#sorry for letting it sit in my inbox for ages

[silvergyus]

i was thinking about what type of person txt would be in a relationship with lol and yeonjun with a nerd is just making me 😵‍💫😵‍💫 like someone who is just a loser and never stops yapping but he’s just like “yeah tell me more 🥰”

yeonjun with a nerd 😭

I can see the relationship similar to his relationship with taehyun (but obviously more ~romantic~ lol) in the way that he just adores you and wants to hear your yapping. when tyun starts talking about science with his big sparkly eyes and the other members look at him fondly? that, but it's your sweet boyfie jjunie and you're curled up in his bed together just rambling about the universe

bonus points if you're a nerd about music stuff. mention his vinyl collection and how vinyl records work + how they're made vs cds and streaming and sound quality and specific hookups. he's staring at you smiling and soaking it in. and then, what do you know, he's upgrading his set up based on what you said.

but also like, imagine you're really into biology or nature and similar fields. going to the zoo together and yeonjun is so excited bc he absolutely adores pandas and you're excited about conservation efforts and the two of you just absolutely geeking out at the panda exhibit

or, I feel like he would just ask you silly questions all the time. your phone would just buzz with a text from him and it would be like "why do we have fingernails" and he'd be delighted when you knew the answer (I actually don't know the answer lol)

and he would absolutely brag about you to the other members. imagine he's on a quiz show or a trivia episode of todo and he gets a question right because he remembers you getting really animated talking about it and he's so so happy he maybe even lets slip that he learned it from his partner but definitely gives you lots of kisses all over your face when he gets home with his prize since you're his lucky charm and smartie pants nerd who taught him everything

[swordfright]

Tell me about how the structure of the medium impacts the story 🔫

My brother in Christ, prepare yourself for the most boring essay you could possibly imagine. I'm going to over-simplify a few things here for the sake of Getting To The Point, so bear with me.

I think a good starting place is that DSMP is an example of New Media. The go-to definition most folks use is this one: that New Media are stories told via "communication technologies that enable or enhance interaction between users as well as interaction between users and content." In other words, NM is basically this category of stories made up of convergent elements, which satisfy a multimedia requirement, and are heavily reliant on both participatory fan culture and recent advances in technology that allow creators/audiences to communicate with one another instantly.

There's a couple ways you can understand DSMP as a New Media, but as far as I'm concerned, one of the most interesting is prosumption. The term "prosumption" describes a creative situation where a piece of art is being produced (at least in part) by the same people that consume it; they're both audience and creator. DSMP is a really great example of this phenomenon, because A) it's serial and therefore the CCs had ample opportunity to respond to and engage with the audience's reception of their story; and B) because the chat feature allows CCs to interact directly with their audience during roleplay rather than after the fact. These features, among others, kinda set the stage for DSMP to function as a highly prosumptive piece of media.

In particular, the stuff that interests me is the stuff to do with storytelling convention (genre, perspective, etc) and how prosumption turns all that on its head. There are a number of altercations in DSMP canon where the course of the story is altered because of real-time interactions between the CCs and their chat - particularly times when a CC's chat warns them about events happening at the same time elsewhere in the server. In this kind of scenario, the CCs are static, they can't really leave their own stream. Their viewers, on the other hand, are able to jump between streams and talk to each other to figure out what's happening in the overarching story. When this happens, viewers have choices to make: are they going to tell a CC what's going down on the other side of the server? If so, how are viewers going to communicate those events? Viewers are biased, they directly inform CCs, and the information they divulge (as well as how they divulge that info) goes on to influence CCs' actions and thus the events of the story, to some degree. In my opinion, this is a pretty new and exciting way to prosumptively construct a narrative! Media has always been interactive to some extent (especially serial works), but the interaction being live and in real-time is pretty significant in my view because it can exert unique pressures on a narrative.

Speaking of audience choice, that brings me to the next thing I want to yap about: ergodic storytelling, a term that refers to stories “negotiated by processes of choice, discernment, and decision-making.” For reference, a good non-MCYT example of this would be hypertext fiction, because it's generally characterized by the ability of the interactant (that's the reader, in this hypothetical example) to explore material provided by someone else, either as a kind of conceptual landscape (think setting in a video game), or as puzzle pieces that must be put together in order to give the interaction the "big picture" of the story. Basically, with hypertext fiction, there is a core text (the main document that forms the skeleton of the story) and there are multiple hypertexts branching off of the core text - and whether the reader ends up reading those branches, and in what order, inevitably shapes that reader's perception of the whole story.

So here's where it gets tricky. In the case of DSMP, where is the core text located? Is there any one identifiable core text at all? Or is it more appropriate to consider each individual stream or VOD as its own singular core text, with the related Twitch channels and Youtube recommended in the sidebar being "branches"? Alternatively, if the streams and recordings distributed on the server members’ official channels are the central text in the grand hypertext fiction that is DSMP, then can adjacent spaces where audiences do the work of creating and archiving lore be considered their own story branches? I don't have answers to these questions. No one does. That's part of what makes DSMP exciting.

To translate the above quote out of Academia Hellspeak: in an ergodic story, the audience has agency, but the agency enabled and allowed by the text varies in its intensity and mode. Yes, stories told ergodically necessitate choice — and therefore enable agency, turning the reader or viewer into interactant — but that element of choice doesn't always look the same. Some hypertexts are more choice-reliant than others, or are choice-reliant in different ways. So, rather than being a choose-your-own-adventure story, DSMP is more closely analogous to a story where the audience chooses the perspective through which they view plot developments, in addition to having some influence over how plot developments unfold.

(☝️From a 2021 Polygon article, if you think I sound crazy☝️)

The web of choices DSMP presents to viewers is very complex, even compared to other forms of choose-your-own-adventure game. Because each CC approaches the task of story-creation from their own angle (bringing their own narrative baggage to the writers’ room, so to speak), those shifts in perspective this Polygon article describes often also constitute shifts in genre. For instance, cc!Wilbur brought his music production experience and interest in musical theater to the server, cited operas and stage musicals as some of his main inspirations; and accordingly, much of c!Wilbur's most crucial arcs observably draw from those sources. When you watch a c!Wilbur stream, you’re watching a story about statecraft, about revolution, about the triumphs and tragedies of ego that play out during the process of nation-building. On the other hand, cc!Quackity has repeatedly identified Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul as his primary influences; accordingly, his RP character’s story is closer to a piece of gritty prestige television in some places (especially LN series). Unlike with c!Wilbur, a lot of c!Quackity's tension does not revolve around a romanticized fantasy of revolution but around more personal conflicts: securing your place in a new regime, navigating exploitation as both exploited and exploiter, etc. In terms of both plot beats and character arcs, Wilbur and Quackity’s respective storylines embody many of the genre conventions the content creators are working within.

Moreover, a shift in genre often entails a shift in style or mode. Because cc!Wilbur was heavily inspired by musical theater, the presentation style of his character’s storyline is correspondingly both theatrical (i.e. only loosely scripted, nearly always televised live, and improv-heavy) and musical (featuring multiple instances of Wilbur singing in-character ballads and anthems.) On the flipside, Quackity’s streams (especially the later ones, since I'm mostly focusing on Las Nevadas era here) demonstrably mimic the prestige TV shows the CC draws his inspiration from, with lore sessions being pre-recorded rather than televised live, featuring distinctive sonic and visual aesthetics popularized by neo-Western thriller dramas. So, where a piece of media like DSMP is concerned, shifts in perspective entail shifts in genre, which in turn entail pronounced shifts in style. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say it's an entirely new story depending on which character the viewer decides to follow. In that regard, what initially appears to be a single choice (whose perspective to watch a plot event through) has the power to determine a wide array of other elements, as viewers’ responses to the options presented to them will decide the overall tone of the section of the story they're about to watch.

While I think the genre-switching is genuinely super cool, lately I'm a lot more interested in perspective-switching and how it's related to viewer empathy. One side-effect of DSMP being televised live is that yes, you can watch a plot event from 30+ different POVs, but you can't watch every POV live. Typically, you either have to switch between multiple streams, or you need to pick one streamer to watch live and maybe later you'll watch other characters' POVs as you see fit. This has an impact on your perception of how that plot point went down because watching something live feels very different from watching something after-the-fact. I haven't done study on this, so what I'm about to say is mostly conjecture, but I wouldn't be surprised if viewers felt greater empathy for (and greater degrees of kinship with) characters whose POVs they watched live.

The choice of which character to follow also has observable impacts on other kinds of narrative conventions (who is the main character of DSMP? the boring answer is c!Dream because the server's named after him, but the real answer is the protagonist is whoever's POV you watched most of the major plot events through) but to be honest, those questions don't interest me as much.

So, going back to perspective and empathy. I think viewers' reactions to Exile are a really solid way of exemplifying the thing I'm trying to say, so this is the part of the yapping where we gotta bring up the dreaded Exile discourse.

Even though the Exile VODs are available and new viewers can go back and watch them, those viewers experience the Exile arc in a way that is fundamentally different from the experience had by viewers who had to wait in between updates as the videos were being streamed serially in real-time. I would argue that viewers who were “present” during the whole arc noticeably felt the brutality of c!Tommy’s treatment to a greater degree, because the audience was effectively forced to sit in exile alongside Tommy’s character - stewing in anxiety, looking forward to the possibility of appearances from other characters, and living in fear of Dream’s next visit, etc etc. Obviously you could also make this point using c!Dream's time in Pandora as an example, but I'm using Exile here because I've actually seen a lot of fans bring this up when discussing the arc: "people who didn't watch live Don't Get It," "the reason newer fans don't see Exile as scary is because they didn't have to watch it live," that sort of thing. And while I have certain qualms with some of the implications here, I do think these are really fascinating responses! These sorts of responses show that viewers consciously perceive their viewing experience as having been fundamentally different from others' based on a temporal element that's unique to serial fiction!

This instance of a divergence in collective fan experience is an example of choice being rendered unavailable to viewers by virtue of the story’s structure and means of distribution; audience members who happen to accidentally miss streams or who begin following the story after major events have occurred will never be able to engage with and witness those events as LIVE viewers, merely as retrospective ones. They don’t get to make that choice, but they do get to make choices about which perspective (and therefore genre) they get to experience the story through. So it follows that each aspect of DSMP, a semi-ergodic story, can be categorized as either ergodic or non-ergodic, and whether a particular storytelling element is ergodic can change depending on WHEN the viewer began tuning in to the story.

I have a lot more shit to say (shocker) but I'm gonna cap it here for now. Though I do want to add that this is kinda why I have a lot of patience for the crazy diversity of interpretation you tend to get in DSMP fandom. If you took a random sample of fans and asked them what they think of various arcs, characters, and plot events, chances are they would all have fairly different things to say. To me, that's a feature, not a bug. Obviously I have my own opinions, and obviously I do think it's possible for a given interpretation to be "bad," i.e. not grounded in the text - but I have a lot more patience for it here, in a fandom where agreeing on what "the text" EVEN IS presents a challenge. We can't all agree on who the main character is, so I don't ever expect us to agree on more nuanced questions of theme and conflict resolution in the narrative. Again, that's a feature, not a bug. I don't think it was ever possible to reach a consensus with a piece of media like DSMP because of how inextricable the audience is from the story.

[cowabungacarl420]

♪ - music you like?

lots!! right now i'm listening to the eels a lot because they're my go-to whenever i'm depressed lol but i'm also listening to a lot of mother mother, the bird and the bee, devo, msi, system of a down, and jack off jill

[piastriprincess]

hypotheticals (in my mind) ⸻ oscar piastri x reader .

featuring: oscar piastri, childhood friends to lovers, tooth rotting fluff word count: 0.8k author's note: okay everyone PLEASE be nice i haven't written fic since my 1d days !! but i was so inspired by osc's win today, op1 INCOMING ... watch this space . if this gets a good response maybe i'll write more or open up my inbox for requests or something ?? idk let me know what you think ! title from hypotheticals by lake street dive .

He was a champion, and you were missing it. 

Oscar had invited you, of course, like he did for every race, but with finals looming you couldn’t make the trip to Jeddah. You settled for watching his third win of the season on your tiny laptop screen, his car nothing more than a brilliant papaya streak under the bright lights as proud tears blurred your vision and your heart swelled in your chest with a feeling you wouldn’t dare name.

Looking back you’re not sure, exactly, when your feelings for Oscar went from friends to something more. Maybe it was something recent, the way he’d started making your pulse race and your heart stutter. Maybe (if you’re being honest with yourself) you’ve been gone since the first day you met him at age six, your new neighbor introducing himself with skinned knees and a bunny-teeth smile. 

But he’s not the boy next door anymore, he’s Oscar Piastri, international superstar. And you’re a stressed student, watching your best friend achieve his wildest dreams through a screen at an ungodly hour of the night.

You shut your laptop as the podium ceremony ends. You’re sitting at your desk, textbook open, pages upon pages of notes scribbled in navy-blue ink scattered around you. Your mind is racing, so preoccupied with cases and rules and hypotheticals for your criminal law exam next week, that you don’t realize your phone is buzzing until it starts pushing the sheafs of paper off your desk. You let them float to the carpet, digging through the paper to find your phone still ringing, with an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. Frowning, you push the green button with your thumb, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hello?” you ask cautiously. 

“It’s me,” says the voice on the other end of the phone, and your stomach flips. You’d know that voice anywhere, had heard it through playground chants and study sessions and a thousand phone calls from across the ocean.  

“Oscar,” you breathe. Sitting up, you run a hand through your hair like you’re trying to make yourself presentable, even though he can’t see you. “Congratulations, superstar. Leading the WDC.” You try to keep your voice casual, but it’s a losing battle. 

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, a little laugh spilling through your phone speakers, shaky and disbelieving. “Sorry, I know it’s late for you, and you’ve got your exam soon, but…” He pauses. Typical of Oscar, choosing his words with such precision, like everything else in his life. You’re about to open your mouth and tease him about it when he speaks again. 

“You were the only person I wanted to talk to,” he says finally, and your mouth goes dry. 

“Kept thinking about you tonight, actually. On the starting grid. When I caught Max at the first turn. When I knew I was about to win it.” He’s picking up steam now, the words pouring out of him in a way you’ve never heard. Oscar’s all pauses and careful articulation, but this is new, unrestrained. “When I crossed the line, all I wanted to do was hear your voice.”

It’s like the world goes still for a moment, only the hum of your laptop and your heartbeat pounding in your ears reminding you this is real. His words are like sparks underneath your skin, something delicate and electric threading the thousands of miles between the two of you.

You swallow, hard, realizing you’ve been silent for far too long. “Osc…”

“I know you’ve got a lot going on right now,” he interrupts, like he physically can’t hold the words back now that they’ve started spilling out. “And maybe I should’ve waited until I was back home in Melbourne with you, instead of borrowing Mark’s phone and blurting this all out at 3 AM. But I just—” he pauses abruptly, like his breath has caught in his throat. “I couldn’t shake the feeling that none of this means anything without you around.”

Something in your chest unfurls at that, and you close your eyes, pressing the phone to your ear like it will physically bring him closer. You’ve imagined this a thousand times, a thousand different ways, but none of them compare to the real thing. “Osc?” you say finally, voice unsteady. 

“Yeah?” he replies, and you can hear the nerves through the phone, the swoop of hope in his voice. Now or never. 

“I’m really, really glad you called,” you say.

The sigh that comes from the other end is pure relief. “Right, yeah, me too,” he stutters out, uncharacteristically tongue-tied, but you can hear the smile in his voice. There’s a muffled shout in the background, probably someone calling for him to drag him to the celebrations. “I should go,” he says reluctantly, and you nod before you realize he can’t see you.

“Yeah,” you echo. “Go be famous.”

He laughs, bright and open, and your heart clenches at the sound. “Can I call you later?” He pauses. “I guess tomorrow for you, actually.”

It's like you can't even remember why you were so stressed ten minutes ago. Oscar wants to call you later. You grin. “Always.”

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

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

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

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

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

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

December.

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

You hate every fucking minute of it.

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

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

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

Never mind.

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

“Tommy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How am I holding up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

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

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

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walk me home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

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

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

You don’t?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

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

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

“’n whose fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I’m craving?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

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

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

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

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

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

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

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

And I mean anything. OK?

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

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

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom.

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

Mom. Mom and Dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

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

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

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

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

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

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

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

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

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

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

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

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

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

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

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

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

Let go.

