#not sure if any of you do this w your f/o's but every now and then ill just sit and talk out loud to them abt how much i love them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macfrog · 4 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

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

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

December.

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

You hate every fucking minute of it.

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

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

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

Never mind.

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

“Tommy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How am I holding up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

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

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

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walk me home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

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

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

You don’t?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

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

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

“’n whose fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I’m craving?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

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

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

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

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

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

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

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

And I mean anything. OK?

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

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

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom.

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

Mom. Mom and Dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

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

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

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

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

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

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

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

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

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

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

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

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

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

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

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

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

Let go.

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

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

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

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

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

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

But right then –

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

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

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

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

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

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

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

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

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

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

Your head shakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel.”

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

“You have to go.”

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

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

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

He leaves on Saturday morning.

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

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

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

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

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

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

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

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

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

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

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

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

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

“Hm. Now go.”

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

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

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

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

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

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

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

#i think duckie is my favorite character i've ever written. that fetus has more personality than vanessa icl #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

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crvptidgf · 7 months

Text

Sharp Kisses

Mattheo Riddle x Reader (smut)

➸ summary: after begging Mattheo to mark you as his, he finally gives in

➸ warnings/notes: MAJOR TW & MDNI 18+, self-injury (ish), mentions of cutting & being cut, smut w/ little to no plot, p in v sex, heavy petting, oral (f! receiving), knifeplay?

➸ requested?: yes ↴ (i changed it up a bit in the fic)

- mattheo carves his name into reader’s upper thigh and one day she walks into his room and sees him coming out of the shower with her name cut on HIS ABS (requested by 💜 anon)

A/N: reader discretion is advised, i am not responsible for the media that you intake. i also do not condone any of the actions that are partaken in this, it is merely fiction. if you struggle with sh or self-destructive behaviors, please talk to someone. my inbox is always open!

word count: 1.2k

————————

GRABBING THE SHEETS harshly, your head was thrown back onto the pillows, breath uneven. There was a chance that your panting could be heard all the way down to the common room if it weren’t for the silencing charm put on the room.

Mattheo’s mouth was wrapped around you, his tongue flicking upwards, side-to-side, in circular motions. His movements were never-ending, not that you wanted him to stop. He pulled away momentarily, saliva connecting his mouth to your lips.

He only stared at you as he licked one long stripe upwards, collecting all your juices before diving back in. It wasn’t long before his soft hands began gripping the flesh of your thighs, practically suffocating himself between your legs. He picked up his pace, his moans reverberating into you as he reveled in your taste.

Your legs gave out, weakening under the feeling of your climax making it’s way up. Mattheo held onto you for dear life, supporting the weight of your limbs that rested on his shoulders. Once he was satisfied with the sight of you shaking under him, your hands pulling his head away from your sensitive area, he raised his head up.

He really never failed to pull your release from you.

You looked at him as you tried to catch your breath, trying not to pass out at the sight of his messed up hair and glistening chin. His lips were bright pink, the corners of them perking up upon making eye contact.

“You doing okay up there?” he mused as his breath fanned right over where he was previously buried.

“Mattheo,” you whined, “stop teasing.”

His hands rubbed soothing shapes into the back of your thighs which were hooked around his shoulder. Your pussy throbbed with every gust of air that hit you due to the quick breaths that Mattheo took. He continued to stare at you, not saying a word.

“You know,” you said, inhaling deeply as you tried to slow your heart rate, “it would be better if you used the knife on me.”

His breath fanned across your thighs as he sighed and pushed himself up, giving you a warning stare. “Love, we talked about this.”

“I know,” you practically groaned, “but can’t we try it. Just once? Maybe you’ll like it.”

Mattheo sat up fully now as he leaned over your face, his hands on either side of your head. He thought for a moment before he finally gave into your puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine. But if it’s too much, tell me to stop,” he said, his lips meeting your forehead in a hurried kiss.

The drawer beside your bed opened as he grabbed his wand, casting ‘Accio’ so he could get the dagger that you bought that rested on your desk across the room. You had been prepared for this, knowing that one day you would get to finally try out your fantasy.

Mattheo took a deep breath, asking if you were sure. Once he got a breathy ‘yes, please’ he began to slowly make work with you.

He knew how much you wanted this, and in all honesty so did he. What he was afraid of was doing too much, or causing you more pain than you could handle. He could never forgive himself if he out you in harms way.

Your breath hitched as the cold metal touched against your abdomen. It slowly travelled across your ribs, up your chest, and to your breasts. The tip of the knife touched the plump skin of your tit, and you shuddered with excitement as you closed your eyes.

“So good for me,” Mattheo whispered as he dragged the blade back down your body. He pushed it further than your pelvis, wanting to explore your thighs as he made his way down to your legs.

He pressed chaste, wet kisses along your inner thighs as he played with the blade a bit more, experimenting with how deep he could press it without causing any harm. Pulling it along your inner thigh, he added a slight pressure, causing a moan to ripple from your throat.

Now that he knew how much you enjoyed it, maybe he could get used to this.

“Mattheo,” you said, your moans mixing in with the call of his name. “Make me yours.”

He cocked his head to the side, confused. “But you are mine, baby.”

You lifted your head to look at him, lust filling every corner of your eyes.

“Write your name into me,” you breathed out.

Mattheo’s head shot up. He definitely did not expect to hear that. Of course, the thought aroused him more than it should’ve, but he was also nervous. You were putting a lot of trust into him and he didn’t want to break it. For you, though, he would do anything.

“Fuck,” he muttered through gritted teeth. This was way more erotic than he had imagined.

He slid the blunt edge of the dagger across your clit before bringing the tip to the other side of your thigh. “Okay,” he said, “but-“

“If it’s too much, i’ll tell you to stop,” you nodded, your head already falling back onto the pillows.

Mattheo kissed soft, quick kisses along your pussy, teasing you before diving straight in. His tongue was slow and meticulous, licking across the most sensitive parts of you which he knew like the back of his hand.

You felt the knife begin to slice through your skin - not enough to leave a scar, but enough that you would be marked up for a few days. The thought that only you and him would be able to see it send a strong pulse throughout your pussy.

Mattheo smiled into you, his eyes peeking to the side to make sure he wasn’t cutting too deep. He pulled away from you for a second to lick into your entrance before coming back up to suck on you.

The feeling of his lips wrapped around, combined with the sharp tip of the knife was sending you over the edge. You tried to guess what letter he was on now, but you couldn’t focus if you even tried.

Your mewls and pants were all that could be heard in the room. Mattheo looked up again, his hand curving so that he could make the ‘o’ at the end of his name.

His hand came to replace his mouth as he drew circles onto your sensitive nub.

Mattheo’s tongue swiped against the new cut, your blood coating his tongue as he licked it up. Your injury was starting to hurt a bit, but with Mattheo’s saliva entering the mix, it soothed the pain slightly.

It wasn’t long before your orgasm overtook you, and you were a mumbling, idiotic mess under him.

Shit, he should’ve just done this a long time ago.

- - - - -

You were now bouncing up and down Mattheo’s length, his fingertips gripping into your hipbones as he held you in place, his hips coming up to meet with yours. He fucked up into you, his mind reeling with pleasure before an idea popped into his head.

It had been a week since the first used the knife on you, and he was curious.

“Cut your name into me,” he said, his breaths heavy as he stared at you with half-lidded eyes.

You rolled your head back, his demand causing you to feel a certain way that you had never felt before. He had never sounded hotter than he did right now.

“Where,” you gasped as his dick hit the perfect spot inside of you.

Mattheo’s hands gripped your hips as he grinded you on top of him now, halting your bouncy movements. “My abs. I know how much you love them, baby.”

- - - - -

#mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle scenarios #mattheo riddle x you #hp fanfic #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fancast #harry potter fandom #harry potter oneshot

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blughxreader · 10 months

Text

... "Re-connection Session" ...

A/B/O Platonic Yandere! Dick Grayson & Jason Todd x f! Reader

You never should have let Damian sleep in your lap, especially after rejecting Dick and Jason's request for attention. Now you have their jealousy to resolve. ... Dick and Jason are alphas and you are an omega. People can purr in this AU. ... TW: Blurred lines between family and intimacy, post-kidnap, non-consensual touching, forced proximity, being forced to undress, non-sexual nudity, traditional secondary gender roles

You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror in silent dread.

