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gauloiseblue · 21 days

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If I were a good man / I'd understand the spaces between friends

(König × Reader)

I'm a sucker for a childhood friend AU, but combined with the obsessed, loyal dog AU? I'm gone. I'm further than gone.

Words: 4.7k

König isn't the type of man who believes in superstitions, but he'll never buy you shoes.

It's something that's been engraved in him, since he saw his mother leave the house, with the shoes he bought for her. She only looked over her shoulder once, watching him with tears before she turned away, and never came back.

His father was an angry man, and all he did when he went to an empty home was to blame him.

The scars that his father left on his body weren't as painful as the wound that his mother left in his heart. She abandoned him. Leaving him with an angry man in the house.

Sometimes, when he wasn't busy loathing, and resenting his mother, he brood over the choices that she made. Why she abandoned him. Why she didn't take him with her.

Yet what came was an echo, and he found himself biting his lip until it bled.

He carried his feelings around, to the point that it's clear for anyone to see. People began to avoid him, though some of them would tease him for the things he didn't have.

And all of them would end up with a broken bone.

He was trouble. He was hideous, inhuman, and it's only natural for people to look away from him.

That was, until he met you.

It was horrible for both of you, since you both were like oil and water. But you had no choice, since the teacher assigned you as a volunteer to help him with his grade.

He didn't hide his vexation when you tutored him, and he knew you're holding back your irritation inside. It was hell, but it was him who fed the fire. You were patient, but you had your limit. He knew it'd come to an end someday, but it came not in the way he expected.

It was the fifth day of your lesson, and the day you resigned as a volunteer. He couldn't remember exactly what he said, but it made you snap as you slam your fist on the table.

"I'm sorry that you have a shitty life and sorry your mother left you, but have you ever been kind to your mother when she's still around?"

He snapped back at her, telling her it's none of her business, but when she left him, something clicked in him.

Have you ever been kind to your mother?

Just like the wind, she swept away the mess, letting him see what's underneath. It's not always an echo, it's not always a wall, he just needed to take a step back and see.

It was disorienting, as if he had learnt something forbidden—something that's only reserved for the watcher in the sky. But he did, and it's all because of her.

Have you ever been kind to your mother?

Have you ever been kind to the one who held your hand?

You held his hand, you pulled him from the dark place, and all he did was to make you leave. Just like what he did to his mother.

Several days after the fight, he came to you with a silence that's strange. You thought he was possessed when he muttered out the word sorry.

"I'm sorry." He mused as he kept his face turned from you.

You heard your friends gasping, while you tried to make sense of the situation.

"Sorry?"

"Should I get on my knees when I apologize?"

"No—" Your eyes widened when he hunched down, "Of course not! Let's uh, let's talk somewhere else. You and I."

You pushed him out of the crowd, and into the empty room. In the space full of unfinished art, he confessed his mistakes, and all the things that he did wrong to you. You gaped at him when he bowed down, with a honesty that you didn't know existed.

He was given a second chance when you accepted his apology, and he saw it as a way of repentance.

The two of you became friends, despite of the strange dynamics that you both shared. Your friends teased you when he's around, saying that he's more of a guard dog than a friend. You'd explain in fluster that it's not true, that he just wasn't used to having someone around, but he didn't deny it. He did follow you around after all.

When you helped him with his study, he quickly found that he's weak academically—except for history. He didn't know what drew him into the topic, but he's always fascinated by great events, including war.

Perhaps that's the reason why he joined the military.

When he told you about his plan, you were quiet as you listened.

"I'm glad you've found your way," You commented, "You'll certainly fit in in no time."

He looked at you, as he sensed a continuation.

"But…" You sighed, as you rubbed your neck, "I just… don't want you to get hurt. You've suffered enough, and I don't want you to go through it again." You shook your head, before giving him a smile, "But it's your future, I don't have a say in this."

The silence filled the room as you looked away, and he kept his eyes on you, before he reached out to touch your hand. "It's the only thing I knew I'd do it right. I don't have any talent, and I don't live a normal life, so," He squeezed your hand, "It's the only way for me."

You pressed your lips into a thin line, as you didn't say anything further.

The night he's leaving for the army, he walked aimlessly, before his feet carried him to your home.

Your window was closed, and the lights were dimmed. You might’ve been sleeping, but he wanted to see you for the last time. He picked up a pebble by his boot, and threw it to your window. Carefully, as to not break the glass.

That was the only time he's been the softest. In his hand, everything breaks. But that night, the window didn't shatter.

You peeked through the curtain, before you pushed it open upon seeing his face. You stare at him, dumbfounded, as you asked him the obvious question.

"What are you doing here?" You hissed.

"I wanted to see you." He replied.

"It's late, my parents will kill you if they see you here."

"Won't be a problem."

You were ready to scold him, before he suddenly jumped, and grabbed on your window railings. You closed your mouth as you watched him climb, before he landed on your floor.

"You're crazy."

"I've heard it a million times."

"No, you're really crazy. You're insane, mad, not—"

"—right in the head?" He grinned, "Call me something else."

You let out a long sigh, as you pressed your hand against your forehead.

"Alright." You huffed, "Why are you here? Are you trying to scare me before you leave?"

"I told you I wanted to see you."

"And why did you want to see me?" You tilted your head, "Is this a goodbye?"

"No." He replied as he leaned against your window, "I wanted to say thank you."

You raised your brow when he said it.

"I'd still be in the dark if I never met you." He told you with ease, as if it wasn't a confession of the heart, "Thank you. I mean it."

He didn't say anything, as the words sinked into you. Your face softened, as the tension melted away from your body. He was surprised when you pulled him into a hug, but didn't utter any complaint.

"I'm happy for you." You murmured against his chest, "Write me a letter, okay?"

He said yes to a promise he never fulfilled.

It's not that he didn't want to write to her, he just thought that it's never good enough. He wasn't good at talking, moreover retelling his day in a letter.

It didn't mean he carried no guilt in his heart. It was a promise, something that he should've kept after all. But his days were terrible, he was terrible.

He couldn't pass the sniper's test, he made several mistakes in the missions, and he couldn't make any friends. It was when he's away from you that he began to appreciate your company. You put him at ease, and he never felt the need to hide himself. He could say what he wanted, and you'd just scold him if it's wrong, but you didn't leave him. You didn't treat him like a plague.

Sometimes when he felt weary, he'd imagine you beside him, telling him about your day instead. He wondered what you're doing, and how you're feeling that day. He wondered if you're reading a new book, or you're getting ready to sleep. It comforted him when he kept the phantom of you by himself.

He didn't count the day, and he just let it pass. One or two times, he thought of you when it's holiday. He wanted to go back, but he didn't have home anymore. He left it the day he went to the military, never to return.

He always hoped you'd send a letter to him, telling him about your thoughts, even the most insignificant. He wanted to hear from you, just so he knew you're still thinking of him.

Unfortunately for him, he heard about you from other people.

He was on a rescue mission when he met his former classmate, the one he broke his nose in a fight. He spoke to him like a friend, and treated the incident as something that's in the past. He told him about the school, and the update about their classmates.

That's when he found out about your relationship.

He didn't hear the rest of it, as his ears were ringing. He knew you weren't his, but he couldn't help but feel betrayed. Was that the reason why you never wrote to him? Because you're too busy with your boyfriend?

That day, he almost failed the ops because he went on a rampage.

It was supposed to be a quiet mission. Secure the site, and escort the hostages out. But he rammed through the door, and killed everyone on sight. Though he didn't harm the hostages. He received a penalty from his General, and he's never again received a delicate mission.

But he's a strong man, he could easily take down the whole squad if he's angry enough. His anger was just like his father's, violent, and combustible, and it was a boon in volatile battlegrounds.

It earned him a higher rank faster than his peers. Since he was efficient, despite of him destroying everything in his wake.

Years went by, and he began to forget about his hometown. Until one letter arrived, informing him about the death of his father.

It had been foreseen, since the amount of alcohol he consumed could rival the sailor's.

He didn't want to go back, but he had to tie up loose ends if he wanted to be completely free from his father.

His hometown was still the same, except for a few stores that had closed, and a few of the new ones. His house didn't undergo any change, it's still messy, with bottles and bottles scattering around the floor.

His father died on the sofa in the living room, and he could still see him there, sitting down, drinking himself to death. There's no longer an angry man in the house, but his rage still lingered in the room. As if refusing to pass.

They said when you're worn out, you'd seek comfort just as you seek fire in the winter. So when he walked out of the house, aimlessly and unthinking, he found himself striding to your house, unconsciously.

He's never a lucky man, but that day, the Goddess smiled at him. You were just about to leave when you saw him by the gate. He saw your frowned, before your eyes lit up as you recognized him.

"I told you to write me letters, you bastard."

He opened his mouth to answer, but you already pulled him into a hug, interrupting him from replying.

"Welcome back." You told him as you squeezed his arms.

Since then, he has spent more time with you more often. Whether by talking, or enjoying each other's company. She helped him with the paperwork, as he was busy with his father's burial. When it's all over, he told her his desire to sell the house.

You opposed it at first, before he explained that he's planning to move his home. His house was old, and there's several new apartments around. He was alone, and he wouldn't stay for long, so a little room would be enough for him.

He ended up buying a smaller house, for you he was convinced that he'd find the use for it someday. And he did, he did find it when he looked at you.

But he was afraid. Afraid that you'd reject him despite of your current status. You weren't dating anyone at that time, and it should be easy for him to enter your life. Yet all he offered, was for you to use the house.

"I'll be gone for months, so I need someone to take care of the house." He said, "Why don't you live there? It's closer to your college, isn't it?"

It was a good offer, but you refused it politely. Saying that it's not necessary, that you didn't need that. The next morning, he went back to the base, feeling dejected, wondering if he should've been braver.

This time, he kept his promise. He wrote letters to her, although it'd take about 3 months before he could write more than five sentences. Sometimes they'd talk through phones, and he'd listen to your rambles about your day. When he talked, he mostly told her about his job. He was cocky about it, but you pulled him down to the ground somehow. He didn't realize it, until all of his teammates pointed it out to him.

He didn't come back at Christmas, and he spent his time lounging around the empty base. You were busy that day, but you made time to call him in the evening. It was short, but it was the nicest thing someone ever did to him. And when you hung up, he stared at the phone for minutes, wondering if he should've just gone home instead.

When you graduated from college, he took his day off to attend the ceremony. You were surprised, but glad nonetheless. Your family was present as well, and they shot him funny looks every time you talked to him. It wasn't until your father leaned in to talk, that he found out the reason for it.

If he said that he should stay away from you, he'd believe it. But the way he spoke, and—Lord help him—implied that you're interested in him almost sounded like a ruse. He stared at your old man as if he's gone mad, but when he turned his head towards you, his heart was burning. How easy was it, to be consumed by greed upon hearing a just few words.

He wanted it to be true, he desperately wished it to be true. But once again, he left with his feelings kept.

He wanted to rip his hair off, as he screamed into the pillow. You liked him, didn't you? Wouldn't it be easier for him to ask you? To have you by his side?

In that moment, he swore to himself that he'd do it the next time you both met. Because he wouldn't forgive himself if someone else took you before him. So he swallowed his pride, and asked for advice.

He expected his teammate to laugh at him, but to his surprise, they were very eager to give him one. Though most of them strayed from the topic.

When he first flirted with you, his hands were cold, and if they were talking face to face, she'd be able to see how much of a mess he was. Even when you noticed the tremble in his voice, you didn't say anything. He only did it for a week, before he settled with calling you Schnecke.

It wasn't until he was listed for a long mission, that you called him for a question.

"Hey." He could hear the uncertainty in your voice when you muttered, "Does the offer still stand?"

He almost asked her for it, before the realization struck him.

It was about his house.

His body turned stiff, as he felt the warmth in his loins. He was silent, and you began to think that it was a bad idea.

"Forget it, you don't have to ans—"

"Yes." He breathed out, "Yes, it still stands."

From that day on, you began to live in his house. He had to send the key via mail, which arrived three days later, according to the letter you wrote for him.

It felt… strange, pleasantly strange, knowing that you lived under his roof, filling his house with your things. He'd feel his skin heated up, as he pictured you on his bed, sleeping. At night, he dreamt of you in the house. Just you and him, doing a mundane routine, and even in the middle of the battlefield, he still couldn't get the image out of his mind. But why should he? It was everything that he ever dreamt of.

When the long mission came to an end, he visited his commander's office to request a month off. His boss was perplexed, but it was soon granted, in exchange for his contribution in a Tier 2 mission.

It was past midnight, when he arrived at home. You must've been startled when he knocked on the door, since you opened it with the latch still intact.

You helped him with his things as he stepped inside, admiring how warm his house became. There were traces of you in the living room—an empty mug, a soft blanket, and several files that you worked on before you slept. You sheepishly told him sorry as you tidied them up, but he stopped you, telling you it's okay.

"It's already late, let's just sleep."

"Go on then, I'll sleep on the sofa."

"What are you saying?" He retorted, "Take the bed. I'm not letting you sleep here."

"I can't. This is your house."

"I don't care."

"I care." You frowned.

"Schnecke." He said with a sigh, "It's either me on the sofa, or we share the bed."

He didn't mean to say it, but the words slipped out of his mouth so easily, before he fully realized it. Your mouth hung open, and all of your protests died down in your throat. He'd be horrified of it, if it's not for a burst of confidence, and a portion of sleep-deprived that made him a bit braver.

"The bed is big enough for both of us." He added.

You were hesitant at first, but you agreed on it later on.

That night, he woke up to find the side of the bed empty. Panic rose from his chest, before he sucked up a breath to calm down. He stepped out of the bedroom, and into the living room.

He found you curling on the sofa, with the warm blanket around you. He let out a sigh of relief, before silently cursed at your little escape. He scooped you into his arms, as he carried you to the bedroom.

He could see your reluctance to share the bed with him, and he understood it. He's a man, and it'd be strange for you to sleep with him on the same bed. But still, it affected him in the way he's afraid of.

You apologized to him the next morning, when he climbed up to the bar stool to watch you cook.

"I didn't know you moved me to the bed. I'm sorry, it should've been uncomfortable for you."

"It's fine." He said as he stretched, which made his joints pop, "I've had worse."

"Still, it doesn't mean you can sleep on the sofa forever."

"I don't want you to sleep on the sofa either."

"Ugh." You groaned as you placed the breakfast in front of him, "If only we could afford another bed."

"We?"

You stopped on track, as he tilted his head.

"Th—" You faltered, "That's because it's our problem now. You don't want me to sleep on the sofa, and I don't want you to sleep there too. We're running in circles."

He let her have a moment, before he said, "We've figured out the solution, haven't we?"

You almost dropped your plate after hearing him speak, he observed you as your face turned red. "You must understand, I can't sleep with you on the same bed. That'd be… improper. And no, I won't let you sleep on the sofa either."

He watched you as you paced back and forth on the kitchen floor.

"Fine, we can sleep on the same bed. But we won't share the same blanket, alright?"

With that, the new rule had been set. You'd sleep on the left side, while he took the side near the wall. He used the fleece blanket, and you cocooned inside the thick bedcover. Outside the bedroom, he's the one who (begrudgingly) cleaned the house, while you took care of the food. They went to the grocery store twice a week, and they'd split the bills into two.

He quickly fell into the routine as he found the comfort of it. He enjoyed the domesticity of it, something that he never knew would fit him. Whenever they went out, he'd keep himself neutral while secretly reveled in the attention that people gave to them. He'd hold your bag, and open the door for you. He might’ve not realized it, but those gestures pushed their relationship into a strange territory—where you harbored a conflicted feeling, while he stayed blind to your frown.

Alas, everything had to come to an end. When it was time to go, he stood at the door as he teased you by asking where's his kiss. Your face turned red, and he chuckled when you stammered. He didn't expect anything out of it, but when you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, he found himself at loss at words.

Back at the base, everyone stared at him for wearing his sniper hood. But he'd rather people asking him about the mask, than the cause behind his flushed face.

As he promised, he was transferred to a new team for a difficult mission. It was a secret ops, consisting of retrieving an important document from a small terrorist group, and finding the leader's whereabouts. They've reviewed the plans several times, before they put their gears on.

When they breached the base, he was the one in the front line, with a technician beside him. They knew there'd be traps and bombs, and it should've been the technician's job to detect and disarm them. But when he barged into the main office, they missed a little bomb at the corner of the room.

He was the first to shout, and the one who took the damage. When the explosive was triggered, it went off with a deafening boom, sending shrapnels into the air.

They fulfilled the objectives, but they didn't minimize the casualties. While there's zero count in death, he and three other members suffered quite injuries.

When the doctor came, he knew he would deliver bad news. He cleared his throat, before telling him about the wounds on his face. It's quite possible that he'd suffer permanent scarring, from all the shrapnels that was dug into his skin.

He didn't know what to feel about it, except for the fact that you'd see him differently.

When he came home a half year later, his gut churned when you stared at him with wide eyes. He almost turned back, if not for your hand that reached out to him, while you softly spoke.

"What happened?" You mused, "Does it still hurt?"

He was quiet when you touched him, subtly shaking his head to reassure you.

