#LITERALLY ITS LIKE EVERY MINUTE I GET AN AD

[blackmagecat]

Time to tell you all a horror story. My own personal nightmare I’ve been living with for almost 2 years now.

[TW for pregnancy/childbirth trauma, stillbirth and infant mortality]

The minute I started my baby registry on Amazon was the minute I signed my soul away to unending torture. I lost my daughter at 34 weeks of pregnancy due to little blood clots that formed in my placenta that apparently nobody had been able to detect (but that's a story for another time...) Anywho, the algorithms had already been in full swing by that point, recommending and advertising every baby product under the sun.

But here's the thing. Those ads don't go away just because your baby is dead. In fact, they stick around, and assume that your kid is still there, growing. These things are so targeted, they have been literally serving me ads based around the relative age of my assumed-to-be-living child.

Do you have any idea how fucked up it is to have to watch your non-existent child age and grow in daily, targeted ads? To watch actors pantomiming milestones you'll never get to experience? And for what? To sell me diapers I can't buy?

Worse still, I think the algorithms are finally catching on that something happened to my daughter. Lately I've been getting ads like this:

They don't know what happened exactly, but you'd best believe they're ready to sell me something once they figure it out! My husband has also been getting St. Jude's ads left and right also, where previously he had next to none. Now it's every third ad on each YouTube video he watches, and that's been going on for weeks.

I wish it were illegal. I wish there was something I could do beyond praying that the VPN or ad-blocker I'm using will shield me. I've reported ads as often as I could, but my reasons are rarely listed in the little dropdown menu. I always end up picking "Other."

I can only imagine how many others are out there going through the same. Is it too much to hope we can all get together and file a class action somewhere, somehow? It's one thing to come across a random billboard, or actual TV commercial. I'm responsible for my own reaction to that. But its another thing entirely to have companies stalking you and using your personal history and trauma as a persistent, blunt force tool to make you spend money.

Also I've said this before but advertising is an industry that should be considered as pointless and harmful as fossil fuels.

[onlyangelicc]

those eyes ~ Nicholas Alexander Chavez

{ warnings ; semi-public intimacy , pda not much else i dont think!

summary ; slightly smutty , you drive him crazy and things get heated on the drive back to the hotel }

as you walked out of the door into the crowded area of the into the upscale section of nyc cameras were flashing, people yelling at you and nicholas. you quickly became shaky, you held nicholas's arm tight, not being used to the new environment. you held onto him for some sort of comfort

he opened the door and watched you find your seat in the large black suv, him following. his hand quickly finding its place on your fabric covered thigh once seated. you placed your hand on top of his, and looked over as the door to the car shut. the flashes and screams subsided.

after the car started to pull away, you un-tensed and let out a sigh. "sorry baby," he said rubbing his thumb against your thigh, squeezing gently. you looked over at him, laying your head on his shoulder. "its okay, i like being here for these big moments." you replied sweetly.

after all it was the season premiere of Grotesquerie, it was, in-fact a pretty big moment. just from the press tours, ads, and trailers from the show the people knew it was going to be a good one. you loved it, you were so proud. and being here with him during this was important to you, and him.

he smiled, "i know but I understand how stressed you get. the hair and makeup trailer is way less crowded and you dont have to do many outings like these; if any." he responded. his caring words warm your heart, "i know, thank you for caring. i love you nick." you squeezed his arm softly.

"on a good note, your makeup and hair skills really paid off. you look fucking amazing, my pretty lady." he purred, although youve been together for almost 3 years, these comments still gave you butterflies. Along with adding a blush on your cheeks to the blush that was already there.

he saw the effect his comment had on you and giggled. "youre so cute." he said taking your face in his hand, rubbing his thumb against it and pulling you into a kiss. you blushed again as you two kissed.

he smiled and kissed your neck softly, you held back a whine. And felt warmth between your lips as he held your neck in his large hand, kissing it more. "nicholas," you protested, truthfully, not wanting to. And he knew that.

"hmm?" he hummed again your neck, pulling away from your neck, rubbing his thumb against it. "knock that off." you replied sternly, through a small grin. he laughed, and shrugged, "fine.." smirking at you.

for the rest of the drive back to your hotel he hummed along to the songs the driver was playing on the radio while rubbing your thigh with his hands. glancing at you every so often, admiring your frame in the tight fitting red dress.

good god, his hands were the death of you. his hands moved with such little thought but it literally drove you insane. you loved the size of them, the veins, the roughness but also softness of them. just everything. you were aching to feel them in ways you have before.

after a few minutes of practically drooling over his hands you arrived at the hotel. the driver stepped out of the car and opened the door for you and nicholas. nick climbed out first, then helped you out of the car. his hand placed on your ass to walk into the hotel.

the two of you walked through the hotel lobby to find your way to the elevator. nicholas pressed the button making it light up orange, and the arrow pointing up above the elevator. the elevator dinged and you stepped in, nicholas's hand guiding you on your lower back. he looked at you as the doors closed.

his eyes, thats all. they were always so expressive. wether he was sad, angry, happy, stressed, annoyed, tired, or whatever the case was. that was one thing you loved about him. you always knew how he was feeling even if he didnt want to tell you. you then noticed how big his bulge was, wow.

after looking at you for a second, he pressed you again the wall and leaned down to kiss your neck. you laughed with his sudden forwardness, as if you weren't a little riled up as well. you moaned as he attacked your neck. "mm, are those pants a little tight?" you say teasingly, rubbing over it. "shut the fuck up." he says directly your face to his, kissing you softly.

then your time was over, the two of you snapped out of it as soon as the doors opened to your floor. luckily there was no one there, but, you still needed to hold it out until you got to the room.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

tags

@jschlattisfuckinghot

[canvas-the-florist]

i am so mad

[ectonurites]

i just need to like. make everything explode forever. <3

[hdfjsjkj]

.

[acourtofquestions]

KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)

Chapter 48

THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL

But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.

A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.

Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.

Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.

No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.

But at him. Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.

Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."

"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.

Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"

"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.

The two women stared at each other.

Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.

"Thank you," Yrene whispered.

Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.

Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.

"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."

Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.

"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."

Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.

Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."

For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.

"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.

Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"

Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."

Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.

But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."

Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."

A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.

Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"

Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.

"They know everything," Nesryn said

"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.

Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."

The keys. Holy gods.

Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.

Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."

Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.

"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."

Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.

Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"

The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."

Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.

Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."

"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.

The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.

Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.

That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.

How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.

"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.

"Moonbeam."

"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.

Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"

Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.

Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.

Elide's name had been among them.

Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.

The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.

Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"

[inkskinned]

the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.

capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.

now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.

and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.

and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.

and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".

it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"

[xxsabitoxx]

Sweet Girl~

Mentor Nanami x Fem Student Reader (early-mid 20s)

Warnings: descriptions of hand jobs, blow jobs, saliva...lots of drool, ball fondling, gagging, deep throating, Nanami walking you through it, Nanami throat fucking you, gagging, did I mention drooling? Pet names, dirty talk, praising, being aroused, getting impaled on a fat cock, creampies, breast sucking, its a lot of filth

Synopsis: Nanami is your mentor and you've finally convinced him to let you pleasure him. This is pure smut with literally NO plot

WORD COUNT: 4856

You stared at it with an apprehensive look, your thighs squeezing together as you sat on your folded legs. You weren’t sure how you would even go about getting your mouth around him, nevermind deep throating him like you desired to. “Nanamin…” you breathed out, pupils dilated as you roamed over the length of his cock. “Hmm?” the blonde hummed softly, reclined in his armchair as you knelt before him. “You…it’s so…”

You swallowed, unable to tear your eyes away from his weeping cock. “Big?” the sorcerer conducted for you, a smugness to his tone, one you didn’t expect. “...and thick.” you added in a near guttural tone, aching to trace every vein with your tongue. “You don’t have to take me in one go, sweet girl.” He murmured softly, trying not to show how much he was getting off on the hypnotic trance his cock had seemed to put you in. 

