#fuck man I wanted to be strong and cool but I’m not…
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"I want to feel every inch of you" Yeosang
^_^ I'm back!! Guess who got Wi-Fi finally and will be updating way more often.
Not being able to update has given me writers block. I took my writing prompts and did a random draw to see what to write.
Here is Yeosang (top) fucking M/N (bottom) roughly.
~~~
TW: Dacryphilia, name calling, rough, mean/tired Yeosang
This in no way represents Yeosang irl or his actual personality. This is fiction.
Word count: 1.4K
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M/N smiled brightly as he heard his apartment door open and close. Getting off work early, M/N had decided to cook Yeosang’s favorite meal. Quickly making his way out of the kitchen and into the living room, M/N expected Yeosang to coo him as normal. Instead, M/N frowned as Yeosang shot past him, roughly smacking shoulders. “Hyung?” He quizzed as the older male didn’t apologize. He carefully watched as Yeosang huffed, roughly moving things around. “Rough day?” M/N questioned, moving to wrap his arms around Yeosang. The said male huffed loudly before detaching his arms. “I don’t want to be babied. I’m a grown man,” He quietly hissed out. M/N felt his frown deepen at the words.
“I never said you weren’t,” He gently stated, taking a step back to allow the other to continue his frenzy. Yeosang rolled his eyes, standing to face M/N. His body tense as he glared at him. “Clearly you don’t think I am. You made chicken, again,” M/N felt his eyes go wide at the words. He’d decided he’d be nice and make the other’s favorite. He figured he’d be stressed. How did that turn into babying him? “Excuse me?” He questioned, straightening up to meet Yeosang’s strong gaze. “How does that mean I’m babying you? Because I cooked dinner?” He quizzed, watching Yeosang disappear into the kitchen. He followed after him quickly, eyes watching the other’s moves carefully. “You don’t think I can cook,” He muttered, picking up the chicken plate before slamming it down. “I can cook,” He snapped out. M/N paused, anger filling him. “Then cook,” He hissed back.
A snarl left Yeosang as M/N rushed forward, picking up the chicken and moving it from his reach. “What are you doing?’ Yeosang hissed back. “You want to cook, then cook. I didn’t make food for an ungrateful baby,” Yeosang roughly snagged his wrist, forcing him to stay in place. M/N held back the glare Yeosang was giving him. “Shut up. I am not a baby,” The angry words making M/N chuckle darkly. “Says the one having a tantrum,” The taunting words made Yeosang’s grip tighten on his wrists. “I said shut up,” M/N snorted, a sly smile making its way to his face. “You couldn’t make me shut up even if you tried,”
Yeosang’s eyes narrowed at the words. He roughly yanked M/N towards him. A gasp leaving the said male as his eyes widened. Yeosang made fast work to smash their lips together. Yeosang guided them backwards to the counter. A gasp left M/N as the cold counter pressed into his back. Yeosang moaned as he slipped his tongue into the younger’s mouth, using the gasp to his advantage. M/N pulled away, breathing heavy as he began to unbutton the other’s shirt. “Fuck you,” He hissed out. A chuckle left Yeosang as he snaked his hand around the other’s throat. “Oh, I will,” The cocky words sent shivers down M/N’s body. Yeosang gave a squeeze before trailing his hand down to the other’s ass. Both hands trailed over the other before he lifted M/N onto the counter.
“Hyung!” He hissed out, anger creeping onto his face. “I cleaned these today. Don’t you dare,” Yeosang ignored him, rushing to free M/N cock from his pants. A gasp left him at the feeling of the cool air hitting him. “Don’t,” He warned. Yeosang glared at him, hand moving to pump his cock. “Or what?” His hissed back. M/N wanted to stay angry but the feeling of being touched had him whimpering. Shaking as Yeosang gave him a lick across his tip, M/N couldn’t help but cry out. “Hyung,” M/N waited desperately for the other’s next move. “You are so pretty,” Yeosang muttered, rushing to fully remove M/N’s pants. M/N yanked Yeosang back into a heated kiss once he’d successfully removed his pants. Both of them moaning into the kiss as they trailed their hands over each other’s body. M/N pulled away, breathing heavy as his hand searched for the draw that held their condoms. Yeosang’s hand quickly stopped his, giving a squeeze. “I want to feel every inch of you,” He muttered out. M/N felt his brain freeze as Yeosang’s lips attached to his neck. “Hyung,” He whined out, hands landing on Yeosang’s hair. “Please,” Yeosang softly begged. M/N blindly nodded his head before throwing it back to moan.
Yeosang trailed his hands over the other’s body before freeing himself from his own jeans. A whimper left M/N upon seeing Yeosang’s cock. Yeosang chuckled as he watched M/N mindlessly widen his legs, trying to give easier access to him. “I’m sorry,” The words slipped from Yeosang softly as he sank into the other. M/N moaned loudly, stuffing his face into Yeosang’s neck. “F-Fuck, I love you,” He whined out, trying to bounce back Yeosang’s hard thrusts. Yeosang chuckled, gripping the other’s hips tightly as he rutted into him roughly. “I love you too,” He muttered, eyes flickering close. A whimper left M/N as he slammed his head back hard into the cabinets. “F-fuck, right there,” Any concern Yeosang had held disappear. Yeosang’s grip on M/N's hips was ungodly. They both knew bruises were probably blooming under Yeosang’s grip. They both moaned as M/N smashed their lips together once again.
M/N allowed Yeosang’s tongue to slip into his mouth. A whine left M/N as he allowed Yeosang to use him how he wanted. The said male pulled away from the kiss. “I-I’m sorry I was mean to you,” Yeosang muttered out, head slumping against M/N’s chest. “Fuck, u-use me, Sangie,” Yeosang groaned at the nickname, hips slamming into the other at a quickening speed. “So good to me,” Yeosang whined out. M/N’s hand gripped Yeosang’s hair, tugging it tightly as he moaned. Yeosang’s head was forced up as M/N mindlessly yanked it up. “Fuck,” He hissed out. “Feel good, baby?” M/N was too fucked out to speak. His eyes closed with his head thrown back. A loud whine left M/N as Yeosang shifted his hips. “Yeah? There baby?” The cooed words had M/N tightening on him. “God, you feel good. Cum on me, M/N-ie,” One of Yeosang’s hands slipped back to jerk him off. One of M/N’s hands dropped to grip his wrist but not stop him. “Yeah, gonna cum?” He quizzed. M/N moaned loudly as his grip tightened. Yeosang was sure he wasn’t getting circulation. The moans and pure bliss expression from the other was enough to keep him going though. “Please!” M/N cried out.
Yeosang wasn’t sure what had pushed M/N over the edge but cum seemed to splatter everything in an instant. Yeosang could feel M/N paint both of their skins white as he gave a whorish whine. Yeosang couldn’t help but grin as M/N shook. Every inch of the other was shaking and twitching. “I’m that good? Hmm?” He quizzed. His hand returned to M/N’s hip as he fucked into the younger with a newfound urgency. “So fucking pretty,” He hissed out. “I bet you’ll look so good stuffed to the brim with my cum,” “Hyung,” A whimpered cry from M/N. Yeosang’s eyes trailed to M/N’s face. A deep groan leaving him as he realized the other was crying. He looked so pretty, heavenly. Yeosang’s hips stuttered as he studied the other’s face. “F-fuck, M/N-ah,” He whined out. “Please, Hyung,” M/N whimpered out. Yeosang’s hips stilled deep in M/N as he shoved his face into the crook of M/N’s neck. M/N’s hand gently played with his hair as he caught his breath.
Yeosang gently pulled back, eyes studying M/N’s face. “I forgive you,” The softly spoken words making Yeosang’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry,” He muttered, moving to be flush against the other once more. “Everyone kept babying me and i-it,” Yeosang paused as M/N played with his hair once more. “It got to me,” He softly confessed. “I’m sorry I took it out on you,” M/N hummed at the words. “I’m sorry they babied you,” He muttered. He pulled Yeosang back enough to see his face. “I want you to tell me, ok. Please don’t take things out on me,” Yeosang nodded, tightly hugging M/N. “I love you,” M/N finished. Yeosang gave a soft giggle. “I love you too,” He gently confessed.
#x male reader#x male y/n#ateez scenarios#ateez x reader#atz x reader#ateez#atz scenarios#yeosang smut#yeosang x male reader#yeosang x reader#yeosang x you#yeosang x y/n#smut#ateez smut
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Mourning the life I wanted for myself again 😔✌️
#being in denial about being disabled my whole life has my expectations for myself MAJORLY FUCKED UP#I wanted to be strong and capable..#fuck man I wanted to be strong and cool but I’m not…#I look back on what I was hoping I’d turn out like and it’s so far from who I am now…#turns out I’m not only not very capeable but my condition keeps me from ever being strong
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the toxic masculine urge to be perfect and strong with no weaknesses
#I’m not even amab but I feel like toxic masculinity has affected me more than toxic femininity#I’m cool with other people crying but the instant I start I’m like “heerghhh no must keep the noxious brain chemicals in my eyes”#I never cared about my physical appearance being “feminine” but I have always hated showing vulnerability#Like I’ve had issues with body image but usually it’s more along the lines of “I have no muscle and I’m weak” than anything#Or when I was nine in ballet class I was self-conscious about not having broad shoulders when I looked in the mirror#and about having such a huge head in proportion to my body#Like obviously I’ve balanced out now that I’m fully grown and have lots of positive male (and female!) role models I look up to#But honestly it’s really reassuring to see guys in older media who are not very strong-looking or intimidating physically#bawling their eyes out for a role#And I’m like “damn they deserve love” and then I’m like “damn I deserve love too”#scrawny looking untoned guys rise up#Yeah my issues with body image started in a Dunham’s Sports when I saw that punching bag dummy with a fucking ten pack#staring down at me when I was six years old and messing with their elliptical machines#I was like “I want to look like that” and stayed on the elliptical for an hour straight#And then Man of Steel came out a few years later and everyone was talking about the guy’s physical transformation#and I remember the phrase “sculpted abs” being used and that fucked me up for awhile#Now I look back at that movie and go “holy hell that poor man is blatantly dehydrated. Fuck the directors”
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i need to do exposure therapy with purgatory i think the fandom experience at the time instilled the unpleasant dread and despair i still feel whenever i think about the event
#though it was also . the event itself’s fault . lol#and the miserable experience it was to watch them play from 7 pm to 5 am every single day for two weeks my time#and yes a lot of my unpleasant feelings towards purg come from my own ass being hyperfixated on the serv/etoiles#to a point where i struggled to Not watch . which made the feelings worse yknow#also like it kinda sucked for everyone it also sucked as an etoiles viewer . man was constantly stuck between the#‘i can’t fight like i want to bc people will complain that im too strong and it’s unfair nor can i Not fight bc people will complain that#i’m going easy on people/not invested in the team’ . and he was right people shit on him either way#like the event marked him in the ‘damned if i do damned if i don’t’ department so much that he still uses purgatory as an example today#and then he joined purg2……. babey girl ur hyperfixation is hurting u….. i actually enjoyed purg2 more tho so idc as much LOL#purg2 was better bc it was an event u actually willingly joined and it included people not from the main server so it wasn’t stuck in#fucking ‘is this lore or a pvp competition’ limbo#anw yeah even though i dislike purgatory overall bc it rly did shitall other than make people angry for two weeks (on ur server thats#supposed to be about uniting cultures . they all spoke in primarily english for two weeks bc the competition model that purg was#was just not built for short distance discussions…. lord)#there’s still some cool stuff that came out of it . my fave highlights r bloodhounds and nice cogs i love them#when i feel stronger i will comb through the vods to write up the relevant stuff for the etoiles miraheze page i just . am still not strong#enough . the detox must be slow and steady#jay rambles#also i am going to bed now i should have been asleep ages ago
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unpopular ted lasso opinion: i hope with everything in me that in season 3 they keep ted and rebecca as loving, caring best friends
#ted lasso#I know someone is gonna get really upset by this opinion#but I’m so sick of everything being the cis man and woman have to fall in love#story telling can be so fucking cool and we just keep regurgitating the same stuff#just ugh not every relationship has to be romantic#I want that strong queerplatonic never ending soulmate level friendship with them
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+18, smut, mdni, f!reader, etc.
