#the kiddos are in a cave | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forthelorewick · 14 days ago

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Another one couldn’t hurt… right?

Daddy Joel but not in that way

WC 7.8k - Warnings/content: no outbreak!au, domestic fluff, established relationship (Joel and reader are married), husband!joel x wife!reader, some physical descriptions, results of childbearing, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected p-in-v, oral sex (f receiving), breeding kink (even if your eyes are wide open, you don’t need to squint), age gap relationship, reader is 32 & Joel is 46 (met at 19 and 33),

pt. 2

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

You and Joel decide to take your kids for ice cream on a restless night.

Usually the kids were in bed by 9:00pm, but for some reason, the house was wide awake on this particular Saturday night.

Even you and Joel, who usually hoped to be in bed at 10pm since you both like waking up early and enjoying a quiet early morning together.

Your son, who is currently in his “obsessed with daddy” phase (you wonder if any of them would truly grow out of that, seeing as your now 6 year old daughter still favors him over you…. traitors) clings to Joel’s legs as he plays with them, trying to wear off all of the sugar they just consumed.

You watch from the picnic table outside the ice cream shop which happens to stay open until midnight, watching your kids play in the grass. They’re running around and throwing themselves at Joel, who catches them and rough houses with them.

You see him glance over to you as he’s now perched on all fours, his chest heaving from the exertion of playing with energetic kids, the two youngins take this opportunity of distraction to jump on his back. You hear a “humph” of strain from the man who still hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. He smiles that devilish smile, the one you know all too well. The one that made three kids to begin with. You roll your eyes and absent-mindedly bite your lip as your youngest watches her oldest siblings from your lap.

You shake your head as he stands up, sliding the two wily children off of him, and motions the two of you over to join the chaos, your son and daughter his biggest cheerleaders in his endeavor. You set your toddler down gently as she wiggles in defiance, attempting to escape your grasp. She makes a mad dash for it (as fast as a thirty-two month old can realistically dash…) and you chuckle, following her over to the grass.

“How’s daddy doing over here with these menaces?”

“I’m not a menace!” Your son says as he grabs Joel’s legs, attempting to take them out from beneath him.

“No?” You hear giggles erupt from your children. They had now somehow managed to get your husband to the ground, and were stubbornly sitting on his back again.

You tsk your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“I’m fine…” Joel grumbles from beneath them, sighing in faux defeat before glancing back up at you and smirking. He’s recruiting you to help ‘get them off me’, his big, brown eyes plead.

You get into character immediately, the infamous lion they call “mommy” emerges as she grabs each youngling and drags them back to her cave which is just a separate patch of grass,“You’re mine now, what will you do!”

They plead for daddy, whilst giggling infectiously. Your youngest reaches her hands up for her dad who is watching with his hands on his hips and a wide grin. “Alright, c’mon…” he leans down to pick her up and extends a hand to help you up off of the ground.

The giggles begin dying down but your son keeps randomly getting bursts of the giggles… and that’s how you know you successfully wore them out.

“Let’s get you little cubs home.”

You look over to Joel whose eyes are already on you, he gently motions his head to your youngest who is already snoozing against his shoulder as he carries her back to the car. Your four and six year old have managed to climb into the car and you give each of them a kiss on their cheek as you buckle them up in their car seats. “You and daddy are always fun…” your oldest daughter grumbles sleepily.

“Well, we’ve got some fun kiddos like you to keep us young.”

She smiles at this and nods gently, “I’m ready for bed now, mommy.”

“So am I, sweet pea, let’s get home.”

Joel patiently waits in the driver’s seat after getting the youngest into her car seat. You climb into the passenger's seat and let out a sigh. “Wore me out…” you lean your head against the headrest and look over to Joel.

He raises a singular eyebrow “too worn out?”

You shake your head lightly, “I could be persuaded otherwise.”

His hand meets your thigh, squeezing it firmly then sliding it higher and higher… “you’re such a good mama.” His thumb trails circles on your thigh, you hum contentedly at his gentle and soothing touch.

“You’re a wonderful daddy,” and he should know how much you adore him. How much you know his true calling is being a dad to the three munchkins now sleeping in their car seats.

“Can I have another one?”

Your jaw slightly opens in disbelief, “Seriously? Four? Could we even handle that?”

“I mean don’t you like the intervals? Two, four, six….” he tilts his head and a sly smile spreads on his face…. “we’re due for another.”

You playfully swat at his arm. “I’d be forty-six when the last one even reaches high school.”

You watch as Joel calculates the numbers and his eyes light up as he looks back at you briefly with a shimmer of mischievousness appearing in them. “Is that a yes?”

You roll your eyes.

“How about once we potty train little miss Ellie and we can… discuss it,” you knew she was getting close to being fully potty trained. She was rounding nearer to her third birthday and it had been pretty smooth sailing. You wanted to make sure no regression would happen if you and Joel decided to have another. That is why you spaced them out in the first place, even if it was only two years between.

“Whatever you want to do, baby… I can deal without too.” He crooks his finger and motions for you to lean closer so the kids can’t hear what he’s about to say. “Just want to see your tight, sexy pregnant body one more time… it will be the last time, I promise.”

Your face flushes red, reminiscing on the absolute ferality that emerges from Joel when he sees the evidence of the seed he planted deep within you take root and bloom. “You said that last time…” you scold, reaching your hand behind his head, your fingernails finding his scalp, scratching and massaging his head just how he likes it.

You hear a groan of approval and appreciation, quiet enough so they kids can’t hear, but loud enough that you could as you lean in closer.

“I think you’re warming up to my idea, aren’t ya.. I’ll take good care of ya, promise.”

And he does take such good care of you, especially when you’re pregnant… catering to your cravings, your insecurities, even helping you exercise since you can’t stand the recovery your body had to go through with your first one. Now that was a rough pregnancy, and the first usually is.

The other two had been seemingly a breeze in comparison. No tears and no leftover scars, the other natural changes you thought were truly beautiful. Stretch marks, a little bit of loose skin that has slowly been going away as you continue exercising, but you know it will never truly be gone. No one told you how strong your arms, thighs, and back would get, you have pretty defined muscles in those areas due to lugging around children and whatever they came with to their different activities and outings. Even your calves looked crazy to you, like you had gone back to your youthful soccer days.

But you still felt insecure about your body, even whilst knowing the reality of “bouncing back” is a misogynist view on childbearing completely… you wish you hadn’t gained the last twenty pounds, even though they do look good on you.

They filled in your breasts and ass, and Joel… well, he surely had no complaints. Evidence of bearing his children and being a realistic mama who was able to bounce back into shape out of necessity for your job and for the energetic kids who now outnumbered you.

You had been a small thing, really, compared to him at least… he had found that sexy as hell too. Meeting a young thing like you so independent and sure of yourself. Melting him and wrapping him around your finger in a way he had never intended but had no regrets. Your preference for older men was rooted in your need for someone who could hold their own against you, who could handle your spitfire mouth, your need for emotional, mental, and physical enrichment. Could handle the fact that you made more money than he did, that you had the ambition that could drive you endlessly.

He had enjoyed your youth and your energy being solely reserved for him and for the first four years of marriage– until you decided you were ready to grow your family, to expand the love you shared for each other into raising children. Pregnancy really did look good on you in every regard. Even in its rougher moments. Being a mom looked even better on you in Joel’s opinions. Even, especially, in its rough moments. Your ability to handle yourself, yet asking for help when you needed it was so fucking sexy to him.

“Just get me home, daddy,” you never said that word in any way but referring to him in front of the kids, or in the context of making him one… you watched as he shifted in the driver's seat, his pants tightening at your words.

He pulls into the driveway a few moments later, his grip causing his knuckles to turn white as he opens the garage door, pulls the car in, and hastily, yet as calmly as he can as to not rouse the children… begins to unbuckle them to take them to their beds. The faster they’re settled, the faster you two can get some much needed alone time.

“Goodnight my little gremlins, sweet dreams,” you heard him from outside their room. The house was large enough for them to have their own rooms when they wanted them, but even your oldest insisted it helped her sleep knowing her siblings were right there where she could hear and see them.

You think she might have a little bit of anxiety, especially since she was the only child who had experienced a death in the family, at least one that she could semi-understand.

Joel’s mother passed away when Sarah was four, she was curious and incredibly empathetic of her daddy who was visibly distraught and mourning the loss. She didn’t quite understand it, how could she? It was confusing to such a young child, going to a funeral and seeing her grandmother who smelled of warmth and cookies… suddenly cold and in a box. It felt almost cruel to bring her, hoping to distract her with the snacks and treats they had provided the family in the back room.

You didn’t want to shield her from reality, that wasn’t the point, but it wasn’t right to force her into processing death when she was just beginning to process life. Artie had only been two at the time, and though you don’t want to discredit his experience as a baby observing the world— you knew he didn’t process it like Sarah did. And you had been pregnant with Ellie, it felt wrong to receive “congratulations” from relatives you rarely saw or had any real acquaintance with. Celebrating new life and the life of a loved one who had passed on simultaneously.

Regardless, Sarah liked keeping her younger siblings under close supervision, and it warmed your heart to know how close she and her siblings were. What would you not give to have a relationship like that with your siblings? And well, Joel and Tommy, as strained as their relationship got at certain points, they had grown up and were as thick as thieves at this point. Tommy, still the trouble maker, but had redirected his tendency for trouble into kid-friendly mischief and your kids adored him for it.

But it wasn’t his brother on your mind right now, it was the ever-capable, supportive, nurturing, and patient brother whom you had fallen in love with. The strong, broad, and stern man who made your legs weak as you watched his tenderness with your little ones.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him lay your oldest down gently in her “big girl bed”, you can’t help the smile that spreads on your face. You’re sure the term to describe the way you looked at him was ‘dreamy’, wondering how the hell you got so lucky.

He gives each kid a kiss on the forehead and makes sure the nanny cam is on, every night…

As he turns to leave, he catches you staring, he always does, and that cocky smirk of his shows up right on cue.

He quirks an eyebrow then raises them playfully, his hands find your hips as he pushes you backwards, and briefly turns back around to close the door to their room gently, leaving you alone again, finally.

“Think we tired ‘em out, they’re out cold” his voice is low and suggestive, his eyes never leaving yours as his hands grip your waist tighter, your back meeting the wall opposite of their door.

You feel his hot breath on your cheek as he gently presses his lips to it.

“I love you,” he presses kisses down your chin and to your jaw, then proceeds to nuzzle his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His arms wrap tightly around you.

Your fingers run through his hair, the soft, grey curls at the back of his neck were one of your very favorite things in this whole world.

He hums at the sensation, contentedly remaining where he was in the crook of your neck, you press a kiss to his temple.

“You seem tired, baby,” you say softly, your hands cupping his face and bringing him up to where you could see his eyes.

He smiles sleepily, “No ‘m not.” It was the least convincing denial you’d ever heard.

His eyes are searching yours, the sparkle of adoration so visible in those big brown eyes of his. So soft, so perfect.

“Okay, big brown eyes, let’s go to bed,” those same eyes light up and he complies, allowing you to lead him to the master bedroom.

He gently leads you to the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you collapse onto it together. He peppers kisses wherever he can reach, causing you to giggle infectiously. “Baby…” he croons, his arms loosening as his arms start to wander. His fingertips finding the hem of your sweatshirt and slowly… slowly tracing the waistband of your shorts.

You can’t help the little sounds you make as soon as he touches you. It’s an involuntary response that he just adores. His touch is an aphrodisiac to you. Intentionally or not, he melts you.

“Just a… a practice round, yeah?” And those doey eyes looking up at you send a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your legs, “Please, darlin… I’ll be real good, promise.”

God, and the way he begs. Your hands find his hair and your fingers run through his beautiful greying hair. You pull him to you, his eyes searching yours with that grin pulling at his lips.

“Need to hear ya, baby… you too tired?”

You shake your head, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he settles between your legs, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your lower belly, causing you to shiver. His eyes enraptured with the sight of his skin against yours.

“Not too tired.” You finally say, perfectly content just watching him.

“What’d’ya say, darlin, wanna get out of these?” His fingers hook under the waistband of your shorts and you nod your head in encouragement, lifting your hips in order for him to slide them down and off your legs.

“Look at’cha… what a mess f’me.” His eyes scan over you as his fingers smooth over the smooth skin of your thighs, humming as he touches you.

He always makes you feel so beautiful.

“Joel, please.”

“Somethin’ ya need, sweetheart? Just enjoyin’ the view.” He leans his head down and presses a kiss to your navel causing you to shudder beneath him. He groans at that, pressing a longer, messier kiss to your hipbone, flattening his tongue against your skin and dragging upwards from your hip.

“Get up here,” your hands cup his face and you’re dragging him up your body. You pull him against you, lips crashing against yours and you groan in satisfaction. His tongue sliding out to open you up for him. You happily oblige, humming contentedly as one hand grips your hip, the other sliding beneath your sweatshirt. You can feel the tension through the denim pressed against your inner thigh and you can’t help but arch into the sensation, but his grip on your hip keeps you flat against the bed.

“I’ll get there, y’know I’ve gotta get’cha ready first, darlin’.” And with that… his hand is trailing down from your hipbone and pushing your legs wider… the back of his fingers teasing up the softness of your inner thigh.

He shimmies down, and looks up at you before dragging his eyes over your spread legs for him.

“Take off your shirt, let me see you…”

You quickly do as he says, sliding off your sweatshirt and your sports bra you had on beneath it.

His eyes immediately drinking you in, his head dipping down to press kisses to your skin again, trailing them up… and up… until he reaches the taut peaks of your nipples, his tongue flicking out to tease them, then gently biting down on one, your body arches into him, unable to help the gasp that rips from your throat.

“Jesus, Joel—” You whisper it like a confession, one hand threading into his hair as he lavishes your breast with his mouth, greedy and unhurried like he’s got nowhere else to be.

He hums low against your chest, dragging his tongue across your nipple before kissing lower. Down your ribs, your belly, every inch of skin he can reach with lips and teeth. You swear he’s trying to devour you in pieces, like if he takes his time, he won’t lose control too fast.

“You’re always so soft here,” he murmurs against the dip of your stomach, hand smoothing over your hip. “Drives me fuckin’ crazy.”

And then he’s settled between your thighs again, pressing a kiss right over your clit before dragging his tongue slowly and deliberately between your folds. You gasp, hips twitching, but he pins you easily with a hand splayed across your belly. His hands are so big compared to you…. covering almost your entire torso below your breasts.

“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs. “Lemme take my time.”

He moans at your taste, eyes fluttering shut like he’s savoring it. Then he dives back in, tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles before flattening against your clit. Your back arches into him, chasing that sensation, but his grip was firm in keeping you flat against the mattress.

“Joel, fuck…” Your voice breaks as your hand fists in the sheets, the sensation already too much and not enough all at once,

He grunts against you, tongue fucking into your entrance before he pulls back and slides two fingers in deep and slow, like he’s prepping you for something bigger. Which he most certainly was.

“Gotta get you ready,” he mutters, almost to himself, curling his fingers just right as his mouth finds your clit again. “Get this sweet pussy nice and open f’me. Gotta get you good and full tonight.”

You whimper, thighs starting to shake around his head. He feels it, hears it, and doubles down, licking and sucking, practically wringing the orgasm out of you by force. Like he needs it, needs to taste you fall apart before he lets himself have you.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he growls against you, tongue relentless. “I know you’re close. Wanna feel you cum all over my tongue.”

Your whole body tightens, your orgasm crests so fast you barely have time to warn him before it crashes down on you—loud, breathless, soaking.

He groans as you cum, lapping at everything you give him, not stopping even when you’re shaking and whimpering from overstimulation.

Finally, he pulls back, face wet and eyes heavy. His fingers slide out of you slow, gently, and he presses a kiss to your thigh.

“Always so fucked-out just by my tongue…” When he crawls back up your body, you can feel him, hard and hot through his jeans, practically throbbing against your skin.

He’s breathing heavy, mouth slick, eyes wild. He looks at you like he wants to ruin you and worship you in the same breath.

