#my son your daddy issues are so strong and i love you for it
Text
the way percy got a crumb of positive attention from poseidon and was like “oh hey I love my dad now he’s pretty great :) :) :)”
#pjo tv show#percy jackson#my son your daddy issues are so strong and i love you for it#stay strong percy!!!#he’s still a godly deadbeat!!!
12K notes
·
View notes
Text
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
Netherfeildren's Masterlist
Updates Blog!
#pink fic#Joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller/reader#joel miller/you#the last of us au#joel miller imagine
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Wife <3
Short fic/ description: domestics with your older!neighbor Eddie Munson, who you love with your whole heart!! Marriage is bliss.
Tw: d/s implied dynamics, major breeding/preg kink, family fluff, protective! Eddie Munson, dom-coded! Eddie Munson, sub-coded!Hyperfem reader!!
A/n: I think I might make this a series!
Your pink fingernails tapped on the pastel blue mixer as it mixed the eggs, flour, milk, baking soda and sugar together. You were baking a cake for the return of your beloved husband, Eddie.
Although you were only twenty-three, he was thirty-five, and you first met him as you and your dad moved into Hawkins. Your dad and yourself came from a religious family, and you made sure to make room for G-d in your day to day life.
Your very ‘trustworthy’ next door neighbor was exactly what you wished for. Your relationship grew, the two of you fell in love. Eddie Munson saved you in an way that G-d never would. He was your person, a person that was your home.
You moved in next door with him only a few months after you began to date. A year after, a quiet and eloping wedding in the deep of the Hawkins woods, where you and Eddie swam in the creek naked afterwards, for hours on end.
Here you were then, home-making, adding an earnest addition to the delicious dinner ready for your husband. You rub your belly, swollen with Eddie’s child, as you feel a cramp. Your unborn babe must have been kicking.
You hear your Eds come through the door. Strong, fully tatted arms wrap around you, pulling you close. “How’s my beautiful girl today, huh?,” he asks, with a peck to your cheek, which turns into a long, tender kiss. “M’fine, my Eds. Just cramps.”
He gave you a look of pity, then leaning down to caress your heavy belly, heavy just for him. “How’s my son today, being nice to mommy?,” he chuckles, his hairy hand soothing the swollen stretch marks he gave you.
Just a few months after marriage, the both of you had fulfilled your most primal urges <3 here he had, his young wife, all round and heavy with his child, he bred her to his heart’s content!! Oh, did you love being bred. You and your Eds tried for months, months, for a child. You were almost at full-term now, and how you loved carrying your husband’s seed all this time, feeling it grow inside you.
You sigh, leaning into Eddie as his dark curls tickle your cheek, his beard feels scratchy as he buries his head into your neck. “Made dinner f’me, huh? Can’t wait, sweetheart. Go on, you rest on the couch and I’ll take care of you both.” You do as said, and how you loved being coddled by him.
He brings you the dinner that you made, gives you a shoulder, neck, and belly rub , his muscles kneading your skin, you were completely putty in his hands. This was usually apart of your nightly routine. You would face the days worth of chores, pregnancy issues, and more. Eds would come home, feed you, calm you down, and then you were under his spell, wrapped around his tattooed finger (wedding ring tattoos instead of actual rings) all ready to be bred before the night would end.
My happy, heavy wife, hmm?,” he’d say, after a massage. Daddy’s girl, carrying my seed, so fuckin’ good f’me.” At that point, you’d already be panting for him, watching his calloused fingers go up your thigh, squeezing the soft skin you had there.
The cross on the wall watches the both of you with searing contempt, as Eddie starts his ministrations elsewhere, between your legs, one hand gently rubbing your puffy and swollen clit <3 the other rests on your belly.
Sooner rather than later, he has you back up, legs spread, pounding you from behind while you scream, losing your mind at the feeling of his thick cock dragging along your walls, his veins pulsing, his balls softly teasing your puffy lips!!
You chant his name as if he were G-d himself! “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, was all you could think about, as his wide chest pressed down against your back, having his pregnant wife in a mating press, he finished in you. <3
“You okay, sweets? Let me help you up, yeah?,” he smiles, that chivalrous, protective side of his always showing, growing even stronger for his wife, knowing there is more to protect now <3.
He adjusts you comfortably on the couch, you lay your head on his chest, fingers tracing his happy trail. You felt ever so happy, that warm trail of his seed dripping down your still pulsing walls.
Evolution, biology, have run their course. Both you and Eddie succumbed to your most primal instinct. You were married, owned — pregnant, bred. He would die protecting his wife and unborn child.
The both of your wedding ring tattoos glistened in the light of the dim yellow bulb, covered by a white linen shade with ‘Garfield’ on it.
Gentle hands in larger ones, the both of you drift off to sleep, with Eddie’s hand still around your belly, loving you, cherishing your body.
#liz’s masterlist#stranger things smut#eddie munson smut#eddie munson imagine#soft dom eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#dom eddie supremacy#daddy!eddie#dom!eddie munson#eddie munson x hyperfem!reader
195 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi there!
I was wondering if you could do a yandere RoR with the reader being the daughter of either Acnologia (Fairy tail) or Whitebeard (One piece). The reader being the kindest person there is, but have a wicked temper.
Like when they fight their opponent (a rather cruel god) and they try to attack their family and they lose it and unleash their power and rage on them.
And that gains the attention of the gods and humans.
Gods: Thor, Poesidon Buddha, Loki, Hercules and Hermes
Humans: Lu bu, Jack the Ripper, Raiden, Sasaki Kojiro and Leonidas
-The strongest man in the world, one of the strongest and mightiest of pirates, who commanded a massive crew full of powerful individuals, calling them his family, his sons and daughters, was an opponent none wanted to cross unless if they had to.
-Of all the children he laid claim over, there was only one who was biologically his, his daughter, Y/N. She was tall, beautiful, and just as powerful as her old man.
-Normally level-headed and a good leader, Y/N was a force to be reckoned with in her own right, earning her respect and power young, but she did have one little weakness- her temper.
-You weren’t known for losing your temper often, but when you did…. There was usually a lot of property damage, usually a couple of deaths, and lots of people crying, begging for forgiveness.
-However, you had a pretty good lid on your temper, only losing it for a few small things here and there, so your crew, your family, had learned quickly to avoid those triggers, and if someone else caused you to pop off, they would be safe, as they all knew to stay a safe distance back, away from the carnage.
-You lived a life full of adventure and fun, and died doing what you loved, sailing, being pulled to Valhalla, as you were deemed someone worthy of coming.
-You enjoyed your time in Valhalla, being able to meet new people, make new friends, and battle strong opponents, and while you did miss your family dearly, you knew they would yell at you for lingering on them rather than sailing forward like your dad always taught you to do.
-You weren’t like a lot of the other women in Valhalla, you were crass, talked back, could drink almost anyone under the table, and you loved to fight, you had no issues getting hurt if it meant you were going to get a good brawl out of it.
-This is what led Brunnhilde into seeking you out to fight in Ragnarok, fighting alongside with other champions of humanity for it’s very survival against the gods.
-You knew that gods existed, being in Valhalla for so long, and while there were many good ones, ones you could call friends, there were ones who were cruising for a bruising and you had been feeling a little antsy here as of late, mainly because you weren’t getting the challenge you so desperately wanted.
-Your opponent was cocky, seeing a woman, despite her not looking dainty and delicate, but he was arrogant, immediately thinking that this was going to be an easy fight.
-People were cheering loudly for you, those you had befriended and those who knew of your power, many of them knowing full well who was actually going to win the fight.
-Your opponent laughed obnoxiously when he heard your dad’s name, “Whitebeard?! What kind of stupid name is that?!”
-Many people groaned in the audience, immediately handing over their losing bets to their friends; it’s not that they were betting against you, but they were betting on how quickly this fight was going to end.
-He was not prepared for you to come flying across the arena at him and throw a harsh right hook across his face, sending him flying back into the brick wall behind you.
-You glared darkly, a murderous aura surrounding you as you cracked your knuckles, stalking towards him, “Nobody talks about my daddy like that.”
-You won your match in a little under two minutes, not even using your weapon with your Valkyrie partner, you did it with your bare hands.
-While you assure her that you were fine, Brunnhilde dragged you to the infirmary to get your knuckles wrapped up, as you had busted them open pretty bad during the beat down.
