#that movie..... whew baby

[yunyin]

Sketched this cuz I needed to when I saw some discussion happening recently

[boxwinebaddie]

if you don’t mind me asking, how in the everloving fuck did you get mercury AND arsenic poisoning?? is that common??

siiiiiiiiiiiigh.

so, no...thankfully, my dear, sweet darling:

i don't think it's terribly common, ( neither was the arsenic i guess, but i'll get into that ) but it is when you're stupid as fuck like me.

because i am too lazy to type it all out again and don't have it in me to be eloquent ( i am saving that for writing about the boys, now that i, thankfully, can coherently write again ) i will send you the synopsis that i sent elite sickfic style dr. ana ( god's fucking angel )

**it's the updated, more articulate ( give or take ) version because i tried to explain it to the girls the day i got home ( take it easy on them please, i couldn't text or call and gave them quite a fright, ily girlies ) unfortunately, i was still not super good at making words and processing things, so i wrote this now that i am functioning better.

sorry for spooking you all about the parasite; long story short, it was not as deadly as i thought -- I DID, HOWEVER, STILL HAVE A VERY NASTY BACTERIAL INFECTION, LIKE WHEN I SAY NASTY, I MEAN VERY, VERY, VERY BAD AND I WAS FIGHTING IT CONCURRENTLY WITH THE PARA WHICH MADE IT SEEM A LOT WORSE, VERY ASS!

but long story, medium:

alright! gather round kids --

it's uncle nina story time.

tw for gross medical stuff / me being in mentally ill hell

anyways, looking forward to sharing my writing with you all again and answering my asks if we still care!

love you and hyh,

metal head uncle nina

[muirneach]

i know ive been known to be a golden age of hollywood hater but actually i really like 30s movies now. i love depression movies i love screwballs i love musicals. 40s movies however…

[wheelercore]

Thinking about how the mini grandfather clock in Rosemary's Baby was associated with Roman Castevet and him masterminding the whole plan and how grid imagery is used for Rosemary finally seeing behind the manipulation and lies at the end and thinking about how Rosemary exclaimed "what's wrong with his eyes?!?" with disgust the moment she saw her newborn son and strangely specific use of glasses within the show

[randomshipperhere]

4 movies for today!

A Scanner Darkly. I honestly thought the whole concept was cool. Poor guy was just used over and over. “Whatever you want” is a voice clip I’ll be saving from this film~

Replicas. Good start. Really nice idea with the whole can’t grieve normally Frankenstein situation and seeing him be sad pathetic was delicious. Until the script flipped. Still had my attention the whole time but it was too neat.

The Whole Truth. Thanks to The Devil’s Advocate a few days ago I was in a mood for more lawyer drama Keanu. It was so noir with his voice overs. First time I saw that man do the wall slam and that is a signature move to my heart. I also couldn’t stop laughing once I noticed how often this fucker kept buttoning and unbuttoning his coat.

The Watcher. God that introduction from the glove until after the dance ugggghhhhh. I kept replaying his hand movement when he opened the cd case. When he pet that cat in [almost 41 minutes] aghh. My cat was beside me too that time lol. Actually I was just giggling, twirling my hair and going feral every second he was on screen for this one. Writing was so meh but I’m cooking up lots of fun ideas in my head for my own entertainment.

3/4 of the films are so yandere material for me hahahaha. Especially the watcher bro. Whole Truth for manipulation, Replicas for desperation. Noted.

Edit: so the film (The Watcher) was released on sep.8. Shame my timezone says 9th but-!!! Following the US its still day of! Happy anniversary!!!!

[exvelovly]

yeah it’s just the bkdk movie. should be categorized under BL. it really is that gay

I THOUGHT PEOPLE WERE FUCKING EXAGGERATING WHEN THEY SAID HEROES RISING WAS THE BAKUDEKU MOVIE BUT. NO IT. IT WAS JUST A WHOLE MOVIE??? OF BAKUDEKU??? THE WHOLE FUCKING THING?? HOW THE FUCK DOES ANYONE COME OUT OF THIS THINKING THEY'RE NOT GONNA BE HERO PARTNERS AT THE END OF THIS SERIES WHAT IS ///HAPPENING/// this must have been fucking DEVESTATING for the antis holy SHIT

[ipoddymouth]

Have you watched dune I tried to but I got bored

dune (denis' version)? yeah i love that movie but i can 100% see why you'd find it boring

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

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

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

December.

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

You hate every fucking minute of it.

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

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

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

Never mind.

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

“Tommy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How am I holding up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

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

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

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walk me home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

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

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

You don’t?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

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

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

“’n whose fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I’m craving?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

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

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

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

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

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

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

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

And I mean anything. OK?

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

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

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom.

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

Mom. Mom and Dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

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

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

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

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

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

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

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

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

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

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

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

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

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

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

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

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

Let go.

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

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

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

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

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

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

But right then –

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

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

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

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

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

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

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

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

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

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

Your head shakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel.”

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

“You have to go.”

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

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

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

He leaves on Saturday morning.

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

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

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

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

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

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

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

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

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

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

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

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

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

“Hm. Now go.”

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

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

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

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

A one-night stand.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

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

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

[faeprincess777]

Summary: After a stressful week, you and Chan decide on a relaxing movie night, which turns into something more.

Chan x virgin!Reader

TW: afab reader, oral and fingering (f receiving), implied creampie, loss of virginity, slight choking, rough sex, reader is shy

It’s been a long week. Work has been running you ragged. From deadlines to meetings to presentations, you’ve barely been able to take the time to care for yourself. Something that your boyfriend, Chan, wasn’t too fond of.

Luckily, you were off the rest of the weekend, and Chan decided it was a perfect time to pamper and spoil you. Tonight, the plan is simple, order in and watch a movie. You both decided to re-watch the Deadpool movies since the new one will be out soon.

Since you cuddled up with Chan for your movie date night, he has been running his hand back and forth on the skin of your lower back, below your shirt. It makes it so hard to focus on the movie, and you find yourself fidgeting to get some friction where you needed it most.

You were a virgin and nervous as all hell. You’ve been in this position with Chan before, but you haven’t gone any further. You want to, but your nerves keep getting the best of you. What if you mess up? What if you don’t make him cum? How do you even bring it up?

Your brain is all over the place. The movie has pretty much become background noise for your thoughts.

By now, the food has been devoured, and the two of you are halfway through the second Deadpool movie. Chan can tell you aren’t fully paying attention to the movie, most likely still thinking about work. Little did he know that work was the last thing on your mind at the moment.

Chan really just wanted you to have a relaxing weekend after the week you’ve had. Luckily, he knows a few more ways to get you to relax.

He began letting his hands wander a bit more. Kneading and massaging your thigh, trying to get you to relax, but when he feels you tense even more, he begins to think he's made you uncomfortable.

