#fuck i forgot to put trigger warnings

[banannabethchase]

Due to turning 32 and the world repeatedly nuking my ass with ailments so I don't become so powerful I overthrow god, I was recently diagnosed with PMDD. It explains the mood swings, the very bad thinky thoughts that last me 7 to 10 days, but the biggest thing that it explains is why it feels like something is consistently clawing its way out of me in ways I haven't experienced since my first couple periods in middle school. And it's every time I have my period.

Today it's particularly bad

My husband, the comedian, says it's because I got implanted by something after the Ospreay/Danielson match. We've decided it is Good Wrestling Spectation Disease.

So like. If any other wrestling fan gets bad cramps, no you don't. You have GWSD.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[mxbitters]

ooooof. the other thing about being native is doing your family research and coming across some real flattering uh documents that had some real interesting ways of referring to your ancestors

[runariya]

🐉🤫🥰

Wolf hybrid JK has a human female mate, and he wakes up to learn that his still sleeping mate has started ovulating. It's making him feral (she smells delicious and he just wants to bury his nose between her legs) and he has some fun trying to arouse her into waking up so he can satisfy his urge to breed her even though he knows she's on the pill.

(fantasy+smut+fluff) part of the prompt game pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x human!female reader genre: fantasy!AU, established relationship, hybrid!AU warnings: explicit sexual content, OC's ovulating, JK falls into a rut, JK whines, a little bit of tail wagging, desperate and feral JK (and OC), oral (m. and f. receiving), 69, unprotected seggs (didn't mention the pill but alas), breeding kink on both sides, kind of daddy kink, OC rides JK, doggy, multiple orgasms, size difference because duh, allusion to missionary, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 1.419

a/n: I hope the love confession suffices as fluff... lol

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Jungkook’s nose twitches, a mouth-watering scent lulling him out of his deep, restful slumber in the middle of the night.

It’s unusual to be met this early with this sweet, addictive indicator of your fertile phase of your cycle. Normally, your ovulation should start in two days, when he’s out of town, knowing that if he’s around you during these days, he’ll be forcefully thrown into his rut, which, mildly put, would be fatal for your human body in the long run.

But there’s nothing he can do now, his rut not only softly approaching but making an entrance with trumpets blaring. You’re still fast asleep, both Jungkook and you sleeping naked as usual, him needing this intimate connection during the night to feel truly safe and loved.

Jungkook can’t help but watch you now, cock rock hard and leaking endlessly while your lashes flutter in your sleep, soft pink lips parted, letting out small puffs of breath. You’re beautiful, even while asleep, but he can’t do much when his thoughts turn explicit, your ovulation triggering his primal instincts.

Every cell of his is impatient, tail angrily twitching as he battles with the dilemma of what to do. He might try to wake you up, see if you’d be in the mood, which he reckons you will be—your own arousal fills the air. He knows you’re horny during this time, knows that you’ve got plenty of toys to satisfy your needs when he has to be out of town. But now he’s here, and when his hormones crash over him, he’s gone and won’t turn back.

He needs you. Now.

So he silently sits up, letting the duvet fall from his naked body and carefully pulling it off yours too. You’re lying halfway on your stomach, one leg angled upwards, giving him a perfect view of your glistening cunt. You smell divine, and when your hips softly push into the mattress and you let out a barely audible moan in your sleep, he knows he needs to help you out.

Jungkook lets his nose stray from your neck down to your cunt, sniffing and inhaling you. His balls are swollen at this point, and he’s no longer able to suppress the needy whines escaping his throat. He needs to wake you somehow, but shaking you awake doesn’t seem right. No, he’ll give you the most loving wake-up call you’ve ever had.

Your cunt is now drenching the sheets, Jungkook lying on his stomach right in front of it between your legs, his hips desperately rutting into the mattress as he watches your weeping hole. He’s restless; he needs to bury not only his big, fat cock inside you but his tongue as well. With one last deep inhale of your arousal, he lets his instincts take over, knowing you’d love him waking you up like this even when you’re not ovulating.

His tongue takes a long, leisurely swipe over you, Jungkook entering paradise because you taste so fucking delicious. Your hips move at that, a silent moan again escaping your sleeping form as Jungkook continues to lick your juices like ice cream on a hot summer’s day.

Jungkook can’t help himself; he whines and moans against your core, pushing his tongue as forcefully inside you as his hips push into the mattress. He’s going insane, and every reason behind it is you—always has been.

The haze of his rut is too strong, and he can’t think straight now as he grabs you by the hips and straightens onto his knees. You wake with a yelp just as your legs wrap around his neck and your arms around his middle, your face now dangling right in front of his massive cock.

“Jungkook,” you try to scold, but it’s more of a moan than anything else.

He’s unable to stop, unable to distance himself from your cunt as he buries his face and nose between your legs, his breath and groans adding to the pleasure he gives you.

“Fuck,” you cry strangled, fingernails digging into his perfect ass as you can’t help but put his cock inside your mouth, sucking him off as desperately as he’s eating you out.

You’ve always wished for him to be with you when you’re ovulating, your hormones just too strong to really handle on your own, and even though you would have rather slept through the night, it’s not like you’re complaining now, secretly loving it when Jungkook’s in his rut—desperate and feral just for you.

It’s no surprise that Jungkook’s unable to control himself when his cock hits the back of your throat, rutting into your mouth like the wolf he is. The sight of his tight, big balls makes your mind short-circuit, knowing tonight you’re going to be sated like never before.

“So delicious,” he growls against your core, your hole pathetically pulsing in his face. And when you moan around his cock, arousal being pushed out of your cunt, he can’t hold back any longer and releases right into your perfect, hot mouth.

You swallow like you’re made for it, and he reckons you are, because there must be a reason for you to be his mate after all. He’s not sad his first orgasm hit him this early, knowing there’s more to follow and that your beautiful cunt isn’t worthy of his first batch.

“Gonna breed you like the bitch you are.”

And it’s like there’s a wolf inside you too, as those words make you feral in a way he hasn’t seen before. You push yourself away from him, tumbling onto the mattress but getting up immediately, tackling him down despite your smaller frame.

Your lips are on his in an instant, tasting not only his but your own arousal on both your lips and tongues.

“Gonna show the big bad wolf who’s in charge now,” you taunt while you line his cock up and slowly sit down.

He’s bigger than usual, and it shows in the way your cunt protests at its size. But you don’t stop, can’t stop. You need him, you need his seed to fill you up, need to pretend he’s putting babies inside you.

“Wanna carry your babies, Kook,” you mewl as you slide all the way down to his pelvis, cunt fluttering wildly with the fantasy of him filling you up until his seed spills through your body out of your mouth.

“Fuck, ___. You want it? Want me to make your belly swollen?”

“Yes, fill me up, Kook.”

You’re not sure who’s fucking whom—if you’re fucking yourself on his cock or if he’s fucking upwards into you—but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. All that matters to you is Jungkook, his cock drilling into you, and the need to feel as one.

You’ve never felt this good with him, never enjoyed the squelching sound of your pounding more than now, and it shows in the way Jungkook too can’t slow down.

“Baby mama of my pups, hm? Desperate to show who’s your daddy, hm?”

“Yes, fuck yes, daddy, please give me your pups. Love your pups. Deserve your pups.”

There’s not much more to say after that as Jungkook flips you around, his cock ramming right back inside you from behind as he keeps fucking you like he’s meant to. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips while you bravely keep your arms straight, taking every thrust like you’re made for it too. 

Something about the way Jungkook fucks you in this position makes you feel so much more connected, and you know he feels it too, his primal instincts aligning with yours so perfectly.

“I’m about to cum so hard,” Jungkook whines as his hips grow irregular and frantic. And while you, up until now, weren’t near your own release, it’s the pulsing of his big cock inside you and the pressure of his seed spilling inside that pushes you over the edge as well.

“I love you so much,___.”

You’re a moaning mess, Jungkook unable to stop rutting, making you come again and again, arousal and cum coating not only your thighs but your ass as well.

Before you can collapse down on the mattress face-first, Jungkook flips you around again, his golden eyes shining down on you with a lust barely sated.

“I’m not done with you,” he growls, and as he aligns his still hard and creamy cock with your sobbing entrance, you know the night is far from over.

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. ii

hi. this is max's lawyer speaking. please don't get mad at her for this part. she asked me to let you know that she loves you all and hopes that you trust her. sincerely, jimmy mcgill

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're pregnant with joel miller's kid. he's dating someone else. you deal with it.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy stuff like nausea (none of the v word, y'all are safe with me), ultrasound scene set in a hospital, anxiety and guilt surrounding pregnancy, description of body change/growth, brief and i mean brief discussion of abortion, joel is dating someone who isn't reader, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), reader has no physical description save for hair, cursing, genderless use of buddy when referring to baby, joel kisses someone who is not his partner, mention of alcohol, disturbing & semi-graphic nightmare about being involved in car accident, reader has a panic attack, discussion of dead parents, fluff and the beginnings of angst 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: 9.2k

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

“I know, I know,” Joel holds a palm up, “it’s nine thirty. I know. But I had to lug all this wood over here, and it – You okay?”

You realize when he pauses that you’re gaping at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place behind your front door. Your jaw hinges shut, a gulp like carpet burn down your throat. You didn’t hear a word he just said.

How does he know? He can’t possibly. Did he sense it, from two lawns away? Dream about the binding of cells, the furnace left lit in your body from that night? The embers still floating, just waiting to catch to life again?

Did he do the fucking math, the way you probably should’ve? How does he fucking know?

The minute the question leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Joel’s eyebrows drop. “How did I know what, kid? That you need new closets? Like you ain’t been nipping my ear about ‘em for weeks?”

Your eyes unlock from his and shift to the slats of wood leaning against the balustrade. The toolbox hanging from his fist. The worn jeans and the white dust marks on his thighs. He doesn’t fucking know, you idiot.

Joel steps forward. Takes your wrist. One grounding, steady hand around your thrashing pulse. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s –?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, remembering. The closet. The deal. The fucking – the deal. You withdraw your arm. Hidden up your sleeve, quickly slipping out of his grasp, is the news that his life is about to change forever.

Maybe. You don’t fucking know.

“No,” you continue, blinking the burn of sunlight from your vision, “I just – I forgot. Sorry. Come in. Sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ sorry,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. He lifts a foot and hovers it over the threshold, hesitating. Like the first step across a minefield; instinct telling him to tread carefully.

And you swear an oath to yourself, swear it on your own life: if he doesn’t put the heel of his boot in your hallway, if he turns around right now whether because his instinct is razor sharp, or because he forgot his lucky screwdriver, or purely because he needs to take a fucking leak before he gets started – you will never tell him. He will never know.

If his intuition is that good, he’ll turn around and never show up on your porch again. If he has any sense, he’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal off.

“How’s the stomach?” Joel asks, sole still three inches from wood.

“What?” you bleat, your heel knocking against the bottom stair. It’s a little more panicked than you intended.

“Yesterday,” a crease forms between his brows, “you said you had a weird stomach. That any better?”

Oh, you think, and as you open your mouth to reply, his foot hits the ground. No answer needed. He was coming in whether you tried to deter him or not.

“Oh, yeah. It’s – Well, it’s better than it was. I think I worked it out,” you grimace, tongue curling under the tinge of anxiety and – well. “Thanks,” you add, noticing the brisk cut of your replies.

The heavy thud of his footsteps follows you upstairs, blunt on the carpet as you lead him up. Joel sets the toolbox down and casts your room a quick glance, snapping back to you as soon as you notice him.

You tug on the corner of the bedsheets, a heat bubbling beneath your cheeks. Something shy and self-conscious, all of a sudden. The reality that you don’t feel close enough to this man to share the anatomy of your room with him, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you are, now and forever, bound by the anatomy of something a little more significant than dirty laundry and dusty wardrobes.

A little closer than most humans get, let’s say.

“You want a coffee or something?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning back against the window sill.

“You havin’ one?”

“Sure. Wait – actually –” Can you have coffee whilst pregnant? A woman at work quit it altogether when she fell pregnant with her son. Fuck. “I’m – No. I’m good. But let me go make you one.”

Joel shakes his head, amused. Screwdriver burrowing into a door hinge already. He flashes you a tickled grin. “I’m good just now, kid. Wait until you’re makin’ one. Thanks.”

You lift a shoulder. “Welcome.”

His eyes flit from the twist of silver to your hunched shoulders, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. “You gonna stand there ‘n watch me all day? You my foreman now?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he laughs. You sniff, twisting your foot into the carpet. The plastic test itches against your skin; you can feel the two lines ripping into your wrist like tiny burns. “I can go, if you want.”

His lip turns, musing. A quick flick of his jaw. “You’re good company, all in all.”

Metal clanking against metal; fingers knuckle-deep in the toolbox. You can hear the harsh sound across your body, like the point of screws and bite of rust are actually scoring your skin. The groan of a near-fifty-year-old man rising to rip a decades-old door from its home. The creak of wood as it splits.

Everything so heightened that it’s actually painful.

Joel straightens up and pauses, turning his screwdriver between his fingers. “Are we –? We’re good, right?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You’d tell me if things were weird?”

“Why would things be weird?”

His answer scrawls itself across his face. Your response scoffs from your lips.

“I just,” Joel sighs, “I feel like something might be off with ya. Maybe you just ain’t feelin’ too hot. But you’re quiet.”

“Quiet,” you whisper, palms locking heavily against your biceps. More defensive than convincing.

“Yeah. You usually annoy the hell outta me.”

Over your shoulder, Alice Brown waddles down her driveway, eyeing her flowerbeds. She pauses when Diane’s station wagon pulls up across the street; stands motionless as she watches the round figure climb out and totter to her own front door.

“Just – not in a very annoying mood, I guess,” you offer, staring at the white head of hair fluttering in the breeze. The glint of a trowel in her hand.

Joel’s chin lifts. He studies you, tongue tracing the ridges of his teeth. And then he’s nearing you, turning until you’re shoulder to shoulder, two silhouettes stood against the bright square of blue sky inside your window frame. His arms crossed; his stare fixed.

The words begin to boil in your stomach. Violent bubbles against the wall of your midriff. Rising like steam, fading into nothingness over your tongue, the sting of heat where your voice won’t collect them.

Joel moves from foot to foot. It feels like some kind of merry dance, some choreographed moment between you – like a skit in a comedy show. I know something you don’t know.

“What happened – at the wedding,” he murmurs, addressing the polished gold of your bedframe.

Some small sound passes your lips. An affirmative. You’re on the same page.

“We didn’t use – you know. And with you not feelin’ well, it’s…” A deep breath. Chest full of a ghostly bravery. And then he asks, “Are you –?”

Silence swallows the end of his question whole. You didn’t need it, anyway. The stiffness of his frame, his stare shooting straight ahead. The lack of oxygen between you – both holding your breath for fear that something might tear loose from your lungs. He knows. He knows he knows he knows.

You gulp. “…If I was?”

His head cranes upwards, focusing on the cracked plaster of your ceiling. The realization slowly trickling down over his skin. It hasn’t seeped through, hasn’t bled into his brain yet. “Then,” another breath, “then it’d be a conversation…” His voice is halved, split somewhere between knowing and – what is it? Hoping?

Your eyes slip over to the worn sleeve of his T-shirt, stretched around the swell of his bicep; scaling up to his shoulder, the tight set of his jaw. He’s so much taller, he’s so much older. There’s so much life lived and so many lessons learned behind his eyes that you wonder how much the news I’m pregnant would actually crack him.

Your eyes meet. You whisper, “Then – talk,” and his expression softens.

He blinks away whatever’s left of his trying, his polite attempts to skirt around it. He sheds probably a good three decades – turns back into some doe-eyed boy, wonderstruck and terrified. His voice is quiet, and at the same time, the heaviest with emotion you’ve ever heard it. “Are you?” he asks, and immediately, he blurs behind a wall of tears.

Your sentence gets caught in your teeth. It made no sense to begin with. Tangled between your molars, latching at the back of your tongue. Your hand slowly pulls free from your sleeve, the little white test between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes instantly drop, staring at the pale stick with a fraught expression you understand to mean the message has finally reached his brain. The same words now ringing between his ears: She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant.

You hold the test out, quivering in the daylight. He takes it in his thumbs, instantly soothing its tremble. Everything muted, every movement steady and considered. And suddenly the sight of that positive test feels less scary, in his hands. Feels like a smaller problem, if that were ever possible.

And he says nothing, and it’s almost unbearable to watch the shape of his lips thin, the shadow beneath his brows darken. Agonizing to stand here and wonder what the next words over his tongue will be.

He stares at it a moment longer. You count the beats of your pulse in your throat. You wrap your arms tighter around your body, holding your skeleton together.

Joel’s lips part. Your breath freezes. Whatever he says, you don’t want to miss a syllable.

“Are you –” he blinks, “– are you feelin’ okay?”

You stare blankly. His eyes finally lift.

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Your head jerks. “I’m – I’m fine. I mean, I’m fucking shocked.”

He nods. “How long have you known?”

“Took that right before you showed up,” you say, eyes diving to his hands. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He’s still switching between you and the test. Checking those two lines are still there, as if they might fade to nothing, and then checking you’re still there – as if you might, too. Might be swept off if he’s not keeping an eye on you.

His face pales. He sinks back against the window ledge. “Jesus,” he breathes, a hand down the scruff of his chin.

And it feels like relief, like a mirror sat before you, presenting the honest truth: you’re fucked, and Joel thinks so, too. It embeds the shock into the cushion of your brain, the weight of it absorbed and laid bare for every particle in your body to pay it a visit. What the fuck do we do now?

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Jesus.”

But then his arm wraps around your shoulder, reminding you you’re still solid. Still whole. He holds you to his side, and when you turn into him, he takes you in the other and pulls you flat against his chest. His lips to your hair. His breathing slowing yours.

“We’re gonna work it out,” he says into your hair. “We’re gonna – Jesus, I did not expect…We are goin’ to be fine, alright? You are goin’ to be fine.”

You’re nodding, the prickle of tears flooding across your eyes again. They’re doing nothing, his words – blunt against your skin and insignificant to the fear swelling around your heart – but it feels better to be afraid with someone. Feels better to hold onto something stronger, something bigger, while you feel yourself beginning to shrink.

“What do we do?” you ask into his shirt.

Joel loosens his grip, pulls away until you’re staring at one another. “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t…” Your head’s shaking, lips moving quicker than your voice will offer the words over. “I don’t think I want to get rid of it.”

He nods, a hand coming up to hold your cheek. “Alright. Then you don’t have to. You don’t gotta do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“But,” you sniff, guiltily averting his gaze, “this fucks everything up. Everything’s about to change.”

Joel takes a long, slow breath. “It complicates some things, that’s for sure.” He looks out to the street; Alice Brown now hauling weeds from the edge of her lawn. In his exhale, he breathes a name.

“V…What?”

He looks down. Eyes dance around your damp cheeks. “Vanessa,” he says, clearer now.

“Vanessa?”

A nod. His nose wriggles with an awkward sniff. You push off from his chest.

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Joel lets you go; lets you step back. He watches as you brace yourself against the ledge. Runs a hand through his hair while he fixes the right order of words. He’s thinking. Carefully.

Too fucking carefully. He’s taking too long.

“Joel. Who’s Vanessa?”

“She’s…” He sighs. “She’s my ex. From Tommy’s wedding. Vanessa Hart.”

Your jaw slackens. The purple dress. The hair like silk, a halo around her head where the light kissed her perfectly. Her plump lips; the way her head tipped back to laugh. The amount of air you felt her take up the second you laid eyes on her, the second you saw her, arm on top of Joel’s.

“Vanessa,” you whisper, your eyes descending his frame. The memory feels menacing now: her sweet giggle a sneering cackle, and you’ve no idea why. The bulky jewels around her neck, her clawed fingers on his arm.

Joel’s hand sits inches from yours on the wooden sill. Alice is walking back inside.

“We, uh…we swapped numbers the morning after the wedding, at breakfast. I didn’t think much of it, but we’ve seen each other a couple times since.”

This isn’t the time for another it’s a date, it’s not a date argument. What the fuck does he mean by –

“Seen each other?”

“Mhm.” He owes you better than that. He reckons so, too. “Dates,” he clarifies. “We’ve been on a couple dates.”

“Oh.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Plummets, dragging with it your breath and your nerve and any other words you can think of. Your chest gnaws at the edges of the cavity left behind. It hurts. It stings.

Though you’ve no right for it to hurt or sting: as far as you were concerned, as far as you think Joel was concerned, that night was a one-off. It meant as little as the alcohol draining from your glasses, the vacant buzz of love and hope loose in the air. Equally as intoxicating as each other.

Cataclysmic, for the first little while. So heavily awkward that you would wait to watch Joel head out in the morning, clear of your path, before you’d set off for work. It felt like the aftermath of some natural disaster – the cleanup of debris and mistake.

But oh, it feels like a punch to the gut. Low, unexpected; a foul move by someone who never meant to hurt or not hurt you. Someone ignorant to every move he made, right up to this moment.