-A knock came to the door of the room you were in with two nurses, one working on each hand, and your eyes lit up as a man walked in and you beamed, “(Love)!”
-Couldn’t help but chuckle, seeing you getting patched up, walking in but not bothering the nurses, “Have to say Y/N, it was pretty hot watching you go feral for once.” You pouted lightly up at him, showing your softer side, “Nobody gets to talk about my papa like that!” he chuckled, as he knew that was a fact, that’s how he met you, seeing some cocky upstarts insulting your father which led to a one on however many there were with you walking away the clear victor with no major wounds. He asked you out right after that for a drink, which you accepted and the two of you have been nearly attached at the hip. He respected you heavily, you were not to be underestimated and he demanded respect for you if he felt like you weren’t getting it. Keeps PDA to a minimum but behind closed doors he’s a total cuddle bug. Once you were free from the nurses he picked you up like you were a delicate maiden, making your face blaze brightly. He thought you were adorable when you got so shy, but now that you won your fight, he was treating you to a drink- you earned it!
-Leonidas, Lu Bu, Thor, Poseidon, Hermes, and Raiden
-Knew not to coddle you, but you could see the worry in his eyes, even if he didn’t say anything, sitting nearby, “How’s the hands?” you grinned, flashing him a wink, “They ache so good- bastard got what he deserved.” He chuckled warmly, finding your humor comforting. He knew that you were going to win, but he was still nervous watching you fight, not wanting you to get hurt as you were important to him. You knew of his worry but said nothing out of respect to him, something he did appreciate. Your hands were stiff from the bandages, leaving you not able to use them really easily, but (Love) was happy to help, letting you sit on his lap, holding your mug of ale for you, enjoying your after fight feast he prepared for the two of you. He praised your fighting skills, showing what you were able to do without a weapon but also while overcome with fuming rage. He knew of your triggers that would set you off, unintentionally setting a few off himself, but now knew better. Adored you, showers you with love and praise and just makes you feel so happy and dainty, but at the same time knows full well you will throw hands with anyone if they were to disrespect you, your father, or (Love).
-Buddha, Hercules, Loki, Jack, and Kojiro
#record of ragnarok#ror x reader#ror leonidas#ror lu bu#ror thor#ror poseidon#ror hermes#ror raiden#ror buddha#ror heracles#ror loki#ror jack the ripper#ror kojiro sasaki
156 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ever since I wrote the Hollyberry headcanons I’ve been thinking about writing some for Dark Cacao ever since, he’s my favorite Ancient and I honestly want him to adopt me. (Side note: SFW only! No NSFW! Get outta here!)
He was honestly apprehensive at first when hearing about your age regression, considering his history with children *cough cough* his son *cough cough*
At first he didn’t really do much, he just made sure you were okay and that was mostly it!
Eventually, he does start getting more comfortable with the idea! He’ll do small things like hold your hand as you walk or assisting you with things like tying your shoes or making food to eat
At his most comfortable he’s pretty much just a dad again! He’ll happily feed you, play with you, and do everything else that’s needed to take care of you (mostly because you remind him of his son, but you didn’t hear that from me)
Loves snuggling with you so much to the point where it’s a daily ritual! Every day you’ll have designated cuddling time with him, it’s simply a must.
The way you feel so safe with him to get so close and comfortable, even to the point of falling asleep in his arms or lap, simply makes his heart melt!
When it gets to the point of you calling him “daddy”, “dada”, “papa”, or whatever he will gladly wear that title as a badge of honor! And admittedly, the first time you called him that he was extremely close to crying tears of joy
Doesn’t spoil you as that’s not the kind of CG he is, but if you’re really good then who’s to say he won’t sneak you a sweet treat? Just don’t tell anyone!
Weirdly enough, I don’t think he’s THAT strict. Sure, he has lots of rules for you, but he’s more or less kinda lenient on them because he… How do I say this? Doesn’t wanna repeat the mistakes he made with his son
Like Hollyberry he is also big and strong so it’s guaranteed that he’ll carry you around and hold you
Occasionally, if nobody is around, he’ll allow you to sit on his lap in the throne room! But he is a really busy king and the throne room is often populated so don’t expect it too often
Impure regression? At first he’s kinda struggling to help you with that, he doesn’t really know what to do! Dealing with emotional issues is not his strong suit, but as a dad he is good at comforting those younger than him so soon enough he realizes what helps you calm down and starts helping you with that sort of thing.
Loves dressing you up… just throwing that out there.
Oddly enough, that’s all I got! You’d think I have more headcanons for him since he’s my favorite, but I guess not. I mean, he doesn’t exactly radiate as much CG energy as Hollyberry Cookie does so… yeah. Anyways, I hoped you enjoyed this regardless! Have a good one 🫶
(PS: lemme know if I should do this for all the other Ancients, I’m honestly really tempted)
#cr kingdom#crk#everetts writings#headcanon#headcanons#crk x reader#cookie run kingdom#agere headcanons#sfw agere#dark cacao cookie#dark cacao crk#dark cacao x reader#age regression
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
guess who fucking finished EPISODE SIX
that’s right it’s meeee
okok my thoughts: SPOILERS AHEAD
IRIS MESSAGING OH MY GODS ITS SO COOL ITS SO FREAKINGG COOOOLLLL! !!!! like ARGGGG its like a really badly connected facetime i love it.
omgs luke “HOW DO YOU KNOW😳😳” that’s some interesting foreshadowing there uncle rick
CLARISSEEEEEEEEEEEE HAHAHAHAH I FORGOT ABOUT THAT PART IN THE BOOKS
“compared to the chimera on monday and medusa on sunday” percy’s so real for that idc. icon.
WHEN DID YOU TWO START ACTING LIKE AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE LMAOAOAOAOA how did luke know. mans knew from the very beginning
animals running amok in las vegas💀
i’m guessing the one with the giant lotus blossom on it annabeth, queen of calling out percy’s bullshit
LEVITATING IS PERFECT (not as perfect as poker face but still pretty good)
the graphic novel. counts. my bro ain’t wrong. the graphic novels count
THEY FIGURED IT OUT SO SOON IM SO PROUD OF THEM
I MAYBE SAW BIANCAS HAT like i saw in the background a girl with a green floppy hat ??? bianca is that you ???
are augustus and ferdinand gay ????
if i tell you something will you promise not to make fun of me and annabeths lil “dude” like percy ofc she’s going to make fun of you
IS THAT NICO INTHE RED JACKEF I SEE HIM I SEE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM HES SO AWWWWW AW AW AW AW AW I LOVD YOU
^^^^my actual reaction as a saw a lil short kid with black hair wearing a red jacket
LIN MANUEL MIRANDA HAPPY BIRTHDAY FATHER
youre a really good guesser. lmao percy he’s a god😭😭
luke changes everything. like he always does.
poor bb looks so sad about his son :( i can tell he wants to go back and fix everything
i remember JUST FINE. GO QUEEN GO. LIKE YES YOU DO, TELL THE BITCHY GOD
and i feel a lot better about having stolen his keys. exactly !! wait what. this whole scene was so perfectly their dynamic
HAHAHAHAHHA PERCY DRIVING A CAR IVE NEVER LAUGHED HARDER HOLY HADES
imagine your first driving lesson being saving the world i think i would kms
HELP HIM HITTING THE WALL IM DEAD
grover getting his memory back is so cute 🥰🥰🥰
yes king go meet ur dad even though he’s not there
PREPARE FOR WAR OMGS WHAT …. i was NIT expecting that
this is not your fault. you are brave. you are strong. you made your father proud. me when the daddy issues kick in and i almost started crying
HEY NOW. THEY ONLY GAVE HIM THREE IN THE BOOKS. RESPECTFULLY, WHY DOES SALLY JACKSON GET TO LIVE INSTANTLY WHY IS THERE NOT A STRUGGLE !!! THATS PERCYS WHOLE REASON FOR BEING PISSED
#percy jackson#annabeth chase#percabeth#percy jackson show#pjo series#pjo tv show#crying#bc percabeth#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo#NICO NICO NICO#NICO DI ANGELO LADIES AND GENTS#he’s the best character#THE BEST CHARACTER HAS ARRIVED#BOW DOWN WHORES#HOW DO YOU FEEL TO BE IN THE PRESENCE OF GREATNESS#also my mom didn’t like this episode#which is kinda rude#she tried to fight me on who stayed in the underworld#she insisted it was grover bc of the movies#but i was like no bitch it was SALLY#anyways now she’s mad at me#also the episode disappointed her#like girl that was perfect#get a grip#get a life#stop hating on my fav show#that���s all folks#goodnight#dream demigod dreams
33 notes
·
View notes
Note
Whos the best daddy: oda, jingyuan or childe?
