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netherfeildren · 11 months

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Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .4

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Mutual masturbation; Come eating; Angst; Vague mention of abortion; Discussions of child neglect; Discussions of unwanted pregnancy

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Some of this is so… phew… idk what came over me or how i come up with some of this shit. sorry (but not really). Joel’s a little nasty in this beware

Art is by Denis Sarazhin.

Word Count: 7.7K

Read on AO3

A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

To think that despite his momentary acquiescence to your need for space, he was not, afterwards, made into a raving, snarling beast prowling its cage after having tasted you, would be fallacy – because that was what he was calling it in his mind, for now. Not yet ready to accept it within himself as a full blown rejection, so yes, for now, space, time.

He returns home with Sarah after the lakehouse – Eva gone off with her girlfriends on an extension of the weekend, wanting to draw out the farewell to summer just a little longer – to their routine of lunches and snacks and daycare and evenings playing mermaids and dinosaurs in the little pool in the backyard that he’d gotten for her at HEB. He tries to be good, to remain calm, controlled, but it’s just short of impossible. He feels as though he still has the taste of you on the surface of his tongue, the sounds of your moans ringing in his ears at all hours of the day, in bed at night, hard and aching and alone, wanting you. This turns out to be a different type of hell to the one he’s usually used to, that of monotony and loneliness and resentment. No, this is burning and painful, a type of fire that whips through his arteries and chars his bones and leaves him dizzy and disoriented.

He’s never experienced something like this before. Not in his entire life.

It is not easy, per se, but productive, to lose himself in his work, and the start of Sarah’s school year. She’s in a 3K program for the fall, her first time going to a real school, and the work and preparation and pure fucking anxiety induced at the thought of his baby going to such a big school is overwhelming. No small feat to accomplish all on his own.

But at night, after he’s worked himself into the ground all day, and read Sarah her bedtime story, at least three times, sometimes up to seven, but never passing ten, that was their very strict rule, and tucked her in and checked the closet and under the bed and behind the door for monsters, when he’s finally found himself alone and quiet and with a spare, but infinitely painful moment to think of you, he lets you in, in full force.

He pulls his shirt up over the back of his head, tossing it into the hamper as he passes his closet into his restroom, undoes his belt and jeans, pulling his contraband from the pocket, to push them off as he reaches to turn on the shower.

As he lets the water heat up, he pauses to look at himself in the mirror. Tall, long frame, still pleasing to a woman, he’d imagine. Well, he hopes so. He’s still strong, his shoulders broad, his chest built from the long hours of hauling and climbing and exhaustive physical labor. There are a few grays threaded through the dark curls at his temples. Sprouting, just in the last year, to remind him that he’s getting older. One of his buddies had told him that eventually everything went gray, everything. That weirded the fuck out of him, to be honest. He hates the thought of you seeing that, thinking of him as old. You’re so much younger than him. So pretty. Too pretty. His middle has gone slightly softer since hitting forty, but only slightly. There’s no helping that. And the small creases at the corners of his eyes… shit, he’s getting old. But his cock is still long and thick, and he’ll give that to you as much as you’ll let him. If you ever let him. All the time if he can. All he has to do is find a way to see you again, to convince you to let him see you again.

He feels a small bitter ribbon of self consciousness curl through his stomach as he takes himself in. He doesn’t want you to think of him as some old man. Some old, sleazy man who’d seen you and been so fucking desperate for you, he hadn’t cared that he was married, that you’re too young for him, that he has a family, and responsibilities and a life, like some pathetic fucking pervert. You’re just so lovely, so soft and pretty and you smell so good, always. And he’s been so alone for so fucking long. He is lonely. And you, you’d looked at him, you’d seen him, you’d wanted him back just as fiercely as he’d wanted you, even if just for a moment. How was he ever supposed to be strong enough to resist that? And further than your wanting, you’re good and kind and smart and so fucking funny and adorable. Joel could be strong when he needed to be, but he could also be weak, and he thinks that you, perhaps, have the power to make him weaker than anything else.

What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the person who you could very well fall, probably, very deeply in love with?

Because yes, even now, he is emotionally aware enough to recognize that. More than anything, he can recognize that he has, as of yet, never been in love, but that you present the great, great possibility for that. And yes, it’s too soon, and maybe nonsensical or crazy or what have you, but Joel has always been a man that’s known himself well. When he knows, he knows, and when he chooses, he chooses, and he is very close to knowing and choosing you.

He looks down at your panties laying on the bathroom counter – the ones he’d stolen. After you’d slipped them off, too wet from your come, from him making you come – they’re his now.

He runs his thumb and forefinger along the silk lace at the edge. They’re a pretty, soft blue. He loves the color blue now. It will, forevermore, be his favorite color after this. The cut in the back is high, he knows the soft flesh of your ass was left mostly uncovered by them, he remembers he felt it when you rode his thigh. He wishes he could have seen it. He hopes he’ll have another chance to see it.

If he thinks about it hard enough, he can imagine that the middle gusset is still damp from you. He brings them to his face, presses them to his nose and inhales deeply. The scent: still faintly musky, but also, slightly sweet. He sticks his tongue out to taste the fabric, and a violent shiver passes through him. He has to clutch at the countertop to hold himself upright. His cock is fully erect and leaking now.

He has to taste you. He has to get the chance to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’s sure of it.

He brings the soft lace down to his aching erection. He doesn’t care if he’s disgusting. He doesn’t care about anything. All he wants is to feel you. To temper this fire churning in his blood. He can’t remember the last time his body felt like this, the last time he wanted something this fucking badly he felt like he’d die if he didn’t have it. Maybe never – he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. He wraps your panties around his hard length and starts to jack himself off. Strong, tight strokes from base to tip with the tiny, blue silk sliding along his fevered skin. The sound of your orgasm, the look in your eyes as you humped his thigh, ground your little clit on him and soaked his denim. He should’ve touched you more when he had the chance. He wants to fuck you so badly, wants to sink into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt and fuck you full of his come. Mark you. Brand himself into your skin so that you’re never without him. He wants you to smell like him. He wants to feel the wet gush he felt on his jeans on his cock and dripping down his balls, and Jesus fucking Christ, he comes at that. Long, thick ropes of white spend, spitting from his swollen tip at the thought of your pussy coming around him, a desperate whimper escaping in the quiet loneliness of his restroom.

He thinks of you constantly, what seems like every moment of the day, in the weeks that follow. As much as he tries to keep a straight head on, he can’t. He craves you, dreams of you, fucks his hand to the memory of you coming for him, spilling his seed over and over again in the shower at the remembered look in your eyes and the sounds you made for him. He can’t help himself.

Outside of that, everything else in his life is bleak and slow and… and he doesn’t know what else to call it, except for sad and wanting. Lonely. To have touched something so alive, so beautiful and sweet and perfect, and then be forced to return to the barren landscape that is his life in everything outside of his daughter, it’s jarringly difficult to do. He wants to be strong, to do what you asked of him, but it had been so long since he’d really wanted something for himself. Couldn’t remember what the last thing had been, really, and so to now have something to desire, something to want and think of, it makes him weak and fills his head with all kinds of excuses to see you, to call you – he’d forced Tommy to steal your number for him out of Gerri’s phone – to go to your work and wait for you to come out, just so he can catch a single glimpse of you.

He restrains himself from that, though. He forces himself to focus his mind on other things, Sarah and school and playdates, and he works himself like a dog, taking on more contracts than he ever has before. He doesn’t give himself any time to rest, any time to think, and in the few moments that he does, when he stares at your number on the screen of his phone, imagining what it is he’d say to you if he called, if you answered, what the sound of your voice would be like saying hello to him, saying his name, or in the moments when he fucks himself raw and spent and sad, those are the moments when he feels weakest, when he feels most alone, when he’s almost overwhelmed with wanting.

He only lasts a measly three weeks after the lake house before he’s outside of the elementary school, one late Wednesday afternoon during the second week of the new school year. The sky is dark and angry, on the verge of a downpour, and he’s been waiting, agitated and anxious, for about half an hour, before you finally come out the double doors.

The lightest sprinkling of rain is starting up, and he jumps out of his truck’s cab, jacket in hand, to approach you. He says your name softly as he comes up on your side while you’re distracted, digging in your purse for something.

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice and turn your wide, worried eyes on him, “Joel–” your voice, soft and breathy, so sweet, “Is everything okay? What are you doing here? Is Sarah okay?”