Your arms wrap around your body again, as though tending to the bruise left by the sucker punch shaped something like that tall woman named Vanessa.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. “We were…we were seein’ about starting things up again. Me ‘n her.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got you. That’s – I mean, I’m – I’m sorry, Joel, I –”

“Woah, woah,” he’s stepping forward now, “hey, no. No way. This wasn’t you. Well, shoot – it kinda was you. But it was just as much me, right?”

You smile, your face back in the safe hold of his hands. Tears roll down your cheeks, collecting in the corners of your mouth. His thumbs swipe them away.

“This was just as much me,” he repeats, voice soft and soothing.

“But, you know – if you wanted to – just ‘cause I don’t want to get – so if you didn’t wanna have to – that’d be okay, you know that, right?”

His head snaps back, brows low. It’s the first time he looks like his cool has broken all morning. It’s the first time he looks…downright offended. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, and then, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I just – I know this ain’t ideal. It’s even worse if you’re tryna make it work with Vanessa. So if you felt like it was too much, then…”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, edged with some kind of groan. “Stop talking, right now. Stop. You gotta take a deep breath, alright? I’m here, ‘n I mean I’m here. We’re in this together. I am not running out on you.”

“Joel –”

What was a mere crack in his cool before, rips through it now like lightning spreading across the sky. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping between his teeth. “If you think I would leave you right now, to deal with this on your own –”

“I don’t,” you tell him, his vexation powering your sudden animation. You wipe your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m just saying, it’s a fucking lot. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’m giving you an out, man.”

“I am not interested in taking it. Enough. Conversation over.”

“And what about Vanessa?”

“What about her?” he asks, the question dripping in something akin to anger. He catches himself, draws it back in. “She’ll just – We’ll talk, I’ll explain it. The hell else can we do? One thing at a time, okay?”

“Right,” you nod, “okay. One thing at a time.”

“Let’s just build these damn wardrobes. I sure as hell didn’t lug all that timber over here to not do ‘em.”

“Okay,” you repeat, making for the door.

“Ah.” He clicks, and you turn back. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To get the timber.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, pointing to your bed. “Sit down. Relax. You ain’t getting a damn thing.”

Joel calls it a day at six o’clock.

The skeleton of the closet is up: a smooth, tan frame lining one wall of your room. Much bigger, much sturdier than its predecessor.

You’re in the same spot he left you in: lying across your bed, admiring his handiwork. He’s good at what he does. You told him twice, and the two of you almost heaved both times. Compliments aren’t something you’re used to handing one another.

He left, maybe, three hours ago. Said he had to shower; said he’d be back first thing to finish the job. You sat up to see him out, got struck by a wave of nausea so bad that you fell back to the bed with one hand on your stomach and the other over your lips, and Joel had insisted – demanded – that you stay where you were.

I’ll be back later to check on ya, he assured, setting a glass of water at your bedside. And then he told you to call him if you felt even remotely off – sick, or panicked, or had a tickle in your throat that you couldn’t clear – and that’s when the two of you realized that you don’t even have one another’s numbers.

And you laughed, the both of you; laughed at the absurdity of you carrying his child when you don’t even carry his contact details in your phone. Laughed at how quickly everything has turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the few hours since you woke up. It felt like some form of release, the only way to clear the blockage of tension in both your throats. So, you laughed, until you felt sick again, and Joel swept the hair from your shoulders to cool you down.

The attentiveness is…new. It’s interesting. It’s kind, in the same way that being told to say hi to whoever your grandma is talking to in the grocery store, is kind. Sweet, the same way that answering the door on Halloween to a bunch of kids you don’t know from a street you don’t recognize the name of, is sweet.

Whatever. It’s fucking weird, alright?

You’ve never seen this side of Joel. You didn’t know or even think, in your wildest dreams, that he existed. Let’s face it: you two have spent the entirety of your inhabitance next door to one another, antagonizing each other. Your favorite hobby has always been pissing Joel off – teasing him for having backache, seeing how far down his porch you can launch his newspaper and he’ll still go get it. Playing the same kind of music you heard him playing on his guitar that one time, full-volume from your kitchen window just to fuck with him.

And, likewise: his favorite hobby has always been…well, ignoring you. Doing everything he can not to engage. If it weren’t for that fucking cat lady and her jittery green Chevrolet, none of this would’ve ever happened. She was a catalyst where one was neither needed nor wanted. You would’ve gone about your life, pinning your underwear only slightly more carefully to your clothesline, and Joel would’ve gone about his, doing – whatever the fuck he does.

Sure, it’s weird. But it’s nice. It’s nice to have him on your side, turning to check on you rather than snap at you for something. Nice to have him talk – actual, rounded words in place of grumbles and mumbles and groans and sighs. Nice to hang out with him and watch him work and ask questions about screws and power tools and pretend to be interested just to distract from the weight of queasiness in your stomach.

Your hands trail down, cupping around your navel. Your stomach still feels like your stomach: still soft, still spongey under your touch. If not for the two more tests you’d taken this afternoon, perched on the bathroom counter waiting for Joel to unstick his gaze from his watch and announce, That’s three minutes – both also positive, by the way – you’d have no fucking clue.

You hold the bottom half of your tummy, fingers rubbing gently over the skin that will soon enough grow and swell and protect.

“Hey,” you whisper, staring at the stationary ceiling fan overhead. A pause. An awkward inhale. “…hey, little buddy. I don’t – know you very well, yet. I figure you can’t even fucking hear me, but whatever. Just wanted to say hi. I’m – Ew, no. I’m not Mom, yet. What the fuck. I don’t know who I am right now, so just…maybe go easy on me until I figure that part out. And after, too. Alright? Are we…we cool?

“You can’t tell me, I know. I just have to assume we’re cool. Okay. Well. Keep growin’. Keep…doing your thing. You’re doing great. We’re doing – we’re doing alright.

“Good job, kid. Good job.”

Joel tells Vanessa two days later. She takes it…about as well as you might hope.

He says they talked for four hours. Three cups of coffee and a drive to Taco Bell later, she agreed to meet you. Properly. Not across the cluttered dancefloor of Tommy’s wedding.

She –? Is – is that a good idea?

I don’t know, kid. It’s the best I’ve got.

Meet me? Like, come kick my ass for sleeping with her boyfriend?

Joel had sighed and deadened his eyes on yours. Not her boyfriend, he corrected, passing you a sweater folded a little slapdash for your liking, and wasn’t her boyfriend when we slept together.

You shook the sweater straight again and fixed his work, muttering to yourself that at least he’s a better builder than he is a folder.

Joel heard you, and let it go. Passed you another – unfolded – sweater to sit in your wardrobe. Let’s just see how it goes, alright?

Alright.

We’re really trying this again. It’s only been a couple weeks.

Okay.

And neither of us have had much luck in that department since we broke it off, y’know?

Joel. I said okay.

He held your gaze a moment too long. Okay.

You’re on your porch when he strolls over, wrist blocking the six o’clock sun from his eyes. Newspaper in his fist, wind licking the corners. “Forget somethin’ today?” he asks, meeting you at the top of the steps.

“Came out to get it,” you brace yourself on the railing, “felt sick. This is me workin’ up to it.”

“You want me to toss it back onto my lawn so you can go fetch me it?”

You smile, eyes screwing shut. “Was coming over to ask what time for tomorrow.”

The reminder snaps him from his happy daydream. He says, “I was comin’ to ask you the same thing. Seven work?”

“Seven’s good. Are we getting food?”

“You wanna get food? I figured maybe you wouldn’t be up for it, what with the, uh…” Joel gestures to your hunched position, your head low between your shoulders, your deep, deliberate breaths.

“Maybe just drinks,” you utter, gulping back the sharp taste of bile.

He nods. “Drinks it is. You okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks. See you guys at seven.”

Four minutes early, there’s a knock at your door. You pull it open, and there they are. Picture-perfect, like they might be posing for a holiday card. A bottle in his arm, a bunch of flowers in hers. A timid but genial smile between her cheeks, a twinkle in her eye. That same circle of shining light around her head, brunette tresses curled into bouncing waves.

“Howdy,” Joel says, stepping into the space you create. He dips his head, kisses your cheek, whispers a brief, Y’okay? in your ear. You nod quickly, gently shifting him out of the way.

Vanessa lingers for a moment in the doorway. She glances from Joel to you again, blinking in the porch light. Her pale skin lit in an ethereal glow. She’s prettier up close.

Joel addresses you, hand brushing the small of your back, “…this is Vanessa.”

“Hi,” she says, and pushes the flowers towards you – a small bouquet of gypsophila and eucalyptus. Bright, polite. Each sprig laden with the burden of appearing simpatico, but important. Meaningful, in the airiest sense of the word. “Hi,” again.

“Hi,” you echo, and then feel stupid for having nothing more to offer. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, hot on your shoulder.

But Vanessa takes the weight from your chest. “It’s nice to meet you – officially. I saw you at Tommy and Maria’s wedding. You looked so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” springs from your tongue sooner than the rest of the sentence. Your brain scrams to find more words. “You looked – you looked great, too. Do you wanna –? I mean – Sorry. Come in. Obviously.”

She clicks over the threshold, her pale dress floating into your hallway like she’s part of a dream. She’s just as beautiful in this light, relaxed form – pastel blue and the glimmer of golden jewelry – as she was in the sleeker, more dramatic form you saw her in before. An aura about her which captures and tends to your attention. Intense, captivating, but not intimidating.

You usher them to the living room, offer them a space on the couch while you take Vanessa’s flowers to the kitchen. Joel follows you through, sets the bottle on the counter.

“Nonalcoholic,” he says, unscrewing the cap.

Your eyebrows jump. “Great. Thanks.”

“She’s nervous,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I know you are, too. Y’all are similar like that.”

You slot the stems into a vase of water one by one, carefully organizing a display. “She seems sweet,” you assure him. “She shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Neither should you.”

“Is this…totally weird for you?”

Joel breathes in deep, filling three glasses. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never lifting from the sparkling peach.

“Sorry.”

He angles his jaw. “Stop sayin’ you're sorry. I’ll kick your ass.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, eyes lifting only to his elbows. “Sorry.”

He scoffs, swiping the glasses and stepping back to let you out first.

“I’m trying not to make it weird,” you offer, slipping by.

“I don’t want you to try anything.” He kicks your ankle lightly and follows you back into the living room.

Vanessa sits forward and clasps her hands around her knee when you sit back down, shifting as though to reach for you before she stops herself. “How are you feeling? Joel said you’re a little…worse for wear, right now.”

“I’ve been better,” you say, smiling. “Just morning sickness. Which lasts – all day.”

She nods sympathetically. “My sister had it rough with her first. I actually…” She twists around, reaches for her purse, fishes out an orange packet. “I brought you some ginger tea. Kate told me it helped her a lot, so.”

She holds it out in almost trembling fingers. Likewise, you steady yours to take it from her, thanking her with a shy nod of the head. “That’s so kind,” you reply quietly, eyes darting to Joel. He’s staring at the pack in your hands, watching as you turn it over to read the back.

“And – listen,” Vanessa continues, the acceptance of her offering clearly fueling her assuredness, “I don’t want anything to be weird – between you and I, between you and Joel. I know this situation is…new. It’s, um…”

“It’s kinda weird,” you say, humoring. “It’s okay. I know.”

She breathes a relieved laugh. “It is. Thank God you said it.” She glances back at Joel, who smiles at her, slips his hand onto her knee. “But I guess,” a deep breath, “I guess it is what it is. And we’re all adults, you know? We can make it work, right?”

Your head switches rapidly between nodding enthusiastically and shaking enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yes. No, absolutely. And, you know, me and Joel – there isn’t – we’re not at all…”

“Oh,” she bats the idea away, “I know. I know that. He told me everything. It’s – You know, it’s just a timing thing.”

Joel’s staring down at his hand locked around her leg. Unblinking. Unmoving. His expression doesn’t shift until the two of you settle back into your seats; until Vanessa asks if he’d mind making you a cup of ginger tea.

You barely notice his absence, the way she takes you up in conversation. Like twirling you off in some kind of dance, each sentence strung safely to the next. There are no lulls, no awkward pauses. She asks about work, asks about your family. She tells you stories about her niece, who’s three now, and compares how you’re feeling to how she remembers her sister feeling.

Then her work, and the IT guy her friend hooked up with, and her class at the gym which she’s trying to convince Joel to come along to, and Kate’s hot yoga class every Thursday night, and the new sushi place which just opened downtown and You gotta try it some day; the nigiri is divine.

And you nod along, and you laugh at her anecdotes and tell your own, and Joel tells her to tell you about the jazz band who were playing at the restaurant they visited a couple weeks ago, and you offer to top her drink up and she says she’ll do it herself and she leaves you and Joel alone for the first time all evening, and – it’s weird.

Because – behind the veil of conversation you’re doing your best to uphold, sits an image of this very night – only, in Joel’s house. In Joel’s house, on Joel’s couch, drinking nonalcoholic wine with Joel’s brother. Joel and Vanessa leant against one another on one couch, Tommy and Maria on the other.

You can’t help it – you’re wondering what Maria thinks of Vanessa. How long they knew each other, if at all, before the breakup. Whether they hung out, whether they discussed sushi and yoga, or the housing market, or their Miller boyfriends and their annoying Miller habits.

Maria would’ve liked her, you think. Would’ve found her as lovely as you do. And the idea, the image of them giggling together at family parties and being Tommy’s Maria and Joel’s Vanessa – presses a firm, bullying finger into the bruise you thought had faded some from the other day.

And once they’re gone, once you’re left alone again – lying in still silence, closed in on yourself by the thick darkness of your room, nothing but you and your thoughts and your unborn child for company – it slips out.

“Fuck her, right?” You hold your hands out, addressing your stomach. “She was so fucking nice. Did you like her? Fuck me, I liked her. I hope they break up.”

And then, realizing who you’re talking to: “No. Sorry, baby, no. I don’t hope they break up. I want your dad to be really happy. But – Goddamn. She was so sweet. I thought she was gonna slap me, and she just – she brought ginger tea! Fuck. They look good together, don’t they?”

It’s just hormones. Just the emotional trip that is being four weeks pregnant. Everybody feels like this when they fall pregnant – sensitive, vulnerable, clingy. Right? Right?

Your words sit stagnant in midair. You swear you can see them, heavy and intruding. Awkwardly lingering someplace they don’t belong. Because none of it even matters – the hormones, the emotions. The weird knot burning a hole in your chest, shaped like a clenched fist, knuckles branded by the heat of longing. It can’t matter.

You’re where you are, he’s where he is. A pillow in your arm, Vanessa in his. Feet apart, bricks and mortar and something like twenty years and two dates too late separating you.

Both staring up at the ceiling, wondering who the other’s thinking of.

“At eight weeks, your baby is roughly the size of a raspberry.”

Your knee bounces, breath coming and going in shaky ripples. The rubber sole of your shoe cries against the sterilized hospital floor. Your chest hums anxiously and your throat catches when you swallow and are the lights too bright? The room too hot? You’re sweating. Why are you sweating? Can you breathe right now?

Joel nudges your arm and your eyes roll to the pamphlet in his hand, his finger tracing the words. “C’mon,” he utters, leaning in, “how can anything the size of a raspberry be scary?”

You squint under fluorescent white. “A raspberry that grows into the size of a watermelon, can break my ribs, make me throw up, make me lose hair, and then tear my vagina apart on its way out? That’s pretty scary.”

He smirks. “Not to me it ain’t. My vagina stays perfectly intact the entire time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you reply, whacking him.

He laughs, swatting your palm away, keeping ahold of your fingers inside his own. “Speaking of – we gotta talk.” He elbows you, waiting until you’re looking again to speak. “We gotta cut the language.”

“Cut the language?”

“Uhuh. Rein it in. And by we, I mean you.”

“Uh,” you scoff, “I don’t think so. When you do the growing, then you can rein your own swearing in. Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Charming,” Joel says. “You know the baby can hear you? You want it to come out swearin’ like a trooper?”

You grin, tipping your head to him. “If it comes out and says anything, we’re rich. So – yeah. Let it.”

He opens his mouth to reply when a nurse emerges from a nearby room and calls your name.

“You’re up, kid,” Joel says, standing beside you.

You turn back, speaking before your brain settles on words. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand. He squeezes it gently, uses the other to keep you facing him. “This is the easy part, right? We’re just going to meet them.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and wander over to meet the nurse. Joel’s hand a vice grip around yours.

She leads you into a similarly washed-out clinic room, only slightly dimmer with the lights turned out, and yanks a roll of paper across the bed. Tapping it twice, she smiles. “Hop up, darlin’.”

You settle into the crinkly paper, leaning back until you’re blinking up at the speckled ceiling. Another door opens and a woman in a white coat floats in, and you swear that if it weren’t for Joel’s Evenin’, ma’am when she greets the two of you, you’d believe she were a figment of your imagination. Another character in this fucking insane dream.

“Not often I do these past five o’clock,” she says, clicking her mouse and typing on her keyboard and fixing a hair grip back into her bun. Casual. It’s not even a thing to her, introducing parents and children. She does this all fucking day.

Joel tosses half a glance to you and then realizes you’re not currently in the room. He pinches your hand again. It grounds you for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “work commitment. I couldn’t get away any earlier, so we’re havin’ to do this a little late.”

“What do you do?” she asks, staring at her screen. Her glossy brown eyes and rich, dark skin.

“I’m a contractor,” Joel replies, thumb stroking your shoulder.

Something bubbles in your stomach, something akin to jealousy, an urgency to tell her that right now, in this room, he’s mine. No more questions. Something which quickly dissipates when you remind yourself to quit being fucking ridiculous and that right now, in this room, he’s someone else’s, and the thumb on your shoulder is merely to hold you back from fleeing. Nothing more.

The sonographer nods. Her name badge reads Freya. Pretty name. Stop picturing what your kid would look like as a Freya. You are not naming them after the first sonographer you meet.

“Shouldn’t be too long, then y’all can get home for the night. You live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes’ drive. Not far, are we?” Joel asks you.

Your eyes shoot down to his. “No,” you push your cheeks up, telling Freya, “not far.”

She flattens her lips against one another, lending you a sympathetic smile. “You got nothing to worry about, honey. Promise. Gel might be a little cold, that’s about as scary as this gets. We’re just gonna make sure everything’s looking good, check your dates, check your measurements. You’re doing great.”

“You hear that?” Joel murmurs, settling down into the chair by your side. His hand hasn’t left yours. His voice is low, meant just for you, when he repeats, “You’re doin’ great.”

You huff a laugh, some nervous release from your lungs.

Freya smiles, face lit by the faint glow of the screen in front of her. “We ready?”

You roll the hem of your tee up when she motions, bunching it under the wire of your bra. She squeezes a bottle over your stomach, which tenses solid when the frozen bite of gel curls right below your belly button. Freya smiles apologetically when you wince. Told you, she murmurs, and your breath escapes in a slightly more comfortable laugh. Lighter, easier. Scariest part over.

She presses the probe to your skin and spreads the gel, coating the bottom of your tummy in a slippery slick which tickles with each inch she covers. Two buttons pressed, and a dark image appears on a screen opposite you.

A gray fan, speckled like the ceiling above your head. Dark, black shapes growing and shrinking at the turn of Freya’s wrist. She pauses, two blobs onscreen: the larger, black, round, home to a smaller, misshapen one. Flecked with white and silver and moving slowly, gently, but – right there.

“Mom, Dad,” she grins, “meet your baby.”

You and Joel move forward at the same time, drawn closer to the crunchy image as if by some kind of natural magnetism. Eyes never blinking, lips agape. The shapes flutter, the smaller dipping in and out of view.

“You see right here, right in the center?” A white cross appears over the blob’s middle. “That little movement? The kinda – pulsing?”

You each nod. Your nails dig so deep into Joel’s hand that you risk drawing blood.

“That’s the heart. Ticking away.”

“The heart?” you ask, watching the rhythmic flicker in the center of the screen.

“Yep. Perfect, too.”

She hits another key and suddenly the room is filled with a muffled thudding; a steady, energetic pulse in your ears. It matches the movements onscreen, the tiny throb of the baby’s chest, the shape of your womb moving like waves before you.

And suddenly, it's real – all of it: the screen and the room and the sonographer and you, and Joel’s hand encasing yours, holding your knuckles to his lips, and –

And the heartbeat. Right there, right in front of you. Shy, probably as nervous as you are to introduce themselves. Feeling your eyes on them, curled up somewhere safe inside you. Right there.

You turn to Joel, and his illuminated face is staring straight at the screen. Eyes soaked with tears, blinking as they form, cheeks dappled with wet. He draws his eyes from his child only to look back at you, only to mirror your stunned smile, your disbelieving laugh, more tears dripping down into his beard. He sits up, presses his damp lips firmly to your forehead.

Freya mutes the heartbeat, pauses the scan where the image is clearest, and sits back. “I’ll give you guys a moment to yourselves,” she says, wheeling back in her chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles for the both of you, sweeping hair from your face.

The door closes on your little bubble – you, Joel, and the grainy image of your baby. The evidence that – yeah, that night happened, and yeah, you’re forever changed because of it. The evidence that you’re about to become a mom, for real, no matter how much the thought makes you feel like your stomach is kicking around at your ankles.

