#sorry this is so many thoughts that i have said before but in one place

[berryispunk]

Everything But Us

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: we suffer first we love later, idiots in love, friends to lovers, dual POV, slow burn (but boy! worth it), once again talking is difficult, the boys have an appearance, best friend! Frankie, soft! Frankie, longing, mutual pining, ANGST, love confessions, tiny mention of past addiction,  emotional turmoil, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), kissing, swearing, wrap it up in real life please, no further physical description of reader apart from wearing a dress and having hair

summary: You danced around your feelings for each other, always toeing the line but never daring to cross it—until one fateful night in October, when hesitation gave way to something undeniable, changing everything forever.

notes: Did I write this in one manic sitting today? Absolutely. Any mistakes you find are mine. Happy Frankie Friday !

word count: 7,3 k

also readable on ao3

How was he supposed to tell you that his whole world revolved around you? That one night back in October had changed everything for him. You were both drunk, out of your minds, laughing afterward.

“Sorry,” you hiccuped, your fingers tracing the one patch on his cheek where his beard never fully grew. You looked at it like it was something special, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be this close to him. Painfully unaware of how even the simplest touch from you set his skin on fire. Your fingers trailed along his jaw, up to his ear, and finally tangled in the tousled locks peeking out from under his cap—the one he was hardly ever without. Your eyes were glazed, unfocused from too many tequila shots. You were absolutely adorable when you were tipsy. Carefree. Relaxed. And, by God, it made him want you even more.

His head fell back against the taxi seat, eyes closing as he prayed to whatever cosmic force was listening that you were too drunk to notice how hard it was for him to hold back. But you were right there, purring next to his ear, your head resting against the seat beside him.

“You’re always so damn sweet, Frankie,” you murmured. “So attentive and kind. Why the hell are you still single?”

The words hit him where it hurt the most— his heart. Up until tonight, he had kept his respectful distance. Admiring you from afar, letting himself be what you allowed him to be: a friend. He even picked you up from all the failed dates, letting you ramble about whatever loser you thought was worthy of your time. He held you when you cried over another broken heart, never once overstepping, even when he wanted to. Even when your head rested on his shoulder, your breathing finally even after a sob-filled night, and he turned his head just slightly—just enough that he could have kissed your forehead. When, in reality, he wanted to kiss your lips. His hand would draw soothing circles up and down your arm, steadying you, grounding you. He stayed longer than necessary, making sure you were okay before he left. Placing water and painkillers on your nightstand because he knew you’d need them in the morning. And you did.

“You’re my lifesaver, Morales🩷”

That was the text you sent the next day, and he had smiled like an idiot at his phone before reality came crashing back. Because even if you meant it, it never meant the same thing to you.

Then came tonight.

The two of you had split off from the rest of your friends, waiting for a taxi on the curb. And out of nowhere, you stepped closer. Wrapped your arms around his neck. Played with the hair at the nape of it like you belonged there.

“You’re so damn cute, you know that?” His cheeks burned instantly.

“You’re drunk and out of your mind, hermosa,” he said, his hands settling at your waist. The warmth of your skin seeped through the thin fabric of your dress—one that you probably shouldn’t have been wearing in the October chill, but you had insisted ‘dress season was all year long’. And, damn, were you right. The way you paired it with tights and Doc Martens was a sight he knew would haunt his dreams. His thumbs traced slow circles over your hips as he held you, watching you carefully, preparing for whatever you’d throw at him next. With you, it could be anything—an insult or the sweetest compliment. There was no in-between when you were like this.

And then something shifted. You looked at him for a fraction too long. Your eyes flickered to his lips before finding his gaze again. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, and his grip tightened instinctively. You made this so damn hard for him.

“You cold?” he asked, desperate to break the tension simmering between you.

You shook your head, smirking. “I have my own personal heater. I’m fine.”

Then you closed the distance completely, pressing yourself against him. Softness against hardness, in all the right and wrong places, and his head spun. The alcohol in his system didn’t help. He hugged you back, letting your body heat mingle with his. Letting himself close his eyes and pretend—for just a moment—that this was real.

And now, here you were, in the taxi. So close. Too close. Something in him snapped.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. You leaned into his touch with a small, tired smile, and his stomach twisted painfully. Such a simple gesture, yet so intimate it stole the air from his lungs. He leaned in, just a little, close enough to share the same breath, still giving you space to pull away. But you didn’t. You trusted him. And he would never take advantage of that, so he inhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull back with the last restraint left. But before he could, you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, and then your lips crashed onto his. It was electrifying. Addictive.

For a split second, he thought he was dreaming. But then your hand tugged at his hair, and he knew he wasn’t. This was real. And it was better than he had ever imagined. He melted into the kiss, letting you take the lead. Too afraid that if he kissed you the way he wanted to, he might ruin everything. Might scare you off. Your lips were soft but purposeful, tasting like tequila and the faintest trace of strawberry—the lip gloss you had put on before leaving the bar. You tasted like a promise of something he had never dared to dream about.

And then—just as suddenly as it had started—it ended. Your forehead rested against his, your breath slightly shallow. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, something new flickered in your gaze. A depth that wasn’t there before. Then it was gone.

“Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, picking up on the way your expression had shifted. His stomach clenched with dread. Your face paled. Next thing he knew, you were throwing open the window and vomiting onto the street. His eyes widened in horror.

Had he kissed that badly?

Panic surged through him as he scooted closer, rubbing a hand over your back, shouting to the driver to pull over. This was not how he had imagined this moment going. Not at all.

The taxi came to a screeching halt at the curb, and Frankie barely had time to reach into his wallet to pay before he was helping you out of the car. You groaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, swaying slightly on your feet.

He steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. “Nothing to apologize for, hermosa,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

You nodded, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder like you were gathering the strength to move. Then, with a deep breath, you straightened and started walking. Your place wasn’t far, just a few blocks, but it felt longer with the way you stumbled every few steps. Frankie kept his arm wrapped securely around you, guiding you through the quiet streets. The cool night air bit at his skin, but it did little to cool the heat still lingering in his blood from the kiss.

That damn kiss.

He kept replaying it in his head, trying to convince himself it hadn’t meant anything. That it had been nothing more than a drunken mistake. But the way your lips had moved against his, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair—it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like everything.

By the time they reached your apartment, you were half-asleep against him. He fished your keys from your purse and guided you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, leading you down the hallway to your room.

You collapsed onto the mattress with a content sigh, stretching out like a cat before rolling onto your side to look at him. He bent down, pulling your boots off and setting them neatly beside the bed. Then he reached for the blanket, ready to tuck you in and leave before he did something stupid. But then you spoke.

“Frankie?”

His movements stilled. “Yeah?”

Your voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “Did you ever think about sleeping with me?”

His throat went dry. You were looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, your expression unreadable. And suddenly, the air in the room felt suffocating. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to tell the truth. To admit that he had thought about it more times than he could count. That he had dreamed about you, fantasized about what it would be like to have you beneath him, to feel your nails digging into his skin, to hear his name fall from your lips like it was the only thing that mattered. But he couldn’t tell you that. Because you were drunk. And he was supposed to be your friend.

So he forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “No,” he lied, the word tasting like poison on his tongue. “Never crossed my mind.”

Something flickered in your expression—something like disappointment—but it was gone before he could be sure. You hummed softly, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling.

“Liar,” you murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just quiet acceptance.

Frankie swallowed hard.

“Get some sleep,” he said, pulling the blanket over you and stepping back before he did something reckless. He turned off the light, lingering in the doorway for just a second longer than he should have. And then he left. Because if he stayed any longer, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep lying.

Winter had come and gone, and with it, any mention of that night in October. You never brought it up. And Frankie never dared to. Not the kiss. Not the question you had asked him in the dim light of your bedroom. Not the way your voice had curled around the word liar like you already knew the truth. So he buried it. Shoved it deep into the same corner of his mind where he kept every other impossible feeling he had for you.

Now, the air smelled like spring—fresh rain on warm pavement, flowers blooming.The chill had faded, replaced with sun-kissed skin and longer days. And with it, you were glowing too. Frankie was trying not to notice, but it was to no avail. You sat across from him at the bar, wedged between two of your friends, laughing as you stirred your drink with a cocktail straw. You were in another one of those damn sundresses, bare legs crossed as you leaned forward excitedly.

“She’s talking about him again,” Benny muttered under his breath, taking a swig of his beer. Frankie clenched his jaw. He knew exactly who him was. Some guy you had met at a coffee shop a few weeks ago. Apparently, he’d bumped into you in line, spilled a bit of his overpriced espresso on your sleeve, and instead of being pissed, you had laughed about it. Frankie hated him instantly.

“He’s just—ugh, I don’t know,” you gushed, shaking your head with a dreamy sigh. “There’s something about him.” Frankie rolled his beer bottle between his palms, staring at the table instead of you. Something about him.

Frankie had been something about you for years.

“I mean, it’s still early, obviously,” you continued, oblivious to the way his grip tightened around his drink. “But I don’t know, it just feels easy. Like we just clicked.” He forced a smirk, lifting his bottle to his lips. “Sounds perfect.” Drowning all the bad feelings bubbling up in alcohol. If you picked up on the flatness in his tone, you didn’t say anything. You just shrugged, swirling the ice in your glass before taking another sip. “It’s nice to be excited about someone, you know?”

Frankie hummed in response, taking another long sip of his beer and glancing down at the nearly empty bottle, as if the answers to all his unasked questions were waiting at the bottom. Excited, right.

Of course, he wanted you to be happy. That’s what he told himself every time you brought up some new guy, every time you smiled at a text that wasn’t from him, every time you looked across the bar for someone else. But tonight, something about the way you were talking about this one was different. Frankie could feel it, tightening in his chest like a warning.

And he knew, deep down, that if he kept lying to himself, if he kept pretending he was fine watching you fall for someone else—

One day, he might actually believe it.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Frankie had always been the quieter one in your group, measured and steady. A man of few words but with an unwavering presence. But lately, something had shifted. It was in the way he reacted when you talked about the guy you were seeing. The way his usual teasing remarks had dulled, his responses clipped and distant. The way he smiled, but it never quite reached his eyes anymore. You noticed, of course you did. But you didn’t ask. Maybe because you weren't sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Because if you look too closely, you might have to admit what had always been there—what you had spent years trying to ignore. Frankie had never just been a friend to you. Not really. There had been a time, long before that night in October, when you had wondered. Let your mind drift to the thought of what it would be like to be his.

To be the reason behind his softest smiles, the one he reached for without hesitation.

You had wanted that once. Wanted him, but you buried it. Swallowed it down and forced yourself to forget. Because Frankie was good. Too good. The kind of man who stayed. The kind of man who meant what he said and never made promises he couldn’t keep. And you, you were a wreck. A walking contradiction of bad choices and broken hearts. You loved too easily. Trusted too quickly. And time and time again, it left you standing in the ruins of something you should have never believed in to begin with. You couldn’t do that to him.

So you convinced yourself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough. Because losing him? That was the one thing you knew you wouldn’t survive. But then came the kiss.

And now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bury it. Couldn’t forget the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he let you kiss him but didn’t pull you closer, didn’t give in the way you thought he would. Like he had wanted to but also didn’t. Like he had been holding back. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was nothing. That it was just the alcohol, just the moment, just a mistake. And for a while, you almost believed it.

Then you met him, Luke. Someone new. Someone who checked every box, said all the right things, wanted you without hesitation. It should have been easy, you should have felt relieved, happy even.

But every time you looked at Frankie, you could feel it—the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. The way he laughed at all the right times but never really looked at you the way he used to. You told yourself you were imagining it,that you were reading into things that weren’t there. But late at night, when you were lying next to Luke, it wasn’t him you thought about.

It was Frankie. And no matter how much you tried to deny it—that changed everything.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived at Will’s house, your fingers laced with your boyfriend’s as you stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of beer, grilled food, and whatever cologne Benny, Will’s brother, had drowned himself in. Laughter and music spilled from the open back doors where most of your friends had gathered, voices overlapping, drinks in hand, the kind of effortless camaraderie that had always made you feel at home.

But something felt off tonight. Or maybe it was just you.

Because for the first time in years, Frankie wasn’t there to greet you with that familiar, easy smile. He wasn’t hovering nearby, teasing you about being late or making sure you had a drink in hand. No, Frankie was across the room, deep in conversation with Will and Santi, nursing a beer like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. And he hadn’t looked at you once, even though you were sure he knew you had arrived—if not by seeing you, then by Benny’s over-the-top greeting 

You tried not to notice, tried to focus on introducing your boyfriend to everyone, on smiling and laughing in all the right places. But no matter where you were, some part of you was always aware of him, lingering just at the edge of your orbit. How he kept his distance, how he barely spoke to you. How, for the first time since you’d met him, it felt like he was avoiding you. And the worst part? It hurt. You weren’t supposed to care this much. You had a boyfriend now. A good guy. A guy who wanted you, who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t hold back. 

Then why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers? Like you were losing Frankie—losing something you never dared to name, but had always felt, just beneath the surface? 

It wasn’t until later, when the party had thinned out and the night had settled into something softer, that you finally found him alone. Outside and smoking, something you always did together. But tonight, he hadn’t waited for you. didn’t even ask. Tonight, it was just him, leaning against the railing of Will’s back porch, staring out at nothing, cigarette glowing between his fingers. And for the first time in weeks, you asked the question that had been gnawing at you since this whole thing started.

“What’s going on with you?”

Frankie didn’t look at you right away. He took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cool night air before finally shifting his gaze toward you. His eyes, usually so warm, were unreadable.

"Nothing," he said, voice low and gruff. You frowned, stepping closer. "Bullshit." That almost got a reaction—almost. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk, but it never quite made it there. Instead, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, shaking his head. "You should get back inside," he muttered. "Your boyfriend’s probably looking for you." The words landed like a slap. Of course he was right, but throwing this at you in this moment felt purposefully hurtful.  Your arms crossed over your chest, not from the cold but from the sudden, unfamiliar distance between you. "What the hell is your problem?"

Frankie let out a slow breath, shaking his head again, but this time, it wasn’t dismissive. It was like he was trying to hold something back, something threatening to spill over.

"You’ve been acting weird all night," you pressed, stepping even closer. "Hell, for weeks now. And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I know you, Frankie. I know when something’s wrong." His jaw tensed, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you. That maybe, finally, he’d say whatever had been weighing on him. But then he just chuckled, low and humorless. "Nothing’s wrong, hermosa. I’m fine."

You know he was lying. You could see it, the way his shoulders stayed tight, the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes for too long. And suddenly, the space between you felt impossible to conquer. 

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "You don’t get to do this."

Frankie quirked an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Shut me out," you snapped. "Act like I don’t exist all night and then pretend like I’m the one imagining things." His lips pressed into a thin line, his grip tightening around the cigarette between his fingers. "You have a boyfriend now," he said after a beat, voice quieter. "Things are just… different."

The words stung in a way you didn’t expect.

"Different?" You repeated, barely above a whisper. "You made them different, Frankie. Not me." For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint music drifting from inside, laughter from the party carrying on without you. 

And then, softer, almost hesitant, you asked, "Did I do something?" Your brows furrowed, the hurt evident in your voice, written all over your face. His eyes snapped to yours at that, something unreadable flashing through them. "No," he said quickly—almost too quickly. "You didn’t do anything."

Then why did it feel like you had? Why did it feel like something had changed between you, like a line had been drawn and you hadn’t even realized you crossed it?

Frankie sighed, running a hand over his face before stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. "You should go back inside."

But before you could respond, the door creaked open behind you. A rush of warm air, laughter, and music spilled onto the porch. You turned just in time to see Luke stepping outside, his gaze flickering between you and Frankie. His expression didn’t change much, no obvious anger, no accusation, but something in his eyes told you he’d seen enough. Enough to notice the way you stood too close. Enough to feel the tension crackling between you and Frankie like a live wire.

"Hey," he said, his voice even, unreadable. "Everything okay out here?" You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yeah. Just getting some air."

Frankie had already taken a step back. He nodded once at Luke, then flicked his cigarette into the yard, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I was just heading inside." And just like that, the moment was gone. You watched as Frankie disappeared through the door, slipping seamlessly back into the party, into the noise, into the version of himself that had nothing to hide. But you knew better now. Because whatever this was, whatever had been simmering between you for longer than you wanted to admit, wasn't one-sided. And now, someone else had seen it too.

As you sat in Luke’s car later, the air was thick with something unspoken. The only sound was the hum of the engine, not even music to fill the silence. You felt his eyes flicker toward you more than once, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. You pretended not to notice, kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the city lights blur past. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope—beautiful, distorted, and just a little unreal.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Is there something going on with you and Frankie?” Your breath caught. It was the question you had been waiting for, the one you had feared. You turned your head, but he kept his eyes on the road, fingers tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. 

“Luke—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he interrupted, his voice steady, but laced with something raw underneath. “I’m not stupid. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. And the way you looked at him.”

Your stomach twisted. You could lie, smooth it over, tell him he was imagining things, that Frankie was just a friend. But the weight in your chest was suffocating, and you were so damn tired of pretending.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t know.”

“I—” Your voice cracked. “I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He finally looked at you then, and it was worse than if he had been angry. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes told you everything—he already knew. He had known for longer than he let on. Maybe he could even feel it, that you were never quite there, even though he treated you the way you had always wanted to be treated. And you hated it. Hated yourself for feeling this way, for not being able to be happy with what was right in front of you.

“So you love him.” Not a question—a statement. It crashed down on you, effortless and undeniable, giving a name to the feeling you had denied yourself for so long before you were even ready to do it yourself. Tears burned in your eyes as you shook your head, grasping for words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I don’t.. I-It’s not that simple.”

“But it is, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet, but the weight of it settled deep in your bones.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I wanted this to work, Luke. I really did.” A heavy silence stretched between you. Neither of you had anything left to say. Slowly, he pulled the car over to the curb in front of your apartment. The click of the gear shift the only sound between you. You didn’t ask why. You already knew. With shaking hands, you unclipped your seatbelt, wiping at your cheeks as you reached for the door handle. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered one last time but Luke didn’t respond.

And as you stepped out into the cold night air, you knew this was the end of this chapter and the beginning of a new one you weren’t quite sure you were ready for.

Frankie was barely holding it together. Every day felt like a fight against something clawing at his chest, something desperate and ugly that whispered you lost her, you fucking lost her. He tried to drown it out by keeping  himself busy, working longer hours and spending more nights drinking just to feel something other than the ache. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

And then, one night, the thought crept in—familiar, insidious. Just one line. Just to take the edge off. He hadn’t really thought about it in years, hadn’t let himself even consider it, but tonight, with his hands shaking and his heart racing like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, it was right there. Too easy. The voice getting louder by the second. 

