#How the fuck did this turn into a story halfway through?

[darkspace7]

[That Which Protects The Falling Rain] Pt.1

[A Sort of Synopsis, if you will]: Okay so the other day I was just faffing about and watching some videos discussing some of the Bleach Brave Soul character design choices as you do and then I got to thinking about how there were so few decently good fics featuring our good man Ishida and then that somehow led into wondering why there weren’t hardly any detailing the situations of how one would even come about to wear those alternate costumes in the first place and then that somehow devolved into contemplating time/dimension travel and fusion (as in literal fusion –not crossovers- although those are nice too…) fics and what-ifs involving rather creative semi-roll swaps and we all know that canon is basically just a suggestion at this point so anyway-

Here’s my-

“Through An Exceedingly Convoluted Series Of Events Spanning The Course Of About Roughly Two Weeks Uryū Ishida Gets Yeeted To An Alternate Timeline/Dimension Thing With An Imprint Of Ichigo Camping In His Soul As A Sort-Of Bastardized Zanpakutō And Now He Must Wage In Shadow Espionage Bullshit Because At This Point Aizen Is Still A Problem And Tipping Off The Quincy While Everyone’s Even Weaker Than The Timeline They Left Would Be Bad. (Also Having Two Instances Of The Almighty + Antithesis In The Same General Vicinity Is Apparently Bad For The Continued Existence Of Reality) And Somehow Not Potentially Fuck Everything Else Up Even Worse Than Last Time As Well As Try Not To Have A Complete Nervous Breakdown In The Mean Time.”

-AU…

But that’s kind of a mouthful so imma just call it [That Which Protects The Falling Rain] AU

So yeah…

As you can obviously tell from the prior blurb this is more or less canon divergent starting from the point that Ichigo got his powers back after the timeskip (which –in my completely honest opinion- was a bullshit arc anyway for a number of reasons that I refuse to go into at the moment) with the main kicker of it all being the things that happened with the whole Quincy ordeal went significantly worse off than in canon and basically a bad time was had by everyone.

[Unwind the World and Your Nightmare’s Gone]

Turns out that if you have a crumbling pillar that props up what is an already heavily destabilized world murked on top of everything else tends to accelerate the wholesale destruction of everything in existence. The first of this was quickly realized when Hueco Mundo, the Wandenreich, and the Soul Society all crashed and began to bleed into one another. This mockery of a union only served to further tip the scales to such an extreme that Hell itself –which at this point was still puttering along as the sole remaining pillar of reality- began to develop cracks in the framework before eventually just giving way entirely. And thus things started to bleed indiscriminately into the World of the Living.

Which, I don’t need to tell you, was bad news bears.

In the chaos and calamity people were dying in droves and –because the reincarnation cycle was wholly and utterly fucked- they were staying dead. The very few individuals that had been smart enough to dip when the water hit the wall or were (un)fortunate enough to dodge the first fires of the literal apocalypse managed to bunker down, sustaining themselves on the heavily overly-saturated reishi of the atmosphere as they waited for the inevitable end tailmarked on the hands of the three souls that still carried on. These three –the False King tainted with the spark of divinity, his Heir who sought to put an end to his reign, and the Hybrid who felled God Himself- who fought on even though everything and everyone they had once stood for having fallen ages before them; their hands grasping for that last pyrrhic victory because what else is there at this point?

But –much like the moon for which his blades were named- even the powers of god-slayers must wane and on the field of battle enemies will use any fault to their advantage. And so, with a decisive slice of the blade, the False King went Off With His Head and the prodigal son made his way back home like the rest of his children. But it was here that Yhwach, made a Mistake™.

For all that Ichigo Kurosaki was a hybrid of both Quincy and Soul Reaper, he was also part Hollow as well.

And Hollows are poisonous to Quincy.

But the imprudent ruler was past caring at this point -was confident he could weather the poisoning of his soul- that he just had to stop for a moment to allow the restless stubborn child to settle down and from there he could then adapt and adjust. But to do such a thing on a battlefield where there was still one other active combatant left (no matter how you have dismissed the other boy as being a non-threat at this point) was pure hubris in of itself.

Enter: Uryū Ishida.

Armed with a silver arrow crafted from the bodies of his kinsmen that he lifted from the corpse of his estranged father and the sheer and utter spite of someone who has seen every single last one of their friends and family be killed and subsequently has no more fucks to give decides in his exhausted state to pull an Ichigo and lets the fly.

It hits.

At long last, the Old King was dead.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because the being named Yhwach was a great number of things, however, unprepared was not one of them. Being able to see possibility after possibility was indeed a great boon when it came time to sketch out an action plan for such eventualities. Case in point, when faced with the surefire destruction of your own physical and spiritual being it is perhaps okay to latch on to and borrow another. And what better source than your treasonous Heir not a stone’s throw from where you currently were?

Long live the king.

Or so you thought bitch.

Turns out neither did the Quincy child nor the rebellious echo of the hybrid boy much care for his attempt at bodyjacking. So unanimously they decided to say –fuck that- and pull off their own sort of deus ex machina using Uryū’s Shrift in conjunction with Ichigo’s kind of admittedly bullshit hybridity powers to throw a wrench in things and swap the Fate of not only himself the other late teen’s echo as well so that in the end it was Ywhach who would be the one subsumed.

And by some fucking miracle, it worked.

They successfully managed to topple the Quincy King from his position to allow for Uryū to then supplant himself on the vacant throne as the King as the remainder of Ichigo’s unique spiritual signature securely subsumed the rest of Yhwach’s essence and then somehow used it to stabilize the burgeoning fuckery that was now his (and apparently Ishida’s???) soul.

Long live the King (and his new and only somewhat unwilling headmate) indeed.

Just in time for reality to start falling apart.

With the weight of the final battle having finally given way to bone-deep exhaustion he –(or, rather, was it they now? Truth be told, neither boy was entirely sure what to make of their current situation and the sheer number of existential issues that simply arose from their paradoxical state of being. But then again that sort of thing wasn’t exactly a new thing when it came to his whole impossible existence now was it? Hell, he’d had so many ‘impossibles’ tossed at him that at this point the very word was starting to lose all meaning, honestly. And this current bit of what-the-fuckery was just another layer to the botched clusterfuck of a cake now wasn’t it? ‘…Good god Kurosaki do you think you could save your little existential crisis for later? Neither of us have the energy for it and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m pretty sure that at least one of us currently has a fucking concussion.’ No, fuck you man, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the world’s fucking ending. This is a good as time as any, man. ‘I just want somewhere we can get a chance to rest.’)- leveraged their worn body up on unstable legs in search of an unbroken spot where they could do just that.

Sometime along the way he had noted the larger of the orange-haired hybrid’s blades among the debris and stopped to examine it. (Or rather, having sensed the echo of their wielder contained within, it had lowered itself to allow him a chance to look upon its glory. At least, that was the impression that it seemed to be giving off anyway. Yeah, like a pair of stray cats you rescued from out behind the dumpster on trash day, his Zangetsu was. But even to the end they tried to help in their own way… ‘‘Slaying Moon’ huh? What an apt name for such a blade.’ Blades. There’s two of them. Ah, that was right. But if so then where…?)

Even now, their wicked sharp edge gleamed obsidian in the light as he subconsciously let the blade rest behind in the crook of his back. Feeling the small clasp as sword seemed to latch onto his presence as if magnetic. Readjusting his glasses he glanced around and let out a soft noise when their eyes alit upon their prize.

(He did not look at the body sprawled out upon the ground as they knelt down and gently pried the shorter blade from stiff fingers. He did not look at the severed head with too blank eyes as he slid the other half of his blade carefully into the waistband of his belt.He did not look at his own corpse resting at his feet-)

He stood.

Continuing on, he trudged along aimlessly, stumbling from wreck to wreck in an attempt to avoid the ever encroaching void that slowly but surely ate at what was left of their worlds. (They decidedly ignored the shadows that lapped at their feet. The way they danced inexplicably without a clear source of light. Twisting and writhing along the rolling dark as if they were but a thousand –familiar- eyes held back behind closed lids –theirshisoursmine- as they waited there. Dreaming.)

He stumbled.

They walked on until eventually they happened upon a surprisingly stable section of what appeared the Royal Realm and what was even more astonishing was the fact that out of everyone who could’ve somehow managed to dodge the apocalypse they had the misfortune to run into Aizen of all people. And it seemed that the ex-captain was just as enthused to see them.

(Wow, yeah, no. Not surprised that you survived because you’re pretty much a damned cockroach at this point. But I am genuinely kind of surprised that you decided to stick around instead of –I don’t know- having the good sense to bail when everything started going to shit? You’d think he would. Like, scurry away to lick the wounds and that sort of shit, right? ‘Right, absolutely riveting commentary Kurosaki. Such a shame that I’m the only one who’s forced to listen to it.’ Grimace. Urgh what god did I piss off to get stuck with you assholes? ‘Probably the two we just killed.’…Ah. Right.)

“Hm, that’s certainly a pleasant expression.”

(…I wanna kick his fucking ass. ‘What? No!’ Just a single boot shoved right in his smug bondage-wrapped face. ‘No.’)

Thoroughly exasperated and just utterly done with everything and everyone at this point Uryū decided this was as good as they were going to get and sort of collapsed at the foot of the broken throne with an undignified grunt, shifting the massive knife from his back to a more comfortable spot upon his lap as to allow himself to prop their body up against a slab of rubble. The youth let out a groaning-sigh.

Aizen –having meandered over to join him- watched with a keen interest.

(The subtle shade of black bleeding into the much younger man’s sclera, the downright monstrous inferno of tainted Quincy-Reaper-Hollow reiatsu coupled with the unnatural way that the writhing shadows almost seemed to linger protectively around the bloodied child before him, and while truthfully he was rather near-sighted ((destroying his last pair of glasses in a spur of dramatic theatricality had genuinely been one of his sole regrets, especially considering later when it became wholly apparent that the hōgokyu refused to let itself be used for something as banal as correcting one’s eyesight)) he’d have to have been blinder than Kaname to miss the ease at which the other had hefted that particular blade around. Also, the singular horn was kind of conspicuous and worthy enough for him to lift a brow.)

“Your feats never cease to push the realm of possibility, why I’m honestly starting to think you don’t know the meaning of the word Kurosaki.” He watched with sharp eyes, observing how even the shadows surrounding the youth seemed to freeze. Fascinating. “Or perhaps you would prefer some other form of address more suited to the body you’re currently occupying?” A dark eye crinkled with wry amusement, “Maybe even something more befitting to that of royalty?”

 (He’s not going to let this go is he? ‘Ugh, no.’ …Fuck it.)

And so the one-who-was-once-many resigned themself to a litany of awkward conversation as they waited for the world to end.

And what a back and forth it was. Some of the more notable highlights included: In depth discussions on one’s particular choice of eyewear – {“So, wait, hold on. You’re saying you actually needed those glasses and that the whole debacle with the Winter War you were essentially fighting half-blind the whole time?!”

“In the barest sense of the term, yes. Why do you seem so surprised? Did you perhaps forget that one of my compatriots was blind? It is a perfectly reasonable method to use one’s spiritual sense as a sort of complement to innate abilities during combat, as I am sure that one of your newer parts is undoubtedly already aware.”

“…Newer parts?”

“The misguided Quincy child that you once called your comrade and presumably the original owner of the patchwork monstrosity that you now call a form.”

(‘…Okay, yes, while losing your glasses during a fight does fucking suck I’m far-sighted and also mainly focused on archery so it’s not so bad but “patchwork monstrosity?” Rude, much?’)

“My, what a frightening expression.”

They flipped him off.}

–To the eventual reluctant admittance of what had occurred during their final battle versus the late Quincy King-

{it was in general agreement that the whole thing was a collective load of bullshit, however Aizen did find some note of ironic humour in the new fusion’s predicament much to said being’s annoyance.}

–To why the traitorous ex-captain was even there in the first place-

{“And where exactly would you have intended me to have gone, hm?” The man gestured broadly at the wanton destruction that surrounded them.

“Should I have squirrelled myself away like the scarce few remaining beings that tried to do so before everything fell to ruin? Don’t make me laugh. Why, I would even dare to say those poor unfortunate souls have been all but eliminated when the world pillars sang their swan song and even if they managed to survive that don’t you think the void would have consumed them much like everything else at this point?” Sōsuke leveled a dry look, letting his head fall back against the remains of a broken pillar wearily.

“So I figured this was as good as a time as any to try my hand at usurping the throne, you know, seeing as the current Soul King was indisposed.” A flicker of genuine consternation flashed across the man’s face. “But, it seems that crossing into the realm of transcendence is still not enough just so long as you’re still missing a fundamental piece of the equation.”

“Wow. So even after going through all of that you still weren’t –what- Quincy enough to take the crown? Heh, sucks to be you I guess. Wh-hey! We already have a concussion you didn’t have to throw a rock at me you ass.” With a huff, they rubbed at the new welt on their head. “Geez…”

“But seriously, I can’t believe with all that bullshit you pulled trying to get the magic death marble to make you god it couldn’t even manage it in the end.” As the hand dropped to the blade in their lap, they gave a faint scowl and then turned to face the other. “And really, what’d it even matter at this point? Figure we could use it to prop up reality –or at least what’s left of it anyway- and keep it from imploding or something?”

Aizen let out a somewhat undignified snort, “The Quincy have finally brought around your inclinations of royalty, I see. You’ve even started using the royal we. But yeah, sure, why not. Go ahead and take a stab at being the Soul King for a bit, I mean I’d say you can’t possibly be worse that what’s going on right now but somehow I think you would manage it just to spite me.”

The young being let out a snort of his own as they rolled with the bit, “No, we’d totally be an awesome Soul King. Way better than the last one and Not Unstable At All. Heck, we wouldn’t even abuse whatever the bullshit powers we had on top of everything else so we could –I don’t know- turn back time and fucking unmurder everyone. Oh! While we’re at it why don’t we try taking a crack completely unknotting that clusterfuck you guys call a politics around here. Because, honestly? Responding to every new thing that shows up on your doorstep with ‘treat it like shit’ and/or ‘try to kill it with extreme prejudice’ tends to piss people off and is probably why y’all had so many enemies.”

They nodded, sarcasm just oozing from their tone. “Yeah, all of that would be just so fun. Don’t you think?”}

Who could have foreseen that such a benignly one-off comment could have could spurred such further chaos?

(Well they probably could have. But –in their defence- they weren’t exactly firing on all cylinders at the time; what with the existential fuckery that they were still coming to terms with alongside the previously mentioned concussion that made it so when Aizen ((who had went suspiciously quiet after his little haha-funny-but-not-really joke)) proceeded to pitch the Idea™ to them it didn’t really seem to tack on as being anything worse than what the apocalypse that they were already were going through was.

But as now they found themselves trying not to squirm with a hand splayed awkwardly over the violet gem embedded in the other man’s bare chest as the other looked on with what seemed to be deep-set amusement they could not help but think to themselves: they really should’ve known better.)

(‘This is so stupid.’ There’s no way this would ever work-) Astonishingly, the gem beneath their hand began to glow.

(…Are you kidding me?)

“Huh, it seems like the hōgokyu was actually able to grant my wish after all.” The other murmured, ripping the fusion’s attention away from the entrancing glow only for them to watch as the man before them slowly began to crumble to dust before their very eyes.  “Rather roundabout way of doing it though, if you ask me.” Sōsuke snorted, dark eye flicking up to meet the other’s disbelief. “Listen well Ichigo Kurosaki and Uryū Ishida, this will be the last time we meet one another as things are. Don’t squander the opportunity you’ve been given as it’s highly unlikely you will get another one.”