"Oh…" You frowned as you traced the jagged scars on his cheek, "It must've been hurt."

It didn't hurt as much as he thought it'd be, but the way you looked at him that moment made him silent. He wondered if he denied it, he would end up with less amount of care.

You bought him an ointment the next day, and you told him to sit down as you put it on his skin. He told you it was unnecessary since he's healed, but you said it was for the scars.

He was moved, but troubled at the same time. The thing that you'd do and the length that you went through for him, it was… endearing, to say the least. But when you touched his face, you'd wince at the roughness of the new skin.

One night, when you spread the cream on his cheek, he asked,

"Do I look so hideous with the scars, that you want them gone?"

You stopped at your track, before you stared at him. "I don't think I understand what you're saying."

"You brought me ointment just to make them gone."

"You thought I was disgusted by them?"

He didn't answer.

"Look," You shook your head as you sighed, "I'm sorry if I offended you in any way, but whatever you thought about me is wrong. I—" You bit your lip, almost wanting to stop yourself from talking, "I just, I want to do something… for you. That's the least thing I could do."

He watched you look away, with a red flush creeped up across your face.

"Why?" He asked.

"Why?" You snorted, "Well, I don't know. I'm not gonna answer that."

"Do you like me, (name)?"

This time around, you were the one who stared at him.

"What are you saying—"

"Do you like me?" He repeated.

He left you speechless, tongue-tied for the question.

"(Name)."

You didn't flinch when he touched your cheek. For whatever reason, your head turned to him instead. While your eyes searched into his.

At that moment, he forgot about his doubts and went forward to kiss you. Something that he wished he'd done years before, in your bedroom, where he said his first goodbye.

You moaned against his lips, and he growled as he pulled your body into his arms. You didn't resist him, as his hand slid under your garment.

The next morning, he woke up to you on top of him, sleeping soundly, as you quietly snored against his chest. He'd thought he's still asleep, if not for the warmth of your skin against his. When he stood up, his head throbbed, as if he had a bottle of wine last night. While he wasn't drunk, he surely felt like he did.

For a moment, he couldn't remember anything, before the memories hit him all at once. The taste of your sweat, your sweet moan, and a shudder of bliss when he first came. It all came down to him like cold water.

He wasn't an innocent man, he wanted you from the start, but he knew that, once he had walked down the path, he'd have no way to return. The rage that he felt when you weren't his, and the impulse he had when you looked at him through your lashes, they were untamed. It was out of his control, and he's afraid that he'd hurt you with his obsessiveness.

But he couldn't help it. That's just his nature.

When you woke up, you found him on the side of the bed, staring at you. And you smiled at him, so sweetly, that he wished to lock it away from anyone's eye.

And when you kissed him that morning, he felt the exhilaration and the dread of free fall. Where he'd feel the sense of freedom before the gravity pulled him toward a grave. A grave that's reserved only for him.

At that moment, he knew he had to die before you. Because he wouldn't know what to do with himself when you left first.

König doesn't believe in an old wives' tale, but he'll take away your shoes if that means he'll keep you forever.

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #konig x reader #konig cod #man. i wrote about him again #I don't even like him that much. but he has so much potential ughhhhh #anyway. it's not beta read so read at your own risk lmao #and yea. konig has a mommy issue #and daddy issues #and everything issues

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. ii

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chapter summary: Joel tries, and fails, to keep Sarah away from you, and you get to know the family across the street a little bit better. It’s a slow burn, so let the yearning begin, baby! pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 7.7k chapter warnings: some light angst, alcohol use, references to marijuana use, parental neglect. divorce mention, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues - shocker! a/n: Was absolutely floored by the love on part one. Seriously you all are the best. I hate doing chapter summaries because I don't like giving away too much info, so I'd suggest just reading this. This story might end up being a longer than six parts, because I don't want to rush anything and it's been really fun to write these relationships as they form! Let me know what you think :)

-March 25th, 2003-

Joel cannot keep Sarah away from you.

Unfortunately, he can’t blame her. Unlike him, she doesn’t need an excuse to show up on your doorstep after school and on the weekends to be in your company. Still, he doesn’t technically know you that well, and he imagines you didn’t intend to see her as often as you did after extending some kindness to his family for one night.

Despite the two of you having not spoken since you helped him with the Tommy situation, Joel feels like he knows you, or is getting to know you, just from the snippets of information Sarah drops to him, which is then followed by a barrage of questions.

“Do you know she grew up in New York City? Have you ever been there?”

“She gave me her old tennis racket. Do you think I could start taking lessons?”

“She says her brother got her front-row tickets to The Strokes last year. You like them, don’t you?”

Joel decides to give Sarah a talking to about her tendency to wander over to your house whenever she sees your car in the driveway. Perhaps you are just being friendly, and feel bad saying no each time she’s asked to come in. He tries to broach the subject with her one morning in the kitchen while she’s eating breakfast. They’re already running behind, her for school, himself for work, but neither of them are in a rush. If you’re already late, what’s an extra ten minutes?

“Take it easy, alright? She might not want company after a long day at work,” Joel leans over the countertop, hand wrapped around a mug of hot coffee, watching her shovel cereal in her mouth.

“Dad, she said I could come over whenever,” It’s accompanied by an eye roll, which is a new thing that had started about six months back. Teenagers. Well, almost teenagers. She’s still the sweet kid he’s always known, he’s just playing with fire trying to talk to her at seven in the morning, an indent on the side of her face still fading from where she slept on a crumpled pillow.

Joel was at least grateful that she did have occasional company on nights when he was working late. It made him feel better to know Sarah wasn’t alone.

“What do you even do over there?”

“Homework, reading….watching TV.”

“So the same thing you do here?”

Sarah thinks about it. “Well, no, because she’s teaching me to knit.”

“And what does she do while you do your homework?”

“She works too. Or makes calls.” Sarah smiles a little. “It sounds like people ask her for advice a lot. She does give good advice.”

“Better than mine?” Joel holds his hand over his heart with mock offense.

Sarah groans. “Relax, don’t get jealous…there’s just stuff I can talk to her about and not you. Girl stuff.”

“Girl stuff? What like, boys?”

“No, you wouldn’t get it.”

“I was a boy once.”

“Ew, dad, gross.”

“How is that gross?”

“Just- not everything is about boys, okay?”

Joel isn’t going to argue with that, and Sarah eventually goes back to finishing her cereal.

“Alright babygirl,” he raps his knuckles on the counter after he’s finished his coffee. “I’ve gotta load up the truck, and you better get going, or I’m gonna get an earful from Miss Davis.” He grabs his keys and his wallet, then yanks a baseball cap over his mess of hair that’s long overdue for a haircut.

“Oh, I bet she would love an excuse to talk to you,” Sarah slides out of her seat with her empty bowl and marches towards the sink to rinse it out, grabbing his empty mug on the way.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember how giggly she was at parent-teacher conferences?” Sarah says. “I’ve never seen her so happy before.”

It’s Joel’s turn to roll his eyes. He’d pegged it as unusual, but never considered it was because Miss Davis was into him. He wishes Sarah isn’t so….observant.

Over the years, Joel has basically kept his head down, doing his best to keep things together. Because of that, he feels like he’s sort of lost his ability to pick up on when women are interested in him. And it’s safe to say, in general, he’s had a pretty uneventful love life since Sarah’s mom left.

For the most part, he got by on flings — one night stands, casual no-strings-attached arrangements that always fizzled out. Joel had never been a man who liked that sort of thing, and ultimately craved a deeper level of intimacy, companionship, but he had trouble sustaining anything more. And even when he thinks of the more serious relationships he’d had over the years, those were also never completely satisfying.

The fact of the matter was that when you had a kid, you weren’t just looking for someone for yourself anymore. For most people, introducing their partner to their parents is always a big deal. But for Joel, it was always introducing girlfriends to Sarah. Over the last decade he’d only ever introduced her to three different women, and at that point he had usually been dating them secretly for several months before deciding that it was serious enough. It always felt like he was trying so desperately to ensure they liked each other. But he could tell that Sarah was never quite comfortable with any of them. And when they’d start asking about moving in, marriage, and babies — he’d always panic. It was reasonable for them to want those things, hell, he wanted those things. But it had to be the right person. He knew he couldn’t bring someone into his life, forever, that didn’t love Sarah like a parent should. Like he did. No one ever would, and because of that, he knows there’s a good chance it’ll just be the two of them forever.

So, even if Sarah’s teacher, as cute as she was, were to ask him out, he would never be able to go. But less for the latter reasons, and more because he knows he’d never hear the end of it from her.

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m leaving in five minutes…with or without you.”

“Nooo!” Sarah screams in mock panic, scrambling upstairs to brush her teeth.

Joel exits through the garage, grabbing a few extra tools from his workbench that he needs for the job today and a saw.

When he opens the garage door, the harsh sunlight is the first thing to greet him, and then he sees you.

You’re in your driveway across the street, barefoot and in a short, black silk robe that’s cinched at the smallest part of your waist. Next to you is a man in a suit, holding a briefcase and trying to straighten his tie. He can’t do both at the same time, though, so he pauses and turns to you, murmurs something, and you slow to help him, your fingers wrapping around the tie, tightening where it’s looped around his neck and tucking it into place, straightening his lapel before stepping away. The type of domesticity that doesn’t happen with a one-night-stand.

It makes sense, he thinks. That you’re with someone like that. It’s the world you’re in all day. And even though he’s standing in his own fucking driveway, Joel feels like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to. Or maybe, he just doesn’t want to be seeing it.

Joel tears his eyes away, putting his stuff in the back of the truck – the toolkit, the saw, glancing over to see the man kiss you on the lips and mutter something unintelligible before getting in a shiny, blue sports car. You nod, offer an easy smile, and stoop to pick up the newspaper. The car's engine roars to life, and you cross your arms, looking after it until it peels out of the cul-de-sac.

The bashful smile you’re wearing drops instantly once it’s out of sight, and he watches you pinch the bridge of your nose, and tilt your head back to the sky.

He turns before he gets caught, and slams the back of the truck shut, which is a little ignorant in hindsight. Joel looks over his shoulder to see your attention has shifted, and you’re shielding your eyes and squinting at him.

Great.

“Hey Joel,” you wave, your opposite hand pulling at the bottom of your robe, in a futile attempt to cover yourself. You look good, obviously, but it makes Joel feel a little guilty to make the observation because it’s clear you didn’t actually intend to be seen like this.

“Morning,” he answers.

“Where’ve you been?” you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Busy. Work.”

“That’s no fun but…same here, I guess,” You shuffle forward hesitantly.

Joel takes a beat to think about what he’s supposed to say in response, but doesn’t get the chance, because you speak up again.

“Hey uh, not to put you on the spot, but were you actually serious about fixing my step the other night?” you ask.

Before he can answer, you continue.

“It’s okay if you weren’t, but I twisted my ankle on it the other day, so I need to get it fixed before that happens to someone else. I was thinking maybe I’d just call-”

“No-”

“It’s no big deal if you can’t-”

“No,” Joel cuts you off. He had been biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity to bring it up to you, not realizing that taking said time probably made him look like an asshole. “Don’t call anyone else, I can do it. How about Friday night? Will you be around?”

“Friday?” you answer, pondering. “Yeah, that works. I have a friend from out of town coming to visit, so I’ll be home early because I’ve gotta pick her up from the airport.”

“Alright, I’ll try to cut out early, too.”

“And also I can pay-”

“Stop it, I”ve got you, don’t worry,” he waves his hand.

You smile at Joel. He’s sure it means nothing, but he gets some satisfaction from how sincere it is compared to the one you’d given the guy you had been escorting out of your home.

He feels himself grinning back, and you open your mouth to speak, but are cut off by the sound of his screen door slamming. Sarah stumbles down the steps, backpack hanging off one shoulder, headphones to her walkman around her ears, holding her bright pink windbreaker in one hand and a book in the other. She looks at Joel, then you, standing in your driveway, and her face lights up as she calls your name.

“Hey, Sarah,” you wave.

Sarah opens her mouth to speak, and Joel knows whatever she’s going to say will start a much longer conversation that unfortunately they just don’t have the time for.

“She’s gotta get to school,” Joel tilts his head in the direction of his daughter before she can say anything. “But I’ll get that done Friday.”

“See you then!” You turn on your heel, and he looks away for a second to Sarah before glancing back in your direction, and you’re already gone, the only evidence you were there being your front door slamming shut.

Joel waits until he and Sarah are in the car on their way to school before he speaks again.

“She’s never mentioned a boyfriend or anything, has she?”

Sarah doesn’t even look up from her book. “No.”

Joel nods, and it’s quiet for a moment.

He hears Sarah’s book shut. “Why?” she turns to him, and she’s got her eyes narrowed, like she’s trying to figure out what the question really meant. He’s never seen her make that face before, and it’s a little terrifying, because it looks like she could see right through him.

Joel wracks his brain for a good enough excuse. “If she has people over, I don’t want you hangin’ around adults I don’t know.”

That seems to satisfy Sarah, and the skeptical look on her face disappears. If anything, she seems slightly annoyed by the comment, which is definitely preferable. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that because it’s never happened.” Sarah plays with the dials on the radio, changing the station until it lands on one playing The Chicks, her favorite group. She hums along to the song, filling in the gaps whenever the radio cuts out, and looks out the window.

“Alright.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-March 28th, 2003-

“Oh, I wanna come!” Sarah jumps up from the couch and joins Joel in the entryway. It’s Friday evening, and he’s about to head out the door to your place.

“You’re stayin’ in tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Well first of all, you’re grounded, in case you don’t remember.”

“You don’t even know what that means, though.”

Joel shakes his head, because she’s right. He’s never had to ground Sarah before, but when he’d gotten a call from her teacher that she had failed her last math quiz, and was close to not passing the class, he figured it was an appropriate punishment. “I’m pretty sure it means you can’t leave the house.”

“But this is barely leaving the h-”

“Second of all,” he cuts her off. “She told me earlier this week she’s got a friend visiting, so it’d be rude to intrude if that’s the case.”

Sarah groans, throws her head back, and falls onto the couch dramatically. “But I’m so bored.”

“You could study. Practice dribbling, clean your room, clean your bathroom-”

“Dad, it’s literally Friday night.”

“And?”

“All that stuff is so boring.”

Joel can’t help but chuckle. “Look, when I get back we can watch a movie. This won’t take long.”

She sits up a little, placated. “Okay, but it’s my turn to pick.”

“Deal. I’ll be home in an hour or so,” he steps out onto the porch.

There’s a special kind of glow in Texas about an hour before the sun sets. Warm light filters behind the trees, casting the leaves and anything else it catches in a golden halo. Joel takes in the view for a moment as he walks across the street, skipping the rotten step and knocking on your front door.

You answer it quickly. “Hey, you wanna come in?”

Joel supposes he doesn’t have to, and could just let you know he’s here, stay out on the front porch and just get the job done, but he accepts your invitation anyway.

There’s another woman sitting cross-legged on the couch, two half-full glasses of wine on your coffee table, music playing low on some speakers in the corner. The front windows are open, despite the chill of the evening, and your sheer curtains billow in the breeze.

“Claire, this is my neighbor, Joel,” you say. “He’s helping me out with the steps. His daughter’s Sarah, the one I was telling you about. ”

“Oh, yeah.” Claire’s face lights up in recognition. “Joel. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods.

“Claire’s visiting from New York. We grew up together,” you explain.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Her and I were roommates at boarding school,” Claire explains, finishing off a glass of wine. “We got into a lot of trouble together.”

“Hmmm, if I recall, it was more like you got me into trouble, but sure,” you say.

“You were bad, if not worse, than I was.”

Joel smirks, and you turn to him, changing the subject. “She’s jetlagged, so we’re just staying in for the night.”

“But…we’re still getting drunk, obviously.”

“Oh yeah, that too,” you say flatly, although to Joel, you don’t seem drunk at all. Luckily, your friend answers his question with her next sentence.

“This one isn’t very good at keeping up, though,” Claire tilts her head in your direction, then finishes off the glass of wine in her hand.

“You sound like Vincent,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh, how is Vincent?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you cross your arms and look at Joel. “She always had the biggest crush on my brother, and it was dis-gus-ting.”

“To be fair,” Claire clears her throat. “At the time, he was pretty dreamy. And if we’re being honest….he still is…too bad he’s married.”

“Divorced, actually. But still…” You wrinkle your nose. “Gross.”

“Divorced?” Claire sits up, jaw dropping. “When? Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”

You raise your hands and shake your head, like it’s too much to get into. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later. Sorry, we’re being rude,” you turn back to Joel. “Can I get you anything? Want some wine?”

“I would, but it doesn’t usually mix well with power tools,” Joel answers. “I should be good, though, I brought everything I need.”

“Great well… I’ll let you get to it, then.” you pad across the floor to return to your friend on the couch. “We’ll be in here if you need anything.”

“Sounds good,” Joel nods at you and your friend before stepping back out onto the porch.

The screen door shuts behind him, and the birds are quieting down for the night. He only has a little bit of sunlight left, but this shouldn’t take him long. Just as he is about to get started, he hears your friend’s voice, muffled, from inside the house.

