All Your Series Are So Good And Just Warm My Soul. I Didn't Know I Needed This Today But I Did And Thank

All your series are so good and just warm my soul. I didn't know I needed this today but I did and thank you so much for putting your writing out there ❤️

My Whole Life : A Fear of God Story

(Joel Miller x OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary: The family celebrates Joel's birthday.

Content Warnings: Fluff and smut (like the fluffiest fluff ever); Miller Family Fun; Joel being overrun by wild little girls; Dirty old man & inappropriate groping; Established relationship; Joel Miller is a Wife Guy; Competence kink; Breastfeeding; Lactation kink; Oral sex (M! & F! receiving); Come eating; Pregnancy kink; Size difference; Daddy kink; Possessive behavior; PIV sex; Ass play; Romantic anal :) ; Dirty talk; Pussy slapping; Over stimulation

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: happy happy happy birthday to our bestest and most beautiful old man. This might just be some of the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever written, and it’s all for him :)

Word Count: 9.8K

Read on AO3

MY WHOLE LIFE

And you’ll always love me, won’t you?

Yes.

And the rain won’t make a difference?

No.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms

He’s still asleep. Laying on his side, bent elbow tucked beneath his smushed cheek, messy curls strewn across his pillow, overly long and floppy against his forehead. It’s time for a haircut, but he’s been distracted and busy lately, evading your managing fingers and scissors. The quilt is pulled up high over a thick shoulder, and that soft, full mouth is slightly parted, the near silent whistle of his breathing passing through each exhale. You close your eyes and listen for a moment. When you open again, you reach up to run the tip of your finger along the damp edge, and he puckers his lips slightly, mouthing at your exploration. Ah, awake then. You lean forward to press your mouth to his briefly, taking his breath into yourself. 

Tell me you love me, you whisper the words onto his tongue. 

“I love you, Birdie,” voice like falling stones; graveled, sluicing into your ears, eternally familiar. An everyday thing that’s a small miracle each time it’s whispered into the small shell. 

“Happy Birthday, Joel.” And he finally opens his eyes, long lashes squeezing tight and spiky for a second before he blinks open, bleary with sleep. His half smile unfolds for you, slow and lazy, the lines around his eyes going deep and grooved, and your fingertips skim over the whiskered plane of his cheek, feeling the proof of his happiness around his eyes. Pulling his hand from beneath his cheek he reaches for you, skims the back of his hand down the front of your belly, undoing the buttons of  his old, worn to softness flannel as he goes. Backs of his knuckles following again, skimming down the soft swell, dipping into your navel, and then sneaking around your waist to pull you into himself. Belly to belly he sighs deep and rumbly, closes his eyes again, nods his head just a smidge, settling back into the pillow. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

You know that if he could skip this day every year, he would. Sleep through the whole thing of it, erase it from history. You know that it’s endlessly painful, eternally terrible, and that even after almost three decades it never hurts any less. Five years now, you’ve been married, and you’ve tried to make every year as special as possible. Not necessarily peaceful, an unachievable thing in a house full of four loud and scrambling little girls, but always special, always infused with as much happiness as you can give him. 

The sallow purple light from early dawn seeps in through the sheer blue curtains over the wide bay window of your bedroom, and as he presses you to him, the course hair of his chest and belly rubs against the skin of your own stomach, your overly sensitive breasts, full and extra tender from nursing. You’d made his gift extra special last year, your last baby, little Connie, now nearing six months old. 

-

“Another one?”

“Well, baby, that’s what happens when your husband can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs, head falling back on his neck as he runs his palm over his mouth, two fingers tucked into his belt. Dad pose.

“We’re getting a nanny, Joel. Someone to help us – you go out there and find anyone, I don’t care who. There’s too many of them, we’re being overtaken. And we can’t keep asking Ellie and Dina – they’ve got JJ now, they’re busy too. You’ve saddled us with a whole kindergarten here because you can’t seem to stop getting me pregnant,” voice hitching with equal measures of anxiety and happiness, and an overabundance of hormones and love. 

He sidles up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to hug you tight to his chest, one of his hands coming up to squeeze your full, heavy breasts gently, you gasp, extra sensitive already. He coos right into the soft shell of your ear, “Poor Birdie. S’just so fun makin’ ‘em baby. Can’t help myself.”

You roll your eyes at him even though he can’t see, and you kind of want to claw at his face and rip all his clothes off, all at the same time. This is all his fault. All of your sense gone out the window, can’t get pregnant while you’re breastfeeding, as if you didn’t know better. Too desperate for your husband to be more careful. And now look at the two of you… 

Your ass perks up, grinds back into his already growing erection, fucking beautiful, he murmurs with his forehead resting on your shoulder to look down at you, palming your ass. His hands sweep over you in an arc, skimming the soft dips and contours of your skin. 

Then shyly, head tuning over your shoulder to press your temple to his forehead, “Are you happy?” Because you still just need to make sure, you still just need to hear it. 

“You’ve never given me the option to be anything else but, my love.”

-

He’d gotten up in the middle of the night when he’d heard her fussing, bringing the baby to you still half asleep, cuddling her tiny, pink form against his naked chest, so that you could nurse her back to sleep. He’d sat at the edge of the bed, big hand cupped at the back of your skull as he’d looked down on you feeding his child from your breast, the look in his eyes like nothing you’d ever imagined before him. The birth of your children had infused a sense of tenderness, an intimacy so acute it brought tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much, into your relationship that had made the two of you closer than ever. More in love with each other than you’d ever thought possible. 

The memory of your parents was worn and faded with time, but you remembered they’d always approached each other with a sort of comfortable respect. Never ones for overt displays of affection or physical intimacy. So you’d never expected that the love of a man like Joel Miller, stoic and reserved and brusque, could be like this; an overwhelming sort of thing, scalding and suffocating in a way you needed. 

His hand skims back to your chest, undoing the rest of your buttons to get at the warmth of your breasts, rough palm gently, gently cupping the full weight. The dry abrasion of calluses catching at your sensitive nipples, handling you with such care. A low rumble in his throat, eyes still closed, “Gimme another kiss, little bird. It’s my birthday,” he whispers before sliding forward, taking your mouth with his. He starts off slow, a soft brush of damp lips, before he takes your upper lip between his, pulling gently, his hand moving back and down now, cupping your lush bottom to pull you up and into himself. Your hands flutter over his chest, still after all this time, easily overwhelmed by the heat and feel of him. You never want it to end, you never want it to lessen. 

The sex is still filthy, but everything else is pure. 

You can feel the hardening heft of his cock under his boxers between the two of you, and you skim your hand down the length of his soft belly, fingers tucking beneath the elastic to run the backs of your knuckles against the burning hot skin there, feel the tickle of his hair. He makes another one of those deep sounds, warm and masculine and smelling faintly musky from sleep, and you bring your knee up against his hip, pushing further into his boxers to feel the rapidly thickening base of his cock against the back of your hand, you brush the pad of your thumb there and his kiss becomes hungrier. Bringing his palm to the nape of your neck he rolls the two of you over suddenly, trying to take charge, licking deep and wet into your mouth, pressing his now full-on erection into your cupping palm. “Taste so good, Birdie. Is my little cunt wet and ready for me?” 

“Joel–” you whisper, drawing your hand up to his shoulder to try and keep him at bay. His wet mouth moves down to your throat, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples, settling more heavily between your spread thighs to grind his cock into your warmth. “We can’t,” you moan as his hot mouth pulls gently at your tit now, nipples dark and swollen. It’s been several hours since you’d nursed, and you feel the warmth of your milk as his tongue swirls around you. He groans, rough and hungry at the taste, bringing his knee up to lever himself over you, readying to rip your clothes off and take your cunt for himself, but as he moves to balance himself on one arm and knee while his other hand reaches for your panties, you press him off balance, dislodging him and rolling over as he goes, so that you’re left straddling the wide breadth of him. His eyes flash, provoked, and he jerks you forward, ripping the flannel off your shoulders so that your breasts are left bare and swinging heavily. With a rough grunt he bends his knees, shoving you up further on his stomach to wrap a big hand around your tit and bring it to his mouth. Mine, he growls, with your flesh in his mouth. He pulls on the taut peak again, another warm rush of your milk, his eyes locked on yours as he sucks from your nipple. It should be wrong, maybe it is, but like you’d said, the sex is still filthy, everything else is pure. 

“We can’t,” you whisper, carding your fingers through the long locks of his messy curls, the strands cool and soft at the ends, but hot and damp at the roots. You can feel your pulse thrumming at your throat, the insides of your wrists, the back of your knees. The slide of your wet cunt against his abdomen has the heat between the both of you ricocheting up to a sweltering dampness, and despite your protests, you moan as his hands roll you against him. “They’ll be up soon and banging on that door, you know it. Ellie and Dina can only hold them off for so long.” The girls had spent the night, not only so they could be here for birthday breakfast, but so that the two of you could spend a few extra peaceful moments in bed without three raucous monsters climbing in with you. 

“Don’t care – need you now.” He levers his head up off the pillow, following the swing of your breast until he can catch it with his mouth, teeth gently scraping across the bud. Joel, you whimper, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He makes a self satisfied noise low in his throat, crushing you to himself and sucking hard on your skin, pulling a strangled moan from your throat. Trying to pull away, grabbing his marauding hands, you try to pin him down with your entire weight, small fingers clasping around the thick of his wrists and pressing them back into the pillows. The two of you pause to take each other in for a second, I love you, he mouths up at you, silent, eyes on fire. You can’t help the deep flush, trying to swallow your smile and shake your head at him in mock disapproval, pinning him harder. “That isn’t gonna work, little thing. Got the strength of a butterfly.”

“Shut up.” You lean forward, pressing your mouth to the thick bulge of his bicep, dragging your teeth across the swell. “You’re mine – I do what I want.” He gives you a soft, conceding laugh, and you press kisses along his shoulder, across his collarbone, letting the long tresses of your hair snake like water over his face, his chest, his stomach. Scooting down his belly to nuzzle at the springy hair covering his chest, little tongue darting out against his nipple, smiling at the sound of his soft gasp. Further, further down, kisses to his soft belly, thicker around the middle now, sympathy weight, he calls it. But he’s so strong, and so endless, and you need him so much. You wiggle between his legs, forcing him to spread his thick thighs to make space for you and nip at the sensitive inner slope there. Nuzzling his hairy limbs, you pause to look up at him, cheek resting there, feeling the restrained strength of his muscles. The two of you go quiet for a second, taking each other in, and there’s so much said in his gaze. He brings his hand to the crown of your head, cupping the small bowl of your skull in his palm, and smiles a little, a teasing crook of his eyebrow, and you can’t help but laugh, turning your face to hide your own smile in his thigh. 

