a coupon.

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : this had me cackling a bit as i wrote it i love the family dynamics esp since this is when the trio is new to the kid thing (around 2009) ALSO yes, suguru has a love for y2k girl groups : pussycat dolls being one of em don't @ me gege told me it's canon.

other : fem!reader, rs label undefined so can be read as platonic or poly (they're lowk dating w/o knowing) mentions of unsafe (?) driving?? mentions of bribery and also tomfoolery and shenanigans

current casette : father stretch my hands pt.1 - kanye west

“—now we do headcount.” Suguru turns in his seat as Satoru slows the car and shifts the gear stick to neutral. “If you’re hungry, say I!” Satoru raises a hand up, his knuckles smacking against the roof of the interior, and Suguru internally dies.

“You’re hopeless.” Tsumiki laughs to herself, rolling the window beside her down, leaning against the frame, spring breeze warming her cheeks.

“I…” Mimiko raises her tiny fist upwards, mimicking Satoru, all while Nanako unclicks their joint seatbelt and breathes a puff of air, exasperated and hair a mess.

Megumi grunts, giving a weak thumbs up. He almost looks like he’s about to throw up.

The car ride was… something to say the least—

“—buckle the seatbelt already, brat!”

“—swallow your spit before you talk, you pig.”

“Steer the car for me, Suguru.”

A click reverberates through the car as Satoru unclicks his seatbelt and turns, ready to dive out of the driver's seat and into the backseat of the car, with arms outstretched to grab ahold of six year old Megumi’s neck.

Suguru’s arm flails to the side as he steadies the abandoned steering wheel from the passenger seat.

“Why didn’t name pick us up?” Mimiko mumbles, clutching onto her strawberry colored doll to her chest.

Ignoring the repeated smacks of Megumi’s foot to the side of Satoru’s cheek, Tsumiki shrugs, gaze fixed outside the window at other cars passing by. “She had work, I think—”

“So we’re stuck with the idiots.” Megumi grunts, and Suguru’s head whips around, lips morphed into a thin line.

Pride, oh sweet pride. Nanako, busy typing away at some cute game on her tablet, looks up for a second and locks eyes with Suguru, who withers a little under her gaze.

“He called you an idiot, Geto-san.” She says, ever the little instigator.

“Take the wheel, Satoru.”

But anyways.

Satoru huffs, almost pouting as the car in front of them stalks forward into the KFC drive thru. “It wasn’t even that bad,” he murmurs as he shifts the gear stick once more, moving the car forward.

Suguru can only chuckle nervously. “Yeah, not too bad…”

Behind Satoru’s back, he gives the kids a funny look, and they all snicker quietly. Well, save for Megumi who’s bordering on car sickness from that messy car ride.

“Alright,” Satoru mumbles to himself before he pushes his sunglasses up to rest in his hair, one arm hanging out the window, looking over his shoulder for a brief moment to check everyone over. “What does everyone want off the menu?”

Honestly, he’s a little proud of himself and Suguru.

Usually, you’re the one who handles picking all the brats up after school, but somehow, the boys managed to do it.

Although, it did take a bit of crisscrossing with seatbelts shared in pairs of two— hey, at least they’re all in one piece, right!

“Twister!” Nanako exclaims with a grin and Mimiko nods along with her twin sister, setting her doll down in her lap with a smile that Suguru mirrors, something so small making him feel so… soft inside. “I want the one with the sweet flavored chicken inside—”

“I want the spicy one.” Nanako nods along, turning her attention back to her tablet, clicking away.

Satoru hums, turning his head a little to the side, and Tsumiki mumbles, “Maybe just a chicken sandwich… with some coleslaw too.” He looks to Megumi, who still has his mouth twisted into something between a frown and a pout, so cute—

“And what do you want, Megs?” Suguru asks before Satoru can, as the car treks forward in the drive thru line, drawing closer to the order speaker.

“Whatever Tsumiki gets, I’ll get that too.” Megumi shrugs a little and a smile stretches on Satoru’s face — though he hides it well, straining his head forward.

(Mimiko can see him through the side mirror but he doesn’t even remember that.)

After ordering and making it halfway down the length of the drive thru, there’s only two cars ahead until the pay window.

Suguru is helping Tsumiki plug the aux cord into her ipod touch — a birthday gift from Satoru.

“I don’t think the cord’ll fit,” Tsumiki mumbles, peering over his shoulder, head leaning against the headrest. “It’s probably too big or something.”

All while Mimiko and Nanako are arguing over a dress up game on their tablet.

“She looks better in purple—”

“But I like the yellow better—”

Megumi narrowly dodges Satoru’s elbow as he bends his arm to rummage through the storage compartment of the armrest.