Dick's old shirt hung low on your frame, the neckline falling past your collarbones and the hem dropping to your fingertips. The sleeves, thankfully, covered you to your elbows, but the desired effect was the same: easy access to your body.

This, accompanied by your underwear and Jason's basketball shorts were all you were allowed to wear.

Fear sat in your stomach line a rock. You were sure you were releasing enough panic pheromones to alert the whole house, but there was no frantic knocking to save you. Just you, your pounding heart, and the two men on the other side of the door.

Wiping your sweaty hands down your pants, you gave yourself one last look before leaving the bathroom. Dick's bedroom spread out before you, filled with old memorabilia and a large, plush bed in the center.

Dick and Jason were leaning against the wall in wait, arms crossed and heads tilted back. Dick grinned when he saw you.

"Alright, good," he said, slinging an arm over your shoulder. "It's a little late for an afternoon nap, so movie time?"

Dick's scent clung to you like a cologne, sweet and tangy. An alpha's smell was already stronger to omegas, but being wrapped in his shirt and pressed into his side was almost overwhelming. Jason, whose scent was more earthy and metallic, was a small reprieve.

Jason looked you up and down, appraising your posture and expression. You knew it was useless to try to hide your feelings, but you couldn't fight the urge to look away. You crossed your arms to cover yourself.

He reached over and ran a hand over your temple, brushing back stray curls. Jason, while never the most emotive on a day-to-day basis, had a cloudy expression today. His gaze bore into you, drinking up every micro-expression you tried to hide and cataloguing each one.

"No trash TV," Jason finally said. He dropped his hand and fell into stride with you and Dick, who was guiding you to his bed.

Dick dipped his head down so his cheek brushed your forehead. "What do you want to watch?"

"Anything is fine."

"Nope, that's not allowed," Dick lightly scolded. "This weekend's all about getting familiar. You need to learn how to go along with the family."

Your mind blanked as you scrambled to remember any move you've ever seen before. Embarrassment pricked your cheeks. "Maybe Pixar..."

Dick stopped you at the edge of the bed. He ruffled the back of Jason's hair before slapping his back, earning his hand a hard swat.

"You first, little wing."

Jason rolled his eyes and climbed on the bed, flopping into place on the silk covers. Dick ushered you on next with gentle hands, not giving you an inch of space as he followed suit.

You were settled into Jason's side, your front pressing into the long expanse of his body. Jason shifted and pulled off his shirt with one hand, tossing it off the bed before leaning back into you.

Your insides lurched at his naked chest, and you were boneless when he guided your head to rest on his shoulder. Jason's body was warm and sturdy. He eclipsed you in ways that made your heart flutter.

You tighten your arms around your chest to keep these stray feelings at bay.

Dick settled behind you with a happy sigh, shirtless as well. He weaseled your arm out of your hold and settled it over Jason's chest to maximize contact, then rested his hand on your waist.

His breath fanned the back of your head when he whispered, "I'm going to lift your shirt up now."

You held back a whimper when his hand slid beneath your shirt, trailing up your stomach to settle between your ribs. His palm spread flat, fingers reaching the better half of your stomach. He was dangerously close to brushing your breasts, but remained careful not to stray too far up.

Jason's hand trailed in next, gliding over your hip and up your spine, where it settled between your shoulder blades. His thumb brushed up and down in slow, even strokes.

They were everywhere. Their arms lay flushed against your body, touching as much skin as they possibly could, while their stomachs pressed into yours where your shirt had slid up. Their nudged your legs until you were tangled in theirs.

As hard as you tried to fight it, it was instinctual for pack members to seek physical contact. Touch was one of the most primal and easiest ways to show affection and community, so you knew that your days of solitude were numbered.

But this...

Tingles spread through your whole body, exacerbated by how touch-starved you were. The feeling of oneness, of unbridled intimacy with your family, sank deep into your heart.

Resist, resist, resist. You're stronger than these urges.

Your breathing accelerated. You knew what to expect going into this, but nothing could have prepared you for how emotionally penetrating it was. It was as if your very nature and mind were at war.

A steady purr rumbled in their chests as they basked in your company, soaking in as much of your warmth as they could. Jason's nose brushed your forehead, placing feather light kisses where he could reach. Dick was crooning.

Cold sweat prickled your skin.

Your hand tightened around Jason's back as claustrophobia set in. The purring turned to a low rumble and the pheromones in the air turned sour.

"Hey," Jason said softly. "You have to settle down."

You swallowed thickly to abate your fear. "You guys got defensive."

Dick nudged his nose on your neck, right above your scent glands. "Because you started smelling scared."

Oh.

You inhale shakily to calm your nerves. Jason hummed in your ear, a low, pleased sound.

"Good girl," he said. "Keep doing that. We have you."

You sucked in a sharp breath in defiance. Jason humphed. Dick laughed against your skin and squeezed your stomach playfully, grinning as he said, "You're as bad as Damian."

They nestled you tighter between them, purrs rumbling anew. Amidst the panic in your chest stirred another feeling. Maybe it's because you're getting drunk on an alpha's attention, but you felt a childish need to complain.

"How long will this take?" You asked, shifting uncomfortably between their sandwiched bodies.

Jason's face tightened around his eyes. "As long as it takes."

"For what?" you asked, frustration bubbling up your throat. "I've more than made up for turning you down yesterday."

"You need to want our touch," Dick said. He hesitated, mulling over if he should continue, then went on. "I think that if you let your guard down for a second and trusted your instincts, you would understand how much you need this."

"My guard is down. I'm completely defenseless," you hissed.

"Not what he was talking about. And that's what I'm not understanding, either," Jason said, frowning. "You're confused. You're completely out of touch with yourself."

The silence was heavy. They were waiting for you to speak, but you didn't trust anything that would come out of your mouth. You let the silence stretch on.

Jason's grimace deepened. "Are you having trouble being an omega because you were never taught how to be one?"

You scoffed, scandalized. Your frustration sparked into flames. "Because I don't know my place in an alpha's narrative?"

"No," Jason said defensively. "Because you don't know how to purr."

You couldn't respond.

You hadn't purred in years because there was no reason to. You weren't young, haven't dated in ages, didn't have any kids, and you definitely weren't about to purr for the Bats.

"I haven't heard you croon either. Or even ask to be held," Dick mumbled in thought.

Heat crept up your neck. They were wading in embarrassing waters now. You weren't a loser, just a little lonely—that's the only reason you stopped doing omegean things. And being their captive was a good enough reason to withhold everything.

These thoughts were enough when you were alone, but the shame creeping up your chest was startling.

Jason's hand drifted to your face, fingers sliding gently over your cheek. He used a knuckle to brush the tears from your eyelashes.

"It's okay to face these scary feelings," Jason whispered, face mere inches away. He looked at you with sad, loving eyes, while his scent was a whirlwind of conflicting emotion. Hope. Pity. Anger. Love.

Dick kissed the shell of your ear, thumb gliding over your skin where his hand rested. A soft rumble drifted from his chest. He said, "You're safe with us. It'll come naturally if you just let it."

The crux was that you didn't want to try. You wanted to withhold every valuable part of yourself from them and to make them pay for ruining your life.

But at the same time, you yearned to have a family. There was a vital part in your heart that was missing, one that could only be filled by belonging and love. You didn't want to ignore your secondary gender but you didn't want to share it with them, either.

Don't whimper. Don't smell like you want help.

You clamped your jaw shut and squeezed your eyes closed. Their pheromones filled the air with comfort, home, want, and it took every ounce of willpower to ignore the alphas' scents.

Jason kissed your eyelid, cupping your head in his palm. His purring and crooning joined Dick's, and it nearly drowned out your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

---

You passed the night in a daze. They nudged you to try to croon or purr, washing you with their scents and physical contact, but their efforts didn't yield results. Outwardly, that is.

Inside, you were swimming with panic and haziness.

Skin-to-skin touching was starting to take a toll on you. In a stronger headspace, you could ignore the pleasant allure of touching them, but your boundaries and primal needs were beginning to blur.