He holds his hands up in what he hopes is an appeasing, non-threatening gesture, he doesn’t want you nervous. Fucking Christ, asking for Sarah with that look of worry in your eyes, “Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” how in the fuck is he supposed to not be obsessed with you? “I was just – I was just hoping we could talk, is all.”

You look around at the sparsely filled parking lot, as if searching for witnesses, or perhaps, an escape, but then you turn back to him and pause to take him in. He watches the sweep of your eyes down his body, and then back up, stopping to search for something in his eyes. Whatever you find there must give you the answer you need because you nod your head once, “Alright, we can talk,” you say softly.

“My truck? Can we drive for a bit? I’ll bring you back.” You nod again, and he drapes his jacket over your shoulders to protect you from the drizzle as he leads you to his truck. “S’bout to come down hard,” he murmurs as he opens the passenger door for you, taking your wrist in his hold to help you up into the truck. He can’t help himself, he reaches for your seatbelt and buckles you in himself – is filled with an obscenely embarrassing fizz of pleasure at the gesture of it.

You’re looking at him with the most concerned little frown marring the soft spot between your delicate brows, “Are you okay?” your voice slow and unsure, and then more of him being unable to help himself, to keep his hands to himself, because he reaches up and gently brushes his thumb over the little frowning wrinkle, nods his head once.

“I’m okay, baby.”

He drives for a bit, takes you to a spot up in the hills he likes to come to sometimes when he needs to think. Somewhere the two of you can be alone and quiet, just for a moment. He parks the truck by a copse of trees, a view of Austin on the other side of the two of you. The rain has turned into a violent downpour by now. He shuts off the engine and looks out at the view of the city.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t bother you – you asked me to stay away, but –” He lets his head fall back against the headrest and sighs, and the sound of it is so weary, pained in a way that’s so very, very sad. It makes you hurt for him. You reach across the center console to grip his bicep, you can’t help yourself. You could see from the first look at his face that something was wrong. You know he wouldn’t have come to look for you if he didn’t need you now.

“You’re not bothering me. I know I shouldn’t, but I wanted to see you too.” You only confess this because of the look in his eyes. The glassy, burdened look of them. You wish that you could climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, press your warmth into him. The rain hits the windshield like bullets, the sound deafening. The world outside of his truck’s cabin seems distorted, as if this liminal space the two of you sit in now, has been carved out of the rest of the real world, and the two of you exist here now, only, together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” he wraps his hand over yours on his arm, drags his thumb over the smooth little hills of your knuckles. His gaze out the window is so far away, lost, something almost childlike in its desolation. You watch the strong ripple of his neck as he swallows, clears his throat. “Nothing – just wanted to see you. ‘Dunno… Felt so tired today.” He closes his eyes for a moment, “Couldn’t stop myself. Wanted to just give myself this one thing.” He lets his head roll against the seat to look at you, gives you the gentle curve of his crooked smile. So beautiful and so sad, and you can tell that something is endlessly wrong. You feel afraid, for one moment, that he’s going to start crying, the sadness in his eyes is so overwhelming. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand the sight of his tears, you think they might break you. “Just wanted to look at you, to sit here with you, just for a little bit.”

“Alright.” You’re quiet for a beat, watching him watch the rain. Part of you wants to give him space, give him quiet, but you need to know what’s wrong. You can’t bear the look in his eyes right now. “Did something happen?”

He’s silent, as if gathering his thoughts or his strength around him, and then: “Eva had a pregnancy scare this week.” A jagged shiver slices through you.

“What?” You croak, you try to pull your hand back, but he clamps down on your bones, holds you to him. “But I thought–”

He shakes his head, “Not mine.”

“Joel… what? Are– are you–” You blink furiously, at a loss. What do you say to the man who you’re kind of having an affair with when he tells you his wife, who is also seemingly having an affair, might be pregnant with another man’s child? This is all so, so fucked up. So ugly. You swallow, turn to look out at the rain. You don’t want to cry, but you can’t seem to help the tears from pooling. A bombardment of recurring images from your childhood slingshotting through your mind; your mother, leaving, angry, cold, quiet. Always pushing you away. The sound of her crying through her bedroom door, your child’s ear, pressed to the cool grain, trying to get as close to her as possible even though she doesn’t want you. Always shutting you out. Your father, dead to the world on the sofa in the living room, drowning in his liquor and yearning and hurt. The sight of a tall, handsome stranger, coming up the front walk to ring the doorbell, to take your mother away with him. The way he’d crouched down from his great height to ask you what your name was because she hadn’t even bothered to tell the man she was having an affair with, the man she was leaving you for, what your name was.

What is it about being unlovable, you wonder, and why is it that some are cursed with it so cruelly, while others are not?

“Hey,” Joel tugs on your wrist, pulls you closer to him. “I told you, we’re not like that, we’ve never been. I don’t want you thinkin’ somethin’ else, that I haven’t been honest.” He drags the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, tips your head back to catch your eyes. You let them flutter shut and swallow, open them again. If you talk you’ll cry, but he needs words from you now. You swallow again, shake your head.

“It’s– it’s not that. I believe you. And even if it was otherwise, I have no right–”

“Stop. Don’t say that. You know that isn’t true. You have the right to honesty after what I’ve told you, after what we’ve done.” You try to pull back, but he brings his palm to wrap around the back of your neck and grip you by the scruff. “Stop,” he grits, “Don’t pull away from me.”

You bring your palms up to his chest, clutch at the collar of his shirt. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m sorry. It’s just–” you huff a sharp, bitter laugh, “Sometimes it’s like you’re just telling me the story of my childhood, over and over again. Like you’re living it again for me. This all sounds very pathetically familiar.” A tear finally falls, you can’t help it. A weeper in a long line of weepers, always.

“Sweetheart…” he brushes the track of your tear away with his thumb.

You shake your head. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Is she?”

“She’s fine. Took her to the doctor this morning.”

“God, Joel– I don’t – I don’t know how you do this.” Another tear. You think of your father, how weak, how broken he was after her. He could have never shouldered the things Joel does. You feel very sad, very sorry, for the both of them, as different as they are. You feel sorry for the whole miserable lot of you, really.

“She needed my help, she was scared–” his thumb sweeps a slow, hypnotizing path up and down the back of your neck. The rough callus on his thumb catches at your sensitive skin and makes you feel hot and sweaty and overwhelmed for the feel of it on every other tender place on your body. “Terrified, really. Of being trapped like that again.”

“Trapped?”

“Sarah was never her plan. Neither of us were. She never wanted any of this.”

“You told me the marriage wasn’t conventional… but I didn’t – I didn’t think Sarah was included in that…” Your stories are too similar, the similarities too painfully familiar.

“We met at a bar, it was–” he looks away, and you watch a hot flush flood his cheeks. He’s embarrassed to tell you this. “It was a one night thing. Her birth control failed, and then – it was just – well, ending the pregnancy was never an option for her, and I told her from the get go that I’d do whatever she wanted, support her in anything she chose. She chose to go on with it. So I asked her to marry me, it made sense, it was– it was the convenient thing. At least, at the time – in my mind, it seemed so. But we – we were strangers, there was no connection. And then… I don’t know. It wasn’t, eventually – it wasn’t the right thing, at all, for any of us. She never wanted to be a mother. She told me once, after, that she’d chosen wrong, she’d made the wrong decision. And I always tried to be supportive, but by that time, well – we had Sarah by that time, and I– I loved her more than anything I’d ever loved in my whole life. Didn’t even know it was possible to love anything that much – and it made me so fucking angry with her – to– to hear her say something like that, that she should’ve gotten rid of her. It was – I don’t know – a very complicated and painful thing – for the both of us to grapple with, I guess. But I–” he pauses, takes a deep breath. His eyes shift madly, looking out the window as if the rain will bring with it an explanation or an escape for whatever it is that’s churning inside his mind as he tells you this. “There was never really anything to be angry with, I don’t think. No real reason or focus for my anger. I realized it’s impossible to fault a person for not being what they were never meant to be. She never wanted this. And I hadn’t planned for it, it just happened. And the decisions we made were made, and then things just ended up as they did. Sometimes – I don’t,” he frowns, shaking his head, “I don’t know how to say it, but–” He turns to you now, a wild, pleading look in his eyes, “But how can I say that we made a mistake, without saying that Sarah was a mistake? Because if I’ve ever done a single thing absolutely perfect, in my whole entire life, it’s that little girl. She’s perfect. You know what I mean?”