“Don’t worry too much, Tsumiki—” He mumbles, haphazardly searching for another aux cable, and his wallet, because for some reason he didn’t feel it in his pocket just now. “Suguru’s good at making all kinds of things fit—”

A smack to the side of his head sends his sunglasses flying off his head into Nanako’s lap, and the twins share a look with each other. “We should try sunglasses on her—”

“I don’t want her to look like Gojo-san—”

Megumi snickers just as Suguru snatches the shorter aux cable from Satoru’s hand.

Tsumiki tilts her head to the side, a grin reaching her lips once Suguru finally gets the aux connected. “Hold on,” Satoru whispers to himself, shifting back in the driver’s seat and moving forward to take the place of the car that was just in front. “Suguru, I can’t find—”

“Check under your seat or something.” Suguru cuts him off, scrolling through the sheer ridiculous list of songs on Tsumiki’s ipod touch — most of which are Taylor Swift and a few J-Pop groups. “It’s not there.” Satoru huffs in defiance.

From where Megumi’s sitting slumped in the backseat, he can see the shadow of Satoru’s billfold laying under his seat.

Naturally, Megumi wants to watch him squirm a little. Afterall, Suguru told him to look there and he was too proud to, so…

Satoru’s phone vibrates from inside the open glove compartment where it’s charging.

“I’m sure I had it in my side pocket…” He mumbles to himself, and Suguru gives him a look of absolute defeat with a hint of nonchalance.

“Well I don’t have any money on me—” The timing couldn’t be worse really. “Of course you don’t. Because all of you freeload off me—”

Megumi rolls his eyes, “As if you don’t make six figures.”

The phone vibrates again, and it’s the least of Satoru’s problems, really.

“Is that all I am to you? Some bank?”

Because here he is, next in line to pay and he doesn’t have his card in his hand, Suguru is still flat broke as always, you aren’t here and it’s not like the brats in the back have a steady flow of income coming in.

Why didn’t he just set up his damn online accounts when you told him to?

“Maybe you should answer that,” Suguru shrugs, damn near unable to hide his little smile when he comes across a song by the Pussycat Dolls. He has half a mind to say out loud that he’s raising Tsumiki right.

The phone vibrates again.

“Satoru—”

“Jeez, fine, damn.” Satoru is shifting around in his seat like he’s possessed, patting down his pockets, all while the phone keeps vibrating.

He reaches over with a frown, yanking the charger out and answering the phone with a single tap and a curt, “I’m busy right now, what is it?" Putting it on speaker as he leans over in his seat again to search his pants.

“Hello to you too, sunshine.” Your voice echoes through the phone and Satoru winces, pink tinging the tip of his ears. “Sorry name, I just—”

“He lost his wallet and we’re going to starve.”

Megumi leans forward, sticking his head out and leaning against the passenger seat.

Tsumiki and Suguru stifle a laugh, and Mimiko lifts her head with a pout. “But— I don’t wanna starve!”

“Oh, Mimi…” You sigh, damn near ready to punt Satoru into the sun. “That’s not going to happen, Megs is just making fun—”

“I have a coupon for a biscuit from that magazine yesterday,” Suguru says and he locks eyes with Satoru who glares straight at him. “Hey, I’m just suggesting solutions!”

Shoko, who’s sitting beside you in the vacant classroom looks up from the mission report she’s signing up for the both of you and bellows a huge laugh. It really doesn’t help Satoru’s pride at all, and he grabs the phone, clicking it off speaker and hugging it against his ear.

Suguru watches as Satoru slumps in his seat, one arm hanging over the steering wheel and another out the window. A grown man, twirling the side of his hair and pouting.

He doesn’t even think twice before snapping the photo — he ends it off to the twins’ tablet, and they exit their game to open it, giggling into their tiny fists.

“name…”

“I’m not sending you money, Satoru—”

“Please! I promise I just misplaced my wallet,”

The twins pass the tablet over to Megumi who folds his lips to hide his laugh, nudging Tsumiki who leans over to giggle at the picture too.

“Pleaaasee! C’mon, I promise I’ll even set up my account like you told me to—”

Suguru sends a sneaky wink to the kids and they all burst out laughing, to which Satoru whips his head around, only to find everyone ducked down in their seats, suspiciously minding their own business.

Suguru’s even gazing out the car window, a guilty whistle leaving his lips.

“I let you two pick them up one time and—”

Satoru cranes his head out the window, his voice lowering to a whisper. “name, I’m begging you. This is a man’s pride we’re talking about here—”

“You can always use Suguru’s coupon—” You murmur.

“I’ll get a chocopie with your order.”