“What’cha gonna do, baby?” Hmm, he croons down at you, sliding his fingers through your hair. You sneak your fingers below the waistband of his boxers again, tugging them down to free the straining, thick cock and heavy balls. You press a barely there kiss to the skin just beside the base and watch as his length jumps, flushed head starting to leak. You give him another wry look, and he runs his fingers along the line of your jaw, up the slope of your cheek bone, hot touch following the wing of your brow. It’s all soft caresses and the sort of comfort that only comes from knowing another person almost better than you know yourself. You finally bend down and press a kiss at the tip, opening your mouth to let your tongue flutter along the soft, spongey curve. He lets out a long, restrained breath through his nostrils, fingers still roaming along your face, through your hair as you start to take him deeper into your mouth, levering yourself up over his groin so that he has a better view of your breasts and hair dragging over his thighs. A desperate groan, and you smile around his cock, you know him too well. You drag the flat of your tongue along the ridged base, a swirl around the fat head, his hand cupped at the nape of your neck. You can feel the pulse and throb of him against your tongue, and you moan around him, fluttering lashes tickling your cheeks, you want to feel that pulse at the core of you, deep where he owns you. “Yeah, baby,” voice soft and strained, trying to swallow the sound of his own pleasure in the hollow quiet of your still sleeping home. “Hum a little song around daddy’s cock, little bird.” And your eyes flash hot and desperate up to his own. A wash of heat spreads from the crown of your head to the tips of your curling toes, backs of your knees smarting, pussy going tight and desperate as a knot. You wrap both hands around the length of him and focus your suctioning mouth at the head, moaning wantonly, twisting your palms around the slick spit left by your tongue. 

“Fuck, yes – yes, yes yes. That’s perfect, you’re doing so good, Birdie. Just like that.” He bears his teeth at you, a wash of color spreading across the crests of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. You slide your slick hands down to cup his balls and take him to the back of your throat, moaning ragged and choked around the too thick length, swallowing repeatedly, trying to breathe through your nose, eyes smarting and thighs clenching. His fingers twist in your hair painfully, and he swells almost impossibly bigger in your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come, baby. Don’t swallow, don’t swallow.” He hasn’t stopped looking at you, eyes wide and frenzied. You pull back, squeezing his sack as he starts to spurt, thick and salty into your mouth. “Don’t swallow, lemme see. Gimme my birthday present, show me–” You pull away from his soaked cock, mouth sticky with semen, and present your tongue for him, the milky viscousness dripping sloppy while you continue to jack his still spitting length. He sits up suddenly, cock still fisted in your working hand to grip your jaw in his strong fingers. His eyes are filled with a sort of mania only you know how to bring out in him now that he’s been mostly tamed, and you bring your other hand up to your face, scooping the spurted drops of come on your cheeks onto your white splattered tongue. “Perfect fucking thing,” he growls. “You do what I say,” he gives your captured jaw a rough, little jostle. “Swallow now.” You close your mouth and obey, “Open again – lemme see,” sticking your now pink tongue out at him, he leans forward and licks into you, tasting himself. Filthy, filthy, filthy. I fucking love you, you can’t tell who says it, it doesn’t really matter. 

-

The farmhouse is a short ways outside of Jackson. He’d picked it after Lena was born, Kate and Clara had been two, and Connie would soon be on the way. The family needed more space, four children was a lot to manage, and he wanted his girls to have room to grow and play. You’d let him do as he pleased, and made the trek into the clinic every afternoon at first, but had taken on a partner two years ago, Jamie. She’d come to Jackson with her own medical background, and with four babies at home, the help was more than welcome. 

The house is old, but made of strong bones that Joel had painstakingly refurbished and now cared for meticulously. Filled with sturdy furniture he’d mostly made by hand, thick rugs and soft glowing lamps and books, books everywhere. And something else, something unknowable and invisible, but that was immediately obvious, nonetheless. A sort of love that was in such overabundance; it was an unbelievable sort of thing that a creature that had lived as he had could have ended up here, surrounded by all this goodness. Joel knows it is only because of you, all only your doing, his ending up here like this. 

As you step into the large dining and living space you stop abruptly, his chest bumping into your back, hands going to your hips to steady you. Your head cocks slowly to the side as you take in the new addition to the kitchen. “What’s that?” 

He presses his face into the warm, fragrant skin of your neck, smiling against the tender slope. “Made it for you.” It’s a kitchen table, long and thickly built, the warm oak color polished and cured to a glowing sheen. He’d snuck it in from the barn last night after you’d gone to sleep.

“It’s your birthday, you’re not supposed to be giving me gifts today.” He wraps his arms around your middle, his hand spanning across the soft swell of your postpartum belly. The change your carrying his children had wrought on your body was something that he’d not known would have such an effect of him. But the sight of you most days, wearing nothing but one of his oversized flannels, and his favorite itty bitty, pink, polka dotted panties. Swollen, leaking tits and the lush softness of your belly and hips underneath. Long hair, a tousled mess of a cloud around your head. Too fucking tempting. It brought out something not entirely civilized in him. How was he ever supposed to behave when you were prancing around your home together, surrounded by all your children, being the best mother the world had ever seen. Sometimes the urge to get you pregnant just one more time was almost irresistible. Soft and feminine and his, it did things to him, made him think unspeakable thoughts that he later acted out on you in explicit detail at night, in the privacy of your bedroom. Things had changed after the birth of your children, he had changed, in so many ways, in ways that Joel had never even thought possible. The intimacy, the closeness was something that he’d never even thought possible, something so vulnerable, so tender, his mind hadn’t had the capacity before this to imagine it. He’d never thought, never thought that he could love with an intensity like this, but you’d taught him so many things over the years. You taught him something new every single day. 

“It’s for me too,” he murmurs. “And giving you things makes me happy. Seein’ you happy makes me happy. This is my gift to myself.”

You’re quiet for a second, and he feels you tense and hiccup beneath his touch, trying not to cry. Finally, when you’re sure your voice won’t break, “Don’t be cheesy, old man.” But you turn in his arms, going up on your little toes to press your mouth to his, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. He sighs into the kiss, tasting you slowly, savoring you, feels himself thickening again already, just at the feel and smell of you. When he pulls back to look down at you, sure enough, your eyes are wet and gleaming, a soft flush across your nose. “Thank you, I love it,” A small sniffle.

“Get in there,” he says gently. “Stop provokin’ me.” He gives your bottom a gentle squeeze before letting go. 

After he helps you get the girls up and settled, he goes on a long walk with Ellie and Kate, leaving you and Dina to hold down the fort for a while. Sydney, panting along Kate’s gangly, coltish side as they lope ahead of him and Ellie. The old Newfoundland had shown up one day on the front porch, mud and bramble slewn, Kate and Clara had brought her in, told them her name was Sydney, and that had been it, the dog had stayed. The hound, covered in a nearly unmanageable chocolate brown mane, had what he called an old disposition, much like him, Birdie liked to tease, but gentle and slow. The perfect animal to patiently accompany the girls along their misadventures, but large and astute enough to herd and protect when necessary. They liked to wander sometimes, disappearing at any moment, hiding and jumping out to scare the two of you in your frantic searches for them. Trouble the two of them, Kate and Clara together. Clara especially, mind sharp as a whip and an inclination for trouble she could have only gotten from him, if he was being honest. Kate was always the cooler, more level headed voice of the two of them, even at five, nearly six, years old. With those deep blue eyes, like shards of sea glass with the very power of the sun shining through. They’d slipped out of the house a few months ago behind his back, and after his mad search he’d found them wandering, hand in hand, towards the treeline. Short legs setting a slow and stunted pace, Sydney had been following closely at their heels, towering over the two small frames. At the sound of his approach, she’d turned back with an aggressive growl, ready to protect the two vulnerable creatures in her charge, but he’d settled her with a gentle, It’s just me, Syd, and the hound had gone tame and sedate once again. He’d trusted her with them unfailingly ever since. 

They were meandering slowly along one of his and Ellie’s favorite paths now, slowly, allowing for child and dog to pause and investigate at will, dew-covered spiderwebs, bright tufts of moss and old, rotted logs covered in bugs Kate begged him to let her bring home. 

“Mom gets scared. We don’t want that, do we?”

“Mom doesn’t get scared,” Kate says, scrunching her nose up at him. 

“It’s secretly him that gets scared, Katie. Don’t let him fool you,” Ellie tells her. They walk for close to an hour in mostly silence, their ritual of sorts, listening to the sound of the woods around them and Kate’s soft voice going on and on at Sydney, while the dog seemingly pays the closest and most attentive regard possible. The quiet walks, something that calls back to their long journeys all those years ago, a way to remind themselves of where they’d been and what they’d come to. 

“What do ya think?” She breaks the silence after they’ve turned back toward home and the breakfast waiting for them. 

“‘Bout what?” 

“Anything.”

He shakes his head, watching Kate’s short leap over a puddle, sighs long and deep, “Dunno – so many things. Nice walk–” He gives her a wry look out of the corner of his eye. 

They reach the edge of the woods and pause to watch Kate breaking into a run towards the house, Sydney matching her pace. “I think we did good, don’t you?” He knows she means everything, all of it. Lena, three years old, bursts out of the propped open front door of the house, Dina on her heels. “We kinda made it, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, kiddo. We did good.”

-

“I drew you a birthday picture, Daddy,” Clara tells him.

“C’mere, my angel. Let’s see it.” Sitting around the new kitchen table, he pulls her up into his lap, Lena following suit to scramble up as well. 

There are seven figures: you, drawn with long hair that reaches your feet, Kate, Clara, and Lena, respectively, what he assumes is baby Connie drawn as a miniscule figure eight at your feet, something that resembles a tumble-weed more than a dog, poor Syd, and then… someone drawn as a big circle, with an even bigger head on top. “Where’m I, baby?”

“Right there.” She points at the big, round thing, “I made him soft like you, Daddy.” And she pats his belly so affectionately, looking up at him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen, poor Syd – fuck, poor me, he thinks.

“Thanks, baby. I love it.” He squeezes her into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you bent over the kitchen counter trying to strangle yourself in a kitchen towel to muffle the sounds of your hysterical laughter. 

After scrambled eggs and hot breads with honey and jam, bacon and fruit and coffee, perfect girl that you are, you’d somehow gotten him a tin of beans as a birthday gift, you bring out what the girls call the pancake cake. A large, wide stack of the fluffiest buttermilk pancakes, all lathered in Dina’s whipped cream, and a mountainous heaping of bright red strawberries. He watches you, a thing akin to awe in his eyes as you set the red and white cloud down in front of him, you’d put on a soft blue dress, robins egg blue, with tiny lace cap sleeves that fluttered with your movements and made his stomach dip and swoop and ache to reach out and toy with them. 

“The berries were a gift,” you say with a pleased smile.

“Oh, was it Jeff?” The grocer, Dina asks. “He’s so nice.”

“Who?” Joel frowns.

“Jeff, he works at the market. He–” You pause, a laughing smile playing on your lips. “He wanted me to wish you a happy birthday, baby.” His scowl deepens, your own smile widening. 

As soon as the cake’s set in front of him there’s a chubby little hand sneaking forward to stick grubby fingers into the confection. “Lena,” looking down at her, and the hand is immediately snatched back. “Oh, the candles,” you remember as you’re about to take the seat next to him. 

“Left them in the back room, with the other stuff I brought,” Dina calls as you head to what’s used as a makeshift laundry room at the back of the house. He gets up quickly, a murmured, I’ll help you look, following you and flicking the door shut behind him, the echoing sound of snickers and Ellie’s hooting, mesmerized by the swish and flow of the blue fabric around your legs, and with a bone to pick.

“You’re not allowed to go to the market anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take Ellie or Dina with you.” He pouts and scowls and fumes behind you as you rifle through the bags they’d brought with them.