“…Understood.”

“Good.” The other seemed…actually kind of relieved? That was all they had time to think before his body was gone and it was their fingers clutched around the hōgokyu as it then took their wish (to fix this oh god don’t you dare drop something like this on us and then leave us aloneyou utter bastardplease I don’t want to be the last one left after everything I don’t want to be aloneand just like that there went another person that he failed to protect just like everyone elseplease I just want to fix this make it like it never happened!) and moulded it and then unwound the world from its crumbling spool, unwound them, unmade him and now he-

-Was-

F

 a

  l

   l

    i

     n

      g

but only for an instant before world reformed around himself and he was forcefully slammed into (his/their/whose?) body.

He blacked out.

[amaranthineghost]

hi! could u write a fic where lando and the reader were fucking and lando takes his phone out halfway through (to take a photo for himself) but accidentally gets it posted on his instagram story and they only find out in the morning idk i just thought this would be funny af

OOPS? ( lando norris. )

lando norris x reader

to commemorate the sight in front of him, he snaps a picture on his phone without realizing he's just posted it for millions to see.

warnings: smut

authors note: I really liked writing this!!! it's a bit shorter than usual, but I enjoyed it a lot so thanks anon!!! <333

HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW HE DID IT. maybe he was just in the haze of sex, buried deep in her cunt with her leg over his shoulder, her other around his lower back pulling him in further.

he was hovering over her, hand pressed against her mouth as strings of muffled moans spilled from her lips, warm tears against his skin. god, she looked so good, too good. he just wanted to remember how fucked out her expression was.

leaning over to the nightstand, slowing his thrusts ever so much as he clutched his phone, flash on to compensate for the darkness of the bedroom. he snapped the photo, throwing the phone to the side, face side up.

he turned his focus back to the messy masterpiece in front of him, returning to the pace he had set before.

he pulled his hand away from her mouth to hear her symphony of moans, music to his ears. his hand took its place on her neck.

lando norris has posted to his story

he was so lost in the moment, he should've realized sooner the mistake he made. he should've realized at the instant texts that lit up his screen because who would be texting him this late?

all he did was flip over the phone, ignoring whatever notified him as he pulled her leg off his shoulder, pushed her leg down from his back. he fell beside her, prompting her to crawl across him, straddling him weakly as his hands settled on her hips.

fuck, she looked so good from this angle. hair messy from the pillows, face red from the tears down her cheeks, but also flushed from how hard he fucked her. he had already coaxed one orgasm ouf of her.

she sank down on his cock, causing him to curse under his breath with praise, “fuck, such a good girl.” his hands clawed into the flesh of her hips, guiding her pace once he saw her struggle.

the view was immaculate, he could've came at the sight of her tits bouncing up and down as she slid on his cock alone. it was salivating.

his hands left her hips to grasp her breasts, and he couldn't care if her pace faltered because everything felt too good in the moment.

if only they knew.

he planted his feet firmly against the bed, grasping her sides again as he lifted his hips to meet her halfway. it was rough, causing her to steady herself with her hands against his chest as he thrusted up and forced her hips down. his cock buried deep in her brought her over the edge so easily as tears fell from her face onto the bare skin of his chest.

she collapsed against his chest as his cock sank into her, feeling the warmth of his seed inside her cunt. she groaned against his chest as his arm spread across her bare back and pressed a kiss to her hair. the tears from her face wet his skin.

“did so good, baby,” he cooed, running fingers across her flesh as she hummed into his chest.

they laid together for a while before going and cleaning up. since it was already late in the night, they got back into bed and fell asleep.

when lando awoke the next morning, his phone was nearly dead and hundreds of texts and missed calls from his friends was the cause. hot to the touch, he carefully held his phone, brows furrowed as he laid on his side, back to his girlfriend, who was still fast asleep on the other side of the bed.

first, he opened the texts from his friend, max, who’s messages were in all caps. his eyes widened at the content, squinting at the screen in disbelief. no way he was that stupid, no the photo he took was in his camera roll—no it wasn't.

he discovered that, unfortunately, the photo he had taken was posted to his Instagram story, and it hadn't been taken down.

if it weren't for the circumstances, he could've stared at the photo all day because it was truly that good, but first he had to get rid of the post—and get the photo into his camera roll.

he nearly jumped out of his skin when she stirred in her sleep, now right against his back with her cheek pressed to his bare skin.

“morning,” she groaned and he mumbled back. she moved to rest her head on his shoulder, squinting to see what was on his phone screen, “why’re you on your phone so early?”

“i'm sorry.” he gulped, turning his head to watch the expression knot on her face, mostly confusion.

she sat up, leaning on her arm as she practically hovered over him, “lando, what did you do?”

“i’m so sorry,” was all he could say.

“lando,” she paused, an underlying tone of irritation laced in her voice as she emphasized her words, “what did you do?”

he glanced back at his phone, not even trying to hide the guilty expression written all over his face. she snatched the phone from his hand, and he didn't stop her. he covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes before leaving them to cover the lower half of his face as he watched her face.

“what the fuck?” she shoved his shoulder.

“i didn't mean to!” he sat up, throwing his hands up before running them through his messy curls, “i don't know how i did it.”

“oh my god,”she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples as she hunched over the phone, “i’m deleting it.”

“wait–” his hand touched hers, he bit his lip, “at least save it to my photos–ow!”

she hit the backside of his head at the idiocy of his words. she exhaled deeply, anger taking over her body. of course, he didn't care as much as she did. he wasn't in the photo at all to begin with and this wouldn't affect his career as deeply as it would affect hers.

“why? so you can post it somewhere else? text it to your friends?” she raised her voice, groaning out in frustration.

“baby, calm down–” he tenderly placed a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off.

“how can i calm down, lando?” she threw his phone down on the bedding, falling back down onto the bed with her hands covering her face in shame. now that picture is all everyone will ever see her as, all thanks to her idiot of a boyfriend.

he grabbed his phone back, seeing the photo had been taken down from his story, but they both knew that image would be circling the internet for a long time.

“at least the photo didn't show anything,” he tried to make light of the situation, but it was to no avail as she spat back with venom in her tone.

“you don't even care about the photo because you aren't the one in it, lando.” she scoffed.

“i’m sorry, okay?” he turned to her, “i really didn't mean to, you know i would never do that.”

she sighed, “i know, but i’m still mad, lan.”

“i know, darling,” he laid beside her on his side, looking at her side profile as she stared at the ceiling, “you have every right to be mad.”

she stayed silent, and he didn't know if it was a good or bad thing.

he gulped again, speaking up, “and i promise to never take a photo of you when we're fucking ever again.”

a laugh forced it's way past her lips, “oh, please we both know you'll try and fail,” she said with a smile on her lips, shaking her head.

“okay, yeah, but i promise i’ll triple check it's not in any social media post,” he flipped over onto his stomach, propped up by his elbows with his pinky held out. she took it and the promise was made. the situation dealt with, for the most part.

“did you happen to save the photo though–ow, okay!”

—

taglist (found here): @poppyflower-22 @sapphiccloud @slut4lrh @kaa12 @taylorslovesswifties13 @sbella13 @nhlfs @beskardroids @hiireadstuff @lorenica @delululeclerc @c-losur3 @casperlikej

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie? ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: After accidentally revealing that you have a masked man kink, Bucky starts taking it to the next level.

Warnings: Smut- MDNI please!, oral sex (both ways!!), edging?, masturbation (F), praise kink, cursing, light stalking, breaking in, harassing texts/calls, and lots of angst.

Word Count: 4.3

A/Ns: Hi babes! This was going to be a short story but she came out kinda long, so I'm going to make it a 2 parter. Don't judge me 🙈 I looove masked men. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. This is also my first time getting more explicit with smut so don't judge me too harshly! xoxo

Snuggled up to Bucky under a comfy blanket with a bowl of extra buttery and salty popcorn, lights turned all the way down, you finally convinced him to watch the movie Scream. While you’ve seen it many times before and are aware of all the jump scares, you still cling onto him a little extra tight in preparation while he is completely unphased. About halfway through the movie, you hear Bucky snort.

“What?” You ask, looking up at him slightly. His face is illuminated by the glow of the tv.

“Something you want to tell me, Doll?” One side of his mouth is tugged up in amusement.

“Bucky, what the fuck are you talking about?” Confused, you sit up to look at him.

He just shakes his head, grinning, “I’m talking about how every time a masked man comes on that screen,” he points to the tv, “you press those pretty little thighs of yours together.”

Your cheeks instantly flush, “You noticed that?”

“I pay attention to everything when it comes to my girl.” Bucky leans back more, resting his arm on top of the couch still grinning, “Tell me about it.” His eyes narrow slightly, something a bit darker lurking, intrigued by this knowledge.

“I don’t know… it’s just like,” you brush your hair behind your ears suddenly feeling embarrassed, “kind of like a kink? A fantasy maybe? There’s just something so dark and exhilarating about an unknown man behind a mask that stalks and is obsessed with you. The anonymity of it I guess?”

By the time you’re done explaining, your hands unknowingly gripped and crossed your chest. Blinking rapidly, you let go and focus back on Bucky who is just watching you intensely.

He nods and purses his lips lightly, “Maybe if I keep watching this movie, I’ll want a masked man for myself,” He teases.

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” You grab a fistful of popcorn and throw it at him, sending you both into a laughing frenzy.

"You're cleaning that up, not me." Bucky laughs.

Him and his messes.

He scoops you in close to his body to finish the movie, and later that night he showed you that no masked man from a movie could ever compare to him.

Three weeks later.

While trying to grab your phone and keys out of your bag, you accidentally drop the stack of mail you had just picked up from the landlord’s office on the doormat.

“Shit!” You mutter to yourself. Bending down to pick it up, something catches your eye. Your apartment door is cracked open.

You stand up, discarding the mail and push open the door, “Hello?” You call out, “Bucky?” There’s no response.

Taking a few steps in, nothing looks out of place or any evidence that someone seems to have broken in. You start going through each room, keeping your phone firmly in your hand just in case. But there’s nothing. Walking out of the bedroom you decide you’re going to call Bucky to see how far away he is since he was on his way over, when you find him standing in the kitchen.

“OH! Fuck me-” You jump at the sight of him and grab your chest.

“Hey, Doll!” Bucky says, like the perfect golden retriever boyfriend that he is.

“Did you just get here?” You ask, your heart still pounding.

“Yeah, why?” he asks curiously, absentmindedly grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl off the kitchen counter and taking a bite.

“Um, yeah me too. It’s just-”

“Just… what?” He takes another bite.

“It’s just that... my door was open when I got here?”

“What?” Bucky’s face instantly changes, his eyes wide and anxious, “Go wait in the hallway until I look around.”

“I already did that-”

“Please?” He pleads as he throws out his barely eaten apple, already coaxing you towards the door.

Crossing your arms, you go and wait in the hallway while he looks around. After a few minutes he brings you back in.

“Everything looks to be fine, but I’m going to stay the night just in case.” You breathe a sigh of relief at Bucky’s words.

“Maybe maintenance came in and forgot to lock back up. I was having all those issues with my heater a few months ago,” You try justifying.

“Yeah maybe,” he says, with a small shrug of his shoulders.

About a week later is when the phone calls started.

Initially it was just 1 or 2 a day from a restricted number that you never picked up, assuming it was some kind of solicitation about your car’s extended warranty. But no voicemail was ever left.

As a few weeks went by though, it started to feel like borderline harassment. The number of phone calls jumped to an average of twenty times a day.

Sitting at your work desk your phone continued to violently vibrate, the words Unknown Caller lit up on the screen. You ran your hands through your hair, letting them linger on your scalp, starting to feel stressed every time your phone rang.

"Hey babes!" Hailee, your coworker/bff storms unannounced into your office, "You ready to grab some lu- oh my god. Are they calling you right now?" Obviously aware of the situation, she scurries around your desk in her too high heels and answers your phone. Clearing her throat, "Hi, thank you for calling Tammy's Whorehouse where we suck and fuck. How can I help you?" She taps an inpatient finger on her hip, waiting for a response and then the line goes dead.

Your hands fall down into your lap with an exacerbated breath, "No one ever answers."

"Have you tried tracking the number?" She puts the phone down and sits on top of your desk.

"I've tried calling my cell service, they can't do anything about it. If it keeps up, I just might change my number." You shake your head, "This is going to sound so dumb, but it has me so distracted. Apparently, I've been forgetting to charge my phone at night too? I swear I put it on the charger but then it dies in the night and that's why I've been late to work a few times."

Hailee tilts her head to the side, giving a sympathetic frown. "Sorry, girl. Hey!" She tries perking up, "Why don't we go get lunch and iced coffees? My treat?!" Her bright smile and shimmying shoulders get you to crack a smile. Jumping off your desk she claps her hands, "Yay!"

Suddenly there's a knock at your office door. Both of you stop the mini-iced coffee celebration and snap your attention to the nervous, uniformed teenager standing in the doorway.

"Delivery." he says shyly, looking between the two of you.

Hailee raises an eyebrow and smirks, looking you up and down, "Well, it wasn't delivered to my office."

You roll your eyes as you get up, smoothing your skirt down. Walking up to the boy, he quickly hands you a rather large bouquet of flowers. The intoxicating floral aroma hits you almost immediately, you cannot help but be astounded by the arrangement. Each individual flower is rather large, some darker than others; Ombres of red and burgundy into black.

"They're beautiful," You admire, inhaling deeply. "I don't think I've ever seen these before. Do you know what kind of flowers they are?" You ask the teen curiously.

"Black dahlia's," he recalled, and your stomach felt like it dropped with the mention of the name. "I don't think we've ever gotten a request for those at my family's shop before. That's the only reason I remember," he shrugged.

"Does Bucky have a brother? Because like, are you kidding me right now?" You glanced at Hailee who was making an over-the-top pouty face.

Asking the teen if he had CashApp to tip him, you quickly ushered him off. Searching through the flowers to see if there was a card or any indication that they were in fact from Bucky, but there wasn't.

That night, Bucky came over for dinner. He brought take out from a local Greek place that he really liked, but you were distracted. Just pushing the food around on your plate.

"You okay, doll?" His forehead puckered slightly in question.

"Yeah, um," You shake your head to try and focus, "Hey, thanks for the flowers today. That was super sweet and unexpected," considering you've been kinda stressed.

"Flowers? What flowers?" Bucky's posture stiffens.

"I got flowers delivered to me at work today, I just assumed it... was from you? Maybe it was a mistake then." There were suddenly mixed emotions being stirred around in a frenzy. If Bucky wasn't the one who sent the flowers, then who did? You tried saying they were dropped in your office by accident, but it just didn't feel right. It felt intentional.

"Well, honey, I don't know who it was, but it wasn't me." Bucky stands up from the kitchen table, grabbing his dinner plate. "Are you done?" He asks gesturing to your plate. You nod and he takes it as well, "But it's something I should do, and I'll be more conscious of it. I'm sorry,"

"No, Buck I wasn't-"

His lips press to the top of your head, "No, you're right. If anyone should be doing it, it should be me. Let me take the garbage out for you and we'll have the night to ourselves, yeah? Anything you want."

"Anything?" You repeat, in singsong with a grin.

He shakes his head, scraping the scraps from the plates into the garbage returning the grin, "I like where this is going," Tying off the bag, he holds up two fingers, "give me two minutes," he opens the door to the apartment and starts jogging down the hallway, "two minutes!!" you hear him call out.