"I'm literally paying— hey, what do you take me for? I have some semblance of self respect—”

“Two chocopies and a twister.” He looks around before ducking his head again in a whisper, “I’ll even pay for all your meals this month— matter of fact, you can just take my card—”

“Two months, including takeout.” You grumble. “And add an egg tart, I’m sending the money to Suguru right now.”

#★ DRIASWRLD #tsr ⭐️#jujutsu kaisen #satosugu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #suguru geto #satoru gojo #gojo x geto x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader

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wasawattpadkid · 1 year

Text

Housewife

Part - 12

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, homophobic slang

Part 1

You smacked Billy's hand away from the deviled eggs. "Stu please keep him away from the food." You begged with a casserole in your hands. Stu stood wide eyed with a slice of potato in his mouth. "Quit eating the food before I sit it out." You scolded trying not to laugh. The oven beeped making Stu check the food. "Pork chops are done!" Billy grabbed the oven mitts pulling the hot dish from the oven. "You can sit it here I've got hot plates down." You moved things around leaving room for everyone to sit.

"I'll make drinks." Stu grabbed three glasses pouring out what everyone wanted. "Do you need anything else?" Billy asked ready to help if you asked him to. You wiped your hands off on your apron looking around. "I think that's it. Thank you." Billy sat down at the table as Stu gave everyone their glass. The boys looked at the table like it was Christmas dinner. "Oh shit! I forgot to make the pie." You rubbed your face stressed. Cooking was one of your favorite things to do. Yet it could be the most irritating thing if one thing after another seemed to go wrong. The potatoes were a little over done while the vegetable casserole was a little too crisp around the edges.

"Hey." Billy's hands rested on your arms pulling you back to reality. "It looks great Y/n. Don't worry about a pie when you've already done this." He gestured towards the table full of food. "I wouldn't have room for pie anyways." Stu laughed. "I would." You and Billy both glared at the boy. "Actually I'm already full." You took a deep breath shaking your head. "Okay let's hope it tastes good." You said as you sat down. "It always does." Billy reassured you knowing you needed it. When setting the table Billy made sure to give everyone multiple plates. Stu however didn't need them.

You took a bite of your food mentally telling yourself you were a genius. Billy just stared in disgust at his friend. "What's wrong? Why aren't you eating?" You asked worried he didn't like the food. Stu had everything on one plate. The casserole was sitting in whatever oil you cooked the pork chops with. The deviled eggs sat next to the potatos getting the filling on everything else. It freaked Billy out. "I gave you a saucer for a reason." Stu looked up chewing on the food in his mouth. "What?" He said looking down at the extra clean plates on the table. "Oh! Well there's less dishes to do if I use one." Stu shrugged getting back to eating.

"I'll do the dishes just separate your food." You felt a little bad thinking the scene in front of you was funny. "Why does this bother you?" Billy looked at you like this was a universal opinion. "Why does this bother me? Look you've got your pork chop covered in broccoli casserole and there's deviled egg filling on it too." You took the chance to study Billy's plate. If the food could even be considered a little runny it had it's own plate. You agreed with Billy to an extent but it wasn't at all that serious. "It's going to mix together in my stomach so it really doesn't matter." Billy rolled his eyes knowing it certainly did matter.

Like a child Billy grabbed his plates moving over to sit next to you. "Are you serious?" You laughed even Stu was amused. "I can't eat if I'm sitting next to him." You just shook your head. "Okay besides obsessive compulsive over here, we do need to have a talk." Billy actually began to eat his food that you were sure was starting to get cold. "How long is Stu staying here?" Billy spoke jealousy evident in his voice. "Till we go back to school next week." You said before taking a drink from your glass. "My parents threatened to hire a maid so I couldn't throw any more parties." Stu laughed before shoving more food in his mouth.

You couldn't wrap your head around how parents could care so little about their child. "That's insane but we're getting off track. Stu in an ideal situation where would you want this to go?" You looked between him and Billy. "Can't we just hang out and see where it goes?" You liked the idea, it was one you thought about several times but it wouldn't work. "I wish we could but there's three of us involved. There's jealousy and guilt. Billy is already jealous you're staying with me." The boy next to you dropped his fork holding up his hands. "Hey I'm not jealous." Both you and Stu looked at him with straight faces. "Okay maybe I was a little jealous. Sue me."

"I want this to work out. I want to be able to call you both mine eventually." Billy laughed at his friend. "That's not going to work. I'm not having the world think I'm some sort of fairy." Stu just shot you a look. You weren't sure how to address the situation. With a huff Stu started talking. "I don't care what people think and I know that you do. I'm not going to tell anyone anything you don't want me to. I figured you knew that by now." You knew this was something time would have to fix. Neither you or Stu could force Billy to be okay with himself.