“You’re mine,” he mutters, like it’s a warning. Like it’s the only truth he knows. He presses his forehead to yours, lips brushing yours as he pants. “You hear me, baby? Mine. Every fuckin’ inch of you.”

You nod in agreement, dazed, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. “Yours. Always.”

That does something to him. He growls low in his throat, almost like he hurts with it, grinding his denim covered erection against your thigh. His hands are frantic now, undoing his belt, dragging his jeans down and stepping off of the bed just enough so he could drag his shirt over his head and kick his jeans off. He crawls back over you, his cock thick and heavy against you, already leaking. He hisses as he rubs the head through your slick folds, not pushing in yet, just teasing, watching how you twitch for it.

“Joel, please,” you whimper, trying to lift your hips. But he pushes you flat again, one hand splayed over your lower belly, right where he’s planning on making his seed stick… right where he’ll watch another baby of his grow inside you.

His grin is dark, his eyes filled with adoration and affection, his voice dripping with possession. “C’mon, baby, lemme hear it. Tell me you want me to fuck a baby into you.”

“Please, give me another baby…”

Satisfied with your plea, he drives into you in one smooth, brutal thrust, forcing a sob from your throat as he fills you to the hilt. So deep you feel like he’s split you open, and he fucking loves it, you love it.

“Christ,” he groans, head dropping to your shoulder as your cunt clenches around him. “So tight… made f’me.”

He pulls out slowly and slams back in, grinding his hips against you, deep and punishing. “This is mine,” he hisses, fucking you like he’s trying to carve the truth into your bones. “This pussy, this body, this fuckin’ womb‘s mine.”

You’re gasping, clawing at his back, and he doesn’t slow down. His thrusts stay steady, possessive, deep enough to bruise. Every time he bottoms out, his hand presses into your belly like he’s trying to make room for what he’s giving you.

“Gonna knock you up tonight, baby,” he groans, voice breaking as his pace falters just a bit. “Gonna fill you up ‘til I see it start takin’, won’t stop ‘til I do.”

“Joel, fuck, give it to me, please…”

“I’m going to,” he grits out, slamming into you one last time and holding, grinding, staying deep. “Fuckin’ take it, baby. Take all of it.”

He moans into your neck as he cums, cock pulsing inside you, heat spilling deep. His whole body shudders with it, broken and desperate, like he’s giving you everything he has.

He doesn’t pull out, doesn’t even move. He just stays there, cock still buried inside

“Gonna keep it there,” he mumbles, almost drunk on it. “Keep you like this. Stuffed full.”

—

You don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped up in him, the only sounds are your mingled breath and the quiet thump of his heartbeat against your chest.

He’s still inside you, still thick and warm, as you pulse around him faintly. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other tangled in your hair, fingers stroking lazy paths along your scalp like he’s trying to soothe both of you back down to earth.

“Y’alright?” he murmurs, voice gone gravel-soft, lips brushing your temple.

You hum, barely a whisper. “More than alright.”

Joel smiles against your skin, you feel it before you see it.

“Good girl.” His hand drifts lower, resting over your lower belly. Just resting there, like he’s grounding himself in the possibility of what he just gave you. “You feelin’ it too?”

You nod, breath catching when his palm presses just a little more firmly. “Feels warm,” you whisper. “Full.”

His eyes flick down to where your bodies are still joined, and he groans quietly like the sight alone is going to undo him again.

“Gonna take,” he says, almost reverent. “I know it will.”

You reach up to touch his face, fingers brushing his scruff, “You really want another little one, huh?”

He leans into your touch, eyes going a little soft, a little faraway. “Want another you,” he says simply. “Little baby with your eyes and my stubbornness…”

That makes you laugh, your body shaking against his. “We already have three of those.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh, curling closer around you. “And I’d take ten more. All of ‘em runnin’ around, lookin’ like you…”

His voice catches there, low and wrecked, and his hand in your hair stills for a moment. “You remember what we said we’d name the next one? If it was a girl?”

You blink up at him, heart lurching. “You remember that?”

“‘Course I do,” he murmurs. “Been thinkin’ about it ever since you told me you’d maybe wanna try again while holding little newborn Ellie in the hospital.”

His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, “Rosalie.”

You feel something tighten in your chest. The way he says it. Soft and hopeful and his.

You whisper it back to him, “Rosalie.”

He exhales slowly through his nose. “Rosie,” he tests out the nickname, “God, I’d spoil the hell outta her.”

“You already spoil all of them.”

“Not like I would her,” he says, then adds with a smirk, “She’d be our last. I’d make damn sure she knew she was daddy’s girl. The baby girl of the family.”

You grin up at him, but before you can say anything, you feel him twitch inside you.

He sees the realization on your face and groans. “Shit.”

“What?”

He presses his forehead to yours, “You keep squeezin’ me like that and—fuck, baby—”

Your legs shift around his hips. Just a little. Just enough to make both of you moan at the sensation.

“You gonna fuck another one into me?” you whisper, kissing along his jaw.

His breath stutters, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

This time it’s slower, but not gentle.

He draws back just a bit and thrusts forward again, deeper than before, the kind of grind that feels like he’s trying to fit even more of himself inside you. Your body’s already open, already slick and aching and so sensitive, but he fucks into you like he still needs more. Like his body doesn’t know how to stop wanting yours.

You moan, clutching at his back. “Joel, god, feels so full…”

“Yeah?” He thrusts again, sharp and slow, hips tilting just right. “You feel me there, sweetheart? Right where that baby’s gonna grow?”

Your body clenches around him and he growls, snapping his hips harder.

“Wanna be round with my baby again? Let everybody see what I did to you?” his voice drawls in your ear.

You can’t answer. You’re gone, lost in the rhythm, in the weight of him over you, in the heat and the stretch and the promise of it all.

He kisses you then, slow and filthy, rocking into you like a man in love and in heat all at once. Like he’s not just trying to get you pregnant, he’s trying to become a part of you.

Again. And again. And again.

His tongue brushes yours while his cock sinks in and out of you, slow but heavy. His hands frame your face like you’re fragile, like he’s holding onto something holy.

And still, his hips keep grinding into you, deep.

Your fingers curl into the back of his neck as you whimper into his mouth. “God, Joel, feels so good like this…”

“I know, baby,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “You were made f’me, made for my cock to fill you up.”

He pulls back just far enough to look down, to watch the way your bodies move together. The way you cling to him. “Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he murmurs, rough but tender, “All fucking mine…”

His hands slip down to cradle your hips, thumbs brushing the crease of your thighs as he adjusts his angle and fucks up into you just a little harder.

That angle makes you gasp, your body tensing beneath him.

“Right there, huh?” He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “Yeah, I know.”

He finds it again. And again.

His cock drags over that spot with every thrust, and you swear you feel him everywhere… not just inside, but in your blood. In your lungs. Under your ribs.

“Joel,” you gasp, hands scrabbling at his back. “I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna cum… ”

He shushes you softly, nuzzling your cheek. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

His pace stays steady, deep and rhythmic, and he keeps whispering to you, low and reverent, coaxing your body toward the edge like he’s guiding you through it.

“Let me feel you cum on my cock. Let me feel this pussy milk me dry, baby, fuck, that’s it.”

Your orgasm tears through you like a wave, blinding and loud, your back arching off the mattress as you cry out his name. Your body clamps down around him and he swears, eyes rolling back.

He groans, fucking you through it. “Goddamn, y’feel that? Y’feel what ya do to me?”

You’re still trembling when he starts to lose it, his thrusts get rougher, deeper, more desperate. His mouth presses to your neck, open and hot, biting down gently like he’s trying to anchor himself to you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grits out, hips stuttering. “Gonna fill you up again. Gonna fuck you full—shit—”

You reach up and cup his face, forcing his eyes on yours. “Cum inside me, Joel…” you whisper, pulling his lips to yours and swallowing his moans.

That’s all it takes.

He slams into you one final time and stays there, buried deep as he groans through clenched teeth, spilling into you again with so much force you feel it. Heat floods your core, thick and warm and relentless, and he keeps rocking through it— slow, possessive, like he’s grinding it further inside, fucking his spend further inside you, urging it to stick.

When it’s over, his whole body goes slack on top of you, chest heaving. But he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t even think of pulling out.

Just buries his face in your neck and breathes you in.

You both lay there tangled in each other, the room thick with sweat and heat and the scent of sex. His cum already starting to slip from you, and yet he stays, hand over your belly like he’s already guarding something precious.

“I hope it took,” you murmur after a while, dazed and raw.

He kisses your cheek, “It did.”

You smile at the ceiling, tears prickling your lashes from the high of it all, “You sound so sure.”

“I am.” His voice is hoarse, but warm. Certain. “’Cause I want it too bad for the universe not to give it to me. And I’ll fuck you full ‘til it does.”

You both lay there for a while, tangled up in silence, his weight warm and grounding on top of you, cock still nestled deep where he left himself. His hand strokes gently over your belly, thumb moving in soft circles like he’s already trying to calm the baby that might be forming there.

After a few minutes, you speak, quiet and a little breathless. “She’d be perfect.”

“Rosalie,” Joel says, like it’s already real. “A little girl with your smile, my eyes, and your fearlessness… god help us.”

You giggle softly, your fingers brushing through the sweat-damp curls at the back of his neck.

There’s a pause, “But if it’s a boy…”

You meet his eyes. “Then he’d be perfect too,” you whisper. “And loved just the same.”

Joel smiles, eyes crinkling. “Damn right.” He kisses you again, slow and deep, “Think we should try as often as possible,” he murmurs against your lips, “Just in case.”

—

You must’ve drifted off like that, limb-locked and sated, your head tucked beneath Joel’s chin and his arms wrapped around you like you might float away if he let go.

The sun’s just starting to bleed through the curtains when you stir again, a warm, heavy pressure still nestled deep inside you. Joel’s breath fans against your temple, steady and even, his cock still inside you, just barely hardening again with every subtle shift of your hips.

You hum softly, content, and press a sleepy kiss to his chest. He tightens his arm around you in response, voice rough from sleep.

“Mm. Mornin’, baby.”

“Morning,” you whisper. “You stayed in.”

“Damn right I did,” he grumbles, hand smoothing over your lower belly. “Gotta keep it there. Lock it in.”

You laugh, nose scrunching as you curl into him. “That’s not how it works, y’know.”

“Don’t care,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Still tryin’.”

You’re about to reply… something soft, something stupid and married and in love…. when it happens.

SLAM.

“MOMMY!! DADDY!!” a voice shrieks from down the hall, followed by the unmistakable sound of two smaller sets of feet thundering toward your door. “Can we have pancakes? Artie said you said we could!”

Joel’s eyes snap open.

Your eyes go wide.

You barely have time to gasp before the doorknob rattles.

“Shit, Joel!”

“Goddammit…” he grumbles against the skin of your neck.

He flails out one arm blindly and lobs the nearest pillow straight at the door like it’ll magically lock it on contact. It hits the wood with a thud and flops to the ground uselessly.

You’re already wheezing with laughter, dragging the sheets up over both of your heads as the door creaks open.

“Nope!” Joel yells, voice panicked and muffled under the covers. “No entry! everybody turn around or no pancakes!”

You hear giggles ripple through them as Sarah blocks her younger siblings from breaching the door and closes it again.

Joel hurriedly slides on a pair of shorts, looking back at you briefly and giving you an appreciative once over before he leaves the room to give you time to get decent.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, Joel’s already at the stove, flipping pancakes like it’s a sport. Shirtless, hair still a mess, a little bite mark just above the waistband of his shorts still healing from nights before.

Artie is perched on a step stool next to him, stirring the batter with the intensity of a scientist solving time travel.

“Daddy said I could help if I focus,” he informs you, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. “I’m focused.”

Sarah’s at the table, drawing furiously with a red crayon. You peek over her shoulder and smile.

“Whatcha got goin’ on over here?” you ask.

“It’s a menu.” She beams up at you. “For our restaurant. We’re calling it Pancakes and Pickles.”

You glance at Joel, but he doesn’t even look up.

“Ellie likes pickles and pancakes,” Sarah says matter-of-factly.

From her high chair, Ellie yells, “Cancakes!” Close enough.

Joel finally turns, a spatula in one hand, a coffee mug in the other, “I’ve lost control of the house.”

You kiss his cheek, brushing past him to pour juice for the kids, two sippy cups and one regular glass for Sarah, “You never had it.”

“Mm,” he hums, eyes drifting down your body, voice lower, “You’re wearin’ my shirt.”

“And you’re wearin’… not enough.”

He groans and flips the last pancake onto the plate, “Didn’t have the time or the brain power to care enough. Why, got a problem with it?”

You smirk, sliding in close beside him as he adjusts the skillet and turns off the stove. “Not a problem,” you murmur, trailing your fingers just barely along the waistband of his shorts, “just an observation.”

Joel turns his head slightly, catching the curve of your smile, eyes glinting with something decidedly not breakfast-related. “Mm. That right?”

You simply nod and pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your hands leaving his warm body as you turn and help Artie step off of the stool.

It takes some effort, some light wrangling, and one minor debate about whose pancake was ‘most circle-shaped,’ but eventually, all three kids are seated and eating.

Ellie is completely absorbed in tearing apart a pancake with her hands. Artie is humming between bites, feet swinging beneath the table and syrup already on his chin— he’s the messiest eater of the bunch. Sarah dips her pancake in syrup with one hand and reaches for her cup of orange juice with the other.

You and Joel finally sit down, mugs of warm coffee in hand. He exhales and nudges your knee under the table.

“I think we did it.”

You sip your coffee and smile, “You say that now. Wait ‘til the sugar kicks in.”

But for now, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that only comes after a storm of small feet and tiny demands, when every little body is fed and content and distracted by their own mess.

And just like that, the morning keeps rolling, pancakes disappearing, syrup clinging to little fingers and through it all, Joel stays close. Always touching you. A hand at your waist, a brush of his thigh. Not in a rushed way… just the quiet, unshakable comfort of a man who’s exactly where he wants to be.

As soon as he’s done eating, Artie hops down with a bounce and immediately scampers off toward the living room, yelling, “I’m a race car!” as he makes screeching noises and slides across the hardwood in his socks.

Joel watches him go with a slow shake of his head. “He’s gonna crash into the coffee table again.”

“He’ll learn,” you say, handing him a dish towel as you set the syrup bottle back on the counter.

“Will he?” Joel raises a brow, then a thud echoes from the next room, followed by Artie’s cheerful, “I’m otay!” You adored his little ‘otays’.

You wince at the sound of him crashing though, “he’ll learn… eventually. That’s why we don’t have any pointy edges.”

Sarah skips past next, not even looking at either of you as she makes her way to the toy box and grabs an array of plastic food. “We’re playing restaurant in the living room now. I’m the boss.”

Joel steps up behind you as you begin rinsing the plates, his hands settling on your hips, “Remind me again how we ended up outnumbered?”

You lean back into him, sighing contentedly. “Lack of impulse control and your dangerous hands.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He hums, mouth grazing your shoulder, “I still want another…”

“Daddy!” Sarah’s voice rings out from the living room. “We need a customer!”

Joel sighs theatrically, peeling himself away from you with a lingering squeeze to your waist. “Duty calls.”

You finish tidying the last of the dishes and wander into the living room to find Joel seated at the kids’ play table, knees to his chest, while Sarah takes his order with a notepad and Artie stands behind her wearing a blanket-cape, calling himself Chef Lightning.

Joel glances up at you with a smirk, clearly suffering but in that happy, ‘I’d die for these gremlins’ kind of way. “I asked for pancakes and coffee ‘n I’m gettin’ glitter spaghetti and orange juice in a bowl.”

Ellie toddles up to you, and you scoop her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead and settle on the couch, watching your husband pretend to eat imaginary food and nod gravely as Artie explains the “flavor” of a crayon as he pretends to feed it to his Superman action figure.

Joel catches your eye and smiles, slow and warm, the kind of smile that still makes your stomach flutter after all these years. He holds up his fake fork, gestures to the invisible plate, and mouths, ‘best thing I ever tasted’.

