#babydaddy’s

[hiphopraisedmetheblog]

SKAI JACKSON BABY DADDY’S ALLEGED LOVER SPEAKS OUT

The latest developments surrounding Skai Jackson and her alleged baby daddy have sparked considerable interest, particularly due to the accusations being levied by an unidentified individual on social media. This situation not only raises questions about the personal boundaries and responsibilities of those involved but also the societal impacts of public discourse surrounding celebrity…

[aurorawhisperz]

You’re All I Need (r.c.)

contains: swearing, angst, mentions of pregnancy, family drama.

father!rafe x mother!reader

a/n: if this goes well and finds its way into my busy schedule, i’ll turn this into a series! and guess who just hit the two-decade mark.. 🎉🎂

summary: you’re sick, exhausted, and barely holding it together while caring for your daughter, juno, alone. desperate, you call rafe, your ex and her father, for help.

who am i to want you now that you’re leaving?

•

almost a year ago, you and rafe had gotten into a big fight over the summer that left both of you saying things that couldn’t be taken back. by the time he was gone, you thought it was over for good. he stormed off and it felt like the end.

that was the same summer you found out you got knocked up.

when you finally told him about the baby, he swore he wanted to be there, for both of you. but you couldn’t do it. you didn’t his half-assed attempts at playing family. so you told him he could be in the baby’s life, but not yours.

the day your daughter was born, nothing felt real. you named her juno, inspired by a movie you’d watched a hundred times during your pregnancy. you didn’t need rafe there that day. at least, that’s what you told yourself.

and for a while, that worked. until tonight.

the fever is unbearable, heat radiating from your body as you lean against the wall to steady yourself, your legs trembling beneath you.

juno cries loudly, sharp and continuous, her small fists waving in anger from her playpen. juno was only a few months old, but the sounds she made tonight seem louder than anything, or maybe it is the throbbing in your head that is making everything clearer.

you tried to calm her down—rocking her, even her close until your arms felt like they might give out but your fever had drained every ounce of strength out of you.

rafe was in the middle of a business call when his phone rang. he saw your name on the caller ID and immediately sensed that something was off. he excuses himself from the meeting and quickly picks up.

“what’s up?" he asks, his voice filled with concern and curiosity. “do you wanna have juno tonight?”you ask, not entirely aware of what you’re doing. “i don’t don’t know..I’m just..” then you sigh. “she’s been saying ‘dada’ all day and she refuses to eat.”

rafe winced at the loud noise. juno’s cries are clearly heard from the other end. it was clear that you were having a hard time, and he felt concerned for both you and juno.

“yeah, ‘course, i’ll take her.” he replies quickly, then rafe doesn’t waste any time. telling some lame excuse to his clients, gathering his things and completely bailing on the group of people in the meeting room.

the drive to your place felt excruciatingly long, but he kept his foot on the gas, determined to get there as fast as possible. rafe offered you and juno a spot at tanneyhill but since you were too petty towards him at that time, you declined.

He rushes to his car, his mind racing with thoughts about you and Juno. The drive to your place feels excruciatingly long, but he keeps his foot on the gas, determined to get there as fast as possible.

finally, he reaches your home and practically jumps out of the car, making his way to the door and banging on it urgently.

"(name)? it’s me! open up!" he calls out, the sound of juno’s cries echoing in his ears.

when you open the door, rafe’s eyes slightly widen in worry at your appearance. he could see the paleness in your face and the exhaustion in your eyes. he quickly steps inside, his eyes scanning the room for juno.

"are you alright?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "you look absolutely exhausted. what’s going on with you?”

“i’m fine, she’s in my room..” and rafe saw all the tell-tale signs of a fever as he watched you lay down on the couch. he knows you’re not as ‘fine’ as you claim but doesn’t push the issue for now.

a year ago, rafe cameron was chaos incarnate. consumed by his demons, or maybe he was the demon. the outer banks was his kingdom, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, the rafe walking up the stairs to go see your daughter isn’t the same man you walked away from last summer.

decades of being ward cameron’s son don’t just vanish but having a daughter changed rafe in many ways no one thought was possible. he’s more conscious, more quiet, like he’s constantly trying to prove more to himself than to everyone that he was better than the man who raised him.

you’ve seen him with juno, the way he holds her like she’s the only thing that matters in the world.

rafe watches you as you lie down on the couch, he frowns when he sees how weak you look.

he turns and heads straight to the room where juno is crying. he walks over to the crib and leans over, gently scooping up the little girl, holding her close to his chest.

"hey, little one," he coos, his voice soft and soothing. "your dad’s here." juno immediately stops crying as rafe picks her up, her small body calming at the familiarity of his touch and voice. rafe rocks her in his arms, gently shushing her and whispering words of comfort.

"there you go," he murmurs, his fingers gently stroking her soft hair. "no more cries now, i’ve got you."

he walks back to the living room, holding juno close to his chest as he approaches you on the couch.

"hey," rafe says softly, his tone showing concern. "you really don't look well." he moves closer, gently resting a hand on your forehead to feel your temperature. as he suspected, your skin was hot to the touch.

you look up to see him with juno on his hip. “just take care of her for the night.” and your eyes nearly flutter shut.

rafe saw through the way your eyes struggled to stay open. he saw how sick you truly were, but you're trying so hard to hide it.

"damn it," he mutters, his voice tight with worry and frustration. "baby, you’re in no condition to take care of juno on your own right now. you need to rest, and i can't just leave knowing you're not okay."

rafe reluctantly looks down at juno in his arms, her tiny face looking up at him with wide trusting eyes. he then glances back at you, still lying on the couch, weakness written all over your face.

"i will," he replies firmly. "but first, I'm putting you to bed. you need to rest and get better. then I'll take care of the baby."

he heads up and carefully sets juno on the crib for a moment and then walks downstairs, over to the couch, gently scooping you up in his arms.

“put me down..” you whine. "no" rafe replies firmly, his grip on you tightening slightly. "you’re burning up with a damn fever. no condition to be worrying about juno right now." he carries you towards your bedroom, his arms holding you securely against his chest. though you protest, he ignores your weak struggles.

once he reaches your bedroom, he gently lays you down on the bed, making sure you're comfortable and settled. he pulls the covers up over you, tucking you in and smoothing back your hair from your forehead.

looking down at you, he can see how exhausted you really are, the fever taking a toll on your body. but his focus quickly shifts to the crib where juno is starting to cry again, her hunger growing stronger.

rafe watches you for a moment, concerned. the feeling of your skin under his touch tells him how high your fever really is. he glances over at the crib, juno’s cries growing louder.

"stay right here," he instructs you firmly. "i’ll feed our baby, then i’m coming back to check on you."

with a sigh, rafe picks juno up from the crib and brings her to the kitchen. he goes through the motions of preparing a bottle for juno, mixing the formula with warm water and shaking it gently until it's ready. he then sits down next to your bed, leaning back against the headboard while he carefully feeds juno the bottle.

his eyes occasionally flick to you, checking on your condition. even though he's busy feeding the baby, he keeps a watchful eye on you, noticing every shiver and every sign of discomfort in your sick state.

after a few minutes, juno is satisfied, her tiny belly full and content. she starts to drift off in rafe’s arms, her small eyes growing heavy.

he carefully passes the baby back to the crib and turns his attention back to you. he returns to your bedside and sits down, his eyes studying your pale and weary face. the sight of you in this state was devouring him from the inside.

your eyes flutter open. “rafe, take her to your house..” then you turn to the side, your back facing him.

rafe looks down at you, gently taking your hand in his own, it broke his heart a little. the fact that you're asking him to take juno now.

"baby," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "you’re still burning up. i can't just leave with juno while you're like this."

it was always like this with rafe. back then, whenever you didn’t want him to care for you, when you pushed him away, built your walls high, and told him you didn’t need him, he’d force it anyway. he had this annoying way of ignoring your protests, showing up when you least expected it with that hot stubborn determination in his eyes.

if you were sick, he’d be at your door with soup, even if he didn’t know how to make it. if you were upset, he’d sit next to you in silence, waiting until you caved. it didn’t matter how hard you tried to convince him you were fine; rafe never listened. he cared in the only way he knew how to care; recklessly, even when you swore you didn’t want him to. that part of him hasn’t changed at all.

“come on, she’s your only priority at the moment.” you try sending him away. his grip on your hand tightened a little at your words. “don't be fucking ridiculous," he retorts, his voice stern. "juno will be fine with me at my house. but you're not. you’re sick and need rest and care. i’m not just gonna abandon you like this. not happening."

“you don’t have to stay anyway… you’re not my husband or boyfriend or anything. you’re just her dad.”

rafe bites down at your words. he knows he’s nothing more to you than juno’s dad, but hearing you say it so bluntly still stings.

“no, i’m not your husband or boyfriend,” he replies, his tone sharper than intended. “but damn it, i still care about you, even if you don’t want me to.”

before you can respond, a shiver racks your body, your fever making you tremble. rafe notices immediately, his frustration giving way to concern.

“jesus, you’re burning up,” he mutters, leaning closer to place the back of his hand on your forehead. “why didn’t you tell me you were this bad?” he doesn’t wait for an answer. standing up, he moves to the kitchen, returning with a cool cloth. he gently presses it against your forehead, his jaw tight with worry.

“you’re in no condition to be alone right now,” he says firmly. “especially not with a fever this high. you need someone to take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

“take her,” you whisper, your voice weak. “i can take care of myself. you don’t have to do both.”

“damn it, will you just listen to me for once?” rafe snaps, his voice low but laced with irritation. “you’re not fine. you’re barely holding it together, and you want me to just walk away? why are you so goddamn stubborn?”

“i don’t need your help,” you insist, glaring at him weakly. “just watch juno. that’s all.”

rafe exhales sharply, trying to keep his temper in check.

“what’s it gonna take for you to get it through your head that you need support too?” he demands. “i care about both you and juno, you idiot. why can’t you just let me help you when you clearly need it?”

“and why does this concern you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. his eyes narrow at your question, frustration bubbling over again.

“why do you think it concerns me?” he bites out, his voice rough. “you really have to ask that? you think i don’t care about you? you think i only see you as juno’s mom?”

you manage a breathy smirk, too weak to move but pleased nonetheless. “i knew it… son of a bitch.”