“Excuse me?” You say again, voice soft and patient, infused with just a tinge of laughter. 

“You want me to say it again?” He steps forward, fingers ghosting through the ends of your long hair, hungry, possessive. “And who gave you permission to talk to other men?” And you snicker, not taking him seriously even a little bit. He wraps his arms around you, pressing you forward to squeeze your tits in his big hands, he’s obsessed, grinding his groin into the soft round of your ass. He drags his hands over the dips and contours of your body, squeezing lush curves as he goes, reaching to wrap around the delicate architecture of your jaw and pull your face around to look at him, taking in the beautiful heart shape of your mouth.

“Joel–” you chastise.

“Five minutes.”

“Behave, they’re gonna–”

“Don’t care. It’s my birthday.” He nuzzles your hair, searching for the small shell of your ear. “Just want a kiss, Birdie bird.”

“It’s never just a kiss with you,” but you turn in his arms anyways, pressing your mouth to his, licking into him before you’ve even fully got the words out. He gropes you, sliding a knee between your thighs to press against your mound and roll you against himself. Cupping the nape of your neck, he eats at you, sliding his tongue along yours. He can hear the desperate sound of his breath rattling in his own chest, and he slides his mouth down the slope of your neck, a soft nip to the tiny pulse there. He groans low in his chest, cock hard and straining against his jeans. “They takin’ them for the night, still?” He asks panting.

“They are,” voice a whimper, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging in frustration. You push him back by the shoulders, laughing gently, as you wiggle out from between his steaming, hard body and the counter. “Come on. Ellie’s gonna give you hell.” He braces his palms against the edge, head hanging trying to will his erection down and catch his breath. Jesus, Birdie. 

“Mama, why did Daddy go in there with you?” Clara’s little voice sounds as he steps back out into the kitchen behind you. 

“He was helping me–”

“They were making you another baby sister,” Ellie supplies unhelpfully, big fucking grin. Joel drags his thumb across his throat, staring daggers. 

“How do they do that?” Kate asks.

Ellie’s mouth opens, readying to worsen the situation, “Ellie–” Joel warns. 

Dina, ever the voice of reason, tells them patiently, “They write a letter to a stork, sweet. And then nine months later, he brings a baby.”

The girls are all quiet for a beat, digesting this newfound, eternally fascinating piece of information, until Kate says, in that solemn and level headed way of hers, hands primly set at the edge of the table, “I think the stork has come to our house too many times.”

Ellie cackles uncontrollably, Bridie’s giggle following suit, until the lot of them are caught in a net of laughter. Joel lets his head fall back, thumbs tucked at his belt, letting a long sigh out. “Jesus.”

“Jesus!” A little voice yells out in imitation. 

-

“What is a stork?”

“A bird,” Ellie provides. 

“Is that why mama is Birdie? Because she makes the baby come?”

“Yeah, baby. That’s why,” You tell Kate, smoothing a gentle hand over the crown of her bright blonde head. Inquisitive little thing. With your other hand you flick Ellie in the back of the head. Mother fucker, you mouth at her affronted look. 

“Father fucker,” she mouths back with a snicker. 

Once the candles are securely in the cake and lit, and Clara’s added her ever helpful, Mama, we need one thousand more candles, Daddy is so old, he nudges his head at you. “Come be a good girl, and sit on my lap,” he says quietly. You perch on the strong expanse of his thigh, one arm around the back of his neck, the other coming to entwine with the fingers of his hand at your waist, twisting the gold band of his ring round and round his finger. 

The girls sing Happy Birthday, Daddy, at the top of their lungs, and you watch him watch them, the clenching of his jaw, those fine little muscles that wrap around his mandible, fluttering as he grinds his back molars together, the ripple of his throat as he swallows again and again. The corners of his eyes go a little wet, tears lining the edges of those gorgeous hazel eyes as he stares into the flames of his birthday candles while the girls sing to him – off key, off harmony, so full of love. Clara clambers up onto his other knee midway through, plants herself on the endlessly strong surface of her father’s thigh, the safest place in the whole world. “Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you,” she whispers up at him, laying her little head on his shoulder, gazing at him with those same hazel green eyes that reflect his own image back at him, remind him of another little girl he’ll never stop missing, and he brings his hand up to cradle the back of her skull in his large palm, presses his lips to her forehead, love you so much, baby girl, whispered into her skin. Your first baby. His eyes fill further, and they flutter closed, trying to contain all that you know he’s feeling right now. Your hand on the back of his neck strokes softly at the overly long curls, soft and thick. You press your thumb into the notch of his skull, anchor yourself there, I’m here, I’m here, we are here together, look at all we have, and he turns to look at you, his cheek resting on your daughter's head. “Thank you,” he says, and you know that he means for all of it. 

Cheering squeals, laughter, and the padding rush of little feet over the floorboards as the rest of them start to run around the table, shrieking fills the air as they scramble over him, trying to climb up as well. He buries his face in your hair and shudders as he presses a tiny kiss to the soft lobe of your ear. Look at all we have. The whole world right here at our kitchen table. 

-

The birthday of a perfectly happy man is spent like this: a long breakfast with the woman of his dreams and all his daughters surrounding, a lazy afternoon, trying to doze on the deep, lumpy couch, intermittently interrupted by a knobby knee and a sharp little elbow to the gut or thigh, lunch and peach cream popsicles on the porch, watching the clouds, searching for shapes like treasures in the deep blue sky. 

He thinks of Sarah, as he lays there surrounded by her sisters. The sweet shape of her face, the dove green of her eyes surrounded by the thickest, darkest lashes he’s still ever seen to this day, Lena’s eyes are the exact same shade, the texture of her curly hair beneath his palm. Her memory is faded now, after so long, but he works it like a muscle in his mind every day, a staunch refusal to ever let her go. And no matter how far away he moves from that day, he still asks himself sometimes: How does one grapple with the loss of something that big, something that essential? He’s lived with a hole in his heart in the shape of a little girl for so long, decades, but now, with all of this surrounding him, he also has so many things that leave his heart so full he’s almost bursting with it. The two opposing feelings often leave him feeling bloated and without space within himself, and yet, he always finds another nook or cranny for more. Even when it’s left him tired, when his remembered past hangs over his head so that he feels, sometimes, like his edges are disjointed, not glued together symmetrically, you’re there to put him back to rights. 

And the memory will always be painful, it will never not hurt. It’ll never not be agony. But it’s easier now, to recall all the wonderful, all the good. Sometimes, he almost feels afraid of the intensity of this happiness, but in those moments, when that old fear returns you’re able to recognize even that, like everything else in his heart you know as well as your own, and you take him into your arms, reminding him that his whole life is right here in this house now, that you’ve saved him. 

“Look at the clouds, Daddy. There’s shapes.” 

Sprawled in the lush grass in front of the house, the three girls surrounding him. He presses a kiss to Lena’s soft curls, “Look at that one,” he says, “What d'ya see there?” 

“A bunny,” Kate says with all the self assurance of knowing she’s the eldest sister, and thus, the wisest. 

“A bunny? You sure?”

“Yes, Daddy. Don’t you see it?” Clara interjects. “He has big ears and funny whiskers just like yours.” Raucous giggles and screeches after that as they jump over and across him, with claims that he needs reminding how a bunny hops and leaps.  

Eventually, when they settle, Birdie brings out more cake, leaves the four of you to sit in a huddle criss-cross-apple-sauce and discuss the woes of kindergarten at the school house in town. 

“Mama told me I’m not allowed to bite,” Clara gives an exasperated huff, abandoning her cake to melt into the grass and crawl into his lap. “She bites a lot,” Kate adds. Irritated, pushing unruly curls out of her strawberry red face, “But– but I don’t like that Mama said that to me, Daddy,” she continues, looking at him very seriously, “I like to bite so much,” followed by the most conniving smile he’s ever seen, besides Ellie’s, blooming proudly across her angel sweet face. He’s forced to swallow his laugh and explain the merits of listening to her mother, something they must all do. When he turns back to look at Lena, she’s licking the spilled whipped cream out of the grass. They have to go inside for baths after that. 

At Kate’s behest, they have spaghetti and meatballs for dinner that night. Tommy, Maria and their son joining the family alongside Nancy, so that the table’s chock full of the people who care about him, all coming together to celebrate one more year of Joel’s life. By the end of the meal, he has all three girls perched on his lap, eating spaghetti off of his plate because, Daddy, it just tastes so much better from yours, obviously. He’s never been able to say no to them, and he isn’t about to start tonight, and you roll your eyes, but you also look at him with that gleam that tells him that if he asked you for another baby tonight, you’d probably not say no. They eat his food and yank on his hair and stab him with pointy sharp elbows in the ribs repeatedly, at one point someone sticks their finger up his nose, pulling his nostrils apart to look inside. 

“Daddy, why do you have so many hairs all over?”

“It’s so dark and scary in there, Daddy.”

Clara nods so fast her curls bounce up and down around her head, “I feel scared when I look up there,” green eyes wide. 

“What are they for, Daddy?”

Questions volleyed at him so fast he doesn’t have a chance to answer a single one of them. “If you eat spaghetti, will your boogers taste like spaghetti after?” Ellie, ever brilliant and helpful, suggests they try some to verify the theory.

“What is verify?” One asks.

“And what is seery?” Another calls. Birdie’s red in the face with laughter, and Joel feels very tired and very old and very ready to take his wife to bed. 

“A theory is when you think about something,” Tommy says, and gives him that look he’s wont to throw his way when he’s about to make fun of Joel for not being able to keep it in his pants and stop procreating. 

“And verify is to make sure,” Joel tells them.

“What is to make sure?”

“To know something.”

Kate nods solemnly, while Clara pauses, and then says, “I don’t think I know anything.” That worried sort of look only a five year old can get when an idea is just too big, crossing her little face.

Chuckles sound around the table, “That’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.”

-

As they say good night, the girls packed and ready to spend the night at Tommy and Maria’s, Ellie and Dina taking baby Connie, Ellie pokes and prods at you. 

“Would you quit, you little shit.”

“Dinner was nice, step mommy,” giving you a smarmy little smirk. 

“You know, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“It’s serious.” 

She cocks an eyebrow at you, “Spit it.”

“Well, I was wondering if you’re going through something right now? If you’re okay?”

“What? What do you mean?” Face twisted in confusion. 

You snicker, pulling on the ends of her recently shorn hair, “Then what’s up with the new fuck ass little bob you’ve got going on?” She slaps you away, swatting at your arms, reaching down to get at your thighs too. 

“Fuck you, mother fucker,” she laughs, trying to yank on your hair too. 

“Stop it. You have to respect me. I’m your step mother, remember?” 

“You’re so annoying.” You hear Joel call at the two of you to knock it off, but goes entirely ignored. 

“Poor Dina’s gotta look at this mess. Let her know if she ever needs to get away from it, she can come stay here any time she likes.” 

“I hate you,” she laughs, and you pull her in for a tight hug, another pinch to your side before she hugs you back. 

“Tough shit, I love you.” She squeezes you tight, grumbles a little before returning the sentiment. 

“Thank you,” she whispers into your shoulder, “For making him so fuckin’ happy.” You squeeze her tight as you can before she shoves you away, pretending not to sniffle and rolling her eyes at you. “Now stop being so fucking weird and sappy, and say good night to your football team.” 