“Okay, I thought you were lying because your taste in men is usually questionable, but you’re right, he is really cute.”

“Dude,” you interject, and Joel hears a sound of impact, like a smack on the arm. “Lower your voice the fucking windows are open.” Claire starts giggling, and you continue. “You know you don’t have to say, like, every thought that comes into your head.”

He hears your friend laugh even harder, and eventually you join her. Joel shakes his head, but even after he starts working, can’t keep the grin off his face.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 5th, 2003-

It has been the longest week of your life. Work had been hectic – you’d spent the last five days going to so many meetings and dinners with potential clients that you had almost no time to do your actual job. Plus, your visit from Claire had already wiped out nearly all your energy, since you had spent the whole last weekend showing her around Austin, entertaining.

Normally, on a Saturday like today, you’d do a number of things – the first of which would be to sleep the fuck in. The ideal schedule would go something like this: You’d get out of bed in the early afternoon and immediately order some kind of takeout – most likely pho, or ramen, or some other type of soup. You’d get high, eat the takeout, and then watch TV until you’re tired enough to go back to bed in the early evening. If you’re feeling motivated at all, you might change into a fresh pair of pajamas before you crash again. It would be the ultimate lazy day, and you had desperately wanted it.

However, the past version of yourself had made plans to play tennis in the morning with some friends, and then check out a new breakfast place in the city. Sometimes you hated how optimistic she was about your ability to wake up before 10 a.m. While you weren’t excited to play tennis, you were excited that there was, at some point, going to be food involved.

So you dragged your ass out of bed, rifled through a box of clothing in your garage (one that you still had yet to unpack) to find a tennis skirt and visor, and then got in your car to go play all before 8 a.m. Then, you’d had your ass handed to you by your friends on the court. It was a little humbling to realize that you weren’t very good at tennis anymore. The last time you’d seriously played was when you were still in school, and you’d originally started because your father had wanted you to be involved in an extracurricular activity. According to him at the time, anything involving the arts – music, dance, drama – didn’t count. You had challenged this idea, and it had escalated to become one of the top ten worst fights you’d ever had with him. After that, you had learned that it was better to just do as you were told.

You’d joined the tennis team, and started to pick up on how intrigued your father was by the trophies and ribbons you’d bring home when you did well. He started to ask you questions when he saw them, pat you on the head and say things like ‘that’s my girl’. Regardless of whether or not you liked playing, you had finally found a way to earn his attention. So, you got better. One time, he even came to your school to watch one of your matches. Of course, when you lost that one, it all kind of crumbled. But you still stuck to the sport since that’s what all your friends were doing, even if it didn't get you what you wanted.

On the drive home from your morning out, belly full of breakfast and ready for a nap, thinking of your family brings about a terrifying realization.

You look at your phone. Shit.

April 5th.

Immediately, you dial a number on your cell. You’re aware of the dangers of talking while driving but you know if you don’t make this call, you’ll never hear the end of it. The line only rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Hello?”

“Vincenzo!” you say with your best – but probably horrible – attempt at an Italian accent.

“Well, well, well….if it isn’t the estranged daughter…” the familiar timbre of your brother's voice answers. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You roll your eyes. “Well first of all, fuck off…” We're off to a great start. “...and second of all…Happy Birthday.”

You hear your brother’s chuckle on the other end of the line, a noise that you’d been on the wrong side of – laughing at you, not with you – more than once, but your heart aches a little at the sound of it now. I miss you, you wish you could say, but you keep it to yourself.

“Thanks, I’m surprised you remembered,” he says, lightly.

“I’ve never forgotten.”

“There was that one year-”

“Oh my god, I was like twelve.”

“You were fourteen.”

“Okay, well, sorry…It’s been over ten years and it hasn’t happened since.”

“It feels like you’ve forgotten more than once, but that might just be because it’s pretty much the only time you ever call me these days,” Vincent says, and if you were with him, in person, you’d be able to tell by the look in his eyes whether or not he was joking. But over a cell, you’re not sure at all.

“That’s not true,” you say, turning your car into your neighborhood. “But I mean, the phone does work both ways.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you catch something flippant in his tone.

“Do you want this to be a nice conversation or are you gonna be an asshole?” you ask, maybe a little too matter-of-factly, but at least you can determine whether or not it’ll be a waste of your time to try and be cordial. If he’s in a bad mood, you know it’s pointless.

“Relax,” he says, and you hear a hint of the teenage boy you once knew. “You’re always so ready to argue with me, I’m joking.”

“Very funny,” you say, and try to be nice about it, because deep down, you know Vincent is right. You don’t talk to your brother enough to argue with him when you do speak. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “So what are you doing on your big day? Anything special?”

“Nothing really special, I worked out, had lunch with a friend, and I think I’m having dinner with Elizabeth tonight.”

“Oh…really? Elizabeth?” At the mention of his soon-to-be ex-wife – or maybe current ex-wife? You’re not sure – you’re surprised.

“Yeah she and I are uh….talking still, I guess. For Ethan, mostly, but…I don’t know…the divorce isn’t finalized, and I think now that I’m seeing a therapist and shit, maybe we can work something out. We’ll see.”

“And do you want to work something out?”

“I mean, she’s only the love of my life so yeah, it’d be great.”

“I think so, too. How is Ethan, by the way?”

“Oh he’s great,” you hear your brother’s smile over the phone. “Just a big ball of energy, and so fucking smart. He told me he misses you the other day.”

Your heart lurches at the mention of your sweet, five-year-old nephew. “You’ll have to tell him I said hi, and that I love him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” he answers. “You know, next weekend I’m having a proper birthday party. We’re all going to the Hamptons. I could fly you out here, you could tell him in person.”

“I can’t, I got shit to do,” you answer a little too quickly, turning the car into your cul-de-sac.

“What uh, your little corporate gig keeping you busy?”

There’s a subtle dig in there, little.

“Maybe.”

“I’m telling you, all I have to do is phone a friend, and we’ll find you something here that’ll pay a thousand times better and won’t have you working weekends.”

“I don’t work weekends,” you say, pulling into your driveway. “And I’m not interested.”

“You like making yourself miserable, don’t you?”

“Vinny,” you say, exasperated, putting your car in park. “I’m happy here.”

“In Texas? I don’t believe it,” he says. “And you know, at this point, you’ve proven whatever you wanted to dad. After everything you’ve done, he probably respects you. Like, you did it. You cut yourself off, you made a name for yourself, you don’t need us anymore. Congratulations, amazing. I get it. But you should come home now.”

“Vincent,” you repeat yourself. “I’m not going back. You know what it was like for me. For you.”

“You’re my fucking family too, you know? You can’t just let him control every decision you make,” he says, and he’s not quite yelling at you, but he is sounding a lot more stern than he was before. “And by the way, it wasn’t so bad. You and I always got along.”

“Even if I move back, things will never be like they were.”

“You don’t know that.” he says it with such a deep sadness in his voice that you want to take back every cruel thing you’d ever said to him – not just from today, from forever. And then he speaks again. “You know, you used to be so sweet when we were kids….I don’t know what happened.”

I do, you think. “I had to look out for myself.”

Before he can respond, you change the subject. “Anyways, you should move out here instead,” it’s only halfway a joke.

“I’m not leaving New York.”

“Well, I’m not leaving Austin.”

“Well…” he says, clicks his tongue. “Then I guess things’ll just stay this way.”

“I guess so.”

You wish you could offer more. But he has never understood. The silence on the other line is so loud, your ears are ringing.

“Look, I just pulled in my driveway, I gotta get going.”

“Yeah.”

“But have a nice day, okay?” you’ve gotta turn this conversation around because it went so far off the rails. “Tell Elizabeth I say hi, and I hope you do work things out with her because you know I think she’s great. And give Ethan a kiss for me.”

“I know, and I will,” you can see him closing his eyes, fingers pinching between his eyebrows.

“I love you.”

“Yeah…okay,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you, and it’s a punch to the gut. As usual, you weren’t able to say the right thing. Tears start pricking the back of your eyes, guilt twisting deep in the pit of your stomach.

“Goodbye,” in one swift movement, you end the call and get out of the car, slamming the door shut. You’re sad now, but it’s only a matter of time before you become angry, which is always easier to deal with, so you just gotta suck it up until it passes.

Trying not to be upset is such a high priority that you don’t hear your name being called right away, and when you turn around, it’s too late.

“Hey!” Sarah Miller is skidding to a stop in front of you, wearing boots that look a size too small for her feet, dressed in athletic clothes with her hair pulled back. “My dad says I’m not grounded anymore so I can-” she falters when she sees your face. “Are you okay?” she asks.

Clearing your throat, you fix your expression and try to shake away the lingering disappointment like dirt off a kitchen rug. “Yeah I’m fine,” you lie. “So does that mean you passed math?”

Since that night you let her stay when she was locked out, you’d seen quite a bit of Sarah. It was a little unconventional, and you probably needed to find friends in the community that were more age appropriate, but you enjoyed her company. She would hang out and do homework at your house while she waited for her dad to get home from work. You had always valued your independence, and told yourself you preferred to be on your own, but whenever she left, your house always felt a little emptier than you remembered. Maybe you needed to get a fish or something, since Martini’s appearances were few and far between.

��Not yet, but I did get an A on my last test. I hate to say it but my dad was right…studying actually helps.”

“Yeah, that tends to be true,” you say, relieved at how easy the smile comes, and you glance over your shoulder to see Joel standing at the edge of his driveway with his hands on his hips. He looks fucking good, and you’re almost sort of mad about it, or it’s hopefully just the irritation kicking in after the conversation with your brother.

Does Joel know? He has to. It’s like having whatever the male version of a siren is living across the street from you – working with his hands, being a doting father, and mowing the lawn shirtless when it’s hot out. And apparently this was a record-breakingly hot spring, because you’d seen that more than once. Not that you minded, though it only made you want a closer look. Years ago, you probably would’ve scoffed at what sounded like a suburban mom’s wet dream, but actually experiencing it, you felt differently. There was just something about him.

You give Joel a wave, and he waves back, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s trying to decide if he wants to come over and talk. As usual, he seems like he’s got somewhere to be, but he’s too polite to tell you to fuck off.

“How have you been? I’ve hardly seen you,” Sarah says. “Did you play tennis today?” she pokes at the racket that’s hung over your shoulder. “Were you serious about teachin’ me to play this summer?”

It’s hard not to be amused at the barrage of requests. You admire her ability to be so enthusiastic, so open, something that most people are unable to do, but for her, is effortless. She’s older than your nephew, but you get the same kind of relief from interacting with both of them. The kids are alright. At least, some of them are.

“Of course,” you answer, and notice that Joel is slowly and hesitantly making his way up your driveway. It’s upsetting that everytime you run into him, you conveniently look like shit – like last Tuesday when you’d just rolled out of bed and were still in your robe. Or right now, after spending the whole morning chasing after balls on a clay court, scuffed knees and hair slick with sweat. But you suppose that’s sort of what neighbors are for.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask Joel.

“It’s goin’,” you take him in as he gets closer, notice the way the arms of his t-shirt are just a little too tight because of his biceps, and feel like you need to take a cold shower to wash yourself of this morning. “Babygirl, we should probably get going.”

He calls his daughter babygirl? There’s no way he was being serious, that it isn’t some ironic joke, or part of an act. You always assumed that was just something you saw in movies.

“Because I did so well on my test my dad is takin’ me on a hike,” Sarah says, and then her face lights up. “Wait….you should come with us! Dad, can she come?” Sarah whirls around to face her father.

Joel looks down at Sarah, and then up at you, and then at Sarah again. “I mean, that’s fine, but…she might have other things going on.”

It’s hard to tell if he’s trying to give you an out, or if he’s hinting that you shouldn’t come. And you probably normally wouldn’t want to go, but the alternative is moping around your house and thinking of all the things you could’ve said differently to your brother to ensure the conversation would have gone better than it did. You’re always desperate for a second chance to do things over, and do them right.

You look between the two of them, back and forth. “I mean I would totally, I just…don’t want to interrupt a father-daughter activity-”

“You aren’t,” Sarah says so quickly that Joel looks offended. “I couldn’t leave the house this week so we’ve been spending too much time together.”

Joel frowns. “That’s rude.”

“What?” she says. “It’s true.”

Joel sighs. “She’s right, though. You wouldn’t be interruptin’.”

“Please?” Sarah begs, and you realize you can’t say no even if you want to. You wonder how Joel was even able to ground her for a week, looking in those big, innocent eyes.

“Yeah, just…uh, could I put my stuff inside and maybe change?” you ask, gesturing towards the house.

Joel nods, and Sarah rocks back and forth on her heels. “Yes, yes! Take as long as you need.”

“I’ll be fast,” you assure her, and duck inside.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halfway into the hike with Sarah and Joel, and you’ve decided you’re out of shape. You try to tell yourself there could be another reason you are so out of breath – you already worked out once today while playing tennis. But that doesn’t seem like a good enough excuse. Of course, you’re trying to play it cool, because you’re not about to embarrass yourself. Sarah is entertaining you with all kinds of talk about school, and soccer, and sleepaway camp she gets to go to for two weeks once school's out. And you suppose the pain you’re in right now is also welcome distraction from thinking about Vincent.

However, you can’t dip away from the group to rest for a second, because Joel is already trailing behind, and he’d catch on. However, his distance – several paces back from where you and Sarah walk – is not because he’s out of shape. On the contrary, he seems to be putting almost no effort into the steep climb. He’s on his own, head on a swivel, kind of like a brooding security guard, and you wonder if he feels left out.

You steal a glance over your shoulder to take him in, shrouded by the verdant foliage. He looks at home in this environment, sun-kissed and rugged, a finger hooked behind the strap of a leather bag he carries over one shoulder, his gait measured. Aloof, but there’s a quiet confidence to him that draws you in, causes your stare to linger just a touch too long, so when he turns his head straight, his eyes catch yours. You focus back on the trail ahead.

He hasn’t said much since you’ve started hiking, or in the car, even. Most men are easy to read, but so far, Joel has kind of stumped you. There were times, during the night that you’d helped him bail his brother Tommy out of jail, that you had thought maybe he was- no. He’d been pretty tense in every other interaction you had, so you still couldn’t decide if he had been flirting with you.

And he was older than you, you were pretty sure. Not so old that it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to be interested, but enough that, depending on the type of person he was, might see you as a little too young for him. And he had a kid, responsibilities.

You were a-single woman with a high-powered career, one cat and a fish on the way. You slept in on the weekends, refused to learn to cook for one, and got violently stoned on your back porch a minimum of three times a week. In suburban Texas, most of the women your age were long since settled, and you were an outlier. It was fair to imagine that Joel probably didn’t see any real promising future when he looked your way…. or maybe he was more of a one-night stand kind of guy, and didn’t care about that at all. This was not necessarily information you needed – but you wanted it anyway.

Not feeling like an outsider would be one upside of moving back to New York – you could be exactly yourself, and still blend right in. It was one of the parts you missed most, besides Vincent. Your heart sinks, and you realize that the hill you’ve been climbing has flattened out, and so you’re able to think clearly again, which is why you’re thinking of your brother.

Sarah has pulled away, and is wandering towards a clearing. Your eyes are on her form, bounding up ahead on the pathway, the sunlight peeking through the leaves dancing on her skin, when your foot lands on a loose rock, and slips out from beneath you.

Please, God, n- You don’t even get the chance to plead yourself out of humiliation, because there’s a steady hand on your hip and your back collides with a broad chest.

“Gotcha,” Joel’s voice is right in your ear — when did he get that close?

He’s solid, strong, and for the shortest, sweetest moment, you’re overwhelmed by him – get notes of his bar soap (pine, cedar, mint) mixed with whatever laundry detergent he used, and just the faintest bit of - Fuck. In one swift movement, he brings you upright like you’d never slipped at all, then pulls back. The skin on your hip smarts even after his hand drops away.

“You alright?” Joel steps beside you, watching Sarah, who stands with her hands on her hips, her back turned to you both.

“Yeah,” you nod. He looks back over at you. “Come on,’ he tilts his head towards his daughter, and you walk beside him to where she’s standing.

The whole hike you’d been so occupied with bullshit. Trying not to think about your brother. Trying not to act too out of breath. Trying to not let Joel catch you staring, although you’d already failed at that. But now, you wish you wouldn’t have been in your head, because what you’d come to see made worrying about all that seem stupid.

Stretched out in front of you was a wide creek with moss-colored water that flowed down over layered slabs of rock, and crashed into the waterfall’s churning basin. The sun hits the mist in just the right light, and casts a series of rainbows midair, which move and shift as you turn your head to study the lush, tree-lined shore across the river.

You’re standing with one hand on your hip, and out of the corner of your eye Sarah shuffles back a few steps to stand beside you, looping her arm through yours, her cheek on your shoulder while you both enjoy the view.

“I’m glad you got to see this,” she says, and you can just make it out over the sound of the falls. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s beautiful.”