You nod, swallowing back your tears, “Yes.”

He frowns at you, his eyes filled with infinite tenderness, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” you lie, turning to press the back of your hand to your hot eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just – it reminds me of myself, of my own mother. She – she was the same, I think. Never meant to be a mother. But not bad. It’s just what it was. And hearing you, hearing this, it makes me so sad for you, for all of you. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, wraps his hand around your jaw to press his brow to your wet cheek and just holds there. The two of you breathe each other in, match the cadence of your breaths to the other. You snake your arms around his broad shoulders to press yourself closer to him. It scares you, this feeling of necessity he forces out of you, like you need him, even this soon, for strength, for comfort, for happiness. You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s coming on so quickly, overwhelming you. You feel like you need him, and if you don’t have him you’ll never be happy for the rest of your life, you’ll never be able to forget him, to let him go. He shifts to nuzzle against your cheek and then your jaw, and then the hot press of his lips to the tender spot behind your ear. A violent tremble moves through you at the feel of his soft mouth against your skin, and you dig your nails harshly into his shoulders.

“I just– lemme just–” he mumbles against your skin, and then that hand wrapped around your jaw is turning your head and forcing your mouth open so that he’s kissing you, licking into your mouth and everything goes tight and painful and white hot inside of you. “Jesus–” he says against your mouth. He forces your head back to deepen the angle, his other hand coming up to fist painfully in your hair, and you whimper into him. His answering groan is deep and rumbling and so, so wanting. Your heart feels like it’s flipping and squeezing and pinching inside your ribcage. You can hear how much he wants you, this, in the cadence of the sounds he makes. The kiss is wet, sloppy, full of teeth and all the desperation and yearning of these past few weeks. The days and days of not seeing him, of remembering your encounter in that dark room at the lake house, the way he’d made you come against his thigh, the sound of his own orgasm, the inhibition, the flush in his cheeks as he spilled in his jeans for you. The desperate, pathetic nights of your cunt stuffed full of your fingers, so wet and aching and still not enough even though you’d made yourself orgasm multiple times at just the memory of him. You claw at his hair and neck and back, you want to draw blood, imprint yourself on him in some way, the same way he’s imprinted himself on you. He brings the hand in your hair down to your waist to press you closer to him. The center console digs painfully into your ribs and you want to climb over it and settle in his lap, but you know you shouldn’t, that if you end up over there you’ll let him fuck you, and that you’ll never come back from that. Not ever. He drags his hand up to your breast, grips the heavy weight in his large palm and squeezes, and it hurts and it feels so, so fucking good that you rip yourself away from his mouth, push at his broad chest to force him away from you. The both of you stare at each other, wide eyed and panting great, heaving gasps. His hair is sticking up at all angles, messy from your pillaging fingers, his eyes glassy and his cheeks flushed almost feverish.

Oh, you want him so badly. This will be your undoing.

“We– we can’t– I didn’t come here with you for– for that,” you gasp, pressing your fingers to your wet mouth.

“I know– I know– shit, we–” He passes a palm over his mouth, and you feel another tear slide down your burning cheek. You’re surprised you don’t see steam rise at the contact. “Fuck – fuck, baby, please. Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I got carried away– ”

“I’m not crying– I’m not.” Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll be true. You turn to wipe it away on the hill of your shoulder, try to hide your face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you

“I wanted you to. I want it so badly,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut tight. You feel inconsolable.

“I know– I know.”

You want him so badly, so badly, so badly, you want him to keep touching you forever. “It hurts, Joel. It hurts–”

“Jesus, what hurts? Tell me.” He leans forward, gripping your knee painfully tight, and you press yourself into the door at your back, “Fuck– is that sweet, little cunt aching for me? Tell me, baby.”

You nod

“Fuck, what if– what if we just – just watch each other? What if you pet your cunt for me, and let me watch? Just– just to make the ache go away? Would that be okay?”

You shake your head, unsure, but your hand is clutching his over your knee now, digging your nails into the top of his palm and letting him slowly push your knee open further.

His voice is so coaxing. Oh, he shouldn’t use that tone of voice against you, you’re powerless to it. “You can, it’s okay. It’s just to make the ache go away, it’s okay,” and you have no choice but to capitulate, no desire to not give in.

His palm on your knee slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt to bunch at your hips, and he hooks one finger into the side of your panties to pull them down as you lift your hips, allowing him to divest you of them. So easy, you’re so fucking easy, and you don’t even care. All you can focus on right now is the throbbing ache between your legs.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he says, “Spread your legs… that’s it.”

“Don’t– don’t look–” you stutter as you bring your shaking fingers to your core, and he’s leaning back to undo his belt and drag his zipper down. You can’t look either, you can’t, if you do, you’ll lose, you know it. You see the peripheral movement of him reaching into his clothes to pull the heft of his cock out, the shift of his upper body as he lifts his hips to readjust his pants to free himself. Your cunt is slick and throbbing, painfully swollen.

You watch the movement of his shoulder as he starts to jack himself, “Just your clit first, baby. Soft, little circles, yeah… how does that feel?”

“Good– good, yes.” You’re panting, mouth hanging open. There is fire in his gaze, all for you, only for you.

“Yeah? You need more?”

“Please, Joel–” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but you don’t think it’s for your touch alone.

“Give yourself one finger, sweetheart. Just one – tell me how wet it is? Are you soaked for me?”

You press one finger inside, and yes, yes, your’re fucking soaked for him, you say. He groans at that, the rhythm of his shoulder gets faster. “I have to look, baby. Please, please, I have to see how wet it is.” The tops of his cheeks are flushed red, but as you watch the downward shift of his eyes to your spread sex, the place where you’re impaling yourself with a single finger, his eyes flare, the flush seems to ricochet even higher, hotter. You pull your finger out to cup yourself, hide yourself, burning with shyness and lust, but fuck, the look in his eyes, it’s bright hot, devouring. No one has ever looked at you like that. Never.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans, “Put ‘em back in. Fuck yourself, make yourself come. I have to see it.” So fucking gorgeous, you hear him mutter under his breath, and you finally give yourself permission to look down as you stuff two fingers back into your desperate pussy. Fuck your rules, you have to see him.

He’s huge.

Thick and long, the size of his cock is not made smaller by the massive breadth of his fist holding it in a vice-like grip, jacking it, tight and fast. The head is flushed a deep, angry red, the slit at the top weeping a pearly stream of precum that makes your mouth water and the muscles in your pelvis tighten – you want to taste him, you want him to fuck your mouth until you’re forced to swallow his load. There’s a thick vein running up the entire length of the underside of the shaft that you’re sure you’d feel his pulse in if you set your tongue against it. He’s pulled his heavy balls out over the edge of his jeans too, and he cups them and squeezes.

“Spread yourself wider for me – yeah like that… Lemme see you stretch that cunt.”Oh, he’s so dirty.

You’re sucking in quick, shallow gulps of air, on the verge of hyperventilating as you watch his massive palm beat at his cock, almost dizzy with lust, your blood rushing in your head, your pussy sopping wet, tight as a knot. This isn’t enough, you want to stop, you want to go further, you want him to touch you, to climb into his lap, to take that heavy, thick weight inside of you and feel him stretch you to the point of pain. “Don’t look– you shouldn’t look–” you don’t know why you say it, maybe because you feel you have to, but it’s nonsensical when your eyes are glued to him.

“I have to look, baby. Please, don’t ask me that. I have to see it – fuck, you’re so gorgeous, look at you. Prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Stop,” you moan, arching your back further to crook your fingers inside of yourself, hitching your knees higher to pet at the spongy, tender spot inside you that you’d like him to own. “St– stop– I’m– m’not your baby– don’t– don’t– oh fuck, I’m gonna come–” your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of his choked growl, his eyes glued to your stretched sex, the sounds of your wetness and his slick palm echoing in the truck cabin.

“You are, you are – even if you won’t let me touch you, won’t let me have you – you fucking belong to me now. Already, even like this – look at you, about to come for me with just my eyes on you.” His hips start to lift into his fist, his hand almost a blur for how fast he’s fucking himself, teeth gritted, tendons in his strong neck popping starkly under the surface of his flushed, sweaty skin.

“Fuck– fuck, it’s so pretty.”