They felt good. They felt safe. You wanted to cling to Jason's chest and sob in relief at finally being wanted. You wanted Dick to keep cooing and petting you like you were the most cherished thing in his life. Each kiss stoked a fire you were desperately trying to put out.

At the same time, your defiance was making them restless. Dick and Jason had begun to smell more potent and move more assertively. Omegas weren't meant to resist their alpha pack members, especially in a domestic setting.

Despite a tiring night of caressing and pleading, you didn't loosen your tight control on your emotions. Dick and Jason were still completely cut off from you, and you could tell they were thinking of ways to get you to fold.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, accompanied by the muffled voices of Sunday morning cartoons. All of you were on Dick's bed and eating in silence.

The soup in your lap was one of Alfred's "sick soups." It was hardy and chock-full of vegetables and pork, and made especially to ease the tension in the room.

Their heavy gazes kept your head bowed as you tried to eat what little food you could.

Dick's bowl clinked as he set it on the floor.

"Submission isn't shameful," he said suddenly. "Is that what this is? You think it makes you less of a person?"

You look down into your soup, lips tightening. "No, I know it's fine... I would just prefer to keep things how they are."

"Why?" Dick said, scooting closer to you.

"It's my choice."

"No, why?" Frustration cut into Dick's voice. "I'm trying to work with you."

"Is bodily autonomy not a good enough reason?" You bit back. "I don't know, Dick. 'No' should be a good enough answer."

Jason's hand touched your back, making you lurch forward. Soup nearly spilled from your bowl, but Dick caught it in time. Jason sighed angrily while Dick set your food on the bedside table.

"This isn't normal," Jason said hotly. "Omegas shouldn't flinch at their caretakers, especially when they're treated as well as you are."

You gripped the bed sheets, guilt filtering in at the truth in his words. "Sorry," you said meekly.

Jason deflated slightly, then brought his hand back up. It settled on the nape of your neck, his large palm cupping the entire surface. Tingles rippled through your body and ignited goosebumps across your back.

Jason rested his head on yours, absently rubbing the scent pad in his cheek on your hair. He said, "Did something bad happen that made you afraid?"

"No," you said quickly. Aside from being kidnapped by them, that is.

Dick moved in closer. His voice was soft. "Then why?"

"I just..." You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your eyes with a palm. "This domesticity just isn't for me."

"You need to practice," Dick reiterated. "Maybe we can give you a simple command and you follow it? So you'll get used to how it feels?"

You peek between your fingers to glare at him.

"No, really. I read some omegean blogs that said yielding to your alpha's orders feels really good." Dick looked between you and Jason hopefully. "Or we can read some articles by older omegas so you know how to handle your feelings?"

You held back a sharp comment about where he can shove those articles. Instead you said, "Only people with religious agendas write those things."

Jason looked like he agreed, but he didn't take your side.

"We can't do nothing," Jason said, eyes flitting up to Dick.

Dick sucked the inside of his cheek. "And she's unresponsive to positive reinforcement and suggestions."

Fear brewed in your gut. "What are you implying?"

Dick touched your knee, drawing your attention to his face. "You need to purr. Or present submissive pheromones. It'll break the dam so everything comes out easier."

A blush swept up your face and you jerked your knee away from him. "You can't just ask that. No. My answer is no."

Dick's gaze returned to Jason's. Dick frowned, then quirked a brow. "People purr to self-sooth, too."

You tensed. "Dick. Stop."

Jason hesitated, face pinching at the fear in your scent. "What do you suggest?"

"Full body contact and commands. It'll overwhelm her, so she'll self-sooth then default to the natural order."

"Jason." Your voice was high and sharp. "Make him stop. This is wrong."

"Jay," Dick said, looking every bit as sincere as he sounded. "I know you're apprehensive, but she won't come to this conclusion herself. She needs to be guided in a controlled environment."

Jason's face screwed up in worry. "It's traumatic."

"Temporarily. She'll be in our care the whole time," Dick reassured him. "It'll be over the moment she submits."

"Please, Jason, no!" You pushed your face into Jason's chest, clinging to his chest. Tears poured down your face as you shook. "I'm sorry, I'll try harder. Whatever this is, don't do it."

Jason's jaw set, the muscles in his neck flexing. "Then purr."

"What?"

"I'm giving you a way out. You have to trigger your primal state and ask for our care. It's not something you can do manually, so start by purring."

"I..." Your breath caught in your lungs. You were too scared to purr, much less seek their comfort for anything.

You swallowed hard and coughed weakly, trying to activate your secondary vocal cords.

Several moments of silence passed before a small huff of a rumble left your throat. It sounded pathetic to your own ears, probably more-so to theirs, and your throat constricted from embarrassment.

"Forcing me won't make me want to... do that," you said weakly, breath hitching from your tears. "Isn't there another way?"

Dick sighed deeply. "Thanks for trying."

He leaned in and kissed your neck, rubbing his hand in comforting circles on your back. You tilted your head to the side to give him better access, still shaking against Jason's chest. Dick smiled softly and kissed your neck again before drawing back.

"Jason," Dick said, "hold her feet down."

Jason's hands clamped around your legs before you could register Dick's words. Your world tilted and you were on your back before you could shout.

"No! Please!" You thrashed against his hold when Dick descended on you.

Dick put a hand on your chest to keep you down, then pinned you with his knee. Your hands clawed everywhere you could reach, but they paid no mind.

"You're fine. You're wearing underwear, right?" Dick asked. His finger hooked on your waistband, pulling it up to confirm. "Yeah. Look, just focus on breathing."

"No! No!" you shrieked as your pants slipped down your thighs.

Jason kept you from kicking, although it probably wouldn't matter either way. Their bodies were hardened from years of vigilante work and they moved together like a machine.

They unhooked your pants from your ankles and dropped it off the bed. You tried to curl into a ball, but their weight on your body kept you immobile.

You begged again, reaching out to Jason for help. His face was twisted in pain but he made no move to stop it. The comforting scent he pushed out did nothing to quell your panic.

Dick hushed you gently, face pleasant and movements slow, and reached for your shirt.

"I'm not wearing a bra!" you shouted hysterically, trying fruitlessly to push his knee off your chest.

Dick looked down at you patiently. "Then slip your arms in your shirt and cover yourself."

You stared up at him with wide eyes. Was he really, really about to do this? Trigger you so it activates your omegean instincts?

When he grabbed the edge of your shirt, your heart jumped up your throat. You wrangled your arms inside your sleeves and covered your breasts as well as you could.

Dick took his knee off your chest and dragged the shirt up over your body. It slid off with ease, leaving you in only your underwear.

You sobbed loudly.

Jason scooped you into his arms and pulled you up the bed. He settled you on a soft pillow, nuzzling his cheek against yours in silent apology.

You immediately curled into a ball when their hands left you. To your horror you saw them strip off their pants as well, leaving them in only their boxers.

"God, stop," you plead, voice breaking.

"It's okay," Dick whispered as he slid into place in front of you. "We do this all the time. It's important."

Perhaps he was referring to the after-workout cuddle piles, but even those had longer pants and chest coverage for girls.

The heat from their bodies sank into your flesh and disrupted your frantic thinking. Your alphas—no, Dick and Jason, you corrected—held you like you were sacred. It was a feeling of your deepest daydreams come true, to have a pack that was so open about their care for you.

If only they hadn't kidnapped you.

The compulsion to accept their love dug deep in your mind, and you found it harder and harder to remember the reasons why you shouldn't. Your anger began to seem trivial compared to the safety and adoration they promised.

Tears fell down your cheeks again, and you clung to Dick's chest to anchor yourself. He laid several kisses on the crown of your head.

"I'm going to give you some orders, okay?" Dick said. "You'll be compelled to follow them."

"I don't want to," you croaked.

"That time has passed," Jason mumbled, stroking your arm with his thumb.

Dick cleared his throat, and your blood ran cold in anticipation.

"Hold Jason's hand." Dick's alpha voice struck you like a cannon.

The command wound around every corner of your mind. It strangled your freewill in a vice hold, suffocating any lingering thoughts of freedom until all that was left was them.

An alpha's command wasn't absolute, but it was damn near close.