The door to the apartment doesn't even fully shut before you hear the familiar buzz coming from your bag. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you angrily push away from the table and stomp over to the counter, dumping out your purse just to see Unknown Caller lit up on your phone.

You hit the green button so hard it doesn't register, so you do it again until it answers, "Hello?! What the FUCK do you want?!" No answer. But this time, you can hear someone breathing heavily. "You need some help. Seriously, leave me the fuck alone!" Hanging up, you slam the phone down onto the counter.

"Doll?" Bucky asks from the doorway, he sighs, "Was it that number bothering you again?"

"Yes!" You answer, flustered. "The next step is to just- change my number! I don't know what else to do."

Bucky steps in, closing in the door behind him with the back of his boot. His lips are pressed in tight line, "C'mere, darlin'," he holds his arms wide open, eyes soft. Dragging your feet, you meet him halfway and lay your head on his chest, "It's gonna be okay," he coos in your ear. "It's just some asshole with nothing better to do. They'll get bored soon enough. Worst case, we'll change your number. We can even go down to the store tomorrow and get you a new phone?" Bucky offers, trying to be optimistic as he caresses your arms up and down.

"I was just really hoping it wouldn't get to that point." You admit, pulling away from his chest just enough to look up at him.

"We'll do what we have to." Bucky smiles, cupping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger before pressing his lips to yours.

Letting your lips linger a moment as your eyes close, you inhale deeply, taking in the cypress scented soap still lingering on his skin from a shower he took earlier. It's your favorite. Hence why you keep buying it every time he runs out. Bucky's lips separate yours, and when just the tips of your tongues connect, a barely audible whimper escapes your mouth.

Like a gun starting a marathon, it was all Bucky needed to hear. Reaching down and gripping behind your thighs, he hoists you up. With a delighted squeak, you wrap your legs around his torso, laughing but keeping your lips on his as your hands run through his short hair. Using one hand flat against your lower back to keep you pressed into his chest, Bucky's other hand firmly grasped your ass. His fingers purposefully grazing the inseam of your jeans between your legs as he walked towards the bedroom.

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, keeping you both upright. You break the mashing of tongues to re-adjust your position and straddle him. Leaning in, you suck his bottom lip into your mouth, letting your teeth graze just a tiny bit before letting go. Bucky exhales a drawn out, low groan before licking his lips. The look in his eyes is absolutely carnal as he tugs your shirt over your head and throws it across the room. Not even bothering with your bra, he just pulls the black lace cups down beneath your breasts, propping them up in exposure as he dips down to flick his tongue across your nipple.

Initially it makes you shudder, but as he continues to suck, nibble, lick, repeat, you find reprieve in grinding your hips down into the ever-growing bulge in his pants. Bucky lets out a stifled groan before switching his mouth to your other nipple. You smirk to yourself; you just love to tease this man. Although, if we're being honest, this isn't so easy on you right now either.

Roughly gripping both sides of his face, you bring his lips back to yours. You’re starting to feel needy for more of his touch. Becoming desperate to relieve this fuel lit fire. Bucky’s hands were firmly placed on each of your ass cheeks, assisting your already rolling hips forward and back. He snakes one hand between your bodies, slipping it down the front of your pants, his finger sliding once between your slit. You both moan loudly in unison into the kiss.

"Fuuuck..." Bucky breathed, tilting his head back just slightly that your lips pull apart. "You're already so fucking wet for me," his lascivious eyes lock onto yours, his breathing already becoming rather ragged.

Hearing his debauched voice, knowing just that single glide of his finger has him aching so badly, has ignited a new spark in you. "It's all yours, baby," you purred. Biting the bottom corner of your lip, you slowly get off his lap. Hooking each of your pointer fingers into the front pockets of Bucky's jeans, you encourage him to stand up as you drop to your knees before him.

As he's fumbling with the button and zipper, you stare up at him with tantalizing eyes, your hands firmly grazing along his muscular thighs. Once he's able to get it open, you help start to shimmy down his jeans and boxer briefs passed his hips until they pool on the floor. Bucky's thick, long cock springs up at almost eye level in enthusiasm, instantly making your mouth water. Sticking your tongue out as far as you possibly can, you lock eyes with Bucky and press the tip to your tongue, dragging it to a flick.

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, his body quivered at the first contact. You smile as you taste the initial saltiness on your tongue, licking your lips before hollowing out your cheeks and taking him into your mouth. Bucky exhales deeply, his head starting to tilt back but he stops, making sure he maintains eye contact with you. You draw back, pressing your tongue upward firmly, go forward, and go back again. After a moment, a rhythm gets going, you now move your tongue side to side as you bob front to back, sucking harder.

"That's it," Bucky coaxes, "That's my good fucking girl," a small whimper escapes your throat at his words of praise. You clamp your legs together a little tighter as it's getting harder to ignore the incessant throbbing and growing wet spot between your legs.

The next thing you know, his hands are in your hair, gathering it up into a makeshift ponytail. Grasping his shaft with your hand steadily, you use that to guide your mouth, twisting and gliding easily. You know it's his weakness. Bucky's hips start to buck up into your mouth as he pulls your head down further onto his throbbing cock. Through now teary eyes you’re determined to watch as his face starts to contort with pleasure, his moans music to your ears just as your gagging is to him.

"You look...Ahh...so...fucking...pretty," Each word comes out with a drive of his hips into your mouth. In the dim lighting of the room, completely blissed out on pleasure, he looks like a fucking god. And he's mine. The thought alone is enough to make you explode. "Ugh!" Bucky growls, "I can't take it anymore! C'mere!" With a small 'pop', he pulls out and grabs underneath your arms and tosses you onto the bed.

Giggling, you wipe the excess saliva off your swollen, red lips as you push back further onto the bed. Bucky pulls your jeans and panties down and off in one swift motion before kneeling onto the bed. His eyes are glazed over, solely focused on between your legs. He crawls upward, and it's purely feline as he dips down, his mouth creating a seal and sucking once.

The combination of a loud moan and gasp get ripped straight from your lungs as you practically convulsed off the bed from being so aroused. Bucky quickly and securely locks your thighs in place to keep them open and from you going anywhere. He grinned, watching every single movement.

"Eyes on me, princess," he ordered. Pressing down on your lips, you nodded in anticipation. Leaning in, Bucky skimmed his lips on your very inner thigh, placing a feather light kiss that made your entire abdomen tense.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"Fuck," Bucky sits back up on his knees, taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans that was still around his ankles. "Hello?" You stare up at him in complete disbelief, "What, now?" He looks down at you on the bed, giving a sympathetic look and mouths 'sorry'. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he drags a hand down his face. "Yeah... yeah. No- I understand... Okay. Yep. I'll be there. Bye." He hangs up the phone.

"Don't say it," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest and closing your legs.

Bucky takes a deep breath, "I have to go back, a mission came up."

"Annnd, you said it," you look up at the ceiling, refusing to keep that eye contact that you were so adamant on not even a minute ago.

"It sounded pretty important, Doll." Bucky is off the bed, pulling up his pants and re-adjusting himself in them.

"It always is," you mutter under your breath. Sighing, you just accepted the fact that your night is completely ruined. "So, what you're telling me is, that I'm getting cock blocked by The Avengers?"

Bucky sits on the bed, placing a delicate hand on your cheek, "I'm really sorry. I'll make this up to you tenfold, promise." He kisses you softly, "I have to go. I'll contact you as soon as I can. I love you," He offers a small smile.

You sigh, knowing you can never let him leave on bad terms, "I love you too, Buck." Sitting up you give him a hug and a few extra kisses that probably made him late.

Still sitting in bed after Bucky had gone, you felt irrationally irritated by how he left. Tapping on your thighs, a headache was already brewing from the pent-up sexual tension that you were unable to get out. That's when you suddenly remembered a little something on your phone that might just help you out in this situation. There was this one particular time you and Bucky decided to record yourselves having sex, and you've never went back and watched it. If there was ever a time to go back and do so...

Excitedly, you go over to the dresser. You pull open your underwear drawer and dig through all the way to the back, where you stash your favorite vibrator. You click the silicone button a few times to make sure it's charged, and all the intensity settings worked before laughing menacingly to yourself and closing the drawer. Tossing the toy onto the bed, you walk out to the kitchen.

Your phone was where you had left it earlier, still slammed face down on the counter. Sashaying over, you notice that there's an applecore sitting next to it. This is odd, because you didn't have one and Bucky is normally very meticulous when it comes to cleaning and picking up after himself. Going to throw it out, you realize there is no garbage bag in the trash can and suddenly it makes sense. Bucky was in a rush to leave; he probably didn't have the time to replace the bag. So, you do it yourself, and throw out the eaten fruit.

Getting back to your room with your phone, you notice that your underwear drawer is open. Pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes, you look from the bed, to the dresser, back to the bed. I could have sworn I closed that. Then again, maybe it's just the headache coming on. You close the dresser drawer, and all too eagerly jump under the covers.

The ambiance for a little 'self-love' right now is almost too perfect. Your bedroom is dimly lit with only a mood lamp and the fog covered streetlamps from down below your apartment. The light patter of rain hit against your bedroom window and fire escape underneath it, while some light thunder rolled some distance away.

Scrolling through your phone, it wasn't hard to find exactly what you were looking for. Pressing 'play', you're watching a side view of you taking Bucky from the back. Your mouth drops open slightly, seeing it from a third person view. Bucky has his Vibranium hand on the side of your face, pushing you down further into the mattress and he is just relentless. And the sounds, God the sounds. You grab the vibrator, turning it on and quickly placing it onto your already sensitive and swollen clit and start rubbing it and soft circles.

"Look at how good you take it,"

"Oh, God!"

"Are you gonna come for me?"

"Mhm,"

"I can't hear you, princess,"

"Can I come Bucky? Please, please let me..."

"Of course, my good girl can come. Here... lean down more...open those legs wider...touch yourself...yeah...fuck, yeah...just like that baby,"

The bed is practically shattering underneath you as Bucky, who isn't even there, coaxes you into having an orgasm with yourself. You rub the vibrator more intensely, knowing you’re about to come hard from the pent-up tension this evening. The lights surge briefly in the apartment from the passing storm, just as your head presses down further against the pillows and the ripples of pleasure aggressively take over your body.

The lights go out momentarily, and that's when you see the silhouette of a tall, dark hooded figure standing on your fire escape looking into your window.

The lights come back on a second later and you’re panting. Both from the release and from what you saw. The cognizance hits you that you just came in front of a total stranger. Oh, and maybe that I might have a stalker.

The cops came, looked around, made you feel like an idiot, took a report, and left. Not feeling comfortable staying in the apartment for the night, you called Hailee, who offered up her spare bedroom.

Sitting across from you with her legs crossed on the couch, her hair in a bonnet, a glass of wine, and blue raspberry vape, she leaned in, listening intently to the details leading up to this moment.

“Soo… you know I’m gonna ask,” she starts.

You sigh, “I don’t know when I’m going to tell Bucky. I always feel so guilty when he’s away and something happens.”

Hailee’s face scrunches as she waves her hand in dismissal, “No, no not that,” You raise an eyebrow at her in confusion. “Can I see it?” She lowers her voice, but it’s oozing with hope.

“Bitch,” both your eyebrows raise in aghast, realizing what she’s actually asking.

“What?! Come onnnn,” She whines, pressing her hands together in plead and pouts her lip.

“Oh my god, Hailee! No! Just… no.”

Rolling her eyes she composes herself again, “Okay, so like, you ever just… look at a man, and you just know?” Her hands wave around as she’s trying to explain, “Like, that man can fuck? I feel like that’s Bucky. And so…” Hailee looks so determined right now, “s-shame on you!” She points directly at you, this is comical, “for not sharing the video evidence! Because now I’m convinced you have a boring, vanilla sex life!”

Leaning back against the kitchen counter sipping your glass of water, you hear yourself coming down from the highs of ecstasy through your phone. Hailee’s wide eyes are glued, mouth dropped open, speechless, for once. The sound finally cuts off.

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a brother because-”

You quickly snatch the phone out of her hand, “Okay, you got what you wanted. Can we be serious now?!”

“Yeah,” Hailee shakes her head, “yeah, of course…” she takes a deep breath, “I’m just saying, you seriously have some career options if your current job doesn’t work out though.”

“Hailee!!”

“Okay! I’m sorry!” Her hands go up in a surrender, “but you put in a police report, and I mean, of course you can stay here. What else are you going to do?”

*Ding*

“Hang on, I just got a text.”

“Who the fuck would be texting you this late?” Hailee asks, getting off the couch to read the text with you over your shoulder.

Together you read the message:

Part 2

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @wintrsoldrluvr

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

­“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just –”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

[whatswrongwithblue]

Alastor x Reader

"The Morning After"

This started out as an idea for just a quick funny incorrect quotes and turned into a full-on one shot of fluffy nonesense. G/N reader, though they do wear make-up. No use of Y/N.

Still half asleep, you shifted from laying on your back to your side, facing the edge of the bed. The change in position suddenly made you more awake for two reasons; the pressure on your bladder and the odd green light burning through your eyelids.

You blinked your eyes, squinting for several seconds as your eyes adjusted to the light, and you realized you were looking at the pocket dimension bayou in Alastor’s room.

Alastor’s room.

ALASTOR’S ROOM.

Oh fuck.

You look over at the other side of the bed and see the unmistakable red and black hair, the two long fluffy ears, and little antlers. Markers of his identity that you had grown accustomed to in the years you had known him. What you weren’t used to was the ashen skin of his bare back and the gentle rise and fall of his shoulder as he slept soundly beside you, facing the opposite direction.

He was as naked under the sheets as you were.

Halfway between panicked and giddy with excitement, you recalled the wild night you two had indulged in the night before. The culmination of years of pining on your end – and recently acknowledged and understood feelings on his end – had led you to his bedroom for the very first time last night.

You just hoped it wasn’t something he would wake to regret.

That worry had to come later because right now your poor bladder was going to burst.

Slipping out from under the sheets, you tiptoed as quietly as you could across the floor and into the bathroom, making sure to not turn on the light until the door was softly closed behind you.

Ugghh, you hadn’t even cleaned yourself up before falling asleep. You and Alastor had gone so hot and heavy that once it was over, you both had just passed out, wrapped up in each other’s arms, so exhausted that not even the mess between your legs and the wet spots on the sheets could bother you.

Quickly and quietly, you relieved yourself and then wiped yourself clean, praying to Roo herself that you would get the chance to shower before any more intimate acts were shared between you and Alastor.

And then you flushed the toilet and winced at the insulting and loud noise it made. You forgot the plumbing in this piece of shit building let you know exactly who was showering or taking a piss from two stories above.

Two more things happened simultaneously that got your panic spiking again.

The light in the bedroom flipped on and you caught your reflection in the mirror.

You’re make up was a disaster.

You weren’t so vain as to have never let Alastor see you without it before. Honestly, he’d seen you with a natural and clean face more often than not but of course you had put on a near full face the night before and not cleaned it up before . . . before . . .

Fuck, you probably left lipstick and mascara all over those nice silk sheets he had summoned just before he’d laid you down on them.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Darling?” Alastor’s voice called for you and he sounded almost insecure and you would think about that later, later, how sweet that little hint of worry in his questioning was and how it meant he was hoping you weren’t regretting anything either and for fuck’s sakes you had patiently waited years to get that man’s dick inside you just for you to forget basic hygiene afterwards and now you had water proof raccoon eyes and lipstick smeared across your face like you were trying out to play the next Joker and what was left of your eyeshadow was in clumps that did nothing but accentuate every little wrinkle around your eyelids . . .