“Stop– please, Joel, I need–”

“Wanna taste it and fuck it and fill it with my come–”

“Oh my fucking God–” you’re going to come, now, now, it’s right there. You tell him.

“One more finger – lemme see you stretch yourself… yeah like that… my good fucking girl,” grunted as you stuff a third finger inside and start to spasm, mewling high and desperate for him, grinding your clit against the mound of your palm. You want his cock to stretch you like this, and you tell him. The sound he makes at your desperate plea, as if it’s been ripped out of him, painful, desperate, savage. You watch the wide head flush an almost deeper shade, verging on purple now, and he squeezes the base cruelly, his sack fisted tight in his other hand, and he starts to come, a thick white stream of milky spend that makes your mouth water, sliding over his fist and spurting onto his exposed belly. “Oh God, Joel, I want it.” You can’t stop the words, the sight of his orgasm forces them out of you.

“I know, baby, I know. I want to give it to you,” he says through clenched teeth.

You both stay frozen like that for a moment as you come down, panting and staring at each other wide eyed and flushed and trembling. That was, perhaps, no, it was without a doubt, the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced with a man, and you’d barely even touched each other. Pain and pleasure coalesce to leave you shaking and sweating, your skin hypersensitive. You’re scared you’re going to start crying again and scare him, give him the wrong idea – that you’d not liked this, that you’d not wanted this. When the truth is that nothing could ever compare to how much you wanted, needed it. How much you’ll want this forever now. You want to take him inside of you. The sheer force of your desire almost has a flavor, a shape to it. The strength of it, so potent, it is almost made sentient – a living thing.

You pull your wet fingers out, and he snaps forward suddenly, to snatch your hand towards himself and brings the slick digits into his mouth, his tongue laving hot and wet between the spaces, sucking on them. All the while his eyes are zeroed in on the space between your legs, on the place that is still clenching and stretched, so ready and eager for him to fill. You gasp at his ferocity, at the feral look in his eyes because you can see, you can see that almost sentient desire you’re filled with, reflected in his own eyes.

“Joel–” you whisper as he presses one final kiss to the wet tips of your fingers, his eyes fluttering shut as he holds there for one moment.

“I know–” he whispers back, and when his eyes come back to yours, there is such a depth of understanding in them. You realize in this moment, in this shared look, that the two of you are the same in an essential way. It isn’t just your desire that connects the two of you now, it’s so much more. A loneliness, a sentimentality, perhaps, a keen sense of familiarity. That vein of shyness, of being closed off, that fear of opening up, of being hurt, of being left. He’s the same, you can see it, feel it.

You’d never thought you had a very good sense of self identity – your perception of yourself skewed in the image of your mother, of who she was, of her shadow, of the things she’d done, but in this moment, looking into the reflection of Joel’s eyes, you feel you see yourself very clearly, almost securely, for the first time. It is recognition the two of you are sharing now, for some reason, in some way, you recognize him. And you find it ironic, that now, in this moment of all times, when you’re doing the very thing that you’d always been so afraid of, of turning into the thing that you’d always feared because of your mother, it is ironic that you are finally able to cast away her shadow, her image, and see only yourself, so clearly, so wholly, because of him.

And yet, despite the sudden, blinding clarity, oh, it was all so dark, so dark, that it be this man, this unavailable, married, unreachable man, that would make you feel so wholly seen, so understood, so connected.

Your wrist is left wet and sticky where he’s gripped you with his spend covered fingers, but you’re careful not to wipe it away. You want to be left with the tightness of his dried come over your skin.

“Don’t say that we shouldn’t have done that,” he tells you.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

“I was going to say that I wish we could do it again – that I wish we could do more.”

“Shit–” he whispers, passes his dry palm over his mouth and then up into his hair, to tug at the messy curls. You move to right your clothes, and he follows your lead, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Me too.”

You let your head rest back against the window as the two of you stare at each other in silence for a moment. It’s comforting, filled with companionship, understanding, the intimacy of the moment the two of you just shared. Your cheeks feel hot and you can’t help but smile at him, just a little, a small laugh escaping, and then he’s returning it, smiling and laughing softly too, until the both of you are wracked with the most ridiculous, schoolyard giggles, like two blushing teenagers. It’s a wonderful moment for the purity of it, the two of you together, laughing. Later, you’re sure it will make you very sad and desperate to relive it, but now, oh, now, it really does feel so wonderful. You wish the two of you could live here forever, together in this moment, in the warm, intimate space of his truck’s cabin.

You talk for hours after that, about nothing and everything. His work and yours, your art, his love of building things, of taking care of things, music and movies and books and Sarah. Always, Sarah.

“She has an obsession with bats right now, weird kid, and there’s a sanctuary up town. We spent a few hours there on Saturday, she loved it. Scampering around in this Snow White princess dress she’s refused to take off for the past three weeks. Won’t part with the damn thing, not even to let me wash it.”

He loves her so much, and it makes your heart pinch and your eyes go hot and weepy. He is, you think, an exceptionally good father, an exceptionally good man.

Eventually, however, it gets late enough that the two of you realize you need to get home. He drives you back to the school in the most comfortable of silences, your hand intertwined reassuringly in his strong embrace. It feels worryingly natural, right.

“Will you let me see you again?” he asks when he pulls up next to your lonely car in the school parking lot.

“I don’t– I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Joel. This will only go further from here if we continue. And I don’t– I can’t be your–” you frown, shaking your head, disgusted at yourself for even having to say the words, “I can’t be your mistress,” you tell him bluntly.

“I would never, never ask that of you.”

“So, then what is it supposed to be? You’re going to leave your wife? That– that isn’t what I want. I don’t want to be the thing that breaks your marriage up, your family, that leaves Sarah in a broken home. I cannot be that.” It would be your worst nightmare come to life.

He says your name in the most serious tone you think he can muster, as if he can imbue the understanding of his words into your stubborn skull with the resonance of it, “There is no marriage to break up. She’s leaving soon, I know it, I can tell. She’s done. She’s leaving Sarah, and I don’t think she’s coming back this time. I don’t think I can let her just – just come in and out of our daughter’s life like that. Something needs to stop or change. I have to do something to make this better for my girl.”

“I understand that, and I can’t– I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that for Sarah. For you. Really, I understand more than I can tell you – but still, when it comes to you and I, or you and her – I can’t … I can’t get into that like this. I– I, I don’t–” you pant, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I can’t do that, this. Not now.”

“Baby–”

“No, Joel. You don’t understand – I watched my mother cheat on my father my entire childhood, until she up and left us one day, left him. I watched him love her for years, unreturned, suffer for her, and then I watched him kill himself slowly, drink himself to death until I buried him.”

“That isn’t what Eva and I are–”

“I cannot have an affair with you. I know – I know that’s basically what we’re already fucking doing – I know I’m a hypocrite–”

“You’re not–”

“But I can’t also be the reason you leave your marriage. It would kill me – do you understand?” your voice cracks, you’re shocked you’re not crying right now. “Please, Joel.”

He looks at you for a moment, you’re afraid you can see anger in his eyes, but then they go soft, understanding, and he says, “Yeah… yeah, sweetheart. I understand.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a shaky breath, relieved, but at the same time, filled with a sick twist of disappointment. What would you do if he pressed you, if he forced you? You know part of you would like it. “Can I at least call you? Only sometimes, please. Just to talk – to hear your voice.”

You start to shake your head, but when you open your eyes and take in the pleading look in his gaze, you can’t say no. “Alright, yes… yes, you can call me. That’s okay.”

“Can I kiss you? Just once more?” You lean over the console and press your lips to his, sudden and rough, as an answer, your teeth clicking together harshly. Of course, you want to kiss him again, of course.

One long, tight moment, you clutch his wrists to keep them from pulling you in closer, and then you’re pulling back, scrambling out of the truck and forcing yourself away from him. You need to get away before you lose all strength of will and just let him do whatever he wants to you. You hear him get out, as well, and follow you around to your driver’s side door, waiting behind you as you dig for your car keys in your bag. You open the door, and then turn back to him, you can’t help yourself, and he lifts a hand to drag his thumb across your cheekbone, along the edge of your jaw. His eyes look so sad, like he’s afraid this’ll be the last time the two of you ever see each other again. The tears are back and angrily demanding release, but you try and take deep breaths through your nose to keep them at bay while your entire frame shakes and shivers at the restraint. He nods once and leans forward to press a long kiss above your brow, and then he turns and walks back to his truck, gets inside. He waits until you’ve gotten in your own car and are driving away, great heaving sobs wracking your body, overwhelming you, before you see him finally turn his truck on and start to drive back home, back to his wife and child.