WELCOME TO THE DADDY OLYMPICS 🔥
I shall be your fine hostess for the evening so BUCKLE UP! We have a fine selection of men here, all amazing but do not be fooled by their charms, they are beyond deadly!! In the wise words of Mr Pedro Pascal "Daddy is a state of mind." and today, we shall find out which one of these three men has what it takes!
The first man we have is the 11th Harbinger, Tartaglia! Or Childe! Or Ajax! Or however the fuck you want to call him, he has too many names!! (One is enough my good Sir.)
Renowned as a family man, Mr Tartaglia writes letters to his whole family and loves all of his siblings very much, so much so that he is willing to lie in order to keep their dreams intact. While some people might argue what he is doing is wrong (and in a way they're right) but his intentions are always pure and just wants his family to have a good life.
What a gem of a man!
We are also aware that this man is LOADED, so his family or friends do not need to worry about any expenses whatsoever, regardless of how much they cost, Mr Tartaglia has you COVERED!
However.
As unfortunate as it may be, Mr Tartaglia simply lacks the certain finesse that your classic Daddy™ requires to have. His boyish charms are out of this world but they are indeed just that - boyish!
Besides, I personally believe that he'd be more of a "Sir" type of guy. "Sir" and "Daddy" are indeed powerful authority figures but there is a slight difference there.
The final ranking for Mr Tartaglia is 6/10. He is handsome and strong, but he's too much of a kind elder brother figure, or a "Sir" to ever truly quality as a Daddy. At least, that's what I think.
Oh boy, it's getting saucy now! 🥴🤤
This is general Jing Yuan, a man renowned for his lazy and carefree attitude but behind that smile is an incredible tactician who can strike like a lion at any given moment. Despite his attitude, be very, very afraid of him.
Isn't that just so sexy of him?
Tall, husky and sweet, Jing Yuan fits the mold of "Daddy" quite nicely. And to top it off, he has a young child under his care! Their interactions are heartwarming and precious, I can't stop staring at the screen whenever the two are on it and I know for a fact that I'm not alone there <333
His out of this world voice (I'm talking about the English dub) makes me melt - if he tells me to do something, I will do it.
No questions asked.
His authority as a general also gives him great power and leverage as well. A kind man who has the ability to crush anyone who gets in his way is always an amazing Daddy™!
I simply must give this beautiful general a perfect 10/10 score! 😍
And finally, the last man of the hour is the darling Oda Sakunosuke, or Odasaku for short! <33 :3
Where, oh where do I begin with this man? He has the blood of many people on his hands and yet, he managed to worm his way into the heart of the Port Mafia's youngest but most dangerous executive that has ever lived, which is nothing to scoff at I assure you.
While his status as a mafioso gives an air of uncertainty about his whereabouts and well being, it is safe to say that he, like Jing Yuan, is quite the Daddy™. Kind, caring but also incredibly humorous, he is the ideal package. Walks and coffee shop dates would be beyond interesting with this man and besides, I'm sure that his long and slender fingers will be good for other things besides writing! ;)
This man also takes care of an entire gaggle of orphans! Isn't he just amazing?!
Unfortunately, there is one glaring issue though -
His kids are dead!!
That's right you heard it here folks, his kids got blown up! Don't worry Odasaku, I'll be more than happy to give you as many kids as you want! Do you want a son? A daughter? Both??
My body is READY!
As much as I want to give this man a 10, his job and the fact that his kids are blown to bits knocks out a point. I'm sorry Odasaku, but your final ranking is a strong and massive 9/10.
Folks, this is where you step in! Yes that's right, YOU! YOU vote which one of these men is the ✨ ULTIMATE DADDY! ✨
64 notes
·
View notes
Note
COMPACFLT, ma’am, you’ve absolutely wrecked me with: “My father—my father was kind”. I can’t even tell you exactly why, but that just struck right in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer, gosh. If it’s alright with you, could you please share your headcanons about Ice and Mav’s fathers? I know I’m, like, quoting your own work back to you but I can’t help it: “Well, dead pilot dads, that’s one thing we have in common.” —But do they? Or is one dead pilot dad vastly different from the other?
ice’s dad (Thomas kazansky sr.): asshole army major OH-6 and UH-1 pilot who got shot down over Vietnam in 1967. son of far-eastern-european immigrants. anti-commie. wanted ice to ALSO be a chopper pilot in the army, so ice went navy instead. daredevil dipshit who died & left ice’s mom alone with two young kids & whose death encouraged ice away from breaking the rules or being unsafe (esp. in the air). not necessarily a great person or a great father but died when ice was 8 so also not a huge influence on his life (i know val kilmer has said ice’s father was a big influence… I’ve written elsewhere about why i personally shifted ice’s narrative away from daddy issues and more towards Navy authority in general issues, in light of ice’s character and rank in tgm. GOD i need a master post sorry, but i think you can find it if you search “edts notes” on my blog and scroll for a while). ice’s LACK of a father -> no man to model himself on -> overcompensating & not getting it exactly right (doesn’t know how to talk to other men) -> maverick immediately clocks him as gay -> the plot of my fic.
Maverick’s dad (peter “duke” mitchell sr.): a genuinely awesome person. funny & kind, warm & loving, a truly good father & a great fighter pilot. big american patriot. Comes from a long long line of us navy personnel—maverick has the navy family name & the pedigree ice, as a second generation american, does not. Im still not sure who raised maverick—it’s one of those things I don’t have a strong opinion on, so it could go either way (i posited in the airplane one-shot that he was raised by relatives, aunt & uncle, but I know it’s a popular hc here that he was a foster kid—all equally plausible to me) but I do think he grew up exceedingly bitter, hearing about how great his dad was and how there was just no way! his dad could’ve failed the Navy the way he supposedly did, because he was just such a good person… there’s a real bitterness about original maverick that TGM maverick kind of lost. His bitterness only shows during the “it’s not the plane it’s the pilot” “EXACTLY” exchange (incidentally the scene that gave me the idea that Bradley thinks mav pulled his papers bc he’s openly gay…it’s the pilot not the plane, ouch). but i still think maverick is like deeply deeply bitter about how the navy handled his fathers death, which is what the excerpt i posted on wednesday is actually about—he confesses to ice how disillusioned he has been with the navy as an institution since he found out the truth about his father’s heroism. I know i just just just said that Maverick’s patriotic conservatism is his reason for existence in the meta “why we make mil propaganda movies” sense, and i stand by that, but i think on a human character level there probably has to be a little bit of deep-seated resentment towards the Navy for smearing his father’s good name and his own good name in the process. My maverick grew up a good Christian kid, called himself peter jr. after his good guy father, who never broke ANY rules until he was radicalized by not getting into the academy (“punish the son for the sins of his father”) and basically lost his mind for 30+ years. “If my family name automatically makes me a sinner in the navy’s eyes, then I might as well sin anyway.”
#i really don’t like Maverick’s character in tgm#which has been dulled down and his original motivation forgotten (upset at not getting into the USNA)#for the sake of…. pulling his OWN son’s papers from the USNA???#to serve the mil propaganda movie aim of recruitment as ive written about elsewhere on this blog#i tried to rectify this in my fics but it also meant that my exTREMELY bitter maverick is at odds with#the gentle soft-spoken slightly neutered maverick TGM actually presents us with#🤷🏽♀️ imo the bigger narrative evil is making maverick pull Bradley’s papers (punish the son for the sins of his father) so that was my main#fix-it priority.#mav’s bitterness is a side-effect of Bradley’s papers getting pulled anyway#yes to some extent they all have daddy issues#but i think it’s more complicated than that#pete maverick mitchell#tom iceman kazansky#top gun#top gun maverick#bradley rooster bradshaw#and also yeah i know it’s cool to make ice like representative of navy lineage but#imo theres a reason they gave him a Russian name in the 1980s. like.. he’s the semi antagonist#It’s overt Cold War propaganda. he is Soviet-coded. hes meant to invoke anti-american sentiment.#so personally I shifted ice away from navy lineage… he’s from an immigrant family he has a lot to prove and a lot standing in his way#ive written about icemav & religion but if i haven’t made it clear: the Navy is their religion.