“knew what?” he challenges, his tone sharp. “that i actually give a damn about you more than you think? if you know, then why are you still fighting me on this? why are you so damn stubborn about letting me help?”

your smirk stays on your face, though your eyelids are already drooping from exhaustion.

“yeah, i care about you,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “you drive me absolutely fucking insane with how stubborn you are, but i still care. happy now?”

when you don’t respond, too tired to argue anymore, he shakes his head and adjusts the cool cloth on your forehead.

“i’m not leaving,” he says, and there’s no point in arguing. “someone has to take care of you since you clearly can’t be trusted to do it yourself.”

the room feels smaller with him in it, like his presence is closing in on you from all sides. he settles next to you, the mattress dipping slightly, and it’s awkward, too close for comfort, too familiar for what you are now. exes. nothing more.

“you’re gonna get sick,” you mumble, your voice scratchy and weak. “you don’t have to do this.”

“don’t care,” he says, not even looking at you. his voice is calm, steady. “you’re burning up. if i get sick, so what?”

you try to sit up, even though your body feels like it’s made of lead and your head pounds with every slight movement. the fever’s still got you in its grip, but lying there next to rafe feels like too much. too intimate. too close.

but the second you push yourself up, the world tilts. your balance wavers, and before you can steady yourself, your head drops against something solid.

his shoulder.

rafe lets out an annoyed sigh as he watches you struggle to get up, knowing full well that you're too weak to stand on your own.

"damn it, woman," he mutters as you collapse back onto him. "what did I tell you? you’re supposed to be resting, not trying to get up and walk around like a lunatic."

he gently wraps his arm around you, supporting your weakened body against him.

"just stay still and don't move," he whispers. "you’re in no condition to be up and about. you need to rest and recover. you know i’ll take care of you, right? stop trying to do everything on your own."

rafe gently runs his fingers through your hair, his touch light and soothing.

your hand finds its way to rafe’s arm, fingers gripping him weakly, as if holding on to him will keep you steady. rafe freezes at the touch, his gaze dropping to where your hand rests against his skin. it’s a simple gesture, but it feels like everything all at once.

he doesn’t pull away. instead, he shifts slightly, his own hand coming up to gently squeeze yours, his grip warm and steady, like he’s anchoring you.

“you’ll get better,” he murmurs. “just give it time and let yourself rest. let me look after you for once, okay?”

you think about the way things used to be. sneaking off when you had the chance, meeting him at the beach under the cover of darkness. stolen kisses, the kind that made your heart race. rafe was always the one who pushed boundaries, the one who made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t thought possible.

“are you sleeping over?” you ask weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

rafe looks down at you, the question pulling him out of his thoughts. he takes in your pale face, the tired lines around your eyes, and sighs. part of him wants to say no, to avoid whatever this is turning into, but he knows he can’t leave you like this.

“yeah,” he says finally, his tone gentle but firm. “yeah, i’m sleeping here. someone needs to keep an eye on your stubborn ass so you don’t try to do chores at three in the morning.”

you let out a weak laugh, but it fades quickly. “you shouldn’t be here,” you mutter, shaking your head slightly. “it’s—it’s awkward. it’ll just make things weird.”

rafe arches a brow, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a frown. “why are you acting like something’s gonna happen between us?” he counters, his tone light but laced with something deeper. “it’s fine. stop overthinking it and just… lay down. you’re not gonna win this argument.”

before you can protest, he gently guides you back down, his hand steady at your back. the warmth of his body against yours is impossible to ignore, but you’re too drained to fight it.

then, out of nowhere, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. the gesture is so tender it takes your breath away, but you’re too tired to react.

as your eyelids grow heavier, your mind drifts back to the first time rafe said he loved you. it wasn’t in a quiet, romantic moment, it was in the middle of an argument. his voice had been loud, angry and raw, but it was real. rafe always let things spill out when he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

now, as sleep pulls you under, you hear his voice again, quieter this time.

“i miss you,” he whispers.

you don’t respond. maybe you’re too far gone, maybe you don’t want to. but maybe you miss him too.

[goldenispunk]

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ BBYDADDY SERIES!⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

kimiverse msgs / blurbs

+

co-parents that fuck <3

« .𖥔 ݁ ˖ TRIVIA: LOVE // OT7 ⋆｡𖥔 »

genres: fluff, crack, smut & angst

note: only my permanent taglist is applicable for this series

๋࣭ ⭑bbydaddy!jk ๋࣭ ⭑

exes au ; *nsfw* | ongoing

(1) // (2) // (3) // (4) // (5) // (6) // (7) // (8) // (9) // (10) // (11) // (12) // (13) // (14) // (15) // (16) // (17) // (18) // (19) // (20) end

continuation ;

(21) // (22) // (23) // (24) // (25) // (26) // (27) // (28) // (29) // (30)

+ jk’s birthday

+ facetime call

+ goodnight kisses

+ future

... TBA

๋࣭ ⭑bbydaddy!yoongi ๋࣭ ⭑

accidental pregnancy au ; *nsfw* | ongoing

(1) // (2) // (3) // (4) // (5) // (6) // (7) // (8) // (9) // (10) // (11) // (12) // (13) // (14) // (15) // (16) // (17) // (18) // (19) // (20) end

[cvnntagious]

:: babydaddy!matt doesn't like your attitude

"this's what you wanted, huh?" matt spoke through gitted teeth, fingers digging into your hips as his own snapped to meet them, "actin' like a fuckin' prick all day f'some dick."

you whined, practically drooling beneath him. he was practically cradling you as his dick massaged your insides with an intense rigor. "matt-!" your plea came out in a high pitched moan, causing a small grin to tug at matt's pink lips.

he'd only just gotten started with you, but when he felt your walls fluttering around him as you trembled, he knew you were close. "what, baby, can't take it anymore?" he asked in a cocky tone, ego growing with each submissive noise you gave him.

matt got off on the idea of fucking that salty little attitude out of you, tired of you always finding reasons to argue with him. it was always 'mazzy can't do this,' and 'i don't trust that'. all he wanted was for you to stop bitchin' and complainin' all the time— he wanted you to just slobber all over yourself, repeating his name like a prayer.

his hand reached between your bodies, thumb moving to rub tight circles on your clit. you couldn't help the way your grasp on his biceps tightened, your pussy threatening to explode all over him. "matt, gonna- gonna cum," you warned, back arching off his mattress with curled toes.

you'd tried so hard to be good for him, holding off on cumming without his express permission after giving in to the way he handled you and your pissy words what felt like a few moments prior. you just couldn't. you felt your body shake in an almost violent manner, matt not giving up in his relentless pace when he felt you cream around him.

your moans and his groans filled the room (and most likely the house), making the two of you grateful for chris and nick having taken mazzy to the park.

w/c : ? a/n : divider by issysh3ll

-love, your grandma cvnty ☆!

[sematarygirls]

   EX-CONVICT!BABYDADDY!RAFE x FEM!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ unprotected p in v, breeding kink if you squint, heavyyyy angst, rafe being an asshole (as per usual), brief mentions of guns/police raid and drugs

NOTES .ᐟ guys, i need him so bad, like actually. based on this concept from my silly little brain. dad!rafe stays in my mind 24/7, but this is me we're talking about, so of course, i had to put a lil spin on it. also this turned out way longer than i meant it to, woah

After almost four years, you were finally starting to feel like you were getting your shit together. You were living in a nice house in a nice neighborhood where everyone knew everyone—the kind of place where people literally asked their neighbors for cups of sugar. You had a stable job that allowed you to live comfortably and provide for yourself and your daughter, and you had a big St. Bernard, lovingly named Moonshine after you'd watched one too many episodes of Moonshiners, that provided a sense of safety and security when the nights were cold and the paranoia started to creep into your mind.

Being a single mom was not easy, and it definitely hadn't been a part of your life plan, but then, you met Rafe Cameron—the ever charming, sweet talking man that he was. He swept you up and made you feel like the only girl in the world, like nothing else mattered as long as you were by his side, so when you found out you were pregnant, you were over the moon at the idea of starting a family with him.

But Rafe Cameron was a liar. He was selfish and manipulative, and he turned your life right on it's head.

You could still remember the day the police kicked in the door of your apartment, bursting in with guns drawn, pointed directly at you. You were eight months pregnant and having a gun pointed at you—at your baby—made you physically ill.

They had raided the apartment and found copious amounts of drugs. Your heart dropped, and you immediately felt like an idiot. How had you not known? You knew he made more money than he realistically should have, but the thought never even crossed your mind that this could be the reason. You were heartbroken and angry. Angry that he had lied. Angry that he put you in this position. And, angry that he was leaving you.

Rafe was arrested, and eventually charged with possession with intent to distribute due to the amount of drugs they found, which resulted in a five year sentence. You were sad and angry, not only because you were losing the man you always thought was the love of your life, but also because now, you were alone, and your daughter wouldn't know her father for the first five years of her life.

This anger and resentment festered, mixing with longing and a deep, aching sadness. You couldn't bring yourself to answer his calls or letters, let alone visit him. You didn't know who he was anymore. The man that you saw sporting handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit at his trial was not the same man you fell in love with, and you wouldn't pretend like he was.

You had known Rafe's release date was approaching, but you were under the impression that you still had a little over a year to plan on what you were going to do when it finally came. That's why you were so unsuspecting when you went to answer the harsh knock at your door.

It was a Thursday night, and you were cuddled up on the couch with Moonshine, who was practically the size of you. A horror movie was playing on the TV before you, one you'd seen practically a million times, and every few minutes, your gaze would flicker to the baby monitor on the coffee table that displayed the feedback from a camera in your daughter, Rhiannon's, room.

You jumped a little at the harsh sound of a knock on your front door, the horror movie already having you on edge. You could be paranoid sometimes, especially being a single mom, so realistically, you knew you shouldn't have been watching it so late at night, but they were your guilty pleasures that you couldn't indulge in the light of day because of your toddler.

Moonshine immediately jumped up, a low growl escaping his throat as his hair stood on end. Your brows furrowed at his odd behavior, pausing the movie and unfurling yourself from your comfortable position. Your steps were soft on the hardwood, your socks cushioning the sound as you padded over to the front door, patting the dog's head comfortingly as you unlocked the door, completely unaware with what would greet you on the other side.

As you opened the door, the cool night air hit you, carrying with it the faint scent of cigarette smoke. You blinked in surprise, expecting to see a neighbor, but instead, you found yourself face to face with Rafe Cameron.