Chapter .5

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

End Notes: This was kind of a heavy one, if there’s anything you’d like to chat about (or yell at me for all the angsty bullshit) pls come do so :)

#someone's fic #Joel miller #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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1dinodaily · 6 months

Text

Dinovember is Back!

Each day of November has a dinosaur prompt for you to draw. This year, along with the dinosaur species prompt, there are extra weekly and daily prompts as well. These extra prompts are completely optional, but hopefully you find them inspiring. If you post your dinosaurs and tag them with #dinovember or #dinovember2023 or tag me (@1dinodaily), I will reblog your art and feature it on @1dinodaily!

Rules for getting featured:

Must be your own art

Post your art of the dinosaur of the day before the end of the day

No NSFW content

Prompt list in text format:

Week 1: Mammal Madness

Saltriovenator | Tiger

Amazonsaurus | Orca

Graciliceratops | Badger

Parasaurolophus | Okapi

Iguanodon | Hyena

Kulindadromeus | Capybara

Styracosaurus | Possum

Week 2: Types

Deinocheirus | Fire/Steel/Poison

Great Hornbill | Grass/Ghost/Bug

Guanlong | Water/Fairy/Rock

Therizinosaurus | Ice/Dark

Dacentrurus | Electric/Fighting

Jakapil | Ground/Dragon/Normal

Oviraptor | Flying/Psychic

Week 3: Tarot Cards

Struthiomimus | The Fool

Bay Owl | The Lovers

Balaur bondoc | The Star

Common Loon | The Moon

Pyroraptor | The Sun

Liliensternus | The Devil

Anchiornis | The Magician

Week 4: Magic

Velociraptor | Wizard

Minimocursor | Ritual

Atlantic Puffin | Familiar

Spinosaurus | Skeleton

Avimimus | Angelic

Triceratops | Demonic

Carnotaurus | Eldritch

Gentoo Penguin | Faerie

Microraptor | Potion

Thank you all and have fun!

#dinovember #dinovember2023 #1dinodaily #art #art prompts #art prompt #dinosaur #paleoart #dinosaurs #birds

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daisies-daydreams · 11 months

Note

Hey, how are you doing?! btw I like your work and If you don't mind can you please write were 141 + könig is defending they're kids while ur scolding at them 👉👈 🥺💞 can you write plz

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: Hello! I'm doing fine and dandy today, thank you! And thank you for your request! Honestly, I can see all of the 141 and König being such good papa's. 🥰 I hope you enjoy!

D/N = Daughter's Name, S/N = Son's Name

Simon “Ghost” Riley

“What were you thinking?” you scowled. Simon stood next to you as he shifted his attention back and forth between you and your daughter. (D/N) pouted as she stared at her feet. The walls of your hallway were covered in crayon markings, from unicorns to dinosaurs. You had just put a fresh coat of paint on them a few days ago, too.

“I-I’m sorry,” she sniffled. Your brows furrowed as your face turned beet red.

“Still, you shouldn’t have drawn all over the walls. Mommy worked hard to make it look better and you just messed it up,” you spat. Your daughter suddenly burst into tears. You blinked, regretting instantly flooding your chest. Simon knelt down on one knee just as you opened your mouth.

“(D/N), why did you color on the walls, baby?” he asked while staying at eye level with your little one. She rubbed her eyes and sniffed.

“I-I wanted to make it look pretty l-like Mommy was doing,” she hiccupped as she pointed at the messy mural on the wall. Simon turned to you, raising a brow. You sighed as you dropped to your knees as well. Your husband patted your back, then squeezed your shoulder with one of his rough hands.

“See? She didn’t mean any harm, love,” he said. (D/N) nodded, tears and snot streaking down her face as she gasped in between her sobs.

“I’m sorry I got mad, (D/N). Will you please forgive Mommy?” you asked. She nodded before she came up to hug both of you.

The three of you spent the evening cleaning up the drawings, though you made sure to spend some time coloring with her on actual paper afterwards.

König

Your son’s shoulders were slumped as he held his hands behind his back. You thrummed your fingers against your forearms and you crossed your arms. Shattered glass lay on the hardwood floor, a gaping hole in your living room window. A baseball rested near the opposite wall.

“I-It was an accident,” he stammered. Your nostrils flared as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“You need to be more careful, (S/N). What if that ball hit someone?!” you scoffed. The boy’s eyes were misty as he swallowed a lump in his throat. Your husband suddenly stepped through the back door, a baseball mitt in his hand. He clapped a hand over your son’s shoulder.

“Please, don’t be upset with him, Maus. I was the one who missed catching the ball,” he claimed. Your eyes shifted back and forth between your two boys. You sighed and shook your head, your facial features relaxing.

“Alright-but you’re going to have to clean up your mess while I call about replacing the window,” you said. König nodded. Your son looked up at his father before running to grab the broom and dustpan from the linen closet. You tilted your head as (S/N) gazed up at you.

“It was our game-so we should both clean it up,” your boy said with a firm nod. You and König exchanged small smiles as he grabbed your husband’s free hand and bounded off to clean up.

John Price

Your jaw felt sore from how long you had it dropped. Your son giggled as he did a little dance in place, his entire body covered head to toe in peanut butter.

The same peanut butter you just bought from the store.

Your jaw clicked as you looked at the empty tub at his feet. You took a deep breath.

“(S/N)…What. Did. You. Do?” you asked through gritted teeth. His smile faltered at your sour tone.

“I gave myself a peanut butter bath!” he beamed. “Now you don’t have to clean me up later, Momma!” he giggled as he raised his arms. Your entire body radiated with frustration.

“No, now I have to give you a longer bath because you got yourself all dirty!” your voice suddenly raised several decibels. (S/N) winced.

“What’s all this, then?” your husband, John, asked from behind you. You whipped your head around, tongue twisted too much to even explain what happened. Your son bounced up and down when he saw his father.

“Look, Papa! I gave myself a bath!” the boy giggled. John blinked before bursting into laughter, tears of amusement pricking at the corners of his eyes as he grabbed his stomach. Your anger quickly dissipated as you reflected your husband’s expression, letting out a small chuckle of your own. John wiped at his eye as he stepped forward, scanning your son up and down.

“Your a cheeky lad, you know that?” he mused. Your son laughed as John picked him up and spun him around, not minding the substance that clung to his clean clothes. His sea-green eyes lingered over to you.

“He didn’t mean anything wrong by it, hun,” he shrugged. Your son nodded before licking at the corners of his peanut-butter covered mouth. You laughed.

“You’re right-I’m sorry, (S/N),” you apologized as you came up and kissed his temple. He giggled and swatted at you playfully.

“Momma! That tickles!” he squealed. John chuckled as your son hid his face in his father's shoulder. “C’mon, (S/N)-let’s give you a proper bath,” John said.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

“FUCK!” your daughter’s small voice screamed. Your eyes widened as you snapped your head up. She still wore a cheeky grin as she spilled a few more grapes on the floor before repeatedly shouting the explicative at the top of her lungs. Your brows furrowed.

“(D/N)! No ma’am!” you frowned as you shook a finger at her. The young girl’s smile fell as you proceeded to chew her out. “We don’t use those bad words!” you barked. Her bottom lip trembled as she hid herself under the table.

“It’s not her fault,” your husband said from the adjacent hallway. You turned to him as he walked towards the table. He knocked on the surface a few times. Your daughter replied after a few seconds of silence with her own rhythmic knocks. Johnny smiled as he crouched down and guided her back to her seat. He kissed the top of her head before looking at you. You raised a brow, expecting an explanation.

“(D/N) may or may not’ve heard a certain word from a certain someone…that someone being her daddy,” his cheeks turned slightly red as he rubbed the back of his neck. You frowned.

“You son of a-”

“Careful. Don’t want her learnin’ any more words,” Johnny said with a raised brow and a smirk. You instantly closed your mouth. Your daughter stared at you sweetly, her head slightly tilted.

“Right,” you muttered. You turned back to your daughter. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, (D/N). You’re not a bad girl-we just can’t say bad words like that because it can hurt other people’s feelings. Okay?” you said. She nodded, her face lighting up slightly.