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Story of Minglan
I am so damn tired. I don't know how other people manage to hold down jobs and have families and get all their shit together and still manage to find time for things they enjoy.
I can't manage to eke out time for one episode of a drama, let alone something more challenging. I will try at least half tonight and maybe continue tomorrow. I hate everything 😢
***
OK, I laughed 🤣🤣
***
God, I'm so face-blind 😭
Is this that royal cousin that he once saved in the middle of nowhere?
Are we getting to the royal plots now? I feel like I'm really struggling here with the transition from the last arc to this one.
***
Yup, it's him, I just went back and checked my old screenshots.
***
Oh, shit.
Assassins!
Anyway, here's to random Imperial cousin Zhao becoming the new Emperor!
Maybe he can even let Gu Tingye retake that stupid exam.
***
So nice 💚
***
They just keep poppin up, like toadstools after rain 😕
This drama is mostly a domestic, female drama, with female issues and struggles and household battlefields, so I find it very hard to switch gears and enjoy his wuxia moments that happen here every one hundred years because it just doesn't match the tone of everything else, but I've realised that I wouldn't mind watching him wreak destruction in another drama, where it would be more appropriate. He really moves very well and is such a strong presence on-screen.
***
Also, what is he fighting these bandits alone for? Was he not with Imperial Cousin the Younger when they realised there was an ambush? Where are the rest of their men?
***
Finally!
***
So many common themes with Love Like the Galxy!
Also, I am always reminded of Shen Zechuan breaking a prisoner out of the imperial prison to skin him alive.
***
LOL, that didn't take long 😅
Anyway, princes Yan and Yong are going down!
***
I love how these people still have faith in the useless Emperor.
The man has been mentally unwell for years, he is old and sick and they still think they can go tattle to him and that he will do anything to protect anyone.
***
I love Imperial Cousin, LOL! He's so bloodthirsty 🤣🤣
But he must be when Daddy Zhao is so meek and indecisive.
***
I love these big shots of scenery!
***
Yeah, dream on!
Gu Tingye is out there being best buddies with the next emperor! All your scheming is in vain.
But the biggest irony here is that Gu Tingye adored her. He really thought of her as a mother. It would have been endless glory and wealth for her and her son if she had just been half normal and not gone out of her way to ruin everyone's lives.
***
This can't be good 😬
It's just Minglan's luck to get stuck in the Imperial Palace when a coup is about to go down.
***
I know this woman!
Didn't she also play an evil Imperial Consort in Nirvana in Fire?
These roles suit her!
***
YESSSS! Consort Rong, go apeshit! 🔥🔥
***
Yes! Please, kill her!
Preferably beat her to death.
Let her know before she dies what pain she inflicted on helpless people. I am Team Consort Rong!
***
Wait.
If Prince Yong killed her sister, she is probably allied with prince Yan. And Prince Yan is currently trying to murder Gu Tingye and Unfavoured Imperial Cousins.
So maybe not Team Consort Rong after all because I do want Gu Tingye to win 🤔 But maybe she can kill Princess Pingning first.
***
Yep.
Go, Consort Rong!! Kill them all!! 🗡🗡
***
Oh, yes, dig your grave!
I will very much enjoy watching the whole lot of you die.
***
Oh, he's still alive?
I was wondering.
Also, the difference between his appearance and the Consort's, smh. She is so beautiful and he is a warmed-up corpse. My estimate is that he is at least forty years older than her.
***
LMAO, priorities 🤣🤣
I love Changbai! He is such a Lan Xichen 💙
19 notes
·
View notes
Note
Protective adoptive dad Jake Sully x oldest sully hybrid fem reader
(reader is omatikaya and metkayina mixed)
When men try and court the reader because of her body (because she has a big chest and butt) so she has to deal with men constantly trying to win her over. One day on the beach a man from the metkayina clan ask if he can court the reader she says no and tries to walk away from him but ends up getting stop by him and starts yelling mean thing about her body saying “men only want u for ur body nothing more nothing less” so she starts to think that it’s true about men only want her for her body but what she didn’t know was that her siblings overheard what the man said and told Jake and his mate about what the man said and Jake finds the reader on the beach to go and talk to her while his mate goes Ronal and tells her when the man said to her daughter and have him punished for what he said to her.
U can write the ending how u want it.
😭😭😭 why so sweet omggggg I love this!!!
This is just a little drabble because I'm not very good at cute family interactions. Blame it on my daddy issues that feel jealous of the reader right about now.
-----
Your tears stream down your face in torrents, your sobs wrecking through you. The sound of your little gasps are so loud that you don't hear Jake approaching.
“Hey,” he says softly, sitting on the beach beside you.
You jerk towards him, surprised at his sudden appearance. “Dad,” you say, sniffing, wiping your face in an attempt to push your tears away.
“What's wrong, sweetie?” he asks even though he already knows.
He can still hear his sons' quick, worried words.
“Sir, sir,” Neteyam called as he ran into the marui. He was breathing heavy and he looked extremely concerned. Lo'ak ran in after him, alarmed.
Jake sprang to his feet. “What happened?”
Between his both sons, they tell him about the issue. Yet another young man had been trying to court you, offering flowers and bracelets and seashells which you kindly declined. But he hadn't been pleased by your reaction, resulting in an outbreak of rage. Jake can't really understand what, exactly, his two sons try to communicate. Between the various insults that they throw at the metkayina man and the way they try to tell him what the young man said, Jake only understands the one sentence the young asshole had said: “You should know that the only reason anyone wants you is your body. Nothing more, nothing else.”
“You wanna tell me what's wrong?” he asks softly.
You shake your head. “'m fine.”
He softly places a hand on your shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything, sweetie.”
You sniffle. “I know. I just—Dad, Roeir said that I...He was offering me seashells and talking to me about my beauty and I knew he was courting me and I-I just didn't want him to, so I said no. And he—” You sob gently, your voice growing quiet and broken as you finish your sentence, “He said that the only reason anyone wants me is because of my body. Nothing more, and nothing less.”
Jake sighs softly as he pulls you in for a hug. “Honey, you are so much more than your body. You're smart and you're kind and you're funny, and you're always willing to help everyone around you. You care about everyone's feelings and you have the need to protect everyone. You're sweet and you're creative and you're determined and you're strong. You're unique, sweetie. You are the most amazing daughter anyone could ask for, and the best sister to all of your siblings, the best friend anyone can have. If Roeir could only see what's on the surface, he's a fucking skxawng, because you're so, so much more than that.”
You let Jake hold you in his arms, the comfort of your father's words and soft hugs making your tears cease.
You stay there for Eywa knows how long, and when you make it back to your marui, you're all calmed down.
Jake makes his way to his mate, Äomta, and tells her about what happened. Äomta is as fierce a mother as she is a warrior, and the slightest of distress from her kids will send her into a frenzy of anger and protectiveness. The very next morning, she makes her way to Ronal's marui, and tells the Tsahik about what happened.
That same day, Tonowari drags Roeir towards you and places him in front of you, smacking him on the head and hissing out, “What do you have to say for yourself?”
The boy looks embarrassed and afraid, and he says, “I'm sorry I said people only want you for your body.”
“The boy is blind,” Ronal says as she walks up to you. “He cannot See, he's been overcome by anger and, therefore, what he said to you yesterday means nothing.”
“Don't ever listen to people who cannot see past appearances, for their hearts and minds are as shallow as their eyesight,” the Tsahik tells you, placing a soft hand on your head. “You are beyond their reach, beyond their understanding, and you are so much more than their opinions.”
-----
@kamcrazy123 @yagirlheree @sweetllamaparadise @neytirishottie @crazy4books1
-----
Blog masterlist
#inbox <3#avatar jake sully#dad jake sully#x daughter!reader#fluffy#also my daddy issues are killing me#so I'm cutting it short#ok bye
107 notes
·
View notes
Note
It's bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark
Uh I think I want say sorry for going so hard for Courtney and Scott all the time but here:
My FAVORITE:
Leshawna- YES, SHE Deserves IT my queen and the girl who would slap me for being disrespectful the call me out as she should. I don't care stay mad. She amazing!