pt 1
You weren’t used to the attention that John was giving you. Your past partners never caring or giving a damn. So to feel just how much careful attention he is giving your weeping pussy is making your core throb and ache. And when he started to pull his fingers out, it made you whine embarrassingly loud.
The sound made him chuckle as he got up and pulled you along.
“Where- where are we going?”
“To my bed.”
That was another thing that made you almost lose your footing. You were never important enough for a bed. The hard floor or the lumpy, uncomfortable couch was all your dates ever brought you to. In your mind, however, you wouldn’t have minded John’s couch as it was more comfortable than the others you had the displeasure of sitting on.
“Are you sure? What about the mess?”
You couldn’t hide the way your voice wobbled as he ushered you into his room, his foot kicking the door closed as his hands gently worked on your pants, helping you shrug them off along with your panties.
He quirked an eyebrow at you, amusement clear in his features. And when you felt your clothing start to pool at your feet, you found that you were only dressed in your shirt and bra. The cool air made your thighs clench together.
“If I’m going to fuck ya, sweet girl, then it’s going to be in my bed. But before that…,” his voice trailed off as he helped you out of your shirt and unclipped your bra, the articles of clothing joining your jeans and panties, “I said I was going to have you sit on my face next.”
Without getting undressed himself, he pulled you along towards his bed. His hand gently tugging you forward when he sat down on the edge of, you now wedged between his thighs as he rested his hands on your hips, his fingers tracing lazy circles as he kissed your stomach. The feeling of him peppering you with kisses made you squirm.
“Well?”
“H- huh?”
He chuckled at your cluelessness, but didn’t dare make fun of you for it, “though I said where I wanted you to sit, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
He leaned back, pushed himself to where he was laying face down whilst pulling you with. Your chest pressed hard against his as he let one of his hands trail and gently squeeze at the fat of your ass.
A part of you always wanted to try, but with your past partners hating the idea of giving you oral while also giving you a clear display of disgust, you sort of dropped the idea entirely.
But John is offering, isn’t he?
He isn’t the type of man to do something he doesn’t want to after all.
“Only if… you really want to,” you manage to say.
“That’s what I am asking you. Do you want to?”
You found yourself gripping at the front of his shirt, the way his fingers worked you open was still imprinted in your cunt, you really want to feel his tongue too.
“Yes, please.”
The moment the words left your mouth, he had you sit up so you were straddling his waist. You tried not to whine out too much when your wet cunt pressed down against his hardening bulge, and he didn’t give you enough time to feel him as he already got a strong hold of your hips again and gently dragging you up.
“You’re so nervous.”
You didn’t know where to put your hands as your bare pussy hovered just over his mouth. None of your previous partners ever really looked to hard at your slick, but John made a point to just analyze all of you.
“I- I can’t help it, I never did something like this before.”
He chuckled softly, his breath gently hitting your cunt making you squirm in his hold, “then I best ruin you for everyone else, huh?”
Not giving you any time to give back a retort, he planted you down, his grip strong as he easily held you in place as his tongue licked a long stripe between your folds. The sudden contact made you squeal as started to lap at you, his tongue not missing a single inch even as he toys with your fluttering hole. The tip of his tongue gently prodding before delving in.
The heat and feeling of his tongue was way different, and even better as he let one of his hands let go of your waist to trail downwards.
Your moans and gasps filled up the quiet bedroom accompanied by the wet sounds your pussy made against his tongue and fingers.
And you think between each flick of his tongue and pump of his fingers that he was right.
He was ruining you for everyone else… that is, if you even want anyone else after this.
#cod smut#call of duty smut#john price smut#john price#cod john price#cod#call of duty#call of duty john price#john price x reader smut#john price x reader#john price x you#john price x y/n#john#price#cod price#call of duty price
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The new Wylde Flowers update drops in like 2-3 days so you are about to more or less lose me for a few weeks as I do a complete new play through to get all the interactions with the new character
#i wonder if I’ll love them enough to want to romance anybody but Westley#i tried to romance Kim in my most recent play through because I do think Kim is pretty cool#but Kim is simply not a werewolf who owns an independent bookstore. like there is no competition#also I love Westley’s ugly lil outfit so much#and his RUMBLY VOICE ITS SO GOOD#the point of marrying a character and having them move into your house is being able to hear their voice at any hour you want#and not just during daylight hours#which is why it’s pointless to marry anyone from the coven you can go talk to them in the woods whenever you want#also if you marry Damon he calls you ‘kitten’ a lot which I’ve learned that pretty much everyone who’s married Damon VISCERALLY HATES#i don’t want to date Damon or Amira bc they both come on wayyyyyy too strong the first time you meet them and I don’t like it#and I don’t want to romance Cameron bc he fucking sucks#which leaves me with uhhhh#man there are currently 7 romanceable characters but I’m just blanking rn#Westley Kim Damon Amira Cameron. oh there’s Kai too. who else#i don’t want to date Kai because he’s dumb as a sack of rocks#ok I gotta go look it up I’m gonna feel so dumb#IT WAS GIVA. WHO I LITERALLY MARRIED IN MY FIRST PLAYTHROUGH. SORRY GIVA#(I kept bringing her gifts in the week leading up to her witch trial bc I felt so bad for her)#(and then I felt too bad to NOT date her when the option came up and then I felt like I had to marry her too)#(but I started a new save to date Westley shortly after that)#(you can divorce people but Giva is such a sweet woman that I didn’t want to do that)
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please give me nasty ass hate sex with Logan in the xmansion turns out he’s a dick but one with feelings for you and you matched his energy and he got pissy and upset then confessed after hate sex xx
note: aggressive Logan might be the best Logan.
———
“Knew I should’ve rode with Scott,” y/n said as she leaned back in Logan’s passenger side seat to look out of the window. Logan’s known for driving for a good five minutes before saying something he knew she didn’t want to hear.
“I’m just askin’ why the fuck you’re so hooked on that man. Ain’t he with Jean?” Logan asked, making y/n scoff. “Yes, Logan — That’s why we’re not dating! We barely talk, only as friends. Jesus!”
“Don’t seem like friends when you’re giggling and grabbing the man,” Logan shrugged his shoulders as he kept his eyes on the dark long road. “We’re just friends, and Jean is around us all the time,”
“Aren’t you the one who tried getting at her while she was with Scott!? And you’re fuckin’ talkin' about me — the ignorance,” y/n rolled her eyes as the man’s grip on his steering wheel tightened.
“That was long before you got here. Over her now,” Logan said, making y/n laugh. “Yeah, or maybe you’re shitty because a woman finally didn’t want you over a sweeter guy,” y/n pouted in his face for a few seconds before leaning back into her seat again.
“I get what I want, alright? There was just no need to try with her. Too much work,” Logan said. God, y/n hated him. He hated Scott more for making her ride with Logan to get some talk time in.
“Yeah, of course it was. Bet I could get her before you,” y/n said, only wanting to make the man mad, and it did. “You already slut for Scott, so how about you get him,” his tone was stern.
“I don’t slut for him! Like, are you jealous or some shit? Let’s be for real, because you always have something to say about the man and me. Everyday day!”
“Jealous!? Yeah, you fuckin’ wish I was jealous of someone like Scott. Anything he has, I can get,” Logan scoffed, really thinking he could. “Where is Jean then?” Y/n asked as she turned towards him, with a fake confused face.
“Where the fuck is she then? Because she ain’t here,” y/n said. “Can you just shut the fuck up,” Logan said low, keeping his eyes on the road to avoid eye contact with the young lady.
“No, I wanna know where the anything he has, I can get, is at,” y/n continued, making the man’s blood from her smart mouth. “Where Logan!?” Y/n yelled at him.
“Shut the fuck up!” Logan took his eyes off of the road and leaned towards y/n speaking through his teeth and tone sounding like a growl. Y/n shrugged her shoulders with a roll in her eyes before sitting back in the passenger seat.
“That’s fuckin’ it,” Logan slammed on the brakes before putting the car in part. The angry man exited his vehicle, slammed the door behind him, and walked around the back to get to y/n.
Y/n was confused, not thinking he would leave her out there, so she just assumed he got out to cool down. Y/n laughed low, thinking she finally got the man before her door swung open.
“Get the fuck out,” Logan cussed as he grabbed y/n by her forearm. “Hey, get the fuck off of me!” Y/n shouted as she tried pulling back, but the man was strong, leaving her door open and dragging her around to the front of his car.
Logan slammed y/n’s upper body on top of the hood, making her cry out from the short pain. The way he handled her was rough, but she wanted to act rough, right? So she’ll get it.
“Get the fuck off of me, you dumb bitch!” Y/n called the man out of her name, making him grab the back of her neck to pull her up then slam her back into the hood.
“Keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, and ima ruin it,” Logan threatens the girl, making her keep quiet but she kept fighting, wiggling and kicking under him.
“That’s what I thought. Keep quiet, bitch. Always runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth like you don’t got a hole to fill,” Logan had his cock pulled over his jeans and belt. Now he’s tugging at her x men suit he refuses to wear.
“L-Logan-“ y/‘ tried saying, but he did the same as last time, slamming her onto his hood. “You tell me what to do one time, and ima hurt you, and ion think a pretty girl like you wants that, don’t you?” Logan had brought his claws out next to her face to intimidate her, and it worked.
She wasn’t scared of the man. Not one bit. She just knew how angry he could get, and that he was too strong to not get what he was shooting for her.
“Telling me I don’t get what Scott gets. You think you’re fuckin’ hard to get? Huh!? You think your little whore ass is hard to stuff and impress?”
“Oh, Bub, you gotta be dumb as fuck if you think you ain’t. All I gotta do is stuff this pretty little thing, then treat you right. Give you money, gifts, and massages,” Logan leaned down towards the girl's heart as he dragged his fingers across her now exposed pussy.
“Bet you want that, don’t you, baby? I don’t mind. Don’t mind keepin’ you to myself so I don’t have to see that bastard hands all over you again,”
Logan pushed to fingers into the girl, curling instantly to get a reaction out of her, and he did. A good one that he’s dreamt of hearing.
“Knew you wanted me. Just look at how much you’re clenching my fingers,” Logan teased as y/n shifted on the hood of his car, trying her best to keep in her moans or show how good this felt, but she failed.
“It’s okay, baby — Don’t gotta feel embarrassed. Been smellin’ this pussy for months when you’re around me. Wet as a fuckin’ waterpark. So fuckin’ wet,” Logan groaned at the smell he’d been secretly sniffing at for forever.
“P-Please, stop that,” y/n begged, feeling him curl in the best places he could ever curl in. He knew where she needed it, which made this whole situation seem more hot to her.
“Why? Gonna cum? Thought you hated me. Now you’re gonna leak on my fingers. So fuckin’ pathetic,” Logan growled in the girl's ear, pressing his body on her to give her a better feeling.
“Cum for me, y/n — Cum so I can stuff you with my cock. Been hard ever since your sexy ass stepped in my car. Always smellin’ so fuckin’ good,” Logan sniffed the girl's neck, making her whine at the thought of Logan being that obsessed with her.
Y/n couldn’t hold anything back anymore. She came around his fingers with a loud and broken moan, hearing his own grunting in her ear. He was getting off on making her feel good.
“Ah huh — My good girl soakin’ my fingers for me. So fuckin’ good for me,” Logan pulled his fingers out of her and then sucked on them, licking every inch with an eye roll. She tasted amazing.
“For a bitch, you do taste good,” Logan said, calling her out of her name to get a reaction, and he did. Y/n lifted her body to turn around and swing, but he quickly slammed her back on his car with a chuckle.
“You worm stronger than me, baby girl. Gonna have to take my mouth for a few more minutes,” she could hear the smirk on his face, and she hated it. She hated him, but god were his fingers magical.
Before y/n could think of anything to say or do, Logan squeezed his cock in her hole, pushing and stretching her until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“What’s up, baby? To much? Too much cock to talk back to me?” Logan asked as her cries cracked. She felt pressure in her stomach. He was huge, and he knew that. He’s always wanted to watch her take him.
“C’mon, baby, talk back. Call me a bitch. Say I can’t get a woman to save my life. Say I can’t get you. Tell me you’re not easy, and I’ll pull out of this leaky cunt,” Logan said, knowing she wouldn’t and couldn’t say anything.
“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. Keep that fuckin’ mouth shut from now on, or I’ll tear you just like this in front of the crew,” Logan told no lie. He was an animal, and marking what was his was what he was best at.
“Yeah, I know, baby. So fuckin’ big. Gonna give you this every day. Train you to take my cock, and my cock only. I’ll know when you’ve been a whore. I’ll know if you let Scott touch you,”
“And let me tell you if he does. If he does, y/n, I swear to god, I’ll fuck the mutant outta you. I’ll make you a brain-dead human. Make you so fuckin’ dumb on my cock, he won’t even want you anymore. Only I will,”
Logan tugged y/n’s hair, making her back arch and her ear meet his mouth. “Gonna breed this lil girl, then take you back to my room. You’re around me twenty-four seven, now. You ride with me, and me only. I catch this pretty ass on Scott’s motorcycle, and I’ll fuckin’ claw it off,”
Logan couldn’t stop threatening y/n. He wanted her to know she belonged to him, and no one else. After he stuck his cock in, he was going to make her know that. This was finally a time to mark her.
“Mhm hm — So good. So so good,” Logan whispered in the brisk ear as his cock twitched. Y/n whined, knowing he was close. Before she could tell him to pull out, he began filling her up.
Y/n cried low, scared of what he just did, but at the same time, he seemed like he was going to do anything to make her keep it. The way he talked to her and handled her like she’s been his forever, made the situation feel better.
“Fuck,” Logan breathed out as he let y/n’s hair go and leaned on her back, cum still spilling in her as her walls clenched around him.
“Fuck,” Logan said, this time in a different done. In a more what did I do tone. “Fuck, y/n,” Logan pulled out of the girl and fixed himself up quickly, feeling his heartbeat raise.
“Y/n, we gotta- I- Fuck, I don’t know what I just did,” he admitted. “Shit,” Logan pulled y/n off of his car hood slowly before turning her around to rest and a more comfortable way.
“You still here, baby?” Logan asked, hands rubbing her cheek to comfort her. “Mhm hm,” she mummed, making him smile slightly. “Good. Thought I lost you for a second,” he chuckle.
“Wanna go back to my room to rest? Kinda had a long, uh, long ride?” He said. “Wanna go to my room. Scott was supposed to meet me-“ Y/n cut herself off with a laugh, watching his face drop.
“That shit ain’t funny,” Logan said as she kept laughing. “You ain’t goin’ back to your room. As a matter of fact, I’m moving your shit to mine,” Logan pulled y/n off of the car and guided her back to the passenger seat.
“I was just playing, Logan. When I say me and him are friends, I mean it,” y/n assured the man. “Don’t care,” Logan shut the door in her face before going back to his driver's seat.
“Logan,” y/n said as he got in the car silently. The man ignored her and started the car, upset Scott’s name was brought up in any way. He hated that. He only wanted his name to roll off of her tongue.
“Logan,” y/n leaned over to him to rest her head on his shoulder. “Don’t think that’s gonna work, Bub,” Logan said, face on the road with no emotion.
“Mhmkay,” the girl lifted her head up to lean back in her seat, but Logan stopped her with his right hand and pulled her back. “Ian says you can move though,” he said, making her laugh.
Logan chuckled before placing a kiss on her forehead, not knowing how he got here, but he knew it was right. He knew this little thing he’d been having towards her was just some middle school love.
#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett xmen#logan howlett x reader#logan howlet smut#logan howlett smut#logan howlett#dark!logan howlett#dom!logan howlett#james howlett x you#james howlett x reader#james howlett smut#james howlett#dark!james howlett#dom!james howlett#wolverine x female reader#the worst logan x reader#wolverin smut#wolverine x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine smut#wolverine xmen#wolverine x men#wolverine#dark!wolverine#dom!wolverine#hugh jackman x reader#hugh jackman x you#hugh jackman smut#hugh jackman
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cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (the tiniest bit), a lot of cussing (typical of bkg), reader has an ex-boyfriend, reader is alluded to being smaller than bkg
masterlist | part 1, part 2 (they're all bite-sized, dw), part 4 (this one not so much), part 5 (this one too), part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9
You drop your new 0.38 ballpoint pen and it goes tumbling down, down, to the pristine carpeted floor.
Right where your jaw is.
“My what?”
The man of the hour has the audacity to scoff and roll his eyes.
Is it too late to actually follow through with your fantasy of strangling him?
As if he’s daring you to go for it, he tosses you the nth annoyed look of the night. “What did I just fucking say about not making me say things twice?”
You feel yourself flush with what you think is anger and embarrassment. “Bakugou, sir—”
“And I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”
Smartass.
That’s it.
Before you know it, you’re already on your feet, stalking your way toward the man with the proverbial steam coming out of your nose and ears. His eyes widen in surprise as you get closer and closer before you stop right in front of his desk, towering over him for once.
“My date? Really?” You sound so incredulous, even to yourself, and you can’t help the seed of pride that blossoms over what you think is worry dancing across his features. He’s out of his goddamn mind, and between the two of you, you’re not about to be the only whose feathers are visibly ruffled over this dumb-as-shit idea. He has no business being so cool about it.
Never mind that your heart is hammering in exasperation.
Yes, just that.
Shaking your head, you press on. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re coworkers.”
You gesture to the space between you, and he merely raises his eyebrow in response with his strong arms crossed in front of his chest—snobbish as ever. “You’re my boss and I’m your underling. And I’m the HR head, for crying out loud.”
You pause to debate whether or not to say the next thing before deciding fuck it. “And what makes you think I don’t have—”
“Do you?”
Your face scrunches involuntarily at being cut off, “What?”
He leans forward, not breaking eye contact as if he’s challenging you. “Do you have a boyfriend?” He cocks his head to the side, “Or a date, at the very least?”
Your voice is small when you respond with the pitiful truth.
“…No?”
At that, Bakugou grins. If you didn’t know any better, you would say the fucking behemoth of a man looked pleased. He pushes against the edge of his desk, effectively creating a much more appropriate distance between the two of you. “Well, that settles it then. I’ll be your dashing date, we show up to your shitty ex’s wedding, and I finally teach that dickhead a lesson or two.”
A million questions start racing in your head, like: Why is this his first solution to the problem? Did he even consider whether or not you wanted to go in the first place? What did he mean by finally? And just—why?
But the one you manage to stammer out is: “Dude—what the fuck are you going to do? Are you about to mangle a guy at his wedding?!”
He looks at you like you just unceremoniously bit his ass. “What? No. What do you take me for, a brainless Nomu who just goes apeshit?”
You can only grumble in response. Yes, sometimes.
He sighs for the umpteenth time as if you’re the one who has steered the already unpleasant conversation into this bizarre topic. He stands up from his seat, and you’re back to being the one looking up at him.
The same thing probably registers in his mind because a smug look takes over his features within seconds.