Your eyes widened, the air knocked from your lungs as you took him in. He was changed, broader and more imposing, his muscles flexing under his tight black t-shirt as he crossed his arms. His hair was buzzed, his chiseled jawline sporting stubble that made him look older, more mature.

He looked so different, but still, somehow, the same. You were hit by a wave of emotions—longing, love, sadness, but most presently, anger. Who did he think he was showing up unannounced in the middle of the night after all these years, especially looking so unapologetic and devastatingly handsome.

His piercing blue eyes bore into yours, captivating and dangerous like a wave pulling you under when you least expected it. "Hey, baby," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping off his tongue. The term of endearment fell from his lips without any semblance of warmth as he stared at you with an intensity that made you want to shrink in on yourself.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your jaw clenching and grip on the door's edge tightening. You shivered a little as the cold air bit at your bare skin, barely registering the low growls of Moonshine behind you due to your tunnel vision on the man standing before you.

He smirked confidently, knowing the effect he had on you—the effect he always had on you. His eyebrow arched as he took in your appearance, his eyes lingering on your bare thighs, courtesy of your pajama shorts. "Aren't you going to invite me in, sweetheart? It's been a long time." He took a step forward, his broad frame filling the doorway intimidatingly.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step back and let him intimidate you into getting what he wanted. You craned your neck to look up at him, his close proximity looming over you, making him seem even taller and more imposing than he already was. "And whose fault is that?" You managed to say, despite the pit in your stomach—a mix of dread, anxiety, and strangely, desire.

Rafe's gaze sharpened, his eyes glinting dangerously. He uncrossed his arms and braced one hand on the doorframe beside your head, leaning in closer. It made your breath catch in your throat, but you held firm. You couldn't let him see that he was getting to you. "Let me in," he clenched his jaw. His anger at you for abandoning him in there had been bubbling up, and your defiance was bringing it to the surface.

A light flickering on in the house across the street caught your eye. Old lady Flanigan had a habit of making everyone else's business, her business, and she was a nasty gossip. Unless you wanted people talking, you either had to let him in or get him to leave, and one of those would be a nearly impossible feat. "Rafe, you can't be here. You can't just barge back into my life after all this time," you told him firmly, your own eyes blazing with a fiery intensity.

"And why not?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. His body was practically vibrating with pent-up anger, his muscles taut as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your face. "Did you ever think about me? Did you ever think about what you did to us?"

"What I did?" You scoffed, anger bubbling up inside you at his accusation, blaming you as if he wasn't the one that went to prison and left you alone. "Are you fucking kidding me?" The old woman across the street was now shamelessly watching through her window, and you knew you had no choice but to let him in before her nosey ass called the cops on the strange, clearly out of place man lurking in the neighborhood.

He followed your eyes, looking over his shoulder to the nosy neighbor, his expression darkening. Without another word, he pushed past you, entering the house and forcing you to step back.

Your jaw clenched at his blatant disregard or respect for your wishes as you gently closed the door behind you. Moonshine barked, baring his teeth at the intruder, clearly sensing the tension and jumping into action to protect his family. "Moonshine, stop," you told him firmly. You were proud of him, but you didn't want his barking to wake Rhiannon. The last thing you could deal with right now was Rafe and a crying toddler. You could only focus on one temper tantrum at a time.

Rafe's eyes narrowed as he watched you control your dog, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His gaze then swept the interior of your home, taking in every detail as if memorizing it. "Nice place," he commented flatly, turning back to face you. "Where's my kid?"

You took a deep breath, your gaze hard at him calling your daughter his kid, like he had any right. He didn't even know her name or that she was a girl. "She's asleep," you told him, crossing your arms over your chest.

His piercing eyes bore into yours, unyielding. "Her name." he demanded gruffly.

"Rhiannon," you informed him hesitantly, your gaze darting to the monitor on the coffee table, making sure she was still asleep.

His expression flickered briefly, a flash of something softer, almost vulnerable, in his eyes before it was quickly concealed. He nodded once. "I want to see her." It wasn't a request. His posture remained tense and coiled, ready to react to your response.

You huffed, running a hand through your hair and heading to the kitchen with him hot on your heels. Maybe you wanted to busy yourself. Maybe you wanted an excuse not to have to look at him. Maybe you just wanted to walk away from him, to assert some kind of power. Either way, your next words were spoken with your back to him. "I told you. She's asleep. It's the middle of the fucking night, Rafe, what did you expect?"

He followed you into the kitchen, his presence overwhelming in the small space. The air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. "I don't give a fuck what time it is," he growled, his voice low and intense. "I've missed four years of her life already."

You rounded the kitchen island, planting your hands on it as you turned to face him, feeling more comfortable with the counter between you. Not because you were scared of him but because, despite yourself and despite your anger, you longed to touch him and have him touch you. "And whose fucking fault is that, huh?" You asked angrily, echoing your earlier words that he had ignored.

Rafe's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he stared back at you. The muscle in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth together, trying to rein in his anger. "Yours," he bit out. "You left me in there," he accused.

"You left me out here!" Your voice raised slightly before you caught yourself, letting out a hard breath. The only way you could keep yourself from getting sad, from crying over the loss of the only man you'd ever truly loved, was getting angry at him.

"You think I wanted to go to prison?" He hissed, rounding the island and backing you against the counter. "You think I had a fucking choice?"

"You did have a choice," you said sharply, bracing your hands on the counter behind you as you stared up at him. "You chose to deal drugs, and you chose to keep dealing even after you found out I was pregnant. Prison was just the consequence of all your shitty choices."

His hand came up, slamming on the cabinet beside your head, the sound making you jump slightly. "And what about you?" He seethed, his chest heaving as his breath came in short, angry bursts. "What about your choices, huh? You could've waited for me."

"I did what I had to do," you said, glaring at him. You weren't quite sure what else to say. You had to protect yourself, your own feelings, and your child. You couldn't have stayed in touch, sick with worry every night while you soothed a colicky baby all by yourself. You had to forget him; it was better that way, easier.

"What you had to do," he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm and the faintest hint of hurt. "You moved on pretty quick, didn't you? Found some new dick to warm your bed, is that it?"

"Fuck you," you spat, the words stabbing you like a knife to the heart. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to even look at another man since he went away. You told yourself it was just because of Rhiannon, that you were focusing on raising her and being the best mother you could be, but deep down, you knew it was because your heart would always belong to Rafe.

"Is that it?" he repeated, his face inches from yours. His voice was low, his eyes searching yours for something. "You found some other man to replace me?"

"Maybe I have," you said stubbornly. You knew you were being petty, wanting him to hurt like you hurt, but you also knew you were a shit liar, so there was no way in hell he would actually believe you. "Maybe I have moved on."

His other hand shot out, gripping your chin roughly as he forced you to look at him. "Bullshit," he growled, looking down at you, his blue eyes darkened. "I can see it in your eyes. You haven't moved on to shit."

You stared up at him defiantly, your chest heaving with anger, which only intensified when you felt the wetness between your thighs. Even after all this time, all it took was a look and a simple touch to get you so wet, and as much as you hated it, you couldn't deny that something about his post-prison appearance—how rugged and large he was—made your knees week.

His hand tightened on your chin as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a brutal, demanding kiss. It was clear he was angry, punishing you for the words you'd spoken, and you knew you should've pushed him away—yelled at him and told him to get the fuck out of your house—but you didn't.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him with an intensity that matched the war going on within you—the jumbled mess of love and hate that he had brought up within you.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your face roughly as he devoured your mouth. He pushed you further back against the counter that was now digging into your lower back, his body pinning you in place. You could feel his anger, his frustration, his desperation, and it only fueled your own emotions.

The kiss was raw and charged with a passionate mix of need, longing, and pure, unbridled anger, both of you trying to show the other that this wasn't a surrender of power or giving into the other and accepting blame. The kiss itself was an argument, a fight all of its own that didn't require words.

He hands went to your hips, lifting you onto the counter and stepping between your parted legs. Tearing his mouth from yours, he began kissing along your jawline and down the column of your throat. His lips were hot and insistent, his teeth nipping at your skin as he continued to mark you.

You panted, your chest heaving for an entirely different reason now as you let out soft gasps and breathy sounds of approval, your head falling back against the cabinet behind your head. You had forgotten how good he was with his mouth, always knowing exactly how to drive you wild.

He took advantage of the exposed column of your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the counter. You let out a low moan, your nails raking against his buzzed scalp. As sexy as he looked with a buzzcut, you wished you could run your fingers through his hair, tugging on it slightly everytime he touched you just right.

"Mmm," he hummed against your skin, his voice a low vibration that seemed to go straight to your core. He kissed his way back up to your mouth, his hips pushing forward to press his hardness against your core. "Did you forget how good I am, baby?"

You internally rolled your eyes at his cocky tone, like he had won. "God, do you ever shut up?" You asked, sounding less annoyed and effective since you were still breathless from his kisses.

His hips thrust forward again, making an involuntary whine fall from your lips at the feeling. "Not when I'm right." He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His smirk was as frustratingly handsome as it had always been, and it made you want to smack him and kiss him all at once. "And I am."

"Don't be a dickhead," you glared at him, his arrogance and your own unyielding need for him only heightening your frustration. You were desperate and aching for him, but you refused to give in and beg him like you wanted to.

"Then quit acting like you're not soaking wet for me." His grip on your thighs tightened, calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh. "I bet if I slipped my hand into your shorts, I'd find you drenched and ready for me, wouldn't I?"

His smug tone infuriated you and turned you on all at once. "Shut up, Rafe," you demanded, balling your fist into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer, so you could press your lips to his, forcing him to shut up and quit pissing you off.

Your grip on his shirt loosened, hand sliding down his hard, muscular chest to his waistband. You had always seen the trope of guys working out their frustrations in prison movies, but you didn't know that was actually a thing. Your fingers fumbled with his belt as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, sliding it along yours in a way that had you moaning against his lips

He groaned low in his throat as you finally worked the belt buckle open, sliding the leather through the loops and dropping it to the floor with a clank. His hands immediately slid up your thighs, hooking into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your legs—with the help of you awkwardly shifting to lift your ass enough to do so.

He discarded the garments to the floor with his belt, his palms running along your bare thighs as he parted your legs wider, opening you to him. His calloused fingertips brushed against your center, feeling your slick folds, making you gasp into his mouth. "Told you," he grinned against your lips, finding it in himself to be a complete dick, even when he was about to be inside you.

