#like there are so many places i want to go

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iv

to @mrsmando - without whom this insane story would never have happened in the first place. i love you i love you i love you thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me - it has been a blast. i hope you like where we turn out! love you guys always n forever x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're a mom. it's time to get your shit together.

warnings: bon jovi mention straight out the gate, labor/delivery [i have never given birth. those of you who have are nothing short of remarkable. please forgive if some of this is a little inaccurate or vague], use of pain medication during birth, description of pain and post-birth recovery, super emotional reader, unprotected piv, oral, alcohol consumption. DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 12k

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

It’s September twenty-third.

Well, by now, it’s probably the twenty-fourth. You’ve been a little distracted, rolling between the sheets with your next-door neighbor for the last couple hours.

The wedding’s still going strong downstairs. The same Bon Jovi song has played three times over. Tommy has called Joel to ask where he is so much that Joel’s phone is now switched off and shoved to the bottom of his bag.

You’re slouched on the toilet in a sliver of moonlight. A fistful of tissue, panties loose around your ankles. Rolling your forehead side to side along the cool tile, heartbeat hammering between your temples.

Joel Miller – Joel fucking Miller – is in your bed. Naked, sweating, cock probably still half-hard.

This morning, the very idea of the man was an eyeroll. Stood in your mirror, promising yourself that this time tomorrow, it’ll all be over with.

This time in a month, it’ll be a foggy memory.

This time in a year, it –

His voice is muffled through the bathroom door. “Did you fall in, or somethin’?”

You snort. The milky moon blurs across your vision when you pull yourself upright. You swipe between your legs and stand, flushing the toilet.

“I needed a fucking breather,” you tease, tiptoeing back across the room.

Joel’s stretched out; a worked arm draped along the headboard. Sun-kissed to the middle of his bicep, paler across his shoulder. One leg bare on the mattress, the other under the sheets. They only just cover his modesty – dark hair trailing beneath light silk just in time.

He’s so big. It’s like you never really noticed until now. He takes up half the bed, laying like this. And sure, you’re halfway to fucked, but – has he always been so handsome?

You flop down beside him with a sigh, curling up in the burrow of sheets at his side. Your eyes trail up his body – the sheen of sweat up his side, the dark, damp hair under his arm. All the parts of him you’ve never seen before, will never see again.

You gulp. Quit fucking staring.

He doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s rubbing circles into his temples, grumbling. “How many goddamn times are they gonna play It’s My Life?”

“…for Tommy and Gina…” you nudge him, “…who never backed down…”

Joel chuckles, pulling his hand down his beard. “Twenty bucks says he’s changing that to Maria.”

“Oh, for sure. I ain’t going back down to listen to it, though.”

He hums in agreement, reaching over for his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks.

“You owe me, by the way. This is my room, remember? My fucking minibar.”

He pauses, the bottle against his bottom lip. His eyes linger south of your chin before he answers, “I’m paying for the damn room.”

“Then I want a drink from yours. Make it even.”

He clicks his teeth and drinks again. “It’s one beer. Call it an early birthday gift.”

You frown. “When the hell’s your birthday?”

“Tuesday.”

“Bullshit.”

“Serious. The twenty-sixth.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows; chest bare and on display. And it’s a strange feeling, how little you care. Twelve hours ago, you didn’t know how close to sit next to him at the ceremony. How many times you could accidentally bump knees or brush elbows and it not be weird.

But in the last two hours, he’s made you come more times than you can count. More times than anyone you’ve ever been with before – that’s for sure. And you’ve repaid the favor: the proof is still dribbling out of you. Still dripping between your legs, all pearlescent and warm. You’re soaked, swollen, still sore from the size of him.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, that you don’t mind at all.

“How old are you turning?” you ask.

Joel swallows. He settles the beer on his sternum, thumbing the corner of the label. Sucks in a deep breath and says, “Forty-eight.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He turns slowly, glaring at you. “Hilarious,” he drawls, bumping the bottle against your tummy.

You hiss at the sudden chill. Wiping cold droplets from your skin, you swipe it from his grasp.

Joel pushes himself from the bed with a quiet groan and pads across the room. His cock sways with each step, an arrowhead of thick hair at its base.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either.

You tip your chin back, taking a hefty swig.

The pulsing bass is heavier, guitar squeal sharper, when he cracks open the window. Cool air sweeps past the scent of sex and settles softly on your skin.

The mattress dips again as Joel settles back into bed. He pulls the sheet over himself, silk falling over the stubborn shape against his thigh.

“Well,” you pass him the bottle, “happy birthday, old man. Here’s to forty-eight.”

“Here’s to forty-eight,” Joel echoes, staring off into space, “and whatever the hell it has in store.”

1:29. 1:29. 1:30.

It’s blurring across your vision. The pain and the panic and the blinking of your fucking alarm clock.

Your stomach is still tensed in the aftermath of the contraction; an ache like the slow sway of the ocean, a wave rolling off into the distance. You’re hunched over the edge of the bed – knee bouncing, palms kneading your round belly.

“We’re okay,” you whisper, blowing into the still night. “We’re fine. Maybe it isn’t labor, right? Maybe it’s just those…Braxton…shit…Hicks.”

The cicadas laugh as your uterus swings again.

Another kick of pain; a bolt that winds you, piercing from your stomach down between your legs. So slow it feels fucking personal.

Your back curls, nails digging into the mattress. You grit your teeth until it passes, then push yourself to your feet, reaching for your phone.

You think of Joel: the flecks of gold in his eyes, the rough surface of his palms. The fresh, woodsy scent woven into every thread on his shirt, seeping from every pore on his skin.

The way he’d pull you under his arm and walk you to his truck. Play more Eagles or whatever shit he has to take your mind off the pain – tell you he knows, he knows as you whimper in agony. The way he’d hold your thigh the entire ride, loosening it only to weave his fingers through yours.

He’s in Houston, though. He’s something like three hours away. There’s nothing he could do, even if you did call – even if he did pick up. Even if he got in his truck right this second.

Shit. Shit fuck shit. How are you in labor right now, on this fucking night? All your teasing, all your taunting the universe. You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?

Yeah. They’re half you.

You’re on your own. It’s nothing new; you’ve been on your own for most of your life. You drove yourself to college, worked your ass off, and sold your graduation guest tickets to your roommate. You found a job by yourself, moved back to Austin and turned it into home by yourself.

You haven’t needed anyone or anything, since you were eighteen.

But – oh, Jesus, fuck it. This was a two-man job from the start. Some things you figure you can let slide – and having a kid seems like a pretty decent excuse.

Fuck it.

You move, hunched and hobbling, to the bathroom door. Slumped against the wooden frame, you cup a hand between your legs.

Sure enough, your underwear is soaked. The fluid trickles down the seam of your thigh, warm and thin. It glistens in the moonlight when you lift your fingers.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Goddamn it, Duck.”

Body tingling and almost numb with pain, you scroll through your contacts to J. You stumble into the bathroom, wet fingers slipping around the sink. A weight begins to pull low between your hips.

Two rings and the tone cuts, his voice instantly spilling a cool comfort down your spine.

There’s no hello, no double checking that you haven’t accidentally dialed him in your sleep. Only that trademark drawl, that flat tone you’d swear sounded bored, if it weren’t for the haste with which Joel asks, “You okay?” the second he answers.

As if he were awake anyway, just waiting for your call.

“Yeah,” you choke, rubbing the nape of your neck. “I just called at one in the morning to…to say hi.”

He sighs, the crackle of breath echoed by the tinkle of wind chimes. The creak of wood as he settles into a chair on Vanessa’s parents’ porch. “Alright, smartass. What is it?”

“I’m…I’m in labor.”

“Mhm. That sure is funny, baby. Good one.”

You groan. “No, Joel, I swear – I swear, I just went into labor.”

He pauses. The chimes titter in the background. “You’re…You ain’t kidding me?”

The sharp peak of pain swipes the air clean from your lungs. The phone hits the sink with a clatter, drowning out your cry.

This kid is beating the ever-loving shit out of you. You’d be embarrassed if you had the energy to think about it.

“Baby?” Joel yells, loud enough that the sound loops around the bowl. His voice lifts to an octave you didn’t know it could reach. “Talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

Your fingers clamp around the phone. “I’m f-fine. It’s fine. I just gotta…gotta change my fuckin’ sheets, Joel, my waters broke while I was sleeping –”

“Oh, Christ,” he growls. The door squeals as he storms back into Vanessa’s family home. “The sh…Change the goddamn sheets? You gotta get to a hospital, darlin’!”

You laugh, head tipping back. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Feels like the kid’s trying to kill me, but I can – shit, I can take ‘em.”

There’s the jangle of keys, the ruffle of a shirt being thrown over his head. “Yeah?” Joel says.“You can take childbirth, all on your own? Do me a favor and call a damn ambulance, baby.”

“An ambulance,” you repeat, laughing again.

“Yes, an ambulance. Call 9-1-1 right now. You want me to call ‘em? Let me go grab the landline –”

“Joel, do not call an ambulance –”

And if you thought you’d heard him at breaking point before – plucking your underwear from his lawn, dragging you around Home Depot, paling in your room with a pregnancy test in his hands – you know you have, now.

“You gotta get to a goddamn hospital now, baby!”

His voice trembles at its end, quivers like the pluck of a guitar string. A high-pitched echo, a nervous vibration.

Joel’s panicking.

It’s the second thing in less than five minutes that you never knew he could do.

“I can’t afford a f-fucking ambulance, Joel,” you yelp, sitting back on the edge of the bathtub.

“I will pay for it,” he pleads, “I’ll pay. Just – you gotta call them. You gotta…” He sighs again, breath wavering. “You’re in labor, and you’re alone. If anything happened to you, I –”

A hushed voice interrupts him. Follows him through the house, knotting her nightgown around her waist and twisting her dark tresses into a ponytail.

“She’s in labor,” Joel tells her. “I can’t stay. I’m going back for her.”

The porch door slams shut before Vanessa can reply, and Joel’s back outside again. Gravel crunching beneath his boots, crickets screaming in the background. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Still here,” you breathe, tracing your nails along your leg. “Duckie says hi, I guess.”

He hums. “Hi, Duckie. You little shit.”

You rock back and forth, eyes closed. Breathing between contractions, your head low between your shoulders. “How long will you be?”

The truck door creaks open. “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be…Fuck, I’ll be a couple hours, at least. I’m on my way, alright?”

Tears drip onto your bare thighs, the salt spilling into your mouth. “Joel,” you shake your head, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he says. “Are you kidding? Got us this far ‘n now you want to bail? That ain’t you, baby. Come on, now.”

“I wanna bail,” you insist. You slump to the floor, head lolling over the rim of the bathtub. Weeping like a little kid. “I’m scared, Joel. I’m so scared.”

“I know you are. Lord knows I’m scared, too – scared as hell. But –” the engine roars to life, “– I can’t wait to finally meet this kid. Our kid. Can’t wait to hold ‘em. Can’t wait to see you become a mom, and me become a dad.”

“Mom and Dad,” you whisper, sniffling.

“Mom and Dad, right? Yeah. You can do this. I know you can.”

The bathroom blurs behind your tears. You close your eyes, replacing the pale night with warmer dawn. Replacing it with images of tiny hands and feet; missing front teeth and a love-worn teddy tucked safely into bed.

Joel’s voice is softer, kinder. Calmer, now that he’s closing the hundred and fifty miles between the two of you.

“Just – don’t let the kid give you any shit, alright?”

The fear boils into determination. Something more irritating than it is terrifying. You inhale, blowing a heavy, shuddered breath to the ceiling. “Whatever, Miller.”

“Attagirl,” he says. “That’s the spirit. Now, call a damn ambulance.”

With a scoff, you push yourself to your feet, waddling towards the foot of your bed. You sway back and forth, holding your bump and listening to the hum of Joel’s truck.

And then you hear it.

Three sharp raps, from downstairs.

You wander to the hallway, squinting in the dark. “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…?”

The sound grows louder the nearer you draw. Quick knuckles against your front door.

“Am I what, darlin’?”

You lower yourself down the stairs, fist tight around the rail.

It’s August again. Sun’s encore blazing through your kitchen windows, bleeding golden through your living room. Everything shining, everything new and untouched.

Knock knock knock.

Light satin, duck egg blue; string lights and a diamond-encrusted necklace. The bones of your wardrobe propped against your porch. A rattling toolbox hanging from his fist, a positive pregnancy test in yours.

The knocking halts when you flick the porch light on. She calls your name once, old voice quivering.

Your phone is still glued to your ear as you pull the door open. “Al…?”

She squints at you and lifts a hand to shield from the light. She’s still in her pajamas – green dressing gown loose and lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes drop to the tee draped over your bump, the silver stream of fluid down the inside of your thigh. As she opens her mouth to speak, your hand slams into the doorpost.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, and Alice Brown steps straight over the threshold.

“Are you in labor? Oh, sweetie. Sit down, sit.”

She backs you towards the stairs. One bony, trembling hand around yours – squeezing as tight as you are. She rubs up and down your spine, shushing until the pain subsides.

You blink up at her glowing figure, haloed by the porch light outside. “How did you…?”

She hushes you with a finger in the air. “I’m up most nights. I heard you from the window. Have you called 9-1-1?”

You shake your head, beginning to cry again.

Alice just nods, dismissing your bullshit. “Where’s your overnight bag, sweetheart?”

You toss a thumb over your shoulder. “It’s up in the nursery. I can go grab it –”

She holds you still with a hand on your shoulder. “Stay.” Another curt nod, then, “Get your shoes, get yourself over to my car. Do you need pants? You need pants. My car, right now.”

“Alice, you really don’t have to –”

“Get in the car,” she insists, climbing past you. “I’m right behind you!”

You watch her figure dissolve into the dim upstairs, and lift the phone back to your ear. “Did you…hear all that?”

“Alice Brown,” Joel replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “What’d I tell ya? That woman doesn’t miss a goddamn thing in this neighborhood.”

“Three centimeters,” the obstetrician says, covering your legs with the sheet. “Still a little ways to go.”

The suite is hushed and still. Walls an unoffending shade of oatmeal; decorated only with oak paneling and a framed painting of some lilies.

A nurse tilts the shades, averting the twinkling city lights in the distance. She turns and smiles – the same fucking smile everyone’s been giving you since you set foot in the place. Head tilted, brows arched.

Sympathy that you want to chew up and spit back out at their feet.

You force yourself to smile in return, and she floats back out to the bustling reception.

“Will he make it?” Alice asks. She’s still in her pajamas; the floral print goes well with the interior of the room. “The father, I mean. Joel.”

The obstetrician peels the gloves from her hands. She shrugs as she drops them into a wastebin. “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Things are moving a little quickly, but I don’t see you having your baby in the next couple hours.”

“You don’t know this kid like I do,” you groan, shifting in the bed.

She lifts the cardiotocograph reading, scanning the jagged lines. “You’re doing great,” she says. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just holler if you need anything.” She strolls off, letting the door sweep shut behind her.

Alice adjusts your pillow and squeezes your shoulder. She holds out a cup of water, guiding the straw to your lips. “He’ll be here,” she whispers.

You take a sip and settle back. “I don’t think I’m that lucky. I told him I hoped he’d get a flat on the ride there. This feels like karma.”

“Well, if it’s anyone’s karma –” she wiggles her fingers, “– it’s his. Going to Houston was ridiculous in the first place. Hell, you two not being together is ridiculous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we should be together. You shouldn’t be with someone for the sake of a baby who won’t even know any different.”

“Right, right,” Alice agrees, turning away. “You should only be with someone if you love them.”

“Exactly. And me and Joel – we’re not in love.”

She murmurs to herself. She lowers into a chair by the window, crossing her arms. “I’m seventy-three,” she says. “I’m not a damn fool.”

Something twists awkwardly between your hips. You wince, clutching your bump.

Duckie’s heartbeat pulses through the room. Muffled little bubbles of noise, popping one after the other. Strong and steady as hell – a determined little thing, the doctor said.

Don’t I fucking know it, you thought.

You reach for the silicone mask and cup it over your mouth. The gas is cold and funny when you inhale, feeling it shoot straight for the back of your skull. It does little more than dull the spiking pain, but still – you tip your head back, eyes rolling closed.

You let yourself fade from the suite – its yellow lamplight and hushed chatter outside – to somewhere warmer. Somewhere brighter.

Birdsong high overhead, and the whispering leaves on the oak trees in your yard. The sweet breeze on your skin, soothing the sting of the sun. Prickling wood on your fingertips, the gentle strum of a guitar somewhere beyond the fence.

Peering between the slats, catching glimpses of him like watching a film reel. His head nodding, his foot tapping. The concentration tight on his face; the perfect pick and pluck of his fingers on each string.

Half-hoping that he’ll spot you, scold you for spying and storm back into his house. That he might bring it up later – And another thing, while he whips his newspaper from your grasp, ignoring your cackling.

Half-hoping that he won’t. That he’ll sit there at his back door, bottle of beer at his feet, playing to his audience of sparrows.

And you’ll stand here, wishing you could ask the name of each song he hums.

The contraction splits your daydream in two.

In two hours, you dilate almost three centimeters.

You pace back and forth across the suite, pausing only when your womb clenches like a fist. The contractions are lasting longer, swinging lower, and punching harder. They’re giving you less recovery time; less of a chance to get back on your feet.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Joel’s still not here. Last you heard, he’d just hit Travis County. Twenty minutes, baby, I promise. That was half an hour ago.

It might be for the better that he hasn’t gotten here. You’ve warned Alice three times already that you might just beat the shit out of him, whenever he walks through that door.

And you know what, sweetheart? She chuckled. I bet you could beat the shit out of him, sore as you are.

“Fuck,” you cry out, collapsing onto the bed. You stretch out forward, head hanging between your shoulders, and gulp back more of the laughing gas. The ache barrels from your stomach to your hips, peaking in the very center.

Alice rubs circles into the small of your back. It’s not helping, but you let her do it anyways. Gives her something to tell the neighbors that isn’t damaging to your reputation.

“That’s it,” she coos. “A little longer, just a little…”

The door clicks open just as the tense band begins to loosen.

Your head is spinning. The mask slips from your fingers.

Alice’s hand pauses. “…a little longer…” she repeats, voice drifting. Her weight leaves your back, replaced by something heavier, stronger.

Safer.

Someone grounding, someone smelling of pine and sweet spice.

He sits on the bed at your back and curves around your body. Lips to your shoulder like the sun in your backyard. His beard scratches against your hot skin.

You blink your eyes open.

Joel’s watch face winks back at you. His hands are over yours – bigger, wider. His fists swallow yours whole. They turn, slipping beneath your palms, and your fingers lace together.

“Joel…” you breathe, face turning in to his neck.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, wiping sweat from your brow.

You fall limp against his chest. “Holy shit.”

He looks exhausted. Gray, almost translucent. Looks like he’s just driven a couple hundred miles, half asleep and wholly panicked.

But – he’s here. He made it.

The sight of him, the feel of him holding you upright, melts away any anger or resolve to fight back. For now, at least. Picking an argument can wait until there isn’t a human splitting you in two.

He’s here. You’re not doing this alone.

“Holy shit,” Joel repeats. “You okay?”

“How did you get here so –?”

“Ninety-five the entire way.”

You frown. “Only ninety-five?”

“Trunk’s a hunk a’ shit,” he admits. “Couldn’t break a hundred.”