“But…” you breathed out, watching a pretty bead of precum leak from his bulbous tip before sliding down his tanned length. “...But nothing, I don’t want you hurting yourself trying to please me.” Nanami’s hand came to grab your chin, gently pulling your gaze away from his cock so you could properly meet his eyes. You hadn’t even touched him yet, but you looked utterly fucked out. “Nanamin…” You used the name again, not missing the way his cock twitched in response. 

“Show me how you like it… please… use my hand.” You pleaded with him, placing your hand on his bare thigh to encourage his decision. “Alright, sweet girl. I’ll show you how I like it.” He practically purred, the tone so sultry and almost felt foreign coming from his lips. Nanami grabbed your wrist carefully, wrapping your fingers around the shaft of his cock. He huffed out a bemused laugh when your fingers couldn’t wrap around him fully. 

“Your hand is much smaller than mine, sweet girl.” There was a strain to his voice now, as if he too had fallen under the hypnotic daze you were in. “It’s okay… Nanamin just show me how to please you… I want to make you feel good.” Your lips were parted, still slick and slightly swollen from the intensity of the kisses he had given you only a few minutes prior. “Okay, okay, I will. So eager…” he cooed, warm hand still covering your own around his cock. 

“Like this…” he added softly, guiding your fist up and down his length. “I like pressure…” he added with a small hum, squeezing his hand around yours to create enough pressure that his head nearly fell back. “Not too fast, but not to show.” the drag of your soft fingers along his cock had his throat constricting, your hand was a world of a difference when in comparison to his. It was smaller, it was softer, warmer, just a little gentler, and fuck did it glide perfectly. 

“I like to play with the tip…” he mumbled, watching your lips part further when you mewled for him. He guided your fingers around the dull head of his cock, he let go for a moment to give you free reign. You took the initiative to massage the head gently, running your thumb along his slit and collecting the shiny precum that spilled from it. You enjoyed the groan that seemed to vibrate Nanami’s chest as you did so, more precum spilling from the tip as you toyed with him.

You let your mind wander, imagining Nanami after a long day of work stripping down to nothing and playing with his cock until he blew his load all over his fist and stomach. “Nanamin…” you breathed out, mind going even further. Maybe he humped his pillow, or maybe he even had some sex toys he used… the thoughts were driving you wild, encouraging you to be a little more bold with your exploration of his cock. “What is it, sweet girl?” he questioned you softly. 

“How else have you gotten off?” You questioned softly, fighting off the urge to reach forward and lick along the column of his shaft. It was just as girthy as it was long, surely your jaw would kill after. That was, if you managed to get him in your mouth to begin with. “Oh? What an interesting question.” He groaned as your hand slid down his shaft again with no instruction, turned on by the fact that you were taking it from there. “I want to know how much of a perv my Nanamin is…” 

You used your other hand to gently rest on his other thigh, your fist gliding up and down his heavy length. Your fingers were itching to cup his balls, needing to feel the weight of them on your palm, to feel how full they were. “Are you asking me if I’ve used toys?” He mused, getting a little more comfortable as your hand worked wonders on him. “Mmhmm. I want to know… no I need to know, Nanamin.” You batted your eyelashes at him, shameless in your pursuit to gain the knowledge you desired, cunt clenching around nothing at all. 

You inhaled at the realization that the tantalizing cock before you had somewhere else it would need to fit. “You’re unrelenting…” the blonde groaned out as your hand slid back down his shaft. “No, I’ve never bought a pocket pussy if that’s what you’re asking me, sweet girl.” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip at his crude wording, it sent heat straight through your body. “So you’re not all that adventurous, huh?” Your fingers returned to his tip, massaging again as your head slowly moved closer to him. Your intent was still to suck him off.

“Not using proper sex toys makes me unadventurous?” he countered you as his cheeks flushed pink, large hand gripping the armrest of his chair tightly as he watched your head move closer. “Proper? You’re saying you’ve used other things, Nanamin?” You smiled innocently at him before dragging your lips along his bare thigh. “Clever girl.” He praised you, his other hand coming up to cover the lower half of his face as you trailed your tongue along the tensing muscles of his thigh.

He wanted to touch you, fuck did he want to touch you so bad. But watching you move as you pleased, toy with his body as you pleased… he felt it would be wrong to interrupt you. You hummed in acknowledgement, cunt throbbing as you waited for him to explain. “I have a vibrator…” He admitted as his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. You froze, leaving a wet mark on his inner thigh from where you had sucked a hickey. “You’ve used a vibrator?”

Nanami’s hand let go of the armchair, moving to rest on your cheek instead. “Do you think you can take my cock now, sweet girl? If you can, I’ll indulge you and your little perverted fantasies.” Any anxiety you had about trying to fit him in your mouth was gone, completely forgotten at the promise of the typically reserved man telling you about his alone time. You nod, pushing yourself up on your knees to hover over his tip. “Easy, sweet girl, I don’t want you hurting yourself.” 

Nanami’s hand was still on your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone as you licked your lips. “Take it nice and slow, I promise I’ll tell you everything you want to hear.” You nodded, mouth opening to let saliva drip freely. You both watched as your spit fell onto the head of his cock, dribbling over the top and down his shaft. Your hand was still resting on the base of his cock, your saliva meeting where your hand was wrapped. “Good girl, nice and slow.” 

Nanami encouraged you, his voice thick with lust as he watched you work. When you were satisfied with the amount of saliva on him, you began working your fist up and down his length. Nanami watched you jerk him off with a lazy smile, pleased to see that you had grown confident enough to take the lead. “You don’t have to take me all at once, just start with the head.” Nanami’s hand guided you lower, watching your tongue dart out to just barely ghost him. 

Still, it was enough to have him exhaling shakily. “Good girl, kitten licks are perfect.” You felt hot all over at his praise, clinging to every word he spoke. You stopped hesitating after that, tongue moving to flatten against the underside of his cock. You locked eyes, body tingling at the thought of how lewd this must look. Nanami nodded slightly, lips parted and unable to speak as his chest rose and fell rapidly, all due to the soft, wet warmth of your tongue. 

Nanami couldn’t recall the last time someone had gone down on him, and he was glad he didn’t because despite walking you through it, he felt like he was getting this done for the first time all over again. Though, it was probably second nature for him to guide you. You were always so excited to ask him for guidance, so eager to take his advice, full of the desire to please. You broke away first, eyes focusing on the crumbled blue of his dress shirt. 

You moved your head up and down, gliding your tongue along the underside of his shaft until you could work up the courage to try and wrap your lips around his head. Nanami watched you, pupils blown wide as you stopped licking him, lips parted and hovering just above the weeping head of his cock. “Nanamin… you’re so big.” You were prolonging it, not because you were scared, but because you enjoyed the way his abdomen tensed each time you stopped. 

“Thank you, sweet girl…” he murmured softly, biting his tongue and holding back the words he really wanted to speak. He wanted to feel your soft lips wrapping around his tip, your wet tongue on his cock. Fuck he wanted to feel your throat constrict around him. Nanami cleared his throat, cock twitching from his own thoughts. “Bet you’d feel so good…” you murmur again, eyes meeting his as you breath fanned over his wet tip. “Fuck…” Nanami choked out, he needed you. 

“Please… sweet girl please… I need you…” he nearly dissolved into his seat, shocked those words had even left his lips. “You do?” a little lower now, your bottom lip pressing to the head of his cock as you looked at him through your lashes. “I do, so, so bad… I just need to feel your mouth.” Your tongue darted out to lick up his slit, listening to his breathing stutter as you did so. “I’ll try my best to make you proud, Nanamin~” you no longer felt any anxiety about making him fit. 

Your jaw relaxed, lowering your head to wrap your lips around his head. Nanami groaned, deep and unrestrained as your cheeks hollowed. Your body felt electrified at the noises he made, cunt throbbing with need as your thighs pressed together. “G-good, just like that.” He encouraged you, trying to hold on to whatever composure he had left as you eagerly lowered your head more. Your jaw strained a bit, the urge to gag making your throat constrict but you managed to stave it off for the time being. You recovered easily, tongue dancing around  what you could manage. 