Joel’s hands land on Sarah’s shoulders as he steps close behind you both. She straightens, leans back against him until he wraps his forearm across the front of her in an easy embrace, and she grabs for his wrist with both of her hands, tucking them beneath her chin. A pang of familiar grief stirs inside you at the sight, and you turn away, back towards the view.

“This is the only time of year it’s worth seeing,'' Joel says to you. “It dries up in the summer.”

“It’s still pretty in the summer,” Sarah pipes up.

“Not as pretty.”

“Can you get me the water?” she asks. Joel grunts an affirmation and a moment later you hear the sound of a zipper.

When you’ve had a considerable amount of time to contemplate life while looking at the water swirling across the granite, you turn to find Sarah sitting on a rock, struggling to peel an orange, and dropping each tiny piece of skin she can get off into Joel’s begrudgingly outstretched hand.

You use the opportunity to stretch your calves against a nearby tree.

“Have you hiked before?” Sarah asks.

“Here and there,” you say. “But not often.”

“Why not?”

“Well this is basically a workout. I don’t like working out, I’m pretty unathletic.”

You’re surprised when that draws a smile from Joel.

“But you play tennis.”

You shrug. “Eh, kinda.”

“Me and my dad go hiking a lot.”

“That’s sweet,” your eyes flicker from hers to Joel’s, because they are both staring at you, and you’re pretty sure, though it’s hard to tell from this distance, that their eyes are the identical shade of caramel. Sarah finishes peeling her orange and Joel pockets the scraps of skin. She eats a slice before offering you both your own, and you step closer to accept it.

Sarah’s taking her last bite of orange when Joel speaks up.

“Should we head back?”

Sarah turns to take one last look. It’s mid afternoon, the slant of light from the sun as intense as it can be, and you squint when it reflects back off the water and into your eyes.

“Yeah, we can,” Sarah decides, and it’s clear that Joel would have stayed there for as long as she wanted. It wasn’t up to him.

The hike back isn’t nearly as difficult. It’s all downhill, and Joel leads. Sarah stays behind with you, and clings to your arm while she teaches you how to navigate the trail without slipping. Back at the trailhead is one steep step that drops off into a puddle of stagnant water.

Joel jumps down first, and turns to offer his hand to Sarah, who takes it and leaps lightly, landing on two feet on the other side. You aren’t sure what you’re expecting, but it’s not for Joel to offer you his hand to you as well. But he does.

“Careful,” he murmurs. And of course, you could’ve easily done this yourself, with no help. It’s a two foot drop and an inch of water. But you accept it anyways, putting some of your weight against his hand as you hop down, noticing how he doesn’t waver.

By the time you’re long since settled in the car, pulling into Joel’s driveway, you can feel sleep tugging down your eyelids. A steaming shower and a pair of pajama pants is imminent, and it’s like your body knows. Surely, you will still probably feel guilty about your brother, but you’re convinced that you won’t lose sleep over it, which you consider a win.

Sarah, who insisted that you both sit in the back together on the way home – leaving Joel in the front alone – gives you a quick hug after you’ve gotten out of the car, and then plucks the car keys from her father.

“Sorry, I drank a lot of water and I have to pee!” she says, before jogging up the walkway and unlocking her front door.

Joel lets out an exasperated sigh, but turns back look at you with startling warmth.

“Thanks for having me, I really needed that,” you tell him, and you’re not sure why you feel compelled to be honest with him, but continue on. “My brother and I got into it on the phone this morning, so if I didn’t go I probably would’ve spent all afternoon moping in bed.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice soft. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” you say, quickly, brushing it off. “Siblings, you know?”

“Yeah,” he nods, but you can tell he isn’t convinced. “I know.”

“How’s Tommy, by the way?” you ask. “Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“He is,” Joel answers. “We actually have a big project we might be about to book. Pays well, and will keep us employed for the next year.”

“Oh that’s exciting,” you nod. “So what I’m hearing is…if my step rots again, you wouldn’t have time to come fix it?”

“No,” Joel chuckles again, and you’re dizzy after hearing it. “I’d make time.”

You take a deep breath. “Good to know,” you shuffle a few steps backwards. “I better get going, though.” He doesn’t answer right away, and just as you’re turning to walk across the street, Joel calls out to you again.

“Hey,” and you pause, facing him again. “I wanted to ask you if…” he hesitates, blinks and shakes his head once before continuing. “If Sarah is coming over too much. If you want, I can tell her to cool it.”

“Are you kidding?” you ask. “I don’t mind at all. She’s great company, really.”

“You sure you’re not just sayin’ that to be nice?”

You sniff, look at the ground, then back up to him. “I’m not actually very nice.”

He studies you. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“You hardly know me,” you shrug, and his eyebrows pinch together very briefly before his expression neutralizes. “I’m just saying….if I didn’t like having her around, you would know.”

He bobs his head slowly, and you turn back around to walk to your house, glancing at him from over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you around.”

- - - - - - - - - -

taglist: @yaskna @venomous-ko @lomljigg @yeehawbitchs @ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done @melancholicmelanin @reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer @superflymaterial @mikkorantanev @zbeez-outlet (i'm sorry if i missed anyone, i didn't tag anyone that didn't explicitly ask!).

part iii

#are we surprised that reader has daddy issues? odds are if you are reading this fic about the video game/TV DILF of the century you do too #i mean i certainly do #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x f!reader #joel Miller imagine #Joel Miller series #joel miller the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #Pedro pascal #TLOU HBO #TLOU fanfic #TLOU series #texas sun

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fbfh · 2 months

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Thinking about how aggressively protective over you dad!Tony is. Like whenever someone is fucking mean or rude to you, or generally gives you trouble like... you have to laugh. Cause you know what's coming. You were out running some errands (aka picking up falafel and shwarma for you, your dad, Peter, and Harley) when you ducked into a cute little boutique on the way. You saw a pair of sunglasses that were so cute, but upon further investigation, they had weird designs all along the sides. You laugh at how terrible it looks and get a picture to show your dad when you get back. You're about to leave when some stupid fucking Paul Blart mall cop drags you into the back of the store and accuses you of shoplifting. You just laugh. You laugh and ask Jarvis to call your dad. Knockoff Paul blart is trying to scare you into confessing to something you didn't do, threatening you with jail time and telling you your parents can't bail you out now, it's too late for that. You record part of the conversation and send it to your dad. About 0.0000001 second later you get a notification that he's on his way. You hear his repulsors outside and moments later he's storming into the back of the boutique.

"Okay, chachi, you've got about three seconds to explain to me what the hell you think you're doing here."

"Sir, are you the father of-"

"Three..."

"O-of this-"

"Two..."

"-was suspected to be shoplifting-"

"And you're done!"

You watch with a barely repressed laugh as your dad TEARS into this motherfucker. Like he is not holding back in he slightest. Tony KNOWS his kid. There is not a shadow of a doubt in his mind that this is a result of some miserable little man on a powertrip who couldn't get into cop school. And Tony TELLS HIM that to his fucking face. You watch a sad, angry little man reduced to tears after being roasted to within an inch of his life by your dad. It's giving "you pathetic, short little man. you don't have any friends, or any family, or any LAND." By the time he's finally done, you dad looks the guy dead in the eye ad tells him with more confidence that paul blart has ever felt in his life

"If you're lucky, maybe you'll be scrubbing my floors with a toothbrush. Maybe."

Tony ushers you out of there, ordering some food and coffee and asking Jarvis to cancel the next chunk of scheduled events so he can spend some time with you, make sure you're okay. He may or may not have also bought that little boutique, because when someone messes with his kid, Tony does NOT let it slide.

#drabbles #tony stark drabbles #tony stark #tony stark x reader #dad!tony #iron dad #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark x son!reader #tony stark x stark!reader #marvel drabbles #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x stark!reader #this has been making me cackle for days #comfort #“all of you have daddy issues” “not me. I fuckin love my dad” (tony blasting acdc and blowing shit up with his repulsors in the background)

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ghouljams · 10 months

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Last night I had a dream that fae!Price’s darling was a witchy gal, her grandmother taught her about the fae when she was young. I’m talking warded up house, always carrying iron and salt, candles herbs and crystals the whole nine yards. They met in the flower shop after she got a weird vibe, looked through a hagstone and Saw him. He showed up in her garden and she gave him mead she made to make up for her rudeness. She will do small acts of kindness but specify that they are “freely given” to avoid tethering. I was reading your blog right before bed lol. I like the idea of debt holder Price and a (from a fae perspective) slippery darling that he just can’t catch unless she wants to be caught

*Holding the grimoire I wrote as a senior capstone in College* Oh you want witch shit? I can give you witch shit. Let's keep trying out Price's darlings, the only thing I require for her is that she have the most knowledge of the fae because she's dealing with the big kid one. (Here's where I mention that I also have a potential witch darling for Gaz so keep that in mind)

He's been hanging around your garden, just by your back gate, right where your grandmother planted rosemary so many years ago. You greet him every time you pass by, careful never to reach over the brick wall that separates you. He's friendly, but you're not so easily fooled.

"Good morning," you smile at him, watering the herbs on your side of the fence. He leans against the brick to watch you. Eyes heavy as they slide over you, tracing the sway of your skirt where it skims your thighs.

"How's my pretty witch doing today?" He asks voice thick and promising. He's just as careful to avoid your iron watering can as you are to keep it from splashing him. You find the residual warding properties tend to soak into the water. Your family has always maintained a strong threshold for the home.

"Better seeing you," you joke, returning the compliment as easily as can be. You never miss the heat in his eyes, the danger just below his friendly facade.

"I brought you something."

"That's very kind of you," you tell him, "I think the tomatoes are ripe, I'll send you off with some for the trouble."

"No trouble, I wanted to bring it."

"Oh but I couldn't accept a gift without repaying you, it would be rude of me."

"Repay me later," he growls, and you smile a little wider. You like this dance, you've never had a fae try so hard to get their hooks in you. You set down your watering can and lean against the brick across from him. Your weight resting on your elbows, the threshold humming between you.

"But I can repay you now."

"It's a gift."

"Gifts have strings."

"Then it isn't a gift," he says, mirroring your posture.

"Then what is it?" You ask, his eyes flick to your chest, appreciative, wanting. His confidence is charming, or it would be if you were the sort of person to take the fae at face value.

"A name," Your smile drops, your heart jumping up your throat. He must see the panic in your eyes because his smile widens. "Not to keep, just... to call me when we talk." Your pulse tries to slow from the impact of panic. He did that on purpose, you try not to look too rattled by this. You try to think of an appropriate repayment.

"I can't tell you mine."

"I know." He purrs, pleased with himself for catching you in your own defenses. You feel a chill graze your skin through the threshold, the edge of Winter. He knows exactly the corner he's backing you into. He gives you time to think through your options, to panic at the weight of his offer.

"I don't-"

"I know." He pushes, tapping against the solid line between you. You've never had the sight, but you can feel his magic collide with yours as he hits the threshold. You toy with the hagstone on your necklace, the worn stone warm from your skin under your fingers. "Witch," he warns.

"I'm still thinking."

"Think as long as you want," He leans closer, "but call me Price while you do."

Your heart stops, your thoughts grinding to a halt as well. Price. It fits him. You feel the silver thread searching for purchase in your soul, and break one of your long standing rules.

You lean over the threshold and kiss him. Because you know he wants to have some part of you, and you know he wants you on the wrong side of the fence. The thread breaks as his hand slides to cup your cheek, tipping your head as his lips slide against yours. It's your first one, and you think it's worth the price of his name.

His beard sort of tickles but his lips are soft and insistent, and you lean a little further over the wall to stay close. His hands are entreating, coaxing you further across the threshold. His teeth dig into your lip and you open for him, let him drag his tongue against yours as his fingers thread through your hair. You feel your feet leave the ground, the brick digging into your hands as you put your weight on them. The pain is enough to bring you back to your senses. You don't know what would happen if you let him take you.

Price sighs as you pull away and settle back on your side of the wall. He feels a thread hook in him. You've overpaid. He values your touch more than you apparently did, how fortunate for him. And unfortunate for you.

#fae!Price #a potential darling #this witch is more nice than the one Gaz is trying to deal with #gonna say shes a hedgewitch #very old school folk magic and family magic #john price x reader #john price mw2 #captain john price #john price x y/n #john price #fae au #Price visiting his darling on the edge of winter every day bringing her little things #and going home with a bundle of food and fresh produce #asked my friend who has daddy issues to help me with this #hope its good for yall

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riizeblr · 3 months

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I think eunseok has a dad vibe, i don't know if i make myself clear, like, he feels like the kind of guy who would protect you but would also hurt you the most with his words because of how much you depend on his opinion as a fatherly figure. Like, he could easily manipulate you into not going to places and seeing certain people with the excuse of protecting you, controlling what you can and can't wear would be pretty common too.

rating: 18+. mdni.

content: stepcest, controlling behavior, alludes to noncon

oh my gosh i love this!

stepdad!eunseok who thrives on how quickly you begin to worship him after he marries your mom. you were clearly pretty childish, in need of someone to look after you and guide you. you were so clearly a spoiled little princess and eunseok wasn't sure how he felt about it at first. your mom would somewhat enable your behavior, letting you sit pretty at home and eunseok wasn't looking to change that aspect. but what he couldn't stand was your little outbursts, tantrums, more like.

your bratty princess act withered quickly after you realized that eunseok wasn't going anywhere and he actively looked to change you and help you. he was so stable and calm that you couldn't help but give in to every word he said. if there was something eunseok didn't like, you would try your best to make sure he would never see it again. if he decided he didn't like one of your friends? you didn't like her either. he thought you were staying out too late? you had more fun at home anyway. he didn't like your outfit? your closet is always open for him to go through. you even allowed him to help you get dressed if he wanted, select your scented lotions, and moisturize your skin with gentle, lingering touches.

still, you acted out from time to time and eunseok wouldn't admit that he liked it when you did. he liked having an excuse to slip into your room after your mom fell asleep to punish you. he liked the way you quickly learned to fear those times. he could see the quick shift in your face and flash of your eyes get faster and faster after every late night encounter with him but it was always too late. you had already begun and eunseok wasn't one to forget.

and he was always sure to be extra brutal when it had something to do with men...

#tw noncon #tw stepcest #this ask screams daddy issues #same #anyway stepdad!eunseok has me thinking #discography !#feat. eunseok !#stepdad!eunseok #eunseok x reader #eunseok smut #riize x reader #riize smut #dark riize #dark eunseok #riize hard hours #riize #eunseok

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gothghostiie · 4 months

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hi! i love your how they will react with a reader with daddy issues. mine are really bad so please can we get more Price. preferably a fic ehere the reader has a hard time with her dad and he makes it all better!!

hi!! and ty <3 ask and you shall receive ✨

cw: fluff, gn!reader, daddy issues, recruit!reader

It had been a rough day. you woke up too late for training, spilled something different at every meal, the whole day was just not for you. to top it off, your father had called you after curfew for some reason, needless to say it ended up being a huge argument. so now you're sitting in the common room of the base, sobbing quietly to not wake anyone on accident.

Meanwhile Price, who was awake anyway was taking a stroll through the base, when he saw the faint light from the room. he raised an eyebrow and slowly snuck to the doorway, just to see your sobbing form on the couch. for a moment he looked around to make sure you were alone before stepping in and clearing his throat. "Recruit. what's the matter?" he asked in a gentle tone, getting on one knee in front of you.

you flinched a bit upon suddenly hearing him but quickly took a deep breath to compose yourself. "s-sorry captain. didnt mean to wake you, I'll go to my barracks.." but before you properly finished he put a hand on your lap to keep you in place while shaking his head.

"no no. none of that." he said in a somewhat strict tone. "take a breath and then tell me why you're upset. alright?" his tone was steady and reassuring, he even guided you taking a breath. "there. now, what's the matter?" he asked once again. after another deep breath you finally told him about your shitty day and most importantly what pushed you over the edge - the argument with your dad. Price nodded and listened quietly, his hand still in your lap. only after a moment of letting it sink in he spoke again. "you poor thing." he said, rubbing your leg softly. he thought for a second, then stood back up, opening his arms for you. "c'mere."

your eyes widened a little. you felt unsure and like this was improper, him being your superior and all. however, another reassuring nod from him gave you the confidence you needed, standing up and slowly hugging him. his strong arms wrapped around you, one hand on the back of your head, the other on the small of your back. "there you go." he huffed softly, caressing your head as he felt your face bury into his shoulder. "it's okay, let go. you're safe with me, I'll protect you." as if he knew what to say, the tears started flowing, leaving a wet stain on his grey sweater. Price held you tightly, slowly swaying back and forth with you. "that's it, let it all out.." he cooed again, encouraging you to cry. the whole time he held you, comforted you and just let you cry until you eventually calmed down.

You were just shakily breathing now. "better?" he hummed softly.

"a bit.."