"Asshole," you mumbled, fingers deftly popping open the button of his jeans and unzipping them. You hooked your fingers in his waistband, shoving his pants and underwear down as he had done to you.

He kicked his pants and boxers off the rest of the way, stepping between your thighs again. His hard cock was flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He gripped himself at the base, rubbing the head through your slick folds teasingly. "What was that, baby?"

Your breath caught in your throat. "Just put your dick inside me before I kill you," you threatened him, though you both knew you wouldn't do anything, not really.

He chuckled lowly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You want it so bad, don't you?" He teased, his tip nudging against your entrance but not pushing inside. "Beg for it, baby. Let me hear how much you need my cock." He didn't need to be angry when he could punish you like this. He knew begging was the last thing you wanted to do, but he also knew that you'd do it.

"Don't piss me off right now, Rafe," you gritted your teeth, the feeling of him against your entrance making you dizzy with desire.

"Or what, baby? You'll what?" He pressed against you again, the tip of his cock pushing inside just slightly before pulling back out. "Tell me what you'll do if I don't give you what you want." He was pushing your buttons, knowing exactly how to make you snap.

You practically whimpered at the feeling of him pulling out. "Fuck- fine, please, Rafe," you panted, furious with yourself and him that you were giving into him. "Please just fuck me already."

The confident, victorious smirk that instantly appeared on his face had you wanting to slap him. "Now was that so hard?" He condescend. Your annoyed retort died in your throat as he finally pushed into you, making you moan, your head falling back against the cupboard at the feeling of him inside you after so long.

He groaned as your tight heat enveloped him, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise as he started to move. His body tensed, using every ounce of his self control not to cum on the spot. Four years of fucking himself in his hand was nothing compared to the way you were squeezing him right now.

One hand moved up to your mouth, muffling your growing moans and whines. "Shh," he cooed. You were thankful for it. You knew you had to be quiet, but the way he was pounding into you made it nearly impossible.

"Did you miss me, baby?" He leaned down, breathing hotly against your neck as he nipped at your throat. "Did you lay awake at night thinking about me stretching you like this?" He flexed his hips, driving deep inside you.

You nodded, letting out a muffled "mhm" against his palm as your back arched into him. He felt so good, better than you'd remembered, and you hadn't had sex in four years, so you were so worked up.

"Good," he purred, his teeth scraping against your skin as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. "Because I missed you too, baby. Missed this tight little cunt wrapped around my dick." The hand on your thigh dipped down between your legs, his calloused thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

You gasped against his palm, your eyes rolling back at the mix of sensations. You were already so pathetically close, feeling that familiar aching deep within you.

He could feel your weepy cunt starting to flutter around him, and he was more than glad that you were so close so quickly because he didn't know how much longer he could hold back. "Gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy, baby. Gonna get you pregnant again, and this time I'm not gonna miss a damn thing"

His words turned you on more than they should have, snapping that coil inside you and sending you over the edge. You tensed around his dick, feeling your orgasm wash over you as you cried out his name.

"Shit, baby," he groaned, burying his face into your neck, his facial hair tickling your skin as he pushed himself deep inside you, painting your insides white with his release. His breath was hot against your already heated skin, a thin layer of sweat coating both your bodies as he slowly softened inside you.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to catch your breath, his hand falling from your mouth to brace himself on the counter. You couldn't believe that after all these years of promising yourself you wouldn't let him back into your life, you had so easily opened your legs and even let him cum inside you—because clearly that worked out so well for you last time.

He stayed buried inside you for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of finally being home where he belonged. He eventually pulled out, his softening dick slipping from your tender cunt.

You had to tell him that he couldn't stay, that it would confuse Rhiannon to wake up to a strange man in the house, but you didn't know how, not after what just happened.

He stepped back, allowing you to get down from the counter. A silence fell over both of you as you got dressed, neither one knowing what happens now. He finished buttoning up his jeans, his eyes flicking up to you as he ran a hand over his buzzed head. "So... what now?" He asked gruffly, breaking the silence.

"You can't- you have to go," you told him, pulling your shorts back up and crossing your arms. It seemed unfair to say such a thing after sharing such an intimate moment, but you needed to think of your daughter. She didn't even know who Rafe was.

"You're kicking me out?" He echoed, as if he couldn't believe it. "After... that?" He gestured vaguely, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, both of you finding yourselves right back where you started. "You cant just... be here. Rhiannon doesn't even know who you are." The words seemed cruel as soon as they left your lips, but they were true. You wished they weren't, but they were.

"I know. Fuck, I know that. Don't you think I know that?" He was frustrated, your words like a slap to the face. "But goddamn it, I want to know her. I want to be a part of her life."

"I'm not saying you can't be, but... she's four, Rafe. She's old enough that you can't just walk in and call yourself her father," you told him firmly. "It's going to take time. I don't want to overwhelm her."

"Time?" He asked incredulously. Deep down, he knew you were right, that you were doing what was best, but he was so angry at himself, and instead of facing that anger and acknowledging that this was his own doing, he was taking it out on you. "I've already missed four fucking years. First steps, first words, first everythings."

"I can't keep going in circles with you, Rafe," you ran your hand through your hair, utterly exhausted. "You do this my way, or you don't do this at all." It hurt you to be so cold. You wanted Rhiannon to know her father, but she was just a kid. She wouldn't understand why her dad just showed up out of the blue, and you didn't know how to explain it to her.

He stared at you, his face unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, he spoke, his voice low. "Alright. Fine. Your way. But you better not shut me out again. I'm not gonna miss anymore. Understand?"

You nodded, thankful that he was going to stop fighting you on this. "Do you have a-a number or something?" You asked, unsure how long he'd been out, if he got his phone back and was able to pay the bill or if he bought a burner. You didn't even know where he was staying.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's the same as my old one," he said gruffly, clearly annoyed by your previous ultimatum.

"Right, okay," you nodded, your fingers drumming against your upper arm. You two stood in silence for a long moment. Rafe didn't want to leave, and you didn't want to tell him to.

Rafe's gaze fell to the floor, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "Can I see her before I go?" He asked softly. "Just... just to see her."

There was a shift in his demeanor, a vulnerability about him that told you he really did care about Rhiannon, even if he'd never met her. "Yeah," you found yourself nodding, turning to lead him to her room. As you entered the living room, you could've sworn Moonshine was giving a disapproving side eye. "Don't judge me," you mumbled.

He followed you down the hallway, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He paused in the doorway of Rhiannon's room, looking in on her sleeping form. She was curled up on her side in a princess toddler bed, her little arms wrapped around a stuffed cat. Rafe's expression softened as he took her in.

His eyes swept over the room, the nightlight plugged into the wall illuminating the space. The walls were painted a light shade of pink, toys strewn about. A small bookshelf sat tucked in the corner, various children's books inside, some sitting on the floor in front of it.

He stepped into the room, moving closer to the bed. He crouched down, his eyes fixed on Rhiannon's sleeping face as he reached out, his large hand gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "She's so little," he murmured softly, almost reverently.

You leaned on the doorway, a small, sad smile pulling at your lips as you watched the exchange. You found yourself wondering what life would have been like if Rafe never got locked up, your heart aching as you thought about sharing all of Rhiannon's firsts with someone, bickering over whether she would've said mommy or daddy first. The wobbly first steps, the soothing and band-aid applications after she scraped her knees. What would it have been like to share those moments with him?

Rafe's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "She's beautiful." He turned his head to look at you, and you saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He blinked it away quickly, clearing his throat as he stood, masking his emotions as he always had. "I should go."

You hesitated, for a moment wanting to throw everything you'd said out the window and tell him to stay, but you knew you couldn't. You just nodded, letting him push past you. You didn't move from your spot, even after you heard the front door open and shut. You simply closed your eyes, leaning your head against the doorframe as a few tears rolled down your cheeks.

[rafesangelita]

♡ rafe and pogue!sweetheart!reader reevaluate their living situation now that she’s carrying a little baby in her tummy.

warnings: babydaddy!rafe, pregnancy, soooo much fluff, crying (mostly happy tears! no worries), rafe is so reassuring :(

a/n: introducing rafe’s condo to my blog.. but tanneyhill will forever be my go-to :( also just a reminder: pogue!sweetheart!reader is only pregnant in this fic alone. meaning any other works i create with her are not correlated with this one UNLESS stated so <3 you could keep up with this little universe under the second tag of this post: ‘₊˚⊹♡ pogue!sweetheart!reader & babydaddy!rafe’

“why do you look so sad, baby?” rafe joined you outside, bringing you a cold glass of water as he urged you to sit down on his lap. you were growing teary-eyed again, your gaze falling on the pink and white camper in front of you. taking a small sip, rafe held onto the glass for you while you wiped at your tear stained cheeks. “it’s just,” you sniffled, “i know we can’t raise a baby here, but this little thing— it’s all i’ve ever known..” you rested your head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh. rafe studied you for a moment, stroking the side of your face.

“i’ve been meaning to talk about that actually,” rafe cleared his throat, “what if we didn’t go house hunting?” his words drew your attention, a hum falling from your lips. “and stay here? i would love that,” you shook your head, “but i know it’s for the best. we barely fit in there ourselves.” rafe laughed. “yeah, i know.. someone is always bumping their head when we have sex.” your cheeks heated as you slapped his arm playfully. “well to be fair, it was just me in there before you came along,” you sighed, “i can’t even imagine that now.” you pecked his cheek.

“at first, i thought maybe we could check out some houses on figure eight..” your eyes widened, your lips parting to reject his suggestion. “but,” rafe interjected, “i know that’s not really your scene.” he reassured you. “so i want to propose something else,” both of you looked at each other, “i’ve been working on this blueprint, m’thinking we just get our house built out here. you could design the kitchen however you want, whatever would be best for you and your baking, we can put the nursery together, do the whole thing y’know. go the whole nine yards.” you swallowed thickly, tears pricking your eyes.

“you have a blueprint?” you smiled, your vision becoming blurry as rafe nodded. “yeah, you wanna see?” you whispered a ‘yes, please!’ before he guided you inside. he reached for a spot you couldn’t reach in your cabinet, unraveling the blueprint in question. “see, right here? i thought you’d like the kitchen to have big window facing the backyard, oh, and right here!” he pointed a finger, “we could have shelves built into the walls for the baby’s room, we could even have a reading nook for bedtime stories..” your heart felt so full right now, you swore it could burst at the seams.