You had maybe one fourth of him between your lips, heavy on your tongue and slightly salty. He smelt good too, his natural musk making you whine around him. You wanted to take him all, but you knew you needed to pace yourself if you wanted it to be enjoyable for Nanami. “Good girl, you’re doing so good… bob your head a bit… like this.” You moaned as Nanami’s hands came up to cup your face, gingerly guiding your head up and down his shaft. 

Your jaw slackened completely, eyes watering a bit as Nanami pushed a little more of his length into your mouth each time he dropped your head down. Drool was seeping down your chin, covering the rest of his shaft in your shiny saliva and making Nanami’s brain buzz with possessiveness. You looked so pretty with your mouth shoved full of his cock, eyes watery and lips swollen. “Good girl…so good… so fucking good… relax.” His head nearly fell back as he brought your head further down on him than he had previously. 

You gagged, the noises sending vibrations straight through him. “Sorry… sorry fuck…” he tried to guide your head up but you refused, tears dripping down to his groin as you relaxed your throat and tried to take what was left of him. You were so close to your goal, you needed to feel his entire length down your throat. A strangled noise left Nanami’s lips as your nose brushed his pubic bone, scrunching slightly as blonde hair tickled you. Nanami felt suffocated, utterly transfixed on the fact that his entire cock had disappeared down your throat. 

It made his mind melt, not a single thought passing through his head was coherent. You held yourself in place, taking shaky inhales through your nose as you swallowed around him. It made your stomach lurch, the mild fear of your airway being obstructed made you feel weightless. Reluctantly, you pulled up again, pulling off of his cock all together. You gasped for air, lips swollen and wet with your drool. “S-shi– are you okay?” A sheen of sweat had formed on Nananmi’s brow, his cock still standing proudly, covered in your shiny spit. 

“Yeah…” You whispered, voice mildly hoarse already. “Do you need a break…?” Nanami’s face was flushed, cock weeping precum still. He hadn’t realized how close he was to coming until you stopped. “No…” was all you uttered as you moved to take him again. Nanami couldn't speak, every word dying on his lips as your mouth was back on his cock. “Oh…oh shit…just like that sweet girl… fuck your mouth takes me so well…” You glanced upwards, watching his throat bob as he tilted his head completely back. A low, guttural moan left his lips as you swallowed.

“You’re going to make me cum, sweet girl. Fuck you’re gonna make me cum so hard…” You whined at that, sending more vibrations down his length as your nose brushed his pubic bone again. Feeling bold, your head began to bob at a steady pace, nails raking his thigh while the other hand reached down to cup his balls. The sound he made was nothing short of animalistic, making your cunt clench around nothing at all as you fondled him. 

“Gonna cum… sweet girl… fuck I’m gonna cum…” his jaw was clenched tight, one hand fisting your hair as he guided you up and down his cock. If your mouth wasn’t occupied, you’d be encouraging him to just let go. You were desperate, you needed to feel him cum in your mouth. So, you worked harder, hollowing your cheeks with every pass over his length, pushing your head up further with each go so you were nearly taking him whole over and over. Your fingers were massaging him gingerly, his balls felt hot and heavy in your grasp. 

“Shit…oh fuck… fuck fuck…” Nanami’s tone was hoarse, those words leaving his lips in a steady mantra as you felt him start twitching in your mouth. You tried to encourage him by squeezing a little harder, eyes widening when a higher pitched whine left his lips. You repeated the motion, sinking your mouth all the way down as Nanami came hard down your throat. You swallowed eagerly, taking everything he had to offer you and not pulling away until you felt his body relax back into the seat. Carefully, you pulled off of him, shocked when he wasn’t softening. 

“How was it?” you choked, wiping your mouth and slightly numb lips. Nanami, on the other hand, was still trying to blink the stars from his vision. “Nanamin?” you asked him again, blinking up at him with way too innocent eyes. “Na-na-min?” you teased him, pushing off your sore knees to stand before him now. “Earth to–” but he finally responded this time, hand running down his face before looking up at you with lidded eyes. All it took was a single movement, one finger beckoning you forward. “Sit on it, sweet girl… if you think you can take it.” 

You blinked, lips opening and closing a few times but no words were coming out. “Are you still shy, sweet girl? C’mon, I’ll help you.” Nanami encouraged you, the teasing tone was still wrapped around each word but you could tell he was genuine. You nodded, moving to pull off your underwear, leaving your skirt and top on just to tease him. “Undress for me, sweet girl.” Nanami sighed, one hand pressed to his face as he watched you try and walk towards him. “Why is that, Nanamin?” You froze, hands tucking neatly behind your back as you tilted your head. 

“You’ve seen all of me, sweet girl. It’s only fair that I get to see you…” he cooed, straightening again in the armchair as he waited for you to mount him. “I…” you trailed off, you couldn’t really deny him when he put it that way. “Fine, Nanamin…” but he cut you off with a click of his tongue. “Kento, sweet girl, call me Kento.” You felt your face grow warm, lips parting before quickly closing again. “O-okay, Kento.” You shifted your weight from foot to foot before giving in again “I’ll undress for you, since you asked so sweetly.” You teased with a grin. 

The blonde watched, eyes following your hands as you easily undid your skirt and let it drop to the floor. Fully exposed to him now, you couldn’t help but feel warm all over as he took in the sight of your bare cunt. “Cmere…” he muttered as you moved to undo the buttons of your top. “Leave those for me…” He smiled at you despite the persistent throbbing between his legs. Despite coming once, Kento was still hard and eager to feel you. Only your cunt could offer him the relief he so desperately desired. 

You moved forward again, this time climbing onto his lap and setting your weight against his thighs. You glanced down, his cock still erect and standing proudly between the two of you. “I got you really worked up, didn’t I, Kento?” he nodded, breathing stuttering at the sound of his name leaving your pretty lips. “You know just how to get to me, sweet girl.” You shivered as his hand came up to caress your cheek, the other nimbly began undoing your buttons. “Let me return the favor, you did so good for me, sweet girl.” 

He motioned you towards him, lips meeting yours in a kiss that was far more gentle than any that he had bestowed upon you. Kento sucked your swollen bottom lip between his teeth, biting on it softly as he popped open yet another one of your buttons. Your hips were growing restless, the persistent throb and deep ache in your gut were making you impatient. “Kento…” you groaned, muffled by his lips. He only hummed, working another button open as your cunt just barely brushed his length. “Need you…” muffled again, but he understood. 

Pulling away, Kento smiled at you. “Needy… so adorably needy. I haven’t even prepped you.” but you shook your head, mind cloudy as you uttered the next words. “Just take it slow, I’ll be okay… I need you Kento… can’t possibly wait any longer…” tears shone in your eyes and he knew he was a goner. There was no way he was denying you of what you so clearly needed. “Okay, okay… no need to cry sweet girl, I’ll take care of you… Nanamin will take care of you.” you shivered, hearing the nickname leave his lips made your own mind go blank. 

“Lift your hips…” he commanded softly, all the while his hands were abandoning their previous tasks and moving down to grab your ass, supporting you as you moved up. “I’ll take it nice and slow for you, just say the word and I’ll stop.” Your lips were parted, breathing heavily as you gave him a delirious nod. “I need to hear your words.” He spoke softly, making sure your eyes were meeting  his as he spoke. “Will you tell me to stop if it becomes too much?” Kento asked again, fingers thrumming against your ass as he waited. “Yes, I will. Promise, Kento.” 

“That’s my good girl.” he cooed, watching your brows crease at his praise. Slowly, he started to lower you on his cock, pressing his head into your entrance slowly and studying the way your face morphed into surprise. “Shh, it’s okay…” one hand left your ass now, sneaking around the front of you to slip two fingers between your thighs. “You’re doing so good for me…” he whispered as he began to rub steady circles on your throbbing clit. The pain subsided a bit, a breathy moan slipping past your lips as you began setting yourself down on him even further. 