"well then.." he grinned for just a second. "how about you stay with me for a bit longer, hm? I have some paperwork but I can't bear the thought of just leaving you alone now." he suggested, though it was definitely more of an order.

hesitantly you nodded. "okay.." his expression turned a bit smug as his arm wrapped around your waist, leading you to his office like that. in there he quickly sat down in his leather chair which creaked slightly. John got comfy before looking at you, standing next to his chair. "come on. sit down.' he said nonchalantly while tapping his lap, making your cheeks burn.

you hesitated greatly but his soft gaze made it hard to resist, not to mention the feeling of safety being close to him gave you. so, carefully you sat down - just for price to pull you in properly, sitting sideways with your legs dangling in the air. he let out a satisfied groan. "there we go." he hummed, one hand bringing your head to his shoulder, the other holding your legs. "you just relax alright?" he hummed lowly. "I'm here for you, if you need anything you just tell me and I'll get it for you sweetheart." his voice was soft and gentle despite his naturally gruff tone. "you're all good now." with that he began working on his paperwork, always keeping one hand on you, caressing your soft skin with his calloussed fingers.

you couldn't help but glance up at him while snuggling into him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. occasionally he would glance down and smile, squeezing you gently. "there there. all better, isn't it baby?" he cooed, smiling. you nodded softly, thanking him quietly which made him chuckle.

"don't worry your little head baby. I'll always be here for you."

#gothghostiie #ask ghostiie #ghostiie has daddy issues #daddy issues #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern Warfare 2 #john price #Captain John price #Captain price #price x reader #task force 141 #141 #cod price #price cod #fluff #brainrot

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mncxbe · 5 months

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I'm in my party dress. He says "You're such a mess"♡

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut♡/ unethical

Your head spun as you downed another shot. It was if you were stuck in a never-ending rollercoaster, looping somewhere on cloud nine. The bittersweet drink burned its way into your core, blooming heat in every cell of your body.

Sliding off the slick black bar stool you stumbled to the plush couch where Fukuchi was seated, a glass filled with golden liquid hanging idly between the tips of his fingers; staring mindlessly at the crowd of blaring people.

"Hey captain, you having fun?" you asked, disrupting his train of thought. His head snapped in your direction and he raised his brows.

"What'd you say?"

Placing a hand on the back of the couch for support you leaned closer to him and spoke loud enough to cover the roaring music of the club "I asked if you're having fun"

He simply shrugged in response, holding your gaze "It could be worse"

Fukuchi had to admit he didn't really like clubs with their loud music, overly expensive drinks and technicolor; but it was Teruko's turn to pick that month's mandatory teambuilding activity so he had no say in it.

As you plopped yourself next to him, his gaze followed the line of your collarbone down to your chest, skimming over the edges of your dress. How you could go out of the house wearing that thing was beyond comprehension; in the flashing lights of the club the satin seemed to stick to you by some sort of electricity, shfting colours like the surface of a lake in moonglow.

For a brief moment, Fukuchi found himself reaching a hand to touch you but he soon regained his composure. Setting his glass down on the arm of the couch he sighed, leaning his head back.

"Aren't you gonna finish that?" you slurred, voice laced with mischief and he shook his head in reponse.

"Nah. You can have it if you want to"

The alcohol was already starting to cloud his mind, a familiar pressure building in his skull. He knew it wasn't smart to drink around you, you were too tempting.

Fukuchi wasn't a stupid man. He noticed the subtle glances during meetings, how you always offered to bring in the reports for the whole team on Friday evenings, when there was no one but him left at the headquarters. He was fully aware of your intentions, yet laying amidst the blaring crowd in this god forsaken club, he didn't seem to care about your closeness.

Your chest was pressed against his side as you leaned over him and reached for the glass. His arm instinctively slid around your waist, keeping you from stumbling over as you drank the last sips of alcohol from his glass before setting it back down.

"Woah that's strong" you whined and he couldn't help but smile.

You shifted slightly; pretty dress hiking up as you crossed your legs. "Say, sir..." you began, tracing your fingertips along his clothed thigh. "How about we have another drink? My treat"

"I think you've had enough for tonight, Y/N" he smile, trying to ignore the bulge in his pants. Fuck, you were such a tease. Your hand trailed higher up, teasingly hooking a finger under his belt and he seized your wrist.

"Careful now, Y/N" he hissed, cold gaze meeting your own. "This ain't the best place"

A small chuckled rolled past your lips. Fukuchi felt his heart sink when you looked up at him with those big doe eyes, so vivid despite the alcohol you've consumed- pleading him. "Then take me somewhere else"

And how could he say no to you?

Half an hour later, your head was pressed against the cold pillows on his bed, muffled groans and mewls rolling past your lips as he rammed himself inside you from behind.

"You're doing well, sweet thing" he cooed, nails digging into the plush of your hips.

The whole thing felt surreal, like a hazy dream; it was all so wrong it felt right. Your mind spun from the alcohol, unable to fully comprehend the situation you were in. But it's not like you cared about anything except how good he felt inside you right now. He reached all your sweet spots with each thrust, way better than anyone did before and you swore you could see starts; pearly tears pooling at your lashline.

"God fuck it's so good" you mewled, fingers digging into the pillow underneath in a futile attempt to keep yourself grounded. He only hummed in response and tightened the grip on your hair.

"Told ya I'd treat you well princess"

With a swift movement he flipped you on your back, sharp eyes tracing the outline of your body; hair a tangled mess, makeup smeared on your cheeks and pillowcase, one strap of your white lacey bra off your shoulder. Your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath you took, lashes fluttering shut as you tried to keep your gaze focused on him.

"God, you're such a mess" he chuckled, thumb coming to circle your puffy clit, making you shudder.

"Now, now. Be nice pretty. I'm not done with you yet"

With that he slid inside you again, earning a low moan from you as he bottomed out and resumed his brutal pace. He fucked you nice and deep, just how you liked it- a familiar tingle pooling in your core.

Your nails dug desperately into his back, reaching for something to hold on to- you stomach twisting with guilt as you came, staining the bedsheets with your slick. Your walls clamped around him, coaxing his orgasm and he came with a loud groan.

"Sweet thing you're gonna milk me dry if you keep squeezing me like that" he uttered in a shaky voice, breathing heavily; but you felt too drained to say anything in reponse.

Instead, your eyes closed shut; but you could still make out the sound of his voice calling out your name, the cool air that seeped into the room through the open window against your heated skin, his gentle- surprisingly tender touch as he moved a strand of hair from your face.

And then you were out cold, forced into a deep slumber by your exhaustion.

The next morning you woke up to the faint sound of the rush hour traffic. You could taste the alcohol on your tongue- bittersweet, and you took in a deep breath. That moment your eyes snapped open; this wasn't your bed.

Memories from the previous night came flooding back in bits and pieces, like an old picture show, crackling with static and you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

"Thought you'd never wake up" echoed a voice from the other side of the room and you tilted your head to the side to see Fukuchi leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

"How'd you sleep?"

A small groan rolled past your lips as you pulled the covers over your head in attempt to hide the blush that rose to your face.

Fukuchi couldn't help but chuckle upon seeing you. Frankly, the shift of attitude amused him. He walked to the edge of the bed and sat down next to you. You felt the mattress slowly sink under his weight and you tightened the grip on the covers.

"Come on now Y/N. No need to be shy." he chuckled, pulling the duvet off of your head only to meet your defeated gaze.

"Captain I apologise for the way I acted last night it was totally inappropriate and-" you began, but he quickly cut you off, raising a hand.

"Do you think I'm mad about it?" he asked and you shook your head in response, earning a smile from him.

"Exactly. So don't apologise"

A deep silence fell between the two of you and you simply looked down at the covers. You were painfully aware of the bare skin beneath them, of how much of a mess you were right now; head pounding like you hadn't slept in days. Shame flooded your every thought and, carried through your bloodstream, reached every cell of your body.

A faint aroma of coffee reached your nose; as if on cue he rose from the bed, threading a hand through his silvery hair.

"Look, how about I let you get cleaned up and dressed and then you join me for a cup of coffee?"

You nodded in response and gave him a faint smile.

"Alright. The bathroom's there" He pointed at one of the adjoining rooms before making his way towards the door. Just as he was about to step out he turned around, flashing you his signature smile.

"I gotta say Y/N dear, this was one hell of a teambuilding" he said with a wink and you sighed, finding shelter beneath the cold covers once again.

You closed your eyes again and took a deep breath in, relishing the comfort of his bed. Yes, the situation wasn't ideal. You needed to get out of this room, face your boss and talk the whole thing out; and what's worse you knew that neither of you was willing to put an end to this ordeal.

You wanted to push these thoughts in the back of your hazy mind, drown them in whatever liquour was left in your system, but you knew you couldn't. You shouldn't. So five more minutes under the blankets and a cold shower will have to do.

#i promise i don t have daddy issues #i know it's hc he has erectile dysfunction and i FULLY AGREE but for the sake of the story we'll let it slide #the voices won #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd smut #fukuchi bsd #fukuchi smut

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thefangirlfever · 7 days

Text

DBF! Miguel O'hara x reader (part 6)

Tags: F/M, age gap (reader is 28 and Miguel is 48), taboo relationship, mention of medication, depression and racial prejudice, reader is a woman of color, angst, mention of death and grief, slow burn

Disclaimer: English is not my first language.

See the end for notes.

Words count: 6503

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Miguel and you had come to an agreement. You were in charge of the dinner from Monday to Thursday and he took care of it the rest of the week. But even like that, he couldn’t help but intervene into your cooking; no matter how many times you’ve told him to “trust the process”.

“But how can you be sure that it’s gonna taste good if you don’t even follow the recipe?”

You rolled your eyes, amused by his comment while adding a last spoon of spice to the boiling soup on the stove.

“Who needs the recipe when you got vibes and confidence?”

He was now the one rolling his eyes. He hated to admit it but your recipes always managed to taste edible, good even, despite your inability to follow a recupe. You should have already been responsible of a food intoxication but you didn’t. Cooking by your side was always an experience, truly. But it also managed to help him relax after a long day at work. You even looked more relaxed while doing so.

You turned toward him, holding a spoon of soup and asked him to try the soup with a small grin. Miguel could only oblige when you looked at him this way and so he leaned forward to sip a bit of the soup. And just like he had guessed it, it was delicious. He may not be the most objective taster out there but it was still good. The creamy and rich texture made him think that you must have some hidden talent because he has seen you cooking without a recipe and there was no other logical explanation for it to taste that way.

“So? Not that bad, huh?"

It was nice to see you were feeling better now. After only a few days of his attention, you were already back on your feet. His gaze traveled down your figure, noticing your now rosy cheeks and the way you looked generally better. Maybe the countryside had a better effect on you than what you could have expected? But he couldn’t ignore the tired lines on your face, meaning that you were still sleeping poorly.

“Miguel…” Your soft, questioning voice took him out of his thoughts and he blinked twice, collecting his thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking…”

“About what?”

“Do you...still have trouble sleeping?” The sudden change in the conversation surprised you but you didn’t immediately deflate the conversation or tried to run away, which was a progress in Miguel’s eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

“Have you considered taking something to help you fall asleep?” Miguel wasn’t surprised when you shook your head no. He still asked: “Not even melatonin?”

“I used to take some when I was in high school but...it wasn’t strong enough.”

His eyes opened wider and he stuttered: “In high school?”

“I was an anxious kid.”, you simply replied. He didn’t have any trouble believing that.

“I could get you something more efficient if you want…” You turned off the stove and shook your head.

“I...I don’t have a good history with strong medications.”, you simply replie. Most doctors you’ve met so far were quite insistent, always trying to convince you to take those type of things. But speaking from your personal experience, you didn’t like how they made you feel. And in general you’d rather avoid any type of medication.

Miguel didn’t insist, thankfully, and he simply nodded.

“Well...if you need anything, you can always ask me.”

“I think I’ll stick with herbal tea for now but thanks.”, you replied while smiling. And he gave you back your soft smile. You seemed in a great mood and he thought it was not the right time to ask anything about your history with medication. Plus, he was not on duty anymore. He could simply enjoy this moment with you, without thinking about anything related to his job.

The two of you were setting up the table and he had to remind himself to leave a good distance between you. Nevertheless he still looked at you from the corner of his eyes, watching every movement you made, from the very tip of your fingers to the way you balanced your weight on your feet. It’s been a month since your arrival and Miguel has felt something changing inside him ever since. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he has been waiting with so much enthusiasm for every chance to see you. Every moment you shared had become the highlights of his week. And you were more present in his thoughts than he wants to admit it. Your father had told him how much of a nice girl you were; saying things about how the two of you would get along so well. But Miguel had this feeling that your father may have underestimated just how good the two of you got along… Because he had the feeling that was he was feeling when you were together had nothing to do with friendship or what he was supposed to feel.

You have also noticed how closer the two of you seemed to be. It’s not a bad feeling but you would have never guessed the two of you would feel this comfortable in the presence of each other. Maybe Sarah was right. There was nothing wrong in asking for help… And Miguel has been a great help so far on so many levels. He didn’t just help with the house; you have the feeling that he helped you personally.

You’re taken out of your thoughts when you hear Miguel saying: “That color looks good on you.”

You looked down to where his eyes were. He was looking right at your sweater, an old one that you have found this morning in the back of your closet. You couldn’t remember exactly when was the last time you wore it or even when you bought it, probably during one of your phases in high school. It was bit loose on your shoulders and it hung loosely over your clavicles but the soft fabric felt like a blanket and the color really appealed to you when dressing up this morning. It was a soft lilac, almost the same shade as an aster.

“Oh thanks. It’s just an old thing, I guess…”

Miguel’s eyes have been nothing but locked on the way the fabric exposed your clavicles or the slope of your neck; especially with your hair tied up tonight. That color reminded him of a flower but he was not sure which one exactly. You reminded him of some flower. As embarrassing and corny as it may sound. He thought he was way past this at his age but it seemed like he was wrong. The mohair wool had caught his eyes ever since he came in the kitchen and he couldn’t stop wondering just how soft it acutally felt, how easily his fingers would slide through it…

He promised himself he would not look at you like that. He can’t do this. You trust him. Your father trusts him. He knew better than this and he didn't want to be that type of man who pried on younger, inexperienced and fragile women. He swallowed back the rest of his compliment, which turned into a lump in his throat and he looked away; just when your father called for you.

The three of you were sitting around the diner table, chatting lightly, joking from time to time. It’s been quite a long time since you shared a real meal with anyone. Since you began living alone, you were usually relying on take-outs and would eat in your bed in front of a show, enjoying the calm of your apartment after a long day at work. Your apartment… You had left a double of the keys to Sarah like most people would do so their plants would be watered and all these kinds of things. But there were no plants to water at your place, no animal to take care of… Sometimes this place didn’t feel like yours. But you had to move quickly after and that was the fest thing you had found. It was not objectively bad but...it was not your home.

The conversation had slowly shifted toward the topic of your school years when Miguel told your father about the restoration work that would begin soon. You still remembered vividly the walls of red bricks with the wine climbing on them, the windows decorated with the drawings of the students, the ugly yellows wallpaper… Maybe it was not a bad thing that this place was going to be renovated. It will be safer at least.

“It will be for the best.”, your father declared before taking a sip of his coffee. “Those buildings were already there when I was a student after all.”

“So they must be really old.”, Miguel joked and your father laughed heartily.

“Are you implying that I’m some type of dinosaurs or something?”, he asked with a grin and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling too. It was nice to see him laughing around. Miguel’s presence only did good things to him.

“I would never.” You looked at Miguel’s expression and he had the exact same grin on his face. But when he was the one smiling, your eyes would linger a bit longer on his face, on the curve of his smile… He caught you looking at him and you were suddenly very invested in the appearance of your cup of tea. Your father didn’t notice anything and kept joking:

“Well, you’re not getting younger either, my friend.” He added with a knowing smile in your direction. “Poor Y/N, you’re stuck here with those two old men…”

“You’re not that old.” You protested weakly and you were not sure who you were trying to convince of that and if you were only speaking about your father. Your father sighed and his smile looked a bit more contrite.

“Well, I’m not getting younger for sure…” He looked at the cast on his leg with a look you've been catching more frequently on his face recently. He was in pain. Not physical pain. But he had to come in terms with his mortality, with the fact that he was growing older...exactly the same way than when your mother died. “I just think you would maybe enjoy more the company of people of your age.”

You were not sure of where this is coming, so you slowly took a sip from your cup, waiting for him to finish talking. Miguel was also waiting.

“Why wouldn’t you try to link up with some of your old friends? You know, most of them didn’t move away.”

Miguel suddenly looked more intrigued and interested by the conversation. It was true that so far, you haven’t mentioned any of your past acquaintances. You couldn’t be this antisocial truly. With a shrug of your shoulders, you replied as casually as you could:

“Well, they must all be busy.”

“I’m sure they would be glad to see you too.” His soft tone didn’t fool you. You know how stubborn he could be when he had an idea in mind. So you asked: “What did you do?” His satisfied smile proved you that your assumptions were right.

“I called one of your best friends and asked her to come visit over. And she gladly accepted.”

“Who did you call?” Miguel watched your exchange like one would watch a tennis game, his head swinging from left to right.

“Actually I called a few people.” Your father said with a bright smile and that was when it hits you. He genuinely thought he did something good. As much as you appreciated his effort, you couldn’t help but groan, slightly annoyed. What were you supposed to say to your old friends? Would you even be able to talk with them or link up the way you used to? Would they even recognize you?