And the evidence that, no matter how scared you might be, how unprepared and unworthy you feel – you fucking adore that little blob already.

Love it as much as Joel does, stood over you, kissing your hair and whispering words you’re only half-listening to. A quiet thank you, a shaky I can’t believe it. Something about showing his brother. And when you look up at him, blinking at one another, inches apart – he takes your jaw in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Different. Softer. No want laced through. No urgency. Nothing needed, nor requested, that isn’t already right here in this little bubble of yours.

He kisses you slowly, eyes closed, holding you until you pull away for breath. His nose bumps against yours and you laugh, heads together, eyes low.

“Still scared?” he whispers.

“Terrified,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he says, and kisses you again.

You lean back against the bed, relief settling your bones and soothing your heartbeat. The notion washes over you that, if you could, you’d stay in this room forever. Staring at the screen, holding Joel’s hand. Whispering fears into his mouth and letting him swallow them in a kiss.

He hands you some paper towel and helps you drag it across your stomach, your eyes still fixed on the little shape opposite. He hooks his chin over your head – the fresh, woody smell of his cologne infiltrating your lungs and throwing you under the haze of something you’re not quite sure how to define.

“Duck,” he says, voice vibrating into your skull.

“Huh?”

“Start saying duck. Make the baby think we’re saying that, then you can say –” he lowers his voice, “– fuck, all you want.”

“The hell would I have to say duck for?”

Joel stands upright and shrugs. “I don’t know. Think of somethin’. A nickname, maybe.”

“Duck?”

He nods plainly, glancing over to the screen.

The pillow beneath your head sighs as you turn from Joel back to the ultrasound. “Baby Duck,” you offer, and he smiles.

Smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile. Eyes glistening, cheeks swollen. Something innocent and earnest about it. Something pure.

He agrees. “Baby Duck it is.”

Joel insists that you spend the night at his place.

“It’s been a big day,” he reasons, fixing the bed in his guestroom. “Just – let me run around after you for a little bit.”

You fight your corner as much as you can be bothered – I gotta maintain my independence, I’m gonna be a single mom soon enough, you know – but, truthfully, you’ll take any excuse to have him rush around at your beck and call. Some days you open your mouth and he hears the wet click of saliva between your lips, and grabs a glass of water for you before you’ve even voiced the request.

He orders takeout, settles shoulder-to-shoulder with you on the couch, and lets you pick whichever movie you feel like putting him through until the food’s gone, he’s out of beer, and you’ve abandoned Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles for an argument about the best part of pizza.

You don’t like the crust?

Nope.

What fuckin’ age are you?

If it ain’t stuffed, it’s just not worth it.

At eleven, you bid him goodnight and wander upstairs, falling into a sea of navy-blue sheets to be delivered to sleep by the serene silence of Joel’s home. It takes no time for your eyes to flutter closed, the soft sheen of moonlight painted across the wall, sweeping from your view to be replaced in a whir by –

Lights. Overhead and all around and so bright and so close that you swear they’re etched on the inside of your eyelids.

You’re in the backseat, watching them soar by in blurs of white and red and amber and green, and your pulse is rattling through your veins and throbbing between your temples and you can’t focus on any one object for longer than three seconds, before your eyes roll and your head dizzies.

A word, slung from your lips in a half-wakened attempt to stop it. A word you barely recognize at first, don’t understand the meaning of. It’s been years. Why now? Mom.

You’re not sure why, or who you’re even reaching out to. There are two figures in the front seats, heads facing forward. She’s not turning around. She’s not even fucking moving, not reacting to the speed or the lights or your voice. Mom.

You scream it, the syllable ripping violently from your throat, and your tiny fingers reach for her swirls of hair. You pause, staring at the chipped polish on your stubby, kiddy nails. Mom, I’m scared.

The distorted blast of a horn scoops the car up in one motion, hurtling over itself along the freeway. You’re thrown to the roof of the car, plummet back down to your seat; the seatbelt throttles you, rips a burn deep into the skin of your neck. Back up again; your head hits the spongey roof of the car. Your stomach somersaults.

Mom, please, you wail, swiping for her hand. It’s lying limp by her thigh, dark droplets on her wrist. Mom Mom please Mom I’m scared Mom please I’m so scared I –

“Baby.”

His voice is low, earthy. It chews apart the high-pitched squeal of brakes and screaming. The glass smashing. The metal crunching.

You lift from the bed like it’s ice water, gasping when you finally surface back on Earth. Your chest heaves, it’s not sucking in enough breath; you can’t breathe you can’t breathe you can’t fucking breathe.

Joel whips the cover from your legs and you roll from the mattress, feet planting on the floor. You bend forward to grip onto the sheets, a choking rising up your throat, closer and closer until it tugs on your tongue.

“Icantbreathe,” you pant.

Joel’s body curves around yours. “You’re alright,” he’s telling you – urging you; one hand between your shoulder blades, the other holding your wrist for fear you might collapse. “I’m here, you’re okay. You’re at my place, you’re safe, but, kid – I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

You work your breathing to the strokes of his hand up and down your spine: in out in out in and out and in and out and in, and out, and in, and…out…and in…and…out.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. You’re good, baby, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In – and out. In – and out again.

The room slowly desaturates back into boring, moonlit blue. Feeling sputters back into your hands, clawing at the sheets once the sharpness dissolves. The cotton pets back, smooth under your quivering touch. Your lips stop tingling, your ears stop ringing. One after another, until your blood settles back to a steady stream and you straighten up.

“Can you sit down for me?”

“No,” you whimper, and Joel nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m gonna get you a drink, that okay?”

You grab his T-shirt. “No. Don’t leave me. Please. Sorry.”

He cups your frozen cheeks. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Just downstairs. You can come.”

He settles you at his kitchen table and shuffles over to the cupboards, rubbing his eyes. You feel the heat of embarrassment and guilt, watching as he settles down with a groan minutes later.

“Ginger,” he tells you, voice rounded by his mug, sliding one of your own over to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, lifting it with two hands. The smell sharp, cutting up the remnants of gasoline and smoke.

“Many times do I gotta say it?” he asks dryly. “Quit sayin’ you’re sorry.”

You gulp nervously. “You got work in the morning. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“And if I hadn’t let you keep me up watchin’ chick flicks, I’d be rested. That’s something I can deal with later. I got you to worry about right now.”

You shake your head; the ceramic hits the table with a sharp thud. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well,” Joel sniffs, “you’re carrying my child. I’ll always worry about you.”

You sit back, the curve of the chair cradling, your heart beating lamely against the wood. Joel’s jaw rests in the cushion of his palm, staring back at you.

“What time is it?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Three. Take a sip.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sip.”

You obey, lifting the tea and swallowing harshly.

He watches every move, every shift reflected in his dark eyes, decorated by a tense, stony expression. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Never,” you say. “This never happens.”

Joel cranes his jaw, cracks his neck. “Alright,” he sighs, “that’s okay. Breathe again. You’re doing fine.”

But you don’t feel fine. The dregs of panic sizzle into something thicker, hotter. Anger. Frustration. “Why the fuck is this happening?” you hiss, fingers prodding into your eye sockets. “What the f–?”

“Easy. I don’t know. Hormones? Stress?”

“You sound like my fucking doctor.”

Joel smiles. Amusement, before concern wipes over it again. “Let’s just give it some time to pass, okay?”

You nod, hanging over your drink, the silhouette of your reflection staring back at you. The steam snakes up, seeping into your skin, bubbling under the surface. Wiping clean any memory of freeway or nail polish, like coating over a bathroom mirror. The shapes still visible behind, but blurred. Gone.

“How’s Vanessa?” you ask, an attempt to distract yourself.

Joel adjusts a little awkwardly in his chair. “She’s good. She loved the scan photo. Showed it to her sister. They’re sure it’s a boy.”

“Ha. Joel Jr.”

“Joel Jr.,” he agrees, and then attempts to distract himself. “So,” he says, “Allandale.”

“Mhm?”

“Wonder if I ever saw your mom or dad. When I was there visitin’ Sam.”

You shrug. “Doubt it. I mean, they always lived right next to the elementary school, if that helps. My mom was a first-grade teacher. The two of us used to walk there ‘n back together, every day.”

“First grade, huh? Best one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and she was the best of the best. She used to go all out for her kids; used to go to Michaels and get all this crafty stuff so they could spend all afternoon making little houses or zoos, or – whatever she could think of. And she’d always keep some aside, bring some home for me to make one, too. One time, she came home with all this blue tissue paper and little foam fish, and we made an aquarium together.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you say again, nodding eagerly. “She was so cool. And fun, y’know? I just remember her being so much fun. I always felt safe with her, felt loved. I actually used to think she hung the sun every morning, just for me.” You take a deep breath, replacing it with a broken sigh.

“What about your dad? What was he like?”

You frown. “He was…fine. Real quiet, reserved. A little grumpy, I guess. I always got the idea he couldn’t be bothered with me, young as I was. Always wanted to be left alone. I think my mom overcompensated a lot.”

Something flashes across Joel’s face that seems to say he knows – or, at least, he understands. Almost imperceptible, a quick flicker of annoyance. “You miss her?” he asks, switching back.

“My mom?” You almost laugh, gripping onto your mug. Staring at the slow swirl of ginger. A shrug which presents more like a flinch; an animal swatting a fly away. “I miss those parts, when I think of them. The aquarium, the walking to school. Miss the memories. But I don’t think I knew her well enough or long enough to miss her.

“I’ve lived way longer without her than I ever had her. Done everything without her, like –” gesturing down, “– this. But, sometimes…sometimes, I bundle the sheets up behind my back in bed, and I pretend it’s her. Pretend I have a mom, and she’s cuddling me to sleep. I dunno. Maybe that’s what missing her feels like.”

Joel soaks in every word you say, letting the shape of each one settle on the table between you before he speaks again. Letting them be spoken into the dead of night, collected by no one, and letting them fade into silence. Secrets sweeping off into starlight. Nothing you would admit in the daytime.

“What was her name?” he asks, voice timid and gentle in the dark kitchen.

You almost choke on your tea. “Shoot – I’m sorry. That was a lot. Sorry. She, uh – Her name?”

It brings the first genuine smile to your lips; the memory of your mom now clear behind your eyes. Her round cheeks, her fluttering earrings. The deep, dark curls of her hair, thick ringlets twisting and lighting in the sun. The gap between her front teeth, the purse of her lips as she kissed your cheeks, your hands, your tummy.

Her name like a melody in your head; a safe word, a calming mantra when the world becomes too noisy, too saturated, too sharp to bear. Two syllables. Two little beats, like a piece of her still lives in the sound of her name.

“Sarah,” you tell Joel. “Her name was Sarah.”

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Congratulations on 700 followers Mo 😖💗....I really LOVE reading your fanfics☺️

I was kindly requesting Navy hummingbird and sloth please

Eeeek thank you so much for reading! I hope you like this one! (Honestly? I kind of wrote this with the thought of it being Burning Hearts, my Law series, adjacent.) Needy Law is so cuuuuute!

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Prompt/Trope: Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiac x Somnophilia 

WC: 1900

Warnings: oral, sex pollen affects, somnophilia without discussion but let’s assume they have (don’t worry we’re cool!) unprotected sex, p in v sex, prone bone, creampies and breeding baby!

Happy Anniversary, Baby (18+)

— — 

Law was a composed man. Over time, you had managed to worm your way through his hardened exterior to reach his nerdy, compassionate, caring center. Even as he opened up to you, he was still methodical about most things, including sex. He had the motions to make you orgasm down to a science at this point, making sure you were pleased far more than worrying about his own release. He always pulled out. He was the doctor who prescribed your birth control for god’s sake but he insisted on being careful anyway. Even if you begged him to finish inside, he was stubborn. You would never complain about your relationship with Law, he was just the way you liked him. 

Law was up early one morning going over paperwork at his desk. He couldn’t sleep any longer and didn’t want to wake you from your peaceful slumber by tossing and turning, so he decided to get some work done. 

After an hour or so of being engrossed in his work, Law glances at the calendar hanging on his office wall. Todays date had little pink hearts drawn around it in gel pen, by your hand of course. 

“Oh shit.” 

Law had forgotten about your anniversary. 

He had to think of something fast, preferably before you woke up. You were always telling him he worked too much so he couldn’t imagine the ass-chewing he would receive if you found out he forgot your anniversary. 

“Flowers…” He mumbles as he rises from his desk and leaves his office. He headed down the hall to the large closet you had converted into a makeshift greenhouse for your beloved hydroponic garden. 

He rips open the metal door and is hit in the face with moist air and the refreshing smell of greenery. The walls and center of the room were completely covered in carefully curated small plants, vegetables, flowers, and ferns. Law steps in and closes the door behind him. 

“She likes yellow…” Law mutters to himself as he finds himself overwhelmed by all the flowers around him. He was a doctor, not a botanist, he had no idea what any of these plants were so he just decided to choose something in your favorite color. 

He walked up to a large bush on the left side of the room that had unique-looking yellow flowers blossoming all over it. He thought this would be as good as any so he reached out his hand to pluck at the stem of one of the blooms. 

Just as he wrapped his tattooed fingers around the plant, the flower released a puff of yellow pollen right in his face. Law jerks backwards. The particles fly up into his sinuses and causes an uncomfortable tickle. 

“Ah- ACHOO!” Law sneezes violently which triggers the rest of the flowers on the bush to release their own supply of pollen into the air, clouding his vision and irritating his nose further. 

Law covers his face and rubs his eyes, trying to brush any remaining flower pollen off of him. 

“Must be some kind of natural defense mechanism… fuck that.” Law gripes as he wipes the last remnants of the pollen from his tired face. 

Law catches his breath and chooses to abandon this particular, aggravating plant. He spies a rosebush in the corner of the room. He knows what those are for sure, and as long as he doesn’t prick himself on the thorns, it should be less of a challenge to harvest them. 

Law walks over to the rosebush and begins snipping off the beautiful yellow blossoms, keeping the stems just long enough to put in a vase. Once he had around a dozen roses, he left the greenhouse room to find suitable container for the flowers in the kitchen. 

Rooting around in the kitchen cabinets, Law struggles to find anything nice enough for an anniversary bouquet. 

He wipes sweat from his brow and realizes that he’s been having to do it every few moments… why was he so sweaty? Was the boiler on the fritz again? He made a mental note to check the furnace on the ship after he gave you your gift. Law ignores the heat creeping up through him and continues searching the cabinets. 

He is pushing coffee mugs aside just as he notices the warm feeling become even more intense. Sweat was beading at his temples. 

“Fuck…” Law grunts and abandons his quest briefly so he can pour himself a glass of water. He chugs the entire cup in a few gulps and slams it back onto the kitchen counter. His jeans felt tight now. He looks down. His dick was fully hard, straining against the thick fabric of his pants. 

“What the hell…” Law had no idea what was happening to him. He was normally so in control of his faculties, but he now found himself painfully erect for no reason at all. He felt more droplets of sweat trickle down from his scalp to his neck. He grips the countertop and hangs his head, breathing heavily. 

It had to be that plant. He had no other logical explanation for the ache in his crotch and the uneasiness he was feeling in his head. The water didn’t help. He needed your help. You knew everything about the plants in there and would know exactly what to do to make the effects stop. 

Great, Law thought. Not only did he blow off your anniversary, he might have severely injured himself in the process… once again he wins the “Shittiest Boyfriend in the Grand Line” award. You were going to kill him, and at this point Law was so uncomfortable that he would probably let you. He abandons the flowers strewn across the kitchen counter and heads to your shared bedroom, desperate to find a cure to his ailment but also apprehensive of your reaction to his idiocy. 

He pushes open the bedroom door and quietly slips in, so he wouldn’t startle you if you were still sleeping. Before he has a chance to even form the words he wanted to use to explain himself to you, he was stopped in his tracks by your sleeping form. 

You had tossed all the covers off your body since Law had left, and you were laying on your back snoozing peacefully. Arms stretched over your head, Law’s bright yellow t-shirt emblazoned with his Jolly Roger was the only article of clothing you had on. You looked so serene, lost in your dreams, little snores escaping your parted dry lips… but Law could only focus on one thing. His t-shirt had ridden up and your thighs were spread, perfectly exposing your naked sex to him. 

Law felt his entire heartbeat in his cock now. Your plump, outer pussy lips looked so delicious, so kissable, and all Law could think about now was burying his tongue in you as you slept. Without thinking, Law unzips his pants and steps out of them when they fall to the floor, hissing as his dick finally has more room to breathe. He was no longer in control of himself, he could almost smell you from across the bedroom. He needed to have you now. 

He shouldn’t! The last of his sanity was pulling at his brain, begging him to just wake you up and ask you how to diffuse the effects of the flower’s pollen… but your naked cunt before him was just too much to resist any longer. 

Still feeling hot, Law strips himself completely, hat included. His hands tremble with need and tension as he tries to delicately settle himself on the bed between your legs, not wanting to wake you up. He would have a small taste and then let you rest… just one little lick…

He couldn’t help it. He immediately latched his whole mouth around your sex and laves his tongue up from the bottom of your hole to the top of your clit. 

“Hnnnhhh…” You whimper and shift in your sleep. 

“Mmmm…” Law groans into your pussy as your sweet taste helps alleviate some of the pressure he was feeling in his body. He can’t help but hump his hard cock into the mattress below the two of you, no doubt leaking pre and staining the sheets. 

Law notices you begin to stir and squirm underneath his touch, so he gently places his hands on your thighs to keep you still while he lapped at your pussy as if he was desperately parched and your body was an oasis. Becoming increasingly aroused, more of your slick leaked out of your hole into Law’s mouth which he greedily slurped up. The familiar flavor of you made his eyes roll back. He needed more. 

Law pushes himself up and positions himself on his knees between your legs. He grabs his cock and strokes it a few times harshly before lining himself up with your weeping hole. 

“I’m sorry baby…” Law whispers as he pushes himself into you. 

“Oh…” You sigh and your eyelids start to flutter. 

Without giving you time to wake up, Law sets a punishing pace with his hips and hammers into your wet cunt. Your breasts bounce freely underneath Law’s t-shirt and you rub your eyes involuntarily. 

“L-Law?” You sleepily say as you gain consciousness and realize he’s on top of you and balls deep inside of you. You thought you were just having a sex dream but you were shocked to find your partner waking you up with his cock. 

“Needed you now… Had to take you… You looked so fucking good and I just couldn’t stop…” Law grunts out as he thrusts into you with everything he has. 

“Fuck… feels so good…” You whimper out, sleep still heavy in your mind. 

“Shit, I’m gonna-“ Law huffs out before you feel him press hard into you. You then get the unfamiliar feeling of him shooting a heavy load inside of your walls. 

“D-did you r-really just-“ You stutter. You feel his member still twitching and hard inside of you. 

“Fuck why won’t it go down?” Law grits his teeth. 

“W-what?” Before you had time to question him further, Law picks you up by your waist and man handles you onto your stomach, spreading your legs again to make room for him. He pulls your hips up and presses his dick inside you again, your tender hole seeping white liquid out and coating him. 

“Shit! Law!” You moan as you feel him hit your favorite spot from behind. He picks up a brutal pace as he fucks you. “S-slow down, babe!” You try to push a hand back on his abs to quell his fervor. “I’m gonna-“

“C-can’t… I can’t! Fuck!” Law huffs as he grips your hips impossibly tight, surely leaving marks. You had never seen this animalistic side of your boyfriend and you couldn’t help how much it turned you on. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge of orgasm embarrassingly quickly for someone who had just woken up. 

“AH!” You yelp into the pillow below you as you cum, hard. 

“Yes baby, this pussy is so fucking good, squeezing me so tight…” 

You were a babbling mess as Law’s heavy thrusts send you into overstimulation. 

“Gotta fucking fill you again, want you to drip for days…”

You whimper in response. 

“Yeah you’re mine baby, all mine… gonna stuff you so fucking good… FUCK-“ Law almost shouts as you feel more hot liquid filling your insides, surely leaking out around his member. 

Law rides out his second orgasm with a few more deep thrusts before he collapses over you and nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades. 

Finally feeling relieved, Law pulls out of you tenderly before flopping on his back next to you on the bed, out of breath. You turn to your side and snuggle into him as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Happy Anniversary?” Law says tentatively.

“Happy Anniversary indeed. Was that my present?” You giggle. 

“I cut you some flowers, left them in the kitchen, though.” Law says as he strokes your hair. 

“Wait… what flowers?!” You raise your voice as your head shoots up off his chest. 

xx

Mo

[grapejollyrancher]

Noise Complaints (Pt. 1 (?))

Logan Howlett x Reader

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem! AFAB! Reader

Warnings: smut, MINORS DNI, dry humping, slight dacryphilia (only if you squint), desperate!logan, pet names, no use of y/n, knife use (not sexual, not knifeplay)

a/n: yall pls go easy on me this is my first time ever publishing a fanfic :O. if there are any errors or if i forgot to mention any warnings or triggers please LMK! constructive criticism is heavily encouraged as i mentioned this is my first fic. ALSO so sorry i am legit incapable of writing sexual tension/ buildup forgive me! Hope you guys enjoy! let me know what you think :) (p.s. i have a part two drafted if anyone is interested i can edit it and post soon!)