Alice scoffs, somewhere across the room.

He cradles you, his lips to your forehead. “Where we at?” he asks, staring at the paper churning from the cardiotocograph.

“Five, almost s–shit – six centimeters.” You clamp down on his hands, your uterus winding again.

Joel holds the mask back to your lips and you suck another chemical breath in. “Six? Jesus,” he gapes at Alice, “ain’t that…ain’t that real fast? For – for your first?”

Your fingers are weak and shaky, resting on his knuckles. “Your kid has a sick sense of humor,” you mutter into the silicone.

“That ain’t from me,” he says. “That’s all you, maestro.”

You turn closer into his shirt with a groan. He’s solid as a rock, swaying you through it. He’s here.

Alice swipes her coat from a hook by the door. She shakes her head, pulling it over her shoulders. “Ninety-five, Joel? Sweet Lord.”

He rolls his eyes. His hand curves around your bump. “Had a little bit of an emergency, Alice,” he says, watching your face twist with pain.

“And what if you’d had an accident?”

“I didn’t, Alice.”

“You could’ve, goin’ that damn fast. You’re lucky you’re even here.”

Joel finally looks up. “It’s four in the mornin’,” he protests, like a teenager. “Lucky if I passed five cars.”

You give him a weak smile, lowering the mask. You won’t win, you mouth.

He presses his lips to your head. “’s too much fun,” he murmurs, and you snort.

“Oh!” Alice throws a hand up. “I’m glad you find it funny!” She buttons her coat and glares back at both of you, hands on her hips.

She’s a busybody – has been since before you even moved in. She showed up on your doorstep on your first night with a casserole in hand, and made sure to get a good look at your living room before she shuffled back to her own place.

Always watching, always listening.

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d actually be thankful for her snoopiness.

“Thank you, Alice,” you say, head tilting. “For getting me here, for holding my hand…Thank you.”

Her expression thaws, eyes gleaming. With a sniff, she composes herself – and then points to Joel. “You call me as soon as that baby arrives. I won’t sleep, Joel, until you call.”

“I’ll call,” he assures.

She looks back at you. Balls her crepe paper fists, gives them a hearty shake. “Good luck, Mom,” she says, and with one last glance, slips out of the room.

Joel turns back to you, an eyebrow raised. “Take it she was out tendin’ to her tulips again?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, “one in the morning, those fuckers had to be watered.”

He chuckles. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better now,” you tell him.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve been here. A goddamn idiot, headin’ off like that. So damn stupid.”

“Shh, you’re here now.” You wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just needed you to be here.”

He nods. “I’m here, whatever you need. Tell me what I can do.”

You take a deep breath. “I need…”

Joel straightens – bracing, ready to jump at your first request.

“…I need a fucking break, Joel. I’m so tired, and this fucking kid –”

“Alright,” he sighs, shifting from behind you. “You and your goddamn jokes.”

You smirk, looking over your shoulder. “You missed me.”

“Hm,” he fixes the neckline of your gown, “I missed you. I really did.”

Born at 07:43. It’s a girl.

It’s like being broken open. Like splitting at the seams; your old self falling from you like shards of fruit. Separating, rolling apart; making way for someone older, wiser. Someone with all of the answers in the palm of her hand.

Mom.

You finally get it. She turns to you, finally glances over her shoulder. And she’s no stranger – no one you haven’t known your entire life. I know you, you whisper, nail trailing her smile lines and the pimples along her jaw.

I see you every time I look in the mirror.

Duckie is pulled from your body with a scream like bloody murder – a scream which matches the whimper you let out in shock, if not in volume.

The kid can scream. Jesus Christ, she can scream. It pierces the dull room; deafens you for a couple seconds the first time you hear it.

You’ve never heard a sound so fucking beautiful.

She wails as they lift her from your body. All curled-up, wriggling in the midwife’s arms. She wails as they slot her beneath your chin, as they wipe the blood and amniotic fluid from her.

She wails until the moment her skin meets yours, and as though it’s all you’ve ever known, you begin shushing her cries. Your arms close around her body, rocking her until she settles.

Her tiny hand grabs for something, for someone, for –

You.

Her mom.

“Joel,” you gasp, watching her tiny, pruned fingers clasp tight around just one of yours. “She’s…she’s so small…”

He sniffs in reply, lifting his hand from your shoulder to wipe his face.

You turn to look up at him.

He looks as broken open as you feel. Eyes bloodshot and soaking, tears streaming into his thick beard. A sob in his throat which chokes and silences him, until he catches your eye and he can’t help but laugh with elation.

“Look at her,” he weeps, all torn up by the little girl in your arms. He presses his lips to your forehead in a crash of a kiss: wet, soaking wet on your skin.

You beam up at him when he pulls away. “We did it,” you whisper.

Joel shakes his head. He runs a thumb across the damp print left on your head. “You did it, honey,” he mutters. “I was nothin’ but a spectator.”

“You almost missed the game,” you quip, and he laughs again.

Your body throbs; nearly numb with pain, heavy with fatigue and emotion. But as long as she’s here, this tiny tornado of a girl, you don’t feel a thing.

Clenching and then unclenching her fist around your finger – so delicate compared to the punches she was throwing at your ribs just six hours ago. She’s worth every fucking second of it.

You finally fucking get it.

She fits so perfectly in the crook of your arm. It feels as though your body was made just to hold her – the very shape of you, designed especially for the very shape of her.

You wonder whether it was the same for your mom. Whether you came along and made her feel whole, for the first time in her life.

Duckie’s eyes open – all glossy and brand new, blinking up at the both of you like she needed no introduction. She already knows you, from the inside out. Her dad’s graying beard, the threads of silver around his temples. Her mom’s tear-stained cheeks, eyes red and bleary with sleeplessness and pure love.

You’re Mom, you’re Dad.

It’s all she’s ever known.

The pillow sighs as you lean back into it. The doctor begins repairing the damage done between your legs; threading and knitting your body back together.

You’re caught between a state of bliss and shock. Your brain is doing much the same work to itself as the woman between your knees is. Patching over all the bloody parts: the screams which tore your skin, the pain which cracked your teeth.

None of it holds a candle to the weight of her in your arms. No matter how tired you are, you can’t take your eyes off her. Her puffy cheeks, the little creases between her brows. No matter how sore, you never want to let go of her.

Joel runs a finger down Duckie’s cheek. “Ain’t she the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“I love her,” you say, bubbling again. “I love her more than anything.”

An hour old, and she’s already a daddy’s girl.

Joel ambles back and forth at the foot of your bed in the recovery suite, bouncing Duck in his arms. He’s never looked so relaxed, so natural at something. He’s never seemed so content, so peaceful.

Everything he’s ever made with his hands – structures and framework and your goddamn closet – and yet this, this tiny accident, this baby girl you were so sure you’d dreamt up right up until an hour ago –

This is the thing he’s proudest of.

Morning lifts through the windows, all soft and vanilla. It floats around him, sunlight spilling across his skin and breathing life and color into him.

Sunlight – or his daughter. They’re the same thing, anyway.

You pull apart a slice of toast, watching. Just watching. Sweet strawberry jam on your tongue, the flavor of everything sharper, fresher. The colors brighter, more vivid.

The world makes more sense like this, you think. Painted in shades of honey and ochre; a room in a corner of the world where time slows to a halt. A soft lullaby from his lips, and the little coos from hers.

The ache of love and labor lingers deep inside you, and nothing has ever made more sense.

You suck the sticky sweet from your fingertips.

Joel looks up, toying with Duckie’s hand. “You want her back?” he asks, a dumb grin on his face.

You shake your head. “I like watching you.”

He scrunches his nose, nuzzling it against his daughter’s, and whispers, “I wasn’t gonna give you back, anyways.” He sways in the early light, staring down at her. “Jesus,” he mutters, swiping at his eyes again, “I didn’t…I didn’t know I could love somethin’ this much.”

“Me, either.”

He drifts over, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He extends his elbow, still cradling the baby, and helps you pull yourself upright.

You hiss, a not-so-subtle sting between your legs.

“You, uh…you think of a name yet?” Joel asks.

“Not yet,” you reply, hooked onto his shoulder. Duck blows a bubble and you wipe it with your knuckle. “I thought we were sticking with Duckie?”

His cheeks swell. The sun kisses the edges of his beard. “I thought of one,” he says softly. “Maybe. It’s your call.”

You yawn into his shirt, the warmth of him calm and soothing. “Alright, Miller. Hit me.”

He looks down at the baby nestled in his safe hands. The smallest thing either of you have ever seen.

The name must roll around his head a few times, the way he tilts to-and-fro – looking at her from one angle, then the next. Deciding, when he pulls back, that she suits it from every direction. Like it was her name long before he or even you knew it.

You watch his lips shape the name before you hear it.

Sarah.

And for what feels like forever, you just stare at him. The syllables lingering in the air like glistening specks of dust in a sunbeam. Your eyes follow them down to your daughter, now sleeping peacefully with two hands around one of her dad’s thumbs.

“Sarah,” you repeat, remembering whose name it was, whose name it is – whose name it has always been. “Sarah Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders lift. “What do you think? She look worthy of bein’ a Sarah?”

The rustle of tissue paper. Blue and green and purple tearing between your fingers. The funny fuzz of pom poms as your hands rummaged through the bag. Her hand swimming towards you, an orange foam fish riding the waves between her fingers. Bubbly sounds erupting from her lips.

Your girlish giggle. Her silly grin. Hopscotch along the sidewalk; stopping to look for cars before she’d walk you across the street. How much do I love you, baby girl?

More than the whole world, Mama.

“I love it,” you breathe, tears running to the corners of your mouth. “Sarah fucking Miller.”

“Sarah fuckin’ Miller,” Joel echoes; two wet lines the same as yours, curving down his cheeks. He shifts her into the crook of his arm.

You’re impossibly close. Your chin rests on his shoulder, foreheads brushing when you lean in to each other. His breath is hot on your lips, closer and closer and closer until –

He tastes like salt, rich with emotion. Salt, and then sweet when your tongue meets his. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, and your fingers link around his wrist.

And you know you shouldn’t be doing it – know this isn’t your man to be kissing. But in this room, where no one else can see – where it’s just you, him, and all the best parts of yourselves shaped into someone better – he feels like yours.

Just for a moment.

Joel takes the first week of Sarah’s life off work.

He spends a good twenty minutes on the phone to the contractor, talking more about the kid than he does the job. Her eyelashes, her fingernails, the way her legs scrunch anytime he lifts her up.

He’s besotted with the entire thing. And he tells everybody so.

He moves in with you both, stays in your guestroom. It’s a week of no sleep, no peace, and a total of three showers between you. Wearing the same clothes covered in spit-up and drool until one of you has the time or energy to do laundry.

It’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. By your count, you’ve already cried three times to Joel – terrified you’re getting it all wrong.

But you’re doing it. Jesus God, you’re doing it.

You order takeout most nights. You can’t stand long enough to cook just yet, and you don’t trust Joel not to burn your fucking kitchen down – despite his protests. And it feels like, after everything your body’s given you, it deserves a greasy pizza and some chicken wings.

You rot on the couch together, watching shitty TV and arguing over reruns of Jeopardy! – until Sarah wakes and the whole thing begins again.

Joel loses the game of rock, paper, scissors tonight.

“Shh, baby girl. ‘s alright now, I gotcha,” he lulls, tucking her back in to her bassinet.

She fusses and stretches out; arms over her head, legs curled up. Her onesie is still a little too big – the socked feet all baggy, the sleeves rolled up her wrists.

He lingers for a moment as she drifts off, a hand stroking her tummy. Watching, always watching her. The rise and fall of her stomach, the puffs of breath from her nostrils, her lips still suckling away in her sleep.

“I swear I have a baby photo that looks just like her,” you say. “Same nose and everything.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Got her looks from her mom. Lucky thing.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you snort.

He drifts back over, sinking into the couch at your side. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, and you nod.

Every muscle in your body still feels like a ton weight. Your stomach is still swollen; there are still stitches between your legs. There are moments you can’t tell if you’re crying because of hormones, exhaustion, or joy.

Every time, it’s a combination of all three.

Life before feels so long ago – and it hasn’t even been a fortnight. But then you held her for the first time, and now – your arm misses the weight of her when she’s not in it. Your house feels eerily quiet when she’s not laughing, or whimpering, or screaming the fucking roof down.

You can feel your daughter growing up already, and she’s only ten days old.

On the mantelpiece, safe in a stippled gold frame, your mom beams down over her. The photo at least twenty years old, the memory even older. Laughing, the way she always was; nothing quite so funny as a joke frozen in time.

Joel prods you with his elbow. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Your mom.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “no, she’d be like, Holy shit. This kid totally kicked your ass.”

He chuckles. “Sure she did,” he shrugs, “she’s your kid.”

The TV babbles to itself across the room. In its glow, Joel meets your eye. A tiny, pearly fleck swimming in deep honey.

It’s familiar – each shade of bronze in his eyes, each thread of silver through his hair. Like you’ve mapped each and every line on his skin, collecting them like the sleepless hours between you.

Everything about him feels so normal. Burnt toast in the morning, a spoon clinking around a mug of coffee. The rustle of the newspaper, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the baby snoring on your chest.

Everything – and yet nothing you’ve ever known.

“I miss her,” you whisper. “I miss my mom.”

His hand finds yours instantly. “I know, baby. I know you do.”

You slouch down, leaning on his shoulder, and close your eyes. Joel presses his lips to the crown of your head, his thumb looping around your knuckles.

Sarah gurgles in her sleep. She sighs – a satisfied little sound. Nothing has ever made more sense.

His voice rumbles against your skull. “Who sent the lilies?”

Your eyes flutter open. “Hm?”

Joel flicks his finger towards the window, towards a sprawl of speckled, cream flowers. “The lilies? They weren’t there this morning.”

“Oh…” You turn to look up at him, cringing.

He sees the flicker of her behind your eyes. Her lustrous curtain of hair, her perfect almond nails.

“Really?” Joel asks, mirroring your expression.

You nod, trying not to laugh. “From her and Kate. You were upstairs with Sarah when she came by. I offered to call you down, but – she just wanted to drop ‘em and go.”

“What did she…? Did she say anything?”

Your head shakes. “She just…she said congratulations, said she hoped we were okay. Then she got in her car and she left. I kinda figured things weren’t sunshine and roses, anyway. You haven’t fuckin’ seen her since Houston.”

He snorts, fingers massaging his eyes. “I was goin’ to tell you,” he mumbles into his palms, “I just…Honey, I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” you mutter.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. His eyes flit over to Sarah, then back to you. “We haven’t really talked it through yet, me ‘n her. I called her a few days ago, we agreed it’s time. It – it’s past time. I shoulda called it months ago.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s brow furrows. “’course I am. I got the most beautiful baby girl in the world,” and then, rolling his eyes, “you’re here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you clip, batting his arm. “Vanessa could do way better, anyways.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

You squeeze his fingers, softly adding, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Joel.”

He stares down at your clasped hands. He looks tired, worn out. You figure it’s not just from the newborn. But he takes a deep breath, something the color of relief dawning on his skin, and looks you dead in the eye.

“I’m not.”

­“Hey, Duckie – can you say, Happy birthday, Daddy?”

A vinyl wobbles on the turntable – some acoustic record from when Joel was a teenager. There’s wrapping paper still crumpled beneath the coffee table; four plates with more crumbs than cake left, dotted around the room.

Tommy leans in, a lopsided party hat on his head, and tickles Sarah’s chin.

She blinks at him, unamused, then scrunches her little nose and turns back into your chest.

He sighs, straightening. “She don’t like her uncle Tommy all that much,” he grumbles, sulking back over to the couch. Maria puts a consoling arm around his shoulder.

You rest your lips on Sarah’s head, breathing in her sweet scent. Swaying back and forth, you tease, “She don’t like anyone all that much, not unless they’re her daddy.”

Joel’s head lifts and he smiles, eyes glistening. He watches you and Sarah dance; laughs when you twirl her around and she tips her head back, flashing a gummy grin.

“She’ll come around to ya,” he tells Tommy, wandering over to your side. “We all learned to, eventually.”

Tommy scoffs. “Very funny, old man. Jesus.”

Joel stoops down to let Sarah run her small hands through his beard. He catches her fingertips between his lips and pretends to nibble on them.

She giggles, squirming in your arms. Her fingers find the sweeps of hair on his forehead and, taking a fistful, she tugs.

“Christ,” Joel hisses, pulling back.

“That was on you this time,” you chuckle, pointing a finger. “You know she does that, and you still fall for it.”

Maria glances down at her watch. “Is that the time?” she asks, turning to Tommy. “We should really turn in.”

“Oh – right, right.” Tommy tips the last of his beer into his mouth. “We’re takin’ Mom to brunch tomorrow. Better get some goddamn rest.”

Joel hums, still massaging his hairline. “Hey,” he whispers, elbowing you. “Maybe I should take her over. She’s getting sleepy – ain’t you, little Duck?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tommy stands and holds a hand out. “Why don’t you let Maria and I take her? We’ll tuck her in, keep an eye on her. We weren’t half bad the other day, while y’all were at work. And if she’s stayin’ at Joel’s tonight anyway…”

You glance to Joel, who shrugs. Something shaped like Sure.

“As long as you don’t mind,” you reply, bouncing the baby slowly. “Let me go grab her things.”

Joel’s hand slips across the small of your back as you pass, making for the stairs. He lingers at the bottom, watching until you turn into the nursery with Sarah in the crook of your arm.

You set her down in her crib and gather some of her favorites: a yellow blanket, a duck comforter, a rattle shaped like an elephant. She watches contentedly as you shuffle back and forth, staring when you lean over the wooden rail.

“You know how much I love you?” you whisper, curling a finger inside her fist. She squeezes, and you say, “More than the whole world.”

She grabs at the chain dangling from your neck, the letter S catching the light. Instead, she lifts your finger to her mouth. Her nails scratch light as a feather across your skin. Her gums are tiny and soft around your knuckle.

Everything about her is tiny and soft. Her sweeping eyelashes, her plushy cheeks. Her round tummy, and the squeals she lets free as you dot kisses and blow raspberries all over it. No matter how much she’s grown in three months, she’s still so tiny.

She’ll always be the smallest, sweetest thing you’ve ever known. And she’s all yours.

“Jesus, kid,” you sniff, swiping at your tears. You slip your hands around her back and prop her on your hip. “Alright, let’s go. Quit making your mom cry.”

The bag over your shoulder, you carry her out of the room and into the dark hallway. It’s quiet downstairs; nothing but the crackle of the record player, the distant chink of dishes in the kitchen.

That – and hushed voices in the living room.

“Joel,” Tommy says, over and over again. He’s trying to cut in between his brother’s rambling. Joel – listen to me. Just listen, for one second –”

You linger on the bottom step, trying to split Joel’s voice from Tommy’s. Trying to pluck the words out, over Maria’s humming from the next room.

“…and it ain’t that simple, Tommy it’s –”

“What ain’t simple about it? You have a –” Tommy says it through his teeth, “– you have a kid together, Joel. You really think she’s gonna –”

Sarah grabs the charm around your neck and shakes suddenly, rattling the chain.

You close your hand around hers, losing your balance. “Shhhhit, Duckie, you –”

Joel’s eyes snap to your figure as you step down. He clears his throat, leaning away from Tommy. “Hey – hey, darlin’.”