Kento’s lips quivered, eyes moving down to watch where his cock was slowly but surely disappearing between your thighs. “So good… you’re taking me so good.” His fingers continued their rhythm, sending waves of arousal straight through your body as you finally settled into his lap. “F-fuck…Kento.” you whined, walls clenching and spasming around his length sporadically as you tried to adjust to his cock. “You’re doing so good, sweet girl.” His voice was thick, breathing just a little labored as he tried not to think too hard about how you were suffocating him. 

“Just…just stay still for a few minutes okay…” Kento’s other hand left your ass and began popping open the last few buttons, watching your top fall open to reveal your bra. Kento wasted no time pulling down the front of your bra, groaning as your breasts spilled out for him. “So pretty…” he muttered more so to himself than you, eyes zeroing in on the pliant skin as he leaned forward. You couldn’t form a coherent thought as Kento’s lips wrapped around the pebbling skin of your nipple, paired with his fingers still toying with your clit and his cock stuffed inside of you. 

“Kento… oh fuck Kento please…” your hips began moving on their own, head falling back as his teeth sunk into the tender flesh. Your hips moved half hazardously, not really in a position to be able to ride his cock the way you’d want to. Not that Kento cared, his fingers were growing slick with your arousal just as he was wetting your breasts with his saliva. Every sense was engulfed in you, that’s all he could ask for. He pulled away for air a moment later, tilting his head up to see you looking down on him. “Keep trying to ride me, sweet girl, it’s cute.” 

You felt your face grow warm, eyes squeezing shut as your hips lost their barely there rhythm. “Oh, did I make you shy?” he hummed against your skin, littering your breasts with kisses as he used his free hand to try and guide your hips into some sort of rhythm again. “Answer me when I speak to you, I need to know you’re enjoying yourself…” You whined as he spoke, eyes opening slowly as you let him guide you into a steady but shallow rhythm. “I-You…yeah you made me sh-shy…” You choked out as he chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your sternum. 

“Good, that's a good girl…” he murmured, feeling your walls twitch around him as he praised you. “You just love it when I praise you, don’t you?” Kento hummed yet again, tongue flattening against your breast as he never broke eye contact. “Y-yes…Kento.” You moaned as your orgasm built, the pressure in your gut intensifying as you began rocking your hips in time with his shallow movements. He was meeting you now, each barely there bounce was met with his hips leaving the chair to meet you. “I’d rather… fuck you on… a bed… ya know…” 

He spoke in between the kisses he showered your chest with, a terrible time to really complain but he couldn’t care. “I always envisioned taking you on my bed, ya know, laid out nice and pretty for me, at my mercy… a chair limits our possibilities.” He sighed, rubbing your clit just a little quicker as your breathing turned more ragged, you were close. “You’re always so obedient in my fantasies…” he smirked as you let out a strangled whine “you thought I forgot about my promise, didn’t you?” you nodded, having completely forgotten Kento’s promise in the first place. 

“I would never break my promise to you, Sweet girl. You wanted to h-hear about my fantasies, so I’ll tell you all about them while your pretty pussy suffocates my cock.” You felt like your bones had been liquified, every vulgar word he uttered made your body react. If you weren’t careful, you’d be coming and overstimulated in seconds. “T-the vibrator, Kento tell me about the vibrator you use…” You nearly squealed, the tension in your gut building until it nearly rendered  you speechless. Every drag of his cock over your velvety walls felt like molten pleasure. 

“Course you’re still hanging onto that, clever girl…” he kissed your chest again, smiling up at you before leaning back to give himself better leverage to thrust upwards. “The damn thing is pink, hot pink too. Never f-fails to remind me how fucking lonely I was.” He seethes, ears dark red as he reveals his darkest secret. “I use it just how you’d think, I drag i-it along the underside of my cock…” he inhales sharply as your hips jerk, orgasm nearly upon you. “When I’m really fucking lonely… fuck when all I could think about was your pussy…” you cut him off with a loud moan. 

You were close, so close you were certain he wouldn’t get to finish his story before you were coming all over his throbbing length. “...You haunted my every thought, sweet girl… to the point only that hot pink fucking toy could get me off the way I wanted…” he was trying his hardest not come yet, needing to feel your orgasm completely untouched by his own. “Kento…close…” your hands found their way to his shoulders, hips bouncing harshly as you chased the high that was just within your reach. “Then come for me, sweet girl, I want to feel it.” 

Your head shook, suddenly embarrassed at the fact that you were about to cum all over his cock. “Don’t get shy on me now, sweet girl.” His fingers tightened on your clit, smirking as your hips jerked erratically, your orgasm hitting you hard as your hips sunk completely onto his cock. Kento didn’t slow, fingers still toying with your clit as your walls stuck to him like a vice, spasming every time you took a labored breath. You couldn’t see, nevermind hear. Your vision was covered in spots as you tried to calm down, ears ringing loudly before you slumped forward. 

Nanami huffed out a laugh, finally removing his fingers from your over stimulated and puffy clit. Both arms wrapped around your middle, his hips still moving in and out of you shallowly as he whispered you endless praise. “I’m gonna come, sweet girl, just another minute… won’t overstimulate you for too long…” his brows creased, focus crossing his face now that you were burying your own into the crook of his neck. He had been trying so hard to maintain an easy going look, not wanting to scare you during your first time together. 

Kento mumbled praises to you, quieting your whimpers as his cock pressed into you one, two, three more times before coming to a stuttering halt. You shivered, feeling his sticky release spurt into you, painting your velvety walls in white, hot cum. “Good girl, my good, sweet girl… take it all, it’s all for you…” He babbled as he came down from his own high, settling you gently into his lap, length still buried inside of you. Silence fell over the two of you, saved for some labored breathing before finally calming down. You were the first to break the silence. 

“D-did I do good for you, Kento?” his first name was still foreign on your tongue but you were quickly becoming addicted to the way it sounded. “Did you do good? You did amazing, sweet girl. Nothing… no one… will ever compare.” His endless praise set your heart on fire, face nuzzling closer to his sweaty skin before placing a few chaste kisses along his racing pulse. “I love you.” So soft you were shocked you even dared to say it, but Kento heard you, of course he did. 

“I love you too, sweet girl… get some rest. I’ll take care of you. “

[tgcg]

the master baiter

TG: dont be mad

TG: ok thats like asking water not to be wet but

CG: WATER ISN'T FUCKING WET GOD DAMMIT.

TG: look whatever remember when you said you would die for me

TG: is that karkat in the room with us right now

======

CG: I'M DYING "FOR YOU" EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU PEEL OPEN THOSE SHIT-EATING LIPS YOU KEEP PULLED TAUT OVER YOUR DRONING IGNORANCE SHAFT.

TG: heheheh

======

CG: YOUR WORDSLUDGE SPEARS EVERY PARTICLE OF MY BODY WITH PINPOINT STRIDERIAN IDIOCY.

TG: oh shit here we go

CG: A VERBAL BARRAGE THAT PULVERIZES MY FLESH INTO A FINE RED MIST, KILLING ME INSTANTLY. WIPING ME THE FUCK OUT, TO SUCH AN INCREDIBLE DEGREE THAT PALEONTOLOGISTS CAN'T FULLY DISCERN IF A "KARKAT" FUCKING EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE.

CG: THEY'D BE SCRATCHING THEIR NUGBONES OVER IT FOR FUCKING SWEEPS, IF NOT FOR THE SHOCKING REALIZATION MERE MINUTES INTO THEIR DEBATES THAT NOBODY ACTUALLY GAVE A SHIT.

======

CG: AND YET THE TEMPORAL DEVICE STILL SWAYS TO AND FRO IN CONSTERNATION. VEXED BY THE COMPLETE MENTAL VACANCY PUT BEFORE IT BY MY HUMBLE SACRIFICE, BOUND BY ITS COSMIC ROLE, BEGRUDGED BY MY UNSOLICITED DEATH CLOCKING IT INTO OVERTIME. IT HAS BETTER SHIT TO DO, GOD DAMMIT! IT HAS A LUSUS AND A HIVE TO GET BACK TO!