“And, if you must know, I’m going to do so by being the best trophy date ever.”
You fight the reflex to choke at his words. Instead, you squint your eyes and muster your most scrutinizing gaze. “Why are you doing this?”
Bakugou doesn’t respond for a while, choosing to circle his desk and plant himself to your right. Before you can even comprehend what’s going on, let alone jerk back at the proximity, he bends toward you until his mouth is a breadth away from your ear. His minty breath tickles your skin when he finally says: “I’m a hero, remember?”
With that, the “hero” in question sashays to the glass doorway like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you, leaving you slackjawed and unresponsive.
He’s almost out of view by the time you manage to collect yourself and blurt out a reply.
“Hey, where are you going? We still have work to do.”
“Relax,” he calls out from the hallway, his voice receding as he walks farther and farther away from you. “’m just gonna take a piss.”
When you’re sure he’s out of earshot, you slump back in your seat, all the strength that’s left apparently having dissipated after that ludicrous exchange.
How could he throw every caution to the wind just like that? Did he forget he was just one spot away from being number 1? His PR team is going to kill both of you for even thinking this.
As you wait for Bakugou to finish his trip to the comfort room, you can’t help but contemplate the absurd idea. Needless to say, and despite Bakugou’s apparent nonchalance, there’s planning involved.
What are people going to say? If (once) the people from your agency—no, anyone who knows the #2 Prohero, really (which is virtually everyone)—find out, you’re toast. You’re going to be the subject of every tabloid in Musutafu—no, the entirety of Japan and maybe even in some news sites overseas—and you are absolutely not ready for that scrutinization.
And all that over a one-day fake dating stint? You’ve got to be kidding yourself.
But the more you think about it, the less foreign and preposterous the idea becomes. You know you shouldn’t even be considering it, but you can’t help it.
Getting dumped by your boyfriend over the phone only for him to reconnect with his high school sweetheart (did they even ever lose touch?) and get engaged five months later was humbling enough, let alone going to his wedding alone?
The first, obvious answer when you first saw the invite in the mail was to not go. But the more you sat on it, the more you realized how pitiful it would be to be a no-show. Was not going wiser than going alone? Probably. But you’re sick of hiding— avoiding—and you promised yourself this year that you’ll be facing your fears head-on.
Chewing your lip in deep reflection, your brain drifts back to the very person who came up with the proposition.
He seemed sure and determined enough—and it wasn’t like Bakugou to not be calculating and to not have everything mapped out, as similar as he can be to a raging bull. He probably has thought about the consequences to the T, in the few minutes of processing your situation, potentially more than you have.
And damn it, the man is attractive.
If there’s anyone you’d bring to your ex’s wedding to make him regret everything he did to you, it would be Bakugou Katsuki. Although you’d never admit it to the man even if you were held at gunpoint.
“Oi.”
Speak of the devil.
You startle at the sound of his gruff voice, abruptly dragging you out of your reverie.
He’s now standing beside you, hands in his pockets and face studying yours closely as if he’s searching for something.
You stare him back down before you finally decide on what to say.
You can’t believe what you’re about to do.
Gulping, you maintain your gaze. “Are you sure about this?”
“Would I be suggesting it if I wasn’t?”
Fair point.
To your surprise, Bakugou crouches down to regard you and you find yourself directly face-to-face. Despite yourself, you gulp in nervousness at the sudden proximity, and you think he notices because the jackass has the nerve to flash you a smirk.
You furrow your brows in an attempt to regain your composure and any semblance of control over the situation. “And you’re sure you’re gonna succeed as, and I quote, my ‘trophy date?’”
He sneers, although he doesn’t seem to be offended by your challenge. It’s probably because the statement means nothing to him—at this exact moment, the guy is practically oozing with confidence.
Bakugou chuckles, and you find yourself grateful that you’re seated because the next thing he is about to say instantly floors you.
“One thing about me, princess, is that I always win.”
tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii
#LAUGHING at him#he's sooooooo#mans is desperate for any proximity and time spent with you I fear#i'm scared to write the wedding scene bc I'm afraid I won't do it justice but I'm excited too#just something about weddings!!!! nevermind that it's gonna be your ex's lmao#bakugou x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou imagines#mha imagines#bnha imagines#bnha scenarios#mha scenarios#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou imagine#bakugou drabble#bakugo x reader#bakugo x y/n
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possessed by the thought of laios fucking half-foot reader 626 words, pure smut (hinted you're fuckin in da dungeon) ~~~
You hate tall-men. Tall-men are gross and impolite and throw their weight with little regard for others. You especially hate adventurer type tall-men. Their need for exploration usually sours their personality further; tall-men adventurers are inconsiderate and belligerent towards you and your fellow half-foots.
Except for Laios.
You love Laios.
“I don’t know if it’ll fit…”
Laios is tender, and kind.
“You can make it fit, Laios. I can take you.”
Laios knows how to work what he has.
Laios can keep his cool, feeding you the fat tip of his cock with care to avoid tearing you open. He sighs, huffing at the squeeze and suck of your slick cunt. He curls an arm around your waist, palming your chest, binding you against him.
Once he’s managed a solid inch inside you, Laios uses his spare hand to grab your thigh and spread you open. Stretching your leg over his bent one, sweat clinging sweat and Laios’ soft lips soothing your molten face.
“You’re so wet,” he smushes his cheek against yours, gold eyes searing down to where he’s slowly stuffing you, “Does it turn you on? That I’m too big? You like that?”
You grind down onto him with a soft whine as if to answer the question physically (a terrible idea when its Laios you’re fucking). He goes to repeat himself so you turn your face into his neck and suck rosy welts along his skin. Yanking groans from under his breath; hips jerking into yours barely faster. Even his cautious thrusts jostle your smaller body, and when concern burdens his arousal Laios wets his fingers to circle your clit.
Strong arms constrict your instinctual humping and snapping, thick with muscle and soft with flaxen hairs. You could probably describe the entirety of Laios that way: thick. In the most mouth-watering way, he’s meaty and broad and so much fucking bigger than you. When you imagine a man, you’re slowly finding that Laios is the only one to come to mind.
And he’s splitting you open so sweetly.
Wriggling a hand free, you press on the electric spot Laios is battering from the inside. Added pressure making you squeal and whimper into his neck.
“Can you feel me right there?” Laios strays the hand not strumming your clit to cover yours on your stomach, you can hear his breath hitch when the pudge of his cock meets his fingertips, “Oh, you can. I’m way too big,” he swallows harshly, drilling into you faster despite his words, “You like that?”
“Fuck yes, hah,” you reach back to dig you nails into his shoulder, gasping and shuddering as Laios tugs your hips to burrow somehow deeper in your gut. Heavy and warm, he’ll burn you from the inside out and the sickest part is that you’d beg him for it, “You too, right?” you have to strangle out a yelp, “Laios, Laios! You like it, right?”
“Uh-huh,” he rolls you easily so you’re on top of him, lifting and slamming you on his cock to study the way your twitchy cunt clings. Cheeks tinted rouge and mouth agape, “So warm and snug- love it- love- !”
You silence him with your mouth on his. If he bothers to ask, you’ll blame it on wanting to muffle your crashing orgasm by wailing his own name against his lips. There’s no way you look a man so lovely in his eyes and say you just don’t want him gasping out a love confession with your party in the other room.
After all, Chilchuck’s heightened hearing catching you fuck the party leader is one thing, but to have him pestering you about falling in love with the guy is too much.
#laios x reader#laios touden x reader#delicious in dungeon x reader#dunmeshi x reader#laios smut#dungeon meshi x reader#bongos.chubs.🍋
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sweet child o' mine | pt. iv
to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x
pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader
summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.
warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.
word count: 12k
pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵
It’s September twenty-third.
Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.
The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.
You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.
Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.
This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.
This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.
This time in a year, it –
His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”
You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.
“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.
Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.
He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?
You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.
You gulp. Quit fucking staring.
He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”
“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”
Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”
“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”
He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.
“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”
He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”
“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”
He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”
You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”
“Tuesday.”
“Bullshit.”
“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”
You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.
But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.
It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.
“How old are you turning?” you ask.
Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”
“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.
He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.
You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.
Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.
He doesn’t seem to mind, either.
You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.
The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.
The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.
“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”
“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”
1:29. 1:29. 1:30.
It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.
Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.
“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”
The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.
Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.
Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.
You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.
The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.
He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.
Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?
Yeah. They’re half you.
You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.
You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.
But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.
Fuck it.
You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.
Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.
“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”
Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.
Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.
There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.
As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.
“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”
He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”
“I’m…I’m in labor.”
“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”
You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”
He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”
The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.
This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.
“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”
Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”
“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”
You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”
There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”
“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.
“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”
“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”
And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.
“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”
His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.
Joel’s panicking.
It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.
“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.
“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”
A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.
“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”
The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.
“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”
He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”
You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”
The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”
Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”
“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”
“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”
“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.
“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”
The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.
Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.
“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”
The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”
“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”
With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.
And then you hear it.
Three sharp raps, from downstairs.
You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”
“Hm?”
“Are you…?”
The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.
“Am I what, darlin’?”
You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.
It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.
Knock knock knock.
Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.
The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.
Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”
She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.
Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.
“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.
“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”
She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.
You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”
She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”
You shake your head, beginning to cry again.
Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”
You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”
She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”
“Alice, you really don’t have to –”
“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”
You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”
“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”
“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”
The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.
A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.
Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.
You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.
“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”
The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”
“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.
She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.
Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.
You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”
“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”
You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”
“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”
“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”
She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”
Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.
Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.
Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.
You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.
You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.
Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.
Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.
Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.
Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.
And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.
The contraction splits your daydream in two.
In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.
You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.
It’s a fucking nightmare.
Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.
It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.
And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.
“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.
Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.
“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”
The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.
Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.
Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.
Safer.
Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.
He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.
You blink your eyes open.
Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.
“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.
“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.
You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”
He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.
But – he’s here. He made it.
The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.
He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.
“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”
“How did you get here so –?”
“Ninety-five the entire way.”
You frown. “Only ninety-five?”
“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”
Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.
He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.
“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.
Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”
Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.
“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”
You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.
Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”
He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.
“And what if you’d had an accident?”
“I didn’t, Alice.”
“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”
Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”
You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.
He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.
“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.
She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.
Always watching, always listening.
You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.
“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”
Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”
“I’ll call,” he assures.
She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.
Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”
“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”
He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”
“Better now,” you tell him.
“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”
“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”
He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”
You take a deep breath. “I need…”
Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.