"How's this? All three of us are in a relationship. No two people more than the other. No labels. What we do behind closed doors is our business." Billy continued to eat leaving you and Stu to wait for some homophobic comment. "Works for me." He said as he wiped his lips with a napkin. "Stu?" You questioned. The short haired boy was just surprised with Billy's acceptance. "I'm alright with that. What do we do in public though?" Billy perked up also wanting an answer to the question. "Well we could just say I'm the girlfriend."

"When we're in public you're my girlfriend." A discussion with Billy was him simply telling it like it is. Stu was so used to it he thought he actually had a say in something. You weren't having it. "Is that alright with you?" Stu thought about it for a moment. "I guess so. I don't care for labels. What about holding hands and things like that? Do I just wait till we get home?" Billy seemed disinterested in the conversation. He wasn't expecting so many rules to what should be simple.

"I don't care if you two hold hands or whatever. At the end of the day though the word on the street is that you're my girlfriend." Billy was dead set on this. It sounded like a possessive thing and part of it was. Most of it however was just the security of the title. "Okay then that's settled. My only thing is and I can't be convinced otherwise, there will be no cheating." The boys found the word "cheating" rather funny since this so called relationship was between three people. "What does that mean exactly?" Billy asked resting his elbows on the table. "It means we don't sleep with anyone who isn't in this room."

Stu could live with that but he wasn't sure of Billy's loyalty. "Fair. Speaking of sex though how's that supposed to work? I don't want you two fooling around while I'm away." His hand swatted the air between you and Stu. "I'm going to want one on one time with the both of you on occasion. I'm sure the two of you will want your privacy sometimes." Billy would be fine sleeping with you by himself but the idea of you and Stu alone bothered him. He realized that was hypocritical. "So me and Billy can screw around without you and you don't mind?" Stu asked earning a glare from Billy. The idea didn't bother you.

"Yeah and if one of you comes over after school to spend the night it won't be an issue. This has to be fair to everyone involved. I'm not saying we'll never all be together. I'm sure that most of the time I'll be with the both of you." You took a sip of your drink leaving a small moment for either one of them to talk. Neither of them did. "I want to make it clear that you two are not dating me. We are all dating each other." Billy and Stu gave each other a look one you had a hard time reading. "What's the difference?" Stu asked. You don't know why you thought this would be a quick and easy conversation.

"The difference is we are all equal here. If one of us feels left out or has an issue then we'll discuss it together. Does that make sense?" Stu nodded actually following along with every word you said. "I'm sorry am I boring you?" You asked Billy who seemed aloof with the whole idea of a relationship. "No but is all this really necessary? It's seems like a business deal." Stu had to agree with his friend on that. "It is necessary if you want this to be a long term thing. You are far too jealous to not have rules and Stu is far too sensitive." The short haired boy couldn't even argue.

"Okay fine." Billy wouldn't admit it but he knew you were right. "What about dates?" Stu asked and the question alone made that giddy feeling come back. "Dates should be all three of us." Billy added his two cents. "That's what I was thinking." Stu wanted the same thing you did. For this to be an equal relationship. You listened to the boys not seeing anything wrong with the idea. "Alright any dates have to involve all three of us. Is there anything else?"

You wanted to have hope, be optimistic for once. However the quickness of everything really bothered you. "I hope not." Billy half laughed with Stu nodding in return. "This seems fast right?" You weren't crazy. This whole thing happened in such a short span of time. Part of the reason being the murders. Billy and Stu weren't dumb they knew how quickly all of this developed. Billy was well aware of how swiftly he became infatuated with you. You would say it's because of the scheme you had planned but he knew it was more than that. Stu however just fell in love easily. He was like a stray dog, you feed them once and they'll keep showing up at your door.

"It is fast but it doesn't have to be." Billy tried to be the understanding and caring boyfriend you so desperately wanted. "Yeah! We could go out and try to do this the right way." Stu was all for a old fashioned relationship. He wasn't sure if you could have a gayish old fashioned relationship but you three would be the first to do it. You smiled. Atleast the boys were looking at the glass half full. Billy looked at Stu having one of those wordless conversations. You stopped trying to read them at this point.

The boys helped clean up the table, Billy was tasked with washing dishes as penance for his previous offenses. He knew it'd take more than some corning ware but he was willing to do it for you. "Me and Y/n were listening to some records earlier." Stu talked as he toyed with the record cabinet. "Is that so?" Billy continued scrubbing the glassware only looking up to glance at Stu. "Yeah. Did you know Elvis came in his pants on stage once?" You snickered as you swept the floor. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you tell me that?"