Courtney- HC Mexican and Filipino lady that will cuss me out for being dumb, but she is right again, and I still love her. But she...And? I done worse as a teenage and made grown man beg for his life once at 17 years old for trying to mess with me/blackmail me! I think I can handle Courtney just fine. I will fight a wild street dog who tries to bite/fight me first too is who I am. (Not literally I do bark at the dogs though)
Brody- I LOVE THIS MAN, GEOFF FORGIVE ME BUT YEET YOUR BRO IS MINE. I LOVE HIM *MAKES AN ALTER TO PRAYER TO SAINT BRODY* I want to Brody so bad no thoughts just waves and happiness, to be tan, to be fit, and have pink on me all times woah!
Brick- I don't know he. I want him happy and I am stealing someone's backbone if he said me to. I love him and his army ways. I swoon at the thought of strong army person still being somewhat fearful of something ah so human and whimsical about him, you know? (Shoves Jo out the way barking at her then holding my child Brick like a baby saying he needs you to respect him or I am dragging you for him now!) Him being afriad of the dark good god this man is in touch to his emotions and fear of the unknow in the darkness because same, I guess?
Duncan & Scott- I hate him- I Hate HIM- I love him this man ain't mine because I want to hold him and squeeze the daddy issues out him and the commitment issues out of Duncan, Scott I love you my beloved pumpkin and kid. You my son now. I will not date any of you because ew and plus you my babies I guess in a sense? Duncan is your adopt brother therefore no fighting in the fifth place, ok? My Fire Duncan type vs Ice Scott type I love them.
My FAVORITE Ships in my silly mind:
Duncan x Courtney
Scott x Courtney
Polycule Duncan x Courtney x Brick x Jo x Scott it seems fun and funny. Also, scary times imagine the dead of night you try breaking in their lovely home to hurt one of them?! YOU WILL DIE AND DUNCAN ALONG WITH JO AND SCOTT BURYING YOUR BODY AS POOR BRICK AND COURTNEY MAKE LOOK LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED!
Leshawna x Gwen on triple date with Duncan x Scott and Courtney with her girlfriend Jo with their boyfriend Brick?! OHH spicy and yum little treat. So gay and delightful yuh ugh
Sam and Dakota. I like these two therefore they are safe from me now... meaning I haven't made them gay or crazy in my mind yet, hopefully my mind doesn't do it or I am so sad with myself.
-
#bark bark bark#total drama#long post#samkota#gwenshawna#scottney#duncney#duncourtjottick#<- sure I guess that’s a ship name#leshawna td#courtney td#Brody td#brick td#Duncan td#Scott td
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Daddy's boy; Jack Chambers
*Jack's father (or any other character beside the cast) is NOT in the don't worry darling movie franchise at all! This is a made up character to add to the plot and I don't want anything to be confused or taken out of context! Also small menton of daddy issues.*
*Also extreme FLUFF!!!*
There he was. The cloying baby boy that had been awaiting them for months, was now in Alice's arms while her and her husband stared down at their bundle. Despite the baby now being visible to them, he always was in their hearts as they anxiously waited for him. His soft dark brown rich locks, and his opulent, elysian emerald, shamrock colored eyes that resembled glint diamonds.
He had watermelon blush lips, that curved into a small heart figure. The name chosen for this beautiful doll baby was, Roger. Roger Chester Chambers. His appearance was no accident despite his scarce features. Roger took after his father, Jack who had the same alluring green eyes and lavish brown hair was rather dapper himself.
The deep pumpkin dimples that indented the lad's cheeks were identical to his son's. But despite the sentimental feelings that decorated the room from the outside, it was incomparable to the caprizant feelings of cherishment, besotted lovesick the couple felt for their new baby. Jack especially locked eyes with his mini twin; watching the baby take soft yawns and smacks with his toothless mouth and twitch his pocket sized nose.
Love at first sight was just a euphemism for the rationale of Jack's very being of existence euphoria he felt that night once he held his son for the first time. It was surreal, yet a reverie of what was happening. Holding Roger close enough to hear his heartbeat was captivating to say the least, but it wasn't until he booped his nose with his, that sealed in their lifelong bond.
"I'm your daddy, little guy. You're so special and we're so proud of you," Jack continued, "I love you." He said softly, holding Roger close to him and savoring every moment of his purity pouring onto his son.
Fast forward to a few months......the newborn was now 4 months old, bouncing away in his crib, animatedly waiting for his bedtime story. Jack came into the sapphire colored bedroom with a pep in his step and heart eyes. His heart ruptured with love, upon seeing Roger's hands reaching towards his father to pick him up and hold him.
Roger looked with effervescent eyes upon seeing Jack's big hands reach for him under his arms gently and pick him up above his crib. Jack's unapologetic deep cooing accompanied by precious smacks of kisses to his chubby bubble cheeks. Jack sat down in the custom made seafoam green rocking chair and grabbed one of Roger's favorite books from the shelf.
He gently rocked along rythmatical, as he flipped through the pages of 'Hey diddle, diddle' reading with a slightly cartoonish voice much to Roger's amusement. "Okay little guy, the story's over so that means bedtime now," Roger gave way to a little whine, that moved Jack's heartstrings a little. "I know my little baby bear, but you need your rest so you can grow big and strong...like me." Jack was proud of himself for such a charming metaphorical use of an example.
He set the book aside and carefully picked Roger up and flew him over his crib. "Super baby is ready for a landing!" Jack's voice sounded of a radio announcer. Jack 'landed' Roger into his crib and looked in awe at the copy cat of him, squirming and gurgling.
"You really are something special Roger......and I know me and you are going to be best friends. And we'll tell stories and play together....and we'll be able to tell each other everything." Jack said the last line with feathered buoyancy. He looked into Roger's eyes; starry sparkles sparking in his eyes mixed with abyssal pride and intimate affection. Such contentment in this moment, is what sent Jack's finger into Roger's little hand. Roger played around with the large finger, sucking on it and squeezing it, sending a rippling effect of adoration through him.
It wasn't until Jack pulled his finger away, that he leaned his face in closer, lips puckering, inching closer to the baby's rosette cheek that he pressed a soundly, loud kissie onto. "Muah!" He pulled back to see Roger looking up at Jack, wondering what it was his father had just done. "Kissie kisses for my little bear." He said, in that pommy twang of his. "Goodnight....I love you. Very, very much." Jack's voice turned into a whisper towards the end his goodnight.
He casted a small gentle smile with a cheek pinch before walking out of Roger's bedroom for the night.
Fast forward a few years later.....now that baby boy, is an ornery but compassionate little boy. At 8 years old, Roger made his autonomy well known around the house. Jack, Alice and Susan all had the bear the brunt of Roger's echoing of him being 'Mr self-sufficient'. But of course no one really took it serious of Roger being mature, because he contradicted himself with his pranks and schemes.
And for awhile, it didn't really mean anything to Roger because...well...as promised he grew close with Jack. Jack never minded his barmy pranks as long as they weren't blatant foolish or insensitive. Roger loved crawling on Jack's lap and listening to his stories, or his head or foot rubs because of a 'headache' or 'sore foot'. Roger was still little enough to be held in Jack and Alice's arms and on occasion.........Susan. Something to his dismay.
But whether Roger liked to admit it or not, he loved when Jack held him in his arms and would carry him to bed and gently lay him down and tuck him in. Something Jack cherished as well with both his children.
After all, he was there for the first steps, first word, first boo-boo, first failed test, first nightmare and so on. Even Roger couldn't deny he was a daddy's boy, while Jack would twist it to daddy's 'little' boy. His reasoning was it was engraved on one of Roger's bibs as a baby.
This was something Jack never had as a child. His father was more of a tough, never had time for much fun type parent. His standard was a mangled, degenerate zealotry of what men should be like in his eyes. Jack could count on his fingers the time his father gave him compliments, he never received hugs or kisses from him; badgered about little incompetent things that were deemed 'feminine' gnawed at his father's pride.
It was his mother that showered him with the affection and softness. Jack always appreciated that, but still had a narrow tender gap in his heart that was for his father. He could be cold an though never violent or physical, and his advice at times was solid, his confined emotion didn't vapor into Jack's hypersensitive, empath persona. Like gasoline and water.
But Jack had made a promise to himself after one particular argument with his father, that he would be totally different. He would show his children love and affection, especially his son. To Jack, tears weren't just reserved for the girls, sobs weren't for the weak, and love was never a read between the lines....it was evident and it was gonna be there for his children to see......and believe.
