#yeah he flew off the edge so to say

[goodnearlyalmostdrde-ath]

Well, his morning didn't go so great, and now he's heavily sedated and sleeping (for the first time in maybe 4 days or so) while his supervisor talks on the phone with someone, likely someone from his school, about what to do with him.

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

༻Masterlist༺

[satorusugurugurl]

Weak Spot

Summary: Cuddling on the couch leads to a fascinating discovery.

Pairing: Choso Kamo, Gojo Satoru, Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU), Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Fushiguro Toji, FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,141

Warning: horny reader, whimpers, moans, trying to stay quiet, accidental orgasms, tickling, roughhousing, foot massages, foot play if you squint?? Hair pulling, public smexy stuff, hugging, of weak spots

A/N: Just a quick series of blurbs with JJK men finding your weak spots thank you for all of your suggestions!!

**MDNI!!**

Choso Kamo:

The evening you had started as a quiet one. You and Chosi sat on your couch watching some rom-com you had picked out. You’re fully invested in the film, lying on your side munching away at popcorn as Choso lies behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist. His eyes are heavy, and he drops his head to your shoulder with a tired hum.

There was nothing out of the ordinary when he did that. Resting your chins on each other's shoulders was something both of you often did—sort of a silent way of expressing the love the two of you shared. But, the second Choso rubs his chin over the spot where your shoulder meets your neck, you cry out, covering your mouth.

At first, your boyfriend freezes up, eyes widening at the sound leaving your lips. For a moment, Choso thought that maybe he had hurt you, but as he felt your trembling against him, he knew that’s not the case. You moaned so loud like you did when he would fuck you. That reaction made him move his chin harder over the same spot. The moan that leaves your mouth has his cock twitching in his pants as your body rocks back.

“C-Cho—w-waah!” He rubs harder, his large hands leaving your waist to cup your breasts gently. “Ah—fuck, nnngh.” The way your body jerks as if you’re trying to escape his grasp has him groping you harder, pulling your back into his chest. “Choso, h-hold on a second baby.”

“I found it.” His gruff voice whispers over your neck, causing goose flesh to rise over your arms. “Found your weak spot.”

“B-Babe—ah~ wait~!” Your boyfriend's hands grope your hips, his chin digging into your sweet spot as his hips rut against your ass. “C-Cho-Choso.”

Your boyfriend hums in approval. Hearing you get off without him even touching you between the legs fills him with a certain sense of pride. The strange new feeling has him rubbing circles into your sweet spot with the tip of his chin. The pressure, gentle rubbing, and the feeling of his hot breath against your skin have you pressing your thighs together.

You were crying out softly, whimpering into the back of your hand. The sensations and stimulation to your neck had a pleasure twisting in your lower abdomen, your underwear soaked. All of it felt so good, but it wasn’t enough to send you over the edge just yet; it was the feeling of Choso’s hardening erection that had you teetering on the edge like you were a tightrope walker.

“Haaah~ oh fuck.”

Chiso chuckled deeply, “Yeah, you want more.” He digs his chin into that spot on your neck, and you can even form words.

“Ngggh! Hah! Fuck~ c-cumming—c-cumm—” One of your hands reached back, turning at his dark locks of hair, while the other clawed at the cushion of the couch as your orgasm hit you.

Your boyfriend opens his mouth to speak but can’t even begin to find the words to say. His focus is drawn to you. You’re shaking; legs pressed firmly together as you tug a bit harder on his hair with each wave of the orgasm you ride.

“O-Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling his breathing heavily, “I-I can’t believe I just—nngh!” Yours flipped so your face is pushed against the sofa, and Choso is scrambling behind your, yanking your sweats down as you feel his hard cock rutting over the curve of your ass.

“So hot; need to feel you do that again, but this time on my cock, okay?” His voice is desperate, shaking, and full of horny desire. “Is that okay, honey?”

“More than okay; give it to me, Cho~!”

Gojo Satoru:

A black blindfold flew past your head as you squeaked, turning the corner into the living room. “I-I said I was sorry!” You squealed happily as your boyfriend followed close behind. “I didn’t know you were ticklish on your ribs! I swear! I promise!!” You don’t even come close to meeting the front door as you’re gently tackled to the soft rug.

“That’s the last time I ever let my infinity down around you!” He playfully growls as he crawls on top of you, fingers wiggling around your face. “In the meantime. I do believe some form of payback is due!”

You can’t protest because his fingers are tickling your sides. “Ah! No! Hahah!” You scream, kicking your legs out as you’re trying to strip his hands from tickling against your rib cage. Every attempt you make to stop him is thwarted as it easily evades your grasp.

Long fingers that you usually love, we’re now you’re the mortal enemy. They move against your cage, tickling every spot that you weren’t sure if Gojo assumed they were or if the bastard was using Six-Eyes to his advantage. Because each time his fingers grazed over your rib cage, which also happened to be your weak spot, you squirmed underneath your boyfriend. You tried to hide the moans with laughter; it was useless because, despite desperately trying to hide them, your squirming legs were all Satoru needed to see.

He kept his fingers moving, tickling you faster, smirking as you bit down on your bottom lip. “Mmmnngh!” your friend is trying to free himself. “Satoru! Stop! Please!” you cried out in between laughs and moans.

“Why?” he cooed with a smirk, “Why do you want me to stop, sweetheart?”

“B-Be—aha!” Your back arched as your mouth dropped. “I-I ah!”

“Is it because you're getting all hot and bothered?”

“No!”

“You’re a liar~”

“Mmmm fuck! Ooooh fuck!” Your chest heaved as you shook underneath him, his hips slotting between yours as the smell of musk and clean linen invaded your senses, making you feel high. Off of the pleasure, the tension, everything just seemed to enhance the pleasure that was pulsating in your pussy. “Fuck!”

“Hehe! Someone’s gettin’ all wet and turned on~!”

“T-Toru!”

“Yeah~? Want me to fu—”

“C-Cumming!”

Your body arched, shaking as your friend clamped your thighs together, but Satoru’s body stopped you from doing so. Just allowing you to kick your legs out, toes curling as you cummed hard. Satoru’s face turned a bright red as he pulled his hands away from your ribs. You lay there on the ground panting heavily, covering your eyes with your forearm, the shame of what just happened fostered inside your chest.

Satoru was silent for the longest moment, his eyes meeting yours as he sputtered and blinked, a trickle of blood running from his nose. “D-Did you just cum?” you could only groan, nodding once.

“T-Tickling my ribs, I-it’s my weak spot ass.”

“O-Oh—” you both sat in silence, “uhm sweetie.”

“Huh?” you pulled your arm away, “what?”

Satoru started tugging your leggings down, panting like a feral animal. “Let me tickle you again with my cock inside of you!” you squeaked as he pounced on you grinding his hips against yours. That night, you both learned that Satoru had a bit of a tickling kink and that you were happy to serve him.

Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU):

“Are you sure about this?” your boyfriend asked gently as he took a marker and marked where your cartilage piercing was going to go.“You're okay with me piercing you?”

“You were perfectly fine piercing me last night.” you waggle your eyebrows at him before taking your bottom lip between your teeth as he deadpans.

“That was with my cock, this is a big ass needle that’s gonna be stabbed through your fucking ear.” He gently holds your earlobe, giving it a gentle tug. “Dor—”

“Mmm!” Your eyes go wide as your hands fly up to cover your mouth. Your earlobe is being held between Sukuna’s thumb and index finger. His eyes are slightly wide as he stares at your ear in stunned silence.

Crimson eyes search your face as if looking for the answer as to why you made such a sexual noise over him, touching your ear. But you don’t say anything, your eyes darting around his workspace at the tattoo shop. Slightly annoyed by your lack of attention, focused on him. Your boyfriend narrows his eyes before giving your earlobe another sharp tug.

“Nnngh!!” you moan into the palms of your hands, trying to silence the noise that threatens to escape.

Noticing that your eyes are still averted from his, Sukuna gently runs his fingers up your ear, caressing it slowly and sensually, as if it was your pussy that he teased and edged the night before. With each stroke of his black, gloved finger, you twitch and turn against his chair, your hands clamping down harder over your mouth.

Your boyfriend stands up, crawling up onto the chair with you, his leg strategically placed on either side of your hips, trapping you underneath the large frame of his body. His eyes darken with lust as he rubs his finger back down to your earlobe slowly back up. The way you arched slightly against the covered black chair had his cock tightening in his pants; his breathing was heavy as he pulled his hand away.

“Fuck,” you gently whisper into the room, finally removing your hands. “Kuna, uhm may—e-eegh!” you get your teeth as your boyfriend leans his tattooed face down, blowing against your sensitive earlobe. The sensation has your eyes rolling back as you moan loudly, not even trying to muffle the sounds. “K-Kuna!” His left gloved hand shoots up, covering your mouth as he takes your earlobe between his teeth, gently nibbling on it.

Your eyes are all back as you buck your hips upward, searching for something to grind yourself on as pleasure explodes within your abdomen. You’ve always had sensitive ears, but none of your partners in the past have ever played with them before. So for Sukuna to not only massage the sensitive flesh but also take it between his teeth and gently suck on it, you were shocked to be getting off on it.

Here you were, having your boyfriend suckle and nip at your ear as his hand kept clamped over your mouth. Your hands shot up, gripping his black tank top, holding onto the fabric as pleasure rocks through every nerve of your body. A familiar coil tightened in your stomach, and for a second, you panicked before you realized this man, the man that you were falling in love with, was about to make you cum from playing with your ears.

All it takes is a nibble on the sensitive skin, and your eyes are wide as you rock shamelessly into the air. Your orgasm hits you fast and hard, giving you heart palpitations as you grip Sukuna tighter, holding onto him for dear life as you cum in the tattoo shop he works at. Your boyfriend sucks and gently nibbles at your skin. His hand was still firmly against your mouth, silencing the moans and whines threatening to alert his coworkers about what you were up to.

Your boyfriend only removes his hand from your mouth as you gently release your grip on his tank top. Pulling his gloved hand back, he stares down, panting heavily like some rabid animal. The way your breast moves up and down as you gasp for air, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, has him moving before you even think. You follow him with hazy eyes, watching as he rips the gloves off his hands, tossing them in the trash before he locks the door to his office.

“Take off your pants,” he grunts as he undoes the buckle to his belt. “I’m going to fuck you, and then I’m going to pierce both of your ears. And once they’re healed.” He sticks his tongue out, revealing his piercing that glimmers in the lights above. “ I’m gonna run my piercing up and down the sensitive studs that I’m going to put in your ears myself.”

Nanami Kento:

“Oooh, my god, my feet are killing me,” you mutter as you lie on the couch, and your husband sits down next to you, taking your feet gently and placing them in his lap. “Whoever invented high heels needs to be sent to hell.”

Nanami chuckles at his hands, gently moving to massage her clean feet. Both of you had just gotten out of showers and settled onto the couch for a quiet evening after nonstop meetings at the high school. Hair is brushed back, still damp, as his thumbs gently move up and down your feet, causing you to tell your head back and moan.

“Does that feel good?” he gently asked, increasing the pressure against the sole of your foot. You respond with another moan. I suppose I’ll take that as a yes.”

You lay your head back against the throw pillows, losing yourself in your husband’s gentle caresses as he works out the nuts and the sore tendons of your feet. It feels so sinfully good that it has you gently squirming against the couch. But when he gently runs his well-trimmed nails up, scratching the bottom of your foot, you moan. Not in satisfaction of the relief that his fingers bring, but one that is full of sexual desire.

Your hand stops just above the pad of your foot as his eyes slowly turn towards you. Both of you stare at one another in shock. That had never happened before. Nanami had given you plenty of massages in the past, so why was this one different?

“D-Did that hurt?” Kento asks. As he gently begins, he rubs your foot again.

“N-No, it just felt good.”

“Like this?” he continues to need your foot using his thumbs. But you don’t have the same reaction you did before. “Or this?” The second he’s dragging his nails from the tip of your toe down to your heel, pleasure erupts from you. “Oh, that was it.”

“O-Oh, my god!” He does it again and again and again. “K-Kento! Fuck!”

Honey brown eyes, watch as your toes curl with each scratch of his nail. “Huh~ I knew your neck was sensitiv., but this is something I’ve never seen before.” his scratches increase in speed, and his eyes are transfixed on your face, watching as you pant and moan, your back arching as you throw your head back. “If I didn’t know any better, I would assume that you’re about to have an orgasm.”

“Fuuuck~ fuck fuck~ Keeento!” You grab onto the sofa, back arching higher as your pussy begins to pulsate as intense pleasure reaches its peak. “Oh my god! Oooh, my fucking god!!” you scream out loud as you cum hard. You're shaking as you try, pulling your feet out of your husband’s lap only to have him pull them back, his nails scratching harder against the soles of your feet, extending your orgasm and making it all the more intense.

You don’t even have a chance to recover from your surprise orgasm when your husband is pulling you into his lap, making you straddle the hard bulge in his pajama pants. He grabs both sides of your hips and rocks you gently back and forth over his erection. His breath is hot against your mouth before he slams his lips against yours. His tongue doesn’t even ask for permission before sliding it into your mouth. It wraps around your tongue, and the lingering taste of white wine and chocolate dances over your taste buds, making your hips faster against Kento’s.