Stu laughed, one of his favorite activities was catching his partner off guard. "Hey she told me. If I have to know it so do you." The boy pointed at you making Billy turn around. His hands were wet gripping the counter he leaned on. "He's already screwed up enough don't encourage him." Stu smiled a big smile falling in the floor in front of you. "Please, oh please encourage me." He begged making you roll your eyes. "See what I mean?" Billy shook his head with a smirk wiping his hands off on a dish towel.

"Okay seriously that hurt." Stu said holding his stomach as he stood up. "Oh my god let me see it." Billy laughed at your aggravated tone. You lifted Stu's shirt just enough to check the bandages. Billy watched wishing he was still in pain so you could look after him. "You're not bleeding but remind me tonight I've got to change your bandages." Stu looked over at Billy trying to read his expression. He felt like shit seeing the wounds that covered Stu's abdomen. Everyone in the room knew who caused the damage but no one acknowledged it.

"I'm sorry about that." Billy said cracking his knuckles. His eyes were focused on the floor not ready to show off the look of guilt on his face. "It's no problem. I'm gonna have badass scars." You looked up at Stu once you taped down his bandage. "You're right about that." You noticed the tension between the two boys and you weren't sure what it was about. "I'm going to go put on some pajamas. You two okay down here?"

"We're not toddlers we can manage." Stu's words were only half true. They definitely weren't toddlers but they certainly couldn't manage on their own. You walked up the stairs shutting your bedroom door behind you. Billy looked up the stairs for a second making sure you were gone. "We should plan a date." Stu smiled at the boy. "Look at Loomis getting all romantic." Billy refrained from smacking him seeing he's done enough damage for while. "Yeah yeah, where would you want to go?" Stu was a little confused by the question. "Shouldn't you ask Betty Crocker?" He figured the impromptu date was to please you. Billy already had Stu eating out of the palm of his hand all he needed was for you to do the same. "I'm taking you both out ass-wipe. That's what we're doing now right?"

Stu hated how excited the thought made him. Billy never took Stu out for anything other than a rented VHS tape. The idea that he could have a semi-normal relationship with the man he's cared about for years never crossed his mind. "We could take her to an antique store or something? She likes those places, they make me sneeze." Billy rubbed his face with his hand. "Stu I'm trying my best here I'd love some cooperation. Where do you want to go?" Stu had no idea. He's never been taken out anywhere. He took Tatum shopping and Casey too but he's never had those favors returned.

"We could go roller skating!" Stu hadn't been to a roller rink since he was a kid. "I like the enthusiasm but stitches, high speeds, and hard wood don't mix well when you're involved." He wanted to be upset but Billy made a valid point. "That arcade opened up down town. Would you be okay with doing that?" It was a better plan than wearing dirty skates. "I'll be fine but you're going to get your ass kicked in Mortal Kombat." Billy watched a smile light up Stu's face. "Oh you're on."

"Who's on?" You asked walking back into the kitchen. Billy looked you up and down admiring the nightgown he picked out in person. "I'm turned on." Stu said raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Well turn yourself off because I'm not in the mood to be spit roasted." Stu's jaw dropped at your words while Billy just stood confused. "What?" Stu stood up whispering the definition into his partner's ear. You watched in delight as Billy's features grew serious and that sinister glint in his eyes returned. "You are more fucked up that I thought." His eyes once again scanned you from head to toe.

"You say that like you don't love it." You walked to the living room turning on the TV. Believe it or not you were just as evil as they were. Just in different scenarios. You majored in the psychological warfare department. "She's going to be the death of us." Billy groaned as you sat down on the sofa. Stu smiled walking backwards into the living room. He held out his arms dramatically looking at Billy. "What a wonderful way to go."

(if your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you.)

Part 13

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#housewife #billy loomis #scream #ghostface #scream 1996 #billy loomis x reader #ghostface x reader #scream fanfic #poly!ghostface #billy loomis ghostface #billy loomis masterlist #billy loomis smut #stu macher x reader #stu macher #stu macher smut #stu macher imagine #stu macher fluff #stu ghostface #ghostface x female reader

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its-time-to-write · 10 months

Note

Hi!! I hope you’re well !! Thank you so much for keeping the Jaimie Tartt community well fed like I will forever be in your debt you’re amazing‼️‼️ My humble request is in honor of SNTV:) My favorite songs are Enchanted and Sparks Fly so maybe a complicated angsty start up to a fluffy love confession (like they just haven’t gotten the timing right until now or they were friends and then something happens to her). IDK anyway sorry for the word vomit and thank you bunches for all your hard work!!