-

“Blood Meridian again?” You ask him from where you’re standing at the kitchen island, snipping the ends of the flowers Nancy had brought with her and arranging them in a vase. “How many times’ve you read that?” He’s sitting on the sofa, facing you, reading glasses sitting crooked and bent on his nose from where someone’s little foot had crushed the frames. You watch the flicker of his gaze as he peeks at the page number, and then snaps the book shut. He never uses a bookmark, always just remembers. 

“Dunno–” big sigh, long stretch, “More than I can count now, I suppose.” He settles back into the couch, pushing his hips forward to slouch deep, tired, spreading his thighs wide, tempting you. You finish with the flowers, walking the vase to take center stage on the new table. At the far end of the table, right by your spot, he’s carved a tiny little sparrow into the surface of the oak. The etching so fine, so delicate, in comparison to the sight of him, big and brusque. It would be almost unbelievable to someone who didn’t know him as you do, who didn’t know the violence he’d endured to make him so gentle, someone who hadn’t watched him pull your newborn daughters from your own body, who hadn’t witnessed the incredible sight of him cradling those tiny little babies in his infinitely strong arms. You turn back to look at him over the hill of your shoulder, taking in the sight of him watching you, appraising your form. The slow rove of his eyes starting at your bare feet, moving up your legs as if his gaze was a physical manifestation of his hands on your skin, over the swell of your bottom, the slope of your spine, the fine crest of your shoulder, landing on your face. You can see his eyes moving over the planes of you, your chin, your mouth, cheeks, your eyes. He lands there, stays. You know he’ll be hard beneath his jeans when you go over to him. 

“C’mere – come sit on me,” voice soft and sultry. 

“Sit on you?”

“Mhmm, come tell me how much you love me.” He pats his thigh, and you move towards him slowly, shaking your head at him. 

“Needy.” You reach him, hitching your knee over his lap to straddle him, and he pulls you close and tight against his warm, wide chest.

“So needy.” He nuzzles into the fine tendrils of hair over your forehead, his breath hot and soft on your skin. “Need ya so much, Birdie.” A soft kiss to your temple, another to the flared end of your eyebrow, and you squirm on his lap, hot and restless and needy also, a fine thrumming ache flaring throughout the various pressure points in your body. Your throat, the inner curves of your elbows, the backs of your knees, deep in the pit of your belly. You feel weak and trembling, and he fills his hand with your hair, bringing it to his face and rubbing the soft curls against his cheek. “It’s time I take you to bed, isn’t it?” You hum against his collarbone, taking in the scent of his skin, fresh and clove-like, cedar sap and sage and Joel, you nod slowly against him. 

He runs a bath for the two of you, filling the deep clawfoot tub in the master bathroom. He’d outfitted the house from the get-go with the same system for electricity and water that Jackson ran on. And he pulls your clothes from you slowly, running rough, caressing hands over the sensitive slopes of your curves, gentle pinches and squeezes to the places he likes most which is all of you. When the two of you sink into the tub, he sits between your legs, wide back leaning back on your chest so that you can run your hands along the strong breadth of him. You taste the water off his skin and listen to the sound of him rumble and purr like some sort of overgrown wolf beneath your touch. 

“Did Clara tell you what happened at school yesterday?”

“Said you told her no more biting.”

“Did you tell you she punched some poor boy?”

“She did what?” He tenses, long fingers wrapping tightly around the circumference of your ankle in his lap.

“She called one of the boys in her class, and I quote, a little fucker, and then socked him in the nose.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Clara,” he sighs, laying his head back on your shoulder. “Why in the hell did she do that?”

“She’s your daughter.”

He hums as if he can’t bring himself to disagree with the reasoning. “Little fucker probably deserved it.”

“You’re not supposed to call children fuckers, Joel.” He grunts. “She also told him that her dad was going to beat up his dad.”

“Oh my God. I’m too old for this shit.”

“They’re heathens because of you. I hope you know this.”

“They ain’t heathens. They’re perfect.”

“You weren’t saying that last week when they painted your face blue.”

“Jesus, you’re right. Thought it was never comin’ off.” You snort, rolling your eyes at him, but hugging him closer. The best father anyone could ever want for their children, surely. “Gotta teach her how to throw a good punch,” he adds to himself. 

You wash each other’s hair after that, taking turns lathering each other up, rinsing out the suds, and when he’s finished with you, he carries you to bed. Lays you out like his own personal feast and tastes you everywhere. The pads of your water-wrinkled toes, the backs of your knees, the crest of each hip bone, cruelly bypassing the place you need him most. Dragging his mouth over your stomach, tongue savoring the silvery streaks left behind by the growth of your daughters inside of you, over your nipples, dark and swollen. His mouth rests at the notch of your throat lightly, and then, whispered against the moist spot he’d made with his tongue, “You’re the only dream I’ve ever had. You know that?” And you tell him that you do, you do know, your husband who is, in his own right, like a dream figure. 

Finally, taking pity on you, he slides down between your thighs, making room for the incredible breadth of his shoulders, and gently as possible spreads you apart with his thumbs, takes in the sight of your embarrassingly slick, untouched cunt. He blows a slow stream of cool air over your pulsing clit, and bends his head to lightly drag his tongue over the swollen bundle. And you’re going to cry, real, desperate tears. “Joel, please, don’t be mean.” But he’s never been very good at that.

“Oh, I know,” he tuts, “My poor baby. Been waitin’ all day haven’t you?” He’d purposely not made you come all day. This had been his plan all along, you know it. Another, light as air slip of his tongue, his mouth, sliding down to your leaking opening, mouthing against it, barely there. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the whole world, little bird. You know that?” And he licks your clit for real this time, the broad, flat of it pressing against you in one long, slow swipe. You can’t answer, ragged moan clawing up your throat. You reach for his dark head bent to your sex, one small foot propped against his thick shoulder to anchor yourself as he starts to eat you. Sucking hard and fast on your poor, throbbing clit, moving down to spear the strong muscle of his tongue into your pussy. You want more, you want his cock, you want it, you want it, you want it. He sucks the orgasm out of you, lapping and kissing at your cunt until you’re shuddering and shivering, clenching around that terrible, painful emptiness, leaking onto his tongue, and then surging up quickly. Massive fist around his cock, he presses the drooling head at your clit, teases you there slowly, watches the heave of your breasts as you struggle for breath. You bring your knees up, spread wider, inviting him in, and he notches the head slowly, giving you nothing more than the flared crown. He pauses there, thrusting shallowly, watching your swollen, red pussy swallow him, and head catching on the blushed rim, he spits, rubbing the flat of his fingers over the crest of your sex, the unsheathed length of his cock, and then presses in, in, in, in, all the way. You give a warbled whimper, trying to twist away, clawing at the sheets. You’ll never be used to it, never not enjoy the twinge of hurt when he gives you the whole thing. “Fuckin’ love it when you sing for me, little bird,” he moans. And he doesn’t give you a chance, doesn’t give you a second, he never does, setting a hard and brutal pace, riding your cunt like he owns it, because he does. 

He wraps his hand around the round of your breast, squeezing, but still careful of how sensitive you are, thumb flicking at the tender nipple, and you spread your legs wider, one hand hooking beneath the sweaty back of your knee to pull yourself open, your other hand reaching down to cup the swinging weight of his balls as he thrusts up into you. He bares his teeth at you, wide palm landing with a little snapping slap low on your pelvis to press down, feel himself from the outside as you squeeze his balls. He shakes his head at you, fire in his eyes, “You’re gonna end up pregnant again, Birdie,” voice chastising, a little like a threat.

You close your eyes, back arching to take him deeper, don’t care, you want to say. “N– no, noooo, can’t” you pant instead, “Can’t get pregnant – breastfeeding.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said last time, little girl.” He lets himself fall forward, the bone of his pelvis grinding against your clit, and your cunt goes tight and so, so fucking wet, throbbing and fluttering around him, trying to suck him deeper, working around the hard invasion as you start to come. His sweaty, steaming head falls to your breast, mouthing wetly, fucking you through it, just like that, he murmurs, my perfect girl. 

“Don’t– Don’t come in my pussy then.”

“No?” He slows his thrusts once he’s felt the trembling of your walls around him settle, lets his hips seesaw in and out slow and languorous, long provoking strokes. “Should I fill that sweet ass instead?” And despite the fierce blush that washes along the length of your body, you nod shyly at him, running your hands down his belly. The fact that he still possesses the ability to drive you to shyness after all this– “Say it, baby. I gotta hear it.” You flush impossibly deeper, little toes curling in humiliated excitement and lust.

“Please, daddy, please– I want it in my ass.” He pulls out suddenly, the lewd wet squelch of your cunt closing hungry around nothing. He spreads his fingers over the length of your sex, slick, gleaming cock, flushed so red it’s almost purple, veins pulsing along the length. “Gorgeous thing,” he murmurs as he starts to pet at your ass gently, thumb swiping, giving you light pressure, and then pushing in slowly, slowly. Your mouth falls open, gasping, eyes wide and wet and probably, definitely, a little pleading. “Lemme in, Birdie. Let me have this sweet little hole.” You nod, a marionette caught on his string, hips starting to hitch and follow the thrust of his invading thumb. “I’m gonna fill it with my come, and then watch it drip out of you. That what you want, baby?” Yes, yes. He pulls his thumb from you, slides his slick hand over your leaking sex again, and then fists his cock, the dull pressure of the wide head at your back entrance, pushing in slowly, making you feel the stretch and burn of it. Your fingers claw and scrape against his chest and abdomen, trying to pull him towards you, push him away, legs shifting restlessly at his sides until he’s buried to the hilt, heavy sac pressed against the curve of your bottom. Sweat slides in steaming rivulets down his temples, his neck, and a bright red flush moves across his chest and up his thick neck. You watch a violent shudder jerk through him, lashes fluttering closed, and then screwing shut tightly as he tries to control the rush of his oncoming orgasm. He runs his hands up your stomach, the dips of your waist and hips, wrapping around your breasts. “You’re doing so well, my little love.” He opens his eyes to take you in, pulls his hips back, and then pushes in again. “Taking my fat cock in this tiny hole. Look how messy and wet your greedy cunt is. You want me to fuck you here too?” He pulls your lips apart, wide, thrums at your swollen clit, and then starts to press a single finger slowly into your pussy. And oh, it’s too much, it’s too much, stretched and stuffed so full of him everywhere, the play of his fingers also on your clit, he starts to fuck your ass in hard, jolting thrusts, growling your name through clenched teeth. 

“Look at it,” he spits, “Look at where I’m fucking you open. Look at how you’re all fucking mine.” Your heart beating out of your chest, insides twisting and throbbing, you take in the sight of your blushed sex stretched to obscenity around him, his soaking fingers, two of them now, pressing slowly in and out of your cunt as he slams into your ass. You let your head fall back, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come – oh God.” You cross your arms over your face to hide the sight of your overwhelmed tears, and he pulls his fingers out to slap the top of your cunt in a single stinging swat that you feel reverberate in the place he’s impaling you with his cock. “Nuh uh, you let me look at that gorgeous face when you come all over me.”

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t – it’s too much. 