He might’ve done it, too. Might’ve given in if Santi hadn’t knocked on his door like he knew. Like he always knew. Frankie barely got the door open before Santi was pushing inside, eyes sharp, taking one look at him and shaking his head. “Jesus, Fish,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him. “You look like shit.”

Frankie let out a humorless laugh, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, fingers digging into the tense muscles. “Yeah, well. Feels about right.” Santi didn’t push, didn’t pry, just walked to the kitchen, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and tossed one his way. “Sit your ass down,” he ordered, voice softer than his words hit. “And start talking.”

And somehow, for the first time in weeks, Frankie did.

He let out a shaky breath, fingers still rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the beer in his hand. He hadn’t meant to say anything. Hadn’t meant to let it slip. But once he started talking, it all came out—how he thought he was doing the right thing, how he tried to be happy for you, tried to step back and let you have what you deserved.

How it was fucking killing him.

He told Santi about the party, about the way you looked at him like you knew something had changed but couldn’t figure out what. How he avoided you because being close to you and not having you felt worse than anything he’d ever gone through. Worse than any withdrawal, any loss, any mistake he’d ever made. And then Santi said it. Just threw it out there like it wasn’t about to flip Frankie’s entire world upside down.

“You know she broke up with him, right?”

Frankie’s head snapped up so fast it almost hurt. “What?”

Santi sighed, giving him a look like he couldn’t believe he had to be the one spelling this out. “Luke. She ended it.” He took a sip of his beer, eyes flicking to Frankie’s. “She didn’t tell you?”

Frankie could only shake his head, something tight and desperate clawing its way up his throat. Because suddenly, all those nights of shoving his feelings down, of convincing himself that you were happy, that you were better off didn’t mean anything. Because if it wasn’t Luke anymore, if you chose to leave, then maybe… maybe it wasn’t just him feeling like something between you was never really gone.

But still, he hesitated, because doubt was a stubborn thing.  He spent so long convincing himself that he wasn’t what you wanted, what you deserved.  “That doesn’t mean—”

“Fish.” Santi’s voice cut through his thoughts, steady and sure. “You love her. She sure as hell loves you. And if you don’t do something about it now, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

Frankie swallowed hard, the small flicker of hope battling against the fear still weighing heavy on his chest.

Maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late.

It happened after weeks of avoiding each other. After Luke, after everything, you pulled away, trying to get space, trying to breathe. But Frankie noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always did.

So when he showed up at your apartment in the middle of the night, you weren’t even surprised. You hesitated before opening the door, but when you did, the sight of him nearly took the air from your lungs. He looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, like he had been running his hands through it in frustration for hours. His jacket hung loose off his shoulders, and there was something wrecked about him—something that made your stomach twist.

"You gonna let me in?" His voice was rough, just a quiet rumble in the stillness of the night.

You should have said no. Should have told him this wasn’t a good idea. But instead, you stepped aside.

He walked in like he didn’t even know what to do with himself, pacing a little before finally stopping in the middle of your living room, hands on his hips. The air was thick, suffocating, before he exhaled sharply and turned to face you.

"Are you leaving me too?"

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"Frankie–"

"Because I feel like I’m chasing something that doesn’t even want to be caught," he cut in, his voice tight. "Like I’m standing here, waiting for you to just—just fucking look at me, and you won’t." His jaw clenched. "And I don’t know if it’s because you don’t want to, or because you’re too damn scared to."

Your arms wrapped around yourself, like that would somehow hold you together. "I just… I needed time. To think."

Frankie scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. And did you figure it out?"

You hated the bitterness in his voice. Hated that you put it there.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Frankie took a step closer, and just like that, the air shifted.

"Then tell me what you want." Your throat tightened. "I can’t."

"Why not?" He was closer now, his voice raw, edged with something desperate. "Because if you say it, it becomes real?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head, stepping back like he needed the distance, like if he stayed too close, he’d do something neither of you could take back. "You know, it’s funny," he said, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "I spent so fucking long convincing myself that I didn’t have a chance. That you’d never see me like that." His jaw tensed. "And then you kissed me. And for one second—for one fucking second—I let myself think I was wrong."

Your breath caught again. "Frankie—"

"But I wasn’t, was I?" His voice was quiet, the hurt in it deafening. "You didn’t want me. You never did."

That broke something in you and you snapped.

"I never let myself want you!" The moment the words were out in the open, you couldn’t take them back.

Frankie froze.

Your hands were shaking, but you pushed forward, because if you stopped now, you’d never say it. "You were safe. You were the one person I could always count on. And I knew if I let myself want more, I’d ruin it, like I ruined everything else. Because that’s just what I’m good at. Being a mess." Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. "So I buried it. Every time I looked at you and felt—" You sucked in a breath, blinking back tears. "I convinced myself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough."

Frankie’s breathing was uneven now, his dark eyes locked onto yours, searching, waiting.

"And now?" he asked, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you didn’t know how to say it. But then Frankie moved. Closed the space between you in two long strides, until he was so close you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint mix of cologne and a cigarette he probably had before he came here.

"Tell me to leave," he murmured, his voice low and unsteady. "If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—tell me to leave."

Your heart pounded so hard it was unignorable. You didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. The way he looked at you, his beautiful brown eyes you had grown to admire so much, looked right through you. Into your soul, seeing what you didn’t even have the words for. Because you didn’t want him to leave. Not now. Not ever. In fact, for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be—with him. His hand lifted, hesitated—then cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone like he was memorizing the feel of you. In the quiet of your apartment, the energy altered. Heavy. Electric. Inevitable.

His head dipped, and then his lips crashed onto yours with such force it stole the breath from your lungs, made you stumble back a step. Your hands found his face, holding him close as you melted into the kiss. But this time, it was different. He didn’t hold back like he had all those months ago. His fingers dug into your waist as he coaxed your mouth open, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and consuming. He walked you back with purpose, step after step, until your back met the hallway wall with a soft thud. The impact knocked over a few picture frames from the drawer beside you, but neither of you noticed. Because right then, there was only this. Only him.

The moment your back hit the wall, Frankie was on you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, fisting your shirt like he wanted to tear it off but couldn’t decide if he should. His mouth was hot, insistent, his tongue pushing past your lips as he pressed his body against yours, a low groan rumbling from his chest, deep and dangerous in its intensity.

You whimpered into the kiss, fingers threading through his curls, tugging just enough to make him hiss. It only spurred him on. His hands moved lower, gripping your thighs, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him to you as he carried you down the hallway, lips never leaving yours, knocking into the walls like neither of you could think straight enough to care. But when he reached your bedroom, he paused.

Breathing hard, he set you down gently, hands still gripping your hips as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse, uneven. “Tell me now if you’re not, because I swear, I won’t—”

You cut him off, brushing your lips against his, softer this time, your fingers tracing along his jaw. “I’m sure, Frankie.”

His eyes searched yours, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Like he didn’t trust that this wasn’t some cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched. You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over the furrow between his brows. “I want this. I want you.”

Something in him unraveled at your words, tension melting from his shoulders. He exhaled sharply, nodding once before his lips crashed onto yours again, this time with more certainty, more purpose. You gasped when he finally dropped you onto your bed, following you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His hands pushed beneath your shirt, sliding up your stomach, your ribs, your breasts—palming you, squeezing just enough to make your back arch. He cursed under his breath, yanking the fabric over your head, barely giving you time to breathe before his mouth was on you again, kissing, biting, sucking a path down your throat.

“F-Frankie,” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails dragging down his back as he sucked a bruise into your collarbone. His hands made quick work of your clothes, tugging them off as he peppered kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, down your stomach. Every touch, every glance was heavy with something deeper, something unspoken. He took his time, learning every inch of you with his lips, his tongue, his hands, until you were trembling beneath him, breathless and aching.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your skin, his breath hot. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you cupped his face, pulling him back up to you, crashing your lips into his.

You barely registered him kicking off his own jeans before his hands were on your thighs, spreading you open, gently tracing along the soft skin of your thighs despite the deep-seated need that was mirrored in his dark pupils. His fingers finally found your heat, sliding through the wetness pooling there.

“Fuck. You’re soaked, hermosa.”

You whimpered in response, hips bucking into his touch. “Frankie, please—”

That was all it took. He groaned, deep and low, as he pushed into you, sinking in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely. It was almost too much and at the same time not enough. His jaw clenched, his grip on your hips tightening like he was holding on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged. “You feel—” He shook his head, like he couldn’t even find the words.

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Move, Frankie. Please.”

And then it was desperate. Frankie thrust into you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when all he saw was pleasure, when all he heard was the way you gasped his name like it was the only thing keeping you tethered, his restraint snapped.

He picked up the pace, fucking you harder now, rougher, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there’d be bruises, but you didn’t care—you wanted them, needed them. A visible reminder of this finally happening.

His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, over and over, breathless, broken. He cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, his own expression wrecked and raw.

“Look at me,” he panted, rocking into you, the friction sending sparks through your veins. “I need—I need to see you when you come.”

It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Your breath caught. The coil in your stomach tightened, tightened, until finally, it snapped. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you cried out his name.

Frankie groaned, his hips stuttering before he thrust deep one last time, burying himself inside you as he came with a ragged moan, his whole body trembling against yours. You felt it—the warmth of him spilling deep, the way his cock twitched inside you as he pulsed through the aftershocks. A shiver ran down your spine, the intimacy of it all-consuming, overwhelming in the best way.

His breath came hot and uneven against your neck as he pressed soft, lazy kisses to your skin, grounding himself in you, like he never wanted to leave. His hands, still gripping your hips moments ago, softened, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin. The only sound between you was the heavy rhythm of your breathing, the pounding of your hearts against sweat-dampened skin. Neither of you moved. He didn’t pull away. He just stayed there, forehead resting against yours, hands cradling your face as if you might disappear.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as your fingers trailed gentle patterns up and down his back. After a moment, he brushed a few damp strands of hair from your face, his eyes tired but his smile warm, almost glowing.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, searching.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, still tracing lazy circles on his back. "You’re asking me that now?"

Frankie grinned, breathless, his nose brushing against yours. "Just making sure you haven’t changed your mind."

Rolling your eyes, you let your fingers glide over his shoulder. "If I had, you’d be the first to know."

His hands drifted down your sides, slow and reverent, as if still memorizing every inch of you. "Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

Something tight in your chest loosened, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. "Yeah?"

Frankie leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, his fingers playing with your hair, his expression softer than you had ever seen. "Yeah," he said, like a promise, like an unshakable truth. "Not now. Not ever."

A shaky breath escaped you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pulled him down into another kiss—slower this time, deeper. Less desperate, but just as intense. Eventually, he sighed, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke.

"So, what now?"

You grinned, threading your fingers through his tousled locks. "Well, I’d say we could clean up the mess we made, but that would require moving, and I’m not sure I’m capable of that yet."

He chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours, warm and solid. "I think I broke a picture frame."

"You did."

"Guess I’ll have to replace it."

Tilting your head, you smirked. "You’re planning on sticking around long enough to redecorate?"

Frankie’s eyes darkened, filled with something you recognized now—something you were no longer afraid to name. His hands tightened around your waist, anchoring you to him. "You gonna let me?" You pretended to consider, but he saw right through you. He always had.

"I guess I can make room for you," you teased, running a fingertip over the patch in his beard, which, from up close almost looked like a heart.

Frankie smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Good. Because I wasn’t asking."

And just like that, the weight of every missed moment, every hesitation, every doubt that had once stood between you disappeared. Because this—him, you, together—was exactly where you were always meant to be.

thanks so much for reading, maybe show some love if you enjoyed it <3

my masterlist

[gregheiferly]

LOVEY-DOVEY

first comes love

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. established relationship, hurt to comfort, angst, fluff, leon’s mental problems, future smut, ddlg

note. the first of hopefully 3 chapters?!! i have lost the ability to write im ngl,,, i promised this fic over a year ago and never got it out but i forced myself thru it bc it’s been sitting around like unfinished for a year LMFAO so it’s clunky.. doesn’t make sense… and also i do want to make clear this isn’t supposed to be a baby and marriage = happy marriage sort of fic i just see that ending for this couple in particular.. anyway ignore typos,, ignore any mistakes and pretend it makes sense. feedback / rbs always appreciated!

i would also appreciate if you read this post about plagiarism by a user on both tumblr and ao3

lovey dovey

“I used to hear Hola! and jump—Oh, gosh, I’m not racist or anything, I voted—“ Ashley adjusts her monogrammed scarf, looking at him with her new face. It’s the same, but different. Tighter, brighter, when her eyes widen her brows don’t raise and when she pouts her chin doesn’t dimple. 

“Ashley.” Leon interrupts to get her back on track before it gets any worse. 

D.C. does its best to dampen his mood, torrential rain soaking him to the bone, but you’re wearing these tiny winter booties that make his day a little better. 

“I just bet, I mean I know Leon never tells you anything about Spain, or anything at all.” She waves her hands in a flourish, not a hair out of place. “I signed an NDA, I don’t know how long they last, but I’m sure it must be over by now, I don’t really believe in them to be honest–What is a piece of paper going to do? I mean, it’s not like the piece of paper knows who I’m telling.” 

“She’s too little to know,” Leon says out of instinct. He takes the role of Daddy very seriously these days. 

“Leon.“ You frown at him, it’s so cute he’ll think about it for hours. 

“Sorry.” Is all he can come up with. 

“Anyways, I wanted to ask about plans,” Ashley says, the exchange going unheard by her. 

(If she’s not talking she doesn’t really seem to care about the conversation at hand.)

“Plans?” Leon doesn’t follow, and neither do you.

“Oh, you know.” She dabs at the corner of her lip with a handkerchief that matches her scarf, her lipstick leaves a pink smear on the edge of her cup. It’s heart-shaped. Fucking Cupid over here. “Haven’t you ever thought about babies, Leon? You’re pretty old now.” 

That’s not her card to play. Shouldn’t he be asking her about babies? She’s only getting older, not many eggs left in her basket. But, y’know, that’s not very PC, and Leon really isn’t that bad. He’d like nothing more than for her to move at her own pace - it was hard enough seeing Sherry grow up, passing her off to a guy nearly ten years younger than her—And Leon is in no place to talk about age gaps, but guys are immature and stupid, he would know.

“Ashley,” he interrupts once more, though he has nothing to say at all. Marriage. Babies. Jesus Christ, you are the baby. He’s got jackets older than you. 

“We haven’t thought about it—I mean, I ask him about it sometimes, but nothing serious,” you tell her honestly, the corners of your mouth drooping downwards in a frown.

You are one unhappy little girl and he is in for one hell of a ride back home. 

“I never make plans that far ahead,” he says, rehearsed, before your soured mood runs off the edges of your face and into the rest of the room. Distemper in a dogfighting ring. 

“Hm.” You make a noise beside him, knee bumping his under the table. It’s a touchy subject. An untouchable subject, actually, because he refuses to sit down and talk about it, he shuts it down immediately. You can’t make babies with a baby, that’s just plain wrong. 

(But you can fuck said baby every which way. You can spit in the baby’s mouth and spank her raw. That’s perfectly normal.) 

“The next time I see you, Leon, it better be at your wedding,” Ashley warns him, a burnt orange blazer draped over her slender shoulders as she primps herself up enough to face a camera or two. “I’m happy to help with, well, with everything, I have a lot of time and money to waste so don’t think you’re bothering me. Oh and another thing—Leon?”

“Yeah?” He shifts from foot to foot, the arm circling your waist drops to his side limply. 

“You can call me anytime, you know that, right?” She stares at him, right through him with her big brown eyes. “And you know I can see when you’ve read my texts, right?” 

Leon nods stiffly, he stands there like a fucking scarecrow when she wraps her arms around his neck.

“I know,” he mumbles into perfumed hair. 

When you ask him, “Why didn’t you hug her back?”

He tells you, “I didn’t want to make you jealous.”

“I don’t get jealous.” That’s right. You’re a very self-assured little girl with your head screwed on right, he can’t go around telling such obvious lies. 

“Dunno, just felt weird,” Leon admits, plucking the fuzz off your sweater to keep his hands busy, “haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“That’s your fault.” You walk ahead and he knows you’re pissed. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

The air crackles with tension, heavy enough to shift the layout of Leon’s home a little to the left—Or maybe you really have gone and done that without telling him, taking over his world with parts of your own - it wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. That’s got to be some form of gaslighting. He can’t even see the TV from this angle. 

“Baby?” Leon calls out.

You poke your head out of the kitchen. 

“Did you move my chair to the left or am I losing it?” He shifts in his seat, moves from left to right, leans back to try and understand what has gone on. 

“You’re losing it, I moved it to the right.” You wipe your wet hands on your skirt, it borders on frumpy, makes your hips look even wider. He pretends that he hasn’t ever thought about knocking you up. 

“Why, baby?” You’re testing his patience, being short with him, huffing and puffing and sticking your nose in the air.

“Because it looks better, but I can’t do it when you’re home ‘cause you never get up.” Carefully, you edge towards him, skirting around the room until you find yourself in daddy’s lap. 

The weight is grounding, his hands find your hips in no time, fingers dimpling the fat as he squeezes down to ease whatever is going on inside of him. “You can’t stay mad at me, baby.”

“Yes I can.” 

“Who’s gonna take care of you then, hm?” Leon asks, sliding his cold hands under shirt to grope your heavy tits. He pretends that he hasn’t thought about running his fingers over your lace bra to find milky wet patches. That he hasn’t thought about you, glassy-eyed and in desperate need of daddy’s help, pushing your leaky tits against his chest and begging him, pleading with him to take on the role of dairy farmer for the day.  

“I can take care of myself.” You shrug. So cold, so cute. “But you, daddy.” You kiss his nose. “Without me, you can’t even remember to take your meds.” 

That’s right. You did well without him. You didn’t need a daddy until you found the right daddy. You wanted a daddy so dearly, but you can take care of yourself just fine. You can pour your own juice and you can tie your laces and fix your hair just fine, it’s just better when daddy does it for you. 

“True,” Leon mumbles, he kneads your breasts contemplatively,  “but it’s good to ask daddy for things, I don’t want you getting hurt doing it on your own.” 

“I have bandaids.” Comes your rebuttal. 

“Baby, you’re being mean.” Leon’s voice verges on a whine. 

“I’m not being mean, Leon.” You let yourself melt into him, fat tits spilling through the gaps in his fingers. His hands are small and there’s too much of you to contain. “Why don’t you want to marry me?” 