Your insides rattle with a urge to hurry, hurry and complete alpha's orders. Make Brother happy.

Cold sweat spread across your back, making you feel sickly and sticky. Your eyesight narrowed to Dick's chest as you fought off the intrusive thoughts, not noticing anything but your vision blackening around the edges.

Please, no no no no no.

Jason's hand hovered next to yours, making it easy for you to obey.

"I... I c-c..." you stuttered.

Follow, follow, follow, your mind screamed at you. Brother will be disappointed.

You clung to Dick's bicep and screwed your eyes shut. A disapproving growl bubbled in Dick's throat.

"Take it," Dick ordered, grabbing your wrist and holding it above Jason's hand. "It's for your own good, so take it."

Jason bumped his head into yours and pushed you towards Dick's neck. You tried to squirm away, but their bodies kept you immobile, leaving your only option to settle your nose into Dick's neck and breathe.

The smell was intoxicating. It was impossible to fight off—his warm and strong scent flooding your head and making your mind melt.

Without you realizing, a broken whine left your throat. Dick and Jason reacted instantly. They hugged you tighter, shushing you and peppering kisses wherever they could reach.

Their scent changed too. Frustration was pushed out by love, comfort, love, and it smothered your senses. You whimpered, your whole body shuttering from your tears.

Fuck, you wanted your alphas so badly. Your brother's comfort enveloped you and left nothing else to do but welcome it.

Your guilt and doubt multiplied at rapid speed. Maybe you were wrong for rejecting this. Being close and following their orders felt as good as Dick had said, so maybe they were right about other things, too.

"She's defaulting" Jason said, words fast and nervous.

You whined again, broken and airy and filled with all the conflicting misery you felt. Your sense of self slipped between your fingers like water, making room for the person they wanted you to become—who you were commanded to become.

The heat of their bodies made your world spin. Their loving touches make your mind blank.

Dick shushed you and cooed comforting words, and the resilient voice in your head silenced.

Oh god, they felt like your soulmates. This seemed predestined, like you were born to be in their family.

Your exposed bodies pressing together destroyed the illusion of self, giving way to their truest law: you were theirs, body and soul.

"One more time," Dick muttered. His voice deepened to say, "Hold Jason's hand."

You moved without thinking. Your fingers tangled into Jason's, your palm laying flat over his hand.

Relief bloomed in your chest, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted. The compulsion was replaced by deep satisfaction, one you found yourself craving again.

You listened and did good. Brothers are happy. You are loved.

Dick's grin was radiant. Tears sprung in his eyes as emotions overtook him, making his blue irises shine like gems. Quiet sniffles came from behind you, and by the jerkiness in Jason's body, you knew he was crying.

"Good girl," Dick praised, voice watery. "My baby."

Jason's nose pressed into your neck, taking shaky breaths of your scent. It calmed him slightly, yet his voice was still uneven. "She's feeling better. Do another one, Dick."

"Kiss me," Dick ordered.

Your lips pressed against his shoulder, and again on his collarbone. Dick laughed and sniffled, unintelligible croons tumbling from his mouth.

Your mind was a haze, unable to process anything but the two alphas around you. Your brothers were here and you were safe. How had you lived without this love for so long?

It was like an avalanche of pent-up emotions poured into your body. You were relieved to be free, angry at the pain you inflicted on yourself, and so, so happy to belong to Dick and Jason.

"I love you," Jason muttered into your hair.

Dick kissed your face, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb over your skin. "I love you so much."

Your inner omega melted.

Love, love, love. Their scent consumed you.

You felt defined by their love, and felt like you would be nothing outside of it.

---

Dick's head was light from glee. "Did you see her stumble out of bed? She was still riding that high."

Jason didn't respond. He sat at the edge of Dick's bed while the aforementioned brother paced around his room.

Dick was too worked up to wait for a response.

"I bet it'll only take a week or two before she seeks the pack out. The attention's like a drug, you know. " Dick waved a hand. "I forgot the chemical. Whatever. But she definitely can't go back to being detached."

Jason's stomach squeezed at Dick's prideful smile.

"I feel slimy," Jason said, gripping his hands together tightly.

Dick abruptly stopped. "What?"

Jason didn't respond. He stared up at Dick with a grim look.

Several expressions passed Dick's face before he said, "That's all you took away from this?"

"I've written papers about why overpowering omegas is outdated and wrong."

"Yeah? I agreed too until we had a hurting omega in our care," Dick said. "Besides, if you feel like that then why didn't you say anything?"

Jason's jaw muscles tightened. "I said using an alpha's command was shitty, not unnecessary."

"It was beautiful, Jason," Dick hissed, temper flaring. "And she'll be happier because of it."

Dick stormed out, his good mood evaporated. The door slammed behind him, and Jason waited until he couldn't hear Dick's stomping before heaving a long sigh.

Jason hoped you wouldn't be too upset once you accepted their care. He made a vow to keep you safe and happy, and he would fulfill that promise even if you hated him for it.

Still, it hurt.

Jason's eyes drifted back to Dick's bed, to the spot where you had been lying. He crawled over and laid down, pushing his face into the sheets, and inhaled your fading scent.

---

For more yandere batfam, visit my masterlist!

#platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere batfamily #platonic yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere dc #yandere batman #abo batfam #yandere abo

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vampzity · 3 months

Text

𝘼 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚

Pairing: husband! San x f! reader

Genre: fluff, nudity w/o smut, husband au, valentine’s day series, mini idol au, one shot, pet names (angel, princess, baby girl), LOTS of flirting

Synopsis: It’s Valentine’s Day, but not just any Valentine’s Day.. it’s your first as a married couple with your beloved husband, San. You had the entire day planned out and what you wanted to in celebration of this special day, or so you thought. San was not just one but two steps ahead of you and your game plan. He knew exactly of your plans for him, and decided to turn it around on you.

Now Playing: POV - Ariana Grande

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Sorry this took so long! There’s a lot going on in my personal life- I couldn’t tell you guys how excited I’ve been to write this one shot… it was literally haunting me!

Yeosang’s Pt. Masterlist Mingi’s Pt.

You lay on your bed, practically suffocated by the covers that wrapped around your body. You felt a pair of soft paws pass through your legs, soon pushing at your head to wake you. You yawned widely, eyes closed as you lifted the covers to let the furry animal under them with you. You heard a small purr as the animal nuzzled against your chest, resting its head under your chin.

“Good morning, my sweet Byeol.”

You pet her softly, eyes still closed as you didn’t want to accept the fate of it being morning so soon. Your eyes fluttered a bit as you continued to yawn a bit more, poking your head out from above the covers. To your surprise, your dearly beloved wasn’t there.

You poked your head out a little more, looking around the room. Nowhere to be found. Glancing over to the nightstand, you realize his glasses are gone as well. You raised an eyebrow suspiciously, shrugging slowly as you sat up in bed to stretch your limbs. Byeol tip-toed from under the covers and sat on your husband’s side of the bed. You stretched your arms and back, rubbing your eyes to adjust to the morning sunlight shining in the room.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Princess.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you froze. You looked over to the door, seeing your husband standing there with a towel, a basket of miscellaneous items, and roses. He beamed a soft smile at you, his glasses sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

He walked over to you, placing the items on the edge of the bed. He brushed your hair out of your face, leaning in to plant a soft but warm kiss on your forehead. Your face flushed a light red, ears turning hot with it. San hovered over you, pulling your chin up to meet his eyes as you sat in bed below him.

“Good morning sleepy head. Ready for your princess treatment today?”

You stood there, completely at a loss for words as your face now turned a dark red. Normally, you’d wake up early every morning to feed Byeol and make San breakfast for the day. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Acts of service were simply how you showed your affection to him, and that’s exactly what you wanted to do today but heightened. Unfortunately for you, San beat you to it.

He walked away from you, grabbing the box of miscellaneous items to hand over to you. In the box were different kinds of soaps you adored, bath bombs, and scrubs that made your skin glow. An entire bag of Epsom salt sat in the corner of the box and made you grin slightly, as San knew how much it helped your feet when they were sore.

You smiled at the box, feeling love fill your heart with joy as you accepted the gift. Looking back up at San, he smiled at you holding his hand out for you.