“Hey,” you reply. Bright. Chipper. Unclenching your fist to let your daughter shake your necklace some more.

She squeals with delight when she spots Joel across the room.

“She ready to go?” he asks, slinging a quick – telling – look at Tommy.

You look between the brothers, browns quirking. They look as guilty as each other: scratching their beards, staring at the furniture instead of you. “Uhuh,” you reply, tongue against your teeth. “Everything…everything okay?”

Tommy slaps his thighs as he stands. “Everything’s great, sweetheart. Sure as shit. Joel – you, uh…you got a key on ya?”

“Oh, yep.” Joel reaches into his pocket. He unhooks a silver key from the chain and drops it into his brother’s open palm.

Tommy calls for Maria. He sidesteps around you, face flushed and smiling.

She floats through from the kitchen, drying her palms on her jeans. “Where’s my baby duck?” she sings, reaching for Sarah.

You pass her over and she melts into her aunt’s arms, curling up into a little pink lump on her chest. “She just had a feed, like, twenty minutes ago, so – she should go down pretty well. And there are more bottles in Joel’s fridge, if you need ‘em.”

Maria nods, wrapping Sarah’s blanket around her. She lifts the bag strap from your shoulder and hands it to Tommy. “I’ll text you as soon as she’s down. Come on, Duckie, let’s get you to bed.”

Tommy leans over and squeezes your arm, winking as he follows his wife. He calls goodnight to Joel, lifting a pointed finger over his head, and closes the door behind them.

Things could not have gone smoother.

It’s suspicious as shit.

You turn when you hear Joel shifting.

“C’mon,” he utters, a pile of plates in one hand. “I ain’t leavin’ you with this mess.” He heads through to the kitchen, broad figure swaying.

The plates spill into the sink, water trickling over them. Joel hums to himself as he gets to work with a sponge in hand.

You linger in the living room.

Things have been good lately – peaceful. You’re in as much of a routine as Sarah will allow: a steady pattern of dropping her off and picking her back up, patchwork family dinners, daytrips whenever both of you can make them.

Your body is healing, pulling itself back together. You don’t have to think about being Mom anymore – she walks in stride with you. The world is painted a new shade of normal – one where you can do anything with a baby on your hip, one where love becomes your first language.

One where you swallow back the ache in your heart, for better or for worse. The only piece of you still fractured. The only wound left open.

Joel’s birthday cards lie flat on the coffee table. You pluck them up one by one – his parents’, Tommy and Maria’s, yours – and Sarah’s.

A messy splotch of a handprint, bright yellow paint smeared across half the fucking card (she hasn’t quite mastered self-control yet). A googly eye plastered to the bird’s chest; orange crayon for the beak and legs.

Sure, you took charge for most of the project – but when he opened it and saw his daughter’s little masterpiece, you caught him swiping his knuckle at the corner of his eye. He snuggled into her, perched on his lap, and whispered, Thank you, little Duckie.

You prop them along your mantelpiece, dotted around your mom’s photo. When you step back, looking from son to brother to…a good friend, you could almost pretend.

Almost pretend that they belong here, on this mantelpiece. There is no yours and his. Just one of everything; nothing doubled nor halved.

Almost pretend that he won’t collect them as he leaves, break into another teary laugh at the sight of the duck painting, and then kiss your cheek goodnight. Promise to have your daughter back in time to go swimming tomorrow morning.

Almost.

“Hey,” Joel calls, “did you, uh – did you hear Tommy talkin’ about Jackson?”

You slip into the kitchen, side by side with him at the sink. “Uh, yeah,” you reply, lifting a towel. “Moose, pine trees. Yep.”

“It sounds beautiful. You think we should take a trip up there sometime? Could be Sarah’s first vacation.”

“You mean the three of us?”

He shrugs, scrubbing a bowl in the water. “Sure. I don’t think Duckie would let one of us stay behind, do you? She’d scream the damn airport down,” he chuckles, looking back to the twinkling bubbles.

You hum. “Maybe.”

“You don’t feel like it?”

“No, I do. I just – I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“Okay,” Joel says, nodding. “Put a pin in it.”

He passes you a dripping plate and you drag the towel over it, circling the pattern until the suds are wiped clean. And another, and another.

It feels awkward. It feels stiff. There’s something hanging between you, heavy on both your shoulders. A weight you haven’t felt around Joel in over a year.

You turn to him as he stacks the last plate on the draining board. “Is that what you were talking to Tommy about?”

Joel pauses. “You heard that, huh?”

“Only the part about having a kid. It’s none of my business, I know, I just ���”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, “it’s plenty your business.”

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. A deep breath, cheeks puffing as he exhales. His grip on the dish towel whitens his knuckles.

He’s…nervous. The same shade of gray he wore the night you went into labor.

He takes another unsteady breath.

“Joel?” you ask, head tilting. “Whatever it is, you can say it. I got whiskey, if that’ll make it easier. Probably tastes like shit, but…”

His expression cracks. His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. Only a little, but enough. Enough to let the words slip through.

“You know, that night at Tommy’s wedding was one of the best nights of my life.”

Your heartbeat thuds a bassline in your ears; the rush of your blood the squealing guitar. Skin tacky, moans caught between teeth. Laughter and lust tangling together in the air.

“Yeah?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Lying there – talking, laughing, messin’ around. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard in all my life. I could’ve stayed in that room with you forever.”

Your eyes start to sting. You look away.

“I thought I would regret it. I thought I should regret it. And I never did. But then,” he takes a deep breath, “the next day, I look out front, and my newspaper’s sittin’ on my lawn. And for two weeks straight, I kept checking – and there it was. I thought, Sure as shit, she regrets the whole thing. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to see you again. I missed – I missed you. Missed pissin’ you off.”

He laughs. “I missed you pissin’ me off. Missed that annoying as hell thud on my porch.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to – you know,” you admit, and Joel nods.

“We got pretty good at avoidin’ each other,” he grumbles. “And then – with Vanessa, I thought I’d be doin’ you a favor. Letting you off light.”

“You…you took her number to do me a favor?”

“Naw,” Joel says. “I took her number ‘cause her brother in-law has a lumber company, and I had a closet to build. I was drunk, I was an idiot, and I brought it up to her at the wedding. By the time I thought it through, you ‘n I weren’t speakin’.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shakes his head. He edges closer to you. Voice low, he says, “I shouldn’t’ve gone out on that first date with her. I shouldn’t’ve done any of it. I should’ve talked to you about what I was feeling.”

“Well, maybe we both should’ve,” you mutter, wringing your hands. “I wasn’t exactly the best at it, either.”

His head tips, considering. “Can I tell you now?”

You glance over to him. “Tell me what, Miller?”

“Tell you…tell you that I love you,” he whispers.

It steals the breath from your lungs. One clean swipe.

He nods to himself, then – certain of it – and says it again. “I do, darlin’. I love you.”

Your heart begins to hammer. Tears spill over onto your cheeks, dripping from your jaw.

“And, look –” Joel takes your wrists, “– I got no right to say any of that, I know. I put you through a hell of a lot, these last few months – and that kills me. But if you’ll let me, I swear to you – I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.”

You look up. His cheeks are dappled, too – glistening with tears. “Joel…” you weep.

He cups your jaw. “Listen to me. What we’ve had, the last three months – I want it all the time. I want you, and I want Duck. I want the three of us under one roof. I want to sleep in the same bed as you.”

You breathe a shuddered laugh. Your hands fall over his wrists. Keep talking, you mouth, bottom lip trembling.

“I want to get married, or not,” Joel says. “I want to show up to Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party late, ‘cause Duck couldn’t pick which shoes she wanted to wear. I want to have more kids, take ‘em on vacation.”

“Wyoming?” you sniff.

“Wyoming,” he repeats. “I want…I want all of it, baby. You ‘n me. I want you ‘n me, more than anything in the world. And if I’m too late, then you can tell me. Tell me, and I swear on my life I will never mention it again.”

Your hands curve over his. His strong knuckles, worked and weathered and worn by his years. Down to his wrists – the tatty strap on his ages-old watch, the dark hair peppered along his arms.

“I love you so much, baby. So much that it drives me insane. You drive me…fuckin’ insane.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper, balling your fists against his chest.

Joel laughs, nose brushing against yours. “Yeah,” he sniffs, “I figured you’d say som’ like that.”

“I love you, too,” you mumble, linking your arms around his neck. “Shit, I love you.”

“Ain’t that a thing?” he says, and his lips are on yours.

It’s been a year. A year since the first time you felt him – lips soft as velvet, sweet with alcohol and something stronger. His tongue and yours, his teeth and yours. Every part of you clashing with every part of him.

And goddamn, you’ve missed it.

Joel follows you upstairs, pinning you to the wall by your bedroom door. White heat flooding through your veins, he kneels before you and pulls you onto his tongue.

He’s hungry.

He laps at you as though you’ll be gone in the morning. As though he won’t wake up tangled in you, breathing in your scent, lips on your skin.

Dusk seeps in at the edges of your vision; daylight draining from the sky. It’s dark, too dark to see him clearly, but you feel him fucking everywhere.

His beard grazes the inside of your thigh. He kisses where he scratches your skin. He holds your hips steady, tongue dipping in and out.

“You know how fuckin’ sweet you taste?” he growls, slipping inside again.

He looks so good between your legs. Like he was made for it – made for you. All yours, in ways you never really understood until now.

He brings you to the edge with his tongue flat against your clit. Holding your hips firm against his mouth, groaning with you as you fall.

You come with a broken moan. Hips stutter to a halt, legs fall wide open. The warmth in your belly spills over and rushes to every corner of your body.

Joel moans, tongue still lapping as your cunt pulses all over him. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he slurs, watching you come undone.

He stands, a chaste kiss to your lips, and then parts them with his tongue. “Taste good?” he mumbles, kissing you gently.

Yeah, you think, moaning against him, it tastes fucking good.

He spreads you out on your mattress and kisses what feels like every square inch of your body. You giggle at the feeling of his lips behind your ear; moan when they close around your nipple.

Your back arches; little lightning bolts as he pulls the buds to a peak. Your fingers knot through his hair; hissing at the meeting of pain and pleasure between Joel’s lips.

“I love you,” you whisper, when he settles between your legs. You don’t know that you’ve felt something so true in all your life.

He smiles. Your fingers trace the lines at his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls your hips to meet his.

You curve a hand around his neck, glancing down at your open legs. “Looks a little different to the last time you saw her.”

Joel shakes his head, licking his lips. “Beautiful, baby. She looks so goddamn beautiful.”

Each movement is careful, deliberate. He notches his tip at your hole and pauses until you’re looking at him again.

And then he pushes in.

He slips an arm under your head; the other holding your thigh on his waist. He kisses you as you stretch around him. He still tastes like salt and slick.

You gasp, teeth gritting around a hiss. “Fuck,” you whimper, turning in to his chest.

“Easy, easy,” Joel coos, voice rumbling against your temple. “Catch your breath. Doin’ so good.”

“It’s not sore,” you tell him, nodding for him to move again. “It’s…it’s just…different.”

“Tighter,” he groans, eyes on your cunt as it draws his cock in.

You agree, “Tighter.”

He catches you in another kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips. “Feel so good, sweet girl. Breathe. ‘m right here.”

It’s never felt like this before. This gentle, this tender.

You have never felt like this before. Broken open, stitched back together. Your heart split into two – whole again each time his body meets yours.

Joel catches your moans on his tongue. He steadies his pace; rocking into you over and over. Laughing against your lips; your fingers intertwined with his.

“Feel good?” he pants.

Your head rolls back. “Mhm.”

“Take it, baby. Such a tight little thing.”

“Joel,” you cry, “I’m close.”

His teeth nip at your neck. “Shit,” his hips jump, “attagirl. Just like that.” He thrusts into you harder, bleeding the color from your vision.

You pull his lips to yours, foreheads tacky. Joel’s eyes gloss over.

I love you, he breathes.

And the world whitens.

He pulls you against his chest when you come back around. Shifts up the headboard, skin all sticky and warm. He kisses your temples, kisses your shoulders, kisses your knuckles.

You melt into his grasp, turning to look up at him. You run your fingers over his lips, through his damp hair. Just staring. Drinking him all in.

“You were right next door, the entire time,” you whisper.

He runs a thumb across your cheek. “Yep.”

“Do you think we wasted too much time?”

Joel’s lip turns. “Nah,” he says. “We found our way.”

“Needed a little help, though.”

He scoffs, tongue between his teeth. “I’m sure she’ll hold it against us forever.”

You think of that evening in August. The last bow of the sun before your world changed forever. Of deals struck and promises made. Of satin on your fingertips – newspaper ink and duck egg silk.

You think of that photograph on your mantelpiece. Bright eyes watching every second of it. A smile on her face the entire time.

You laugh to yourself. Joel looks down and kisses your swollen cheek.

“We should go,” he taps your thigh, “got a little duck who’ll be wonderin’ where her mama and daddy are.”

The church tower rings out twice as the truck purrs between graves.

Joel pulls up under the shade of a sycamore, tires rolling to a halt. Sarah kicks her feet, her heels thudding against her car seat.

“Mama,” she presses a sticky finger to the back window, “flowers.”

“Yeah, baby,” you call over your shoulder, hugging your own graveside gift a little tighter in your arms. “Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” your daughter quietly considers, then kicks her seat again.

Joel waits patiently for you to give him the go ahead. He slips a hand around your knee, looking ahead at the rows of headstones. So patient, so gentle.

Your chest swells, a deep breath filling your lungs, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Sure?” he asks. “Take as long as you want, darlin’.”

But if you wait any longer, you’ll never leave. The paper wrap crinkles in your arms. “You take Duck,” you reply, “I’ll take…”

Joel lifts your hand, placing a soft kiss between your knuckles. “You got it. We’ll walk on.”

He leaves you in the truck to collect yourself. He unbuckles Sarah and sets her loose, following her across the grass with his hands in his pockets.

Her light-up sneakers flash as she sprints; head tossed back, toothless smile pointed to the sun. She turns back to her dad, her little hand fitting perfectly into his.

Made for each other.

You hook your fingers around the handle and leave the truck.

Their grave is a short walk down a grassy slope, sheltered by another towering tree. Its leaves flutter down around you as you near the stone; stray petals which catch in the breeze and lead the way.

You kneel down, the grass dry and prickly through your jeans. “Hi, Mom,” you whisper, sweeping some dust from the base of the grave. “Hi, Dad.”

Your grandma picked this spot. She’s long gone – laid to rest elsewhere with a grandfather you never met – so you try to visit as often as you can. Freshen the flowers, brighten up the stone.

It fucking sucks, but someone’s gotta do it.

You peel the brown paper from the bouquet, exposing the soft colors Sarah picked back in the florist. They fit perfectly on the stone, right beneath the words Devoted parents.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a feeling that wraps itself around your throat and steals any other words – until a flash of pink catches your attention.

“Duckie,” Joel calls, following her between graves. “Hey. This is a cem…Hey, Duck, listen – this is a cemetery, we gotta be – Sarah!”

You stifle a laugh, watching him jog after the hoodie tied around her waist. He swipes for her hand and she dodges him, ducking between graves faster than his mid-fifties joints can turn him.

There’s no one else here – it’s only you. And it’s a quiet enough place as it is, so – you let her laugh. Let him chase her, and let her sneakers light the place in pink. What else is there to do?

“Sorry it’s been a little while,” you tell your parents, eyes still on your man.

He’s kneeling now, Sarah on his thigh, in front of a tall, cross-shaped stone. They’re pointing at the words on the stone, her inquisitive eyes studying each one.

“I know I said I’d come visit for Dad’s birthday, but I guess things got busy – what with the move and all. We’re still living out of boxes. But the girls’ rooms are almost done – we just gotta paint ‘em.”

You look back down to the stone. Your mom’s name carved deep into spotted marble, your dad’s underneath. One awful date to tie them both together.

Dad probably heard Duck’s first squeal and turned away; gone back to whatever boring activity he might get up to in the afterlife. But your mom, you know for certain, is sat with her chin on the heel of her palm. Watching her mini-me trace the shapes of words, squirming when Joel presses his lips to her temple and whispers hints to her.

She’s probably smiling, making some comment about how big Sarah’s getting. How smart she is, how funny. How she must keep you and Joel on your toes – and goddamn, she’s right.

“Joel’s been working on the kitchen,” you continue. “I left my phone in the truck, but you should see it, Mom. He got these marble countertops, these little brushed-gold handles. He wrote our names on the wall before he tiled it, so whoever remodels after we’re gone will find that. The four of us.”

“M-meh-mem-orr-mem-or-ree?” Sarah tilts her head.

Joel nods. “Memory, yeah. Good job, Duck.”

“Duckie’s good,” you tell your mom. “She’s top of her class in – well, everything. Really wiping the floor with all the other first-graders. She’d have been your favorite – I know that much. And you’d have been hers.

“She’s gonna be some kind of lawyer, we think. Social justice and all that. She likes to be a woman of the people. Always talkin’ back to Joel – she hardly cuts him any slack, these days,” you laugh.

“He’s good, too – Joel. Working hard, as usual. Tommy and Maria visited last week – they brought Buckley, and now Duck won’t stop goin’ on about us getting a dog.”

You chance a glance over the stone, making sure the pair are out of earshot when you add, “Don’t tell her, but we called the pound last night. We’re heading there tomorrow while she’s at school to pick one out for her birthday. Joel’s giddier than I think Sarah’s gonna be.”

Joel’s carrying Duck now, wandering down a wobbly row of graves.

She halts him by pointing to one. “N-eh-v-eh-never…fff-or-g-for–”

He stares at her, a grin breaking across his lips. “Sound it out, that’s it. ‘s a big word, baby girl. You got it.”

The world seems to blur around them. The birds sing, a light melody from overhead. The green trees sway across the blue of the sky; the straight soar of cars on the highway. It all fades into the background, behind the two of them – wandering from shade into brilliant sun.

Your family. Your man, your blood – and everything in between. The little girl who brought it all together in the end – leading her dad by hand over knolls and broken stone, chasing butterflies, and asking what eh-teh-err-nal means.

“Means forever,” Joel says, kneeling beside her. “’s how long I’m gonna love you for.”

“And Nel?”

“And Nel.”

“And Mama?”

“And Mama.”

Sarah runs her hands through his beard, swaying side to side. “But me the most,” she concludes, nodding.

Joel hms, biting back a laugh. He lifts his chin, asks the little girl whether or not he’s going gray.

She has the same ridiculous laugh you do. The same snort you used to find so embarrassing, until you heard it come from her.

Just watching them stokes the already burning fire in your ribcage – the warmth flooding around your heart. He’s so good at it – being a dad.

Was he ever anything else, before he was a father? You can’t remember a time you didn’t wake up next to him, wrapped up in his arms, or with one of his kids burrowed between your bodies. It all feels so long ago, now.

He wanted to do everything. He’d lie with you between his legs, holding your half-sleeping form upright while you fed her. He’d race home after work specially to bathe her. He picked up any and every single duck-themed thing that he came across.

And what were you? Mom felt like such a fucking longshot. So out of your reach that you couldn’t understand the meaning of the word.

But there are days when she says it – Sarah, looking up at you with Joel’s twinkling eyes and a smirk which matches yours – and it’s like you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear it. Like you’ve been waiting your whole life for her.