He doesn’t give you a choice. There’s never been much of that where he’s concerned. Everything below your navel goes painfully tight, white light streaking across your eyes as you twist and writhe beneath him, and he follows suit, starts to fill you in thick pulses, the heat of his spend coating your insides with a savage snarl of your name, the breath nearly knocked out of you with the intensity of your shared orgasm. He lets his weight fall over you, pressing you into the bed, massive body shivering and jerking, buried deep inside of you, and after the last spit of his cock, he pulls from you slowly, moaning softly and rolls the both of you over. Draping your listless form over his chest, arranging your limbs how he pleases. You shiver and feel the sweat cool along the slope of your spine, enjoy the tickle of your lashes catching in the coarse hair of his chest. You feel him play with the long tresses of your hair, draping them over his chest and shoulders, rubbing the smell of you against himself. Picking up the hand curled over his shoulder, he absently draws the backs of your fingers against the edge of his jaw and his ear, kissing and sucking on the soft tips. 

“Tell me you love me,” you tell him.

“I love you, Birdie.”

Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

“Tell me that you’ll always love me.”

“I’ll always love you. For the rest of my life, as long as I live, I’ll love you.”

-

Nights later, after the excitement of celebration has died down, and the family’s settled back into peaceful routine, you think about when you’d first realized you were pregnant with Clara, and how you’d worried the news would disturb the happiness and peace he’d fought so hard to find for so many years, terrified that in some way, you’d force him into a situation he didn’t want, wasn’t prepared for. Now, looking across your large bed, two dark, curly heads, another bright, blonde as a star, separating the two of you while he sleeps deep and peacefully, Connie in her crib at your side, you are once again, like so many other times, hit with the full appreciation for the miracle this family is, how wrong you were to ever worry about it being anything but. 

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That was absolutely intense and holy crap once again could read a biblical amount of this ❤️❤️

hard work gets rewarded (18+)

joel miller x lonely housewife x carpentry crew

summary: you spend all day cooking and cleaning for your neglectful, shitty husband, trying to be the perfect little housewife. when it's time to get some renovations done on the home, you get terribly distracted by the handsome contractor joel miller and his crew. things escalate.

word count: 5.5k

a/n: yeah, I'll admit it: I got carried away with this request. I wanted to make a fun little gangbang stew of various kinks. because why not. full disclosure: I don't know shit about carpentry, construction, or anything, really (except being painfully horny for joel miller), so please don't scrutinize any of the sparse carpentry talk.

tags/warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), dom!joel, unspecified ages, gangbang, piv penetration, double piv penetration, oral (m and f receiving), infidelity, breeding kink, kinda free use kink really, creampie, objectification, bit of degradation, tiny bit of rimming, tiny bit of foot stuff), as usual for my fics just forget about the irl dangers of unsafe sex <3

The renovations were going slow, as expected. You spent your days nervously trying to avoid the carpenters roaming about the house, deciding not to question their seemingly random approach at the different areas of the house that they were working on. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, it was just awkward to constantly have them around, watching you go about your day, completing your usual tasks. 

Unfortunately, your usual tasks consisted mostly of taking care of your husband; most of the time you felt more like his nanny than his wife. He might've had a good paying job, but he was absolutely helpless when it came to doing anything for himself. As much as you had come to resent him, you did your best to act like the perfect, quiet housewife that he wanted. 

It was just hard with so many eyes on you all the time. It seemed like they were constantly leering at your body, making you self-conscious. At first you wondered if you were just reading into stereotypes about construction workers–especially since the men were all so polite to you–but you knew their looks weren’t innocent. It gave you a strange sensation, imagining all those men sexualizing you in your own home. Men you paid to work for you not even bothering to be subtle about their perverted glances. 

It all made you so tense in a way you didn’t quite understand. 

“Darlin’, can we steal a moment of your time?”

Your heart quickened at the knock at the door that was followed by a low, husky voice; you could tell it was Joel. He was devastatingly handsome and walked with a quiet confidence that made you ache with forbidden want. Every time you interacted with him, you seemed to embarrass yourself, blushing and stuttering like you used to as a teenager with a crush. 

You rushed to the bedroom door, checking yourself in a nearby mirror before opening the door. You gave him a small smile and tried to focus on not glancing at his toned biceps, teasing you from the confines of his short sleeved t-shirt.

“Was just wonderin’ if you wanted to come check out the kitchen, tell us what’cha think.”

You nodded, following him down the stairs, taking a moment to appreciate the musky mix of his sweat with what must’ve been his deodorant. 

“What’cha always busy doing there in that room of yours?” 

Something about the question made you feel embarrassed. “Just trying to stay out of your way, is all.”

At the end of the staircase, he paused and turned to you with a smirk. “Wouldn’t mind ya in my way at all.”

You were shocked by the implication, but your face warmed red with arousal, not embarrassment. You stared at him with your mouth slightly agape, struggling to find a reply. 

Meanwhile, Joel just grinned at you, clearly knowing the impact of his words. It was enough to make you figure that he just liked teasing the meek little housewife. 

He slipped his hand over your arm and rubbed gently in a way that you figured was meant to be reassuring but instead just made your heart pound a little faster.

Heavy footsteps alerted you both to the presence of another man, but it wasn’t until he began to speak that you realized it was your husband.

“Can you vacuum in here already? Fucking dust everywhere.”

He stopped once he reached the end of the hallway, taking in the sight of his wife blushing with one of the contractors’ hands on her. 

“Oh,” he muttered, shooting Joel a disapproving look. “Didn’t realize you were still here. All the other guys are out packing up for the day.”

Joel nodded, not seeming fazed for a moment. “Was just gonna show her the kitchen, make sure everything’s up to snuff.”

“Show me instead. She’s got a great eye and all, but, uh… well, I’m the one signing the checks, if you know what I mean.”

The smug smile on his face made you want to scream, but you just awkwardly smiled and nodded. That’s all you could do these days; smile and nod in the face of your own denigration.

“Reckon she deserves a say,” Joel grumbled, unyielding in tone but finally removing his hand from your arm. “If those muffins she made for us the other day are anything like the type’a food she’s making you on the daily, you oughta make sure she likes the kitchen.”

Your husband could barely hide the look of disdain on his face. “She still can’t cook for the Mediterranean diet, but, sure. Let’s all take a look at the kitchen.”

His behavior made you annoyed, as usual, but the sight of the kitchen helped to cheer you up. The finished sections were exactly as you had pictured it, minus the thick layers of dust and tools strewn around. You couldn’t help but smile at the new tiling and the granite countertops.

“What’cha think?”

Joel was watching you walk through the kitchen gleefully. 

“It’s perfect.”

“Sharp countertops,” your husband muttered, as if he hadn’t even heard what you said. “Gonna be a bitch to babyproof.”

Joel looked surprised by the comment. “You’re expectin’?”

You smiled sheepishly at Joel and shook your head. “No, um, we’re trying.”

“I’m doing my part. This one here just can’t seem to hold up her end of the bargain.”

His words stung, reopening the wounds of your troubled marriage. None of the fertility doctors your husband dragged you to could ever figure out why you weren’t pregnant yet. You were fine with it, having not already felt ready for motherhood anyways, but he was in a terrible rush, as though he were a king anxious for an heir.

Joel scowled, and you watched him open his mouth, looking like he was ready to say something that might get him fired. You quickly interjected.

“This beautiful kitchen will have to be my new motivation to, uh… try harder, I guess.”

Your husband just snorted, taking one last minute to inspect the kitchen before heading upstairs, not bothering to say goodbye to Joel.

The days moved on slowly, and you began to shy away from the men less and less. You did your makeup and your hair, and you put on nice dresses, loving the looks of desire you received from the men as you moved about the house tending to your usual chores. You found yourself baking for them almost daily, and they showered you with praise. Their comments about how lucky your husband was made you feel less incompetent as a wife; you just wished he was able to see things the way they did.

You liked all of them, but your favorite–by far–was Joel. His gruff, masculine demeanor was nicely juxtaposed by the gentle way he spoke with you, always complimenting you and making sure you were happy with renovation decisions. 

One day, you had overheard Joel explaining to the others why he couldn’t stand your husband while you stood behind the kitchen door, ear pressed up against the thin wood. He mentioned the pregnancy comment, and the other guys had just scoffed, making jokes about how they’d have “no problem knocking up a woman like that.” 

The vulgar comment affected you immediately, causing an ache inside you that made you feel ashamed. You eagerly watched for Joel’s reaction to that through the tiny crack between the door and the frame. 

He just scoffed at them, shaking his head.

“Don’t mean any disrespect…She’s just damn fine. And sweet. Whole package.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Joel responded with a grin. “Just, uh… well, if anyone’s disrespectin’ her, it’s me. It’s that limp-dicked husband of hers who's the problem…”

You stood there, peering into the kitchen with your mouth open and your cheeks red. The ache in your cunt only deepened at his words. 

“Needs a real man to fill ‘er up,” another man commented, voice low.

They eventually returned to their work, and you retreated upstairs to your room, yanking out your vibrator from the nightstand and getting yourself off as soon as possible. You imagined Joel’s big, warm hands all over your body, his voice grumbling in your ear while he fucked you with what you were sure was an amazing dick. Fantasies of being splayed out on the new granite countertop and used by Joel mixed with the men’s words playing on a loop in your head and helped you reach a quick orgasm.

A knock at the door was the only thing that jolted you from your post-orgasm glow. You tossed the vibrator under the sheets and tried to fix yourself back up, ignoring the obvious redness on your cheeks.

When you opened the door and saw the grin on Joel’s face, you wondered just how long he had been standing there.

“Hope I’m not distracting you from anything.”

You quickly shook your head, trying to play it cool, but his face made it clear that you had been caught. 

“Just, um… cleaning up. Something I can help you with?”

“Cleanin’ up? Sounded more like you were gettin’ dirty.”

You watched with horror as he chuckled at his joke, wishing you coul d just curl up in the fetal position and die of embarrassment already. As you stuttered, helplessly trying to find a way to respond to that, Joel just shook his head at you.

“Sorry, darlin’, sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. All in good fun.”

His words actually did help you calm down, so much so that you just flashed him a bashful smile and muttered something about him not being funny.

“You oughta do whatever you want in your own house.”

For a second, you wondered if you were just imagining that pointed lilt in his voice when he said whatever you want. Surely that was all in your head, right?

“What, um… Did you need something?”

Joel convinced you to come downstairs after an issue came up in the kitchen plans. It was some issue with the kitchen island you wanted installed; some pipe not where they had originally thought it was, making it impossible to install the sink in the island like you wanted.

“Take a look down in the cabinet,” Joel instructed as the other men stood around watching, waiting for your deliberation.

That morning you had carefully selected a playfully short dress with no panties in a not-entirely-subconscious way of teasing the men. Unfortunately, you forgot all about that as you rushed to comply with Joel’s order, almost an involuntary reaction to him telling you what to do. You got on your knees in front of the island and poked your head into the open cabinet, taking a look at the pipe in question. It was only then that you felt the air on your pussy, which must’ve been exposed and spread nicely for all the men to see.

You gasped immediately, pulling your head out of the cabinet and trying to cover your lower half despite the tiny dress. 

You could tell that the feeling in the room had changed instantly as the men looked down at you with hungry eyes. You couldn’t even dare try to look at Joel.