That’s a loaded question. One he can’t quite answer because there’s no real answer and he doesn’t really want to answer it.

“You’re too good for me.” 

“Oh my goood,” you groan, rolling your eyes so hard you age backwards, and it really makes you look like a teenager—A little girl—It makes him feel like your father. Not your daddy, but your father. And hell, he’s old enough to play the part. 

“What?” 

“It turns me off when you say shit like that, like ohhh I’m such a old loser, I can’t even get it up, baby, why are you even with me?” You do your best Leon impression, it almost makes him smile. “You literally want everyone to feel bad for you all the time, and you know what, Leon?”

“What?” Leon says again. He’s feeling parched. Lightheaded. Sick. Psychotic. Bad. Just fucking bad. Everything gets so bad when you’re not smiling at him.

“I can’t feel bad for you if you don’t tell me what’s going on—You don’t tell anyone what’s going on so nobody feels bad for you.” You stand up, his hands are left cold and empty. “Only you feel bad for yourself, you literally sit around all day drinking and feeling shitty about sitting around and drinking—You don’t even want to do anything anymore, you didn’t even want to see Ashley today! She loves you so much, she’s your friend and you can’t even text her back because, because… Well, I don’t even know!”

“Baby—“

“You don’t go to therapy and you forget to take your meds, and, and I have to remind you all the time and—“ You take a breath, your lips moving soundlessly as you count to ten. “I don’t mind doing that for you, I like taking care of you and I like when you take care of me—It makes me happy that you let me y’know do that…” You gesture to a stray pacifier on the coffee table. “And I love you, Leon, but it’s just like you never want to fix anything, you just want to stay like this and I don’t want that, Leon—“

“Babe–“

”I told you that I wanted to get married, I told you that it would be a problem for me if you didn’t want kids, Leon—I don’t want to be with you if you don’t want that with me, I told you that before we got serious and you said yes and now—“ You throw your hands in the air, cutting yourself off with a half-aborted sob and splitting his heart right down the middle.

“It’s not like that, baby,” Leon starts gently, pushing up out of his armchair so he can hold you like you need to be held, “I didn’t… It’s not you, you know that don’t you? You’re perfect, you’re a good girl, it’s just…”

“What?” You press your face into his chest, searching for comfort as you run your hands over his back. “It’s what?”

“It’s me.” 

“Oh my god, Leon.” Your voice breaks, and you look up at him. For a minute it’s like you’re in soft-focus, like you’re a love letter gone yellow with time, sepia-stained and unspeakably tender and—and the reel is burning away because you’re too beautiful to last forever. You’re the most fragile little package, stamped to handle with care and he’s tossed you onto someone's lawn and you’re going to be plucked away by a porch pirate and—God, he’s such a fuck-up. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

Might be cliche, but it’s true. It’s him, not you. It’s always him. It’s why he’s been alone for so long. It’s not work, it’s not what happened in Spain or Talk Oaks, not even Raccoon City—Not mom, not dad, not Ada or Jack or Ashley or the fucking President, it’s not some grand, tragic circumstance—It’s just him. 

“If I marry you…” Leon’s mouth dries up while he flicks through a mental Rolodex of excuses. 

I drink too much. I’m depressed and probably bipolar. I’m infertile. You’re a baby, I can’t have babies with a baby. You’re too young. I’m too old. Especially for kids. I look like I could be your dad. I’m suicidal and needy and if we have kids what if you like them more than me? I work a lot. What if I put our kids in danger? What if I put you in danger? What if I’m a shit dad? What if you stop liking me after we tie the knot? You’re so young, you have your whole life ahead of you and you want to marry an old man? You should leave me for someone younger. Please don’t leave me. 

All of it is true, although none of it is an honest answer to your question—The answer is quite simple really—Leon won’t marry you because he refuses to be happy. 

“If I marry you,” he says again, eyes flickering from your eyes to your pout, “what will Sherry think?” 

Your hands are in tight fists by your sides, bottom

lip trembling as you struggle to remain impassive—And he knows you like the back of his hand, like the veins in his dick—That wrinkled nose could only mean one thing. You’re not about to cry, you’re mad at him. 

“Leon.” Your jaw tightens, grinding your teeth into a fine powder. “You know Sherry isn’t thinking about you, right?”

“How could you say that?” He asks, somewhere between hurt and confused. 

“I’m just… Like, fuck, Leon!” You angle your face away from him, cycling through every stage of grief as you gather your thoughts. “It’s not about what Sherry wants or what she’s thinking or whatever, it’s about what I want and what you want.” 

“But—“

“She isn't a part of our relationship, Leon, nobody is.” You tilt your head back, looking up at the ceiling and squeezing your eyes shut. Praying or doing a breathing exercise. “Like… Like you don’t like Jake and she still married him because he makes her happy, Leon—Why don’t you want to be happy with me, Leon?”

“I am happy,” he lies. 

“Don’t lie to me, Leon—Do I not make you happy, is that what it is?” You look at him helplessly and he stands there with nothing to say. 

“You do make me happy,” Leon insists softly, you’re the only thing that makes him happy. Light of his life, apple of his eye, the centre of his whole entire world.

“I just don’t get it anymore, Leon.” 

Oh, god.

“I don’t… I made it clear that I wanted something serious, I want to marry you and I want to have kids with you—I don’t get why you would lead on me like that.” You cross your arms over your chest, bracing for his answer. “Has all of this been for nothing?”

To be entirely frank - Leon is being selfish. 

He’d rather keep you in limbo than let you move on with someone else. He doesn’t want to think about you in bed with someone else, calling someone else daddy, letting them touch you and take care of you—It makes him dizzy, he’s getting jealous of a guy he made up in his fucking head. You’re the only good thing in his piece of shit life and he has no intention of letting you go—He really should, and he probably would if you asked him a year ago, before the D word but now—

Leon feels out of place. 

If he’s not your daddy, then who is he? 

“You’re just… You’re just freaking out ‘cause Ashley put it in your head,” Leon retorts childishly, “we don’t need a baby to be happy.” You’re the only baby he needs to be happy. 

“Are you kidding, Leon?” Your nose is running and you wipe at your face with balled up fists. “Don’t make this about Ashley, you know that isn’t the problem—I really can’t believe you, if you're not serious about me then why are you still with me?”

Truthfully, he didn’t mean for all of this to go so far - then your toothbrush joined his, your Sylvanians found a nice spot on his mantle next to the potpourri, the whole daddy thing happened—

And all of that means that this is not a midlife crisis or a fling or a distraction. 

It means that you’re his girlfriend, the woman he loves.

“I am serious about you.” 

We just want different things, would be the right way to put it. It’s not entirely true, but Leon doesn’t know how to tell you that peace is unrecognisable to him. He doesn’t know what it feels like, it scares him, the finality of marriage and kids and all of these childish dreams he had so long ago—It’s scary, and it takes a lot and Leon could shoulder the whole fucking world if he had to and the whole fucking world is a lot. He’s done it before. Jesus Christ, he’s fought creatures that go beyond the scope of human understanding, but all of it comes to an end. Fights end. Missions get completed. Damsels are saved and monsters are slain and Leon gets home okay as he can be. 

But this… Marriage. There’s no way out—Like, there’s divorce, obviously, but something about marriage is permanent. He can’t shoot a gun and get out of a marital dispute, and he can’t outrun a missed birthday because ultimately he has to come home to you.

Coming home to you sounds good. It is good. It’s the reason he bothers coming home after work instead of bumming around in bars like he used to. But, but, but it’s about trust and working together and while nothing will really change you’ll legally own him and he’ll legally be yours and that’s a lot of responsibility for someone so young to take on and technically you’re already doing all of these responsible things for him and—Marriage is just different, okay?

“I don’t think you are, Leon.” You blink at him slowly, sadly. 

“I am,” Leon insists because he is serious about this. About you. He loves you and he knows that, but he’s fine with what you have now. Girlfriend-Boyfriend. Daddy and baby. “I am, baby, but don’t you think that we're moving into this too fast?”

“It’s been two years, Leon.” Another slow, sad blink, you look off to the side. “I told you I was dating to marry, Leon, I told you what I wanted, I want kids with you—And I’m sorry but you’re not getting any younger, if you’re just wasting my time—“

Something sharp and ugly takes hold of his chest. ”You just think I’m gonna blow my brains out before I give you a baby, that's all you want from me.” That isn’t what Leon wanted to say, but the room is getting too small and that struck a fucking nerve. 

“Excuse me?” 

Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A rotten sole-crushed peach, that's all he is, it’s true. And he doesn’t deserve you, but he doubles down selfishly. “You think I’m gonna blow my brains out before I give you a kid,” he repeats, “that’s why you’re freaking out about this now.” Leon’s so very talented at fucking things up. Paperwork, his liver, his entire fucking life. 

“No… That’s not—Are you kidding me? Is that all you got from this, Leon?” You’re looking at him with these accusatory eyes and you’re not calling him daddy or tugging at the back of his shirt for attention. “How could you say that about me? Is that what you think of me?”

Leon would like to say no and he’d like to apologise, instead he fumes silently, teeth clenched so tightly they’ve started to ache. “C’mon, use your big girl words and tell me the truth.” He’s not very tall, but he’s taller than you - he looks down his nose at you. 

“Don’t talk to me like that, Leon.” The shift in his behaviour is new, you’re used to his self-loathing, his laziness and reluctance and his general unlikeability, but this—Leon has never been mad at you, and he doesn’t want to be mad at you and he’s more mad at himself than he is you—But still, like, he looks mad at you and he can see the way you’re trembling, puffing out your chest and standing your ground to appear so much bigger than you are. It breaks his heart, he’s the worst daddy ever. The most dick-headed jerk of a boyfriend and you’re still here. Fighting for him, well, with him, you’re here and you’re fighting with him, that’s still something. 

“Why not?” Leon tilts his head to the side, his face softening in faux confusion. “You like it so much, don’t you?”

God, maybe he’s not so normal after all, and you haven’t fixed him, and bad thoughts always come back, and if he was normal he wouldn’t be wanting to jump off every balcony and walk into every main road and disappear into bodies of water.

Leon isn’t normal. Big surprise.

He’s just starting to realise that it doesn’t matter how many people love him, it doesn’t matter how many medals he’s awarded, it doesn’t matter that he’s a treasure to some degree, an old gun worth keeping—None of it matters, Leon realises, none of it will ever fucking matter because he is who he is. 

Leon is going to lead a miserable dogshit life because he can and he will and it doesn’t matter how many good or bad things happen to him, it doesn’t matter who he falls asleep next to - he’ll still feel shitty in the morning. 

(At the end of the day, he’s a Kennedy, and no Kennedy has ever been particularly lucky.) 

“I’m trying to be serious, Leon, and you’re acting like a child!” Your bottom lip quivers, and you’re probably wondering where your daddy has gone. “I can’t… I can’t believe you’re talking to me like that right now.” 

Neither can Leon. 

Guilt coils in his gut like a snake, constricting and hissing in the back of his head that he should know better, he’s so much older, he’s your daddy, and he’s meant to take care of you. That’s what daddies are for.  

“I don’t want to… I don’t want to force you into this, Leon, I don’t want to make you marry me if you don’t want me—“ He does want you. He wants you so bad. “—I don’t want to force you to have kids with me if you’re not ready, I just wish you had told me before I moved in with you—“ The hurt that crosses your face strikes him right in the heart, teardrops beading your gossamer lashes. 

“No, no, no, I’m sorry, baby,” he says softly, quietly, earnestly, not daring to take a step closer because he doesn’t deserve to feel you or smell you or touch you, “I want to be with you, I love you.” 

“I don’t know anymore, Leon.” You look to him helplessly, blinking up at him with these big doleful eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to do.” 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, equally as helpless, “I don’t know.” 

He’s your daddy, he’s meant to know, but he doesn’t, so he just stands there like an idiot. 

“I’m sad,” you tell him honestly, “I’m going to go upstairs now.”

Leon goes to follow you.

“Don't follow me.”

Leon goes back to standing there like a fucking idiot. 

[oddberryshortcake]

So I wrote a fic based on this image, pls enjoy 💕

Tw: Workplace microaggressions

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It was Nyoka’s first time working with a Shaftlands magazine. He had been scouted by Félicité Cosmetics for their new line of lipstick colors, branching out to market to a wider audience. He guessed he was just the Beastman they saw most fit for it. 

His parents encouraged him, any kind of work was good so long as their clan got good publicity. 

When he enrolled in NRC, he was already leaving his comfort zone. He thought being around so many different people would prepare him to interact in the public world. He was paired with a fellow classmate and loyal Félicité partner, Vil Schoenheit, so it wasn’t like he was completely in the dark. 

Except, in came the little details that he noticed set him apart from his peers. The comments. 

“You both look absolutely beautiful. Mr. Wadjet, I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to work with us. We’ve never had a Cobra Beastman model before.” The producer elatedly told them, holding out his hand to shake. 

Nyoka almost shook with his tail and then he remembered; humans don’t shake with their tails they shake with their hands. He did what he thought was most socially acceptable and the producer smiled widely at his correct response. Thank the seven he was becoming more prepared for interactions like this. 

“Alright, you two, by the backdrop. Mr. Schoenheit, please hold the lipstick we gave you to Mr. Wadjet’s face, and Mr. Wadjet, please place your hand on Mr. Schoenheit’s right shoulder,” the director requested, and watched as they got into their poses, “Right, that’s good, look at the camera.” 

So far, so good. It wasn’t so different after all compared to everything he had done in Sunset Savanna and Scalding Sands, except for what the director requested next. 

“Mr. Wadjet, can we see your fangs?” 

He felt his stomach twist into a knot, “What?” He asked, hoping he heard them wrong. 

“We want your fangs visible in this photo. Open your mouth for us and look this way.” The director repeated, motioning for him to turn his head further, mouth open. 

Was this why he was brought here? Back at his home, Cobra Beastmen very rarely barred their fangs unless they were in some serious danger and needed to show them as a warning or actually defend themselves. To do so without reason was seen as disrespectful by other Cobra Beastmen. 

To expose one of his fangs like this for all of Twisted Wonderland to see, what would they think of him? What would they think of Cobra Beastmen and Reptile Beastman as a whole? They are already looked at with an air of distrust. What if people think he’s too scary? 

“…I would rather not,” he admits, a bit stilted. He can’t seem to find the right words to say ‘no’ without coming across as difficult. 

“These were the directions that were decided upon.” The director retorted, also trying not to sound rude but coming off that way. 

Vil’s face twists into an expression of anger and he places his hand on top of the one Nyoka has on his shoulder, grabbing it firmly, a sign that he was going to take over in his place.

“He said no.” Vil said, far louder and more commanding than Nyoka could muster, “This is a promotional ad for lipstick, not teeth. If you can’t respect his decision, then we’re both dropping the project.” 

The director didn’t like the hear that, and the producer ran back in from behind the camera crew and scrambled for a response. 

“We’re very sorry, Mr. Schoenheit, we can do the shoot without fangs!” He exclaimed, notably leaving Nyoka out of his apology. Not that it mattered, he was saved by someone who had the strength to speak up for him, something he couldn’t do for himself. 

It was shameful, always being stepped on one way or another. He had heard tales of even the greatest cobra, a close confidant to the King of Beasts, was not spared from having the world trample over him. Maybe that was the fate of someone who didn’t want conflict but still found it anyway. 

They did the shoot as usual and after the crew were editing the photos together, Nyoka was just about ready to leave before they made the final call on what they were going to publish, but Vil had pulled him aside in private. 

“I just wanted to let you know that after this, I am never working with this director ever again and the higher-ups are going to hear about this. Anyone who doesn’t respect their crew and cast shouldn’t be allowed to lead projects.” Vil told him. 

“Thank you for speaking up, and…” Nyoka replied quietly, “If you could, please don’t mention I said anything. I don’t want anyone to know I was difficult to work with.”

“You aren’t difficult to work with. You’re professional, far more than others I know. You had a boundary that was crossed, there’s nothing wrong with putting your foot down on people who aren’t respectful.” Vil encouraged. 

Like him, he knew many who would say that Vil was far too intimidating, too serious, too outspoken. But to him, at this moment, that was the Vil he needed the most. Maybe how he comes off to others isn’t so bad after all.

i was wondering since Nyoka also a mode does he and Vil pose together time to time?

I would support a sponsored collab.

[lokileaf]

could I request a human!female x Loki fic with fluff and a bit of smut?

But of course!

TVA!Loki x human!female

AN: Sorry I haven't been posting, I'm in college and it's almost finals season so I have been sooo busy, but I promise I will get to everyone's requests soon! Thank you to everyone who has sent me requests and commented, I love engaging with everyone! <3

You jumped slightly as a disheveled-looking Loki fell into the chair across your desk. His shirt was rumpled, his hair tangled, and his tie was completely crooked. To put it lightly, he looked like a mess.

You watched silently as he dropped his head into hands, a deep sigh wracking his body. Shoving your paperwork aside, you rest your hand on his forearm, your concern evident on your face. He looked up at the contact, a small sad smile on his lips.

"Are you alright?" you asked, searching his eyes for anything that might clue you in on why he was acting so out of character. You waited in silence as he gathered his thoughts.

"I... do not think I am a good person," he finally replied.

The confession hung heavily in the air, the following silence deafening as he waited for you to form a response.

"What makes you say that?" was what you finally settled on. His brows furrowed as looked up to meet your gaze.

"I... hurt people. With no regard for their feelings. And I do not even dwell on it. I just do it," he mumbled softly, scrubbing his hands over his face once again.

"Ah. Memory cell?" you asked, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. He nodded sullenly as he ran a hand through his hair in a halfhearted attempt to tame the tangled curls.

"Want to tell me about it?" you asked, hoping he would take the opportunity to open up. His eyes shifted, looking around the less-than-private workspace.

"Not here."

You nodded and stood, taking his hand in yours as you led him to through a maze of hallways to your room. You pulled him through the door into your small quarters and gestured for him to take a seat on your bed, pulling the chair from your modest desk to sit face-to-face.

You tried to focus on the issue at hand rather than the fact that Loki was here in your room on your bed, tucking your hands under your crossed legs to prevent him from noticing their slight nervous tremor.

"Talk to me", you said gently, breaking the silence. He took a shaky breath.

"Back home, I am not exactly... well-liked. I do not have many friends. The few people who tolerate me only do so because of their loyalty to my brother. I did something especially cruel to one such friend..."

You reach your hand to bridge the gap between the two of you, resting it on his knee. Your heart skipped a beat as he gently took your hand in his.

"I cut off her hair and she... confronted me."