Well. Her, and her little sister.

“And, uh – another thing,” you say, reaching for the plastic handle of a car seat. “I brought somebody for you to meet.”

A clumsy fist shoots up to shake a speckled dinosaur toy – the brown spheres of its eyes catching the sunlight. She squeals with delight when you unbuckle her, kicks her legs the same way her sister always did.

“She’s a little nervous, ain’t you, Nel?” you whisper, laughing at her gummy smile and tiny, socked feet. “She spit up on herself on the way here, but – I think you’re gonna love her.”

You perch the baby on your thigh, same as Joel did with Sarah, and she wraps her fingers around one of yours. You wiggle it – waving to your mom’s name, to the petals gently fluttering in the breeze.

“Mom,” you sniff, “this is Ellie.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel miller #tw pregnancy

[babygazette]

Please can we get more soccer mom and rafe??<3

RIGHT UNDER THE DOG’S NOSE

synopsis : sequel to done deal. weeks after your deal with coach cameron, you’re pregnant. with your libido through the roof, rafe helps you out and you two figure out future plans.

pairing : coach!rafe x soccermom!reader

warnings : minors dni, 18+ smut, mean husband, cheating (again fuck cheating, don’t do it), pregnant sex, p in v, reader calls rafe ‘coach’ like once, cheating while in the same house as the husband, unprotected sex

word count : 2,119

📠 📰 ────────*𑁍༘⋆ ────────

coach cameron stands there watching the game with his arms crossed and his legs wide in an intimidating stance, he chews on a piece of gum while his eyes slowly wander from the boys running around to you. he smirks at you, sending you a wink that makes every other mom around you start giggling like teenage girls. you keep eye contact while grinning at him, almost wanting to blow him a kiss to let everyone know that he’s yours but that ring on your finger stops you, so does the fact that your son is on the field just right there. it’s been a few weeks since you said yes and making that deal with coach cameron was one of the best decisions of your life. it solved so many of your problems– your husband was no longer running his mouth (about your son at least), your son looked a lot happier, and he gets along with rafe quite well. 

the most important thing is you actually got to cum almost every week unlike before where it was once a month if you were lucky. rafe fucked you anywhere and everywhere he could: his office, the janitor closet, one time in the locker room, his house, any other secretive place you could possibly think of. therefore it's not much of a surprise when the stick has two vibrant red lines confirming that you were indeed pregnant. 

you let out a deep exhale before leaving the bathroom with the test in your hand over to where your husband lounged on the couch. you know your son’s asleep, it's midnight, but you still check anyway. once you are sure that the coast is clear, you clear your throat to get your husband’s attention, “honey?” his eyes are too focused on the bright tv, his face being illuminated by the flashing television and nothing else. you roll your eyes at him, before trying to get his attention again by tapping his shoulder. “fuck, what do you want? how many times do i have to tell you not to bother me when i’m watching?” he scolds you, only giving you one scornful look, you smile but your thoughts are anything but polite. what a sleazeball. 

“honey, i have something important to tell you.” you step in front of his view with the sweetest expression on your face, your husband groans but decides to listen begrudgingly. i'm having an affair with our son’s coach and “i'm pregnant!” with rafe’s baby probably. you didn't know his facial expression could look more annoyed until now. “you’re messing with me, you managed to get pregnant from one time? the fuck is wrong with you?” he doesn’t seem to have a clue that there's a possibility of it being another man’s. maybe because he’s too arrogant to assume he got cheated on. “you’re not happy?” you pout, tilting your head at him, you really couldn’t care less what he thought.

“no, i'm not jumping with joy at something that’ll drain my damn money. jesus christ, i'm going on a drive. it's all on you, not like i'll be taking care of it.” you watch as he collects his coat and slams the door shut, he’s definitely going to the bar which gives you about two hours maybe? you stare at the television and exhale in relief that he was finally gone, a divorce lawyer commercial? funny. you turn off the screen before wandering back to your shared bedroom and slumping on to the plush comfort of your mattress. the whole house is so silent, it’s nice but it leaves you in your thoughts. you glance at the positive pregnancy test still in your hand before sliding your phone off the nightstand, you dial up a number. ring, ring, ring–

“hello?” he picks up after a few rings, his voice all groggy and deep from his slumber. you bite your lip before speaking up, “hey.” almost instantly you hear shuffling from his side once he realizes it’s you. “hey, something happen? do i have to come get you?” rafe lets his words stumble over each other as concern washes over him because you don’t usually call this late. you grin at his cute worry and shake your head even though he can’t see it. “mmh.. just miss you is all.” you hear his raspy chuckle that makes your heartbeat a lot quicker. “no, you don’t. i can hear that sly tone in your voice, baby. my boys try to trick me everyday, you think i don’t know that voice?” he scoffs over the phone before he softens up again, “tell me.”

“i’m pregnant.” you finally say and there’s a very long pause. the silence is killing you, nibbling anxiously on your bottom lip, begging that he’s gonna be happy. “i’m coming over.” he blurts out, you furrow your eyebrows in utter disbelief because that was way too risky for him to do so casually. “what, rafe? someone might se—“ a click of the line and the call ends right then and there. what just happened? you sit there on your bed, thinking about what just transpired, it’s not the time for this. he’s actually coming here when you had no precise idea when your husband was coming home. you rush out of the room, checking to make sure your son was not gonna wake up any time soon, seems alright. you pace around the living room as you await rafe’s sudden visit because his reaction was too unreadable. was he glad or was he angry? not a clue.

minutes later, you hear heavy knocks: it sounds urgent almost, you look through the peephole to see rafe but he was less put together than normal. this was a terrifying sight but you open the door anyway. your eyes widen as rafe immediately wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. “it’s real right? you’re actually pregnant? don’t— don’t tell me i came all the way over here for no reason.” he kneels down instantly to feel your stomach which is barely even growing a bump. “yes, it’s real. i still have to go to the doctors to confirm but knowing how my first one went. i’m sure.” he looks up at you and gets up with his hands holding onto yours. his eyes, those ocean eyes are killing you, you haven’t seen eyes that full of love in forever. “i’m gonna take care of you. i’m gonna take real good care of you and this baby, you– you understand? fuckin’ hell, baby!” rafe cheers in happiness, walking around the room with his palms over his eyes.

────────*𑁍༘⋆ ────────

rafe stayed true to his word. in the past two months, he went to every appointment that your husband didn’t, constantly checked on you, when your husband wasn't home; rafe would come over and help you in any way he could. your husband was clueless. the only thing that frustrated you was he hadn’t fucked you in forever and now you were too horny, currently in your second trimester, you desperately needed to get off. 

so that’s why you’re desperately grinding against rafe’s lap in your living room at the dead of night with your husband and son sleeping just upstairs. “hey– shit– you said there was an emergency.” rafe tilts his head back onto the couch and holds onto your hips tightly. “it is an emergency!” you whine out, needily rolling your hips on his growing bulge, “it hurts, rafe, pleasee..”

he groans and his hands try to stop your movements in distress. “baby, you can’t do this to me— c’mon. you’re pregnant. i— i can’t be..” rafe pauses his scolding when he feels how you’re soaking his pants. he did promise he’d take care of you. “alright, alright! you want dick so badly? gonna be a needy little mama?” he holds you up on his lap while his other hand unbuttons his pants hastily. rafe slides his pants and boxers down, stroking it quickly before he slips his fingers to your drooling pussy. “fuck.. it’s soaked, baby. needed me to fuck you in his house, huh? i’m not doing anything. you want it, you do it.” he leans back against the couch, settling into the plush cushions and watching you squirm.

like a flip of a switch, you’re bouncing on his cock, moans slipping past your pouty lips. your slick causing easy access, he’s filling you up just how you needed. everytime his cock would slip out from how wet you were, you pushed it back in greedily. “jesus, calm down. know you want it, baby. don’t forget where we are.” he grunts out, cupping your face in his hand, thumb slipping into your mouth to muffle your mewls. 

“love it, coach..” you babble around his thumb, words coming out in a slur, he chuckles at you. “gotta call me that in bed? dirty girl.” he teases you but rafe knows he loves it too. you’re riding him like there’s no tomorrow, somehow gathering a huge amount of stamina that left as soon as you became pregnant. his other hand guides your hips up and down his cock. 

you needed it so badly and now that you have it: you can’t stop. the pregnancy fatigue is catching up with you soon enough and now you’re just relying on rafe’s hand to help you ride him. he notices that you’ve slowed down a lot and flips you onto your back. he said that he’d do nothing but he can’t help it, rafe’s gotta ease your pain. his hips slowly roll into you while he tries to keep his body uplifted to not crush you. one hand holding him up and the other still in your mouth. rafe can tell you’re close now by the way your eyes roll back and your whines increase in volume. your walls flutter around his shaft causing him to groan, his hands slipping to your sensitive clit, aiding you to your orgasm. “cum for me, baby. come on. let it all out, i got you.” he coos at you and soon enough you were creaming on his cock, rafe following soon after. 

“all good?” rafe questions and you nod sleepily, he gives you a kiss before sliding down to kiss your growing baby bump. he puts his pants back up and cleans you up carefully with the tissue by the coffee table as you get yourself together. “when your water breaks, you call me alright? i want to be there. and if that guy tries anything i’ll stop it.” rafe brings up suddenly, tossing the dirty tissue somewhere, pulling you back onto his lap. he taps your cheek lightly to make sure you’re listening to him. the seriousness of the topic snaps you out of your after daze and you smile at him, “mhm, got it.” he grins back at you once you confirm, looking down to adore your future child. 

a few seconds of cuddling pass and you were getting sleepy, wanting nothing more than to sleep here with him on this couch. you can’t though and you know that. “i gotta go, baby, before they wake up. think you can handle yourself?” rafe asks, not wanting to leave either but he has to. you get up from his lap unwillingly and nod at him that you were gonna be okay. he gets up with a sigh and leads you by the waist to the door. you follow him out, wanting to spend every small second together. 

rafe turns around once he’s out the door and gives your hip a gentle squeeze. “you leave him and you come to me.” he whispers to you and tilts your chin up, his eyes telling you not to argue back. you do, of course.  “but—“ you aren’t even sure why you hesitated either. “no buts, the fuck you need to stay with him for?” your son, you think to yourself but don’t say because he’s right. you’ve been checked out of this marriage a long time ago and the only reason why you stayed was for your son. now that you have rafe, it was time. “m’kay.” you agree and he gives you a nod, kissing your cheek again. “get back inside, it's cold.” rafe ushers you inside and doesn’t leave until he makes sure you’re inside the house. 

you get back into bed, back to your husband as he snores, that night you dream about rafe playing with your son in his backyard while you hold your baby girl. rafe comes over to you with a smile and takes the baby in his arms, bouncing her while he coos at her. 

a new shiny ring with a pretty diamond on your hand. 

#coach!rafe #soccermom!reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe cameron fanfiction

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

Knight in Shining Armor

Yandere Monster Knight x Princess Reader

TW: delusional Yandere, Yandere behavior, kidnapping (mentioned), etc.

Ajax had always been princess (your name)’s confidant and source of solace… so why did he have her cornered on the bed of the inn? His large, muscular frame towered over her as his body trembled.

“I can’t do it… I can’t let you marry some other man.” Ajax whispered, his metal mask hiding his expression. There was no doubt in (your name)’s mind that he was shaken up about something. She had no clue why he’d be so upset about her getting married…

“Ajax, it was bound to happen eventually. It’s my duty as the kingdom’s princess-“ (your name) gasped when he closed the distance between them. Ajax’s large palms pulled her into a tight hug. The force of the hug caused them both to land on the small bed with a soft plop.

“Ajax-“ Ajax placed a finger on (your name)’s lips to pause her words.

“I won’t allow it… I won’t allow some other man to sully you.” Ajax’s deep voice made her body anxiously shake. “Not when I’ve wanted you for so many years…”

“Ajax-“ (your name)’s eyes widened when he finally removed the mask that’s concealed his face for over a decade. Ajax was half orc? (Your name) hadn’t a clue and she had been with him for so many years…

“I’m half monster, I thought you knew.” Ajax chuckled as his crimson eyes flitted over (Your name)’s frozen form. She was now a helpless lamb trapped in the maw of the wolf. “It’s why the other knights have been so cruel to me… why the maids avoid me like the plague and your father wanted to send me to war.”

(Your name)’s eyes can only take on his scarred and burned face in shock. Why was half the skin on his mouth missing and his tusks filed down? Who had hurt him so much that he didn’t confide in her, his best friend? What atrocities had he faced while she remained none the wiser?

(Your name) were shocked when he bent down to show you his teeth. His tusks were clumsily filed down to almost look like teeth but they were still rather sharp. “I did the tusk work, but they grow back rather quickly. The skin on my face is still healing from when there was an assassination attempt on you from your future husband’s concubines. Bastard was going to pour acid on your face.”

(Your name) reached up to trace the scars on his face while Ajax gave her a soft smile. “Ajax…”

“You’re the only one who’s never treated me like a monster… you’re so wonderful and kind.” Ajax moved his large, gloved hands to hold her hands. “That old king doesn’t deserve you. No one does!”

(Your name) blushed when Ajax brought her hands up to his lips to press tender kisses over each of her knuckles. Despite how badly Ajax wished to ravish her, he must keep his composure.

“You took this amount of damage for me?” (Your name)’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it made Ajax melt into a puddle.

“Of course I did. I will do anything for you.” Ajax moved himself to crouch on the corner of the bed, his head in a slight bow. Yet (your name) could feel the burning obsessed behind his crimson gaze. “I am in love with you. Madly, deeply, entirely devoted to you and only you.”

Ajax grasped (your name)’s bare foot and brought it up to his mouth to press tender kisses across the top of it. “I will love you until my skin rots off my body and I am nothing but bones. Yet even death could not separate me from you for I will be in every corner of your life like a permanent shadow of protection. I will protect you with my entire being and soul. I will haunt and dismember your enemies if you so much as give them a glance of distaste.”

(Your name) felt her blood run cold when Jax gave her a bright grin that reopened a few of the stitches across his cheeks. The blood dripped down his face and onto her foot, but he merely lapped it up with his longer tongue. “Now tell me… is what I feel not love? I may not be a handsome prince but I swear I’m your knight in shining armor.”

#female reader #yandere fic #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere knight #yandere male #yandere boy #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere imagines #yandere concept #yandere insert #yandere obsession #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere original character #original work #yandere fantasy #fantasy #knight x princess #princess reader #Yandere writer Momo #yandere monster #monster x reader #monster x human #Yandere orc #yandere short story #yandere horror

[admirxation]

Marriage is just a piece of paper ~ Leon Kennedy oneshot

father-in-law!leon kennedy x daughter-in-law!afab!reader

summary - Leon has had his eyes on you ever since his son introduced you to him, and after the honeymoon he decides he won’t let your union come in the way of what he wants.

cw - this fic contains pseudo-incest and heavy smut; actions in this fic are not condoned; I do not condone everything I write; this is just fiction where real people cannot get hurt, continue at your own discretion // 18+ heavy smut (mdni), description of disappointing sex with partner, pseudo-incest, injury, slight hurt/comfort, touching, tit play, unprotected sex (p in v), back scratching, dirty talk, and coming inside. (word count: 2.4k)

Honeymoon. A period of harmony following marriage. The word is known and experienced by many, whether it is a short getaway, a dream vacation, everyone has the notion that the honeymoon entails a dream like state of beauty. You, like many others, dreamt of sharing a honeymoon with a lover for so long, expecting it to be one of the best moment of your life, next to the actual marriage ceremony. After all, it’s in the name with the connotations it provides. Honey implies sweetness, and the moon casts an imagery of beauty and romance.

But expectations tend not to be fulfilled.

You and your partner had everything planned: going to your dream destination, it was a smooth journey, didn’t forget anything, surrounded by wonderful people, culture, many things to do and plenty of time to complete them and rest… But those weeks were the worst weeks of your whole relationship.

The first night was okay, nothing exciting. You got to your place and had some spontaneous sex, but it didn’t quite hit the spot, you felt like you had to perform every moan, every whine, and every movement — but you just ignored that, thinking you were just tired from all the travelling. Then, you tried a second time, you felt zoned out and faked another orgasm, it wasn’t one of your proudest moments. The third time, you two just stopped in the middle of everything because neither of you “felt it”, cleaning yourselves up and rolling over to go to sleep. You two were newly weds, but it felt like being trapped in a loveless marriage of 30 years.

The sex just stopped altogether on that journey. You did most things separately, him going on retreats and you staying at the beach; the only times you were together was just before bed watching whatever show the hotel allowed on and dinner time. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, but communication was a terrifying thing.

You two came back and were greeted with your house needing to have some renervations to be completed; you were lucky your partners father, Mr. Kennedy opened his home to you with no questions asked.

Mr. Kennedy was always lovely to you. You were terrified of meeting your partners father, but the moment you saw him all those fears melted away; he accepted you, supported and never made you feel unwelcome, he would even allow you to call him by his first name but you always felt uneasy and disrespectful.

You were now in a sea of thoughts about the honeymoon, analysing every moment and every bit of shared speech — but there was little speech to be focused on. Standing in the kitchen in a silky night dress that came to the midway of your thighs, distracting yourself with the coldest glass of water, the wet surrounding the glassy outlayer dampening your fingers as you stared out into the garden, surrounded by nothing but darkness and street lamps.

You were a wife. It was difficult to let that settle in, especially when the happiness of that wasn’t even short lived, it was non existent. It seemed like god was playing a cruel joke on you, punishing you for maybe picking the wrong person, or not trying hard enough. Whatever it was, you wanted it to stop.

As you kicked your head back to finish the last drops, feeling the cold wave pass down your throat you turned around to put the glass away, startled at your sight of Mr. Kennedy standing in the doorway.

Smash.

The sound of glass hitting the tiled floor filled the room, leaving you to hurriedly trying to pick everything up in a panic, Mr. Kennedy coming to your aid.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to, you know I wouldn’t do this on purp… Ahh!” you felt a piece of sharp glass slide against your gentle and soft skin of your index finger, automatically shoving the tip of your finger into your mouth, feeling the metallic thick taste of blood coat your tastebuds.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay dear, go sit down I’ll clean this up,” you hesitated at first just followed suit with sitting at the dinning room table just a few steps away from him; guilt eating at you as you heard the clatter of glass as he swept it all up.

The moment all the glass was swept away and collected in the bin, he came over to you with those kind eyes, motioning with his hands to come take a look at your finger.

“Ooo, seems like a nasty cut,” he said with sympathy, reaching out to a box in the middle of the table and grabbing a band aid, before gently wrapping it around your finger, gently shushing you as you winced in pain.

“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” you smiled.

“You know it’s okay to call me Leon sweetheart,” you quickly apologised and rephrased your previous statement with the replacement of his last to his first name, “Why are you here, shouldn’t you be asleep, it’s quite late.”

“I could say the same thing to you… Leon.”

“Stop avoiding the question. What’s wrong? My son hasn’t hurt you has he?” a streak of protectiveness was shown.

“No. No. He’s been wonderful. Just… Just kinda getting used to the whole… being a wife thing,” the tone of your voice dropped in the last few words, you still couldn’t comprehend that you were a wife, especially with the lack of opportunity to feel like one.