“Baby? Are you okay? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

You can’t find it in you to answer, so you give a quick shake of your head. This causes Chan to raise his eyebrow, looking at you questioningly. He reaches for the remote and pauses the movie, sitting up to look at you properly.

“What’s going on? And don’t say nothing.” Chan pushes.

At that point, your cheeks are burning with embarrassment at getting caught in your dirty thoughts. You find yourself burying your face in his chest in an attempt to hide. This only worries Chan more. You're aren’t the type to hide things from him, so when you hesitate to tell him what was wrong, his mind thought of the worst-case scenario.

“Baby? You’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something? If so I’m sorry, and I can fix it. I just need-” Chan rabbled. Hearing the worry and panic in his voice has you snapping your eyes to meet his, and you’re quick to reassure him.

"No! No, baby. It’s not you. I promise. You haven’t done anything wrong, and you have nothing to apologize for.” You say, quickly. Chan lets out the breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. Just relieved that he hadn’t upset you.

“Whew, good. But is there still something on your mind, right?” Chan asks.

Damn. You’ve been caught. Quickly, you try to think of a way out of this without embarrassing yourself. Chan, being as observant as always, notices this.

“Babygirl, you know you can tell me anything. If something is going on, I deserve to know so we can work through it.” Chan says softly. You know he’s right, but you still have no idea how to bring up the topic of sex. In that moment, your brain decided that the best way to tell Chan what had been plaguing your mind was to just blurt it out.

“I think I'm ready to have sex with you.” The words coming out so fast that you weren’t sure Chan even heard you. But he did. And he froze. Did he hear you right? Were you sure? What if he hurt you? His mind was racing just like yours moments ago.

You take Chan’s silence as apprehension and try to mend the awkward moment. “I-I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry if I made-” Your words have Chan snapping out of his daze, and he is quick to stop your rambling.

“No, baby girl. Don’t apologize. I was just shocked, that's all. I mean, are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured or like we have to rush into anything. I'm okay with waiting.” Chan reassures you.

“I’m sure. I’ve been thinking of it for a while now, I just didn’t know how to bring it up.” You inform him. Chan stares at you, trying to find any hint of apprehension, but he finds none. After a brief moment, Chan leans in to kiss you. You welcome it, opening your mouth to allow Chan’s tongue to snake in.

Before long, the kiss turns passionate, and clothes are strewn across the apartment as you both make your way into the bedroom.

Chan has you pinned to the bed, peppering kisses down your body before settling between your legs.

“Can I taste you, baby?” Chan asks, looking up at you. You shyly nod your head. Your nerves are high. You worried you don’t taste good or you’ll mess up.

Chan could read your worries easily. Taking your hands in his and interlocking your fingers, he silently reassures you. You take a deep breath and nod your head again, telling him you're ready.

That was all the confirmation Chan needed to start eating you out like a mad man. He couldn’t get enough. You were so sweet. So perfect and the noises you were making were nearly enough to make him cum immediately.

It felt so fucking good. You could feel your high quickly approaching, pleasure drowning out your nerves. Your finger snake their way into Chan’s hair, trying pulling him even closer but resulting in a deep groan coming from Chan. That was enough to throw you over the edge.

Once Chan is pleased with how he’s prepped you, he pulls away and removes his fingers. He watches your pussy clench around nothing over and over before he gently rolls you onto your stomach.

Chan settles behind you, resting on the back of your thighs. "Ready, baby?" He asks. You give him a shy nod. "Okay. Deep breaths. Relax." He says calming as he starts to push in, slowly.

The stretch is painful, and you struggle to stay calm and relaxed. When Chan feels you tense up, he stops. "Shhhh, you're okay. Just relax." He says, soothing you.

He gives you a moment. Once he feels you relax again, he starts pushing in again. You put all of your energy into focusing on your breathing and trying to stay relaxed, but as the burn intensifies, you find yourself tensing again. Chan is quick to notice and pauses again. "Easy baby. You can take it. You just have to go slow. We're halfway there." He says calmly as he massages the tense muscles in your back.

Soon, you find yourself totally relaxed again. It's like his praises have put you under some sort of spell. You barely even notice that he's pushing in again. It isn't long before Chan finds himself buried to the hilt in your heat. You're so tight and warm around him. All he can do is groan as he tries to remain still. You, on the other hand, are completely overwhelmed by the fullness you feel.

It takes you a while to adjust, but Chan, being the gentleman he is, waits patiently. He just continues to massage away all your tension while whispering soft praises.

"See, I told you you'd be able to take it." He says, peppering light kisses down your neck and shoulder.

You move slightly, trying to get more comfortable and find yourself whimpering at the pain.

"It hurts." You whine to Chan. "I know, baby. It's okay. It's normal for it to hurt a little your first time. You're okay, I've got you." Chan says as he continues to layer kisses over your skin, trying to soothe you as well as ground himself. It's all he could do to not pound into you like a mad man.

After a short while, the pain begins to fizzle out. "Okay, I think you can move." You tell Chan, once again relaxing your body.

Slowly, Chan pulls out, and you find yourself hissing into the pillow. Chan just shooshes you as he slowly pushes back in. He repeats the motion, leaning over to take one of your hands in his as his other hand rests on your waist.

Once he feels you relax more underneath him and he hears your whimpers morph into moans, Chan picks up his pace a little.Pleasure begins to spark like electricity all over your body, but there is still a tinge of pain.

"How does it feel, baby?" Chan groans out. He is doing absolutely everything he can to keep a slow, steady pace for you, but he's slipping.

"It still hurts a little, but it's starting to feel good." You tell him honestly through whimpers and moans you fail to hide. He hates how you try to stay quiet but knows you're shy, and it's your first time, so he will let it slide for now. Chan leans in close, trailing kisses up your neck and to the sweet spot behind your ears. He lets out a deep groan as he feels you clench around him.

"Want me to make it feel even better?" He whispers in your ear. You fail to stop the moan that spills out of you as you eagerly nod your head, leaving a cocky smirk on Chan's face.

"Lift your hips a little." He demands, and you're quick to comply. The hand that was resting on your waist snakes its way down between your thighs and plays with your wetness, gently strumming your clit, leaving you gasping.

That did it. That broke him. He couldn't hold back anymore. "Say red if you want me to stop, okay." Chan says, clenching his jaw. You quickly nod, letting out a faint yes. Chan tucks his knees closer to your body before he begins bucking wildly into you.

The room is filled with the rapid sound of Chan's body connecting with yours and your louds moans that can no longer be contained. Chan was right. This feels amazing. You don't even know why you were so nervous to do this anymore.