“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”
“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”
You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”
“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”
Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.
It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.
Mom.
You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.
I see you every time I look in the mirror.
Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.
The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.
You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.
She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.
She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.
Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –
You.
Her mom.
“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”
He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.
You turn to look up at him.
He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.
“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.
You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.
Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”
“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.
Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.
Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.
You finally fucking get it.
She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.
You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.
Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.
You’re Mom, you’re Dad.
It’s all she’s ever known.
The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.
You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.
None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.
Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”
“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”
An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.
Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.
Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –
This is the thing he’s proudest of.
Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.
Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.
You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.
The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.
The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.
You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.
Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.
You shake your head. “I like watching you.”
He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”
“Me, either.”
He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.
You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.
“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.
“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”
His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”
You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”
He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.
The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.
You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.
Sarah.
And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.
“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”
Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”
The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.
Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?
More than the whole world, Mama.
“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”
“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.
You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –
He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.
And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.
Just for a moment.
Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.
He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.
He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.
He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.
It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.
But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.
You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.
You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.
Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.
“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.
She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.
He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.
“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”
Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”
“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.
He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.
Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.
Every time, it’s a combination of all three.
Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.
You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.
On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.
Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”
“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”
He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”
The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.
It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.
Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.
Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.
“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”
His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”
You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.
Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.
His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”
Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”
Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”
“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.
He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.
“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.
You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”
“What did she…? Did she say anything?”
Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”
He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.
“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”
“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”
Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”
He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.
“I’m not.”
“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”
A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.
Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.
She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.
He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.
You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”
Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.
“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”
Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”
Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.
She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.
“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.
“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”
Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”
“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”
Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”
You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.
“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”
Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.
You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.
“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”
She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.
Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.
She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.
“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”
The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.
That – and hushed voices in the living room.
“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”
You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.
“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”
“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”
Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.
You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”
Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”
“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.
She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.
“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.
You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”
Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”
“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.
Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.
She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.
You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”
Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”
Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.
Things could not have gone smoother.
It’s suspicious as shit.
You turn when you hear Joel shifting.
“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.
The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.
You linger in the living room.
Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.
Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.
One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.
Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.
A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.
Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.
You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.
Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.
Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.
Almost.
“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”
You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”
“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”
“You mean the three of us?”
He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.
You hum. “Maybe.”
“You don’t feel like it?”
“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”
“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”
He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.
It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.
You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”
Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”
“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just –”
“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”
He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.
He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.
He takes another unsteady breath.
“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”
His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.
“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”
Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.
“Yeah?” you ask.
Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”
Your eyes start to sting. You look away.
“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”
You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”
He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.
“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”
“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”
“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”
You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”
“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”
His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”
You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”
“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.
It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.
He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”
Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.
“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”
You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.
He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”
You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.
“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”
“Wyoming?” you sniff.
“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”
Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.
“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.
Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”
“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”
“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.
It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.
And goddamn, you’ve missed it.
Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.
He’s hungry.
He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.
Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.
His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.
“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.
He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.
He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.
You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.
Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.
He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.
Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.
He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.
Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.
“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.
He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.
“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.
You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”
Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”
Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.
And then he pushes in.
He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.
You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.
“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”
“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”
“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.
You agree, “Tighter.”
He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”
It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.
You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.
Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.
“Feel good?” he pants.
Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”
“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”
“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”
His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.
You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.
I love you, he breathes.
And the world whitens.
He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.
You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.
“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.
He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”
“Do you think we wasted too much time?”
Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”
“Needed a little help, though.”
He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”
You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.
You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.
You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.
“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”
The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.
Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.
“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”
“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”
“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.
Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.
Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”
“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”
But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”
Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”
He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.
Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.
Made for each other.
You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.
Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.
You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”
Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.
It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.
You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.
“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”
You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.
There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?
“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.
He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.
“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”
You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.
Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.
She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.
“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”
“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.
Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”
“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.
“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.
“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”
You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”
Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.
She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”
He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”
The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.
Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.
“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”
“And Nel?”
“And Nel.”
“And Mama?”
“And Mama.”
Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.
Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.
She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.
Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.
Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.
He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.
And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.
But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.
Well. Her, and her little sister.
“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”
A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.
“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”
You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.
“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#the last of us#tlou#macfrog#neighbor!joel miller#babydaddy!joel miller#tw pregnancy
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AT YOUR EX’S WEDDING - LN4
summary : Getting invited to your ex’s wedding isn’t ideal. Going with a douchebag from your highschool is even worse. But meeting a very attractive man in the deep of a garden? That might just make it all worth it.
listen up : suggestive comments! alcohol! wrote this forever ago and never finished but suddenly got motivated so here ya go! no part 2!!
words : 2621
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I wasted the prettiest dress I own for my ex’s wedding and a guy who’s staring at my tits. “You look upset…” His grubby little hands rub my arms, “We can leave.”
I eye the guy, blonde and pale. I shake my head and down my champagne, “I’d bet you would love that…”
I don’t look back as I walk away, just grab another glass of champagne and walk out into fresh air. My heels are hurting my feet and the setting sun is blinding me.
As soon as I get into the garden though, I feel like I can finally breathe. I can’t lie, this place is beautiful. The sky is pink and blue, the gardens are green and I can’t see them ending anytime soon.
I walk slowly, letting the cool air wash over me. I’ve got to hand it to him, his dream really did come true. He used to talk to me about a picture perfect wedding, big and white. Something that showed the value of his marriage.
We disagreed a lot after that.
I sigh and sip my drink, turning a corner to see a huge fountain. It’s surrounded by flowers, an array of colors that compliment the bright green and setting sun.
I walk slowly around it, listening to the water and faint music from the wedding.
I stop when I see someone sitting on the grass, his head leaning back on the stone of the fountain. I can’t see his whole face, just his side profile.
He’s got dark hair, curly and cut into a messy mullet. He’s wearing a suit, some buttons undone and his tie loose around his neck. In his hand lies a bottle of champagne and when he brings it to his lips, his jaw goes sharp.
I take another step and he clearly hears me because his head cocks towards me quickly. “Sorry.” I mumble as he stares blankly at me.
“Uh…” He stands quickly, looking disheveled and surprisingly attractive, “Don’t worry.” My gaze goes to the bottle in his hand and when his eyes follow, he laughs a bit, “Want me to top you off?” He eyes my own empty glass. He has an accent and I don’t know why it catches me so off guard. Maybe because he got instantly hotter?
I hesitantly smile, he’s oddly welcoming and when I step forward, he pours the sparkling drink into my glass, “Thank you. I did not want to go back in there just for a drink.” I joke but the expression on his face makes me nervous, “Shit, you’re not one of the groomsmen are you?”
He shakes his head, clearly finding this funny as a smile tugs at his lips, “No, Lucky for you, I'm just a plus one.” I nod slowly as he plops himself back down, sitting on the fountain's edge this time. He looks up at me, holding out his hand, “I’m Lando.”
Something about him feels familiar. His grip is strong and his ring makes a noise against mine. “Y/n.” I sit down next to him, sipping my drink and breathing out.
“Why are you so adamant on not going back in there, Y/n?” He says my name softly and with his accent it makes me want to melt.
I can’t help but laugh, “My ex is the groom, My date has tried to kiss me four times, and the groom's mother is drunk and won’t stop asking me why I broke up with him.”
He lets out a big laugh, “Fuck. Those are great reasons to not go back.” Shaking his head, he takes another swing of the champagne, coughing a bit.
“Why are you hiding out here?” I ask, pushing my hair behind my shoulder.
“My date knows the bride but has left me for a groomsman.” He shrugs, “Not too upset though, just wanted something to do tonight.”
“Very interesting. Normal people would go out and see a movie for entertainment, not go to the wedding of someone you don’t know.”
“Well, I've met you so it worked out for the best.” He gives me a little glance and I notice his eyes. The sun is almost down but the light still shines in them, green and a bit brown.
I shake my head, “You don’t even know me.”
He scrunches his nose, keeping eye contact, “Yet my nights looking up.”
I take the bottle out of his hand because my glass is empty, bringing it to my lips and letting the liquid into my mouth. “Something about you is familiar.”
He raises a brow, taking the bottle back. “Oh?”
I would have to remember him, he’s too pretty for me to forget. “I can’t figure out what. Maybe you just have one of those faces. But then again I think I would remember you.”
He laughs, “Well clearly not because you recognize me from somewhere.” I frown, looking at his face intently, “Come on… think about it.”
So he must know me then. Otherwise, where else would I know him from? “I definitely haven’t met you, the accent alone would stick. So what is it then? Do we have mutals on instagram?”
Lando just smiles softly, “I’ve never met you. I can say that for sure.”
“So what is it? God don’t tell me you’re a model-”
“You think I'm hot enough to be a model? I’m flattered.” I roll my eyes but secretly I bite back a smile.
“You’ve definitely got the attitude of a model. Are you famous?” A slight change in his expression gives it away. “You are! What do you do? Is it embarrassing that I don’t know you?”
Lando shakes his head, “Unless you know the sport.” So he’s an athlete. His build sort of gave that away, even under the suit I can tell. But he’s not very tall and I honestly hate sports so I don’t think I'm going to get this one.
I sigh, leaning back on my hands, “I give up.”
Lando laughs again, the type of sound that makes you feel accomplished because you made it happen, “Maybe i’ll tell you later.”
“Mysterious.” I look him up and down, “That’s hot.”
He gives me a funny look, like he’s trying to figure me out, “I like you.”
I laugh a bit, looking around at the now dark gardens, the moonlight shining and matching with fairy lights around us, “Probably because you still don’t know me.”
“Fine then, Y/n.” His eyes sparkle as they land on me again, scooting closer to me. “Tell me about yourself.”
“That’ll be easy, I love talking about myself. What do you want to know?”
“Why did you and your ex break up?”
“Getting right into it I see…” I take another sip, “I broke up with him because he was obsessed with our future, not even in a cute way like genuinely wanted me to drop out of school. We dated in college after being friends for all of highschool.”
“So… why were you invited? I mean, no offense, but I wouldn’t invite my ex to my wedding.”
“Who knows? I was drunk when I replied to the invite and clearly did not think it through. My ex is nice though, it’s not like I'm getting champagne drunk because I'm sad, I'm happy for him.” I drink more from the bottle.
“Where did you go to college?”
“Charleston. How about you?”
“I didn’t go, I barely finished mandatory school.” I pull my heels off as he says, “I’ve never been to Charleston, I heard it’s pretty.”
“Very.” A chill washes over me as the night seems to rest over us, “How do you know your date for tonight?”
He scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish, “Sort of a one time thing…” Hookup. Got it. “But she was talking about how she didn’t have a date and how it would be sad so I just said I could go. Got a bit awkward when she paraded me around just to ditch me.”
“Well it all turned out well didn’t it? Now that we’re here.” His eyes are so soft and endearing as he listens to me speak.
“Why do you keep swerving your dates kiss attempts? Bad breath?” I laugh and bury my face in my hands.
“God it’s so stupid. I knew him in highschool and he always wanted to hook up with me so I knew he’d say yes… But he’s a total tool!”
Lando thinks this is quite hilarious, “Well then,” He holds up the bottle, “To our shitty dates and weird ass night.”
He pours some into my mouth, misses a bit and swears before holding my jaw and pouring more in as I’m about to start choking on my laugh and champagne.
“Fuck.” He giggles as he tries to wipe my mouth but ends up just rubbing his hand over my face, “Sorry!” He drinks as I swallow and let out a much needed laugh.
“I should handle champagne better at this point.” I raise a brow at Lando’s words and it reminds me that I truly know nothing about him.
“Can I try to guess what you play?” A slow smirk tugs at his lips, turning to me and nodding.
“Go ahead, love.” I pretend I don’t hear the nickname and try to think.
“Well it’s not football.” I screw up my face and sit criss cross to look at him better, “Tennis?” He shakes his head.
“What’s your favorite color?” I guess it’s a sport for a question then.
“Green.” Looking into his eyes and saying that feels oddly intimate. “Volleyball?”
He makes a face, “No. Favorite hobby?”
“Reading.” I shiver a bit at the cool air, “Does it involve a ball?”
I think he’s going to say yes but when he shakes his head, I frown. “Skateboarding?”
“Nope. What do you like to read?”
“Romance and mystery. Is it swimming?” That could make sense, he’s fit enough but not exactly slim.
“No. Have you ever dyed your hair?” I laugh at the question because it’s so out of the blue.
“When I was really young I had blue and pink highlights.” His eyebrows raise at this, “Oh shut up it was a great phase!”
“I’m sure it was. And I can't judge because I had a buzz once.” I cover my mouth at his words. I can not imagine that. His hair is like the cherry on top.
“I will be needing photos of that later… My last guess is gymnastics!”
“Still no.” He smiles as I groan and take another drink of champagne, “I drive.”
I sit up straighter and I'm dead serious when I say, “Monster trucks?”
He laughs out loud again, “Formula 1 cars.” My jaw actually drops at this.
“I would never have guessed! I mean, I don’t know a lot about Formula 1 anyways… but doesn’t that mean you’re like really rich?” He looks a bit shy at this which means i’m 100% right.
“And humble.” I nod.
“You really didn't know?”
“Nope. My family is into soccer and soccer only, so I never really cared about anything else.”
“I like that.”
“You like that I know nothing about your job?”
“Absolutely. I hate when people know it… Especially women.”
“Oh? So I'm a ‘woman’ to you now?”
A little smile settles on his face while he looks anywhere around the garden but me, “I think I'm a good judge of character. And I like yours.”
I’ve never had a guy express his interest in me within an hour of meeting, especially one that I found in a garden like a fucking fairy.
“Does that usually work on women?” I decide to tease him a bit.
“Not sure, I’ve never tried it. Is it working on you?” I suddenly have the feeling that he’s being serious. I can tell he’s a flirt, that’s obvious enough with who he’s here with.
Yet I just stand up and take the bottle with me, walking away from him. He follows, a rustling of his clothes and the sudden warmth of his jacket over my shoulders surprises me.
I don’t thank him, I just watch him walk quietly next to me, his eyes scanning the night sky. “What’s your last name?”
“Trying to figure out how you’ll sound with it?” I roll my eyes, “Norris. Don't lie though, Y/n Norris sounds good.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I get that a lot.” We continue walking, my feet feeling the grass as I realize Lando’s holding my heels. I had left them with the intent to go back, but he just took them.
I turn to him, “So, Lando Norris.” I start walking backward, watching the way his eyes trail up and down my body. “You’ve got a good name.”
He nods, slowly walking with me, “Thank you, love.” His shirt is well fitted, his arms pressing against it and the sleeves rolled halfway up.
His eyes get wide as I'm checking him out, causing me to turn to see what he’s looking at. My jaw drops at the sight. “That’s-”
“My date!” we say in unison. I whip my head to him as he raises his brow. The two are in the midst of pulling off each other's clothes while their lips stay attached.
I slap my hand over my mouth as they turn to us. His date is very pretty and her lipstick is smeared over her mouth. My date doesn’t look embarrassed at all, just annoyed we interrupted.
“You two carry on.” I hear Lando say as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of there. We start running then, laughing and out of breath.
“I need to bleach my eyes!” I scream as Lando slows, his breathing labored.
“I think his hand was up her dress!” He looks scarred for life.
“Oh my god!” I stop, “Our dates!” I’m practically bent over laughing, “Lando, Our dates!”
“Fuck this weird ass day!” His hand tightens over mine, reminding me that he’s holding onto me still. “I need something stronger than champagne. Come back to my hotel?”
I raise a brow, teasing him, “Why Norris, I've just met you.”
His smile is slow and sexy, “I’ll save you from a one night stand and raise you whiskey and netflix. I promise I'll keep my hands to myself.”
“I weirdly have trust in you.”
He wraps his arm around me, our hands still attached as we leave the grassy area, “It’s not weird. We’re just two friends who happen to be very pretty and a tad bit drunk at an ex and a random wedding.”
Lando and I spent the night laughing over drinks, room service, and how to lose a guy in ten days. He didn’t touch me besides his arm comforting me as I fell asleep next to him, and even shook his head when I joked about it being a one night thing.
His promise was never broken… more like expired and loopholed by me. I kissed him in a bookstore and he gave me a new favorite version of his smile. Soft and romantic with his eyes focused on me and his hand in mine, “And to think… it all started at your ex’s wedding.”
He sighed as we walked into the elevator, I elbowed him, “Lando, that was yesterday.” His hands went to his pockets but not before slipping his arm around mine so we’re intertwined. I looked up to see him biting back a shit eating grin as if we’ve been married for years.
I just shake my head and stare at the silver doors in front of us. Yet still, I couldn’t help but smile.
#fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 fic#lando norris fanfic#lando norris#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris fluff
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rafe going crazy on your ass until it’s red and raw and you’re practically begging him to give you a break just to switch to biting the fuck out of your tits and leaving dark bruises bc there’s no part of you that’s gonna stay unmarked by him
RAWR. this request is so fucking yummy i’m in a puddle on the floor 😮💨
CW: smut! 18+ only! ass slapping, biting, fingering, edging, orgasm denial, marking, degrading.
rafe masterlist | requests
Pain. Burning pain. That’s all you could feel, your ass cheeks slapped raw and red, tears streaming uncontrollably down your face as Rafe continued to land harsh slaps to your ass, the only slight reprieve you had being his thick fingers easily slipping in and out of your arousal soaked cunt.
“R-Raaaafe… Please, it hurts.” you cry out, body tensing under his strong hold, a sharp gasp falling from your lips as his hand comes back down on your ass.
Rafe flattens his palms, lightly massaging the flesh of your ass, trying to soothe the pain a little bit but all it does is make you wince, eyes squeezed shut as you try and block out the pain.
“Does it hurt? Tell me, do you not think this punishment is appropriate for what you did? I mean, c’mon, baby… Flirting with a Pogue? Are you really that stupid?”
“I- Rafe I wasn’t flirting with hi- ahhh, Rafe!”
A chuckle rumbles through Rafe’s chest, his hands slowly running up your ass and to your sweat slick back.
“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, I know what the fuck I saw,” he shoves his long, thick digits deep inside your pussy, curving them slightly and toying with the spongey spot that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, a moan falling from you as you temporarily forget the stinging on your ass. He sloppily fingers your pussy, the lewd sounds of your wetness bouncing off the walls. “You’re my fuckin’ girl, you got that? You want me to stop spankin’ you? Huh?”
You whine, inner walls clenching and unclenching around his fingers. You’re so close to a release, but you know Rafe won’t allow that.
“Rafe… Please, I’m sorry… Just.. Please, stop.”
Rafe lands another slap to your ass, his fingers never pulling from inside you. He works his fingers in and out of you at a rough pace, pushing you closer to the edge.
Your clit pulsates, that warm feeling rushing through your veins. You’re about to finally come undone around his fingers when he stops, completely pulling his fingers from inside you and flipping you onto your back. You let out a small cry, the cool, silk sheets grazing against your ass making it burn.
Rafe dips his head down, face mere inches from yours, his lips so close if you puckered your own you’d claim his in a sweet kiss. The thought is tempting, but you don’t want to piss him off any more than he already is.
Rafe’s tongue darts out, licking across the seam of your lips, up your jaw and to the lobe of your ear. A shudder rushes through you. You reach out to wrap your arms around his neck, but he stops you, gripping your wrists in one of his hands while he bites down on your earlobe, hard.
A smile works its way onto his face when he sees fresh tears slide down your cheeks. He throws his leg over your waist, straddling you before his head dips back down, his teeth biting harshly at the skin of your jaw, neck and shoulders. He sucks on your flesh, only pulling back when he’s satisfied with the dark, purple bruises he’s left.
He smiles down at you, “Gonna mark this pretty fucking body, gonna remind you and every other fucking man on this island who the fuck you belong to, got it?”
You open your mouth to speak, but Rafe’s teeth sinking into your plump breast has the words dying on your tongue, a loud, strangled scream forcing its way out instead.
Rafe switches between your tits, biting, sucking and licking at the skin, leaving your chest completely covered in bruises and bite marks. The pain that’s rushing through you has your head spinning, your throat scratchy and sore from screaming out for him each time he bites down on your skin.
Time passes by slowly, Rafe never letting up on the biting until he’s marked every visible and non visible inch of your skin. He climbs off of you, pulling the thick throw blanket that’s on his bed up your body, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before whispering, “So beautiful, so mine.”
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron brainrot#rafe smut#rafe fanfiction
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change my mind
carmen berzatto x fem!reader
gif by @emziess
word count: 1,876
warnings: swearing, sugar is still pregnant for the sake of this fic, some playful shouting/sibling behavior, clingy and petty carmy, smooching, barely proofread cuz i’m lazy lol
synopsis: carmy takes it personally when you tell him he has separation anxiety. he just wants you to stay with him all the time. since when is that a problem?
a/n: yes, this is absolutely a fic inspired by and named after a one direction song. i’m healing my inner child and this song just never, ever gets old, lemme’ tell you. with my winter break getting closer, i desperately need some clingy carmy.