“what’s this empty space right here in the backyard?” you held up the paper, pointing to a spot where a little white heart was drawn. “..that would be where your camper goes.” your head shot in his direction, your eyebrows knitting in confusion. “what do you mean?” you put the blueprint down, turning around while he caged you between his arms. “i think we should build the house just right out front, you don’t have to move anything, relocate the camper, none of that. i could start getting the brush cleared out as soon as next week.” you blinked, your brain trying its best to piece everything together.

“you thought of all of this in the two weeks since we found out?” your hands snaked up his chest until your arms wrapped around his neck. rafe embraced you, his eyes shutting at the sweet scent of your perfume. “i told you, you have nothing to worry about, sweetheart. i’m taking care of everything.” you breathed him in, both of you rocking softly as the wind chimes sung outside in the light breeze. you two stayed in a comfortable silence, the image of watching the sunset together on the porch of your own house with a baby on your hip flooded both of your minds.

“it’s perfect.” you looked up at him, smiling when he pecked the tip of your nose. “the three of us, huh?” rafe loved the way that sounded rolling off of his tongue. “mhmm,” you let out a shaky breath, “the three of us.”

[princessbrunette]

In need fathers day with baby daddy rafe, pretty pretty please princess 💕

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you always felt nervous going to tannyhill. not that you felt unwelcome, everyone in his life made it clear that rafe’s baby was of utmost importance to them — so with that came the kind and supportive treatment toward you. however, you couldn’t help but feel like a burden. if rafe wanted to be around you and his kid 24/7, he would do so — hell, he’d get back with you. due to feeling like this, your palms were all sweaty by the time you’d reached the front door, card tucked under you and baby carrier weighing down your arm.

he looks surprised to see you when he opens the door. still in his shirt and slacks, it’s clear to you that rafe had buried himself in work today. it only then occurs to you that father’s day might be difficult for him, giving his circumstances at all. you inwardly wince.

“uh, hey.” he eyes you, itching his cheek and peering into the baby carrier.

you clear your throat, bashfully holding out the card. he takes it in silence and you place the carrier down, picking up your sleepy baby and holding her to your chest. “happy father’s day, daddy.” you smile, voice soft as to not disturb your child too much. he softens a little, blinking.

“that today?” he breathes and you stiffen a little. surely he knew?

“uh, yeah. we got you a card, wanted to let you spend some time with her today if you’re not too busy.”

“if i’m not too— listen i’m never too busy to see my kid okay? or you. i’m— i’m never too busy to… see my family… and stuff.” it’s awkward, the sentiment too soft for his liking and he looks down, staring at the sweet, milk-plumped angel in your arms. “let me…” he reaches out and takes her, her fat little fists immediately stretching for him and curling into the material of his shirt making your heart swell. he was always oddly a natural at this, handling her so well. it always filled you with a strange kind of sadness, one that regressed you slightly to something more scolded and childlike because your own father hadn’t offered you that same generosity. yet, you were thrilled your baby would receive that love even if you weren’t together with her father.

“come in, please.” he stands aside, holding the door for you before picking up the carrier in his other hand— effortlessly walking it with the baby to the living room. “you walked here?” he converses, setting the carrier down and placing the baby back inside, crouching down to stroke her tummy with the side of his finger.

“took the bus. no way im walking with that heavy thing.” you chuckle quietly and he swivels his head to glance at you.

“should’ve told me you were coming i would have got you. y’know i really don’t like you getting on the bus with her, it’s not safe alright, there’s all kinds of lunatics out there.”

“we survived.” you shrug, and there’s a short silence before he stands up, reaching for the card and opening it up. you fiddle with the hem of your dress awkwardly. you never quite knew what to do around rafe these days.

you watch as he reads the contents. ‘to daddy, thanks for being the best and always looking after me. can’t wait to be able to tell you myself how much i love you.’ you sign it off as your daughter, but his eyes linger over it, your sweet handwriting scrawled around the brightly coloured paper — almost for a moment like you were saying it yourself.

“and before you ask, yes she said all of that herself.” you joke to ease the tension and he snaps out of it, looking up at you with a chuckle.

“our little wordsmith, huh?” he smirks, wandering over to the mantelpiece and displaying the card. it filled you with some kind of pride, though it wasn’t about you. “look uh…” he strokes his jaw, glancing over at the baby. “let me take you both out for dinner, yeah? my treat.”

“your treat? rafe its father’s day, we’re supposed to be treating you—”

“i know, alright but… i’m supposed to be looking after you, right? looking… looking after you both.” he corrects himself, walking closer to you until he was basically looming over you, eyes wide. “and— and i know this is a hard day for you too, alright��� shit, it’s a hard day for me. gotta bond as a family at some point, you know that right?”

you nod, feeling a weight off your shoulders a little at the way the tension fizzles out.

“you sure? i don’t wanna take up your time—”

your incessant apologising makes his eyes flutter in irritation and he takes your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look at him as he ducks his neck down to be more at your level.

“you’re not… yeah? you’re not. so quit.”

you blink all dumb, not realising how badly you missed his hands on you even if it was just as an innocent gesture and you nod, not trusting your voice. you try not to overthink the way he leaves his hands there for a moment as he glances over at your baby, thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheekbone for a second before pulling away and patting his pockets. “has she slept?”

your brain malfunctions so it takes you a second, but soon you choke out a “y—yeah. had her afternoon nap she’s just still waking up.”

“good. i know somewhere quiet, got a host there who owes me a favour.” he strides to the carrier and lifts it before turning back towards you, blinking at you obviously. “well are you coming or— or what?”

“yeah. yes. i’m coming.”

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[nemesyaaa]

sweet babyface // toxic!bbydaddy!rafe x reader

summary ; rafe was decided to make your little one, a kook princess. and if it means to spend a million of dollars on a diamond swarovski tiara just to see it on the head of his daughter, you can be sure he's gonna do it.

warnings ; basically fluff but i would add +18 bc of a little bit of suggestive content but not real smut. mention of breeding kink. kind of toxic relationship. a bit of stalking. financial dependence. be aware of the warnings.

author's note ; i just wanted to mention @princessbrunette for the bbydaddy!rafe verse. you can check it on her account <3

even if you tried every time to keep him away, push him away, avoid him or chase him, rafe always came back. you could be cold, distant, suspicious and even cruel, he didn't care. by the way, he was better than you at that game anyway? it wasn’t for nothing that you always lost trying to fight him. he was winning while you were just exhausting yourself out. sometimes you wonder why you let him into your life, why you thought it would be a good idea to have a baby with him when everyone on the island told you he was unstable and uncontrollable. some even laughed at your situation, saying it was like giving something to the devil and hoping he doesn't use it against you.

you couldn't say rafe was a bad father. your daughter had always been outrageously spoiled. he always gave her the biggest and greatest gifts. nothing was ever good enough for his princess. he always thought big when it came to his baby. even if you were a pogue, he wanted to raise her as a fucking kook.

and sometimes you wondered if he did all this out of pure fatherly love or out of narcissism or ego.even if you hated him so much, he absolutely needed to make sure your child was on his side. every time he was there, it was like you no longer existed. the house was full of "dad," "daddy, “ or “ papa, " and babbling and laughing. it was always his name, she never called you. and you always felt a pang in your heart every time he grabbed her in his big veiny arms, making her the happiest little girl before taking her away from you to go on some weekly trips.

even when he was not at home, it was always with the toys he gave her that she played, the dresses he gave her that she wore, the hairstyles that he validated by facetime that she asked you to make, the meals he delivered that she wanted to eat. she was truly daddy’s girl. even in her facial features.

so no matter how much you tried to ignore him, he was still there somehow . through the demands of your daughter, the hundreds of deliveries a day to your door, the objects in this house and even its walls because he was obviously the one who paid for it.

you didn't need to work. you had access to all his cards. at first you spent tons of money on unnecessary expenses hoping it would drive him crazy but the next day you saw that even more money had been added to the bank account.

but rafe cameron didn't give you access to his banking data out of pure kindness and affection alone. he was also looking for a way to control you, and stay in your life. then, with that, he could also stalk you and do inappropriate things like when you bought lingerie and he received the bill. he couldn't stop himself from sending you a message. “don't want to see me, but you dress yourself like you want me to give you a second baby ;) ”

the only rule was that you were forbidden from going to see another man and even less from inviting him to the house. he manipulated you by saying it was for your daughter's mental balance but it was purely out of jealousy. and you knew it very well. you weren't the stupid naive girl he had gaslighted in the past and who he could lie to so easily anymore.

one day, you were giving your kid the extremely expensive cupcakes rafe had bought for her breakfast, trying not to comment on the ridiculousness of the prices but especially the situation, and there was a knock at the door. when you saw through the blinder that it was him, you stepped back discreetly, swallowing hard to not clench. your heart was beating fast in your ribcage as you were trying to silence your stepfoots.

“I know you're here.” you had heard his loud firm raspy voice through the door. “baby, i can hear you breathing and backing up from here. come on, i thought we both get over the time i scared you. ”

he continued to knock on the door until your old neighbor called you claiming that a crazy madman was in front of your house and didn't want to leave.

you had been forced to open up to him which made you even angrier.

but that didn’t stop him from smiling at you, the insatiable white colgate smile. his clean and fresh mullet was long enough that hair brushed the back of his neck. he was wearing one of his perfect black suits with the sleeves rolled up to show a glimpse of his nice shirt. a Rolex was tight around his veiny wrist, and the same rings he always wore were wrapped around his fingers.

he had his ear pierced recently with your daughter. you had been against it, but she still wanted to do like her father so you had no authority over the sweet monster. but you had to admit that the jewelry suited them both so well. especially on rafe, you couldn't help but think about kissing his ear, but especially biting his earlobe while caressing the silver piercing until it's wet and rolling against your tongue. all this perhaps while thinking of having a baby again.

“I should be allowed to come here whenever I want. " he had sworn under his breath, staring at you with his evil blue eyes.

“tell me what you have to say or I’ll call the police.” you replied shortly.

"I want to see my girl. I mean, the one who likes to call me daddy. "

“It’s not funny and she doesn’t want to…”

you hadn't had time to finish speaking before your babyface's little footsteps were running on the floor to come into the hall.

“daddy! " she exclaimed before being carried off the ground to snuggle into her father's strong arms, her little frame being hidden by the size of his biceps.