“Put your head back in, sweetie. Gotta tell us if you think your sink’ll be worth the extra cost it’ll take.”

You could barely understand his words after the first sentence. 

“Y-you should wait and ask my husband… I-I don’t really know much about this stuff, and my husband’s the one paying and-”

“Take another look.”

Joel’s tone wasn’t threatening or harsh. The only thing that scared you in that moment was how much your sensitive cunt ached at his words, along with the silent stares from the other men.

You looked at him from your knees only for a moment before peering your head back in the cabinet while Joel began to explain the pipe’s position and what it would take to move it to get the sink in. Talk like that normally went over your head, but it was especially incomprehensible as you wondered if the men could see how wet you were.

He finished by telling you how much it would cost.

“Lotta money,” you whispered, not thinking much at all about sinks. You couldn’t stop yourself from slowly shifting your knees further open on either side, feeling your labia spread open even more.

You heard a sharp intake of breath before Joel spoke again.

“From our point of view, you certainly seem worth it, sweetheart.” 

You wondered for a moment if your fantasy might actually come true, whether it be on the granite countertop or on the cold tile of the kitchen floor. As long as Joel fucked you, you didn’t care where it happened. True to form, however, your husband ruined all your hopes and dreams.

The sound of his car door slamming the driveway caused you to jump up to your feet, not able to look any of the men in their eyes as they tried to “look busy” before your husband walked through the door. You mumbled something about going to change your outfit, knowing that he would be upset with you if he saw you wearing something so short around men who weren’t him.

Joel just grabbed your arm and waited until you looked him in the eyes before he shook his head. “Let him see.”

You watched him bite back a grin while the front door opened and you just prayed your face wasn’t noticeably red.

As expected, your husband protested the extra talks, but Joel was able to talk him into it, winking in your direction once he finally said yes. Later that night, after the men had left for the day, your husband had pulled you into a tight embrace before bed, hands roaming over your body.

He tried to initiate sex, but you told him you weren’t in the mood. He just let out an irritated huff but told you how sexy you looked in that dress.

“All those fucking workers can look, but I’m the only one who gets to have you,” he muttered, sounding quite pleased with himself. You just kept your mouth shut, thinking about Joel while crawling into bed.

You moaned info Joel’s mouth as his hands roamed all over your body, groping at your ass. His big arms pinned you against the kitchen island, his crotch rubbing against yours.

It had all started so fast. You found him working on the floorboards by himself, kneeling on the ground in a way that made it hard to not stare. He began asking you about wood tones, but he could tell you were focused on a different kind of wood.

It wasn’t long before he placed his hand on your calf, beginning to rub slowly up and down your leg while you struggled to finish your sentence about which tone looked most natural. 

“Goddamn,” he muttered in between kisses. “Been watching you walk around teasing me these past few weeks.”

You were pleased to hear that your carefully selected outfits had your intended effect, but you were even more pleased when Joel’s hands made their way to your waist as he rose to his feet. He used his new grasp on your body to spin you around and push you up against the wall. The feeling of his clothed erection rubbing against your ass while he kissed your neck from behind caused you to let out a pathetically needy moan.

“That husband of yours doesn’t deserve ya, baby.”

With the feeling of Joel’s hands pulling up your dress, the thought of your husband was a million miles away. His hand cupped you over your panties, and you were sure the heavy breath he let out was in response to how wet you already were. 

You should feel guilty, but you didn’t.

“Please,” you whimpered, rubbing your ass back against him in the hope of encouraging him to speed up to the point where some part of him was inside you.

He slipped a finger underneath your panties, finding your clit and beginning to mercilessly rub, groaning at the feeling of how wet you were already. 

“Been thinking about this since I first saw you.”

“Me too,” you replied in between a breathless pant and a small whimper. 

You could practically feel the smile on his face as it was pressed against your neck. “Could tell. All that time you spent hiding out in your room… bet you were up there touchin’ yourself to the thought of this.”

He wasn’t exactly off base. Before you could respond, the front door opened and you heard the sound of boots on the hardwood floor and the other contractors speaking.

You gasped in embarrassment, trying to pull the back of your dress down before the men walked in. Joel just chuckled behind you, hands still buried deep in your panties as the kitchen door opened. 

“Sorry, boys. Couldn’t help myself any longer.”

“Joel,” you snapped, trying to cover yourself up and get his hand out from under your dress.

“‘s okay, baby. We’re all friends here, right?”

You finally found the courage to look back at the four other men, watching with shocked faces. 

“Could be a nice way of saying thank you for all the hard work we’ve been doing.”

You looked back to him with your mouth open in shock; all of your fantasies only involved Joel.

“It’s cute how shy you’re actin’,” he murmured, one hand rhythmically circling your clit and the other shoved under the neckline of your dress, groping at one of your breasts. He turned your body so that you were once again on display for the group of men. “After you spent the past week teasing us.”

“Leanin’ over while doing laundry,” one man muttered with a dry chuckle.

“Been wanting to grab that ass all week,” another one added.

Your panting only increased as the men spoke. With his thumb on your clit, his other fingers moved lower and began to push into your cunt. That only lasted for a moment, though; his fingers instead began to run through your wet folds before abruptly pulling his hand out of your panties altogether.

You weren’t proud of the pathetic whimper that escaped your mouth at the loss of his fingers, but you were too turned on to care about decency at this point.

You watched him hold out his hand towards the men with a smirk. “Look how much she fuckin’ wants it, gentlemen.”

You let out a soft moan, hips beginning to move on their own closer and closer to Joel’s crotch, desperate for his touch.

“She loves to clean so much,” one began, his hand grabbing at his crotch lazily. “So make her clean up her mess.”

Joel seemed to like that suggestion as much as you did. He looked you in the eyes, and he didn’t even need to ask you; you opened your mouth for him immediately, sticking out your tongue slightly.

He smiled, bringing his thick fingers to your mouth, slowly rubbing them on your tongue. He gave you a moment to enjoy the taste of yourself on him before pushing his fingers fully into your mouth, practically making you gag at the sudden intrusion. You sucked gently, eyes locked on his the entire time.

“Fuck,” one man muttered. “I wanna taste her next.”

“Well, ‘m not putting my fingers in your mouth,” Joel retorted.

The man just laughed. “‘m more interested in going straight to the source.”

Joel removed his fingers from your mouth, using his other hand to pull the hair back off your face while you closely watched him. 

“Wouldn’t you like that, baby? Mouth on your cunt, tongue inside you?”

It did sound amazing. You just nodded gently.

“They’re good men, trust me. Wouldn’t have ‘em on my crew if they weren’t trustworthy.”

You looked over at the men, acknowledging that you found them all attractive (even if they weren’t as sexy as Joel). You found them even more attractive while they watched you with a darkness in their eyes, much more intense than anything you’d seen from them before—and their hands on their cocks.

“Tell ya what,” Joel began, his hands on your hips, slowly rocking his bulge against your crotch. It wasn’t anywhere near as much pressure as you needed from him, and your head was dizzy with desire. “Promise you that only I get to come inside your pretty little cunt.”

You stared back with wide eyes, and he leaned his face close to yours, tilting his head so he could whisper in your ear.

“We both know it already belongs to me. I’ll fill you up, knock you up like you deserve.”

A breathy whine fell out of your mouth, and you finally began to nod. 

Joel smiled, looking over at his men. “Dreams really do come true, boys.”

The men shared some looks of disbelief that told you that this situation hasn’t happened for them before, and you didn’t mind being their first.

“Works for me,” one gruntled, already pulling his cock out of his pants. “I can think of plenty other spots to shoot my come.”

“In her hair, so that prick husband can find it later,” another added with a chuckle.

You liked the way they spoke about you but not to you, like you were just a toy for them to play with.

As if Joel had a direct link to your fantasies, he suggested they get you into a more comfortable position, laying you on top of the kitchen island. Suddenly, there were hands all over your body, quickly pulling off your dress and underwear and tossing it on the ground, while others grabbed at the freshly exposed skin. 

Despite your nerves about the situation, you couldn’t deny how amazing it felt to have so many hands on you. You kept your eyes locked with Joel’s.

The man who had made a comment about eating you out began to kneel in front of your spread open legs, but Joel was quick to admonish him. “I get the first taste, Jones.”

He grumbled a response but stood back up and moved to the other end of the island where your head was. Before he could even get his dick near your mouth, Joel spoke up.

“That too.”

The man grunted in complaint, but finally settled on bending his head down to wrap his mouth around one of your breasts, his hand pushing away another man’s hold on the other one so that he could grab at it and run his thumb over your nipple as you moaned. To reward him for listening to Joel’s instructions, you reached your hand out and grabbed at his cock, rubbing the head with your thumb.

Between your legs, Joel began to rub his hands over your inner thighs, pushing them open further. He only tore his eyes away to take in the sight of you spread out for him, causing him to shake his head.

“Fuckin’ perfect, baby.”

You smiled at his praise, but you wished he’d get his tongue on you already. You whimpered out a “please” that told him all he needed to know. He gave you one last smirk before leaning in and swiping his tongue across your core, giving a groan at the taste of you. 

His fingers quickly began to prod into you while he focused his tongue on your clit. You tried to hold back a moan, but it was almost as though Joel could tell; he quickly sunk his fingers in you, and you were unable to hold back. 

You moaned shamelessly, beginning to buck your hips towards his face, desperate for more and more. And he gave it to you. His fingers moved faster in and out of you, curving up in the direction that made you moan the most. 

“She makes pretty noises,” one man commented. 

Joel pulled away from you for a moment to respond. “‘Cause she fucking loves us using her.”

He got back on his feet, and you looked at him with wide eyes.

“Wait,” you began to whimper, prepared to beg him to get back between your legs.

“Gotta try your mouth now, baby,” he said, stepping towards your face. He grabbed your chin and angled it up in his direction. “But Jones can finally have his fun. Wanna feel you moan around my cock when you come on his mouth.”

He must have had no plans of easing inside your mouth, letting you get one lick across it before he grabbed the back of your head and sunk his cock inside you until you began to gag on it.

Joel groaned, and, as you began to convulse from your first orgasm, you wondered how you were going to survive all this pleasure.

You had seen scenarios like this in videos before. A slut in a bar getting bent over a pool table and fucked by every patron. A secretary getting called into a board room meeting to service all the male executives.

You fantasized about it for yourself but  never once imagined it could actually be you, spread out on the kitchen island with hands all over you, a cock in your mouth and one in your cunt. Beside you, the other men found ways to satiate their desires with your body. One was stroking himself while he licked desperately at your foot. It wasn't normally something you’d care for, but you found his fervor to use you undeniably sexy. Another man was pinching at your nipples while you lazily jerked him off. The final man stood on the other side of your face, rubbing his cock against your cheek as a cock moved in and out of it.

Joel pulled out of you and fell back to his knees once more, latching his mouth against your cunt to taste you again. It slowly moved down to your asshole, licking around the tight ring of muscle. It was nothing you had ever had a man done to you before, and you moaned at the new sensation but were scared of what he might have in mind.

“I-I can’t take you there,” you whimpered once you were finally able to get the other man’s cock out of your mouth.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Joel said with a dark chuckle. “Tight as a clam down here. Was just hoping we could get another cock inside you at the same time. Really stuff you up.”