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

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

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

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

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

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

But right then –

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

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

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

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

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

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

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

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

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

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

Your head shakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel.”

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

“You have to go.”

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

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

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

He leaves on Saturday morning.

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

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

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

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

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

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

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

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

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

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

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

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

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

“Hm. Now go.”

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

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

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

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

A one-night stand.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

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

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

[forever-rogue]

Hi Bee!! Idk if you’ve heard Hozier’s new song Too Sweet but it’s giving our grumpy man Joel trying to keep his distance from r cause he thinks she’s too sweet for him and he’d hurt her, idk if you’re taking requests but if you could write something along those lines ugh that would be so great 😭💗

AN | Hi, hello, this has been sitting in my inbox for literal ages, and it’s been drafted for a while, and here we are. It’s time to get back on my Joel bs (not that it ever left). Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | None

Word Count | 3k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He liked to watch you.

That revelation alone made him feel like a creep. He quickly chugged the rest of his strong, black coffee in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner as he looked around to make sure nobody had caught onto him. He didn’t want the local gossip mill to start spreading rumors; it wasn’t like there was a ton else to do. 

When nobody appeared to be staring at him or offering him judgmental looks, he relaxed slightly and sunk further down in his spot in the small booth. It was moments like these that made him thankful for the small semblance of his life; it allowed him to get away with just being himself.

A plate of pancakes smothered in syrup was in front of him, half eaten and half forgotten as he drank his way through several cups of coffee. If Ellie was here, she’d chide him for both the sugary breakfast and caffeine overload. He always encouraged her to have a well balanced meal and she’d never let him live it down. Especially in what was his old age as she liked to remind him 

When you turned around, something else having caught your attention, he quickly shifted his gaze back to his plate. An ancient crossword book was next to him, a hobby he’d picked up over the last couple of years and he gave it his full attention. Or maybe he was willing it to come alive and swallow him whole. That sounded like a better option than having you catching him staring at you. Again. As usual. 

He didn’t dare to look up, making up his mind to keep his gaze down for the time being. Maybe for the rest of eternity. He wasn’t sure.

“Hey there,” he froze at the sound of your voice, heart thrumming in his chest and his blood practically singing. When Joel didn’t respond at first, a small frown tugged down the corners of your mouth, “is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he tore his gaze from the aging wood of the sticky table to find you watching him with bright, curious eyes and a smile he loved more than he cared to admit, “‘m alright.”

You relaxed slightly as you smiled at him, his big, brown eyes looking at you nervously, “cool. Listen, there’s a few of us that are going apple picking later, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me - us?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, mind racing as he tried to figure out what the best response was. From the expectant look on your mind, he wanted to say yes, wanted to make sure you had the best time apple picking ever, but instead he said, “sorry, I can’t. I’ve got a few things that need to be taken care of ‘round here.”

“Oh,” your smile faltered slightly before you recovered, taking a small step back. Joel wished he could take it back but knew that he had to stick to his guns, “that’s fine. I just…thought I’d ask. Well, I’ll see you around, Joel. Take care.”

With a soft smile and even more shy wave, you walked away and back to the table with your friends, refusing to spare him another glance. Joel groaned internally, wishing he’d something different or that you had had a different reaction. If you hated him, things would have been much easier.

But life rarely worked out that way. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hummed to yourself as you brushed out the horse's mane. It wasn't the worst job in the world and at the very least you had some company. Even if it wasn't the most talkative company imaginable. But then again, half the people around you weren’t very talkative anyway.

“You have been looking very shiny, Kiri,” you told her, and she made a small sound as you softly played with a few locks of her shiny mane. When you pulled out a carrot and fed it to her as you petted her, she nuzzled closer to you, causing you to laugh sweetly, “and I see your love can still be bought so easily.”

Joel watched from the entrance to the stables, almost frozen as the scene unfolded. It felt wrong in a way, like he’d stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have, intruding on a private moment. Marin eventually sensed his presence as directed her inky gaze towards him, huffing in acknowledgment. You followed her gaze and locked eyes with Joel, your heart skipping a few beats as you stood there. Eventually you caught yourself and cleared your throat awkwardly, “h-hey Joel. Everything alright?”

He made a sound in the back of his throat as he nodded, slowly taking a few steps in your direction. He truly wasn’t a talkative man, especially not in the morning hours as you’d found over the time since you’d met him. After a few moments of nothing but the sound of blood rushing in your ears and Kiri’s soft breaths, he was at your side, gently reaching over and petting Kiri. She immediately took to him, neighing softly as she leaned into him for more petting.

“Such a traitor,” your voice was much too sweet to hold any venom as you watched the two of them. Joel had a tender way about him, and you wondered how many other people saw that side of him. He was gruff, sure, but he was a lot more than what simply met the eye. 

“She and I go way back,” he said eventually, his voice warm and low, sending a shiver down your spine, “took a while to get her to trust me though. But she’s a good old girl.”

“She wasn’t a big fan of me either,” you whispered as you put your hand on her neck right next to Joel’s. You couldn’t help but stare at your hands, mesmerized by how much larger his hand was compared to yours, “I think we’re working up to being friends.”

“She’s a good judge of character,” you could have sworn he moved his hand closer to yours as you looked anywhere but him. He had a way of making you feel a million different ways all at once. The two of you stood there in contemplative silence for a few moments before you came to your senses and took a step back, immediately sticking your hands into pockets of your jacket. 

“I-I, ugh,” you shrugged your shoulders lightly, allowing yourself a quick look at his honey brown eyes. His expression was questioning, searching yours to try and find out how you were really feeling, “I should get going. I promised Maritza I’d help chop some firewood for the big bonfire tomorrow.”

The last time you had left the ball in his court, waiting to see how he would respond to your invitation. This time it was your turn. He was giving you the option of either staying there with him or walking away. You felt so torn; part of you wanted to stay there and be with him, in whatever capacity that entailed.  The other part of you wanted to walk far away and leave him alone. He was trouble they said, and although he hadn’t done anything to support that theory, he hadn’t tried to deny it either.

Whatever he was, Joel Miller was something. And in that moment you felt overwhelmed by everything all at once and decided to just walk away. 

“See you around?” he offered meekly as you took a few steps back, offering him what was a weak nod at best.

You turned and headed out of the stable without another word, leaving Joel and Kiri together. The two of them looked at each other, and Joel gave her a few more pets, “I don’t know either. But I think I might have ruined everything, if there ever even was anything.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A couple of weeks had passed since you’d had any sort of encounter with Joel. It was definitely purposeful, even if you weren't willing to admit that much to yourself. Just as Joel had finally allowed himself to get closer to you, you'd started to pull away. It felt like such a cat and mouse game, despite the fact that you did have feelings for him. You just couldn't bring yourself to be around him knowing he didn't feel the same way about you.

He couldn't help that he didn't like you in that sense, just as you couldn't help the fact that you liked him. 

The natural solution for you was just to avoid him entirely. Entirely stupid, but wholly effective.

Until he managed to track you down anyway. Not that it was hard in Jackson; the town was big, all things considered, but not that big.

“Hey stranger,” you startled, almost dropping the plate in your hand as you looked up to find Joel watching you intently. You let out a small huff as you set the plate onto the counter of the small diner you helped to run.

“Hi,” you whispered softly, drying off your hands and trying to seem casual as you leaned against the counter, “can I help you with anything?”

“There is one thing,” he leaned on the counter, his warm smell making its way over to you. He always smelled so damn good, “you wanna tell me if I did something to cause you to avoid me entirely?”

“I haven't…” the lie died on your lips as he arched an eyebrow at you. You shrugged your shoulders and picked at a spot in the aged wood, “I've just been busy. It's nothing more than that.”

“Oh honey,” he leaned in, his gaze trained intently on yours, “I may be old and I may be dumb, but I do know when someone's lying.”

“I'm not-”

“It's written all over your face,” he insisted and your cheeks warmed up, “and you've got absolutely no poker face. With your facial expressions, you might as well be screaming.”

“I…” you inhaled deeply before letting out a soft sigh. You found it incredibly hard to look at him; he could read you way too well, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it seem…like I was mad at you or anything.”

“You're not?”

“I'm not,” you confirmed softly.

“Then why are you avoiding me like I'm about to turn you into one of the infected?” He wasn't going to let this go. You knew him well enough to know that much and you had still fallen for it. You swallowed thickly and cast your gaze around, annoyed and thankful for the fact that there were only a couple of stragglers inside, “if you want me to go, I can go. You just have to tell me.”

“I didn't want you to think I was weird or to make you uncomfortable,” you whispered as you put your hand on his forearm to stop him from leaving, “because I…ugh, I-I like you. And I just didn't want to make it awkward. Which I just proceeded to do, but at least you know the truth.”

He pulled his arm out from under your touch and crossed his arms over his broad chest. Your heart sank into your stomach as you waited for him to say something. You leaned back and made yourself as small as possible, “was that so hard to admit?”

“Joel, I-”

“And whatever made you think I didn't like you?” Your gaze snapped to him as your heart seemed to stop working, “I ain't ever said that, have I?”

“No, I mean it like…ugh. I mean, I asked you to go apple picking, and you said no so quickly so I just figured I’d overstepped.”

“I know how you meant it,” he insisted and you were positive that your heart was going to burst through your ribcage, “and you're still wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Listen,” he moved closer so he was almost directly in front of you again, “I'm not…a great man. I've seen and done things that I wouldn't ever want you to even think about. And you are…everything I'm not. And I'm not a good match for you, but I sure as hell can't stay away from you. You keep drawing me in, and I'm tired of trying to stay away from my feelings.”

“Oh,” you blinked at him a few times, trying to process what he'd said. Either he'd said something entirely different or you'd just gotten a whole confession, “oh?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed softly as you turned your head to the side and looked at him so sweetly, “I'm sorry if that's not something you wanted to hear, but I'm putting all my cards onto the table.”

“But…why?” You let out an exasperated breath, “why me? Why now?”

“I don't think I need to justify the why you with an answer,” he insisted, “why now? Because ever since you've been avoiding me like the plague and I haven't been able to see you, I realized just how much I needed that. How much I needed to see you. I want to be around you. I need to be around you. And fuck it if that makes me a bad man.”

This time when you looked at him, you couldn't hide the smile that was threatening to break your face in half. Your entire face felt like it was on fire as you opened and closed your mouth a few times before you finally managed a small, “you're right - fuck it.”

The two of you stood there for a while, grinning at one another, before you realized that you were still in the middle of the diner.  By this point, quite a few of the straggling patrons had turned their attention to you. Your cheeks were burning as you took a step back and cleared your throat.

“Umm…maybe we should save the rest of this for later,” your voice was small again and you felt shy, despite the fact that the man had all but confessed his love for you, “I can meet you when I’m off?”

“How much longer until you’re off?”

“A couple of hours,” you shrugged, “maybe less if it continues to be this slow.”

“I can wait,” the corner of his mouth tugged up as he went to take a seat at the counter, pretending to contemplate what he was going to order, “what do you recommend?”

“Huh?” you looked at him dumbfounded; but you knew that Joel didn’t half-ass do things, he threw his whole ass into it as Ellie liked to say.

“What do you recommend I order off the menu?”

“Oh,” you shook your head before playfully rolling your eyes at him, “I see where this is going.”

“Do you?” he pretended to ask innocently, “‘cause I was thinking I’m pretty hungry and it’s fairly cold outside so I might as well get inside and have a meal for a few hours.”

“Okay,” you bit your lip before turning around to make him his coffee just how he liked it. Just like he had always been paying attention to you, you were always paying attention to him, “here’s your coffee. And I can see what the chef can put together for such a hungry man.”

“Thank you kindly,” he took the cups, letting his fingers linger on yours for a few moments, “such amazing service around here.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Unfortunately, a lot of the townspeople seemed to have the same idea that it was the perfect time to get inside and warm up with warm food and drinks.  The crowd didn’t let up and your desire to leave early with Joel quickly disappeared.  But that didn’t deter him; he sat there, sneaking in a few words here and there but mostly he watched you. 

Watched how you never rude to anyone despite being frazzled; how you never lost the smile on your face; how you listened to everyone with rapt attention.  You were good and kind, and that made him want to hesitate and take back everything he had said earlier.  However, now that he had said it all and gotten it out there, he wouldn’t take it back. He couldn’t.

When your shift was finally over and you were able to get a reprieve,  Joel waited outside for you.  A small part of you was surprised that he had waited but another part of you hadn’t expected anything else.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a small smile, which he eagerly returned, “thanks for waiting.”

“Didn’t have much else going on,” he shrugged it off like it had been no big deal. He was always busy with something. People relied on him an enormous amount, even if they didn’t realize it.

“So…” he had started walking and you had fallen in line with him. 

Before you could say anything else he stopped and turned towards you, his dark eyes searched yours. Joel gently took your face in his hands, brushing his thumb over your cheek. Without even thinking about it, you leaned into his touch, your lips partly slightly. 

After a couple moments of pause, in which he was clearly giving you the option of pulling away or stopping him, he leaned and brushed his lips over yours. Softly at first, and then slowly with more urgency and need. All you could do was lean into him and his touch. If this was what kissing Joel was like, you never wanted it to end. 

But eventually he pulled away, both of you in need of a breath of air. You just looked at him with wide, happy eyes. 

“So…” he picked up where you had left off before continuing to walk. You were so caught off guard that you didn’t follow at first, “you coming?”

“Yes,” you promised breathlessly as you jogged to catch up to him, “so…”

[soap-ify]

can you do a smut to fluff comfort where simon is overstimulating them and being super degrading and they safeword? Then Simon takes care of them and is basically just super sweet.

this has been sitting in my inbox for so long :( so sorry anon i hope you like it!!

cw — smut at first, degradation, use of safeword, gentle aftercare and lots of comfort.

simon had been frustrated that day, very frustrated after coming back from work. and you felt like trying something new for him.

“fucking slag… look at you takin’ this cock so well.” he spat bitterly, his girthy cock mercilessly ploughing into your tight cunt, his hands gripping your hips in a hard and bruising manner. “too dumb to even speak now, eh? only good for takin’ some cock.”

he had asked you so sweetly at first, if he could take his frustrations out on you, and you had agreed because you wanted to please your boyfriend so badly. plus some crappy porno made you think that rough sex can be amazing. silly reason, yeah.

but right now, all those insults spewing out of his mouth seemed genuine and scary, messing up with your head while your body was all sensitive from already orgasming a few times before. it was overwhelming, too overwhelming — and you knew that if you don’t speak up now, you’ll break down horribly anytime soon.

but god, you felt so guilty. you were supposed to be relaxing him, not turning it onto yourself.

“r-red…!” you managed to choke out, tears sliding down your cheeks as your fingers digged into his shoulder blades, causing simon to halt almost immediately.

“what?” his voice was gruff, eyes still a bit glossy from fucking you, though his grip had loosened significantly and worry was soon blooming onto his face.

“red…” you repeated weekly, lips wobbling as you quickly looked away, not wanting him to look at you crying over something like this.

simon gently eased himself out of you and rolled by your side, his calloused hands cradling your face. “oh, love… did i hurt you? was it too much?” he may have been sounding concerned and still reserved though he was internally panicking inside, wanting to rip and beat some sense into himself.

“yes,” you sniffled and nodded, your hands trembling as you leaned into his embrace, soft pants leaving your lips. “too rough..”

“fuck, m’sorry. so sorry, love. got carried away for a second, i-” he paused, his heart aching terribly with guilt and concern as he saw your face all soaked with tears. it soon dawned on him how mean he was being, even if you had agreed to it. he should’ve known that you were probably not used to this, maybe not even into it.

he slowly got up from the bed and helped you off the bed, his burly arms supporting you. he took you over to the bathroom and soon ran a warm bath for you, helping you sit in the bathtub, your little winces making his heart sink.

“i didn’t mean any of those words, y’know…” he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, his fingers gently caressing your head.

“i know…” you sniffled and smiled up at him sheepishly. “maybe i’m too soft for all that.”

simon sighed softly and sat by the edge of the bathtub, not caring about himself at all right now. all of his focus was solely on you, helping you clean yourself and dry up once you were done, dressing you in some comfortable pajamas.

once he came back after cleaning himself up, he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked over at you, his once stern brown eyes now soft with love and pain. “i’m so sorry, i mean it…”

“don’t apologise, si…” you gently wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands supporting your hips as he carefully propped you on top of him once he laid down, caressing your lower back.