CG: "WHAT IS THIS. WHO LET THIS ASSHOLE IN HERE," IT SAYS. THEY AREN'T EVEN QUESTIONS, JUST ORBITAL SIGHS OF AN UNCARING UNIVERSE. A REALITY NOW KEENLY AWARE OF ITS OWN LAUGH TRACK.

CG: AND ITS PENDULUM TEETERS, TENTATIVE IN ITS OWN DISBELIEF AND PROFOUND APATHY.

TG: damn

======

CG: "THIS SCUMBAG ISN'T EVEN GODTIER YET," IT POINTS OUT. THE AUDIENCE FLIPS THEIR COLLECTIVE SHIT, AGHAST AT THIS REVELATION.

TG: hahaha

CG: IT WELLS UP SUCH A THRUM OF FUCKING ENNUI THAT THE TIMEPIECE FLIPS OFF-KILTER, LANDING SQUARELY IN THE "DUMBASS" ZONE WITH A "FUCK IT" LOUD ENOUGH TO REVERBERATE THROUGHOUT PARADOX SPACE.

======

CG: IT THEN ELECTS TO KICK MY PATHETIC FUCKING HALF-CORPSE BACK INTO THE LIVING PLANE AND FORCE ME, VENGEFULLY FROM THE AUDACITY OF MY OWN IDIOCY, TO REPEAT THIS CYCLE AD NAUSEAM

CG: UNTIL EXISTENCE ITSELF FINALLY CROAKS UNDER THE COMBINED WEIGHT OF OUR COLOSSAL STUPIDITY.

CG: BECAUSE WHO THE FUCK WOULD I BE IF I EVER GOT TO HAVE A BREAK?

======

TG: yep there he is thats him offincer

TG: the man after my own heart

TG: thats a karkat brand "soft yes" if i ever heard one and i know my karkatisms dude im a goddamn graduate in karkatology

TG: i got my degree in this shit

TG: im rocking up to our convos with the dumbass black square hat thing cocked 45 degrees

TG: literally incapable of snapping it back kinda by design of the stupid thing but damn if im not doing it anyways im emanating the snappitudes

TG: im rocking my intelligence right now

TG: also water is absolutely wet dude its like the wettest thing on the planet

CG: I'M NOT REPEATING MYSELF AGAIN

TG: yeah you are

CG: FUCK. I AM.

======

CG: I SAID THE LAST THREE TIMES IT'S A CONDITIONAL TERM--

TG: and im saying its common sense like being wet isnt conditional when youre the perpetual thing of wettening

CG: NO

TG: and brother it is THE wet

TG: like following your conditional argument

TG: if water isnt wet then the other water molecules are constantly making each other fuckin wet so its a moot point

TG: great philosophical debate

TG: which came first the water or the wet?

CG: DAVE

TG: think about it all those particles are wetting each other up all the time and shit

TG: its a fucked up display

CG: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

======

TG: pretty much a perpetual orgy of the elements

CG: DUDE.

TG: that sounds kinda sick actually if you dont think about what it means

TG: h2orgy

CG: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO VETO THIS STUPID DISCUSSION--

TG: tell me im wrong dude

CG: I'M UNIVERSE-APPOINTED TO HOVER AROUND YOU POINTING OUT EVERY DUMBASS TAKE YOU HAVE FOR THE REST OF TIME.

TG: thats so beautiful to me

TG: i could cry

[im-yn-suckers]

ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ? ✧˖° bf!riki x gf!reader ✧˖° tw: kissies, cuddles, mention of stress, reader is said to be short but that could literally js mean shorter than him, and only sorta maybe perhaps a little kinda self indulgent bc i want a riki ^^ a little disclaimer: idk if riki listens to all of these, as they just come off of my playlist !

your desk is covered in pens, pencils, sticky notes and other supplies. ah yes, another paper, but this time you finished in time. previously you were worrying about getting in on time and if you did it right. will the professor think its good? will i get a good grade? i hope i didnt mess up

all of these thoughts crowded your mind for days maybe even weeks. it brought you tears and pride. the final paper you so horridly dreaded now turned in as you leave your desk, not bothering to clean it up. you walk over to your bf, who was busy playing league on the couch, that filled up, almost, the entire room.

you plop down next to him, leaning on his shoulder. his scent intoxicating you, god, how you missed it for the last 3 hours. "you done pretty girl?" he asks, though not looking down, too focused on his game. you only nod. minutes pass and youre still cuddled up to him. soon enough, he turns the tv off and turns toward you, fully sideways. he lets himself fall back onto the couch, allowing you to fall w him.

a giggle leaves his pretty lips, as you fall on top of him. the couch cant fit the both of you so he improvised. you lay your head on his shoulder, almost his clavicle. you lightly peck the skin-exposed by his black hoodie-covered by pretty moles. "youre squishing me!" "shhh this was all you" he sighs in defeat. "lets go to the bed then" you sigh, not wanting to move.

on the bed, you two lay on your backs, close together. something about his calm presence when you two are in bed, ready to fall asleep, is so comforting. maybe it was his scent, as mentioned, its intoxicating, almost dizzying. or maybe his giant figure next to yours, offering a sense of protection. maybe his soft breaths as he lays down, scrolling tiktok, not quite ready to sleep, yet.

"baby, baby!" he perks up, seeing a video "hm?" you respond, on the verge of falling asleep. your eyelids droopy. "lets make a playlist and take turns adding songs!" you giggle as you hear the idea, finding it quite endearing. you nod in agreement. he opens his laptop and pulls up spotify.

tapping the plus, he creates a new playlist. "what should we name it?" he asks, trying to complete the first step. "mmmm idk, something short but cute" he types in your name to tease you. "hey!" "what?? you said short and cute!" he deletes the name, trying to think of a new one.

"wait! ki! yk the song tell my momma by kard?" you have an idea, hoping its a good one. "uhm i know OF it, why?" "how bout we put 'ill do anything to make our love last long'?" you suggest a long but sweet lyric "baby, thats corny" "so is making a playlist tgt" silence. "ugh ig ure right" you giggle and he puts down the lyric.

"ok songs, you add one first" he pushes the laptop your way and you think for a moment you add the first song, every kind of way by h.e.r, he smiles seeing the song. he takes his turn "where is love" by 3house. your turn again, "wa-r-r" by colde. his turn again, "someone like u" by lullaboy "infranumi" by steve lacy, "pink+white" by frank ocean. "seasons" by wave to earth, "3:00 am" by finding hope it goes back and forth adding songs and laughing

once you two finish, he shuts the laptop, reaching over to set it down. he turns to his side to grab you and pull you close to him. his arms wrapping around you. he presses a little kiss to your lips saying goodnight.

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) 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: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

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

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

[min-imum]

FLUFFY GYU SMUT !!!!

nsfw, mdni

content warnings: gn!reader, this is actually so fluffy because i love domesticity and i’m a sucker for domestic fluff but also mingyu is too hot so i ended up being a smut account but but but TIYA I MEANT AN ASK WITH CONTENT 😞😞😞😞 it’s okay this means i can write WHATEVER I WANT!!!!!!!! DOMESTIC MINGYU!!!!!!!, super soft sex, super sweet mingyu, AUGH its vanilla and it’s cute, also i literally added tags to this in advance because my dumbass completely forgot to add tags in my previous post and i was like hmm it’s a suspiciously low number of notes for the amount of time this has been up OHHHHHHH no tags., second time i’ve had to rewrite a fic because tumblr said nope sorry we cant save this AND THEN IT JUST DIDNT SAVE EVEN THOUGH I ALREADY SAVED THE DRAFT EARLIER AND I WAS JUST ADDING ON :( im being so fr the first draft was SO much better on god and it was longer too but i forgot what i wrote rAAA

mingyu — your sweet, darling boyfriend. you love him with all your heart and you know he loves you too.

he shows you just how much he loves you all the time. you know he loves you when he crawls up at dawn to make you breakfast. you know he loves you when he crouches to tie your shoelaces for you. you know he loves you when he sends you sweet texts throughout the day, and when he purchases souvenirs from all his travels for you, and when he wraps his big arms around you on a bad day to cushion you and comfort you.

you know he loves you when he makes love to you like this, slow and sweet and filled with emotion.

he kisses you slowly, languidly, and you moan into his mouth as his cock presses into you inch by inch. when he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are filled with adoration. it makes your heart squeeze in your chest.

when you finally take him to the hilt, he pauses, litters kisses over your face and neck, presses his lips to your jaw, bites gently at your earlobe, and waits ever so patiently for you to get used to his size inside you.