I loved this request!! Also sorry, all my fics seem to be ending the same way this days😬 But we keep getting to the ending in new and exciting ways so hopefully no one cares! Enjoy!

wonderstruck

You knew the moment you met Keeley Jones that your friendship was going to be a wild ride. You were still in uni, and had picked up a one-off job as one extra on a commercial shoot. The pay wasn’t bad (hey, it was extra money) and you were willing to sacrifice a Saturday for it. Keeley was one of the frontrunners for the commercial, all big hair and wild makeup. You had bumped into her by chance at the food table, started talking, and the rest was history. One random job turned into a solid four years of friendship. It was a funny dynamic between you and Keeley, because she was both older sister and antagonizer. She liked to pull you out of your comfort zone, taking you to clubs, parties, events, whatever as her plus one. Well, until she started dating a prick footballer named Jamie Tartt.

You didn’t meet him while they were together. You’d already known Keeley for two and a half years at that point, and understood she had shit taste in men. You weren’t afraid to tell her that to her face and she’d just laugh and say, “I know babes, but it’s right fun, innit?”

You’d laugh and shake your head, then go back to carefully painting her nails in the brightest, sparkliest colors imaginable.

Keeley was really, really good for you.

She called you the night she broke up with Jamie, and you came over to her house with a giant bottle of champagne only to find her and another woman, a Rebecca Welton, already proper tipsy and giggling on the floor. They were still dolled up from that night’s benefit while you were in pajamas, but you didn’t let that stop you. You downed half a bottle while Keeley and Rebecca cheered. You were glad Keeley had dumped that awful, cheating, self-absorbed prick. She deserved so much better.

You were glad when she started dating Roy Kent. He was a lot more down-to-earth than she was, and they were a good balance for each other. You wondered if Keeley gravitated toward those of a more serious nature in the same way you were drawn to those who were more spontaneous.

Post-uni, you had started your own business. It was kind of a random venture, something you had begun for a friend, but then it took off. You made the most outrageous, eccentric day-to-day dresses, taking a simple pattern then transforming it with wild patterns, tulle, and the occasional sparkle. Keeley, angel that she was, modeled some of them and put them on her instagram. And just like that, you were selling out.

It was absolutely insane, but you were able to spend the week making two dresses and then turn over a nice profit. You felt like you were overcharging but Keeley said, “Babe, if you’re selling out, you might be undercharging.”

All that to say, life with Keeley Jones as your friend was absolutely magical. You’d do anything for her. Including going to a fucking benefit as her plus one.

—

“Why can’t you just take Roy?”

“Roy’s already got his own invite. He’s a coach, so he has to be there even though he’s going to fucking hate it.” Keeley laughs. She thinks Roy’s grumpiness is endearing.

“Alright, why’d you get a plus one then? It doesn’t make sense, Keels,” you counter.

Keeley refuses to meet your eyes. “It’s entirely possible that Rebecca gave me one so that you’d come.”

“Keeleyyy,” you groan.

She shoves your shoulder playfully. “She knew if she sent you a direct invite you wouldn’t go, and she said she’d let us meet up at her house to get ready together! C’mon babes, it’s going to be so much fun and we’ll look sooo fucking fit walking the red carpet together, yeah?”

She gives you her widest puppy-dog eyes, lower lip pushing out. You sigh.

“Fucking fine. Fine. But you’re coming with me to pick out a dress. And you’re buying my coffee.”

Keeley cheers and tackles you in a hug. “You won’t regret it, I swear. Worst case you can just bitch about it with Roy the next day.” You laugh. You and Roy bitch about a lot of things together.

—

The red carpet is absolutely terrifying. It’s louder than you would have thought and the flashes from the camera are giving you a headache.

“How the hell do you do this?” you ask Keeley through a smile.

She laughs for the cameras. “Loads of practice, babe,” she replies in a perfect pose. “Now look at me and laugh at something I said.”

You’re almost done and the paps are asking for a photo of Keeley and Roy, so you wait off to the side near the entrance for them. You crane your neck to try to find Rebecca, to no avail. You do however catch the eye of someone with a very nice fashion sense and very, very blue eyes. He gives you a once-over and grins. You blush and turn back to Keeley and Roy who have finished and are making their way over to you. Keeley grabs your hand and says, “Hi Jamie!” while Roy rolls his eyes. Jamie says, “Hey Keeley,” and nods to Roy. “Grandad.”

“Fuck you,” Roy replies, and you’re surprised at the borderline affectionate tone he’s using. Especially considering Jamie is Keeley’s ex. He’s not really what you would have expected, but you don’t have time to dwell on that because Keeley’s dragging you inside the benefit venue.

—

Jamie is sitting at the same table as you.