Chan chants praises and groans, and he pounds you into the mattress. He keeps a constant and steady rhythm on your clit. It isn't long before he feels you clamping down on him with a scream of his name. It takes everything in him not to cum on the spot. He wants more, he needs you to come again.

He quickly pulls out, making you hiss, before flipping you on your back. He's back inside you, pounding away, before you even have a chance to comprehend the position change. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you hook your feet around Chan's waist, trying to pull him deeper.

Chan lets out a growl as he snakes his hand up to your throat, squeezing ever so slightly. Your eyes widen as they meet his, grabbing hold of his wrist. He's watching you so intently, looking for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he's met with a look of total bliss on your face as you clench so hard you nearly push him out.

You're quickly approaching another high and Chan has no intention of slowing down until you cum again. Chan is close too, trying desperately to hold off, to finish with you. He's a babbling mess of praises and groans. You're so close to the edge, just needing another push to send you over. You use your other hand to cover your mouth as you feel like you want to scream in please. This pissed Chan off. He ripped your hand away and held it above your head.

"Don't do that. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel." Chan grunts. You comply, and you're sure there will be a noise complaint in the morning.

"F- Fuck, baby. You feel so good. You're gonna make me cum! Please, please baby. Cum with me. Cum." Chan babbles. That's all you needed to hurtle into a mind-numbing orgasm, taking Chan with you.

For a few minutes, the room is filled with the sound of your combined panting as you both can down from your highs. Chan slumps forward, releasing your throat and wrists and supports his weight on his elbows.

"Are you okay, baby? Did I hurt you?" Chan asks, loving tucking some hair behind your ear. You look at him with a tired smile. "No, baby. That was perfect. Thank you." Chan giggles."My pleasure, baby. Let's get you cleaned up, then we can cuddle."

He slowly pulls out you, and you both wince with the overstimulation. Chan tells you to stay put as he gets off the bed and heads into the bathroom. You hear the water running and wonder what he's doing.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you try to calm your rapid heartbeat and slow your breathing. You suddenly feel something warm and wet touch your inner thigh, making you jump. You open your eyes to find Chan wiping up the mess you've both made between your thighs with a warm cloth. Still so sensitive and now growing sore, you whimper in discomfort. Chan soothes you. "I know, baby, look at this mess. You did so well for me." Soon, you're all cleaned up. Chan throws the cloth in the hamper before tucking you under the blanket and crawling in next to you.

"I love you, Channie." You say tiredly. Chan can't help but giggle at how cute you are.

"I love you too, baby. Always."

[demonbarberofbeepbeep]

DAMN THATS COLD. I love how different acting choices/small lines like that suggest differences in the underlying emotional state of Sweeney. In my sentimentality (and I fully admit this is my own projection and personal blorbo-fication of Sweeney and may not be very defensible), I always look for a characterization of Sweeney that indicates still caring for his daughter, but being like... unable to face her because it's too painful to let go of the past and accept that the baby version of her, the one he loved with Lucy, is gone. I think certain acting choices in different versions can point to this: In the 1980 recorded version, for example, George Hearn sobs in "The Letter" when on the hauntingly repeated "has abducted your ward Johanna... Johanna..." It seems to me that he still cares for her.

But I have to say, there's also a very strong case to be made that he truly does not give a fuck about his daughter. Especially with that line. Damn.

Sometimes I hate men because like what do you mean Lucy hung around the area where her daughter was imprisoned for 15 years even though she was unable to do anything to save her and then Sweeney comes back from prison and gets set up as a small business man and is an empowered new man who can kill people and hatch schemes and is like “well Johanna I guess I’m moving on…. :/“

[yourmomsawh0r3]

the oscars

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

summary: pedro pascal and his wife take on the oscar’s as she is nominated for her new movie

a/n: this was my first time writing fan fiction bitchessss obviously it’s not the best

PART 2 is up now bbs <3

the night was young, you were in the living room of your shared home with Pedro getting glammed up by your team for the Oscars. As they finished up the last touches of your makeup and hair, you went into the bedroom to get into your dress, looking into the mirror "damn I look good." you said "fucking right you do" the voice of your husband Pedro said behind you "mami you look breathtaking." he says as he grabs you from behind staring at you lovingly in the mirror, he lightly kisses your temple just as, "CARS HERE!" your assistant yelled. "let's go bebe" you say grabbing his hand and walking to the car.

As you guys pulled up to the Oscars red carpet, you could hear the fans screaming along with the paparazzi. you two stepped out of the vehicle hand in hand, everyone was going crazy, as you made your way down the red carpet taking photos with your Pedro you heard one of the paparazzi guys say " Y/N are you excited to be nominated for your new movie ?" "I am beyond thrilled to be nominated for the movie "No Hard Feelings", my castmates and I worked so hard on this movie, and I'm so glad people really enjoyed it" Pedro gave your ass a squeeze while taking pictures, with that all you could do was laugh. you didn't think you were that nervous for the Oscars. Making your way inside, you head STRAIGHT to the bar "I need a drink before this shit starts, I don't think I can go up there without liquid courage" Downing your drink in one go, Pedro laughed.. he grabbed your hand and walked towards your reserved seats.

while sitting there fidgeting with your husbands wedding band on his finger you thought going through the list of awards is gonna take forever. That was until your name was called and your character Maddie from the movie was displayed across the big screen. "why does my head look so big? i mean seriously out of all clips from the movie”you leaned over giggling at Pedro all he could do was shake his head and laugh. "your overreacting, your head is a perfect shape baby, you will always be beautiful to me." " AND THE AWARD FOR BEST FEMALE ACTRESS GOES TO..." you legit felt like you were gonna throw up. "Y/N L/N for Maddie in no hard feelings!" you looked at Pedro with your jaw dropped, he was smiling cheek to cheek

“i’m so proud of you, go baby go accept your award!" as he gave you a steamy quick kiss

the song from your movie "Maneater (live) by Andrew Barth Feldman played at 1:24" played in the background. holding onto your long dress you walked up the stairs to the stage, thank the lord you didn't trip and eat the ground. is all you can think in your head. "congratulations y/n, do you have anything you would like to say" smiling you take your award and start speaking into the podium mic "fuck, IM IN SHOCK.. am i allowed to say that?” the people back stage shake their head no. “no? wow okay, well first I would like to thank my husband pedro pascal, and my kids alexis and antonio without them I wouldn't be where I am today, I would like to thank the cast and all of the crew it took to make this movie, I would also like to thank my manager, publicist, and my assistant, lastly i would like to thank my fans, you guys are my everything i love you all so much. WHEW now i'm ready to get drunk and shake ass at the afterparty" The whole crowd laughed and cheered as you made your way down the stairs with your award heading back to your seat. "i love you cariño" pedro says as he grabs your face and kisses you deeply.