Your quiet evening wasn't as peaceful as you both had anticipated. But it was an evening that all massages were purely orgasmic.

Geto Suguru:

“Ya’ know, when you texted me at 10:20 at night asking me to come over, I didn’t think it was for this reason.” Suguru chuckles from behind you, twisting different strands of your hair in his hands. “But practicing braiding hair for the girls is kind of hot.”

“The girls have been begging me to do a different hairstyle. I could practice on myself, but it’s easier this way.” His words trail off, and you can’t help but smile at him in the mirror.

“Ah~ you just wanted to see me~!” Suguru’s tanned skin slightly flushed as he pouted. “Oooh baby, it’s okay~!”

“Alright l, alright, that’s enough out of you.” He grumbled, giving one of the sections a harsh tug.

You inhaled sharply, the sound choking out with a moan. Suguru winced, looking into the mirror before you to whisper a rushed apology until he saw the look on your face. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes half-lidded as your hand was over your mouth. Geto stared down at you, eyes wide, as your whole body trembled.

“Did you just moan?”

“N-Nuh-uh-haaaah!” You yelped out a louder moan as Suguru tugged your hair again, harder this time. “Nnngh, oooh god.”

“You did!” He released the three sections of hair before running his fingers through the strands of your hair, gently caressing the crown of your head. You thought you were in the clear, but just as you were about to breathe out in relief, your boyfriend grabbed a handful of your hair, tugging it sharply. That breath of relief turned into a moan so sensual, so pornographic, Suguru tugged again.

“H-Haaah Suguru p-please!” You mewled as you gripped the bathroom sink, “I-I—fuck!”

Your eyes were watching him in the mirror, a sinister smirk on his lips as his eyes trailed up and down your back. Watching how your muscles tensed up with every tug, how goosebumps rose against your skin. Suguru was getting off on the fact you were squirming just like you did when his cock was buried deep inside of you.

“Fuccck, you’re so goddamn fuckin hot!” His hand tugged a handful of hair harder and harder. “You look like you’re in such a euphoric state. Are you seriously getting off on this?”

“I-I—fuck! Fuck fuck fuck.” Your nails scratched over the marble counter as Suguru pulled you up by your hair, bent you over the counter, and his fingers massaged your scalp. “S-Sugu-Suguru~!” You cried out as he pulled your hair back, smirking at you in the mirror.

“Look at yourself, Princess~ look at how turned on you are over me just playing with your hair.” His hot breath blew against your ear. “This is good to know for when I fuck you from behind, yeah? Is your pussy clamping down each time I tug?”

“F-Fuck! Fuuuck!” you grip the edge of the sink harder, your body shaking as your toes curl. “Sugu~!”

“If you beg, I’ll give you what you want.”

“N-No, Sugu, wait pl—”

“Wait~? You don’t want me to fuck you.” A final sharp tug was the last straw. You moaned loudly, eyes shut tight as you creamed your panties. You whispered and whined as you convulsed against the counter. Suguru stood behind you, biting his lip as he watched you unravel from something minuscule.

It was only when your body stopped shaking that Suguru released his grip on your hair. He was beginning to pull down his sweats when you were around, grabbing a handful of his dark, luscious locks and giving it a sharp tug. Suguru let out a moan that was just as pornographic as yours had been as you pulled him down to your height, glaring into his eyes.

“I-If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna tug your hair until you cum in your pants.”

As tempting as your threat was, Suguru would rather not cum in his sweats like a teenager. Instead, he grabbed your hips, whirling you back towards the mirror, and tugged your sweats down along with his own. “Yes, my Princess, as you wish.”

Toji Fushiguro:

You never thought domestic life would be for you in all your years. But when you met Toji, your views changed. Your boyfriend was a single father, and you were absolutely smitten by him. Toji was a bit brash and liked to gamble, but he was incredibly smart and spoiled you rotten. So you had no problem cooking dinner and helping around the house with his help. The longer you were with him, the more you loved it.

The three of you were a family.

Standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the three of you had become a nightly routine you adored. You were standing over the kitchen sink, washing the dishes you had soaked for a bit. You had time to kill, seeing that Megumi was finishing up a play date with his friend Yuuji. Yuuji’s dad would walk them home in about an hour and give them more than enough time to prepare dinner and clean the kitchen.

Just as you were finishing the dishes in the sink, large buff arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against a broad chest; the intoxicating smell of amber and driftwood wafted over Toji, buried his face and your neck. It was such a domestic gesture, and it had you weak in the knees.

“Fuck that food smells so good.” He grumbled, hugging you a bit tighter, stealing your breath away. “God, I’m so lucky to have you.” Toji groaned into your ear as he lightened his grip on you before squeezing you again.

The feeling of him robbing himself so tightly around you wasn’t at all painful. Instead, it was the exact opposite. You felt your body burning as he squeezed you tight before releasing you again. The smell of him, the feeling of his arms so muscular wrapped around you, and the slight oxygen deprivation always got you going. It was usually all of those factors individually. But to have them all happen simultaneously while he hugged you so tight, oh God, it got your blood boiling.

“You look so damn cute, too~” You whined in response, lifting a hand, your mouth covering it. “Say, if I bought you a cute little apron, would you wear it for me? Just the apron?” Another squeeze of his big arms had you moaning louder. “Oh, someone likes that idea, don’t they?”

When all you can do is whimper in response, Toji knows there’s more to your arousal than just the prospect of being his little housewife that has you squirming, how your breathing becomes more profound and shallow. It wasn’t just the idea of wearing an apron for him. It was because he had his arms wrapped around you; he pressed you back against his chest while he squeezed and released, constricting his arms around you.

“F-Fuck! Toji, oh God!” You rocked your hips back against his crotch, trying to release some of the building tension in your body. “Fuuuck~!”

Toji smirked, hugging you tighter. “What a kinky little girlfriend I have.” he ran his tongue over his top lip before hugging you even tighter as your body trembled. “Getting off from a hug~ good to know~!” Your boyfriend hugs you again. This time, you gripped the edge of the sink as you tried to warn him. But there was no way you were getting any words out from the pleasure that was rushing. “What ya’ gonna cum~? You’re shaking like you do right before you cum in my mouth.” You somehow managed to nod your head.

“G-Gonna~ gonna!”

“Go on then~ make a mess~”

With one final squeeze, your cummed with a shuttering gasp as your body shook and twitched against him. Your legs clamped tight together as Toji held you as tight as he could against him. His breathing was as ragged as yours as he took in your post-orgasmic appearance. Heavy breathing, flush cheeks, the way sweat beaded at your forehead from the intensity of the pleasure. Seeing you in such a state had him going feral.

“Fuck!” Toji picks you up, pressing you against the refrigerator, your skirt up, tugging your underwear. “We got about l thirty minutes before Meg’s gets home. In those next thirty minutes, I’m gonna make sure to hug you nice and tight, and in exchange, you make sure to hug my cock just tight with your pussy.” He growled into your ear; it was so raw and full of need that you took your bottom lip between your teeth and giggled. You might enjoy being his living girlfriend, but he was just as smitten with you as you were with him.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

[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.

[llamagoddessofficial]