It was a boring day at the X-Mansion…

You pass through the living room on the way to the kitchen to grab something to eat. Your eyes glance around the room and see Logan sitting on one of the armchairs with a cigar in his hand. Some random show is playing on the TV but you can tell he isn’t paying attention; his mind is somewhere else.

“Hey lo! Whatcha up to?”

He’s lost in thought, but his head snaps up when hears you. He looks up at you and gives you small smile, taking a drag from his cigar before responding.

“Just thinkin'. Nothin' important, Darlin'. What're you up to?”

You move across the room towards the entrance of the kitchen and point, your cheeks turning pink at his petname for you.

“Gonna make something to eat. You hungry?” You ask.

He stays silent for a moment, thinking about it, before nodding.

“Yeah, I could eat. What're you making?”

“Probably just a sandwich,” You shrug, “Nothin’ crazy”

He chuckles as he stands up and stretches a little, his shirt riding up slightly to show a sliver of his tanned stomach. He stubs out his cigar before nodding. Your eyes are glued to the small piece of tanned skin showing before his words snap your attention back to your task.

“Sure thing, Darlin'. Lead the way.”

You walk into the kitchen, Logan trailing behind you. You can feel his gaze burning into the back of you. You turn to him,

“Okay ill grab the stuff from the pantry if you wanna grab the stuff from the fridge?” He nods.

“Yeah, sure thing, Darlin’.”

He turns to the fridge and you turn towards the cabinets, searching for what you need when you notice the bread is on a high shelf out of reach

“Who the fuck put the bread up there?” You mutter under your breath and turn to ask Logan for help, leaning your back against the counter

.

“Hey Lo? Help a girl out, would you?” You ask with a fake pout making grabby hands at the bread that’s out of reach. He chuckles as you made grabby hands at it and strain to try to reach the shelf. He closes the fridge and walks over to you.

“Sure thing, Darlin'.”

Your breath hitches as you feel him pressed against you, caging you in against the counter with one of his hands resting on the counter near your hip. Looking up at him as he hands you the bread, you realize just how much taller he is than you, how much bigger.

“T-thanks, Lo,” you stutter. He smirks as he watches you flush, his eyes tracing every part of you.

“No problem, Darlin'.” He leans down so he was right next to your ear, his voice lowering as he spoke.

“You’re just a little too small, huh?” He teases. You playfully smack his arm and roll your eyes at his teasing words, blushing slightly.

“It’s not my fault I’m not freakishly tall like you,” you tease back.

“I think it’s cute,” he smirks as he leans even closer, his body pressed right against yours, your faces only inches apart. “Perfect jus’ the way ya are, Princess'.”

You feel your face getting even redder at his compliments. Your breath gets caught in your chest as he leans impossibly closer, embarrassed knowing he can probably hear your heart hammering against your ribcage.

“Thanks, Logan.” You say averting your eyes and turning your back to him, trying to focus on what you were doing before.

You hear him chuckle softly behind you at your embarrassment. He pushes off the counter to lean back against the island a few steps away from you. You take in a shuddering breath now that he was no longer pressed up against you, trying to focus on the sandwich-in-progress on the counter in front of you. You glance back to where he’s leaning against the counter. He watches you carefully as you make your sandwich, his eyes never leaving you. He shifts his weight against the counter with his arms crossed, his muscles flexing slightly as he moves. Your eyes involuntarily widen at the sight of his arms bulging. You quickly turn back around, trying to force down the thoughts running through your mind at the sight.

Your hands shake a bit with nervousness as you try to steady your thoughts. The idea of him pressed up against you again flashes through your head and you gasp lightly. The knife in your hand clatters to the floor.

“Shit!” You yelp. You bend down to pick up the knife, still trying to steady your breathing. He immediately looks down as the knife drops to the floor, his gaze trained on you as you bent over to pick it up. He instantly tenses, his face becoming flushed almost instantly at the sight in front of him. He steps up closer behind you, his body almost completely pressed up against yours again. His voice is low as he speaks.

“Careful, hon. Don’t wanna hurt yourself.” You jump slightly at the sound of his deep voice, realizing just how close to you he was again. You straighten back up and toss the knife into the sink, giving up on making your sandwich.

“Im okay!”

He was still standing right behind you, his body pressed right up against yours. he leans down towards your ear and speaks in a low, gruff voice,

“Yer makin' me think naughty thoughts with you bendin’ over like that, Darlin’.” You suck in a breath at his words. His intoxicating scent surrounds you and you feel the stubble on his chin run against the sensitive skin of your neck

“O-oh.” You stutter, “what kind of naughty thoughts?” He smirks as you stutter at his words, his hand slowly running up the side of your hip. His hot breath ghosts across the skin of your neck and shoulder, giving you chills.

“Oh, just the things I want to do to you, Darlin'...” You whimper at his grip on your hips and his breath against your neck, leaving you breathless and wanting him. You feel his hard bulge press against your ass and moan softly at the contact

“Logan, I--“ you pant, “didn’t think you liked me like that.” He chuckles at your reaction and places a gentle kiss on the underside of your jaw, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he presses his body even tighter against yours. He hums softly,

“I've been wantin' ya for a while now, Darlin'. You’ve been drivin' me crazy since I first met ya,”

You sigh as he kisses your jaw and neck, moaning as you feel his sculpted chest and abs against your back and his bulge pressing into your ass.

“Fuck Logan- I want you,” You say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

Hearing you moan like that sends a shiver down his spine. He growls softly and pushes his hips against you a bit, his body yearning for you.

“Mm, is that so, princess? Sounds like someone's getting excited...” He trails off as he continues his kisses down your jawline and your neck, the stubble of his chin scratching deliciously across your sensitive skin.

You turn around in his grasp and wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You came onto me Lo… don’t blame me for getting all hot and bothered at you pressing up against me like that” He chuckles at your comment, his own arms wrapping around your waist and holding you tightly against him. He hums at the feel of your fingers in his hair and tilts his head back slightly.

“Can ya blame me for wanting you? You're so damn sexy like this...” His mouth goes back to your neck, slowly leaving a trail of kisses and occasionally a few hickies down your throat. You throw your head back and tug at the locks of his hair between your fingers. You groan as you feel his hands slip up under your shirt and squeeze your hips.

“F-fuck-“ you sigh. Hearing you moan and sigh at his touch sends waves of heat through him and he groans slightly. He continues to kiss and bite your neck, his hands moving up and downyour sides under your shirt, the calloused skin of his hands rough against your softer skin.

“Such a sweet little thing... I wonder how long you'll last...”

You whimper from his words and buck your hips to meet his. You place a hand under his chin to tilt him back towards your face, leaning in and slotting your lips against his. You gasp as you feel him slide his hands down your back to your ass and feel him squeeze. He slides them down further and grasps the back of your thighs firmly, lifting you up with ease so he can set you on the counter.

He groans against your lips as he feels you grind your hips against his. He eagerly returns the kiss, his lips moving in perfect sync with yours. Once he lifts you up onto the counter he immediately steps between your legs, parting them. His hands once again on your hips, holding you.

“Mmm,” he moans, “Darlin' you're gettin' me all worked up here...”

“Logan,” you whimper, head tilting back, hands still gripping his hair. You feel his bulge press against your clothed core. “Oh, there—"

His voice deep and gravelly in your ear, “Yeah, baby? Like this?”

He rolls his hips against you gently, his breath getting heavier in your ear. Your eyes roll back into your head in pleasure at the feeling of him rutting against you. You wrap your legs around his waist to pull him impossibly closer.

“Holy shit—”

His breath hitches slightly at the sound of your soft moans. He grunts as he’s pulled closer, his face burying in the crook of your neck.

“S-so damn needy... Sound so pretty for me, doll.”

You’re a moaning, whimpering mess as he thrusts against you, the feeling of his body engulfing you, driving you close to the edge. He continues to grind against you, nearly losing his mind with you being so needy against him. The thin material of your shorts leaves nothing to the imagination as the friction from the rough denim against your clit sends sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

“Logan,” you gasp. “So good—"

“Don't worry, Darlin'... “ He breathes back, “I've got you”

His hands start to slide up under your shirt, tracing his hands over your stomach and up towards your chest, kneading the soft skin with his large palms. You moan loudly against his shoulder, biting down to try to muffle the noises escaping you. You grip his shoulders with all your strength as your legs start to shake against him. His hands pinch and pull at your nipples and you throw your head back and a throaty groan escapes your lips at the euphoric sensation

“Logan—shit!” you whimper, “Don’t stop—” You say as he starts to slow his movements, like he was going to pull away. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he comes to a realization.

“Is this gonna get you baby? You’re a mess already and I’ve barely touched you.”

You blush at his words, his thrusts picking up speed again. The feeling of his clothed tip nudging your clit brings you closer and closer to your release. You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds of your climax approaching. Tears well in the waterline of your eyes from the overwhelming feeling of him pleasuring you.

“Look at me doll,” he demands. You snap your head up to look at him, surely with a fucked-out expression on your face. “Look so pretty f’me darlin’. Look at you crying from my cock, feels too good, huh?”

Your eyes roll back and you whimper at his words, “God—Yes, Lo. Getting s-so close—"

He returns his lips to your neck to press wet, hot kisses over the skin again, trailing up your jawline to nip at your earlobe.

“That’s it, baby. C’mon” he encourages you as you buck your hips to meet his thrusts, chasing your rapidly approaching orgasm.

“Lo—” You whine, “Gonna come-! Don’t stop d-don’t stop, please” you whine tearfully, gripping his shoulders and digging your nails in to ground yourself.

He groans into the crook of your neck, loving the painful pleasure of your nails biting into his skin. He starts to come undone from your begging, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you as close as he could, guiding your hips to meet his quick thrusts.

“Yeah, Darlin'... Need you to come for me. Be a good girl and let go”

He continues marking up your neck for the world to see, inhaling your sweet scent that he can’t seem to get enough of. His breathing becoming heavier and more uneven as his need for you increases.

“Logan! Feels so fucking good- oh god I’m so close—"

Hearing the sounds of you falling apart in his arms pushes him over the edge, his heaving breaths uneven and his muscles tensing from the feeling of you coming undone against him.

“Mmm, yes, Darlin'... Let go baby... Come for me, princess” he moans and licks a stripe up the shell of your ear. His deliciously large hands groping your chest and pinching your stiff peaks.

The feeling of his hands on you, all over you, send you over the edge. Your orgasm lighting you up and splitting you open from top to bottom. Your eyesight goes slightly blurry from the intensity of your release. You grip his hair and pull hard to ground yourself. You pull him towards you and crash your lips to his in a heated kiss. You could feel his thrusts become faster and shorter, knowing he was close

“Fuck princess... you're drivin' me crazy... gonna make me come—" His body trembles and his hips start to lose rhythm.

“Logan—” you pant against his ear, “Want you to come for me- please baby- need to feel you.” You press your lips to his jaw and kiss down the column of his throat, winding one of your hands in his hair to tug at it. You pull away for a second to whisper against him again

“I know you’re close Lo,” you nip at his lower lip and he whines into your mouth. “Wanna feel you. C’mon baby… let go for me Logan.”

He nearly loses it when he hears your throaty voice in his ear again, his name sounding like a prayer from your lips. He could only focus on your voice and your breath against his skin as you spoke, his control slipping more with every word. He could feel the pressure building and building almost to the breaking point, his body quivering with need and his hands gripping your hips with a bruising force.

“F-fuck Logan… so fucking good baby. Need you to come. Get it lo, come for me”

He groans loudly against your skin, barely able to think or speak as his climax rapidly approaches, all he could say was your name.

“Fuck—oh, fuck—I’m coming doll—shit!”

With one more desperate moan against your skin and a final roll of his hips against you, he completely unravels, his mind lost in a haze of lust from you. He groans your name in a low, gruff voice as he rides out his orgasm.

“So good baby… so fucking good for me Lo,” You scratch your nails against his scalp lightly to ground him, his clothed cock still throbbing against your core

Your words and the feel of your nails against his skin was the only thing he could focus on as he tried to regain his breathing and composure.

“Ah... mmm... Darlin'... You'll be the death of me...” He pants against your neck, pressing light kisses on your shoulder.

“Big words comin’ from a man who can’t die” You smirk at him teasingly. He chuckles softly at your words, taking a few more deep breaths to try to calm himself down

“Heh, Darlin', you know what I mean... You drive me crazy, gonna kill me one of these days...” he breathes.You lean into the weight of his against your neck, turning your head to place a gentle kiss against his, sliding your hands up and down his shoulders soothingly.

“I sure hope not,” You tease, “I’m gonna need you to stick around for a while now that I know what you’re capable of.” He hums softly as your hands slide across his shoulders gently gripping your hips with his hands, fingers tracing small patterns on your skin.

”Mmm, don’t you worry, Darlin'. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. You’re stuck with me now.”

“Good.” You sigh against his hair, “Let’s go get cleaned up honey.” You hop down from the counter as he releases your hips. You stumble slightly, legs shaky from the aftermath of your intense orgasm, and you wrap a hand around his bicep for stability.

He chuckles at your lack of balance and shaky legs, a sense of pride and satisfaction surging through his chest. He wraps his arms around you and steadies you against him.

“Easy there, princess. Looks like I did a number on ya, huh?” He gives you a cocky smirk as he holds you close against his chest. You look up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Is that all you got, Howlett?” Before he can react, you sprint out of the kitchen towards the stairs. He was caught off guard at first, his eyes widening in surprise as he watches you flee from him. He takes a moment to react, then smiles and lets out a huff in response. He could hear you laughing and the grin on his face only grew.

“Darlin'... you're playin’ a dangerous game with me right now,” He calls after you. You started giggling madly as you hear his heavy footsteps start behind you. He lets out a low chuckle as he chases after you up the stairs, slowly gaining on you as his legs were much longer than yours. You giggle and squeal as you feel his strong, muscular arms wrap around you, lifting you from the ground.

“Logan!” You shriek, as he lifts you higher to put one arm around your back and the other behind your legs, carrying you bridal style, holding you close against his solid chest.

“Heh, I gotcha now darlin’.” He ducks down to whisper huskily in your ear.

And have you he did.

[hellishjoel]

ungodly and unprofessional

5.6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

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summary: who said anything about falling in love? you're just co-workers. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.) and wears a waitress uniform, explicit smut, consensual somnophilia, swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers), lastly not beta'd (lmk if you're interested!) A/N: five or six months later, who really knows. believe it or not, I was never not working on this or thinking about it for all of those months... which is crazy. I completely wing these chapters which is probably why it takes so long but you guys don't mind, right? enjoy these cuties falling deeper <3 I almost forgot - shoutout to BistroHuddy on TikTok because one of their segments inspired something in here (but no spoilers!)

“To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy-Ray Belcourt. 

You have this silly poetry book someone gave you as a birthday present or holiday gift exchange a few years ago. You’ve never picked it up until now. You’re shocked to say all of these cheesy love quotes and poems make you think of one very specific person: a guy with dark curls, a scruffy beard, amber eyes, and the perfect smile. Francisco. 

Falling for a man like Frankie feels like growing up— a sign of maturing compared to the ghosts of terrible boyfriend's past. 

Come to find out, it’s easier to go for the wrong guys, easier on your heart in a way — you don’t feel like you are actually losing anything. 

That’s why you would bet on losing dogs. Invest your emotions and need for romance in those who don’t reciprocate. The ones who despise commitment or lack emotional availability leave you in a state of disappointment. 

Better that than full-blown heartache. Better than ripping yourself open at the seams for another, only to be the one to sew yourself back up again. But not better than winning. 

The letter Frankie’s father sent him weeks ago had been burned into your brain. Every single word, each break of a new paragraph, lines of apologies, and convincing stories of ‘the good times’ they used to have. 

Frankie appeared to be just as wary about the letter as you were, neither of you so easily trusting. Frankie didn’t trust his father, but you did trust Frankie—end of story. 

You’ve never known Frankie to be so tightly closed about something that bothers him. He was the type of man who wears his heart on his sleeve, an open book. 

Aside from allowing you to read the letter, you two have barely spoken about it. And not due to your lack of trying. 

There wasn’t a need for you to bring clarity to the situation, it wasn’t up to you to encourage Frankie to allow his father back into his life. But there was still a lot of emotional trauma that he carried that he didn’t have to bear alone. You just wanted him to know that you support him in whatever avenue he decides is best. 

To forgive or to forget. 

Frankie releases a sigh from his parted lips, squeezing his eyes closed tighter as your alarm chimes from your phone on the bedside table. He hates the fucking morning shift. 

The air is sticky and thick, and the fan on his bedroom ceiling is doing little to help. Late August is still taking its toll on Texas and its residents, but he’s reminded that this time last year, he sunk down on his knees in the back kitchen and tasted you on his tongue for the first time. Can’t believe it’s been a year since then. Plus all the events that have transpired since. 

There’s no label between you two other than the fact you are exclusive— putting your focus on each other and not seeing other people. It was good, better than nothing with you. 

His eyelashes finally flutter open, seeing you shift in the dark to turn off the alarm, only to dig your face deep into your pillow. He thinks you’re fucking adorable. 

Frankie is by no means a morning person, but waking up beside you has changed his perspective. Your hair is a scattered mess, the ponytail having fallen loose in the tosses and turns of last night. The sunlight peaking through the blinds highlights the slope of your nose and Cupid’s bow. Arms tucked into your front, leg hiked up like a ballerina.

His mind starts to swirl at the conversation you shared recently, that you wanted to try something… new. To be surprised. To be taken by him in your sleep. 

He was shocked to hear you say it, all shy and meek - it’s not a side of you he sees often. But it’s the vulnerability talking, advocating the trust you share together. 

“I want to wake up with you inside me.”

Frankie had to blink a few times, his large hand cradling your jaw as you spoke in whispers between the sheets. “You— I didn’t know you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“We don’t have to if it’s not your thing. But there’s something about you moving me where you want me to be, being completely under your control, even a little helpless,” you pause, uncertain if your words would scare him off. 

The exact opposite. Frankie was intrigued. 

“The thrill of trying not to wake you up.” He continues, watching your glowing smile return, indicating that Frankie understands why this would feel good to you. 

“My natural reaction, trusting you, knowing that you’ll be careful, knowing that you’re using me— it’s hot, Frankie. You have my consent, I wanna try.” 

Frankie’s stomach churns with excitement, butterflies spreading through his abdomen and up to his chest, his heart thunking eagerly. 

He was slow and methodical, not wanting you to stir from your sleepy state. Nipping at his lower lip, teeth piercing the skin, he works up the courage to touch you. A rough and calloused hand travels up your side, pushing up your sleep tee and watching goosebumps line the tips of his fingers.

Frankie presses slow kisses to the top of your shoulder, feeling his cock swell against the plump of your ass in all of the excitement. He whispers your name, soft and raspy with the morning hour. Other than a small twitch of your nose, you’re out cold. 

“Shh, s’okay angel, m’gonna make you feel good.” The desire stirs in his stomach, urging him to please you in your sleep just like you asked. 

With two crooked fingers, he curls them around the band of your panties and slowly drags them down your soft thighs. You let out a slow sigh between your parted lips, Frankie pausing to watch as you settle once more. 

 Slipping two skilled fingers between your legs, he slowly massages up and down your folds. He’s surprised to already feel the slick between your legs, a low groan of approval leaving the depths of his throat. 

There’s a shift, your hips squirming for more of his touch. You’re so perfectly pliant for him, causing the embers low in his belly to grow with anticipation, the blood rushing to his cock as it hardens against the curve of your ass. 

“Good girl,” he remarks as you let out a little whimper upon the pads of Frankie’s fingers finding your swollen clit. “Even asleep, you’re nice and wet for me, princess.” 

Goddammit, he thinks, how does she have this much of an effect while perfectly asleep? He can’t stand the feeling of not touching her, the carnal need to take her was strong like a magnet, forcing their bodies together. 

One yank and he was out of his briefs, chewing on his lower lip in concentration. He needed to move you, to perfectly fit in the nook of your body, you’d have to be good and yield to him. 

Frankie hikes up your leg and fills in the spaces between your bodies, stroking over himself as he slowly lines his leaking tip along your entrance. Just as he notches his tip inside, a quiet and sleepy gasp leaves your perfect pillowy lips. 

“Right there, baby, you just stay right there for me,” Frankie growls against your ear, his hips flush with yours as he slowly lets inch by inch of him be swallowed by your warm cunt. 

After that, there wasn’t a lot of nicety to him. The level of control he carried was lost. He just wanted to take and take, feel and fuck. He wants to use you like his own personal toy; do whatever he pleases with no resistance. You were his to devour. 

He’s still inside you, but he’s gotten this far, and you’re still out. Even in sleep, you’re pulsing around his cock, so fucking tight around him that it steals the air from his lungs. There’s a hint of discomfort in your face, a quiet gasp held within your expression. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, the hand he holds firmly on your hip now moving under your sleep tee. 

You were so fucking accessible to him, so beautiful, so peaceful being fucked raw. 