“Trouble in paradise? You shouldn’t be having those thoughts, it’s too early for that.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“The honeymoon wasn’t exactly a honeymoon. We barely spent time together.” you felt him look at you differently, just then, feeling like his gaze was never going to sway and feeling like it was glued to your form, “anyways… thank you for helping me, I best get some sleep.”

As you were walking to your room, you were stopped with a rough hand grab your wrist. You never experienced this before with him. He never touched you like this; the only times he touched you was to hug you.

“Why don’t you stay… I could keep you company… Besides I can’t sleep anyways, I’m sure my son wouldn’t appreciate being awoken to you coming back to bed,” there was a small moment of feeling alarmed, just then, but that was easily and quickly diluted to how much trust you had in him.

You sat back down in your seat, feeling his gaze get stronger as the thin strap of your nightdress elegantly fell to the side; you didn’t think much of it and went to put it back in place, but Leon bet you to it. He leaned in and let his fingers tuck onto the band, placing it back on your shoulder and letting it linger there for a few moments before gliding down the soft skin of your arm — all you could do was blush at how close he was, and how touchy he was starting to become.

You should have turned him down right then; but you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t like him taking the freedom to get closer to you. All you could do was let out a soft giggle to ease the tension of unspoken words and exchanging glances between you two.

“I don’t know why he didn’t spend that much time with you. I wouldn’t leave your side,” your blush was getting intense, feeling how warm your face was and how your body was beginning to tremble with slight tremors due to his gaze.

“Thank you… I appreciate that… But I guess that’s what I have to get used to… besides married couples do tend to spent more time apart… or so I’ve heard.”

“Yes many do,” he took the invitation to have his hand place on your exposed thigh, roaming it up and down and slightly lifting your silky dress, so close it exposed your lack of underwear; Leon looked at your cunt with hunger as he felt his cock grow with looks and fantasies building from just imagining to fill that pretty pussy of yours, to give you everything he wanted to over the years. You sat there for a moment, wanting him to just take you, to smash your body against the table and feel him fuck you hard — but you were a wife.

You slowly pulled down the hem of your dress, looking away and not wanting to greet that blue eyed gaze that was already undressing you with suggesting staring.

“You know, the couples that do stray away from one another do it for a reason,” his hand ventured further and you could feel his fingers just hoovering around your pulsating heat, “sometimes that distance helps people find the one they need. It starts with just one night, then another, and then they find the right person.”

He wanted you. God he fucking needed to feel you, to hold you, to hear you, he wanted that for years and now he was taking the chance.

“… I’m not a bad person… This is wrong,” morality and sexual wanting was fighting in your brain, you needed a sweet release but knew betraying your husband was despicable, how would you feel if he laid with another ?

“You can’t deny that you want me… Is it so bad to indulge in a natural instinct, after all marriage for love is a new conception… The human body knows what it wants,” his voice was thick and smooth like honey, it enticed you with temptation running its course through each and every word and action Leon gave to you.

“And we live in a world where the conception is practiced. I married your son… I made vows that man, I signed the papers,” you tried to argue.

“Marriage is just a piece of paper, sweetheart… And right now, you can’t deny we both want to rip that paper up as much as I want to rip that dress from off of you,” he was leaning even closer.

“Will you… Will you keep it a secret?” if you were going to indulge in immorality you needed to cover your tracks.

“I’ll keep it a secret. I won’t tell anything you don’t say first. Now let me see if my fantasies come close to reality.”

Just then you felt a heat pool in every corner inside your body, feeling that urge and letting it make you lunge right into his arms, and letting him kiss you has hard as he wanted, feeling your lips collide with each interlock as your tongues glided against one another’s as he roamed his hands along your body as if he was your actual husband. You quietly moaned as his grabbed the fat of your ass, leaving an imprint of his hand the harder he squeezed it.

“Mmm,” you moaned continuously within that deepening kiss that made your core get hotter and needier, you felt Leon grow against you as he finally pulled the straps of your dress and tugged the material harshly, leaving the straps to snap off, and leaving you fully exposed under his scrutiny and the cold bite of the air surrounding you both.

“Fuck. You look even better than I imagined,” he cooed in your ear as he let his large and calloused hand grab your prominent breast, making you yelp at his touch, having him grab harder and with purpose the more he kissed you, and left bites on your lower lip.

“Oh god,” you groaned as you tossed your head back the moment he let his thumb and index finger trap your pebbled nipple and pinch it, rolling the bud along his fingers as he left you panting. “L-Leon,” you let out a whispered hush, just before he pushed his lower half into you and made you collapse on the table, leaving you to sit and wait for his next move.

You watched as he stripped himself and exposed his strong phsique, getting you even wetter as he frayed his hands by his waist and pulled down his pants, exposing his large and erect member that was tinted with a blush of red and wet with precum, waiting to come inside your entrance. You bit your lip as he started to stroke along the shaft, pumping himself before meeting the tip of his cock in your wet folds; you whimpered with just his slight touch, you wanted needed him. You felt yourself grow more impatient the more he slid along the folds that left a slick on his cock, leaving him to play at smirk at the corner of his lips to himself.

He finally had you.

“Do you want me?” he whispered in your ear.

“Of course I do.”

“You would have made a great wife for me,” he uttered as he slowly pressed his length inside you, releasing a laboured and long breath as he felt your wet walls surround him, feeling you clasp around him and beg to make you his. “Fuck, you feel amazing,” he hissed.

You let your body go and feel every single thrust Leon pumped into you, hearing his gutteral groans and dirty whispers in your ear everytime he pushed his large, throbbing cock inside and hit that perfect spot just right. You press your mouth against his shoulder, trying so hard not to let out your moans and wake your real husband up.

“God, all I want is to hear that pretty mouth scream my name,” he uttered.

“He’s g-gone tomorrow.”

He raised an eyebrow out of interest: “Oh, I thought this was a one time thing,” he slowly released as he continued to thrust himself in your aching pussy, his fingers pressed into your hips as he forced himself inside.

“I need you so much more.”

You saw a glimmer cross his blue eyes, a darkening clouding his vision just before he smashed his lips against yours, groaning into your mouth as he rocks his hips back and forth, picking up the pace to fuck that pretty pussy of yours.

He thumbs your puffy clit as he continues to fuck and drill into your cunt, jabbing that sweet spot over and over again.

“I want you to cum on me, I want to see your face as you do it,” he moans as he continues to maintain the pace with bucking his hips forward and circling your sensitive bud, making your breathing depending and elongating every time he messes with you.

You reach your peak with his masterful movements, letting out pants as you cover his cock with your release; shuddering, you not long after feel his nails dig into your back, lightly scratching and making you wince, as he releases streams of hot cum inside you, making your eyes roll back to your head as you feel him pump his seed further into you and make you his.

“You’re mine now, sweetheart.”

a/n: when i posted this on my wips post (in pinned post) i saw excitement to the father in law leon so i just had to post it. i will say ik it’s a little rushed but i wanted to get it out a bit quicker, i might also write some more father in law stuff, we’ll see. i hope you lot like this and all engagement is appreciated *kiss kiss*

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x you #divider by cafekitsune #smut #resident evil #fanfiction #leon s kennedy x reader

[golden1u5t]

omg could you write a rose with prompts 34 and 58 with spencer reid? with spencer being the one patched up while he and the reader are undercover. thank you!

ꨄ pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

ꨄ genre: smut. okay really just a heavy make out ses since they’re working yk

ꨄ prompt: rose 34 “do i make you nervous?” and rose 58 “Tension: one muse is patching up the other's injuries which leads to intense eye contact, lingering touches and them finally crashing their lips against each other's.”

ꨄ summary: spencer had gotten hurt on a case and it’s up to you to patch him up, which would be no problem if the tension between you wasn’t so thick.

ꨄ a/n: okay so i was picturing maybe reader who is like a ex doctor or has a medical degree and post prison reid but of course, you don’t have picture that.

“you’re really stupid, you know that?” you state as you grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide. spencer let out a chuckle that quickly turned into a low groan when you lifted his shirt and poured a good amount of the peroxide on his stab wound. his head tips back against the counter and you can't help but look up at him, your eyes lingering on the bulge of his adam's apple for far too long.

spencer looked back down just in time to catch you staring at him. you quickly looked away and grabbed a gauze out of your bag, but your hands were shaking with nerves and caused you to drop the package before you could get it open.

he watched as you bent down and grabbed the package, you tore it open and lifted his shirt again. the room you were in was so quiet you could hear each other’s breathing, or maybe that was because of how close you were. you didn’t want to look up because you knew he was already staring at you and that would just make you even more nervous than you already were.

you made quick work of finishing patching him up and cleaning up your mess. after you were done you turned around to the sink to wash your hands. spencer could tell you were washing your hands longer than needed so you didn’t have to face him. so he slid off the counter and walked up behind you, caging you in by placing his hands on either side of you.

“do i make you nervous?” he asked, watching as you tensed. you turned off the faucet before spinning around so you were face to face, you could feel his breath fanning over your face with how close he was.

“i’m not- why would i be nervous?” spencer’s gaze dropped down to your lips for a quick moment before he met your eyes again. you couldn’t help but mirror him and do the same, except your gaze lingered on his lips far longer than he did.

“your body language is telling me you’re nervous.”

“yeah? what else is it telling you?” you met his eyes again as your tongue darted out to wet your dry lips. you weren’t sure where the sudden wave of confidence came from but you could feel it slipping away with each passing second you stood there under his gaze.

“well, you keep looking at my lips and subconsciously leaning towards me. that tells me you want me, want to kiss me.” a low chuckle left his lips as he stared at you, he shook his head before taking a step back. you reached out and wrapped your hand around his wrist to stop him from walking away.

“would you do it if i asked? to kiss me, i mean.” you asked, letting go of him when you got his attention again. spencer paused for a moment, thinking of all the things he could say in response to you. kissing you is something he’s thought about many times before, hell, he's thought about doing a lot more than kissing if he was being honest.

“is that your way of asking me to kiss you?” he took a step closer to you, already ready to kiss you as soon as you said the word. there was a moment of silence between you, you both just looking into each other's eyes waiting for you to say that one word that could change everything for you.

it took you a moment to find the courage but when you did you confirmed that it was your way of asking him to kiss you. as soon as you got the words out of your mouth spencer was cupping your face and bringing his lips to yours. your arms went around his neck as you leaned into him more.

spencer’s hands fell from your face to gripping your thighs, he effortlessly hoisted you up and sat you on the counter. spencer groaned into your mouth when you ran your fingers through his hair and gave it a gentle tug. your skin felt like it was on fire because of the way his hands felt roaming underneath your shirt, the way he kissed you like his life depended on it, and the ache between your legs that was growing stronger with each passing second he kissed you.

you were sure that if he kissed you like that for the rest of your lives you would be the happiest woman alive. unfortunately, spencer had to pull away because of the lack of air but that gave you the chance to bury your head in the crook of his neck and discover new places with your lips. while you kissed and nipped at his skin he reached down and started to unbutton your jeans.

being able to go all the way with him would have been a dream come true for you but unfortunately you were still on the job and that means your moment was interrupted by emily coming into the room you were in to let you know what they’ve recently discovered.

“just to let you know-” she stopped in her tracks when she looked up to see you and spencer jumping away from each other. her eyes jumped between you two, taking in your unbuttoned jeans and spencers disheveled hair. you cleared your throat as you buttoned your jeans back up, your heart was racing so fast you could hear it in your ears.

emily was your unit chief, yes, but she was your friend before any of that so instead of making a big deal she excused herself to give you both some time to straighten back up before joining the others.

you and spencer couldn’t bring yourselves to say anything after that, the only noise that filled the room was the sound of your heavy breathing and the laugh you shared as the realization of what happened donned on you. before you made it to the common area where everyone else was, spencer pulled you behind a wall to give you one last kiss.

it made you feel like a teenager sneaking around with the boy your parents told you to stay away from but you would do it a million times over if that meant you could experience kissing him for the first time all over again.

#myra’s 2k followers celebration #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #fem!reader #dom spencer reid #softdom spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader smut

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

991 i hav emerjenci

Wow, what an absolute dumpster fire, right? *gestures broadly* ↓Below the cut↓ are some specific things as a reader/mutual/friend/etc you can do that will make things a little better.

You come across someone posting/using someone else's work without express permission to do so:

INFORM THE ORIGINAL CREATOR/POSTER (OP) DIRECTLY ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Let OP know BEFORE you attempt to engage with the person on their behalf. ✧ OP will probably want to lay eyes on the situation, and, if the person stealing their work is tipped off, they might proactively block OP and/or remove posts before they can be verified as stolen. ✧ Do not harass the person who stole the work. It might be coming from a place of wanting to stick up for OP, but it ultimately doesn't help the situation.

OP is experiencing a hate brigade, nasty anons, or trolling over their fic:

PRIORITIZE ACTIONS AND BEHAVIORS THAT KEEP THE FOCUS ON SUPPORT FOR OP ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Reblog the fic in question with a glowing recommendation or just leave a comment under it expressing your appreciation for it. Both actions will boost the work in question as well as show direct support for OP. ✧ Reach out privately through DMs if you have that sort of relationship, or send a supportive message through asks. Keep it simple and short as they are probably overwhelmed with the shitstorm at certain points. ✧ Speaking up with a supportive comment or post for OP isn't necessarily a bad thing, but arguing back and forth with the trolls/hate brigade/etc. - even if you are doing it with intention to support OP - only fuels the fire, and some of them are doing it for the attention anyway.

OP seems down / isn't motivated to write / is expressing considerations of leaving fic writing altogether because of the current climate on this hellsite:

GIVE THEM THE SPACE OR TIME THEY NEED, BUT ALSO LET THEM KNOW THAT THEY ARE VALUED ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ For the love of god please don't bombard them with asks about when xyz is going to be posted. This is a hobby for them, and they have jobs, families, and other life responsibilities that come first. Many would love nothing more than to sit and write all day, but that just isn't the reality for 99% of fic writers. ✧ Show their older works love, too. Many fic writers take the time to curate an organized masterlist of their works, and many have been writing for a while. There is a trove of wonderful content that can be read or re-read while you patiently wait for your fave to update. ✧ If you're waiting for an update on a specific fic, go back through the older chapters/updates and leave a comment saying you love it so much that you're coming back to visit older chapters while you wait to see what happens next in the story. I guarantee it will give them a boost of motivation for that story in particular. ✧ REBLOG AND COMMENT. Yes, do both of those things. I want you open up a fic you love and scroll down to the bottom where you can see likes, comments, and reblogs. I want you to look at the disparity between likes and comments/reblogs. Clicking a heart button is pretty much zero effort, and it comes across as such to many writers. It's not how Tumblr operates. This is a REBLOG site. That is how things make their way around. That is how posts get engagement. That is how other people can discover the fic writers you enjoy. Look, I even made a meme to show you what it feels like when after hours and hours of writing and editing you finally post a fic and then somebody only hearts it:

Even a simple "I loved this so much and can't wait to read more!" does wonders. A quick reblog that mentions your favorite part in the story is like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow for writers.

You come across people trashing a writer you like:

CONSIDER IF IT'S HELPFUL OR NOT TO ADDRESS IT ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ People are allowed to have negative/differing opinions about things. If they are expressing their dislike, even in a nasty way, they are allowed to do so. ✧ If it is a genuinely harmful/disparaging conversation, look to see what sort of traction the conversation has. Sometimes it's better to just let something die down before it can even take off. Examples of genuinely harmful/disparaging conversation include but aren't limited to: accusing OP of something egregious without any evidence to support it, framing rumors/gossip they've seen about OP as factual, deeming them criminally or morally corrupt based off a personal opinion they have of OP/their works. ✧ Remember that while serious concerns (like the above point) might be good to share with OP, not every instance of negativity or hate needs to be brought to their attention. If it's just some random jerk on a different platform talking about how much OP's writing is amateur hour, you should probably just leave it be. OP is a person at the end of the day, and sometimes things can be more hurtful than helpful for them to see.

OP isn't acting / responding in a way that you like:

REMIND YOURSELF THAT THEY ARE JUST ANOTHER PERSON IN THE FANDOM AND ARE NOT AN INFLUENCER ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ OP isn't in this fandom to be put on a pedestal (of course there are always exceptions, but I'm not talking about those people) and treated like an influencer. ✧ OP creates works in the fandom because that is how they choose to engage with the fandom. It is one of many ways that people can come together in a community and celebrate an actor/movie/series/etc. ✧ OP is not a content farm. They are writing and sharing because they genuinely enjoy it. They are not being compensated. They are not being endorsed by anybody or any company. They are a normal person trying to take part in a fandom they enjoy. ✧ OP is not obligated to address or comment on a situation, an interaction, discourse, etc. They are not an influencer and aren't equivalent to the parasocial relationships that influencers (aka people who make a living off the internet) have with their followers. OP is not required to "use their platform" for something. It's not a platform. It is OP's personal account where they engage and post in fandom. That is why it exists. OP is not some mega entity that has to speak on something because you demand or expect it.

OP blocked me:

THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Listen, I know it can be hurtful/confusing if you are blocked, especially if it is a writer you really like. I guarantee you that it was not done out of spite and for no reason. ✧ Take a look at the circles you run in, the posts you like, the sort of comments you leave, etc. Many writers are quick to block these days because the climate of this hellsite is very charged and exhausting. If OP sees your username cropping up again and again in fandom drama or you liked a discourse post with a shitty take or your chummy mutual is going off the rails with some bullshit, you might just get caught up in the Block Party. ✧ Don't go through another channel/account to ask why you've been blocked. No, you aren't entitled to a reason. OP is allowed to protect their mental health and peace, and they don't owe anyone an explanation of why and how they choose to curate their experience on this hellsite. ✧ If you believe you were blocked by mistake (which, again, is very unlikely), just take the L, homie. I know that's not what you want to hear, but that's just how it is.

If you took the time to read this, share it, or just in general intend to apply it to your interactions, ✨thank you✨!

Here is a Pedro gif tax for your time and attention. 💜

#a word from puddles #fandom things #fandom community #pedro pascal fandom

[bratfiction]

DILF!simon is rotting my brain rn and i need more<3

consider this a follow-up to this post.

18+ CONTENT, MDNI -> themes & warnings: f!reader, heavier / plus sized!reader, mentions of weight gain, pregnancy + parenthood, simon is a handsy pervert (out of love) in every scenario, some sneaky bathroom sex.

many grueling months fly by and as expected, a baby is born. and yes— as cliché as it may sound, everyone and their literal mothers were right when they said all the discomfort and fussing would be worth it the second you see your pudgy, bundle of joy. a baby girl with wispy blonde hair and a scowl that could rival her father’s any day. she’s perfect. the spitting image of all the best parts of you and simon combined and oh, you’re crying again just thinking of it.

your shared world becomes a whirlwind of bottles and pacifiers and diapers, and neither of you would trade it for anything ever. not even simon who’s sure that your beautiful but screaming baby is definitely helping him go grey quicker as more time passes. until she’s eight months and mostly babbling instead of screeching— has rolls of fat on her arms and legs leading up to her tiny hands and feet, shiny eyes, and cheeks that make your hearts melt into puddles. again, she’s perfect. your whole family agrees, too.

as simon says, your whole entire fuckin’ family— he wasn’t too happy when they shared they’d be visiting. mostly because you already have too much to worry about and now being a pretty, little host is thrown into the mix. you don’t seem to mind much as you walk around the get together with the baby on your hip, checking on everyone to see if they’ve helped themselves to enough food while your baby giggles along. his two sweet girls.

