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honeybunnyale · 1 day ago

Note

Can I request accidental pregnancy after a one night stand with Superman but reader want nothing to do with him and wants to raise the child on her own but she works at the planet so Clark is trying everything he can to help her <3

Clark's Baby Daddy Chronicles l C.K.

w.c: 8.3k

t.w.: Smut, P in V, Oral f receiving, sub/dom headspaces mentioned, brief Daddy kink, Pregnancy, lots of fluff, lots of angst, lots of silliness, Reader does not like Superheroes, Clark is just a sweet man trying to take care of his babies, lil grumpy x sunshine vibe, descriptions of pregnancy and discomfort that comes with it

a/n: Thank you so much for the request! I loved this! <3 Please read all warnings before interacting with my works. 18+ only!

Summary: Clark ensures he could be part of the baby's life and yours.

Month Four: Nausea

You hated being coddled. A group dinner was turned into a love fest, just for you.

It was suffocating being around people who had baby fever, especially when they weren’t dealing with pregnancy themselves. You depart from the table, gaining the courage to order some food. You hear a metal chair scrape irritatingly across the ground.

You knew exactly who had followed behind you.

You stand in line with your hands in your pockets, you briefly think about how you needed new trousers, they were getting a little tight on your stomach. You loosen your belt, allowing more room for the soft swell.

The atmosphere was mellow, lights dim and verging on yellow in the trendy new spot near the Daily Planet building. Fake plants collecting dust were scattered around the restaurant.

Clark’s arm bumps against yours as the server takes their sweet time taking orders. You check the time on your watch, they had a whole speech, the line was unnecessarily long. You catch his eye, lingering over your hands lightly cradling your stomach, thumbs hanging on to your belt loops.

You put them down to your sides self consciously.

The options were rather limited, gourmet deep dish, gourmet chicken tenders, gourmet burgers, gourmet deli sandwiches. You settle for a chicken Caesar salad, Clark butts in with his own order of a double cheeseburger with fries before the cashier could ask if you wanted anything else.

The total was given, and Clark pressed his card against the screen before you could even reach into your pocket for your wallet.

Your arms are crossed lazily as you balance yourself against the counter near the pickup area. Clark has his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground beside you. He told you to wait at the table with the rest of your coworkers, but you refused.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say lowly. He gives you a tight-lipped smile. He waves a dismissive hand.

“Pfft. No big deal.”

His cheeks were rosy with a light blush as he avoided your gaze. You sigh, you didn’t really want the pity or extra attention.

Much less from him. He was the most annoying coddler of them all.

He takes the tray of food back to the table, walking a step behind you. Everyone turns to see you walk over. You hold back a snort as Lois awkwardly pulls back a chair for you.

Everyone eats and chats, sometimes the conversation is directed to you, asking indirect questions about your pregnancy.

How are you feeling? Seeing anyone? Have you set up a registry?

You were four months along, you were just barely showing underneath your loose clothes. But months before, everyone figured out your gestational status.

Maybe it was because you were more irritable. You think it was because of the way you stormed out of an editor meeting mid way through to puke your guts out in the bathroom nearby.

Clark had always been the most attentive. He even confirmed it in front of everyone. Steve invited the newsroom out for drinks, you agreed.

Clark narrowed his eyes at you, everyone gathered near the entrance to the Planet, dividing up and waiting for Ubers. Lois was nudging your shoulder, challenging you to a drinking game.

“Aren’t you pregnant?” Clark blurts out.

You were about to tell Lois that you weren’t going to drink, hoping she would catch the hint as you pressed a hand to your stomach. You froze in place, blinking as everyone turned to you.

The casual drinks turned into a celebration. Everyone wishing the new mother a healthy pregnancy. You’d smiled through grit teeth as everyone made a ruckus at the bar and toasted to you.

Clark would never forget your glare. You didn’t speak to him directly for a week. Your dry emails scalded him.

The conversation is focused on something else now, you pick at the pieces of parmesan cheese left in your bowl. It was really good. Your lips are downturned in a small frown. You should have gotten something more filling. Your stomach growls lightly, imperceptibly.