“Okay, Mommy,” (D/N) smiled. She paused for a moment as she hummed to herself, deep in thought. “Can I say ‘ass’?” she asked innocently. Johnny hid a smirk behind his hand as he stifled a laugh.

You're going to kill him.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

(S/N) swung his feet as you strapped him into the booster seat. Your husband cocked his head as you slammed your door shut, your nostrils flaring.

“Everything alright, love?” he asked. You raked your hands over your face as you glared back at your son. He bobbed his head along to the sound of the song playing on the car radio.

All of you were on a family day out when you remembered you had to grab a few things from the store. Your son wanted to come into the store while Kyle had to take a sudden phone call from Price. Your son pointed at the cashier and asked “Momma-why is that lady so fat?”. You couldn’t erase the shocked look on the woman’s face even if you could try.

You apologized profusely as you took your receipt and quickly hurried out of the store, your son complaining that you were holding his hand too tightly. You frowned as you stared at the young boy.

“Nothing. Let’s just go,” you waved as you rubbed your temples. You didn’t have the capacity to have a talk with your son at the moment. You’ll wait until you get home. Kyle shrugged as he put the car in reverse. The ride back home was rather quiet, minus the songs playing and your son singing along. Your husband pulled up to a stoplight, slipping his hand into yours.

“Why was that lady so fat?” your son asked. You slapped your other hand on your leg as you spun your head around.

“(S/N), we don’t say things like that, ever!” you shouted. Your son shrunk in his booster seat, his lips curving into a frown. “That is very, very rude! How would you feel if someone said something like that to you?” you demanded. Your son sniffed as he wrung his hands together.

“Love, please,” Kyle said. Your face was completely red as you looked back at him. “He’s only four-he doesn’t know any better,” he said calmly.

“I-I was just trying to be honest like you told me, Mommy,” (S/N) pouted. You unclench your jaw as you look into your son’s misty, chocolate-brown eyes. You exhaled through your nose as your shoulders lowered.

“It’s good to be honest, son. But we can’t say certain things because it might upset people. We need to be careful with our words,” you explained. Your son tilted his head as he resonated with your words.

“Okay, Mommy!” he said before going back to dancing to the music on the car radio. Your husband smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently as he moved the car forward.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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themeeplord · 1 year

Note

Hi, Meep :) I was looking (once again hehe) at your cryptid boys design and I noticed that they have one pretty sharp claw on their feet. Is that a spur or is it another special pinky kind of deal? I love picking your brain about anatomy for your monsters, hope that's alright ❤️ Anyways, hope your day is going good, babe!

Hi Naff! ❤️

You know I can't say no to anatomy questions! And I definitely cannot answer them simply ether XD

Let's talk demon paws!✨

My cryptid boys' feet are very theropod dinosaur like, but with all 5 toes intact instead of the typical 3 full toes + 2 vestigial/reduced toes.

The big sickle-shaped claws are not spurs, they're huge claws attached to the innermost digit of their feet. They act pretty much the same as a Dromaeosaur's sickle claws, but they're placed a little differently.

These claws are mostly used for pinning down things on the ground. They're also great slicing and stabbing weapons if the arms are occupied, injured or pinned.

These claws are always suspended above the ground, even in their most relaxed state. This keeps them from getting dull and dirty.

Range of flexibility:

And some extra doodles cause I like drawing these paws X3

Thank you for picking at my brain! XD I love having to put everything anatomy related that's in my head into text and drawing form, it's a very fun exercise!

Aww! My day is going well, I hope yours is too❤️❤️❤️

#oof long post! these anatomy posts need to be long ok XD #thanks again for giving me anatomy questions!! i love answering them!! >:3 #hope you're doing good Naff! I'm hugging you through the screen❤️#fnaf sb au #cryptid au #cryptid sightings #art #my art #creature design #asks

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nothomegal · 8 months

Text

“The little owl family” (Part 2)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond. Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: Mikey being a bit obsessive(?).

Word Count: 2.8k

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

(Part 1) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

It's been around a week since the siblings visited the house where the Myers family ones lived. To be honest the visit was kinda forgotten after a couple of days since they had other things to worry about; (Y/N) focused on their work and (S/N) on school and other duties a 6 y/o would worry about, as well on the owl family! Who happily accepted the extra meat the've been leaving around their backyard, they're also pretty sure that some of their babies already hatched!

However, their rather peaceful and carefree life was about to get on a bumpy ride when a certain dark massive figure was able to track them down...

. . .

—"(Y/N), can I ask you somethig?"— your sister asks from the doorway to your room, shifting from foot to foot and holding a dinosaur plushie.

—"Sure."— you say as you pause whatever work you've been doing on your computer and turn towards her. —"What is it songbird?"—

—"How does it feel like being watched?"— she asks.

(Y/N) leans back on their chair with a thoughtful hum.

—"I'm not sure, I never felt it. Though people say it feels like being exposed, no matter how hard you try to hide."— you try to explain.

—"Oh... Like being naked?"—

—"Yeah, kinda. I guess."— you scratch your cheek a bit. —"Why the question though?"—

The girls shrugs with a slightly awkward expression.

—"In scary movies people always talk about it and I got curious. And because Terry won't stop saying dumb stuff, like the Boogeyman is going to come and steal you..."— she admits, her voice sad and quieter at the last statement.

The older sibling blinks a couple of times.

—"Steal ME?"— your eyes wide a bit when she nods. —"Pff! If the Boogeyman doesn't have a pack of oreos and a new drawing tablet as a bait, I'm not going anywhere."— you joke, trying to soothe her.

But the girl just frowns more and out of nowhere runns towards them and hugs them tightly, barely holding back a sob.

—"It's- It's just- "— she hiccups a bit. —"I sometimes have nightmares where you disappear, just like mom and dad. I'm- I'm scared it will become true someday!"— she sobs into your shoulder.

(Y/N) frowns at her words, their heart shrinking inside of the ribcage with every sob that left their sister's mouth. They hug her tightly back and begin to softly caress her hair whilst speaking.

—"Hey, hey it's okay. No one will ever take me away from you. I fought to keep us together ones and I will do it again if necessary."— you say, your voice calm.

—"B-But one thing is arguing with old ugly people and the other one is fighting a monster!"— she sobs harder.

(Y/N) falls silent for a moment, thinking about how to calm down their sister. Eventually they come up with an idea. They gently grip her shoulders and push her back so they both can make eye contact.

—"I don't get it, who are you?"— you suddenly ask.

—"H-Huh?"—

—"I asked who are you? Where is my little (S/N)? The (S/N) who's so bold and brave, the one who promised to protect me and scare the Boogeyman away by stomping on his toes and slapping his elbows, where is that (S/N)?"—

The little girl blinks a couple of times, both surprised and thoughtful about (Y/N)'s words. Eventually her expression changes into a shyer one.

—"Uh... She is he-here. But- But- "—

—"Don't tell me you are going to allow some boy and silly dreams scare and hurt you. Do you remember that one movie with the 'hat-man'?"— you ask and recieve a nod. —"And how did the main character defeat him?"—

—"She... She stopped being afraid of him."—

—"Exactly! The Boogeyman is the same, a creature that feeds on fears. If you aren't afraid of it, it won't be able to do a damn."— you give her shoulders a gentle squeeze. —"Come on sis, we visited the house the monster supposedly lives, you had a smile when we got closer and you were brave enough to calm me down. Can't you see how absolutely amazing you are and how intimidated the monster must be of you and your amazing art skills?!"—

—"Yeah... Yeah! You're right! Who does this Boogeyman thinks he is to scare me?!"— she exclaims, gaze and tone determined.

—"Yes! Screw it! If any monster tries to come for us then we'll work together to scare it away! Just like we did with the 'attic ghost'."—

They both giggle at the mentioned 'attic ghost', who resulted to be a racoon that somehow snuck in there a couple of month ago.

—"But make sure to throw the plunger at the monster and not me."— you pinch her cheek while pouting a bit.

—"Hehehe sorry."— she grins, clearly not sorry.

They talk a bit more, and ones (S/N) was completely calm her sibling finally notices the time.

—"Holy cow on a bicycle, it's long past midnight. You were suppoes to be asleep missy."— you say while standing up. —"Come on, let's put you to sleep, you have school tomorrow after all."—

—"Will you read me the new story today?"— she looks up at you with hopefull eyes.

—"Not yet sweetheart, I still need to finish the last pages, or you want to leave the mystery as a cliffhanger?"— you ask with a teasing smile.