“Well, c’mon. I already have a bath ready for you with warm water. Today, I spoil you and you cannot interfere. Understood?”

You looked at him, completely speechless at his words. An entire bath was ready for you? Whatever happened to your plans for him today? It was such a sudden change of events for you, that you weren’t sure of how to respond to his offering.

“But, San. You ca- Shhh.”

He placed his finger against your lips, cutting you off to shush you. He smirked, leaning in to bring his face only a few inches away from yours.

“What did I say, princess? I’m spoiling you today.” He backed away from you, grabbing your hand to pull you out of bed. “I’ll do whatever you want today, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your special treatment.”

He walked you towards the bathroom, closing the door behind you two. The tub was covered in rose petals along with other flowers. Different honeycomb scrubs rested afloat as a soothing aroma of vanilla and lavender filled your nose. Curtains rested on the windows, allowing for a darker room only lit by small candles laid about.

He let go of your hand and stuck it into the bath water to make sure its temperature was still warm for you. Humming pleasantly, he turned back to you.

“Still nice and warm for you.”

Your cheeks flushed red as he once again, moved hair out of your face to admire you. He moved out of your way and walked towards the door, allowing you the privacy to relax and rewind without him there. However, a quick thought hit your mind. A devilish one at that, and it was indeed something that he wouldn’t expect from you.

“Sannie?” He turned his head to you, raising an eyebrow as it was rare that you ever used his nickname with him.

“You said you’d do anything I want right?” His head nodded softly, turning his entire back to face you as he began to cock his face to the side. He meant what he said, but he wasn’t as positive about you taking such a vague request seriously. You looked down at your nightgown, smirking slightly as you met eyes with San once again.

“Undress me.”

San’s eyes widened as you gave him a smug look. His face immediately shot red with nervousness, feeling the room turn hot. A few seconds passed by until you grew impatient, so you grabbed San by the arm and pulled him to you, placing his hand on the strap of your gown.

“Do it,” you mumbled, feeling your heart beat out of your chest.

San gave you a soft glare, kissing your shoulder softly. He pulled your straps off your shoulder, as your arms slipped out of them. The nightgown fell to your ankles, revealing you only in red underwear. San’s eyes widened at the sight of you. Sure, he has seen your body plenty of times, but it still shocked him at how bold you were compared to your normal shy self. He continued to give you small pecks along your neck and shoulders, soon planting a kiss against your hand.

He pulled your body to him, his hand resting underneath your chin as a soft kiss was shared between you two.

"Is there.. anything else that you want me for, princess?"

You blushed hesitantly, shaking your head no to the young man. He smiled, letting go of you and making his way back towards the door. He picked up Byeol, who stood at the door frame and turned to face you once again.

"Take your time. I'll be making breakfast for you."`

San closed the door, allowing you to be alone for some time to gather yourself. You sighed happily and removed your underwear, stepping into the warm bath water. You allowed the water to engulf you as you soaked. It was relaxing, soothing even. You felt refreshed and felt like yourself again, especially after the week you’ve had.

What seemed like a few minutes soon turned into 30 as you heard a few knocks on the door. You perked up, seeing Byeol make her way through the door only to be followed by San’s head.

“How’s my baby girl doing? Feeling relaxed enough?”

He walked over to the counter, placing a warm towel and fuzzy robe down. You tilted your head at him like a dog, confused as to what his mind was thinking. He came and kneeled by the tub, petting your head softly as he kissed your forehead. You smiled, your eyes meeting. You nodded to his question.

“I am, Sannie. Thank you.”

He stood up, walked back to the door, and opened it. As he did so, the fresh smell of breakfast hit your nostrils. Bacon, pancakes, eggs. Smells that made your stomach growl with hunger and tastebuds eager.

“I left some clothes for you on the bed. Try them on for me, will you? Then come eat breakfast with me.”

His eyes beamed through the lens in his glasses as you nodded once again, permitting him to leave the bathroom. You looked at Byeol, who snuggled herself on the mat. She was always so precious to San, but it gave you warmth in your heart to know that you were just as precious to him.

Getting out of the tub, you dried off with the warm towel San had brought for you and wrapped the fluffy robe around you as your feet dipped into your slippers. Opening the door, Byeol made her way out with you following behind. As San said, there were a pair of clothes laid out for you on the bed, nicely placed so they wouldn’t wrinkle. It was a pink turtle neck paired with a pleated denim skirt. You smiled at his choice of fashion, as San always went out of his way to buy you the cutest clothes.

You removed your robe, grabbing some undergarments to wear before putting the outfit on. Without looking in the mirror yet, you slipped on knitted white socks to match and smiled, pleased with the outfit. Before you could get up to admire it, a small knock interrupted you.

San cracked open the door, peeking his head through to see what you were up to. Upon seeing you, he paused, feeling his heart skip a beat. He invited himself into the room, his eyes refusing to turn away from you as your face turned red.

“You look beautiful, baby girl.”

Turning your head away from his gaze, San made his way torward you. As you sat on the bed, his arm reached out to the side of you as he hovered over your figure. He stood above you as he leaned in closer to kiss the side of your neck fondly. You felt butterflies in your stomach as he placed his other hand on your upper thigh, slowly bringing it up. He continued to peck at your neck softly.

“San—”

He pulled away, his eyes meeting your flushed face. He wasn't sure what had gotten into him this morning, as he knew you weren’t always one for displays of affection. However, today he just felt so much love towards you. He wanted to kiss you, hold you, love you, touch you. There was no end to the overflowing amount of adore he felt towards you today that he could not resist.

He pulled you over to the mirror to see the outfit on you as you stood in complete awe. You smiled, hitting a small pose as San stood behind you. He wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed your temple softly.

“I told you. An absolute angel.”

He pulled your hand, allowing you to follow him into the dining room. Different plates of food were placed on the table, from bacon to assorted fruit, to fluffy pancakes, and even some white toast. Your eyes widened in awe seeing the glorious amount of food in front of you. He pulled out a seat for you, gesturing for you to sit down. You took a seat and San pushed the seat in, placing all your favorite foods in front of you so that you could indulge yourself. Smiling, you grabbed a piece of bacon, biting into it happily.

“Mmm, so good.”

You sat at the kitchen table, curious as to why San had left you alone for a moment. You were full from all the breakfast he had made and yet somehow, he managed to eat your leftovers with his food. It was only 11 am and San had already spoiled you so much on this special day.

You heard footsteps approach you as San appeared in your sight of vision again. He was holding a blindfold in his hand, giving you a slight nervous feeling in your stomach. He smirked softly, coming behind you and leaning next to your ear.

“I have a surprise for you, princess.”

Your face turned red as you felt his warm breath hit your neck. He kissed the top of your ear, placing the blindfold around your eyes and tying it lightly. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up from your seat, guiding your walking with his own. You held out your other hand for balance, curious as to what surprise was awaiting you.

You both came to a stop. San let go of your hand and came behind you, allowing you to feel his presence brush by you so you weren’t startled. He untied the blindfold, letting it fall on its own into his hands.

Before you, were dozens of rose petals laid against the ground. Heart-shaped balloons covered the ceiling in various areas from red to pink. Candles lit the room up, as San put up darker curtains to set the mood. As you began to walk into the room, you realized more rose petals covering the bed and a small lingerie set sitting nicely on it. You blushed as your breath hitched, San coming up next to you.

“I know you don’t like to reveal yourself, and that’s okay. So, don’t feel pressured to try it on, k?” He squeezed your hand reassuringly.

You eyed the sight, nodding quickly. It was a light pink baby doll set. The spaghetti straps had small butterflies sewn to them. The sides of the lingerie were a sheer pink, and the body’s middle was simply laced with butterflies and flower patterns. A baby pink hem wrapped around the middle of the gown, small ruffles hanging off the cups of it.

You walked over to it, picking it up. You looked up at San as he gestured to the bathroom for you. He gave you a warm smile and you blushed once again, feeling the heat inside of you.

You walked over to the bathroom with the set, closing the door behind you as you went to change your clothes. San waited for you patiently by the window, petting Byeol as he gazed out into the streets. He felt his heart thump louder and louder as he waited for you to come out. He has never felt this nervous for you before, it was a new feeling. Even though he’s seen you in all your beauty thousands of times before, this time was different for him. It was the first Valentine’s as a wedded couple and he wanted to make sure everything went in your favor.