“I’m fine!” you say with a voice that was far too high pitched to be believable and you began searching through the bathroom drawers for a washrag or something to clean up your face. “Just cleaning up a little is all.”

He’d heard the toilet flush, heard the running of the bathroom sink, he had to have heard you rummaging through the drawers, frankly those beautiful ears of his could probably pick up on the sound of your heart racing like fucking Secretariat. And it was Alastor. He had zero sense of personal space and was likely going to barge in any second now-

You heard his soft chuckle as he opened the door and caught you desperately wiping at your face with a washrag and cold water, doing less to remove the makeup and more to just make an even more pathetic mess of colors across your stricken expression.

It didn’t help that you were still completely naked.

“My dearest, there are better ways to go about that.”

Frozen with embarrassment, you watched his reflection in the mirror as he walked behind you, though you wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, yours were glued to his equally nude body that he so confidently kept on display for you as he reached around you and opened a drawer, revealing a packet of make-up remover wipes.

He held one up for you and that’s when you finally looked up at him.

His ever-present smile was there, a touch sweeter and affectionate than usual, but the rest of his face looked as bad as yours. Red eyeshadow and black eyeliner had gotten everywhere and with the rather attractive sex hair he had going on, he looked more like a member of an 80’s rock band than he did The Radio Demon.

You couldn’t help the relieved laugh that escaped your lips.

“What, you thought all this was natural? Please,” he gave a dismissive wave of his hand and wrist and began cleaning up his own face.

The tension and nervousness melted away as you followed his lead and after getting yesterday’s make-up properly cleaned up, Alastor even summoned your toothbrush from your room for you to use. And none of it was awkward or weird, doing these normal, domestic things . . . in his bathroom . . . in the nude . . . with him there.

It should have been weird but instead it was unremarkably comfortable. Like it had been this way all along. A normal, mundane morning, in the best way possible.

“Join me for a shower?” he asked, with his hand held out.

There was a plethora of other questions left unsaid in his gaze.

Did you really not regret the night before?

Did you really want him? With all his violent inclinations and strange, often conflicting mannerisms and behaviors?

Were you really ready to commit yourself to the unpredictable life of The Radio Demon?

Offering him your best smile and your hand, you followed him into the steamiest, most invigorating shower of your life.

[burts-baked-bees]

Okay?

OPLA Sanji x Fem!Reader

{masterlist for OPLA Sanji ongoing story}

Tags: Slight angst to fluff, slight pining, Sanji and reader are close friends and have truama bonded, Sanji has no clue he's in love with reader the poor sap

CW: Launguage, mentions of abuse, slight WCI spoliers, mentions of drinking

“I swear I’m one shift away from throwing myself in the godforsaken ocean.” Sanji huffed angrily as he threw himself down in a nearby booth. The Baratie had cleared out for the night leaving the cooks to clean the line and the waiters to clean the dining room, but halfway through the dreaded cleanup Sanji had both metaphorically and physically thrown in the towel. The dish cloth he had been holding went flying across the room as he put his feet up on the booth he was in and groaned indignantly.

“That old shitbag won’t so much as let me breathe on the line! I’m a cook! Not a fucking waiter!” He yelled, turning his head back towards the kitchen, as if Zeff could hear his complaints.

“You think maybe it has something to do with the fact that you call him an ‘old shitbag’?” A voice came from the other side of his booth. A small smile curled his lips as he sat up some and peeked over the rounded edge of the red leather seat.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt your nap time madame?” Sanji laughed as he took in the sight of Y/n laying on her back with her eyes closed in the opposite booth. “So sorry for the inconvenience, but aren’t you meant to be cleaning tables?” He teased as Y/n cracked an eye open and glared at him.

“Aren’t you?” She asked with a sly grin, earning an eye roll and angry huff from the blonde.

“Seems the only thing I’m meant to do is slowly die from boredom in this trash heap of a restaurant.” Sanji sighed as he fell back into his seat, pulling out his lighter and messing with the lid. Y/n laughed softly before sitting up and resting her arms on the dividing seat. She placed her head atop her arms and looked at him with a mock pout.

“Awww is the best chef in the East Blue all bummed that his dad doesn't like his cooking? Again?”

Sanji snapped his lighter closed and raised a finger at Y/n, pointing aggressively at her with a snarl.

“I am the greatest chef in the East Blue. Even if that geezer can’t see it.” He stated, earning a chuckle from Y/n as she sat up and raised her hands in surrender.

“Easy now, no need to shout at a lady.” She cooed as Sanji chuckled and gave her an angry smile, hanging his head.

“How dare you throw my own principles back in my face.” He chuckled as he began fidgeting with the silver ring on his finger. Y/n sighed and rested her chin on her folded arms again, smiling softly at the mop of blonde hair in front of her. She reached over the divider and brushed some of his hair from his face, earning a soft hum from Sanji as he closed his eyes.

“I think we both know he’s only doing and saying these things because he wants the best for you. Though I’ll be the first to admit, his way of going about it is absolute shit.” She laughed as she watched his lips curl into a smile. He looked up at her, her fingers brushing against his cheek as he moved.

“Yeah, I know…” He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. She pulled her hand back and looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “But you're a stowaway as much as me.” Sanji joked, “And yet I’m the one being treated like a sniveling child every fucking time I step foot in that kitchen.” He huffed as he looked over at her through his bangs. She chuckled as she hung her arms over the back of his booth and cocked her head to the side.

“My dumbass thought I could be a pirate and got stuck here paying off a debt cuz’ my ship damaged the hull of this ‘trash heap of a restaurant’.” She fired back, using his own words. He opened his mouth to speak but soon closed it again as he shook his head.

“Yeah that was pretty dumb.” Sanji joked as he pulled his jacket off and tossed it to the seat beside him. Y/n gawked at him before laughing and reaching forward to hit him softly on the shoulder. He leaned away from her and shouted

“Oi! Don’t damage the goods!”

She looked at him with mocking wide eyes and barked a laugh,

“Both Patty and I would have to disagree with you on that one, lover boy.” She snarked as Sanji rolled his eyes. A calm silence filled the space as Y/n sat up on her knees and looked at Sanji. She could see something was going on inside his head, and she knew him well enough to infer that he wasn’t going to say a damn thing. She studied the way his brow furrowed and noted how his eyes seemed more gray then blue in moments like these.

There was a profound sadness in him that she had only caught glimpses of in her three years aboard this ship. A profound sadness that he had more or less shared with her one drunken night in the bar when they should have been sleeping. A profound sadness that she wished every single day she could lift from him. The two sat in silence as the ship rocked softly under them; Y/n felt compelled to speak, to do anything that might help ease his overactive mind.

“Still, knowing what I know, having Zeff treating you like this can’t be good for the ole’ psyche…”

Sanji tensed up slightly at her words and Y/n mentally kicked herself for making that insinuation. She wanted to help him, but after the words left her mouth she felt a heavy guilt fill her bones. She watched as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath before smiling ever so slightly.

“Trust me, love. I may complain like this from time to time-”

“Almost ninety-five percent of the time."

“Ooookay. Almost ninety-five percent of the time, but nothing is worse than… what I came from.” He gave her a somber smile and pulled out his lighter again, flipping the lid open and closed in an almost rhythmic pattern. She returned his sad smile and pushed her baby hairs from her forehead.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that.” She spoke softly as she looked out at the empty dining room; the tables were cast in an eerie candle light and the china adorning the tables glimmered like stars. Sanji looked at her, as her attention was placed elsewhere, and smiled fondly. He felt a warmth rise in his chest as he took in the curve of her profile. The slope of her nose, the length of her eyelashes, the round of her cheeks. The candle light of the empty room cast dancing shadows on her face that made her look otherworldly; he felt his smile, and eyes soften as he looked at her.

“Y/n I wouldn’t have told you about my shitty past if I didn’t trust you to check in on me like this every now and again.” Sanji spoke softly as Y/n turned her gaze back to him. She was almost stunned to see the expression on his face. The look in his eyes was, most of the time, reserved for the elegant ladies that entered the restaurant day in and day out. And yet here he was looking at her like that. She brushed the fond gaze off and swayed her head back and forth while giving him an apologetic look.

“I know, but it’s still not my place to dredge up old memories of abuse when I don’t even know the full story.” She responded, playing with the ends of her uniform shirt.

Sanji smiled at her and leaned forward in his seat, one hand braced himself on the seat top while the other reached forward and pulled her towards him. Y/n closed her eyes as she felt his lips press against her forehead.

“I appreciate you checking on me. It shows that you care.” He said softly, his words muffled seeing that his lips were still connected with her forehead. She smiled softly as he placed a loud exaggerated kiss to the skin there before pulling away and holding her face in his hand. “Okay?” He asked with a huge smile. She laughed at his theatrics and moved to stand up, leaving Sanji sitting alone in his booth as he looked up at her standing form.

“Whatever you say-” She began as she reached out a hand to help him up. He took it with a laugh and allowed Y/n to pull him to his feet. “-My favorite Baratie waiter.” She finished as she dropped his hand and started walking away from him, stifling her laughter. Sanji stood there with his jaw dropped as she walked away from him, his shock soon turning into a smile as he watched her shoulders shake from holding in her laughter. He let a chuckle slip out as he pushed up his sleeves and made a beeline for her.

“How DARE!” He yelled as he grabbed her from behind and lifted her off the ground slightly laughing as she yelped and then dissolved into laughter when she broke free. She began running to a nearby table to put distance between herself and him as she pointed at him,

“Not fair!” She yelled, watching as Sanji pointed back at her.

“Don’t you dare get me started on ‘fair’!” He responded as he laughed.

____

Zeff stood in the doorway to the kitchen watching as Sanji ran around tables with that wannabe pirate waitress. He observed in silence as the pair laughed and threw dish towels at each other instead of cleaning tables.

The small boy he once knew, terrified of making connections with those around him due to some dark past he kept to himself, was smling and laughing as he chased around what could only be discribed as a friend.

A small smile curled his weathered lips as he shook his head and walked away, the sounds of youth fading into nothing.

“Not bad, little eggplant… Not bad…”

[satorurize]

Part of the Lover!jjk series.

A/N: So Sukuna won the poll, this is my first time writing for him. I hope I did him justice lol

Part 1.

Ryomen Sukuna was a firm advocate that love was a dangerous fantasy for mortals, and such fantasies were cathartic when there is a lot to be afraid of, however, the king of curses didn't have anything to be afraid of.

Loverboy!Sukuna who thought at first that love was nothing but a myth for someone like him, since the core of his existence stemmed from bane, from malevolence.

Loverboy!Sukuna who thought you were a measly, mortal fool when you tried to convince him love did indeed exist. But wait..why was he thinking of how gentle you sounded while you were spewing bullshit about something that doesn't exist?

Loverboy!Sukuna who started looking forward to your exchange of anecdotes with him, he felt comfort in the fact that someone was willing to listen to his story, not out of fear as other people in his life, but out of genuine curiosity besides Uraume.

Loverboy!Sukuna who starts directing his attention to delicate varieties of flowers that he'd usually take pleasure in crushing and turning into ashes. His thoughts wander upon how those same flowers would look tucked behind your ear or in your hair.

Loverboy!Sukuna who asks Uraume to bring him any small, dainty kind of flowers with a subtle, thoughtful smile on his lips and an uncharacteristic, benign look in his eyes. Uraume’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets at how soft their lord is acting. Was it really him?

Loverboy!Sukuna who takes you by surprise when he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ears and tucks the flower behind your ear. “What was that for, king?” You asked with a slightly bewildered smile on your face to which he could only muster up a nonchalant reply “Do you need to ask questions for everything I do, mortal? (how would the king of curses admit he's feeling his heart race, that's weak.)

Loverboy!Sukuna who obviously doesn't do things conventionally and takes you on a proper date at a restaurant by scaring everyone else away so it's just the two of you and the (very terrified) staff—privacy is important between lovers after all, he lived by that virtue.

Loverboy!Sukuna who has a scowl on his face and he spits out a “what.” When you ask him if you could tie pink ribbons onto his enormous 4 arms—but then gives into your ridiculous request anyway.

Loverboy!Sukuna who thinks of all the ways he'll punish you in bed after you teased him for having witnessed the helix of his ears turn pink, seeing someone like him adorned in pink ribbons.

Loverboy!Sukuna who miserably fails at punishing you, or fuck you rough when he notices how glassy your eyes are when one of his two cocks is not even halfway inside your poor, battered cunt.

Loverboy!Sukuna who talks you through it, having you in missionary when heian era he was used to fucking his concubines from the back. Even your face was cupped in his palms, so tenderly. “You can take it woman, easy..breathe for me.”

Loverboy!Sukuna who for the first time makes note of what feels good to his partner and what doesn't, taking it very seriously.

Loverboy!Sukuna promises himself that in this lifetime, where he took on the kinder path, he'd make you his wife, the only one and not a concubine.

Loverboy!Sukuna who feels the monster in him fall silent the moment he rests his head onto your lap.

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost is shocked by your immunity to being tased.

I received an ask from an anon for this story. Unfortunately, either Tumblr ate it, or I accidentally deleted it; I can’t be sure because I trust neither of us. Gladly, I remember the gist of it. I hope that anon sees it. (Sorry, anon, and thank you for the ask.)

———————————————————————

You push open the workshop door, and notice a curated display of taser gear spread across the table for today’s training session. Ghost, your lieutenant and trainer for the day, occupies a corner, busy with extracting all sorts of stuff—taser guns, pulses, stun batons—from bags and placing them on the table. He catches the sound of your entrance and turns halfway to face you.

“You’re early,” he mutters under his breath.

“I just couldn’t wait, Lieutenant,” you reply sarcastically.

He huffs. “We’ll see about that once training’s over.”

You approach the table, and look at the equipment. You reach out and grasp a taser gun. It looks exactly like a pistol but bulkier and has yellow elements to distinguish it from firearms.

“Could you please remind me how this baby works?” you ask.

He turns his entire body towards you and contemplates your question. Although the training session is just half an hour away, and he doesn’t technically need to explain anything, you’re his weak spot. So he leaves the gear in the bag, walks towards you, and begins to give you a detailed explanation.

It almost feels like a private session, but you have ulterior motives—you’ve already been through a similar class in the past and are eager to skip this one. Despite your repeated attempts to convey this to Ghost, he remained adamant that this course would be a refresher for you and, thus, necessary.

“Once you have a clear shot, you press the trigger.” He concludes.

“Like this?” you ask, directing the taser towards your right foot and squeezing the trigger. It stings, but your previous training has taught you how to get used to the feeling and handle the pain better. Or at least make it look that way.

Your poor lieutenant stands speechless as he looks at the now-fired taser gun. He slowly looks down, where his shocked eyes trace the two wires extending from the device, connecting to your foot.

“What the fuck did you do?” he shouts, gesturing towards your leg.

“Jeez, Lt., you seem stunned,” you comment.

“Are you having a laugh, soldier?” He scolds you with as much authority as he has left from what he just experienced. He drops to the ground, working to remove the wires from your foot. He stands up, alternating his gaze between the device and your leg. Finally, he turns to you.

“How come you’re not in pain?” he asks, confused.

You shrug, unaffected, and pick up another taser from the table. “Maybe the first one was defective; let’s give this one a go,” you suggest, aiming at your other foot and firing.

“Are you out of your mind, Y/N?” he screams in a high-pitched voice and kneels again to retrieve the second taser from your foot.

“Come on, Lt., it’s not as bad as it seems!” You reassure him with a grin, seizing a third taser from the table. This time, you point it at Ghost’s leg. “Wanna see?”