Correction: he’s sitting right fucking next to you and it’s all you can do to avoid eye contact with him. You had introduced yourself to him with a barely suppressed grimace and steeled yourself for a long, misogyny-filled night.

You were so tense that Keeley put her hand on your knee and said, “I’ve got to go reapply my lipliner, d’you want to come with?”

You got up and followed her, feeling far too exposed in your backless, purple-sequined dress.

“Alright babe, what gives?” she asks once you’ve made it to the bathroom. “You’re wound up so tight I could stick coal up your ass and get a diamond.”

That makes you crack a smile and you shrug. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Keeley shakes her head. “Don’t you fucking lie to me, I’ve had four years of practice knowing exactly when you’re telling me a fib.”

“Who’s fibbing?” Rebecca says, walking in the door. “I saw Keeley drag you in here, and I didn’t want to miss out on some girl talk.”

“Oh thank god you’re here,” you say, relieved. “I’ve been looking for you for the past hour and couldn’t find you.”

Rebecca self-consciously smooths her hair. “I’ve been- busy,” she says. “But this isn’t about me. What are you fibbing about?”

You look between Rebecca and Keeley then deflate. “I have to sit next to Jamie Tartt.”

Keeley and Rebecca share a look. “I don’t see what that’s such a bad thing,” Rebecca says.

You look at her in disbelief. “Jamie Tartt? The biggest prick in all of London, and quite possibly all of England? Cheated on Keeley multiple times and all-around arsehole?”

Keeley grimaces. “Yeah, not one of his finer points in life.”

“See?” you say. “He’s the fucking worst!” Rebecca and Keeley share another look.

��Stop fucking doing that,” you say. “What?”

“Darling,” Rebecca says gently, “he’s changed.”

You’re not buying it, a sentiment that is evident in your expression.

“It’s true, babes,” Keeley affirms. “And look, I’d probably be the fucking last person to say it. But he has! He’s loads better than he used to be, an absolute sweetheart. Even Roy loves him.”

You snort.

“Okay, maybe love is a strong word,” Keeley amends. “But he likes him! Roy said Jamie’s the best player on the team, and possibly one of the best in the country!”

You’re still not buying it.

“Listen,” Rebecca says. “Give him one hour free of bias. Forget who he was and give him a chance. You might be surprised.”

You look to Keeley, unsure. It is her ex, after all.

To your surprise, she’s smiling and nodding. “Go for it,” she says. “You never know what could happen.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you laugh. Only Keeley Jones could try to pawn her ex off on her best friend with the confident assurance that he’s a better man now. You know she’s not lying, or at least she believes Jamie’s changed. You’re not sure what to believe, but you’ll take Rebecca’s advice and give Jamie one hour to change your mind.

—

You’re not in your seat two seconds before Jamie starts talking to you.

“Why d’you look so nervous love? I don’t bite.” He grins. “Much.”

You catch yourself before you grimace and instead say, “This whole thing isn’t really my scene. It’s a lot of people I don’t know, and I’m only here ‘cause Keels asked me to be her plus one.”

Jamie still has that obnoxious grin on his face. “What does Roy think about you stealing his girlfriend? Can’t imagine he’d take it lying down.”

You glance over at Keeley and Roy. His arm is around the back of her chair and she’s leaning into him ever so slightly.

You say, “I’ve been here longer than he has, so if anyone’s stolen her, it’s him,” and you watch the pieces click into place in Jamie’s head.

“Shit,” he says. “You’re the best friend. Shoulda known when you told me your name.”

You shrug.

“Makes sense,” he continues. “I wondered why you weren’t fuckin’ beside yourself to be sitting by the fittest bloke in the room.”

You roll your eyes, hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

He pulls his chair a little closer and looks at you again with those perfect blue eyes. “Seriously, I am sorry. I was a prick. It took Keeley breaking up with me for me to start gettin’ my head out of me arse.” Jamie’s words back up what Keeley and Rebecca told you. You’re not entirely ready to brush his past under the rug, but tell him that it seems like he did a right proper job of it, which makes him laugh.

“Do you really think you’re the fittest guy in here?” you ask.

Jamie gestures to the room. “Look around, babe. I ain’t lying.”

You laugh, and the tension dispels. You’ve 55 minutes to go, and then you can go back to hating him. For now, you’ll let him keep cracking jokes.

—

The hour is up, but you’re still talking to Jamie. You don’t stop to consider why he’s still talking to you (maybe because he can’t stand the idea of anyone hating him) but he is. It’s actually enjoyable, so when he asks you to accompany him to the dance floor, you look to Keeley for approval instead of outright rejecting him.