“that's my little girl.” he welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek, making her chuckle.

"I missed you! please, stay !" your kid had asked with bubbly face and pleading eyes, her childish pout so irresistible to say no.

“of course, I’m staying.”

“raf…” you started but he ignored you, walking in the house without your permission into the living room.

“I have something for you, peaches. ”

he took a present out of his bag and you rolled your eyes. you already knew it was going to be something crazy like the giant dollhouse he built in her bedroom, or the huge dinette in the playroom, or a scary tall comfort teddy bear that she couldn't even carry in her tiny hands. sometimes you wondered what he could offer to her because she already had everything. he had literally built her a heaven.

your daughter's eyes widened in surprise, while a smile floated across her lips in excitement. she opened the gift and took out a silver tiara set with diamonds and stunning crystals signed by Swarovski.

“she’s a baby, rafe…” you commented.

"no, she's a princess. " he corrected you and fixed your little one's hair before putting the tiara on her head, and placing a smack on her forehead. “ don't you see that kook babyface ? ”

she giggled before wrapping her hands around his neck to thank him.

“we need to talk.” you said.

"later. i have a princess to honor for now."

you wanted to fight back and kill him but you couldn't resist your daughter's face. she was happy to be with her father. and you knew it was important for girls to establish a strong bond with their father. and there was this bright spark that shone in her eyes every time she saw him that made you melt.

so you let him stay at home. he stayed with her all day. she managed to make him do whatever she wanted, and that's how he found himself playing with dolls, watching the princess and the frog, doing karaoke to barbie songs, serving as a client for a makeup session, and judging all of her princess dresses while she was making him a haul.

No matter how angry you were that he showed up like that and decided to stay, you couldn't deny the fact that he was damn good, that in the moment, you couldn't find any reason not to like him, even when he caught you spying on them and sent you a smirk to remember that you had no control.

you had decided to do some cleaning, to leave them both for a bit until the end of the day. after a long moment, rafe decided to leave her alone for a bit.

you were downstairs, and you were making food. he raised an eyebrow when he saw you. “don’t forget me.”

“no I’m sorry, I’m cooking for two and you’re not included in it.”

“I was included in this pussy to make you a baby so you can include me in this meal for one night, baby. ‘s nothing. ” he shouted back, chewing some gum arrogantly.

“don’t be trashy.”

"you used to like this..." he carefully said, because he knew he was treading on sensitive ground.

he stood in front of you, picking a taste of the ranch sauce from the bowl before putting it in his mouth. you watched him do it, glaring at the smile on his so fucking evil lickable lips.

“ taste's good. ”

“I want you to leave. “

"We should ask every part of your body if they're okay with this. Maybe it would put you back into your place to feel betrayed by your own self. "

“You’re not good for her.” you confessed.

“I am her father. And from what i know, she's very happy with me. You're the one to have a problem with my presence here. ”

"Please, leave the house. I don't want to call the police."

“exactly, baby.” he moved to stand behind you, rearranging a strand of your hair, his breath hot on the back of your neck. “you don’t want to do it. And you're not forced to do it…” he caressed your hand, slowly putting the knife away from your fingers.

“Step back.”

"I want to stay here tonight. Just this night. She really wants me to stay and would it be cruel to make her sad? You don't want to be the villain, right ? "

“don’t try to manipulate me.”

" mmh, just telling the truth and it makes you mad. you can hate me if you want but she needs me. i'm her dad and you know if I wanted to, I could make her come with me but I love seeing you together. you're a great mom.”

"you will sleep on the couch. and that is non-negotiable. you don't try anything with me, is that okay?"

“Come on, we can sleep together. We are mature and consenting adults.” he replied. "There's nothing I haven't seen before, baby. I know all that lingerie as well as that body hidden behind it."

“about that, stop stalking my bills.”

"Mine , baby. you mean, my bills. these are my cards that you use for your pleasures so I have the right to have an eye on them. even more so when I receive bills for sex toys. you should call me instead of handling it? yourself.”

"After trying them, I'm not sure that you're big enough now. “

jesus, you knew how to provoke him and it worked. he had sniffed the air loudly, trying to contain himself because honestly, he only wanted one thing at the moment, a strong urge that was to fuck you dirty on that counter until he was sure to see your hole tearing to death and dripping to get his cock in. jesus, yeah, he would give anything to see you grimace because it will never fit in but prove you wrong by giving you a second baby.

his jaw was tense and his nostrils were flared. he was forced to clench his fist to avoid touching you. " the day when your babygirl will want a little sister or brother, you better be begging on all fours on my fucking doorstep to convince me to give you another baby. so better to start now and stretch that hole very hard before it's happening because i'm gonna make sure to be breeding you enough to change your whole dna. ”

“ aren't you tired of thr…”

“mom, dad, what are you talking about?” the little girl burst into the kitchen, still with her tiara on her head. a smile appeared when she saw that her dad was still there. because it was rare for him to stay that late.

you warned rafe with your eyes, slashing violently at pieces of vegetables with the knife back in your hand.

“ we were thinking that i could stay tonight. what's your thoughts on this, little one ? want daddy to stay ? ”

“ yes ! i don't want you to leave. stay foreveeeer with me. ”

“ but you know, he can't. he's a businessman. ” you replied.

“ what do you mean, baby ? my only business is right here. ”

” Rafe. ” you said.

“ Baby ? ” he replied with a cocky smile. “ Why don't you tell us what you're cooking ? Seems delicious. Maybe we could get a taste. ”

“ Sweetie, can you go to your room for a second ? I need to talk with your dad. It's not gonna be long. ”

She pouted but agreed after Rafe promised her something if she was listening to her mom.

“you know you can’t stay. "

"All I know is that there is my name in the papers of this house, on your bills, and even on your documents. If I can't stay, you can't escape. So what's better ? ”

[sturnmeovr]

♡‧₊˚ Video Clips of Sweethearts Pregnancy - First Trimester

♡ 'who said Pepsi kills sperm?' - video length: 33 seconds

Chris holds his phone in his hand, looking into the camera as he brings a half empty Pepsi can up to his mouth, taking a long swig before double tapping his screen. The camera switches, revealing Sweethearts small figure leaning against the bathroom counter, three positive pregnancy tests placed on the counter next her. Chris smiles bright, zooming in on the pregnancy tests, and panning the camera to the mirror as he wraps an arm around her waist. He pulls her into his embrace, pressing a light kiss to her temple before ending the video. Chris makes sure to type the caption, 'who said Pepsi kills sperm??', saving the video to his camera roll, and shoving his phone into his pocket.

♡ 'yikes' - video length: 12 seconds

Chris stands in the doorway of the bathroom, running a hand thru his hair as he looks into the camera. Gut wrenching gags fill the room as Sweetheart empties the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Morning sickness was kicking her ass, and the baby didn't agree with anything she choose to eat, whether she craved it or not. Chris double taps the screen, pointing the camera in her direction before quickly double tapping it again to show his face, he plasters a sarcastic smile on lips and mouths the words, "yikes," before ending the video.

♡ 'Baby bean🧡' - video length: 47 seconds

Chris focuses the camera on Sweethearts belly, the ultrasound technician moves the camera probe across her small bump, spreading the cold gel as she keeps her eyes glued to the screen. Chris pans the camera up to Sweethearts face, she gives him a nervous smile before he redirects the camera to the ultrasound screen. A staticky heartbeat sounds thru the speaker, making a light gasp leave both of their lips in unison as the black and white blurs become easier to piece together. The ultrasound tech chuckles, "very active one we have here," she coos, clicking a few buttons to capture the right image. Once the recording is over, Chris captions it 'Baby bean🧡" and sends it to family and close friends.

♡ 'Dr. Sturniolo' - video length: 18 seconds

Sweetheart lies reclined back in a hospital bed, pointing her phone at the closed privacy curtain, she's trying her best to hold back her giggles. Chris pulls the curtain back, revealing himself dressed in a white lab coat, letting her laughter break free. He steps goofily to her bedside, snapping his blue latex gloves against his wrist before placing a hand on her knee and dramatically trying to pry open her legs, "c'mon, baby," he coos, laughter seeping thru the crack of his words, "open them legs and let Dr. Sturniolo take a look." His face fills the frame, a playful smile sown into his lips as he wiggles his eyebrows at her before she ends the video.

♡ 'who tf told her that? 😭😭' - video length: 14 seconds

Chris records the floor, his bare feet echoing off the hardwood as he pushes his bedroom door open. There she was - wearing nothing but one of his Lets Trip hoodies and her panties as she hung upside down off his bed, her face beat red from all the blood rushing to her brain, and her growing bump protruding out of his hoodie she had on, "the hell are you doing kid?" he chuckles, raised brows and a suggestive smirk on his face. Sweetheart looks at him with a sour expression before propping herself upright, "I heard that hanging upside down stops nausea." Chris gives her a funny look, ending the video, and typing 'who tf told her that? 😭😭' across the screen as a caption.

♡ 'my babymomma 🥵' - video length: 12 Seconds

A blanket draped over her shoulders as she sleepily stumbles into Matts room, leaning against the door frame, "are you coming?" Sweetheart whines at Chris who was sprawled out on his brother's bed, his phone pointed towards her with a bright smile on his face, "y'look good, baby." Once she realizes he's recording her, she covers her face with the blanket she's cocooned in, "Chris st-," the video comes to an abrupt end before she can get the words out. The captions reads: "my babymomma 🥵'

♡ 'reason 193793 why I love her' - video length: 7 seconds

"No way that's happening," Chris eggs Sweetheart on, his dirty thoughts running rampant in his mind. Sweetheart was naive, not thinking anything of his sexual innuendos. She eases the glazed donut into her mouth, only taking notice of her babydaddy's suggestive smirk and raised eyebrows after she succeeds her mission. Muffling out a, "hey!" at the end. This one of Chris' favorite videos of Sweetheart, it shows her goofy side which he absolutely adores since she's usually shy around most people.