[urfavnegronerd]

1610 and reader cuddle session hcs 😄

here we gooooo

an absolute whore fiend for affection and physical touch

likes when you do that thing w/ your nails to massage his scalp

tries to talk to you/ start conversation while ur cuddling

cannot hold said conversation b/c he gets sleepy in ur arms

both miles' are like cats, but 1610 miles is a middle aged cat whos either really energetic or super sluggish whereas 42 is an old and tired bodega cat

in the least suggestive way you absolute horny fucks he is a minor stop being weird absolutely adores skin-skin contact

like he feels like he has to get closer to you

your body weight just flush against him?

10/10, no notes

forehead + nose kisses are absolutely a given

if you get acrylic nails he loves it when you rake them across the nape of his neck

also loves when ur thumb does that lil strokey thing on his hair

100% buys yall matching bonnets/durags

his fave way to cuddle is when his head is on ur chest and he's lying between ur legs stop. don't be weird.

b/c of all his spiderman stuff he's sore most of the time, specifically in his back/traps/shoulders (hello mans literally swings himself using his upper body weight) so when yall r laid up like that you give his upper back lil massages n shit

however

if ur an athlete he def babies u after practice when yall cuddle

like the whole nine

mans is a sweetheart and draws u like a bath or sum (i think 1610 and 42 would both do this tbh) and sits on the edge of the tub/toilet and just talks to you

or gives u a cute lil shoulder massage

if u get ur braids/hair/retwist and your scalp is literally screaming he'll let you lay on top of him with your head on his chest

if u fall asleep w/o ur bonnet/durag/headscarf on he puts it on for you

or sacrifices his hair and puts his on you

back to the original req chile anyway--

like i said he loves skin to skin contact

like mans is fully a baby

also he's a furnace literally 95% of the time, so during the winter u press up against his chest

almost always ends up asleep with his face on ur stomach (either ur bare stomach or his head is literally under ur shirt. if u have a lil (or a lot, honestly mans does not care about ur body type. also side note of me just being queer but when women have that lil pudge/pocket/bulge thing and wear tight skirts/dresses. WHEW. same thing w/ masc women omg teddy bear mascs are adorable. but i also love me some muscles anywho back to the req) pudge, muffin top, hip dip, whatever, he adores it. like fully massages those lil bits of u when ur cuddling. however if ur more muscly/ toned in ur stomach area he loves that too, esp tracing the muscle lines, like ur obliques or abs if you have them)

like i said he gets rly tired in ur presence cs you make him feel safe so when ur cuddling he gets all mumbly and his movements are all thick and syrupy and he gets to be a lil drowsy baby

yall ever seen those tiktoks w/ couples cooking and one of them is on their partners back? yeah, that's yall

"miles i have homework" *muffled in your stomach/neck w his arms wrapped around you* nuh uh "fuck you mean nuh uh?"\

its such a struggle to end cuddle sessions w him, literally the both of u want to stay tangled up like that together forever

when ur over his house and rio and jeff are home the two of you literally just fall asleep on the couch while cuddling

yall are that couple that sleeps and cuddles together all the time

u know that text chain that's like 'after class can i take a nap in your bed' "yeah" 'with you?' "duh" 'omg im so excited'

thats yall

rio and jeff literally had to bribe you to go on dates that weren't sleeping on the couch while watching movies

after the events of atsv he literally just wants to cuddle

i hope this what ur looking for anon!

xoxo,

rae <3

[lanabuckybarnes]

Brain rot, Brain rot.

18+ Minors DNI

(I do not own any photos used, credits go to the original owners)

A little piece I’ve created about my favourite roles that Seb has played (the ones I’ve watched so far) because Mr Lee Bodecker and Nick have got me in a literal chokehold.

( I know about their red flags but girlies im colourblind).

Just wanted to try something a little different, Warnings are under the cut.

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x reader, Nick Fowler x reader, Steve Kemp x reader, Bucky x reader

Warnings: Spoilers for the movies, mention of Cheating (It’s Lee being unfaithful per usual), Dark Lee, Manipulation, Throat fucking, Size kink, Breeding Kink, Mentions of Pregnancy, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Teasing, Cock Warming, Pussy Eating, Mentions of Cannibalism, Biting, Dry Humping, Dark Steve I suppose (Steve being Steve), Voyeurism. DO NOT READ IF THESE TRIGGER YOU, if I’ve missed any warnings please let me know.

Whew Lordy.

Lee bodecker is a filthy man, with 100+ glaring red flags and you still peruse him?! It’s a wonder the townsfolk don’t have you sent to the looney bin. He absolutely loves it when his little mistress (you) wraps herself in his leather coat, just the thought of you wearing it gets him all possessive.

He loves a lady he can manipulate— bend and train to his will. A girl that when he comes stomping into her little cottage she’s there with a steak on the table and her mouth open for him. Not only does a sweet little lady appeal to him because of their naivety but because of just how shy and innocent they really are.

If you in a pretty white frock while he fucks your face is the last thing he sees as he closes his eyes on this world, he’ll die a happy man.

Also size kink demon, loves when his thick hand engulfs your thigh or when you have to go onto your toes to kiss him, loves it when one of his big ole palms can hold your wrists above your head while he pounds away at you. It’s like a ritual now for him to sit his fat length over your pussy just before he plunges in, he loves imagining just how deep he’ll be hitting you when he fucks you.

Talks about getting you pregnant A LOT. You never knew it was a kink till you were talking with some of the older ladies about your ‘mystery man’. When you brought up the fact that he’s constantly moaning about swelling that little belly up, giving you his son, they all confirmed what he was experiencing was a thing most ‘manly men’ felt. They assured you it would be a great honour to have a man’s son but you played with the hem of your dress in guilt and shame, he wasn’t your husband and he thought of you as nothing more than his little side piece to make up for his boring wife.

Please ride this man while wearing his hat, he will not survive.

Nick Fowler, I don’t really know much about him— I mostly watched clips of him on YouTube but I just imagine him with a phat daddy kink. When you whimper daddy for the first time he just about spurts right then and there.

Loves teasing the shit outta you, how many times have you came on his fingers and tongue? You don’t know but you feel fucked out— you don’t think you could handle another, Nick just scoffs.

“Come on baby another for me” he encourages, his sopping fingers circling your sensitive bud and all you can do is lie back and take it.

When he’s had a real bad day all he wants is for you to get those fucking clothes off and sit on his cock, you don’t have to move he just wants to feel your warmth and how you squeeze against him.