He paused again, clearly unsure if he should continue.

"What did she say?" you asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"That I deserve to be alone", he mumbled, "and that I always will be."

Sadness squeezed sharply at your heart, aching for him.

"That's not true," you said softly before he stood and turned to face away from you, hands on his hips. He let his head fall to stare down at the floor.

"What if it is?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"Loki..." you trailed off, standing to place a comforting hand on his back. "You're not alone. And you definitely don't deserve to be."

He turned to face you once again, looking down at you with a pained expression.

“How can you believe that?”

The question knocked the air from your lungs. Sure, he had a record of… general mischief, but you had seen his file; he cared so deeply for those closest to him. Surely a few lapses in judgment did not negate that entirely.

“Because I know you. You’re caring and ambitious and so intelligent.”

You take a step closer to him, grasping his forearms for emphasis.

“And maybe you’ve done some things you regret but you’re still you. And I happen to like you a lot, Loki.”

You paused, heart thundering in your chest as you realized what you had just confessed. You bit the inside of your cheek as you waiting for him to break the silence that had stretched between you. You let your hands drop to your sides as he remained quiet, a contemplative look on his face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—you don’t have to-“ your stuttering sentence was cut off as you were pulled against his chest, his arms wrapping themselves around you tightly. You slowly brought your arms up to wrap around his torso, feeling his chin tuck itself against the top of your head. You stayed that way for a few long moments, allowing yourself to hold him as long as he needed.

“Thank you,” you heard him say quietly from above.

The emotion in his voice tugged at your heart. You had never seen him like this. Since his arrival at the TVA he had been combative and noncompliant, causing Mobius and your shared higher-ups quite a bit of grief. And yet you found yourself liking him more and more as time went on. You couldn’t help but see the best in the unruly god before you.

And it didn’t hurt that he was tall, dark, and handsome.

Loki finally pulled away, slipping his hands awkwardly into his pockets as he looked down at you.

“Perhaps I should ah… take my leave. I wouldn’t want to impose…” he trailed off as he made his way to your door, reaching for the knob.

“Loki?”

He paused.

“Yes?”

“You can stay… if you’d like. I’m done for the day and I could use the company,” you offered, knowing he would never accept the offer unless he felt like it was at your request.

His hand dropped from the doorknob as a soft smile appeared on his lips.

“I think I would quite like that.”

You smiled as he returned to his place on your bed. You sat next to him, crossing your legs under you.

“Tell me about your home,” you said, offering him a lifeline to keep the conversation moving along.

“Well… what would you like to know?”

You thought for a moment.

“What is the food like? Do Asgardians hold balls? Did you have many suitors?”

He laughed softly at the barrage of questions, looking down at his hands.

“The food is nice. Mostly smoked meats, fruits. Mead, of course. The occasional ball. No… official suitors,” he replied, shifting to lean back against the wall.

“What about a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” you press, a stab of jealousy making its way into your forethoughts.

“I am not overly familiar with your Midgardian courting terms…”

“Girlfriends and boyfriends are like… romantic partners. But you’re not married or anything. Just… together,” you explain, your cheeks beginning to burn.

“Ah. No, no girlfriend or boyfriend or anything.”

“I find it hard to believe that a prince does not have a partner of some kind. A… courtship maybe?”

A sly smile makes its way across his face.

“I’ve had my escapades,” he replied, leaving it at that. “And you?”

The flush on your cheeks intensified.

“No… nothing like that,” you admitted, thoroughly embarrassed by your lack of romantic connection.

Loki shifted again, sitting up to lean closer to you.

“Nothing? I find that hard to believe.”

You shrugged, heart picking up speed at his increased proximity.

“There’s not much time for that when you’re partly responsible for the continuation of the Sacred Timeline,” you replied.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, his eyes pinning yours.

“We appear to have some time,” he quipped quietly.

“We?”

“If you’ll have me…” he trailed off, eyes flicking down to your lips. Your heart thundered, mind going blank. After a moment’s hesitation, you forced yourself to nod.

Your mattress squeaked quietly as he leaned forward to ghost his lips over yours. You closed your eyes as you felt his hand cup the side of your face. You let him take control, relishing in the feeling of his mouth claiming yours. He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“Did you mean what you said before?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. You nodded quickly, anxious to be kissing him again. He obliged, claiming your lips once more as he gently pressed you back against your duvet.

His tongue caressed your bottom lip, requesting access. You slid a hand up into his hair, opening your mouth for him as he pressed his chest against yours. His hand slid from your hip up to your neck, encircling it softly.

Feeling him harden against you, you pressed your hips up against his, rocking up into him slightly. You heard his breath hitch slightly, a silent moan catching in your throat. His hand fumbled with the zipper of your TVA-issued jacket before sliding it off your shoulders.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down flush against you. The feeling of his body pressed against yours-

“Loki!”

You flinched as a muffled voice called his name from the other side of your door.

Mobius.

Loki’s lips left yours, beginning to make their way down your jaw to your sensitive neck.

“Loki,” you sighed, not wanting this moment to end.

“He can wait,” was his quiet reply.

A loud banging on your door startled him out of his reverie.

“Apparently not,” he muttered.

He sat up, straightening his shirt and tie before offering you a hand and pulling you upright. You flushed at the sight of your disheveled uniform and his hair freshly mussed from your ministrations.

“We’ll have to finish this another time, darling,” he said with a grin before turning and opening the door to find an irritated looking Mobius.

[unrenderedwip]

Nighttime Chats

Convincing Redacted they're good enough, this time through metaphor ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ idk thought I'd try something out lol

mdni !! / 14 days with you / sfw / redacted belongs to @14dayswithyou

I am pulled from my sleep as I feel something shift. My eyes blearily open to find a blue gaze matching mine anxiously, “Sorry, Angel, did I wake y’up?”

I groan lowly, “No, y’fine. Wha time’s it?”

“…Four.”

My eyes shoot open, “P.m.?!”

Ren calmingly rubs a thumb over my forearm, “No, a.m.”

I settle back down into the sheets, relieved, “Oh… well then go back to sleep, you’re already more behind than usual.”

They immediately protest, “No m’not.”

I give them a look and they avoid my gaze, giving me all the information I needed. I gently question, “You alright?”

He pauses half a second before answering, “Yes.”

I nod, “Mm, what’s wrong?”

He snorts lightly, “’Said m’fine, just watching you.”

I pull him into my chest, laying my head on his, “I know. But you were thinking, not just watching. There’s a difference.”

There’s a long silence before he responds, “…D’you think… if there was a god… d’you think She would ever b’capable of loving a mortal as much as they love Her?... A god has a whole world, an infinite amount of people, places, and things t’love. But all the mortal has is Them. How could such a perfect being ever truly love such an insignificant, imperfect fleck on Their world?”

I consider, well aware of his true meaning and trying to respond in kind, “Well, I wouldn’t know how a god would feel . But from my perspective, I don’t see how a god could not love a mortal. There are so many ways to love, and surely their love for a person, a soul, would be more powerful than any of the others, right? A soul is so special, a type of god in its own right, able to create and destroy, to live and love and experience and share their experience back to the world in a unique way not even a god can.” 

Ren responds, “But there are billions of other souls. Why a specific one? Especially if they’re one that’s flawed, broken beyond repair, a failure of creation? Why not a true god, to be level and equal to Them, powerful enough to fulfill Her every desire?”

I think over his question, “What use is one god to another? If one can fulfil a desire, so can the other, sameness has no meaning. The thrilling part is the new, the learning, the sharing of souls. No creation is a failure, and nothing is truly broken, only changed. Flaws are what make things interesting, unique, and compelling. Even shattered glass can make for beautiful mosaics, or stained-glass windows.”

Ren scoffs, “Unless it’s fractured into pieces too small t’fit into a work of art. Sharp enough t’cut and useless f’anything else.”

I frown, trailing my hand up and down his back comfortingly, “Then it’s frit, and can become swirls of gorgeous color if utilized by an artist willing to see its potential, to handle it with care and love as it should have been from the beginning.”

Another pause, then, “What if it’s a weed instead then? Ugly, unwanted, and choking out other plants for its own selfish desires.”

I shake my head, “Plants and animals do what they have to do to survive. It’s their environment that defines the lengths they must go to, not their form, nor their inherent nature. You can’t blame something for trying to survive. If it is considered ugly and unwanted, then it is in the wrong environment and beheld by the wrong person. A dandelion is considered a weed to adults, but a wonder to children. A flower that is so bright and shining, that becomes a sphere of fluff, whose seeds become dancers in the wind.” I laugh a bit at my own whimsical description.

Ren counters, “It’s invasive, an eyesore, and takes over spaces where it never belonged, using up resources from the ones deserving t’be there.”

I lean back slightly to look them in the eyes, “It sounds like you’re the wrong beholder then. Dandelions are versatile, resilient, and can sustain others through healing and sustenance. Every part of it is valuable in some way or another, if you care enough to look beyond the surface.”

They look back at me with wonder, “Y'so optimistic.”

I grin back at him, “I was a nihilist for a long time, I just happened to finally find meaning in the world.”

He questions, “And what’s that?”

I smile brightly, finding their hand under the covers and intertwining it with my own, “You,” his real name rolls off your tongue so naturally, like it was always meant to be there.

I bring the back of his hand to my lips, trying to convey every bit of emotion I felt for them through my touch and gaze.

They seem frozen for a second, staring at me in shock. Just before he shifts to hide behind his bangs, I see tears fill his eyes as they turn downwards.

I quickly reach out to turn their face back to me, watching anxiously as he furiously tries to blink away his tears, “Hey, listen. I know what you’re thinking right now. I understand the instinct to tear down everything I’ve said, to write it off as me just being careless or misguided. But it’s true, and I need you to believe it.” Tears are now streaming down his face as silent as they are relentless, and knowing how much they hate me seeing them cry, I pull them back into a tight hug.

I continue gently, “I’ve seen you at your worst, yeah? When you were crazy with jealousy and hatred and thought I was going to leave you. But I didn’t. I’m still here, and I’m going to be for a very long time. Not because you made and executed the perfect plan, not because I have no other choice, but because I want to be. Because I’ve seen you as you are, and I fucking love you. And just because that contradicts your view of yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It means you’ve been in the wrong environment for 23 years, and I intend to fix that.”

After a pause I add in a more lighthearted tone, “And if that means I have to beat the shit out of the voice in your head that keeps saying horrible shit to you, that’s what I’m gonna fuckin do.”

Ren cracks a weak smile, “How’re y’gonna do that? They’re a stubborn bitch, and largely immaterial.”

“Like this.” I return my hands to their face and plant a kiss on their forehead. I then move to each of his cheeks. I leave one on his nose and each of his eyelids, and then everywhere in between.

After we are both laughing from my onslaught, I finally pull away, “Better?”

Ren responds with the faintest hint of a smile, “One more couldn’t hurt. Just t’make sure.”

I chuckle, “Alright, one more, but then we have to go back to sleep.”

He pouts at my words, but ultimately gives in when I lean in, and we share a soft kiss.

After, I hold my arms open, allowing them to cuddle in closer, wrapping their arms around me and laying their head on my chest. Our legs naturally intertwine as we sink back into the pillows around us. I absentmindedly trace patterns on the back of his shoulder as we fade back into the obscurity of sleep, together.

[totallynottinsel]

Thorin at the height of the dragon sickness dressing Bilbo in the finest of clothes and jewls. That's it, that's the prompt

yes.

"This is ridiculous..." Muttered Bilbo as he examined himself in a dusty, near broke mirror, running his fingers over the cold feel of Mithril that weighed his chest. He wasn't sure what to make of it, in all honesty; Thorin's 'token of friendship' had very well dazed him. In the truth of those words, he pondered if he'd misread Thorin's acts of kindness and that of possible affection to be more than friendship. He wasn't suited for a king after all, he was... well, a Baggins of Bag End! Nothing more to it; Yet Mithril stared back at him with a different story.

Bilbo slumped down to his bed, in the private chambers Thorin gave him, well---insisted he must have. He didn't recall anyone else in the company talking of their own room, now that he thought of it. He rubbed his weary eyes and sighed, tapping a foot repeatedly against the stone floor. Thorin was not himself, that had become clear, so did this gift of fondness come from a darker place, or had it truly been from the dwarf's heart? Bilbo smacked a hand to his face in unknowing frustration. Why did dwarves have to be so cryptic?

The knock of his door startled him up. "Ah---yes, come in!" He cleared his throat and grabbed for his over coat, fussing to get it on and praying to whatever sort of spirits roamed the halls that it was not Thorin for a multitude of reasons. He felt the heavy bulk of the Arkenstone move in his pocket that made him feel queasy.

Lucky him, it was Balin. "Sorry to bother you laddie." He said kindly, though his smile sunk down soon after as if he were to deliver unsavory news. "Thorin wishes to see you."

Bilbo's heart jumped to be at least twice as fast then; had he finally found out he had been keeping the Arkenstone? Was he being removed from the company? He did do his duty, technically speaking... or perhaps Thorin had another reason to get rid of him. Balin's smile was the only thing to console him that it wasn't something horrid. "Er, what did he say he wanted me for, exactly?"

"Oh, not sure." Balin shook his head. "Something about dressing you, is what I heard."

"Dressing?" Bilbo could barely speak the word aloud, as it came with far too many connotations for his liking. "As in literal?"

"Suppose that's between you and him."

Suddenly Bilbo felt his face grow unimaginably hot. With a pat on the back that could only be read as 'good luck', Balin left his side. A few careful steps in a new corner of Erebor he had yet to see, he eyed Thorin's figure from afar, and as his hand went to reached for support on a nearby shelf, a parade of coins and goods fell to the floor with a loud clank. Bilbo winced, waiting for the noise to fully die down; well, maybe he was about to be hired as a jester.

"Master Baggins." Thorin called to him, his voice riddled with command as if it could be faltered by no one.

"Yes, right, ah---" Bilbo stepped over the mess he'd caused and made his way over more awkwardly than he should've. "Here. And Bilbo is fine, no need for all the... 'Master' business. I'd like to think we're on familiar enough terms." He went to fiddle around with his pockets, but drew back at the feel of the Arkenstone. He really needed a proper hiding place if being this close to Thorin was going to be a regular occurrence.

Thorin turned a shoulder to acknowledge the presence of Nori and Bofur, who were likely tending to another odd job, standing (not so subtly) to watch before quickly pretending they weren't doing so at all. "Leave us." Was all he said to make the two dwarves scatter out.

"So," Bilbo started, patting at his sides, trying to make little eye contact. "Balin said you, er... wanted to dress... me." His heart picked up again.

With a silent nod Thorin lifted a hefty crown clad in solid gold from a table that held many treasures. The crown was embedded with shining dark blue gems, and out of it was the figure of a great raven. "If you are to be at a kings side," He stepped forward and held the crown high, placing it a-top the hobbit's head. "Then you should look the part."

"Thorin I---I can't wear this," Bilbo chuckled, holding to the crown that was a bit too large for him. "I'm not like you. I'm just... a hobbit. Far from dwarven royalty." He lifted his shoulders to shrug.

"You are more than you credit yourself to be." Said Thorin, as he then brought near an elegant robe much to his own, lined with fur and detailed embroidery. "Take off that odious coat the men of the Lake swayed you in; you need not wear its burden."

Bilbo had little excuses left to argue with that, though he did suppose he could use a decent change of clothing after rolling away from a displeased dragon. He slipped the weight off his arms, holding it to his chest as he grew in search for a place to keep it. He hastily placed it on an empty stool, and the aches of the Arkenstone tugged at him. He could be at ease if you gave it to him, maybe. His thoughts conflicted, till the sudden feel of Thorin's hands brushing against his shoulders turned his mind elsewhere; he guided his arms through the robe, and over Mithril it lay, drowning him in wonderus riches.

"You hold beauty unlike any other." Thorin's hand lifted Bilbo's chin, directing his eyes to look upon a golden mirror that reflected their figures. "It deserves to be treasured, to be kept from the wrong gaze. When you stand by me no one will treat you lower ever again; they will see us as one, and flock to our command."

There Bilbo saw them, a possibility, a future, and there he fell to Thorin's words. He watched the hobbit that stared back at him, the crown above his head that promised a life loved by all---a great kingdom, and someone to share its bliss with. He then did not yearn for the comforts of Bag End; what had he left there? Was he to deny an offer most could only dream of, to return to a lonely hole in the ground for the rest of his days? He found it hard to imagine going back to a life missing what he'd grown so used to over the course of their journey, and that of Thorin's touch he did not wish to see go most.

Bilbo let his eyes fall shut, leaning back to the warmth of Thorin that made his heart sure of itself. "Would you truly take me?"

At that, Thorin scaled down Bilbo's arm, taking hold of his hand with gentle ease, looking to him through the mirror. "I would have you in this life and all those after."

[castiwls]

begin again

Paring; art x reader

Prompt; 'but on a wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again.'

Requested; @matchpointfaist

Notes; there not technically in a cafe but a cafe is mentioned

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Art had never imagined the words “We got divorced.” Would ever be something that left his lips. He’d been so sure that Tashi had been the one - so sure that he’d thrown away an entire friendship, but hey! Maybe he’d been wrong, but at least he said friendship had been fixed before the divorce.

Yet now the divorce and his tennis career were over, he’d found himself with heaps of free time he hadn’t had in years. Tashi had run a tight ship, and for a moment, he’d felt like he was drowning without her hand. For the first time in years, Art Donaldson had full control over his life, and he had no clue what to do.

Was he too old to date? Hell, he had no idea where to start anymore. Patrick had tried to convince him to get Tinder after one too many beers but he couldn’t shake the nauseous feeling whenever he saw the app on his home screen. He wasn’t built for that kind of dating.

He’d almost resigned himself to the idea that maybe he was meant to live a quiet life away from the spotlight by himself, which was in a way what had led him to drive to a small town a few hours away from the city.

“Wha-” Art's cheeks heated slightly when he saw that in the middle of his thoughts, he’d managed to walk right into someone. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention.” He apologised, his hand wrapping around yours to pull you up before he leaned down, grabbing the bag you’d dropped.

“It’s okay.” You smiled watching him. “I should have been looking.” Your own cheeks heated slightly when he glanced back up, a bashful smile on his lips as he held out your bag. You stared at him for a moment. This had to be one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen, and you’d just all but run into him.

Oh god.

“You okay?” Art frowned when you didn’t move to take your bag. His words seemed to bring you back to the present as you cleared your throat like you hadn’t just been shamelessly checking him out and took the bag.

“Thanks.” Art nodded, studying you for a moment. “Sorry again…” He chuckled nervously almost as he rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. Was he sweating? He hadn’t been sweating before?