—"No! No cliffhangers, they suck!"— she huffs.

—"Yeah, agree. Just wait a bit more, okay? I'm sure I'll finish it due Halloween."—

—"Oki hehe, can't wait to learn what will happen with the birdies this time!"—

The mentioned tale has no name, it's just a little pile of stories (Y/N) and (S/N) created by accident a while ago. It started as a random drabble when the girl asked 'how would we look as owls?' and that's when it began. Both owl characters, that resembled the siblings but with some subtle changes, living the wildest anventures a kid's brain could formulate, from time travel to having a sword fight with skeletons, and despite the ridiculous plots, the stories were a lot of fun to write, draw and tell, specially before sleep.

And tonight wasn't a complete exception, sure it wasn't the story (S/N) hoped to read but an already written one, it still was a lot of fun though!

Ones the story telling session finished and (S/N) was sleeping soundly, (Y/N) decided that it's time for them to go to bed as well.

They started to do their night routine of cleaning around a bit, but something made them pause when they reached the first floor to turn the lights off. They stopped in their tracks with their gaze glued to the back door, specifically... What was in front of it. It looked like piece of paper, one that been uncrumpled.

With furrowed brows and an uneasy feeling in their stomach (Y/N) makes their way towards it, trying to convince themselves that maybe (S/N) left it there it while playing. But their blood goes icy cold when they see what is on the paper...

A orange spinosaurus with a witch hat and a magic wand.

The older sibling grips the paper tightly as they frantically look around, as if trying to find the responsible of this nonsense, yet they saw or found nothing, or maybe they were unaware of it... Of him.

At some point durning their frenzy, (Y/N) stops in front of the window and simply stares into the pitch black backyard. The owls were unnaturally quiet, no casual 'hoo' or the father flying out to get food, no, there was no sound from them at all.

Giving one last glare into the darkness, (Y/N) decides to take their uneasy feeling and the bird's silence as a warning. With a huff they close the curtains and go toward other windows to do the same, they have no idea if there is an actual threat out there but they will do anything to protect their home anyways, even if that means going full paranoia mode.

Their actions didn't went unnoticed of course, as the being (S/N) was so scared of at first was standing there, in the darkness, this whole time. His head slightly tilted as he observed the older sibling go through another frenzy.

Usually, these kind of response to his stalking would amuse him, seeing the sheer panic in the victim's eyes as they stare into the darkness, desperate to find him and coming out unsuccessful despite him being right under their nose the entire time.

With (Y/N) however... It's different. The look they sent into the darkness wasn't just a simple look of uneasiness or distrust, it was a warning. A warning to fight back and kill whatever or whoever dares to disturb them, to disturb their family, their little sister... When his eyes met theirs his breath hitched, he never saw such cold and murderous yet dangerously determined glare on him, not the one (Y/N) had.

He wasn't even aware of the adrenaline that spiked inside of him, his heart beating hard as his chest rised ad fell with each heavy breath, creating small clouds in the chilly October air. He didn't even realize how much that look affected him, how much he desired to feel it on him again, how obsessed he was with their eyes...

The only thing that bugs him is that (Y/N) is most likely not even aware who they just glared at. The especulations of their reaction when they finally uncover the truth make his mind go wild, wondering what kind of look they'll send him, what kind of measures they'll take to protect their own little 'boo' from him, even though...

He didn't even feel the need, or want, to hurt the little one... Or them.

. . .

—"(S/N)! Watch out!"—

—"Woah!- "—

It was one more day in Haddonfiel elementary school, it was currently recess time and the little girl was playing outside with some friends.

—"You almost got hit again, are you okay?"— a friend asks.

The little girl bites her lip.

—"I don't know... I'm super worried about (Y/N), since last week they've been weird. They try to act normal when I'm around, but... When they think I'm not looking I noticed how serious and scared they seem to be, always looking through the windows and even checking the locks almost five times a day!"—

—"Oh wow..."—

—"Yeah... I don't know why they started to act like that! J-Just last week everything was fine and then boom! They're different!"— she says with concern and a bit of frustration.

—"Maybe (Y/N) got snatched by the Boogeyman and got replaced by a doppelganger?"— Terry says, being right behind her, and suddenly grabs her shoulders.

—"Aaah! No! Shut up Terry!"— she exclaims angrily as she slaps his hands away. —"And no one snatched them away! They're just going through a lot of stress!"—

—"That's what the doppelganger wants you to believe! Bet the Boogeyman had already ate the real (Y/N), and soon he's doing to come and eat you~."— the boy says with a sweet yet mischievous tone.

(S/N) grits her teeth both annoyed and angry at her classmate's attempts to scare her. When the ball bumps into her leg she grabs it and with no hesitation throws it at Terry, purposely aiming at his face.

Miraculosly, the boy dodged the ball last second and with a loud goblin-like laugh he runs away, pleased that he got a reaction from the little girl.

—"Hey! The ball-! "—

—"I'll go get it..."— she mumbles, still a bit frustrated and disappointed that it didn't hit the boy.

The ball went quite far despite being thrown by a 6 y/o. The girl rushed towards the direction where the ball went flying, which was the furthest part of the school playfround, slowing down at the end when she realized the ball wasn´t near the fence.

With a more concerned look she takes one or two steps forward, being just 4 feet away from the fence. Her gaze is focused outside of it in hopes that the ball ended up not too far and she could simply reach it. She suddenly stops when noticed some weird tree trunks at the other side... Huh, she's pretty sure a tree trunk is brown and not dark blue, or wears shoes...?

She begins to slowly drag her gaze up and then realizes that the blue 'tree trunk' is not even a tree, but a person, no, a giant!... Wait, he got the ball! (S/N) was about to innocently step closer and ask for the toy but froze in place when she saw the giant's face, a terrifying emotionless mask that made his eyes appear black, like two endless voids staring into her little innocent soul.

The massive stranger then slowly extends his arm, just enough so his hand goes through the bars, silently allowing the little girl retrieve the object.

The girl swallows loudly as she gives quick glances at the ball, which looked so small in the stranger's big hand, and then at his uncanny masked face. Technically it should be safe to take it, the man's hand is barely going through the metal bars of the fence, all she has to do is yoink the toy out of his grasp and run away.

It should be quick, it should be easy!... Yet her body refused to move...

The giant slowly tilts his head, as if silently asking what's wrong and why she's not taking the object back.

Durning this little staring contest, the world around goes completely silent, which made the already tense and eerie atmosphere turn even more bizarre. The girl starts to remember all these talks of 'stranger danger' (Y/N) would give her, and the advice that stick out the most kept resonating in her mind over and over...

"It's okay to judge at times..."

"...for a reason first impressions are a thing."

"Remember songbird...

"...if someone gives you the heebeegeebees, forget politeness..."

"...and get away from them."

And they're right... This giant is giving her the heebeegeebees!

Releasing the breath she didn't know she was holding in all this time, the girl throws one final glance at the man, her innocent eyes expressing fear and distrust as she turns on her heel and runs away like a spooked kitten, completely forgetting about the ball she was supposed to retrieve.

His head straightened as he watches the girl run away, frantically pointing towards his direction when her friends tried to ask what happened but, of course, he was long gone when they looked.

After this little interaction, he was left with a weird yet unpleasant feeling. The way the little girl looked at him made something inside of his chest squeeze, the same feeling he got as a kid when he accidentally made Angel cry for the first time... Is this what guilt and shame feels like?... He can't tell.

He probably shouldn't have revealed himself like this, so out of the blue. But today he was feeling particulary gloomy, and after observing the two siblings for nearly two week he couldn't help but notice how the little one behaved; so carefree, so curious and enthusiastic about nearly everything, so mischievous yet sweet towards her older sibling, worrying about them, caring for them... It reminded him of 'boo' so much.

Is this really how things would've turn out between him and Angel if they grew up together? If he just could've made the things right that night and prove that he can be a good big brother? He'll never know, not when Angel is somewhere else now, hiding from him, not for long though, he will find her eventually and try again... But for now, all he can do is stay hidden and observe, observe the siblings interact and fantasize that one day him and his sister will share the same strong bond...

One day...

. . .

The bell rang, meaning that the final class finished and the kids were free to go home.

(Y/N) is standing outside the school, near the gates where all students were about to come out. They were calmply waiting for their sister to appear, already changing their moody and tired expression for a softer and brighter one so the little girl doesn't worry.