Now if you think you were insane to go after someone like Lee you must actually be crazy to let Steve near you, even after finding out his little ploy, how you were nothing more than meat to him— you still let him fuck you. This man knows how to eat, he’s down there for every course, slowly spreading your folds with his fingers and liking a strip up from your hole to your clit before diving straight in. He’ll have you loosing your voice over the way you scream when he drags orgasm after orgasm out of your pretty body

Constantly talks about eating your flesh while he kisses you, occasionally biting down nice and hard leaving teeth marks all over the meaty parts of your body. Even before you found out he was a cannibal he’d be biting and licking on you, he called it sampling the meat before he bought in.

Dress up nice and pretty for him, he loves it. He loves nice light colours and lacy material, the way it makes your skin look all flawless and doesn’t clash with the dark marks he’s given you has him hard in his pants quicker than you could imagine. Another man who loves being fully clothed while you’re practically naked. Has cum in his pants an embarrassing amount of times when you’ve straddled him, grinding your lace covered kitty against his bulge.

Although I write about him all the time I can never fully flesh out one of the fantasy’s I think of him in. This man, although awfully shy about his sex life with others, will and has absolutely ruined you in public places. A restaurant, he’s played with your little clit under the table and fucked you in one of the bathroom stalls, in a car while you, Sam and Steve were going on a road trip. Even once in Tony’s house during a party— Tony had almost caught you two bumping and grinding in his laundry room, the thought of how close you two were to being caught had Bucky biting on your shoulder and coming all up your back quicker than he’d ever done before.

—

I have no idea where all these come from but I’m loving it.

[bodiedbyteecosplays]

Modern!Human Hantengu Brothers headcanons

Heeeyyyy babiesss!!! I’m sorry it’s so late but I FINALLY GOT MY HANTENGU BROTHERS HEADCANONS DONE 🥹🥹!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy them!

Alright so, The headcanon came from the roots in the manga. Hantengu (the demon) was known to have multiple wives and children and he killed every last one of them. After Muzan’s defeat & Hantengu was reborn, he sadly abandoned his wife and his two children because he still had his memories from his past life and felt guilt & fear. His son grew a bit of resentment for him and promised that when he became a father that he would be there for his children through and through. He met the Brothers’ mother because she was visiting Japan from Nigeria and fell absolutely head over heels in love with her. They soon started dating after getting to know each other. Then married later on and their first born son, Sekido was born, then came Karaku, Aizetsu, Urogi , & Zohakuten.

Their Mother, Dr. Kehinde Adeyinka- Hantengu is a OBGYN & their father Urami Hantengu is a co director for a very big movie production company. ( my boys came from riches but still humble )

Their parents come from different cultures so they always brought them up in a way where they were exposed to both equally. They know Japanese (that does include how to write in Japanese too), Yoruba, Nigerian Pidgin, English, and Swahili.

SEKIDO

• Much like his past life, Sekido still remains the oldest. His birthday is September 3rd, 1995 making our angery baby a Virgo ♍️.

• When I tell yall he is nonchalantttt!! Whew! He literally says the first thing that comes on his mind. His mom always told him that he was like his father in that regard.

• Also much like his past life, he always looks angered (Resting bitch face go brrrrrrr) Most people are kinda afraid to approach him.

• Definitely gets annoyed by his brothers antics (mostly Urogi and Karaku playing pranks on him and pissing him off and Aizetsu constantly second guessing himself)

• Loves the rain and finds it peaceful when it’s thundering outside.. it sets the mood when he’s by himself playing the piano (one of his hidden talents)

• He works as a Auto mechanic at his own shop. (which explains how he knows to keep his cars in perfect condition)

• He is most DEFINITELY a cat person. He has a Black Maine coon mix named Zeus. He found him just laying on top of one of his cars one day as he was getting ready to go get groceries and when he came back from the store, he was sitting in front of his apartment and he started growing fond of him and took him in. Zeus is spoiled rotten so I can only imagine when Sekido gets a partner 🫠.

• Is a greeeeeaaaaattttt cook! Other than their mother, his brothers usually latch on to his place when he does cook. (He definitely has a special apron on when he cooks too) He learned from his momma 🤩

• Has a giant dragon tattoo on his back that was drawn by Zohakuten and tattooed by Managi (Modern Human Gyokko. In my headcanon, he’s a famous Tattoo artist that grew fame from TikTok)

• Definitely is a Heavy sleeper but don’t let that MF Fan Turn off. He gonna wake up PISSED.

• Academically speaking, Sekido is extremely intelligent. He graduated top of his class in High school & has a degree in Engineering (he also graduated top of his class in college too)

• BLACK COFFEE ADDICT! Can’t stand overly sweet coffee or sweet ANYTHING. Likes really savory foods! Lots of meat but not too too much. Also loves vegetables, stews, curry’s, and etc. The only thing he can tolerate that relates to sweet foods is dark chocolate.

• Definitely the type to go to bed by 10 pm (grumpy old man 😂😂)

• LISTEN! My baby is BUILTTTTTTT. He definitely hits the gym after work He’ll OCCASIONALLY go with Karaku if he doesn’t have to work. He’s also tall (he’s 6’3 1/2 and the tallest out of the brothers)

• He adores his family and anyone he deems close although he does get annoyed with their shenanigans he will always and forever care.

• y’all know that bath & body works scent “ Mahogany Teakwood” yeah, literally smells like that plus Shea butter & mint.

KARAKU

• Karaku is the second Born like his past carnation. He was born on October 4, 1996 making him a Libra baby.

• He’s literally a big kid at heart but he’s really chill and down to earth.

• Much like his past life he’s really playful and loves a good thrill. It makes his blood pump lol.

• Loves teasing his brothers (mostly Sekido and Aizetsu) One time he played a prank on Sekido while he was asleep by putting a realistic looking robotic spider on him (poor Seki has arachnophobia 🥲) & when he woke up all hell broke loose and when he finally caught Karaku, he put him in a chokehold and it took Urogi and Aizetsu to get him off of Karaku. 😂😂😂 and you’d think after that he’d learn his lesson (he didn’t)

• He works as a Bartending Manager for a big club and always makes good money in tips because one he loves serving the drinks and seeing people’s reaction to his drinks and they all love him dearly.

• Speaking of, he Is a masttttterrrrr at creating drink recipes and has a miniature bar at his place. He’s also a fairly decent cook but still annoys Sekido because he likes his better 😂.

• Like I’ve said before, mans is a seriously talented dancer & he effortlessly woos people with his moves ever since he went viral online & has a lots of fans (no pun intended).

• He also posts videos of him making drinks on TikTok too and always picks the best songs but people mostly like when he does voice overs of what he puts in drinks.

• He also does Twitch streams from time to time playing games( likes games like FNAF, Dead by Daylight, or any kind of scary games.)

• I also headcanon that he loves Halloween mostly because it’s during his birth month.

• Has one tattoo on his arm of his moms first name. His mom always told him that he reminds her of herself back in her youth.