“i love you… never wanna hurt you, y’know. m’so proud of you for speakin’ the safeword. so proud of you.” he smothered your head with chaste kisses, his breath caressing your skin.

“i love you too…” you mumbled softly, exhaustion soon taking over you. you let his heartbeat lull you into sleep alongside his soft murmurs, feeling safe once again.

[kireilien]

andteam when reader has oral fixation!!! i lowkey saw an enha post abt this and i wanna know what would teamies do 🙏🙏

OHMYGOF I RBD THIS POST by neodazed!!! all props go to them!!!! this is a ot9 post so if you don’t like reading 04z/05z/maki posts this is nawt for you! but omg first group post!!! so psyched!!!!! i feel like a real writer now LOL

also sorry to my *checks inbox* 25 other love letter requests i had to finish this asap i have so many thoughts

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing; dom!teamies, sub!reader, gn!reader, race neutral reader, oral fixation, use of multiple pet names in all. this is NOT age play, i do not condone age play, everyone is 18+! more specific tags will be listed with each member in their own sections, there are more sensitive topics here so proceed with caution!!! ♡︎

koga yudai.

cw. implied free use, dubcon, oral, use of “baby”

what do starri and i say? freak kei is love. freak kei is life! that’s especially no different when it comes to you having an oral fixation!!! he’s literally not surprised he’s probably the type to like some nasty kinks but that’s besides the point. when you bring up you have an oral fixation, kei would indulge in it so hard. if he sees you sucking on candy, he’ll literally make you spit it out and replace it with his cock. not even fingers. his cock. lollipop? his cock is better. cough drops? his cum will make your throat feel better. your thumb? why waste time, use his cock instead? he makes you feel so comfortable to do so, you literally drop all your stuff, come to him, peel back his boxers, and start slobbering on him to clear your head.

“fuck— yeah that’s it, use my cock, baby. it’s yours.”

murata fuma.

cw. soft!fuma, finger sucking, use of “angel”

hehe my fuma bear would coddle you!!! if you shyly admit that you have a oral fixation and you need him to help you, he’d immediately pull you in his arms, slip his fingers past your lips and have you nyamming on them. he thinks you’re so cute, head on his bicep, back fleshed against his chest, sucking on his fingers so you can ease whatever thoughts you have away. i don’t think fuma would like you drooling on his dick, it gives off heavy power imbalance, he’d honestly want to just snuggle as you suck on his fingers instead. which is why he likes home dates more! movie nights are the best because he’ll just kiss your scalp as you mindlessly drool on him, it makes his heart burst that you’re just with him in his arms!!!

“just let your mind be at ease with me, angel.”

wang yixiang.

cw. kissing, oral, finger sucking, dirty talk, degradation

the w in wang yixiang stands for whore wbk. nicho would def like it when you tell him that you have an oral fixation, he’d pull you into a kiss and make you sloppily suck on his tongue! he’d love the feeling of you turning off your brain, and just suck on his tongue as you’re intertwined with each other, feeling each other’s warmth. he’d also be someone to likes finger sucking AND oral like hello ok whore. when you’re sucking on his fingers, he likes you being in his lap when he mindlessly scrolls on his phone. when it gets a little heated he’ll almost face fuck you by how he’s loving the warmth of your mouth. he’s spitting out some nasty words as you slobber on his cock, it gets him so fucking worked up— using you like a cum dump.

“god, i love this dirty little mouth for me to use.”

byun euijoo.

cw. thumb sucking, praise, petting, use of “sweetheart”

juju would love the idea of you having an oral fixation in the first place! it makes him feel like he’s a safe place for you, allowing you to keep your mind at ease! he’d be sitting while you have your head in his lap as euijoo presses on your tongue with his thumb, trying to get adjusted to the new feeling. once he gets used to the wet warmth of your mouth, he allows you to suck his thumb. his heart is so full— he can’t help but to coo at you. his pretty partner’s mind is at ease, their eyes closed, smiling as they suck on him, and curled up into him!!! he can’t even help it when his other hand find its way on your head, petting you like a puppy, ohhhh he loves it here. his life is complete he’s so happy having you in his lap.

“hmm, doing so good for me, sweetheart. just how i like it.”

nakakita yuma.

cw. oral, petting, implied pet play, use of “kitty”

oral fixation??? yuma??? perfection!!! he loves loves loves having you on your knees anyways, having you suck his cock or fingers as you daze off is better for him anyways! whenever he’s working at his desk, he’ll place you underneath the table, spring out his cock, and have you just sit there, head resting on his thigh. every once in awhile he’ll check on you, asking if you need anything; to water, a break, a snack— literally anything and he’ll get it for you. if you say no, he’ll hum and nod and pat your pretty little head as he keeps on working. when he feels like enough time has passed, he’ll caress your cheek pull you up into his lap. your collar bell rings a bit when you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, he loves it here too.

“you feelin’ good, kitty? tell me if you need anything.”

asakura jo.

cw. soft!jo, finger sucking, photo taking (consensual)

if i could say jo is a dormant whore, i would but lunéville would think otherwise but i don’t care! we all know that jo has such crazy pretty hands when you say you have an oral fixation, his lips would twitch into his smile (same w his cock but). he’d be so interested, asking you informative questions, taking this whole thing so seriously but in reality he just wants to shove his fingers in your mouth and let you be happy. once he finally does put his fingers in your mouth, whew! jo is mesmerized. your eyes are getting cloudy, your lips are plump against him, your mouth is letting out cute hums. he’s so obsessed, he’d literally take pictures of you to look at for later, maybe even a polaroid in his wallet— you’ve got him locked in.

“hold on, lemme take a quick pic of you— it’s pretty.”

shigeta harua.

cw. teasing, thumb sucking, spit play, dumbification

love when oral fixation is an excuse for your dom to make you dumb. harua is just that! got a dom!harua love letter in the works, this is basically a continued of it. when he finds out you have an oral fixation, he can’t help but to hook a smirk onto his face. he’d be so interested. his eyes would darken, his thumb ghosting your bottom lip, you’re already parting them, looking up at him— waiting for him to do something. he’d tease you so bad, saying how you already looked so fucked out when he hasn’t even touched you. when his thumb finally slips past your lips, he loves how you’re making his cutely manicured thumb dirty. once he thinks you’ve had enough, he’d pull out, swiping the spit all over your lips.

“look at you… dumbed out already? just by thumb sucking?”

takayama riki.

cw. kink exploration talk, finger sucking, spit kink

i am a firm believer that taki is an experimentalist (hashtag twin), he’d willingly do everything and anything just once to see what he likes! so when you mentioned that you had an oral fixation, taki was all for it. he’d first ask you what is was, describing it to him so he could fully grasp what it was. when he understood it was like a new world opened, not knowing that he’d like it a little too much. when he places his fingers in your mouth, he’s surprised how much you eased up. your cute eyelashes are perched down, your mouth is all warm, you looked so at peace. when taki asks to take out his fingers, he sees the spit lines connecting from your mouth to his hands. let’s just say he found something out about himself.

“uhm… holy shit, y/n… your spit is really hot.”

hirota riki maus.

cw. ddlg, oral, finger sucking, praise, use of “daddy”

okay. guys. i know. leave me and my daddy maki agenda alone. but seriously. maki would so love to please someone with a oral fixation especially with his huge cock ♡︎ he’d have you perched up on your knees as he basically feeds you with his cock. maki would be literally fighting demons to not cum in your mouth— this was for you, not for him. he’d still coo at you, taking daddy’s cock so well, to use him to ease yourself up. he’d also love finger sucking too. having you drool on him, glossy eyes, and your head on his chest ♡︎ just saying over and over and over how he loves how you’re being so pliant with daddy, taking his fingers after telling him what you wanted. gah you’re so brave! daddy is so so so proud of you ♡︎

“takin’ daddy well. thank you for telling me what you wanted.”

had so so so much fun writing this ugh!

back 2 catalog

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Four.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Ten. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky deal with the fallout of Cora's reveal. What's that saying? If you love something, let it go...

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - i can only apologise that this chapter took a little while!! my life is at a super weird place rn, so i'm just trying to find the time when i can. words cannot describe how incredible all of your support is for Honey Girl. the fact you all reblog and comment and send me asks means the world to me. love you all so much.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You can't breathe.

It's like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the air, leaving it dry, brittle, sterile. Your lungs are burning, scratched like sandpaper. The backyard is spinning, like teenagers at a roller rink - all flashing lights and endless rotations.

You haven't taken your eyes off of Bucky, and he hasn't taken his eyes off of you. If you were thinking more logically, you'd probably realise that you've been staring at each other for too long, and it's starting to look a little suspicious. You don't care.

Your ears are ringing. It's like there's been an explosion, and you're scattered amongst the debris. Smoke, flames, rubble. A catastrophic detonation in your parents backyard.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you back to reality. The music is still playing, everyone around the table is still conversing, the house still stands. No explosion here.

"Sweetheart?"

It's your Mom, clearly sensing your distress. She probably thinks you're upset with her, for telling Cora. You are, but that's not what's causing the pain in your chest.

"Come inside with me, baby girl. Let's get away from the noise for a second."

She grabs your hand and pulls you out of your chair, still none the wiser to the magnetism preventing you from breaking your gaze that's locked on Bucky's. She practically drags you inside, the cool air of the kitchen waking you up.

"Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. Cora overheard the conversation we had earlier. I thought it was good news, so I didn't think to ask her to keep it private."

She looks like she's being eaten alive by guilt. Your bottom lip quivers, your eyes well up, and before you know it, there are warm, salty tears dripping down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey. What's the matter?"

You sit down on the tiled floor, back pressed against the cabinets. Curling your knees to your chest, you try to stifle your sobs.

"Everything's such a mess, Mama."

She drops to the ground, gathering you in her arms. She holds you as tight as she can, rubbing soothing circles into your back and whispering comforting words in your ear. Eventually, she pulls back to look at you.

"What's the matter, baby? I thought Stella's call was a good thing - that you'd be excited to go back to California."

You take a shaky breath before replying.

"It's just... I think - I don't, it's... it's so complicated."

She traces her fingers over your cheeks, your eyebrows, your nose. She dances her fingertips over your face, as if she's committing it to her mind forever. It brings back warm and cosy childhood memories of her doing the same thing to help you sleep. The two of you would snuggle up against all of your pillows in bed, tucked up and safe. She'd lie with you until she was sure you were dreaming, before kissing you on the forehead and sneaking out.

"Talk to me. We can figure it out. We always do."

"It's not that simple. I just... there's a lot going on, I guess. I thought it'd be an easy decision, but it isn't, and it's all I can think about, and it's eating me up because I'm so scared I'm gonna do the wrong thing -"

You cut yourself off with a sob, resting your head on your knees.

"I knew there was something bothering you, sweetheart. Why didn't you come and talk to us? Even if we can't fix it, we can listen."

"I thought I could handle it. I thought I could figure it out on my own."

"You don't ever have to carry stress like this on your own, baby girl. Ever. You hear me?"

You nod and lean into her, letting her rock you in her arms on the kitchen floor.

"I'm sorry again, about Cora. She means well, you know she does."

"I know. Doesn't feel like it sometimes, but I know."

A pause.

"Okay, sweetheart. What are we going to do now? Whatever you decide, we'll support you."

"Your Mom's right," your Dad says from the doorway. "Whatever you choose, we'll be right alongside you. No matter what."

He strides over to join the two of you on the floor, sandwiching you between him and your Mom.

"If you need help packing up and moving, we're here. If you need us to create an elaborate lie to tell Stella, we're here. Either way, you've got us."

You smile at him gently, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder. Regardless of what happens, you have two parents that love you more than anything in the world. That has to count for something.

"You wanna rejoin us outside, or are you too tired? No one will blame you if you go home."

"I think I'll go home," you murmur. "I don't wanna face any more questions for today."

"Bucky's just gone too. Said something about an early morning tomorrow."

You inhale shakily at the mention of his name. You know you'll have to face him sooner or later.

Your Dad stands and grabs your hands to help you to your feet, before doing the same to your Mom. They both hug you tightly before walking you out to the front door.

"Promise me you'll call if you need anything. Anything."

"I promise, Mama. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"Do you want one of us to walk you home?"

"No, it's okay. I think I need the air."

"Love you, baby girl."

"Love you too. Both of you."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're halfway home when you decide to turn around. You need to talk to Bucky.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where he is. You can feel in your chest that he's close by, that he hasn't strayed far. He hasn't gone home, though. The Universe is pulling you in the opposite direction.

The beach.

You spin on your heel and start walking down the road, picking up pace as you go. You can feel rain in the air, threatening to spill from the clouds at any given moment. Before you know it, you're running, sprinting along the sidewalk in the direction of your soulmate.

You get to the small boardwalk and look out over the sand. The sky is grey as concrete, cold and unforgiving. You spot a figure in a worn brown leather jacket by the shore, and you know instantly. It's him.

You march onto the beach with your shoes still on, wrapping your arms around yourself to act as a shield from the wind. You left your jacket at your parent's house, too eager to get out of there in a hurry. The rain is suspended in the air, never quite reaching the ground. You know it's only a matter of time before the heavens open.

"Bucky!" you yell, practically bounding across the sand. "Buck!"

He doesn't turn because he hears your voice. He turns because he suddenly feels like he can breathe, which he hasn't been able to do for the last hour. He knew you were there before you shouted his name.

"Bucky, please!"

He spins on his heel and stops walking, waiting for you to catch up with him. You're sprinting, panting as you reach him. The ocean waves crash against the shore, dangerously close to his boots.

"Buck, just let me explain," you choke out, trying to catch your breath.

You finally stop running and look at him. He looks broken. His hair looks like he's pulled his fingers through it repeatedly, tear tracks staining his cheeks, lips bitten red. You've never seen him upset like this. It's the worst thing you've ever witnessed.

"There's nothing to explain," he begins calmly, trying to keep a lid on his feelings.

"There is, Buck. There is. I... Cora overheard me confiding in my Mom, telling her about a call I'd gotten, from a classmate at culinary school. It was just an offer - I haven't accepted anything! I never meant for you to find out like this, I swear. It's all just... it's all so fucked up."

He looks at you in disbelief.

"No, you know what's fucked up?" he asks, raising his voice. "Finding out that my soulmate is moving across the country from some alcoholic suburban mom at a dinner party!"

You've never heard him yell before. You don't like it at all. You gather yourself before replying calmly, determined to keep you emotions under wraps.

"I've been trying to find a way to talk to you about it, but I didn't know where to start. How do I even begin to explain any of this?"

"Maybe, I don't know - 'hey, Buck, I got a call and I'm thinking of moving thousands of miles away for my dream job,' would be a good place to start?"

"It's more complicated than that. I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"From blowing your life up for me!"

You stare at each other for a minute, both of you unblinking.

"What are you talking about?" he croaks out.

"You'd drop everything for me, Bucky, and I can't let you do that. You've worked too damn hard to let it all go."

He's dumbfounded, for a moment. Not because he doesn't understand. No. He's realising that you're right.

"I knew that if I told you straight away, you'd have persuaded me to let you come with, and I would have said yes. And then you'd regret it, and you'd resent me, and we'd be over before we've even begun."

When he doesn't say anything, you continue.

"The thing is, Buck, the selfish part of me would have happily invited you along. Me and you, in California, running a bakery? That sounds like a fucking dream. But I have to listen to the other side of me, the selfless part. And that part is telling me that you have worked too damn hard for too damn long just for me to take that all away."

You feel droplets of water on your face, and for a moment, you wonder when you started to cry again. Then, in the deep distance, you hear a crack of thunder. The rain begins to pour, both of you caught in a storm in more ways than one.

"You don't get to make a decision like that for me!" he finally responds, yelling to be heard over the downpour. "We're supposed to talk about these things! To figure them out together! That's what soulmates are - we're a team!"

"I can't think rationally around you, Bucky! It's like all logic goes out the window. I'm just so overwhelmed with-"

You stop yourself before the word comes out, but you both know what you were about to say. He feels it in his ribcage, the surge of emotion from you.

"-with how I feel about you. You're my forever, Buck, and I feel like -" a sob wracks through you, shaking your frame. "-like I've fucked it all up already."

Your tears mix with the rainwater, trailing down your cheeks. You watch as Bucky fights with himself, internally battling his feelings.