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, getting the reaction he’s been waiting for all morning. A sweet, slow moan tumbles loose from your throat, your hips reeling back to grind against Frankie’s lap. 

He’s somewhat pleased he knows you this well, knows what gets you worked up and gushing. The fact that even in your sleep, you have this reaction towards him makes the fire burning inside his abdomen grow. Maybe a deep part of him gets off on knowing you so well. 

Frankie lets out a sigh at his own thoughts, lightly nipping the skin of your exposed shoulder as he slowly rolls his hips back and glides in again, feeling the drag of your tight pussy keeping him lubed up and warm.

If he weren’t so desperate to fuck you, he’d love to just sit inside you like this all goddamn day. It would probably give him the same comfort as the first cup of coffee. 

He gives your breast one more firm squeeze before returning the attention back to your clit, all desperate and tingling with each eager circle he gives you. 

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers against your ear, his hips continuing at a steady pace until he simply needs more. He hikes up your leg once again to allow himself more movement, smirking as your ass smacks against the front of his hips with each thrust that now jostles your body. 

You’ll surely wake any moment, shocked and sleepy and startled at his cock so deep inside your perfectly spent cunt. 

You whimper each time he fills you, your face digging into the pillow as you moan against the cover. Frankie’s efforts grow needy and demanding, fisting your hair out of his way as he sucks marks into your neck; teeth and tongue massaging the skin before leaving a bruise in its wake.

A sweet little sob exits your parted lips, Frankie groaning at the pretty little noises you make. 

“Take me so well, princess. You want me to keep fuckin’ you, huh?” He snarls against your neck, smirking as you hiss at the sensations you’re feeling all throughout your body.  

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. They absorb the settings around you and it all clicks. A long, desperate moan crawls from the depths of your throat, your movements sluggish but your hand eventually clasps onto Frankie’s forearm, his fingers still swirling around your clit. 

“Ohmy— Frankie, fuck,” you gasp as you feel the full force of his cock drilling deep inside your pussy. Your voice is still thick with sleep, eyes cloudy with lust, and skin-prickling sensations that you had never felt before; a million emotions, but the standout being desperation to come undone like this with a man you trust. 

“This what you wanted, angel? Wake up with my cock stuffed between your legs?” Frankie smirks as he presses his lips against your cheek, jaw dropping against your own as you ride out the high together. 

You cry out something wrecked, a garble of syllables as your spine arches against his front. You weren’t given the pleasure of feeling the orgasm build and build; you woke up at its high heat. 

In an instant, your skin was clammy, hair sticking to your skin as desperate pants filled the room, along with broken moans of Frankie’s name. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, maybe better. Yes, way better. 

You’re so tight, literally clinging to every single inch he gives you as your slick drenches his cock. Your nails dig into his tan skin, feeling the muscles and tendons work to play with your clit. 

A whimper leaves you as the warmth in your stomach boils over, turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes are dark, cast over with lust as he stole you in your sleep. In an instant, he meets you with a messy kiss, your bodies and the bed still jolting with each rough thrust he gives you. 

“Please,” you moan against his lips, nodding your head as you look into his eyes. “Come inside me, I wanna feel it, please, give it to me, Frankie,” your words turn into a whine as he begins to fuck you harder, deeper, his tip tickling your cervix as you damn near blackout from the pleasure. 

The pleasure inside of you finally reaches the surface. The feeling was like a wave breaching over your rocky shores, washing over you both in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his thick cock. 

Frankie spoils your clit as his hips snap against your ass, one, two, three more times before the feeling of you overcomes him. He braces you tightly in his arms, panting against your shoulder, eyes clenching closed as he lets out broken grunts of release. He paints your insides with his spend, both of you relaxing in one another’s hold as you slowly descend from heaven. 

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie breathes, shaking his head with a tilted smirk. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He remarks as you look over your shoulder in a haze. 

You whimper as you pull him in closer, fingers weaving into the curls at the back of his head and encouraging him to meet your parted lips. 

The words are at the tip of your tongue, and you can feel them spread heat throughout your body. You can hear both of your hearts beating, thundering against the human flesh, and signaling the feeling of being alive. 

Frankie waits for the words. The feeling of anticipation has been lingering for quite some time. Your touch of nervousness was welcome, expected even. A moment in time when your heart feels exposed but also overwhelmingly full. Only hoping that the other person feels the same way, yet uncertain of how they will respond. A game of chicken of who will say it first and who will have to respond. The leap of faith one will be forced to make and the right words the other will have to find.

Both roles are downright frightening. 

You’re risking everything, the biggest gamble one can make without physical currency. 

But he sees the panic behind your eyes, the nervewracking feeling of saying the sacred words to someone, maybe even for the first time. And he knows that they will be worth it to hear. 

“I know,” he whispers against your lips, shaking his head in a way that tells you he knows what you’re thinking. “I know.” 

You don’t attend church, so you have one question: why the fuck is God sending people to get brunch after Sunday’s service? Why is that their beck and call? 

Every Sunday morning, like clockwork, a flock of people flood the diner with their church clothes and a hankering for waffles and Frankie’s house lumberjack skillet (you wanna know what’s in it, don’t you?)

Frankie’s Secret Ingredients:

Potatoes: 1/4 lb (about 4-5 small potatoes)

Olive Oil: 1/2 tablespoon

Breakfast Sausage Links: 3 oz (about 4 links)

Onion: 1/8 of a whole onion, chopped

Red Pepper: 1/4 of a whole red pepper, chopped

Jalapenos: 1/2 jalapeno, sliced (omit if person looks too old to handle)

Butter: 1 tablespoon

Hickory Maple Seasoning: 1/2 teaspoon

Eggs: 2 large eggs

Milk: 1 tablespoon

Cheddar Cheese: 2 tablespoons, shredded

Anyway, Tommy’s Diner is slammed by mid-morning, and you’re working up a sweat. You’re wiping at your neck and forehead every few minutes, and the sun filtering through the windows does little justice to cool your skin. Tina called out sick, which is code for hungover from Saturday. It’s overwhelming. Your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you just plated for that family of four.

“Enjoy,” you whisper a little breathlessly, tucking your notepad into the front of your apron, rubbing at your temple with the heel of your hand as you walk past the rest of your tables. 

By the time you lift your head, you see a large potbelly man who is waving an arm up above his head, fingers already snapping incessantly. He looked like a chubby rat, with a large dark-haired mustache and a shirt that didn’t fully cover the beer gut he was sporting.

“Uhm, hello? Miss, can we get some service over here?” 

Jesus fucking Christ. Your jaw tightens a few notches, pushing your hair out of your face and wrapping around to their table. You remember them; you took their table’s order a bit ago now - shit, did you forget their plates? No, you didn’t. 

Stopping at the head of their table, you smile politely at the large family. 

“Hi, can I get you something while you wait?”

The man scoffs and snaps, “Uh, yeah, our food.”

Taking a deep breath wasn’t enough; you were a ticking time bomb. “Sir, do you see how many people are in the diner? We’re at capacity with a line out the door. I understand you’ve been waiting, but our kitchen is backed up and-” 

“Bull-honkey-bullcrap, little miss,” the man raises his voice, spitting violently with each syllable, “This is ridiculous! We’ve been sittin’ here for nearly an hour. How hard is it to make some eggs and Mickey Mouse pancakes, huh? You just that stupid? What the hell is goin’ on back there? Are you people completely incompetent, or are you just ignorin’ us?”

Worse things have been said to your face, but you’re at your breaking point. You can feel your face flush with warmth radiating throughout your body. Now, the entire diner is staring at you from all the commotion. Your lungs feel tight, a headache casting heavy behind your face. Tears line your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall. 

“Again, I’m really sorry, but like I said, the kitchen is backed up.” But apologizing isn’t enough. This guy just wanted someone to take his punches. 

“Don’t even try to apologize. I don’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses. How hard is it to cook some damn eggs? This place is a joke. You must be the worst server I’ve ever dealt with. ‘Nd I swear, if I wanted this kind of useless service, I’d go to a fast food joint. Is this how you treat payin’ customers, or ya’ll just this lazy? Do your job, or I’ll make sure everyone knows how worthless you and this diner is.”

You clutch the empty coffee pot tightly, biting your tongue. Turning swiftly, you head straight for the back swinging door. You don't intend to contribute to the chaos or the bustling mess in the kitchen, but here, in the safety of the back section, you allow a few stray tears to escape.

Shoulder blades hitting the cold brick, you wish to blend into the wall. It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you, your chest heavy and tight. Every sound around you blurs as the man’s harsh words replay in your mind, louder and louder each time. Your hands shake just enough to want to hide them behind your back, feeling afraid to have eyes on you in such a vulnerable state. Exposed. You’ve absorbed the anger meant for something or someone else, so now, it sticks to you, something you can’t wash away. 

Your name echoes once, twice. 

“Hey,” A calm amongst the rushing waves - it’s Frankie. You blink him into focus, bleary tears slowly fading away. His red bandana is tied tight around his forehead to catch the sweat from his forehead and hair. His face is laced with concern. He wipes his hands off on his apron, gently capturing your face as he shields you from the rest of the kitchen. 

And just like that, life returns to your body. You can feel the tips of your fingers, previously tingling, wiping under your eyes as you hiccup through your breaths. Frankie knows this high-traffic area will only make your anxiety worse. 

“It’s okay, take a deep breath and tell me what happen.”

The eyes of the kitchen staff are slowly starting to turn to you, asking if you’re alright and why you’re upset. Shaking your head dismissively, you blink away your tears and look down at the grubby floor that probably hasn’t been mopped since the invention of flip phones. 

“I’m fine. This customer just got pissed and yelled at me. He was upset that his food was running behind, and I tried to explain that the kitchen was backed up.” You part your lips to continue, but the jaw drops of the kitchen staff signal shock by your words. 

They all start honking in unison like a flock of geese. 

“He what?”

“Which fuckin’ table?”

“You okay, sweetheart? Fuck them.” 

Frankie's back straightens stiff, having previously been craning to see your face, now strict with annoyance. 

“Is that him?” Frankie asks as he walks to the window between the kitchen and the back counter, narrowing his eyes on the rat man and his family. 

“Frankie, please don't,” you huff, already refilling your pots of coffee and hoping to just forget the whole thing ever happened. "It's okay, it happens."

But it’s not okay. Because this guy made you cry, and what the hell was it for? Some scrambled eggs and bacon on delay?

The rest of the line cooks have abandoned their food to gawk at the asshole who thinks he can get away with yelling at one of their own like that. 

Frankie tightens his bandana and peels off his gloves, slapping them down in the trash. 

His boots thunder across the linoleum, catching the attention of many of the patrons on his way to the booth by the window where the rat man has continued to reside angrily. Even worse, he chuckles at the sight of Frankie. 

“Take a load of this guy," the rat man appears to mutter to his wife who looks between them both with startled eyes. "Okay, okay, just bring back the pretty waitress. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” He sneers, shaking his head. 

“No, you’re done with her. You’re dealin’ with me now.” Frankie snags an empty chair from a nearby table, turns it around, and straddles the seat as he gets in the burly man's face. 

“I just feel terrible that we’re not meeting the quality of service you expected. So what exactly is the problem?” Frankie asks with a hint of venom lining his words. 

“Well- we’ve been waitin’ here for half an hour and-”

“Right, and what did the pretty waitress say?”

The man scoffs lightly, feeling embarrassed with all the eyes on him not once but twice now. “Well, she said the kitchen was backed up.”

“That’s right, that’s right, well, I’m the fuckin’ kitchen. You wanna yell at someone? Well, I thought I’d give you the chance to yell at me since, hey, I'm in charge of the kitchen today. Please, tell me your honest review.”

The rat man stares blankly, looking from left to right in surprise, but his family all gawks at Frankie. 

Frankie waits, eyes unblinking, face hardened as the man sputters up something weak in response. 

“This is ungodly and unprofessional,” he gargles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“You’re absolutely right!” Frankie says, smacking the table with his closed fist before pointing at the rat man, the tip of his finger inches from his face. “I am unprofessional, but that’s because I don’t have the great customer service skills of our waitresses. That’s her job,” Frankie juts a thumb backward towards the kitchen in your direction. “So now, instead of cookin’ you and your ugly wife and kids some food, I gotta come out here and knock some sense into ya since you seemed to have lost your manners. So you gonna let her do her job so I can get back to mine?”

You can only watch from the window in shock, hand over mouth, unblinking eyes - but it’s like a car crash you can’t look away from. The man is shocked into an embarrassed silence. 

“We’ll just… we’ll wait. There’s-uh-there’s a lotta people here.” 

Frankie sighs and smiles with fake relief. He stands from the chair, looking around the quiet restaurant. 

“Anybody else have somethin' they wanna say?”

They all seem too scared of Frankie to complain again to the psycho chef. Chants of ‘Everything’s great!’ or “Thank you!” echo through the dining room. 

You smile warmly, forcing yourself to turn away from the scene and clean up your teary makeup in the bathroom. But all you can think about is Frankie. Francisco. Stupid Catfish. Stepping in like that to protect you, to make that jerk take accountability. It makes your heart flutter knowing how much he cares. And you feel the same way.

It’s about time you tell him. 

Knuckles wrap against the bathroom door, and an echo of, “You okay?” follows. 

He comes in without a response, somewhat relieved to find you adjusting your hair and wiping at the smeary makeup. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, watching in the reflection. He looks disheveled and annoyed, shaking his head as he starts ranting about rat man. 

“I don’t get how people like that- the God-loving church people- come in here and act like they weren’t just told at a sermon to love thy neighbor or whatever bullshit.”

He continues, but all you do is stare.

A part of you thinks he defends others due to his childhood. No one picks on the people Frankie cares about. That letter riled him up, maybe more than either of you had realized. He’s thinking about those times of the past, the innocent hurt by the deviant. 

“You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry, he’s a fucking dick. You don’t have to take his food out, I’ll do it. Honey,” he breathes, hand resting on your shoulder as he gently turns you around to face him. “Are you mad at me? I know you told me not to go out there, but no one makes you cry if I can help it, y’know? I don’t want him to think he can get away with that.”

Once Frankie starts ranting, it’s really hard to get him to stop. 

“Frankie,” you breathe out, resting your hand over the one he holds on your shoulder. 

“I mean, does he really think that it’s smart to be rude to the staff? I’ll spit in his food, and it will feel really good because he’ll have no idea.”

“Frankie,”

“You’re a good fucking waitress! Doesn’t he see the entire breakfast bar and all the booths filled with guests? The line out the door wasn’t an indication of how busy it is? Get a fuckin’ brain, I mean-”

In an instant, you tilt your chin up, catching his gaze just long enough to see the shift in his eyes before your lips meet. Your hands slide around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft curls at the nape, gently tugging him down toward you. The kiss begins with an urgency, part playful, part to silence his words, but mostly, it's to thank him in a way that words never could.

Frankie’s initial surprise fades quickly as he melts into you, his breath hitching for a moment. His hands travel to your waist, sliding around until they lock just above your hips, anchoring you to him. He presses closer, his touch firm yet tender, and slows the kiss, savoring the warmth of your lips. You feel the way his body relaxes, how he leans in, letting the world around you both fall away as he holds you, close and unmoving, like he’s never letting go.

It takes every ounce of courage in your body to pull away, your lips lingering against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if tethered by an invisible force. Slowly, you break the kiss, your breath shaky, heart racing. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his eyes still half-closed, unaware of the words hanging on the edge of your lips.

You gently pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still laced in his hair, trembling slightly. His eyes search yours, soft and expectant, filled with something unspoken but unmistakable.

With a deep inhale, you let the words slip out, vulnerable and raw, barely louder than a whisper, but heavy with meaning.

“I love you.”

The world stands still as the words hang in the air, your heart pounding as you wait for the weight of what you’ve just said to settle between you.

And then he smiles like an idiot. And you’re joining him. 

“Did you say what I think you said? Did you say that you love me?" His voice is soft, teasing, as he presses his forehead against yours, capturing your lips with a few playful, quick kisses between his words. “Come on, say it again.”

You feel your heart flutter, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Frankie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I heard you say it. Now you can’t take it back,” he adds with a grin, pulling you tighter, his arms leaving no space between you.

You giggle, your hands pushing lightly against his shoulders, though he doesn’t budge. “Stop, that was really hard,” you huff, breathless, as though the words had stolen all the air from your lungs.

Frankie just shakes his head, his smile fading into something softer, more real, as the weight of the moment catches up with him. “I’ve thought about better places or times to tell you this, I wanted to wait until you were ready,” he whispers, his voice hushed with disbelief, eyes locking onto yours, “but I love you more than you’ll ever know. More than you’ll ever understand or dream. I love you.”

His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, a gentle, affectionate touch that sends shivers down your spine. The intensity in his gaze mirrors your own, both of you lost in this shared vulnerability, your hearts speaking in unison.

“I love you, too,” you breathe, the words falling effortlessly this time, as if they’ve always been waiting for this moment.

So, yeah. You sort of love your co-worker Francisco Morales. 

The sun is blinding—orange and yellow streams of light as it is forced to set along the horizon. It’s slow but noticeable, sinking into the land beyond what you can see.

The sun goes down in Texas once again. 

Frankie raises his cigarette, its glowing tip mirroring the fiery hues of the sunset.

His neighborhood is tranquil, lined with single-story homes and tree-bordered streets where autumn's touch is just around the corner. Children ride bikes, joggers and dog walkers pass by, and new parents push their baby strollers—a picturesque scene that feels meticulously arranged yet somehow distant. Frankie, too, feels out of place here.

"You got pretty worked up today—more than usual," you say softly.

Frankie lets out a dry chuckle, cigarette between his lips as he leans back on his elbows, squinting at the fading sun. "Yeah, maybe. You think I’m off right now?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious, as if searching for what’s changed.

You shrug, glancing at him with a fond smile. "I think that letter from your dad has you more rattled than you realize. I found it in your sock drawer this morning."

Frankie’s gaze drops to his lap, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

"I thought you said you were gonna toss it?" you muse gently, watching as his mind churns, cigarette hovering at his lips before he sighs deeply.

"You’re too observant," he smirks. "I don’t know why I haven’t crumpled, burned, or shredded it into pieces by now. I have every right to."

You rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tension there. "But you didn’t. Why?"

Frankie bites his lower lip nervously, glancing your way. "At the end of the apology letter, he asked to take me out for my birthday. Put down the time, place—everything. Said he’d wait for me."

Your expression softens, letting him know you’re here, really listening. "And you’re thinking about it?"

"Yeah… I guess so. But I don’t even know what I’d say. I’ve only seen him once or twice since I moved out. It’s been years. And when I do see him, I’m thirteen all over again, just yelling at him, so angry. I see his face, and it’s like a switch flips. And that’s not me. You know that’s not me," Frankie stammers, panic flickering in his eyes.

"I know," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as the weight of it all settles.

After a deep breath, Frankie gathers himself. "He used to bring out the worst in me. I don’t know if I still hate him as much. Time’s passed, maybe he’s changed. But I’m not holding my breath."

He’s an adult now, more guarded, wiser to the people who’ve hurt him. He’s fought through battles and traumas you don’t even know about. Yet, in his eyes, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe his dad has turned a corner, maybe he’s cleaned up, seen his mistakes. But you know better than to trust in maybes.

And you’d protect him from being let down again.

"Do you want me to go with you?" you offer quietly.

Frankie’s eyes snap to yours, wide and searching.

"Okay," he says after a long pause. "Let’s do it."

[seungfl0wer]

*𝙄𝙫𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪*

Pairing: Changbin x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Angst (Happy ending of course)

Warnings: Abusive father! Violence, Blood, Alcohol, Sick mother, Lots of cursing. Father is a real piece of shit and puts hands on reader multiple times. Sorry for any mistakes or missing tags.

Just for another warning because I think it’s important. This has content that could trigger some people. Please please read the warnings. If any of them make you uncomfortable please don’t read. Also a reminder. You’re not alone. No one ever should be laying their hands on you. I love you. You’re loved. You don’t ever deserve anything like this.

Find The Request Here

-🖤

Changbin wrapped his arms around you pulling you close to him. He kissed your neck tenderly nuzzling himself into your neck. You both were snuggled up on the couch watching a show. “My angel” he said softly before softly kissing your neck once more. When you were with him it felt like nothing else mattered like the world was alright. Your moment of happiness was short lived though seeing your phone buzzing. It was your father. Just seeing his name flash on your phone made you anxious.

After your mother had passed away your dad became an even bigger monster. He was always a good for nothing, But now not working as much as he did he stayed home drinking. Your mother had told you before the only reason she had stayed with him was because she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Her family was from another country, she didn’t have much money or friends. She was such a brave woman though. You don’t know how she dealt with him so long but I guess him never really being home helped. He had gotten fired from his big job because of his drinking and anger problems. Going to work one day hungover and punching a coworker so hard it broke his nose. He had to pay a hefty fine for that. Now he has a slow job where he only works a few days.