A little indulgent, venty drabble.

~~~

Your bedroom door opened. You were absolutely certain you had locked it. Alarmed, you shot up in bed, looking to the entrance to see who was intruding on you when your mood was so crushingly terrible.

It was Nightmare. He had a weird expression on his face, he looked very... calm. Calm was weird for him. He was the last person you expected to see.

... Also probably one of the last people you wanted to see.

"What're you doing?" you snapped. "Get out of my room."

His voice was low. "is everything alright?"

"Uh. Yeah." Perhaps you sounded more hostile than you needed to. You were glaring. "Everything's fine. You can go."

... His lovely cyan eye lingered on you.

...

He did not, in fact, leave. He closed the door behind him.

What the hell? Indignation coursed through you. "I'm seriously fine. Leave me alone."

"no," he said, softly.

You really really didn't have the self control for this, right now. You spent every moment of every day watching your words, taking stock of everything that left your lips, ensuring it wouldn't bother those around you even if it was at your own expense. Right now, you were fraying at the edges. You did not have the energy.

"Nightmare. Go away. I want to be alone right now."

He started walking toward you. He looked so calm. He looked like he understood exactly what was going on.

Anger flashed inside you, oil catching in a pan, it spittled and flew to your lips. You did not understand what was going on, and you didn't like feeling stupid.

"Get the fuck out of my room!"

"no."

“What the hell is your problem!?" You leaned forward, voice raising, like a cat raising its hackles. "You want to come watch me at my lowest? Point and laugh, rub it in? Real fucking mature of you.”

He didn't take the anger bait. "no." 

Stars, something was really wrong with you today, because his lidded socket and soothing voice just utterly infuriated you.

“Get out!” you yelled.

He didn't respond. He just looked like he cared.

You picked up the nearest weighted thing - your matte plastic water bottle - and threw it at him as hard as you could. He paused, but only to let the bottle literally just bounce off him... it hit his chest and thudded to the floor, rolling away plaintively.

You were probably acting more like a toddler than a grown adult human right now. But you were out of self control. Out of anything, really. Tired and cranky.

“Fuck off! Leave me alone!”

"it's okay."

What? When he started approaching again, you picked up another heavy object to throw, this time it was your bedside lamp. You were shocking yourself with your own bad behaviour. When you launched that at him, a tentacle curled in the air and caught it, setting it carefully down on the floor and not even interrupting his stride.

“Go bother someone else! I’m not a child!”

Honestly? You left that one open for him. You wanted him to make the most of the opportunity to insult you - maybe he’d say something sharp like “not a child? you sure are acting like one.” Something that would bring you back into territory you felt safe in. You didn't like the way he was looking at you, the way you were the only one yelling but he looked so empathetic and gentle. You wanted some control.

“it’s alright,” he murmured. “you can say what you need to. i know you don’t mean it.”

“What - what the fuck are you talking about?!”  

Nightmare sat beside you, cross-legged on your bed. And before you could do a thing, his extremely dexterous tentacles curled around you; and pulled you in, until you were sitting between his legs.

Oh, you were furious. You weren't even sure what you were yelling, but you were definitely yelling something. If you had been a cat raising your hackles before, now you had your claws out, you were scratching and biting and yowling. You kicked at him, you slapped at his chest, you shoved him like that would do anything.

... He didn't say a thing. His arms rested on either of his knees, and a tentacle carefully brushed your back. You kept hitting him. You ...

... You started to run out of steam. Your 'hits' on his chest became weaker, feebler, until you weren't really hitting him anymore. You were just bumping your enclosed fist against his sternum. The water bottle from before probably did more damage than you were doing now.

...

... You hiccuped.

And then you just started to bawl.

Nightmare clearly had anticipated this all along. He leaned down, face closer to your level, like he wanted you to know he was there. Your head thumped against his shoulder, where it remained, sobs wracking your entire body. He didn’t interrupt. He just let you cry - getting it all out. 

Part of you wanted to be embarrassed. Assaulting him and then wailing right there in his lap. But oh... there was something so wonderful about acting your absolute worst, and yet, not being abandoned. You worked so hard to be liked; every day, you did everything you could to be the kind of person that the people around you would enjoy. So much so that you had no idea what was left, underneath all of the personalities you'd stitched together to make a quilt people would like looking at.

Nightmare had just watched you scream at the top of your lungs, then sob with anything you had left. And yet? He was still there.

By the time your crying quietened down, his eyelight was glowing a little brighter. A little bluer. You weren’t sure what that meant.

“... I-I...” you rubbed your eyes with your sleeve as best you could. Your voice was horrendously hoarse and thin. “I didn’t... mean...”

“i know,” he said, warmly. Sitting this close, you could hear how his voice thrummed from within his chest, not really his mouth. Knowing his lecherous and borderline evil personality, you thought that basically sitting on his lap would've felt different. Risky, perhaps. Right now, it didn't - you felt comforted. The good kind of surrounded.

"I'm sorry."

“don't be. if there’s anyone who would know when anger is a cry for help, it’s me.”

You kept your head on his shoulder. "I shouldn't have hit you."

He tilted his face to you a little more. He was so close - inches away. You could feel his breathing. “honestly? i incited you, in the hopes you would. you just wanted to be angry. everyone deserves to feel angry, every now and then.”

“It doesn’t always feel like it is okay," you muttered.

"anger isn't something to be ashamed of. anger protects you. it tells you when your lines have been crossed."

"How can I be angry, without hurting people? If you were anyone else, I would've really hurt you."

"i'm afraid there's no easy answer to that, dear."

You looked up at him. “How did you know I didn't want to be left alone?”

"did you forget i can read emotions?"

Ah. True. You always forgot Nightmare wasn't just any old skeleton. He was some kind of God, wasn't he? A deity of negativity. He probably read everything going on in your mind the moment it arose.

"I kinda did, yeah."

His socket crinkled at the corner. “i felt what you wanted. heh, that, and... i know your insults well enough to know your heart wasn’t in those.”

You couldn’t help but let out a tiny watery snicker, at that. He seemed to like it. 

“... Thank you." You brought your legs up to your chest, tucking closer against him. "For... for not leaving.”

He finally put his arms around you.

“of course.”

[zapernz]

imagine sam folding and being subby for his overly girly and cutesy girlfriend after she ask’s nicely :)))

⋆obey⋆

a/n love this prompt aaaahhgggg

nsfw ↴

nipple play, biting, dry humping

[ “baby” ]

“please, cmon, you always take the lead.. why can’t i for once?” you plead to sam, propped up against the headboard, holding your thighs while you straddle him. he sighs “i dunno princess, will you be able to? what if you don’t like it? shouldn’t we talk about it more?” he tilts his head to the side as he questions you.

you squirm on his lap making his thought to tell you ‘no’ dwindle away. “please sam, please, please, it’ll be so good, promise!” you plead again, still squirming in his lap. his hands move from your thighs to your hips to stop the unintentional grinding on his dick. he groans “y’gotta stop movin like that baby, uh- so what, you want to be a dom now or something?” he smirks teasing you.

getting antsy you start trying to squirm against the hold he has on you, “sam, cmon just let me try, cmon pretty please?” you whine. your grinding on his dick in just the right way, he’s just a man, and fuck it’s hard to turn this down, and honestly all logic flew out the window the moment your hips started moving on him. he squeezes your hips encouragingly, “alright you have me, do as you want.” he sighs in defeat.

you move his hands off your hips, with a stutter from him, he was going to open his mouth and ask you what you’re doing. but you’re in charge so he lets you move his hands above his head. “keep them there, no touching.” you say. he blinks at you in disbelief, “no touching?!” he exclaims. he loves touching you, feeling your warm body, memorising every curve and dip.

“you heard me.” you say with an odd stern tone to your voice. sam huffs a noise of semi approval. you move your hands under his shirt, slowly touching, trying to memorise him, as he had you. he groans when your fingers brush lightly over his nipples, and unexpectedly pinch them hard, making a loud noise of surprise. “fuck! what the fuck!?” you chuckle, “y’know it feels good baby, trust me.” he opens his mouth but shuts it, the way you’re talking sends a shiver if anticipation down his spine, and makes his dick twitch uncomfortably in his pants.

your feverish hands move quickly to take his shirt off and latch your lips onto one of the sensitive buds, his hips unintentionally buck up and he stiffles a moan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. removing your mouth, while on the way to the other, you mumble “sensitive boy huh? who would’ve guessed.”

at this he whines. a pathetic, pitiful whine, you’ve never heard something like that from him, and were determined to get more. you latch your mouth onto the other bud, nipping every so often, making him writhe and squirm.

you take your mouth off of him replacing it with your fingers. teasing and pinching at them, you strategically place your knee in between his legs, settling right where his aching dick rested.

he immediately starts bucking his hips to finally get the friction he’d be so desperately trying to acquire. “ohhh fuckk” he moans out loudly. you watch him, as your usually dominant, fucking-you-until-you-scream-boyfriend, has his hands obediently above his head, his nipples being pinched and played with, and bucking against your knee like a rabid dog.

you try experimentally pinching a bit harder, making his gasp and bite his lip, “fuck- yeah like that- hard!” he barely manages to make out through the moans. you moved your lips down to his neck, sucking harshly, not just nipping, but biting, your teeth sinking into his skin, every bite makes him let out a guttural moan if pure pleasure and ecstasy.

moving down to his collarbones, repeatedly sinking your teeth into the flesh, leaving your mark all over him, unable to be hidden. his erratic hips buck up against your knee, the confinement of his jeans making him get closer and closer to the edge. he can feel the coil, but the pleasure is to immense, he can’t even form a word or sentence, just moans, whines and whimpers. he just needs something to throw him over the edge.

and then you do it.

smirking to yourself, you move your mouth down to one of his nipples, lightly sucking at first, but then all of a sudden, you bite it, hard. and thats what did it. his hips are stuttering, his breathy moans are constant, as you pull back you watch as the orgasm washes over him.

slowly he comes down, his hips slowing down and eventually stopping, his breathing becoming more steady, and moans turn into pants.

“holy fuck” he sighs, covering his face with his hands.

[thankyouivy]

Slick Tongue - Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!reader Warnings: SMUT! (18+), oral [f rec], non-con voyeurism? (the team listens in), dryhumping, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, begging, HANDS, multiple orgasms, fluff! Summary: Instead of going out with the team for drinks after a stressful week, the only thing he wants to do is bury his head between your thighs. Notes: a gay and a lesbian attempted to write straight smut: this is that attempt. there is a significant lack of munch!spencer content on here and I am willing to attempt to fix that very serious problem. this is literally just 3k words of Spencer being a munch, enjoy! :]

———

“Reid, are you sure you don't wanna come out with us? I mean, after the last few days we all deserve a little fun time!” the grainy voice of Garcia speaks through the phone as Spencer makes his way into your shared apartment. Spencer chuckles and the ruffle of him taking his coat and shoes off can be heard on Penelope's side of the line. Spencer sets his bag on his desk on the way to your bedroom where he knows you’re waiting for him. “As much as I would like to spend more time with you guys, I have other things I need to atten- …”

You’re lying on your side of the bed, undressed except for the navy blue lingerie set Spencer bought for you in LA when the team flew there for a case, and one of his button up work shirts. This one is light blue and it complements the navy blue of your lacy bra and thong peeking out through the half-unbuttoned shirt. You look up from the book you have in your hand, and smile as you sip your red wine, and then place the glass on the bedside table. Spencer is just standing in the doorway and manages to get out a breathy “Hi,” before Garcia seems to snap him out of the trance he's in. He blinks a few times and looks around for a second before remembering where his coworkers' voice is coming from.

“Reid? Reiddddd??? Are you still there?” She says as he lifts the phone back to his ear. “What? Yeah, I’m still here. What- what is it?”

You giggle at him. Despite being one of the smartest people in the BAU, all of his concentration and genius goes out the window when it comes to you, it seems. Spencer can tell Garica is saying something to him, but he can’t really tell what it is that she’s talking about. “Hey, Garcia- I’m- um I’ve got to go- no it's- nothing wrong! I just have to- I- I’ll see you tomorrow, have fun at.. wherever- bye.” He stammers out quickly, and shuts off his phone and throws it onto the bedside table as he makes his way over to the bed.

It seems in Spencer's delusional state of mind, clouded by the nakedness of his girlfriend, he has forgotten that when you turn your phone off, the call you are on does not automatically hang up, unknowingly leaving Garcia and the rest of the team to listen in on the escapades that follow:

“Hi, baby,” You greet him happily as Spencer reaches your side of the bed and leans down to place a passionate kiss on your lips. “God, I missed you,” he mumbles into your mouth and you smile and hum in agreement into the kiss, running your fingers through his soft fluffy hair.

His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, placing kisses along the edge of your face to your ear, and then down to your neck where he begins marking you up. You giggle happily as he works on his task.

He pulls away from the kiss momentarily to run his eyes over your body once more. You look absolutely delectable in this set, it's one of his favorites. He bites his lip and runs his hands over your sides and down to your hips. He leans back in to kiss you all while he makes quick work of your bra, unclasping the back and pulling it off as you work on taking off your shirt, it falls off of your shoulders gently revealing your gorgeous bare tits.

You bite your lip and the blush from your cheeks makes its way down the rest of your body, and Spencer groans at the sight of you. “Fuck, you look so good, baby… but in order for me to have any fun, these need to come off…” He says darkly, as his pointer finger slips its way under the strap of your thong and he places kisses along your collarbone.

You gasp as he grips your hips and slides you to the edge of the bed, dropping down to his knees immediately, and making quick work of taking his own shirt off, leaving him in only his work pants. You let him pull your panties down your thighs and off your legs slowly, already panting hard as he watches you open your pretty legs for him, giving him the perfect view of your tiny bare pussy and completely naked body.

“Fuck…” he says breathily as he licks his lips, obviously salivating. “Please baby…I wanna taste you so bad… been thinking about it for days…” He begs on his knees, and you moan at his words. He looks exhausted but eager, and that combination of things usually only means one thing; "Bad day?" you ask as he grabs the underside of your left thigh and places it over his shoulder, "Terrible."

You lace your fingers through his soft hair, and watch as he closes his eyes, tilting his head to the side to give the inside of your thigh an open-mouth kiss.