Clark shifts the tray of his fries in your direction, his attention directed at the conversation as Jimmy tells a story of a date he recently went on, his hand flinging every which way as he dramatizes the woman.

You cautiously take some of his fries, dipping them into the ketchup he had poured out on the tray.

Clark glances in your direction, sending you a soft smile, mouthing a ‘you ok?’ from across the table. You nod and his eyes twinkle. His smile widens for a second.

Your cheeks sting from the heat rising within them.

…

Month Five: Development

Whenever you look through the maternity section, your brain shuts off. You leave the site or leave the store entirely.

They were just so boring. You liked your style, you thought your bump looked cute when you wore a tank top and cargo pants. But a lot of your usual attire didn’t fit anymore.

You think the baby’s a big one, judging by the look on your doctor's face, when she told you the growth was super healthy for 19 weeks.

The adjective makes you gag. Superman gives you a super baby. You sigh, your folder landing on your desk a little too forcefully as you scoot the chair out from under the desk.

You sit down and unzip your fly, finally allowing yourself to take a deep breath, the soft swell of your belly starting to rest against your lap. Your shirts ride up and your pants were held on by a hair tie you borrowed from someone when you just couldn’t zip up your jeans again.

A cup lands on your desk, a smoothie cup. You sigh. Clark says it’s a good source of nutrients, all natural sugars and all of that other healthy bs. They were also extremely good, no matter how hard you try to find anything negative to say.

Clark was behaving like a mother hen, but most of the time you couldn't be bothered to push him and his attention away.

He waits by your desk as you take a sip, as he usually does to ensure your satisfaction.

You wince lightly. It tasted greener than usual. You smack your lips as you try to decipher if it was spinach or kale.

He extends a hand towards the smoothie, fingers bending repeatedly in a ‘gimme’ motion.

“I could get you another one,” he says softly, humorously.

You hold the cup tightly, pulling it closer to your chest. Gosh you were so cute. He knew how sensitive you were with smells and tastes now.

He changed his cologne after he gave you a side hug goodbye one night and you flinched.

It was right after taking you home, like he does most days.

It was strange how he stays as late as you now. He must be busier than usual. Certainly not waiting for you to pack up so he could offer you a ride or anything.

“I’ll deal,” you mumble, taking the straw and taking another sip. He lifts his hand in a sign of surrender, and he makes his way to his desk a couple of cubicles away.

You could see him in his cubicle because of his broad shoulders. Your hands twirl the straw absentmindedly, watching him clumsily organize his workspace.

You lean back against your chair, rolling it back to see his face more clearly over the desk shields.

He could feel your stare, the way you analyze him. He misses being able to tease you about your cold gaze.

He could hear you gulp. He could tell you liked this flavor. Some weird name like caterpillar fruit salad or something.

“Thank you.”

He lifts his head, glancing around the room. He almost wants to point at his chest to see if you were speaking to him.

You snort. His face turns red as he watches your lips spread into an amused smile.

You lift the cup, tapping against the side.

“Thank you, Clark.”

He smiles bashfully. Ducking his head as he waves you off. He sits down and you smile to yourself as you scoot closer to your keyboard.

A hand meets your shoulder, you jump. Your hands are pressed to your chest.

“When are you going to take that white boy home?”

You’re appalled. You make a sharp noise from the back of your throat, utterly appalled. Catherine Grant looks at you with a craze you haven’t seen before.

You pull her in closer, into the cubicle space. She moves your papers and sits on your desk, bending down to hear your whisper.

“It’s not like that.”

She scoffs. She looks at your desk, finding one of Clark’s notes on an article draft you were working on, he quite literally drew a smiley face and heart on a post-it. She scoffs again.

Cat was smart as a whip. She knew everything about everything. You couldn’t disagree with her more in this regard.

“It’s not,” you affirm. She gives you a look. The man was already clingy, helpful, and kind, sure. But if you would have asked him to jump off a cliff, he’d do it with a running start.

“He’s just nice. I’m literally pregnant."

She bites her fingernail, shaking her head.

“Pregnant and single,” she corrects.

She shimmies in her seat, wiggling her brows.