You shake your head, grinning widely at the antics of your creative kids, your heart so very full.

Ellie giggles in your lap, Sarah starts setting up a “drive-thru” by the window, and Artie decides he doesn’t want to work in the restaurant anymore and climbs up, then plops down next to you on the couch.

It’s loud, messy, and perfect. It’s yours.

Joel looks at you again, eyes lingering just a second too long, like even surrounded by noise and spilled toys, all he sees is you.

Before too long, Sarah decides her restaurant is short-staffed and kicks Joel out, much to his dismay.

He finds his place next to you and stretches out, legs kicked up on the ottoman.

Ellie’s babbling turns into quiet humming as she settles between the two of you.

You turn your head to find Joel already watching you. His expression is pure warmth. Eyes just a little tired, just a little dazed with contentment. He doesn’t say anything, just lets his hand slide along your thigh, fingers curling gently over your knee.

You lean into him again and let the moment hang there, the two of you tucked into the soft center of the life you built. No rush. No noise you can’t handle. Just love… loud, syrup-sticky, and golden.

And eventually, Joel shifts. Not to get up, not to chase anyone, just to lay back. Arms folded behind his head, one foot still hooked lazily on the edge of the ottoman.

Sarah’s the last to join after she cleans the play kitchen to her standards, which really means she just stuffed things into the ovens, then climbs up at the other end of the couch and curls her legs underneath her.

It’s not silent, it’s not even still as your oldest two argue briefly about who’s going to be the boss next time. But it’s your kind of peace.

And when Joel lets his hand drift across your belly, not suggestive, just… present, you know he’s thinking what you are:

There’s no place else he’d rather be.

—

The late morning sun stretches high by the time the kids are herded outside to enjoy the early fall weather.

Joel’s got Artie on his shoulders who’s arms are out like wings. Sarah’s leading the charge across the backyard with a stick she insists is a wizard’s staff, and Ellie’s tottering through the grass with you .

The backyard adventure starts with fairy hunting, turns into mud stomping, and ends in a dinosaur chase Joel doesn’t remember agreeing to. You’re on lookout duty from the porch now, sipping another cup of coffee and grinning as Joel jogs after Sarah, pretending to roar while Artie hollers from the playground, “Youll never take us alive!”

Ellie is tucked happily into the baby swing, chubby hands wrapped tight around the chains, feet kicking gently at nothing. She watches the chaos around her with that quiet, wide-eyed wonder she’s always had. She’s content to observe, to exist in the stillness while her siblings thunder across the grass.

Joel now keeps a hand on her swing, giving it the occasional gentle push. He leans in every so often to press a kiss to the top of her head, lips brushing over those soft, wild curls.

The same curls he has.

They’ve got the same lazy bend, the same unruly softness that no brush can tame. And there’s something else too, something unspoken but unmistakable in the way she watches the world from behind those big eyes.

She’s like him.

They all carry pieces of him and of you, that’s how the whole thing worked, after all.

Sarah, your eldest, is halfway up the tree in the far corner of the yard, her hair wild, her legs scraped, her voice clear and bossy as she calls down rules for a game she’s entirely making up on the spot for the fifteenth time today alone.

Joel says that’s she’s your mirror. She’s fierce and clever, filled with words and opinions, her independence sharp-edged and bright. She wants to lead everything. Needs to know why, and how, and what comes next. But she’s soft in the ways that matter most, tender with her siblings, always aware of who needs help and who needs space.

Joel watches her sometimes with this quiet awe, like he can’t believe someone that bold came from him.

And then there’s Artie.

Artie, who runs too fast and feels too hard. Who tells stories with his whole body. Who cries big and laughs bigger. He’s dramatic, yes, but his heart is massive. When he loves something, he means it. And he gets that from Joel too, the intensity of it. The way he’ll throw himself headfirst into any cause, any game, any cuddle pile.

He calls Joel his best friend.

He crawls into his lap mid-sentence, and drags his blanket across the house just to sit next to him while he drinks coffee in the mornings before work.

You still can’t believe it… these three little people, formed from your bodies and held together by your love. Bits of you and bits of him, but entirely themselves.

You couldn’t wait to see Ellie’s personality continue blooming into whoever she’s meant to be.

And the thought of it, of another whole little human, another perfect blend of you and Joel growing quietly inside you, made your heart ache in the sweetest way. You’d carry a dozen of his babies if you could, if time and space and biology weren’t pressing in at the edges. But you knew this would have to be the last.

Joel was nearing fifty… he didn’t look it, didn’t act it, still moved like a man years younger, and fucked like he was even younger than that… but the years were stacking. Your own clock ticking even faster beside his.

If it was going to happen… it had to be now.

One more baby. One last time to feel full in every sense of the word.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Quick break from the angst, just wanted a fluffy one-shot for my unapologetic baby fever, I’m ovulating okay!! Heavily based off of me and my husband who don’t have kids yet because just like these two we wanted to wait a little bit to just enjoy our marriage and our youth hehehe. He’s only 37! He’s just a baby!

Pt. 2 is up now!

#joel the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #no outbreak au #no outbreak!joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller fluff

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wow-thisismylifeiguess · 7 months ago

Text

AU where Bruce isn’t Batman and the ‘Brucie’ persona is mostly real, but he’s also not an idiot and well aware that his kids are vigilantes

Bruce, “I just wish Dickie chose a better costume than that. I mean, look at him! He’s like a traffic light.”

Alfred, “I believe it’s a similar outfit to one his mother designed for him when he was younger.”

Bruce, “….nevermind, I take it back. He’s my beautiful baby boy and his outfit choices are definitely not atrocious.”

—

Bruce, “Jay…mind explaining the bruises on your wrists?”

Jason, “Oh…yunno how it is.”

Bruce, stares

Bruce, “If your partner is hurting you-”

Jason, “NO, it’s nothing like that! I promise, it was….consensual?”

Bruce, “Is that a question or statement, kiddo?”

Jason, “Statement.”

Jason, later, grumbling to Dick, “Sometimes I feel like he’s onto us…”

Dick, “No way. We cover our tracks super well. You just need to come up with better excuses for your bruises. I mean, BDSM? You?”

Bruce, upstairs, listening through a bug he planted, “Dumbasses.”

—

Bruce, “Why is the Drake child in my home?”

Jason, “He’s a friend.”

Dick, “I think you’re choking him a little, B.”

Bruce, who has Tim in a bear hug, “Am I choking you, buddy?”

Tim, muffled, “Not at all.”

—

Bruce, “TALIA! YOU’RE HERE! Why are you here.”

Damian, “Why am I here?”

Talia, “We have a son. Here. Take care of him.”

Damian, “I will not stay w a man like…like him.”

Bruce, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Damian, “You’re pathetically human and weak. I have nothing to learn here, Mother.”

Talia, “He’s beaten me before.”

Damian, “What?”

Dick, “What?”

Jason, “What?”

Bruce, smiling dreamily, “Such good memories.”

—

The kids find out he knew everything from the start when Dick has to pick up a drunk Bruce from a party. They arrive back at the Manor and Bruce won’t stop clinging to Dick.

Bruce, “Noooooooo! Don’t leave me! Don’t put on that ugly costume!”

Dick, “W-what?”

Bruce, sniffles, “It’s better than the Robin one, but come on, chum. You can do so much better than that.”

Dick, “You…know?”

Bruce, still crying, “Of course I knew! Good at covering your tracks my ass!”

Dick, “Do you know everything?”

Bruce, wiping his face because his vision is blurring and there’s two Dicks standing in front of him. Fuck, he’s dizzy, “Jason’s outfit is better. Tim’s is atrocious. But at least you gave Dami pants.”

Dick, “BRUCE!?”

Bruce, “Nooooo, don’t yell. My head hurts.”

—

Sitting in what Bruce has decided to call the Bat Cave because, helloooo, the bats?

Dick, "How long have you known?"

Bruce, "Oh, you know."

Jason, "From the beginning???"

Bruce, "I'm not stupid. Alfred, why does everyone think I'm stupid? My own kids think I'm stupid."

Tim, "Mr Wayne-"

Bruce, stares at him

Tim, "....Bruce. We don't think you're stupid. We just thought we were being...sneaky."

Damian, "Hmph. All of you lack training in stealth. Unlike me."

Bruce, "Dickie, how am I supposed to not know when I adopted a child acrobat and 'oh, look! a pint sized vigilante who can do flips off of buildings!'"

Jason, snorts, "Pint sized."

Bruce, "Jaylad, you started using guns a week after I signed you up for a firearms class."

Tim, tries very hard to hide a laugh

Bruce, "Timmy, your bedroom is covered in pictures of Gotham you'd only get from being on top of buildings."

Damian, scoffs

Bruce, "Dami, you trained as an assassin. Of fucking course you're a vigilante."

The kids, "....fuck. We suck at this."

Bruce, waves his hands in the air, "Don't worry about it. You're all bad at covering for yourselves, but me and Alfred handled it. Anyone who might've even got an inkling of who you might be have been...dealt with."

Jason, "Did you kill them?!"

Bruce, "What? No. Of course not. Right, Alfie?"

Alfred, "....of course not."

#I saw a post similar to this but bruce was oblivious and I was like 'what if he /wasn't/'#I just think that regardless of bruce's profession he's still hella fucking smart #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfamily #batfam #batman #my post

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sugary-strawberry-shortcake · 1 month ago

Text

Reverse Blossom (Yandere Batfam x Neglected! Poison Ivy‘s Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 4

A/N: i‘m back from my trip!! And seeing elephants for the first time was amazing!! Also I want to thank all of you guys for your love and support 🩷. I will answer all of you now. By the way my inbox is open for asks, request, anything!! I have the next 4 chapters of blossom reverse already prepared just need to edit them:) also if you want to be on he taglist the post is here.

I decided to give Y/N green eyes since she is the daughter of Poison Ivy, but if that bothers you try to imagine them as a different eye color. In a few chapter she will be wearing contact lenses.

He remembered the first time he met her.

It had been late. The manor was quiet. Bruce and Alfred had just returned from Gotham’s south ward, where Pamela Isley had finally been subdued—again. But this time, she’d left something behind.

Or rather, someone.

A toddler. Two years old. Big green doe eyes. Wrapped in a pale green cardigan and a layer of silence.

She stood behind Alfred’s leg, clinging to the fabric with both hands. Dirt smudged her face. Vines clung to her shoes like they didn’t want to let go.

He hadn’t known what to say at first.

But then she looked up at him—eyes wide, curious, cautious. He felt his heart soar.

He crouched.

Soft smile. Gentle voice.

“Hey there, Little Flower.”

She blinked, then giggled.

That was it. That was her name. “My Little Flower.”

The one who would follow him for years to come.

⸻

A few weeks after that, everything changed.

Bruce got stricter. Patrols got longer. Dick’s time at the manor became fragmented. Split between being Robin and trying to figure out who he was outside of the mask.

And somewhere in the middle of that chaos, she kept growing.

She started knocking on his door with drawings.

“Dicky, do you wanna see what I made?”

“Can you help me with this book? It’s about flowers and I thought you’d like it.”

“Do you have time for me today?”

And every time, it was—

“Not now.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Busy.”

Always busy. Always trying to protect Gotham.

Trying to live up to Bruce.

Trying to survive the weight of the Bat.

And then Jason died.

And the manor stopped feeling like a home.

Dick left. Blüdhaven became his distraction. His escape.

He told himself he was doing it for his own mental health. That Bruce was spiraling and Gotham was suffocating and—

And she was fine.

Alfred was there. Bruce would keep her safe.

He had no idea she’d wait for him to come back everyday.

No idea she started leaving her drawings at his door instead of knocking.

(Y/N)

She’d stopped knocking after the the tenth “maybe next time.”

She’d stopped drawing for him after the 20th.

She told herself it was okay.

Dick was busy. He was Robin. He had villains to fight. Gotham to protect.

She was just the quiet girl in the hallway with too many flowers in her hands.

If he wanted to spend time with her—he would.

That’s what she believed.

Until Tim came.

And Dick was there. Teaching him, praising him, sparring with him in the cave while she sat on the stairs with a book in her lap and a smile she kept forcing to stay in place.

Until Damian came.

And suddenly Dick was everywhere.

Taking him to movies.

Letting him win at arcade games.

Buying him snacks.

Sparring, laughing, teaching.

She’d ask:

“Can I come too?”

“Maybe next time.”

“I promise, sweetheart.”

But there was never a next time.

One night, she and Damian fought. Badly.

She didn’t want to remember what he said. Or how he made her cry.

But what hurt more was when Dick had found them—

And scolded her.

“What did you do to set him off, Little Flower?”

“He’s still adjusting. Try to be patient.”

She had just stood there.

Her hands were scratched. Her lip was bleeding.

Damian hadn’t even apologized.

And Dick hadn’t asked what happened. Didn’t care if she was fine. No one had.

He just assumed.

Because she was always the easy one. The quiet one.

The one who could be told “next time.”

(Dick)

He remembered now.

Her outside the cave door. Watching while he trained Damian.

Sitting crisscross on the hallway floor, pretending to read while her eyes never left him.

Waving at him from the garden window when he pulled out of the driveway.

He remembered saying “I’ll make it up to you.”

And then never did.

Maybe he hadn’t ignored her out of malice.

Maybe it was fear.

She was soft.

Delicate.

Too sweet for the blood-soaked world they all lived in.

He told himself he was protecting her by keeping her out of it.

But now…

Now she was disappearing before his eyes.

He stood alone in her room a while longer.

Just breathing.

The air smelled faintly like soil and old petals. The kind of smell that came from a garden that hadn’t been touched in too long.

He looked at the empty desk.

The clean corners.

The lifeless gray sheets.

His hands curled into fists—then relaxed.

“She’s still the same girl,” he told himself.

Just quieter. Just older. Just waiting for him to show up again.

He could make this right.

He just had to be present now.

He’d take her out this weekend.

To the movies. Or the bookstore—she used to love stories about mythical plants.

He could show her around Blüdhaven, take her for ice cream, walk her through the park.

Anything she wanted.

He’d ask what music she listened to now.

What books she liked.

If she still knew how to braid flower crowns.

He’d be a good brother this time.

The good brother.

Because she was still his Little Flower.

And she hadn’t wilted.

Not really.

Not yet.

He just had to reach her in time.

_____

The cafeteria buzzed with laughter and noise, trays clattering and chairs scraping against tile. Y/N walked in with a calmness that looked effortless—but only because she’d mastered it.

Her hair was pinned back neatly today. A soft cardigan over her uniform hugged her shoulders. Her smile was sweet, polite. The kind that melted teachers and made her friends giggle and call her “an angel.”

It wasn’t real.

But no one here needed to know that.

⸻

She spotted Damian at his usual table across the courtyard—half-shaded, slightly elevated, surrounded by boys who wore smugness like an accessory.

She hadn’t approached him in almost a month.

Not since she came back.

And even now, it twisted something sharp in her chest.

But she needed a cover.

She needed someone to relay the lie.

⸻

“Wayne,” one of his classmates grinned, nudging Damian with a cocky elbow. “Look who it is. Thought your baby sister forgot we existed.”

Damian looked up lazily, already annoyed—until his eyes landed on her.

For half a second, his face flickered.

Surprise.

Then nothing.

Just that familiar sneer curling on his lips.

She stood in front of the table with her hands folded in front of her skirt, like a model student waiting to speak.

Her smile was gentle. Practiced.

Too practiced.

“Hi, Damian,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t answer at first.

His eyes ran over her.

Slow. Quiet. Calculating.

Her tone was too even.

Her smile too polite.

She wasn’t trying to sit. Wasn’t looking at him with adoration like she used to.

He didn’t like it.

She cleared her throat lightly, still smiling.

“I have an after-school activity today. For a group project. I’ll be back by seven or eight, but I’m going with a few friends, so I don’t need Alfred to pick me up.”

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

“That’s it?” he said finally, voice flat.

“Mm-hm.” She nodded sweetly. “Just let Alfred know for me, please?”