————
“Natalie!” You practically screech, embracing the woman, arms strong around her shoulders but going easy with how close you bring yourself to her growing belly. She smiles and laughs into your hair. You both sway back and forth, secretly thinking how good it is to be in another sane person's presence.
Sugar says your name in the sweetest tone, the kind that, even though she’s hugging you, gives away the grin on her face. “I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been dying to have some girl time, I swear.”
You both turn at the sound of the door slamming shut, as though someone has kicked it closed with their heel.
Carmy holds a tray of food up above yours and his sisters head. “Good to see you too, Sug. I’m okay with being chopped liver, it’s fine.”
You hear Pete’s voice from behind you. It echoes a little with the windows open, allowing the cool air to seep in. “It’s that girl bond, am I right?”
Natalie pulls away and covers her hand with her mouth. Carmy snorts, patting Pete on the back. “Yeah, man. Sure is.”
Then he makes eye contact with his sister. “You know, you could’ve just invited one of us, seeing as all I’m good for is dropping off food.”
Sugar’s socked feet pad across the floor, the squishy spheres of gel sticking and unsticking with each step she takes. Her arms come up around Carmen’s neck and she pulls him into a hug before smacking him on the head.
“What the fuck, dude?”
Nat gives him an extra squeeze and clears her throat, taking on her worst, but best, male voice. “What the fuck, dude? How could you hit me like that?”
He shoves her away, but you catch how gentle it is, considering she is carrying his niece. “I do not sound like that. And why are you wearing fuckin’ hospital socks around the house?”
“Pete suggested they’d be good while I’m pregnant since I’m so clumsy.”
“They’ve worked pretty well so far,” he chimes in, peeking into one of the trays of food you brought. You go over to him and open it fully, whispering that he can go ahead and eat, if he’s ready. To Pete, if you said it’s alright, it’s like nothing else can touch him.
“I can get you some, Bear,” you say. “All you gotta do is ask, they’re like a dollar at Walmart.”
“Okay, let’s just eat, alright?” He fusses, though there’s that telltale dimple appearing on his face. He drags a tense hand through his hair.
“Yes, chef.”
You’re in the first year of your masters program, and when you called Carmy a few weeks ago to tell him the dates for your fall break, you both decided you didn’t feel up to a stereotypical Thanksgiving this time around. Spending a day with Natalie and Pete seemed much more appealing than waiting for an inevitable panic attack from Carm and a full-on fight, political or not, from any given Berzatto or uncle on your mother’s side of the family.
You’ve spent the past three nights in Carmy’s apartment, but you’re heading back to campus tomorrow morning so that you can focus on submitting your finals and tying up any loose ends. You told him ahead of time that you only planned to stay for a few days, knowing yourself and knowing that the longer you let yourself stay, the harder it would be to head back and finish up the fall semester.
Besides, it would only be a bit longer until you could settle in with him for winter break.
Nevertheless, Carmy was grumpy. He was trying to hide it from you because of course your decision was logical, but he is a selfish man. If it was up to him, you’d stay with him every day of the year and let him treat you like a princess.
Each time you catch him frowning, you remind him that you’ll be coming home to him again in a matter of days. There’s a miniature whiteboard on his refrigerator that you found in the dollar section at Target. It was meant to hang on the wall, but you hot glued little circle magnets on the back four corners. Carmy laughs every time he sees it because he’s splashed something on the fridge door and needs to wipe it clean. You took the lone, failing dry-erase marker from the kitchen drawer and doodled a little calendar on it.
You drew two slightly uneven squares for your countdown. Currently each block has a number, but you know he’ll feel better when the left spot loses any number higher than 0.
All throughout dinner, Carmy’s hand is at the small of your back, your knee, your bicep, the nape of your neck, resting on your wrist so he can feel your pulse. Like he’s afraid you are about to slip out of his grasp, only to be swept away by the current and never seen again.
Sugar clears her throat, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear and wiping her mouth on a paper napkin. “Someone piss in your cornflakes, Carm?”
He blinks over at her, practically jumping at being noticed. You can see his fingertips glistening with sweat under the fluorescent dining room lights.
You have a forkful of pasta in your mouth, but you begin to chew with haste, shaking your head to try and redirect the conversation.
You swallow, “It was me, Nat.”
“What?” she asks, voice raising a tinge. “Are you guys having a fight or something? Oh god, should I have said I was sick tonight?”
Pete coughs, his cheeks red as he fights his body’s urge to choke on the food he’s shoving in his mouth to avoid anything slightly awkward.
The knees of Carmen’s jeans rub together when he sits back further in the dining chair, the sound of the denim, scratchy and rough, communicating his pouty demeanor as he crosses his arms.
“She’s leaving me,” he deadpans.
Forks clatter across plates. “What the fuck, Carm? Are you serious?” He laughs to himself because that vein is protruding from Natalie’s forehead. You elbow him in the ribs.
You exhale hard enough that Pete feels it on the other side of the table.
“I am not leaving him. He’s pitching a fit because I’m going back to campus tomorrow so that I can focus on finals.”
Natalie’s eyes swing back and forth between the two of you like she’s watching a tennis match.
“She thinks I’m a distraction,” Carmy says.
“No duh,” Sugar laughs. “You’re the ultimate distraction. Hell, you’re made of distractions, what with all that unmedicated ADHD.”
“No duh? What are we, five? Y-you think I’m incapable of supporting my girlfriend’s ambitions because I’m some deranged, like fucking—some koala bear?”
Sugar nods once, affirmatively.
“Yes.”
Carmy scoffs.
You throw back the rest of your wine and put out a hand like a cop directing traffic would. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s finish eating, okay? I’ll deal with Carmy’s separation anxiety later tonight.”
He looks at you like he’s been slapped, that crinkle between his brows forming, followed shortly by the appearance of his frown lines. “I do not have separatio—”
“Good garlic bread, huh?” Pete says, crunching loudly. “There fancy butter in this?”
————
“I can’t believe you think I have separation anxiety!”
“You do have separation anxiety, baby.”
Carmen shrugs off his coat and tosses it at the arm of the couch, but he misses and it slides right off. What a perfect metaphor for his life right now.
“Just because I’m sad that you’re leaving me?”
“I’m not leaving you, Bear. I’m going to campus so I can ensure I get all my shit done.”
“And you can’t do that here? You already told me you don’t have any in-person finals. You’re submitting everything online, so you don’t have to go back—not really. I must really be a bother, huh?”
He regrets it already, but his petty, pitiful brain quit thinking logically about half an hour ago.
“Carmen. Anthony. Berzatto.”
He winces. The day Sugar told you his middle name was his last day of peace. He’d had you half-convinced he just didn’t have one because he was the baby and Donna was tired of coming up with names.
You take his face in your hands, your grip on his cheeks much gentler than the look you’re giving him.
“Carmen. Listen to me, alright? When I’m here with you, I’m in a state of like, pure bliss. I don’t want to think about my assignments because you make me so content and happy, and you’re so stupidly cute that I just want to look at you all day and I know I won’t be productive because of it.”
Carmy’s eyes flash. His cheek twitches under your thumb where the muscles around his mouth are fighting an involuntary smile.
His gaze flickers down to your lips when you start grinning as you speak.
“I just want to do really well on my finals, Carm. I’ve worked so hard this semester, and I want to give it my all and finish strong, you know? It’s the fact that I have no self control and would have to pull myself away from you to get work done.”
Carmy blinks at you. “I promise I can keep from distracting you. I’ll even set you up a workspace and bring you lunch or somethin’. So you can do your shit and not be bothered. We could make Richie buy you coffee.”
You laugh.
“I’m serious,” Carmen continues. “I can be accommodating.”
You take your hands away from his face and step back, setting your fingers against your hips like that’s going to help you think better. He’s already winning you over, but you still want to do all the responsible things.
There’s a kind of humorous tension in the room.
Carmy is waiting for you to speak, and you’re trying to pretend like it’s a hard decision to make. If he’s serious about helping you stay focused, there’s no reason you couldn’t just go ahead and stay.
You inhale, just to make Carmy cringe and brace himself.
“Baby…if you say you want me to stay, I’ll change my mind.”
“I want you to stay!” Carmy blurts. “Please. I’ll get down on my fuckin’ knees if you really want me to. Stay. I promise I’ll keep out of your hair and help you be productive.”
You giggle, soft and slow, and it reaches Carmy’s ears, enchanting him like you’re made of some love potion, whatever ingredients you’d need for that sort of thing running through your veins.
“I’d already pretty much decided on staying right after we left Nat’s.”
Carmy swats you playfully on the hip. “Oh, fuck off! Maybe you should go back, if you’re gonna be so mean to me.” He turns to walk towards the kitchen, glancing at you over his shoulder.
You move quickly, launching yourself off the floor and landing on his back. He hoists you up, bursts of laughter leaving his throat.
“You love it when I’m mean to you,” you say, and you press a kiss to the side of his neck, all warm and sickly sweet.
————
note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!
#savannah’s fics#carmy berzatto#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x you#carmy berzatto x female reader#carmy berzatto x fem!reader#carmy berzatto x y/n#carmy berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto comfort#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto x female reader#carmen berzatto x y/n#carmen berzatto fic#carmen berzatto fanfiction#carmen berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto fic#carmy berzatto fanfiction#carmen berzatto one shot#carmy berzatto one shot
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how do you think rafes baddie girlfriend would react to him trying to be possessive and controlling of her at a party?
god, she would have none of it. she’s her own person who knows exactly what she wants and will never let a man, including rafe, tell her what she can and cannot do. it frustrates and irritates him. he wants you to be all his, even though you already are— but it never seems to be enough for him.
you can feel rafe’s burning eyes following you with every move you make at the party, your hips swaying to the beat as you have your arms wrapped around your friend while dancing with her. he taps his rings restlessly against the glass beer bottle while glancing around the room with narrowed eyes, taking in all the guys who are staring at you with lust.
he tries not to lose his cool, knowing you fucking hate it when he's controlling, but when he notices some drunk guys talking to each other while pointing at his girl, he has had enough. rafe could easily guess what they were talking about, almost recognising his old, single self and his friends in that group, treating girls like objects to be used solely for their pleasure— the thought of them doing the same to you causes anger to rage through his entire body.
you’re in your own world, nothing on your mind except the music pounding in your ears, when all of a sudden you feel a strong hand wrapped around your arm, causing you to flinch before seeing your boyfriend’s towering frame standing over you, his intense blue eyes gazing down at you.