“you can move, gyu,” you whisper. he kisses you once more as his hips start to move, grunts falling from his lips with each thrust. he leans his forehead against yours tenderly and bumps your noses together affectionately.

his hands roam your body, squeezing gently and feeling you up. he revels in every moan and whine that escapes from your lips. he nuzzles against your cheek sweetly.

as much as you like the rougher, meaner sex you have with him, this sweet love-making is your favourite. he never fails to remind you how much he loves you and how special you are to him.

he presses his nose into your hair and breathes in your scent.

“did you use my shampoo, baby?”

“mhm,” you smile sheepishly. “sorry.”

“don’t apologise. i like it when you smell like me.” he giggles, expression absolutely lovesick. you blush, shy and contented.

“i like smelling like you too.”

he has the sweetest smile on his face, eyes glittery and lips curled, as he fucks you with all the love in the world. he loves making you feel good, he loves taking care of you. he loves you.

soon, you’re cumming over his cock with a long whine, and he fucks you through it. he always makes sure you cum first. and then he follows quickly, rolling his hips into you one last time and emptying himself into you.

finally, he rolls the two of you over so you’re lying on his chest, his cock still buried inside you.

“hi,” you giggle.

“you’re so cute,” mingyu coos. “my adorable baby. i love you so much.”

you smile, eyes bright with happiness and satisfaction. “i love you too.”

“let’s get up soon, okay? i have to clean you up and change the sheets,” he murmurs.

as always, your sweet boyfriend never fails to take care of you and show you how much he loves you.

“okay,” you hum. “five more minutes?”

he strokes your back affectionately and presses a tender kiss to your head. “five more minutes.”

[juneberrie]

COOL ࣪𖤐 EARTH-42!MILES MORALES x FEM!READER

summary miles' childhood crush comes back to new york.

word count 0.6k

warnings fem!reader, vaguely implied hispanic!reader but not really, sunshine!reader

miles groaned when his mother told him to clean his room.

"we have guests coming over, mijo," rio said. "what will they think if your room is messy?"

"i didn't know that we were eating dinner in my room," he muttered.

"i heard that," rio called. miles shuffled around his room, mostly kicking his (probably dirty) clothes under his bed and closing the closet door as the smell of his mom's cooking wafted around the house. "they're family friends, mijito. remember the l/ns? they moved away a few years ago but they're back! i think their daughter goes to your school," she added, bustling about the tiny kitchen.

miles' brain immediately started going through every girl he had ever interacted with at school, but he came up short. "que es su nombre?" he asked (what's her name?).

"oh, y/n. you two used to be so close before they left," rio answered. miles tried to remember a y/n, and he managed to drag up a memory of the two of them watching movies as their parents laughed and drank and ate at barbecues. the doorbell rang and she jumped.

"mijo, get the doo—" she started, but miles interrupted her.

"already on it, ma," he said. she smiled gratefully and disappeared into the kitchen again. he opened the door, and his brain short circuited. there, outside his apartment, stood a very, very, pretty girl. she was flanked by a man and a woman who miles assumed were her parents, but his eyes were locked on hers.

"hi!" she smiled. he prayed to literally any god that would listen that she couldn't hear his heart beating a mile a minute. "i'm y/n!"

her mother interrupted her. "oh, miles! it's been so long!" she walked in, her daughter and husband following behind her. "you're so big now!"

"yeah," miles chuckled awkwardly. he watched as y/n looked around their small apartment. "nice to, uh. see you again?" he tried. why was he suddenly being awkward? he was never awkward with girls.

she turned, a smile on her face. "yeah!! i mean, since we moved its been like," she paused and glanced at the ceiling, her fingers twitching as she mentally counted. "seven years? i think?"

"damn," miles said. "it's been forever." y/n nodded with a laugh. rio called them to the dinner table, which miles noted was set with their fancier plates. as the two families ate and reconciled, memories rushed at miles.

he remembered chasing her around her family's yard, dunking her into the community pool during the summers, grudgingly playing mermaids with her, graduating kindergarten with her, and so much more. but the memory that he remembered most vividly was the big fat crush he'd had on her.

"so," he asked, pushing his food around his plate as casually as he could. "are you guys here to stay?"

y/n's dad nodded and replied, "we're staying for good."

y/n cut in, "or at least 'till i finish high school." she had a twinkle in her eye as she said the words, and miles noticed her glance flicking down to his lips.

"cool," he said. "cool."

she smiled and it felt like they were the only two people in the world. "yeah. cool."

[omodance]

Why is un-potty training so hot to me??? Literally going out of your wait to train your body not to hold in your piss anymore, slowly having more and more accidents until you’re just constantly dribbling 🤤

I’m imagining a beginning bathroom routine starting out with 3 hours of rapid desperation directly after waking up in the morning, followed by a series of holds lasting the rest of the day. Of course one would also be required to drink a liter of water before going to bed.

It would get harder and harder to make it through the night without waking up due to pains in your bladder demanding attention as the continuous holds weaken your muscles.

Eventually, after you’ve woken them up in the middle of the night begging to pee one too many times, the bladder dom would deign that all these holds before bed have been putting too much of a strain on your bladder. Obviously the answer is to make sure your bladder is nice and empty before bed, right? 3 hours of rapid desperation before bed is added to your routines, in combination with your 3 hours upon waking.

This change is what causes you to wet the bed for the first time. You woke up to pangs in your bladder as usual, but this time something is different. A faint hissing between your legs and the warm, comforting sensation pooling under your bottom alert you to wake up your bladder dom to inform them of your accident.

They just smile understandingly and pull you into a big hug. “It’s alright love, really. I should have known that you just can’t make it through the night anymore.”

And suddenly, you’re allowed to go as much as you want! In fact, you’re required to pee at least once every hour (except for night time where you still do rapid desperation before bed) And your bed is fitted with thick plastic covers to prevent mess, and your dom happily cleans up your now daily bed puddles.

This part is a little more niche, but at this point in the process I would love if the dom in this fantasy began daily sounding sessions, right after waking up. Loosining and opening your urethra up every morning after having tried (and failed) to hold your bladder during the night. By now you’re wetting at least twice every night anyways, and you’re so used to staying hydrated that you usually drink at least two glasses of water by the time morning comes. Just enough to ensure there’s still a bit of piss begging to come out after more hours than usual of waiting for release.

So they’d open you right up, a heavy hand pressing on your bladder as they coax all the piss out through your practically useless and permanently relaxing peehole. Maybe they even sneaks some sort if numbing solution on the sound to ensure that those muscles are never strong enough to hold back your pee again

Its not long after this new addition to this routine that you stop being able to make it to the bathroom every hour. In fact, it feels like your underwear is almost always soaked with dribbling leaks while you wait for each hour to pass - not because you have to, you can pee as much as you want- but because the feeling of truly losing control is finally setting in. Having multiple accidents a night is one thing, but not even being able to make it an hour or even 30 minutes without leaking piss is embarrassing!!!

Your dom notices you as you start potty dancing between frequent bathroom breaks, tutting as the wet spot grows between your legs. They follow you into the bathroom one day and wordlessly pull out some pull-ups that you had no idea were even around and silently slips them on you as you pee.