One of your earliest memories of him being his asshole self was him telling you how he hated that you were a girl. He hated that in his words ‘that useless bitch couldn’t even give me a boy.’ He wanted a son so badly and he made sure you knew that. He never really bonded with you however he’d be damned if you didn’t respect his authority. The first time he ever laid hands on you, you were 9. You accidentally knocked over a table braking the lamp that was placed on it. He grabbed you by the wrist smacking you across the face. ‘You stupid fucking brat! Look what you did, you’re just like your fucking mother!’ He spat pushing you away from him.

After that day it just kept going. Having to wear long sleeves at school to hide the bruises. At one point you had to stay home for almost a week. You had stepped in front of him to protect your mom when he hit you square in the face busting your lip. It stayed swollen and bruised for a while. Tooth slightly cracked from the incident.

You wanted so badly to tell someone. Confide in a teacher anything. You were scared to though. Scared they’d blame your mom, put her in jail and take you away. So you endured it. As your mom started to get sick he turned more of his attacks on you. Although a complete peace of shit he wasn’t stupid. He knew if he did anything to her the doctors would see it.

After she had passed you kept yourself from the house as best as you could. Not going home as much as you possibly could. You got a job at a cafe down the road and that’s how you met changbin. He was a regular who once you started talking admitted to only coming so much to see you.

You kept your home life a secret to him as much as you could but one day you were getting intimate you forgot about the bruises. When he had lifted your shirt his smile dropped. He looked at you with wide eyes “what the fuck? Who did this to you?” He said clenching his jaw. All you could do was sob he held you in his arms rubbing your back. “I’m sorry for raising my voice I just- y/n please- what happened?” He asked.

Through your sobs you told him, you unloaded everything in a word vomit of sadness. He would and wanted to go find your father. To beat him senseless, to show him how it feels but he knew you needed him more. He held you so tightly, feeling his own heart breaking from your words. Knowing a family member could do this to someone they were supposed to protect. To love and cherish just broke him. He was such a family oriented person and now he realized why you never wanted him to meet him. Never talked about him. He asked why you couldn’t just leave explaining to him how your mother wasn’t from here, how you had no family and no one else to rely on.

“Shit- it’s my dad” you said frantically picking the phone up.

“Where the fuck are you? He spat.

“I’m- I’m just at a friend’s house” you stuttered.

He laughed “sure, you’re probably slutting around. Get your fucking ass home.”

He hung up leaving you shaking. “I gotta go.” You said picking your keys up.

“Y/n you don’t have to” Changbin said with pleading eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You said before heading to the door.

Your brain wondered what was going on. Why he needed you home. As you pulled up coming through the door you saw him slumped in his usual chair. “About fucking time” he hissed. “Do something useful and go get me some more beer” he demanded.

You stood there almost dumb founded. Before he hissed again “don’t make me say it again!”

You nodded heading down to the store and getting it for him. When you got home again you sat the beer beside him. He gave you a smirk “glad you know how to listen” he chuckled. Your nose twitched at his smell, you hated being close to him. The smell of alcohol, cigarettes and B.O. always radiated off of him. He motioned for you to leave and you did slinking back to your room to text changbin.

Him: Y/n! Text me back! I’m worried!

You: I’m fine. He just wanted beer

Him: I swear I’ll end him one of these days

You: I’m gonna go to bed ok? I’ll see you in the morning! Love you!

Him: Love you to beautiful. Text me when you wake up🖤

You fell asleep shortly after always finding peace in sleep. The next few days were the same old. Going to Changbins after work going home late when you knew he’d be passed out. Today though. You had to run home for your wallet. When you walked through the door your dad was in the kitchen. You took one look around and realized something had to have happened. Things were thrown around. Smashed. Your body froze before you could go to walk back out he saw you.

“Where do you think you’re fucking going!” He yelled. He made a bee line toward you.

“I’m- I’m picking up another shift at work I just came home to grab something.” You lied.

“Bull fucking shit!” He spat.

He grabbed you by your throat lifting you up against the wall. His eyes were dark, knuckles bloody from punching the wall. “I get fucking fired from my god damn job only to come home to see you running back out? For what huh? To go fucking whore around some more?” He said. “No! There’s gonna be some fucking changes!” He screamed.

He dropped you to the floor before grabbing you by your wrist dragging you to the kitchen. “You’re gonna get another fucking job, you’re gonna start paying the other bills!” He spat. “You got it!”

When you didn’t answer right away he slapped more like punched you across the face. “Answer me bitch!” He said gritting his teeth. All you could do was nod scared for your life. You felt a warmth running down, your nose was bleeding.

“You’re fucking pathetic you know that, just like your fucking mother! That bitch. That bitch fucking deserved what she got! I’m glad she’s fucking dead!” He spat. Something had come over you at that point. You shoved back making him stumble backwards. You made a dash to the door luckily in his drunken stupor he stumbled getting back up. You ran. Not even bothering getting in your car afraid it take to long.

So you ran. You ran as fast as you could until you couldn’t anymore. You hid yourself in the bushes at the park panting. Trying to catch your breath as you fumbled to call changbin. “Hey angel” he said happily but when he heard you breathing heavy his heart sank. “Y/n what’s wrong? Are you ok?” He asked.

“I’m- I’m at the- park down- down the road- please” you stuttered out.

“Stay there I’m just down the road!” He said before grabbing his keys speeding to you.

He gripped the steering wheel afraid for what had happened. “Angel? I’m here!” He yelled out.

You peaked your head out, when he got a good look at you anger filled his body. ‘That mother fucker’ he snarled. There was no time to be angry right now though. You needed him. So desperately needed him.

He sat beside you pulling you into his arms. He took his jacket placing it around you as he whipped away the blood from your nose. He noticed the handprint mark around your neck, he gritted his teeth seething. You sobbed, holding onto him for dear life. He rubbed your back “ssh sh it’s ok angel, I’m here, I got you.” He said.

He rocked you back and forth letting your sobs subside before asking you anything. “Does it hurt?” He asked lifting your face to him looking over your nose and neck. You nodded. It hurt to swallow, hurt to breathe, everything just hurt. “Can I take you to the hospital?” He asked. You were hesitant but you nodded.

The car ride there all he could do was watch over you. Scared something could seriously be wrong. Cursing at himself for not being there. He was in the process of finding a new place. A new place so you could move in with him. The only reason you didn’t live with him now was for the fact he had other roommates and if the tenant found out about you they all could be evicted. He was gonna surprise you today with the good news, that he found a place. Close to his work and close to a bakery you had wanted to work at.

When he had gotten to the hospital they all looked at him like he had done it. They checked you over asked him a million questions. The cops being called from below to ask him questions. They weren’t completely shocked when they heard your dad’s name. He was notorious for his anger outbursts and violence. He had a list of charges that had gotten one being the man he punched at his old job. They wrote everything down, took pictures of your bruises and wounds. Asking you lots of questions before leaving.

“Y/n did you know you had a broken rib at one point?” A nurse asking you.

You shook your head.

“Looks like it happened a while ago, it fused back but not properly. You ever have sharp pains?” She asked.

“Yeah, she use to complain about side pains but they kinda just stopped.” Changbin chimed in.

“How is she right now?” Changbin asked.

“Nothings broken however you’re lucky, the pressure he had around your throat bruised your vocal cords. Any harder you could be looking at serious damage”

The nurse had left to grab some papers changbin took your hand into his. He kissed your cheek softly rubbing his thumb over yours. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there” he said softly.

You shook your head “I don’t want him hurting you either” you said looking up at him.

“I’m proud of you though, pushing back and getting yourself out of there. Your mom would be proud” he said with a small smile. His words made you smile a bit. “She definitely would.”

“I had some news to tell you” he said hoping this would make you smile.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“Yeah. I’m moving. Well we’re moving” he said with a smile. When you looked at him a bit confused his smile grew “I got a place for the two of us. Wish it could have happened sooner but-“ he said.

You wrapped your arms around him hugging him tightly “we’re gonna live together? I’ll get to spend all the time with you?” You said eagerly.

“Yep! Got the keys today!”

When the door opened you thought it was the nurse however it was an officer. “Y/n we have your father in custody. Do you have a place to stay for the mean time?” He asked looking over at your boyfriend.

“I do, but can I go back and get something’s you asked.

The officer nodded “I’ll have to escort you because it’s a crime scene now.”

You nodded.

“Whenever you get discharged we can go alright?” He said before walking out.

After you went to the house grabbing your clothes, laptop and a few things you smiled saying good riddance to this place. You had the few things from your mom packed, having nothing more in this house for you.

Moving in with changbin was something to get use to. However he helped you every step of the way. You got into much needed therapy and after your father’s sentence you felt like things were going up. As a little house warming gift Changbin had surprised you with a cat. You had bonded with him with the many times he had taken you to the cat cafe. You always said how much you wanted him and now you had him. You had your little family now.

Changbin showered you in love as usual, never missing a chance to compliment you, praise you and tell you how much he loved you. You knew in your heart your mom wherever she was, she was happy. Happy seeing her little girl finally get out of the situation. To live her life to the fullest.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp

[alyswritings]

Scars

Request: hey can you do one with jj x little sister reader where she self harms and just protective big brother jj ik it's a strong theme but i struggle with it and would really appreciate it

JJ Maybank x sister!reader

Summary: JJ finds out his little sister hurts herself.

Warnings: mentions of self harm, please do not read if this could trigger you!!

a/n: this request has been in my inbox for almost a year and a half. so sorry it took me forever to get out, but hope you all enjoy!

(gif not mine)

The pogues had spent the day out on the water, fishing, drinking, swimming. They had been out almost all day, finally getting back to the chateau and planning to cook the fish they caught.

Y/N and JJ are carrying the cooler of fish to the shack.

"Jesus. Did you have to keep all of them?" Y/N groans, struggling to hold her side of the cooler up.

"You wanna eat or not?" JJ scoffs making the girl roll her eyes.

They put the cooler down and JJ notices something on Y/N's wrist. His eyebrows furrow as he tries to tell what it is, but she moves, all of her bracelets moving up her arm a bit.

"Am I done now?" Y/N asks. "I'm not skinning these things."

"Oh, come on, Y/N/N." JJ wraps his arm around her shoulder. "You don't wanna feel all the fish guts and slime and the beautiful smell and--"

"I hate you." Y/N shoves him away, the boy cracking up while she makes her way inside.

While the boys start to deal with the fish, Y/N and Kie are inside and making corn on the cob and potato salad.

"Shit." Kie sighs, looking in the fridge.

"What?" Y/N asks.

"We forgot to stop for beer." Kie groans. "I'll be back in a bit." She grabs the keys, leaving.

After a little while of being alone, JJ walks in.

"I can't believe we forgot to stop for beer." JJ rolls his eyes.

"Well, hydration is always important." Y/N remarks.

"Water's so boring." JJ whines, staring at the inside of the fridge as if a beer will magically appear.

After realizing he's been there for a few minutes, Y/N shuts the door.

"Hey!"

"Are you trying to make John B poorer than he already is? You don't leave the fridge open, idiot." Y/N chides.

"Okay, mom, jeez." JJ mutters making Y/N roll her eyes.

Y/N opens the cabinet that has the plates and reaches up, failing to get them. She stands on her toes, still failing to grab them. JJ notices and walks over, reaching above her, easily grabbing the plates.

"Shorty." He snickers, Y/N elbowing him in the chest. JJ grunts, coughing at the pain. He takes the plates out, his eyes falling onto Y/N's arm, noticing the marks on her arm. He frowns, freezing for a moment.

"Thanks." Y/N mumbles, taking the plates and putting them on the counter.

"What's on your wrist?" JJ asks.

Y/N tries to hide her brief moment of panic before she turns to him.

"What? My bracelets?" She asks, acting clueless.

"No. N-n-no, under your bracelets." JJ stammers, praying to whatever is out there that he was hallucinating.

"My skin." Y/N gives him a weird look. "There's nothing."

"Show me." JJ orders.

"What?" Y/N scoffs, feeling her fear build up, starting to sweat.

"Show me your wrist, Y/N." JJ demands.

"No. There's nothing. You're just fucking weird." Y/N says, starting to leave.

"Y/N, I'm not joking." JJ grabs her wrist, preventing her from leaving. Y/N cries out in pain when he squeezes too hard, right over some of the cuts. JJ yanks her back over to him, quickly moving the bracelets out of the way, despite her fighting against him.

"JJ, stop!" She yells, but it's already too late.

JJ stares down at the cuts on her wrist, his heart plummeting to the bottom of his stomach. He lets out a shaky breath, eyes instantly tearing up. He grabs her other arm, pushing the bracelets aside to show more cuts.

"Y/N/N..." He shakily breathes out. Y/N winces, her guilt swirling in her chest and causing tears to spring to her eyes. "Ple..." JJ harshly swallows, sniffing. "Please, tell me these were kooks or something."

JJ looks into her eyes, immediately knowing the answer.

"Y/N/N..." He whispers, his voice cracking.

"It's nothing." Y/N tries to rip her arms out of his hold, but his grip is too strong. "JJ, it--"

"Why?" He asks. "Why did-- why would you--"

"Forget it, JJ." Y/N sneers, finally ripping her arms out of his hands. "It's nothing. It's not important. Just leave it the fuck alone."

"Y/N--" He follows her through the hall, the girl slamming the bedroom door shut in his face. "Y/N!" He knocks on the door. "Y/N/N, come on. Let me in."

"Just leave me alone!" She screams.

JJ huffs, pulling at his hair in frustration. He paces the living room, trying to calm his breathing down. He punches the wall, quietly growling.

JJ plops down onto the couch, head buried in his hands. How did he not notice sooner? How didn't he see a single fucking sign? Why didn't she talk to him? Why was he so stupid?

---

Y/N avoided JJ the rest of the night, latching herself onto any of the other three pogues, though mostly Kie. JJ kept an eye on her all night, knowing she wouldn't talk to him, but not able to look away from her for more than 10 seconds at a time.

Everybody had gone to sleep, JJ being kept awake by his thoughts and worry. He's had plenty of time to think of ways to approach his sister, mentally prepared for every outcome -- or at least he hopes so.

JJ slowly opens the door, peeking inside, Y/N sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard. Y/N looks up as the door opens, JJ standing in it. She sighs, looking away, curling into herself. She knows he won't let it go.

JJ walks in and shuts the door. He clears his throat as he sits on the bed, keeping a little bit of space so he doesn't overwhelm her much more. The two sit in silence, both dreading the conversation they know they're about to have. Y/N chews on her nails while JJ's leg shakes, both nervous habits they've had since they were kids.

"Why?" JJ quietly asks, finally looking over at his little sister. She seems much smaller in her curled up position, an exhausted look in her eyes.

"I didn't want to." Y/N finally answers after a few moments. "I..." She gulps as the words get stuck in her throat.

"Y/N/N, I'm not mad." JJ tells her.

"You're not?" She frowns.

"No." He shakes his head. "No, I'm... I wish you would've come to me or something. Instead of..." He glances at her arms. "I would've helped you."

"I just wanted to feel something else." Y/N hiccups, harshly rubbing the tears away from her cheeks. "Between dad and-- and harassment from kooks and other kids and-- and I just... I needed some other feeling. Even... it hurt at first, but then it just... it stopped hurting so much. It felt... just felt something else."

JJ's eyes are full of tears as he listens to her, staring at the floor, not able to look at her broken expression for too long. He harshly sniffles, rubbing his face.

"Okay." He mumbles, clearing his throat, trying to compose himself enough to talk. "Okay." He moves closer, sitting so he's facing her. "Hey." He gently shakes her knee making the girl reluctantly look at him.

"I'm gonna help you." JJ tells her. "With stopping this, we're gonna stop. I'll do whatever I have to, whatever you need me to. I'll be here 24/7."

"That sounds really overbearing." Y/N manages to tease earning a short laugh from her brother.

"Well, you're gonna have to get used to it." JJ states, no longer joking. "And, I'm sure you can understand this, but no more bracelets."

"No." Y/N's eyes widen with panic. "No, Jayje, then everyone's gonna see. I-- it-it's bad enough that those three will probably find out, but-- but dad and-and kids at school and kooks. Especially if Rafe fucking Cameron sees it. I--"

"Okay, okay, okay, hey. Hey, hey. Breathe. Shh." JJ coos, resting his hands on her shoulders, rubbing her arms until her breathing slows down. "Okay. You can wear bracelets. But we-- I gotta look sometimes to make sure you're not..." He harshly swallows. "We'll figure it all out. 'Kay?"

"Okay." Y/N sniffles, wiping under her nose with the end of her sleeve.

"And if you ever feel like doing it, come get me. No matter what time of day it is, if I'm asleep, if I'm working, if I'm smoking a joint. Come get me." JJ tells her and she nods.

JJ pulls her legs down and pulls her into a hug, crushing her in a death grip. Y/N quietly cries into his shoulder, JJ stroking her hair, letting some of his own tears finally fall.

JJ kisses her on the head, holding her closer, if that's even possible.

"I love you." He mumbles into her hair. "So, so much. You got that?"

Y/N nods, clutching onto the back of his shirt. JJ scratches her head, continuing to comfort her, keeping her curled up in his arms while she cries.

Taglist: @glxwingrxse @venomsvl @wildieflower @aliciacat20 @allyson15 @gabbylovesreading @mrvlxgrl @star-wars-lover @champomiel @ironmaiden1313

[st4rfckerz]

October 25th - Asphyxia

His Prize (bluecollar!anakin)

word count: 0.7k

warnings: unprotected sex, choking, arm kink

a/n: abrupt ending because i didn’t know how to end it 😛 also pretend this was already posted on the 25th because i forgot to post

You find yourself in your and Anakin's shared room, on all fours, with Anakin behind you, pounding away. His long, hard day at the factory has left him pent up, and he's taking out his frustration on your willing body. Anakin tangles his hand in your hair, pulling your head back harshly. The sudden movement makes you gasp, your back arching as he yanks you closer.

As soon as Anakin came home for the day, he was feeling frustrated and pent up. He couldn't concentrate on anything else, his mind filled with thoughts of his favorite girl. When entering the house he practically threw his keys onto the nearby table while gunning it to the bedroom.

“Takin’ me so well aren’t you?” He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, causing you to cry out in ecstasy. “Always right where I need you.”

Your brain has turned to mush, and all you can focus on is the feeling of Anakin's thick cock stretching you open. “So full, Ani,” you moan, your words slurring slightly. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can't help but clench around him, desperate for more.

Anakin growls, his hand tightening in your hair. He drives into you harder, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. His hand comes down hard on your ass, the stinging sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight baby.” He continues to thrust inside you, his pace relentless. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and cries of ecstasy.

Anakin unexpectedly pulls you up with his bicep around your neck, putting you in a full nelson as he jackhammers into you. Your body trembles with each powerful thrust, and you can't help but clench around him more tightly. He notices, a low growl escaping his lips.

“Oh f-fuck!” Your moans grow louder and more insistent as Anakin continues to pound into you. The wetness between your legs increases, your body responding to his abrupt actions.

“That's it, baby, let me hear you,” Anakin encourages, his voice low and gravelly. He slows down his movements, his cock still buried deep inside you, teasing you with the promise of cumming.

You whimper a string of pathetic little ‘no’s’, your fingernails digging into Anakin's arm as he slows down his thrusts. The feeling of his thick arm around your throat is so intense, and you're on the verge of losing control. Your body shakes with need, and you can't help but plead with him to continue. Anakin's grip on your neck tightens, and he leans in close to your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Beg for it,” he demands. “I wanna hear you tell me how bad you need it.”

You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out are incoherent moans and whimpers. Your mind is consumed by the all-encompassing arousal, making it impossible to form a proper sentence. You can only cling to him, your nails bite deeper into his arm, and you can feel the pressure building inside you, threatening to explode at any moment.

“Poor baby,” Anakin chuckles darkly, amused by your inability to speak. “Too drunk on my cock to speak hm?” He picks up his pace again, his hips slamming into you with renewed vigor. The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room, mingling with your desperate moans. Your body arches into his, your muscles tensing as you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“I'm cumming!” you cry out, your voice strained with the effort of holding back. Anakin's body tenses, and with a powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you. His cum spills into you, filling you up as your own orgasm washes over you. The sensation of his release triggers your own, and you come undone, your body shaking with the intensity of your climax.

Anakin gently lays you down on the bed, your legs still trembling from the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. He opens your legs, revealing the mess you both made, his cum dripping out of you. “Look at that,” he says, his voice filled with satisfaction. “We really know how to make a mess don’t we?” Anakin's cocky grin and the way he's admiring his handiwork make you feel like a prize, a trophy for him to show off.

[mrslankyman]

Failed Mission

Montague (fortnite) x (fem) reader

-> smut / unsafe sex

-> gun use

->idk shit about guns

->Montague forgot his tripod stand. Maybe your ass would work better

->2k words

(request)

Too bad working for the Society meant going on missions with the most annoying man ever. 

Montague. 

His french accent: annoying 

His outfit: ugly

The way he nitpicks everything: infuriating 

He never wanted to listen to You. He never got the right things on the list for the mission. Always forgetting something. Last time he forgot the sticky bombs. Wonder what he will forget this time. It was just a steak out mission. 

There was a rumor that The Under Ground would be attacking Lavish Lair today. That’s how you found yourself on top of one of the snowy mountains that surrounded the mansion. Montague right next to you. His supplies are back in the Jeep. The two of you were just watching below. Trying to see if anything suspicious or off was going on. 