“Well, how does it look..?”

San turned his head to see you standing by the bed shyly. Your hands clasped together as you looked down at your feet, feeling slightly insecure. He admired how nicely the lingerie hugged your figure, how perfectly it enhanced his favorite features about you.

San walked over to you until you caught his feet meeting your own. His hand slowly made its way under your chin. He lifted your head to meet his eyes and smiled at you subtly. You felt your cheeks warm up at his actions, not sure of what to do. He took off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand.

“You look stunning, princess. Exactly what I envisioned.”

He kissed your forehead softly, picked you up bridally style, and placed you on the bed. You sat there confused, following his body as he walked across the room to take off his hoodie. He had a simple white tank top under, giving you a full show of his broad muscles and shoulders.

You felt butterflies in your stomach as he made his way towards you, smirking with every step he took. He hovered over your body on the bed as he stood and his hand came up to caress your cheek.

“Remember what I said earlier?”

Your breath hitched as he spoke, feeling caught off guard by his sudden question. You stood silent, feeling your body continue to melt under his control.

“I’ll do anything you want today.”

He pulled his hand away from you and climbed onto the bed, his body now hovering over you. Your knee brushed against his member, making you close your eyes in embarrassment.

“Tell me, princess,” he laid a soft kiss against your neck, soon making his way down to what was exposed of your chest.

“What do you want from me?”

divider creds: @cafekitsune

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did hehe🤭 Was literally giggling and kicking my feet writing this. Again, sorry for such the long wait!

Taglist: @skzline @evidive @kittykat-25 @amuromio @xoxkii @losrpark @classyrbf @sundaybossanova @owmoiralover @vrtualsins @sanslovesblog @honeyhwaaa @mingisbbokari @scarfac3

*comment to be apart of future taglists!*

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez atiny #ateez oneshot #kpop #atiny #fluff #ateez fluff #—♡vampzity #ateez san #choi san x reader #choi san #valentines day

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 10 months

Note

Hello~ I've been quite addicted to your writing for some time now and I thought I'd share a few thoughts 🤭🤭

How would the TWST guys react to having a F! S/o reader who's constantly Needy

(in a not so innocent way)

Preference for characters :

If multiple - Malleus, Riddle, Vil, Leona, Lillia (You don't have to do all)

If single - any of the above

- M. 🥀🦋

Needy Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

They’ve got you where they want you, in love with them and completely unaware of the spilt blood that’s made it possible. And married to them and your desire to return to your world nothing more than a distant dream now you can occupy yourself on more personal desires:

Malleus Draconia

“Than as your husband I have no choice but to do satisfy my love’s needs!”

Eagerly fulfills your every wish and desire

Sexual or otherwise

Should you send a letter voice your intentions

He’s actively warping space and time to get to you

And naturally anyone who disrupts this will be ash by the time he’s done

Riddle Rosehearts

“W-what?! Y-you n-need t-that n-now?! F-fine!”

This is what he gets for giving you those love potion infused teacakes

He’s not going to deny you

It is his fault after all

Why focus on duty when his priority is you anyway

So he’ll speed up trials with a simple ‘Off with their head!’

To satisfy his rose’s desires

Hope you’re so engulfed in bliss that you don’t think about the many lives you’ve prematurely executed

Vil Schoenheit

“Tsk tsk darling, you sound so desperate for me.”

How cruel is he

To pump you full of aphrodisiacs before his tour

He’ll instruct you over the phone

He’s gotten you plenty of toys to deal with this exact situation

He’ll fly you out to him

forcing you to keep it together until he can properly deal with you

Just hols out til then

Leona Kingscholar

“Geez, if you’re so desperate do it yourself.”

He’s already exhausted himself

But if you’re still so needy he’ll let you do things yourself

The views nice that’s for sure

But no matter how tired he is

anyone who interrupts is prey

Through and through

Lillia Vanrouge

“Aw you look so precious all-needy for me! Just wait until I finish torturing-er dealing with these vermin!”

He’s so proud you can keep up with him

But he needs a break

So don’t mind the blood on his kitchen knife

But no worries years of experience give you both plenty of tools to satisfy

All so you both can be satisfied

1K notes · View notes

jungwnies · 10 months

Text

syn ' a-z alphabet (nsfw) jeon jungkook pairing ' bf!jungkook x gn!reader

i am so unbelievably down bad for jk right now, so this is in honor of seven and my current weakness in the knees for him?!?!?!

a ⋆ aftercare - (how he is after sex)

BOY.... YOU KNOWWW he is taking care of you well

cleaning you up

cuddling you

just know that aftercare he gives is TOP tier

NIGHT AFTER NIGHT HE WILLLLL be treating you right ;)

b ⋆ body part - (his favorite body part)

you lips

your thighs

your ass

literally every part of your body he loves

c ⋆ cum - (anything to do with cum)

he comes on your stomach

or in you

if you don't want to fuck raw then he opts for the stomach

but he prefers coming in you

he likes seeing his seed spill out of you

d ⋆ dirty secret - (his dirty secret)

he loves when you beg

it's the virgo in him

he loves seeing you under his control

like seeing you so down bad for him

and just so submissive

he loves it

e ⋆ experience - (how experienced is he?)

girl

he knows what he's doing that's for sure

he doesn't have a lot of bodies

but he's been in committed relationships before

and the sex never fails to please

f ⋆ fav position - (sex position)

missionary for sure

loves being able to see your face

but sometimes he just wants to do doggy and shove your face into the pillow

g ⋆ goofy - (how he acts in the moment)

he's not goofy okay

but he isn't serious

he's very very

romantic

he's about making sure you're pleased

h ⋆ hair - (how groomed is he?)

he is very well groomed

but he isn't ... bald down there

there's hair there

but not a lot

it's trimmed

not completely gone though

i ⋆ intimacy - (how passionate is he?)

very passionate

like i said

he's a romantic

j ⋆ jack off - (how often he masturbates)

like once or twice a week if you're not there

but if you're there

then never

unless it's mutual

k ⋆ kink - (one or more)

lowkey sadistic???

he kind of enjoys hearing your sobs

or when you cry for him

but if you're genuinely hurt or sad

then he will be there for you

but if you're just in tears cus the sex is

THAT good

then he's super into it

l ⋆ location - (fav place to do it)

the bedroom

sometimes in the car

but mainly in the bedroom

or just anywhere in the house

m ⋆ motivation - (what keeps him going)

your moans

your cries

your sounds

the way you moan his name

it's like fucking music to his ears

n ⋆ no - (something he would NOT do)

would neverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

do anything like somnophilia

he's just not into that

if he's going to fuck you

you're going to be awake

o ⋆ oral - (giving + receiving — is he good?)

he goes crazy

especially when he's giving

HE GOES CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and when he's receiving

his basically fucks your throat

god

oh my god

p ⋆ pace - (fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

rough yet sensual

he goes hard

but not fast

q ⋆ quickie - (his opinion on it + how often they happen)

all the time

on set

before award shows

when people say he has the "we just fucked look"

it's real

because you guys literally just fucked

r ⋆ risks - (is he willing to experiment, does he take risks, etc.)

yes

he is willing to experiment for you

he will risk it all for you

but he sets boundaries

and he respects yours

anything you both are down to do will be done

s ⋆ stamina - (how long can he last?)

he lasts pretty long

but it's not round and round

it's like

longgggg foreplay

and longggg sex

he takes his time

he wants you to feel good

stimulated in every part >.>

t ⋆ toys - (does he use/own any?)

no not really

he's kind of into teasing you in public

it makes it easy to get you to finish shopping

u ⋆ unfair - (how much does he tease?)