***

The next day the living room was filled with laughter and the faint sound of chit-chat. Sitting on the edge of the couch, you quietly observed your friends from high school. The atmosphere in the room reminded you of the time you would all have slumber parties in high school. Except that it was only 4 in the afternoon and that you had traded your snacks and corny movies for homemade cookies and old album photos.

The three women facing you looked nothing like the pictures you were watching and at the same time they couldn’t be more themselves than they were now. On your right Jane was no longer wearing the thick glasses she used to have when she was younger, having them replaced by lenses but the movements of her fingers reminded you of how she would always adjust the frame of her spectacles back then. She had already apologized three times for being late but who would blame a business woman like her to have more important meeting in her day? Assya’s cooking skills were still unmatched and you thanked the Lord for her cookies, delicately wrapped into a pink paper. Her calloused hands from all her work were still looking rough but your eyes could’t miss the wedding band on her finger. A bright diamond on top of a silver ring. And there was Margareth, Mag as she’d rather have you calling her, whose athletic silhouette was now draped under a delicate green tailor suit. Even under the large jacket, she couldn’t hide the impressive bump of her stomach.

And there was you who was giving “I peaked in high school” energy compared to them. But none of them seemed to address this or even wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. They seemed to respect your silence and they ware graceful enough to not comment on your tired face or rub too hard their happiness on the said tired face. None of them mentioned your mother as they keep flipping the pages of the album. Assya even slided a new box of cookies toward you when you were finished with the first one. So...it was a bit better than what you were expected.

Jane pointed at one of the pictures and started telling a story about this day. Her memory was quite impressive to you. You barely remembered that day. The four of you were looking at the camera with a bright smile. You were all sitting in your bedroom, during one of these infamous slumber parties. The more you looked at the picture, the more you realized that your friends were not the one who changed. You did.

The four of you were still down the memory train when the front door opened. It can’t be your father. As soon as your friends came in, he disappeared into the patio, saying that he wanted to give you as much space as possible. It could only be Miguel. It was a nice surprise for him to be here this early. There was something comforting into knowing that he’ll be back after almost every day...

You turned toward the door, a bit too enthusiastically, and watched him making his way toward the living room. He was the one in charge of the dinner tonight and he was carrying a crate full of fresh vegetables. His forearms flexed slightly when he lifted the box and for some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes away from this sight.

“Doctor O’hara, I wasn’t expecting to see you there. Is this where you’ve been hiding all these weeks?” Assya asked with an amused smile while crossing her arms over her chest. She had told you she’s been working as a nurse at the clinic but it was only now that you realized what it meant. She knew Miguel. For some reason the small grin she gave him annoed you, wedding ring or not.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you there either. Do you guy know each other?” Miguel asked with a polite smile and all the women nodded in unison. His eyes stopped on the silhouette of Mag and he asked in a caring voice:

“How are you feeling today?”

She slowly patted her stomach and replied: “He’s been really quiet today. No nausea whatsoever.”

“Good. If you need anything, my office is always open.”

It was your first time seeing him interacting with his patients and colleagues, and again, you could’t believe that people like him actually existed. People who were so selfless, people who cared and who could genuinely talk to other beings. And for a second, you could picture him at the clinic, working, giving orders, taking care of his patients… Just how many parts of his life did you actually ignore?

Miguel was slightly amused by the sight of all four of you reuniting in the living room. Once again, it seemed that you have underestimated yourself and your social skills. Everything seemed fine. His eyes trailed over you, taking in your polished appearance. You tried to make yourself look a bit better for today and he actually realized that it was the first time he saw you wearing some make-up. It was just a bit of blush and lipstick but his eyes are drawn to the shape of your lips tinted in a deep carmine. The same color rushed to his cheeks and he looked away before saying in a firm voice:

“I’ll let you to your memories now, ladies.”

You watched him going to the kitchen, a bit disappointed. You were not sure of what just happened because it lasted only a millisecond but if you had listened to your body, you would have followed him into the next room. Instead you just sat there, quietly, while your friends started giggling. Assya was the first one to break the silence:

“I know I’m married but…”

“Please, don’t finish this sentence. I already know what you’re going to say.”, replied Jane with a growing smirk.

“Come on, you can’t blame me. He is fine.”

The two of them whispered in order to not be heard from him and you felt like you were back to your high school years when you would all tease each other about your crush. So, it looked like you haven’t been the only one noticing that he was attractive…

Mag gave you a knowing look from the other side of the couch and your eyes were drawn to the shape of her stomach. While Jane and Assya kept bickering around, you decided to shift the conversation away:

“So...when is it due?”

She must have sensed your uneasiness because she chuckled softly. You have always been awkward around children and maternity, so it was not a surprise. Again, her hand gently patted her stomach.

“In two months I think.”

“It’s a boy?”

She quietly nodded and as soon as this conversation begins, you found yourself unable to ask anymore questions. It’s not that you didn’t care but the topic of motherhood made you feel uncomfortable, even more so these last years… Hopefully she changed the conversation when sensing your discomfort.

“So...it seems that he comes here often?”

“Who?”

“Doctor O’hara.”

“Ah...yes, Miguel...well, he is here to help my father. They’re good friends and I think it’s good that they are hanging together.” It felt like you were trying to justify yourself or something. You cleared your throat and grabbed your coffee while Mag kept looking at you with a knowing smile.

“He is nice, isn’t he?”, she asked after a few seconds and you simply nodded slowly.

The rest of the afternoon went by pretty fast as the four of you got lost again in your memories. Assya was the first to leave because she had to pick up her kids at daycare and Jane and Mag followed quickly. Once they were gone, you let the silence of the house wrap around your and youfinally rested your face against the wooden panel of the door for a few seconds with your eyes closed. As much as it was nice seeing them again, you feltl drained of all your energy and you would probably need a few days to recharge your social battery.

The sounds of footsteps made you turn around and there was Miguel, looking at you from the end of the hallway, a soft smile on his lips.

“Are you alright?”

You leaned your back against the door for a few seconds as a migraine started hitting your head. He could sense that something was off and that you needed to rest despite your attempt at reassuring him. He slowly moved closer to you and only stopped when he was a few feet away. He didn’t exactly know what made him act this way but there was again this lingering need to take care of you in ways that would make him feel ashamed if he could admit it.

“I can leave you alone if you want…”

“No it’s okay.”

Your eyes trailed up and down his figure in the dim light of the corridor and your eyes locked on the apron he is wearing. The white fabric had turned yellow at some point and the blue flowers on it looked withered. On one of the pockets there was a small heart. You had embroidered yourself when you were younger, as a gift to your mother.

Miguel seemed to realize his mistake and he started to untie the apron. He didn’t mean to offense you by taking this memory of your mother out of the cabinets. He just took the first thing he had found to cover himself. He was about to apologize when your hands stopped his movements, holding his wrists firmly.

“Don’t take it off.”

Your voice was only a murmur but he clearly heard you. With a soft sigh, he intertwined his fingers with yours while your two bodies got a bit closer. The mere light from the window of the door looked like a halo around your hair and he has to catch his breath. The room suddenly fels like it had been completely deprived of air while he got lost in your eyes. What if he got closer? What if he held you in his arms, only for a few seconds? What if…

The questions rushed in his mind, pressing him to decide what to do. But he had the feeling that none of this is what you need at the moment, nor what he should do. The grip of his fingers on yours finally loosened and he stepped back.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.” You watched him slowly walk away before leaning back against the door. Your body slowly slid down the panel and you end up sitting down the floor, a mix of boiling, raw emotions that you couldn't identify lingering inside your chest.

When you were finally back inside the living room, you noticed that Miguel had left a glass of water and some aspirin for you. You smiled at the sweet attention and immediately swallowed one pill. He also had cleaned up a bit the room and yet, all the album photos were still out. Your father was sitting down the couch, absorbed in the old pictures, so much that he hadn’t notice your presence at first. You didn’t need to look over his shoulders to know what, or rather who he was looking at. In fact you’d rather disappear from the room rather than bring the attention to this topic but he caught the sound of your footsteps as soon as you started moving

“Hey…” he gently called you out. When he turned around, you caught a glimpse of the picture he was looking and you were unfortunately right. It was a picture of you and your mom. It had been taken the first year you all went camping in family. “How was the afternoon with your friends?”

“Good. Thanks.”

He was smiling in a way that would break even a heart of stone. With a tired sigh, you dragged your body to the side of the couch and sat by his side.

Your mother was holding you in her arms on the picture. You zere both wearing matching green windbreakers, an idea from your father because he was wearing the same one on the other side of the picture. There was something so comforting about staying in her arms like that. She was not a frail woman with he square-shaped shoulders, her burly arms tanned after hours spent in the garden and she was always carrying around her a scent like the one of a fireplace. You were sure that it was how a mother’s hug was supposed to feel for a long time in your life, strong, maybe a bit rough in the beginning like a mama bear holding her cubs. It was the only kind of hugs that could chase away the monsters under your bed or in your heads once you grew up.

Your father’s fingers glided over the page and you felt a bit uncomfortable. You squirmed over your sit, not knowing what to do. Should you offer a few words of comfort? Hug him? It would be quite appropriate but you were not sure your hugs would feel as comforting as hers.

He sensed your discomfort and flips the page. A large smile slowly crept up his face and he started laughing. It was a picture of you at a dance recital, around age 8, dressed as a large daisy. You cringed at the picture. Your chubby cheeks were squished by the fabric of your corolla and you were all red and sweaty, because of course the taffetas of the dress was too hot for the month of May.

“Dad, can we please ignore that?”

“No way, you’re looking adorable. And your mother spent so many time on your costume.”

The sound of your banter had attracted Miguel and he smiled when he seed that you seemed to feel a bit better. When your dad called him in, you felt a cold sweat running down your back.

“Dad, no.”

But the catastrophe happened too fast for you to react. Miguel sat on the other side of the couch and as soon as he looked at the picture, a goofy smile curled up his lips.

“No wonder you enjoy gardening. It’s like your natural habitat after all.”, he teased you gently. Your father laughed loudly at what you would have considered a pretty lame joke if it wasn’t for the adorable smirk that he was wearing. On the next picture, you were dressed as one of the rats for the ballet Nutcracker and you thought that you might actually die of embarrassment right now.

Miguel was having a blast seeing all these pictures that your dad always commented on with a funny story. Not only did he get to see an other side of you but he also caught the blush that crept up your cheeks and that slightly annoyed pout you were doing. Ever since he met you, he had never seen you embarrassed or really flustered. This might be the most emotions you’ve shown in one time and he quickly diverted his attention from the picture to your profile. After seeing the pictures he could clearly see how well of a mix you are between your parents. You got the lanky silhouette from your father, his long and thin face with the sharp eyes and pronounced chin. And from your mother, those curly locks, your nose with the high arch and those cheekbones… The said cheekbones were turning more and more flushed, their shade according well with the one of your tinted lips.

"Stop looking", he taunted himself.

As the pages kept moving and your dad talking, you slowly relaxed and your arm was now resting on top of the head of the couch. Just like Miguel’s. You were still trying to act unbothered the first time his fingers brushed against yours, thinking it might be an accident. But when it happened again, you were not so sure anymore that it was a mistake. Your two hands were resting behind the couch and your fingers were brushing from time to time, especially when Miguel was laughing at one of your dad’s jokes. At some point his forefinger brushed against your wrist, right against the edge of your sleeve.

You quickly pulled your hand back to yourself. Not out of discomfort but because you felt confused. This was not an invitation from your part...but you wouldn’t have minded for this contact to last a bit longer either…

Miguel didnn’t dare thinking that he was disappointed. Touching an inch of your skin even for a few seconds was still worth every hour of hesitation and turmoil that would come after it. How could your skin be so soft? So tempting? All when he had seen of it so far was your hands and a bit of your neck?

Still unaware of what was happening behind his back, literally, your father turned to an other page. It was a picture of you on your last recital. You were around fifteen years old, dressed in a dainty pink tutu, glitters sprinkled all over your hair. You had spent hours cleaning them off with your mother afterwards...

“This was your last recital?”, Miguel asked but it was your father who replied.

“She had to stop after that. You know how it is? High school, college entrance exams…”

Miguel didn’t reply but he did furrow his brows and nodded with a serious look on his face. He would have liked to ask more questions about this part of your life that looked so surreal. How come this little girl with that bright smile and her face covered in glitters turned into the woman you were today? He could’t also help but wonder if you still remembered a few dance moves…

But your father had flipped the pages once again and now there was an other picture of you with a boy around your age. His skin was the same shade as yours and brown curls flowed down to his shoulders. The two of you were standing close to each other, at a respectable distance with a shy look on your face. Miguel knew too well this type of picture and when he looked back at you, he was expecting to see some reaction on your face. Maybe you would be a bit embarrassed, flustered or at least nostalgic? But to his surprise you had a blank expression on your face. He didn’t know if it’s good or not. Before he could ask anything else, your father said in an obnoxious voice:

“You were such a cute couple together, David and you. You remember that day, Y/N?”

“Mhh...not really.” You seemed pretty unaffected by the picture, which was not something that Miguel was expecting from someone who just saw such a memory.

“Oh come on...you really don’t remember? It was for your birthday. You remember that nice necklace he gave you?”

You nodded without saying anything. You knew it was useless to argue with your father over this topic. He had always loved David, almost like a son. The fact that his parents were from the same diaspora as your father only made them get closer and your father had always assumed that you would end up with David. He was a nice guy, sure. But there was a reason why you never kept seeing each other after high school and you remembered it while looking at the picture. There was no chemistry between you, even a blind could see that, whatever your dad liked to think.

Miguel’s eyes were still locked on your profile and the more you were looking at the picture, the more anxious he was getting. Why were still silent? How was he supposed to understand the way you were looking at this picture? Was this good? Bad? Did you miss that David guy? Why was he suddenly just realizing that you must have had former partners? And why did he make him want to take your hand back in his, to pull you closer to him?

Your father didn’t seem to realize that there was a slight tension because he kept digging his own grave:

“It’s been a long time since you saw each other. Did you even call him? You know, I think he would be really happy to talk to you…” and with what was supposed to be a playful nudge, he added: “And I heard that he is single.” Miguel quickly caught the pink hue on your cheeks and it made his stomach twist as if he was sick. Were you embarrassed? Or was there more to this reaction? God, he hadn’t realized until now how hard it was to read you and he wished he could ask you directly. But...he was not entitled to ask that of you. Who was he to think that?

“Dad, I’m not going to call him.”, you replied while organizing the albums on the coffee table. “We had a good time and now it’s over. What happened in the past belonged to the past.”

Miguel almost sighed out of relief but your father was quick to reply: “Maybe you should start thinking about the future...I mean, you’re almost thirty and I haven’t seen you with anyone in a few years now.”

That was a low blow.

Even if it had been said in a rather understanding voice, you couldn’t help but feel your blood boil. This was the last conversation you wanted to have with your father. Miguel felt like his presence was unwanted and he tried to make his way out of the living room as quietly as possible. He would be in the kitchen if you needed help but there was no need for him to make you feel like he was prying on this delicate moment.

***

It was not your first time having this argument with your father. In fact, you remembered the last time it happened. It was a few years ago when you decided to move with your last boyfriend. Most parents would have welcomed such a good news but your father wasn’t too happy about it. First of all, he never really liked this man. History would prove him right, but it was not for the good reasons that he disliked him.

“He is not what I imagined. He is..."

Not like us.

That cryptic sentence took all its sense when you introduced your boyfriend to your father. He didn’t fit in. Your father wanted someone who could speak his language, who could share his memories of the country they left…

“And you’re living with him without even getting married?”

“You know what the people will say!”

“I raised you better than this…”

Hearing him screaming was somehow less hurtful that his resigned voice. He could sound so disappointed sometimes that you almost wondered why you even kept trying.

But at least at the time, you had your mother by your side. She always knew how to calm him down. She was like this bridge between the two of you and somehow she was the only one who would manage to help you find a compromise.

At least when she was alive.

***

You couldn’t run to your mother after an argument anymore and you’d rather stay alone than talk with anyone else. At least, that’s what you used to think. Now that you were back in this house, you might as well go and see her.

The next day, you grabbed your windbreaker and headed out of the house before your father had waken up. You had spent the last evening, alone in your room. It’s been so long since the two of you fought; you had forgotten how bad it could hurt sometimes. The thought that Miguel could have heard your argument made you feel so embarrassed. What was he thinking now?

The air around you was crisp and you could feel the scent of the pines and the muddy ground this early in the morning. It was a perfect day for what you were about to do… The gates of the cemetery had barely opened when you walked inside. It was a few days before Halloween and a few people would come and clean the graves soon, change the flowers… Seeing all the decorated graves made you regret not bringing anything. And given your father’s state, no one probably brought anything to your mother’s grave.

She was right where you remembered her. The plaque with her name stood at the foot of a small hill. A vase with withered flowers, a decoration with a dove...exactly how you remembered it to be. You carefully sat in front of it and watched the black marble. A few remaining raindrops from the night slid down the material, on top of her name engraved on it.

“Beloved mother and wife.”

Finally, some peace and some silence.