You both just sat in the snow. You mentally hated it. Back at your mansion there was no snow. You lived closer to Ritzy Rivera. So coldness wasn’t something you cared for. Montague on the other hand? He must be as cold as his heart. 

“Wait.. I see something.. I think it’s that Hope girl Valeria talked about.” He got up spraying snow all over. Some of it landed on you, letting out an annoyed groan when you got up. He walked over with his Sniper Rifle. 

Here we go. 

He loaded it and held up the gun. Until he noticed one thing. 

He had the wrong scope. So aiming to hold it up wasn’t going to happen. He shook too much.

Mistake number two.

He didn’t even bring the tripod.

“What now? Did you forget something again?” Your voice was laced with annoyance already. 

“Yes, in fact I did. I have the wrong scope.” He looked over at you as he spoke. Eyeing you up and down in thought. 

“So? Get the tripod and aim the best you can.” You rolled your eyes as if it was obvious. 

“I didn’t bring it.” His voice was lower now. Almost menacing. He was obviously annoyed at you too but he had an idea.

“So what now? I only have my AR that isn’t going to do shit from up here.” You practically yelled at him. He did this too often. 

“I’ll tell you what we're gonna do. Get on your knees.” He demanded pointing near the edge of the cliff. “What the hell, why?” You questioned glaring at him. 

“Just do it, trust me.” He kept pointing at the spot. He was far too strong to deny. He could just shoot you right now if he wanted too. So you listened and groaned as you let your knees sink into the cold snow. You mentally thought of ways to get him back. Maybe on another mission you could dump cold water on him or-

You were cut out of your thoughts when he shoved you down to the ground completely with his foot. Your face shoved into the snow and your arms slid down.

Your back end was arched up, ass in the air. You spit out snow as you lifted up your head. Using your hand to wipe off the snow. “What the fuck is your idea?” You looked back at him as he got on one knee. Laying the barrel of the sniper on your ass.

“Put your head down or i’ll blow it off.” He warned and watched you slowly lower your head.

“Hurry up.” You groaned. What the fuck kind of idea is this. 

Montague on the other hand was having a hard time aiming right. One reason; you were moving too much.

Another?

He was staring at your ass. The position he got you in so easily. You both always got annoyed at each other and got into fights. Yet you both always chose to do missions together despite the hatred. With hatred comes tension. Sometimes the tension feels a little too sexual. 

His eyes wandered from the target below to you to the target.

Once he finally focused in he got a good aim. His hand on the trigger ready to blow this Underground agent's head off you moved.

“Fuck!” He yelled pointing the gun's muzzle at your head. “Stop fucking moving.” He growled as he watched you freeze. You knew his dumb ass would never pull the trigger. But it did scare you slightly. 

“My bad i’m in the freezing fucking snow with an idiot using my ass as a tripod for his fucking gun!” You yelled not even looking at him. Keeping your face forward as you felt the gun move from your head. It was replaced by his hands gripping your hair. He pulled you back to his chest. He dropped his sniper and leaned into your ear. 

“Stop talking back.” His accent slurred most of his words when his voice was this low with anger. His other hand laid on your thigh.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t? Shoot me?” You smirked as him tugging on your hair didn’t make you scared. It makes your mind wander to other things. He was also losing his focus on the mission. His eyes looked down at you, how your lips slightly parted and you looked up at him fully. His hand tangled in your hair. 

“No, I might do something else though.” He warned his eyes were half lidded now. The feeling of you pressed to his chest made him feel things he tried to ignore when around you. Now he was letting those feelings go freely. 

“What is something else, Montague?” Your voice closed in a whisper as you got to his name. If only you knew how that drove him crazy. He could feel himself hardening. Dick straining against his dress pants. 

“You really wanna do this?” His question was almost a whisper as he leaned his head down closer. His stubble looked so much better up closer. His blue and brown eyes looking into yours. The scar made him look menacing despite the blush on his cheeks. 

His frosted tipped hair moved with the motion of the icy wind. 

“Maybe I do.” Your hand moved on top of his hand that was laying on your thigh still. That gave him the answer he needed.

He closed the gap between you two and let his lips engulf yours. All the feelings of anger, annoyance, and sexual tension went into the kiss. All the times you two argued and got into each other's faces now came to a close. Any time you two argue after this it is surely going to end the same way this mission is going to end. 

His hand moved yours off his as he slid it further down to the inside of your thigh. His hand in your hair pulling your head back further. He didn’t really like his angle of kissing. He wanted to grab your face and shove his tongue into your mouth. 

Despite that desire he kept you in this position. 

You pulled away from him and gasped slightly. He went to lean back in wanting, no needing more of you. He wanted your lips back on his. He actually wanted them all over his body. 

“It’s too cold for this.” You sighed, you could feel his hard dick against your ass. Or was it his belt? Either way it was extremely hard. 

“Why not?” He practically begged. His voice was still low but it had a desperate array to it. He wanted you now. He didn’t wanna wait. 

“Let’s go to the Jeep.. come on. Je veux te baiser.” He cooed in your ear his french accent even more prominent as he spoke in his native tongue. “What does that mean?” You asked, laughing slightly.

He got closer to ear his hot breath tickling your neck. 

“I want to fuck you.” His voice was so low and husky you could feel yourself throbbing. 

“Then take me to the Jeep.” You whispered back and without a second thought he had lifted you up and was trudging through the snow to the Jeep. You littered his neck with wet sloppy kisses before he laid you down in the back seat. You scooted to the other seat as he crawled in. He leaned up to the passenger seat and grabbed the lever. Shoving it all the way to the front to give himself more room. 

He loomed over you and smirked. “I want you on my lap now.” He growled and sat back in the seat. You crawled up to sit on his lap. He spread his legs out a little more. His diamond belt buckle really added to his outfit. 

You leaned closer and kissed him. His medallion hitting your chest as you got closer. He kissed back. His plump lips moved with yours in such a needy fashion. He wanted you so badly. He wanted to fuck you so hard you’d forget about any other man who ever pleased you. 

He pushed you back and took a breath. You took this pause to unbuckle his belt. Undoing his dress pants and just pulling out his dick from his boxers. You didn’t bother pulling his pants down. You just pushed the flaps of his pants to the side and his belt. He helped you slide off your pants quickly and underwear. He stared at you before leaning his head back against the headrest of the seat. 

He grabbed your hips and lifted you over his perked up dick. “You ready?” He asked as he slid one hand down to line himself up with your entrance. 

You nodded and slid down on him. You bit your lip holding back your moan. Montague on the other hand? He let his moan echo in the car. He didn’t hold back on the noises. He hadn’t fucked someone in so long. 

He was too busy keeping the Society in order. He loved how your pussy tightened around his dick. This feeling was better than any successful heist he had ever been on. Money made him have a happy feeling but this pussy made him want to live. 

He wanted to wake up every day knowing he could fuck you when ever you wanted. 

He wanted to please you instead of annoy you. 

He made a mental note to forget the tripod again.

“Montague..” You let his name slip out of your mouth in a high pitch moan. He grunted and slurred out random words or phrases in french. You didn’t understand them but you assumed they were good. 

He held you still by the hips and slammed his dick up in you. Letting his hips go up and down ramming his dick into you. You both let out moans of pleasure. He slid one of his gloved hands down and used his thumb to make slow circle motions around your clit. 

“Fuck.. I’m gonna cum..” You squealed as you felt yourself coming undone with each thrush of his dick. He groaned in agreement and grabbed your face with his free hand. Slamming his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. He moaned as he felt you cum on his dick. His motions became sloppy and he moved in and out at different paces. You watched his face scrunch up in pleasure and a low “oh fuck” came out of him before he pulled out and came on his vest. 

Good thing he had 500 others.

He looked you in the eyes as you both calmed down from your highs.

“Oscar can defend himself.” He chuckled and pulled you back to him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 3

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Another thankless day of serving cold cuts and cheese to the general public as you ready to tear your hair out. You don’t see how anyone could make such a fuss about a trip to the deli but the locals have a way of exacerbating any simplicity. You’re just happy to be free. 

The bus is late. You stand at the curb and bounce on your heels. You just want to lay down. The lack of sleep is starting to split your skull. 

You yawn and watch a truck blow by. It’s a sleepy old town, nestled between farmland and stretches of dirty roads. The sort of backwoods you don’t drive through after dark. It’s so dull you could fall asleep on your feet. 

A sudden gust of air rips through the sky and the unusual whirlwind circles you. You look up through slitted eyes as dirty speckles across your face. You furrow your brow as lights and flames glow as a red figure lands in front of you.

The electric blue haze goes out and your faced with the suit of crimson and gold. You grip your purse strap and gulp. You haven’t checked your phone yet. You couldn’t have predicted this. 

“Shit.” You mutter. 

His helmet snaps back and he smirks. The silver streaks in his dark hair puff out and he smooths them down. He puts his hand on his hip and scoffs, “name’s Tony Stark, thanks.” 

You cringe and cross your arms. “We met.” 

“Yeah, I remember you. Nearly forgot before everything blew up. You know, this thing...” he pauses to take his phone out. “Hasn’t shut up all fucking day. I got lawyers down my throat--” 

“Your phone is blowing up? My house blew up.” You sneer. 

“Okay, relax. It was a trailer. I said I’d replace it--” 

“Then do it.” 

“Ooh, spicy. I didn’t guess you to be the type but after seeing your little online storytelling, I shoulda guessed.” 

“It’s the truth. That’s it.” You turn to watch for the bus. You’re aware of the few people slowing to stare at the man in his techno-suit. 

“I mean, a little gratitude here, honey. I’m more than happy to slap a new box in the lot but you don’t gotta be this way about it.” He derides. You look at him from the corner of your eyes and scowl. “At least a smile. Bet you’re gorgeous when you smile.” 

He winks and you flinch. Really? 

“Fine. Once we have a new trailer, I’ll delete the post. Sounds pretty fair to me.” 

“Now. Take it down now and then we can go shopping for a new train car,” he chirps. 

You frown and face him. “It’s just a post.” 

“I got a reputation, sweetheart. I’m important that way. I know you might not be able to fathom that but one busted up hellhole is nothing compared to what I do for this planet. Didn’t you see me on the TV, handing out lollipops to hurricane survivors? What are you doing besides whine on the internet?” He stares you down, his expression turning sinister as his grin fades. 

“If it’s not a big deal, then it shouldn’t take much, should it?” You challenge. 

“Wow, you sure are mouthy, aren’t you?” 

“I’m tired.” You peer down the street again. “I worked a full shift and my feet hurt. You wouldn’t know about that, would you? With your penthouse and your dad’s money.” 

“I earned my company.” He snarls. “You watch where you’re stepping, sweetheart. I’m being nice. I flew all the way back to this ditch, so let’s not play dirty.” 

Your heart races. You don’t know why you’ve said so much. Maybe because you’ve worn a customer service smile all day and you’re all out of fucks to give?

And what do you have left to lose? A family that treats you like a gnat flying around their heads and a musty old futon. Your life wasn’t great before but damn if he didn’t make it a whole lot worse. 

“You do whatever. You’re Tony Stark. Iron Man.” Your tone is deflated and monotone. “I can’t do anything about it, can I? Just whine on the internet?” 

You step further down the sidewalk and stare at the approaching headlights. The bus is finally there. Even if he really means to replace the dusty old shithole, you don’t need his self-aggrandized kindness. Not if this is how it’s delivered. 

You pull out your bus fare as you sway beneath the sign. A sharp noise tweaks your ear and you’re seized in a metal vice. Your arms are trapped against your sides as Tony zooms up into the sky, the air whipping around your face as you holler in horror. 

“What-- are—you—doing?” You shriek as you wriggle, kicking into the empty void around you. 

“Sweetheart,” his voice rises from behind his helmet. “You’re gonna wanna be still. If I drop you, you’re gonna hit the ground like a bug on a windshield.” 

“What the fuck?” You exclaim and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Just givin’ you a lift home. Like a nice guy would do.” He chuckles. “Now don’t breathe too heavy up here. At this altitude... well...” 

You put your head down, shielding it against the shoulder plate of his suit, and you bend your arms to cling to him. You have no other choice but to hold on for dear life.

You get his point. Tony Stark is more than money. He can do whatever the hell he wants. 

[unholyhelbig]

new oversight will be everything! i can’t wait!

Title: Work Life Balance [an Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When reader gets hurt during a job, she starts to worry about how her girlfriend, the infamous mafia boss that controls the city, will react

[a/n: while this isn't a new chapter of Oversight (I am working on that), it is set in the same universe as the Oversight. It's based off of a Private Practice episode, and something a little lighter & silly. Enjoy!]

Warnings: Gun violence, blood, spit, threats, blood, hurt/comfort, No spell checks

Check out the full Oversight universe

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The metal bat had slammed against the side of your face with enough force to blind you momentarily in the right eye. It knocked the sense out of you too and your bearings were scrambled until that darkness started to ebb away into a blurry image of the alleyway.

There was a pungent scent in the air, rotted food in dark green trash bags that had been torn by tiny teeth, or elongated claws. Crumpled napkins and discarded soda cups littered the damp ground.

Before the man could swing the bat for a second time, you caught it half an inch from your face and shoved it away. He was disarmed and you were able to shove his back up against the wall, holding him there despite his squirming. His lip was split, the blood drying quickly from the bright red to a deep black.

“Come on, man.” You twisted your hand into the fabric of his shirt, bunching your fingers around his collar. “We fronted the product, so you have to front the cash.”

“Fuck off,”

He spit on you, a gummy mix of tobacco and sugar. There were a lot of things you could handle; the ringing in your ear, and the pain in your knuckles from the first four blows you threw. But spit was where you drew the line. It had bugged you since you were in fifth grade and Amy Sheldon dangled a long string of it inches from your nose before slurping it back up through the slit in her buck teeth.

“Alright,” you breathed out, making sure you kicked the fallen bat out of his reach. “You agree to push product on that little street racer of yours in exchange for twenty five percent of the cut. You get sloppy and sample the product and don’t have the cash to give to my boss?”

You lifted him from the brick and shoved him back down onto it with enough force to push the putrid breath from his lungs. “That doesn’t feel very fair, now, does it?”

He smiled at you with a laugh that rivaled a cackle. His teeth were orange with diluted blood. There was no getting through to him. Your free hand dipped into the side of your jacket. Over the last two years, you’d grown well accustomed to the feeling of a gun in your hand.

You pushed the tip of the gun under his chin into the soft spot of his skin. He stopped laughing, the sound getting stuck in his throat with a choking sound.

“Do you know what they call me?” You gritted.

“A raging bitch?”

You made a buzzing noise in the back of your throat, much like the signaling of a wrong answer on a game show. There was a soft click as you pulled the trigger of the gun. The man in your grasp tensed and hissed.

“Wrong. You know, at first, I just forgot to load my gun. Got me into some pretty hot water, scalding actually. But eventually it became a bit of a calling card. Roulette. I can pull the trigger as many times as I want, but only one will hit it’s mark.”

He swallowed hard, you felt it in the side of your hand. He was sweating and you were growing tired of the empty threats. Yelena wouldn’t approve of something like this, and you were sure Natasha wouldn’t have had a second thought about putting a mark between his eyebrows.

“Most men aren’t lucky more than twice,” You pulled the trigger again, met with another soft click. Of course, there were no bullets in the chamber; they rattled in your front pocket like your keys. “Three times at most.”

His voice cracked. “Please,”

There was a sharp scent in the air that rivaled that of trash. You were losing blood fast. It had streaked down the side of your face from a gash on your temple and crusted the collar of your shirt.

“You have a week to make up the difference. A week and I’ll be back with a gun that has more than one bullet in the chamber. Am I clear?”

“Yes, but-“

“Am I clear?”

He nodded aggressively and you sheathed your weapon, releasing him. His legs gave out and he sunk to the damp pavement. You picked up the weighted metal back, entirely content to take it with you. It would make your next encounter a hell of a lot easier.

It was impossible to sneak into the house without giving yourself away. Even if you were to park down the block, unlace your shoes and pad into the foyer barefoot, and leave the front door open a crack, you were at risk of creating a scene.

That didn’t mean that you couldn’t keep the injured side of your face away from Natasha for as long as possible. She would know that something was up, and despite her throwing you into this life in the first place, her heart broke when you were on the deep side of any injury.

You set the metal bat down with a bucket of black umbrellas and a bench that was mostly unused. There was a dull metal thump that aggravated the headache that was coming on. You attempted to sneak up the stairs, but the second your fingertips hit the mahogany handrail you were stopped by an irritated voice with a Russian lilt to it.

Yelena was sprawled out on the sofa, a book was face down on her chest, lifting and falling with each breath. She’d given up on it in favor of the warmth that Kate provided her. Kate’s head was on Yelena’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around her midsection. Yelena looked perfectly comfortable in between Kate’s legs, both of them were about ready to doze off and if you had waited an extra five minutes, maybe you would have gotten away with sneaking in.

“Did you get hit by a bus?” Kate asked.

You leaned against the entryway of the sitting room. “Ricky got a good hit in with a metal bat.”

“Oo, Natasha is going to be mad at you.” Yelena chuckled, taunting you like a child. You would have thrown a pillow at her if Kate wasn’t in the line of fire.

She was going to be mad at you for not using the buddy system that was proposed and certainly for not dodging the hit that was coming your way. Natasha hated when you got hurt and that sad look in her eyes was worse than whatever pain could be inflicted on you.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“It looks pretty bad.” Kate said.

You shot them both the middle finger before turning away and padding up the stairs towards your shared bedroom with Natasha. Most days, she was holed up in her office and you didn’t bother her until the ache for her touch, for her presence, bothered you both enough to cave.

That was most days.

Some days, Natasha could be found in your room in sweatpants with a laptop propped up on her crossed legs. She was dwarfed in the silk bedspread, her hair in a messy bun and a pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose.

This was quite possibly your favorite look on Natasha, this quiet version of her. She’d let you hold her in this state instead of the other way around. You hated to break the mood, hated that she glanced up from her laptop not once, but twice.

Wordlessly, Natasha set her work aside and walked over to you. She cupped your face, her fingers cold against your cheeks. Her voice was soft and when she was angry enough, there was the slightest bit of a Russian inflection to her words. “What happened?”

“I… didn’t use the buddy system.”

“Mm, you didn’t use the buddy system.”

Her thumb moved against the black and blue wound against your eye. She pressed every so slightly, testing its durability. You winced, drawing in a breath through clenched teeth. It wasn’t bad, really, her touch soothed you just as quickly as it had bitten you with pain.

Natasha was good at taking care of you and she pulled you into the large master bathroom that the two of you shared. There was an abundance of white and beige. It was always a few degrees cooler than the rest of the house and offered a form of comfort as such.

There were nights where the two of you would simply brush your teeth shoulder to shoulder, and there were nights where she had her arms wrapped around you amongst the deep scent of lavender. Bubble hit her touch as her fingers roamed over the most intimate parts of you.

Now, she guided you to the edge of the sink and lifted you up in a fluid motion. She stood between your legs, making you feel even more like a child when Yelena had scolded you downstairs. Still, there was a degree of affection in her movements. Natasha frowned as she pulled a med kit from the bottom of the sink.

She tutted “Zaychik, this looks bad.”

“Image wise or the actual wound because-“You let out a small noise when she placed the frigid and stinging antiseptic against your face. It sent electric down your spine. “I didn’t know he had a bat.”

“A bat?”

“Right out of left field.”

Natasha’s frown deepened. This was supposed to be an easy job, and by all means, it was. You had accomplished your assignment of scaring up. You were sure he had released his bladder as he slid down the wall into a fetal position. Getting the money from a frightened man was going to be no problem.

Tonight was intended to be calm. You’d come home and shower and eat pizza and spend the entire night curled up in Natasha’s arms while she typed away on the computer. You’d listen to her breathing, her heartbeat.

Instead, she was roughly patching you up, buzzing with anger under her stare. “Why didn’t you take Clint?”

“Nat, I have a fantastic idea.”

“If it involves gutting that man alive and hanging him from a flagpole, then I am all in, darling.” Her words were light, distracted, as she wiped away a good portion of dried blood.

“What if we left things at the office, metaphorically speaking. What if we didn’t bring stuff like this home? Shut it all off.”  

She pulled back far enough to stifle her floral scent. There was an adorable crease between her eyes. “My mind doesn’t work like that, Malysh. This home is my office and vice versa. Someone hurt you and that is my business. That is my work.”

“I know,” you said, tucking a strand of fallen hair behind her ear. She glowered under her thick-framed glasses. You wanted nothing more than to kiss the frown off her face. “I know, but sometimes I just want to be with you.”

“Huh,”

“Huh?”

“Huh.”

This wasn’t exactly a constructive conversation. You figured as much when she ripped a bandage out of its waxy packaging and slapped it onto the gash against your temple. You let out a disgruntled noise and she grasped your waist and maneuvered you back to the floor. Your legs had fallen asleep and you were a little unsteady.