“Milky tits, a fat ass, c’mon. That would not stop a straight man with half a brain.”

Unfortunately, most men had even less than a third of a brain. You cross your arms. She stands at your glare, making her way back to her desk.

“I hear wedding bells in your future, babe,” she whispers harshly right next to your ear.

She passes by Clark’s desk and makes a motion of eating from a plate with a fork behind his back.

…

The newsroom was nearly empty, but you could hear typing ahead of you. You slowly peek to the side from your desk, Clark was ever so diligent at his desk.

The glow of the computer monitor reflects off of his glasses. You slowly inch away from the edge and refocus on your work.

He wonders when you’d start to pack the hell up and actually go home. He didn’t even think his fingers were capable of cramping up. But they did from being on the keyboard for so long.

He could see you, two desks away from him. His vision makes you easily visible. The fetus snugly cradled in your belly.

It makes him smile softly. He overheard you tell someone the baby was the size of a mango today. That was adorable.

He just wished he could go to appointments and shopping with you. He sighs, focusing back on his screen. Maybe get some kissing in too.

You don’t open your balcony door, there’s an excessive pile of leaves and dust on the ground and over the patio chairs.

You don’t even go out there anymore.

He was frustrated, but he understood. He used to joke that you had the same mentality as Lex Luthor who has progressively become an opposing voice to the conversation on Metahuman intervention and conflicts.

He understood your point. Superheroes could turn at any point. A bad day, a missed calculation could end up in so much destruction. And it already has.

But Superman was starting to show you how you and many others didn’t have to worry. There will always be a prevalence of good people.

It all fell apart.

He visited every night the week you found out you were pregnant, looking into your bedroom with X-ray vision, and watching as you retook pregnancy test after pregnancy test.

He’d watched you cry, he’d watched you zone out into your ceiling fan, even watched you as you slept, still sniffling.

You were scared. He was too.

“Holy shit- Clark.”

He sits up at your voice, his thoughts disappearing, replaced with a spike of anxiety rising through his throat.

Your chair rolls loudly as you push away from your desk.

He stands, almost knocking down his cubicle along with his chair as he rushes to your side. He kneels to your level. He looks over your body.

“What, what, what, what?” he asks in a panicked frenzy.

Your stare at your bump, eyes wide and flickering. As if waiting for something to rip through your skin and maul your face.

You yelp again, cupping your stomach in panic. He grips your desk chair, swerving it to the side to have you face him, his body between your legs.

His eyes squint lightly as he stares at your stomach. He doesn’t find anything wrong. The baby was curled in the amniotic sac, heartbeat stable.

A tiny leg twitches and he flinches. He takes a deep breath in.

“Kicking,” you sigh softly, astonished. It felt like flutters, you pressed a hand to the side, where you felt the movement.

You take his hand and place it to where the kicks are prominent. His hands shake, his palm smoothing over the fabric of your shirt. Clark’s hand was large. So warm. You just realized how close he was to you. His fingers glide underneath the waistband of your trousers, thumb rubbing the kicked spot tenderly.

It was so intimate, you swore his eyes were glistening with welling tears. He exhales shakily, adjusting his glasses and sweeping a hand across his curls as you let go of his hand.

His eyes land over your pelvis and he looks away quickly, clearing his throat as he stands. His cheeks turned pink. You glance down and you curse at yourself. Your panties were on full display, zipper wide open. You needed new pants.

…

It was a cool night, you zip up your jacket quickly and clutch the strap of your bag as you hop out of Clark’s car, he comes out of the driver's side and stares at you, opening and closing his mouth, wanting to say something.

It was cold, you wanted to get inside.

“Clark-” you start, wanting to thank him for the ride.

“I want to take you out to dinner.”

Your mouth shuts and your breath stutters. He stands up straighter amidst the silence.

“I mean- can I take you out to dinner- may I?”

…

“He asked you out?”

You nod.

“I think he has a fetish,” you say calmly as you hold up a onesie and feel the texture of the fabric. It was so soft, you pouted at the cute baby elephant design.

Lois looks concerned by your statement. She pushes down the onesie in your hand so that you drop it back into the pile of baby clothes already in your shopping cart.