It isn’t long before you lose the inhibitions that have been holding you back and give in the the convenience of being able to dribble pee as often as you want ❤️ your once daily sounding turns to two. As you begin just using your pull ups constantly instead of the toilet, they are eventually replaced by super absorbent diapers. You probably couldn’t even hold your pee if you tried

[swappermanent]

Summoned For Help (Part 2)

Over the next few weeks, the spell really started doing its thing. Every couple of nights, I’d feel that familiar pull—like a hand reaching inside me and tugging me into another dimension. One minute, I’d be chilling on my couch, scrolling through dating apps or playing a game, and the next, I’d open my eyes and find myself in Cal’s body, usually at a bar or just about to head home with someone.

Luckily, my body just kind of... autopiloted while I was out of it. I’d wake up the next morning in my bed, no memory of what my body had been doing while I was off playing sex therapist for Cal. That was a relief—I didn’t need the added stress of figuring out what to tell people while I was physically here but mentally gone.

And the nights I was in Cal’s body? They weren’t bad. I had a few solid hookups, made a few girls very happy—and by the time I got ejected, Cal was usually in a much better position than he’d started in. Literally. And I think maybe he was starting to learn a thing or two from me.

But then came the night everything shifted.

I wasn’t pulled in at the start of some flirtatious bar banter or a heated moment in a cab ride. No, this time, I got yanked into his body mid-thrust.

One second, I was dozing off in front of the TV, and the next, I was blinking into consciousness, sweat dripping down Cal’s brow, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him. The girl beneath me—well, beneath him—was staring off into space, looking bored out of her mind. Her body was stiff, her expression a mix of disinterest and maybe a little regret.

“Oh, hell no,” I thought. “This is a trainwreck.”

Cal’s voice popped up in my head almost instantly. “Whoa, dude, what the hell? I was handling this!”

“Were you?” I shot back, incredulous. “Because she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.”

He hesitated, and I could feel his defensiveness crack. “I mean... I don’t know. She’s just quiet.”

“She’s quiet because you’re not paying attention,” I said. “Dude, she’s not relaxed at all. Did you even go down on her?”

Cal groaned, clearly embarrassed. “Uh... no. I mean, we just got right to it. She seemed into it.”

I mentally facepalmed. “Cal, come on. You can’t skip that. No wonder I got summoned back.”

I slowed everything down, pulling away and shifting my attention to her. “Hey,” I said softly, leaning close to meet her gaze. “You okay?”

She blinked, startled, and then smiled nervously. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“No, seriously,” I pressed, my tone gentle. “You can tell me if something’s off.”

Her shoulders relaxed a little, and after a moment, she nodded. “I guess I just... wasn’t really feeling it.”

“Okay. Let me fix that.”

I kissed my way down her body, taking my time, listening to her reactions, and tuning everything to what she liked. It didn’t take long before her stiff posture melted into the mattress, her disinterest replaced with soft sighs and murmurs of approval.

“Damn,” Cal said in my head, sounding both impressed and sheepish. “Okay, I get it. I really need to work on this.”

“You think?” I shot back, but I didn’t press further. Actions speak louder than words, and I was busy demonstrating exactly why she deserved more than his half-hearted efforts.

Afterward, when I was ejected from his body and back in my own, I got a text from him almost immediately.

CAL: So uh... thanks for that. Again. ME: You’re welcome. Again. But seriously, man, pay attention to them.

That wasn’t the last time something like this happened. Over the next few weeks, there were more instances where I’d get pulled in right in the middle of things. Every time, it was clear that Cal had started strong but lost focus—too caught up in his own pleasure to really tune into his partner.

And every time, I’d step in, recalibrate the situation, and get things back on track. I couldn’t say I minded too much—after all, it felt good knowing I was making things better for these women—but it was becoming increasingly obvious just how much work Cal still had to do.

---

One night, we were sitting on his couch, beers in hand, the game on TV serving as background noise. He seemed... off. Quieter than usual. When I asked him what was up, he sighed and shook his head.

“I don’t know, man,” he said. “I guess I’m just over it. The whole thing.”

“Over what?” I asked, not following.

“Hooking up,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s not like it’s been going great, even with you tagging in. I don’t feel like I’m getting any better. If anything, I’m worse. Like, my confidence is shot. Every time I think about hitting on someone, I just... don’t.”

That threw me.

“I thought the whole point of this spell was to help you,” I said carefully. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I am. Maybe I just need to reset, you know? Get my head straight. I’ve been thinking about staying celibate for a while, focus on other stuff.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded and took a swig of my beer. “If that’s what you want, man. Whatever makes you happy.”

But apparently, the spell didn’t agree.

It started a few days later, completely out of the blue.

I was making lunch in my apartment when I felt the pull—familiar by now, but still jarring. The world spun, and when my vision cleared, I was no longer standing in my tiny kitchen. I was in the middle of a grocery store, Cal’s hands gripping a cart full of food.

“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath, glancing around. This wasn’t the usual scene of a bar or a bedroom. People were milling about, grabbing produce and cereal boxes, oblivious to the fact that I had just taken over Cal.

“Why am I here?” I thought, not expecting an answer. But then it hit me—the spell. The rules were changing.

Cal’s voice appeared in my head, startled. “Dude, what’s going on? I was just shopping.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” I said. “And now I’m here. Any idea why?”

“No clue,” he said, sounding genuinely baffled.

I didn’t get it either—until my eyes landed on a guy in the next aisle. He was tall, with a sharp jawline and a charming smile that he flashed at me as he reached for a box of granola bars. It clicked instantly. The spell wasn’t waiting for Cal to take the lead anymore. It was picking targets for me.

“Oh, no way,” I muttered. “This is... ridiculous.”

“Wait, what are you—oh, God, no,” Cal groaned in my head as I turned the cart and casually made my way over to the guy.

“Hey,” I said, striking up a conversation. Turns out, flirting in Cal’s body was even easier than usual—it was like people gravitated toward him, no matter what. Before long, the guy was giving me his number, and I had him back at Cal’s place within an hour.

The spell didn’t eject me until it was over. By the time I was back in my own body, Cal was fuming.

“You’re hooking up with guys now?” he snapped over the phone.

“It’s easier,” I said, shrugging even though he couldn’t see me. “Besides, you’re the one who checked out. If the spell’s going to drag me into your body, I might as well make it quick.”

He groaned, but he didn’t argue. I figured he couldn’t—after all, this was his idea in the first place.

It kept happening. Random times, random places. I’d be yanked into Cal’s body during the most mundane moments—at work, in line for coffee, walking through the park—and every time, I knew exactly what I had to do. The spell wasn’t subtle about its intentions. It wanted Cal to have a sex life, and if he wasn’t going to make it happen, it would force me to do it.

The more it happened, the less Cal protested. At first, he’d grumble and complain when I picked up guys instead of women, but eventually, he just... accepted it. “Whatever,” he’d say. “At least you’re doing the job.”

But I could feel the tension building between us. This wasn’t what either of us had signed up for. The spell wasn’t just nudging things along anymore—it was taking over, hijacking both our lives to meet its goals.

Things finally came to a head one night when I was pulled into Cal’s body during a wild night at the club. The music was loud, the drinks were strong, and the girl I ended up dancing with was gorgeous. By the time we made it back to Cal’s place, things were already heating up, and I knew exactly where it was headed.

Let’s just say we both finished—hard. The orgasm was... incredible. Like nothing I’d ever experienced in my own body. And it wasn’t just the fact that this was the first girl I had hooked up with in all this that let me creampie her pussy nice and deep. No, there was something about being Cal—his strength, his stamina, the way his body seemed built for moments like this—I was really starting to get comfortable with it.

When it was over, we lay there in the dark, her head resting on Cal’s chest, both of us drifting off to sleep. I could feel it happening—my consciousness loosening, the familiar pull back to my own body starting to kick in. “Finally,” I thought, relieved to be heading back to the comfort of my own bed.

But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the curtains, I was still in Cal’s body.

“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath, glancing down at the sleeping girl curled up beside me. My heart raced as I tried to process what was happening. I was supposed to be back in my own body. I knew I’d started to drift out.

That’s when it hit me.

The spell.

It wasn’t done with me yet.