“thought i’d never catch up t’you,” he gruffs behind you.

you hear the sound of him placing his can of beer down on the kitchen counter and before you can move on your feet to grab another out of fridge for him, he stops you.

“enough,” it’s not harsh. it’s breathy and amused— “just relax for a second, mumma. everyone’s fine, babygirl’s with your mum. breathe.”

breathe. maybe you forgot how to do that today.

at that, you melt against simon. you rest your dewy forehead against the stone wall of his chest and he’s quick to pat your head, to trail a hand down your back in a soothing caress. he doesn’t mean to reach the hem of your sundress. just happens naturally, and so does the way he grabs up your thighs that have gotten deliciously plump under the stresses of motherhood. filled you out in all the right places that he already loved so much. he could haul you up and have you right there— “simon, we can’t.”

“think we can do whatever we want in our house, dollie.”

you hate when he’s right, and you hate how you let him yank you into the bathroom down the hall of all places. the click of the lock makes whatever anxiety hanging around in your chest finally dissipate. you’re hoisted up onto the sink before you can bat your lashes at simon, and the next second you’re wrapped up in a nasty kiss he places on your lips. it’s nearly all tongue as you whimper into his mouth, tugging at his shirt while his own hands make quick work of your dress.

the material becomes bunched up around your squeezable waist, exposing your comfy panties to simon and leaving you half bare— “we’ve gotten too used to quickies,” you cant help but whine the words out.

you miss the days of him laying you down and making you cum until you just can’t take it anymore, and vice versa.

“i know, i know,” he attempts to soothe you through sweet, rough kisses. “gonna take good care of you soon, promise.”

you nod along to his words. only to softly gasp when he finally pulls your undies to the side.

simon always takes a second to play with your pretty cunt, rubbing a thumb through your messy folds and circling your clit how you like it. loves to watch your thighs lock up and hear you squeal his name like you used to when you first started dating— some things will never change no matter how settled down you two are. his cock aches in his jeans as you pussy drools around nothing. you’re about to open your mouth, about to tell him you two need to hurry.

but he’s already unbuckling his belt, eager to make you forget that there’s other people in the house aside from you two for even a few minutes.

#⌨️.kit's writing #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut

[bunny584]

Thinking about our boys this fine evening,,

What would their reactions be if you bought them a present?

TURNING TABLES

A/N: My love, I’ve been sitting on this ask for MONTHS. Just chomping at the bit to do it justice. I hope it’s everything you wanted. Enjoy this fluffy fluffy drabble with a lil sprinkle of angst 💕

C/W: Nada, the boys just being adorable. Established relationship. I hope this gives y’all as many delulus as it did me.

GETO

“You’re never going to guess what I got you for your birthday, dimples!” 

Your pretty finger digs into the crater in his left cheek that you’re so fond of. 

Suguru swallows a grin. 

Two things. 

One, you’re the only human in this lifetime and the next, who could call him that and wake up the next morning. 

Two, he knows exactly what you got him. 

Because you’re oblivious in a way that made him fall for you in the first place. 

To you, birthdays are sacred. And must be treated like National holidays. All week you’ve been padding around the apartment, glee in your footsteps. 

You’ve been staring at him. A whole galaxy in your eyes. Precious little giggles escape you at every turn. Because there’s a secret only you are privy to. 

Or so you think. 

Suguru has heard you badgering someone over the phone. 

“No no, it can’t be purple. His favorite color isn’t purple. It’s indigo. The shade between royal blue and violet. Blue. Indigo. Violet. ROY-G-BIV. Rainbows. Indigo.”

You almost flung your laptop off the balcony   two mornings ago. 

Instead of just closing the browser displaying shipment confirmation for the silver analogue watch with the indigo face and chrome bezel. You tossed the entire laptop away and Suguru had to lunge to catch it from shattering.

You are clumsy. 

And terrible at surprises. 

And he adores you. 

More than he knew possible. 

Suguru shrugs out of his grey peacoat. Dinner was phenomenal, yes. But now he needs you on his tongue for dessert. 

He watches you step out of your heels, somewhat upset you didn’t let him take them off for you. 

“On the couch and close your eyes!!” You squeal before disappearing into your bedroom. 

“Yes ma’am.” Low chuckle spilling from his lips. 

You’ll be the one following orders in a second. 

Suguru does as he is instructed. Back against the plush couch. Legs spread a little further than usual. 

You’ve had him stiff as a board the whole night. Doting over him. Petting his thigh. Pretty lips full of quick kisses and “Happy Birthday baby” and “I love you.” He almost took you at the dinner table. 

But he’s a gentleman. 

At least, before you get behind closed doors. 

“Are you ready for me, birthday boy?” You call out. And your voice alone strips him of manners. 

“I’m ready to be inside you, gorgeous.” Suguru palms the length of his shaft. 

“Suguru!!! Behave.”

In a matter of seconds, your full body weight lands on his lap. You straddle him and his hands fly to your rounded hips. 

You are wearing significantly less clothes than you were 2 minutes ago. 

Suguru eyes flare open. The zipper on his suit pants nearly breaks. 

“Ohhh, my pretty girl.” 

His eyes violate every inch of your negligée. Lacy. Delicate. Riding the gentle dips and curves of your beautiful frame. Saliva pools in his mouth. You have no idea what he’s going—

“Eyes closed!” Your tiny palm can barely span his face. 

“Alright, alright.” Suguru hikes you further onto his hips. His rod thundering against his fabric. 

“Before you start, baby. Reach into my jacket pocket for me?” 

“What?” Suguru always loved how pretty you sound when you’re shocked. 

“Do it.” 

Your fingers scramble to follow his order. Always so compliant. His name, tangled with an airy little gasp escapes next. 

“Suguru Geto, what is this?!” 

Eyes still closed, Suguru flashes a mischievous grin. You’re so pretty when you’re stern with him. You punish (reward) him with a quick slap on his chest. 

Suguru pulls his lids open. He finds you holding 2 nearly identical boxes. A bigger one in the right, a demure one in the left. 

You’re flushed up to your ears and Suguru hasn’t ever seen a woman so beautiful. 

“What is this?” You probe again, eyes glossed over. 

Suguru gently works the smaller box out of your hand. 

“A present,” he plants a chaste kiss on your pouty little lips. 

“But it’s your birthday. And I wanted to surprise you. I saw this—“

“—silver analog watch with an indigo face and chrome bezel, I know baby.” Suguru’s lips find your flushed, warm cheeks. 

“Suguru…”

“So I got one for you too.” He opens the smaller box, just as you reveal his surprise. 

Yours is daintier. Scaled down to your small wrist. Both of your initials inscribed at the base of your watch. 

“Baby.”

Mist coats your eyes the way it does. The way your love coats him. In all places. All at once. Gentle. Refreshing.

A blessing. 

“You are the love of my life. In this lifetime and the next. Thank you for the birthday gift, sweet girl.”

                                 ——

GOJO

“Satoru, Jesus Chri—are you kidding me right now?” 

“What’s the matter, baby?” 

Your boyfriend was born with a silver spoon and a silver tongue. 

An expert at rolling, whipping and twisting words until they’re saltwater taffy. Sweet on the mouth. Sticky in reality. And at its worst, kryptonite to the person consuming them. 

As if he didn’t just steal the pink satin bow, from your head. And your hair falls in a slow cascade around your face. 

Satoru slides into the seat across the dinner table. Candlelight kissing his high cheekbones. Tonight makes it three years from the day he asked you to be his. 

Not that it matters, really. Because time crumbles to stardust around him. 

Every minute, every second with Satoru feels like the first. Your heart can’t tell the difference, and you’ve stopped trying to. 

A mischievous grin reaches his 10-carat diamond eyes. Razor sharp, and a reminder to everyone within a 1 mile radius that he’s not of this world. 

“You’re gorgeous.” Satoru toys with your hair tie. Deftly knotting it into a bow on his wrist — an egregious accessory next to his cuff links. 

“Save the pillow talk, Satoru!”

 “What?” He retorts, slinging his elbow over the back of his chair. Dangling his newest prized possession in your face. 

“Is it so bad that your boyfriend wants to feel close to you? You won’t let me sit next to you — I’m desperate.” 

You feign a gasp and lean over. Hushed because what you’re about to say is sacrilegious. 

“The Strongest Sorcerer in the modern era won’t survive sitting across from his girlfriend instead of next to her? Don’t let the bad guys hear that.” 

Bellowing laughter erupts. His base low and clear as an alpine lake. Your soprano a feather light harmony. 

Unbridled joy that is so unique to your relationship echoes throughout the dining room. Waiters and waitresses send fond smiles your way because the restaurant is dedicated to your celebration.

Satoru’s lips find the back of your hand. Embers from the candle catch the golden flecks of sunset in his Mediterranean Sea. Eyes with still waters, tonight.

He’s beautiful, your boy.

“Happy anniversary, princess.” 

“Happy anniversary, my love. I have something for you.”

 You glide your hand out of his grasp before he locks it in. Eyebrows already crawling to the center of his face. 

“I told you not to get—“

“Hush!” 

Always one to give, never one to receive, Satoru narrows his gaze. You know that look — he’s planning on tripling his retaliation gift. 

Satoru reluctantly takes the box out of your hands, while you watch on bated breath. 

His full lips hang open. Cotton candy dusting the tip of his nose, blooming to his ears. He’s never like this. Taken aback. Full of surprise.

Your full name tumbles out of his mouth. Almost foreign to your ears, but indulgent when coated in his rich, loving tone. 

Satoru pulls the leather bracelet out of the box. An infinity symbol woven in the center with your initials and his initials flanking either side. 

Before you get a chance to breathe again you’re standing in his arms. In the middle of the empty room. Face nearly eclipsed by his large hands.

“Baby,” Is all that escapes him before he crashes his lips onto yours. 

His tongue immediately begs for entry. Faint taste of mint chocolate ghosting your taste buds. 

It’s comforting. It’s dizzying. It’s Satoru.  

“L-let me explain the gift.” Panting out of his embrace. A light sheen already coating his eyes. He’s statuesque except for his thumbs that strum the apples of your cheeks. 

“Of course.”

“You’ll probably live forever, fighting demons and such—“

“Curses, baby. The demons are just personal.” He laughs. 

Satoru flashes another smile, but this one is blue. Melancholy in a way that tugs on your heart strings. You draw him in for a quick kiss. 

A mere bandaid on a lifetime of third degree burns.

“I know I’m not invincible like you and your friends. And you spend an inordinate amount of time dealing with the fact that I’m a Normie.” 

Satoru’s nose crinkles. “It’s not a crime to not see curses.” 

“I rather you not see them. I don’t want you subjected to that.” Grit in his voice and his eyes glaze over. You know that Satoru is watching gruesome memories on his mind’s big screen. 

“I know, handsome.”Your hand cups his face and he subconsciously unravels in it.  All but purring into your warmth. 

“But that doesn’t change the fact that the world needs you for far greater things than it needs me.” 

“Do not talk like—“

Your finger presses against his lips. Your boyfriend has a real habit of cutting you off and at this rate you two will never get to enjoy your dinner. 

A small chuckle escapes him. He’s sorry. And you continue.

“I got you that bracelet…because..” Suddenly shy under his undivided attention, you drop your gaze. Thumbing his new gift instead. 

You pause. He pauses. Everything around you halts.

Then it all tumbles out at once. 

“You’re it for me, Satoru. The One. Forever and always. In every life we’re reborn in, even if I can’t stick around as long as you can in this one.” 

Cheeks incinerated by your confession, you muster the courage to lock eyes with him once more. Nearly flat lined at what you see.

A crystal tear sliding down one side of his face. All of his sharp lines and angles, like melted butter. Mouth ajar. Moused. Imperfect. Like his heart is splayed open on his chest for the world to see. 

“Satoru…?”

Hearing his name jumpstarts his engine. Satoru lifts you into his arms and strides toward the exit in milliseconds. 

You toss your head back. Full of breathy giggles because this is the man you know and love. The modus operandi that made you fall so deeply for him in the first place. 

“Dinner! Baby our dinner!” You squeal a little too late, given that he’s 4 more long strides away from the door. 

“It’s taken care of. I’ll have them send it to the house.” Eyes straight ahead. A man on a special grade mission.

The two of you come to an abrupt stop just shy of the front door. Satoru rakes his glassy eyes over your flushed face.

“I would die for you. You know that, right?” His voice cracks. Actively staving off the flood threatening the rim of his eyes. 

“You and me…you know that I…I lo—, I’ve…you’re the only…fuck.” 

Satoru draws in a frustrated sigh. Tossing his head to the side. Hopeful that looking at anything else in the room would make this easier.

 “You know why I cant.. I can’t say it baby I—“

“I know, Satoru. I know.” 

‘Because love is the most twisted curse of all.’

And he believes that the moment it falls off his tongue, you’ll be taken from him. 

Your lover’s presence is grandiose. Demanding. Loud. Noticed from miles away. Earth shifted on its axis when he was born. 

A loan from Heaven’s stash. He’s a gift to mankind and your personal Moon.

But his love is the opposite.

Found only in quiet moments. Moments when his shield, breast plate and sword clamor against the hardwood floor after saving lives time and time again. 

When you wake up to him staring at you, caressing your cheeks. A gentle wake up call because he needs a kiss. A temporary reprieve from his nightmares. The demons that haunt him day in and day out.

When he comes home early from every single mission. Just to get back to where his heart is. 

His love is woven into your satin pillow cases, that hold his triumphs with students, his frustration from work, his regrets. 

His love is painted on walls of your apartment. The walls that could barely contain his grief. Wails loud enough to shift earth’s tectonic plates. That heard him scream in your arms. For months. All because he lost his first love at his own hands. 

His love glows under the moonlight. When he is buried deep inside you. Rambling about giving you a son first, then a daughter. Because he has to teach his boy to be strong. Strong enough to keep up with him. Strong enough to watch the world burn for his sister if it has to. 

Satoru Gojo is not soft, but he loves you softly. 

Another tear glides down his porcelain skin. Somewhat ashamed that he can’t swipe it way with his hands full of you, he flashes a lopsided smile. It makes his otherwise ethereal coalescence of features so boyish. Tangible. 

Human. 

Satoru presses a salty kiss against your lips. And it’s the sweetest he’s ever tasted. Pulling away briefly, to affirm you in a way that only he can.

“Infinity, baby?”

“Infinity, baby.”

#jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk satoru #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk angst #jjk gojo #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #geto suguru x reader #geto fluff #suguru geto #gojou satoru x reader #satoru #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk x y/n #jjk smut #fluff #jjk imagines

[dalliancekay]

"You can stay at my place, if you like."

Remember this?

I was wondering today, why do (some) people still think that Aziraphale said this (and many other things he does/says) meaning that he doesn't want to stay at Crowley's place because he's still beholden to Heaven, it would be wrong etc etc.

Just as (some) people say he says I forgive you after Crowley kisses him because the kiss was a sin, a temptation and Aziraphale is offended by Crowley for doing this to him... I'm genuinely perplexed.

He's not saying, Oh, I don't think I should, Oh that would be wrong, Oh, are you out of your mind demon? He's saying: 'I don't think my side would like that.'

He spent 6000+ years worrying Crowley will get punished if their friendship/partnership/Arrangement/love was discovered. His first instinct here is the usual - I couldn't possibly, it would put you at risk.

We've seen how Heaven treats him. We have seen how he lies and deceives them repeatedly; S2 even starts with Aziraphale hiding his former boss from Heaven cos he knows he must be in BIG trouble to show up in his shop and he'll be damned (literally) before he gets them to do as they like with someone asking him for help without knowing what happened.

So why do (some) people assume he's helping Gabe out of some duty TO Heaven?

It's not that Aziraphale is not scared. He is. He knows Gabriel wanted to kill him a few short years before. He is not an idiot (this is a line I seem to be repeating in most of my posts).

He's not as dramatic about it as Crowley, but of course he's afraid. He is not missing Heaven in S2.

He's still terrified of them.

And that's why he's going there. That's why he's going to face his fears and save his life and his love or die trying.

#aziraphale #good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens 2 #aziraphale my beloved #good omens thoughts #kaypost

[angelltheninth]

AHEM AHEM.. michael kaiser is getting so much attention so i wanna request of kaiser getting himself to enemies with benefits. I just lowkey wanted to think he doesn't want reader to have other enemies besides him and him only. He hates how only the reader could make him feel wanting to indulge from pleasure also from how he didn't want his pride ruined by his feelings that he gets conflicted to himself

Everyone should go nuts for Michael Kaiser actually.

Pairing: Michael Kaiser x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, enemies with benefits, avoiding feelings, sharing clothes, protectiveness, rough sex, marking

A/N: Enemies with benefits is one step away from lovers.

EwB!Michael Kaiser never stays the night or even an hour after you have sex with him and you don't want him to, you both knew why you had sex and it wasn't for love

EwB!Michael Kaiser plays better after he fucks you rough in the locker room before a game, hiding your deep scratch marks on his back

EwB!Michael Kaiser brags about how many goals he scored while he finishes inside of your mouth, calming it as his prize as well

EwB!Michael Kaiser flirts with other women to distract himself from the growing feelings welling up inside of him but he can't ever bring them home because they're not you

EwB!Michael Kaiser doesn't like the way his friends flirt with you so he always make sure to leave his spare jersey at your place, in case you bring anyone home, yes he is that petty

EwB!Michael Kaiser hates how your kisses make his heart pound louder and faster than when he scores a goal

EwB!Michael Kaiser tells you he hates you every day but every time you hear it his tone gets softer

EwB!Michael Kaiser sends you pictures from his tour, as if he wants to show you how great of a time he's having without you but as soon as he's home he demands to see you and you always end up in some love hotel, fucking each other until you can't get up from the bed

EwB!Michael Kaiser angerly kisses you when you fight over something stupid because it's a lot better to fuck you then to listen to you piss him off more

EwB!Michael Kaiser decides that despite how much you annoy him you're also his favorite woman so he'll keep you around for a while longer

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #michael kaiser imagines #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #michael kaiser headcanons #blue lock smut #bllk smut #michael kaiser smut #blue lock x you #bllk x you #michael kaiser x you #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #michael kaiser x female reader #kaiser x reader #kaiser imagines #kaiser headcanons #kaiser smut #kaiser x you #kaiser x female reader #x female reader

[erwinsvow]

really, rafe hadn’t even realized he’d done anything special. 

he was used to having sarah’s litter of friends over at tannyhill, as annoying as it was. after one of them had needed an ambulance and a stomach pumping after too many shots snuck in upstairs in his sister’s room, he was trying to keep a handle on things, keep an eye on the situation. be proactive, be the man of the house, which he was when ward wasn’t there.

he thought he’d heard a bunch of girls scurry out in the morning, but he must have been wrong, because when he’s walking to his truck, he finds you, sitting on the ground next to your bike, blocking his exit.

you look angry, mumbling curses under your breath while you fiddle with something he can’t see—though your bike is tipped over and the wheel looks slightly deflated. 

the first thought in his head is to tell you to move with your bike or he’ll run you both over. but that’s not what the man of the house would say, so instead he gets closer, crouching next to you.

“what’s goin’ on?”

you look up, startled. you were so focused on your broken bike that you hadn’t heard the footsteps of sarah’s older brother, the one she always complains about.