There was a pause.

“You’re lying.”

The words were quiet. Not loud enough for the others to hear. Just for her.

Her smile didn’t waver. Although her heart stopped. She has always been a bad liar and Damian had always been too clever.

“Please,” she repeated. “Tell him?”

He stared at her.

She stared back.

And that was when it really hit him.

She wasn’t asking like she used to.

Not with hope. Not with that little-girl eagerness she used to wrap around him like a ribbon.

She was just… managing him.

Like one more problem to solve.

His jaw clenched.

"Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever. I’ll tell him.”

She beamed—too perfect—and turned without another word.

He watched her walk away.

She didn’t look back. Didn’t smile or thank him. Didn’t hesitate.

Just floated back to her group like she had never been at his table at all.

His classmates cracked a few jokes, tossed around stupid theories—“You think she’s got a secret boyfriend?” “Maybe she finally got tired of the prince of darkness”—but Damian barely heard them.

His eyes didn’t leave her.

Not for a second.

She was hiding something.

He didn’t know what.

But it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

There had always been a softness about her that grated on him.

But now that it was gone?

He found himself trying to figure out where it had gone.

And who had taken it.

She left the building last.

Her friends waved at her from the school gates, their usual chorus of laughter and affection echoing behind her.

“See you tomorrow, babe!”

“Text me the homework!”

“Don’t forget your scarf!”

Y/N smiled, waved, nodded.

Every move was practiced.

Perfect.

Painless.

She slipped the scarf higher up her neck once she turned the corner, tucking her hair into the collar and pulling the fabric loosely over her head like a hood. She walked fast. Quiet. Unseen.

By the time she reached the end of the block, her expression was gone.

Fear. Nervousness.

The bus ride took fifty-seven minutes.

She sat near the back, eyes low, hands folded around the burner phone she had bought with the cash Alfred had given her for food to buy for herself on her birthdays. She never did buy herself food.

The phone’s battery died somewhere around Midtown, but she knew the route by heart already.

She watched the buildings change.

From clean stone and glass to chipped bricks and graffiti-covered fences.

The bus hissed to a stop at the corner of 57th and Arlen.

She got off.

The sidewalk was cracked. A neon sign flickered overhead in a language she didn’t recognize. A man stood outside a liquor store with three missing teeth and a cigarette barely lit.

She kept walking.

The address was scrawled on the inside of her wrist in faded pen.

The building was narrow. Old. Smelled faintly of mildew and paint thinner. But it had three locks on every door and no visible mold, so that already made it better than some others she’d seen online.

She rang the buzzer.

A moment later, an older man—mid-sixties, gray hair slicked back, jacket too big—opened the lobby door with a metal key in hand and a clipboard under his arm.

He stared at her.

“You… uh…” His eyes flicked up and down. Surprised. “You’re the one who scheduled the 4:30 appointment?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, adjusting the scarf and deepening her voice just a little. “I’m Emilia—Emilia Forenzi. I am… exchange student. From Italy.”

The man blinked.

Her accent was soft, light, vaguely musical. A touch of Rome, stolen from too many foreign films.

“You’re Italian?” he asked, skeptical.

“Yes.” She nodded. “I study here. I am almost eighteen. I know I look young, but it’s normal. In Italy, we… age well.”

“…Right.”

She smiled, sweet and slightly nervous. “May I see the apartment, please?”

He looked down at the clipboard, then back up. Something in her tone—her posture—seemed to relax him. Soften him.

“Fine. Come in. But I usually don’t deal with minors, alright? No funny business.”

“I understand.”

She followed him up three flights of stairs.

The apartment was small.

One room. Tiny kitchen. Cracked tile in the bathroom. Rust along the radiator. A smell of something faintly sweet and rotten in the walls.

But the window opened.

The lock worked.

The shower had water pressure.

It was… doable.

“Like I said,” the landlord muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he handed her a small application form, “this neighborhood’s not too bad if you keep your head down. But it’s still Gotham. You get a pretty girl living alone, some eyes are gonna notice.”

She swallowed. “I can handle.”

He looked at her again. “You sure you’re almost eighteen?”

“Yes,” she said immediately.

“You don’t got ID?”

“In Italy,” she lied. “I forgot to renew it before flight.”

“Uh-huh.” He frowned.

Then handed her a pen.

"You’ll need a signature. From a parent or guardian. Permission form, you understand? Legal reasons.”

She froze.

The air felt suddenly too cold.

“…P-permission?” she repeated.

“Yeah.” He gave her a look. “You’re a minor. No signature, no keys. Especially not in a place like this.”

She stared at the form.

Blank lines. Parent signature. Emergency contact.

All the things she didn’t have.

All the things she couldn’t ask for.

Her hands tightened on the pen.

“…I—I will get it,” she said softly.

The man nodded. “Alright. You get that, bring it back here. I’ll hold the place till the end of the week. But no signature? I can’t help you.”

She nodded again.

But her chest was hollow.

The girl smiled at the man and said her goodbyes. Not missing the worried frown he sends her.

As she walked back down the stairs, scarf tight around her throat and hands curled into fists inside her sleeves, she realized her pulse was shaking.

She had no one to sign for her.

She had no one to ask.

____

Damian Wayne | The Manor |

The main hallway was quiet when Damian walked in, dropping his bag onto the bench near the entrance.

The manor always had a certain weight to it after sunset—an old, cavernous silence that clung to the walls like shadows. But today, something felt off.

More than usual.

⸻

He tugged at his uniform blazer, unbuttoned it, and turned the corner—only to pause at the top of the main staircase.

Someone was standing at the bottom.

Dick.

“…What are you doing here?” Damian asked, tone flat.

His brother was leaning on the bannister like he’d been waiting for someone. His hair was slightly messy, still in his travel jacket, eyes distant and too focused for someone just home from Blüdhaven.

Dick looked up, blinking as if only just realizing Damian had spoken.

“…Hey.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Damian rolled his eyes and descended the stairs. “I live here.”

“Yeah, well… I’m visiting.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “You never just visit. You’re either gone or calling Alfred at 3 a.m. for muscle cream.”

Dick gave a weak smile but didn’t defend himself.

He was still watching the front doors.

Still waiting.

Damian paused halfway down.

“Who are you waiting for?”

“Y/N.”

Damian blinked. “…Why?”

Dick scratched the back of his neck, his smile faltering. “Just… thought I’d talk to her. Spend some time. I stopped by her room earlier. You know, just… realized I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Damian tilted his head slightly. “She’s not here.”

“I can see that.”

“She said she has a school project. After school thing. With her friends.”

Dick frowned. “That so?”

“That’s what she told me,” Damian said coolly, but something in his voice betrayed the fact that he didn’t fully believe it.

And Dick caught it.

“…You sound like you don’t buy it.”

Damian didn’t answer.

Instead, he walked past him toward the kitchen.

Dick turned, following him with a look.

“She used to come home straight after school, right?” he asked. “She’s not the type to hang around malls or… sneak out.”

Damian stopped. His jaw tensed.

“She doesn’t lie,” he said.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “But she did.”

Damian didn’t respond.

⸻

It was 6:56 now.

Dick checked the clock.

Still no sign of her.

And the longer the minutes ticked by, the more wrong it felt.

He didn’t want to be dramatic. Didn’t want to jump into full protective-mode. But something about it nagged at him.

She always came straight home after school.

She always told Alfred where she was.

And now?

“Maybe we should check in,” Dick said quietly.

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

But his eyes darkened.

_____

Her fingers were stiff by the time she reached the manor gates.

The walk from the bus stop had been longer than she remembered—colder too. The wind had picked up along the hillside, numbing her ears and flushing her cheeks, and even though the streets had mostly emptied by that hour, she had kept her scarf high and her head down.

The apartment application was folded tightly in her backpack, zipped into the inner lining where no one could see. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she’d left the landlord’s office. Even now, it beat against her ribs like it didn’t know she was safe yet.

She gripped her key in cold fingers and slipped it into the lock.

The manor door creaked open.

Warm air met her instantly. Familiar. Scented with faint woodsmoke and something rich from the kitchen. Maybe Alfred had made stew.

She exhaled, stepping in—

And froze.

At the top of the stairs, they were waiting.

Dick and Damian.

Both standing.

Both silent.

Damian leaned slightly on the banister, arms crossed. His expression unreadable, sharp eyes fixed on her like they were dissecting the very air she brought in with her.

Dick stood taller, hands in the pockets of his jacket, brows pulled in a worried line. Not angry. Just… tense. Focused.

Like they were both watching for something.

Her heart jumped.

She hadn’t expected to see him.

Dick.

Not yet.

Not this soon.

In the previous timeline, he hadn’t returned from Blüdhaven for months. By the time he had, she would have already faded into the walls. By then, he didn’t notice her until it was too late.

So when she looked up the stairs and saw him standing there beside Damian—older, taller, all soft concern wrapped in blue and black—her breath caught.

And then—

“My Little Flower.”

Her body jolted. Eyes wide.

That name. That name that hadn’t passed his lips in years.

She flinched before she could stop herself.

Dick’s brow creased. “Hey—what’s wrong?”

She shook her head quickly, lips tugging into a reflexive smile. “Nothing. I just didn’t know you were home.”

“I just got in. Wanted to surprise everyone.” His voice dipped softer. “Especially you.”

That made her stomach twist.

He hadn’t said that in years either. Not even before she died. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t even spoken that softly with her in years.

Dick came down a few steps.

Damian followed silently, slower, more calculated in his movements. His arms weren’t crossed anymore. His hands were at his sides, but stiff—ready.

“Where were you?” Dick asked gently, the kind of warmth that would’ve made her melt when she was younger. Or if she was her true fourteen-year-old self.

She swallowed. “I told Damian earlier—group project. We were at a friend’s house. We lost track of time.”

Damian’s eyes sharpened.

He took another step.

“You don’t do group projects,” he said flatly.

She looked at him.

“I do, actually. For history class. Ms. Varela assigned one yesterday.”

“Who?” Dick asked, tilting his head.

“Uh… Maya,” she said. “Her name’s Maya. She lives near Gotham Heights.”

Damian’s stare was unrelenting.

“You didn’t mention that earlier.”

“I forgot,” she said quickly. “I was rushing.”

“Which Maya?” he asked. “Last name.”

YN hesitated.

Too long.

“Rossi,” she said.

Another lie.

Another crack in the glass.

Dick’s smile was still there, but it looked strained now. Forced. He was trying to believe her. He wanted to. His little flower would never lie to him.

But his eyes flicked to Damian for a second—and that moment said more than anything.

They didn’t believe her.

She felt it like heat crawling up her neck.

“I texted you,” Dick said. “We tried to call.”

“I didn’t see,” she replied, pulling her bag closer. “Phone died on the bus.”

“You took a bus?” Damian asked.

“Yeah. It was fine.”

“That area’s not fine,” he said, voice sharper now. “If you were really near Gotham Heights, you shouldn’t be walking around alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“Then tell me where exactly you were. Street. Building number.”

She hesitated again.

The silence was too long.

“I don’t remember the street,” she said. “We just followed Maya from school.”

Damian stepped closer.

He was still a full step below her on the staircase, but somehow he still felt like he was looking down on her. Maybe due their height difference.

“You’re lying,” he said, quiet, razor-sharp.

Her breath caught.

Dick’s hand rested lightly on her slender shoulder. “Hey, let’s not jump on her. Maybe she’s just tired. It’s been a long day.”

But even his voice had changed now. The warmth was still there—but underneath, there was a thread of doubt. Of tension.

They weren’t backing down.

They were watching.

And she knew—if she gave them one more chance to press harder—

They’d start digging.

She smiled again. Soft. Rehearsed.

“I’ll go change. I still have some homework to finish.”

She stepped past them before they could answer. And neither of them moved.

But their eyes never left her.

She shut the door behind her faster than she meant to.

Click.

Locked.

She didn’t usually lock her door.

But everything was too much.

Her pulse was still high. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she set her bag down and crossed to her desk.

The room smelled like earth and blooming flowers. Familiar. Safe.

But wrong now.

Everything was wrong.

⸻

She plugged in her phone, the screen flickering back to life after a few long seconds.

Six missed calls.

Three messages from Dick:

hey, just checking in ☀️ you good?

miss you, little flower 💙

come talk to me when you’re home? 🍯🌼

Her stomach turned.

He hadn’t texted her in years. Not even once during the worst of it.

He used to leave her on read for days, weeks.

And now—he was texting her with emojis?

He was calling her Little Flower again like it hadn’t been buried years ago with every broken promise.

For a moment—just a moment—her heart ached.

Because maybe… maybe this was what she’d wanted back then.

Just a message. Just a moment of attention.

Just a brother who remembered her.

But it was too late.

And it felt wrong.

She didn’t know what was changing the past.

Or why they were suddenly looking at her again.

But it wasn’t for the right reasons.

It wasn’t love. Not really.

It was something else.

Something colder.

Something that made her skin prickle even when they smiled.

She stared at the screen a few seconds longer, then set it facedown.

Her mind was still spiraling.

What if they started tracking her phone?

What if they were already suspicious?

What if they tried to dig?

She stood and moved to her door.

Unlocked it just enough to open it a crack.

Alfred was walking past with a tray, heading toward the dining room.

“Sweetheart?” he asked, pausing when he saw her. “You’re not coming down?”

She gave him a soft, tired smile.

“I still have to finish that group project,” she said.

Alfred hesitated. His eyes searched her face, gentle and a little too knowing.

“I see,” he said quietly. “Shall I bring your dinner up, then?”

"Please.”

He gave her a little nod.

And left.

⸻

The dining room was set.

Empty seat at the end of the table.

Same as always.

Dick sat quietly across from Damian. Neither of them had touched their food yet.

Their eyes met once.

And something passed between them.

Not words.

Not questions.

Just quiet understanding.

They were both thinking the same thing:

She was hiding something.

And they were going to find out what it was.

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pedgito · 2 months ago

Text

ORBIT YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆ CHAPTER TWO: SUN

↝ series masterlist | joel miller masterlist | full masterlist

summary — your relationship with joel only becomes more skewed over the course of your time back at college before summer break, spending most of the time communicating with him through a screen.

author's note — it's here! i don't have much to say other than if you read and enjoyed the first chapter, i'm glad you're back!!

content warning — 18+ MDNI, dbf!joel, virgin!reader, age gap (20s/40s), terms of endearment (kiddo, sweetheart), phone calls, old man!joel trying to figure out technology, video calls, mutual masturbation over facetime, dom!joel, edging, orgasm denial, teasing, some attention seeking behavior, handyman!joel, teasing the shit out of this man

word count — 8k

It took a month for you to cave and call Joel.

You had tried to put on a front, like…really tried.

But, something about him calmed you.

It started with texts.

Joel

Some idiot took a staple gun to his hand.

How’s the astro whatever going?

You

AstroPHYSICS.

Linear Algebra is kicking my ass.

Joel

Damn that sucks.

The wording of it is plain and obviously, monotone, but you know he means it.

He checks in on his own occasionally, not bothering to text back when he sees you’ve read it, only really needing a sign of life, but then boredom strikes and you call him one night.

But, you have a totally legit and valid reason.

There’s no greeting or pause, the moment you hear him pick up, the words spill out.

“So hypothetically, if someone was to…I don’t know, break a handle off from the inside, how fucked are they?” you ask, staring at the broken mechanism in your hand with your towel tucked tight around your body and still dripping wet from your shower.

You can hear a spoon clinking against ceramic on the other end, the beep of a machine in the background, “Depends, are they talkin’ to me right now?”

You glance at the time on your phone, nearing ten o’clock at night, “Are you drinking coffee this late?”

“Yup,” he answers easily, slurping for emphasis, “didja break your doorknob?”

“Yes,” you reply distantly, like you’ve placed your phone away from you.

You had, Joel realizes after a while, hearing some clambering and a curse on the other end.

“Joel, I’m fucking stuck and my roommate isn’t home. I’m going to die in this shitty bathroom and all I have on is a towel, oh god…I think I’m having a panic attack,” you begin to ramble, dropping the broken half of the doorknob in a panic as you reach for your phone and drop to the floor, sinking against the cool wall of the tub.