He lifts his knee and gathers his arms close to his body. He looks like a pitcher, ready to throw the ball in a baseball match.

“No, no, thank you very much”, he protests.

“Sure?” You ask and aim at his other leg on the ground.

“Absolutely certain, you maniac,” he says, switching legs. “How far are you willing to go to skip this class?!”

“Not too far,” you reply with a smile, “as far as these two wires go when they get propelled from the taser gun.”

“Cut it out!”

To his relief, the rest of the team enters the room, and Ghost instantly transitions into his authoritative persona. He places both feet on the ground, protrudes his chest, and places both hands on his waist. He clears his throat.

“Take your positions, everyone,” he commands, “everyone except for you, Y/N.”

“Why am I excluded, Lieutenant?” you ask with a pout and a playful wink. “Is it because I’m unfazed?”

“Nah, soldier,” he replies and walks behind you to tidy the wires from the already-shot taser guns, “it’s because you’re a live wire—always keeping me on my toes.”

———————————————————————

[hazbinshusk]

husk x afab!fox!reader. an anon asked for a turning of the tables, so here's husk dealing with a reader going through heat. how's the bartender supposed to ignore the siren song of your scent, after all? 3k.featuring: overstimulation, masturbation, oral (f!receiving), rut-induced breeding kink, and husk trying to be a gentleman even while you're begging for it. reader is fem presenting, and the heat reflects that. husk refers to them as 'vix', as in 'vixen'. (reader is envisioned as an anthro in the same style of alastor - that is, animal traits like a fox's tail and ears, but mostly human in appearance).

Screw Heaven.

Screw Hell.

And screw whatever the fuck it is that you did on Earth to earn you this goddamned body you have now that you’re spending the rest of eternity in the pit.

Sometimes it wasn’t so bad; there were even perks to being part fox. But right now… right now you hate it. Hate the ears that picked up every little sound around you while you tried to ignore everything. Hate the busy goddamned tail with the orange-red fur that sticks to your overheated, sweat-sheened skin and makes it more and more difficult to settle against the sheets.

Your claw-like nails dig into the pillows by your head in frustration, squeezing the plush fabric as though it could possibly relieve some of the tension inside you. Your jaw clenches tightly as your hips rise up off the mattress. You’re stark naked and the air conditioning is switched to maximum, but still, there’s a heat radiating through your entire aching body. The flesh of your inner thighs is slick with a mix of sweat and your own arousal; both of your vibrators have been cast aside on the sheets beside you, the batteries long dead.

You press your fingers up against your cunt, an irritated whine escaping through your grinding teeth. You’ve been trying this for hours now, desperate to take any of the edge off, just long enough so that you can get some sleep. And yet, your alarm clock reads two twenty-six, and you’re no more relaxed than when you felt the first pangs of heat overcome you down in the lobby.

It’s the first time the heat has hit you since you’ve moved into the hotel, and the all-too-familiar feeling of it had hit you like a truck halfway through a conversation with the usual suspects at the bar. An uncomfortable warmth had flushed through you with such force that you’d stopped with your glass halfway to your lips, the ache between your thighs almost immediate. You’d barely managed to stumble through an excuse to leave to Angel and Pen, interrupting the former halfway through a story. Husk had frozen too, strangely, and he’d met your gaze wide-eyed for about three seconds before you’d escaped upstairs.

Tears sting the corners of your eyes. “Fucking damn it!”

“Doll?”

A soft knock sounds against the wood of your door, and your ears flick upward from where they’d been pinned back against your hair in surprise. “…Husk?”

“You alright?” his voice sounds concerned, but even through the heat-induced haze of your mind, you swear you can hear a thread of embarrassment underneath it. You choke on your attempt at a response, a whimper slipping out instead. “…Vix?”

You feel yourself shudder at the nickname. Your fingers haven’t stopped moving against your clit, and the sound of his voice seems to grant you the first hint towards relief. It’s not enough, and your hand quickens desperately. Even as it does some sober, sensible part of your mind reminds you that you shouldn’t be doing this – Husk is your friend. You’ve been witness to enough interactions between him and Angel to know that he’d be disgusted if he knew what you were doing, heat or not.

“You… you shouldn’t be here, Husk.”

“…You with someone?”

You bark a bitter, humorless laugh, head falling back against the pillow. Your hips roll up against your hand, still desperately chasing release.

“Husk…” his name comes out as something akin to a moan, and you slam your free hand over your mouth. The next word is muffled against your palm as you slide two fingers into yourself. “Fuck…”

“Vix…” he repeats, and his voice sounds lower, more strained. “Baby?”

You whine, high-pitched and keening into your hand, your teeth buried hard enough into your palm to draw blood.

“I, uh…” Husk clears his throat, his voice dropping to an even lower tenor. The sound of it makes a shiver settle in the small of your back. You can feel sweat beading on your brow. “I got a feelin’ I know what’s goin’ on in there, and…”

He falls silent, apparently at a loss for words. You hear a soft, tiny thump, and your mind conjures the image of him standing with his forehead pressed against the door. Your face flushes at the insinuation he’s made, and you hurry to lie even as you reach down to brush your fingers with your clit, your other hand still pumping two fingers into you. “Nothing’s going… I’m f-fine, Husk.”

“Baby,” he says again, and you bite your lip to suppress another moan. You taste blood. He sounds… uncomfortable, but not accusatory. “I’ve been around long enough to know… I’m not judgin’. But your scent…”

Husk lets out a soft, breathy noise, something like a groan, and your thighs clench around your hand as an orgasm breaks within you. You manage to muffle most of your moan by turning your head and burying your face in the pillows. Just like before, it does nothing to relieve the painful ache twisting through your stomach.

“I’m sorry… I could smell it downstairs.” he continues. “It’s drivin’ me crazy, I’m… I’m jus’ here to help.”

You push yourself up to sit, eyes fixed on the door and your ears quivering. “‘Help’? You… you want to help me?”

“I didn’t mean…” Husk fumbles over the words hurriedly. “’m not tryin’ to presume… I jus’ mean, if you want me to stay out here to make sure you can keep your privacy, or if you want me to fuck off and—”

“Husk?” you interrupt him, voice shaking. “If I… if I ask you to come in here, will you?”

There’s a moment of silence that makes your heart clench. “I… I don’t know if you’re in the right mind to be askin’ me that, doll.”

“Please, Husk,” you whimper, brow furrowed and your eyes closing. Your voice breaks as your frustration reaches a head. “I can’t… please.”

The silence returns before you hear a soft click of the lock of your door turning. It opens slowly, and your chest heaves with unsteady breaths as Husk stands frozen in your doorway, the claw he used to pick the lock still raised. His pupils are blown wide, his wings and tail quivering as he takes you in.

“Fuck…” he breathes it like a prayer, his eyes burning into you in the low light of your bedside lamp. You’re disheveled and soaked in sweat, stinking of your own arousal and you still have your fingers buried deep in your swollen pussy, but Husk looks at you like you’re something… holy. “Vix…”

“Husk...” you whine, fingers still moving inside you. “I can’t keep…. I need…”

He swallows, steadying himself and closing the door behind him. You’re quivering with need, with the heat of his gaze as he moves towards you. He pauses long enough to turn the air conditioner down to a more reasonable level before he takes a seat on the bed in front of you. Every heated nerve in you is screaming for you to pull him into you, to mount his lap and finally ease this need burning in you, but you just whimper as he takes hold of your wrist and eases your hand away from your cunt.

“’s okay, baby.” he murmurs reassuringly, and you see his eyes fall to the vibrators beside you. He exhales a sigh, leading your hand down to the sheets beside you. “Poor baby… you’ve been trying this whole time to break it?”

You nod, tears stinging at your eyes. “Please…”

Husk touches his hand to your cheek, leaning forward and bringing his face closer to your own. “Lemme take care of you.”

Husk brings his mouth to yours, your breath catching against his lips. His kiss is slow but firm, and when you reach up to clutch at his suspenders, to tug him on top of you, he knocks your hands away gently, tongue sliding into your mouth. Undaunted, you reach between his thighs, palming his crotch and squeezing, a real, heated thrill running through you as you realize how hard he already is. Husk hums, breaking away from your mouth as he takes hold of your wrist again. He exhales, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Hey, hey… I’ve got you, alright?” he tells you, frustratingly gentle. You need him to fuck you, to fill you, you need to feel his cum inside you… But Husk kisses you again, and you whine into it as you feel his claws graze over your thigh. “I’ve got you… lay back for me, baby.”

You follow his instructions shakily and Husk trails his mouth down over your torso, nipping and sucking soft marks into your throat and lingering at your chest. His claws smooth over the curve of your hips. Your thighs are already parted eagerly, and your hips buck up into him as he lets the rough edge of his tongue flick over your hard nipple.

“Husk…”

“Oh, baby…” he murmurs sympathetically, brushing his thumb over your swollen labia. You jerk under his touch, eyes squeezed shut. “Looks so sore…”

Your tail tucks around your thigh, and he presses a kiss to that, too.

“Fuck, you taste good…” he mutters against the crease where your thigh ends, his warm breath tickling against your cunt. He presses a kiss to your pubic mound and touches his nose there and inhales before dipping down to slide his tongue between your folds. It lingers at your clit and you moan aloud, hips rising off the mattress. He takes hold of them, pressing them back down. “Thought I was gonna pass out jus’ from the scent of you… stuck down there with the others, knowing you’re up here… wishing I could do jus’ this…”

His tongue is sweet torture against your clit and your eyes roll back as he purrs into your cunt. It takes only seconds before you cum, tears streaking your cheeks as it once again does nothing to relieve your tension. Husk’s claws remain on your hips, holding you firmly down against the sheets even as you try to grind against his face. You need him inside you.

So, you push him back, straddling his lap and unfastening his pants. Your cum soaks his muzzle but you don’t hesitate to kiss him, grinding yourself down against his lap. Husk groans into your mouth, retaking hold of your hips.

“Shit, Vix…” he says breathlessly, eyes rolling back for a moment.

“I can’t wait, Husk,” you tell him, your voice broken and reedy. You straighten up, rolling your hips against his erection again. “I need to fuck… please, I need to feel… I need you to fuck me, Husk, please…”

He nods, pushing himself up to sit so he can kiss you again. You hiss as his claws brush against your clit as he reaches between you to take hold of his cock, but then he’s pressing into you and you both moan, your forehead pressed to his.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he groans, wrapping an arm around your waist. While moments ago, the idea of feeling his fur against your bare skin would have almost made you sick, now it was intoxicating, and you bunched it under your fingers as you clutched at his shoulders. Husk pressed his hips up into yours as you rode him roughly, your chest flush against his. “Shit.”

You run your fingers through the fur behind his ears, at the back of his neck, and he growls when your hands find the base of his wings. His cock is thick enough for you to feel it stretch you with each thrust into you, and some cum-drunk part of you wonders how you’ve managed to exist so long without it.

“Need you to cum, Husk,” you tell him breathlessly, gasping as he angles his hips so that each time he fills you your clit meets his pelvic bone. The fur at the base of his cock is soaked already, and you shudder your way through another orgasm, nails digging into his shoulders. “God, fuck… Need you to… need you to fill… unh…”

“I’m gonna fill you up, Vixie,” he assures you and you moan. “Gonna fuck you ‘til it’s drippin’ out of you… you’re gonna be so pretty once you’re full of my kits.”

You moan again, louder than before, pulling him into another hungry kiss. Husk pushes you back onto the mattress into a mating press, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. He fucks himself into you hard, burying his face in your neck. You can feel his breath burning against your skin, feel his claws clutch at your waist. He’s murmuring sweet nothings into your flesh, but your mind can barely function past the idea of him wanting to breed with you.

He wanted to have kits with you.

Husk’s mouth was on yours again and you took his face in your hands, fingers playing with the base of his ears. He fucked you roughly, and still, you beg for, “Harder.”

You can feel his tail wrapped around yours, feel his claws breaking the skin of your waist, feel him palm your breast and squeeze. It hurts so wonderfully every time he pushes into you, bottoming out with every thrust.

“You gonna do that for me, aren’t you, baby?” he asks gruffly, groaning as you tighten around him. “Fuck, you’re gonna… you’re gonna have my kits… tell me you wanna have my kits…”

“Yes!” you cry out, head falling back against the pillows again. His fangs graze the base of your throat. “Fuck, yes, Husk, please, I wanna have your kits for you… Let me, please… fuck, please…”

“I will, baby…” he promises, his voice barely more than a growl. “I will, jus’… God, keep squeezin’ me like that…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When you wake your whole body aches in a different, more pleasant way than it had the night before. You were curled up under a blanket, your tail tucked up over your hip for you to curl your fingers in it, your face buried in the pillows. The bed shifts and you open your eyes, blinking against the red light of an early morning.

“Husk?” you voice comes rough from overuse.

He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, his pants tugged back up into place but his suspenders still missing. He turns his head to give you a soft, kind smile. “Hey, Vixen.”

You feel color flush your face at the nickname and the events of the night before pour to the forefront of your mind. He’d stayed inside you until he’d softened entirely, his cum warm inside your cunt. You remembered the way he’d lay against you, the way he’d brushed his lips over your overworked muscles and lapped the sweat from the side of your neck. He’d whispered words you couldn’t quite recall, but you remembered the tone was soothing, sweet, even. Husk pulling the blanket up over you was the last thing you remembered happening before you passed out.

 You clear your throat, pushing hair out of your face. “You… Are you leaving?”

Husk’s gaze falls to his lap as he runs a paw through the fun between his ears. “I thought maybe you’d want your privacy now that you’re… you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

“Much.” you reply, holding the blanket to your chest as you sit up. “Thank you. I don’t… I’d still be going crazy right now if it wasn’t for you.”

He chuckles softly, but there’s a bitter edge to it. He pulls his suspenders up onto his shoulders and stands. “I… I should go.”

You frown, swallowing. “Oh?”

He nods, avoiding your eye. He seems to try for humor, but something in his tone falls flat. “Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

He gives you another fleeting smile before making his way to the door. You speak just as he touches a hand to the door handle.

“I wouldn’t have invited anyone else in.”

Husk stops, his ears flicking upward.

You press your lips together for a moment as you gather yourself. “If it had been anyone else at my door last night… I wouldn’t have invited them in. I invited you in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching his back for any sign he’d really heard you. “I mean… I’m not actually looking to have your babies…”

Husk laughs, finally turning around. “Well, thank God for that.”

You smile up at him, daring to let the blanket fall just a little lower against the curve of your breasts. Husk’s eyes follow it, his tail waving behind him. “But I’m, uh, gonna be dealing with his ‘heat’ thing for at least a couple of days…”

He raises a brow, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. “Sounds rough.”

“Yeah,” you nod, smile widening as Husk begins to move ever so slowly back towards the bed. “So, I think it would be really… charitable of you to stick around. Y’know, if you’re not too busy.”

Husk reaches the edge of the bed, his tail twitching. “And after that?”

“Hmmm…” you hum as though considering his words. “Pretty sure I could still make time for your weird baby-making kinks, bartender.”

He laughs, leaning down to press his lips to yours. He kisses you gently, a paw cupping your cheek. You can feel him smile against your lips. “Cheeky little thing you are, Vix.”

“Just for you,” you murmur against his lips, letting the blanket fall into your lap as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Mm,” he kisses you again, hand ghosting down over your chest. “I like the sound of that.”

[moon1833]

BACKTALK - TSUKISHIMA KEI

“Aw, where'd that pretty mouth go?”