So, when the bond that he formed with Roger at birth happened, he coddled it and nurtured it like he did with Susan as a baby. He played with Roger, fed him, changed him, kissed him, hugged him, tended to every boo-boo or tummy ache, rocked him to sleep in his arms and told him he loved his boy.
Even Roger could sense the feeling of love, shimmering down his spine whenever Jack would smile at him or share a laugh together.
But at school, Roger wanted things different. Roger wanted a straightforward handshake or pat on the shoulder. But today, things went a little sour. Brian and Max, the most popular boys in school had set their attention on Roger because of a prank he needed them for. A water balloon catapult. But Jack's cosmic love, reared itself when Roger accidently left his lunch in Jack's car.
"Roger!" Roger turned around to see his father running to him olympic style. "Baby bear, you forgot your lunch." Roger could sense his cheeks stinging the minute his father's presence entered the school yard. "Baby bear?" Max chuckled. Roger's face grew a darker shade of pink. Jack's gentle papa bear smile wasn't budging, despite Roger's manifested body language that wanted Jack to leave.
"Now, am I forgetting something?" He said with honeysuckle in his voice. "I don't think so, bye da-,"
"Your kiss!" Jack was trying to be jokester, but this situation was anything BUT funny to Roger. Jack cupped Roger's little face into his hands and kissed his forehead with sound. Pulling away, Roger had modest frown on his face, hearing the rippling effects of laughter being shared with Brian and Max before they walked away with a haughty patronizing tone.
"Daddy's boy!" Brian laughed, "His little baby bear couldn't survive without his lunch!"
Max joined in with kiss noises. "Is he gonna bring you your bottle and diaper? Daddy's baby needs his kissys, ha!" Roger's face became a raspberry color as he walked away from the two boys, completely side swiping the prank. Roger was sour the entire rest of day, and became sorer at Jack, for treating him ignominious in the company of his fellow peers. The chasten feeling that stained Roger once Jack had left and his 'friends' had mocked him ferociously was inordinate.
The entire school had eventually found out about Roger's run in with his 'daddy' and so that left everyone, with the partial exception of Susan to tease and mock him. "Daddy's boy," was a newfound nickname, everyone seemed to enjoy calling the boy.
It was like a giant D and B were ironed onto his shirt. "Don't focus on them Roger," Susan tried to comfort her brother. "They're probably just jealous." Roger kept his head down the entire day. His catastrophizing thoughts are what imagined him in a bonnet, pacifier and bib. He was in crowded assembly and everyone was laughing their heads off. The final nightmare was Jack swooping in, and kissing his face all over for the entire school to see. "My little baby." He cooed.
A scream erupted from Roger, in absolute terror of being undignified in public. "Mr. Chambers?" Roger shot his head up to reveal the concerned teacher standing above him. "Can you tell us what the answer to question 5 is?" Roger scanned the chalkboard, desperately ignoring his trepidation.
"Uh, 8?" To his surprise, he was correct. "Very good,"The teacher wrote the answer on the chalkboard. Roger thanked his lucky stars that he wouldn't have to suffer ant detentions due to the offence of not paying attention.
Once school was out, the fireworks started up again. Jack was standing right there, waiting for his kids to come scampering down the concrete hill, so he could squish them in paps bear hugs. Susan trotted down with ease, falling into her father's arms after the long rugged day at school.
Roger came in second, mind ruminating over other things, that he didn't feel the firm shove of Max, who had pushed him down the hill, tumbling as he went. As if his face wasn't already blushed from the prickly day at school, this last straw is what drew his sensitive side out.
This is what made Roger stream torrents of tears. He raced past his father and sister, hoping to make it home before he would just push himself down on the ground and cry like a fussy one year old. "Roger?" Distress took over Jack's voice as he looked to Susan for an explanation. The sun beat down on Roger's eyes, making the way home seem like a journey through the desert. Sniffles and spare tears ran through his cheeks, heading off on his chin as his tears dripped on the dry sidewalk.
The domestic green bel air pulled up beside Roger, slowly matching his walking speed. "Roger, what's wrong? I know you fell down.....but....why are you so sad?" Jack's baby voice protruded a little on the last ink of the sentence.
"Everyone was maki-" "Susan honey, let Roger tell it okay?" Jack gently reminded his earlier child. "Everyone was making fun of me...."
"Why?" Roger shrugged. Susan bit her lip to keep from spilling the beans. But it was Roger who looked to his sister for help. "Because....well....all the kids were calling him a daddy's boy," Jack's head shot back over to his sullen son.
The embarrassment took over Roger, which sent him running home at top speed. He ran upstairs to his bedroom, dashing so fast, that he couldn't even hear Alice greet him. She suspected something once she didn't see Susan or Jack follow in behind him, only a couple minutes later.
"Hey hon," Jack kissed Alice. "Hey mom," Alice kissed Susan. "Hey,......what's up with Roger?" Jack glanced towards upstairs, "That's what I'm trying to figure out." Jack followed pursuit on Roger's trail to his bedroom.
"Roger?" Jack's knock alerted the boy. "Can I come in?" Noise of sniffles came closer and closer until the door opened and Roger was standing behind it. "It's allergies," But Jack knew better. He escorted Roger to his bed after closing the bedroom door.
"What's up bud? Tell me," Jack smushed Roger's cheeks with his hands. "When.....you kissed me after bring me my lunch today at school, a bunch of kids started teasing me and calling me a daddy's boy. "Oh Roger....I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get teased." Roger put his head in Jack's lap.
"I am a daddy's boy aren't I?" Jack giggled. "Well, we do have a special bond!" Jack rubbed Roger's head softly. "I remember, when you were just a baby....that little nose.....little chin.....but these vivid green eyes that were just so alert to everything because it was all so new...." Jack went into a nostalgic sentimental daze.
"And I made my goal with both of you kids that I would always be open with my love. I didn't have a father who would tell me 'I love you' or give me hugs or kisses....or foot rubs," Jack said with giggle and tickle to Roger's midriff, making him cough out a laugh.
Jack wrapped his arm around Roger. "I promised myself I wouldn't be like that. When you and Susan were born, it was the happiest day of my life. You both were pink and perfect, you smelled brand new....and that's when I knew I had this one shot to be one the most important people in your life to show you what unconditional love truly meant.....but I didn't mean to embarrasses you Roger. I respect that at your age, you want to have a certain image.....so.....if you want....I won't kiss you in public anymore."
Roger's stomach did cartwheels, not knowing whether this feeling was satisfaction of being treated like an adult, or unanticipated deflation of racked compunctious that kept him from enjoying his victory. He was now faced with a decision that he wouldn't be able to complain about with whatever pill he swallowed.
"I don't mind dad.....after all, it's not a huge deal." Jack's face brightened at the fingers crossed answer. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Roger. I love you so much and I want to clobber you to death in my sappy, mushy love.... Jack's thoughts ringed.
But instead, he expressed his gratitude in a papa bear hug that lasted for a long time. "I love you my bunny," Jack cooed, "I love you too daddy." Roger's heart fluttered at being a subject to Jack's closness.
It wasn't as smothering as he thought, it was still the same old warm blanket on a cold winter's day and breeze of cool air on hot summer day. Everything Roger needed.
To Jack, he would still always be that baby boy Jack met in the hospital one summer night, that changed his life forever.
And that baby boy.....didn't mind it so much like he thought he would.
#jack chambers#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfictions#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#jack chambers daughter#jack chambers son#jack chambers imagine#alice chambers#daddy and baby#daddy's love#daddy's boy#daddy's baby#daddy loves you
27 notes
·
View notes
Note
Does your OC harbour resentment towards a particular person, group or faction? Or are they perhaps part of a widely resented group themselves?
How does Aemon feel about Daemon
*runs off laughing*
How dare you (ily, tho). Also this got way, way away from me. I'm very rambly & you are gonna have to live with the fact I both am & am not answering the question.
The TL;DR is "Aemon isn't even sure what he feels about Daemon, not deep down anyway." But I'm waffling about it under the cut, because I suffer from "can't shut up" & also both of them grabbed me by the scruff & said "make my story known."