A MOTHER FUCKIN LOT

that's all i have to say

he teases a lot ok?

v ⋆ volume - (how loud is he + what noises does he make?)

he moans loudly

he's very vocal about how he feels

not growls but groans fs

just always says your name

and is like

fuck

yes

baby

i love it

fuck

yeah... ANYWAYS NEXT???

w ⋆ wild card - (random headcanon for him)

he thinks about marriage and kids the second he looks at you

he's never been one to think that far into the future

but the second he realized he loved you aka the second he looked at you

he just fell immediately

it's like his whole future flashed before his eyes lol

x ⋆ x-ray - (what’s under his clothes?)

he's not long

he's not thick

he's average

like ngl it's not that big

but it gets bigger when he's hard

so it makes up for those lost inches

we all know he's built

the abs the muscles

he's works out

very nice bod

we all know this yes?

y ⋆ yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

everyday he is down to do it

but he doesn't actually do it everyday

as long as you're open to it

then he is also open to it

it's above avg. but not high

z ⋆ zzz - (how quickly does he sleep after?)

not quickly

he has a hard time sleeping tbh

he falls asleep quick but he doesn't always feel the need to sleep

he sleeps once he knows you're comfortable

and he will be able to sleep once you wrap your arms around him

and tell him you love him

duh

1K notes · View notes

kolsmikaelson · 3 months

Text

— RAFE CAMERON NSFW ALPHABET

NOTES - first time writing for rafe so i hope i did him justice. not proofread so ignore any typos!

WARNINGS - nsfw 18+ content, fem!reader

join my taglist or follow @rodrickhefley to see when i post

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

never really did much aftercare with his past partners other than clean them up and send them on their way, but now he still cleans his partner up, gets a glass of water and holds them close for a while.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

rafes favorite body part of his would be his arms i think like have you seen them? and his favorite body part of his partners would be their ass (he’s an ass guy what can i say)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he loves cumming on your face, it’s one of his favorite things to see

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he has a huge mommy kink

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s quite experienced, he’s slept around for a while and definitely knows what he’s doing

F = Favorite position ( goes without saying)

anything with you on top of him, it gives him easier access to suck on your tits and rub harsh circles on your clit

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he tries not to be goofy, and he usually isn’t but sometimes things happen and he gets a little giggly

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

decently groomed, doesn’t do very much other than keep it trimmed

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he’s rough and he can be mean but he always, always makes sure you get off before him. he doesn’t care about his own pleasure nearly as much as he cares about yours

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jacks off pretty regularly but he’d rather you do it for him ;)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

mommy kink, spit (giving), praise (receiving), he loves sucking on your tits

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

anywhere that’s semi-public, he loves the feeling of there being a chance of getting caught. his car is probably his favorite spot though

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

anything about you gets him going, it’s not difficult at all

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’s really up for anything that you’d want to do but no bodily fluids (minus spit and cum)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

definitely prefers giving but looooves receiving too. i think pleasuring his partner gives him so much pleasure too so he doesn’t care either way

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

fast and rough majority of the time, unless something happens it’s not often that he’s slow with you

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he adores taking his time with you to tear you apart but he likes a nice quickie every once in a while

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

yep! he’s down for almost anything

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

3 rounds minimum. but he can go for hours if you’d let him

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he loves using toys, mostly on you but his favorite is using a vibe on you because he loves the way it makes you clench around him

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

oh he’s obsessed with teasing you, doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing theres a 99% chance he’s gonna find a way to tease you

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he’s not super loud, he prefers you to be the loud one

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

loves to watch you ride things, whether it be a dildo, a pillow, his thighs, it doesn't matter it gets him so hard

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

oh he’s big. im thinking about 6 (7 when he’s hard) inches and he’s decently girthy too. i think in the beginning he’s not very well groomed but if his partner makes one comment about it, he’ll get it under control immediately

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

high. like i said, he’ll go for hours on end if you let him

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he falls asleep pretty quickly after taking care of you and cleaning you up, he has you in his arms and that’s all that matters to him

#◜ caitee’𝗌 works ✎ ˚✧ ꜝ #dividers by cafekitsune #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron concepts #outer banks x reader #outer banks smut #outer banks imagine #outer banks headcanons #outer banks concepts #rafe x you #rafe cameron x you #outer banks x you #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader

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veneerslipstick · 5 months

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Can you make a veneer x reader where reader is supposedly assistant but actually a super famous model/popstar? Velvet and Veneer only realize that their assistant was no ordinary person, (Veneer notices it first) but a celebrity more popular than them (Velvet only realizes when they go to reader's concert that Veneer begged Velvet to go with him) :3 (also reader took the job because they wanted to try having "a normal job" for once and for the possibility of making friends with other popstars) and can we choose our stage names ourselves?

my first request, thank u!!! i love this plot omg…, absolutely >o<

F/S/N : first stage name

L/S/N : last stage name

┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ 　　° ┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ 　　° ┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚

• falling for fame •

veneer x FEM!reader

• one shot

• fluff

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫ .・。

“goodnight, Velvet and Veneer.”

you closed the door to their dressing room and

dashed down the hall. you had just finished helping

Velvet and Veneer get un-ready from their

performance, which was absolutely spectacular.

every time you watch them perform you’re taken

away by how they control an audience and how their

aura beams across the room. being their assistant ,

you kind of have to say things like that for appeal, but

you really meant it 99% of the time.

the other the majority of that percentage was from

what you took by watching Venner, though.

whenever you watched him dance and sing and

seem so relaxed, you can’t help but feel the urge to

start moving too.

maybe he was your inspiration when you decided to become your own star.

now out of the building, you hurried down a small

trail behind the overly large structure which led to an

underground neighbourhood that was lightened up

by old bulbs hanging from trees and cheap

streetlights. this place didn’t really have any

meaning , well, of course until you showed up.

you had finally made it to another building , where

you dragged yourself to your own dressing room.

after running up many stairs, you let your huge work

tote bag down and started undressing, throwing your

robe on as you waited for someone.

knock knock

there she was.

“come in,” you called and the door opened. Georgia,

your own assistant , came through holding clothes in

her arms and lots of small bags. she smiles brightly

at you.

“oh, y/n, thank goodness. i almost thought you

ditched on all of us.” she jokes, putting the outfit

down on your mini sofa beside your vanity which you

sat at. Georgia was a sweet woman, who was a

mother to a small boy, Finn, you had met one or

twice. she was a dream assistant to anyone who

wanted one that didn’t bark or bitch.

“i would never abandon you, Gia. the siblings were

busy today, Velvet wanted extra touch ups and such.”

you explained while Georgia set up curling irons and

laid out makeup brushes. you seen her smile slyly at

you.

“oh, really? it wasn’t because you got caught up

staring holes in the back of her brothers head? huh,

how strange.” she teased you, and you fought back a

huge smile that threatened to take up your whole

face.

“sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” you

murmur, trying to hide the embarrassment in your

voice, but obviously failing.

you sort of wished Veneer would show up, if only he

knew. you weren’t sure WHY he didn’t know,

Velvet either, considering you were popular enough

for plenty of people to know about.

you tried to shrug it off, but you still felt weird about

it. you guessed they had better things to worry

about, that wasn’t you.

( performance ref pictures for anyone that wants them, if not then imagine to your hearts content )

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧ ┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧ ┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚

Meanwhile…

“goodnight, Velvet and Veneer.”

you closed the door, and Veneer bit the inside of his

cheek.

“i wonder where she goes after her shifts.” he

wonders out loud, crossing his arms. Velvet looks at

him like he said something out of pocket, and she

scoffed.

“hm, well, i don’t really give a shit. she can do what

she wants, can’t she?” she said in a snarky tone,

gathering her things together and throwing her now

free hair into a loose ponytail. you did an amazing job

with being able to get all of the product out of their

hair , and Veneer only noticed how flawless it was

now.

Velvet headed towards the door and looked back at

Veneer.

“i’m heading home, Ven. you following ?” she asked,

raising an eyebrow. Veneer was still staring at the

door from when you walked out, but he looked at

Velvet and smiled.

“yeah, eventually. go on, i’ll get a ride later.” he

replied. Velvet kind of gave a side eye to a fake

camera and shrugged. “mkay.. ciao.” she closed the

door on her way out.

Veneer waited a second. two. three.

he scrambled, threw on a pullover hoodie and bolted

out the door, following after you.

he panicked half the time, hoping that he looked like

a janitor on his way home from his shift , and frankly

he did. he followed you out of the building and down

the strange path that he didn’t even knew existed,

but he tried not to question it.

he made sure not to get too close , but also not too

far away, not because he was afraid of losing sight of

you, but also to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt.

now he saw what he walked into, a beautiful

underground neighborhood that almost looked like a

child’s dream treehouse. he was so taken aback that

he lost sight of you and began to panic. you

vanished in thin air, and he almost turned around to

run. but then he started hearing music, from a stage

from the middle of the grounds.