♡ 'thank the lord!' - video length: 38 seconds

Chris pushes the box of Mcdonalds nuggets across the kitchen island, giving Sweetheart uneasy look as he focuses the camera on her. She looked drained; like Bella Swan when she was pregnant with Renesmae, she felt like it too. Sweetheart bravely opens the box of nuggets, pulling one out, and taking a small bite. She didn't care if it sent her running to the toilet, the baby growing inside her said her body needed food now. Surprisingly, the chicken nuggets didn't taste disgusting, "sweet n sour?" she croaks out, somewhat relived that baby Bean was finally a agreeing with something she ate. Chris slides her a sauce cup, Sweetheart dips her nugget before taking another bite. She looks up, giving Chris a nod of approval, seconds later he thrusts a fist into air, "thank the lord!" He felt accomplished - having suggested the nuggets to Sweetheart, rushing to McDonalds, and waiting twenty minutes in line for them.

♡ 'GYATT DAMNNN' - video length: 4 seconds

A short clip of Chris recording Sweethearts as she pushes a shopping cart thru target, zooming in on her ass as she walked down the baby clothes aisle. Chris admired what pregnancy did to her body, adding weight to all the right places. Her skin glowed and boobs sat on top of her bump so perfectly, but her ass was his favorite part. He’d give her ten babies if her ass looked like that every time she was pregnant. He captions the video, "GYATT DAMNNN' and saves it to his 'my eyes only' on snapchat.

♡ 'tbh my biggest flex is nutting in her' - video length: 11 seconds

The clips starts with Sweetheart lying in bed, her glasses pushed to her nose with Cheez-its scattered over her barely noticeable belly bump. She takes a sip from her pink stanley cup, plucking one of the squared orange crackers to plop in her mouth, making Chris beam from behind the camera. He loved her so much. Chris marks the caption, 'tbh my biggest flex is nutting in her,' and sends it to all of his close circle, including poor Mary Lou.

♡‧₊˚ Cheys Note - I want to give credits to @kiemiu & @phone4pills for the video clips idea bc their posts were literal perfection and inspired me so much to do this! 😍 I absolutely loovvee the idea of this and may do something else like this in the future if everyone likes it! <3

Babydaddy!Chris Masterlist

Masterlist

Taglist (comment to be added)

Send me asks or suggestions about my au's! <3

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

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

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 12k

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

It’s September twenty-third.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time in a year, it –

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

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

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

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

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

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

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

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

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

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

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. They’re half you.

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

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

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

Fuck it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

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

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

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

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

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

Joel’s panicking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

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

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

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

“Am I what, darlin’?”

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

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

Knock knock knock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

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

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

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

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

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

It’s a fucking nightmare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

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

You blink your eyes open.

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

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

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

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

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

But – he’s here. He made it.

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

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

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

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

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

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always watching, always listening.

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

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

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

“I’ll call,” he assures.

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

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

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

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

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

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

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

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

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

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

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

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

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

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

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

Mom.

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

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

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

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

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

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

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

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

You.

Her mom.

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

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

You turn to look up at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You finally fucking get it.

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

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

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

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

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

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

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

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

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

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

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

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

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

“Me, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah.

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

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

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

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

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

More than the whole world, Mama.

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

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

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

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

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

Just for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

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

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

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

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

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

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

“I don’t doubt it.”

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

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

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

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

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

You linger in the living room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

“You mean the three of us?”

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

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

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

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

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

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

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

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

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

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

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

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

He takes another unsteady breath.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” you ask.

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

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

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

He’s hungry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he pushes in.

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

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

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

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

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

You agree, “Tighter.”

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

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

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

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

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

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

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

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

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

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

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

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

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

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

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

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

“Needed a little help, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Made for each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Her, and her little sister.

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

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

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

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

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

[maybejj]

Masterlist

GOSSIP GIRL: Outer Banks

(jj x pogue!reader)

SMAU, 18+ mdni

summary: JJ hard launches your relationship on Instagram after 6 months of dating in secret, for good reason. Now the secrets out and all of Outer Banks knows, including Gossip Girl.

FRACTURED TIES

(jj x kook!reader, rafe x kook!sofia, rafe & kook!reader are best friends)

SMAU, 18+ mdni

summary: By the time Charlotte Langley was 24, she was a proud mom of two sons, Rafe and JJ. While the two boys had different dads, that didn’t stop her from raising them together and teaching them that a blended family could still be a family. The two boys grew up inseparable, always looking out for the other. Life was perfect. But when Rafe turned 7 and JJ was barely 5, Charlotte found out she had a fast growing cancer. The death of the boys’ mother sent the town reeling and what use to be a happy blended family was no more. Ward cut off all contact with the Maybanks and Luke followed suit. Without their mother there to bridge the gap, the brothers grew up resenting the other. Now the two brothers constantly face off in Kildare’s motorbike races, the one thing they still share from their childhood. It’s also starting to piss Rafe off that JJ keeps eyeing his childhood best friend. Two brothers. One island. Here we go.

CRIMINAL LOVE

(rafe cameron x college!reader)

social media au & irl, 18+ mdni

summary: With your last semester of grad school breezing by, you felt like you could sleep through the next couple of months and still graduate at the top of your class. You only had to get through 3 more months until you walked across the stage and rightfully earned your Master in Criminal Justice degree. All your hard work would finally be paid off. Until your professor hits you with one last assignment that will make you question everything. The assignment? Prisoner Penpals from the State of North Carolina Correctional Facility. Your penpal? Rafe Cameron. His sentence? Life without parole. His crime? First degree murder.

The Beginning of Us

(babydaddy!rafe x sweetheart!reader)

summary: You and Rafe were high school sweethearts that continued into college however Rafe went down the wrong path and you found out you were pregnant. 4 years later finds you and Rafe trying to navigate co-parenting your 3 year old son while overcoming life’s obstacles and past experiences.

[itneverendshere]

a circus ain't a love story - baby daddy! rafe.

request: "baby daddy! rafe where reader and rafe are not together and she’s going on dates with men and he’s jealous but not like possessive jealous but like 🤭 jealous?" @zyafics

warnings: cursing; rafe's an asshole but he's just going through it <3; a lil angsty??; lots of tension and pent-up frustration; they just need to fuck it out honestly.

rafe likes to think of himself as a changed man. 

long gone is the reckless impulsive guy that reigned horror in the outer banks. he’s grown now, the man of the family, and a father. he spends his days working hard, providing for his family, and cherishing every moment with his baby girl. 

but when he learns you’ve been seeing other men after your ‘amicable’ breakup, he feels like he’s nineteen and ranging in misplaced anger all over again. younger days, when his temper ruled his actions and consequences were an afterthought.

old insecurities resurface, whispering doubts and fears into his mind.

you’d broken up before, years ago, and it barely lasted a month before both of you caved in. but now? now, you have a baby together, and for some reason, the breakup feels…permanent. 

he thought you just needed a breather from him, a little space to settle your mind after going through all the changes with your pregnancy. maybe he took you for granted, maybe he became too comfortable, too complacent in the belief that your love was unshakeable. and he’s paying for it. 

“where the fuck are you going?”

he knows exactly where you’re going, he’s just a masochist.

rafe’s always been vocal about his thoughts around you, having virtually no filter between his brain and mouth. it’s something you’ve gotten used to after five years in a relationship, the man is nothing if not blunt and crass. but now, it's different.

you’re not a couple anymore. you shouldn't have to put up with his nagging bullshit. but you have a child together, which means that you’ll never be able to fully scratch him out of your system. 

how were you so good before and yet so terrible once your daughter got here? 

you sigh, choosing to keep your back to him. 

“date.”

you hear him snort, not even having to peek to know he’s shaking his head, blue eyes lingering between your new dress and the ceiling, “my bad. thought you were going to a gala.”

you turn then, hand on your waist as you take him in. it’s hard not to stare at his freshly shaved hair and it only makes you want to slap him stupid for not doing it years ago. what’s the point if you can’t have him? 

“why? it’s not illegal to put in effort.” you tilt your head slightly, ignoring the way his eyes are burning holes through your shiny legs.

he pulls his eyes back to your face, but all you can see is the imprinted vision of your daughter laying on his chest earlier, her chubby cheek pressed against his shirt and her little hand curled around his finger. 

rafe’s heart clenches, the bitterness of your words sinking deep into his bones. he knows what you're implying, knows that you're trying to hurt him.

“he’s worth all that, huh?”

you shrug your shoulder, pieces of your hair falling back as you attempt to act nonchalantly, “maybe he is.”

rafe’s lips twitch into a half-smirk, half-grimace, a familiar expression that used to make your heart race but now just knots your stomach.

“who is it this time? it’s just kinda hard to keep track of your dates.”

his gaze lingers on you, searching for something, perhaps a hint of the girl he fell in love with, buried beneath layers of resentment and exhaustion.

you grit your teeth, the frustration growing beneath the surface threatening to spill over, “you don’t know him.”

he shakes his head, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “got yourself a touron?”

“don’t piss me off.”

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i’m not trying to. just curious.”

“his name is mike.”

rafe's lips quirk into a sardonic smile as he hears the name. "mike, huh? sounds like a guy who sells insurance or teaches yoga on the weekends."

you shoot him a glare, unamused by his jest. "can you just be serious for once?"

catching sight of the offended look in your face, he adds, “it’s not my fault you keep choosing the ugly ones.”

you stare at him incredulously, “you don’t even know him!”

“hear me out, okay? if you’re ever going to give charlotte a sibling might as well—“

you’d throw the mug on your kitchen table at his head if charlotte wasn’t sleeping in the room next door.

“you think you’re so fucking funny don’t you?!” 

rafe hushes you, one of his hands rising to his lips, “what happened to no cursing in the house?”

your eye twitches, fingers itching to wrap themselves around his throat. “i’ll strangle you right here, rafe.”

“you got a new kink, mama?”

his ability to push your buttons has always been unparalleled, and it seems he's mastered the art even more since your breakup. he still manages to evoke a weird mixture of irritation and fondness within you.

“you can’t keep doing this. i like mike, maybe i want to date mike.”

rafe's expression shifts, his brows furrowing slightly as if your words have struck a chord. but then, just as quickly, his facade hardens again. he raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "i’m just trying to help. you said the exact same thing about whatever his fucking name was two months ago.”

you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “see! you’re trying to patronize me.”

“’m not.”

“right,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, “course you aren’t.”

his taunting smirk is more than a little infuriating. “i just doubt this guy is gonna stick around.”

“oh, so that’s it?” you prod him, laughing in his face, hands curling into tight fists. you get closer, staring him down as you look upwards. “we’re back to lying to each other now?”

rafe’s face is contorted into a grimace; eyebrows furrowed, and you can feel his steady breathing before he speaks.