Keeley says, “Go on babe, I’m gonna try to convince this one to get out there for at least one dance,” and Roy says, “Fuck no.”

You let Jamie take your hand as he promises, “No funny business, I swear,” and you just laugh.

You laugh through three songs because Jamie has a way of making you giggle. He swings you around and executes all kinds of moves that you’re sure you could never replicate, but you assume that being a Premier League footballer means he’s got to be coordinated. Makes sense that he can dance.

The fourth song is a slow one, so you move to leave the dance floor but Jamie catches your hand.

“Stay,” he says. “I’m having a really great time with you.”

You feel Keeley kick the bottom of your shoe from where she’s swaying with her arms around Roy’s neck.

It makes you stumble a little, just enough for Jamie to have to catch you. He grins. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

He puts your hands around his neck and his on your waist. It’s a soft touch, but you can feel sparks shooting up your hipbones.

You’re absolutely fucked.

Jamie doesn’t say a single thing, just sways along with the soft music and gazes into your eyes. You can’t look away no matter how hard you try.

The song ends and you let go of Jamie. He slides a hand up you waist and down your arm, lifts your hand to his lips, and kisses your inner wrist.

Before you can form a coherent thought, he’s gone.

Rebecca and Keeley are on you in a moment.

“You’re both coming to mine,” Rebecca says. “You have time to go home and get pajamas, but I’m getting out of here as soon as I can. I just made sure my pantry was restocked.”

—

It’s 2am. Rebecca and Keeley have successfully gotten you to admit that you like Jamie.

Against all odds, you like him.

Fuck.

“You’re sure it’s not weird?” you ask Keeley as you pace around Rebecca’s bedroom.

“For the millionth time, babe,” she says, “I really don’t. I think you two would be fucking adorable together.”

Rebecca nods in agreement. “I’m on Keeley’s side on this one. Jamie used to be a right little shit, but he’s really turned it around. And could you please stop wearing a hole in my rug? It’s giving me anxiety.”

You abruptly stop and plop down on the bed. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if he was only trying to make me not hate him because I’m Keeley’s best friend?”

Rebecca makes an offended noise so you amend: “Sorry, one of Keeley’s best friends?”

“Listen,” Keeley says making her way to your spot on the end of the bed. She holds your arms. “I know Jamie. He was fucking interested. And he hasn’t been that way in a while. You should just fucking go for it.”

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. Rebecca and Keeley groan and flop back onto the bed.

“You’re absolutely hopeless,” Rebecca says, but it’s laced with affection. You grin.

“That’s why you love me.”

—

You don’t sleep. Keeley is sandwiched between you and Rebecca on Rebecca’s absolutely massive bed, and all you can think about is Jamie’s blue eyes and the sparks of electricity you felt wherever he touched you.

You can still feel the kiss on your wrist.

—

It rains for three days and you refuse to go to Nelson Road. Keeley’s out sick anyway, and Rebecca is busy with work. You are too, working on a commission in electric blue. It’s very cozy inside your flat, soft music playing as the rain plinks on your roof. You’re wearing your good sweats, the ones that match and don’t have stains. Your hair is freshly clean and pulled back in a clip and there’s a pot of tea on the stove.

Your heartbeat has not been normal since dancing with Jamie. It’s beating in an irregular pattern, horrendously out of sync with the calming sound of rain. You can’t get it to calm down so you decide to indulge and replay your entire interaction with Jamie, as a treat.

You’re just thinking about his hands on your waist and letting your mind wander to where else you think they should go, when there’s a knock on the door. You frown.

That’s odd. Who on earth could be at your door at 7pm on a Monday in pouring rain? You pad across the living room to the door and open it to find a very wet Jamie.

“Hi,” he says, and then he’s pulling you onto the porch and kissing you in the pouring rain.

You’re soaked through to the bone, but you don’t care. All you can feel is Jamie’s hair as you run your fingers through and his lips on yours as they devour you. It’s straight out of a movie.

You shiver, and Jamie breaks away.

“Got your address from Keeley,” he says. “She’s the one who told me to come here. Can we go inside?”

You nod mutely and let him in. “Aren’t you cold?” you ask.

He just laughs. “Nah babe, I run hot. You look right fucking freezing, though. Good thing I’m here, I’ll help you warm right up.”

You’re really starting to shiver. “You should get out of those clothes,” you say through chattering teeth.

“Could say the same about you,” Jamie replies. “Where’s your bedroom at?”

You all but drag him up the stairs to your room.

You think you’re going to kill Keeley for telling Jamie you liked him, but then you’re flat on your back, bare skin pressing into the duvet as Jamie Tartt presses hot kisses up your neck, and you forget all about her.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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