"You're not the only one fucking it up," he chokes. "You repeatedly told me we had to take it slow, but I just... couldn't help myself. I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you, and being away from you for even a minute is fucking torture. I moved us too fast, and now look where we are. We've become the equivalent of a married couple in a couple of weeks. No one can handle change that sudden."

"It's not.. none of this is your fault, Buck. I kept something from you, something big. I know it doesn't matter now, but I want you to know how hard it's been to not tell you. It was killing me."

"I felt it," he murmurs shakily, willing himself not to cry. "In my chest. You were so torn up about something, and I just couldn't figure out what it was. I should have pushed you more, but I was worried I'd push you away."

Your lip trembles as you watch him bite his own anxiously.

"I'm so scared, Buck," you whisper. "I feel so lost and so confused and like nothing makes sense."

"Me too," he whispers back, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm fucking terrified. Our worlds have been turned upside down."

"Is it... is it supposed to be this hard? Everyone makes it sound so easy."

"I don't know. Maybe the Universe heard that we were anti-soulmate and decided to be super tough on us. Cosmic karma, or something."

You choke out a laugh through your tears. The rain has plastered your clothes to your body, the salty wind chilling you to the bone. Without thinking, Bucky takes off his jacket and wraps it around you, unable to watch you shiver any longer.

"What now?" you ask quietly. If he wasn't standing so close, he wouldn't have heard it.

"Let's get out of the storm," he suggests, nodding his head towards the path home. "We can talk some more somewhere warmer."

You sniffle and take a deep breath, willing yourself to get it together. Bucky surprises you by linking your hand with his, warm fingers intertwining around yours.

He doesn't let go the whole way home.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Bucky takes you to his house.

You haven't been here since before your Tethering. You walk in the door, and your knees threaten to give way.

It's overwhelming.

Everywhere - everything - smells like Bucky. His scent clings to every fabric, every upholstery, every room. There's pictures scattered across the mantelpiece, his handsome face staring at you wherever you go. The house is warm, cosy, and just so Bucky it makes your heart ache.

You walk over to the fireplace, taking a closer look at the array of frames adorning it. There's one of your parents and Bucky smiling, sat out on his lawn last summer; another of Bucky and his team of mechanics, stood proudly outside his garage. A small black frame catches your eye. You pick it up, and your breath hitches in your chest.

It's a picture of the two of you on the deck of his boat, the day after you found out you were soulmates. The wind is blowing your hair, billowing your shirts, sun beating down on your skin. You're both beaming at the camera, bright and blinding, completely content.

You're holding back tears as you put it back in it's original place.

"My favourite picture," he murmurs from somewhere behind you. "We look happy."

"We were happy," you whisper. Then, quieter, "We will be again."

A pause.

"You want something to drink? Coffee, cocoa? Oh, I have that tea you like, the apple one?"

"You do?"

"Yeah. I, uh, bought some last time I went grocery shopping. In case you stopped by."

"Tea sounds good. Please."

You stay stood in the middle of the living room while Bucky puts the kettle on the stove, worried that your wet clothes will ruin his couch. As if he's read your mind, he pops his head around the door.

"There's a load of fresh clothes folded on top of the dryer. Grab whatever you want, dry off a little."

You wander into the laundry room, sorting through the pile. You find a t shirt with his garage logo on the back in big, white letters.

J.B.B. Motorcycles and Automotives.

The blocky, bold font swirls across the black material. You run your fingers over it, tracing the curves and spikes of the typeface. It's something you've seen him in a million times. You inhale deeply as you slip it over your head, revelling in the way it smells like him. You grab some boxer shorts and slip those on too, glad to finally be warm and dry.

Bucky loses his breath when you walk into the room. He's never seen you in his clothes before, and for good reason. He's about to have a goddamn heart attack.

"Tea is on the coffee table," he chokes out. "I'm gonna change, and then we'll talk, yeah?"

You nod gently, settling into the cushions of his couch and tucking your legs underneath you, mug warming your hands.

When Bucky returns, he's in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that you want to burrow yourself into. He takes his place, careful to put a little distance between you. Far enough that you're not touching, but close enough that you almost are.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I'm not good at this."

"Neither am I," he smiles gently. "It's my first time having a soulmate."

"Mine too," you laugh softly.

It floors you, his ability to always be able to comfort you. It's like a superpower, the way he always knows what to say or do to put you at ease.

"I think we got a little ahead of ourselves," he begins, careful to keep his voice low and deliberate. "I keep forgetting that we have forever. Literally. I was so eager to rush into this with you because I got excited. Don't get me wrong, I'm still ridiculously excited, but I'm realising now that our version of 'slow' wasn't slow at all."

"This whole Tethering thing makes everything so intense. There have been times where I honestly thought I was going to drop dead if you didn't kiss me."

"The feelings mutual," he chuckles.

You lace your fingers with his, never breaking eye contact, before addressing the elephant in the room.

"What am I gonna do about California, Buck?"

Your voice cracks just saying the word.

"Stella needs an answer, and I've upset you, and my parents are clueless, and I just - I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do. Please."

"I can't tell you what to do, honey," he soothes, running his thumb over the back of your hand. "And I'm not upset. I was, in the backyard... but I was mainly just blindsided. I kinda get it, you not telling me. I'm not sure what I'd do in your situation either."

"I just feel like both decisions are wrong. I can't win."

"Hey, hey. Look at me, pretty baby."

Bucky cradles your face in his warm hands, forcing your eyes to meet his ocean blue ones. You have to focus on his words, so you don't get lost in the waves of his irises.

"At the end of the day, it's completely your decision, and no one in the world can change that. But-"

He takes a deep breath, and continues.

"I think that you'll regret it every day for the rest of your life if you don't take the incredible opportunity that's been offered to you."

You take a second to process what he's telling you, your mind running at a thousand miles an hour.

"Are you... you're... are you saying I should take the job?"

"Like I said, it's your decision, but... yes. I'm saying you should take the job."

Your eyes well with tears, and you bite your lip to stop them from escaping. Inhaling carefully, you put your hands on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under your palms. He's calm. He's sure. He's collected enough for the both of you.

"What about us?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

"Like you said, baby. I'm your forever." Buck leans in, resting his forehead to yours. "We have time."

"All the time in the world."

You connect your lips to Bucky's softly, testing the waters. He kisses you back with so much feeling, tears slip from your lashes without warning. He's crying too, emotion mixing with yours, dousing you both.

You pull away and wrap your arms around him, curling yourself into his chest. He holds you as tightly as he can, knowing this will be the last time for a long time.

"So you'll go."

"I'll go."

"And I'll stay."

"You'll stay."

"And we'll be okay. No matter what, we'll be okay."

You and Bucky fall asleep in each others arms, cherishing the feeling of home one last time.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The happiness is starting to seep through.

You're devastated to be leaving Bucky behind, but you're trying to look on the bright side. Sunny beaches, new people, your dream job. If you think about the positives for long enough, the Bucky sized hole in your chest hurts a little less.

You're packing up your bookshelf when your phone rings, scaring the life out of you.

"Bitch!"

You know who it is instantly.

"Hi, Lacie."

"Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my text from last night?"

"Shit, sorry. I've been packing. What's up?"

"We're going out tonight. Not just us - all the girls. We're throwing you a goodbye party!"

You groan inwardly, massaging your temples with your fingers.

"A party? Lace, I don't need a party."

"Babe, you do. You really do. It'll be fun! I thought you'd be excited!"

You take a deep breath, and remember what you've been telling yourself. Focus on the positives.

"Okay, fine. Where? What time? What should I wear?"

"I knew you'd say yes! Come to my place at like... six? We can get ready together, like old times! And wear something sexy."

She doesn't wait for you to argue, just hangs up the phone. She knows you too well.

You know it'll be good for you, to see your girlfriends - but the thought of all the goodbyes you're about to say breaks your heart a little more.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Okay, what the fuck is going on with you?"

You're sat cross legged on Lacie's living room floor, sharing makeup that's scattered across the coffee table. You sip your wine for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. It's no use.

"I don't know."

"Bullshit."

You turn to look at her.

"What?"

"It's bullshit, babe. Something's going on. You've been given your dream job, and you're moping around like you just got broken up with or something. Why aren't you happy?"

There's no malice in her voice, just pure love. She adores you. You adore her. She's the one person with an outsiders perspective on all of this. So, you cut the act.

"I had my Tethering."

Silence.

She's processing.

"What?!"

"Yeah."

"When? Who? Where? How? Oh my God what is happening? Why didn't you say anything? Fuck, I'm gonna cry. I'm so overwhelmed right now, I'm so happy for you! Wait... are we not happy?"

"It's... complicated."

There's a lump in your throat, but a levity in your heart. A weight has been taken off you. Telling someone the truth has made you feel a little lighter.

"Who is it, babe?"

You take a deep breath, and look her in the eyes.

"Bucky."

Her jaw drops.

"Your... your Dad's best friend Bucky?"

"That's the one."

"Oh. My. Fucking. God."

"Yeah."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"This is complicated."

"Yeah."

"Aw, babe."

She pulls you in for a hug, not caring about the makeup you're smearing across her shirt. You cling to her as tightly as you can, savouring your best friends comfort.

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. We decided not to tell my parents for a while."

"Shit. No wonder you've been so sad lately. You're moving across the country, away from the one person you're supposed to be near."

"It's really hard," you whisper, tears threatening to spill.

"I can't even begin to imagine," she murmurs, holding you close. "I wish you'd told me sooner. We could have talked about it."

"I know," you sniffle. "I thought I could handle it on my own, but I really can't."

"You're not on your own, okay? You have Bucky, and you have me. You can always talk to me about this stuff. God knows I talked your ear off about Cameron."

You laugh softly, thinking back to that day that feels both like yesterday and a million years ago.

"Where is he tonight?"

"Out with his boys. It's good for us to spend a few hours apart."

You smile at the happiness that's radiating off her. She's glowing, beaming in all directions.

"Thanks, Lace. I love you. You know that right?"

"Of course I do. I love you too. So much," she leans forward to kiss your cheek. "Now let's have one hell of a last girls night, shall we?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You've lost track of exactly where you are.

You know you're downtown somewhere, in one of the bars. This one smells like wood and whiskey, lowlit and smoky. You hit the cocktail bar first, then the one covered in leopard print, then the monochrome pink one. Now, you're here.

The six of you are sat at a booth, high heels tangled and legs intertwined under the table. The wood is sticky with lemon wedges from tequila shots, salt scattered across the surface.

"If you find any hot west coast men, will you send them my way?" Reese asks, nudging you with her shoulder.

"And if you find any hot west coast women, will you send them mine?"

Everyone laughs, the scent of perfume filling the air.

"Rosa, what happened to Aubrey? We liked her!"

"Caught her kissing my ex girlfriend. So now they're both my ex girlfriends."

"Jesus Christ."

"Man, that's rough," Lacie giggles next to you.

The other girls continue to talk about Aubrey's infidelity as Lacie leans to whisper in your ear.

"Have you said goodbye to Bucky yet?"

You nod.

"Yesterday. I stayed the night, we fell asleep together. Said our goodbyes in the morning. It was awful."

"Love you," she whispers, squeezing your hand under the table.

"Love you too," you reply, squeezing back.

"There's a table of super hot guys over there," Maggie observes, tilting her head in their direction. "Maybe we should conveniently dance that way in a little while."

You don't bother to look over, knowing that none of them will compare to your soulmate. The other girls seem interested, though, so you smile along with them.

"Babe," Sam hisses, kicking you under the table. "There's a hot guy at that table, three o'clock, that keeps staring at you."

You glance over, and your heart stutters in your chest.

Bucky.

His blue eyes pierce your soul, even from across the room. For a moment, it's only the two of you, all the noise forgotten.

You're snapped back to reality by Sam.

"Fuck, he's hot. If you don't want him, I do."

"You should talk to him," Lacie suggests quickly. "Why not, right?"

She's practically pushing you out of the booth, high school wrestler style. In another life, you think, she would have made a good football player. All five foot four of her.

You walk past his table, eyes still locked on him, and towards the bathrooms. You know he'll follow you. You walk to the end of the hallway and out of the door, into the fresh night air.

You feel him appear before you see him. You lean your body against the wall, head resting on the cold brick. Bucky stands in front of you, shirt stretched across his shoulders gorgeously.

"Hi."

"Hi, honey baby."

You smile softly at the nickname.

"What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a boys night. What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a girls night."

He laughs, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

"Thought we said our goodbyes. I didn't think I'd see you again before I left."

"Me too. But you know the Universe. It hates us."

"Cosmic karma," you whisper.

The two of you stand down the alleyway, looking at each other carefully. Neither of you wants to spook the other person. You'd processed your leaving, said your emotional goodbyes. And now he's here, standing in front of you. You don't want to have to do it all again.

"I should probably get back inside, before the girls get the wrong idea."

"Baby, I followed you to the bathroom. They've already got the wrong idea."

You chuckle, kicking at a rock on the ground.

"Yeah. I don't know how I'm gonna explain this."

A smile. A pause.

"I'll let you get back to your friends, then."

You lean up to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

"Bye, Buck."

"Bye, pretty girl."

You push off the wall and walk away towards the door. Suddenly, a warm hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you into a solid chest.

Bucky kisses you like a man possessed. There's nothing gentle about it - just pure, unadulterated passion. It's all teeth and tongue and nipping and biting, neither of you willing to be the first to pull away.

He walks you back into the wall, pushing you against the rough brick. You hike a leg up onto his hip as he grabs your thigh to pull you closer, desperate to feel all of you. Your hands are in his hair, around his neck, tangled in his collar, his shirt, his belt loops. Anything you can get your hands on, you grab.

A distant chorus of cheers break you out of your lust fuelled haze. A bachelorette party walks by, one of the women winking at you as they go. You and Bucky take a step away from each other, straightening out your clothes and fixing your hair.

"Promise me you'll call me if you need anything," Bucky murmurs, leaning to rest his forehead on yours.

"I promise," you whisper, almost against his lips. "Goodbye, Bucky."

"Goodbye, honey girl."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The salty ocean wind whips through your hair, sun beating down onto your skin, some upbeat pop song humming from the radio. You keep your eyes glued to the road in front of you, begging yourself not to look back. You know if you do, you'll turn the car around and run straight back into Bucky's arms.

Let the happiness seep through, you remind yourself, gripping the steering wheel.

Let the happiness seep through.

tag list part one -

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff  @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara   @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen   @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance  @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[lumosflairr]

im begging for ron smut!! pls anything like brothers best friend ron fcking harry‘s little sister (of age ofc) while everyone’s in the house (weasley house)🤭

omg yes. your wish is my command bc i absolutely love this. Im sorry for such a late response btw!!

Best friend’s little sister.

this story contains smut. if you are uncomfortable with reading smut do not continue reading this whole story. Thank you!!

He shouldn’t feel this way about you.

No, he couldnt..

but oh, it felt so good.

Ever since last school year, Ron had noticed changes in you. How you’ve grown taller, your hair was now longer, and you were now more mature. But, he noticed other things to. The way your uniform hugs your figure just right, the way your chest had grown, and the way you have grown so perfectly.

He knew it was wrong. Looking at you the way he does, practically fantasizing about you. He knew it was horrible in fact, because you are his best friend’s little sister.

Every time you would come to sit with the Golden trio in the common room, in the Great hall, or simply anywhere, he could barely speak. Merlin knows he’s always thought you were fit, but this year? All the thinking that he’s doing is with his dick.

Now that it’s summer break, you were there with the Golden trio and the Weasley family in their household. Fred and George had been talking about going down to a river they found while exploring. You all agreed to go by later that evening after lunch and go swim.

As you sat at the Weasley dinner table eating the sandwiches Molly had made, You and Ron were say beside one another with harry across from the two of you. Hermione was beside Harry, and Ginny was on the other side of Harry while the twins were beside Hermione. You all listened into Fred and George talk about the time they knicked the Marauders map from Filch during their first year.

“Well what did you do after that?” You asked, laughing after hearing their escape plan from detention. “We made a bloody run for it of course!” George chipped in, taking a drink of his juice. “Whenever we came to the conclusion on what is was, we knew we could cause some wicked pranks with it!” Fred said, his smile not faltering. “But like we told Harry and you, your needs were greater than ours.” George said almost immediately after Fred, Merlin these two were so in sync.