"Mmmm.. I’m sorry work was bad baby…Y'can tell me everything after you make me cum, yeah?" and then he's groaning, "Fuck yes," nodding his head and sighing happily, before surging forwards and lapping at your cunt as if its the one thing he wanted to do all day.

Immediately your hips arch off of the bed as his lips press against your folds. "Fuck, Spence," you gasp, he parts his lips before dragging his tongue up your centre, circling the tip around your clit, "oh my god," you moan, fingers tangling into his hair to hold him there. This spurs Spencer on further, his body pushes further between your legs, his hands holding your legs apart while he starts to moan into you. “Tastes so fucking good, baby.” He mutters and licks his lips, before licking at your clit softly.

Your view is obscene. Spencer's large veiny hands are gripping your plush thighs, making his arms muscles flex as he holds them open. His gorgeous sharp jaw moves in a steady rhythm, his long hair falling in front of his face as his dark eyes look up at you, completely focused on pleasing you.

Your body feels like it’s on fire. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time. You shut your eyes and tilt your head back as his tongue runs over your pussy over and over again. “Fuck! Spencer, that feels so good!” You gasp out. You can feel his smile against you as Spencer sucks hard on your clit, vulgar noises fill the room as he leans into you, one hand around your hip holding you down and the other pressing against your abdomen. His nose rubs against your clit as he mouths at your opening, and that sends you over the edge. You cum hard and with no warning, letting out a yelp followed by a string of loud moans. Spencer groans against you as he licks you through it, the vibrations just adding to the intensity of your orgasm.

He kisses your thighs when he's done licking up your arousal to help you come down from your sudden high, and then stands to maneuver you onto the bed properly. “You know, the tongue is one of the strongest muscles in the body…and although cunnilingus isn’t the intended purpose of the genioglossus, styloglossus, and hyoglossus muscles, they really do make it easy for me to make you cum.” He speaks as he positions you up against the pillows so you have a clear view of him, and places a pillow underneath your hips to get better leverage. “Speaking of cumming, did you know the average woman can orgasm up 5 times per session? So if you think I’m stopping at one… you must be out of your mind, sugar.” He licks his lips.

Without giving you a chance to reply, he delves back into you, his tongue lapping over you slowly, suckling over your clit which has you shuddering instantly, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Suddenly you feel his fingers tease at you, you gasp, then whimper with want, desperate for his long fingers to fill you. Without warning he presses two fingers into you easily with the aid of your cum-slicked opening. His gaze traveling up your body as you cry out and clench around him "fuck, baby, so fucking tight and desperate for me, huh?" Spencer mumbles.

He has you panting and whining whilst throwing your head back in no time. Your nails dig into his scalp, hips grinding slowly against his face and fingers as heat starts to form in the pits of your stomach. His fingers fill and stretch you in the best way possible as he works you open. Your orgasm builds again, embarrassingly fast, thighs shaking, back arching away from the bed while he plays with your body.

"Oh, fuck, i'm gonna- I'm gonna cum, baby" you cry out, letting your thighs close around Spencer's body, you feel him smirk against you as he lifts off you momentarily to mutter out a little “yeah? Gonna cum?”

"Mhm! fuck- Ungh- oh god!" you choke out in between your moans, stomach clenching underneath his hand as he doubles down, fingers speeding up slightly and his own moans sending vibrating pleasure straight up your body, "th- fuck, there, stay there,” he makes you babble, gripping his hair as you keep him where you need him. Spencer is revelling in the way his motions pull a string of pretty sounds from you; a mix of moans, whines and whimpers because words are failing to express how fucking amazing you feel.

“Doing so good, sugar" He groans, the heel of his hand pressed into your pelvis, the pressure making you clench around him. "So good," he groans as loud moans spill from your open mouth.

Spencer pulls his fingers out of you but before you can protest he's sliding them straight back in at a slightly different angle, hitting the exact spot you need him to. "Please," is all you can manage as the air gets punched from your lungs by a scream when he starts pressing and rubbing hard over it, knowing how close you are to your orgasm.

Your boyfriend watches your stomach tensing and he feels your knees trembling at his sides, your pussy walls fluttering around his fingers and clit pulsing on this tongue as he flattens it against you, “uh huh, come on, baby," he starts, fully aware of what his words do to you. "So close, I know..." He pauses when you interrupt with a high pitched whine, "cmon, cum for me," he finishes, moving his mouth to suck on your clit and curl his fingers inside you, and it sends you over the edge, your back arches away from the mattress, somehow pushing Spencers long, thick fingers into you even further, and you're done for.

Your cunt floods, wetness gushing from you and soaking the sheets beneath you. "Don't stop," you sob.

Spencer moans loudly as he continues his attack on your cunt with his mouth, greedily trying to lick up everything you’re giving him.

This time, he doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, keeping a steady rhythm of his fingers and mouth as he attempts to get you to squirt again. You loudly whimper and try to squirm away from his grip and relentless stimulation on your poor, swollen, fucked out pussy, but to no avail. He doesnt let up as he pushes your hips down harder, and all you can do is let out pathetic little cries and whines as he overstimulates you.

“I- I can’t again-” you cry out at him. It's all too much; his fingers inside you, the heel of his hand pressing into your folds, his lips and tongue toying with your clit, his free hand exploring your body, the stimulation is making your brain short circuit. He pulls his mouth away from you for a second, “yes you can. Just one more for me, sugar, yeah?” He pants, and then resumes his work when you let out a broken cry.

Spencer feels like he's harder than he's ever been in his life. The sounds you're making, the way you taste, the way you're trembling under his ministrations just spur him on more. The only thing on his mind is how he wants to make you squirt again, the very thought of it makes him lightheaded as he doubles his efforts.

In your haze of overstimulation, you can feel the bed rocking at a steady pace, and you realize Spencer is humping the bed. The thought of him getting himself off on the sheets below him, because eating you out is something he does for his own pleasure and not yours, goes straight to your core and your hips spasm upwards into his mouth.

“Spencer!” you moan, “I’m gonna- fuck-” one of your hands tangled in his curly locks, a silent plea for him to stay where he is as you grind your hips sporadically against his tongue. “Cum on my face, baby.” You could feel his smirk on you, and how it grew when your hips started to hump his face as he increases his pace.

"Uh huh, cum on my tongue," he hums against you, and that sends you hurtling over the edge for the final time. You come harder than before, you let out a scream as your body shakes and your thighs close around Spencer's head, trapping him there while your entire body spasms, eyes clamped shut.

His thumb presses and flicks against your clit as he eats you, and you're sure you black out, thighs practically vibrating from the intensity as your body releases even more cum than last time.

"Oh my god, baby," you barely hear Spencer over the pounding in your ears as your body continues to convulse and spurt liquid. His fingers move at an inhuman pace, desperately trying to milk as much cum from you as he possibly can, and all you can do is scream. When he is convinced you can't give him anymore, he gives one final lick through your folds and slips his head away from you.

Spencer looks incredible, his hair tousled and messy, the bottom half of his face completely soaked with your slick and his cheeks red as he catches his own breath and licks you off his lips. Gently, he slips his fingers from your body moaning softly to himself when your pussy squelches from the mix of ejaculate and his saliva. Strings of your slick connect his fingers together as he spreads them apart. "Were so fucking good for me,” He moans. Looking right at you, he slides those fingers onto his tongue, lips curling around them as he sucks you off them and hums at the taste, “so fucking good”.

After giving your hip a kiss, he lifts himself off the mattress and heads to the bathroom to wipe his face off and run a bath for the two of you. He comes back to find you still completely fucked out and breathing heavily, your body still twitching. He chuckles at you, completely spent and exhausted. “Want me to carry you, sugar?” he asks softly and you just let out a small ‘mhm’.

He picks you up with ease, holding you up by the bottom of your thighs. one of your arms wraps around his neck and the other grabs his face to kiss him deeply, whining when you taste yourself on his tongue. You can't feel his erection against you, but instead a damp spot on the crotch of his pants, which just makes you whine more, hooking your legs around his hips and burying your face in his neck.

He pets your hair and makes his way into the bathroom with you in his arms, placing you into the bath following close behind after making quick work of his remaining clothes. Your back presses against his chest as you both relax in the warm soapy water.

“So, what happened?” You ask in a sleepy mumble as his hands rub up and down your arms methodically. “Hm?” He mutters, burying his nose in your hair. “What happened at work?” You smile up at him, and he just laughs and places a delicate kiss on your lips.

Back at the BAU, Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia, and JJ are still in the bullpen, and not out at the bar. Garica’s phone rests in the center of the roundtable as the entire team stares at it, slack jawed. “Well… now we know how he can talk so much without his jaw hurting.” Rossi says, dumbfounded.

The door to the room opens suddenly, Garcia snatches her phone and hangs up the call, that has now gone silent on Spencer's end, as everyone’s heads snap to Hotch.

“What are you all still doing here?” Hotch asks, receiving five immediate “nothing!”’s as they all scramble to collect their things and rush past him out of the room.

More of my stuff can be found here.

~ Ivy 🪴

[fanaticsnail]

law for kissing booth please 👉👈

(or shachi if he's already got a ton of requests, or if your heart feels this would be a better read, dealer's choice!<3)

The Kissing Booth - Law for Bby-Deerling

Word Count: 1,400+ (They are meant to be drabble length, I got carried away)

Notes: This was the first request for Law in the kissing booth, and I seriously hope I have done your boy some justice. It was meant to be a little drabble, but I wanted to capture a little bit of longing in there for him. Come get a kiss from your main man, Deerling!

Sitting patiently on your wooden stool, you heard several strings of barked laughter off ahead. Lulling your head to the side, you furrow your brows in an attempt to pick up on the hushed conversation between them. Loud cackles, soft chuckles and jokes both crude in nature, and quite hilarious prompted you to giggle along with them. 

“It’s two per ride for the ferris wheel,” a more feminine voice chirped out enthusiastically, “What do you say, Bepo? Want to join me for a loop?” A joyful yell of glee sounded more akin to an emphatic roar joined the chorus, along with two other voices arguing alongside.

“Oi, no fair, Ikkaku!” a nasally voice called out, followed by a deeper baritone thereafter of, “Yeah, that means one of us will have to sit out!” More arguing insured, a soft, kind voice interrupting and saying: “I’m happy to miss out, Ikkaku. I’m likely a bit too big to ride, anyway.” 

You tried to drown out the arguing, softly tapping your knees and focussing on the different sounds, smells and the soft feeling of warm wind falling against your skin from the ocean shore. The blindfold was a strange comfort to you, the warmth of the silky material feeling at home over your eyes and almost welcome the longer you wore it. 

“No, Bepo. You go on ahead. I’ll sit out this round,” another gruff voice spoke lower, and far more even-toned informed them. No further arguments occurred, the sound of laughter and gratitude flew away from your vacinity. 

Softly angling your face away from the booth, you drew your hands up to begin toying with the edged hem of the eye shield against your face, adjusting it so the material lay flush with your skin as to remain more comfortable beneath the shroud. You shook your head, adjusting your hair before sitting upright and waiting for your next guest to approach the booth.

As if on queue, a soft rustle of paper pressed itself into the jar beside you as the guest presented their Berry offering to your humble booth. You smiled inquisitively, turning towards where you suspected the guest was to be. 

“This seat taken?” The deep voice from earlier asked you politely, “I just need to sit down for a bit, and all the other seats around seem to be otherwise occupied.” You nod with an empathetic smile, gesturing to the general vicinity to where the wooden stool was placed in front of you.

“It's all yours. I noticed a bit of a lull in the crowd, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” you shrugged, relaxing into your chair and enjoying the laughter from the various rides and booths surrounding. 

Music began to play on the grand stage, soft finger plucking of a familiar melody painted the air with its mastery. A vocalist, bassist and drummer joined in on the chorus, singing their hearts out to create melodies and harmonies within the grounds. Both of you sitting in front of one another seemed to both have a similar idea, humming along to the tune and both smiling at one another when you caught the other singing. 

“You been here long?” the guest asked you after the song concluded, prompting you to think about the duration of your volunteering position in the booth.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” you laugh through your nose as your smile turns shy, “As soon as the blindfold went on, it’s like everything became too long and too little all at once.” You offer him a slight shrug, turning away and listening to the drums begin to click in the next tune. 

“I hear that. That’s how most of my time ends up nowadays, sans blindfold of course,” he offered you the same dry laugh through his nose, causing your attention to fall back to him. “My crew, they just know how to test me sometimes. Doesn’t mean I love them any less.” You nod attentively to his confession, reaching forward and gesturing for him to take your hand. 

“Aren’t friends marvelous?” you giggle at him, squeezing his hand once he placed his within your grip, “That’s how I came into volunteering for this mess: friendship. The things we do for the people we love.” He returned your gesture, almost apprehensive in the way he squeezed your hand in turn. 

“Speaking of, they're likely to return back in a moment,” he uttered in a voice just above a whisper, “So, do you mind if I…?” You lulled your head to the side and smiled at him curiously. 

“If you…?” you asked in return, gasping in a shocked breath as you felt cool fingertips brush your hair away from your face, prompting you to gasp out a soft, "Oh!" You felt his lips hovering over yours, his breath meeting with your skin and the temperature of his face elevating your own to flush your cheeks with. 

“I thought,” his lips whispered and caressed your skin with a gentleness you didn't anticipate, “Since I'm already here, you know?” His lips tingled against yours, the tangible heat falling from them the closer he inched forward. He hesitated, holding his face an eyelash’s width away from your lips, “If that's okay with you, I mean.”

Nodding gently, you lean forward and close the final distance between you, and claim his lips beneath yours in a soft kiss. Wasting no time, your guest cards his fingers over your scalp and draws your face closer to his to deepen the embrace you're sharing together. 

He releases your hand and raises it to join his other hand in cradling your face while arching into you. You feel his toned chest pressed against your own, knees slotting together like pieces of a puzzle in perfect synchrony. Angling his chin, he softly parts his lips and deepens the embrace, humming against your mouth and claiming more of you into him. 