You both lapsed into a silence, neither willing to make the first move to say goodbye before he finally spoke up.

“Let me get you a drink…it’s only fair after I walked into you and all.” He smiled, nervous, almost as he waited for your reaction. God, he hadn’t felt this way around a girl in years…since the first time he’d seen Tashi all those years ago.

He felt like a lovesick teenager again, almost as he quietly prayed you’d take him up on his offer. 

“Yeah.” You smiled, nodding slightly. “I’d like that.”

And just like that, for the first time in months, he saw a possible light at the surface of the water, which had been drowning him ever since he’d signed those papers. For the first time in a while, he believed that maybe Tashi hadn’t been the one for him.

Maybe he’d been looking in the wrong place for the last thirteen years because something just felt so right as you walked side by side to the nearest coffee shop. Your laugh sounded like the air he’d been looking for as you laughed at whatever lame joke he’d thought of in the moment.

The idea of starting all over after this divorce had terrified him, but it suddenly didn’t seem so daunting if he got to start all over again with you.

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

Hakuoki DS Store Bonus CD 「Carrot and Stick: In the Case of Hijikata and Kazama」

Finally have time to work on translating 🤣! I hope work won't be too busy for a while now that things have settled down... at least until July. It'd be then since a lot of collateral being made now is supposed to be used for a company event then... so I'll hopefully be able to start translating more regularly.

My matters aside, I would like to ask people to please consider supporting Kotowari (@koto-wari), as she has a kofi-page here. Koto has been actively contributing to what Hakuoki content there is now available in English, and has previously translated Hakuoki game content, Hakumyu cast interviews, and some of the Hakumyu musicals among other things. She also helped me with the HAKU-MYU LIVE extras English subtitles!

Anyway, since Koto's favourite route is Hakuoki, I decided to translate this drama cd to go with what I'd be writing to promote her page since a lot of her content does have Hijikata in it.

Enjoy~!

Hakuoki DS Store Bonus CD 「Carrot and Stick: In the Case of Hijikata and Kazama」

Translation by KumoriYami

Hijikata: The Shinsengumi, the organization responsible of the security in Kyoto, heard about another dangerous rumour today. According to the person responsible from the Watch, Choshu ronin are planning another stupid activity.

The best place for secret conversations, of course, is within the alleys of the city.

To catch them, I, Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi, Hijikata Toshizou, have come to Sumiya in Shimabara.

For this mission, it would be too conspicuous to bring many people.

If we were to move as a group, I'd like to bring Saito and Yamazki, but it'd be a bit difficult to do that this time.

There are reports that Yukimura Kodo may be among the enemy, and he is necessary to the Shinsengumi.

So, to confirm if it's really him, I brought Kodo-san's daughter Chizuru with me.

That's how the two of us ended up alone in a room at Sumiya, when suddenly there was the sound of the door to the room opening.

-----

(door slides open)

Kazama: Hmph, in this time of turmoil, as you're still able to relax and come here and drink, it seems that you're really living the a carefree life, dog of the Shogunate!

Hijikata: You... Kazama! Why have you come in without permission!

Kazama: Think nothing of it, I simply thought that voice I heard sounded familiar. That female oni will definitely become my wife in the future, and it must be fate that I met you here tonight.

Hijikata: No one asked you to come in! This room is meant for her and myself! Don't just go spouting nonsense, and get lost!

Kazama: You're just an insignificant human. How dare you use that tone to speak to me?

Hijikata: So what's this about? Are you going to tell us about the inner workings of the Satsuma? Anyway, the purpose of your visit to Sumiya should be to protect someone important. If not, it's to spy on an enemy.

Kazama: How stupid. Do you believe that I'll reveal my hand so easily?

Hijikata: If not, then as I said before, this not of your business, so get out!

Kazama: Hmph, what a truly impatient man. I have nothing to say to you. But, how about it, female oni. If you pour me a drink, perhaps I'll tell you something.

HIjikata: What?

Kazama: I think you truly are pitiful, having been imprisoned in the lair of these crude and vulgar humans.

Hijikata: I'm sorry that we're such a vulgar group!

Kazama: And they've forced you to dress up as a man! If you dressed up, you'd obviously be an extremely beautiful woman

Hijikata: Hey! When you're surrounded by men, wearing women's clothing would only be asking for trouble.

Kazama: It'd be a shame for you if this continues, so come with me.

Hijikata: Hey, don't listen to Kazama's words. His stupidity is contagious.

Kazama: What? Who are you saying is idiotic. You don't even have the ability to protect a woman, wheras I'm different in that respect. I will not allow the woman destined to be my wife suffered any inconvenience.

Hijikata: Wife? You're actually saying that. You're only thinking about how to use her.

Kazama: Say whatever you want, you humans won't understand the way the way we oni display our love to women.

Hijikata: Display love? Hah. You're not going to get rattled, are you? Don't be fooled, he's just talking nonsense.

Kazama: How about it, female oni? If you come with me, first of all, I will allow you to eat your favourite dishes. It would be delicious food that the poor Shinsengumi would never be able to eat, which you would be able to enjoy to your heart's content.

Hijikata: Wha! You bastard! That's so mean!

Kazama: Blame yourselves for not having the means.

HIjikata: Kh! I'm sorry, we've always been destitute.

Kazama: It's up to you if you want to suffer, but do not involve my wife.

Hijikata: That guy isn't youw wife!

Kazama: It's only a matter of time.

Hijikata:....Hey, you're a member of the Shinsengumi, right? So you should be aware of your position. If you eat too extravagantly, you' wil'll get punished by the heavens!

Kazama: What punishment by the heavens to there to be scared of. Ah, why don't a prepare a kimono for you too.

Hijikata: A kimono? You're saying that so easily, how would you get the money for that?

Kazama: Have you forgotten? I am the leader of the western oni clans. In addition to the compensation from the Satsuma, there are also some hidden assets...

Hijikata: Aahh! I'm really sorry about that! We're just peasants from Tama!

Kazama: How about getting a colourful to suit you? You won't need to continue pretending to be a man. Don't you want to quickly grasp the happiness of being a woman?

Hijikata: What happiness of being a woman? She doesn't need to wear women's clothes to be enough...

Kazama: Enough... for what?

HIjikata:....Never mind. Anyway, unless you candidly explain things, he'll keep pestering you. Just hurry up and say it clearly. Tell him that you have no obligation to go with him.

Kazama: Hah! Yet you're the one directing her. Alright, female oni, choose me.

Hijikata: What? Even if we say that, you feel troubled?

Kazama: Does that mean you can't make a choice?

HIjikata: I'm telling you, there's no need to be polite to this guy.

Kazama: That's what I wanted to say. Could it be that you still have feelings for the Shinsengumi? Then I have an idea.

(draws blade)

Hijikata: Heh. Drawing your katana at a banquet. There should be a limit to how tactless you are.

Kazama: It's because you aren't listening. Is this truly fine, female oni. If you don't listen to me now, I'll chop off this man's head right here and now.

Hijikata: How would you be able to kill me.

Kazama: Allow me to to demonstrate the difference between humans and oni to you.

(draws sword)

Hijikata: Hmph!

Kazama: There is no way a mere human could possibly defeat me, the leader of the oni clans.

HIjikata: How would you know that if you don't try? I don't know how good your arms are, but my swordsmanship is much better than yours!

Kazama: Stop pretending.

Hijikata: Speaking of which, is it okay for you to cause a commotion here? Didn't you come here for work?

Kazama: Your human politics has nothing to do with me. Although I'm helping out a little bit, that means nothing compared to this. Obtaining the female oni is far more important than that.

HIjikata: What a troublesome bastard you are. If you were a member of the Shinsengumi, you would have been ordered to commit seppuku for disobeying orders!

Kazama: Do not apply the common sense of the Mibu wolves to me. But, it's not like I can let you go now. Just run away with your tail between your legs. Of course, leave this girl to me.

Hijikata: I refuse, you won't be getting away from me. Whether it's me letting you go, or turning my back to the enemy or leaving her alone, I can't do any of that!

Kazama: As expected, you aren't the slightest bit sensible.

Hijikata: You're wrong! This is called fulfilling the misison! (tightens grasp on hilt) Listen carefully, just hide behind me. Don't think about anything unecessary. Tch.... what's with the expression on your face?

Kazama: What's wrong, why do you look like you're about to cry?

Hijikata: Do you really think I'll lose if we fight? Heh, you don't need to worry. Believe in me!

Kazama: Believe in you? Hmph, youhave never recognized that girl as one of your comrades, and it's only at a critical time you'd say such nice things.

HIjikata: Ah, it's true that we haven't acknowledged her as one of our comrades.

Kazama: My wife, did you hear that? Indeed, oni can only live together with other oni.

Hijikata: I've already said that she's not your wife! This guy isn't one of our comrades, and is an oni, but so what?

Kazama: What?

HIjikata: Listen, we decided to protect her. Regardless of what kind of blood runs in her body, her background isn't a reason why her fate should be manipulated, so we'll protect her from those kinds of people (I guess?).

Kazama: That girl will be happier if she's with me. Why can't you understand that.

Hijikata: We have a responsibility! We pulled her into this, and she;s had her freed restricted in the name of justice, but even so, this woman has worked hard for us without complaning. As warrors, how could we just abandon her?!

Kazama: Girl, can you believe a man like this? That is what a country samurai would say.

Hijikata: Listen, don't worry. I will definitely defeat Kazama, and bring you safely back to headquarters without fail. Just calmly wait and watch from there. Right, the Shinsengumi is where you belong, so you have nothing to worry about.

Kazama: hey, why are your eyes tearing up? Were you moved by what he just said? If the situation changes, this man Hijikata will kill you at any time.

HIjikata: Shut up! Isn't it the same for you! If she didn't have the bloodline of the oni, you'd lose interest in her.

Kazama: Hmph... but it's impossible to lose your bloodline. That assumption is meaningless. [not really... hahaha]

HIjikata: No matter what you say, even if we can't resist the tides fo change, we're still going to protect her! Regardless of who the opponent is, I will never back down!

Kazama: Hmph...

(sheathes blade)

Kazama: How boring. Since you've ruined my mood, I'm leaving.

Hijikata: Then hurry up... hey! Why are you calling him?

Kazama: Oh? You still want to come with me? What? You'll pour me sake if I tell you about the Satsuma?

HIjikata: Haha, that's right, you said that at the beginning.

Kazama: Why do I need to drink while facing a Mibu wolf.

Hijikata: It's not like I want to do this either. But if you provide information on the Satsuma like you said, it's not like I can't bear it.

Kazama: Refusing will only make the sake taste bad. What? You're saying a man shouldn't be like that?

Hijikata: Hey, we've already given up! If you don't accept this, wouldn't that damage the dginity of the oni clans?

Kazama: Hm.... I won't betray the Satsuma, but I can reveal a bit of insider informaiton on the Choshu. Furthermore, the money for the sake must be billed to the Shinsengumi. Those are my conditions.

Hijikata: Tch... Fine, let's do it that way.

...

Hijikata: In the end, Kodo-san and the Choshu didn't show up. But beause we brought her along, we got some valuable information from Kazama.

With this, it's only a matter of time before we catch those unscrupulous ronin. It was quite strange to be in the face of Kazama as she poured sake for us.

Well the results weren't bad though.

Hmph.

Maybe.

Hijikata Toshizou: Miki Shin'ichirō

Kazama Chikage: Tsuda Kenjiro

------end------

*ahem* i would like to follow-up to the note at I put at the start of this post by saying that I still think Saito is the best. hehehe.😜

p.s. if you're a translator looking for a boost for a monetization platform, feel free to reach out to me, though I'll need to be under the impression that you haven't only done a on-off translation contribution to Hakuoki (unless it was something for a Hakumyu musical).

(also im going to get to my messages later today)

[mekkyz-dubz]

Sparklecare Hospital Reboot Review

I've never posted my critique about Sparklecare Hospital, because I was too lazy to analyze the plot or I would get harassed. It's been 20 days since the doc came out and I left the Sparklecare fandom for a long time. I've made a review of the preboot where it was pretty okay by today's standards, although I never reviewed the reboot one. Just for a retrospective, I'm going to review the current comic, and I'm going to try to distract myself from Sparklecare and focus on other interests once it's fully resolved. Although I'm not good at making critiques, I will try my best. Note that this is just my personal opinion so feel free to disagree if you have something to point out.

Before we begin, I have to admit that I had a bad impression of the crit community because I thought they were harassing the creator. I defended her when the trend blew up, but once I learned about KC's suspicion for a long time, I became neutral and lurked around some crit blogs, it turns out they were right. Some of the crits were minors and people began jumping on the trend to spout something that isn't "Too many sex jokes and innuendos to focus on the comic". In addition, I do not support Kittycorn or condone any actions she has done. This review was purely made for my opinions.

Now enough talking about them, here is the list of each volume titles available in the Everything Sucks series:

Vol 1: ...And Nobody's Talking About It

Vol 2: This and That Too

Vol 3: When Nobody's Looking

Vol 4: Especially You

Vol 5: Curing The Infection

Generally speaking, the reboot fixes almost every issue in the comic to make it more realistic to portray average healthcare, but that won't be the case when volume 4 started, so let's jump into the first volume.

Volume 1 starts with Barry reading a pamphlet, and an old character named Charles Wells warns him not to go into the "slaughterhouse" known as Sparklecare Hospital. Barry eventually farewells to him by saying "Things get better" before going on a checkup, but Charles answers otherwise. For the plot of this volume, I'd say it's a good start for a "satirical" comic about American Healthcare which was based on the creator's horrible hospital experience so she tried to make it relatable for anyone who is experiencing the said thing like Kittycorn does, and we were glad to see the four characters being met, mainly Uni Cornelius, Caroline Coughs, Jay Fortune and Hemera Philly. Plus, the ending helps to tell the truth about American Healthcare. There are a few retcons in this comic to make it a bit more sense for old and new fans alike to keep up with people who love to ship. As for her art style, her 2018-2021 era was my favorite because it makes each character look pop thanks to line variations. Sadly, when volume 3 came out, her art style was starting to degrade to save time for her crew members have more room for multiple comic pages, either that or her wrist injury, albeit I can't blame for that. Now onto the volume 2.

Volume 2 takes place after the patients get sent back to the hospital. Barry has never met these people since the beginning, so he tries to greet them nicely aside from his impressions of Hemera. Since it's a cleanup day, Doom has confiscated the patients' belongings to the trash, but the former didn't want their favorite things thrown away. Caroline has an idea of getting their belongings back by sending her friends but Hemera into the dumpster, but they are stopped by former patients in a city dump until the end.

Other than sex jokes more often in some volumes, this plot has pretty good moments to keep us waiting for the lore and foreshadowing, and it sends a message of toxic masculinity that happened to Uni where Doom belittled her for liking "girlish" things since that's the point of creating a morally grey character. However, there are a few retcons and edits to try to fit in and I'm not a fan of Doom being "woobified" into saying sorry for confiscating her teddy bear so he doesn't get hurt by his boss.

One thing I can agree with is WcDonald's being replaced with 7-Twelve on page 134 due to Kittycorn finding out about McDonald's funding a Zionist state, though the lighting on a specific panel is downgraded. Now, the ending marks the cliffhanger for the last outsider, we would expect to have the same quality as previous volumes, but not all volumes have consistent quality. So that's why I'm moving on to the next volume. Enter "When Nobody's Looking".

In volume 3, we see Doom drawing a flower, and her sister Mood shows up at the wrong time. He tries to hide it out of embarrassment but shows it to her anyway, and Mood compliments his drawing afterward. The plot introduces side patients in the cafeteria such as Orange U. Glad, Cyn Dher, Polaris Klepsky, and Finnegan Fevers, so we can see their character development in this comic, at the same time, it introduces outsiders such as social workers in the comic which can report the abuse inside a premise, although that's not the case anymore at the end of the volume. In my opinion, I'm pretty impressed by this introduction where Polly is introduced to Uni's jealousy, and we can finally see the reason for Uni's eyes going missing due to her suicide attempt, which is shocking, and the ending shows the truth of a social worker taking a side of Sparklecare Hospital. As far as her art style is concerned, this takes a downgrade approach including the comic panel format, character designs, and inking. Now onto the volume 4, and it's going to be a hot mess for long-term Sparklecare readers.

The volume 4 is mainly a filler for Barruni fanservice. The concept of sentient puppets controlled by Uni's magic to represent her self-loathing and insecurity, and her self-loving sounds pretty cool on paper, but the way Kittycorn implemented it is poorly executed. The plot of this volume is okay like we get it. We have Uni's own story for the audience, but neither everyone is a Barruni shipper nor is okay with many sex jokes to fill it in, especially the "canon" ending where Barry has a dream in a very suggestive manner rather than Uni creating multiple puppets as an apology to those who were affected by a puppet version of herself named Kneevil. Honestly, I'm already concerned about this volume when looking back. There are many sex jokes in this plot which turn people away from it, considering the comic was used to be marked as 16+ before increasing to 18+ back in August 2024. What's more concerning is that one crew member named Jeremy was somehow credited on page 24 of volume 5 before they even turned 18, mostly due to Patreon posts being submitted early. Moving on to the volume 5.

The final volume starts with Uni having a nightmare over something that will affect her life. She goes to a doctor named Dr. Dolly to confess her nightmare and receives her stuffed toy which foreshadows the overarching antagonist whose body parts are fused together in a far future volume, especially the "Perfect Patient" part in volume 3. This volume has its ups and downs. We may see an intern of a social worker named Brigh T. Howtlook exploring an abandoned hospital building on his own with multiple outsiders making theories about the truth of Sparklecare Hospital. This could have been the potential to see more foreshadowing on each lore. Unfortunately, this volume won't be finished due to the comic being put on hiatus after the creator got called out for multiple controversies that can be read here (I don't recommend reading this doc if you're not comfortable with disturbing themes). Not to mention, this volume's art style and comic format have been downgraded as well.

I do not have anything to review aside from leaked series and things that can be read here, but if I'm being honest about the comic and her project, it's going to suck due to plot holes willing to be added, and this discourages future readers to move on to something else as the Sparklecare project will become bland if Kittycorn had continued it from her recovery, and I'm afraid, she will take the Floraverse route but I doubt it will happen for the time being.