“cut that shit out, yeah? everyone in this goddamn room is practically eye fucking you, for fucks sake. you gotta behave, makin’ me look like a fucking idiot here.” “behave? rafe, helloo?! i’m literally just dancing? you’re so fucking dramatic, holy fucking shit. now either join me or leave— but i think i already know the answer to that, mr. stiff hips.” you snap, looking him up and down with a disapproving expression on your face, not in the slightest bit amused by his controlling behaviour.
he scoffs, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in annoyance, “if that’s how you wanna play this, then a’ight”, eyes momentarily leaving yours as he rubs his face with his mind racing, before returning his gaze to you. “but by the end of the night, you’re gonna fucking regret it.” “yeah yeah, whatever tough boy, we’ll see about that.”
#♡₊˚ for arina 🍒・₊-#rafe cameron#anon#baddie!reader & rafe#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron drabble#rafe cameron concept#rafe cameron x fem!reader#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fluff
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your first time with keigo p.2
requested by the loveliest @goseru-aizawa !! thank you for the suggestion <3
🔞this post is nsfw. mdni please and thank you <3🔞
no specific tw’s (i don’t think). does include creampie tho if that makes anyone uncomfy
as the two of you continued your eloquently named, wet-dream-scene, it seemed that one of you had reached a breaking point.
“y/n,” keigo pulled away, a desperation you had never seen before in his eyes as he let out a combination of a whimper and a moan, uttering the word “please.”
now, if this had been any other time, you would probably choose to be mean, leaning over him as you teased him, lips brushing against his, asking “please what?”
but seeing as this was a special occasion and it seemed the two of you were far too needy, you knew exactly what he meant. you pulled back, wrestling out of your shirt as he did his own. you reached for the clasps of your bra, but without a word, keigo moved your hands, replacing them with his own as he quickly unhooked it.
“oh, experienced, huh?” you asked, fairly impressed.
“just well researched.” he mumbled out, mouth immediately moving to kiss and bite at the sensitive skin on your tit, tongue flicking over your nipple.
keigo debated all of this for a moment; not that he didn’t want it; god, it was the complete opposite. he felt guilty admitting it, but nearly every night where spent with you when he ended up back home, he couldn’t sleep without pumping his cock to the image of you. however, he had also spent the past week or so doing his best to read, watch, or listen to whatever he could to make it seem like he had a semblance of an idea of what he was doing. but in turn, he wanted to make this special. candles, rose petals, and all. what can he say? he had a vision. he was even going to buy you a pretty nightgown he saw in a store window. but he had to admit, he liked this better. it was natural, and nearly goddamn primal with the way the two of you were attacking each other.
“kei..” you moaned out in a whisper, hands entangling in his thick blonde hair as you ground your hips against him. he moaned against the skin of your chest in response, strong hands gently clawing down your back.
when he came back up to kiss you, you pushed him onto his back (admittedly with a bit of strength) and began to trail down his body with your soft lips, stopping as you got to his pants. you raised your head back up to his own, kissing his cheek.
“keigo,” you said sweetly, “can i…?”
dot. dot. dot.
keigo knew exactly what that ‘dot. dot. dot.’ referred to, and the man shed his pants and boxers like they were on fire. he sucked in air through his teeth as the cool air hit his (now extremely sensitive) cock.
you had to admit, you had a bit of a ‘oh, shit’ moment when you saw it. the man was well endowed to say the least, and you definitely would be stretched full. maybe this is why his work pants were so baggy.
nevertheless, you moved back down, your ass sticking up in the air slightly as you lowered your head to lick from the base to the lip, making sure to look him in the eyes as you did. he immediately threw his head back, hands moving to your hair, tangling in it and holding it like his life depended on it. you placed a kiss on the head, taking an enjoyment as it twitched, noting how badly he needed this. you took the head in your mouth, doing your best to hollow out your cheeks as you took as much as you could (which was a bit hard, unfortunately), using your hand to cover the rest.
“shit, fuck, fuck yes..!” keigo hissed as you began to bob your head, your tongue swirling around the length.
you hummed contently around him, pleased with yourself that he was having this strong of a reaction to you; in fact, it didn’t take long for those three magic words to slip from his lips.
“i- ah- i’m gonna cum!” he bit back his lip desperately, the words coming out in a whimper. you can imagine the look on his face when you suddenly pulled your mouth away; something along the lines of a hurt puppy and shock. “why’d you stop?” he asked, swallowing hard, just having his orgasm ripped from him.
“keigo..” you moved up, your lips tracing his stubbly cheek, moving to his ear. “i promise, i’ll make this all up to you, but for right now, i want you to cum inside of me.”
“inside..?” he asked, nearly choking on his own air. of course he had thought about it. it was one of the main visions of his little.. sessions he had at home thinking of you. bouncing on his cock, gripping at his shoulders, or having you under him, wide, pleading eyes, repeatedly begging him to cum in you like the good girl you were. “..are you sure?”
“‘s alright, i’m on the pill.. as long as you’re okay with it.”
“of course i’m okay with it,” he said a little too enthusiastically, causing a quiet giggle from you. “but i wanna be on top,” keigo moved his hands to your hips. “i want- need to see you when i feel you for the first time. need to see you when i cum in that pretty pussy. please y/n.”
admittedly flustered by his response, you chose to show your approval through actions instead by bringing him into another heated kiss, slowly pulling him on top of you.
“someone’s a little excited” he grinned against your lips.
“you could say that.”
keigo pulled your pajama shorts down, finally leaving you just as bare as he was.
“ffuuuckk..” he groaned out, finally being able to see all of you. “so fucking pretty..” he moaned against your neck, fingers gliding against your slit. “and so wet for me. you’ve needed this, huh?”
“mhm..” you hummed out, already feeling dazed.
“poor, pretty girl..” he ran his fingers along the slickness, thumb circling your already swollen clit. “and such pretty noises.” your little moans and whimpers were music to his ears, and they were only amplified when he dipped two fingers into your cunt, pumping at an agonizingly slow pace at first, curling just where you needed it.
“you.. you seem to know what you’re doing for.. for a virgin..” you managed to get out as he picked up his pace.
“as i said, well researched,” as much as keigo wanted to attack your neck while he finger-fucked you, he loved watching your face and body contort in pleasure even more. your eyes squeezing shut, your back arching, desperate for more, your mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’ shape. you were insatiable, and you were all his. he suddenly pulled his fingers away, leaving you feeling the same as he did just a few minutes ago, immediately dipping his slick coated fingers into his mouth, groaning as he tasted you. “so fucking good.” he said as he used his wet fingers to coat his cock. “not that i’ll need it, you’re fucking dripping.” he grinned as he climbed on top of you, hands on both sides of your head.
“kei.. are you absolutely sure?”
“y/n..” he pressed his forehead to yours, noses barely touching. “i’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. i want this.. i want you.“
“okay.” you replied, voice barely above a whisper. he kept his forehead pressed to yours as he dragged his tip up and down your slick before finally, finally dipping into you. he pulled back, wanting to see your face as he fucked into you for the first time, but have you ever seen a man experiencing good pussy for the first time? inch by inch, you watched his eyes widen and pupils dilate, his wings fluff and flutter as breathless moans formed from his mouth. he was whipped with you already, but now? good luck getting rid of him is all i’ll say.
“fuck, oh my god, fuck, you feel so good..” he groaned as he finally bottomed out in you, hips involuntarily twitching slightly from the overwhelming pleasure. he tested the waters, slowly pulling back out and fucking into you again, immediately mesmerized by the way your tits bounced as he did so. “i’m gonna.. gonna move now, okay?” and as soon as you nodded in permission, he fucked into you again and again and again until he finally found a steady rhythm.
“fuck, i can’t- i need.. need more..” he grunted as he picked your leg up, hiking it onto his shoulder as he desperately tried to fuck into you deeper.
“kei..!” you said, a mix of surprise and pleasure as he nearly hit your cervix, hands moving to grip onto his wrists.
“‘s that feel okay? please say it does, please, please, please tell me it feels good.” he whined out, clearly desperate for your praise.
“f-feels real good, kei..” you whimpered out between moans. “you’re doing so good, so good for me.”
despite you thinking it wasn’t possible, he picked up his speed even more, moving up to kiss and nibble at your calf as he kept his pace.
“gonna.. gonna cum.. fuck, need to cum..” he set your leg down, and just when you thought your leg could get a break, he pushed both of your legs back as far as they could go, fucking you into a mating press.
“keigo..!” you said in more arousal than surprise, feeling the familiar build of an orgasm in your lower stomach.
“gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum..” he muttered as he stared into your eyes with a certain hunger you’ve never seen in them before. “‘m gonna.. gonna cum in you baby, f-fuck, so perfect for me. so so perfect.. i’m gonna fucking fill you up, pretty girl.. my pretty girl.. my perfect, pretty girl.. you’re gonna cum too, aren’t you? i.. fuck, fuck, i can feel it. please cum for me, please..” he moved his hand back to your clit, determined to give you the best orgasm you’ve ever had. “cmon, pretty girl..” he cooed. “cum all over this fucking cock, make yourself feel so good.”
it was almost too much. almost. you could barely see as your head fell back, body tensing as you finally came around his cock, a string of curses and his name escaping as you did so. you always thought that the fabled ‘make you see stars’ orgasm was fake, but you could now proudly report that it was entirely true.
as soon as keigo felt you tighten around him, he came, his cock twitching as cum spilled into your tight cunt, his body shaking and spasming. a few feathers fell onto the bed as his wings puffed out, spreading slightly. he bucked into you a few more times, riding out his orgasm and making sure that none of his cum leaked out of you.
with the air hot and thick between the two of you, he slowly pulled out, hissing as he did so. your legs fell onto the bed, followed by a twinge of pain in them, something you’d surely pay for tomorrow.
keigo laid beside you, watching as you turned to face him, a smile on your lips.
“so, was your first time good?” you asked teasingly.
“fucking amazing. better than i ever could have asked for,” he grinned back at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “can we do it again?”
you couldn’t help but laugh at how excited he sounded at the prospect.
“just gimmie a minute, okay? not all of us have the stamina of the number two hero.” you playfully waved your hand in his face.
“fine, fine..” he sighed, pulling you flush against him as you two laid in the comfortable silence of the aftermath, and you knew that this was far from the last time tonight.
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