Warning: Smut, Aged up characters (18+), Female reader, semi-rough sex, degradation, hate sex but not really

If you like the prompt of this story check out my wattpad :) have something like it on my page @blueish__3

Tsukishima didn't know how much he loved back talk until you did it. Sure, he's heard it from his teammates or his friends before, but it was different when it came to you.

He didn't know if it was the soft tilt of your head when you looked up at him, or the cocky smile on your lips, or the sweet, sarcastic tone you'd give him whenever you came up with a retort.

You were so quick with it too, it was like you didn't even have to think before coming up with some witty comment that had him wanting to shut you up in a very particular way.

You knew what you were doing, and so did he. The bickering turned to flirting, quickly. Both of you competing to see who could fluster the other more. That's when Tsukishima started winning.

"Do you ever shut up?" He asked you one night, already on edge from the volume of the celebratory house party his teammate had insisted on throwing.

"I think you'd be way too bored if I did." You replied, a smirk tugging on your lips.

"Please, I can think of ten different things your mouth is better at doing." He watched your expression switch to faint surprise, and a not so hidden look of arousal.

"You're all talk." You say back, but it's lacking the usual wit you usually have.

"Come on, at least try to sound convincing." Tsukishima relishes in your reaction. "It's not as fun when you don't even believe yourself."

You roll your eyes, sudden boldness rolling through you. "You're not going to do shit. You wouldn't know what to do with me if you had the chance."

"Oh yeah?" His smirk grows, but his eyes darken.

You kept your composure until he was pushing you into the bathroom, face barely an inch from yours. "How far do you want to push me?"

"You still haven't done anything yet." Your lips almost graze his as you speak.

There's a second of silence as you finish your sentence before Tsukishima's mouth is on yours. Your hands are on his shoulders, and his are on your waist. The kiss is messy and deep, and you're pressing your body into his subconsciously.

The feeling of your warmth sets an eagerness in him, picking you up by the back of your thighs without warning and sitting you on the edge of the bathroom sink. You make a sound of surprise that turns into a moan when you feel him between your legs.

He's kissing down your neck, fingers slowing caressing your thigh, getting dangerously close. It's a warning, but more than that it's a tease. You know he's not going to do anything unless you ask for it.

"Please." You mumble, trying to move his wrist to your clit.

"Use your words." He coos.

"Just touch me already, Kei." You tried to sound annoyed, but it came out as a plea.

Either way, it worked. Tsukishima dipped his hand under your skirt, feeling the cloth of your underwear. Even the light pressure of the pads of his fingers rubbing circles around your clit had a small moan escape you.

In one motion, he moves your panties to the side and slips his middle finger inside of you, catching you off guard. He's kissing you again, but you think it's partially to keep you quiet as you yelp in surprise.

His fingers are long, you know that. He's not even halfway in and he's already reaching a spot you've never been able to reach by yourself. You can feel how wet you are when he's slowing sliding his finger in and out of your entrance, and in between your heavily breathing you can hear it.

You're tempted to insult him again, but before your can think of anything to say, he speeds up his pace, finger fucking you. He's knuckle deep in you, your pussy sucking him in so tight he doesn't think he'd be able to fuck you.

You didn't think something as juvenile as fingering could feel so good, but when he adds another finger, your orgasm is coming on embarrassingly fast. His other hand's covering your mouth, muffling the sounds you couldn't hold back.

You're gushing around his fingers as you finish, grasping onto the bathroom sink until your knuckles are white. You barely have time to catch your breath before he's pulling you off the counter, turning you around so you're facing the mirror.

Your makeup is smudged and you're red in the face. Behind you, Tsukishima looks all too pleased with himself. "Think you can take it?" He taunts.

"Of course I can." You say, but you're practically gasping.

He slides his hand down up your back, bending you over. You hardly hear him fumbling with his belt before you feel his tip at your entrance, tracing your clit and teasing your hole. He's sliding back and forth, and you're trying to chase your hips to feel something.

"Be patient." He mumbles, kissing the skin under your ear as he starts to stretch you out.

Every time you thought he was fully in, he kept going. By the time you could feel his pelvis against your ass, you were whimpering at the feeling.

"Aw, where'd that pretty mouth go?" He coos, smirking as he moved your hair off your back, wrapping it around his fist.

"Fuck you." You grunt, a high pitched whine escaping you.

Tsukishima snaps his hips against you, and you cry out. You try putting your head down as he starts to slide in and out of you, but he pulls you up by your hair.

"Look at how pretty you look like this." He mocks, and you can barely hear him over how dizzy he's making you feel.

Your tits are spilling out of your top with each thrust, and you give up on containing your sounds. After a particularly loud moan, he stops, pulling out and turning you back around.

"Do you ever shut up?" He taunts, but from here you can see he's fighting to keep his composure.

He spreads your legs, pushing into you again. For the first time, you take a look at his dick, and suddenly you understood why he walked around with the unwavering confidence that he had.

It somehow felt bigger when you were looking at him sliding in and out of you. He covered your mouth with his hand again, speeding up his pace until it had you almost crying.

You came around his dick, wrapping your legs around his torso as you did. His thrusts got sloppier, spilling into the condom as he rode out his own orgasm with breathy moans.

You leaned against him practically collapsing into his chest as he slowed to a stop, closing your eyes for a moment. Tsukishima adjusted your clothes as you caught your breathe, kissing your shoulder.

"Take it back yet?" He whispered.

"You are so annoying."

[dolcekissy]

disclaimer // 18+ content. this story includes mentions of sex, titty fucking, and yeahhh.

─────────────────────────

rafe dating a tattoo artist would definitely consist of him getting turned on just from looking at your tattoos. you could be fresh out the shower, fresh ink barely peeking through the towel and right off the bat he wants to fuck you. he's obsessed with your naked body to begin with but your naked body filled with some sexy ass ink? whew.

me personally i love me a good tattoo down the valley of the breasts and so does rafe. rafe goes absolutely feral when you come home from your shop and he sees your tits halfway out and some fresh ink right in between them. he's already sooo obsessed with your tits and now this? are you trying to kill him?

once that tattoo is healed and all pretty again (which were the longest few weeks of his life), don't be surprised when he's fucking his dick into your breasts and watching his cum drip down it.

rafe loves watching you work. whether that be you practicing on fake skin or sketching something out or watching you do tattoos on some of your friends. one time you did a tattoo on sarah and he was amazed by how steady your hand was and how beautifully done it was.

"how do you keep your hand so steady? that line is straighter than sarah's priorities." sarah whipped her head around, threatening to get up and slap him just for you to yell at her to sit still. "girl fuck him but please! sit still!" you say trying not to laugh at his corny comment.

rafe also loves watching you work on yourself. whether it's a small tattoo or a big one he'll watch you work for hours. he's so fascinated with how you can do them on yourself, knowing it's extremely difficult to learn.

you two are sitting in your shop, him stealing a chair and sitting close enough to be able to watch you while you set up and start printing out the stencil.

"what're you doin today?" you grab the stencil from the printer and hold it up showing it to him. he observes it before asking where you're doing it at, almost shitting himself as you point to your inner thigh. immediately thinking about how good that's going to look and all the open mouth kisses he'll give it before lapping up your sweet, sweet juices.

rafe is totally in awe looking at your work you've posted on your socials or when you show him the work you did that day. he's so quick to show people your work or refer people to you. he could hear the word 'tattoo' come out of someone's mouth and he's automatically jumping to tell them that his girlfriend is an artist.

he'll be out in public and hear someone talking about how they want a new tattoo and will literally walk up to them and start showing them your work. his beautiful girlfriend is just so talented. why wouldn't he?

"yeah, my girlfriend did this on herself. oh and this one on my friend just a few days ago. i'll give you her info." he'll go on and on about you, "those other artists are just shitty if i'm being honest."

rafe would immediately go to you if he wants a tattoo. no matter how many times you tell him it's free of charge he'll still pay you.

"baby, you're literally my boyfriend. you don't need to pay me for this." you say as he's shoving hundred dollar bills in your face.

─────────────────────────

[shookuna]

// HEATWAVE! // T FUSHIGURO

a/n: first post on tha new blog !!! eeee !!! this is dedicated to the lovely mickey @teddybeartoji <3 ty for being my FIRST OFFICIAL MOOT ! MY DAYONE ! take a lil soft!toji fic pls and thank u 🤲

wc: ~ 1k oops

summary: tired grumpy bf!toji is needy and annoying w/o cuddles. cw: nsf(w) ment, plus some tooth-rotting fluff <3

cuddling with toji was becoming a rare occurrence.

it was mid-july and swelteringly hot outside, even in the wee hours of the night. the a/c in your shared apartment was threatening to give out, and the shitty fan toji sloppily assembled did little to improve matters. so, deviating from your usual routine, you and toji fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

toji noticed the distance immediately, cracking one eye open to find you not curled into his side, like usual. the sight of you dead to the world, hair messily splayed across the pillow was enough to make his heart flutter. but even still, a frown tugged at the corner of his lips.

because goddammit, you did not get him used to this "cuddling" shit just to bail on him now.

you and toji met months ago at the dawn of fall, when the days were getting shorter and the nights were growing colder. your relationship was initially a fateful coincidence, a grocery store meet-cute that was as romantic as it was awkward. his series of brazen pick-up lines went right over your head (surely, you assumed, no one would tell you how good you'd look receiving backshots in the fucking frozen food aisle) but you still ended up giving toji your number that day.

and he's never been a religious man, but he was praising every god in the damn sky that you did.

one date was all it took for both of you to be locked in. he was a bad habit, an itch you couldn't help but scratch, irresistible. he was reckless, cocky at best and an asshole at worst, everything you weren't. needless to say, dating toji was against your better judgment. but for him, being with you was the first good decision he's made in a long time.

that's not to say things were perfect, or even easy. being with someone like you was so unfamiliar for someone like toji. loving you came as easy as breathing, but choosing you, choosing to work towards being a better version of himself... that was hard as shit. even small things took time, like physical intimacy. his body count was through the roof, so he had no issue when it came to having sex with you - but affection was a whole different story. it made him feel like he was in someone else's skin, someone weaker, someone who needed to be taken care of. it took til' mid-december, when the temperatures were practically sub-zero and frost crusted the ground, to get toji to warm up (no pun intended) to cuddling.

and now you'd gone and gotten him attached to this shit just to leave him high and dry?!

it didn't matter that your boyfriend was practically a walking furnace, heat radiating off of him in waves when he caged you in his strong arms. temperature be damned, toji thought, you started this, so you had to finish it.

"wake up." his gruff voice sounded out, a stark departure from the blanket of silence the night offered. when you only stirred slightly, he gave you a little shake. "oi, get y'r ass up. i'm talkin t' you."

at that firmer command, you rose your head, a displeased frown taking the place of your previous serene expression. "fushiguro, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing waking me up at..." you paused, fumbling for your phone on the nightstand and checking the time. "...at three in the damn morning."

"don't gimme that shit. girl bye," toji grumbled, not sparing you so much as an apology for disturbing your sleep. you simply gave him a deadpan stare, making him scoff and roll over to his other side. "'s fine, not like i needed to hold ya to fall asleep anyway." he muttered bitterly into the pillow.

your eyes were already halfway closed when he turned around, but they immediately shot open when you heard his grumblings.

"what did you say? you need to cuddle me to fall asleep?" you perk up, pressing your hands on his shoulders to coax him into turning back around.

"i sure as hell didn't say 'cuddle'," he groused, but still turned around anyways. his voice might have sounded annoyed, but you knew your toji. the flicker of warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

"heh, you said it just now, dummy." you grinned as you snuggled up to toji's chest, earning a flick to your forehead from the man in question. but you were unbothered, simply humming, "thought ya didn't like cuddling."

"y'r makin' assumptions," toji grumbled, the low, gravelly timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine. "now quiet down so i can sleep."

at that, you scoffed in playful offense. "so you can sleep? you literally just woke me u-" you started, but he silenced effortlessly by pressing his lips against yours in a lazy, heated kiss.

when he pulled away, chest heaving with each hot puff of air, you were warm from way more than just the heat outside.

"go the fuck to sleep before i put you to sleep myself." he growled out, but there was no malice in his words - more of an invitation than a threat.

deciding to resist temptation this time, you settled back into his hold, your back flush against his chest. as you began to fade back into sleep, you heard toji whisper out, "meant what i said, y'know that? can't... can't sleep w' out you now."

the next words out of your mouth were simple, but they were all it took to put him at ease.

"i know, toji."

dawww <33 hope u like this fic everyone (esp mickey mwah mwah mwah) reblogs + comments appreciated !!

© shookuna ! toji header edited by me too tehe

[paradiseismine]

Finnverse kinks - Headcanons

Pairing: Finnverse characters x f!reader

Warnings: pretty spicy (duh), but no actual smut scenes.

Summary: kinks I believe each Finn character would have hehehe

Love note from Nina: would you like me to turn each kink into a full fic? let me know, lovelies!

Boris Pavlikovsky

💋 SUI (sex under the influence)

We all know that he’s a stoner, but Boris lovesss to see you all sensitive from some MDMA, shivering and moaning at the softest graze of his fingers; or laughing while riding him with a joint in your hand (he thinks you look specially sexy while doing it). Boris is already insatiable sober, but when you get high with him is a whole different story - let’s just say you’ll be really satisfied (and well, a bit sore) the next morning.

💋 Pet kink

He’ll call you bunny, kitty and other pet animal names. He got you a choker that resembles a collar, and you wear it nearly every time you two have sex. He’ll pull your face closer to his by your collar, telling you to be a good pet and do as he says. It all started with him jokingly saying that you were an animal in bed, but as time went on, he got a bit more literal with that.

💋 Daddy kink

Expect that delicious Russian accent to tell you to “cum for daddy” or to “come suck dick for daddy” multiple times during your intimacy. And of course, you have to call him daddy as well, giving him the “yes sir”, and the big pleading eyes.

If you don’t oblige, he’ll flip you over his lap and spank you until you call him daddy. “What did you want from daddy, my little girl?” and you’ll babble, so horny you’ll sound drunk “Your cock, daddy, I need your cock in my pussy, need you to stretch out my little hole real good, please”

Mike Wheeler

💋 (Not so) secret hickeys/love bites

Mikey absolutely loves to mark you as his, leaving little purple bruises on your neck, on your breasts or on your shoulders. He won’t say it to your face, but if he left a hickey on your breasts and you decide to wear a low cut shirt later that day, showing off the bruise to all of your friends, he’ll fuck you extra hard when you two get alone. Something about other people seeing how you belong to him sends this boy over the edge, and it’s his pleasure to let you know how he feels.

💋 Risky sex

Oh, so you two are going to the movies? Make sure to wear a skirt, and make sure it’s shorter this time, so you won’t draw so much attention when he starts fingering your pussy and making you stifle your moans halfway through the movie. Going camping? Good, he always wanted to get his dick sucked under a tree beneath the stars.

Basically, Mikey wants to have you in places where you two could possibly get caught, that thrill gets him rock hard in a second - and let’s face it, you have a lot of fun with it too.

💋 Panties in his pocket

Now, if you really want to drive Mike wild, try going to the bathroom, taking off your panties and sneaking them in the back pocket of his pants. You did this once at a friend’s house party, and the way he fucked you afterwards still gives you chills just thinking about it.