Aemon has never been close with his dad. He exists on Daemon’s whim, he's there because Daemon wanted someone "inherently on his side" to claim Silverwing since it became evident she was gonna follow Vermithor around after Ella took that old man from his cozy volcano home, & even still he has never been close with him.
On Daemon's end: Aemon was exciting when he was brand new, & something to be waved around (metaphorically since you can't flail a baby around) in front of Viserys because "look what I have two of that you don't have any of." But then Daemon remembered that babies are boring, & pretty much all their interactions after that were when that man didn't have a say--getting shoved off on his family at Runestone when he starts inconveniencing Viserys & being in the worst mood ever because of it. The toddler picked up on that & didn't want to be around him, it was a vicious cycle. Cut to 6-year-old Aemon who is interesting now because he's so into dragons & he's making progress with Valyrian & he has hobbies Daemon would love to encourage...but they don't know each other. They don't know each other & Daemon doesn't want to be there, & Aemon is shy & unsure so they keep having the most surface level talks that last 10 minutes maximum because "why doesn't my son automatically love me? What's wrong with him, I made him & he's here because I wanted him. What has his mom done? What has Yorick done? I can fix this if he'll just stop frustrating me by clamming up every time I yell at someone!" Daemon made him kind of nervous, so he'd be cautious & shy, which would just reinforce Daemon's impatience. On & on it goes. Something something cycle of daddy issues, something something Baelon was absent from everyone's life when Alyssa died, something something the Targaryen sigil looks like an ouroboros.
Now, on Aemon's end: after he witnesses the murder, he is straight up terrified of that man. Truthfully, he never stops being scared of Daemon. He wants to be brave, he wants to be big & strong, to protect people & make up for how he couldn't do so at 6...& then he sees his dad & suddenly he's a scared little kid again & he can't really function. And underneath that fear, there's still that uncertainty. The "I don't know you & you keep making it hard to know you, so I don't know what my opinion is" feeling from when he was first interacting with Daemon after The Stepstnes Absent Dad Era is still there & something he never processed or made peace with. Aemon didn't need to make peace with it, because "Prince Daemon murdered my mother who loved me & I loved her, & my brother hates him & my sister says she hates him except I think she's lying, & all our cousins at Runestone say they hate him. I should hate him & I do." but he doesn't really. He doesn't like him, that's for sure, but he just...can't really make himself have a strong opinion beyond that fear. Because the fear is easy, it is a big, strong, negative emotion that he can disguise as something else. He doesn't know his dad enough to have any strong thoughts about him other than "he killed my mom & I am terrified to be around him, because I saw it & I'm not okay."
"I must not fear; fear is the mind killer, but it is also all I have. So I will say it is hate & I will never think about how I do not know the man who is the source of it or have a strong opinion beyond 'I wish he had not done that, I need to make up for how I am scared because I want to be brave.' I will let my fear pass over me & through me, & when it has gone past I will turn it onto him. There can be no mourning for what might have been or might have been known, there can only be mourning for the physical thing he took."
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Heist, Heist Baby
Leave it to Hyacinth flipping Bridgerton to be the sibling who finds herself an intergenerational mystery and more or less strong arms her love interest into a low-key jewel heist. Let's talk It's in His Kiss.
CONTENT WARNING: Brief discussion of sexual assault. Take care of you first, and please feel free to skip this post if you need or want to. We will happily catch you next time!
This is now the fifth Bridgerton book I've read, and I actually have to say that while it's not my favorite of the series, it was a nice change of pace. Hyacinth and Gareth feel like they spend more time together as a couple really getting to know one another, which honestly was not really the vibe of previous couples. Anthony was too wrapped up in waiting to die, Benedict was too busy being shitty Prince Eric and generally devaluing all women everywhere, and Francesca and Colin were working through dead spouse trauma and a variation on professional jealousy, respectively. Hyacinth and Gareth just like each other, and Gareth was refreshingly brief in his daddy issues in favor of seducing Hyacinth and realizing that whoops, he actually meant it. So frankly, Gareth and Hyacinth feel more like they are actually good friends. And as a Polin Stan, that is a little heartbreaking to say, since Polin was supposed to be the friends to lovers storyline and as far as the books go, I actually think Hyacinth and Gareth feel more friends to lovers. Polin is more she fell first, he fell harder, which is a great trope but it's not really friends to lovers.
I swear I'm not going to be low-key disappointed about Polin for this whole post though, because in addition to Hyacinth being genuinely good friends with Gareth, we get her friendship with Lady Danbury. And THAT friendship is an absolute delight, although Jukia Quinn might be flying just a TAD close to the sun by spoofing bad romance books that we read to mock in her series of borderline read-to-mock romance books. This is very akin to my feelings about Penelope getting weak-kneed over Colin's writing talent because he described the temperature of the Agean Sea as half-hour old bathwater. Like, I get what you were going for emotionally, but on a very realistic level, you fell flat on your face and your skirt rode all the way up so you flashed your panties at people by accident, and not in a kinky way. Not that that makes Hyacinth and Lady D's dynamics any less wonderful, it's just one of those "my eyebrows were raised while I was smiling" things. We cannot help but love Lady Danbury.
I also just want to call out the objectively hilarious scene where Gareth goes to ask Anthony for permission to marry Hyacinth and Anthony completely blows the tone with his combination "YES ALL MY SISTERS ARE MARRIED OFF I AM KING" and "hurt her and I won't kill you, I will make your long life a living hell" reactions. I enjoyed this Anthony.
Now, having noted what I enjoyed about this book, it wouldn't be a Bridgerton novel if there weren't also a couple of things that I feel the need to call out as WILDLY WTAF. We're gonna go ahead and start with the prologue, because we need to take a minute and ask ourselves why the actual hell the girl Lord St. Clair was trying to force Gareth to marry had to have a mental disability, and why the hell we needed Lord St. Clair's "kick the dog" moment to be telling his son to rape a vulnerable woman. And that's before we even get into the issues with the rampant asexual objectification and infantilization of disabled people, and how that plays into wildly ableist tropes throughout literature. And the worst part is, this adds literally nothing to the story. We do not even see this character on the page, she is just briefly mentioned twice in the novel and is literally not even an obstacle. This didn't have to be casually thrown in and frankly I saw ten different shades of red when I was reading it. Honestly, it's one of hose thoughtlessly, pointlessly ableist things that causes real harm in the world and I am not here for it.
The other WTAF thing about this book is the fact that Gareth plans to "ruin" Hyacinth. I'm not gonna go do ar as to say there are consent issues here, because to say that would be to wildly and willfully misrepresent their relationship and I'm not going to do that. But I'm not wild about the perpetuation of the idea of virginity as some magical thing that can be taken from a woman and tbat devalues her. And yes, I know, it's it's regency romance. But I can understand scenes-a-faire and still not like it. Which I do not, because it says more about the level to which Gareth initially values Hyacinth than anything else, and you shouldn't have to devalue your SO to feel worthy of them. That is some toxic bullshit, do not do it.
Overall, though, this book was pretty cute and it was heisty, and I am a bit of a sucker for a good heist. Insofar as I recommend any Bridgerton novel, this one was pretty fun.
#julia quinn#its in his kiss#bridgerton books#bridgerton#hyacinth bridgerton#gareth st clair#lady danbury#anthony bridgerton#violet bridgerton#romance books#romance novel#regency romance#regency novel#books & libraries#books and reading#books and novels#books#book recommendations
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
The child of God (AU)
Part 2
It's funny because Dio is really just a psychotic, selfish, arrogant blood-sucking immortal with a god complex, daddy and anger issues as well as a womanizer who'd rather chop his arms off than use protection, yet I still love that character.
I love writing these, and it seems people like them, so there we go!
--
The villa Dio was hiding in was about an hour away from Naples, in a deserted part of the land. The only humans coming were occasional hikers, so he was certain nobody would come unwanted to explore an old building. Even if they would be, they would immediately be turned into cattle for the vampire by his few servants.
Giorno was asleep in his arms, holding onto his cape tightly. Dio allowed it, for now, knowing very well the child needed some sleep. Perhaps some comfort too, but it wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
Dio was hungry. All the blood that had been shed made his skin crawl in desire, and it was becoming increasingly hard to not feast on his own child. Only his strong-willed mind permitted him to give the boy to a servant without harm coming to him.
"He will stay with us. Treat him as my son. His life is worth more than all of yours."
The servant, an ugly enough woman turned vampire, took Giorno in her arms, amazed and confused at the same time, before bowing her head.