All these controversies surrounding Kittycorn such as incest, befriending predators off sight, and silencing victims, make me glad that there are better alternatives that are worth reading. I've read one of her responses on Tumblr before it gets taken down, presumably due to her abuser finding out, and one thing I can kind of agree with is to not make a comic about your trauma if you're unsure about yourself and the popularity, but I think it depends on how you want to vent out your problems if done right. This however doesn't excuse Kittycorn from making multiple incest projects and inserting exhibitionism into a public AU blog called Ask Cometcare. It doesn't help that there were minors who were working on an incest project while leaving them unaware, and saying it's her coping mechanism is very unhealthy, and she needs to seek help from professionals and cut every predator off her life. Considering she had done multiple things to lie to her audience including ones from the preboot, this project should've never been created from the start of 2016 for safety reasons.

Rating: 7/10

I won't be linking all volumes here for now, although you can look up yourself through Wayback Machine if you want to. I do not recommend giving any support to Kittycorn for all things mentioned. Instead, support victims who were affected by Sparklecare and predators:

Commission Jeremy

Donate to Chaosblast/Nick

Donate to toynbeck

Donate to aobasgirlfriend

[imaginariumwanderer]

So, a little update.

This reblog is about how I'm doing for those who care, to talk about my relationship with the crk fandom as of late, and to announce that I'm taking a vacation (to twitter) once I'm done with all the requests, I'll come back in May or at a later date, it's uncertain.

Honestly speaking this isn't anything big, I'm doing well. I'm making this post because I don't want people to worry lol Please be warned I'm going to rambles about my *eugh* feelings under cut, hope it's comprehensible.

Let's get the shorter stuff over first: About my life. Same ol' same ol' stuff. My life is a predictable chain of work eat rest+occasionally dealing w family stuff, and I like it that way. My job brought moderate stress like any job. It's my fluctuating, erratic mental health that gets in the way of finishing my tasks on time. So ya, kinda busy kinda tired but it's nothing I can't handle. It is how it is.

Now let's get down to business: So with the 4th anniversary and the arrival of playable smc, the crk fandom has blown up. I anticipated this long ago but when it actually happen, well... Things have gotten hectic quickly, eh? Eventually and inevitably, I ended up feeling overwhelmed. I've seen other fans, mutuals or otherwise, expressing the same sentiment. So I felt a bit less alone on that front, but it's still hard to deal with.

Last year, the amount of shadowvanilla fanfics on ao3 barely reached triple digits. Now it has over 600 fics and growing. At some point I realized the fandom surrounding this ship has irreversibly changed, whether it's for the best or the worse is yet to be seen, but that realization kinda sent me spiraling. The place which I've familiarize myself with for over a year now feel so alien. I got this sense that I don't belong. I'm not sure if I deserve to be here anymore. I wanted to check how my mutuals are doing, but lately just the thought of checking the shadowvanilla tag or logging onto tumblr at all got me feeling awfully, illogically, anxious. I felt disconnected from everyone.

Make no mistakes, this is no one's fault. From when I made my first crk post up until now I've yet to receive a single negative comment, nor did I have any bad interactions with the fans. Every person I've come across have been nothing but welcoming and kind, my time on tumblr have been incredible so far (aside from those annoying porn bots-) It just that I can't help my intrusive thoughts. I still question my place in this fandom sometimes. Please rest assured, I've done my own crashouts back in late January-mid February (yah, I crashed out twice) and is currently in the getting over it/processing my feelings phase. Drawing is still fun, I still wanna have fun talking about silly cookies with my like-minded pals again c:

If you're new to this blog: hi, thank you for being here. Um, dw I don't tend to get all weird and personal like this that often, it's as a special occasion.

If you're an old follower or a moot: thank you for everything, really. I once mentioned before how I don't like bringing irl stuff or negative feelings onto this blog, but I think all of you deserve a bit of honesty from me. Moving forward I'd like to be a bit more open, if that's okay with you. I'm a pretty negative person in real life (haha)

As said above I'll move to twitter temporarily in the future/April. My twitter is fairly small and new, so it feel nice posting whatever is on my mind without fearing how many people will see it. Feel a bit calmer there too. I'm extra awful truthful there, if any adult crk fans reading this would like to chat, feel free to reach me there! (not in DMs tho it's the anxiety ok sorry sorry-)

Sorry for not being more active on the reblog/interaction department these past few weeks. I gave in to the sus on twitter and then art block hit me like my dad's belt (on top of other irl shenanigans..)

The inbox is open for asks again, anon is allowed too, I'm not confident on my reply rate but I'll do my best! As of now art request is not officially open yet. I do really want to get started but it's impossible with current irl stuff getting in the way. Hopefully I can start doing requests in May, I hope. Shadowvanilla-related art request is welcomed though, I don't have enough mental strength for most things lately but doodling them revitalize me(?) So please feel free to make requests for smilk and vani!

Some rules:

Please specify whether you want them in humanoid or cookie form. If there's no specification I'll draw it randomly.

Slightly suggestive is ok, they can kiss as a treat, but no outright nsfw please. Any graphic requests will be rejected/blocked.

A little bit of blood or light gore is ok👍

(angst prompts is encouraged their suffering fuels me-)

*Waiting time is 3 weeks, if there's no answer by then please consider the request rejected or I somehow didn't receive it. Thank you for your understanding.

Edit: request is now officially closed.

[lifesver]

alright hold on here are The Thoughts

i think growing up it was very like... leland trying to fit himself into a box, or an image that people had for him. which started with his dad and literally just trying to get the 'i'm proud of u' one singular time. dad was tough on him, only son, 70s, a little more sensitive than most boys his age etc. truly the root cause of why he can so easily get caught in cycles of people-pleasing, and is so easy to manipulate, and so easy to knock down a peg. bc he already has those preconceptions of himself, and when those things get confirmed, he just goes oh. yeah i guess so. you peaked in highschool? sure did man. you're not good enough for your friends? true!

leland who pushed himself into a golden boy status in his tiny little town. who made that his entire Thing for a while. he pushed himself in athletics and he pushed himself in academics so he could make it into that ivy school. and then getting to university where just about everything ripped a stripe off him. a lot of it was good humbling (from his friends), that made him loosen up and stop trying to exist in that box. but it was also just a wake up call of like, not being the best, and in fact being mostly average. which there's 0 things wrong with but when you have the ex golden boy complex it's so over for the mental.

i think about how after he had to drop out of school it was like. extra tough. going back to your small town after you were supposed to make something of yourself in college. seeing the people you knew from highschool, some of them having never left, some of them looking at you with judgement like haha how did you mess that up golden boy omg??? having to be there while his friends finished up their schooling, and then moved away. nothing like coming back to your childhood room after you've outgrown it and remembering being just a little younger than you are now, and all the things you thought you would be and get to do. spending basically a year rotting at home with zero motivation and just a completely gutting fear of being out in public until it's like. well i can't just do this huh.

and then having to go work for/with his dad so he doesn't put too much of a burden on his mother who's helping april with her kids now. just contractor work stuff and having to listen to his dad yap about whatever all day. having that oppressive influence on his shoulders again cutting down any personal growth he had made toward things like... self expression in the realms of his appearance or sexuality or identity and even just embracing silly interests or whatever. it all just went back in the box, bc he knew he wasn't going to be able to get out from under his dad's roof until he could save enough money to pay off school (lol rip the scholarship) and then move out. and generally just being like oh thats cool. i'm going to never leave this town. just like him (: cool cool cool!!

and he doesn't!!! he doesn't leave for twenty years. he gets a house and a dog and lives his quiet life. losing contact with most of the friend group after everything sort of cemented something in him that said hey don't bother letting anyone know you like that again, they'll leave you and it'll be your own fault. you don't want to trap anyone with you, you don't want to get your heart broken over and over, either. he never gets married, just has some messy short relationships, messy one night stands with people he can't bring himself to call back. he's the kind of person that's still like... warm and friendly for the most part, so people think they're his friend, that they know him, when he doesn't rly talk about anything real about himself anymore. i love 2 laugh

[wundrousarts]

Yesterday I watched Cartoon Saloon’s short “Screecher’s Reach”, and thought Daal’s hair was almost exactly like how I envision Mathilde Lachance’s hair, so I decided to try and draw her. Today I stopped cleaning up the sketch after about an hour because I got bored, so it’s going here.

[this-is-a-name-dont-worry]

I know you're not making this up, I've heard about Dinklage's statement, though it's nice to see what he said rather than hear about it.

The thing is, they used CGI, and they are still hit with the criticisms. And them inventing a minor character to cast as someone with dwarfism is nice, but that's not much, as no one really talks about him.

Using actors would have allowed the job for seven people; they can keep the characters they invented to add an eight actor who is playing a character that's more serious as a way to start balancing it out. And while making a movie take time, they could still make a statement saying they're sorry about this situation, and promise to work on a movie that will allow a better representation. It could even create some hype, to look at it in a purely cynical way.

Disney is indeed not woke, and we all know they do things just for their image. We already know they're shallow.

I didn't say it in my reblog for the sake of brievety, but truth be told, the right thing would have been to never make a live action remake of Snow White in the first place. They should have thought about these kinds of things before doing it.

As you said, it's a lose-lose situation. But one of those lose could have been better, and a good way for Disney to try doing some right stuff. Use the situation to push the creation of a big movie that would be seen by many that uses people with dwarfisms as a main complex cast. Even if it gets released when the controversy dies down, it would still be a positive impact.

Instead they took the easy cop out of firing their actors to use CGI instead, and put a bandit with dwarfism as a consolation prize, and they push Lilo & Stitch's advertising so people forget about the movie.

It's a lose-lose situation. They chose the lose that allowed them an easy way out without needing to improve. My "pretty easy" was a joking exaggeration, as of course it's not that easy. But you know, they could have tried.

[discoreptile]

Beasties of Greenhollow soundtrack! Some tracks on this are from older projects like elphame but all of them have been reworked in some way. Most of them are entirely new. Enjoy!

[ilikeevilblondes]

Breaststroke

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel, single dad extraordinaire, is struggling to teach his daughter how to swim. You end up teaching Sarah over the course of a few weekly swimming classes. One fortunate day, Joel accidentally stumbles upon a rather intimate situation involving you in the shower rooms after hours. He’s about to leave, but right before he can, he hears his own name spilling out in a desperate moan from your lips.

TL;DR: It’s more fun to stay in the YMCA (shower rooms) (because that’s where Joel fucks you.)

W.C: ~7.7k

Warnings: Singledad!Joel x swimmingteacher!reader, softdom!joel, accidental voyeurism, mutual masturbation, blowjobs, praise, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, shower sex, pull out and pray, implied age gap, Joel’s got that daddy humour (no outbreak!)

Note: waiter! waiter! some plot with my porn, please! sorry, you freaks, mama had to stretch the narrative before the rawdogging. and sorry for the late upload, the flu was not gucci. hope y'all enjoy as always, though! and if you got any reqs, feel free to send them my way 🤓

@pedrospurplerain

According to HealthyChildren.org, most children in America begin to learn how to swim by their fourth birthday. Basic abilities like floating and treading water can be ingrained in their motor skills at that point, and by the ripe age of five or six, most children will have been able to freestyle across any urine-defiled public pool.

Joel sighed as he watched his five-year-old angel scream and hiss at the local YMCA pool, refusing even to dip a toe into the chlorinated abyss.

“Sarah, pumpkin, you’re not a cat.” He sighed, pinching his curved nose bridge.

Sarah merely shot him a dirty look, the dirtiest a toddler could muster. She crossed her arms over her chest, the bright orange inflatable armbands around her upper arms squeaking as she did so.

“I don’t wanna go in there, daddy.” Sarah humphed.

Joel shook his head, looking up at her from where he sat in the shallow area of the gym’s pool. His little treasure, bless her heart, was stubbornly standing over the ledge and peering down at him with both fear and unwavering defiance.

“Y’gotta, pumpkin.” Joel ran a hand through his wet hair.

Of all the dads in the world, Joel would not say he was among the worst percentile. He certainly tried his best to do anything and provide everything for his little girl; working as many shifts as he could to pay for her school (his kid somehow, thankfully, didn’t get his brains and was starting first grade ahead of schedule), moving into a ‘nicer’ neighbourhood, and spoiling her with all the stuffed toys and lego sets her little heart desired.

Being a single dad wasn’t easy, to put it simply. Joel would’ve thought, owing to karmic nonsense, the universe could have been a bit nicer to him for the measly crime of forgetting to teach his daughter how to swim. But there he was, staring up at a child more hydrophobic than a rabies survivor.

“Can we go home, Daddy? Please?” Sarah stomped her little foot down onto the tiled floor.

“We will, sugar, I promise. Just, not until you at least try to step down here.”

Sarah shook her head wildly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” She said, more decisively.

“Says who?” Joel raised a dark brow.

“Me.”

“Remind me again, pumpkin, are you the adult or the child in this relationship?”

“You’re the one in the kiddie side of the pool, Daddy.” Sarah giggled, revealing a toothy grin.

Joel sighed through a smile. God, this kid was too smart for him. She was gonna be the death of him.

Mumbling something to the effect of ‘smartass’ under his breath, Joel treaded to the end and hoisted himself up, towering over his three-foot-nothing daughter and dripping chlorine-infected water down onto the ground.

“You wanna switch places?” He crossed his arms over his broad, bare chest, nodding his head toward the pool.

“Nope!” Sarah smiled.

Joel was about to give up for the day and take his troublemaker home only to return the next weekend, when he suddenly felt a tentative finger tap his shoulder.

He whipped around to see a girl, much younger than him—and much shorter, too, dressed in the standard red lifeguard one-piece uniform. 

“Sorry to intrude,” You began, biting your lip. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Joel blinked, not realising he had to reply to your remark like a normal fucking human would. Instead, he opted for the less popular, uncivilised caveman method of furrowing his brows and blinking madly.

He was too distracted by the way your swimsuit clung tightly over your body. Too mesmerised by the droplets of water sliding in slow motion down your curves. Not to mention that disarmingly pretty smile of yours. 

God, he’d been too single for too long.

“Hello!” The reason for his singleness beamed up at you and waddled closer. “I’m Sarah.”

Your smile stretched wider as you bent down to meet her eye level and introduce yourself in return. Sarah repeated your name back to you delightedly, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

After making a comment about how ‘cool’ her floaters were, you straightened up and met Joel’s coffee-brown gaze.

“Anyway.” You absentmindedly tucked a stray piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Um, well, I overheard your situation. And, uh, just wanted to let you know that the gym hosts free introductory swimming lessons every Saturday afternoon. I teach the classes, actually, and you and your daughter are more than welcome to come, mister…?”

By some miracle, Joel was able to move his mouth and properly communicate this time.

“Miller. Joel Miller.” He managed to say without so much as a stutter, smiling politely at you and sticking out a hand.

You took his hand in yours and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Miller-Joel-Miller. That Italian?” Your laugh was a sweet sound and, at risk of being completely predictable, music to his ears.

“The only Italian in me, sweetheart, is from the canned ravioli we had for lunch today.” Joel chuckled. “And we’d be more than happy to come, wouldn’t we, Sarah?” 

To punctuate his claim, he flashed Sarah a look.

A frown cut into her soft features, but she relented. 

“Yes, we would.” Sarah sighed dejectedly.

“Great! Um. Here’s the flier.” You produced a colourful leaflet and held it out to Joel. He took it. “It has the times and details and, uh, that’s my phone number on the bottom, there.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Joel pocketed it. “We’ll be there.”

“I look forward to seeing you two then.” You smiled again.

Joel would’ve fallen to his knees if you had stayed longer with that damn smile of yours. But you turned around to speedwalk towards the other side of the pool, blowing your whistle and reprimanding a bunch of teenagers running across the slippery poolside.

And if he thought the front of you was stunning, he was quickly shown that your back view was just as providing.

“You’re staring,” Sarah observed, tugging at his arm.

Joel cleared his throat.

“Let’s go home, pumpkin.” He ruffled her hair, much to a fit of giggles, and led his daughter away from the outdoor pool.

—-------

Saturday afternoon did not come quickly enough. 

After a week of late nights spent finishing drywall and early mornings making Sarah’s lunch—because there was no way in hell she was going to eat whatever junk-filled shit the American school system provided in cafeterias—Joel was tired, to say the least.

By three o’clock sharp, he had arrived at the pool with his daughter dressed to the nines in a robot-themed swimsuit and bright green goggles that suctioned so hard into her little face that she looked wide-eyed and cartoonish.

And when four o’clock had rolled around, Joel was happy to report that his daughter had finally worked up the nerve to get in the pool. With your help (and some floppy-haired assistant coach), Sarah had also managed to do some basic swimming manoeuvres without clinging to the side for dear life and frothing at the mouth.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Joel approached you after the session had officially ended, and Sarah was dried off and warm. “Just wanted to thank you. And, uh, Coach Bryan for, you know…”

“No thanks necessary, Mr Miller.” You winked, then bent down to Sarah, who stood beside her father. “You did great, Sarah. Really.”

Sarah smiled sheepishly. Joel chuckled at her bashful demeanour and ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Same time next week, Coach?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You saluted him and walked off toward the shower rooms, a towel around your shoulders and a spring to your step.

Joel shook his head, smiling, and took Sarah home in a better mood than he had been that morning.

—-

Joel quickly learned that the swimming lessons were beneficial to both him and his daughter. Sarah was speedily conquering her fear of water, and Joel was… well, Joel spent a lot of time talking to you when you weren’t in the pool. And afterwards, too, when the rest of the kids had already left and there were no other parents to chat your ear off.

“You’re taking a gap year?” Joel mused after one particularly smooth sailing session, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the hem of his shirt.

“Yep. Just taking a break after college so I can figure out what I wanna do in life.” You shrugged. “Is being a contractor any fun?”

“Well, sweetheart, I doubt you’d like it very much.” Joel smiled, glueing his eyes to yours with steely resolve. 

He was not going to look down at your body this time. He was not going to ogle the tight fit of your one-piece. He was better than the average man.

Besides, you were definitely too young for him. Possibly even young enough to be his daughter. You’d likely recoil in disgust and horror and, possibly, contact the local authorities to capture him, the creepy older man, if he were to ever make a move.

“Eh. I was open to the idea.” You laughed, shaking your head. “But I guess it’s dominated by big, strong hunks like you, huh?”

“I mean, I—” Joel began, but cut himself off upon realising what you had just said.

He blinked. Did you just flirt with him?

As if sensing that Joel was getting somewhere other than friendly banter with her swimming teacher, Sarah jogged up to the two of you.

“Daddy, I’m hungry. Let’s go home!” She pulled at his wrist.

Joel cleared his throat, offered you a quick goodbye, and led his daughter outside back to their car.

—-

“I promise it’s funny.” Bryan nudged your shoulder, giving you a very indiscreet once-over.