You can do that at a restaurant, at a trip or something along those lines - knowing you’re so naughty just for him, and so eager for him to please you that you can’t even keep your underwear on is sure to make him lose his mind. He’ll grab you by the hips as soon as you’re alone and whisper to your ear, “Does my princess need her man to take care of her, yeah? I got you, sweet girl”

Miles Fairchild

💋 Shibari

It goes without saying that this one here is a dom - we all know it by now - but he absolutely loves to tie you up. Mostly he uses actual ropes, but he has bought a myriad of different materials to tie you up with, just to, you know, switch things up. He’ll tie you up to the ceiling, completely naked, and fuck you without moving a muscle himself, just from your swinging at the ropes. He’ll bounce you on his cock and say something like “ah, now you’re just the way I like it, all exposed and tied up for me to use, my little puppet sex doll”

💋 Free use

Speaking of “use”, Miles loves some free use. He loves to lower your pants or lift up your dress out of the blue and fuck you senseless. He’ll also lower your top’s spaghetti straps and suckle on your boobs like a starving baby whenever he wants, stroking himself in the mean time.

It goes both ways, though: you’re free to pump him hard and make him fuck your tight slit as much as you want and whenever you want, or force his face onto your pussy to get him to eat you out. He basically never says no, and is always eager to please his slutty princess however she wants.

💋 Knife play

He gets all hot and heavy when you declutter your closet: that means that some old/stained clothes, that would normally be discarded, now get to be cut through by his knife. Miles gets FERAL when you let him cut through your clothes to undress you. It’s all about how dominant he feels doing that.

On special occasions, you’d even let him do a small cut on a less visible/less prone to excessive bleeding part of your body. That boy is a sucker for your blood and will lick it all off in a split second.

Trevor Spengler

💋 Soft domination

Trev is a softer dom - he’s way more likely to praise you instead of degrading you and doesn’t leave as many bruises or marks on your body, preferring his dominance to be more mental. But you must remember: he’s in charge, and he’ll gladly remind you of that if you dare forget it for a mere second.

Prepare yourself for some hair pulling, sensual biting, spanking and harsh groping, lotsss of getting asked “whose pussy is this, baby girl?” and “all wet and needy, aren’t you? what should I do to you first?” as his delicious raspy voice makes your brain melt away with lust.

💋 Breeding

Huge breeding kink, this one. It all boils down to his “modern hero” nature - he wants to save you, to protect you, to be your lifeline. And knowing that you would potentially trust him to father your children drives this boy wild.

He’ll always say things like “You got such a tight little pussy, princess, can I cum inside you already?”, “I’m gonna fill you up to the brim tonight, love” or “I’m gonna pump you so full of my cum, you won’t even be able to hold it all inside you”. So, uh…Pulling out? Not his game. Your pussy leaking with his cum and it dripping down your legs the whole day sounds way more fun.

💋 Car sex

The Ectomobile and Trevor have a long history together by now, and he wants you to be part of it. Whether you are sitting on the hood of the car or bent over it, or lying on the backseat, or got one leg to each side of his waist behind the steering wheel, Trev will never deny any sexual advances in his car. Quickies? Long, elaborate sex? He’s down. Sucking his dick while he drives is a particular favorite, and it makes him cum a lot sooner than usual, he just can’t hold it in - you look so hot, so slutty, so submissive doing that, he loves it.

Ziggy Katz

💋 Sex tape kink

Besides also liking nudes and sexting, it’s when you’re home and his camera is fully charged that this boy gets the most throbbing erections. You don’t even have to actually press the record button if you don’t want to, but just the fantasy of recording or (even better) live-streaming your sex makes Ziggy feel like he might explode. He’ll tell you to “smile for the camera” as he cums in your face, get you on all fours and pound into your pussy from behind as you moan and watch your own face contort in pleasure by looking at the camera’s viewfinder.

💋 Exhibitionism

Filming your intimacy is merely a small part of Ziggy’s main kink: exhibitionism. He absolutely loves to discreetly grab your butt in public while you two walk together, to swiftly get his hand under your skirt while kissing at a corner of a party, all that silly stuff. He just wants everyone to know he bagged such a babe. You’re so pretty he still can’t believe you like him and wanted to be his girlfriend - so now he’s gotta show you off as much as he can (well, as much as you’ll let him, ‘cause this boy would fuck you in front of an audience if he could).

💋 Feet

Ziggy will kiss your feet whenever they’re reachable when you two are getting it on. He’ll always compliment your pedicure, call you his goddess, say how soft and beautiful your feet are. Occasionally, he’ll ask for a footjob, saying things like “You’re so gorgeous, love, I bet you could make me cum using only your feet” or “let’s put that red pedicure you just got for a better use, huh?” He just worships you all over, but there’s something about your feet that gets him specially hard.

[queenpiranhadon]

╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ʚɞ .ᐟ: Before going to bed, your twin daughters Nanako and Mimiko ask your husband for a bedtime story - the story of the day you two first met.

ʚɞ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: No curses AU (?), light cursing (they're crossed out because it's a bedtime story), whether Mimi and Nana are adopted isn't really specified so it's up to you, f!reader, you and Suguru are married, fluffy fluff, Suguru used to play basketball

ʚɞ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Suguru Geto x Reader

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: ʚɞ

"Okay girls, time for bed."

Your twin daughters, Mimiko and Nanako eagerly dash to their beds, getting under the covers and staring at your husband in anticipation.

"...What?" Suguru asks, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't a stranger to his daughters' antics, and the eager gleam in their eyes was unmistakable.

"Can you tell us a bedtime story Daddy?" Mimiko asks, flashing her infamous puppy dog eyes in his direction.

"Yeah! About the time you and Mama met. Pleaaseee?" Nanako pleads, and Suguru groans.

Out of the two of you, though he hated to admit it, Suguru was definitely the weaker link when it came to your daughters.

He sighs. ""Fine, but only if you promise that you'll go straight to sleep after that."

The girls squeal excitedly and nods, situating themselves underneath their covers.

Suguru sits on the chair between the two beds, and turns on the little night light on the night stand.

"Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a boy who was on the the school basketball team."

Suguru remembers the day like it was yesterday. It was sometime in the fall during his senior year of high school, at the peak of Jujutsu High's basketball season.

He and his best friend Satoru were playing together after school had ended, just shooting hoops in the gymnasium until things got a little too... competitive.

"Pfft you're selling so hard right now Suguru!"

"Shut the fuck up Satoru - You couldn't pass a ball if your life depended on it!"

"How's this for pass, huh?" the white haired male challenges, but in an underestimation of his own strength, Satoru manages to throw the ball so impossibly high it sails through the air and into a window, shattering the glass and tumbling straight outside.

"Shiiiiiitttt... Well that's not great." Satoru says, and Suguru send him a withering glare.

"I'll get the damn ball- you figure out how to fix the fucking window before Coach Yaga gets here."

Satoru whines, groaning as he limply stands in the center of the court. "Wha- Suguru don't go! How am I supposed to fix a window?!"

Suguru just rolls his eyes, pushing open the double doors."Aren't you rich? Just figure it out."

"Bu-"

Running through the school doors, Suguru catches a flash of orange in his peripherals, eyes widen in horror as the basketball rolls down the street into oncoming traffic.

Shit! Shoot!

Suguru groans, racing down the sidewalk, hastily apologizing as he dodges random people walking across the same pavement.

Suddenly, his eyes lock onto the basketball halfway through the street, somehow still rolling - the ravenette wincing as it narrowly misses being flattened by a car.

Suguru grumbles. Fixing a window sounds a lot easier than this shit right now.

Reaching the end of the sidewalk, his eyes dart to orange ball again, incredulously watching it roll across the entire traffic ridden road with ease and making its way down to the park, tumbling even faster down grassy mounds.

How the fuck heck was it still rolling?!

Nanako gapes at her dad. "It was still rolling?"

Suguru nods, chuckling wryly. "It wasn't even too windy that day, I don't know how it managed to go that far."

Mimiko mirrors her sister's stupefied expression. "Did Uncle Satoru throw it that hard?"

He chuckles, amused by how invested they were in the story."I don't honestly don't know girls - maybe you should ask him."

Nanako nods decisively. "Okay Daddy, you can continue your story!"

Suguru rolls his eyes but smiles. "Anyways..."

Watching the basketball, he lets out a sigh of relief as it rolls to a stop in the middle of the park. The LED sign on the opposite side on the road indicating he can cross, and he dashes across the white lines marked on the road, racing down the grassy hills only for some random kid to come up and kick the ball further away from him.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Suguru grumbles under his breath, legs starting to burn a little as he chases after the ball.

Finally stopping at the base of the hill, he panics.

Where did the ball go?!

It was like it disappeared out of thin air, and he groans, a feeling of hopelessness and dread washing over him. $60 dollars down the damn drain - oh god his dad was going to fucking kill him.

"What basketball costs 60 dollars?!" Mimiko asks.

Suguru shrugs. "It was a good basketball."

"And you threw the expensive basketball out the window?!" Nanako asks incredulously.

"Once again, that wasn't me, that was Uncle Satoru."

"If I had an expensive basketball, I wouldn't let it leave the house." Mimiko says, and Suguru sighs.

Sometimes, his girls' cleverness could be a little tiring to deal with.

"Do you want me to get to the good part or not?"

"Yes please!"

"Moving on..."

Suddenly, Suguru feels a tap on his shoulder.

"Um...sorry, is this yours?"

Nanako gasps. "Is that-?"

"Nana be quiet!" Mimiko chides.

Suguru turns around, eyes widening as he comes face to face with one of the prettiest girls he's ever seen.

You're a junior in high school around this time, attending a different school, but you happened to be in the park at the time, studying for an upcoming test, when a basketball rolled up and bumped into your feet. You were confused, but it wasn't hard to notice Suguru visibly panicking in broad daylight - and so you put the pieces together.

"I was not panicking!" your husband protests. "And this is my story, not yours."

You snort, entering your daughters' room. "Yes you were. You had this terrified look on your face, like the world was ending or something. Plus, if you're going to tell a story, tell it accurately at least."

Nanako and Mimiko grin up at you. "Hi mama!"

You smile warmly, kissing their foreheads lovingly, before raising an eyebrow at your husband, sitting on the edge of Mimiko's bed. "Weren't you telling a story?"

Suguru grumbles. "I was, until someone interrupted."

You wave your hand dismissively. "Don't let me stop you then."

Your husband rolls his eyes, continuing on.

"Here, I think this belongs to you." You say, handing the ball over to you.

Suguru stares at you, stunned."T-Thanks."

You give him a small but sweet smile. "I'll see you around?"

He nods, still in a trance, feeling like he's 12 years old again with a crush on some pretty girl he's met at the park.

"Yeah...I'll see you around."

Nanako giggles. "Oooooo Daddy's in looooveeeee~"

Mimko stares at him skeptically. "Are you sure that story was real?"

Suguru winks at her, raising his eyebrow. "Well I guess you have to decide."

"Do you believe in fairytales?"

A/N: Sorry if the shift between the story and the present was confusing 😭

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @tootiecakes234 @gina239 @its-liberty-frazblair @lilyadora @callmeanythingyouwant00

@milkm4nz @lightsgore @skaiblu-e @that-one-lightskin @hahajsphaha

@beaniesayshi @abinformyobsessions @sharycatx3 @meddykip @riririr11

@ladygojooo @abyzissupersleepy @lilaccmilk @anime2006

[vivwritesfics]

Set The World On Fire

Chapter Nine

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Warnings: smut! P in v! Oral, female receiving

Mafia AU

1.4K

Series Masterlist

His mums place wasn't what she was expecting. She didn't know what she expected from Lando, but it wasn't this. He parked outside of the little apartment block on the outskirts of town and opened the door for her.

"This is your moms place?" She asked as she took Lando's hand and climbed out of the car.

She kept a hold of his hand as he walked over to the apartment. "Nobody knows about this place," he said as he took her up the stairs. "I think my mom knew she was going to die when she did. She left the keys for me for my sixteenth birthday."

He came to the door, apartment 105 on the first floor, and pushed it open.

It was... gorgeous. The pictures on the wall were of baby Lando and a woman. There were no baby pictures of his sister, but that made sense. The living room was tiny, with a small, L-shaped sofa pushed up against the wall. On the floor in front of it was a cream, shaggy rug, with a circular coffee table on the top. Opposite was a television.

Everything was covered in dust.

"I don't get time to come here much, now," Lando answered as she took a moment to explore. "It's the only thing I have left of hers."

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out two cans of beer. Lando sat himself on the sofa and turned on the television. It was the newest thing in the apartment, something he had bought after the old one packed up.

At last, she came and sat beside him. She tucked herself against his side and took the beer he offered her. "How did she die?" She asked as she cracked open the can.

Lando sucked in a breath. "I don't remember much about her," he confessed. "And my dad doesn't much speak about her. The records I've looked through say nothing about her getting sick, but nobody will tell me what actually happened."

She cuddled into him and sipped her beer. "Tell me about your step mother," she muttered.

Before he answered her, Lando pulled her into his lap. She placed her beer down and wrapped her arms around his neck as his hands settled on her hips. "My step mother was a vicious bitch," he said with a laugh. "She was a great mum to me, but she was terrifying. Her main priority was taking care of my sister. Everything I know, she taught me." Guns, fighting, all of that. But Lando wasn't ready to tell her that. "Everyone that came in and out of our house was terrified of her."

"How did she die?" She asked, but Lando shook his head.

"That's a story for another day," he said and kissed her. "Should we order a pizza?"

They stayed on the sofa, eating pizza and drinking beer as they watched movie after movie.

Halfway through the third movie, she yawn and stretched her limbs up. "Are we sleeping here?" She asked sweetly, innocently, and Lando nodded his head. "Perfect," she whispered as she climbed off of his lap.

Lando watched her move across the apartment, his apartment. It wasn't owned by his father or the Norris family. It was his. And she was in it.

Her hips swayed as she moved. Before she could round the corner and disappear into his bedroom, she pulled her shirt over her head.

It landed in his lap.

Within a second he was jumping from the sofa and racing after her.

When he got there she was laying on his bed in nothing but her pyjama pants. Lando let out a low whistle as he looked at her. He'd been with plenty of women in his life, but none of them were her.

"Fuck," he hissed as she looked at her. "You really are something." He climbed onto the bed and crawled on top of her, kissing her slowly, completely ignoring her breasts.

She whined against his lips, threading her fingers through his hair. Lando rolled his hips against hers and she pulled her lips away from his to cry out.

She'd been wanting this, just as much as Lando had, since the wedding. "Please tell me you've got a condom," she whispered and Lando reached into the bedside drawers, pulling out a box of condoms.

She grabbed his face and pulled him down to kiss her.

He kissed her cheek and down her neck. Lando stopped to mark her up, to leave dark, purple bruises on her skin. She whined and moaned, tugging at his hair. He was loving every second of it.

Finally, he moved down to her breasts. She arched her back towards him as his thumb toyed with her right nipple, his lips wrapping around the left. "Fuck," she hissed, eyes squeezing shut as he played with her. "Lan."

He pulled away from her and reached up to quickly kiss her lips. When he pulled away, he grabbed hold of her pyjama pants and underwear and pulled them down her legs.

"Holy shit," he said as he dropped them to the floor. "You're fucking soaked."

"Jeez, I wonder why," she muttered with a grin as she parted her legs.

Lando touched her, gingerly parting her lips with his fingers. His breath hitched as he looked at her. He ran his fingers through her folds, gathering up her wetness and placing his finger in his mouth.

He released it with a pop and stroked over her hip. "I can't wait to get my mouth on you," he whispered, staring at her.

She looked down at him with adoration in his eyes. "Do it then."