“Sweetheart, you could always hang up and call the fire department,” Joel offers, “I’m sure they deal with shit like this all the time.

“Joel, I’m practically naked—and it’s embarrassing.”

“Worse is you dyin’ and they find you in just a towel,” Joel offers lightly and you can’t help but laugh at his dry attempt at humoring you despite your worry, “listen, can you fit it back into the hole? Sometimes it’s just because of a loose screw, if you can get the mechanism to connect long enough to turn the lock back, you’ll be alright,”

“How do I do that?” you ask candidly, slowly reaching for the doorknob as you rise to your knees and move toward the door again, carefully placing your phone against the door and putting Joel on speakerphone, “do I just—”

There’s a long silence and Joel hears what he thinks is you working away at making your escape, but it is eventually followed by a yelp and Joel nearly jumps from his seat on his couch like it would do anything.

He’s shouting your name on the other end for a solid minute before you finally answer.

“Christ, kid,” he exclaims, “what’s goin’ on?”

“Oh, my roommate showed up—I’m fine now,” you explain, “door is still definitely broken, though. I’m sorry for botherin’ you, I was freaking out a little,”

“Hey, nothin’ wrong with that,” Joel comforts you, “you gonna be alright, kiddo?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you assure him, “uh—goodnight?”

Joel chuckles, slurping loudly at his coffee, “Goodnight.”

After a couple months, those calls turn into more.

You’re working through your term paper when Joel’s name flashes in the corner of your laptop screen.

It was a video call.

That was strange.

You were barely dressed, a shirt hanging low enough beyond your waist that it covers the underwear and lack of shorts you had on, a blanket draped loosely over your shoulders.

You answered it anyway.

“She ain’t gonna answer, Tommy,” Joel speaks to his brother, presumably out of frame, “kid’s after a hell of a major at college, she ain’t got time to chat with you like that,”

“Joel,” you interject amusedly, “Hi,”

“There she is!” Tommy has never lacked in warm greetings, his smile showing bright under his thick mustache, clamping his hands over his brother’s shoulders as he leans down and into frame, “Hey, sugar, how’ve you been?”

You subconsciously pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders and lean into frame, “I’m surviving—college sucks, ya know?”

“Uh, I don’t, but, I’ll take your word for it,” Tommy chuckles, “Joel’s over here braggin’ about you bein’ a genius, like we didn’t already know that.”

Joel rolls his eyes, chewing absentmindedly at the tip of his thumb to hide the flash of embarrassment that he had been bragging about you to his brother.

“S’nice seein’ you, kiddo,” Tommy says fondly, “You’ll have to come visit us in the summer, miss havin’ you around. It’s been too long,”

“I’ll try,” you half-promise, eyeing Joel with a creeping suspicion as his head tilts up to look at his brother as he waves at you, suddenly standing and disappearing from frame to walk Tommy out, at least, that was what you assumed.

When he returns, his fingers peek into frame first and his body follows, sinking into the dining room chair with a silent look of apology, “He’s been buggin’ to see ya,” Joel explains away.

“Uh huh,” you reply as you opened up another window on your laptop to begin typing in your notes from an earlier class, “surprised you know how to work that thing,”

“I don’t,” he admits, “Sarah had to walk me through it over the phone before I called you,”

“Old man can’t figure out technology,” you tease, “I’m shocked,”

Your hand presses against your chest with a sneaking smile before you continue to type swiftly, the clacking of the keyboard audible to Joel as he leans forward again, squinting, and you catch him in the corner of your screen, laughing softly.

“You need glasses,” Joel knows it, you know it—still, he waved you off.

“Alright, we’re done here,” he says abruptly, having heard a billion and one lectures about his eyesight, “goodnight, kiddo—m’sorry if I fucked up your studying,”

“All good,” you tell him honestly, “I’ll just go and die of boredom now.”

It was a slippery path to more, neither of you expecting it initially.

Joel was practiced in keeping you at a distance without completely losing you, despite what had transpired on the camping trip a couple months prior, almost like a fever dream when your mind slipped there now.

He’s fit you into his routine—Sarah, Ellie, then you.

But, of course, you push it as far as he’ll let you.

You

Can I call you? I had a test to study for and I’m falling asleep.

Joel sends a thumbs up, which makes you huff out a weak laugh.

You’re in a similar attire to the last time he called, but the blanket was balled up at the end of your bed and your room was empty for the night—most students were out partying on a Friday night, but you were burying your head in study about Quantum Mechanics.

Admittedly, Joel had saddled himself for his own source of entertainment for the night—or well, release. The ding of your message had startled him slightly, palm rubbing over his slowly swelling cock as he scrolled through his favorite site, mumbling out a faint “Shit,” as your name appeared and hastily deciding to respond, not much critical thinking on his end.

“You’re my accountability for the night,” you tell him immediately, your face pulling up on the screen of his laptop as he clicks on the green ANSWER button, “alright?”

“Hello to you too,” Joel responds, catching a glimpse of his knee where he’s planted it up on his recliner, his elbow resting into the arm of the chair as he looks at you, face turned down as you flipped through a hefty pile of notes.

“Sorry, hi,” you correct yourself, offering a shy smile that Joel knows wasn’t that shy, “usually my roommate has music blaring and it keeps me awake but it’s too quiet, were you busy?”

Joel clears his throat, his erection not flagging in the slightest—shamefully, it had only gotten worse as he glanced at your breasts that were spilling out of the thin tank top, your bare nipples poking through the fabric and leaving very little to imagination.

“I’ll be alright,” Joel decides on, reaching for the remote to turn on his television, settling into a comfortable silence with you, “what’re you studyin’ tonight?”

“Quantum Mechanics,” you reply simply and Joel’s eyebrows raises in question, not prepared for the spillage of information on that topic, you look up at the exact moment he makes a face and giggle, “I’ll save your ears, don’t worry—so…you were busy?”

“You’re doin’ a lot of talking for someone who should be workin’,” Joel reprimands and the way your body reacts isn’t a surprise at all—maybe this was a bad choice.

“Quiet as a mouse,” you promise, shaking out your drying pen as you scribble it on the paper but it does nothing, without thinking, you stand, snug underwear on full display.

These are brightly colored and nearly see-through, hugging tight at your hips as Joel stares, entranced, at the curve of your ass and how perfectly it sits in frame as you lean around your desk to reach for a new pen, not even realizing what you had done until after sitting back down.

His eyes are wide before he can fix his face, “I—sorry, I’m rarely dressed when I’m in my room. I didn’t even think—” Joel hates how quickly his cock rises to full attention, adjusting himself further down the frame, and he makes a dismissive noise as his face morphs into a scowl, his default setting.

It hadn’t been intentional, but you’ve begun to notice something about Joel.

You spotted it back at camp, the night at the picnic table, and even now.

His gaze drifts, even without trying. He’s forcing himself to look at your face, the green light shining beside his camera, anywhere but the sight of your tits on his screen, but his self-control was severely lacking around you as of late.

And, you weren’t focusing that well, anyways.

You fake it, scribbling down some mindless nonsense in place of what should be your notes before you fake your pen drying out again and Joel had started to scroll quietly through his phone when he sees the shift on screen, but instead of turning out of frame you’re standing dead center, leaning over to reach the back of your desk.

He can see a sliver of your stomach where your shirt has raised, thighs pressing into the edge of the desk, where your panties tuck against your inner thighs, the outline of your pussy staring him down through the fuzzy camera lens and Joel jerks so hard at the sight that his camera shakes, biting away the silent laughter that fills your chest as he curses under his breath.

“Sorry, shitty pens,” you excuse lamely, returning to your seat, “what’s keepin’ you busy?”

“Answerin’ emails,” he lies, “tryin’ to get the contract for this next job figured out,”

Because, no, he hadn’t been scrolling through a list of videos to find something to interest him, subconsciously searching for anything that reminded him of you or resembled you, frustrated with how prevalent you had been on his mind since the camping trip but too pathetic to admit it to himself.

Avoidance was always the easier route.

“Riveting,” you smile kindly and survey him from across the screen, feigning a chill as you turn in your chair to spot the blanket on your bed, but Joel’s words come first.

“You’ve gotta stop gettin’ up, kiddo,” Joel pleads, face turned down but his eyes fixated on you.

You tilt your head and smile devilishly, but instead of getting up, you push your chair back to reach for the blanket—somehow, it was worse for Joel this way.

He watches you curled up in your chair, clearly enjoying that effect you had on him even from miles away, every inch of skin on display save for the few clothes you had on and it brings him back to the tent, flashes of your blissed out expression as you had listened to him so easily, bent yourself to fulfill his fucked up obsession with control over you in that moment.

The difference now is that you had the upper hand, knowing he’d never step out of place on his own, but with enough torture, Joel would inevitably break.

“He invited me out for drinks this weekend,” Joel says suddenly, desperate to distract himself, clicking his phone shut and shifting his gaze to his hands, still placed over his aching cock but unmoving, almost like punishment for viewing you this way.

You shrug the blanket around your shoulders and snap your textbook shut, trading it out for another place out of view, “You haven’t spoken to him since, have you?”

His non-answer is obvious, glazing sideways toward the front of his house in the exact direction of your childhood home and you shake your head with a dismissive smirk.

“You think he’ll take one look at you and know?” you inquire and Joel shifts back to you, eyes narrow slightly, and you add salt to the wound by mimicking him, “Sorry, I’m gonna have to skip out on drinks. I fucked around with your daughter and now I’m feelin’ guilty about it.”

“It ain’t guilt,” Joel argues.

“Isn’t it?” you challenge, “s’all well and good until you gotta face reality, right?”

You sigh deeply and snap the textbook shut, stack your papers neatly before you push them aside, “I interrupted you, didn’t I?” you ask him, glancing up at the picture frame placed behind Joel that showed the glare of the screen, the small rectangle that housed your face in the corner but the browser open and brandished with a popular adult site, slowly, you grin, “How do I compare?”

You’re being coy and it was fraying every nerve that Joel had left with you.

“See,” you begin, “the thing about technology like this—we’re miles away, but somehow it still feels like you’re right here with me,” Joel’s dick twitches at the sound of your voice, watching you lean back in your chair, the blanket falling from your shoulders, “but, it just isn’t enough.”

“We’re not doin’ this again,” Joel forces out, voice gruff and hard.

Still, his hand presses down against his cock to soothe the growing ache.

“Then hang up,” you say dismissively, pulling your straps down your shoulders, his eyes stuck like glue to the screen despite his words, “no?”

Joel shakes his head and you laugh softly at him, nodding in understanding.

“I wish I was there,” you tell him, voice softer, “wish you were here—” your fingers pull at the fabric of your top until your breasts spill out, hands cupping them together and squeezing, “and here,” your eye him, half-lidded, watching the subtle but visible movement of his hand as his laptop had readjusted purely by accident, working himself over with a rough squeeze through his pants.

Joel feels his throat swell, like he’s committing the ultimate sin.

Seeing you like this is different, vulnerable, baring yourself before him without an ounce of hesitation—only for him, not out of defiance or an itch to prove a point.

You’re needy, wanting, and he can see it in the way your mouth parts with a sharp breath as your fingers drag slowly over your nipples, trading one hand to trail further down your chest and out of frame, “mostly here, though,” he can’t see it, but your hands dip under the fabric of your panties, fingers spreading through the wetness that had gathered there, just from looking at him, knowing the effect you were having on him, “is that where you wanna be?”

Joel nods despite his mind searching for a reason to stall this from happening, palming his cock more noticeably through his sweats, and instead, he blames you, “This is all your fault,” he grits out, but you know he isn’t talking about the depravity at hand, rather the sizable bulge, then he was shifting his hand under the waistband of his pants to grab at his cock, knowing that first touch would seal his fate.

You two were already well-invested in the situation at hand, there was no end in sight.

“Is it?” you ask curiously, gasping as you dip two of your fingers inside of you and curl, squeezing tightly at your breast.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath, hand working vigorously now under the fabric as he leaned adjusted his laptop to the arm of the chair more securely, sweetening the angle as his face strains out of frame but it gives you the perfect view of his heaving chest under his shirt, the thumb of his free hand curling over the waistband of his pants, giving you an enticing view of the trail of hair that led down to the base of his cock, desperate to taste him, “You can’t keep doin’ this to me.”

His gaze is locked onto the screen, pupils blown wide with a mix of desire and desperation as he watches you explore yourself, though all you can catch is the way his mouth hangs open, hastily shoving his shirt up.

“Let me see,” you beg, needy, “fuck—I miss it, miss you.”

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he mutters under his breath, and you can see him shifting in his chair as if contemplating his next move. “You’re pushin’ me.”

Regardless, he listens.

He shifts the material down his legs with a sharp, messy tug until he can kick the clothing away, his cock at center frame and painfully hard, balls drawn tight as he fists his cock swiftly, tugging alongside your breathy moans.

Normally, you’d drag this out and make use of the expensive toys you’ve kept so near and dear, but Joel was beyond worked up, teetering the line of busting his load, and you were impatient.

“Go on,” Joel encourages with a grunt, “since you’ve been teasin’ me all night,”

You reach forwardly quickly and angle your screen down slightly, still keeping yourself in frame but remove your panties, tantalizingly slow as you spread your legs apart, your fingers driving down the center of your folds as you circle your fingers through the copious slick that had grown in such a short amount of time, the glint of it visible even with the shitty laptop camera.

Joel chokes on a breath, dragging his thumb over the head of his cock and around, circling the sensitive tip as he traded glances between you and his throbbing length, "Show me how much you miss this," Joel breathes, his voice straining with every syllable.

Your fingers move expertly, teasing and exploring yourself with a sense of urgency. The heat between your bodies grows palpable, words exchanged through lust-laden breaths alone, your fingers circling over your clit desperately.

His hand works faster, the slick sounds of his arousal mixing with the echo of your moans.

You can see him struggling to keep his eyes on you, but every flick of your fingers sends him closer to the edge. Your body arches away from the chair, the soft glow from your screen highlighting every curve as you give in to the heat that was coiling in your gut, breathing heavily.

“I wish you would just touch me,” you say breathlessly, “— jus’ take care of me like you always have,”

Joel’s hands tighten around himself at the thought of you—how soft you would feel wrapped around him, how perfectly you’d fit with him, “You’re killin’ me,” he grits out, “you’re fuckin’ kill me—”

“You could be here, Joel,” you whimper, voice thick with desire. “I could be there with you. We could take our time…”

“Sweetheart,” it was warning, watching his fist work furiously around his cock, open-mouthed and strung out groans as he rocker his hips up into his grip, “I’m with ya, I’m right here—”

“S’not good enough,” you say truthfully, body shuddering as your orgasm was clawing at the edge of your sanity, “I wanna feel you so bad, want you to–fuck me—”

“C’mon sweetheart,” He groans, “make yourself come while I watch,”

You let out a whimper at his words, feeling the weight of his gaze on you despite only half of his face being visible. You lean back in your chair, spreading your legs wider, giving him a full view of your glistening core as you press two fingers deeper inside alongside your fingers that work over your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Just like that,” he urges, his voice low, “Let me see how much you want it.”

You nod, breathless, feeling the pressure building within you like a coiled spring ready to pop, “Come with me,” you murmur between gasps, the distinct sound of skin sliding against skin echoing through the call, “please…please…”

Joel spills over his fist with a noisy grunt as you come, letting out a muffled cry through your palm as you hand clasps over your mouth, watching his cum spray against his stomach and drip over his fist, his breathing slowing as the moment passes.

He grimaces at the mess and you giggle, easing your shaky legs down to retrieve your underwear, leaning in close to the screen as he adjusts until his face is back in view, your tongue dragging against your bottom lip as you look at him, full seriousness, “I bet you wish I was there to clean up the mess now, huh?”

He shoots you a glare, though his scowl is visibly softer.