“what…” he whispered. he began walking towards it.

it took him a few minutes to get there, and when he

did, loads of people started flooding the ground, and

he became afraid of people recognizing him. he

pulled the hood further up but made sure to keep his

eyes on the stage. but it just got worse from there.

he could’ve swore the ENTIRE neighborhood was

flooded with people; 3x the crowd that Veneer and

Velvet get. Veneer began to over think.

‘Vel wouldn’t be happy about this…’ he thought to

himself, and he was about to leave again, when all

the lights on stage went off. people began cheering

and screaming as the sound of footsteps tapped on

the stage. the lights came back on, and Veneer seen

a tall lady standing at the front of the stage in a suit

holding a microphone

“you’ve all been waiting long enough! please welcome our loved, F/S/N L/S/N to the stage!”

more cheering commenced and Veneer was getting

confused. he certainly didn’t know that name. that

was until the lady left the stage and someone else

took the lead behind her.

Veneer froze.

“oh my god.” he said out loud. you appeared at the

front of the stage, backup dancers behind you. you

posed with confidence and gazed the crowd like you

owned it. he stood and stared like that’s what he was

born to do.

it was a magnificent performance.

As much as he adored Velvet and everything

she did was better than what anyone else

could do, he couldn’t say the same thing

right now.

he gazed and was lost in a trance; at the

way you danced, sung like you were holding

in a voice of gold since you were born and

controlled the audience with every striking

belt. this was probably the best show

Veneer has ever seen, and his heart

squeezed, wondering how this girl he swore

he knew ended up being someone

completely different.

after your performance, Veneer felt as if something

apart of him bloomed. that was all he needed to see

to feel complete. his supposedly normal assistant

was actually a pop star that he casually never knew

about ?

he wanted to go see you. he wanted to run backstage

and ask a million questions, but he knew he couldn’t.

not right now. instead, he ran off somewhere where

people weren’t and pulled out his phone and dialled

Velvet. she picked up after a few rings.

“what Veneer.”

“hi sis, uhm, were you AWARE that y/n, our

ASSISTANT, is a pop star???”

there was silence.

“…what the hell are you talking about? also where are

you??”

“listen, vel, i….i followed y/n here. i was curious of

her outside life and i accidentally discovered that

she’s super famous , and i kid you not that she’s

almost as famous as WE ARE. i’m bringing you here

tomorrow.”

“uhm. sure.” she sounded unsure.

“okay. i’m coming home.” he hung up and looked at

the stage one last time before leaving.

the next day…

after a long day of Veneer struggling to hide the face

that he knew about your “secret” , the time finally

came for Veneer to bring Velvet to your show. he

stood anxiously in their dressing room, picking at his

hands and clearing his throat repetitively. Velvet

noticed this as she was packing her things.

“uhm, what’s up with that? you’re the one that

wanted to bring me to her in the first place.” she

questioned, putting a hand on her hip as she

examined her brothers anxious gestures.

Veneer looked at her and suddenly stopped, running

his fingers through his hair.

“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about. let’s go?”

he tried to change the conversation. Velvet would’ve

protested but she kind of wanted to get this over

with, but of course she had to throw in a remark.

“you like her.”

Veneers heart pumped furiously as the thought was

put in his head.

“no. well.. no! velvet.” he became embarrassed by her

comment and suddenly wanted to disappear. she

laughed.

“you’re really bad at hiding your feelings. i’m your

sister, i would know.” she smirked and opened the

door. “move it.”

he shook his head and went out the door, Velvet

closing it behind him.

Veneer guided his sister to the underground tunnel-

ish place and she grimaced with her voice.

“oh my god, it’s like, damp in here. ew.” she

complained, pulling at the sweater that she wore.

Veneer wasn’t really listening. he was eagerly looking

around, wondering if he would spot you out and

about, hoping to have a conversation before you

performed.

they made themselves to the pit of the arena,

ushering off to the side so people wouldn’t look at them.

“it’s off putting that no one has noticed us yet.

almost upsetting,” Velvet said.

“maybe it’s the fact we don’t have three tubs of gel in

our hair right now?” Veneer replied, not meaning to

sound like a hard-ass but coming off as it anyway.

Velvet scoffed. “shut it.”

that’s when the people started flooding in, and

Velvets face went shocked.

“holy shit,” she whispered , looking around

frantically.

“there’s no way this is for y/n. she has ten times more

people than we do! ugh!” she became upset and

veneer blew air in his cheeks.

“that’s..what i told you.” he whispered to himself and

looked to the stage.

when the hundreds of people finally stopped coming,

Veneer knew this was the time. he could barely wait.

he was basically shaking in his boots, eager to see

you. to see you dance and steal the shine of the

stars. he couldn’t help but see you as the moon.

then, the lights went off,and Veneer nearly shrieked.

he felt like a fanboy to his own assistant; and he

didn’t know how to feel about that.

the announcer came on again, and that’s when the

lights came back on and he could see you, there,

with a gorgeous outfit and stunning makeup that

made you seem intimidating. he could’ve cried at

how beautiful you were, his heart throbbed in his

chest as he just wanted to climb on stage and join

you; steal your own show but make you the main

attraction.

Veneer was getting caught up with his thoughts the

entire performance, and the look on his sister’s face

was priceless. he couldn’t really tell if it was jealousy,

admiration or a combination of both. but in this

moment, he didn’t care what she thought , all he

wanted to do was watch and admire you.

there was a split moment when you were near the

edge of the stage, singing effortlessly like you always

do, and made direct eye contact with veneer.

the whole world stopped for both of you. Veneer was

lost in your eyes, you were clueless of why he was

here, but that butterfly feeling started in the pit of

your chest. you kept singing , didn’t miss a single

word, and carried on.

Veneer felt his face flush as he continued to stare like

a fool.

after another ground breaking performance, the

applause roared across the entire plot and you gave a

bow, giving Veneer a final look and thanking

everyone in your mic. heading backstage , Veneer

held the urge to run back as well, but he looked to

Velvet.

she was already looking at him, and her expression

was…soft.

“go, Ven.” she said, motioning her head towards the

backstage entrance.

he smiled at her. “thank you vel.”

he ran to the backstage, being able to sneak past the

guards and past the red curtains.

he stopped to look around and saw you stepping off

the stage stairs. you looked at each other.

‘she’s so beautiful in the dark.’ he thought to

himself, walking towards you and your mouth parted.

“veneer,” you started, trying to get words out of your

mouth while shaking your head. “you..you knew?

how? you brought velvet ?? why…why?” so many

thoughts came blurting out and Veneer took your

hand.

“i always knew. i knew you pursued something,

you’re the type of girl to do that.” he looked at you

with kind eyes, and you swallowed with a dry mouth.

“i..” you stopped, taking a deep breath, looking away

and looking back. “thank you, for showing up. that meant more than you really know. i didn’t tell in fear of trying to out run you and Vel. i’m sorry,” you explained, a slight panic in your voice, but Veneer sealed your worries with a gentle kiss to your hand.

“let me support you y/n. i want this for both of us.”

his words had an effect on your heart and you smiled

warmly. you brought his and your hand to your heart.

“ yeah. just you and me. oh, well, Velvet too.” both of

you shared a laugh.

FLASH

a bright light came from the backstage entrance ,

and paparazzi and kid ritz stood there with shocked

expressions on their faces.

“oh.” you both said in unison.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦

a/n: AHHH IDK IF THIS WAS TOO LONG OR NOT IM CHARACTER FOR VENEER HELP 😞 i apologize if this sucks lol but i had fun making it 💗 tysm for the support lately i love all of you + my dms are always open if any of u need a friend ! requests are open always unless said otherwise <3

#trolls veneer #trolls 3 #trolls band together #trolls #veneer x reader #velvet and veneer #oneshot #fanfic #trolls fandom #trolls fanfic #veneer fanart #anonymous #lexischocolatecoveredblueberries

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