Your hands find purchase on his thighs before raking up his legs to rest on his hips, slowly mapping his skin and committing each ridge and divot to memory. You feel your chin meet with the subtle scruff of facial hair, the coarse strands scraping against your face and tickling your skin beneath it. 

Tilting your face, you both begin to mouth at each other and turn and tilt your heads to match each other's intensite energy. Passion begins to simmer in your chest each moment that passes between you. His hands move to grasp the scruff of your neck, holding you stationary as he allows himself the luxury of taking complete control and dominating the kiss. 

His tongue darts from between his lips, caressing and tingling against your skin before you welcome him into the kiss by grinding your own against his. Just as you begin to deepen the motion, you're both brought out of your trance by whistles and hollars echoing around your booth. 

“Wooh, get ‘em, Cap’n!” the nasally voice cackled from earlier, the baritone counterpart joining in with, “Use your tongue! More tongue!” Several whistles reverberated around you, prompting your guest to freeze against your lips.

Smiling, you press a final kiss against him to seal the embrace with a finality before fully pulling away from him. 

“Sorry ‘bout them,” he grunted sheepishly, his close proximity causing you to feel the flush radiating from his features against your hands and face. “My crew… they're a lot.” 

“Ah, the earlier sentiment returns,” you chuckle warmly, “Aren't friends marvelous.” He joins your chuckle, softly releasing you from his embrace and caressing your cheek beneath his palm. 

“Thank you for your company,” he uttered softly, “I appreciate your conversation, and-... and the other thing. It's been a while since I've-... You know?” You fill in the blanks mentally and offer him a soft, polite nod in affirmation. 

“Thank you for offering me company at my booth,” you smile up at him, releasing your hands from their position on his hips. He lingers on the stool for a moment longer before getting up with an exasperated sigh. 

“Alright, let's go,” he gruffly ordered, the troop behind him grunting out a soft, “Aye, sir,” in response. You wave to him, not truly aware if he was paying attention to you or not, but offering him an extension of your politeness regardless. 

Law was paying attention, trying to catch his breath and extinguish his growing fluster tinting his cheeks. He was truly moved by your kindness, your conversation, and the way you so easily matched his energy with each motion. He was hoping to catch you at the end of the festival, but hoping to not seem overeager to earn more teasing from his subordinates. 

Only time will tell if you were open to seeing him again, but he truly hoped you would.

[branded-rose]

“So I was like, ‘Yeah it was great, call you later!’ And I am TOTALLY not gonna call. She wanted to do the lamest positions EVER- What?” Adam tossed a grape into his mouth as he noticed Lute stop what she was doing.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I saw your head shake! I saw your eyes roll.” He ate another grape as Lute sighed and set the dish down in the soapy water.

“Sir, there isn’t any point in bringing up something we’ve disagreed about at length before.” She turned back to the sink, flipping on the faucet.

“AHA! I @#$%#@ knew it! This is because you think sex HAS to have a purpose. You can totally @##$ and it not mean anything. I do it all the time.” Adam finished off the last of his grapes before grabbing a wine bottle and digging around in the drawer for his corkscrew.

“Besides, you’re just saying that because you’re the most virgin angel in Heaven. You’d change your tune REAL quick Dangertits if you had experience~” The cork flew across the kitchen, narrowly missing his lieutenant’s wing by a hair.

Lute pressed her lips together, puffing her cheeks as she tried to formulate a response.

“Uh-SIR! What are you doing??”

“Getting a drink, I’m thirsty. You want some?” He poured himself some wine, turning to see Lute shooting him a look and motioning pointedly to the glass in the dish drainer.

“I just washed the one from dinner.”

“Uh-huh. Looks great.”

Lute looked at him flatly. She then tossed a towel at him, motioning towards the dishes that were on the rack.

“Then you shouldn’t mind drying them.” She pushed her sleeves up, setting back to work.

Adam regarded the towel flatly, sipping his wine before moving to lean on the counter next to her.

“Quit changing the subject. What’s stopping you anyway?”

“From what?”

“Sex. What’s stopping you? And don’t tell me you buy into all that lovey-dovey ‘I’m waiting for the right guy’ bull.” He set his wine glass aside.

“We’ve had this conversation before-” 

“Yeah, ages ago. Come on. What’s stopping you?” he repeated. 

Lute lifted a plate from the water and brought it close to her face, using her nail to try and dislodge whatever dried on food had stubbornly tried to reside on the ceramic. When she was satisfied, she returned it to the water, sighing when she realized she had to actually consider Adam’s question.

“Sex won’t help me protect Heaven more.” Simple.

“But what if it did? What if your virginity was stopping you from being the baddest @#$%#@ this side of Heaven?” He took the plate, setting it on the counter.

Lute arched a brow, pausing in her work and resting a hand on her hip.

“I thought I already was?”

“Then what? You’re scared?”

Lute scoffed at the notion.

“I fear nothing.” She turned back to the sink, running the plate under the water to rinse it off. She then held the plate out for Adam to take, nodding towards the towel he had unceremoniously discarded on the countertop.

“Then what the @#$% is it? Cause I’m not buying it.” He took the plate, looking at it for half a second before setting it down next to the towel.

She sighed deeply as she returned her attention to the remaining dishes, her eye catching the one she had tried to hand him.

“The moment hasn’t ever come up.” She picked the plate off of the counter, once more holding it out for him to take. Which he did, only to put it right back down.

“That’s because you don’t KNOOOW what you’re missing. The moment could be right there and you’d have NO idea.” He snorted.

“Sir.” Lute picked up theplate, again.

“What?” He scooted towards her, returning the ceramic dish to the counter.

“Will you just dry the @#$%$@ plate?”

“Why? Frustrating you or something? Hmm?”

Lute closed her eyes and pressed her lips together as she gripped the edge of the sink. After a moment, she exhaled deeply through her nose, her face heating up as she felt his breath hot against her neck.

“…Adam.”

“Lute.” His smirk widened as the golden hue spread across her cheeks. He then leaned in closer, his forehead just barely touching hers.

“This enough of a moment?”

Lute swallowed. “Sir, are you… coming onto me?”

“I dunno. You want me to be?” He reached over and grabbed his long since forgotten about wine, taking a sip as he backed up.

She considered the question for a long moment before she reached over, taking the plate off of the counter a final time. She pushed it at him, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

“I want you to dry the plate.”

--------------------------------------

I return from like a 800 year hiatus to post this monstrosity because... I am so intrigued by the concept of these horrible angels doing the most mundane of things.

Also there is just something a bit oxymoronic to me about a show about redemption having irredeemable characters such as these. That alone makes them interesting and I hope at the very least LUTE is explored more in season 2.

Adam & Lute © Vivziepop/A24

Artwork © Branded-Rose

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Love strategy p.4

Hii guyss, I hope you enjoy part 4, if you have missed part 3 here it is :)

After Lando drives you to your hotel, you make your way to Carlos's room, focusing on the work at hand. You knock, waiting for the familiar sight of Carlos to greet you.

But when the door swings open, it’s not Carlos who stands in front of you—it’s his latest girlfriend, her expression unreadable, though her stance seems less than welcoming.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," you begin politely, forcing a smile, "but I need to talk to Carlos about his schedule and interviews for tomorrow."

Her eyes narrow slightly, and she doesn’t open the door any wider. "Couldn't you do this later? Or, I don’t know, just send him a message or something. We were… in the middle of something."

You try not to let her cold response get to you, but before you can reply, Carlos’s voice drifts from behind her. "Who's at the door?"

She rolls her eyes but steps aside just enough for Carlos to come into view. He spots you and waves you inside with a casual, "Come on in."

You walk into the room, feeling a bit awkward under his girlfriend's lingering stare. Carlos notices your unease but seems oblivious to the tension. "What's up?" he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Why didn’t you tell me about this on the plane?"

You blink, momentarily taken aback. "Carlos," you say slowly, "I didn’t fly with you. I was on a different plane."

He looks confused for a second, clearly trying to piece things together. "Wait… you didn’t? I didn’t even realize."

A flicker of disappointment tugs at your chest, but you brush it off. "Yeah, I flew with someone else," you say, your tone neutral as you shift focus to work. "Anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads-up for tomorrow. You’ve got the usual interviews in the morning, and you need to film a video with Charles after that. Also, you and Charles are filming a collaboration with McLaren tomorrow afternoon."

Carlos nods, processing the information, though he still looks a little distracted. "Right, got it. Thanks."

But as you finish, the awkward tension in the room only intensifies. His girlfriend is sitting on the bed now, watching you with a thinly veiled irritation, like your presence is an unwelcome intrusion. You feel the weight of her stare, and suddenly, the air in the room feels thick, stifling.

"I should go," you say quickly, stepping back toward the door. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

Carlos looks up, but he doesn’t argue. "Yeah, see you."

As you slip out of the room and back into the hallway, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You head straight to your own room, shutting the door behind you. Between Lando, the unexpected airport headline, and now the icy reception from Carlos's girlfriend, it’s been a long day. All you want now is some peace and quiet.

But just as you’re starting to unwind, your phone buzzes from across the room. You sigh, standing up to grab it, half-expecting it to be another work-related message. Instead, it’s Lando.

Lando: Hey, how’s it going? Lando: Surviving over there with the Ferrari crew?

A small smile tugs at your lips as you read his message. You quickly type back.

You: Barely. Had a lovely chat with Carlos’s girlfriend. You: How about you?

It only takes a few seconds for Lando to reply.

Lando: Oof, sounds intense. I’m sure you handled it well. Lando: So, listen—I’ve been thinking. Tomorrow, during the interview McLaren’s doing with Ferrari… maybe we should just, you know, drop the news then?

Your heart skips a beat as you stare at the message. He’s talking about going public with your "relationship" during one of the most high-profile interviews of the weekend. It makes sense, but the thought of it being so… public, especially with both teams involved, makes your stomach twist in nervousness.

You: Tomorrow? You: In front of everyone? Isn’t that kind of… a big deal?

Lando sends back a laughing emoji.

Lando: Isn’t that the point? Gotta make it look convincing, right?

You bite your lip, anxiety fluttering in your chest. You knew this was part of the plan, but now that it’s so close, the reality is setting in. You type back hesitantly.

You: Yeah, I get it. I’m just… nervous. It’s a lot.

A moment passes before Lando responds, and when he does, it’s with his usual playful tone.

Lando: Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. We’ll drop it casually, like it’s no big deal. Lando: I’ll just say something like, “Yeah, we’re dating. No biggie. Now let’s talk about the race!” 😎

You can’t help but laugh out loud at that, the image of Lando casually announcing something so major with that level of nonchalance easing some of your nerves.

You: You’re impossible, Norris. You: But seriously, what if I mess it up?

His response is quick, and this time it’s more reassuring.

Lando: You won’t. Besides, I’m nervous too. This whole thing is crazy, but we’ll make it work.

It helps to know that even Lando, who seems so effortlessly confident, is feeling the pressure too.

You: Fine, let’s do it. But if it goes terribly, I’m holding you responsible.

Lando: Deal. But trust me, it’ll be great. See you tomorrow!

You set your phone down, a small smile lingering on your face despite the lingering nervousness. Tomorrow is going to be a big day, and the thought of stepping into that interview with Lando, letting the world believe in this staged relationship, makes your heart race. But somehow, knowing that he’s just as anxious as you—and still managing to joke about it—makes it feel a little less overwhelming.

Here's part 5

Tag list: @abq654 , @spaceflowergal, @mads94sworld, @anewpersonthatexists, @qlovalova, @itsskavya, anaferreira-4, @willowsnook, @larastark3107, @blueberry648579, @luckyangelballoon, @runs-with-sciss0rs, @gtwdahhh, @edsmunsonsgirl

[gothic-thoughts]

The Greater Good

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Black Fem Reader

Ex!Sanemi, ModernAU, Shadow Hashira!Reader,

CW: Jealous Sanemi, arguing, Feat. Giyu, angry/make up sex, kitchen sex, pulling out, not proofread

Word Count: 1472 (give or take)

An hour before Sanemi went out to help fight the handful of demons that were attacking the nearby village, he broke up with me, showing little to no emotion at all before leaving to help. We’d been dating for about 4 months and I had no closure and barely even a reason as he just left me crying in the Ubuyashiki Mansion.

Weeks of being comforted by Giyu went by and started to grow into a little bit of a crush, leaving Sanemi an angry afterthought in my mind. This morning, Giyu and I made coffee together, passing ingredients to each other.

“Get a room.”

I turn to see Sanemi sitting at the kitchen table behind us, nonchalantly mixing sugar into his own coffee, not making eye contact. I scoff.

"What?”

"I said, get. A room."

“I should--”

“No.” I cut Tomioka off, “You’re fine.”

“No, he’s not.”

"I'll let you two, uh..." Giyu cleared his throat and grabbed his coffee, "I'll see you later on."

"No, you won’t." Sanemi snapped.

Tomioka puts a hand up in surrender and leaves the kitchen without another word, pulling the sliding door closed. I let a long groan with annoyance and slam my coffee cup down, making some of the hot brown liquid splash onto the counter. Is he serious right now?! He’s angry!? I turn to face him, holding the edge of the counter with an enraged squint in his direction and he glared right back with his arms crossed over his his exposed chest.

“What the actual hell is your problem?”

“Tch... Seriously...?”

“Yeah, go for it. I want to see if there’s an actual reason you’re being a piece of shit so early in the morning.”

“Take a guess, (Y/n).”

“No, tell me now while I care, Shinazugawa.”

“Don’t say my name like that. And you giving Tomioka heart eyes is my problem.”

"Are you being serious?”

“When am I not?”

“What, so you left me like trash before a mission but can't take seeing me like someone else? I’m just off limits to everyone now?”

"Heh, is that a trick question?” Sanemi chuckles angrily, “That has to be a trick question because of course you are, I’d slice their goddamn fingers off."

"You broke up with me, not the other way around. Harshly, at that. And for... what again?"

"Wow, you really don’t listen at all do you?”

"You mean that bullshit about letting me go? Cuz you have never once thought about doing that shit before going out to fight demons!”

He was suddenly in front of me, startling me back against the counter with a gasp, only infuriating me more as I pushed back his shoulder.

“Asshole.” 

"This time was different and you know that.”

“Yeah, how? How exactly was this time different all the other times we fought Upper Moon demons?”

“Oh, maybe cuz, there were fucking 3 of them?! And on top of that, the 3 brats and their demon girl were there.”

“That’s a bullshit reason and you know it. Those ‘brats’ are not babies and were there for back up, not to be  watched.”

“Whatever; on every other mission, winning was more certain— coming home was more certain. I couldn't afford to be focused on only your safety.”