You didn’t know how long exactly you stayed there, sometimes contemplating the grey sky, sometimes the delicate intricacy of the letters of her name. Next time you would bring some flowers you promised as much as her than to yourself. At some point while looking at the build-up of stormy clouds in the sky, you noticed a large silhouette, all too familiar, moving down the hill.

What was he doing here?

You tried to get up despite your numb legs and the silhouette seemed to walk faster in your direction, his long coat flowing behind him. It was only when the first raindrops fell down that he managed to join you.

Miguel didn’t even dare asking you anything, if you were feeling alright, who you came to visit… the answer to each question was obvious. Instead, he simply offered you shelter under his umbrella and a tissue for your wet eyes.

“Do you want to stay a bit longer here?”, he finally asked after a few seconds. You shook your head and the two of you made your way out of the graveyard. His arm was holding yours, guiding you gently toward the exit, his sturdy shoulder brushing against yours from time to time.

When you reached his car, Miguel opened the door for you and then sat in front of the stirring wheel. But he didn’t feel like taking you back home now. And neither did you.

The rain was hitting the roof of the car in a loud, discorded melody. You could barely see the world outside through that much rain. A slight fog had covered the windows with the warmth of the heater, and yet your shoulders don’t stop shivering.

Miguel’s comforting hand gently squeezed your shoulder as he tried to make you look this way, a vain attempt to anchor you in the moment.

“Hey…”

He was slowly getting a bit more worried that you’re not responding but he doesn’t dare insisting. His hand stopped at a few inches from your face before he slowly leaned back into his seat. The silence inside the car was only troubled by your heavy breaths as you tried to compose yourself. After a few minutes, he couldn’t hold it anymore and asked: “Do you want to talk about it?”

You were not sure if he was talking about the argument with your father or your visit to the cemetery but you still shook your head. He felt a bit relieved when he heard your voice, even if it was barely a whisper:

“I’m fine, Miguel.”

An other heavy silence filled up the space inside the car and quite surprisingly you were the one breaking it this time, again.

“Why were you here?”

His eyes seemed suddenly very focused on the stirring wheel and he absented-mindly started rubbing his pointer finger with his thumb while looking for his words.

“I needed to visit someone.”

===============================================

Notes: This was a pretty messy chapter, so I want to thank anyone who took the time to read this.

I'm currently working on the seventh chapter and just so you know, I'm very impatient to write it.

Taglist: @safixiovi @laysmt @reverieblondie

My Masterlist!

< part 5 / part 7 >

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #atsv #astv miguel #miguel 2099 #fanfic #spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #dbf!miguel #miguel angst #daddy issues #older dad bf #this fic has turned into my therapy #i'm sorry

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1ivinqdeadqir1 · 1 year

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Porcelain Doll

Walter White x Student! Reader

a/n: this is shorter than usual for my fics but lmk if you guys would like chapter two as this was sooooooooo fun to write (one where maybe Walt makes a move on the reader after arguing with Skyler about Ted... ;) )

word count: 1.8k

WARNING(s): Teacher - Student relationship, the reader is big brain, Walt is conflicted icl but when is he not conflicted? nothing inappropriate yet just an allusion to mutual sexual and romantic attraction. READER IS 18 but she is STILL a student so it's a taboo relationship nonetheless

“Are you listening to me?”

You looked up at the man standing in front of your desk, his weight pivoted to one side as his arms were crossed and folded. His green knit sweater looked warm, smiling, you wondered what it’d look like on you, and whether or not he’d find it attractive to see one of his best students wearing his clothes.

“Yes, sorry, I just… zoned out for a moment” he sighed and brought a hand to his chin, where his forefinger and thumb grazed the scruff of brown facial hair in thought.

“I don’t think you are, y/n”

You go to open your mouth but close it again when he raises his hand as if to tell you to be quiet.

“Your grades are slipping again, you’ve gone from an A+ to a D in less than a few weeks, we’ve only just gone over the molecular structures and bonding and you seem to have gotten the working out right but answers wrong… I don’t get it, it’s like-“ and then there’s a pause, and you fiddle with your nails- eyes staring down at your lap as Mr White seeks out the right way to put it, “it’s like… you know what to do, but you’re just intentionally changing the answers from your correct working out”

You scoff, and he furrows his brows, glasses catching the artificial light in their lenses. “Maybe I just don’t understand what to do with my working out once I’ve finished with it,” you argue “There are so many different routes you have to pursue to find the final answer, maybe I just picked the wrong one” shrugging, you rest your forearms on the desk, tipping forward slightly as you do. You draw shapes across the cold surface with your fingers.

“Yes but you set it out in such a way that it doesn't make sense for you to pick the wrong one, there are other students who make a mess organizing their answers- they scribble out and write over until it’s almost impossible to make sense of,” his hands motion toward two imaginary groups as he illustrates his point, the hair above his upper lip shifts as he speaks.

“But your answers are structured in a way it’d be near enough impossible for you to not know which answer is the final one, do you understand my concern?” You nod, and the embarrassment of being found out seeps through the wall of pride you’d tried to sustain. “You’re my brightest student, so it’s just surprising to see such an obscure mistake in your work”

Your cheeks burn warm and red, you hope he doesn’t notice- it’s pathetic, really. Crushing on your teacher, a cliche that a lot of people found insulting. You’d tried to suppress your feelings for him, but the little chemistry jokes he’d make sometimes in class alongside how enthusiastic he was about the subject was enough to make you swoon. It was adorable, and you wanted to just pinch his cheeks. He’d acknowledge your potential in the past: ‘excellent as always’ along with other kind messages was scribbled across a majority of your homework and tests, a crudely drawn smiley face with glasses doodled alongside in matching red ink.

But as of recently, he’d been paying less attention to you and your work. Occasionally, you’d stay behind once the bell had rung to ask him chemistry questions and chat, but now whenever you did he’d just shut you down with a dismissive ‘I’m busy’ or a ‘maybe tomorrow’ despite ‘tomorrow’ sometimes being a Saturday.

You knew he’d still speak to Barry for failing, so you figured that maybe you’d have to start messing up for him to start talking to you again. It was selfish, sure, but you wanted him to like you, to like talking to you as you did with him.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ve just been a bit..” you try to find an excuse, but when you can’t you purse your lips together- your eyes scrunched shut as you prepare yourself for what you’re about to ask, “Mr. White, have I done something wrong? I-I know that’s weird to ask but- hear me out, okay?”

His green eyes widen momentarily, he stumbles for a reply but eventually finds that an ‘Alright’ slips past his lips with as much decorum as a baby giraffe trying to find its feet.

“I like your lessons, a lot, they’re my favorite part of the day, and-” your hands tremble against the surface of the table, so you ball them up and push them down to rest atop your thighs. “I can imagine you're busy, but I feel like I’ve done something to annoy you- you know? Like when I used to ask questions after lessons and we’d talk…” your eyes don’t dare meet his, and you feel like you’re going to start crying as the shame and embarrassment bubbles in your chest.

“You’re the only person I actually feel comfortable opening up to, and I know you still talk to Barry about his work when he messes up, so I figured I’d-“

“-You decided to intentionally write the wrong answers on the tests to get my attention…” he’s in disbelief, and you look up, eyes meeting him as he shifts his weight onto his left leg and pinches the bridge between his nose.

“Yes, it’s stupid, but I really like talking to you, Mr. White, I like talking with you about Chemistry and I like listening to your… weird teacher stories, and shitty-“ fuck, “-interesting, jokes… I love spending time with you"

You exhale, finally, as it feels like you’ve been holding your breath for the last five minutes. Relief overtakes the shame you’d felt, and the anxiety of opening up. It was done now, there was nothing you could do to take back what you’d just said. It wasn’t an outright statement admitting your unrequited feelings for him, but he was smart enough to infer that you liked him more than you’d liked anyone else.

“I-I’m sorry for making you feel like that, Miss l/n” he starts, leaning against his desk as you meet his stare- one that’s so familiar but now is like looking at a stranger. “I’ve been busy, I- you know I’ve told you about my wife, right?”

Swallowing back the word you’d been trying to ignore, you nod, “yes,”

“Well, you know that it’s been hard to stick around here after hours because of the baby- there’s just a lot going on at the moment,” and the fact his wife is cheating on him, but he refrains from mentioning that.

“Oh, congratulations” in an ill attempt to sound happy for the man you were in love with, you manage to sound more disheartened than you would’ve initially.

“Thank you,”

There’s another awkward silence, you look down at your feet, picking at your fingers. Walter moves from his desk to around the side of yours, he leans his hand on the table and sighs, you hadn’t even noticed he was there until his Clark wallabee shoes slip into your peripheral.

“Look, you’re a lovely young lady and I enjoy talking to you, but you’re my student, you're smart enough to know how wrong that is,” he waits for a reaction, and you nod, glancing at him as you take your teeth between your lower lip. Now you really feel like crying. This is a nightmare, you should’ve just said your imaginary dog died, maybe then you’d avoid this awkward conversation.

“And believe me when I say I’m flattered,” more than flattered, actually. You were an attractive young woman and he’d be lying if he denied having thoughts about you that were similar to those of when he’d first set eyes upon his now wife. Yet still, he valued his job, and he loved his family. Despite how much of a bitch skyler had been recently, they were married, and if someone found out about him having an affair - let alone an affair with a STUDENT - he’d be done for.

“you’re young, you should be focusing on yourself and your future, with that head on your shoulders you’ll without a doubt do amazing things. And I’m not ‘just saying that’ to appease you.”

You look up at him, and he’s smiling in a way you’d smile at someone who’s just lost something precious and dear to them.

“I-I didn’t mean to feel like this, I just… I love everything about you it’s hard not to like you, I- I've always liked older guys, no offense or anything but.. it really is difficult,” you pause, and he goes to add something but you cut him off before he can, “This was stupid, a stupid idea I know and I should’ve just waited it out, but… can I ask you a question? And be honest with me, please, I won’t tell anyone.”

For a moment he contemplates, but eventually gives in. The look of desperation that glimmers in your eyes as they glaze over with tears was enough to push him over that edge. You had this crush on him, you really did think he was perfect. God, he felt horrible. How little you knew of what he’d done.

“Do you- if-“ you sigh, turn to face him, hands in your lap as your cheeks flush- almost matching the red ink that graces your failed test paper, which still sits on the table between the both of you. “If I wasn’t your student, hypothetically, and you saw me in a bar or out in public and I talked to you, would you like me back?”

He wants to say no, but deceiving you after all that is dishonorable. He figured that you deserved the truth after being so open and honest with him now.

“Yes, I think”

You forget you’re sitting in a classroom when you move your hand to his left, which is pressed against the table. Tracing the pads of your fingers over his knuckles- feeling the gold wedding band that fits him perfectly, you smile and he smiles back.

It does boost your ego a little to know that had you not been his student, you would’ve had a chance with this man. God, it sounded silly now. Crushing on your 50-year-old chemistry teacher. He was a person behind that facade, a father and a husband.

Despite how selfish you could be, you wouldn't force him from that. He was a good man, intelligent- you valued his word.

“You… don’t think… less of me now, do you?”

He chuckles, it’s low within his chest and he reaches to brush your hair back with his fingers. You close your eyes and melt into the warmth that’s there. He does it with such care and delicacy, as though you’d break beneath the slightest amount of pressure.

A porcelain doll, pure and fragile.

A/N: alright that's that! let me know what you guys think down below and lmk if you're all up for a part 2...

#walter white x reader #walter white x student!reader #walter white #breaking bad #brba #breaking bad x reader #walter white x you #walter hartwell white #walter white is pussy whipped on the dl #reader has daddy issues 100%#teacher x student #teacher x reader

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freak-accident419 · 2 months

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I feel the need to baby Derek. Like i feel like he’s all tough on the outside and everything but once he gets a partner he would be like so babied and everything ugh

update: the fic is out now!!!

#derek danforth #that man has mommy issues #and daddy issues #im pretty sure #derek danforth x reader #i need to cuddle him while feeding him cherries #very specific but just hear me out #he would be such a whiny quiet loser around his caring partner

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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 4 months

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Me one minute: “Boromir is Daddy. I want him to take care of me and fuck me really hard. Older guy, tall, strong 🥵🥵🫠🫠”

Me another minute: “Boromir is a little sub boy who wants to get slapped, used and punished”

#Boromir x reader #boromir #there are two wolves inside me #one has daddy issues #one has mommy issues

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exhaustedandlostit · 1 year

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Not A Bad Way To Go | John Price x Reader

You met Price by accident, but you think it’s your favorite accident.

Word Count: 1.1k

Tags: Price/Reader, no gender mentioned, first meeting, mildly suggestive towards the end, no use of y/n.

Rating: Mature(Suggestive Content at end) 18+ mdni please

Warnings: None, just fluffy fluff, Not edited or beta’d.

First fic I’ve written on this account, and in a very long time. Hope you guys enjoy. Reblogs and comments are welcomed and appreciated.

——————————————————————————————

You aren’t quite sure what got you here. Your brain is fuzzy, dizziness setting in from the failed huff you took when Price settled his cigar between your lips. He’d chuckled to himself a bit when you grimaced.

“Not supposed to inhale, love,” He’d said, chest rumbling with his light laughter. You’d shot him a stare laced with irritation.

“Too used to cigarettes, I guess,” You retort. He doesn’t chuckle this time, just gives you a warm smile that reaches his eyes. You can feel the warmth of his smile in your chest, and you muse to yourself about how fucked you truly are.

You’d met Captain John Price by accident. You were back on base, again, much to your dismay. You left the service months ago, no longer holding the desire to torture yourself further. Your brother, who’d convinced you to join in the first place, was both dismayed and grateful for your departure. Once you’d left the unit you two shared, he was selected to join a task force.

“Task Force 141, its intense as hell,” his voice crackled through the phone the day he got the assignment. You shook your head, provided some dry retort your brother was inevitably expecting. Much the same way you were expecting the call you received a week later.

“We need help.” You knew what that sentence meant, especially with the rare serious tone your brother’s voice had taken. Tech help, clean job, in and out. That’s what they always say, and yet its never what it ends up being. You’d (unfortunately) made a name for yourself while you were still in for being computer savvy. Guess all those coding classes you took for extra credit in highschool paid off somehow. You grasped technology easily. Your brother is happy you love him, because you’re on a plane within hours.

You weren’t supposed to come in contact with the team period. You were to meet with a woman named Kate Laswell, who would provide you with a laptop and the information you needed. However, the room the soldier who’d met you at the airport brought you to had not a woman in it, but a man.

Weird. That was your first thought. Weird hat, weird facial hair. However, you weren’t one to judge someone purely on their appearance. The man looked up from the document covered table as the door opened. His eyes found yours quickly, and the minute they did you knew you were fucked. His eyes pierced yours, examining everything about you in a second. You could tell by his stature and tac gear he was most definitely a soldier, and also not the woman you were supposed to be meeting.

“You don’t look like a Kate,” you stated, very matter of factly, and the sentence drew a chuckle from him. That may have been the first time you brought that from him, but you knew then it certainly wouldn’t be the last. You enjoyed it far too much.

“That’ll be ‘cause I’m not.” His accent was soothing. Another checked box on the list of things that make you absolutely addicted to this man, and it had only been about 45 seconds.

Kate being unavailable was your first indicator that the mission was absolutely not going as planned, but you weren’t too disappointed by that. After all, spending an afternoon showing off your expertise in front of a man who you were absolutely trying to impress was not a bad alternative. However, you did not get to go home after as planned. That night, your brother had shown to greet you, apologize that in a matter of hours shit had gone sideways, but that was not the most interesting part of that encounter.

The most interesting part was that when your brother entered the room he said your name, and then turned to the man and said “Captain.” to acknowledge him.

Fuck.

The knowledge that the man you had spent your afternoon swooning and even lightly flirting with(much to his enjoyment) was in fact your brother’s captain definitely threw a wrench in your day. Not as big a wrench as it threw in your brother’s though, who had inevitably sensed the not uncomfortable tension between you and Price about 30 seconds after entering the room. You sat in the smoke pit nursing glasses of shitty whiskey, burning through cigarettes, while getting an earful about being a slut from your brother. It was all in joke of course, but you could tell he was definitely irritated.

“I leave you alone with him for 4 hours and you’ve already got heart eyes for him.” He took a long drag of his cigarette with a hefty sigh.

“Not my fault your captain is hot.”

“Not my fault you’ve got hella daddy issues.”

“So do you, asshole.”

“Touché.”

Months later, here you were. Hired on as a contracted tech intel agent, you now spent your days living on base, digging around through documents and CCTV, scouting everywhere your team went, noting threats and holes before they even got there. You’d become invaluable, but that wasn’t what kept you there. He was. Captain John Price.

Every long day spent inside of the military bases you’d tried so hard to escape were made worth it by returning to not your room at night, but John’s. That’s where you are right now, settled into his lap in his bed, his cigar in his left hand, his right tangled in your hair while he damn near killed you with a kiss.