But their happy mask falls off completely when they see their sister exit through the gates. Her eyes and nose had a reddish tone as if she've cried not too long ago, her face was also pale, pale and filled with fear as if she just seen a ghost.

(Y/N) has no time to even formulate a sentence in their mind when their sister suddenly rushed into their arms and let out a muffed sob, one that she've been probably holding back for a while.

Panicked and concerned (Y/N) kneels in front of the girl and gently take one hand into theirs while the other one is wiping the tears sliding down her cheek.

—"(S/N)? My goodness, songbird. What happened?"— you ask, doing your best to keep your tone calm.

The girl hiccups a bit, letting the last couple of sobs out and eventially collecting herself enough to speak.

—"(Y/N)..."— she says in a shaky and tiny voice. —"I think... I-..."—

—"I think I saw the Boogeyman."—

#nothomegal fic #michael myers #rz michael myers x reader #rz michael myers #michael myers x reader #slasher x reader #gn reader #halloween

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insidethebarrier · 2 years

Text

I Told You

You and Henry have been married for 6 years and you have a three-year-old son named Coen. He's the sweetest boy in the world. He has your dimples and his father's blue eyes and dark, curly locks.

One afternoon, you weren't feeling well. You had a headache, your back hurt, you were bloated and your breasts were incredibly tender. You knew your period was soon and that this was only a preview of what was coming.

You were laying down on your bed watching television when Henry comes in and squats down beside your face. He pets your hair lightly. "You don't feel good do you?"

"I'm okay," you smile weakly.

"Can I get you anything?" He asks stroking stray pieces of your hair.

You shake your head. "No, thank you,"

Henry watches you for a second intently before standing and running a hand down your side to your hip and kissing your head.

He leaves for a moment and returns with Coen. Coen runs up to you and climbs on the bed. He holds his stuffed dinosaur out to you to grab. Then he snuggles up close to your chest.

"Sorry, you don't feel very good Mama." He says looking up to meet your eye.

You look down at him and then up to Henry who is standing in the doorway. He's got a grin on his face.

You kiss Coen's forehead. "You know what baby? I feel so much better now that you're here."

Coen smiles in response and buries his face in your chest. Henry comes over to you two. He whispers in your ear. "Makes you want to have another one doesn't it?"

You hum in response and kiss your husband. He smiles and kisses Coen's head before you fall asleep.

Several hours later, you'd woken up feeling much better and finished the rest of your day energetically.

Now you were in bed with Henry. You laid on your stomach propped up by your elbows as you read a book. Henry is facing you on his side with his head elevated by his propped up elbow.

You notice him staring at you.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," He tucks a stray piece of your head behind your ear. "I'm just looking."

You blush and return to your book.

A few minutes pass and Henry breaks the silence. "Coen was really sweet today."

"He was," you agree looking up from your book briefly. "He's just like his daddy."

"I think he needs a sibling," Henry blurts out.

"Oh yeah?" You turn your head to focus completely on Henry.

He nods. "I think he needs a few of them."

"Really?" You bite your lip showing off your dimples.

Henry nods again.

"How many?" you question.

"Oh I don't know," Henry draws circles on your bare shoulder with his finger "three or so"

"Three!?" You ask surprised "where do you think Coen is gonna get all of these siblings?"

Henry kisses your shoulder "from his beautiful mother,"

You laugh at him "You're funny." Returning your attention to your book.

He chuckles on your skin. He starts kissing a trail up to your ear. "I want to have another baby with you," he buries his face in your neck. "Do you want to have another baby with me?"

You slowly meet his eyes. "Yes." You say softly

"Yeah?" He asks leaning back so he can see your face.

"Mhmm." You nod biting your lip.

He kisses you softly a few times and tries to slip a tongue in your mouth. You lightly push him away by his chest. "Not right now though. I'm reading a book. I still don't know who the murderer is."

Henry laughs at you in amazement and flops on his back. "You're gonna be the death of me darling."

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed. You take a shower and follow the smell of bacon to the kitchen in nothing but your silk robe.

Henry is slaving over the stove shirtless cooking breakfast for you and Coen who is sitting at the table lazily playing with his stuffed dinosaur.

"Good morning sunshine," you kiss Coen's head.

"Hi, Mama. Do you feel better?" He asks looking at you through his big blue eyes.

"I sure do." You smile at him. "Did you sleep good?"

Coen nods and returns his attention to his dinosaur.

You walk over to Henry and wrap your arms around his waist from behind. You kiss his strong back.

Henry turns and kisses you on the cheek "Morning Darling,"

You blush and sit up on the counter. You grab a strawberry from the fresh fruit bowl beside you and bite into it. You smile at the sweetness.

"I had a dream about you last night," Henry says turning around to eat the rest of your strawberry.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm,"

"What happened?" You ask eating another strawberry.

He rests a hand on your thigh and runs it up your leg to find you aren't wearing panties. "I had a dream you were pregnant again,"

"Interesting," you wrap your arms around his neck and spread your legs for him to stand in between.

"Yeah," he agrees and kisses you. The sweet taste of strawberries shared between your lips. "Are you pregnant?" He questions playfully.

You grin "No, not yet." You kiss him again.

"Are you sure?" He kisses your neck and moves your robe to the side to expose your medium-sized breast.

"Yes Henry," you say cupping his face to meet your gaze. "I think I would know,"

"Okay," Henry says sounding unconvinced. He grabs your breast and kneads it. "What do you say we put one in there then,"

You remove his hand from your sore breast. "Right here? In front of our son?"

Henry takes lips off your neck and removes his hand from up your robe. He looks behind you to Coen who had laid his head on the table. "I forgot about him." He hangs his head and smiles, teasing you.

You grin and push Henry off of you. You fix your robe and jump off the counter to scoop your resting toddler from the wooden table.

"Wake up baby" you rub Coen's back. "Let's get you some breakfast,"

Later that day, you'd just gotten back from the gym. You were hot and sweaty. Your hair was a mess and your clothes were sticking to you.

You found Henry playing in the garden with Coen and Kal.

"Look who it is!!" Henry announces when he notices his wife on the patio.

"Mama, look what I found," Coen exclaims as he runs over to you. "It's a daddy lion." He opens his hands you reveal a tiny yellow flower.

"A dandelion," Henry corrects.

You squat down to get a better look and hug Coen. "Wow! That's so cool! You must've been playing hard huh?"

Coen nods his head viciously between heavy breaths. "Yeah! And Daddy even let me throw the ball for Kal to go get!"

"He did?" You act surprised.

Coen nods again "Kal was running so fast. He was like," Coen starts running around the yard as fast as he can to demonstrate the dog.

"Wow, that's really fast huh?" You ask when he stops.

"Yeah. I'm not as fast as him." Coen says between heavy breaths. He rests his hands on your legs. "Hey mama?"

"Yes baby," you ask patiently

"I'm hungry,"

"Let's get you some food then," you stand up. "Why don't you go inside and wash your hands really quickly and I'll be there in a second."

Coen runs off to go wash up.

You walk over to Henry who was picking up some of Coen's toys. Kal runs over to you in the process and you bend over to pet him.

Henry just looks at you and smiles.

"What?" You ask feeling his eyes on you.

"You're glowing," he grins

"I'm glistening from the gym," you rationalize.

You stand up straight. Henry starts walking towards the door. "You're glowing from the pregnancy,"

"I'm not pregnant," you call out after him but he keeps walking

"Mhmm,"

This banter continues for days until you finally decide to take a pregnancy test to prove to Henry that you aren't pregnant.

You guys are sitting on the floor in the bathroom and you're sitting in his lap.

"I think you're pregnant" he says kissing you softly on the lips.

"I know I'm not," you kiss him back.

"You are" kiss.

"I'm not" kiss.

"Yes," kiss "You are," Kiss.

You grab the stick from the sink and read it. "I'm pregnant."

Henry's eyes widen. "Really?" He's got the biggest smile on his face.

"Yes," you show him the stick. "How did you know? Did the angel Gabriel tell you?"

He laughs. "No. I was just trying to annoy you. I didn't really think you were."

You laugh at him and smile down at the test. "I'm pregnant again."

Henry cups your face in his hands. He's grinning. "I told you"

"Shut up." You shake your head and kiss him.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x female ofc #henry cavill x ofc #chris evans #chris evans x reader #pregnant

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