"First of all, I’m a goddamn Hashira.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get fucking killed and it definitely doesn’t mean I can’t be worried.”

“Sanemi, if you actually cared, you wouldn't have just said it and left. You didn’t cry or anything.”

"I was stressed and in a hurry! You really think I wasn't upset?!"

"You couldn’t have been, you took weeks to even have this conversation with me."

“Tch, maybe because the Shadow Hashira isn’t exactly easy to be found when she doesn’t wanna be.”

“It’s almost like I wanted to avoid the Wind Hashira who’s more of an asshole than people give him credit for.”

Sanemi kissed me passionately, pinning me between him and the counter, my heart pounding in my chest as my hands flew from the counter to hold his scarred face. Rough hands grab my thighs and lift me onto the countertop, caressing up my right leg and then hooking it around his waist as our kiss becomes messy.

 

I moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer with my ankle and running my fingers through his hair, making him shudder as chills ran all throughout his body. I could feel his bulge growing harder against my inner thigh with every kiss before his hand slid into my pants and underwear, two fingers rubbing through my wetness before finally sinking into me.

“Ahn, oh god.”

“So fucking stupid...” Sanemi starts thrusting his fingers, “You really thought that wasn’t a hard choice I had to make...?”

"N-not here, dumbass.”

“I’ll be quick.”

I lift my face from his neck to focus better, “Shadow Breathing: First Form.”

A black sphere forms around my left hand and quickly swells until the entire room is consumed in its dim lighting, shielding our bodies and sounds from anyone who would walk in— anyone outside before it’s closed would see the kitchen as if it were empty. Sanemi yanks down my pants and underwear with his free hand. His thick fingers continue to pump into my wet hole, knuckle deep and driving me crazy. As I throw my head back getting ready to cum, he pulls them from my cunt and drops his pants, leaving me to pant and quiver in the space between our lips. 

“Unh fuck, I had to fight upper rank demons with tears in my eyes.”

“And I didn’t?”

“I don’t know... ngh, did you?”

“Course I did...” He kisses my neck, hair tickling my chin, “Of course I fucking did. If you had fuckin listened you would know why I thought it was the right thing to do.”

He guides the tip into me slowly, pushing in deeper and deeper, making me grab his shoulders with a long moan that only stopped when he bottomed out. A sigh left his lips as he held my hips, beginning to thrust but in return I tried to bite back my moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction since I was still pissed.

"Stop being petty and fucking give it to me."

“N-no... You’re a dickhead... don't d-deserve to hear them. You’ll have to earn it.”

"Mmh, damn, you test me like nothing else.” He gives a breathy chuckle, “I hate you."

"God, I know.” I hold the back of his head, “Say it again."

"I hate you. H-hate you so fucking much, (Y/n).”

Our lips crashed together in another messy, deep kiss as he began thrusting faster, giving me no time to adjust before repeatedly hitting my cervix, purposely rubbing against my g spot. We moan into each other’s mouths, grasping onto each other’s clothes. The empty kitchen was full of the sounds of my wet squelching with every thrust, making my wetness run down my ass and wet his balls every time they slapped against my ass. He dipped his head down to suck and bite the sensitive neck, leaving a dark hickie on it.

"F-fuck, San~"

"Told you survival wasn't certain... had to focus, not be w-worried about just us."

“A-And I don’t?"

"Yeah, realized. I only made my focus worse... It’s only been 4 months and I already have you on my mind nonstop.”

I gasp in pleasure, feeling myself clench tighter around as I get closer to my climax. Sanemi kept a tight grip on my hips, his head falling to my shoulder while watching relishing in every thrust and inch of me, face full of pure bliss as he bit his lip. He tilts his head back, looking at my face with a long, soft groan. Every bit of anger I felt drained with every direct thrust into my g spot, leaving nothing but the need to cum.

"Then seeing you looking at Giyu the way you've been looking at me...?” He panted, “Nuh-uh, absolutely not."

“S-San, right there~”

"Tch, please..." He murmured, "He wouldn't know what to do with you."

“S-so close... Fuck, I’m so close.” 

“Give me it, (Y/n). Fuck, that’s it baby, you feel so fucking good.”

His hips jerked when he felt me cum around him and a couple of thrusts later, he was pulled out and sprayed his load on the floor avoiding our clothes. He kissed me again as he stroked himself, shuddering against me with every rope of seed that was shot out. He panted and peppered kisses on my neck, riding out his high by slowly pumping his hand while he kissed the sensitive spot where he marked me, making me whimper at the slight pain.

“I... Shit, I... uh...” He panted.

“Yeah... you too... Keep me this time, dunce.”

He chuckled lightly.

[solxamber]

Romance Clichés With: Idia Shroud

Cliché: The Dramatic Save

Others: Leona ; Vil ; Azul ; Kalim

The thing about Idia is that he’s very used to lurking in the background. Life is much simpler that way. But ever since you’d started spending more time with him, he’d found himself in the wildest, most "otome game" situations imaginable. And today? Today topped them all.

You’d been standing together in the courtyard, him telling you about his latest game finds, hands shoved into his pockets as he tried not to fidget too much. It was rare he got to hang out with someone he, uh, actually wanted to hang out with, so his nerves were pinging off the charts.

That’s when it happened.

With zero warning, a large, heavy textbook teetered off the edge of a windowsill above and began its rapid descent towards Idia’s head. He didn’t notice; he was too busy stammering about his latest high score. But you did.

In one swift move, you threw yourself across the space between you and practically flew through the air, hands outstretched like some overdramatic action hero.

You managed to get between him and the descending missile (okay, just a textbook, but in the moment, it was deadly), and though the impact wasn’t as dramatic as you’d pictured, you still managed to shield him with your entire being, shoving him safely aside.

By the time he realized what was going on, you were already fussing over him. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?! Did it hit you anywhere?”

He blinked, processing what just happened as you started checking his head for bumps, squinting at his shocked face. “Uh… w-what?” he stammered, brain catching up about three seconds too late. “Did… did you just… jump in front of me?” The look of awe on his face was equal parts adorable and ridiculous.

“Well, obviously!” You laughed, still fussing, hands on his shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Idia’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to process the sheer amount of romance that just smacked him in the face. You, his crush, his dream come to life, had gone full protagonist, for him. It was like the best tropes had all collided in his brain at once, and it was overwhelming in the best way possible.

“N-No one’s ever done something like that… f-for me…” he mumbled, cheeks reddening as he stared at you with this helpless, smitten look.

You tilted your head, a soft smile crossing your face. “Well, I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe, Idia.”

Somewhere in his brain, the confetti cannons were going off. The “love meter” hit max. The screen flashed “TRUE ENDING” in bold, sparkly letters. He knew it was all real, but a tiny part of him felt like he’d accidentally triggered some hidden route with a secret character, and that character was you.

And before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. “I think I’m in love with you. Like, maybe have been for a while. You’re like, the one or something, and—oh my god, why am I saying this out loud—”

He clamped a hand over his mouth, wide-eyed, as if he could just take it back if he tried hard enough. But instead, he saw you looking at him, your smile widening as you took his hand, gently pulling it down.

“You mean it?” you asked, a bit of awe creeping into your voice.

He couldn’t look at you, his eyes darting everywhere except your face as he mumbled, “Y-Yeah, I mean, yeah, I do. I can’t believe you’re real, honestly, this feels like a fever dream, but—”

Before he could talk himself out of it, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, quick and sweet. It was enough to short-circuit his brain, and when you pulled back, he just blinked, stunned, frozen like his internal processing unit had just maxed out.

“Does that answer your question?” you teased, unable to hold back a little laugh at his flustered expression.

“Uh-huh,” he finally managed, a dopey smile creeping onto his face as his brain rebooted. “Y-Yeah… yes.” He cleared his throat, trying to seem cooler, but the blush on his cheeks was a dead giveaway.

And as you both stood there, your hands still linked, he felt like the luckiest player in the world—like he’d stumbled upon the rarest, sweetest route of them all, and he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Masterlist

[ahsokaismyqueen]

The Evolution of Friendship Pairing - Steve Harrington x HendersonSister!Reader Summary - After Steve is attacked by Billy Hargrove, you're shocked to find the guy still attempting to protect you as you two go into the hub to try and buy Eleven some more time. It makes you wonder. Are you and Steve Harrington actually . . . friends? Word Count - 3.3k Warnings - Language and canon typical violence Steve Harrington x HendersonSister!Reader Masterlist

Things started to come back to you slowly. Like the fact that the kids were arguing, the world seemed to be moving underneath you, you were leaning against something solid, and your head hurt like hell. 

Then the memories hit. Billy showing up at Will’s. Steve defending you and the kids, and then Steve getting the shit beat out of him. You remembered thinking Billy was going to kill him if he kept going. You remembered thinking that couldn’t happen. You remembered doing a lot of not thinking as you jumped on Billy’s back and tried to strangle him to get him off Steve. 

You couldn’t remember much after that, but you were distracted from your thoughts by a voice that was very near to your ear, groaning, “Nancy?” 

Your eyes opened, and everything was a bit of a blur for a moment. It wasn't until you felt a body shifting underneath you that you realized the something you had been leaning against had been a person. When you forced yourself up, you realized that person you had been leaning against was Steve Harrington. 

Or at least you were 95% sure it was Steve Harrington. 

God he looked terrible. His face was swollen in several different places, blood still stained his skin, and he looked out of it. You watched as he reached up to touch a part of his face, and your brother, who was now also coming into focus, said “no, don’t touch it,” and tugged his hand away. 

You took that moment to look around you, and suddenly realized why it felt like the world was moving underneath you. It’s because it was. “Dustin, what the fuck?” You said, an edge of panic creeping into your voice. 

“You’re going to keep straight for half a mile, then make a left on Mount Sinai.” Lucas told Max from the passenger seat. 

From the passenger seat because Max was driving. 

“What’s going on?” You heard Steve’s groggy voice say. 

Max looked back at you, and that’s when he seemed to realize what was going on. “Woah, oh my God!” 

“Just relax,” Dustin tried to speak in a calming voice, but it freaked you out more. “She’s driven before.” 

“Yeah, in a parking lot.” Mike spoke up. 

Your heart started pounding in your chest as you flew down the road. Flashbacks flew by in your mind of another dark road, the screeching of tires, the crash of metal ripping . . . 

“They were going to leave the two of you behind, but I promised you’d be cool.” It was Dustin’s voice, but it sounded far, far away. All you could hear echoing in your mind were the ghosts of your screams for your dad and for help. 

“Stop the car! Slow down!” Steve said as Max pressed down on the gas. 

You couldn’t breathe. Your hand slid up and down your chest, rubbing the skin and trying to somehow get some air in your lungs. The car was going too fast. It was too dark. Max was going to get you all killed. “S-Stop the car.” You managed to gasp out. 

“I told you they were going to freak out.” Mike told Dustin. 

“Everybody shut up! I’m trying to focus!” Max yelled. 

A hand gripped your wrist, and you snapped your gaze over to the man sitting beside you. Steve caught one look at your face and started yelling. “Stop the damn car!” 

Faintly you could hear them yelling at Max to make a turn, but your gaze was flickering from the road back to Steve. You couldn’t tell if you were yelling or everyone else was. You couldn’t even tell what was real anymore. Your vision was flashing in and out. One second it would be Max driving the car, next it would be your dad, smiling back at you as headlights flared in the front windshield. Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest you felt like at any moment it would explode and kill you too. 

Then the car turned to the left, the tires screeched, and you couldn’t take it. You squeezed your eyes shut tight and clawed at your chest. 

“It looks great sweetheart.” 

“Dadddddd . . .” You whined. “You didn’t even look.” 

“That’s because I know without looking it’s going to be amazing.” 

You smiled, but then it turned back into a pout. “But I’ve gotta know if it’ll match Dustin’s nursery or not.” 

Your dad sighed, and took his eyes off the road glancing back at the picture you were holding up. When he saw what it was, he started to smile. “It looks as amazing as I pictured it.” 

But something else had caught your attention. A truck, heading straight for you guys which normally wouldn’t have been a concern, but . . . It was on the wrong side of the road. “Dad!” You screamed. 

But it was too late. The sound of glass shattering, tires screeching and metal crunching filled your ears. Your dad was groaning, then he was screaming. He was screaming your name, and you were pressed against something hard - 

Except that wasn’t your dad’s voice, and the something hard you were pressed against wasn’t the car. It was moving, rising and falling, and a hand held your head against it. As your senses started to flood back into your body, you realized there was another hand pressed against your back. You let out a gasp of air as the hand stroked down your back. “Jesus Christ, Dustin! Your dad died in a car crash with your sister, and you thought it’d be a good idea to drag her into a car unconscious with a kid driving?!” 

You weren’t in the car with you Dad. You were with the kids and Steve. You took another gasping breath and inhaled a woodsy and metallic scent. Steve’s cologne and blood. You were pressed against Steve’s chest and any other time you would have been embarrassed, but you were still too panicked to be thinking clearly. Your fingers curled into fists at his chest, gripping his shirt, and you grounded yourself to him. It was the present, you were not in that car anymore. You repeated the words in your mind as Dustin and Steve kept arguing. 

“I didn’t - I didn’t know that would happen. When she drives at night she’s fine.” Dustin sounded upset, and you felt a flash of guilt for how long you had kept this bottled up. 

You remembered the first time it had happened, and how it had flipped Eddie, who was already a terrible driver, out. He had pulled over and had to spend fifteen minutes calming you down. Driving wasn’t the problem. If you were driving, you were in control. You were the one who could keep everyone safe, but when someone else was driving, if they got distracted, it could mean another death. “It-it’s okay,” you gasped out, and you knew you should pull yourself away from Steve, but you didn’t want to. He was your anchor, and you were scared if you pushed yourself away you’d be thrown right back in that memory. You realized how pathetic you must look though, and loosened your grip on his shirt. “I-I I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Steve’s hand grabbed one of yours. It was swollen and bloody, but you didn’t care. It was something else to keep you in this moment. “It’s okay, stay here until we stop all right? Then we can murder these shitheads together.” 

You let out a shaky laugh, and let yourself rest back against his chest. Keeping your eyes closed, you tried to make yourself concentrate on lining your breaths up with Steve’s and not how fast the car was going. When it screeched to a halt, you let out another gasp and Steve squeezed your hand. You heard the kids moving out of the car, and then you allowed yourself to look up at Steve, who hadn’t moved. “I’m sorry I freaked out.” You told him, embarrassment heating up your cheeks. 