When he finally did let you breathe, he had a smirk plastered on his face while your hands rested on his chest, panting for the air you’d been lacking. You looked at him in the pale light from the lamp, and raised one of your hands to brush over his head and through his hat-flattened hair. Your hand came to a stop on the back of his head, and you looked into his eyes again, this time expecting the way they reached inside of you to your normally walled off soul, now bared, but only to him.

“You’re going to kill me like that one day,” You say, without a hint of a negative emotion in your voice. The chuckle you love rumbles from his chest again. He puts out his cigar in the ashtray on the nightstand, and grips your hips. In a second, you’re below him on the bed, and you can feel his body pressing into yours as his face dangles so close but not close enough to reach from your pinned state.

“Not a bad way to go,” he muses as one of his hands moves to rest on your face, encasing your cheek as he finally gets close enough.

“No, I guess it isn’t,” are the last words you say that night, save John’s name.

#john price #john price x reader #john price x nb reader #no use of y/n #fluffy fluff #cod #mw2 #Reader has daddy issues but don’t we all

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konigsblog · 1 year

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könig who suffers with daddy issues due to his father leaving his mother when she got pregnant. becoming a target for bullies due to his jealous nature, but all he really wanted was a father like the other kids.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #konig modern warfare #konig headcanons #konig fanfiction #konig x y/n #just thinking #könig has daddy issues #orla speaks

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yardofangels · 4 months

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Hi Iris! I just wanted to ask if you had any general head canons about König (your AU or just in general) that you’d want to share? Anything about his upbringing, love language, unhealed trauma ect. that you’d want to divulge? Also I absolutely love your writing. The way you write König is definitely one of my fav interpretations of his character.

OMGGGGGG IVE BEEN W A I T I N G FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME ABOUT THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM SO EXCITED YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND OSPDHVWEVNJWEGOH

thank you sm for your words!! im so flattered <333

for this one its going to be headcanons for my AU of könig. hope you enjoy!!

tw for implied verbal and emotional abuse, bullying, negative self-talk, mentions of locker-room talk, violence, and implied manipulation below the cut!!

könig's flaws and love language have a lot to do with his upbringing. don't get me wrong, it wasn't like what he'd heard of ghost's upbringing. könig had adequate food and shelter, and his parents never blatantly mistreated him. he was never kicked, or hit, never had things thrown at him; nothing was ever wildly hurtful.

but what he had suffered built up over the course of 17 years and had impacts that lasted much longer. shit that he's still trying (not) to work through today. shit that stayed deep within his psyche, that he came back to every time he failed and shit that whispered down his neck, telling him to push himself further.

from the outside looking in, he came from an entirely normal family. his mama and papa loved each other. they went to church every sunday, and beamed when people complimented how tall their boy was getting. könig was spoiled because he was an only child and never had to share the attention. he excelled greatly in the subjects of mathematics and science from the time he was 8 and received recognition for this at school.

but the outside never gets to see how bad you're hurting, does it?

he'll never forget the way his mother straightened his collar, scolding him centimetres away from his face, reminding him that if he gets anything less than a 19/20 on the upcoming test, he'll have no hope of being anything to them.

he still can't seem to shake the look on his father's face when his mother ranted and raved about how könig had tarnished their entire reputation by questioning the teacher's authority, how he was a disgraceful and humiliating child. the way his papa's bushy eyebrows pinched, and he ran a hand over his buzzed hair. the look that screamed 'if i say anything, she'll attack me too.'

none of it was loud. everything his mama ever did to him was only ever alluding to him being the worst thing she had ever done. it was the words, the mind games, and the inability to fight back. he was trapped as a youth. trapped in a household that yelled 'i love you', and whispered 'but only when you are my projection of what you should be.'

of course, it didn't stop there, either. he was torn into relentlessly at school, too. it was much like his home life, except with the added bonus of being thrown into trees and having his face dunked under sinks for extended periods of time.

y'know, typical kid stuff.

they grabbed at anything they could with him. his love of space, his braces (that never really did much to help his teeth in the end), his height, his size, his stutter. all of it. anything that indicated that he was different to the rest of the population was like a big, red target on his back.

what they did at school further cemented in his brain what he learnt at home.

you are worth nothing. you contribute nothing. you are nothing. all you are is an outsider. all you can be is an outsider. you are not attractive. you are not talented. you offer nothing. you are nothing.

this treatment from ages 0-17 is what led to his deeper flaws emerging from 17-25. his frequently infrequent contact with his mother and father, his tendency to distance himself from the other cadets, his daydreams of violence.

he didn't like crying. it sent memories of sobbing in the PE closet and into his pillow flooding back. he preferred to push it down, ignore it, and forget it happened. he would much rather be the first one out at target practice.

he still stuttered. so, he stopped talking. he resorted to closing his mouth, to wearing a bandana, to wearing a balaclava, to wearing his t-shirt. he liked fading into the background, even though his build wouldn't ever really allow it. he hated socialising. at first it was because it made him so nervous (it still does, but he won't admit that). he couldn't find the right words to make himself likable. after a while, he came to resent it. why was everyone else able to pick it up with such ease, but not him? where was the fairness in that? he eventually stopped seeing much point in speaking up more than necessary.

and girls never took interest in him during high school, so he didn't expect them to now. he was never upset with the women, he wouldn't blame them if they wanted nothing to do with him. it was his fellow cadets that drove him insane. talking of a new bird every day, objectifying them, degrading them. part of him wanted to join in; share this bond they seemingly had, talk about his own girl he used up. they made it sound so good. but a bigger part of him was wildly jealous and horrifyingly enraged at what they could say at times. it filled him with a fire that he couldn't quite understand.

this didn't stop him from a go on the local barrack bunny here and there. just to prove to himself that he wasn't entirely devoid of feeling.

he couldn't really pinpoint when the violence arose in him. it just. appeared to him one day. he realised while standing over another limp body that he'd killed someone and enjoyed it. that he'd taken their power away, just like his mother had done to him. his mother who had now disowned him for staying in the army for so long. his mother he wanted to destroy. his mother whom he could never destroy, so he destroys others instead.

eventually, he started pushing the limits everywhere he went. the more settled he got in himself as a man, the more he acted out. this is what landed him in jail. his rash decisions, his anger, his lack of all other emotion. it was eating away at him behind those bars, and he itched to take it further.

that itch only got stronger when he met you. you, who he now had to protect. you, who he saw meaning in. you, who saved him from being consumed by his darkness.

könig doesn't love in a particularly healthy way. i mean, i think that isn't too surprising given what he went through and subsequently put himself through. he loves possessively, he loves obsessively, he loves as if there is nothing else in the world but you and him.

to him, love has no definition. it has no 'right and wrong' other than hurting the person you love. if he has to hide something from you, it's because he doesn't want to lose you. if he has to use his words to twist your mind, it's so you never lose sight of him. if he has to protect you from the world, by any means necessary, it's worth it. if it's you, it's worth it.

he sees no problem in doing morally grey, or even impure things if it means you stay with him. after all, he loves you. you wouldn't deny him, would you? don't you love him too?

he knows it'll never get to the stage where you question him, though. he can see you are wholly dedicated to him. it's only more fuel to him being able to do what he wants to you. he knows if you were aware, you'd like it.

in terms of love languages, könig's biggest is physical touch. he just loves that skin-to-skin contact with you. he loves how much bigger he is compared to you, he loves wrapping himself around you, to the point where it almost looks like you two are one entity. you're just so soft and warm; he can't ever get enough of, in some way, having your skin on his.

aside from that, you'll often find that he shows his love in acts of service. anything from sweeping the kitchen to building a house, if he can serve you or protect you, he'll do it. he's unsure where this tendency came from in him. he just enjoys keeping busy.

he particularly appreciates words of affirmation from you. something he never really received growing up. he would never ask you to praise him, never even admit that he likes it. but when you slip the occasional 'you're so good to me, baby' or 'this is wonderful, you did amazing', he melts. he's a sucker for being told he's good enough, or that he did well.

könig sure as hell isn't perfect, but he's working on being better for you. he's doing what he can to make sure you never see the vulnerable child in him. the wrathful teenager. the uncaring man. he wants you to have the best of him.

and you do, because you bring it out in him naturally.

-------

yeah!! that's it!!! i tried desperately to not talk to much but there's just so much to say. so many things that this post could lead to.

thank you so much for reading this far!! pls reblog if you like it, and send in more requests!! it makes my day!!!

#irisintothevoid #irispenandpaper #iris answers #call of duty mw2 #mw2 #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x reader #konig imagine #thats right i said it konig has mummy issues #he is also extremely so obviously autistic #i think he also has daddy issues but to a lesser extent #his dad never did anything to directly hurt him but was a bystander in it #so much here #ily tho!

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cherryberry-sugarandspice · 6 months

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Hey new to the blog and let me just say I am blown away! Love your writing!

I noticed you write a lot for Miguel which is amazing but have you thought about writing for Peter B Parker? I think you could do some great stuff with him.

Anyway my request is could you do a story with either Miguel or Peter B (if your willing to write with him) where they used to babysit for some cash when they where younger and one of the kids they had to babysit for was fem!reader?

Now meeting reader again years later she is all grown up and she confesses how he was her first crush? And that leads to them flirting and then some NSFW smut? Maybe some phrasing and teasing like calling her a dirty girl?

you know what, yeah Peter is a dilf and I love fucking dilfs CW: smut, a bit of a age difference (like 6 years), cheating (peter cheats on his wife with you), car sex, dirty talk, reader is 29 and Peter is 35, Peter is a dilf, NSFW 18+ MDNI A/N: pretend they ran into each other at a coffee shop I'm too lazy to add in the background ahaha

Fucking my old babysitter

"Peter? Peter, is that you?" you asked him, tapping his shoulder. The man named Peter turns around, blinking down at you. Yup, that's him, your old babysitter. Instead of a youthful face, he's got a scruffy beard and bags beneath his eyes, slight wrinkling along his forehead.

You and your older brother's babysitter. Well, technically your brother was supposed to be your babysitter and should be able to be left alone by himself since he was old enough, but your parents couldn't trust him.

Not after he accidentally set water on fire. How did he achieve that? No one knows.

Around those many years ago, you were nine, and both your brother and Peter were fifteen. Now, you had one of those silly crushes on Peter, and Peter just saw you as a sweet kid he babysat. Your parents chose him because he was a good kid and was not only trust worthy, but a good influence.

He had a girlfriend who would come by sometimes and play with you or do your hair the way you like it. Her name was MJ and you always liked it when she came over, even if you were jealous that she was dating Peter. But come on. You were a little kid and Peter was in his teens.

Did you really think he would feel the same way about you?

Well, you're 29 now, and he's 35.

Both adults.

And that wedding ring on his finger doesn't bother you.

Peter smiles nervously, chucking a bit. "Hey...you." Yeah, he clearly doesn't remember you.

"It's me. (reader)," you say, bumping hips with him lightly. Peter lights up at your name, smiling brightly.

"Oh my god! Hey!" he laughs, pulling you in for a hug. You squeeze him, allowing your finger tips to linger on his body for a moment before fully backing away. Peter eyes you up and down with his champagne colored orbs, his smile never faltering. "God, how long has it been?"

"20 years, I believe?"

Once again, Peter eyes you up and down, his eyes on your chest a bit too long before returning to your face. "Wow, you look amazing."

"I know," you chuckle. "You don't look bad yourself."

The two of you find a table to sit at and catch up. Peter informs you of how he's gone to college to become a journalist and married MJ straight out of college, and he's now a father of one. He's showing you many photos of his new baby, gushing over them and explaining to you what each one is and how old she was in each photo. He can only go by months since she just turned one.

You tell him about your time in nursing school and how you plan on aiming for your master's degree. You have a boyfriend, but you leave that detail out.

Because god, did Peter B Parker age like fine wine.

"Okay, I have something to confess, and you have to promise not to make fun of me," you said.

"That depends," he responds with a cheeky grin. Peter is known for his silly jokes, of course.

You roll your eyes, chuckling a bit. "Okay, well, I used to have a crush on you when I was younger."

"Who wouldn't have a crush on me? I'm a catch!"

"No, Peter, I'm being serious." God, he's so silly. Makes you want to drop to your knees and suck him off. "I used to have a crush on you when I was younger." Heat rises on your cheeks a bit as you say, "And I think I still do."

Peter blinks, anything he could possibly say dying on his tongue. He brings his hands to his lap, twirling his wedding ring around on his finger. It weighs heavy on his finger and he's tempted to take it off, but then he'll be falling into his own temptations.

Giving in of having you.

You caught his eye when you first walked into the coffee shop, but he didn't know who you were at first. He felt guilty for even thinking of some other woman, and finding out it was someone he used to baby sit made him mentally kick himself.

But you're all grown up. You're a full grown woman now.

And you're leaning in, finger tips lightly grazing his hairy forearm. Your heart shape lips curl into a smile, battering your pretty lashes up at him.

"Got nothing to say?" you whisper, devious lips twitching. Your tongue darts out to wet them, the skin glistening beneath the lights. "Are you perhaps," you pulls his arm out from under the table and gently remove his wedding band off slowly, "having the same thoughts I am? Right now?"

Fuck.

Almost immediately, Peter and you are scrambling to his car. He parked near the back of the lot under a tree, a bit secluded, and no one will be able to see or hear the two of you.

The moment you two are by the car, Peter brings you in for a heated kiss, his lips molding against yours. You sigh happily into his mouth, hands curling into his hair and tugging, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Your tongue swipes at his lips, begging to be let in, and he allows you to.

Your tongue slithers into his wet cavern and swirls around, tasting his sweet caramel coffee and a hint of his breakfast. You stand on the tips of your toes and moan as his hands knead at the flesh of your ass, his erecting rutting into your thigh.

"I-I need you," Peter gasped when he forced himself away from your sugary lips. He kisses down your neck, his beard tickling your flesh. "Need you so fucking bad." He squeezes your ass, giving you a firm smack.

You squeak, head falling to the side to give him more access to your neck.

"Yes, fuck, right now," you pant, hand reaching between your bodies to rub him through his pants. "Want you to fuck me, Peter. Need you inside of my pussy so badly."

Fuck.

Peter removes himself long enough to clear out the backseat, shoving everything into the front seat. No way he's able to drive to a hotel and rent a room out for the two of you.

He needs you.

Now.

You crawl into the back seat, Peter licking his lips at the sight of your bottom half. The leggings you wear show off the curve of your ass and outline of your wet cunt.

He can't help himself.

He needs a taste.

Peter follows in after you and mouths at your clothed pussy, eliciting a mewl from you.

"Peter!" you squeak, looking over at him from your shoulder. You whine, pushing your pussy against his face as he licks over it, sucking on your erected clit through the thin material of your leggings. He tastes your sweet essence and moans, his cock twitching in his pants.

Peter flips you back onto your back and fully crawls in, slamming the door shut and unbuckling his pants. You begin to slip off your leggings and panties, shoving them off onto the groud.

You spread your legs wide open, fingers reaching down to open your wet pussy up. You wiggle your hips, winking up at him with a sensual grin.

"What are you waiting for? Come on in."

Fuck fuck fuck.

Peter grips the door and slides into your velvet warmth, eyes rolling to the back of his head as your walls clench around him tightly, nearly making him cum right then and there.

"So fucking warm...goddamn," Peter breathes out, sweat beading on his skin. He grinds his hips into you, bottoming out and making you moan loudly.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, head falling against the door. "Fuck me, Peter. Fuck me so hard, please."

Who is he to deny you that right?

Peter pounds into your wet pussy, groaning as he does so. White goop seeps out onto his cock which he fucks right back into you, pussy squelching loudly.

Peter knows he shouldn't fuck you. He's married for god's sake. But you're scratching at his back, tight pussy squeezing pre-cum out of his pulsing cock, pretty lips pressed into his ear and moaning for more. He finds he can't stop. He finds himself wanting more and more of you, wrapping one leg around his waist and pinning the other one down into your chest.

"What a dirty girl," Peter coos, a devious smirk on his face. Your tongue rolls out of your mouth, coating your chin in spit as his cock continues to drill into your pussy. "Wanting a married man to fuck you...god, you really are a slut, huh?"

"Ah!" you squeal, kicking your feet when he begins to rub circles into your clit. "S-Says the one fucking me!"

He nods, chuckling. "But you enjoy this married man's cock, right?" He rolls his hips and buries his cock deep into your warmth, tip brushing along your cervix.

"Fuck! Yes!"

"Of course you do. You're a dirty little slut, that's why."

Peter presses his sweaty forehead against yours, clenching his teeth. His cock rams deep into your pussy, the car shaking back and forth. Wet plaps mix in with yout lewd moans, a coil tightening within your belly.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" You moan out with every powerful thrust he gives you. "Peter! Ahh! Gonna cum!"

Peter buries his face into your neck, picking up the pace of his thrusts, about to cum himself.

"Cum, baby! Cum all around my cock!"

You scream as your cunt gushes out creamy white fluids, squeezing Peter's cock. He groans and shudders, filling you up with his sticky seed.

Yeah, this is definitely going to be more than just a one time fling.

You got Peter addicted.

#cherryberry answers #cherryberry has major daddy issues #peter b parker #peter #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #peter b parker x reader #dilfs are fucking delicious

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