Joel was shamelessly eavesdropping on your post-lesson conversation as he towelled Sarah’s unruly hair nearby. Not to be nosy, of course, just to find out whether he was your boyfriend or not. Out of pure curiosity, really. No ulterior motive whatsoever…

“I somehow doubt that.” You hummed, no amusement evident in your unimpressed tone.

“Okay, so, there’s this ginger, a brunette, and a blonde—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Bryan, is the punchline, by any chance, ‘breaststroke’?”

“Well, shit.” Bryan sighed.

Joel chuckled to himself, giving Sarah one last tousle with the towel before settling it over her shoulders. 

He concluded you either hated your boyfriend, or he wasn’t your boyfriend at all. 

Joel preferred the second option.

—-

“I’m just getting some water. You okay with the kids?” You pulled yourself out of the pool, glancing at Bryan.

“Yep. All good here,” He called back.

With a nod, you draped your towel over your shoulders and made your way towards the deck chair that held your things.

It seemed that the heavens were smiling on you that day, too, because none other than Mr Miller himself occupied the chair beside yours.

And what a sight he was.

Sun-bathing, his sunglasses resting over closed eyes, and his broad, bare, tanned chest exposed to all. 

“Having fun there, Mr Miller?” You smiled, taking a seat on your chair, bringing your water bottle to your lips.

Joel lowered his sunglasses and very discreetly let his gaze travel down your body. 

You bit back a grin. He always thought he was so subtle.

“Absolutely, coach. Need to set a timer, though, or I’ll end up medium well-done.” Joel sat up, facing you.

You snorted at his dad-humour.

“Tan looks great.” You commented, wiping your brow with your towel.

“You think?” Joel smiled, reaching for the can of soda on his side table and taking a sip. “Thank you very much, sweetheart.”

“No problem at all, Mr Miller.” You licked your lips, your gaze momentarily caught on his … form-fitting trunks. “Well, I better get back to it.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his aquiline nose.

“My—oh! Oh. Bryan? No. Ew,” You held back a gag. “No. No. God, no.”

Joel chuckled.

“I think you may need one more ‘no’ to prove your point there, darlin’.”

“No.” You played along. “Him and I are strictly friends. Besides, he isn’t my type.”

“He isn’t?” 

“I like my men like I like my cheese.” You shrugged, standing up.

“Don’t say smelly.” Joel laughed.

You opened your mouth but decided to leave your preferences shrouded in mystery as you began walking off.

Well, until you threw him a look over your shoulder, catching him in the act of staring at your ass, but pretending not to notice.

“Aged.”

Joel choked on nothing while you innocently walked away like you hadn’t just made a heavily suggestive remark.

—-

“Daddy? Can I go talk to Amanda for a second?” Sarah asked, her gaze flickering over to a plait-wearing blonde girl nearby.

“Yeah, okay, sugar. Be quick, though. Tommy’s coming over soon.” Joel squeezed her shoulder before letting her run off, her wet flip-flops squeaking against the tiled poolside as she approached her friend.

Joel shook his head and smiled. He was so proud of his girl for overcoming her phobia. Maybe he needed to treat her to ice-cream one of these days–

“Hi, Mr Miller.”

After craning his head, Joel found you standing behind him. Bright-eyed and wearing that same, impossibly tight, lifeguard swimsuit. Thank God for nylon.

“Hey, coach.” Joel offered you a lopsided grin. 

“I just wanted to say, I’ve been really impressed with your daughter over these past few weeks.”

“She’s a fast learner.” Joel moved beside you, still facing Sarah and her little friend but keeping his eyes trained on you. “Unlike me.”

“Does she get it from your wife, then…?”

Joel couldn’t shake his head faster. “No wife.”

And there went his eyes, dragging down your slightly wet body. Christ, it was like you jumped straight out of a Baywatch episode—keep it together, Miller!

“Oh.” You coughed. “So that’s why all the moms flock around you.”

Joel let out a short laugh. “I think you’re exaggerating, sweetheart.”

You took a quick glimpse at the hoard of middle-aged women unabashedly staring at the wide-shouldered man next to you before returning your sights to the wide-shouldered man himself.

“I don’t think I am.” Your lips pulled upward in a small smile. “Well, anyway. Just wanted to catch you before our final lesson next week.”

“Our final lesson’s next week?” Joel sputtered out, sounding way less calm and collected than he had intended.

“Yeah. Unless you want to learn how to swim, too.”

“I think I’m all covered in that department, darlin’.” Joel smiled. “But thank you. For everything. I know this whole shindig is free, but I just wish there was some way I could repay you.”

You clicked your tongue and, if Joel caught that correctly, lowered your voice.

“I’m sure we can find some way for you to pay me back, Mr Miller.” You said innocently, but your half-lidded eyes told another story.

Before he could so much as utter out the first syllable of a reply, Sarah came darting back.

“Okay, Daddy, let’s go!” She took her father by the hand and spared you a glance. “Bye, coach!”

Joel tried to hide both his shock from your very obvious innuendo as well as his disappointment from his daughter’s very poor timing.

He rubbed a hand down the lower half of his face and nodded at his daughter. “Let’s go then, pumpkin.” He gripped her hand and turned to you with a slightly dazed smile. “I’ll see you next week, sweetheart.”

“That you will, Mr Miller.” With a quick wink, you spun around on your heel and made your way toward the shower rooms.

—-

As fate would have it, barely half an hour later, Joel found himself sighing unhappily and looking down at his daughter as he attempted to contain his frustrations.

“We just got home—what do you mean, you left your goggles at the pool?” Joel said through a deep exhale.

“Sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean to forget them.” Sarah shuffled her feet, her eyes locked on the floor in front of her and her fingers twisting the bottom of her t-shirt.

Tommy stuck his head out from the kitchen, one hand clutching a can of Bud Light and the other braced on the doorframe.

“Yeah, Joel, she didn’t mean to.” He piped in, unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Joel grumbled, shooting him a quick glare.

His brother just smirked and took a sip of his beer.

Joel sighed and turned back to Sarah, pinching his nose bridge. “Look, pumpkin, it’s fine. I’ll just drive back to the pool and get ‘em for you, okay?”

Sarah frowned. “Will you be back in time for dinner?”

“Yeah, Joel, you better be. You’re the one making it.” Tommy let out a dramatic huff.

Joel ignored him.

“Won’t take but a hot minute.” Joel ruffled Sarah’s unruly curls and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head before turning away toward the front door.

“Say ‘hi’ to sweetheart for me, if you see her!” Sarah smiled up at him.

Joel paused mid-step, his shoes halfway on.

“Hi to who, now?” Tommy leaned closer.

“That ain’t her name, pumpkin.” Joel chose not to look directly at Tommy as he huffed out another sigh and yanked his shoes fully on.

“Ain’t that what you call her, though?”

“Now, who are you callin’ ‘sweetheart’, Joel Miller?” Tommy wore a shit-eating grin on his face.

Joel decidedly ignored him, believing it to be the best course of action.

“Watch my kid, Tommy!” He called as he stepped out of the house.

—--

The pool area was mostly deserted by the time Joel returned to it, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the lengthy stretch of lane-roped waters.

Joel walked a slow lap around the perimeter of the pool, scanning the tiles and lounge chairs and the lone lifeguard tower for any sign of Sarah’s goggles.

Nothing.

Turning around, Joel’s eyes landed on the entrance to the womens’ locker rooms. He huffed out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his grey-flecked hair. He would have preferred to not snoop in there in fear of startling any lingering guests, but he decided that there wouldn’t be anyone this close to closing time on a Sunday and, moreover, didn’t want to come home empty-handed and disappoint his daughter.

So, on he went.

The locker rooms were quiet when he tentatively stepped inside, the scent of chlorine and cheap soap clinging to the air. 

Fortunately, it seemed that he was the only one in its vicinity.

And, even more fortunately, Joel immediately spotted Sarah’s bright green goggles lying by its lonesome on a bench near the showers.

Gotcha.

He was ready to make a beeline for them and head quickly home, but upon taking a few steps forward, Joel’s ears caught the distant sound of a shower running.

Turning his head toward the source of the splashing sounds, Joel’s eyes immediately noticed a swimsuit hanging precariously off the shower curtain rod.

But not just any swimsuit. It was a red one-piece with what appeared to be ‘lifeguard’ in bold, along the front.

It was your swimsuit. 

You were in the shower.

Joel pursed his lips. Just his fucking luck. Of course, the inappropriately young girl he tried not fantasising about for weeks was the only other person there.

Mentally chastising himself for even entering the locker rooms in the first place, Joel pivoted sharply and began making his way toward the exit.

He didn’t get very far, though, because, after two intentionally light steps, he heard his own name drifting from the steaming shower.

“Joel…”

He stiffened. Evidently, he was caught. He’d have to apologise profusely and somehow testify that he was not, in fact, a perverted Peeping Tom—

“Joel,” You sighed, followed by … shit, was that a moan?

And at that moment, Joel realised that, alongside the splashing of water echoing from the stall, there was the unmistakable clap and squelch of—

“Joel! Oh… fuck,” Your breathy moan carried easily down the short hall.

You were fucking yourself to the thought of him.

Shit, shit, shit.

If Joel were a better man, he would already be in his car, driving home. He would have forgotten this encounter had ever occurred, tucked it deep into the depths of his mind, granted you a curt farewell for the final lesson the coming week, and proceeded to never see you again.

But Joel wasn’t a better man.

Judging by how quickly his dick came to life to rest, half-hard, against his thigh in his swim trunks, Joel was an awful person.

Well, he couldn’t come home nursing a semi, now could he?

Yeah. Reaching down to pull his throbbing cock out of his waistband was the right thing to do.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he leaned against a corner and slowly slid his fist down his stiffening length.

“Joel! Fuck, your cock feels so good!” Your pitchy whine floated down the room, amplified by the generosity of the tile acoustics.

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand. 

Out of habit, he tightened his grip around his base and fucked up into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending it was your tight cunt he was jutting in and out of.

And it wasn’t hard to pretend, either. What with the sinful noises you were making a few stalls away, and the desperate pleas of ‘that’s it, Joel, fuck me harder!’

With pearls of precum dribbling down his tip and smearing along his hand with each thrust, Joel felt himself near his release. Judging by the increasingly airy quality of your whines, you were facing the same predicament.

Joel continued to fuck his fist, picturing you in various filthy scenarios. 

You, slowly wrapping your dainty hand around his hard-on and eagerly taking over.

You, on your knees, choking on his cock. 

You, tits smushed against tile as Joel fucked you with reckless abandon under the hot torrents of the showerhead.

Ramming brutally into your greedy fucking pussy, watching as his come-soaked dick disappeared in and out of your tight channel—

“Fuck!” Joel cursed aloud after a particularly enthusiastic thrust.

Suddenly, the water stopped. So did your noises.

Joel stilled. Oh, shit.

“Hello?” Came your voice, meekly. “Is … Is someone there?”

As silently as he could, Joel released his hold on his cock and carefully tucked himself back in his trunks.

Shit. What was he going to do?

Almost immediately after he regained his decency, the shower curtain slid halfway open with a faint metallic rattle, and you cautiously peered out, hiding most of your body behind the vinyl barrier.

“...Mr Miller?” You said, uncertainly, as if half-convinced he was some kind of dreamlike apparition.

Joel cleared his throat and took an instinctive step back.

“Uh—yeah. Just, uh… goggles. Sarah’s goggles.” He stuttered, holding them up weakly. “Her goggles. She left them here. The goggles.”

“Well, thank god you clarified that.” You smacked your lips, a sarcastic bite to your tone. The snarkiness soon faded from your expression once you added, with knitted brows, “you’re in the womens’ showers.”

“Yeah, I—” Joel winced. “I know.”

Silence.

After a moment or two, you opened your mouth to say something else, but the words died in your throat as your eyes fell on Joel’s trunks.

More specifically, the raging bulge making itself known in his lap.

“You’re hard.” You stated, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink.

Joel’s eyes shot wide open. He glanced down, too, and sure enough, he was hard. It was almost as if he was fucking his hand to the thought of you only moments before. Oh, wait, that’s because he was!

To preserve the last shred of dignity in Joel’s inexecusably shameful body, he threw his hands over his groin and attempted to stammer out a valid excuse.

“Sorry, sweetheart—” No, he wasn’t. “—I, um… well, you see, I…”

Your eyes found the faint traces of precum on his right hand.

“Were you … jerking off to me in the shower?”

Yes, yes, he was.

“Frankly, darlin’, I think the better question here is, were you jerking off to me in the shower?” Joel coughed.

Your eyes trailed over his body, lingering again on where he covered his hard-on.

“I was.” Your stare found his. “Your turn, Mr Miller.”

Joel sucked in a breath through his teeth. There was definitely no backing out now.

He nodded slowly. Reprehensibly. 

Shame churned within him as he desperately wished for the ground to open up at his feet and swallow him whole, possibly even spitting him back out into the fiery pits of hell where he so clearly belonged after what he had done. Unfortunately for him, the earth, indifferent to his suffering, remained stubbornly solid beneath him, leaving him stranded in his own mortification.

“Look, sweetheart, I can’t express how sorry I—lord almighty.”

Instead of letting him scramble to finish whatever bullshit he was cooking up, you decided to pull the shower curtain all the way back.

Joel gulped, taking in your newly-exposed bare body, from the soft curve of your breasts to the thickness of your thighs to the seam of your … fuck, to the seam of the same pussy you were probably fingering just moments before; glazed in glistening beads of water under the cool fluorescent lights. 

You were fucking gorgeous. 

So gorgeous, in fact, that Joel felt his cock fully spring to life at the sight of you, standing naked and dripping-wet from the rain of showerhead.

“Let me… let me help you out.” You bit your lower lip, your eyes hazy.

“H-Help me out?” Joel breathed, staggering backward, his hands still persevering to conserve his modesty.

You slowly approached him, stopping when any semblance of personal space was lost, and dropped down to your knees.

Jesus Fucking Christ. 

Joel heard himself swallow.

“Don’t you want this, Mr Miller?” You looked up at him, your eyes pleading and almost doll-like from that angle.

While waiting for his response, your hands softly wrapped themselves around his, guiding them away from his lap to meet his tenting swim trunks head-on.

Joel, meanwhile, was busy trying to convince himself this wet dream of a situation was really happening whilst simultaneously refraining from spending his load in his trunks, because the vision of you, bare and waiting patiently on your knees, looked downright sinful.

“Doesn’t matter if I do.” Joel shook his head slowly, not registering the fact that his grip on the goggles loosened to a point where they fell to the floor in a dull clatter. “This… this is wrong.”

“The way I see it,” You hummed, your hands finding gentle purchase on his hips. “I’m naked. And already wet. And you’re…”

Your eyes flickered down to his bulge and wet your lips. Upon seeing this, Joel’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Ain’t there some—some rule against, I don’t know, a coach fraternising with a parent in this way?” Joel furrowed his brows, distractedly taking your chin in his hands and tilting your head upwards.

“No.” You eagerly let him direct you, moving at his will. 

“You sure?” 

“Positive.” The corners of your mouth pulled up in a small smile.

“What if someone comes—yeah, fuck it, I ain’t gonna keep pretending like I don’t want this.” Joel shook his head, his eyes dragging over you unabashedly.

“Oh yeah?” Your smile only widened.

“Go on then, darlin’.” Joel purred, his voice a low and rough timbre, his eyes overtaken with want. “What was it you said a while ago…? Help me out.”

With his less-than-reluctant approval, you tossed him another heart-stuttering wink, slipped your fingers past his waistband, and pulled him out.

And, fuck, you were not disappointed.

Joel was big, to say the least; in both length and girth, and you may have felt your cunt quivering at the mere thought of the possibility of taking him inside you later, but you were quickly overtaken by need upon seeing the drops of precum spilling from of his head.

With a hand wrapped around his base, you stuck your tongue out to lick a stripe up his length, tasting the salt of his skin and his arousal.

At your actions, Joel inhaled a sharp breath.

“You gonna finish what you started now?” Joel mused from above you, closing a fist around your grip on his cock and bringing it closer to your parted lips. He gently tapped your cheek with his free hand. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

And you gladly did so, taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his head like a fucking lolipop.

“Fuck,” Joel gritted his teeth, tossing his head back against the wall.

Taking his expletive as a sign to continue, you proceeded to hollow your cheeks and take his length deeper, as deep as physically possible without making you choke. 

“That all you can take?” Joel tutted, caressing your cheek.

Much to your determined efforts, you only managed to fit a little more than half of him in your mouth. Because, fuck, was he big.

You whined around his cock in response.

“Shh,” Joel murmured. “‘S okay. ‘S okay, sweetheart.”

His deep brown gaze met yours, and for a second, you could have mistaken the emotion swimming in his eyes as affection. 

“Nice and slow, hm?” Joel said through a satisfied exhale, his brows furrowed at the sensation of being enveloped by the warmth of your mouth. 

His fingers threaded through your hair, coming to grasp at your roots, but remained stationary, waiting for you to make the first move.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes and held that eye contact as you began moving your head back and forth. Seeing his eyes briefly flutter in pleasure, you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, feeling it twitch as you continued your movements.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” His grip in your hair tightened.

You started to bob your head up and down at a quicker pace as you sucked him greedily, your hand moving in deft strokes along the stretch of his length your mouth couldn’t entertain.

Joel cursed under his breath and guided you on and off his cock in a steady rhythm as he fisted your hair.

And, fuck, he let himself thrust into your mouth once or twice, but upon hearing you gag, resolved to let you take charge of the speed entirely.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Joel breathed. “Sounded pretty chokin’ on my cock, but I guess I went too far, hm?” He sighed, caressing your cheek again.

You moaned with his cock heavy on your tongue, signalling your eagerness to die of asphyxiation from a fucking blowjob, and begun to take him even further into your mouth, feeling his head touch the back of your throat.

“Shit, darlin’.” Joel groaned. “That’s a good girl. Taking it so well.”

A strangled sound escaped from your otherwise occupied throat as you continued to deepthroat a man old enough to be your father.

Truly realising the situation you found yourself in, you felt a needy sensation thrum from in between your legs. Whilst continuing to bob your head around his cock, your hand went to trail down your front and relieve some of that tension you ached to be rid of, rubbing your clit furiously.

“Oh, my poor girl.” Joel cooed, seeing this. “Come on, now. Up you get,” He gently pulled you off his cock (wincing at the loss of your mouth) and up to stand in front of him.

“Not good?” You breathed, resting a hand on his chest while his hands settled on either side of your waist.

“No, sweetheart, it was very good.” Joel dipped his head down so his mouth was less than an inch away from yours, every word releasing as a warm breath against your lips. 