He was shaking his head before you could even finish. “You don’t have to apologize for that. It’s those assholes who should be apologizing.” 

A weak smile formed on your face. “I know you didn’t get to meet her, but El is pretty awesome. They want to help her.” 

“So what you’re saying is, they’re not gonna give up.” Steve said, watching them out the open door as they all ran around to gather supplies. 

You shook your head. 

Steve groaned. “Shit, shit, shit.” You watched as he climbed, well stumbled is probably a better word, out of the car.

You were still shaking, but nowhere near as bad as earlier. The car had stopped, and you were back on solid ground. You knew if you and Steve were going to keep these kids from killing themselves, you were going to have to get it together. So you took what felt like your first deep breath in years, and climbed out after him, grabbing a hold of the door when you had a momentary dizzy spell. 

“Get me my shit Henderson.” Steve said to your brother as he made his way to the back of the trunk. “I’m not going to have all of you die on my conscience.” 

Moments later Dustin was handing Steve a backpack and his bat, and handing you a flashlight and a bag of who knows what. You followed the kids to a hole that Mike and Lucas had already jumped in. Steve stumbled down before you, and once again, you found yourself worried about his injuries, and if he could even handle this. You didn’t say anything though, just let out a sigh and jumped down. 

You hadn’t even noticed Steve was waiting there to catch you, and heat rushed to your face as he put you on the ground, your faces inches apart. “Uh- thanks.” You said, your voice still a little breathless, but this time you didn’t think it was because of the panic attack. 

Steve nodded, and you took a step back, turning your attention to the tunnel around you. 

You’d never seen anything like it. It was covered in black vines with white particles floating in the air that you were sure weren’t supposed to be inhaled. There was something so . . . Uneasy about it. You couldn’t ever recall feeling so unsettled. 

“Holy shit.” You heard Steve murmur behind you. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s this way!” Mike yelled, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“You’re pretty sure, or you’re certain?” Dustin called from behind you. 

“I’m 100% sure! Just follow me and you’ll know!” Mike called back frustrated. 

“Woah, woah, woah, hey!” Steve rushed forward, and you grabbed his arm to help steady him when he stumbled. “I don’t think so. Any of you little shits die down here, we’re getting the blame.” He gestured towards the two of you. “Got it dipshit?” Steve told Mike, snatching the map from him. 

As you looked forward a little bit of panic made you bite your lip. You really weren’t sure if Steve was physically capable of this right now. “Steve . . . Maybe you should let me take the lead on this.” You said, giving his arm a squeeze. 

Steve turned to you, but you couldn’t read his expression with how covered up his face was. “If I’m not letting them lead, what the hell makes you think I’d let you?” 

Irritation, and you were surprised it took you this long to feel it, flooded your body, and every bit of worry about his state left your body. Did he not think you were capable of handling this? Much less that he could control you if you decided to? “Let me?” You said, the tone in your voice telling him to reconsider his words. 

He held his hands up defensively in front of him. “Yes, yes, I know you’re a badass, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and protect you.” Steve said, and started walking forward and gesturing to the kids to follow him as if his words hadn’t stopped you in your tracks. 

Steve Harrington, the most popular boy at Hawkins High, wanted to protect the nerdy school slut. If you had told yourself this a year ago, you would’ve thought you were out of your mind. He meant it though, you could sense how genuine he was with his words. A warm feeling settled in your chest to replace the irritation, and you were too stunned to even argue anymore. 

“Are you sure the two of you aren’t dating?” A muffled voice said, and you turned around to see Max, and below her googles you could see a raised eyebrow. 

Her words startled you so much you stumbled back from the force of them. “W-What?” 

She shrugged. “He seems to care about you a lot. Just an observation.” She said, before following after the others as if she hadn’t rocked your world either. 

When Dustin stopped in front of you, you were already rubbing your forehead, nervous about what other thing was going to be revealed to you. “What?” You groaned. 

“I’m sorry- About the car.” He continued when you looked confused. “I didn’t - I didn’t think about Dad. I just didn’t want to leave you there in case Billy woke up-”

You felt bad, reaching out to wrap an arm around your little brother’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Dustin. You didn’t know.” You started to lead him towards the others. “We can talk about it after we save Will and Eleven, okay?” 

Dustin nodded, but still looked upset. 

After what seemed like miles, and a slight scare when Dustin inhaled some of the dust things that were flying around, all of you entered a chamber. A chamber where multiple tunnels seemed to meet. “All right Wheeler,” Steve said, taking a look around. “I think we found your hub.” 

“Drench it.” Mike said. 

You all ended up covering as much as you could of the place in gasoline, and then all gathered back in the way you came, Steve in front with the lighter, and you right behind him with the rest of the kids all gathered around you. “You guys ready?” Steve asked. 

After everyone affirmed, Steve looked at you. 

You nodded. 

It didn’t take long for everything to catch fire, and your hand reached for Steve’s jacket, almost absentmindedly clutching the fabric in your fists as the tunnels seemed to come alive. The vines flew up into the air, tangling around each other. It was almost as if they were . . . Screaming. 

“Let’s go!” Steve yelled, and took off at a run back through the tunnels. 

As you had before, you took up the rear, letting all the kids ahead of you and making sure no one was left behind. In fact, you kept such a close eye on them, you didn’t see the vine until it was too late. 

Once you hit the ground, you watched in horror as it wrapped around your leg, crawling up your body and pinning you to the ground. You let out a scream, attempting to kick it off of you, but it was no use. It had you in too tight of a grip, and terror filled your body as you felt one of them wrap around your neck. You heard Dustin scream your name, and everybody started running back, Mike and Dustin grabbing a hold of one arm each and trying to tug you out of the vines’ grip. 

“Back up!” You watched with wide eyes as Steve ran towards you, and swung his bat down on top of the vines, making them almost screech and let you go. You let out a gasp of relief, and Dustin and Mike let go of your arms as Steve held one out to you. 

You took it without hesitation, and let him help pull you up. When you were standing, he didn’t let go of your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“You okay?” He asked, and the concern in his eyes was clear. 

Your heart was still pumping fast, but you weren’t so sure it was the vines anymore. Afraid to speak, you nodded, giving his hand a returning squeeze. 

That’s when you guys heard the growl. 

Steve’s reaction was immediate. He used his grip on your hand to tug you behind him, and the rest of the kids hurried behind the two of you, except for Dustin who was staring at the demodog. “Dustin! Get away from that!” You hissed. 

Dustin held up a hand to all of you. “Trust me. Please.” 

“I absolutely do not trust you right now. What the fuck-” You tried to go to him, but Steve kept you behind him, his eyes locked on Dustin and the demodog who you now realized was Dart. “Is this shit working?” You whispered to Steve as Dustin began to get some candy out of his backpack. 

“Looks like it.” Steve said, sounding as confused as you felt, but nevertheless, when Dustin gestured for you all to run past Dart, you did. It wasn’t until you heard the growling again, this time way more than just Dart’s, that you started running again. You helped Steve get the kids back up the rope, Dustin making it through when shadows started appearing on the wall. “Come on! I’ll hoist you up!” Steve yelled at you. 

You looked up at the hole where the kids were screaming at the two of you to hurry, but you knew it was too late. You’d never both get up in time, and the thought of leaving Steve down here wasn’t an option. Especially not after what he’d done for you in the car. “I’m not going without you Harrington.” You told him. 

The only part of him you could see was his eyes, darkening slightly as they looked at you. He didn’t have the chance to say anything as the first creatures appeared around the corner. You let out a noise of surprise as your back was pressed against Steve’s chest with his arm around you in an iron grip, his bat at the ready in the other. 

But they ran right past you. 

You heard Mike say Eleven’s name, and realized that she must be closing the gate. You looked up at Steve, who still had you pressed against him even though the dogs were long gone. He seemed to be in another world, staring at the spot the dogs had disappeared to. You knew you should say something, but you couldn’t help but take a second and absorb how it felt to be held so tightly. Somehow Steve felt . . . safe. It was like nothing could touch you because you knew he was going to protect you. Not to mention how it almost seemed like you just . . . fit against him so well. 

Oh god you could not be having those kinds of thoughts about Steve Harrington. That wouldn’t turn out well for anyone. 

Your hand reached up, grabbing his arm that was still around you and giving it a squeeze. “Hey. You okay?” 

The words seemed to shake him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at you, his voice a little breathless when he responded. “Yeah, you?” 

You shrugged. “I guess I’ve been worse.” You admitted. “Now, can you help me get out of here?” You asked, nodding towards the hole. 

“Next time would you just listen to me and go when I tell you?” Steve asked, letting go of you. 

He didn’t take a step back though, and you didn’t either. Instead you turned your body to face him, shaking your head. “Sorry, I won't abandon my friends to their certain death. You’re going to have to get used to it.” You said with a shrug.

You couldn’t see his face still because of the handkerchief, but there was a note of amusement in his tone when he replied. “We friends now, Henderson?” 

A smile formed on your face as you looked at him. You hadn’t even had a second thought about the words before they left your lips, and you were startled to realize that they were true. “Yeah, Harrington, I think we are.” The two of you were friends. You could share more with him than most now. 

So why did the word friend still feel weird on your lips?

[holybibly]

I keep thinking about Alpha Hongjoong and how he'll knot and put babies in you. He'll do the mating press and ya know itll feel so deep.

Oh baby, you're just provoking me. Aren't you? And I know just exactly what we are going to do about it.

Give me back this hair style 😭

You are sitting on the edge of the huge, king-size bed. Your legs are spread wide and pressed up against your shoulder. Your wet, pink pussy and your ass were open and gaping for all to see. Hongjoong's cock was rubbing between the silky folds of your cunt, collecting the wet liquid that was gushing from your vagina. He enjoyed the softness of your labia, pressing the head against your sensitive, swollen clit before poking at the small, tight hole underneath. Every move made you moan and whimper, your long ears lying flat on the bed, soft and limp. Taking advantage of Seonghwa's absence, Hongjoong has been torturing you for some time now. You were so hard to get off the main Alpha's massive cock, and the moment Seonghwa left for the meeting, Hongjoong's hands and mouth were all over you. And damn it, did he enjoy every single second of it.

"Daddy," You squeaked. Your hips bucked in pursuit of the delicious friction as Hongjoong's dick slid between your folds again. "I need you so much; I want to be so full of your cock." You moaned.

Oh fuck! The way those filthy words came out of your dolly lips made Hongjoong growl with pleasure. He should be grateful to the puppies for their sweet corruption of your innocent 'holy' mind.

It was easy for him to imagine how Yunho would whisper the most vile and depraved things to you while Mingi or San fucked you until you were completely stupid. Oh yeah, the puppies definitely did a good job on you.

Hongjoong laughed condescendingly, "Have patience, fluffy. Give daddy a taste of your tiny cunt before I give you my knot. You want me to knot you, Angel?" He continued to rub his cock up and down the length of your labia. He poked and prodded every part of your body with his dick. You let out a long, drawn-out moan of pleasure.

"Daddy. Please, daddy I need it now! I want you to knot me." You cried out loudly and rolled your eyes as the Alpha began to spank your pussy, trying to target your throbbing clit in particular.

"You're such a little slut, my little bunny. I told you to wait. But you can't last a second without your daddy's big cock inside you."

Tears streamed down your cheeks. And a wicked, wolfish grin spread across Hongjoong's handsome mouth. The boss of your farm was a complete and utter idiot to have put you in their hands. You were the sweetest and most amazing thing, and if the guy had been smarter, which the whole clan doubted, he would have been the one to have pulled your pretty cunt onto his dick by now. But the deep winish bite on your neck made it clear—you were Seonghwa's now.

"Fuck, you're so sexy, my darling. My most beautiful fuck doll. My favourite dick sleeve of all time. Look at you, bunny; you can't live without Daddy's cock filling your little hole. Don't worry, sweetheart, daddy's going to give you everything he has.".

Finally, Hongjoong had positioned the thick, dripping head of his cock at the entrance to your precious baby pussy.

You were choking with excitement and ready to take everything he was going to give you, looking up at him with huge tear-filled eyes. Hongjoong didn't have a moment's hesitation before he slammed his massive alpha cock into you. The velvety walls of your cunt enveloped him completely, pulsating and squeezing around his thick, heavy length as he thrust. Hongjoong sinks deeper and deeper until the head of his cock is kissing the cervix of your uterus. Fuck, he's going to breed you properly; he's going to make you his bred bitch. And you will be full and bloated with his puppies, no matter what Seonghwa says later. The whole damn litter of them.

At the thought of that, his fluffy, snow-white tail flew up into the air, inspired by such a tantalising prospect.

You let out a loud squeal of pleasure as Hongjoong filled you so quickly and so deeply. You liked it when they fucked you so brutally, because then they could cuddle up to you and pamper you to heaven, suck your tits full of milk, or lick lazily between your legs while one of the wolves took care of you.

The feeling of the Alpha's thick, hot cock bulging in your belly was all that mattered to you. You loved the burning sensation and the rush of pleasure when Hongjoong or Seonghwa pushed it deliciously into you. You could feel the swollen knot of Hongjoong's clinging to the wet rim of your hole with each of his powerful thrusts.

As soon as the Alpha had reached the top of your womb, he started to pull out of you until only the tip was left inside of you. Then he plunged back into you and slammed his dick back up to the balls again. As you gasped, sobbed, and writhed under him, Hongjoong began a hard pace, thrusting deep into you. Your big, full tits were bouncing up and down from the force of the thrusts. You knew exactly what he was doing to you. It was only Seonghwa who fucked you like that and tried to breed you properly. Hongjoong didn't just want to fuck you; he wanted to mate with you. And with that thought, your pussy clenched, massaging the Alpha's dick.

"Oh. Ah... daddy... oh... oh!"

The squelching of your smooth pussy and the slapping of skin against skin echoed throughout the room. The thick aroma of the alpha-pheromones made your head spin and caused your mucus to flow even more abundantly. It made you feel so complete. You looked down and saw the bulge of Hongjoong's cock sticking out of your belly. In and out, in and out.