“Yeah, don’t think I’ll ever forget Lupin and Snape catching me with it. It was quite funny whenever it told him to keep his abnormally large nose out of it though.” Harry said, which earned a laugh from everyone. Harry and you have always been close. I mean, you two were the only family you had left. Besides the Weasleys of course.

Though, there is one Weasley you don’t quite consider family. You did at once, but ever since his 4th year and your 3rd, things have been difficult with your feelings towards him. Whenever you saw him and his hair was grown longer, his jaw slightly more chiseled, you knew there was something there. Now it was about 3 years since then, but your feelings have turned into hopelessly in love. You and Ron had always been quite close, but you would catch each other staring at one another. Sharing such a Romantic and passionate look, you were sure something was there. It had to be.

After you ate, you went up to the room that you, Ginny, and Hermione shared. The three of you changed into your swimsuits, and headed down. You carried your bag with your sunblock, sunglasses, and other items you knew you would need. As you all made it downstairs, the boys were waiting for you.

Ever since your last birthday, you had to admit you have grown quite nice. Your breasts were fuller, and your mid body had slimmed. Your legs had grown some muscle which caused your butt to have grown. (Thanks, quidditch workouts!)

“Well what do we have here Georgie?” Fred said, his eyes landing on you. “Looks like summer just got a whole lot hotter” George finished after him. The twins approached beside you and wrapped their arms around them. Ron and Harry gave the twins a look. One in a “hey, thats my little sister you twat” and the other in a “you know i want her, back off” kinda way. The twins were well aware of Ronikins little crush, and they were going to drag it out to his coffin.

You gave the twins a playful eye roll and a smirk. “I could say the same about you lot.” This earned a giggle from the twins, and a frown from Harry and Ron.

As you all went to the river, Ron could barley keep his eyes off of you. He noticed how your body was just so mesmerizing. Every curve he wanted to worship. He was so caught up in fantasizing about you, he nearly forgot he was already engaged in a conversation with Harry.

“Why are you staring at my sister?” Harry said, which earned a very loud and nervous “I was not!” from Ron. Rons face flushed pink as Harry gave him a puzzled look. “I just mean..i wasn’t staring at her.. just the trees nd’ stuff around us..y’know nature and all” Ron said, keeping his eyes to his feet. “Never took you for a nature guy but okay..” Harry mumbled, after a while he continued his past conversation.

After you all arrived at the river, Fred and George found an abnormally large and wide tree. It was short and close to the ground, and thats when the twins came up with an idea..- as they always did, which was to jump from the tree into the river.

The twins went first, taking a dive in as Harry and Ron followed suite. When Ron took his jump he let out a boyish (yet somehow girly) yelp, which earned a giggle from you.

“Are you two sure this is a good idea?” Hermione said, you could tell she was nervous about it. “Of course we are! Cmon Mione, live up some!” Ginny said, brushing her shoulder against Hermiones. “It’ll be fun i promise.” You said, Ginny has always been quite rambunctious, which is what generally attracted you to becoming her friend. Ginny then ran as she took off towards the end of the tree. Ginny then jumped, and floated back up and swam towards her twin brothers.

You gave Hermione a smile and squeezed her hand. “Don’t be nervous Hermione, Its not that far up anyways” You said as you peaked over the tree. “Right..” Hermione said, taking a deep breath in as she stayed behind you. You went towards the end of the tree and gave the boys (and Ginny) a wave.

“Cmon, smalls, jump!” The twins said in practical union, as always. You took a couple of steps back, then ran off the tree. You felt your body fall towards the bottom and the water splash and suck you in. You then floated right back up to the top as Ginny then and wiped your eyes so you could see. As you opened your eyes, you came face to face with your brother Harry.

“All good?” Harry said, checking your arms just in case. Even though he was practically still a toddler when your parents passed, (Yes, i am aware he was a baby but this adds to our current plot) he was always so protective over you. Whenever Dudley would steal your toys or shove you out of the way, Harry always stood up for you. Or whenever The Dursleys would barley give the two of you a meal, Harry would give you over half of his.

“Yes Harry, m’ fine” You gave him a smile as he nodded, your attention then turning to Ron. You swam over to him as he flashed you that cute smirk of his. Godric, he would be the death of you. He wrapped his arm around your waist under the dirty water and let out a slight chuckle. “Your cannonballs suck” he said, which you returned with a slap to his shoulder. “My cannonballs suck? lets talk about your girly scream for help when you were jumping off” You returned his smirk with one of your one and raised a brow. “I didnt scream for help, sweetheart, i was just screaming from the adrenaline..” he gave you one of his sassy pouts.

No wonder so many people thought the two of you were dating. The playful banter, the laughs together, the hand placement. It was practically written out for the two of you.

As Ron stared deeply into your eyes, his own pair grazed your face. That bloody gorgeous face. That face did so many things to him. He wanted to wake up in the mornings and make you laugh, make you smile, then his eyes faltered to your lips.

Those lips he wanted to kiss day and night, those lips he wanted to see move as you gave him a smart reply. Those lips that he wanted his cock wrapped around. Those lips that he wanted to feel you use to mark him neck as he returned the favor. Those lips that he wants to make you scream his name as you cum around his mouth.

As a sudden splash came by, his thoughts (and yours) were quickly interrupted by Hermione jumping in. As you gave him a smile and a giggle, you swam away.

Ron couldnt believe how down bad he was for you. He wanted you in every single way. He wanted to make you his. He wanted to fuck you till you couldn’t walk. He wanted to hear those pretty little moans come out while he fucked that sweet cunt.

Ron also wanted to wake up in the mornings and see you in your shared bed, asleep, as he goes to check on your own children. Make breakfast for you, go celebrate holidays with his family not just as his best friends little sister, but his wife.

He knew his feelings were growing every day. He knew he had to tell Harry. Its not like he could ask for your parents permission, and Harry was the only family you had left. He was so unsure on how to approach it, whether that be just simply blurting it out randomly like, “Hey, I’m in love with your sister, do ya mind?” or..well… thats his only option.

As he snapped out of this thoughts, he came over to the others as you all enjoyed your day in the River.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the day at the River, you were sprawled out beside Ron on the couch. Harry and the twins were on the floor while Ginny and Hermione were on the other side of Ron.

Fred and George then came up with another clever idea. The twins trotted up the stairs to their room and came back down with Fire whiskey. “Truth or dare?” said George, Fred quickly following behind “if you cant complete the request, you drink”.

“Im up for it” Harry said, his attention turning to you and Ron. “Hell yeah I am!” you said, quickly getting up. “I suppose..” Ron said, getting up with you. Ginny agreed to play as well, while Hermione said she would rather go to bed then stay up and drink. As she walked up to her shared room with you and Ginny, the six of you sat in a circle.

As the game progressed, things got heated. It started with all fun, like you getting dared to do a silly dance or Fred and George burping the ABC’s, simply dumb funny stuff. After a while, it started getting more personal. More drinks were being taken as some didn’t want to answer nor do the things that mostly Fred and George told them to. You’d have already had about 5 shots of fire whiskey.

You weren’t completely drunk, but you damn well weren’t sober. Thats when you started looking at Harry and Ginny beside each other, and got a horribly wonder idea. It was now your turn to give out a dare. You looked at Harry and gave him a smirk. “Harry, i dare you to kiss Ginny.”

Ginny’s face turned red as Harry shot you a look. You were well aware of his crush on the red head, as you were sure about her feelings towards your older brother. “You..what?” Ron said, you could tell this was making him feel weird. He gave Harry and Ginny a look, as he realized the awkward tension between the two. Although, he soon realized he couldn’t be to upset. He didn’t know Harrys confirmed feelings towards Ginny, but he knew he was most definitely so down bad for you.

Fred and George chuckled and let out a “Ooooo” as they laid back.”Go on lover birds, get to kissin’” George said as Ginny shot her brother a look. “A dares a dare, unless you would like to end your no drink streak?” you teased, giving a smirk to the two of them.

Harry let out a sigh as he locked eyes with Ginny. He put his hands in hers and pulled her close as he inched closer to her face. Their lips immediately meet and share a kiss together as they pull away both with pink faces, Harry having a slight smile on his face.

Ron let out a gag as you, along with Fred and George- laughed. Harry shot you another glare and let out a laugh. “Funny, huh?” Harry spoke, raising his brow. “Very funny, my dear brother” You teased as you finished laughing, sitting back up.

“Alright then, I dare you to makeout with Fred”

The room went silent.

Ron could feel his blood boiling.

You and Fred shared a look. George gave a flirty whistle as Ginny’s jaw dropped. It was then Harry’s turn to laugh. “Go on, or take more shots of firewhiskey.” Harry nudged, looking at you shocked expression. “Harry..- you cant be serious you know I-“ “Do the dare or drink.” Harry interrupted you, giving you a smile as he took a look at Ron. Harry was well aware of Rons crush. He would just wait until Ron would come to him, that way he could tell Ron about his own crush on Ginny.

Ron was fuming. His hands were balled into a fist as he stared at situation infront of him. His girl..- well, not officially.. but he still claimed you as his..- was about to make out with his older brother. He gave you a look as you scooted to Fred.

“Dares a dare, right?” You told Fred, giving Ron a slight pleading look as you turned your attention back to Fred. “You’ll enjoy it sweetheart, for everyone enjoys the kiss of Fred Weasley” Fred joked with you as he gave you a smile, which you returned. As you scooted closer to Fred, and you both leaned in close, you heard a loud stomp as you pulled away and watched as Ron stormed off- clearly angry and upset.

As he vanished up the stairs, you gave a look around as the groups stares on you went to Ron, then back to you. Harry laughed as Ron stormed off as did George, Fred and Ginny did as well. Harry’s laughing stopped however after he noticed you leave up the stairs behind Ron.

“Ron!! Where are you going?” you shouted as you followed him up the stairs.

Ron turned around as he reached the hallway that led to his room that he shared with Harry over the holidays. His eyes landed on you behind him.

“Dont take pity on me, go kiss my git of a brother. Sure seemed like you’d been fantasizing about it all Summer..” Ron said, his eyes not leaving yours. “Ronald, what in Merlins beard are you on about” You squinted your eyes and furrowed your brows as you stayed where you were.

“All the flirting with him, laughing at every joke he says, following him around like a lost dog. I’m not a bloody idiot. It’s him you want. Its so bloody obvious and- bloody hell.. you just dont get how hard it is to watch.” “Ron.. wha-“ “All that loving up you do on him, then me. You dont understand the things you do to me, Y/N.” Ron cut you off as he stepped closer to you.

“Seeing you give that same laugh you give to me to others, then almost go into a makeout session with my brother, it makes me so fucking angry. And you just dont get it.”

“Ron.. what are you saying?”

“I’m bloody inlove with you.”

You froze, his figure hovering over you.

“I.. I’ve always loved you, just now a little different. I want you all to myself and I know it sounds so horrible but Godric, you dont understand how much i want to wake up in the mornings next to you. Or simply be able to just kiss you. Claim you as mine. I want you all to myself. And i know its horrible because your my best mates little sister, but I cant hold it in. Not anymore. I’m bloody inlove with you.”

His eyes soon met yours as you leaned in and slammed your lips against his. His eyes widen as he soon returned and eased against you. His hands finding your waist as yours found his face. You leaned back and looked into his eyes.

“Ron, I’ve felt the same since my 2nd year and your 4th. I’ve always wanted you- wanted this. Not Fred, you. Its always been you, you git.”

Ron let out a chuckle and placed his head against yours.

“Guess we’re both bloody gits, yeah?”

“Oh shut up and kiss me, Ronald.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. His lips came back down to yours as the kiss was passionate and love felt.

As the kiss continued, it became more needy. more yearning. His hands gripped around your waist. This was it, he thought. He could feel his pants tighten around his friend in his pants as he remembered all of those thoughts of you. This was one of the moment he’s dreamed of, passionately kissing you. You let out a moan and gave his tongue permission after he swiped his tongue across your lip. Your tongues danced together as he let out a groan. You tasted so divine, he just wondered you tasted on your other lips. His lips then found your neck, ghosting over your sweet spot as he sucked.

“Ron..” you moaned his name as he rubbed your hip. Ron let out a groan as he heard you moan his name. He’d been dreaming about this for so long. The way you moaned his name sounded exactly how it did when he would stroke his cock as he imagined pounding into your cunt relentlessly, moaning under him.

“Yeah, sweetheart..?” He panted as he parted from your neck, breathless and oh so turned on.

“I want you, well.. I’ve wanted you for a while now and while this isn’t how i wanted you to take me, I need you.”

Ron couldve just cum in his pants at the sound of that.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been wanting to hear you say those words since last school year.”

Ron picked you up from under your ass and carried you to his bedroom. He shut the door with his foot and carried you to his bed as he sat you down and you both left off where you were, tongues dancing together and he rubbed circles on your hips. Your thighs parted as his lower body was pulled close towards your heat. You could feel his hardened cock against your clothed pussy, which made you moan in his mouth.

“M’ gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart, you and your pussy. you want that?”

You could feel your pussy pulsate at that, letting out another moan.

“Yes.. God yes Ronnie..”

Ron attacked your neck again, now his hands wandering up your shirt and played with your breast in your bra. His hands wandered behind and were placed on your bras clasp, giving you a look to confirm you wanted this. When you gave him a nod, he unclasped the piece of clothing from your body. He lifted your shirt up slowly as his eyes widened at the sight of your tits.

“Perfect, so perfect f’me.. always knew these two were so pretty..” he kissed and sucked on your right nipple, which made you throw your head back with a quiet moan. “Been thinking about doing this to you, honey. Always wanted to touch you like this. You do so much more to me then make me flustered from your silly flirting.”

You looked in his eyes as your toes curled in your socks. “Why don’t you show me then Ronnie? show me what all you’ve fantasied about.”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea what your getting yourself into. Besides, theres to many things I’ve thought about that wont be able to fit into just one night.”

You let out a breathly chuckle at his statement as he continued his abuse on your nipple, now on your left.

“Well, that’s quite alright. Guess you’ll just have to do this to me more often, yeah?”

Ron gave you a look as he smirked at you and grabbed the bottom of your shirt.

“I’ll do this everyday if i can make you mine. Which is now making me think..” He drifted off.

“Never asked you to officially be mine, sweetheart. So, would you do the honors of being my girlfriend love?”

You gave him a smile. “Yes, Ronniekins. I would love to be your girlfriend. Now please, fuck me.”

Ron let out a chuckle as he placed another strong kiss against your lips. This time, immediately fighting for dominance with your tongues. He lifted your shirt up and threw it against the floor. Ron grabbed his wand from his nightstand which resulted in your kiss being broken. You let out a whine with the loss of contact. Ron casted a silence charm and then a spell to lock the door. Ron then threw his wand back on his nightstand and he looked into your eyes, then admired your chest. All bare as he pushed you all the way down to the bed, pushing your legs to the foot.

“So fucking perfect, perfect face, perfect tits. Makes me wonder..”

“Mmm, wonder what Ronnie?”

“How perfect that pussy is…”

You knew you were absolutely soaked under as you slowly spread your legs above him. your skirt now exposed your drenched panties. Rons breathe hitched as his hands wandered down to the inside of your thighs.

“You like the idea of this Ronnie? Fucking your best friends little sister?”

Ron let out a chuckle as he locked eyes with you.

“Oh sweetheart I’m going to do much more then just fuck you. M’ gonna destroy you” Ron said. Shivers went down your spine as you shuddered under his touch after his fingers found the hem on your panties. He slowly pulled them down and let out a groan as he saw your now bare cunt infront of him.

“I knew you were so perfect, but sweetheart.. how can you be all of this in one and how can you be mine?” his lips found your neck and continued leaving love marks over your neck as he pulled your skirt down. You were now fully bare under him as he was fully clothed, all that was available to see was the print his cock left in his lounge pants.

“Y’know, its not fair for me to be naked while your still fully clothed, Ronald” You said, rubbing his chest as his abuse on your neck came to a stop. Ron practically threw his shirt off and he let you unbutton his pants. His hard cocks print making a stand as you put your hips up to grind on him.

Ron let out a moan, he knew what you wanted.. but he couldn’t give it to you just yet. You let out a whine as you awaited for him to fuck you already, but he had other plans.