It must have decided to keep me around because, of course, there was another opportunity. Morning sex.

I turned my head toward her, and as if on cue, she stirred awake, her eyes fluttering open and a sleepy smile spreading across her lips. “Morning,” she murmured, her voice soft and warm. She ran her fingers across Cal’s chest, clearly ready for another round.

And I? Well, I didn’t exactly argue.

After we were both thoroughly satisfied—and I mean thoroughly—I finally felt the pull again. This time, it was definitive, sharp and insistent, like the spell was saying, Okay, you’re done. Get out.

I barely had time to roll off the bed before my consciousness was yanked away, leaving Cal’s utterly depleted body behind. When I woke up in my own body, sprawled on my couch, I felt drained in my own way. Like I’d run a marathon in someone else’s shoes.

At this point, the spell had made its intentions clear. I wasn’t just being called in to help Cal anymore. I was essentially his default now—only sent back to my body when there was no chance his was getting laid.

---

Later that afternoon, Cal came storming into my apartment, his face a mix of frustration and something close to panic. He didn’t even knock—just shoved the door open and glared at me, arms crossed like a pissed-off dad.

Alright, what the hell are you doing?” he demanded, not even bothering to say hello.

I raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“The spell,” he snapped, stepping closer. “I don’t know what you’re messing with, but it’s not doing what it’s supposed to anymore.”

I leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. “Cal, you’re crazy. I’m not doing anything.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back. “You’re screwing with it. I know you are.”

“Why would I screw with it?” I said, my voice rising to match his. “This was your idea, remember? I didn’t even want to do this in the first place!”

Cal opened his mouth to fire back, but before he could, I felt it—that unmistakable pull.

“Oh, no,” I muttered, the room starting to spin.

When the world settled again, I was standing in Cal’s body, looking down at my own. My old self—now on autopilot—was just standing there, staring off into space. It was eerie, like looking at a mannequin version of me, except it moved subtly, fidgeting with its hands the way I always did when I was nervous.

“What the fuck?” Cal’s voice rang in my head, sharp and angry. “Why did the spell bring you here now?

“I don’t know!” I shot back, exasperated. “But it’s not me doing this, okay? If anything, you’re the problem.”

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffed.

That’s when it clicked. I turned my gaze toward my old body, a sly grin forming on Cal’s lips. “You know,” I said, mostly to myself, “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like.”

“What what would be like?” Cal asked, suspicious.

“To fuck me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice rose, panicked, but I ignored him. My old body looked... good.

I stepped closer, leaning in just enough to make autopilot-me react. He blinked, tilting his head to look up at me, a faint smirk forming on his lips.

“Hey,” I said, Cal’s voice low and smooth. “You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

“Oh my God,” Cal groaned in my head.

“Relax,” I shot back. “And, hey, it’s working.”

And it was. My autopilot-self was clearly into it, responding exactly the way I knew I would. Flirting turned into touching, and before long, I had my old body pinned against the wall, its breath hitching in ways I was all too familiar with.

“Dude, stop!” Cal yelled, but his protests faded into the background as the moment took over.

When it was over, I lay there for a moment, catching my breath, waiting for the familiar pull—the sensation of being yanked back into my old body. But this time? Nothing happened.

I sat up slowly, stretching in Cal’s body, every movement radiating strength and ease.

Then I noticed something strange. My old body, lying beside me in what should have been autopilot mode, suddenly sat up. Its face—my face—twisted with confusion. It blinked a few times, and when it looked at me, I knew instantly that Cal was in there.

“Why am I looking at myself?” he said, his voice shaky, filled with disbelief. His eyes darted to his—my—hands, then back to me. “What the hell is happening?”

I couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face. “Looks like the spell achieved its purpose.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice rising with panic. “You’re... you’re me?”

I stood up, towering over him. The power in this body was intoxicating. Every nerve felt alive, humming with purpose. For the first time, I wasn’t just borrowing his strength—I was owning it. I looked down at my old body—at Cal—and let the truth settle in.

“The spell wasn’t going to let you fail,” I said, my voice calm but steady, as if explaining something inevitable. “Its whole purpose was to improve your sex life, to make you better. But you weren’t doing the work. So it found a solution. Cal’s sex life is going to be great from now on.”

His eyes widened as the realization hit. “No. No way. You can’t just—”

“I didn’t choose this,” I interrupted, my voice low and firm. “The spell did. You checked out, Cal. You gave up. And now? I’m everything you couldn’t be.”

His face twisted in anger, but it didn’t last. His expression faltered, replaced by something closer to despair. He looked down at his—my—hands, and I could see it sinking in.

I took a step closer, looking down at him, at the body I used to call mine. The calm I felt wasn’t just in my head—it radiated through every part of me. For the first time in my life, I felt whole.

“Face it,” I said, my grin widening. “I’m worthy of this body in a way you never were.”

As he stared up at me, the truth written all over his—my—face, I let out a low, satisfied chuckle.

This wasn’t just a new beginning. It was an ending—the one the spell had been guiding us toward all along.

[huellitaa]

girl's guide to academic success: ep 1! ⊹˚. ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 this post focuses on: actively rooting for success! ♡ part 2 -> ♡

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 1. organisation

first off, have something to organise ur academic life with! i personally use notion (which i'll add later) but u can use anything as long as it's cute, convenient, unique and accessible to you, your life and your schedule specifically. especially as a visual learner, i like to have somewhere i can dump literally everything regarding a singular area in my life, so i do this for almost everything along with school and i highly recommend this <3

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 2. recognition of talents & improvements

analyse your strengths and weaknesses. think back on tests, exams, marks, and analyse which ones you got highest and lowest on. dont beat urself up for it, obviously; it's just to check which subjects you're doing good in and which ones have room for improvement. for example i love science but im not the best at it sometimes and we had an assessment recently and i didn't get as high as i'd like so i wrote down a little list on a piece of paper in my pencilcase for the topics i got the least in for me to study on my own to practise later.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 3. laying out goals

set down specific goals; i like to do this week by week accustomed to my schedule that week in my school notion page along with images and vision boards based on the term/semester, but you can do it for the week, the month, the year, anything as long as its helpful to you

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 4. productive planning

plan accordingly based on ur time energy. when creating any to do list or productivity plan dont pile a ridiculous amount onto it that just leaves you stressed and overwhelmed because that defeats the entire point; this works the same for academic plans and goals and lists etc.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 5. extra credit

put extra work in to the subjects you know will help you in the future. for example, for my personal aspirations i need to excel in english, history and textiles so i always try my absolute hardest and put my all into those lessons and do extra studying for them in my free time where i can. school is to prepare you for the future so take advantage of that

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 6. asking questions

please don't be shy to ask questions! that's what teachers are there for and you won't have them forever so take advantage of it while you can! you can even do it in that little window of time just after class if ur too nervous to ask in class. for example, on my last english exam i went to my teacher after class and asked about what i needed to improve on to get the marks i missed next time, and he told me i added too much detail and some other things so i wrote it down and am keeping a note of it to remind me to improve on that next time! (i got top of my class though so i didnt mind. still kind of pissed i added too much detail though)

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 7. participation

participate! ok im saying this as someone who still struggles with social anxiety a fair amount but if u wanna get higher marks and get on good terms w ur teacher i 100% recommend this. i don't do this in every class but i do it where i can and when i'm confident in my answer, and it's really intimidating at first but what i did is i did it first in the classes i felt most comfortable on and continued from there. it gets easier every time i swear, and nobody's judging you; they'll forget about it after five minutes. plus, what would they be judging you for? being smarter than them?

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 8. prioritising ur health

this is mentioned a lot in these types of posts but if you're tired or burnt out or overworked or just feel like you need to take a break then do. do the best you can and compromise like i said earlier if you need to, just make sure u are prioritising yourself over anything. <3

──★ ˙ ̟🎀inspo

──★ ˙ ̟🎀my notion

i also really recommend this layout by @honeytonedhottie ♡

all my love 🩷✨💬🎀💗