And then he leaned down to capture your mouth in a desperate, hungry, horribly sloppy kiss, licking into you and no doubt tasting his own arousal on your tongue.

You didn’t even register he was walking you backward until your back hit the shower wall.

“Just wanna fuck you now,” Joel mumbled, his half-lidded stare drifted down your bare form before flickering back up to meet your eyes.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” You smirked, pulling him back into another frenzied kiss.

Joel smiled against your lips.

“So mouthy,” He tutted in that authoritative, paternal voice you’ve heard him use before, in between eager kisses. “I’d like to teach you a lesson, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I’m too fuckin’ impatient myself right now.”

At the sound of that, you clenched your thighs together.

The slant of his mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and biting at your wet skin, humming in pleasure as he did so. Simultaneously, his big, calloused hand made their way from your waist down to your lower abdomen, and lower, still, until you felt his fingers ghost over your slick entrance.

You gasped.

“Mr Miller–”

“‘Joel’, darlin’. It’s ‘Joel.’” He mumbled against your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. “Heard you moanin’ it in here a while ago, I’m fairly certain you know how to pronounce it.”

“Joel,” You obliged, biting your lower lip as you felt Joel’s fingers meander nearer to your core.

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“You don’t have to… you know,” You glanced down in between both your bodies.

Joel followed your gaze and saw his own fingers hovering close to your aching mound.

“Think I do.” He clicked his tongue. “Need to get ya ready. Wouldn’t wanna hurt that pretty pussy of yours when I… well, to put it bluntly, darlin’, I don’t wanna hurt your pretty pussy when I’m fuckin’ you in a little bit.”

“Oh,” You breathed.

“Yeah,” Joel hummed, nudging your cheek with his nose. “That sound good to you, sweetheart?”

You nodded almost too avidly.

“Good,” Joel sighed, his fingers skimming over your aching cunt and just barely dipping inside your folds. “Just relax, darlin’. I gotcha.”

That was the last of the preamble before you felt one of his fingers slip inside, dragging up and down against your walls.

Normally, if left to your own devices, you were barely satisfied with a singular digit of your own. But here you were, gasping and clenching around just his middle finger.

Content with your reaction, Joel kissed your neck and slipped another finger to crook alongside the first in an even rhythm that began to spark a familiar warmth in your gut.

“There we go.” He mumbled against your skin.

“Fuck,” You whispered as you felt his thumb settle on your clit.

You felt Joel smile against your pulse point. And then, with his other big hand, he gently held your face and titled it to the side to pepper kisses along your jaw.

“You can take another, can’t you? Yeah, you can.” Joel hummed, and before you could respond, you felt a third finger slip inside, stretching you wider. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as Joel’s fingers curled inside you at a faster rhythm while his thumb graciously swiped at your clit.

Blood pounded in your ears. Your breathing shallowed. You were so, so close.

“Joel, please…” 

“Please what? C’mon, baby, use your words like a big girl.”

His fingers only sped up, dragging against your walls so deliciously and filling you better than your own hand could have ever done.

You inhaled.

“Please don’t s-stop.” Your breath hitched in your throat. “I’m so close.”

“You wanna come for me? ‘S that it?” Joel cooed, his breath warm against your skin and right beside your ear.

“Please,”

“Come for me then, sweetheart. Let me hear you,”

With a scream of his name, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, sending you into a light-headed bliss as you clutched his big upper arms.

His fingers only began to slow once your cunt stopped pulsing rapidly around him, and when you caught your breath again, he tenderly slipped them out.

“Made a mess of my fingers, huh?” He mumbled, staring down at how his hand glistened with your arousal.

You felt your cheeks redden.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t fucking be,”

And you watched as Joel stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked your slick off it like it was a world-class dessert.

“That was hot,” Was your breathless response.

Intelligent.

“Oh yeah?” The corner of his lips tugged upward as his eyes danced from your own to your parted lips. 

“Yeah,”

A soft, low laugh rumbled in his throat.

“Come here,” Joel sighed, placing a hand on the small of your back and another on the side of your face, leaning down to devour your lips in another messy kiss.

His tongue slid inside your mouth as if starved, licking against your tongue and letting you taste your own pleasure. All while the hand on your face brought you closer and gently stroked the curve of your cheek.

After a few moments, Joel broke the kiss almost regretfully.

He barely pulled away, his lips closely within reach of yours, and his breath mingling with your own as he spoke in a deep, gruff rasp.

“You still want this, sweetheart?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Joel smirked. “A simple ‘yes’ would’ve sufficed.”

Before you could form a response to his slightly snarky remark, your breath was stolen from you at the sight of Joel tugging down his trunks fully and stepping out of them.

Glancing down, you found that he was still incredibly hard. Almost painfully, by the look of how his cock practically bounced up to his navel. Clearly, your recent oral assistance did nothing to tame the lust in his body.

Joel crowded you up against the wall once more, his tall frame easily looming over yours. One of his big hands went to caress your jawline, angling your head up toward him, and the other went to your thigh, wrapping your leg around his waist.

“Been a while for me.” He sighed, a hint of embarrassment peeking through his tone. “You tell me if I get … carried away, yeah?”

Instinctively, you hung your arms around his wide shoulders, bringing him even closer.

“Yes, sir.” Your lips quirked upward.

“Good girl,” He hummed, his thumb absently running along your bottom lip.

Then, the hand cupping your face went to guide his aching dick to notch against your entrance, sliding against your wet mound.

And, with a shaky inhale slipping past his lips, he sheathed himself inside you. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Joel muttered lowly.

You let out a whine at the feeling. 

Despite being barely halfway in, Joel was already proving to be more than sufficient, especially from the way your velvety walls were already pulsing wildly around his length.

“I know, I know, I know,” Joel sighed, his thumb caressing where he held a grip on your thigh. “‘S okay, sweetheart. Shh, you can take it.”

In response, you nodded.

And Joel drove himself the entire way, balls-deep, his greying pubic hair tickling the inside of your upper thighs. He gasped in your ear at the feeling of the first full thrust and at the sensation of your channel clamping desperately around him.

He filled you up so fucking well.

“You doin’ okay? Hm?” He mumbled, leaving lazy, aimless kisses along your neck.

“Need more.” 

“Oh? She wants more, huh?” He smirked against your skin. “That what you were imaginin’ in the shower?”

“Y-Yeah,” You whispered.

“Flirtin’ with me for weeks now, and here you are bein’ all shy.” Joel tsked. “Don’t worry, you’ll get more, darlin’.”

Joel began sawing in and out of you at a relaxed pace, letting out low groans of satisfaction. 

With every sloppy thrust, you heard the distant wet thud of your back against the shower tiles, sounding in a steady rhythm. But, despite each measured roll of his hips sending white-hot shivers throughout your throbbing cunt, you found yourself dangerously craving even more.

“Harder.”

“Harder?” Joel hummed coyly.

“Joel,” You whined.

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled against the corner of your mouth.

You only realised you were moaning obscenely loud when the echo had bounced around the room, and Joel was muttering something encouragingly into your skin.

“That’s it. Y’sound real fuckin’ pretty.”

Joel’s thrusts had picked up the pace. The only sound competing with the volume of your moans were the crude wet slaps of his body against yours.

Slap, slap, slap.

You thanked your lucky stars the shower rooms were deserted after the swimming lessons, because you were sure even if someone happened to walk in on you two fucking like wild rabbits, you wouldn’t let him stop.

And some part of you knew that he wouldn’t want to, either. Not with the way he was breathing airy curses beside your ear and mumbling about how ‘fuckin’ tight’ you were and other such filthy ramblings.

After a particularly harsh thrust, you felt his pace falter and his dick twitch against your walls.

“Fuck,” He whispered sharply.

Out of the blue, Joel pulled out, leaving your slick mound vacant for a heartbeat or two before he spun you around roughly, forcing you to brace yourself against the wall.

And, not long after, he fed you the entirety of his cock again in one deep thrust.

“Joel!” You gasped. 

Your hands, stretched out in front of you and anchored against the wall, scrambled to find a grip on the smooth, slippery surface.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He said from somewhere behind you, beginning to ram into you at a brutal pace as he held you in place with an iron grip on your hips. “Needed—fuck… Needed this.”

With your tits pressed against the tiles and his length kissing your cervix after every drag against your pulsing walls, your vision began to blur and your lower gut began to flutter. 

You were very fucking close.

As if reading your mind, one of Joel’s hands trailed from your hip to your front, sliding down until he brushed your clit. And then he began rubbing the sensitive nub in sloppy semi-circle motions, tutting sweet words as you whined nonsensical syllables.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” He cooed soothingly.

You let out a pitchy whine, “feels so good.” 

“That right?” Joel mumbled distractedly, using a rough hand on your neck to turn your head toward him despite the awkward angle, and claimed your lips hungrily, licking desperately into your mouth as if it was the last thing he’d ever do, and letting out hoarse noises of appreciation as he did so.

His hips continued to jut into you, setting an erratic, jerky pace.

Slap. Slap-slap. Slap. Slap-slap-slap.

You arched back against him and unintentionally broke the kiss when the overflowing pleasure spiked incredibly high.

“J-Joel,” You breathed.

The man, who was single-mindedly pistoning in and out of your splayed legs, hummed a sound of acknowledgment in response, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek.

“Joel, I’m close,” You whispered, the heat of both your bodies meeting where your back leaned against his front. 

“Are you?” He replied almost casually.

His fingers only sped in their motions, swiping at your clit almost feverishly as he continued to rut animalistically into you; each thrust stretching your aching cunt impossibly wide and oh so easily finding your cervix—

“Fuck!” Your chest tightened.

“Ask for it.” Joel’s gentle yet commanding tone nearly made your knees buckle. 

That, and the manic force at which he was fucking into you.

Slap–slap-slap-slap—

“Go on, baby. Ask.” His nose nudged at the side of your face, breathing in your scent as he tutted lowly, “hate to see you all worked up like this.”

“Shit—please! Can I come, please?” You acquiesced.

You felt the muscles of his rugged face pull up in a small smile against your cheek and his dick twitch inside your tight walls, sending shivers down your spine.

“Be a good girl and come for me then, sweetheart,” Joel said in between strained breaths. “Come all over my cock, I gotcha.”

Your climax came rippling over your whole body, a prolonged resonance that sent you into the territory of overstimulation—much more powerful than your first orgasm—as neither his fingers nor his cock slowed down in their frenzied pursuits. 

So, there you were, chanting his name like a prayer and clenching tightly around his relentless length.

When the fluttering of your cunt subsided, Joel hurriedly pulled out and wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock, fucking up into his fist frantically and cursing under his breath. You all but folded against the wall as you felt his loss, sticking your ass out and waiting for the inevitable.

Soon, his breath caught in his throat, and you felt hot ropes of his come spill over your back.

“Shit.” Joel sighed, gently rubbing along your sides. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder once he recollected himself a few moments after, still softly trailing his hands up and down as both of your breaths evened.

“You okay over there, sweetheart?”

You nodded weakly, unable to voice your satisfaction with your brains all fucked out.

Joel huffed a short laugh. “C’mon, I’ll clean you up.”

Somewhere behind you, the shower handle groaned with a faint squeak. A dull clunk followed, and then, with a sudden rush, water erupted from the showerhead, dousing the two of you in a sputtering cascade.

Gently, Joel tugged you away from the wall to stand directly under the jet of water, softly helping you wash away any reminders of your reckless impropriety.

He pressed reverent kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and around your collarbone as you got cleaned up.

There was no hidden, lustful agenda to this, as far as you could tell. You assumed it was either a result of his years of fatherhood or some testament to his overall caring nature, but either way, you weren’t complaining. You happily let your eyes fall closed as sheets of warm water streamed down your body, all while Joel’s lips tentatively found yours, then your neck, and his strong hands moved along your body.

“Um…” Joel began after he had turned off the shower, looking at you with his big, soft eyes. “I know this is the completely wrong order of things, but would you like to–”

“Yes.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Were you gonna ask me out on a date?”

“Yeah,” Joel laughed bashfully. "Is that... is that okay?"

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, and rising on your tiptoes to meet his lips in a lazy kiss.

“The answer’s yes.” You mumbled without breaking away for too long.

You felt Joel smile against your lips.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

You’re My Baby Too

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

You'd think that the second pregnancy would be a breeze. You already know everything about how it goes, how to prepare, what to expect, but in your case, your second pregnancy was dreadful.

First trimester, horrible nausea, you spent half your time over the toilet with Lando holding your hair. Your baby boy was so much bigger than Isla it made your back hurt like crazy all the time, and the worst thing of all was that your baby boy didn't wanna come out.

You prayed you wouldn't give birth before Lando finished the season, so when the season ended you were relieved. But then your due date passed, and nothing happened. Then five days passed after your due date, nothing again. 10 days after your due date - the baby just doesn't wanna come out.

You were frustrated, exhausted, and tired of being pregnant. You just wanted to be able to see your feet again and be able to get up off the couch without Lando having to pull your hand.

"It's because you make such a good home for him he doesn't wanna come out, love." Lando tried to calm you down in a nice way, not even realizing that he irritated you with that because he's been saying that for the last 10 days and your nerves have become very thin hearing it.

"I swear, if you say that one more time.." You barked rolling your eyes at him while holding your still very pregnant belly.

"I'm sorry, I'll shut up.."

“Thank you.” You glared at him.

He didn't hold it against you for your brazen response because he understood that it had become too much for you. Lately, he's been walking on eggshells around you because everything has been annoying you, and he didn't want to be the one to contribute to that.

When the twelfth day passed since your due date, you realized that too much time had passed and you even started to worry a little that something was wrong. So Lando decided to take you to the hospital, where you very clearly told the doctor that you weren't leaving the place until you gave birth.

You thought that by some miracle, as soon as you stepped into the hospital, labor would start and you would just pop the baby out and everything would be over in less than two hours just like it was with Isla, but of course that wasn't the case with this baby.

"I think we have no other choice but to induce the labor." The doctor said.

"Okay, how long does it take?" You asked. "Is it like natural labor or?"

"Induced labor can last from a few hours to a few days, it depends. It's most often completed within 12 to 18 hours from the start of the procedure."

"Oh my God" You sighed in despair with tears in your eyes and Lando immediately squeezed your hand to offer you at least some comfort.

"Does it hurt more than a normal birth?" Lando was very concerned about how painful it would be for you. While you were giving birth to Isla, Lando was of course by your side, and even though it was much shorter and easier, he was still terribly shaken to see the pain you went through.

"I don't want to discourage you and scare you right from the start, but many women have said that induced labor is more painful."

And boy oh boy was it painful.

When they gave you the drip to induce contractions, that's when the real agony began. The drip makes contractions stronger and more frequent and you can't even begin to explain what you'd compare that pain to.

You were sweating.

Crying.

Gripping the sides of the bed and Lando's hand, which at one point you thought you were going to break.

You honestly felt like dying. What was supposed to be the most beautiful experience of your life was quickly turning into a nightmare.

Lando was heartbroken seeing you like this. He was putting cold compresses on you, hugging you, kissing you, comforting you, begging you to endure this.

"I'm so sorry baby, I wish I could go through this instead of you. I'm so sorry."

He didn't leave you for a second, except when you caught a 5-minute break from the contractions and managed to close your eyes for at least a moment and calm down. Lando said he had to go to the bathroom.

He lied actually. Instead he went to the hallway outside your room where his parents were patiently waiting. By the look on his face, Cisca and Adam could see that Lando was not well and that he himself was traumatized.

Lando didn't say anything, he just hugged Cisca and buried his face in her neck, soaking her shoulder with tears.

"I'm so fucking scared for her. It wasn't like this the first time." Lando cried quietly.

"Oh honey, y/n's going to be alright, I promise you. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but soon this will pass and you'll be going home with your baby." Cisca comforted trying to lift his spirits. "Honey, you need to get yourself together, alright? She needs you right now and you need to be there for her."

When labor finally began after 14 long hours, you were running out of strength. You were so exhausted that you weren't sure if you would be able to push the baby out.

"Push y/n, push!" The doctor encouraged.

"I c-can't" You cried breathing rapidly. "Lando, I can't do it.."

"Come on baby, you can, I know you can. Just a little bit more and it's done, I promise. You've got this" He was pushing your hair out of your face, holding your hand, and holding your leg at the same time.

"Come on, push, push! I can see the head!"

Finally, the baby's cry was heard and soon the baby boy was on your chest. As soon as you saw him, all the pain instantly vanished.

He was so perfect. So worth it.

Lando couldn't contain his emotions as he rested his head on your shoulder, carefully observing his baby.

Later that day, when everything had calmed down, Lando was still there by your side. He couldn't be separated from you nor did he want to. His gaze shifted between you and the baby watching you both sleep peacefully.

He was tired too. He didn't really remember the last time he slept, but he knew you had it worse than him anyway, so he didn't even think of complaining.

"Lan?"

"Hey, love" His face lit up when you opened your eyes. When he saw you smile, it brought energy back to him. He took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Did you get some rest?"

"I did, why didn't you?" You asked him when you saw the huge dark circles under his eyes and the same clothes from the day before yesterday. "Baby, please go home, I know you're exhausted too."

"The only way I'm getting out of here is with you two."

You didn't want to argue with him because you knew it was pointless. You were just grateful that he was there and that he was yours.

"My pretty, pretty girl. I'm so proud of you." Lando said softly caressing your cheek and looking into your tired eyes. "I love you so much you know that, right?"

"I know, I can feel it. I love you too, so much." You say before kissing him. "Where are our kids?"

"This little guy is sleeping here without a care in the world."

"And Isla? She didn't come with your parents?"

"No, I told them not to bring her because I knew you'd get too emotional if you saw her, and I wanted you to rest as much as possible."

"You should've told them to bring her, I really miss her and I can't wait for her to meet her brother." You said, but you could still see the worry in Lando's eyes. "I'm fine, Lan, I promise."

"We're done with the kids. Our family is complete now."

"Lan.." You chuckled.

"No, I'm serious. I never want to see you go through so much pain again. It's been so hard to watch you like that and not be able to do anything and I'm not putting you through it again. "

"It was worth it tho. Look at him, he's so perfect. I'd do it all over again for our baby"

"I know, I know, but you're my baby too." No matter how many children you have, his protective attitude towards you will never change.

"Oh, love.." You pulled his hand to get up from the chair and come sit on the bed next to you so you can cuddle up next to him.

"I can't wait to take you home, both of you." He said quietly kissing your forehead.

You rested your head on his chest, knowing that wherever you are, as long as he's there, everything is fine.