“As bad as I want to destory you already, i need to taste you. That alright sweets?” Ron said, already lowering his head to your pussy. When you nodded a reply as your kept your legs spread, Ron took a good look at your cunt- all wet and ready for his mouth and fingers. His hands rubbed circles on your clit then stuck his middle finger inside your hole. You let out a moan in return, not expecting him to act so suddenly. Rons tongue then licked a long stripe up your cunt, glazing over your clit then vigorously attacking it. You let out a gasp then covered your mouth. Ron shot you a glare. “Make all those sounds for me honey, let me hear how good i make you feel. I casted that special charm for us, remember? Be a good girl and scream my name, yeah?” After that statement, how could you refuse?

You did as you were told. You moaned his name as you squirmed under his touch. His mouth was so skilled when it came to eating pussy, and this was a first for him. He added another finger to your pussy as he continued sucking and fucking you with his mouth and fingers.

“Oh fuck! Ron.. I’m gonna cum.. holy shit!” You were a moaning mess, and his mouth and fingers worked so well against your pussy. “Go ahead, come for me baby..” Ron said, and thats how you needed to hear. You let out a final moan as the band in your stomach snapped, you felt your release come as you rode your high out.

Ron parted from your pussy with his face as he came up to look at you. His chin was covered in your juices as he gave you his goofy smirk. “You taste divine, love” He said as he crawled up to you. You laughed as you pressed a kiss to his forehead. You both stared into each others eyes for a while as you broke the silence.

“Ronnie, please fuck me now.” You gave him those pleading eyes. this is it, Ron thought. this is where his fantasies come true. where he fucks you while you scream and moan his name. It was finally here.

Ron gave you a kiss, which you returned and you could taste your slick from your pussy. “Never thought you’d ask, sweets.”

Ron pulled his underpants down as his large cock sprung free. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock, it was practically at his belly button. “You sure you want this love?” Ron asked, his eyes looking deep into yours. “Yes Ronnie, fuck me. Fuck your best friends little sister.”

Ron didnt need to be told twice yet again as he collected your slick on his cock. As he pushed the tip in, your nails dug into his shoulder, which caused him to let out a hiss. Not only because of your nails, but you were just so fucking tight.

As his pushed his length farther into you, your felt his cock claim your insides as his as he fully finished stuffing you. He kissed you passionately as he let you adjust. When it was time to move, he gave you slow thrusts. His balls slapping against your ass slowly as your pussy suctioned him in. When you gave him the green flag to go faster, he fastened his pace up and you were both a moaning mess. Your pussy felt so full as it welcomed his large cock so willingly.

“Fuck.. pussy so tight. Knew you were made for me, even your pussy was made for my cock.” Ron spoke as he let out moans in your ear.

“Fucking my best friends little sister.. Gods i love you.. Im so lucky. I’ve wanted to do fuck you and just be with you f’ so long.. your..- fuckkk..- not goin’ anywhere sweetheart..” Ron rambled on as he fucked you relentlessly like he promised. His dick twitching inside as you felt his tip threaten to enter to womb.

“F-fuck.. Ronnie.. I’m gonna cum..” You were gasping for air as his cock hit that spot inside you. You could tell he was close with the way his thrust were more sloppy and fast. He let out a groan as he continued the constant abuse to your G- spot.

“Gonna cum sweetheart.. shit..- gonna let me cum in this pussy? claim you as mine, yeah?” Ron said in your war as he groaned.. “Yes.. yes please Ron! Cum inside my pussy..!” After those words came out of your mouth. Ron could barley control himself anymore. Ron finally let go and let his sperm fill your hole up. Your finally released at the feeling, cumming around him for the second time.

As you both came down from your highs, he flopped down beside you as you both caught your breath.

“I’ve wanted that for so long.. wanted you for so long. And I know it sounds so wrong because.. well you are my best friends little sister but your my dream girl, Y/n.” Rons words made you flip to him and stroke the sweat drenched hair out of his face and made a smile plaster onto your face.

“Ron, I feel the same way about you to. I always have. I’ve always wanted this.. wanted you. Your my dream boy.” You both shared another passionate kiss with one another, enjoying each others presence. Ron stood up to get you some of his clothes to sleep in and hid your clothes under his bed, just in case Harry wouldnt find out what exactly happened. After you were both in pajamas (you in an oversized shirt and and old pair of sleep shorts), you bundled next to one another and shared one final kiss before sleep overtook the two of you.

He was now your boy, and you were Ronald Weasleys girl. Ron eventually told Harry about the two of you, which in return Ron was returned with information about Harry and Ginnys secret romance with each other. Although Ron was not to happy about that, he was just happy he could call you his.

hey there! let me know how you felt about this story in the comments or my inbox! hope yall enjoyed it💖

[skulla-rxcks]

❤️‍🩹Cold steak💋

Paring: Werewolf!Chan x fem reader

Rating: explicit

Genre: smut

Warnings: PIV, unprotected

Day 3 of ktober

Not being able to sleep once again you decide to go for a walk, to look for your favourite creature of the night, this time bringing him a nice meal, but he wants more than that. He wants you as his meal.

Taglist: @f3lix00 @channiesgoodgirl @mal-lunar-28 @bangchans-gf5 @fun-fanfics @iwannabangchan @linosluver

Please dm me or use my inbox if you’d like to be added to the taglist ^^

!THIS IS PURE FICTION, NOTHING IN THIS IS REAL ITS JUST A STORY!

A/n: FYI this kind of ties into my other werewolf Chan fics so in this you already know Chan, the other two are probably better written if you end up liking this one please check them out ❤️

I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep at all, not even a blink. I’m staring at my ceiling and my minds all clogged up with all kinds of different thoughts.

I’d go for a walk but it’s too cold outside, and it’s also a full moon so I might see that werewolf guy again- whatever the hell his name was, i remember it started with ‘C’ though. I do want to try find him and see how he’s doing; it’s been a few months at least, maybe I should bring him some more meat this time.

I head into my kitchen and turn on the stove, I start frying some steak with some garlic and herbs for seasoning. I begin to cook up a nice simple meal; mainly consisting of steak and herbs, and a little bit of pasta on the side.

I put the food on a plate and take it out with me, ‘holy fuck it’s cold..’ I murmur to myself, putting my jacket on before locking up my apartment. I wonder where he is this time, probably at or around the lake. I continue down the path, the sounds of my boots crushing the rocks under my feet as I walk.

I make my way to the lake, sitting down on a rock, taking in the beautiful scenery of the water glistening in the moonlight.

I hear breathing creeping up behind me, the figure starts caressing my breasts from behind.

“Thought I smelled something tasty..” I turn my head, it’s him, the guy I was looking for, well, thing. “I was looking for you.. why haven’t you turned? Isn’t it a full moon?” I ask him, turning around to face him. He takes his hands of me “yeah but, it isn’t that bright tonight.. which is probably why.” He explains to me.

“Can I ask what your name is again.. I kind of forgot, it’s been a while.” “Chan, Chris. Whatever you prefer, pretty. Did you come back because you missed me? Because I missed you more. Need to fill you with my puppies again.”

I blush at his words, giving him a shy nod.

“I also bought you more food.. I tried to make something a bit more fancy this time.” I hand him the plate. “Here, try it, let me know what you think..” He smiles in response, taking a bite of the meal I made especially for him. “Tastes good but it’s a bit too cold for me.” He says, placing the place on the rock next to me using it as a makeshift table before taking a seat as well. “I’m so sorry uhm, do you want to come back with me to my apartment so you can heat it to your liking?”

“I think I’d prefer something else first, I’m fine with cold meat, if it’s yours.” Chan licks his lips. “May I? I’d love to watch you come undone for me once again..” I bite my lip, his words making it harder to resist as he explains how much he wants to taste me, to make me feel good again.

“Okay, uhm, what would you like me to do.?” I smile shyly, it’s been ages since I’ve been intimate with someone, last time I was it was with him so I don’t know why I’m so shy all of the sudden. “Bra off, wanna bury my face in your beautiful titties, I’ll pay attention to your cunt later.” I do as he says, lifting my shirt up over my head and unclipping my bra, my boobs bouncing slightly as they loose the support. “Just as pretty as I remember, mm..” he pulls me into his lap, reaching up and massaging my breast while wrapping his warm wet lips around one of my nipples.

“Nngh..!” I let out a whimper, the sensation of his lips on me and the cold air of the night making me so fucking wet I can hardly take it anymore; being not able to resist I start grinding myself on his thigh, trying to create friction between his thigh and my crotch. “Chris.. pussy.. touch my pussy.” I beg, rubbing myself harder against him. “Needy baby..” he chuckles, unzipping my jeans and putting his hand in my panties, rubbing my clitorus as he continues to suckle on my nipple. “I’m gonna cum..” I moan out. “Already? No your not, not yet baby girl.” He pulls away, removing his hands from my body, completely making me deny my orgasm. “Why..?”

“Take me to your place, gonna ruin you in your own home.”

I blush at the thought of him fucking me in my own bed, so I agree. Putting my shirt and bra back on before taking his hand and leading him into my apartment.

“I just realised I left the food.” He exclaims.

“Who cares, fuck the food! Fuck me instead” I take him into my room, I turn around and strip completely naked, once I turn back I see that he’s turned. Finally, for some reason him having ears, claws and a tail only escalates my excitement for him to be inside of me. “Lay down and open your fucking legs.” He growls, pushing me down on my bed, as soon as I open my legs he pushes inside of me with a loud grunt. “Tight cunt.. god I needed this.” Chan thrusts into me hard, making me moan out in pleasure, his dick fills me up so fucking well.

“You feel so fucking good.. fuck you’re killing me here, baby. You’re killing me.” Im holding onto him tightly as he ruins my cunt, digging my nails into his back. “Chris~ please. cum inside me.. I wanna be filled with your puppies..” I beg as I grab onto him harder, almost painfully gripping him. “here it comes.. take it.. take all of my cum inside of your greedy pussy.” with one final thrust he fills me up, filling up my hole so well I can feel his semen dripping out of me. I force my lips onto his and kiss him deeply before passing out from tiredness. and soon after he does too.

[erosmutt]

I hope you're still doing requests pooks, but if not, ignore this and double penetration request 😅 sorry im a horny virgin who's also chronically depressed and sorry for how long this request is

hayden x virgin reader who's like 22 so I can indulge pls

okay reader can't stomach hookup culture cause she needs emotional intimacy and chemistry first. sex has sentiment and she wants to save herself for someone she's in love with (not necessarily marriage)

hayden and reader meet at her job or something, hit it off despite the age gap, and go on dates without ever having sex bc establishing a relationship without being clouded by lust 💪🏼💪🏼 she invites him to her apartment to have an intimate hangout with no expectations for sex but he's so sweet and touchy and patient so then she's like I love him and I want to fuck his cute self

they do all the foreplay and he guides her through giving him a blowjob (at her insistence) then they make love and it's actually sweet (gentle love, admiring each other, lots of eye contact) and very human with mistakes that they just laugh off 🫶🏼🫶🏼

pls if u don't write any other request of mine, do this and I will smooch the shit out of you every day for a whole summer

i am literally always taking requests!! like . my inbox is always open. never closes. also i would never ignore a request unless it's like against what i have in my rules. i love love looove how you always are so creative and give such long requests. i love yew tamara <3 this ended up being very long! enjoy :]

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ★ virginity loss, blowjob, passionate sex, hayden comfort as always!⠀⠀─⠀⠀WRITTEN BY EROSMUTT 25.04.19  ⋆  HAPPY HAYDEN DAY!

"Your place is so cozy," Hayden comments with a fond smile as he looks around at the decor. Your apartment is fairly small, but it's cluttered with things that are just so you. There's a tabby cat lounging in a cat tree by the window, and he tilts his head, making his way over. You've mentioned your cat, Andi, before, but he's never had the pleasure of meeting him until today. He smiles, bending down and giving the cat a gentle scratch underneath its chin. "Hey there buddy," he coos, melting at the way the small feline scrunches its nose and leans into his touch.

As he pets and plays with Andi, you go to the kitchen, grabbing some snacks. "You can put whatever you want on the TV," you call from the kitchen, voice raised to be heard over the shifting and crinkling of the packages of snacks. He looks over at the remote on the coffee table and smiles. "Alright," he pulls away from Andi who watches him curiously as he goes to the couch and sits down with a sigh.

Soon, the two of you are settled in on the couch, a blanket thrown over your laps and bowl of popcorn on his lap. Hayden's right hand rests on your thigh, absentmindedly rubbing as the other grabs kernels of popcorn, bringing them up to his mouth and snacking as he watches the show you both agreed on that's playing on the TV in front of you.

The entire duration of the visit, you've been increasingly needy and getting more and more fussy and agitated, shifting constantly and opening and closing your legs. He took it as you being uncomfortable and was concerned, constantly asking if you were okay. Eventually, though, once you kept shifting impossibly closer to him, he got the unspoken memo and repositioned you himself so you have your legs over his lap, his large, warm hands resting on your thighs, dangerously close to your clothed privates.

"Are you okay?" Hayden murmurs softly, his other hand gently gripping your side, careful to not tickle you. You let out an agitated sob, your hands coming up to rub your eyes. "I didn't wanna say anything," you begin. "but I... I really want you to touch me, Hay." He nods in understanding, both hands now caressing you in an unsure attempt to soothe you. "It's okay, I get it, I could tell," he grins, making your cheeks flush a dark pink. "Fuck, I'm sorry," you whisper. He shakes his head. "No no, don't apologize. I've got you. Tell me what you need, and I'll make it happen."

You let out a soft sigh before biting your lip, gently gnawing the skin off as you ponder how to word your request. "Mmmm... can I..." you trail off, not daring to look up at him. "Can I um... can I give you a blowjob?"

Hayden raises his eyebrows, a bit surprised that you would be so straightforward. Getting over his initial shock, he nods. "Of course. Do you--" "I got it," you cut him off, not wanting him to think that you're inexperienced. You are inexperienced, and you have an idea of how to give a guy a blowjob, but you've never done it yourself, not even on a toy, considering you don't own any. He nods, and watches as you, with newfound fervor, throw the blanket off of the both of you and get on your knees before him, pushing his knees apart.

Now that you're in such a vulnerable position, you're absolutely terrified.

"Um... oh..." you murmur, hands falling uselessly to your lap. He can't help but chuckle, making you frown a bit. "Let me help you," he insists. "Okay?" You nod. He grabs a throw pillow off the couch and hands it to you. "Here, kneel on this so your knees don't start hurting." You follow his orders, putting it underneath you and settling onto it. "Now, let me see your hands," you offer your hands, and he takes them in his own soft ones, positioning them at the waistband of his sweatpants. "Whenever you're ready, take them off."

You nod, hooking your fingers into his pants and gently tugging them down his thighs as he lifts his hips in assistance. In the thin fabric of his boxers, his hardening cock twitches, and you gasp, looking at his crotch with fascination. Hayden laughs, shaking his head. You really are inexperienced. "Do you want me to take these off myself, or do you want to do it?" You think for a moment before pointing at him silently. He nods, lifting his hips once more and letting his boxers pool around his ankles along with his pants. The sight of his cock standing proud before you makes you gasp again, and you slap your hand over your mouth. "Oh my god," you whisper in awe. Real dicks are so much different from dildos.

Hayden leans down and gently strokes your cheek. "When you're ready, you can hold it." You tentatively reach out and wrap your hand around his velvety shaft, eyes widening in genuine awe as you get a spur of confidence and start to stroke him. "I'm uncut," he informs you, observing your confused face. You raise an eyebrow. He smiles. "Uncircumcised." "Oh," you murmur in newfound understanding. There's no way you're this oblivious to male anatomy.

"Here," he moves a bit closer to the edge of the couch. "Do you want to put it in your mouth now?" You nod, scooting closer, feeling the warmth of his skin and taking in his musk. You lean down and slowly open your mouth, then you take his tip in your mouth and let out a soft, muffled squeak of surprise at the salty taste of pre that hits your tongue. He gently cups your face, helping to guide you down. "Shh, that's it, just take it slow, you're doing great lovie," he praises with a small smile. You can only take his tip and a bit of his shaft before you whimper and pull off of him. "Hayden I can't,"

He nods. "Okay, that's okay, we can try something else." He helps you up onto the couch. "Do you want to go to the bedroom?" He offers. You nod, and he pulls his bottoms up before motioning for you to lead the way. You do so, and the two of you end up on your bed together. "I'm sorry it's so small," you apologize softly, smoothing out the cover anxiously. He sits beside you, hands underneath your shirt. "It's okay, we can make do with what we've got," he reassures, gently lifting your top up off your body, setting it to the side neatly. You cover yourself with your arms, and his expression softens at the way your insecurity is on full display. "Would it help if I undress?" You nod, and he gets up, stripping down until he's fully nude. When he turns around to put his clothes on your desk chair, you tilt your head. He has a nice ass.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," he reminds you, making his way back over to you. He gets onto the bed, crawling over you, and you fall onto your back, looking up at him with big, scared eyes. "Haydie," you murmur. "I'm scared." Hayden pouts a bit. "I get it, we'll go slow, I'm not in a hurry." His tip gently prods at your clothed cunt and your breath hitches. You need him. Now.