As disgusting as it felt to admit as another man’s cock slid back and forth across the wedding band on your finger, you wanted that too. You wanted everything from them.

“Got an idea,” Joel muttered, pulling over a chair from the kitchen table and taking a seat. “Bring ‘er here.”

The men followed his instruction and helped you get off the island, placing you in Joel’s lap, facing him. You absentmindedly moved your hips so that his cock was moving back and forth through your folds, which made him smile. Despite that, he was quick to get it back inside of you, stretching you out once more. As you began to ride him, he motioned for another man–the one who was just desperately rubbing his cock over your cheek–to join him.

“We can both fit in here,” he grumbled, holding back a grunt. “Stretch ‘er out real nice.”

You moaned at the implication, but you certainly had no interest in saying no. The man had to take an awkward angle, causing Joel to help by leaning back in the chair and shifting you a bit, allowing him to get his cock up against your already stuffed hole.

He groaned behind you as he pushed the head further in, rubbing up against Joel’s. As much as you enjoyed the look of pleasure on his face, you had to close your eyes from the sensation of being stretched out by two sizeable cocks.

“Fuck,” you gasped, slowly moving up and down while you adjusted to the feeling. “S-so good.”

Joel smiled at you, hand holding your cheek carefully. “You this big of a slut for that husband of yours?”

You quickly shook your head. 

“I don’t buy it,” he muttered. “Doesn’t he keep you here all day just so he can use this pretty cunt whenever he wants?”

“She oughta come and hang out with us at all our worksites,” a man said beside you, slapping his cock against your face.

“Clearly she fuckin’ needs it. He grabbed your chin and applied enough pressure to cause your lips to part, and he angled your face in the position of the man beside you. “Suck his fucking cock.”

Being ordered around by Joel was the final straw for you; your orgasm hit you like a train, and your hips began to frantically jerk around while your cunt convulsed around their cocks. Then men groaned, clearly enjoying the feeling of it, too. The man finally stuffed his cock in your mouth before you could even catch your breath. Joel just grabbed the back of your head by your hair and began to move your head himself, forcing your mouth deeper and deeper.

On the other side of you, a man was jerking himself off, his hand moving fast. Joel must’ve noticed, and he immediately pulled your head back and off of the other man’s cock.

“Keep your tongue out.”

The man understood what Joel wanted and moved closer to your face, reaching his climax with one final grunt. His come began to splatter on your face, and you loved the feeling of the warm liquid beginning to dribble down your face, mixing in with your own saliva. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel joked out. “Now you really look like the dirty little whore you are.”

You had never imagined deriving pleasure from hearing a man call you something like that until it came out of Joel’s mouth. You gripped his shoulder harder, trying to stay balanced while your legs feeling like jelly after your second orgasm. 

He took a moment to spit in your mouth before gesturing for the other man on the sidelines to get some time with your mouth. His cock was shorter but thicker, and you elected to lick frantically at it while he palmed his balls. Joel leaned in and began to lick at your nipples, softly biting them just to hear you yelp in shock and begin to grind down even harder on his cock.

The man behind you, who was helping to fill you up so nicely, muttered something about how he needed to finally get off, and Joel was quick to remind him that only he got to come inside your cunt. The man just slipped himself out of you and got back on his feet, asking you where you wanted it.

“Her tits,” Joel choked out, and you wondered if he was going to come soon, too.

The man angled himself perfectly to come on your chest, spurting on both of your breasts as he rubbed the cock head against your nipples.

With Joel still in your cunt and another man in your mouth, you turned to look at the other man waiting to get off, stroking his cock with a pained expression on his face.

“Tell him what you want, baby,” Joel muttered as he grabbed your hips to stop your riding. “Tell him how you need to get filled to the fucking brim again so you can come all over our cocks another time.”

“Please,” you whimpered, still facing the man. “S-stuff my pussy.”

He whispered a small “fuck” and quickly assumed the same position as the other man had taken, slowly easing himself in. It didn’t take long before you were coming again.

Semen covered your face, breasts, and ass now, and it was just you and Joel. After the other man had reached his limit and came all over you the second he pulled his cock out of you, Joel practically pushed you off the chair, carefully bringing you to the cold laminate of the floor. 

He took you now from a new angle, thrusting at a merciless pace that you found intoxicating. You supposed you should be ashamed at all the come on your body, all the orgasms you had been pushed through. But you weren’t. The only thing on your mind was feeling Joel’s come inside you.

“Please,” you whimpered. “Fill me up, please!”

He was gritting his teeth, moving in and out of you at a frantic pose that only got worse after your pleading began. “Yeah, babygirl? Want my come painting your fuckin’ cervix?”

You nodded frantically. 

“Beg.”

“Please,” you moaned immediately. “Please, Joel, please.”

“Gotta tell me what you want,” he specified, a strain in his voice that told you he was struggling to stop himself from coming already.

“Please b-breed me, Joel.”

That was the word that made him finally come undone. He let out a sharp yelp as he brutally knocked his hips into yours, and you felt the sensation of his warm come spilling inside of you. Once he was done twitching inside of you, he slowly pulled his cock out of your swollen cunt, causing a small squelch when the head popped out. He struggled to catch his breath while you looked around and saw that a few of the men were already beginning to jerk themselves off again. 

You just laid there in the debauchery of what you had allowed to be done to you, while Joel muttered something about how he oughta get you a pregnancy test. 

all joel taglist: @mishala005 @i-likemygymteacher @imonmykneessir @marleyybluu @elthreetimes @eggnox @imagines-of-the-fandom @tinygarbage @staywildmoonx @elissaaa @Oldsoul1518225 @earthtogrogu @love-the-abyss @doenaior @worhols@methebaby @suzmagine @m1vfs@beewhohatestea @ktheunready @tusk89 @casa-boiardi @killerrxger @jae-michael@itty-bitty-baby-face

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@boinkybarness @gracevnn @trisaratops-mcgee @laysmt @happy--birthday--kiddo @gothamgurl2024 @azure_waves @educated-zombie @munsonrry @uncassettodiricordi @atticrissfinch @starvolce @bbyanarchist @elegantduckturtle @pattwtf @lilipads @walkintheprk @voteforpedro09 @jennieasfrance @oscillatewildleey @winwin70 @sciencefictiondoes-blog @trisaratops-mcgee @lovers-liability @ichigodjarin @untitledarea @sphmltfndm @sciencefictiondoes @Jordyvav @blackvelveteen1339 @sarahhxx03 @Papipascalispunk @warm-tea-and-otp @staywildmoonx @educated-zombie @Vickie5446 @casa-boiardi @midwesternwitchery

fire bird

AHHHHHHH

bloodlust

Absolutely adorable

human disguise au doodles made in whiteboard fox because ibispaint wasn't working

I LOVE THE WAY THIS IS BEING REWRITTEN AH!! IT ADDS SO MUCH MORE FLAVOR AND GETS RID OF THE PROBLEMATIC PARTS

Bride of Discord Chapter 9: The Spark

Discord observed distantly at the Pegasus Fluttershy as she fed her animals. The view was only slightly warped in the strange glass, like it had cooled in the middle of the pour, with ripples and silly colors. He had distanced himself, as his presence disturbed the critters. Unsurprisingly.

Besides this, he He was fascinated by how well she was able to tame every creature, calming them down and nuzzling them. The fur that connected to her feathers housed small lizards and baby birds. Even the large bear posed no threat to her. She even allowed it to lick her. mane.

How did she do it? How could she be so kind that even the fiercest of creatures were enchanted by her? Ironically enough, that was exactly what he thought of her: enchanting. Magical. She treated him the way she did not because she was afraid of him, he knew that for sure.

He shook his head. His lips made flapping noises and his eyes rolled around like marbles. "What's happening to me?

His reflection responded, "You're turning into a sap, and all for that wimpy pegasus!"

"Hey!" Discord exclaimed, glaring at the mirror. "Don't talk about her that way!"

"See? You've even stooped so low as to defend her honor! You've fallen for your own act!" His reflection scratched at his horn and it fell off.

"I have not! I just…" he twiddled his fingers, "happen to find my fiancé…slightly attractive. What's wrong with that? S'what a husband's supposed to do!"

"What's wrong?! You've never found any pony attractive in your life! Even if you were to start, why would it be this pony? I mean look at her!"

Discord glanced back out the window. "Yeah, so?

"She's just so…flawless! There's not an ounce of discord in her! She's just so…so…"

The draconequus sighed dreamily. "Perfect."

The reflection's wings fell off.

"Exactly! She's too perfect! You have to change her! Turn her hair green or something!"

"whatEVER, she's not even perfect. She gets nervous very easy, she has eye bags, she curls her upper lip weird, shes so strange but she carries herself in such a way- I like some differences!"

"Ugh!" the reflection growled. "Listen to yourself! Where is your pride?!"

"Oh, shut up! I have a fiance because I'm so powerful!"

The reflection's beard fell off.

"she's the opposite of you!"

"that's the cool part- thats what makes it CHAOTIC!"

He waved his hand and draped a blanket over the mirror then turned his attention back to Fluttershy. He had to get closer, but he did not want to frighten her. So he perched on a tree branch just a few feet away, scaring a few birds in the process. His grin widened. She certainly was more interesting up close. But of course, to sit and watch felt eerie even to himself.

"Hold still, Angel Bunny," she said in her sweet voice as she fluffed the rabbit's tail. "There. All done." She lowered herself onto the plush grass. Zoysia, or Raleigh st. Augustine.

The rabbit leapt into her hooves and cuddled her. Discord's heart fluttered as he heard her giggle for the first time. That's so wacky! Ponies are satisfied so easily.

"Yes, I missed you too. I needed some lighthearted sass."

Angel then pulled away and yapped something that made Fluttershy frown.

"Oh, you see…I made a deal with him and…we're getting married."

As the other animals heard this, they made frantic noises. She tried to calm them down.

"Yes, yes, I know, he doesn't appear very friendly…"

Discord was starting to regret bringing those animals.

"But…he's not as bad as you think."

This made his eyes widen. The animals screamed in protest.

"No, really," Fluttershy assured them. "He hasn't really done anything to me yet…though I will admit, he still scares me a little…but he did bring you all here, and that makes me happy."

She then started singing to the birds, who sang in response. Discord closed his eyes as he listened to that sweet, melodic voice of hers. Never had he ever heard a sound so beautiful, so perfect, much like the pony it came from. He would have listened to it all day had the branch not given way beneath him. He let out a cry as he hit the ground, frightening the animals and causing them to scatter. Fluttershy shrieked and spun around. Her terror faded once she saw the draconequus' state.

"Goodness, are you hurt?" she asked, flying over to him.

He flinched as she lightly touched his paw.

"Oh, don't worry about me," he said, getting up. "I'm fine."

Fluttershy glanced up at the broken limb. "Were you spying on me?"

"No! Well, I was in the tree, but I wasn't watching you!" He grinned sheepishly. "You see…I didn't want to disturb you, and…sorry I scared your animals off."

She sighed. "Well, as long as you're here, care to help me feed the animals? There's so many of them you see and it's getting late…"

She pointed at the sky turning orange and pink from the sunset. The clouds looked like fish scales and shimmered their droplets of water like pearls. It had just rained and the rainbows shining off the clouds reminded them of the gems on the castle.