He cleans up hastily, watching you organize your things away quietly, collected, like you hadn’t just come apart from the sound of his voice and his leaking cock and Joel has the sense that this was always the plan, like you were always one step ahead of him, even when he wasn’t planning.

“Did you actually need to study?” Joel asks after a beat, “Or am I that gullible?”

“I found that experience…very knowledgeable, actually,” you joke, adjusting your shirt back into place and never amiss to the way Joel eyes your breasts hungrily.

Joel chuckles, the sound deep and throaty, raw, “A hell of a way to kill time on a Friday night,”

You nod knowingly, “Goodnight, I guess?”

Joel snorts out another quiet chuckle and nods, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

–

If only it had remained that easy.

Joel goes radio silent soon after—maybe busy, maybe torn up from the guilt that always seemed to creep back in after talking to you lately, but it worried you.

That, and, Joel listened.

He listened when no one else really did.

When you ace your semester final, there’s no one to tell.

Your father never answered his phone, a voicemail box full that he refused to empty, and a devastatingly lackluster response when you were able to reach him for something. Only when you were in town did his effort feel genuine, but even then, it was sparse.

It was little things—small things that seemed unimportant to others but that you knew Joel would treat as if they were bigger than life, a warm feeling you never felt with anyone but him.

Tommy, too—but with Joel, it was substantially different.

And when you get desperate, you get reckless.

You weren’t sure how he was going to react, but you snapped the picture anyway.

You had your breasts spilling over the edge of the lacy bra, hand resting on your hip as you framed yourself in the mirror, cutting off just at the tip of your hips and the way your finger hooked into the fabric.

It takes you too long, going back and forth over this being a terrible idea or a genius one, momentarily scrolling over your father’s name with worry, knowing that even with his lack of caring, he’d still send a message after a length of time, even if it was one-word.

Then you scroll to Joel’s name, scrolling through the various back and forth calls that had taken place over the span of a month or two, feeling a sinking in your gut that pulls the courage away.

It doesn’t return until later that night, conflicting thoughts in your head as you lay half awake and scrolling through your phone again that you find the brevity, swiftly scrolling through your contacts with blurry eyes to send the photo before you second guess yourself.

You succumb to sleep quickly after, avoiding the anxiety that creeps into your chest but returns the moment your eyes open, checking your phone with not a notification or response back in sight, half-tempted to drive back to Austin in search of answers.

But, on a whim, you scroll, checking through your messages and finding your father at the top, figuring that it should be Joel, but it wasn’t—then, it dawns on you.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse, quickly opening the message to exactly what you’re suspecting as the realization washes over, the scandalous picture on full display and SENT under your father’s contact name.

You scramble, rising to your knees in bed as you panicked to text Joel a simple 911 and pray that he picked up—fortunately, he does.

You try to stifle the anger that boils to the surface at how easily he answers after radio silence for so long.

“I’m going to ignore that you’ve been ignoring me,” you interject quickly before he can speak, “but please tell me you’re home or at least close to home,”

“I broke my phone a couple weekends ago, I’ve been waiting for the new one to come in,” Joel explains passively, but he hears the panic in your voice, “why—what’s goin’ on?”

“Are you home?” you ask again.

“I’m walkin’ out my front door,” Joel begins, hearing the door click shut.

“I need you to get my dad’s phone,” you explain vaguely.

“Alright,” he sounds unconvinced, answering slowly, “and why is that?”

“I sent him something by accident,” you rush out, heart racing as panic rises in your throat.

“Wait, what? What did you send?” Joel asks, the concern in his voice palpable.

You can hear him moving quickly down the steps, the sound of his boots hitting the pavement echoing in your ear and you send the photo over without any preamble or explanation, hearing his keys fall to the pavement.

“It was supposed to go to you,” you admit, feeling heat in your cheeks despite the distance between you, already suspecting the frozen look on his face, “I wanted you to answer me.”

“Kiddo, I’ve just been busy,”

“It’s been a month, you said you’ve been trying to get a new phone for a couple weeks,”

“We’re really arguin’ about this right now?” Joel asks, already heading toward your father’s house across the street, hastily coming up with a plan in his head, “You can’t do this shit.”

He leaves you on the phone as he shoves you in his back pocket, coming up with a bullshit excuse as he asks your dad for his phone, hearing how it had been dead all morning and hadn’t had a chance to check his text from you, specifically, hearing the uptick in Joel’s tone as he urges him to hand the phone over.

You can vaguely hear something about Joel needing to add his new number, even though it clearly hadn’t changed at all, your dad reciting his code as Joel attempts to make idle conversation to distract your father, assuming he’d accomplished what he came to do, you hear the brief goodbye and then loud shuffling in your ear.

“....what happened?”

“I took care of it,” Joel tells you, before swiftly switching gears, “do you have classes today?”

“No,” you answer hesitantly, “why?”

“I’ll be there in a couple hours,” You’re not sure why the admission makes you panic.

“Joel—”

“That was real fuckin’ stupid, you know?” Joel starts,

“What? Are you gonna rush down here to punish me over it?” You retort, a tinge of frustration in your tone.

“Is that what you need?” Joel counters.

There’s a heaviness to the silence that neither of you address.

“Just be ready,” Joel says with finality.

–

“I was ignoring you.”

He’d taken you to a diner further into town, wordless upon arrival, his hands tight on the steering wheel. The moment you two receive your food, he speaks, despite how you had been staring him down the entire ride there and while you waited for your meal.

“No shit,” your laugh is hollow, arms crossed over your chest, “you remember how I gave you an out and you still said no?”

The guilt is evident, flashing across his face as he eats, pointing toward your own to urge you to do the same, halfway through the meal he wipes his mouth and continues.

“It was a couple weeks, but I couldn’t stop fuckin’ thinking about it,” not you—it, whatever had been transpiring between you two, “I’m tryin’ to hold a damn meeting over zoom about scheduling and all I can think about is how you sound,”

“Then why ignore me?” you press him, “Why?”

“Because I should care about you the same way I care about my girls,” Joel admits, twisting idly at the watch on his wrist, arms settling against the table, “I do—but you’re not…mine,”

“What does that even mean?” you ask, increasingly irritated.

“I don’t want you thinkin’ you owe any of this to me. You ain’t my daughter and I never tried to be your father, we’ll never be that,” Joel explains and while he had filled a void that was lacking, you could recognize the difference, “but me and you, doin’ all that—I mean look at you, sending that shit to him, even accidentally—”

You weren’t thinking, only acting on desire that wasn’t even fully returned.

It was your turn to sit in silence, looking briefly out the window to the passing cars.

“The other two weeks weren’t that—I dropped it on site during my break and it got ran over, tore it to shreds. I had to replace it. You’re fuckin’ lucky I picked up, saved your ass…”

“So, what was your plan here?” you ask, impatient, “Lecture me? Discipline me?”

“Neither,” Joel decides, throwing a dirtied napkin on his empty plate before he nods to leave, placing a wad of cash onto the table to pay for the ticket.

–

Joel was unsettlingly silent, still tense from the meal you had shared, but he keeps making turns and you’re becoming more and more annoyed as time drags on.

“Don’t think I forgot about your birthday,” Joel quips, turning down a darker road with no street lights, leading to a building shrouded with darkness and surrounded by a thick, metal gate, “I’ve been tryin’ to find the right time to bring you out here, been buildin’ it for the past six months and Ellie thought you’d like it, mighta…brought it up to her,”

It’s giving you emotional whiplash the way he slides back into the comforting man he always has been in your life, physical and mental feelings aside, he’s always been good at it.

The concern is etched on your face as you squint to see through the darkness, wondering how many laws you were breaking as you passed the NO TRESPASSING sign, quickly snapping your head over to look at Joel.

“I’m headin’ the project, ain’t nothin’ for you to worry about,” Joel soothes, “now you ain’t gotta forgive me and you can go back to hatin’ me after this—”

“Easy,” you reply quickly, feeling the car pull to a stop as Joel cuts the engine and removes the keys, “you know—my birthday isn’t for another few weeks, so you’re a little early,”

Nitpicky, but you had nothing else to bite at him with.

Joel grins and beckons you out of the truck, shoving his key into the lock on the gate as you approach close by, snaking under his arm as he raises it to pry the gate apart, following in close behind.

“Lately we’ve been stickin’ to residentials but,” the door opens, hefty and solid metal as Joel urges you inside, “ain’t never built an observatory before, first time for everything ya know?”

Your eyes widen at the sheer size of the inside, the roof expanding high above your head to accommodate the large telescope that sat in the center of the room. The walls were adorned with intricate diagrams of celestial bodies, constellations mapped out with careful precision, and the ambient light was soft but inviting, casting a gentle glow over the room.

It felt like stepping into a sanctuary dedicated to the stars and space.

“Wow,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, taking in the sight of the observatory with an honest, authentic surprise before you pause, peering at Joel with a slight hint of worry, “—this is…breaking at least a few rules, isn’t it?”

Joel nods admittedly.

You walk around aimlessly, admiring the craftsmanship before your fingers trail along the lens of the telescope, dancing around the question without asking.

“All yours,” Joel tells you.

“Did you like it?” you ask suddenly, squinting to peer through the open slat of the ceiling and into the sky, astounded by the detail it shown, frozen for a stretch of time before Joel makes a noise, something between a huff and laugh, looking back over to find his hands settled against his hips, eyes squinting as if he’s searching his mind for the right answer to your question.

“Don’t lie,” you tell him, “I just…thought that you would like it. I’ve never taken one before, for anyone…”

“Look,” Joel starts, his tone growing serious as he moves closer to you, “I don’t think you need me to answer because you already know—you just wanna hear me say it,”

Damn, he was good.

You turn slowly on your heels to meet his approach, arms crossing tightly over his chest to close himself off to you, but you only step closer.

“Then say it,” you challenge him smugly, watching him swallow quietly under your gaze.

“We’re not—”

“Oh, save it,” you interrupt in a snarky tone, “I know the moment you get home you’re gonna jerk off to it and then try to pretend you’re better than all this,”

“It ain’t that,” Joel says defensively, “when the fuck are you gonna understand that?”

“Pull it up,” you demand him, nodding your chin toward the phone buried in his pocket.

Joel sets his jaw and yanks his phone from his pocket, realizing that his phone was still open to the exact photo you had sent him earlier, eyes lingering on the photo before you press a finger against his chest, “It would kill you, you know, to admit that you might want me,”

You casually lean over to click on the message, promptly deleting it.

“Is that all you’re worried about?” Joel asks, “You’re reckless, you don’t think about the consequences of shit like this? If your daddy had seen that photo—”

“Take me back to my dorm.”

“What?”

“Where do you draw the line, Joel? Is it only the thought of fucking me that repulses you? Oh, but telling me how to get myself off isn’t off the table, letting me jerk you off in the middle of the night and lick up your cum, that’s fine, right?”

His jaw clenches at your words, the tension thick in the air between you two.

You can see the struggle in his eyes as he fights against the pull towards you, his mind racing with conflicting feelings and thoughts.

“Stop,” he commands, though his voice lacks conviction.

He takes a step back, but you follow, closing the distance between your bodies.

“Why?” you ask defiantly, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze, “Why should I stop when you’re clearly thinking about it?”

“This ain’t the place for that,” he mutters, but even as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your lips, and there’s a primal hunger lurking just beneath the surface before he grabs your biceps and hauls you back out and to his truck, opening the passenger side door with a less than gentle manner as you climb inside, closing the door when you’re safely inside before slipping into the driver’s seat, silence settling.

He shifts in his seat, a growl of frustration escaping his lips. “This ain’t a game,” he warns, but his eyes betray him—showing a flicker of interest as they devour you whole, “if you can’t understand that—this, it can’t happen.”

“I think you really underestimate me,” you retort.

“No, I’m fuckin’ terrified of you,” Joel admits suddenly, “and how you’re makin’ me feel.”

Empathy has always been your weakness, but you’re hesitant with him now.

Guarded.

“If you didn’t want this I’d rather you say it instead of draggin’ this along,” you tell him.

Joel's gaze hardens, the tension between you thickening as you challenge him.

He was caught in your web, and he knew it.

“I want you,” he finally admits, the admission hangs in the air like a charged storm cloud ready to strike lightning down on the cab of his truck.

“Then stop fighting it,” you breathe into him, moving closer now but still keeping a distance, his face melting against your touch as you turn his head to look at you, “I can keep your secrets, Joel.”

He doesn’t answer with words, but he looks at you.

Right at you, eyes stuck on the way your lips part, taking in a shaky breath.

“I’m still wearing it,” you admit, voice raising a subtle octave higher with a sudden nervousness, “if you wanna see?”

Joel’s eyes drag to your chest instinctually, looking around quickly to survey the area.

He knew there wasn’t anything to worry about out here, covered in a thick shadow of darkness save the gentle light of the moon and he nodded, the weakest you’ve ever seen him.

Your heart races as you slowly lift the fabric of your shirt, revealing the delicate lace of the bra beneath. The air thickens with a hunger that washes over Joel’s gaze, his hand slowly drifting to rest against the knee that had shifted over his spread leg

“Fuck,” he breathes, as if he can barely contain himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

It was the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him at this moment that sends a thrill down your spine. You continue to tease, inching the straps of your bra down over your shoulders, as your fingers curl over the lacy cups and pull down.

“You can have a taste,” you whisper, your breath catching in your throat, “if you’re willing to get over that no-touch rule,” you notice the way his hand has already seemed to bypass it, squeezing at your knee gently before his fingers slowly curl around the side of your waist, pushing and pulling at the same time until your chest is presented to him, his eyes lingering on you for a brief moment before he places kiss at the center of your chest.

The warmth of his lips leave a sting as he trails, each side of your collarbone, your shoulders, down your chest again, the gentle contact sending shivers racing through your body.

You gasped softly, arching your chest further toward him, craving more and willing him to close the distance. “More,” you urged breathlessly, your hands finding their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer.

Joel’s mouth moved lower, kissing down your torso with a fervor that made your heart race.

His lips trailed over your abdomen, hot and possessive, as his fingers tugged at the fabric until it folded over, hanging uselessly under your breasts.

He paused for only a moment before lifting his gaze to meet yours again—his eyes dark with desire before you’re moving, quick and sudden as you spread yourself out over his lap, gasping at the feeling of his teeth dragging over your nipple, his tongue swirling around the skin as it hardened in his mouth.

Your back arches in response, thighs pressing tightly against him as you let out a low moan, watching him place gentle, but sloppy kisses as he looked up at you, gauging your response.

Your eyes are heavy, weighted down with pleasure as you sigh, head falling back in response.

“You have me,” you tell him, like a mantra, repeating with every touch of his lips.

Joel wasn’t planning on letting you go.

–

Joel watches you through the tiny screen of your phone as you fiddle with the new doorknob a day later, face contorted in concentration as you twist the screw into the fitted hole, “If this doesn’t work I’m kicking this door down,” you sigh, giving the screw one last tight turn before it clatters to the floor.

“I just walked you through, step by step,” Joel argues, “I’m startin’ to think you just don’t trust my advice…”

“Jury’s still out,” you respond absently, rising to your feet as you wiggle the doorknob to ensure it was secure before closing the door and opening it a few times, feeling satisfied went it doesn’t wobble when you pull, “....alright, you did good,”

Joel snorts tiredly, his camera fuzzy and badly lit as he laid in the dark, glasses hanging from the bridge of his nose as he looked at you through the screen of his phone.

He listened, clearly. You had nagged him over his terrible eyesight for years.

“You should be paying me for my expertise,” he jokes, a lazy grin creeping onto his face despite the late hour and you smile at his growing openness to flirt with you.

“Is that right?” You ask, slowly lowering yourself onto your bed, “What would you charge for a handyman like you?”

“For you, pro bono,” Joel says softly, rounded out by a yawn.

“I know something you can bone,” it was so bad it made Joel groan in disgusted amusement.

“Go to bed, sweetheart,” He urges, and the words have never sounded sweeter.

–

A couple days later, you’re holding up his work for a much needed opinion.

The dress hugs your figure perfectly, but you’re still undecided.