Cheeks flushed and body tingling with need, you part your legs. "I'm ready, I promise," you whisper softly. He nods, starting to remove your jeans. "Can I take your panties off too?" You nod. He shimmies them off you and tosses them onto the chair with his clothes. "Woah, you're beautiful," he whispers softly. Your cheeks flush a deeper pink and you don't feel as afraid now, his praise fueling your confidence. "Thank you," you murmur.

He grips the base of his shaft and gently rubs his tip against your clit. "Let me know when I can put it in." You take a shaky breath and swallow down your anxiety. "Okay, you can put it in." Hayden kisses your forehead, lips lingering on your skin as he slowly pushes into you. "Ohh..."

The both of you stay like this for a moment - you're registering that you've officially lost your virginity and he's relishing in the feeling of being inside a woman after years. He rests his arms on either side of your head, his pretty blue eyes staring into yours. Your hand comes up and tangles gently in his curls, your eyes searching his for any disgust or hesitation. Of course, you find none. There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before you speak up. "Hayden?" He nods. "Yeah?" You mess with his hair, lips fixed in a slight pout. "Um, you can move." He chuckles. "Oh, you're impatient, huh?"

You widen your eyes. "No, no! I'm not! I'm just telling you--" he grins. "I'm just messing with you, sweetheart. I'll start moving." He takes a breath before starting to rock his hips, slowly and steadily. "God, you feel amazing," he whispers. "feel so good around me."

Slowly but surely, his pace picks up, but he slips out of you and the both of you laugh. "Sorry," he apologizes, his face going red in embarrassment. "'s 'kay," you giggle, holding his hands, your fingers laced with his. He lets go of one hand to guide himself back in, then continues fucking you, letting out a soft exhale. "I-I just realized," he whispers, eyes widening. "I didn't put on a condom..."

The two of you stare at each other. He blinks. You blink in return. "Uh, it's okay," you reassure, trying to do so to yourself more than him. "We can buy a pill." He shakes his head. "No, they're really expensive, I'll just pull out," you nod, giving a soft hum of approval. "Okay, we'll get a pill." You concede.

Once he's close, Hayden pants, tightening his grip on your hands. "I'm gonna cum," he whispers, his breath warm against your face. "Me too, 'm close," you whisper back before biting your lip. He pulls out of you the both of you still, your orgasms coming over you both at the same time. He spills himself onto your lower tummy, and you cover your mouth to not be so loud as you cum with a low moan.

The two of you come down from your highs, and Hayden leans down, pressing soft kisses to your cheek repeatedly. "You were so good," he murmurs between kisses. "so amazing," he smiles against your skin and pulls away, looking into your eyes with a fond smile. "I hope I did just as good."

[toruro]

i just think….toxic ex bf!dino who starts hoeing out to make you jealous.. he fucks any random girl at any random party but only thinks of you, making sure his hickeys are visible enough for you to see them, posting pics with randoms on his socials 💭

nectar of the gods

tags: smut (18+), angst, toxic chan (duhh), pet names (baby), creampie

w/c: 1.4k

a/n: this concept is insanity actually anon i am in love with u (WINK WONK WINK WONK WINK WONK) ..,,, pls visit my inbox more often :3

thinking about your toxic ex chan.

it's funny when you say that, because he was the one who said he wanted to end things on good terms; told you he wanted "none of that drama ... none of that petty shit." chan had said it so casually that you're now having a hard time trying to figure out if you're going crazy.

crazy, because just three nights after you two ended things, he was posting on his finsta (which, by the way, he demanded you stay on for the sake of keeping peace and not cutting ties) at some party you weren't invited to with some girl you didn't know dancing—no, grinding—on the same man whose lap you were bouncing on just a week earlier.

crazy, because two days later you go to hang out with your group of friends and of course chan is there (because when isn't chan there?), and you swear you haven't seen him wear a shirt with a collar that low in ages and ... is that a hickey? you might go crazy.

crazy, because you aren't sure if he expects you to stare ..,, crazy, because you swear you see his lips curve upwards into a smug smirk when you turn your eyes away, bashfully heating up in the cheeks. "you good?" he asks casually, when you choke over your water a little when you decide to glance back at him and catch second and third splotchy, bruising mark under his collarbone.

crazy, because you aren't sure why your stomach bubbles up with some nasty feeling of ... anger? uncertainty? jealousy?

crazy, because how could you be jealous? you broke up with him—told him you've got too much going on in your life, and while chan was great and all, you don't really have the time for a boyfriend right now. so really, you have no right to be jealous, isn't that correct?

fuck, you've gone crazy.

it doesn't help that you try to avoid him. the next week, you don't sit next to him in the lecture you have together, and you don't think chan'll make a fuss about it. after all, it seems like he's moving on just fine, so you hardly consider the fact that he might be just a bit bothered by the fact that you choose to sit next to seungcheol instead.

you don't expect him to walk up to you afterwards with a frown etched deep into his lips as he scoffs, "already throwing yourself on my friends?" to which you'd like to respond with: "aren't you doing just the same?" ... 'cept you don't say that, because that would mean you're jealous, right? and you're not jealous ... no way!

so you just shake your head softly and say that you're sorry for causing a fuss. that you'll sit with him next time. that you'll start talking to seungcheol less. chan grins at you and nods his head, and as he turns away to head to his car, you catch the fading mark on his neck from a few nights before, and wonder if you should say something.

you don't, of course.

that night you go home, and you're scrolling on your insta and then there's that bright ring around the chan's finsta and so curiosity undoubtedly kills the cat. maybe you tear up a little at the sight of a an obviously faded chan who's got his cheek pressed up against another girl's, both of them grinning as people party in the background.

and so you call him, and he's sweet at first. asks you, "hey what's up ... hey are you crying?" to which you respond with more sniffles. and you wanna hang up, you wanna hang up so bad, but then you think that if you cut the call he's just gonna go off and talk to that girl—or worse, he'll fuck her—and you're totally not jealous but you also totally can't let that happen.

and so you cry a bit harder—you replay the image of those stupid, big fat hickeys on his neck—and you let your tummy churn while you wallow in your own self pity.

"what's wrong baby?" chan asks you from the other side, and in the background you faintly hear the blaring techno and you briefly consider telling him you miss him, which is odd because you don't miss him ... do you? you just don't want him to go off with what's-her-face ... right?

and so you're silent, tryin' to figure out what you should say but then you hear this voice and it's too high pitched, too bubbly, too girly to be chan's, and suddenly your heart sinks right down to your stomach.

"channie, c'mon! let's have some fun?" the voice of a girl calls in the background, and you're just about to open your mouth and say something when chan beats you to it.

"i gotta go," he tells you in a rush and oh the sound of the line being cut will be you're undoing, because now the image of chan fucking this random ass girl burns into your skull and for some reason, you can't seem to shave it down.

and so you drown yourself in your tears, pressing yourself into the cushions of your couch and your sobs rack through your empty living room while chan is probably in some strangers room fucking the living daylights out of a cunt that isn't yours.

you think you might just fall asleep like this—alone in this dimly lit room with nothing but your tears dropping onto your lap; and so when you hear chan's voice you think this might be a dream, but then you look up and suddenly you see him.

he stands in front of you in all his glory, face flushed and faux blonde hair brushes just over his eyes as he walks closer to where you sit on your couch. chan shushes you when you ask him why he's still got your keys—tells you that isn't important right now—and he cups your cheeks and wipes your tears, asks you why you're crying, why there are tears in your eyes when "channie's right here ... channie's not gonna leave you ..."

and then he's kneeling in front of you, askin' you again why you're crying and so you cry even harder ... his hands are all over you, stroking your cheeks and then rubbing your shoulders, then one hand's on your hip and kneading the soft flesh and you think he's just trying to comfort you and so you cry even harder because you wonder whether he had his hands on that girl just moments earlier.

but then he's whispering in your ear, tellin' you he's gonna "make you feel better ..." but only if you'll let him.

his hands feel so nice all over you, rubbing up and down your thighs and—fuck, when did he slip his fingers between your legs? not that you care anyways, because even with your mind deluded with tears, you find the want to slowly hump your hips into his touch until he's slipping his hand down your pant, asking you if this is you letting him "make you feel good."

of course, you whine through your tears, nodding dumbly when he slips his rough fingers into your soaked cunt, murmuring into your neck 'bout how "channie's always gonna be here to make you feel better ... channie's never gonna leave ..."

he fingers you for a bit, and then he fucks you into the couch. it's hot and sloppy and heavy and messy, and it has you crying and panting—hands all over each other because you can't get enough of him.

your lips run all over his neck, his chest, collarbone—all of it, because you are in no way jealous, you just enjoy marking your territory. and chan fucks you so deep, groaning, "this pussy's made for me—just for me, you hear me?" and you are not a jealous person but you grin to yourself in this fucked out haze because chan is right.

you wrap your arms around his neck as he fucks you missionary, raking your nails into his back, tugging at the roots of his hair—doin' everything you fucking can to show chan that he might not be yours but he is yours, and you are his.

the thought that this might come and bite you in the ass crosses your mind briefly, but chan is quick to fuck your worries away, tellin' you "no one's gonna fuck you like this ..." and so you moan, and chan takes that as an agreement, so he fucks you harder until you're choking over your own sobs of pleasure.

"this pussy's mine, you got that baby?"

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hello my love could I please request Thor with “Vampires AU” please for your 6k celebration 💗🫶🏼

.⋆｡Blood Bag｡⋆.

Thor x plus size reader

You need a job and the ancient and powerful vampire on the edge of town needs blood, of course nothing could go wrong

Warnings: Vampire!AU, virgin!reader, lots of blood talk, age-gap (obvi), brief mentions of vamp!Loki and a different reader insert, flirting WC: 1.5k

6k Follower Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, you thought as you looked up at the huge wrought iron gates that separated the old estate from the real world. The job listing had been simple; ‘Blood donations for vamp wanted. Virgin preferred. Guaranteed $5000 per feed.’ At first, you disregarded it, letting your gaze travel to the smattering of other postings on the site. But that number tugged at your mind well into the night, practically haunting your dreams until, in an act of temporary madness, you sprang up at three in the morning and filled out the application, sending it in before you could second guess yourself.

By the time you awoke several hours later, you had a nice fat contract sitting in your inbox and a request for a clean physical from your prospective employer. You hesitated to accept until you saw the upfront money you would receive before your first donation, it would easily cover your rent for the next two months.

So here you were, a paper with your clean bill of health in one hand and an overnight bag in the other, staring up at the biggest house you had ever seen in real life, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you would be a few quarts lighter. The gates creaked as they swung open for you and suddenly, you wondered if this was actually the beginning of some horror movie starring you as the gullible first victim.

Yet you stepped forwards anyway, following the long trail of your shadow up the drive. The gravel crunching under your feet quickly grounded you, it was well-known that vamps could literally smell fear and it would do you no good to sour your blood before your first meeting. 

Only a few windows were illuminated as the sun dipped below the horizon, urging you to move faster and get in the house before night truly fell even if what was inside the manor could bring more danger than anything that roamed the grounds under the cover of darkness. 

“You’re early.” Golden eyes gazed down at you from the now open front door. 

“Jesus! Oh shit, sorry I should not have said that. I-“ The man smiled and stepped back from the entryway, gesturing for you to come in.

You stumbled into the huge foyer, the tension locking up your joints slowly loosening as the warmth of the home seeped into your body. “Do not fret, many of the stories you have been told are false. We are not harmed by any mere name so there is nothing to apologise for. Now, may I take your things? I will file away your physical in a lock box in the Master’s office. A room has already been prepared for your stay. I do apologise if the bedding is not to your liking, I fear it has been many centuries since anyone in this house has felt the need for sheets and pillows.”

The man, who you could now carefully observe in the soft light of the chandelier above you both, took your things from you before you could fully digest what he said. “How many people live here?” He danced at you with a soft smile, his lips pressed together so as to not reveal the deadly fangs that all of his kind possessed.

“Only four. We do have several maids that come in every few weeks but they don’t reside on the property. You will only be feeding one person, don’t worry. The Master’s younger brother lives in the West Wing along with his wife who provides the blood he needs.”

“And your Master?” The man’s golden eyes sparkled with something akin to affection as you walked alongside him, your footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent halls.

“You may call him Thor, he is a kind man. It was only at my suggestion that you were brought here, vampires can only live off of animal blood for so long before they need fresh human blood. The Master has spent the last 50 years refusing to harm a human in order to fulfil his baser instinct,” The grand staircase led you to a long hall of doors with intranet tapestries between them, “He has grown weak, he needs to properly feed. And now that humans have accepted vampires as a natural part of society, he was far more open to the idea than before.”

He stopped in front of the second to last door, gracefully pulling out a key to allow you entry. “Here is your room. I’ve left some toiletries and snacks out for you, please eat before and after the feeding but if you forget, I am sure the Master will remind you. If you need anything else, you can ring that bell,” he gestured to the pull cord in the corner of the room, “Or simply call my name and I will come.”

You nodded but as he turned to leave, you spat out, “Sorry, I didn’t ask your name.”

“Heimdall, miss.” The door clicked shut, leaving you alone once more. 

Indeed there were snacks on the desk below the call bell, although it looked more like they were bought by an 8 year old who was just let loose in a candy shop with their parent’s credit card than anything else. But you supposed that ancient vampires didn’t really know how to food shop for humans. You picked out a packet of Twizzlers as you wandered further in, taking in the ornate bedroom that looked like it was pulled directly out of Pride and Prejudice. An ensuite connected to the room revealed a huge clawfoot tub (that you were shamelessly fantasising about using after meeting the man of the hour) and a large vanity with some fancy soaps by the sink.

“I hope you are pleased with your room?” A deep voice rumbled from somewhere behind you.

You whipped around in a panic only to be met with the sight of the most handsome man you had seen in your life. He stood well over six feet tall but the bulging muscles of his arms and legs made him look even bigger. His blond hair was cropped short, immediately drawing your gaze to the eyepatch over his right eye, though you quickly looked away, not wanting to seem rude to the man. He tutted and gently guided you back to face him with a hooked finger under your soft chin.

“You are more beautiful than I thought you would be.” You faltered, and his blue eye shone.

“Oh um thank you.” The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stepped closer, letting his touch trail down from your jaw, stopping briefly on your neck before travelling down to your collarbone, his large thumb fitting perfectly in the divot of your throat. Your pulse grew stronger as you caught a flat of his fangs. 

“You’re frightened, aren’t you little one?”

“No.” His plump lips curled up in a prideful smirk.

“Good girl.” Your chest seized. “Now, I believe we need to discuss your limits before you provide me with a meal.” Thor released his hold upon you but your skin still burned with his touch, urging you to chase the feeling once more yet you remained glued to the spot. 

He turned to look at the pile of sweets that were left for you. “I wonder how sweet these will make you.” He muttered almost to himself.

“Do you want me to shower before you feed?” He hummed. 

“I would prefer you not, strong scents tend to sour the blood.” 

“And, do you um do you want to drink directly from me?” That earned you a deep rumbling groan from the man, his eyelid fluttering. 

He seemed to lose himself for just a moment before his broad chest inflated and he faced you fully once more. “Only if you allow me to. If not, Heimdall has already prepared an IV.” Bashfully, you clasped your hands together.

“I’m scared of needles so I think directly would be fine.” He chuckled and gestured towards the huge bed in the centre of the room that had far too many pillows on it.

“Then shall we get started?” Your shoes skittered along the hardwood floor as you kicked them off before shedding your oversized sweater, revealing the very low-cut top you had picked out for today. Thor’s gaze burned into you as he hungrily traced your curves. “I seem to find it hard to believe that you are a virgin. You are ethereal, little one.”