"Sure, I can take care of it!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Done! Now how about some dinner?"

Fluttershy's stomach growled at the mention of food. "Come to think of it, I haven't eaten much today… I nearly ate some of my bird's seeds earlier on accident."

With another snap of his fingers, a picnic blanket appeared beneath them, along with that came frozen daiquiris into two glasses. Discord offered her a glass. She spaced the small sips she took.

Still suspicious, she accepted the glass and took a sip. He had told the truth.

"So I take it you're enjoying the garden?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes," Fluttershy said with a smile. "Thank you again, but…" She looked up. "Some of the birds were flying, but something stopped them when they got too high."

"I didn't want them to leave you, that'd be rude!"

She stared at him with distressed eyes. "So the animals…are trapped here…like me?"

Seeing her smile disappear, Discord realized he had made a mistake and had to correct it. He gently lifted her chin.

"Cheer up, my dear. They're here with you. Isn't that all that matters?"

"I suppose," she replied, still not smiling.

He had to get that smile back, so he snapped his fingers and made a frosted carrot cake appear. Fluttershy's mouth dropped open.

"How did you…?"

"I told you," he stated simply. "I had nothing to do for three years but spy on you ponies. It was only natural that I find out a few things."

He summoned a cake cutter to cut her a slice of the cake and placed it on a smaller plate.

"What about dinner?" she asked.

"I'm sure we can break the rules a teensy bit," he smirked.

As she took the plate, a fork materialized in her hoof, Discord grinned as her smile returned. That is, until he realized she had no possible way of using it. She simply dipped her head and bit out of the slice.

"This is the best carrot cake I've ever tasted!" she declared.

"Only the best for my bride!" Discord said, taking a slice of cake himself.

Fluttershy blushed but then looked at him seriously. "Why were you spying on me, anyway? Just now, I mean."

"I wasn't spying, I was…observing. After all, you are a…interesting subject to watch."

She said nothing and stared down at her hooves, her face turning red.

"I wasn't lying, you know, when I said you were beautiful."

She looked away. "T-thank you, but…I'm not that... Comfortable with that."

"Oh, don't be so modest, my dear!" He tilted her head toward him. "You are a natural beauty, and that's saying a lot, coming from me. Usually when I see something so perfect I don't like it. But maybe it's because you're different."

Fluttershy moved from his claw and looked at the grass. "Not really. I mean…I was a model for a short while…"

His eyes widened. "Really? I mean, sure, you have the look, but…with that posture??"

She clutched her pearls in mock indignation.

"that's not at all why I quit! I couldn't handle all the attention and I had less time for my friends."

"Oh, I see…"

"See what?" She turned back to him to see a mischievous, disconcerting look on his face. "Discord, w-what are you…?"

She squealed as he attacked her with a hug. She kicked her legs frantically

"Discord, let me go!"

"What's the matter?" he taunted. "Can't handle all the attention I'm giving you?"

"N-no, I…" She trailed off as he ran his claw across her back. Then she started giggling. "T-that…he he…stop that…he he…tickles!"

This was his first time hearing her laugh, and it was captivating.

"Ha-ha! Please! I have to…ha-ha…finish my cake!"

"Oh, alright."

Discord sighed as he released her, only to have her tackle him over.

"Wait…what are you…? Ha-HA-HA-HA-HA!"

She was using her feathers to tickle him in return. However, she did not have the advantage of size. He snatched her up before she could get to the real torture.

"Nice try, you devious little thing!" he exclaimed. The rocking ceased and they pulled away from each other. "So in conclusion, I don't play."

Fluttershy giggled. "Understand."

He gently set her down. "You know? You should laugh more often. Laughter becomes you well."

She blushed and then realized that was the first time she had belly laughed with someone is weeks. heck, maybe even a month.

After they had finished eating, Fluttershy was getting tired. She had been unable to sleep with everything going on, so she decided to retire early. When she entered her room, she looked in the mirror on the vanity, examining her face and hair. No matter how many ponies called her beautiful she felt like an outsider looking in at a conversation. They weren't complimenting her, they liked her face.

"Thanks for walkin' me home, Spike." Applejack said when they reached the edge of the farm. "And thanks again for helpin' me with the critters. Even though it didn't turn out so well, it was still mighty big of ya."

"Anything for you, AJ," the dragon said with a smile.

She lowered her head and tucked her face back behind her hat. He skipped and flounced so lovingly. She wondered how betrayed he'd feel when he realized that two of his first best friends stole away his first love. Not that he could've had a chance to date her, but what an unfortunate way to realize your situation.

The last pony she wanted to see zoomed past her, unwaveringly hovering over her like a wraith in the night. Then, her features peeked through the black lace sheet of night.

Applejack was about to say something when Rainbow Dash smiled and her words caught in her throat.

"I was lookin' for you! Rarity asked me to come over, and I want you to come with!"

"Aw shucks, talk about'a wingpony!"

"You know I gotchu! Besides, you just make sleepovers more... Uhh.."

She noticed the farm mare's tentative gaze. She actually listened to her, and considered it. It didn't help Rainbow's flow of thought that the ponys eyes seemed to glow when she blushes. Illuminating her smile were street lights, showcasing her bonny beautiful smile lines. Her teeth were slightly crooked, but rainbow had hyperdontia anyways-

"Dash? Shug? The sleepovers?"

"right! You make em' more fun! All of us are different and we mesh WAY too well. Anyways, I gotta hot date, and she's YOUR marefriend!"

Rainbow was chased playfully by the draft pony, after all her head cleared when she flew.

Fluttershy woke up with a scream. Discord flew through her thick doors in the moments following.

"What is it?! What's wrong?!"

She sighed in relief. "Nothing. It was a bad dream."

"Oh." Discord blushed in embarrassment. "My bad, I just thought…

"That I was in danger?" she finished.

She had to admit that was awfully sweet of him.

"Yes, but you're not, I see. So I'll just be going…"

"Wait! Could you, um…stay for a little bit?"

He stared at her, and then clapped his hands, turning the lights on. He sat on the edge of the bed.

"So this nightmare," he said, "what was it about?"

Fluttershy was about to tell him, but then remembered who she was talking to and hid her face under the covers. Discord was confused by this reaction. Then he recalled something and frowned.

"Was it about…me?"

She peered out at him. "How did you…?"

"You mentioned it to your friends."

She hid her face again in shame. "I'm really sorry, I…

"Tell me."

"What? Why?"

She was hesitant at first, but the beans had been spilt. She told him how it was the same every night: he would hold her, chuckle darkly, whisper horrible things in her ear, and sometimes turn her into her discordant self again. It stung him.

"Is that how you see me?" he asked, with hurt behind the mask of his bright eyes.

"I…I…"

"Please, I…I don't know why I keep dreaming it. I'm not scared of... You, in front of me."

When he gazed into those pleading eyes, his coldness dissolved. He could not leave her in this state.

"Alright," he said with a sigh. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep.

She smiled in thanks. "I'm not really sure if I can go to sleep now."

"How about I help you?"

"Sure, but what…?"

With a snap of his fingers, they found themselves sitting on top of a cloud high above the castle.

"Whyd you do that?" Fluttershy asked.

"It's a clear night," Discord said, lounging onto his back. "I thought we could have a look at the stars."

"no- well not no, but why did you teleport us? We can both fly."

"works up a sweat!" Suddenly as she looked at him he wore an outfit similar to the actress and activist, Mane Fonda. only, in the 80's.

"They're beautiful," she marveled.

"Yeah." Discord muttered. She raised an eyebrow at him. "I can admire pretty lights!" He continued to look at the ones reflecting in the pools of her eyes rather than the ones in space.

"You know Twilight could name all the stars and planets and constellations?" she said. "Every single one of them!"

Her smile wavered at the thought of her friend. Discord saw this and knew he had to distract her.

"The stars are rather boring when they're stuck on the sky like that, aren't they?"

He waved his paw and Fluttershy gasped as the stars moved into the shape of a butterfly.

"Does that count as your confines?"

"if it isn't, I got lots of paperwork to do."

Fluttershy watched as the astral butterfly flapped its wings against the night sky and floated in circles. "Well…it is kind of…neat…"

Discord laughed triumphantly as the smile returned to her face. "See? My chaos can be useful."

"you've done more useful stuff than that. Just, for your reasons."

He grinned and made writing motions with his claw, using the stars to spell out a message. Fluttershy's eyes grew to the size of frying pans as she read it: Do you love me? Check Yes or No. Underneath, he drew two boxes marked 'Yes' and 'No.'

When she turned to him, he had that excited look on his face. He handed her his glowing claw, still pointing towards the sky. She glanced between him and the message, and then finally took the claw and drew a check in the second box.

Discord shrugged, still half smiling. "Creative, eh? I'm getting good at this."

...

"I-I'm really sorry, but…I just don't…feel that way about you yet…"

"No, it's okay!" he said quickly.

But it was not okay. She had rejected him before, but for some reason, it hurt this time.

He stiffened as he felt something nuzzle against him. He glanced down to see the pegasus curling up to him.

"But I'm willing to accept you as a friend," she said softly.

It was as if a string were pulled inside his chest. "Friend?"

"Why, of course. I think it's only fair."

He did not know what to say. "Oh…well, I've…never really had a friend before. i should rework the sign."

The stars now read: Do you wanna be my friend And if you do, Well then don't be afraid to take me by the hand If you want to. I think this is how love goes. Check yes or no.

"Huhuhuh, I stole that."

"Never?"

"What do you think?"

She nuzzled closer to him. "Well, now you do. And I'm sorry."

He blinked. "For what?"

"I was wrong about you. You're not a monster."

She closed her eyes and snuggled into his fur. Discord stared at her in awe, not believing that such a pony could exist. Not only was she beautiful beyond belief, but she was kind enough to even care for him. Even if she had not given him what he had expected, the idea of having a friend made his heart explode. Who knew I even had a heart?

She mumbled. "Well, you might be. But I like monsters then."

He stuck out his claw unsurely and began to stroke her mane. Fluttershy opened her eyes and looked up at him. He retracted his claw, not sure why he was suddenly so hesitant.

"Sorry, I…do you mind?"

She stared at him for a moment and then smiled. "No, it's okay." She flipped onto her belly and closed her eyes. "Go ahead, so long as you don't tickle me again."

He chuckled as he sat up, leaning on his arm. "Don't worry, my dear. I'll be gentle."

Not wasting a second of this opportunity, he placed his paw on the top of her head and slowly ran his fingers through her mane. He sighed internally at the softness of her hair and Fluttershy was once again surprised at his tender touch. His raptor talons now used to graze her scalp ever so gently, like a large bumblebee on a small flower.

The sleep she was lulled in was one discord was hesitant to cut short. So of course he didn't. He lie close to her, feeling her heart beating, and wondered if it was him she dreamed of. Thank Celestia they were together, he just wanted to stay in this moment forever.

So he curled his body around her, like a dragon guarding its treasure. He continued to stare at her face, so it would be the last thing he would see before drifting off to sleep himself. He didn't want to sleep though, he could've spent the whole night just hearing her breathing. Watching her smile while she slept. Despite his droopy lids, he didn't wanna miss a thing.