“I like the green one more,” Joel adds, his backdrop dull and grey, blank aside from the scattered post-its—he was calling you from work, which was new.

“You just said you liked the purple more,” you argue, easily stripping the dress over your head and walking toward the camera topless, his gaze flicking up cautiously out of habit even if he was protected on all sides.

You fit the green, pattern embroidered dress over your body and examine yourself through the screen, not quite sold, and neither is Joel.

“If you say you like the purple one again,” you warn him, “I’m blocking your number.”

“Can’t help it, kiddo,” he shrugs, “M’just feelin’ indecisive.”

Most of your interactions had been held purely over phone calls or video chats lately, desperately awaiting the end of your semester before summer break, attempting to make the best of the situation despite Joel’s still…occasional weariness about your relationship.

He was waiting for the other shoe to drop—knowing that no matter what good he had in his life, something was bound to fuck it up.

“Guess I’ll just go naked,” you decide, pulling the dress off in frustration before tossing it into the pile of clothes at the foot of your bed,

“Say that again,” Joel orders, his actions pausing on the other end as he stares you down.

“I guess I’ll go naked,” you say with emphasis, pushing your phone back slightly to prop against your pillow as your breasts push together by the force of your arms as they press into your mattress.

“Don’t joke like that,” Joel threatens, though his intention is empty. The tension crackles between you, thick and electric, a mixture of anticipation that never fails to send your heart racing.

You smirk, teasing him with a playful shrug as you lay out on your stomach, chin resting against your curled fist, “What are you gonna do? Drive down here and stop me?” Your tone is light and playful, but Joel isn’t finding it amusing.

“You keep actin’ like a brat—” you’ve never seen him so serious, immediately pulling back on your teasing, “then yeah, I will.”

“Jeez, sorry,” you laugh slightly, “I’ll cool off then.”

“You wouldn’t listen to me even if I begged,” Joel says decisively, “so fuckin’ hardheaded,”

“I can,” you argue playfully, “for you, yeah.”

“Touch yourself,” he orders suddenly, your eyes widening at the command.

But, he waits, not a single ounce of wavering on his end.

“You’re serious?” you ask incredulously, half-laughing.

“Dead serious,” he replies quickly, “I’m not playin’ with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you consider it, the thrill of submission sending a rush of warmth through your body. You adjust your position slightly, arching your back to subtly tease him before slowly slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties.

“Go on,” he encourages, “play with yourself, sweetheart.”

Admittedly, it was too easy.

Having him there, stern gaze stuck on you as your fingers circled your clit with a newfound urgency, free hand fisting into the sheets so hard you think the stitching might rip.

“Keep goin’,” Joel speaks distantly, “look up at me, kiddo,”

You do, embarrassed at how desperate your expression read through the camera, teeth sunk into your bottom lip as your hips rocked against the hurried movement of your fingers.

“Yeah, you close?” Joel asks, watching you stifle a moan into your arm.

You nod frantically and release a sharp, shaky breath.

“Stop,” he demands suddenly, your body listening so intensely that you don’t even think when your fingers stop moving, they just do.

“What the fuck, Joel?”

“Hands off ‘til summer,” Joel orders—it wasn’t that far, but enough that you scoff, which Joel takes as an act of defiance and raises an eyebrow in question, “that a problem?”

Shamefully, you shake your head.

“A couple weeks won’t kill you,” Joel assures you, “but if I find out you have…”

“I won’t,” you promise him, meaning it.

“Green, by the way,” Joel adds casually, “I like the green.”

You roll your eyes playfully at that, hearing his muffled but sincere goodbye as you hang up on him, your airy giggle like a melody as it sings through his speaker.

If only he could hold himself to the same damn rule.

previous chapter | next chapter

divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #x reader #reader #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #dbf!joel #my writing #fic: orbit you

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wonderjanga · 4 months ago

Note

Mute billy

Wizard: “Say my name!” *closes eyes and raises hands*

Billy: *stares*

Wizard: *cracks one eye open* “Billy, say my name.”

Billy: *continues staring*

Wizard: “Billy??”

Somehow, The Wizard didn’t realize that throughout his entire speech about Billy becoming the Champion, Billy hadn’t said a word and just stared.

Wizard: “Billy… if you can speak, say my name-” *gets crushed by the stone thing*

And that’s how Billy went like a solid two weeks without transforming. By the end, he was teaming with magical energy so much so that he thought if he just moved to the wrong way, he’d explode. He knew you were supposed to say something, but since he couldn’t say anything, he had to find a way around it.

Billy: *walks into an alley and finds a piece of cardboard and scribbles the word Shazam on it*

Now, he was about to go back to the cave and see if he could just thrust the cardboard at the Wizard’s corpse and pray it will work. Unfortunately, it started raining halfway there.

Billy: *ducks into a different alley for a shortcut, and holds the cardboard above his head to block the rain*

Billy heard thunder, and then he was a grown ass man.

Zeus: ‘FINALLY! Sorry, kiddo, but I just took what I could get.’

Marvel: *confusion*

Solomon: ‘Billy, because you cannot speak, please just hold the cardboard above your head, so our friend- eh… colleague Zeus can see.’

And that’s how Billy gained the ability to transform. He went around being a hero and all that, he got to meet the Fawcett heroes and befriend them still.

Minute-Man: “Yeah, so I’ll take two scoops of chocolate.” *look to Marvel* “What do you want, big man?”

Marvel: *silence*

Minute-Man: *somehow understood his silence* “Right, and he’ll take a scoop of Rocky Road.”

They all developed a wordless understanding of the Cheese.

Then the bubble popped and Billy got to interact with people outside of the Fawcett heroes and Fawcitizens who were used to him being the big silent sunshine.

Marvel: *standing menacingly behind a Gothamite*

Gothamite: *slowly turns around, thinking they’re about to be bludgeoned to death by the next Bizarro*

Marvel: *points to their dog*

Gothamite: *now thinks their dog is about to be bludgeoned to death by the next Bizarro*

Marvel: *inches closer to the doggy*

Dog: *can sense its about to get pets and just loves it*

Gothamite: *confused as to why their dog isn’t literally whimpering in fear*

Marvel: *pets the doggy*

Gothamite: *confusion*

Marvel: *finishes, waves, and leaves*

JL: “Tell us who you are!”

Marvel: *just stares*

Spy Smasher: “His name is Captain Marvel, or Cap.”

Supes: “He couldn’t answer himself?”

Bulletman: “He can’t talk.”

Supes: “Oh.”

Batman: “That doesn’t answer who you all are. It’s not everyday a group of heroes just pops up-”

Spy Smasher: “SHUT THE HELL UP. We came before you kiddies!”

Marvel: *pats his shoulder looking at him like he’s crazy*

That was Billy’s way of saying “dude calm the hell down. Please.” Also, because Billy is mute, his face is extremely expressive. Marvel stared him into apologizing.

Spy Smasher: “I apologize for my outburst.”

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

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witherby · 5 months ago

Note

If Punch line can trigger Jason easily what would happen is she ever met Harley?

Let's explore that!

Punchline: First Session

Masterlist is Here!

"I need your help."

Harley perks up, gasping, and rushes over to hug Batman tightly.

"I never thought this day would come," she says, jumping up and down and clutching a gauntleted hand. "Yes!! Yes I would love to be your therapist! We have so much to work on, starting with your parents. I really think you never internalized the event and haven't given yourself any space to grieve after —"

Her hands get squeezed gently, recapturing her attention. Blue eyes meet white lenses, and she furrows her brow.

"Okay, that's fine!" She sighs. "Can't say I'm not disappointed, but if one of your kiddos is looking for help instead, I'm still more than hap—"

"Not one of mine," Batman gently interrupts. "This is a...very delicate case, Harley."

"What's delicate mean in this context, Batsy?" She asks. "Delicate like schizophrenic? Delicate like CPTSD? Delicate like one wrong word away from explodin' and killin' everybody in a mile radius?"

"Delicate," he says, "like...this might hit too close to home for you."

"Me?"

Batman nods. Harley hums, equal parts curious and cautious.

"Any good psychologist worth her salt won't let a personal connection get in the way of providin' aid," she tells him. "If the patient isn't somebody I can help myself, I'll help ya find someone who can. When can I meet 'em?"

Your file lies scattered across the floor of the cave. Harley stares wide-eyed at your picture while she trembles on her hands and knees. Bruce, having changed out of his suit, kneels beside her with a steadying hand on her back.

"Oh," she whispers, "Brucie, she's so small for her age. And her age!! Sh-she's..."

Harley shakes her head. Bruce continues rubbing small circles in her back. When she leans against him for support, he holds her upright.

"How'd he keep a kid hidden for eight years?" She whispers, voice thick. "I know I fucked off to go play Happy Family with Ivy, but..."

"Nobody knew," he says. "Harleen, don't play the blame game, not for this. He kept her a secret for a reason; no one was supposed to know."

Harley lifts her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes before any tears can well up and fall. She takes deep, calming breaths, gathering her focus, then carefully collects the papers and stands with his help. She draws a pad and pen out of her pocket.

"I ain't promising anything," she says, looking up at Bruce. "This is...this is a whole different ball game, 'specially with that chucklefuck as the daddy. But I'm gonna try, okay?"

He nods. "Take your time. You were the first person I thought of, but don't force this if it's too much."

Harley gently squeezes his hand in acknowledgement. She walks past him and down the hall towards the containment cells, heels clicking quietly against the floor. She dug out her old coat with the name tag pinned to it and even threw her hair back in a low braid to appear as non-threatening as possible. The closer she gets to your door, the more the wonders if you would've been more comfortable if she showed up in her combat getup and mallet.

"Miss Punchline?" She calls, stopping in front of your cell. A cursory glance of your environment tells her immediately that you're under-stimulated. She writes that down. "I'm Doctor Quinzel. Do ya mind if I come in and chat with you a while?"

You cease all movement. You'd been sitting with your back to the door, gently stroking the head of the teddy bear Alfred gave you while muttering Mistress Mary's nursery rhyme, but when you hear her, you practically turn into a statue. Unless she actively stares at your back, Harley can't even see you draw breath.

"Miss Punchline?" She repeats calmly. "I won't come in if you don't want, but I'd really like to talk to you."

"...Popsy talks about you, sometimes," you say. Harley can't decipher your tone, but the words make her feel cold all over. "Says he used to miss his favorite gal."

"I'm sure he's mentioned me once or twice," she says, clearing her throat. "But I'm old news. Why don't you tell me about yourself? I'm gonna punch in the door code now, okay?"

You don't move. Harley unlocks your cell and walks inside, getting a better look at how sparsely decorated it is. The bed is clearly unused and half of the activities left here would cause an ordinary child to lose interest in about an hour without company. Overall, Bruce and his family are keeping you in a dreary room. If she accomplishes nothing else today, it's a guarantee that she's gonna get you better accommodations.

Harley walks around the room until she can see you face-to-face. Once she's in your periphery, your eyes snap to her and follow her every movement like a predator. She lowers herself to the ground, taking a seat a few feet away from you.

"There you are," she says kindly. Your smile is just as placid as the one in your photo. "I like ya make-up. The swirly pattern on your cheeks is very cute."

You don't respond, though your smile widens briefly. Highly receptive to praise. Your eyes don't leave hers, scanning, assessing, calculating. Harley doesn't feel like you're about to attack her, but you're clearly juggling something around in your mind.

"Bet you're thinking about mine," she continues. "Normally I like puttin' on the face paint, but sometimes my pores gotta breathe, you know? Well — the pores I got left." She glances down at her hands, paper white like the rest of her body from her dip in a vat of acid. With relief, Harley notes that your unpainted skin is a healthy color. Even though the bar's lower than Hell, it's nice to know that at least the Joker didn't immediately treat you to a dunk of your own.

"Punchline, I'm gonna be frank with you," she says.

"Nice to meetcha, Frank," you chirp, grinning mischievously. Harley lifts a brow.

"That was funny," she praises. "I know your, eh, Popsy, he places a lot of value on bein' funny. Used to say nothin' was worth the effort if it didn't amuse him at the end of the day. I'm sure you know that already."

"A giggle a day keeps the boredom away!" You say, pitch and cadence matching that of your father's. Harley knows that the grip on her pen is too tight. She breathes deep and forces herself to relax. "Ohh, hit a nerve, Frank?"

"I'm doin' just fine," she says. "What's boredom look like for you and Popsy?"

You separate your hands, fingers splayed wide, and make explosion noises.

"Do you get caught up in that explosion?"

Your smile doesn't change but your eyes get sharp. Harley makes a note.

"It's hard keepin' him entertained all day, every day," she says. "I would know. But I'm gonna tell ya somethin' your popsy probably never has."

Harley scoots a tad closer to you, reaching her hand out and gently taking one of yours. She can feel every bone in your hand and has to utilize all of her training to school her expression.

"It's not your job to make yer popsy happy. In fact, it's not your job to make any adult happy. Grown-ups shouldn't rely on their children for emotional regulation."

"Couldn't rely on you, either, could be?" You snicker. "Since you ran away."

"I left him because he was treatin' me like dirt," Harley says, a little more firm than necessary. "He's real good at drawin' you in, Punchline. Shows you an ounce of praise that makes you feel invincible, makes you wanna do anything he asks to get more of it."

Harley lets go of your hand to tuck a lock of emerald green hair behind your right ear, brushing gently against the shell. The edges are distorted, flatter than your left.

"He's also real good at draggin' you through the mud, makin' you feel like everything's your fault. Like you got no choice but to make it up t'him. Ya never wanna get on his bad side cause he really makes you feel it."

You tilt your head away from her hand, eyes dropping back down to the teddy bear Alfred gave you. You resume petting it, slightly faster and rougher than before. Harley makes a note.

"His anger's always more powerful than his joy, Punchline," she says, "but both of them are destructive. I wanna help ya break away from his cycle."

"No thanks," you say, "if I wanted to be a washed-up, third-rate party clown, I would!"

Harley feels a wave of pity for you. It's obvious you're just regurgitating your father's words back at her, and she's not surprised. Change doesn't happen overnight, especially not for you.

There's so much work to do, but Harley's not afraid. You may look and behave similarly to the Joker, but you're young and still impressionable and already starting to pull away from him without even realizing it.

"I can tell yer getting upset, and that's the last thing I want," she says, climbing to her feet, "so I think this is a good stopping point for today. But I'd really like to see you again. Would you be alright with that?"

You blow a raspberry at her, then cackle. Harley exhales sharply through her nose, giving you a fond smile, and pats your head as she steps past you and opens the cell door.

She can do this. She will do this. For you.

But, first thing's first.

"Brucie, you're kidding me with the furnishings! How's the richest man on the planet gonna put a kid in such a shitty room!? Don't look at me like that, mister. You brought me in t'do a job and I'm gonna do it right!!"

#el speaks #punchline au #harley quinn #batfam x reader

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c-kiddo · 5 months ago

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walk while at home on saturday 🪨

#extremely jan/feb colours #also the bottom of the spout had a cave and very read earth/mud/stone. u cant rly see it #hills and then mountains in the 2nd and 3rd photo #3rd one is blurry bc it was getting darker irl #kiddo say #my dad went in the cave but i didnt want to get squashed by rocks

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olailamajnoon · 7 months ago

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It is a dark and stormy night. Dick, Jason, Stephanie and Tim are sitting in the Cave monitoring some readings on the screen.

Suddenly the comm link, which Bruce uses to keep tabs on everyone, comes to life.

Selina: Bruce, you dirty boy...

Bruce: Selina, we’ve talked about this. Your timing sucks.

Eight minutes and fifty seconds later:

Selina: give it to me, c’mon, just like that. Don't stop.

Bruce: Just let me know when you’re done. I’ll match you.

Meanwhile in the Batcave:

Dick: We should hang up now—

Tim: *walking around in agitation* And have Bruce ask why we’re ignoring the comms? He’d KNOW we heard.

Jason: They’re almost done anyway. Besides, they'll hear the click.

Stephanie: *huffs, exasperated * He’s going to figure it out either way, you realize that, right?