Lando dove in. He pulled her towards him and pressed his face to her cunt. His lips sucked at her clit as he gripped her legs. Holding her open. The moan she let out echoed around the apartment. "Shit!" She cried, gripping the sheets. "Fuck, Lan." She bucked her hips against his face, but he held her still, used his tongue to bring her pleasure.

When he hummed against her, she grabbed his hair and bucked her hips towards his face.

Lando couldn't hold her for that one. He allowed her to move against him, his nose bumping her clit.

When her legs began shaking, Lando pulled away. "Pass me a condom," he said as he climbed back up her body and kissed her.

She could taste herself on him as his tongue danced into her mouth. Blindly she reached for the box of condoms and pulled out a square, blue wrapper.

He ripped it open and rolled it over his rock. "Next time, I want you to ride my face," he whispered as he lined himself up.

He kissed her as he slowly entered her. Inch by inch he pushed himself into her, his lips against her own. He didn't pull away until she did, throwing her head back as she moaned.

His movement were slow and gentle. If he wasn't kissing her, his forehead was against her own as he moved her hips. With how slow it was, Lando was determined to draw it out, to draw every little noise from her. It was music to his ears. If he could have, he would have listened to it on repeat for the rest of his life.

She locked her legs around him, her chest rapidly rising and falling as Lando brought her closer and closer to her orgasm. He buried his face in her neck, leaving a mirroring bruise on the side of her neck that had none.

She came, squeezing around him as a little cry left her lips. "That's it," Lando whispered against her neck. "That's it."

With just a few more thrusts he came inside of the condom. Immediately, Lando pulled out. He quickly pulled off the condom and dropped it in the bin, returning to the bed beside her.

Her breathing still heavy, she grabbed Lando's hand and brought it up to her lips. "That was," she began through heavy breaths. Lando grabbed her and pulled her close, wrapping his body around her. "Wow."

Lando squeezed her. "Something you'd wanna do again?"

"Definitely."

Permanent taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @minseok-smaus @formulaal @darleneslane @hiireadstuff @urfavnoirette @goldenharrysworld @andydrysdalerogers @hrts4scarr @llando4norris @evlkking @lilymurphy03 @hollie911 @customsbyjcg-blog @honethatty12 @nikfigueiredo @not-nyasa

Series Taglist (CLOSED): @millinorrizz @cinnamongirlontv @sainzluvrr @aquangxl @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @queenofmanydreams @somepeoplemaybe @shobaes @thatsusbitch @ibanstro @barcelonaloverf1life @hotbuns13 @dinodumbass @bellezaycafe @maddie-naps @dontleaveitsmyfault3 @jule239 @noneofyourfbusinessworld @annispamz @thehufflepuffavenger1 @eviethetheatrefreak @lovejunz @nervous-bee @lifelessfan @phantomxoxo @ladymarvel27

[magnagaruzenmon]

Writer’s Block

A little gift for Dinozen.

Garuzen and her writing partner Dinozen sat across from each other, their brows furrowed in concentration over a game of Magic: The Gathering, specifically duel commander. The tension in the room was palpable as if the very air thickened with every card drawn. Their decks, their strategies, and their personalities clashed like rival elements.

Garuzen’s Bant control deck struggled to keep pace, its delicate balance of counters and defenses cracking under the relentless pressure of Dinozen’s Sultai tempo. Each turn, Dinozen’s deck churned out incremental advantages, a symphony of value that was impossible to stop. Garuzen slumped in her chair, her frustration bubbling to the surface as she scooped up her cards.

“Gah! How do you manage it all?” she lamented, shaking her head after racking up another loss.

Dinozen, halfway through shuffling his deck for the next match, glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked slowly, his voice as steady and unassuming as ever.

Garuzen rolled her eyes dramatically. “You know what I mean—writing, hobbies, work, volunteering! How do you keep all those balls in the air without dropping them? It’s all so much!”

For a moment, Dinozen hesitated, the rhythmic shuffling of his cards pausing ever so slightly. Then, in his usual measured tone, he replied, “By taking things one day at a time.” He resumed shuffling, his hands moving with precision as he set up for their third game.

“Really? That’s it?” Garuzen leaned forward, her disbelief painted across her face. “I thought you’d have some secret sauce or something. I mean, come on, you’re the titan who managed to crank out three stories a week for six months straight! People called you unstoppable! Then one of your heavy hitters pops off, and poof—you disappear without a trace. Why, Dino? Why vanish after building all that momentum?”

Dinozen twitched at her words, his shoulders tightening before he forced himself to relax. Garuzen didn’t notice—or perhaps she didn’t care. She pressed on, her curiosity morphing into a challenge.

“Did I strike a nerve, Dino? Did I make you angry?” She smirked, her tone edging toward playful provocation.

Dinozen shot her a sharp look, one that practically begged her to drop the subject. But Garuzen was undeterred. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “What is it with you, huh? Why do you work so hard all the time? Is it just to make the rest of us look bad?”

And that was it. The mask cracked. Dinozen broke.

“Because I’m fucking furious!” he exploded, his voice ringing out like a thunderclap. “Furious and disgusted at everything and everyone!”

Garuzen froze, her jaw slack as Dinozen’s words came tumbling out like a flood bursting through a dam.

“I am surrounded by people who don’t believe in anything! People who refuse to act on their convictions are content to be trampled by those who do. And then there’s me—trying to do the right thing, trying to do right by people—and what do I get? Looked down on. Written off. Meanwhile, people close to me are profiting profoundly off of my ideas, and they act like I’m the joke. I’m the diplomat, the bigger person, while assholes like Thunder Cunt run wild because what? They’ve been dumb and ignorant from the start?!”

He slammed his hands on the table, his voice trembling now, teetering on the edge of rage and despair. “Every day, I feel like I’m shedding my humanity—like it’s crawling off me, piece by piece. And why? Because of the slime, we let exist. Because of the rot we let propagate. So if you want to know what drives me to work so hard, it’s not because I want to make you or anyone else look bad. It’s because I hate it all. I hate it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Garuzen sat frozen, the terror in her eyes growing as she looked at her friend—not the cheerful, easygoing Dinozen she knew, but someone raw and cracked open, someone teetering on the brink of something dark. The sorrow in his voice, his pain, was more frightening than his anger.

Without a word, Garuzen pulled out her phone. Her hands trembled as she dialed. Dinozen’s breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, but he noticed her movements.

“Who are you calling?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Garuzen looked up, meeting his furious gaze with a faint, knowing smile. “Someone who misses you.”

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Dinozen stormed to the door, still fuming, his jaw tight and his muscles coiled like a spring. He yanked it open—and froze.

Standing on the other side was Chaehyun. She was fidgeting, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. But when their eyes met, she smiled, soft and warm, like the first light of dawn breaking through a storm.

“Hey, Dino,” she said, her voice gentle. “I missed you.”

“Marshmallow?” Dinozen’s voice cracked, the exhaustion and shock in his tone cutting through the remnants of his anger.

Chaehyun pouted but nodded. “Yeah, it’s me.”

For a moment, Dinozen tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. “I… I… I…”

Chaehyun stepped closer, taking his hand in hers. “Come on,” she said softly, tugging him away from the door. “Let’s talk.”

Chaehyun led Dinozen into his bedroom, the tension radiating from him like a tangible force. She kept her steps deliberate, her hand clasped gently around his. Garuzen lingered in the hallway, peeking in just long enough to see the two disappear behind the door. As it clicked shut, she exhaled a shaky breath, hoping Chaehyun could do what she could not: reach him.

Inside the room, Chaehyun guided Dinozen to the edge of the bed. They sat down together, the mattress creaking under their weight. She kept her hand on his, grounding him with her touch as her gaze swept over his exhausted face.

“What’s going on, big guy?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

Dinozen didn’t answer. His shoulders were still stiff, his jaw tight. Chaehyun turned to face him fully, her fingers brushing against his cheek as she cupped his face and gently turned it toward her. He flinched at the contact, his eyes darting away, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, she stroked her thumb lightly across his cheekbone, her touch a quiet reassurance.

“When was the last time you got a hug?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I mean a real one—not the kind someone gives just because they have to.”

Dinozen’s silence was answer enough. She sighed, her heart aching as she pulled him into her arms, wrapping herself around him tightly. He resisted for a moment, his body tense and unyielding, but she didn’t let go. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her warmth radiating through him like a balm for his frayed nerves.

Slowly, she felt him begin to relax. The rigidity in his back softened; the sharp edges of his breathing smoothed out. His arms, which had hung awkwardly at his sides, finally came up to return the embrace, his grip tentative at first before growing firmer, as though he were clinging to her for stability.

“There we go,” Chaehyun murmured against him. “Just let it out.”

For a moment, Dinozen simply held her, the storm inside him quieting as he melted into her touch. When she felt his breathing even out, she pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his shoulders. She looked up at him with those wide, expressive eyes of hers and tilted her head. “Now, tell me. What’s going on?”

Dinozen hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. As he spoke, his voice was low, nearly a mumble. “People… No, life has been stressing me out. It’s all too much, Marshmallow.”

Chaehyun’s lips twitched into a pout at the nickname—her least favorite, but one she tolerated from him because she knew it came from a place of affection. Instead of complaining, she shrugged off her jacket, tossed it onto the bed, and scooted closer to him, resting a hand on his knee.

“And you thought disappearing for a month or two was the answer?” she asked, her tone gentle but teasing. “You thought all the pain would just… poof, go away if you disconnected from everything?”

Dinozen nodded sheepishly, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. Chaehyun’s laugh broke through the air, light and full of warmth, and she reached up to ruffle his hair.

“I always forget you’re an introvert at heart,” she said, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “You thought hiding would fix it, huh?”

He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even him. “Maybe. I mean… it usually works.”

“Not this time.” Chaehyun shook her head, her hand dropping to his shoulder, her thumb brushing lightly over his collarbone. “You can’t run away from what’s in your head, Dino. You know that.”

His smile faltered, and she immediately noticed. Without a word, she slid closer, draping her arm around his shoulders and leaning her head against him. “But you don’t have to figure it all out alone,” she said quietly. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. You just have to let me in.”

Dinozen let out a shaky breath, his head lowering as her words sank in. He leaned into her touch, his forehead resting against the curve of her neck. Chaehyun said nothing more, letting the steady rhythm of her heartbeat fill the silence. She ran her fingers lightly through his hair, the repetitive motion calming him further.

As the minutes stretched on, Dinozen finally whispered, “I missed you, too.”

Chaehyun smiled, her arms tightening around him. “Good,” she said simply, her voice as soothing as the embrace itself. “Now stop running away, you big dummy.” Dinozen nodded before the couple began cuddling on his bed. As always Chaehyun was the little spoon being encompassed by the much bigger Dinozen. After a few minutes of this Chaehyun gets a little antsy before turning over to face her paramour. She scoots up to his face and plants a large kiss on his cheek, as she wraps him in another hug. Dinozen eased again into her arms as their kisses deepened in passion Chaehyun began to feel how hard Dinozen was for her.

“Hey big guy when was the last time you got laid?”Chaehyun asked. Dinozen stiffened hoping not to be forced to answer. Chaehyun scowled,”No wonder why you're so tense you're pent up,” she said as she took her shirt off leaving her only in her bra and jeans both of which she quickly divested from. She looked at Dinozen with a bright smile admiring the bulge in his pants.

Dino raced to match her state of undress. Chaehyun smiled before saying, “good,” she crawled onto the bed before caressing he face and diving in for a kiss. While she does she slowly impaled herself on Dino’s cock. Dino moans as her pussy welcomes him. Chaehyun looks at Dino with eyes full of love.

“Oh good. I forgot how well you fit inside,” Chaehyun coos. Dino eases as she wraps her arms around him. She starts riding him slowly at first before the pleasure gets to her. Dino grips into her plush thighs as she rides him. As she grinds along his shaft Dino watches as her big breasts bounce buoyant in his face. Dinozen leans in before taking an exploratory lick. Chaehyun moans as she buries Dino’s face in her tits. Her walls hold Dino with a gentle care that he hadn't felt in months.

Dinozen lost himself in the pleasure and came inside Chaehyun. She smiles as his seed floods her womb. She goes lightheaded as her arousal consumes her. The couple collapses on the bed.

Chaehyun bats her big eyes hoping to soften the anger that welled within Dino. Dino relaxed and kiss the rabbit tiger as she wrapped her legs around him another time

The room was quiet now, the storm inside Dinozen finally calmed by Chaehyun’s warmth. They stayed tangled together on the bed, his head resting against her shoulder while her fingers combed through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. The rhythm of their breathing began to synchronize, the weight of the moment dissipating into a peaceful stillness.

“You feel any better?” Chaehyun whispered, breaking the silence.

Dinozen nodded slightly, his voice a low murmur. “Yeah… You always do this to me, you know.”

“Do what?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him.

“Make me feel human again.” He gave a faint, tired smile, his eyes finally meeting hers. “Like I’m not completely broken.”

Chaehyun’s heart ached at his words, but she didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to his temple and rested her cheek against his hair. “That’s because you’re not broken, Dino. You just need someone to remind you how much you’re worth.”

He didn’t respond, but the way he pulled her closer said everything. Chaehyun leaned back slightly, pulling the covers over them both as she shifted to lie more comfortably. Dinozen followed her movements without protest, his arm wrapping around her waist as he settled against her.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” he asked, his voice already heavy with sleep.

“Not a chance,” Chaehyun replied, her lips curving into a soft smile. “I’m staying right here, big guy.”

Within minutes, his breathing deepened, and she could feel the tension leave his body entirely. Chaehyun stayed awake a little longer, watching his features soften in sleep, the exhaustion and pain etched into his face fading away. She brushed her thumb lightly over his cheek one last time before closing her eyes, the warmth of his embrace pulling her into sleep.

Scene: Morning Renewal

The smell of something savory woke Chaehyun the next morning. She blinked her eyes open, the early sunlight streaming through the curtains. Stretching, she sat up slowly, her body still cocooned in the warmth of the blanket Dinozen had tucked around her sometime during the night.

She padded out of the bedroom, drawn by the tantalizing aroma. There, in the small kitchen, was Dinozen. He stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, his posture more relaxed than she had seen in weeks. The sleeves of his hoodie were pushed up, and there was even a faint hum under his breath—a melody she couldn’t quite place but recognized as something he used to hum when he was in a good mood.

“Look who’s up,” Dinozen said without turning around, his voice light. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Go sit down.”

Chaehyun leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as she watched him. There was something different about him this morning. The shadows that had clung to him so tightly the night before seemed to have lifted, replaced by a quiet calm that made her chest ache with relief.

“You seem… better,” she said softly, her lips curving into a small smile.

Dinozen glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes warm. “Yeah. Guess a good night’s sleep helps. Or maybe it’s the company.”

Chaehyun rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile as she moved to sit at the table. “Flatterer.”

He brought a plate over, setting it in front of her with a flourish. “Pancakes, eggs, and bacon, just the way you like it.”

She looked down at the plate and then back up at him, her heart swelling. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” Dinozen shrugged, sitting down across from her with his own plate. “Least I could do after everything you’ve done for me.”

Chaehyun picked up her fork but paused, looking at him with a mix of affection and mock annoyance. “You know,” she said, her tone light but pointed, “if this is how good you feel after one night, you definitely need to write me again.”

Dinozen froze mid-bite, his cheeks turning slightly pink. He tried to play it off with a chuckle. “What are you talking about?”

“You heard me.” Chaehyun leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she gave him a knowing smile. “I’m not just your muse—I’m your wake-up call. And you clearly need me around more often.”

Dinozen laughed, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. You win. I’ll write you again. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she teased, digging into her food.