• Loves all animals but is more so a Dog person.

• HE DOES SMOKE WEED & VAPE!

• Academically he made A’s & B’s in high school so he is quite smart but still goofed off in class though 😂. He has a Bachelors Degree in Communications and is also apart of a Fraternity.

• DEFINITELY A GYM BRO BUT NOT THE TOXIC KIND. Takes his physical health and physique seriously but never ever talks bad about how anyone else chooses to do with their body. If they are happy, he is as well. He’s definitely not a bodyshamer & will put someone in check if they talk bad about someone around him.

• HES A LIGHT SLEEPER. Any little sound will wake him up instantly. One time he came home from work so tired that he forgot that he connected his phone to his big bluetooth speaker while he took a shower & also forgot that he set an alarm to wake him up in the morning for the gym and damn near had a heart attack when his alarm went off. 🥲

• Loves energy drinks and coffee but knows his limits on his intake and that too much caffeine isn’t good. DEFINITELY MEAL PREPS! Has meats, vegetables, and fruits.

• Like I Said, he takes his personal physical seriously. He has a skin care routine and he also smells really good too .. it’s like a Citrusy and warm vanilla type scent mixed with hints of his favorite cologne.

• He’s also fairly tall too standing at about 6’2

• He’s heavily into zodiac signs and reads his horoscope on the daily! Got the rest of his brothers into it. Sekido & Zoha thought it was stupid until they both did some research and it started singling out their individual character traits & that’s what sparked their interests in it.

• He’s a lover at heart so anybody that he loves he has them near and dear to his heart. If he loves you then you’re a 4LIFERRRRR.

AIZETSU

• So he’s the middle child! His Birthday is February 20, 1998 making Zetsy a Pisces baby!

• Much like his past incarnation he’s quiet & monotone if he’s not comfortable around you but once he is comfortable he becomes relaxed and more expressive. Is very introverted.

• He was kind of bullied in school due to his quiet and timid behavior but when asked his opinion on something, much like his older brother Sekido he wouldn’t hold back the truth (it’s always the quiet ones)

• I would like to think that Aizetsu is heavily into meditation because it calms his anxiety and his nerves.

• PLEASE GIVE THIS BABY WORDS OF AFFIRMATION AND REASSURANCE!

• Aizetsu works as a computer tech and is very good with technology. He’s been very tech savvy since he was a kid always learning how it functions and knowing the ins and outs of it. He also works part time as a Lyft driver.

• His hidden talent is singing! Like I said in my last post, Aizetsu is a hellllaaaa talented singer but he only does so in private but if he sings around someone that means he’s comfortable with them.

• He’s into Zodiac signs thanks to Karaku. He’s a water sign (Team waterrrr) so he’s really good at seeing through people and strays away from those who he determines to be not good people.

• Doesn’t really go to the gym. He thinks it’s way too many people. Instead he finds alternatives at home and he was blessed with a high metabolism too so that’s a W for him. But don’t let that fool you, under what he covers up, he’s still buff. He is about 6’2, same height as Karaku.

• Made excellent grades in school. Mostly all As and graduated top of his class like his brother. He is currently in college pursuing software engineering and is still doing excellent academically!

• Is a good cook at best. Only sticks to simple stuff and doesn’t really like to go all out. Not particular about food but in the same breath, he does lean towards savory foods.

• Doesn’t have any tattoos but low key wants a treble clef tattoo on his chest or something small.

• Has a pet Bearded dragon named Toothless.

• Smells really good! I think he would smell like Cinnamon. Skin does get irritated during the summer time but it’s not severe. Does get tips from Karaku about skin care.

• Is much more of a tea kind of person and loves herbal tea (chamomile is his favorite)

• Not really much of a sweets kind of person.

• IS A VERY LIGHT SLEEPER. Imagine Karaku x10!! Will wake up if he hears the smallest sound or if the temperature is not to his liking (he keeps his place on 64 degrees AT ALL TIMES).

• Aizetsu is a very gentle, understanding, sweet, and thoughtful person and he has times where he second guesses himself but he definitely has a good crowd of people around him to keep his head held high.

UROGI

• Like his past incarnation he’s the second to last born. His Birthday is January 4th, 1999 ( he’s only 11 months younger than Aizetsu)

• He is most DEFINITELY a wild child lmao! He’s like Karaku x3000 when it comes to getting a thrill out of doing some shit. As a child he used to like to jump off of crazy shit and oddly would not get hurt 😅

• Has always been hella adventurous since he was a young lad. Always loved being outdoors and being in nature and still does in his adulthood. Likes going hiking & climbing. He feels at peace outdoors.

• He once climbed a whole fucking billboard and sat there for like 10 minutes ( Karaku and one of their cousins has a recording of him climbing it)

• Not only is he super flexible and athletic but he’s also very musically inclined too. His singing voice is on par with Aizetsu and he can read and write music (to an extent).

• Urogi works at the same bar as Karaku (Yes they work together) literally trouble but make it double 😂😂. Much to anyone’s surprise they don’t cause THAT much chaos. If Karaku is thing one then Urogi is thing two!

• He also loves coming up with different type of recipes and they are all a hit. Him and Karaku compete to see whose drinks are the best at work but it’s all brotherly competition and never any hard feelings.

• Heavily into gymnastics too & have been since he was little! So you know he keeps his body in great condition and goes to the gym everyday! He is about 6’1 1/2.

• Academically he made a mixture of A’s, B’s, and some C’s. Never went below a C. Is very smart but is whole ass class clown. It only took one time for his parents to get onto him and he never caused any significant distractions again lmao. Did not want to attend college but chose to follow what he felt was good for him. At first his parents were a little mad but they let Urogi decide what was best for him and supported whatever he decided (WE LOVE GOOD NON TOXIC PARENTING 🥹).

• Can cook but absolutely hates doing it. Prefers takeout instead and only cooks when he is in the mood to do so.

• Very much a HEAVY ASS SLEEPER & SNORES. Can probably sleep through a loud ass storm.

• Smells very earthy but not in a bad way. Like a combination of Pine and Sandalwood. (His favorite body wash is Dove Sandalwood for its earthy tone) Has seasonal breakouts but worst during winter (poor baby)

• He definitely smokes weed but by himself or with Karaku.

• His weakness: HE LOVES SWEETS & JUNK FOOD. Mans can literally eat a XL pizza by himself.

• Urogi is all together a very friendly, eclectic, and outgoing person and everyone can’t help but love him (even though he sometimes drives them crazy) 😂

ZOHAKUTEN

• He’s the last born baby of the brothers! He was born July 21st, 2007 so he is a Cancer baby!