"Yes, of course."
Dio watched as she walked away, carefully nudging the child closer, and nursing him into a deep sleep. Giorno was where he was supposed to be : with his father, away from any harm this bitch might have inflicted on him. The tall, muscular vampire rolled his shoulder and neck, a groan slipping from his mouth. The memory he had of her was blurry, and not pleasing. He needed to think about something else, feed and relieve himself.
The doors opened to his bedroom, for lack of a better term, where his previous preys were waiting, lacking any clothes or decency. They were getting boring, he'd kill all 3 of them tonight.
Of course, the boy woke up in the morning, utterly lost. And hungry for human food. Which the villa did not have.
"Didn't you eat yesterday, back at your old place?" His father mumbled, tired of this already.
"I... did, but I'm hungry again... I'm sorry, sir."
The black-haired boy apologized, dropping his head in shame. Dio felt a ping of guilt. Giorno was a child, a human, of course he'd need to eat daily. It had been so long since he'd been taught table etiquette, the ways of humans.
"Don't apologize. I forgot humans needed food more often than I." Placing a hand on his son's head, Dio rubbed it. "You will go with Gloria."
Giorno frowned, and it bothered Dio.
"Humans? Aren't you one too?"
Dio chuckled deeply, rising back to his full height and staring at the boy with a smile that revealed his sharp teeth.
"Do I look human?"
Giorno gazed at him up and down, the huge stature of the man in front of him seemingly not phasing him a bit. His green eyes analyzed the claws resting against his father's hips, the sharp fangs smiling at him and his unnatural amber eyes. Dio was not human, that was obvious.
"No... Sir."
The clawed hand took the child's chin and raised it up, their eyes meeting.
"I am a vampire, yes. And by an incredible chance, you were born, my son. Do not call me 'sir'. I am your father. Be proud of yourself."
"But, I don't look like you..."
These few words hurt more than expected. No, Giorno didn't look a bit like Dio. Not a single shade like him. Because of Jonathan's body. Even in death, even when he didn't even exist anymore, this damn fool mocked him. His own child! Giorno was Dio's! Not a fool like Jonathan's!
The vampire's eyes shone brightly, deep, fluorescent sulfur shining down on Giorno, who stepped back in fear.
Fear. His boy was afraid of him. A disgusting monster. Inhumane. Just like Dio saw his own father. So different, so horrible, so eager for him to die. But he couldn't accept he would inspire such hatred from his son. He couldn't let it happen!
Dio slowly crunched back down, slowly, hands cupping Giorno's face.
"I... I would never hurt you, Giorno. Ever."
The child stood silently, unmoving, his emerald eyes shaking in fear, which soon stilled into calm waters. Maybe he believed him because of his young age. After all, he was an innocent boy. Maybe he was even smarter than he let out. In any case, Giorno cradled himself against Dio's chest, hiding in the black fabric of his clothes, little hands clutching onto the vest that covered the vampire.
For the first time in well over a hundred years, caring no longer felt like a weakness.
--
Part 1 // Part 3
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
No. 31 A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL
@whumptober
This is a BROTHER'S KEEPER entry. Takes place at the end of the recapture arc - not the end of the story though.
Content warning aftermath of captivity and torture. Aftermath of noncon, though it's not mentioned. Aftermath of violence and gunshot wounds - mentioned.
Tagging List: @i-can-even-burn-salad @peachy-panic @deluxewhump @arwenadreamer @whumpcereal @melancholy-in-the-morning @dont-touch-my-soup @whumpsday @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert @melennui @susiequaz12 @morning-star-whump @crystalquartzwhump @whump-and-other-things @mylifeisonthebookshelf @reflected-pain @hold-him-down @quietshae @sparrowsage @quietly-by-myself @no-terms-and-conditions-apply (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it.)
As ALWAYS, thanks to the AMAZING @whumpcereal for the beta. And to my whumperful crew that always cheers me on: @oddsconvert and @sparrowsage as well as @quietly-by-myself. Y'all are the best!
Comfort | Bedside Vigil | “You can rest now.”
Ben noticed the sound first. A steady rhythmic beeping. It was familiar. He’d heard it before. The next thing he noticed was that he was on his side. He was alone in the bed, thank God. But he was warm, not hot. And clean, not sticky. He started to roll over, and a wave of nausea and pain coursed through him and he moaned.
“Benny? Son?”
Daddy?
Ben had to fight to open his eyes. He felt a warm hand take his. The touch was soft and gentle, yet firm. He’d know it anywhere. It was the touch he’d felt on his shoulder the one time he’d tried to play baseball like his big brother and realized that he had no sports talent. It was the touch on his cheek just before a hug when he was told that Jake would have to stay in jail and Ben wouldn’t be allowed to visit him. It was the touch of a bear hug and pat on his back when he graduated from high school at only sixteen and then college at twenty. It was pride and love and tender care.
It wasn’t Volkov.
Ben managed to finally get his eyes open. It was true. It wasn’t a dream. His dad. His father was sitting right next to his bed and holding his hand.
“Daddy. Dad. You’re here.” Ben’s eyes filled with tears. He pulled his dad’s hand to his chest.
His dad reached forward and touched his forehead to Ben’shis own. “I’m here buddy. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Ben was a small child again. If he weren’t in so much pain, he would have crawled into his father’s lap and sobbed. But he was in pain. He pulled himself closer and sobbed into his dad’s shoulder.
“Shh. Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s over. It’s really over this time. I promise, Benny. It’s over. It’s over,” Jacob Sr. cooed into Ben’s ear. He held his son as close as he could, careful of Ben’s injuries.
Ben let out what felt like a lifetime of pain and degradation and humiliation. He’d suffered so much in these past few months.
“It’s all right. Let it out. It’s okay. It’s over, son. It’s over, my boy. You’ve done so well. You’ve been so strong and so brave. You can cry now. You can rest.”
Ben listened to his dad’s soothing words as he cried and cried. Neither of them knew how much time had passed, and neither of them cared. Ben finally got his courage up to ask what he so desperately needed to know.
“Jake? Is he… Did he… Dad…”
“He’s okay. He’s hurt pretty bad, but the doctors are hopeful. He… he can’t talk right now. He’s resting. Your mother is with him.”
“He… he took that bullet for me,” Ben said quietly.
“I know. He’s always trying to protect you. Even with all of his issues, Jake has always been a good brother to you. He wouldn’t have it any other way, Benny.”
“But he’s gonna be okay?”
“I think so. We’re praying. Through all this, your mother and I could do nothing but put you and your brother in God’s hands. Jake is still in God’s hands. But you’re in mine now.” Jacob leaned down and kissed the top of Ben’s head.
Jake was going to be alright? After seeing how much blood Jake had lost that day on the beach, it was a miracle Ben hadn’t been able to hope for. Jake was still fighting, fighting for him, like he always did. They had promised each other they were going to get off that fucking island and they had.
“And Zoe?”
“Zoe’s safe. She’s here too. She’s resting. Your family is safe, Ben. I swear. When we couldn’t protect you. We made sure we watched over her. I swear to you she’s safe. You’ll see her in a bit. She was here earlier but had to go lay down. She’ll be back. You just rest. I’m not going anywhere. She’d want you to rest.”
Ben breathed a sigh of relief and let the exhaustion take him. He laid his head down, keeping his dad’s hand locked in his.
“I missed you, dad. Thanks for watching over Zoe.”
“Always. I’ll always try my hardest to protect my family. She’s your family, so she’s my family too. Now get some sleep. She’ll be here when you wake up.”
Ben closed his eyes. For the first time in months, sleep came easy, and it was peaceful and deep.
#whumptober2022#no.31#comfort#bedside vigil#you can rest now#OC#original fiction#fic#aftermath of torture#aftermath of captivity#aftermath of noncon#but not mentioned#parental comfort#father and son#gentle and soft#whump#whump community#whump writer#brother's keeper#benjamin adkins oc#alexsei volkov oc#ben adkins#kidnapping#captivity#alexsei volkov#jacob adkins senior#jacob adkins oc#jake adkins#zoe doyle oc#zoe doyle
33 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
seokbaseone
Hao In Bloom
musterbrand
musterbrand
urbodybuddy
UrBodyBuddy
saltyfirebread
Untitled
beingmeloo
WHAT IT TAKES TO BEMELO