Tim: Just so you know, I only went along with this because I feared for my safety.

Stephanie: I will never look Bruce in the eye again.

Dick: Me neither.

Jason: But you gotta admit, the man is stellar at phone sex. The sound effects and the production values were mesmerizing

Tim: Right? I thought I was the only one who felt that.

Dick: shut up you perverse animals.

Jason, an evil grin on his face: make me, my wittle furry kitten

Dick: *groans* If Bruce ever finds out we heard Selina say that, he will kill us and then himself.

Tim: Who's going to tell him?

Everyone looks at Dick.

Dick: ...what?

Jason: Don't worry kiddos. Dicko's embarrassment will outweigh his conscience.

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kisskisstine · 9 months ago

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"Goodnight, my kiddo."

Peri taking (BABY) Dev to bed. Request from @mortallysteadydeer.

These were some loose sketches from my previous comic but fleshed out the sketches with a baby Dev and Peri instead!

While I was drawing this I thought of a story about Peri begging Jorgen to be Dev's fairy godparent again but Jorgen utterly refusing. After several more pleas, Jorgen caves in and grants Peri's one more fairy godparent opportunity with Dev. This time it's to go back in time to ease a lonely 8-month old Dev through the apex of his parents' divorce-- but only for 1500 mins. Jorgen works with Father Time who transports Peri 9(ish) years into the past attaching an hour glass watch to Peri's wrist that will take him back to the present after 1500 mins. Peri, disguised as Dev's hired full-time nanny, happily reunites with him, transforming Dev's lonely room into a magical enclave and protecting him from the arguments between his parents, as Dev's father, Dale wins to take full custody. Just as Peri spends his last hour napping with Dev, Dev's fraught mother secretly takes Dev and runs away with him. Peri wakes up to Dale screaming in the other room as Dev goes missing on his smart watch tracker. Dale and Peri panic, and after a short blame game, Dale rushes off to search with a fleet of O-PAIR drones and Peri frantically tries to figure out his own plan knowing he only has 1 hour left in the past, and just as all seems lost, Nick-of-Time poofs in to help extend Peri's time in need!

(;v; ) That's all I'm gunna write out so far! I have an ending in mind but I'll keep it to myself for now as it reveals Dev's mother, who was one of the existing characters from the original series. Huhuhuhu!

#fairly oddparents #fop a new wish #fairly odd parents a new wish #dev dimmadome #peri #periwinkle #a new wish #dev #fop dev #fop peri #peri fairly oddparents #dev fairly oddparents #baby dev #baby development #fanart #facfic idea #dale dimmadome wasn't THAT bad of a dad in the beginning.. or so it seems

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frownyalfred · 11 months ago

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I am trying very, very hard right now not to write the "Ra's reveals Bruce is a killer to the Batkids" fic because I've already cranked out like 20k this week, but if you're looking for somewhere to start I've added some bullet points of how I think it could go down:

Ra's strolls into the Cave and is promptly tackled by the Batkids and thrown in some kind of restraints

This is fine with Ra's, he wants to talk with Bruce but he's content to wait around with the kiddos until his Detective shows up

Jason, Dick, and Tim are all present (by some small miracle Damian is out with Bruce on patrol)

Ra's decides to spend this time taunting and fucking with them one by one, because he already took Tim's spleen so emotional terrorism is his only option at this point

The Batkids have all been trained by Bruce so they know Ra's is full of shit and don't jump at any of his taunts

Ra's decides to change gears and digs his verbal fingers into Jason's recent blow-up fight with Bruce (how does he know about this? doesn't really matter, he just does)

Jason "no one insults Bruce except me" Todd doesn't bite and tells Ra's to butt the fuck out of his business

Ra's gleefully informs Jason, and the other Batkids, that Bruce is a bit of hypocrite, being so strict with him about killing. Considering he's got hundreds if not thousands of deaths on his conscience, at the end of the day

Jason is stunned into silence. Dick and Tim are shaking their heads. Ra's finally gets a reaction and doubles down

Ra's suggests that maybe that rule was formed out of guilt, and how much more useful and powerful Bruce was under his training with the League, how less burdened with mortality he was

Ra's tells Jason he should be proud, to be unburdened like Bruce once was, and to not fall into the trap of agonizing over rightful killing

....that's about when Bruce shows up, Damian in tow

Instead of interrogating Ra's as to why he's waltzing into the Cave, Bruce has to field three horrified looks from Dick, Tim and Jason

Jason points at Ra's, who's smiling, and asks, in the most simple of terms, if it's true. if what he said was true.

Bruce stares at Ra's for a long moment, not saying anything. His face is blank. His fingers curl and uncurl, the only sign of his distress. After an uncomfortable silence, he admits, yes.

It's not guilt, strangely, but resignation.

Anyway that's as far as I got before my next meeting, feel free to steal ANY of this if you'd like to write it! Because I will not be writing it...god willing...

#thoughts #fic ideas #adopt this fic idea #batfamily #ra's al ghul #the league of assassins #bruce wayne #dc #batman #myfic #theresurrectionist #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne

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sa1ntn3k0 · 2 months ago

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Stepdaddy Gojo and his baby girl

˚₊‧꒰ა ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ nsfw!

Stepdad Gojo x Stepdaughter reader (of age)

Satoru realized something was wrong when your usual dinner-time chaos never came. No clattering of chopsticks, no giggly debates about whether Digimon was better than Pokémon, not even the soft tap-tap of your socked feet padding to the kitchen for thirds. Your mother, lost in her reality show and third glass of cabernet, shrugged it off, “She’s studying, Satoru, relax.” But he couldn’t. Not when your absence felt like a missing tooth, nagging and hollow.

He waited until midnight, until the house was full of snores and distant traffic, before slipping upstairs. Your door creaked open to reveal you hunched on the floor, back against the bed, clutching the Hello Kitty Build-A-Bear he’d won for you at that awful carnival last summer. Your cheeks were salt-stained, eyes puffy, and Satoru’s chest tightened, hard.

“Hey, kiddo,” he murmured, crouching beside you. His thumb brushed a tear trailing down your jaw.

��What’s got my angel all stormy?”

You hiccuped, burying your face in the plush. “M’ hurting.”

Your periods were usually tame, a day of yummy ice cream (preferably vanilla bean and strawberry) and naps, but tonight, cramps had turned your stomach into a battlefield. You described the ache like a curse gnawing at your bones, and Satoru’s Six Eyes saw every tremor, every hitched breath. He scooped you up, cradling you against his chest, and settled onto your cutesy bed. You were drowning in his old Jujutsu High shirt, the hem brushing your thighs, and Hello Kitty shorts hardly peeking beneath. His shirt. His girl.

He fetched painkillers and a glass of water, but you whined, curling into a ball. “Daddy, it’s not working.”

The word unraveled him.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he whispered, lying beside you. His bicep became your pillow, his hand a warm weight on your stomach, rubbing slow circles slowly yet gently. Your skin was feverish under the cotton, and he hummed, a tuneless, rumbling sound that had you nuzzling closer.

“There’s my good girl,” he murmured, lips grazing your temple.

But then your heartbeat fluttered, a hummingbird against his ribs, and his Six Eyes betrayed him. Your heartbeat was always fast, so… It wasn’t him, right? It was. His palm had drifted higher, thumb grazing the swell of your pert breast. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you arched faintly, a tiny sound catching in your throat.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

But your eyelashes fluttered, gaze hazy as you whispered, “Kiss me, Daddy?”

Kiss? Kisses were normal, they were okay. Satoru gave you sweet kisses all the time, on the lips, on your cheeks, your forehead, and your hands. Kisses were more than fine.

Yet, he hesitated, but your plea was a siren song, and he was the dumb pirate who knew far better, but still caved. His lips met yours, soft, tentative, a chaste press that dissolved into something warmer when you whimpered so sweetly into his mouth, practically begging for more. Your small fingers tangled in his white locks, tugging him closer, and he groaned, the sound swallowed by your mouth.

He glanced at your closed bedroom door, knowing a staircase down your mother was fast asleep, drunk off little sips. Satoru fell back into the present when you mewled gently, kissing him so clumsily, yet so earnestly. It was far too cute for his heart.

Sweetness turned into sticky syrup.

His hand slid to your neck, thumb tracing your pulse as his kisses trailed your jaw, your collarbone. Your skin was so warm, so soft. His hand spanned your entire neck with ease, making him twitch a little below. You squirmed, gasping, when his heavy palm cupped your breast, your perky nipple pebbling under the soft fabric.

“‘Toru-”

“Shh, bun,” he breathed, nipping your earlobe. “Daddy’s taking care of you.”

His knee nudged between your thighs, and you ground against him instinctively, a desperate little rhythm that had him biting back a curse. You were a sight for sore eyes, all pretty and needy, and all for him. Satoru felt so lucky, it was almost too good to be true. His thumb hooked into the waistband of your shorts, sliding beneath to trace the lace-edged cotton beneath.

“So pretty,” he cooed, feeling you shiver. “All for me, huh?”

You nodded, doe eyes blown wide, as his fingers found your puffy little clit through the fabric, despite your pad being in the way. The pressure was enough to make you beg for more. He pressed, slow and firm, and your back arched off the bed, a broken cry spilling free.

“That’s it, baby,” he urged, watching your face, the scrunched nose, the bitten lip, the tears clinging to your lashes like dew. “Come for me.”

All it took was his thumb pressing down more, still rubbing tight circles around your padded clit, his azure eyes locked to yours, and his other hand toying gently with your cute nipples.

You came with a quiet sob, clutching his shirt as he worked you through it, murmuring praises into your hair. When you finally slumped, boneless and breathless, he tucked the Miffy plush back into your arms and pulled the baby pink comforter over you both.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered, ignoring the ache in his own body. His cock was begging to be free from the confines of his sweats, but he woudnt dare to put himself as a priority with you… You always come first.

You nuzzled his chest, already half-asleep from the overwhelming pleasure. “Love you, Daddy…”

He pressed a kiss to your crown, guilt and devotion warring in his throat.

Being a good daddy wasn’t always black and white.

But as moonlight pooled over your tangled limbs, he vowed to paint your world in softer shades, even if it meant getting a little sticky.

“Love you more, baby.”

Staying up late wasn’t fun for Satoru. He could’ve pawned the grading off on Ijichi, the man would’ve stammered through a dozen apologies while clutching the papers to his chest like a shield, but tonight, he felt… forgiving. Or maybe just really masochistic. His home office glowed under twin amber lamps, their light pooling over spreadsheets and doodled lesson plans. He’d ditched his blindfold, the stark angles of his face softened by shadow, hair still damp from the shower and tousled into a mess that made him look younger, almost boyish. His pajama pants hung low on his hips, his shirt abandoned hours ago (an old habit he’d tried, and failed to break after your mom scolded him for “corrupting the household ambiance”, whatever that meant). The scent of his cedarwood body wash lingered, mingling with the peppermint tea gone cold at his elbow (he liked coffee more, so it wasn’t a bother).

He heard you before he saw you, or rather, he sensed you before all that, sock-clad feet pattering down the hall, the creak of the wooden stairs as you tiptoed closer. The door cracked open, and there you were: a sleep-messy vision in that baby blue lacy nightgown, its thin straps slipping off your sharp shoulders, the hem brushing your pretty thighs like a whispered secret. You hovered in the doorway, all wide eyes and rosy, bitten lips, and Satoru sighed, waving you in with a grin that hid the way his pulse kicked up.

“Daddy,” you whined, flopping into the armchair across from him, legs swinging like a pendulum.

“Can’t sleep.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t look up from his papers, but his Six Eyes tracked your every fidget, the way you plucked a cursed dagger from his desk drawer, twirling it like a baton, or hummed off-key Lana Del Rey lyrics until the room felt syrupy with your soft voice.

By 1:30 a.m., you’d migrated under his desk, a warm, light weight against his leg, your cheek pillowed on his knee. “So bored,” you mumbled, nuzzling into his pajamas, arms looping around his calf.

“You’re always bored,” he chuckled, but his big hand found your head anyway, fingers carding through your hair, right on your crown. You melted into the touch, pressing kittenish kisses to his kneecap, and oh, this was dangerous.

But you were always playing dangerous, so what’s new?

His crotch area tented, betraying him, but you were too busy cooing into his skin to notice, or so he thought. Until your little fingers crept higher, brushing the aching length of him, and Satoru froze.

“Kiddo.” He hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your face up. Your eyes were all innocence, lips glistening from nervous nibbling, but the pink blooming across your cheeks told another story.

When’d his innocent angel turn so naughty?

“What’re you doing?”

You blinked, doe-eyed. “Wanna make Daddy feel good…”

He should’ve stopped you. Should’ve carried you back to bed, scolded you for whatever late-night tutorials had put this idea in your head. But the way you looked at him, like he hung the moon and stars, like pleasing him was your only purpose, undid every thread of self-control he never really had anyway.

“Gently,” he warned, guiding your tiny hand, and your gasp as you touched him nearly unraveled him then and there.

You marveled at him, all giggles and whispered “S’ big…” as if he were a carnival prize you’d won. He was a sight to see though, long yet nicely girthy cock, curved upright ever so slightly, pale base with a pink tip, he looked irresistible. When your plush lips wrapped around his pink, swollen tip, hot and tentative, he bit back a groan, his knuckles whitening on the desk. You were awful at this, all teeth and clumsy enthusiasm, but the sight of you, earnest and eager, burned itself into his brain.

You suckled on him like he was one of those cherry lollipops you loved so much, small suckling noises assaulting the quiet room.

What exactly did he expect anyway? Of course you were ass at this, you weren’t some seasoned porn star, and oh god, that made everything so, so much better.

“Sweet girl,” he rasped, thumb swiping a tear from your cheek (when had you started crying?). He didn’t let you take more, noticing you could hardly breathe, even when barely taking any length in. You genuinely looked like a greedy chipmunk trying to eat too many berries. Cute. He didn’t let his hands fist in your hair like they ached to, wanting to fuck into your warm mouth like it was all his. It is. When he spilled into your mouth, though, it was with a choked curse, your name a prayer on his lips.

It didn’t take long at all, you had him feeling like a hormonal teenager. Pathetic, really.

You swallowed, beaming up at him like you’d solved a tricky math equation, and Satoru’s heart cracked clean open.

What the fuck did he just do? And…

Who the hell taught you to swallow? He was expecting a scrunched-up face, saying how nasty he tasted, not a swallow followed by the cutest smile. Satoru swore to wipe your history clean, give you a few spanks at that. But for now…

“C’mere,” he murmured, bundling you into his lap, picking you up with ease from your underarms, your little back to his chest. You fit perfectly, as always, your scent, strawberries, and sleep, drowning out the guilt clawing up his throat, a feeling he's grown to slowly accept around you. He pressed a kiss to your temple, your hair tickling his nose. “You’re being far too naughty, bunny.”

You giggled shyly, nuzzling into his neck, leaving him feeling way too much.

By the time he carried you to bed, dawn tinted the sky peach-gold. Your mom stirred as he slipped beside her in bed, her hand trailing down his stomach, her nails skimming his abs. “Long night?” she mumbled.

It was a pleasing routine to have sex before he slept, but tonight, Satoru just… couldn’t.

“Just stress,” he lied, catching her wrist. “Go back to sleep.”

As her breaths evened out, Satoru stared at the ceiling, your sleepy “Love you, Daddy…” echoing in his skull. He’d buy you those heart-shaped sunglasses you’d eyed last week at that cute boutique. Take you for yummy taiyaki stuffed with thick custard. And maybe, ask where you’d learned to pout like that.

He already knew where, though.

End.

Moreee since I can't get enough. Reader is 19, Gojo's in his thirties. Daddy Gojo would be so pissed about the porn stuff, but that’s kinda hypocritical, no? Again, warning up top, don’t read if you don’t like, simple as that :) Expect more since I'm feening for Gojo 24/7 hehe.

#dad!gojo #stepdad gojo #father gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #daddy issues #father and daughter dynamic #soft gojo #sweet rotting fluff bcs i love it #tw stepcest

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