• Like Sekido and Aizetsu, Zohakuten is a rather quiet, reserved person. But he is hellllaaaaa blunt. Zohakuten’s tone may come off a bit direct and blunt and a little harsh but I think he means well. (Sometimes)

• INTROVERTED.

• Also like his brother, he DEFINITELY has a resting bitch face and is his dads literally mini me.

• He is very much into art and loves graphic design. He’s also a very skilled digital artist as well.

• As a matter of fact, he drew the dragon design that Sekido has tattooed on his back for his birthday last year.

• He is still in high school and is very close to his senior year!! He makes excellent grades in school with straight A’s and has always.

• He is also a band student too! He plays the snare drums.

• After Highschool he does hope to help his dad out at the studio and work to save up for college. He wants to pursue a career in art.

• Since he still lives at home of course he gets spoiled by his parents but I don’t see him being the petty type like rubbing it in his brothers faces. Hell they be spoiling him too.

• He hits the gym with his brothers when they go. It’s like part of a bonding experience.

• He is about 5’9 ( his mom thinks that he’s on the brink of a major growth spurt.) For more context, their mom is 5’11 (momma a stallionnnn) and their dad is 6’7.

• HE HATES SWEETS! Prefers spicy foods though! Literally will go through a family sized bag of hot chips in 30 minutes and nobody knows how. (Not even me.) 😂😂😂.

• HEAVY ASS SLEEPER! That’s it that’s the post.

• Is willing to learn how to cook but only trusts his mother or Sekido to teach him.

• Karaku got him into zodiac signs too. He didn’t understand the concept at first until he read further and started seeing his attitude traits in what he read on Cancers.

• Not a people person but it is not as bad as his past incarnation where he bathed in hatred. Is willing to make some changes to his attitude and approach especially pursuing a career that deals with customers commissioning him for his arts but PLEASE do not piss him off or rush his work.

• He may not show it but he lovvvveesssss and adores his family!

I genuinely hope you all enjoyed my headcanons. I had been putting it off and putting it off and making revisions but I think that I love my headcanons for them. There are of course some more to come though so keep your eyes peeled. I will eventually start writing for more fandoms but I gotta let this Hantengu clone brainrot out somehow lmao.

I tag: @i-karaku-swear-i-dont-smoke-weed @ch3rriiii-bunn @hakujisstuff @bbkook @its-freaking-jordan @yunaarts

[tainted-liquor]

'Cuddle Monster(s)☾‧₊˚ ⋅

E42!Miles Morales x Witch!BlackFem!Reader ┆˚✧Ingredients: Crack, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles! ┆∘⋆TWs: Cursing, Reader being a menace, n I think that’s it? ┆⁺˚⋆W/C: I’ll fix this later😭 ┆`✦A/N: I lowkey used this as spanglish practice

"Miles? Can you get me some basil and patchouli while you're out?" You called from your bathroom as you heard your front door swing open. "I'm only going to the bodega, but I'll see what I can find Mami!" he shouted back from downstairs before swiftly exiting out your house. You smiled to yourself, thinking about just how much you loved your boyfriend as you threw a slew of items and herbs into a small jar. For the past 5 months, you've been perfecting your new craft of spirit-raising, the art of manifesting a living vessel from the hole between your world and theirs. These spirits, or "monsters" as many people would call them are...usually grateful when you raise them, often repaying your kindness by offering protection and energy in exchange for being their path to this world and theirs.

Since these spirits can be seen as an extension of you due to bringing them into this world, they tend to be in tune with your emotions. When you cried, they cried, when you yelled, they yelled, and when you loved, so did they. When Miles first learned about your ability to pull spirits through that invisible portal, he didn't really care. He's murdered people before, so what's a little witchcraft? After all, he hadn't actually seen exactly what came through that portal just yet.

You casually dumped more herbs and tiny crystals into your jar, maintaining perfect focus on the task at hand as you slowly dumped almond oil into the jar. When everything was finished, you sealed the jar with purple wax before throwing it rather aggressively into your full bathtub. You closed your eyes, silently hoping that you didn't do shit wrong as you kneeled down next to the tub, dunking a hand into the numbing and cold water for a couple of minutes. When you didn't notice anything happening, you sighed to yourself and went to pull your hand out of the water. But no sooner than you moved, you felt something unfamiliar and cold grab your hand.

You felt a harsh tug, then watched as what appeared to be an all-grey horned creature emerged through the tub. It was around 8 feet in height and looked like something straight out of a horror fantasy movie. It had no face, only one massive pitch-black eye where what would be a nose. It stared at you unblinkingly, processing its surroundings before emerging from your bathtub and standing behind you. It looked more afraid of you than you were slightly of it, so you gave it a small wave and a pat on the...knee? to calm it down.

It sat down motionless and limp in the bathroom, radiating content as you heard the front door open. It wasn't even a fraction of a second before the creature came darting out of the room, you following quickly behind it as it advanced toward Miles. Miles didn't even get the chance to scream before it scooped him up, hugging him like the tiniest of babies as its eye closed in joy. "WHEW. OKAY. MAMI, QUÉ ES ESTO?" He shouted with wide eyes. "It's...my new protector! I just raised it...It's not gonna hurt you it just loves you" you quickly explained as Miles froze up in the monster's hands. "Shit...warn me next time" he huffed, slowly relaxing as he processes what was happening.

From that day forward, he learned to accept the sudden appearance of various creatures in his house. A bone dog, a very very long horse, several people that weren't quite people, and various spirits that took on many many forms. He wasn't gonna pretend like it never caught him off guard or scared him, occasionally stepping out of the shower to see a monster or two staring at him silently always managed to raise his heart rate by a couple beats per minute. He knew they loved him with the same affection you always gave him, so he was never truly terrified by them. He had been told it was rude to not speak to them, so he always gave them a rather quiet and shaky "Hola..." whenever he saw them.

"Mama, te amo tan mucho...pero, por favor dime cuando tus 'spirits' will be watching me shower."

"Sorry love!"

And it never quite stopped there. Whenever you were outside of the house and a few entities decided to loom and fawn over your boyfriend, he always knew how you felt in the moment. There were times when he would be sitting on the couch, eating a nice bowl of cereal and a sea of non-human crying could be heard. He immediately jumped up from whatever it was he was doing, running to his phone to check on you. Whether you were minor stressed or full-blown crying, he was able to tell how you truly felt at the drop of a hat. In some sense he was grateful because it allowed him to further understand and navigate...you!

"Mami are you mad at me?"

"...no"

"Tell me the truth, c'mon muñequita"

"What makes you think I'm mad?"

"You deadass?" he huffed as he pointed at the strange thing hovering above him, staring at him with crossed arms and an annoyed grimace.

"okay maybe..."