Your lips parted but the only thing that escaped them was a squeak of surprise. “Oh I liked that sound, I think I need you to make it more often.” You ducked your head and climbed onto the mattress, Thor following closely behind. He knocked off a majority of the pillows, leaving only a couple on the left side of the bed. You kneeled next to him, your knees barely brushing his hip.

“Come closer, I cannot feed when you are so far away.” His hands grabbed your wide hips and pulled you onto his lap without so much as a breath of exertion. Your soft legs parted, allowing for his body to slip between them as he sat back upon the headboard, a dangerously pleased expression colouring his features. “There we go. Now, we stop whenever you feel uncomfortable.”

Your hands fell to his expansive shoulders, giving the muscles a soft squeeze. “Yes sir.” You answered in a daze.

Using his right hand, Thor tilted your head, exposing the delicate vein along your jugular. “Good girl.”

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[v3nusxsky]

GIRLIE I FORGOT THE PW TO MY ACC, but i’m back now lmao!

if you’re still taking requests - can i request a fic with em? where you and her are besties, yk the usu; but you’re absolutely in love with her, and you’re low key unsure she feels the same way (or if that she even likes women too) so you don’t tell her<3 until like, some angsty ass shit happens which makes you confess.

- 🐦

(i fell in love with my irl bsf, this req is basically self-indulgent lmao)

Oblivious

*Authors note ~ girlie your back filling my inbox with genius prompts once more. Another daily gift from me to you all and Emily’s first time appearing this month. Once again sorry it took me so long to get to these guys! I hope you’re enjoying the event this time! Feel free to let me know what you would wanna see*

Trigger warnings~ reader is a hopeless lesbian🫢best friends < lovers usual criminal minds shenanigans love confession

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

Emily Prentiss. Need I say more? The woman was practically a goddess wearing a badge and gun holstered to her hip. All while being effortlessly breathtaking. Yet she’s more than looks. Your best friend, co worker and teammate. Yet something simmered in your heart for her, to be more than those. It started subtly, being invited on girls nights after joining the team, to sending each other book recommendations and bonding over common interests. You and Emily were close, there’s no denying that. Yet you couldn’t tell her you wanted to be more than friends. Hell you didn’t even know if she was gay. Sure there were certain vibes that made you think possibly, maybe but then you saw they the unsubs flirted with her at work and it was like a weight crushing you. Maybe she wasn’t gay. Maybe she was? Either way you were too afraid to ruin what you had already by asking the question.

This recent case was hitting too close to home for you. Women couples being lured by the individual and brutally murdered just for being gay and the recent victims happened to have some of your characteristics. It’s a scary feeling, to know people out there would harm you just because of what your heart wants. Reminding you of your teen age years spent terrifed of anyone at school finding out. The disgust that flickered in your own mother’s eyes the night she found out who you really are.

Emily quickly sensed your distress on the case and quickly became your anchor, guiding you through the darkness just as you did for her when cases got tough. But a few days in with little to no leads on the case was wearing on your nerves and everyone could tell. You just wanted to go to Emily’s place, sit on her sofa and drink wine with her as she fusses over Sergio. Home. Your happy place seemed so far away these days and although Emily was here you couldn’t help but yearn for more. Seeing her near enough all day every day just wasn’t enough when there is an invisible divide between you both.

In the rough moments you couldn’t help but crave her hand in yours, arms wrapped around each other as you sought comfort from her or even the gentle way she’d kiss away your falling tears. You knew Emily was an attentive lover because of her past, you would remain jealous of everyone who had the pleasure to feel her love yet couldn’t muster the courage to even find out if she would be with a woman. To see if you had a chance. Roll the dice and see what it lands on, you would be hers or she wouldn’t want you. And the latter terrifies you. “We need to send you in” rang through your mind. You. Into the unsubs den. Alone? Fuck. “It’s the only way we can lure him out to take him down. We will have a few of us right there in the room with you.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be in there waiting to take him out the moment he gets close enough.” Emily. Emily was going to be there? It was bad enough to put yourself into this situation but now Emily would run the risk of danger too. Obviously danger comes with the job, it’s what you both signed up for but if something was to end wrong? It couldn’t be her who ended up hurt. That’s what made you agree as well as knowing this creep wouldn’t harm anyone else after tonight they’d be safely locked up.

From there it’s all happened so fast, you dolled up wishing it was for just a date with Emily rather than to capture this criminal. The bass seeped into your bones as you entered the club, the dim flashing lights only adding to the atmosphere. The bar was where you first headed, immediately checking your environment where you noted Derek in one corner, JJ blending in with the crowds who were body to body blissfully unaware of what was occurring but no Emily. After a sip of Dutch courage you caught his attention instantly as you flirted with the bartender. She sorta looked like Emily, the dark hair and dark eyes were what drew you to her.

It all happened so fast, one minute you are at the bar next thing you know there’s a hand on the small of your back guiding you out the back entrance of the club. Screaming was no use especially when you felt the tip of a blade in your side, waiting for the time to enter. Wearing heels was a poor choice as he threw you to the filthy ground, spewing hate at you as a justification for his next action. It was all so quick as you instinctively went to protect yourself and escape only to be caught with his hand in your hair and thrown back with a grunt of pain. Pain was radiating from head to toe but your adrenaline was stronger for the time being. You could hear your teams footsteps getting louder as the closed in and clearly so could he.

The knife that was slammed into your abdomen was messy and uncomfortable. Due to the interruption his usual precise cuts were all gone. Instead leaving behind a jagged cut that had blood seeping all over your dress and staining the cold cobbles you lay on. “Stay where you are!” Arron commanded as Emily rushed to your side. “Hey, hey. It’s em. Y/n it’s your Emily can you look at me sweetheart?” Even bleeding to your death her voice is angelic causing you to obey her. Your eyes flickered to her dark ones holding unshed tears as her hands put pressure around the knife. Pulling it out seemed too risky but the way you sobbed at her actions caused guilt to course through her. “Shush sweetheart, I’m sorry I have to do this, just lay still for me okay? Where’s that fuckin medic?”

Your eyes flickered open to florescent lights as you groaned in pain, the heart monitor steadily beat beside you. “You need to tell her em-“ your groan startled the blonde causing her and Emily to shift their gaze to you. “Welcome back” JJ murmured to you causing you to smirk back at her, “can’t get rid of me that easily Jay” each word sounded strained and Emily felt her heart break with each sound. It’s truly unfair how many times each member of the team has been in a hospital bed while the others worried if they’d pull through so after a reassuring pat to Emily’s shoulder and an air kiss blown to you the blonde left to inform everyone you were now awake.

“Emily” you started only to be shut up as she moved to press her lips to yours. Nothing sweet or gentle about this, it’s raw and intimate. “I almost lost you” she mumbled against your lips before stealing another kiss, “and never would’ve been able to do that. I can’t wait anymore sweet girl life’s too short.”

“Am I dreaming? Or have they put me on the good shit?” You muttered dumbly, left finger tips touching your freshly kissed lips as Emily chuckled at your reaction. “No dream but you are on some pretty good meds right now sweetheart however, that was real. I want to be with you, more than friends, and nearly losing you made me realise I can’t wait forever to tell you. I understand if you don’t feel the same. We can forget it ever happened but I need you to know.”

“You. Want. Me?” Your confusion was evident. She wanted you like you wanted her? No way. You had to have died right? “ I want you y/n. And I think you want me? J has been saying you do but why would you want me? So I waited to see if you’d say anything and you never did. I figured friends were better than nothing…” you let a pained chuckle loose at her words. “Kiss me again” you whispered to the brunette as she moved away from you in fear she’d ruined something here.

Heaven. Her lips on yours. A little moan escaped you, could it be pain or desire? You weren’t sure you cared with her this close. “I want you too Emily prentiss. I should get stabbed more often if you keep kissing me like this.” It was then that the team decided to make their entrance. Emily leaning over the hospital bed, lips glued to yours as the team muttered a chorus of cheers and “about damn time.”

Word count~ 1450

[muffinsin]

Can you please write dimitriscu sisters with child reader ?

Where the reader is attacked by a lycan or something gets found by the sisters (separately) and the immediate response of the reader when seeing each women is calling them mama ? I don't know if you accept these but if you do can you write what their reaction would be ? And the aftermath of it ? Like how their mundane life would be?

I don't think this breaks any of your rules or preferences but I'm sorry if it did

-( I'm not new to your blog but this is my first request)💜

This is such an adorable, heartwarming request! It’s been in my inbox forever, so I’m very happy I can finally get to it! :) as it comes a mundane life; I doubt any of them would live one tbh! They are absolutely ready to treat this child like royalty🙌👀

Splitting this into 3 parts btw, due to the length of each. This is Bela’s part, Cassandra’s will be linked here, Daniela’s will be linked here once it’s out🙌

Let’s get into it!

Masterlists

Bela

She’s out hunting, at last not too busy to tend to this activity as well

It feels like it’s been forever since she last hunted with her sisters

Cassandra, despite her tough exterior, clings to her side subtly, hunting and retrieving prey only to bring it to Bela to show off. Daniela was less subtle, her arm hooked with Bela’s, her own hunt dismissed as she takes the opportunity to talk to her eldest sister and chat a little

Clearly, Bela is not the only one who missed this. Her heart aches a little knowing her busy work schedule forces her to neglect the time spent with her sisters

Where’d the time go? When did she become busy planning and working and managing things, rather than playing and looking out for her two younger sisters?

She shakes her head, dismissing these thoughts. She’s here now, she reminds herself

And as hours go on, she finds herself enjoying the hunt more and more again. Her senses are sharp, her reactions imminent

When Cassandra suggests a game, a competition of which sister can find the best prey within the last two hours left to them, she complies

Perhaps she could get a deer for them. She knows better than to go for varcalocs and larger lycans

What she doesn’t predict as she wanders and flies about, though, is the sweet, innocent cry she hears in the distance

No animal. A human

A cry, with no malice or aggression to be found

A helpless cry. A pained one. A scared one

A young one

Did a villager stray too far? But; the cry is so young, it can’t possibly come from an adult, from a hunter no less

Naturally, she investigates

And yet, when she finds you after moments already, she finds herself unprepared

You sit in the dirt, your back to her

Your little body shakes with every sob that leaves your wet lips. Your fingertips slide against the muddy ground anxiously, your other hand holding onto a stick far too rough for your small, soft hands

She frowns, unsure whether to make herself known or not

She can’t see your face, but you can’t be any older than eight, she figures

Upon inhaling, her nose scrunches up in disgust and her expression turns to one of concern. You reek of a lycan

Perhaps she should leave, she wonders to herself despite everything

She hardly ever stirs good emotions within people, after all. No matter their age

Yet..her heart aches and urges her to act with every little sob and cry that comes from you

Her natural instincts scream at her, urge her to act. She remembers her sisters, how they would cling and depend on her, look up to her, feel safe around her and only her

Something tugs at her heart when you begin hiccuping between your cries, your body shaking, your muddy hand raising to your face

She swarms around carefully, making sure she approaches you from the front rather than behind

When she does, though, she is greeted by yet another surprise

Upon getting close, she sees your wet, tear stained face. Your red cheeks, your puffy eyes, your wet lips, your red button nose

She spots the trap your leg is caught on immediately. A snare, the rope wrapped tightly around your little, swollen ankle

Yet, this isn’t what surprises her the most, but rather the words that fall from your wet lips the moment you lay eyes on her

“Mama!”, you all but yell desperately, your bottom lip wobbling, your muddy hands reaching out to Bela in a silent, desperate plea to be picked up

Mama?

She doesn’t quite understand, but doesn’t hesitate

Easily, she snaps the rope from around your ankle. Easily, her hands slip under your armpits and pick you up

You’re sat at her hip, carefully held by her. For once, she doesn’t care about her dress being dirtied by mud

“Mama!”, you repeat, your voice mixing with whimpers

She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know you

Yet, you seem so sure

“Bela”, she introduces herself

You stare at her blankly for a moment, then grin a little. Mama has a pretty voice

“Mama”, you confirm again

“Do I know you?”, she wonders. Could you be someone from her past life, maybe? It’s a life she has left behind after being infected, one she can’t remember, nor wishes to return to. She loves her family more than anything- Mother, Cassandra and Daniela. This is her family

You shake your head. No, you don’t know your mama. But you know, this is your Mama

With this, it seems you’re done talking. Bela gasps in surprise when you shift closer to her, your head rested on her chest, your little cries finally calming and quieting down as she rubs your small back lovingly

She doesn’t understand; don’t you know what she is? Probably not

And yet..she wants to keep you, and so she does

She holds you close to her as she walks back towards the castle again, a gentle smile on her lips as she sits and waits for her sisters

You’re cuddled up to her, a little bundle in her arms. You look…relaxed, like this

Still, she takes note of your swollen ankle, your cut cheek and dirtied face and clothing, your bruised ankle and the rash seemingly growing on your hands. You look malnourished, and almost sickly. She doesn’t notice, but holds you a little tighter

You seem so perfectly content in her arms, your little fingers hooked into her dress, your lips slightly parted as you sleep

“That’s a…unique catch!”

Bela jumps at Cassandra’s words and quickly turns to face her sister. In her hand she drags a wolf, nearly the same size as her, by far larger than you are

Next to her stands Daniela, a large, juicy deer dragged behind her, a big grin on her face

Bela rolls her eyes, her arms wrapping around you protectively

“They’re not for eating. I found them”, she clarifies, and with a stern glance, both her sisters shrug and refrain from more jokes

Once in the castle, Bela’s priority is to nurse you back to health

You whine sleepily as she draws you a warm bath and sets you down in it, but squeal in happiness almost at the many bubbles she’s added just for you

Bela carefully washes you, using a cloth and sponge to clean off all the dirt and mud still sticking to you

Thankfully, whatever lycan that was in proximity to you must have only scared you off, rather than attacking and landing a hit on you

You nearly fall asleep again when she washes your hair, her movements precise and careful

She ensures no water or soap gets in your tired eyes and scratches your scalp gently as she massages the soap into it and your hair

Soon enough, unruly and tangled hair is soft and clean and she can comb her fingers through it effortlessly

You aren’t familiar with this much warm water, bubbles and delicious scents and can’t help but cry and cling to her when it’s time to leave the bath again

You watch curiously as she dresses you, her touches gently and guiding, her voice soft as she talks you through it all

You glance around as she does

The fabrics are impossibly soft and good to your skin, her fingertips even more so. You don’t remember life at the village all too well, but recall the constant fear. You recall, your mother’s touch was never as soft and guiding as your Mama’s- Bela’s- is

Her room is large, larger than any house in the village. It’s also warmer than anywhere else you’ve ever been

When done dressing you, she rises, ready to find you something nurturing

But, the moment she moves from you, a hoarse whine and cry comes from you

Immediately, she picks you up and back into her arms, and likewise immediately you calm again

You mouth at her collarbone and shoulder, hungry, in pain, whining occasionally

When she walks out of the warm room, she notices you stare curiously

You hold onto her dress still, content to quietly stay with her. She doesn’t mind that you aren’t too talkative, instead opts for holding you close as she wanders to the kitchen

Inside, the staff immediately begins to gush about you. A child in the castle is…a rare sight, certainly

She doesn’t understand why; not yet, but possessiveness stirs up in her nearly immediately. She holds you closer to her, her emotions calming a little when you whine and push yourself closer to her in return

Now, each sister comes with a special, unique reputation

Daniela, the unpredictable one. Cassandra, the brutal one

Bela, the smart, level headed one

That is, until she isn’t anymore

You jump in surprise, a gasp, the loudest noise that’s come from you yet

A maid reaches out, and you flinch back instinctively. Yet, just when her fingers were about to touch your arm, Bela’s arm shoots out

As it does, her sickle is summoned and a single swipe is all it takes for the woman’s hand to come clean off

Three of the staff members scream, the others lower their gazes to the ground

You cry quietly, the noises all too familiar. And yet..you find it’s not all that bad, because your mama is still with you, still holding you close

You calm faster than Bela would’ve expected, even more so when the staff is dismissed and you’re left alone with her

And still, when she looks in your eyes…she doesn’t find fear like she expected

From this day on, you are practically inseparable

She is your mama, and everybody knows. You have her, her sisters and Mother wrapped around your finger

She teaches you to be strong, to be fast, to be smart. She guides you and inspires you, teaches you to go after your interests and encourages you to tend to your hobbies

She loves you, she realises very early on

The maternal connection between the two of you is pure, real, and immediate

She vows to always protect you, and always does. Always has, and always will

You’re her world