”i can do this all day.” he scoffs, a bitter edge creeping into his voice, “i think the moment you tell him about charlotte he’s gonna run back to whatever hole he creeped out of. you think he wants to be a daddy?”

“who said he has to? that’s your job. maybe i just want to fuck him, you ever think about that?” the admission feels like a betrayal and a liberation all at once.

it’s a familiar dance you two have been doing since the breakup – hurling accusations and blame at each other like weapons in a war neither of you can win.

rafe’s smirk fades into a scowl as your words hit him like a slap in the face. he takes a step back, one of his hands instinctively rising in a placating gesture, but there's a defiant glint in his eyes that tells you he's not backing down without a fight. 

his jaw tightens, “now you’re just trying to get under my skin.”

you throw your hands up in despair, “it’s always about you, unbelievable.” 

you feel like your heart is being vacuumed into your stomach as he stares.

“me?” his fingers dig into his chest, as if you’ve shot him right there, “you're the one who's constantly bringing up other guys, rubbing it in my face like- like i'm supposed to just sit back and take it."

you let out a slow controlled breath and attempt to loose your body movements. “we’re not doing this again.”

rafe knows he's treading on thin ice, but relents, “oh, m’sorry sweets. forgot you hate to be reminded i care.”

“care?” you laugh but it’s void of any humor, “is this your way of showing me you care? making me miserable? slut-shaming the mother of your daughter?”

“didn’t mean it like that, don’t twist my words.”

you square your shoulders, refusing to let him see the cracks in your armor. "you said what you said, and you can't take it back."

his jaw clenches, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he searches for the right words to say, “you’re pushing it.”

there’s a fiery anger in your eyes that makes his body warm. “so fucking what?”

without a word, rafe closes the distance between you, his movements tentative yet purposeful. his hand reaches out, fingers gripping your cheeks, his rough touch sending your body into a frenzy. you want to push him away, but the pull between you is too strong to resist. you’ve been yearning for his touch for months, no one knows how to pull your strings like he does.

“you drive me fucking insane, y’know that?”

you merely blink, pretending to be bored, “go fuck yourself.”

and then, in a rush of pent-up desire and frustration, rafe snakes a hand around the back of your head to pull you to meet him in a passionate kiss.

it’s all sorts of desperate as if trying to bridge the problems between you, you're arching into him as his hand trails down your spine. his tongue is brushing across yours in a tentative swipe before you’re meeting him halfway, kissing him urgently. there's a hunger in rafe’s touch, a desperation to reclaim what his lost, and you respond in kind, your hands roaming over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles with a familiarity that sends shivers down his spine.

“you’re not going on a fucking date.” he pants between kisses, the way his lips caress your face keeping you close distracting you momentarily.

“you can’t stop me.” 

his hand slides around your waist, over the curve of your ass, grabbing a handful in the process, “watch me.”

[obxcc]

jj maybank was chronically horny. it’s why puppy’s entire relationship with him worked so well— they wanted to fuck each other. and if their friends thought it was bad , they had a whole other thing coming whenever you were pregnant.

there was hardly a moment throughout your pregnancy that jj wasn’t feeling you up ; massaging your shoulders , holding your bump , foot rubs , anything. and every single time without fail , whatever massage he was giving you always ended up with his face in between your thighs before he was sliding into you and filling you with his cum.

“not like you can get knocked up again,” he’d chuckle breathlessly , watching his cum pool out of you before brining his fingers to your fucked out entrance to start the cycle all over again.

[itadodori]

babydaddy!sukuna who got you pregnant purely out of jealousy. he was sick of everyone trying to steal you away from him, did they not know who the fuck he was? one thing about your husband was.. he always got what he wanted. that’s why when you were in your 2nd trimester— tits growing rapidly, nipples sore, and milk staining through every shirt you owned.. he couldn’t control himself anymore.

“fuck, girl..” sukuna’s right hand cupped your tit, he made sure to rip that annoying shirt off before hand, it got in his way too much. “making me go fuckin’ crazy.”

your mouth was stuck in an o shape— unable to make out any words. your breasts were so sore over the past few weeks.. you constantly told sukuna that they were tender to the touch but he never cared.

“k..kuna no. y’know ‘m sore, it hurts.” your hands met his, trying to gently pry them away but they were way too big. they wouldn’t budge an inch.

before you knew it his head was rested in your neck— leaving rough kisses on the soft skin.

“shh mama, it’s okay, gonna make it feel all better..” he flipped you over gently, making sure you were on your side since he knew any other position was bad for the baby.

“pretty ass tits.. all swollen n’ shit.” sukuna grinned while rubbing his finger over your inflated nipple, squeezing it in his hands, watching your milk spill out.

he swore he could’ve came right then and there.

“oh shit! kuna i c..can’t!” you felt like your breast were going to fall off, especially since you weren’t used to this feeling.

you just started your 2nd trimester— and that’s usually when your boobs hurt the most during pregnancy.

“my poor princess, want me to suck on it instead..? hmm?” you immediately nodded. you were willing to let him do anything to relieve this aching pain.

“such a nasty girl.” by now sukuna’s mouth was latched onto your nipple, slowly sucking until liquid came out. he swore your milk tasted like heaven and he regretted waiting this long to try it.

your hands gripped his hair tight once he brung his hand up to your neck— slightly squeezing it as he continued. if you knew it would’ve felt this good you would’ve let him do this ages ago. all those times you were complaint about being sore could’ve been avoided.

sukuna took a moment to analyze your features— loving the way your body jerked whenever he sucked a little too hard. god, he was going to have to get you pregnant again after this. “doin’ so good for me, mama.. just let me drink.”

yeah, you knew this definitely wouldn’t be your last time carrying his kid.

all rights reserved ©itadodori ♡

[cvnntagious]

:: babydaddy!matt has no problem sticking up for brat!reader

matt wasn't the type to get easily riled up—especially not to where he felt the need to get physical about it. he was more the type to talk things out, most would say. and that's exactly why it was such a shock when you made your way towards the commotion in the living room to see matt with a guy under him, fists of fury hammering into the poor dude's face.

for a moment, you contemplated if this was something you even wanted to involve yourself in, given is was your child's father. but when matt's hand continued coming down repeatedly with no sign of stopping any time soon, his opposer barely fighting back at this point, you couldn't find it in him to let him just keep kicking this guy when he was so clearly down.

giving a harsh tug on matt's plain black t-shit, you pulled him off like he were a misbehaving dog. his head snapped back to see who had grabbed him, brows unfurrowing the moment he came face to face with you.

his breathing was ragged, waiting for you to berate him as the people surrounding you two scrambled to stop the guy who was once lying on yhe dloor from standing up. to his surprise, you pulled him along with an annoyed grunt, slipping out of the party amidst the chaos of the fight. "where're we going?" matt asked, only to be ignored as he followed behind you until you guys were far from the house.

"i knew this was a stupid idea," you finally muttered, letting go of his wrist to turn and look up at him as you two stood in front of his car. your eyes, scanned his face, maneuvering your head to get a good look at any injuries he may have.

matt's mouth opened, wanting to explain. he knew you didn't want to hear it. "m'not hurt," he replied simply, shaking his head as his eyes finally met yours.

you clicked your tongue, giving him a deep sigh as your eyes rolled for what already felt like the millionth time tonight. "what's your problem?" you asked, addressing the big fat elephant standing right in front of your guys' faces, "forget you're an adult now, hm? have been for almost five years... fighting's how you catch cases, dumbass."

the scoff that left his lips made you want to slap some sense into matt, giving him a look that said, 'are you a fucking idiot?' as you waited for whatever lame excuse he might conjur up. but you should've known better than that. you knew matt had never been the type to go out fighting recklessly, so you should've known something had seriously bothered him. and the fact that something so simple had slipped your mind made his reasoning all the more shocking. "kid was talking shit," he answered, eyes averting to look anywhere but you, one hand coming up to rest on his hip as if he were embarrassed to admit it.

again, you weren't paying enough attention. "yeah? what, he said your fancy little carharts weren't cool enough or something? so you had to go and risk literal jail time?" you insulted, growing increasingly more annoyed with each passing second, "i mean, seriously, i don't know what i'd do if that guy chooses to press charges—you better hope nobody recorded that."

matt looked at you with a softness to his eyes, feeling his chest tightening a bit at your words; for a moment, those last few sentences made it feel like you needed him. of course, he knew in the back of his mind that you were thinking of mazzy, but he'd like to remain at least the slightest bit delusional in the moment. "come on," he scoffed again, "it was about you... the guy was talkin' shit 'bout you. was i supposed to jus' let him?"

the confession made your breath hitch a little, head pulling back and brows furrowing in a mild confusion. then, you came back to your senses, the attitude rising within you apparent on your features. "what'd he say?" you asked with a quick work of your neck.

"s'nothing important." matt was quick to brush you off, a certain coldness washing over him.

"really? then why'd you fight about it," you pressed on, a brow raising as if to tell him you simply didn't believe him.

he shook his head, mouth openining and closing as matt thought of an excuse. he couldn't – or, moreover, he didn't want to lie to you. "jus' spewin' some bullshit about you, like, bein' overly difficult... said you rejected him an' shit earlier. i guess he was upset about it," he answered, realizing he may have overreacted a bit now that he was explaining it out loud.

"that's all?"

matt shot you a confused look, shrugging a bit. "yeah—i mean, i also saw him tryin' t'grab on you earlier, so..." even that that wasn't really all, truthfully. it was the way the guy was so persistent, eager to start some sort of smear campaign against you between all of his friends. his lack of regard for matt as he badmouthed you, knowing what matt was to you. what you meant to matt.

you were quick to push past him, another annoyed grunt as you shoulder checked him. "just let him talk next time," you mumbled through gritted teeth, "that's not your battle."

matt turned and watched you walk away, in utter disbelief that this was how he was getting treated for standing up for you. of course it was his battle. who else was going to fight it? you? absolutely not. that guy got what was coming to him, saying whatever so carelessly.

"stay if you want," you called back, head turning to look at him, "m'gonna stop by your house to pick up mazzy from chris and nick."

w/c : 971 taglist : @mattsturnswife, @br1annax, @x0x0bunny, @m4ttsmunch, @mattsnumberonehoe, @k4yd1, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @sturnstar169, @bxtchboy69, @strnilolover, @little-miss-shay, @sweetobservationface requested by anon.