[moosereblogsfics]

No Motive

pairing: serial killer! steve x serial killer!bucky x reader 

warnings: DUBCON, kind of non con, serial killer au, horror, slight dacryphilia, violence, smut, p in v, manipulation/coercion, facial, creampie, mentions of virginity loss, masturbation, MINORS DNI, dead dove do not eat. read at your own risk

summary:  “Surprise, Sidney!” 

a/n: this is a Scream / Grease inspired entry for @boxofbonesfic​ Friday The 13th challenge for Serial Killer! this is my first time writing anything dark but I had a lot of fun (i love horror/horror movies so this was a fun exercise). thank you so much bones for hosting this super fun challenge and i hope everyone had an absolutely spooktacular Friday the 13th!

word count: 1287 (cutting it close whew)

“Doors locked. Windows and blinds shut. No trips to anywhere but the grocery store or work, during daylight hours. No one is permitted to be outside of their homes after dark.”

That was what the police said. So why the hell were you outside right now? You snuck a quick glance at your boyfriend, who was driving carefree with the windows down.

“You cold, babe?” He shouted over the wind, looking over at you to flash you a cocky smirk. He looked beautiful, and that’s why you were here.

“No,” you mustered, but it was a lie. The anxiety caused by your forbidden outing induced a tremor in your hands as you pressed down your skirt. Steve would be so disappointed if he knew how you were feeling. Wasn’t this romantic? In the very least, it was what all the other couples did at school. 

It was what Steve’s ex-girlfriends did with him. 

You fought the urge to flip down the little vanity mirror and check your lipstick, make sure you looked pretty enough for him. Instead, you looked over at him with a smile and reached over to squeeze his thigh suggestively. That’s how you were supposed to do it, right? 

The crunching of gravel under Steve’s tires drew your attention to the little road that you’ve pulled off onto. You’ve never been here, but you recognized it from its infamy— Lover’s Lake, where all the couples used to come to get a little… privacy. Nobody came here anymore, though.

Not since the killings started. 

Your tongue darted out to wet your dry lips nervously, and you felt your heart pounding in fear. 

“Steve, is this a good idea?” you eked out, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and nibbling at the flesh nervously. Without even looking at you, Steve grasped your chin in his forefinger and eased your lip out from your teeth before running over it with his thumb. 

He’s so good to you. He knew you so well. So why didn’t you feel safe right now? 

But your stomach roiled when he sighed, clearly disappointed in you as he spared an irritated look before pulling the car to stop facing the lake. “Babe, I told you this already, remember? We can’t let the killer win. When we let them control us, let them make us afraid, they win.” 

“But Steve, what if the killer shows up?”

“Hey,” he said, placing a warm hand on the back of your neck and letting his fingers press on your spine. “I’m here, baby. Now go get your cute ass in the backseat.” Steve laughed when you squeaked at the pat on your butt as you made your way to the backseat. 

As you sat down, you couldn’t get over how… wrong it felt. Like the ghosts of the three girls that died here were watching you, telling you to get out of here. It was disrespectful at best, dangerous for a fact. But you didn’t have it in you to say no to Steve. 

He settled next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders as the two of you looked out to the lake. Your heart beat faster when his fingers toyed with the straps of your dress and bra, before he inched them off your shoulder. 

“Oops,” he laughed. It sounded harsher than you were used to, and you couldn’t hold back your discomfort anymore. You turned to him, ready to voice your objections when he captured your lips with his own. 

“Steve-” 

“Shh, baby,” he interrupted you, pulling down your top entirely to expose your tits to him. He kneaded the flesh between his palms, groaning and watching your nipples peak in response to his ministrations. “God, you’re so pretty. So innocent. Knew you’d be the best girlfriend a fella could ever have.” The pride that swelled within you at his words squashed the discomfort within you, and you leaned in to kiss him with a smile. 

You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in his kisses as his hands wandered up and down your body. You didn’t object when he pulled your dress and bra off, pulled your panties off and laid you down on the leather seats of his car. 

“You see how hard I am for you, baby?” Steve groans, grabbing your hand and putting it on his bulge as he rocked his clothed thigh against your bare core. Steve Rogers, the one guy that everyone wanted, the captain of the football team, the all-American golden boy wanted you. 

Steve slid his jeans off, sitting in one of the seats as he pumped his shaft twice and pulled your hips between his legs, aligning your slick cunt with his tip and driving his hips up to inch into you. You stifled your discomfort, trying to hide your winces and the tears that sprung in your eyes as he eased into your tight hole. You couldn’t let him know that you were a virgin, what would he think? 

But you knew when you met Steve’s wolfish gaze, it wasn’t something you could hide from him. 

“Are you a virgin, baby?” He cooed at you, condescension lacing his tone. You nodded and shut your eyes, when the sound of the door opening forced your eyes open.

Bucky, Steve’s best friend, slid into the seat next to yours. “Getting started without me, huh, pal?” Steve laughed harshly at that, exposing your body for Bucky to see. Mortification sent blood rushing through your body but Steve didn’t seem to care as he squeezed and flicked your tits, continuing to fuck into you. “You gonna let me join in, Stevie?” 

“Not this time,” Steve grunted, turning to Bucky as he used your body. “This one’s a virgin.” 

“Lucky,” Bucky asserted, unbuckling and sliding his already-hard cock out from his jeans. “Spit,” he instructed you, putting his hand in front of your mouth then using it as lubrication to stroke himself as he watched Steve fuck you. “You wanna cry, baby?” he asked you as he watched you, noting the stiffness of your body. “Yeah, I bet it hurts. C’mon, then, cry.” 

You let the tears flow freely from you as Steve picked up the pace, uncaring about your pain as he drove further into you. But it didn’t take long for the pain to shift to pleasure, the fullness from Steve making your head loll against his shoulder. 

Bucky pulled you down to face his cock, surprising you as he sprayed his release on your face, almost making you cry again as his cum mixed with your lipstick. Inexplicably, though, it triggered that blissful feeling that you’ve only felt on your own, clenching tighter on Steve’s cock as your vision whited out. 

“Shit, you like that?” Steve snickered, cumming into you as your body slacked. He pulled you off unceremoniously, swinging you into his arms only to dump your nude body in the passenger seat. “I gotta go piss,” he called out, slamming the door as Bucky trailed behind him. 

Bored, you opened the glovebox in search of napkins to clean your face, but when your fingers brushed against dainty metal, your heart stuttered. 

Inside Steve’s glovebox lay three bloodstained necklaces, ones that you knew belonged to the dead girls because you recognized each little pendant— Darla’s pink rhinestone, Charlotte’s teddy bear, Jeanie’s heart locket. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that, sweetheart,” Steve said from behind you. You saw the blood from your neck spray onto the windshield before you got the chance to scream.  

“That’s gonna be a pain to get out,” Bucky commented, before the darkness swallowed you whole.