Natasha flicked on the sink and started scrubbing her hands of your blood. “No sex,”

“What?” You blinked at her, scratching fruitlessly at the adhesive on the bandage. It was incredibly itchy.

Natasha dried her hands on the nearby towel, “You heard me, no sex.”

“You… You’re withholding sexual pleasure because of something that happened at work?”

“Not something that happened at work, your refusal to talk about it.”

“Natasha,” You nearly whined.

“No sex!” She huffed, pointing towards the exit of the room “Go sleep on the couch.”

You dropped your shoulders in defeat. You had been banned to the couch? Your girlfriend didn’t’ withhold most things and the two of you had a very healthy and active life. There wasn’t true anger behind her words, instead she was testing you. Watching you until you give in.

“Fine,” You huffed, crossing your arms “The couch sounds lovely.”

“Good,”

“Great.”

“Fine.”

You grabbed the fuzzy blanket at the base of the bed and started to stalk towards the door. You could feel Natasha staring at you, waiting for you to turn around and apologize but it wouldn’t happen. Not this time. You were setting boundaries and if that included…no sex… then that was fine. It was fine.

“Zaychik?”

You turned back to Natasha, one eyebrow lifted, “Yes?”

“Leave the blanket.”

She gave you a sugary sweet smile before settling back into her previous position, pulling her computer into her lap. Your jaw was agape, but you tossed the blanket at her nonetheless and stormed out of the room.

The nerve, the absolute nerve!

Natasha wasn’t particularly hard to have a conversation with, but work was nearly untouchable with her. You knew that. She knew that. You did as you were told and protected her and her assets at all costs.

When you got back downstairs you fixed yourself a sloppy peanut butter and jelly sandwich before sulking back into the living room and flopping down onto the recliner in the corner. Yelena had since fallen asleep, and Kate was reading the book while her eyes grew heavy.

“You got kicked out, huh?”

“Kicked out, banned from sex.” You waved the sandwich around in the air “doghouse.”

Kate scoffed “the Romanoff sisters aren’t always the most forthcoming, are they?”

She was looking lovingly at Yelena, stroking her hair as the smaller woman curled deeper into her, fingers clenching at Kate’s flannel and then releasing as she settled back into a comfortable sleep.

“They make it hard to love them, but the moments where the mask slips and they’re vulnerable. Moments like these make everything worth it. And despite everything, you know they care. They’ll always care.”

“Sometimes too much,” you took a large bite of your sandwich.

“No such thing.”

Yelena stirred in her arms, nose pressed against Kate’s pulse point. She clenched her eyes tighter, her next words mumbled “Kate Bishop, if you don’t stop talking you will be sleeping on the couch with y/n.”

“Doghouse,” You said with a long sigh.

“Mm,” Kate hummed, letting out a quiet whisper “Doghouse,”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife]

[notlhecxzsa]

Sorry - Scarlett Johansson

Warnings: Angsty, slightly mean Scarlett (she's a literal baby at the end!), sad reader

Sum: Aftermath of the fight between Y/n and Scarlett

Scarlett JohanssonXFem!Reader

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°

No one's POV:

You didn't remember the reason why the two of you started to fight anymore. Hours and hours of shouting here and there with so many different topics coming up in every seconds. You just confronted her on being so busy this days, i mean, you know and understand her line with work, but this past few weeks you felt as if you're just a chore for her.

Why is it so hard for her to understand where you are coming from? Because as the shouting gone by, she's flipping the table, and she's coming at you, saying things that's not true, which really hurt you. While Scarlett, is just too tired and exhausted from work, that her anger got triggered when you confronted her, and became too blinded on where you are coming from.

They said that these things, the fightings, is normal in a relationship, but it gets really tiring, so after the last sentence she shouted at you which is "Fuck, why can't you just shut the fuck up?! Can't you understand it? I'm working, and i've been busy!". You just shut your mouth, and made your way to the kitchen.

She made you felt as if you're in the wrong, as if you're the wrong one here, while all you just wanted is a free time from her, it may just be an hour or two, you didn't really care, because all you wanted was her, but now, she took the confrontation the other way.

So, currently, you're here at the kitchen, cooking dinner, while she went upstairs to take a very much needed shower. Even though you're very upset at her, the care you have for her still didn't go away, and the fact that she's tired and exhausted from work, makes you feel like you should still make her feel all better and cared for, that's how you love her.

Now, back to Scarlett, as she take a shower, her mind went back on earlier moments, analyzing and calculating your words, and her words, trying to make out on who's truly wrong. A fight that started from a small conversation. As her mind became wider and more clearer, she realized that she's the one who's in fault.

Because, as much as she don't want to believe it, she been so busy, so busy that her busyness makes her almost forgot about you. Her heart swell in guiltiness, and regrets because of the things she said to you. It almost made her angry with herself, on how dumb she is for not seeing through you, and for not understanding you well.

So, after she's done and all clean up, she quickly turned the shower off, then drying off and putting a much more comfortable clothes on. Then going down the stairs to look for her girl, only to be met by the smell of her favorite food. All she wants to do is to hug you, say sorry, and to whisper comforting words. Her wandering stopped until she found you in the kitchen, and only now did she notice that you're wearing her clothes, from head to toe, it's all of her clothes, it only made her realized more of how much you have really missed her.

And god, don't you look so cute and adorable wearing her clothes that are bigger than you.

Calmly making her way over to you, stoping when she's just behind you, peaking over on what you are cooking, as her arms found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to her until your back touches her front. Even though you don't really want to be near her at the moment, you just let her.

"That smells amazing, my love." She whispered lovingly in your ear, but you made no move and just continued cooking.

Hmp, she deserves this.

"I'm sorry, baby..." Once again, she was met by silence. "I'm really really really sorry, i should've known, im just really tired and exhausted that's why i snapped out, i don't even know where the words i said came from. I'm really sorry, please forgive me." She begged, hiding her face on the crook of your neck, as her hands snaked inside the shirt you are wearing, her fingertips dancing around you tummy soothingly.

She kept begging and apologizing, showering you with kisses, attention, and sweet words. But, you made no action on paying any mind to her.

Now, it's time to eat, but you're still ignoring her, you just eat, while she stared at you. You're halfway, and her stare is really bothering you, plus, the food is getting cold, and ofcourse, you being the caring girlfriend, and with the looks she's giving you, you know she won't eat until you talk to her.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Your voice is calm, it's not as warm as it used to be, but it's not that cold either.

"I am." She squeaked out, she sounds like she's fighting her tears, making you look up.

"Then what are you waiting for? The food will get cold." You said, pointing at the food.

"Talk to me, then I'll eat." She said, her voice is now breaking, her heart cannot contain the pain of you, ignoring her as if she's not there.

"Am i not talking to you right now?" You ask with a raise of an eyebrow, as if it's the most obvious thing. She shook her head, and you see tears started to brim out of her eyes, making you feel bad for the way you're treating her.

Damn, she's so sorry already, why can't you just accept it then move on. But, you want her to feel how you felt, you have valid reasons.

"I'm saying sorry to you, and you won't even acknowledge me." She said, which came out as a whisper as tears fell out of her eyes, which she quickly wipe, then lean back on her chair, looking forward at the plate, avoiding your gaze.

And now, if you would look at your peripheral vision, Scarlett looks like a kid who is being scolded by her mother for not wanting to eat.

You almost felt bad just by looking at her, but it's making you laugh at the same time for how she is acting. Such a baby.

"Okay, sorry, i just- i just thought you would understand what i felt and realized what you did, which i think you do. I wil accept your apology, only if you promise me that you won't do that again." You said now more softly and warm, just how she loves.

"I promise, im really sorry, i really promise to have more time with you, and give you more attention that you deserve." She said, looking at you pleadingly and convincingly, then reaching out to hold you hand.

"Look, im not asking for so much, because i know you're a very busy person, i knew that from the first day i met you. But, an hour or two with you is enough, that's all im asking." You said, softly.

It makes her heart clench on how you're very desperate on having her by your side, it's just a very simple thing that she can't give you, a very simple, but a very heart-warming gesture. You just want her, while all she does is work.

"I'm really sorry, baby..." She started, as she reach over to pull you in her embrace. "I promise, i will give you more than just an hour or two, okay? I will take a break from work, and then we'll go on a vacation, just the two of us, how about that? Would you like that, my love?" She ask softly, hooking her index finger on your chin, making you look up at her.

"You don't have to do that, im just asking yo-" You tried to reason, not wanting to be a burden or anything to stop your girlfriend from doing her work, but you were cut off by Scarlett.

"Shhh, i want to, okay? I want to make it up to you, im just giving you what you deserve, plus we would really need that, i've been busy, and work is really hectic, plus, we would have much more time with each other. Work is nearly done anyways. Pleaseeee?" She begged as she gave you a puppy eyes at the end, making you sigh in defeat.

I mean, the idea of going on a vacation, just the two of you, no works, or anything that can interrupt the both of you, is a good thing right? No, it's amazing.

"Okay, okay, fine. We'll go." You said, and smiled softly at her, which she returned with much more big smile. She lean in to kiss you, and you met her halfway.

The kiss is deep, full of love and passion, but before it can lead to something more, you quickly pull away, much to her dismay.

"Okay, okay, stop, let's eat." You said, chuckling when she groaned.

"Why do we even need to eat?! We're just gonna poop it out anyways." She whined, making you slap her playfully.

"Hey, we're infront of the food." You scolded her while laughing, which made her laugh too, and said a small 'sorry'.

Before she started to eat, she softly capture your face with one hand, and gave your pink plump lips a multiple pecks, that you needed to stop her because she doesn't want to stop.

"Okay, big baby, you're being too spoiled with so many kisses already." You teased, and she pouted, but it quickly go away when you gave her a kiss.

"Now, go on, eat up." You said, which she quickly obliged.

"I love you." She said lovingly, before shoving a food in her mouth.

"I love you too."

°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°^~°~^

[veren-cos]

Hello! If your requests are still open I would like to ask for your headcanons on a specific scenario.

The farmer came back from the mines in a really bad shape. They had to go to the hospital to get multiple surgeries and now how to stay in bed for a while.

How would the stardew bachelors react to their spouse getting hurt so badly and how would they help them with chores and recovery?

My requests are always open!! They just take me a while to get through depending on motivation, inspiration, and just time to write lol. Basically, as long as I don't respond to an ask saying I cant/won't write it, it will get written. Now onto the fic!!

(No trigger warnings. Reader is hurt, yes, but there are no in detail descriptions)

Sam

• He passes put when he sees you.

• He lived relatively close to the clinic so I imagine he got there pretty fast after he heard what had happened.

• So he saw you pretty beat up.

• Once you were finally awake, he pulled you into a big hug. Which proceeded to make everything hurt worse as you were still bruised and healing.

• You let out a yelp and then Sam jumped off of you and nearly started crying from how much he was apologizing.

• He ended up having to be taken out of the room by Maru while Harvey talked to you.

• Sam helped you get home, but you better believe you aren't doing *anything* on your farm until you're fully healed.

• Sam was prepared to full on quit his job to take over your farm until you were healed.

• You had to convince him not to do that, so he just ended up taking less hours (which you still didn't like, but you appreciated his effort and sentiment)

• Once you were finally healed enough for him to hug you and give you cuddles, that man was not letting go of your for *days*.

Sebastian

• Sebastian would not know what to do.

• He never thought that he would have someone this important to him, and now you look damn near dead.

• He emotionally shut down for a long time after seeing you.

• But once Maru talked some sense into him outside of the clinic room, he was just so worried.

• He knew he wouldn't be able to fully take care of your farm, but he did basically live in with you.

• He works from home, so he just moved his work to *your* home.

• He cooked for you a lot. It started out with a lot of instant noodles, but he eventually broke out of that and made you other food.

• He wouldn't smother you, but he wanted you to know he would be there if you needed anything.

• He took great care of your animals, and made sure the weeds on your farm were taken care of.

• Unfortunately, he wasn't able to keep up with your crops. So you ended up loosing a season.

• But Sebastian being there with you made it so much better than rotting by yourself.

Alex

• Oh Alex would be pissed.

• He doesn't go on the mines. He could handle it, but he knows that it's dangerous and doesn't want to mess with it.

• But if he saw you all fucked up from the mines?

• Oh he would be pissed.

• Maru and Harvey would have to hold him back from going in the mines to beat up whatever hurt you.

• But when you woke up, Alex completely forgot about going down there, and rushed straight to your side.

• He was with you like a lost puppy.

• Alex only works in the summer, so even in the summer, Alex could completely take care of your farm.

• Like Sebastian, Alex basically moves in with you while you heal.

• Random, but the thing he found he liked the most about his time while you were healing was helping you shower. He thought it was a very domestic and cute moment. (Alex loves the little domestic moments and I will die on that hill. Same with Sam-)

• He would smother you compared to the other Bachelors, but he just doesn't want to see you get worse.

Harvey

• He sees it the worst.

• Like with the other Bachelor's, you're still in bad condition. But Harvey sees the raw injuries. And he has to be the one to operate.

• He nearly breaks down but after maru talking some sense into him, he pulls himself together.

• But after operating, he just falls apart.

• Breaks down crying, not leaving your side until you wake up.

• He is so worried. Yes, he is confident in his work.

• But if you don't wake up. You. Harvey would never forgive himself.

• So when you finally do wake up, he is all over you.

• Like. For weeks. He won't let you do *any* farm work. He tries to pull double time as doctor and farmer to fill in for you.

• So he crashes a burns.

• Eventually he ends up enlisting the help of the town to watch you and do some farm work until you're back on your feet.

Shane

• He froze when he saw you laying clinics bed.

• Like just stood there. It took so long to register that you were *that* hurt.

• When Harvey told him you'd be on bed rest for at least 2 weeks, he blanked out.

• The most important part was getting you home and better. Shane could deal with the farm, but there was no way in hell you were getting up once.

• He nearly fell back into a depressive episode because of all of the stress, but now he had you. He was learning to rely on Marney more.

• So Shane took care of the animals. He tried to keep up with the farm itself, but it was too much.

• He still had his job at Joja, so there was only so much he could do.

• He moved a mini cooler onto a nightstand by your bed, so you never had to get up for food or drinks.

• He watched movies with you a lot, and once you felt good enough, gave you a lot of cuddles.

• He tried to put on a brave face, but he was worried for you. He didn't think he was going enough, but Shane didn't know what else he *could* do.

• All in all, he tried his best. Nothing would go wrong with him taking care of you, but there would be a lot of work for you once you completely recovered.

Elliott

• He was utterly heartbroken

• It felt like a piece of him got bruised and broken along with you.

• Elliott isn't very strong, so while he can help with the animals, the farm is staying still.

• He reads poetry to you every night. It becomes a nice habbit even after you are healed.

• He is there for you emotionally. Get that hurt is very traumatic, and he just wants to be there for you.

• He makes sure to take care of you until you can take care of yourself again.

• But even after, he still would want to take care of you <3

Hope Y'all liked it, have a nice day!!

Masterlist

[derpy-dogs-n-cats]

Ignorance

Main Masterlist

JJK Masterlist

Man whore! Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of sexual themes, sexual thoughts, irresponsible parenting.

Summary: Gojo never cares about any of his hookups, it was only a matter of time until he made a mistake.

W/C: 1.4k+

A loud ringing pierces through a pair of ears that triggers a grunt to elicit from parted lips that’s quickly followed by more groans of annoyance, a hand reaching for the nightstand next to the bed to search for the ringing phone only to knock it over. Gojo throws his bed sheets off of him with a louder grunt and swipes his phone off of the floor to set his eyes on the brightness of the screen that cuts through the darkness of the room with an even louder groan falling from his mouth with an eye roll.

It was the fourth time you were calling him, in just one day, and in the dead of night. A string of curses leaves him as he’s quick to decline your call again, this time having had enough and immediately going to the settings of your number to block it. He lets out a raspy sigh and drops his phone back down before tossing over on his bed to lay on his back, desperately trying to catch whatever sliver of sleepiness was left in him.

It’d been two weeks of your incessant calls, two weeks of nonstop work, back and forth, work, calls, work, more calls, he’d been so busy he’d been forgetting to block your number, and now that he was finally going to be able to sleep in, wake up when he wanted to, you called. He could’ve silenced his phone, but what if there was an emergency? He could only do so much when it came to disconnecting from his work, in his type of work line, one could never fully disconnect.

He admits you were a good fuck, though he thinks that’d be putting it mildly, and he hadn’t had a virgin in a while, and you took longer than he initially thought in calling him at all, but ever since the first call, it’s just been nonstop. First, two weeks of nothing, and then two weeks of calls, one after the other, the first of which he was going to answer, maybe… but he was just so busy with work, and when you kept calling him, he thought that maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to go back with you.

If you were losing it after just one time with him, he didn’t even want to think of twice. “Damn.” He curses under his breath. “I forgot virgins could be so clingy.” He mutters, managing to blink some drowsiness back into his head, taking in a few slow breaths as he feels his body grow heavier, making him feel as though he sinks deeper into the mattress until he manages to fall back asleep again.

One Year Later.

A beep is heard at the doors of the grocery store opening with Gojo walking in and moving past the produce section onto the aisles at the back. He doesn’t usually come in this store, but this was the only store still open this late at night given that it’s a 24-hour store and that he had only barely finished with his latest task given to him by the higher-ups, one that he would’ve finished sooner if he hadn’t been pushing it off for so long.

He walks by the aisles and checks each one in search for the snacks aisles, just wanting to eat something quick before he gets back to his place and passes out on his bed. Walking by the aisles, he sees a few people lingering by, some seeming to be grabbing their entire weeks-worth of grocery shopping at almost midnight but other than that, none of them really seeming to catch his attention, none but one in particular.

Just as he’s passing by the cereal aisle, he nearly passes onto the next one before stopping and backtracking to said aisle. He raises one of his hands to dip a finger behind his blindfold and pull it down slightly to peek at the only person standing in the cereal aisle with his own eyes. He sets his eyes on a woman from a side angle and rakes his eyes from the pair of legs leading up to the swell of the ass, and slowly trailing higher up to you.

His eyes widen at the sight of your familiar face and briefly widen even more, taking in how much you’ve changed. Your breasts… are visibly bigger, they even seem somewhat swollen, he knows you were young when he bedded you, but could they have really grown that much in a year? He didn’t think it was possible but how he ached to bury his face in the pair of tits, hold them in his hands to press them tight as he fucks them…

The ¾ profile from behind you provided him with perfect view of the swell of your tits and hips, which seemed fuller as well. Your hips must’ve grown in the past year, and were just begging him to grip at them hard enough to bruise while he held you still to fuck into your sopping cunt. And your ass… the added fat on your ass would bounce on his hips when he decides he wants to pull at your waist for you to meet his thrusts from behind.

Your legs had gotten thicker as well, it made him wonder how it’d feel now to have them wrapped around his head, waist, pulling him in deeper with your soft legs wrapped around his him, would you press them against his behind to keep him from pulling out? The same way everything seemed to have grown to a pleasant size, your stomach looked like it had a few more pounds than last time too, it made the challenge of reaching deep enough into you until the print of his cock was prominent sound all the more entertaining.

He wonders if you’ll let him pound you until he’s ever so slightly stretching the skin of your stomach to slightly poke his dick through after having ignored you for a whole year. It shouldn’t be too hard to get you to spread your pretty legs for him again, after all, it wouldn’t be the first time he managed to get back in the pants of someone he had already ghosted, and he’s sure you’ll be begging him to rearrange the insides of your plush tummy.

A small cry interrupts his fantasies much to his annoyance to which he rolls his eyes only to stop mid eye roll, seeing you instantly set the cereal in your hand back down and bring out from your other side a newborn baby. The baby lets out a louder cry as you quickly embrace him with both arms to hold him against your chest and press a kiss on top of his head. As soon as the kiss is placed on his head, the crying starts to fade into small grunts and moans while Gojo’s head is overwhelmed with questions.

A baby? Why did you have a baby? What were you doing out so late at night? And with a baby? Did you not know how dangerous it could be at night? And the baby, is it… his? He doesn’t really have much to go by, the baby barely even has any hair yet except for a light peach fuzz that hardly shows any color. “Mm.” The baby wiggles in your arms before sniffling against your shoulder and finally opens his eyes.

Gojo’s body stiffens and he freezes in place, his eyes widening and staring into the pair identical to his. The baby stares back at him with his own bright blue eyes, slightly glossy from the crying and after staring for a few seconds, he lets out another cry and turns away. “It’s okay, don’t worry.” You smile at the newborn and gently rock him in your arms, your words drawing his attention back up to you and finally noticing your actual appearance.

There’s deep dark rings under your eyes that make him wonder when was the last time you’ve slept, if maybe that’s why you’re at the store at midnight, because time’s so short. The thought of how back when he first met you, you were just barely starting your first year of college makes his heart clench, were you even able to get through it? Did he really just… ruin your life? Did he keep you from furthering your studies? Do you even have a job? … Anybody to help you?

If you did, you wouldn’t be out all alone.

He watches as you bring the baby up in your arms and press a kiss on his cheek to which he lets out a small giggle, and despite how sleep deprived you look, you still smile at the little being in your hands, and Gojo decides he won’t leave you alone again.