“everyone left for the beach already, i was gonna bike there. i got on and the wheel just gave out and i fell off. i don’t know what’s wrong with the stupid thing.” you’re facing your bike now, looking at the various gears and chains trying to make sense of it. you don’t look back at him but he’s still staring.

rafe doesn’t think he’s met you before, thinks he would have remembered—you were too pretty for him to forget.

he hoists the bike upright, spinning the tire until a gleam of silver comes around.

“nail in the driveway. your, uh, little bike didn’t have a chance.”

“crap. i don’t have the thing with me.”

“the thing?”

“the air pumpy thing. you know, the thing?” you look up at rafe to see his furrowed eyebrows.

“yeah, kid. sure.” he takes a step back, leaning the bike against his truck. “lemme go see what i can find.” you’re still perched on the ground, but pressing your palms flat on the pavement to get yourself up. “here-” he offers you his hand, helping you up.

even standing, you still have to look up at rafe to see his face. 

“you don’t have to do that. i’m sure you’re busy. i can always walk-”

“nah, it’s fine. you saved my tire from getting that nail. stay here, i’ll be back.” 

and you listen, twiddling your thumbs waiting for rafe. he comes back with a tire pump and other things that you don’t recognize, but you watch intently. when he pulls out the nail, he offers it to you, and you offer him your cupped palms to drop it into. 

finally, rafe stands and moves the bike slowly, testing it out.

“here, kid. good as new.”

“wow. thanks rafe!” you beam, smiling brightly. “that was so nice of you. you’re so nice.” you think you sound a little dazed—but you are. rafe is so nice to you, nothing like what sarah had told you about him.

at first rafe can’t tell if you’re just joking or not, but he decides not when you don’t immediately get on your bike and ride to where your friends are.

“uh, thanks. it’s nothin’. m’not just gonna leave you here like your shitty friends did.” you laugh, still smiling at him. “well, uh, i’ll see you around, kid.” for once, he actually hopes he does.

after the beach that day, you swing back home, making sure to ask sarah what her brother’s favorite dessert is. you pack a big batch of oatmeal raisin cookies in a pretty pink tin and put them in the wicker basket attached to your bicycle, riding over to sarah’s place. 

instead of going upstairs like you normally do, you wander into the kitchen, where rafe is standing, looking at some papers spread out on the island.

“hi, rafe,” you say, and when he turns to look at you, you smile big. 

“hey, kid. uh, i don’t think sarah’s home yet-”

“oh, i didn’t come for her.” you open the tin, placing it on the counter infront of him. “i just wanted to say thanks for this morning. sarah said you like oatmeal raisin.”

he looks up down at the cookies, then at you. 

“thanks. y’know, you didn’t have to do that.”

“maybe. you were just so nice this morning, i felt like i should do something.” you’re looking up at him with big, fluttery eyes and a thudding heart. “is there anything else i can do? that you want? to say thank you?”

he cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head, hoping he’s understanding you correctly while knowing that he is.

“yeah-yeah? anything else?”

“i just want to thank you properly,” you sigh, getting closer. being bold’s not new to you, but this is only the second time you’re talking to him. you’re sure he understands, with the tiny dress you wore here, the one with the low neck and thin straps.

“yeah. alright, kid. c’mon, upstairs.” you beam, darting up the stairs and giving him a show in the process. he stares from the foot of the stairs for a second before joining you.

you’re so glad you stuck that nail in your tire.

#this one is like.. becoming obsessed with rafe because hes nice to you once #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #hope everyone likes

[girlokwhatever]

Hii! Could I possibly request hc of Paige with a gf who likes to nap?

paige bueckers x sleepy!reader hcs (i love this request, it’s so cutesy!!)

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐 paige with a sleepy gf,,

— after you started dating, paige quickly discovered your love for sleep

— she’ll come see you at your dorm between your classes and you’re literally passed out

— the first time this happened she had been texting you, asking to come over. when you wouldn’t answer she came to check on you.

- she found you snoring on the couch.

— every time you go on road trips or she drives to either of your home towns, it only takes thirty minutes for you to fall asleep

— it was the sweetest thing the first time you asked her to nap with you

- you had both been watching a movie and you could feel yourself drifting off so you wrapped yourself around her and asked her if she wanted to nap with you, that big dopey smile draped on your face

- of course she said yes, there was no other choice

— you always ask her to give you back scratches and tummy rubs to help you fall asleep faster

— she has sunday at noon reserved every weekend because that’s your favorite time to nap

— she loves seeing you right after you wake up. because she misses you but also because you have that messy morning hair, even if you only napped for 25 minutes

— at first when you wouldn’t answer for awhile she would automatically think the worst thing happened, but now she knows there’s a 99% chance you’re just sleeping.

— since you always nap during the day, you can’t ever sleep at night

- she’ll stay awake with you until 2 am if you want

— you’ll just lay on her chest (sometimes you drool) and sleep while she plays on her phone or watches basketball

— the thing about paige, even if you’re sleeping right on top of her, she begins to miss you really quickly

- she’ll wake you up with kisses

— after any exciting or new experience you’re so exhausted and she knows you’ll sleep as soon as you hit the bed

— she has so many pictures of you in the funkiest places and positions just sleeping your ass off

- she thinks it’s funny to post them

— you’ve definitely almost missed some of her games because you woke up late from a nap

— paige always making comments like “no wonder you’re so pretty, you get like.. 12 hours of beauty sleep a day”

— “if you love me you’ll take a nap with me p”

- “it’s literally 10:30 in the morning”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☽｡⋆⋆·˚ ༘ *✧.*ੈ✩‧₊˚

PURR OK

the requests are so good guys i’m eating them up

#paige buckets #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball

[ghostlyferrettarot]

★Pick a Picture:✨️How are you glowing up?✨️

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

💫Masterlist💫

🌟Pile 1: Queen of Wands, 6 of wands, 6 of cups.

Hi pile 1! You are emboding such a grounding energy, i feel that you are finally letting go of control and trusting your progress. I feel that you had a lot on your plate lately, you were so foucused on your progress that i feel that you forget to enjoy sometimes.

Pile 1 you are getting the recognition and rest you deserve, if you were thinking of getting a vacation or to treat yourself, go for it, you deserve it! Also i feel like many people will have their eyes on you around this time, they are seeing you succeed and glowing. I also sense that you will be invite to many places, your guides are encouraging you to go! you may meet new friends or even a romantic interest. Its time to enjoy yourself and have fun pile 1!

🌟Song:

🌟Pile 2: 10 of Wands, 8 of pentacles, 6 of Pentacles.

Hi pile 2! I feel like you are stepping into your more outgoing energy, i feel that you are starting to shine for who you are pile 2. Maybe in the past you have felt like the "black sheep" or the misunderstood one; now you are fully embracing this aspect of yourself and this is making you glow completely! Your guides are so proud of you and you should be too.

I see that you may have been improving your style, and people notice; a lot of eyes in you this season pile 2. You are also finding your "tribe", people that understand and vibe with you, new connections are coming your way. Also a lot of creative flow and ideas are in the way, so if you are an artist, feel free to create and try new things during this time.

🌟Song:

🌟Pile 3: 9 of Wands, 2 of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles.

Hi pile 3! You are stepping in your lider role, i feel a lot of indepent energy coming from you, so maybe you are finally getting the liberty that you have been wanting for a while. I also see wealth coming your way, the seed that you planted are finally growing pile 3! I see you more connected to yourself, improving not only physically but also mentaly.

I keep getting a lot of elegant vibes so if you have been trying this style lately, it suits you a lot; many people like it too. You are finally cutting off all the people that just waste your time, i see you being surronded by peers, others who are on your same frequency. Balance is also coming your way, i feel like you are embodying both, your femenine and your masculine energy. You are trully improving your life in all aspects pile 3, you are becoming the boss that you were always meant to be!

🌟Song:

✨️Thanks for reading and

tell me if it resonated!✨️

#tarot witch #tarot spread #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarot tumblr #paid tarot reading #paid tarot readings #zodiac placements #astrology placements #zodiac #astro community #astrology #astro blog #astro notes #astro news #astro observations #tarot and astrology #zodiac observations #natal chart reading #glow up #glowing up #pac reading #pick a picture #pic a card reading #pick a photo #pick a pile #pick a card #pac

[undercoverpena]

1. tie the knot

javier peña x f!reader* | chapter one of let us pretend

summary: peña has been back in Texas for all of five minutes, thinking he wants a simple life. but, when steve offers him the chance to gather information on a potential new player, he jumps at the chance. the only problem is, to do so, he'll need to go undercover with a female agent—and pretend to be her husband.

wordcount: 4.6k chapter themes: fake dating/relationship/marriage, forced proximity / sharing one bed, colleagues to lovers, no use of Y/N, *female agent has a nickname (sunny) for use undercover. an: this week i am full of surprises. welcome to the world of let us pretend. this chapter might not feel different from htcu, but it is.

All he has to do is pretend. Put on an act.

It’s simple on paper. Easy. A thing he’s already a master in, something he has never found particularly difficult or hard: pretending.

Javi, after all, had had always been pretty good at concealing, at masking—

“Y’need to pretend to be married.”

Faking being a husband was a new one.

Having lived with far too many emotions for so long, it’s not hard for him to fake nonchalance.

Colombia had been his school. The place where he collected his degree—days of pretending he was okay. Hiding the fact he couldn’t sleep the horrors away, that he wasn’t falling apart at the seams. That stress wasn’t making him chain smoke and the pressure wasn’t making him sink his cock into women he couldn’t save.

He picked up his doctorate when he returned home. When ranch life had felt so fucking dull it made him want to pick the smoking habit back up, just for something to do. When he saw boats that made his insides twist, but found he had to wear a smile. Hiding, as expertly as he could, so he didn’t bristle each time someone called him a hero—when all he wanted was a drink, a fuck or a newspaper.

Mostly, Javi had become a master in squirrelling away the fact he saw every minute of the hours at night, feeling nothing short of relief when his alarm chimed so he could get out of his homemade prison.

Bluffing had always been a skill of his. But, this, this was new to him. His bluffing had never required him to wear something shiny on his left hand and—

“And, Jav. Try not to fuck her.”

He’s not surprised that Steve heads up a department in Miami—or that he’s happy and content.

From the moment the two of them reunited, he took in the glow on his old partner’s skin (the one he strongly suspects isn’t just from the sun) and listened as he heard short (in Murphy’s opinion) stories about his daughter growing older.

Javi couldn’t relate—not that he’ll admit it. Just another thing he disguises. Smothers his face in what he assumes is what happiness looks like, wears it like an accessory, something akin to wearing a jacket, rather than actually feeling it.

Picking up a ring, rotating it between his thumb and finger, he snorts. “Wouldn’t be very husband-like of me, if I didn’t, would it?”

He’s nudged. An intentional elbow to the side sparks a grin as he places the ring back into its velvety spot.

Because none of them look right. None seem right—even for a fake thing.

“Fake husband. And don’t fuck this up.”

“I’m hearing a lot of don’ts and not a lot of do’s, Murphy. What the fuck is it you want me to do?”

He’s already been told, informed. Briefed.

Tricked in fact. Requested down here for an opinion, but when his worn-in soles landed in the office of his former colleague, it unravelled into something so much more.

Handed a file—one he knows everyone expects he won’t read—and given a rundown of what the operation is supposed to look like. But Javi knows better. Had known it too. Even suspects, Murphy does too.

One thing Colombia has taught him is that plans don’t mean shit, not when you’re up against an ever-evolving problem.

You don't just want me here for a consult, do you, Murph? Was hopin’ you were bored in Texas.

He suspects that’s why his Pop had given him an arched brow, an expression that was accompanied by pinched lips when he’d first mentioned it. Even his assurance that it’ll be a few days—just helping Steve out was met with a look Javi hadn’t banked on. Realising as he stood admiring wedding rings that his Pop had figured it out long before him.

At least now he understands why he got the Chucho-treatment—not quite quiet, but not quite the same treatment from him that he did the day before.

Instead, that kind of treatment that pierced itself into him, attempted to bury itself inside of him and made guilt flood through him like a poison.

Even if once before he would struggle with it, found himself desperate to apologise—make it up to his Pops—he didn’t this time. Because Javi already struggled. Already grown tired of itching for something.

So, he said nothing. Because he knows Murphy wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Murphy closes his eyes. The same noticeable twitch in his fingers and chewing inside his cheek that Javier can relate to: the sign of a recent quitter, and one attempting to use gum as a replacement.

Needing too.

“Where is she, anyway?” he asks, shifting the conversation, suppressing a yawn.

Before he’d even got on the plane out here, he’d been tired. Already beginning to fray at the edges, sleep had already become an even more distant friend.

All of it had been made worse by the worried look on Pop’s face when he dropped him at departures. It thickened, slathered itself on his shoulders even more so when he calls him from Murphy’s office to tell him it’ll be three months.

“You managed longer than I thought, Javi.” “Pop…”

Even though he had known it wouldn't matter, he had still tried to explain it all over again. From the top. All softly, with patience—the phone receiver leaving an indent on his cheek as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Reminding his Pop that this time he was doing his friend a favour, that it was a one-time thing—a few months, at most.

It didn’t shift the tone—didn’t stop Javi from imagining the disappointed lines bleeding into worried ones, mixing with the ones caused by age. It didn't lessen the tightness over the phone, simmering in the miles of air, because they were both at a standstill in the centre of a formerly (albeit temporary) happy situation.

Sighing, Murphy drops his hand, pulling him back from his thoughts. “She’ll be here, alright.”

Javi snorts, swallowing.

Glancing back over another table, seeing other things, other accessories. Things that’ll help him blend, help the two of you blend. You and him, him and you—a person he knows the name of and nothing else.

Steve had shared that you were good, brilliant, the only one he’d trust. That you knew the work so far better than anyone.

He’d been about to begin unpicking those earlier statements when the door opened, blouse and black tailored trousers walking towards him.

It isn’t anything cliché.

Time doesn’t stop, the room doesn't silence, but something happens. Something shifts, changes—alters. Because instantly, Javi realises you’re pretty. A thought which confuses him, especially when it dawns on him that usually, it’s a woman's figure he notices and admires first, but he finds that it's your eyes that he lingers on.

And fuck do they cut into him.

Practically reach inside of him, before they go through him, digging into flesh and fucking bone.

Then, all at once, ceasefire. A chance to strengthen his façade as you turn to greet Murphy, a handshake, a sea of pleasantries. Enough chance to shove it down, whatever attempted to rise in him.

But, he swears he can still see them behind his lids. Something which makes his jaw tighten, teeth grind—

“You must be my husband,” you say, smirk sliding up into your cheek.

Your body suddenly turns to him, hand sticking out towards him, adding your name to the statement as though stamping it into the air and his body goes clammy, grows warm and makes him suddenly desperate for water, coffee or even whiskey.

Slipping his hand into yours, he’s not surprised to find that it’s soft, the right kind of warm. He’d suspected about as much from just appearances alone.

“Agent Murphy has told me a lot about you, Mr Peña.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he eyes you. “Think my wife should call me, Javi.”

Javi learns, rather quickly, that you have a nice voice.

It doesn’t grate, doesn’t annoy him—it’s informative, but there’s something else there, a playful edge, a little thing within you that hasn’t been crushed.

He remembers when he’d been as sprightly.

Rubs his forehead with the heel of his palm as he does, fingers desperate to clutch a pen, his jaw tightening as he thinks about how he could roll it in his fingers, hold it like he used to hold a smoke.

Fuck, he wishes he could chew his gum.

A thing which is slowly making him more tense.

Not that you seem to notice, too focused on getting him up to speed on the actual investigation. He’d read much of your notes before today, it was the next part he was more on edge by.

Because, whatever his earlier opinion of you was, he was getting the distinct impression you’d rather set your skin on fire than be fake married. A thing you stop trying to hide, your face displaying your disgust at it each time it is casually mentioned.

It was mandatory—Murphy’s words—for the two of you to get to know one another. A crash course, a 101 in the other. It’s told to you, that the two of you are going to be stationed in your new home for the next few weeks, starting from today. But, because they’re merciful—

“Wanted to make sure you had time to get to know one another. So, take the day—work can begin another day.”

“How nice of you, Murph,” he responds, words dipped in sarcasm. Briefly catching sight of you smirking as you study something on the table.

Javi had already imagined that—since it was recon, and more surveillance than anything else—for the most part, everything could remain the same. He learnt he was right moments later when it was confirmed his name would remain very much his own, and you were handed his surname like a gift you’d rather burn than accept.

It was you who had to surrender more.

“Y’need a new first name.”

If you were surprised, you didn’t show it. A sea of reasons given, the main one being if anyone asked around with a photo and your name, it would be easier to put two and two together. You lived here, for one.

You keep your eyes down, glancing over the table of possessions you’re allowed to borrow, to play dress up with. Fingers brushing over a watch (silver, a white face)—something haunting in your eye you’re quick to blink away when you meet Murphy’s stare.

Folding his arms, Steve sighs. “Jus’ something you’ll answer to. That can be used in public.”

Javi watches you smirk, something secretive, a hidden joke simmering between the two of you—leaving him very much out in the cold of it.

After a beat, you lick your lips.

“Sunny,” you reply, lifting your eyes, digging each syllable of the name you’re going to use into him.

“Let me guess you’re someone’s ray of sunshine?”

He doesn’t mean for it to fall out laced in bitterness, but it does all the same. His mouth tilted into a smirk, your eyes hardening as you placed down a pair of earrings you’d picked up.

“Think it’s more because of my sunny disposition.” He snorts, watching you move around the table. “It’s a family nickname—I’ve… I’ve always been called it, so, I’ll answer to it.”

Swallowing, Javi lets his eyes wander to the wall of the room.

“Alright, you two. You need to sell it, y’hear me?”

“Then we need money.” It’s short, stern, the way you deliver it, head tilted and face unreadable. “We’ll be sniffed out immediately without it. These people deal in money, not handsome faces.”

"So, you think I'm handsome?"

The roll of your eyes doesn't dispute it, not as you direct your attention back to Murphy.

Who, until now, Javi hadn't realised (with his hands on his hips) how big boss Murphy looked as he whispered fine, or how much it rather annoyed him. How it would be quite easy to give him a shove. More so when he’s handed a new phone, a set of documents, credit cards and given more instructions he wishes he could shove down his throat.

He almost gets close enough to do both when briefing ends and he’s handed the keys to the hotel suite they’d be living in—their story simple, easy:

“We have a fake house for you both being made ready as a cover story, but for now you’re both in the hotel. Prime location. Beach views, and very much in reach to the top places the targets visit.”

And, Murphy hadn’t been lying.

It did have good views, the suite was even nice—really nice.

Almost too nice for a little surveillance, a little fake marriage and a drug bust. But, he didn’t complain, barely said a thing in the ride over, or when you wheeled your own case. He even remained silent when you refused to look at him in the elevator or on the walk to the room, and even when the two of you entered.

In fact, the first words he said were: “You gotta try and look at me like you don’t wanna peel my skin off. You know, if you want this to work.”

He expects it; braces for it, the tongue lashing, an icy stare. Picturing you as the kind of woman who is already to sharpen your tools and pierce him with them when he blinks. But, you don’t.

If anything, Javi watches in slow motion as your shoulders sink, your cogs turning before your expression softens.

“You’re right—I’m… sorry.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he nods. “There’s one bed.”