Soon you squirted all around the Alpha's cock. As your pussy gripped Hongjoong's cock tightly, but without interfering with the hard rhythm of his thrusts, you let out loud moans and squeals. You wanted to hold him inside of you; you wanted to be full of his fertile cum.

"Fuck, fluffy. You're going to take my knot like a good girl, aren't you?" His pace was getting more and more animalistic, rough, and wolfish. The scent of pink pepper burned on your tongue, and you stuck it out, drooling as you did so. He slammed into you without any mercy. Eventually, you could feel that Hongjoong's movements were becoming more and more jagged and inconsistent. God, you felt his knot stretching your little hole painfully with each thrust, making it harder and harder for him to move.

"That's it, baby. Take my knot." Hongjoong growled, just below where Seonghwa's possessive bite was, and sank his teeth into your neck.

The sound of your scream was so loud that it was probably heard by absolutely everyone in the house. This was soon followed by a loud howl of delight as the puppies praised the Alpha for how well he had mated their bunny. This only brought them closer to their turn with you.

Hongjoong was still thrusting into you, and he was still pouring his sticky, hot cum into your aching cunt. And God, there was a lot of it, so much so that your stomach was swollen from the amount of liquid that had been poured into you, and a few drops flowed out of you in spite of the thick knot of the Alpha. He hisses and slowly moves his hips to get a better fit; his knot is holding all the cum inside of you, and so you will still have some time to go before Hongjoong fucks you again.

You feel his cum warm you from the inside as you try to remember how to breathe again. You gasp for air and let out a sigh of pain as you try to regain some semblance of consciousness.

"This is it, darling; now you are also mine."

[itendtothinkalot]

its me or the ps5 (not literally)

summary: gamer bf beomgyu is in the midst of a lol battle with soobin but all u rly want is his attention :(((

genre: all fluff, no plot

characters: gamer bf!beomgyu x f!reader

words: not too many (i havent counted)

warnings: kinda suggestive but other than its pretty fluffy hehe

It had been hours since he last spoke to you. No, he wasn’t angry. No, he wasn’t upset with you. He was just really into his game.

You lay in bed, the soft glow of the screen casting shadows on his back as he sat at the computer, shouting curses between bursts of laughter. His words, loud and rapid, formed a jumble you could only half understand—it felt like trying to learn a new language, each phrase coming out as broken sentences.

“Something something, I’ll go mid, something something.” You managed to grasp this much.

You craved his attention. Sure, your last date was just three hours ago, but it wasn’t enough. He’d spoil you so much during the date that you’d gotten greedy. You needed him now—his attention, his hands, his words. But there he was, locked in with his favorite thing in the world: his pc.

“He missed me! Dude, he missed me!” Beomgyu yelled into the mic, laughing loudly. His fingers flew across the keyboard, the rapid clicking almost rhythmic. Out of curiosity, you peeked around the corner from your spot on the bed and watched him play. You didn’t really know how to play League, though you’d seen him at it plenty of times and had dabbled a bit when he’d offered to teach you.

Your body inched closer and closer, curiosity pulling you toward the screen. You could see his character zooming across the map, darting from one point to another. From what little you understood, he was doing really well—so well, in fact, that it made you feel even needier than you already did.

As you scooted inch by inch across the bed, you unknowingly reached the very edge. Before you realized it, your body slipped off, sending you tumbling to the floor with a soft thud. You let out a yelp, "AUGH!" The sound echoed through the room, catching your boyfriend’s attention. Beomgyu turned, eyes widening as he saw you sprawled on the floor.

"Baby, what are you doing on the floor?" His voice was laced with concern, though you could tell by the twitch of his lips that he was seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“Nothing.” You said, still on the floor.

He chuckled, standing up and making his way over to you. With a playful grin, he lifted you off the floor and gently placed you back on the bed. Leaning down, he gave you a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re an idiot,” he said, his voice overflowing with affection.

“Yours,” you agreed with a giggle.

“CHOI BEOMGYU!” A muffled voice shouted through his headphones.

“Shit. Coming!” he yelled back, giving you one last quick kiss before rushing back to his chair. As he put his headset on, he shot back, “Shut up. You’re one to talk, you fucking virgin.”

You chuckled, knowing they were probably teasing him about you.

You huffed, puffing out your cheeks in frustration. Falling wasn’t part of the plan, but at least you had his attention for a moment. Was that full minute enough to satiate your needs? No. You wanted him in bed, cuddling you and recounting his day—though you had spent the entire day together.

Your phone buzzed.

Soobin: get ur bf off the pc

You: ???

Soobin: hes annoying wtf

You: youre literally stealing him away from me u asshat

Soobin: hes literally rite beside u

You: men r so dense

Soobin: hes SAYING HES WINNING and telling all his friends that he won over me when he didnt

You: why are u so mad its just a game

Soobin: U SUCK

“Baby, is Soobin’s character dead?” you asked.

Beomgyu glanced over, lifting the left side of his headphones. The faint glow of the computer screen reflected in his eyes. “Did you say something, sweetheart?”

“Is Soobin’s character dead?” you repeated, a teasing smile on your lips.

He nodded, a focused look on his face. “Yeah, why?”

You laughed, turning back to your phone. “Nothing.”

“Is he texting you?” Beomgyu asked, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, though you probably didn’t notice.

You nodded, rolling your eyes playfully. “He’s just being annoying.”

“What’d he say?”

You shrugged. “Nothing much. He’s just talking about the game.”

“To you?” Beomgyu’s tone was sharper, and you looked up from your phone to see him fully turned toward you now. A far cry from just two minutes ago when he had been giving you only side glances. His complete attention was on you, a mix of curiosity and something else flickering in his eyes.

This piqued your interest. Was he jealous?

“Yes, Gyu. To me.” You laughed, placing your phone on the bed.

“Gyu?” His brows furrowed slightly, and you could see the shift in his expression. You knew that hit a nerve. He was expecting terms of endearment—baby, my love, sweetheart, darling, angel, daddy—but hearing just his name, the nickname you used when you were still friends, made him twitch.

“Gyu?” he repeated, a slight edge to his voice.

“Is that not your name?” you teased, a playful smile on your lips.

“No. Not to you.” He frowned, his focus shifting entirely away from the game. You watched as he pressed a button on his PC, the lights on his headphones flickering off. He had muted his friends, the sounds of the game fading into silence.

He took off the headphones and set them on the desk, then slowly made his way to the bed, his expression darkened as he approached you.

“Hm, really now?” You grinned, knowing you were reeling him in.

“To you, it’s baby,” he pouted, crossing his arms dramatically. “Why are you calling me by my government name?”

“Gyu is not your government name.” You laughed.

“Yes, it is. Y’know who calls me Gyu? My mother. Are you my mom?”

“No I’m not, Gyu.”

“You did it again!” He gasped, eyes wide with mock horror. “Evil has gotten to you. You’ve been hanging out with Soobin too much.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Baby~” he whined, leaning closer. “Do you still love me?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Aren’t you the one ignoring me for a game?”

“Ignoring you? Baby…” He feigned innocence, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “I stopped my winning streak for you. Now Soobin’s gonna go berserk, posting on every social media that he won. I did this for you.” His expression was a mix of exasperation and affection.

“No. You stopped because you got jealous of your friend.”

“Soobin’s gorgeous. You can’t blame me for being jealous.”

You chuckled, “Soobin’s gorgeous? That’s your defense.”

He nodded aggressively, “Yes! He is. Didn’t you have a crush on him when we were all just becoming friends?”

Now you were confused, “Huh?”

“You had this major crush on him, didn’t you?”

“No. No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“You’re making this up! Are you sure you’re not the one with a crush on him?” You accused.

“Look, he’s gorgeous and all, but… I’m into you. Specifically. If anyone asked me what my preference was, I’d say you. I’d always say you.” Beomgyu sighed, kneeling in front of you, resting his chin between your legs as he gazed up at you with earnest eyes.

You nodded, a satisfied grin spreading across your face. “Looks like I trained you well.” You ran your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers.

“Mmf, play with my hair,” he murmured, sighing in contentment.

You always told everyone who asked that your boyfriend resembled a puppy—his big, expressive eyes and playful nature made it impossible not to think so. He loved being pampered, adored the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp, and thrived any sort of affection you showered him with.

“You sure? You seem like you’re losing,” you pointed out, glancing at the game still unfolding on the screen.

“I don’t care,” he replied, waving a dismissive hand.

“Really now?” You tilted your head, curiosity evident in your expression.

“Mhm.” He nodded confidently. “I’ll let Soobin win.”

“That’s the first.” you said, raising an eyebrow.

He nuzzled his cheeks against your bare thighs, a playful pout forming on his lips. “Please,” he begged, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

“Sure, Gyu.” You teased again, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Again? Really?” He lifted his head off your legs, feigning exasperation. “Do you want me to start crying?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“Repeat after me. Ba…” He shifted above you, placing his arms on both sides of your legs, propping himself up so you were face-to-face with him. His eyes locked onto yours. His arms held your back, pushing you closer towards him.

You had been dating for years, yet it was almost excruciating how he could still make you feel giddy, even after countless sleepovers. The way he looked at you, the way he kisses you, the playful banter that never seemed to bore you.

“Ba…” You followed, grinning.

“By…” He leaned closer, whispering into your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“By.”

“Good girl.” He pecked your cheeks lightly, a playful smile spreading across his face. “Now say it all together.” His face was so desperately close to yours, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, begging to hear the words.

“Baby,” you finished, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling as he grabbed your chin, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. “Don’t forget that.”

“How could I?” you murmured, breathless under the warmth of his lips, your heart racing.

Lost in the heat of the moment, the two of you spent the next few minutes locked in a deep, passionate kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his hands exploring every inch of you, yet always remaining gentle. The intensity of the connection between you both grew with each second as each kiss grew desperate and needier, you couldn’t help but wish you could see him everyday.

You tapped Beomgyu’s arms as you both slowed down the kiss, exchanging gentle pecks between your playful conversation.

“Baby.” Peck.

“What do—” Peck.

“You think—” Peck.

“About—”

“Mmf, I can’t think right now.” Beomgyu continued, playfully pushing you down onto the bed as he showered you with kisses.

“Baby, this is important.”

“What could be more important than this?” he replied, giving you one final peck before falling beside you, entwining his fingers with yours.

“Well, what do you think about living together?” you asked.

“Hm?” His eyes lit up with curiosity.

“We're already always at each other’s places,” you explained, a hopeful smile playing on your lips.

“You just get smarter each day, don’t you?” he teased, propping his elbows on either side of you as he gazed down, admiration shining in his eyes. “Because I think that’s the smartest thing anyone has ever said. Even Einstein couldn’t figure this out.”

“Baby, it’s a yes or no,” you laughed, enjoying the playful banter.

“As if I’d say no to staying with the world’s most perfect person.” He scoffed in mock disbelief, a grin spreading across his face. “And imagine this: we could stay in bed all day after doing all sorts of things all night.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Gyu…” you looked at him sternly, trying to suppress a smile.

“Again with my government name!” He exclaimed dramatically.

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your affection. “I love you.”

“And I love—” He pressed his lips onto yours, silencing you with a kiss. “You.”

[starboye]

starring: nerdy!matt sturniolo x male reader

request: matt helping you study (or at least trying to) and you're to horny to even focus so you tease matt the whole time

warnings: smut, cursing, teasing, edging, blow job, nerdy!matt

"c'mon matt you got this just read the paragraph" you coo as if you didn't have your hand wrapped around his cock slowly pumping away, he offered to help you study for your upcoming test but this isn't what he meant, but maybe it was his fault for agreeing to study while laying in bed knowing you would very well do this to him "ngh please y/n we have to study" matt whimpered, his thighs twitching with each slight move of your hand, i mean how could matt be so dumb to think you would actually call him over just to study.

"don't worry about me i'll ace the test because i have my very smart boyfriend to help me study, right" you tease rubbing you thumb across his aching leaky tip "i mean how would i ever do anything with out you helping me" you says kissing his cheek and moving down to lay small kisses on his neck "please" matt whispers "m'gonna need you to speak up matty" you taunt him and now he's not sure how much more of this torture he can take before he blows "ple- mm fuck y/n... please suck me" matt lowly repeats.

"happily" you quickly kiss him before your traveling down and getting comfy in between his legs, you fully take off his underwear and pants and lick his tip, flicking the beads of pre cum onto your tongue "mmm you taste so good matt" you smile before you start slapping his dick onto your tongue, matt by now has thrown the book somewhere onto the bed and as much as he didn't want to bring his eyes to your, fearful of the effect it might have on him he couldn't stop looking at you.

you sunk your mouth onto his twitchy dick and bobbing your head up and down, matts hands flew to grip the sheets of your bed tightly, watching your actions through fluttering eyelashes "fuckkk" matt let out broken guttural moans that sounded like he was on the edge of cumming but you quickly pull off his dick, jerking him off to make up for the loss of your mouth "i cant have you cumming that quick now can i" you tease even more, your hand moving at an agonizingly slow pace that left him just on the edge but never cumming.

"fuck y/n... please i wanna cum" matt whines, thighs twitchy to the touch of your hand "i know but you can hold it for just a little longer" you say leaning down to kiss his thighs, one hand moving to fondle his balls a little "mm mm" he shakes his head, biting down on his lip to silence his moan, he was thanking god that you're family wasn't home right now to hear him and his whiny noises.

you wanted to draw this out for longer, edge him on again and again just to ruin it but his cute face scrunching with each of you teasing moves made you take pity on him, you sink your mouth back onto his cock and resume bobbing your head up and down till matt was writhing uncontrollably in his place before cumming in your mouth, loud whimpers flood from his mouth just as his cum floods your mouth.

you bring your head up and wipe your mouth of the arousal before crawling towards his dazed face and kissing him, you lay flat on his huffing chest "we should study together more often" you say snuggling into him "ye... yeah definitely" matt says finally coming back to his senses "did you really study for that test though" matt asks now rubbing you back "nope" you say unbothered making matt roll his eyes.

taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits@staarb0y@crispysoup318@its-ares@gargoylesworld09@kadenvatsune@fuckshft