“Well. We can sleep in the same bed, Peña. We’re adults. However, for your sake, I’m going to put a pillow between us.” Your eyes sweep over him, cold, drowning him in a chill. “Two actually.”

“You a cuddler, or something?”

Smiling, you sigh. “No. The pillow is so that if you roll over all sleepy and desperate for some affection, I won’t have to cut you. Because if you touch me, that is what will happen.”

“How are we meant to sell we’re in love if I can’t touch you?”

“Oh, out there, you can touch me. In here, no.”

His snort rumbles from his chest. Tugged up, wrenched from some cobweb-filled depth, as you smile. Nothing big, nothing life-changing, but a start—the beginning of a level-playing field.

“What kind of touching, cariño?”

Jaw tightening, you smirk—but it’s cold.

He suspects you’re used to charm. Easily able to disable it, switch it off, unfazed by his gaze or the edge of his words. If anything, you seem really fucking bored of it—something he’s not sure if he admires or despises.

“Nothing like you used to pay for, Peña.”

Before he’s even recovered, he learns that you take things seriously.

Your bag opens, pulling out a notebook—upside down cursive etched over a page, your eyes scanning over it, before you ask if he’s ready. He’s barely able to ask for what, when you begin firing things at him.

Favourite food. Comfort film. Where did we meet? What song do you sing in the car when I’m not around? Are you allergic to anything?

The list goes on, and on. The more things continue to run out of your mouth, the more he begins to admire you—to settle into some comfort that you want to do this properly. That you’re going to take it seriously too, something he wants.

Needing it to matter.

Needing to have something work out easily, not have it all end for nothing.

The only time you pause is for a dinner—room service, his treat and his choice. A way of providing proof that he’d been listening, paying attention—somehow wanting to prove something to you, even if he’d known you for only half a day.

“So, how did Murphy get you on this?”

He studies the way you cross your leg over the other, the base of your heel tapping against the carpet—all very much guarded, on edge.

“You can tell it’s my first, can’t you?”

Javi smiles, making it softer purposefully. “A little.”

“He said you were good,” you sigh, placing your napkin down. “I assume I was chosen because it was easy. Y’know, than someone with… higher priorities. Plus, I already know the case. Guess it just made sense to send me.”

Nodding, he watches as you avoid his sight, focusing instead on the swirls in the carpet. Something ticking in your pretty little head, it forcing your nostrils to flare, for your jaw to tighten—and he’s watching it happen, practically feeling the air around you begin to vibrate from it all.

“M’not gonna let anything happen to you, Sunny. You know that right?”

That does it. Further digs in the hatred you’re feeling tenfold because the use of your new name makes you flinch. And he knows, like he had suspected earlier that it means more than just a name. Especially from the look on your face.

At first, your expression is soft, almost mask-less—no walls, no defence. Then, like magic, it shifts. It drapes down, rebuilds, and suddenly there within seconds, the same expression he’s been working with since introduction.

“I have heard how you take care of the women who work with you.”

Picking up your drink, and stirring the straw, you let your eyes meet his. The small wooden table suddenly even smaller—the large suite, suddenly constricting in a way he hadn’t expected so far.

“S’not what I meant.”

“I know.” It’s curt, your reply. Clearing your throat, you snort, “You are handsome. I can see why you did so well. And, I might not need to say this, but I need you to know I like my job, and I don’t require that kind of care.”

Rubbing his jaw, he sighs. “That so?”

“I have something that can help with that. It doesn’t talk. It doesn’t need to remind it that it’s ‘so big’, and it doesn’t need me to call it baby. It just hums—politely—and makes my thighs shake. I just need you to be with me in this.”

He snorts, draining the rest of his glass. The ice clangs just before he places it back down on the table. “You bring it with you, your something?”

Licking your lips, your mouth slides into your cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Steve had told you his credentials—how he worked, how smart he was. How easily he was able to decipher a read on someone.

He did also mention much of Peña’s backstory—including his rich history with the opposite sex. A thing you hadn’t wanted to let escape out coated in catty and wrapped in bitchy. And yet, it had all the same.

You did want to get on with him, you admired him after all. Hearing the truths from Steve made the things that swirled like gossip even more impressive.

But, in all of the briefings you’ve had before agreeing to this, your boss had failed to mention that it wasn’t just the man’s tongue that got women to confess all their secrets, but his ridiculously handsome face too.

The one that keeps turning towards you—eyes concentrated in on you as though you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever had the chance to listen to.

But, it wasn’t just that. It’s that he’s quick-witted, observant, and it most definitely doesn’t help that he’s all broad shoulders and brown eyed. That, in part, you thought you could handle.

Then, he’d flirted.

On any other day, in any other place, you’re sure you’d have melted. Likely leant forward, elbow on your knee, tracing your bottom lip with your finger just to make his eyes drop to your mouth.

But, this isn’t any other day—it’s work, a job, one that requires him (in part) to be a flirt.

Clearing your throat, you smear on a smile. “You not tried to date since you’ve been home?”

His face hardens, just slightly.

It pinching, eyes more so than anywhere else—his smile falling, descending to a thin line as he traces his teeth with his tongue. Then, his eyes shift into an entirely different brown, an explosion of shades swirling—flecks of gold and sadness-infused umber.

“No.”

Nodding, you pick at some salad on the side of your plate. “Probably a good job—don’t need any angry people coming for me when I’m curled up on your arm.”

He snorts, but it doesn’t flutter over his face. His hand remains balled up, resting on the arm of the chair—something more there, prodding, needling him. He may be so easily able to read you, but you’re sure he’s about as clear as a warm day himself.

Landing his gaze back on you, you feel it linger, hover—before it begins to slip down from your eyes, landing somewhere at your neck, before the buttons off your shirt. Something warming inside of you, flooding out, spreading across your skin as you try your damnest to level your breathing.

“Got any more questions?”

“Plenty,” you reply, almost catching the y on your teeth before placing a light smirk out over your lips, letting it move across your face.

Gesturing, Peña licks his lips and so you begin with more. Not needing the book now, just working your way through the things which populate, which appear like bubbles he bursts with his answers.

He’s open about some things more than others. The two of you covering family quickly, childhoods even quicker. You both discreetly avoid too many details of Colombia, about the things you’d already heard in chunks from your superior.

Your 101 beginner class in your new husband proving to be easier to understand than your field handbook—although, you supposed the intermediate and expert levels to him would be far harder to crack.

He’s unmarried, not dating—there’s his dad, a sea of distant family and a town full of people whom his father would class as family. You suspect some guilt there, it layered between the conversation on his dad, and the one which followed when you’d asked if the ranch would be okay without him.

“—My Pops has had help for a long time. One of them has been promoted. He… He works there full time now.”

Even if he had tried to say it simply, it was laced in bitterness—not from jealousy, you suspect from the sadness that had poisoned over time. A well stuffed with things which had rotted and gone mouldy over time.

Upon sight of him this morning, you had known you’d need to be clever, smart—find ways to compartmentalise it all. Because, when he traces his nose with his finger, when his eyes widen a little more than normal—coffee-brown all but drowning you—you had known it would be hard otherwise.

Something there, niggling, piercing through.

“Any lovers I need to be aware of?”

Smiling, you slide your feet from your heels, pulling your legs up more, swallowing. “No, you’re good.”

“Any potential risks I need to be aware of—anyone who’ll call into question your new name?”

Your stomach knots, uncomfortably so. A thing balling inside of you, that same fear you’d been plucking at for days—ever since Steve had suggested your name, thrown it out on the conference table with a bunch of greedy eyes seated around it.

“No, I… you have nothing to worry about.”

He looks at you, lets it hover, hold. Something there, trying to disguise itself in the way he narrows his eyes a fraction, in the way his lips pinch together—the way his brain seems to whir like a fan that can be heard even across the table.

When you yawn, he makes a move to tidy up the plates for the tray—batting your hand away. “I’ve got it, cariño.”

“Cariño?”

Your cheeks are warm, more so under his stare. Easily able to smother it the first time, but found it difficult the second. It’s all wide, blooming—it tracing your eyes before it sweeps back to the tray.

“Gotta call my wife something original, special.”

“I’m hardly special, Peña.”

“If I’ve married you, you’re special.”

Clamping your mouth shut, you say nothing.

Something churning, a horribleness that you know stems from the fact this isn’t real. None of it. The niceness, the ring on your finger—the one your finger slides up your palm to brush over, to trace.

The one which didn’t have a home there this morning, but now sits like it’s always supposed to. Your stare on his back as he goes to the door, pushing the metal tray, the jingling of plates and glass sounding out as your heartbeat pounds in your ears, your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

It continues to hammer when your back flattened against the bathroom door—safe amongst marble, mirrors and an array of complimentary products which covered most of the sink.

Only as you begin to undress and change for bed, does it lessen, does your composure return back to you. The mask which you so delicately applied, the one which had taken more words of encouragement in your bathroom mirror this morning than you’d thought.

Because, it isn’t that you thought you couldn’t do this—but rather why would you?

This isn’t your expertise. Not your usual field of knowledge. The last time you’d even been on a date had been at least over a year ago, and the last time you’d lived with a man had been so long ago you were worried you’d wake tomorrow and learn you have habits you weren’t aware of.

Did you kick in your sleep?

Did you grind your teeth?

“Cariño?” Peña calls out, knuckles tapping on the door. “You good in there?”

No, you want to reply. Hands gripping the sink basin, staring at your makeup-less face and the nightie he was about to see you in.

“Yeah,” you call out, washing your hands, and flushing the toilet before unlocking the door, and emerging.

He’s polite enough to not drink you in, even if you're sure he’s craning his neck not to do so.

“Look. Before you crack your neck from not doing so.”

Smirking, he traces his fingers across his chin, before slowly dropping his eyes.

And you feel them.

Warm. Hot. Sliding over your neck, collarbone, down the silk which covers your chest, abdomen and most of your thighs, before he’s running his vision back up.

“Better?”

“Nice legs.”

Narrowing your eyes, you straighten your spine. “Try not to dream about them, and Peña?”

He hums.

“Try to remember you’re not actually married, don’t want you falling for the fantasy we’re putting on. Hate to break your heart.”

Leaning against the doorframe, staring at you, you somehow manage to level your breath. “If it’s you breaking my heart, Sunny. I might just let you.”

Your mouth almost falls open. Almost.

Something you think he's aware of from the way he smiles, from the way he drinks you in before he whispers about getting passed.

Then, you're alone.

Filling your lungs with a breath, staring around the room not sure how you're going to make it a week not cracking, never mind more.

CHAPTER TWO ->

AN: tag list won't be around from chapter two, thank you for letting me tell the story how i always envisioned. your kindness is appreciated.

taglist: @thetriumphantpanda @texassmiller @wordywarriorwrites @iknowisoundcrazy @thundermartini

@secretelephanttattoo @belliezz @picketniffler @thelightsandtheroses @sawymredfox

@toomanytookas @auteurdelabre @grumpygrumperton @noisynightmarepoetry @missladym1981

@maried01 @livswayout @casa-boiardi @msjarvis @perotovar @inept-the-magnificent

@copperhalfcent @morallyinept @inside-the-mind-of-a-wallflower @nabiiturner

@venturawriter @blablablasssss @half-moon16 @nerdieforpedro

#javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña narcos #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #narcos fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña smut #javi peña smut #javier peña x reader smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier peña fanfiction #jo: let us pretend #jo: htcu #narcos fanfic #narcos fanficion #pedro pascal x reader

[kalki-tarot]

THINGS YOU CARRIED FROM YOUR PREVIOUS LIVES ⚖️

Please read : This is just a general reading and may not be 100% true all the times. Please use your brain before making any decisions. Kalki tarot is not responsible for your actions and life decisions.

PICK ONLY ONE PICTURE AND ALLOW ME TO TAP INTO YOUR ENERGY.

Pile 01

I can see you lived by a river, it seems to be the country side. Green grass and shallow wind is what I feel where you belonged. Your sense of belonging in nature comes from this lifetime. You felt comfortable laying over the grass and just looking at the clouds. You were an innocent human being. Your heart held deep sense of purity for everyone and everything. You belonged to a foreign country, different from where you are right now.

I'm getting one more lifetime for you, where you wanted to be a saint or a nun or something like that. You wanted to attain moksha so you decided to take necessary actions but your responsibilities held you down. You could not leave your family or responsibilities i guess.

Your were an emotionally intelligent human being. It can be your gift in your current lifetime to be knowledgeable about spirituality and mysticism. You were born with healing abilities and you may also be a psychic.

Another gift you carried in this lifetime is of alchemy. You may be interested into witchcraft and rituals. Try to practice it more, it will really work well for you. Don't use it for bad things though. You have the power to create and manipulate energies. Your soul possesses infinite knowledge about spiritual. Unlock your hidden potential for its best use.

One more thing I'm seeing is that you carried a lot of burdens too from your previous life. Some traumas or fears, it can be anything. This is the reason why your psychic gifts were blurred or you were just not able to believe in your self, you have wounds from past life too. Healing is needed.

Pile 02

Dear Pile 2, you were someone very helpful and empathetic in your previous life. You were a gentle human being, you may have active water placements in your chart which influence you the most. You were and still are someone very deep and emotional. You understand people around you but sometimes you feel misunderstood. You feel different from everybody else. Yes you are different and it's not bad to be different. You are indeed a very special human being.

In your previous life too, you were a nice person and you did many humanitarian works. All the good karma you did is coming back to you in this lifetime. Please don't let your pure soul get corrupted or influenced by negative people. You often struggle with patience, you get anxious and restless when things don't go as you planned or when you don't see results when you want it. This is what you carried in this lifetime too. Work on having patience. You will definitely reap the fruits of your labour, but before accepting divine timing only!

Again with the fool card, your energy is very restless and childlike. You have the curiosity of a child and you crave adventurous things in life. You can't sit at one place for a long time. But this over restlessness may make you do foolish things. You should try to shift your energy from wasting it on useless things to creating something with your creative mind. You are someone who can build a castle in the sky. What i mean is you have the potential to start from scratch and turn it into something big. Use your energy here rather than doing foolish things.

You were like a wise sufi saint in your past life and you've also carried a lot of wisdom from there. Sometimes you go like where am i even getting these wise thoughts from lol. Yes! You are a street smart person. Use your potential to create something big.

Pile 03

You were someone who used to run behind success. You had or still have a fear of failing and that comes from your past life. You were in a high position in your previous life and you constantly used to work hard for keeping up or maintaining what you had.

You lacked the need to rest. And due to this you became a little too much workaholic. You were too much indulged in your work life that you kind of forget your presonal life and relationships. You will be forced to address the fear of failure in this lifetime too.

And the karma for not addressing your personal relationships is that you will not have any genuine connections in this lifetime. But don't worry, once you accept balance in your life and address your mistakes, things will start aligning for you.

Have a balanced approach and towards work and personal life. Don't be too rational, listen to your head anf heart both. And try not to force yourself to work hard. You will not fail! Don't worry.

#tarot reading #tarot blog #tarot cards #tarot #pick a card #tarot and astrology #tarot community #pick a pile #tarot asks #tarotblr #tarot spread #tarot readings #kalki tarot #kalki.archives #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #astrology #tarot witch #witchblr #witchcraft #the divine masculine #channeled message #tarot blr #tarot beginner #tarot lessons #tarot justice #tarot journal #future spouse reading

[megistusdiary]

i have a vision i need you guys to see.

2000s!arle who's looking to get some sleeve fillers. her bandmate, tartaglia, recommends her to try this new shop. he told her the artist is "insanely talented," so she figures, why not?

(longer post/nsfw utc - tw smaller reader, transfem arle mentions)

when she walks in, she sees you sitting on the counter, legs swinging as you greet her.

"hey, welcome in. what can i help you with?" she watches you hop down off the counter, now having to look down at you given your shorter stature.

you don't look like you have many tattoos at all, funny enough. doesn't look like you really belong in a place like this, but she thinks you're a pretty cute counter-girl.

"i'm looking to get some sleeve fillers, sweetheart." she leans down over you, a hand on the wall by your head.

"go figure." you snort and she's a little taken aback.

"you're a little fiesty thing, huh?" she asks and you tilt your head. she cuts you off, waving her hand. "anyways, i'm thinking of adding onto my sleeve." she rolls up her shirt, flexing her bicep for you.

"do you have anything specific you want?"

"i have some ideas." she shrugs, leaning back to her full height with a smug little grin. "so, there an artist back there?" she gestures to the back of the shop.

"actually-"

once again, she cuts you off. "my friend said-" she takes her phone out, flipping the lid open and showing tartaglia's message with the artist's name on it. "she works here. you know her?"

you blink at the phone being shoved in your face, but you laugh anyway. "oh, really? you're looking for her?"

"yeah, what about it? is she shitty or something?" she doesn't seem to notice your half-annoyed eyeroll.

"nothing. i'll go set you up in the room." you tug her along, grabbing the consent forms and other things she'll need to fill out. "here, fill these out." you sit her in the chair, handing her the clipboard.

"aw, won't you stay with me? i get nervous when the ink comes out." she sends you an almost sleazy grin.

"oh, i'd love to, but i can't." you feign a pout. "gotta go get the artist." you grin and escape the room quickly, leaving her to her own devices.

she fills the papers out easily, having done so before many times.

she hears the door click, seeing a taller woman covered in tattoos walking in and setting up. she collects the paperwork from arlecchino, checking through it.

"cool, the artist will be in shortly."

arlecchino tilts her head. "it's not you?"

the woman arched an eyebrow, shrugging, closing the door again and leaving arlecchino in silence.

she looks around the room, hearing the door click open after a few minutes. "finally-" she turns around to see-

you?

she stiffens in the chair. "you're joking, right?" she asks with a laugh.

"what's the problem?" you scoff, sitting down on the chair next to the tattoo bed. "you don't trust me?"

"you don't have a speck of ink anywhere on you. how exactly am i supposed to trust you?"

"your friend seemed to think i was 'insanely talented,' right? do you trust him?" you counter and she bites the inside of her cheek.

she stays quiet while you set up, showing her some of your designs, which she picks from to fill in her sleeve.

she sits still the entire time, feeling your gloved hand on her skin. you look small next to her, cute, she thinks, and-

"stop staring at me." you cut her thoughts off without even looking away from her arm.

"can't help it, sweetheart." she quickly covers and you sigh. she grins mischievously up at you.

you set your gun down, grabbing her jaw and tugging her up to meet your gaze. "don't call me that. watch your mouth." you suddenly snap, your cute little aura gone, replaced by something darker.

it only makes her breath hitch, feeling your fingers on her jaw. "oh, little kitty has claws." she taunts and you scoff, leaning in.

your lips graze the shell of her ear and she shivers. "don't talk to me that way, or i swear, i'll have you on your fucking knees begging me for forgiveness." you mutter.

she isn't sure if it's a real threat, but the change in your tone is enough to have her nodding regardless. her mind is filled with thoughts of you, riding her, a hand on her throat as you control the pace.

you see her hardening beneath her jeans and you arch an eyebrow. "you're pretty pathetic for a flirt." you snap.

and she swears she could cum right then and there from just your gaze.

too bad you go right back to tattooing with everything re-sterilized.

damn.

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader smut #fem reader #genshin wlw #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #arlecchino #arlecchino x you #💐─𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 #🪷─𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 `♡´