She lifts a brow and crosses her arms.

“I’m sorry, what?”

You shrug, pushing the cart to the maternity aisle. Lois follows, lifting up clothes, allowing you to either nod or wince before it either goes into the cart or is left behind.

“Well, he just likes you. He always has,” she says carefully. You attempt to recall instances where you felt his interest before your pregnancy. You guess you just didn’t notice.

“Since when?” you ask.

“The moment he walked into the Planet and saw you almost put your fist in Jimmy's stomach for stealing your story.”

You purse your lips and shake your head. Lois sighs.

You bought some pants and shirts for work, a dress, pjs and underwear. Lois also chipped in and bought some onesies, claiming that as godmother she needed to provide early.

You grumbled at the self-appointment.

Being on your feet had you winded, your soles ached. You sip on your lemon water, taking a break from shopping as you take lunch. Lois swirls the straw in her drink.

Everyone was too afraid to ask you questions. No one knew you were seeing anyone. Many were theorizing the baby was Clark’s but given by the way you spoke about him, it seemed unlikely.

“So, do you know who the father is? I mean has he offered to be there for the baby?”

She avoids your gaze as she asks, looking to the side as if the topic didn’t interest her as much as it did. You look off into the distance and let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Remember that interview I did about five months ago?”

It took her a moment. She startles you as she leans over the table. She cups your face and makes you turn your head. Your lips pursed, her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in shock.

“Superman?!”

…

Month Zero: Conception

“You’re so annoying,” you grit out.

“That’s not what you said the night before, or the night before, or the night before…”

You grip onto his shoulders tightly. His suit was on the floor, each piece making a trail to your kitchen. Your ass slid against your kitchen island as he pumped into you.

You kiss him harshly, teeth clinking, lips bruising and leaving him breathless. Your thighs spread as you wrap your legs around his waist.

His hand twists your shirt at the small of your back as he thrusts in a steady rhythm, the fabric tightens around your torso and highlights every dip and curve. His hips slam onto your pelvis, making your body jiggle with each beat.

“S-shut up-“ you stutter.

He came to you at this point. Your work relationship strong due to his punctuality.

He’d arrive at your apartment's balcony, wait there as you got your recorder, your pen, and your notebook ready.

You’d open your sliding door, dressed professionally in your pajamas. He’d step in with his hands intertwined and in front of him. His cape would caress your bare legs, like a breeze in the summer night.

You came at him with tough questions. He’d get heated, you’d shift in your seat. He always smelled your arousal.

And you’d always spread your legs for him the second he confronted you, stepping between them as you sat on your couch, his cock covered in Kryptonian fabric straining in your direction, willing you to touch.

You wouldn’t publish the interviews. So, he’d come back to try again.

He carries you to your bed, despite your growls and barks, you really didn’t bite. He could feel you soften underneath him as he drills into your tight wet hole over and over again.

Your nails dig into his skin, barely leaving a mark, if only light red lines on his back as you took his cock throughout the night.

You’re left a panting mess, lower belly painted in white, a path leading to your pussy, his seed dripping from your folds.

He had left a 50-dollar bill on your dresser. He didn’t pull out quick enough. An honest mistake when your walls got so tight he didn’t even want to move.

He was going to come back the next day, probably check if you took a morning after pill, if not tease you about your frequent forgetfulness due to stress.

That was the plan, until he was accused of attempting to conquer the world and build a harem.

Your balcony was locked, blinds closed shut. You never answered despite his soft knocks. You didn’t trust superheroes, he knew this well.

He broke what little faith you had in him, and it wasn’t even his fault.

…

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing out as you finish your recount of events. It gave you a headache whenever you thought about Superman for too long. He just recently stopped knocking at your balcony door, about the same time Clark asked you to dinner.

Lois nods along. Oh Clark. He was going to be a father. Out of wedlock no less, she wonders what the midwestern farm boy thinks of that. Her lips purse.

He’s too open minded to be thinking of that type of stuff. She doesn’t approve of his “plan”. She wonders what you would say when you realized. Because you will realize.

The baby has potential super strength and might have laser beams shooting out of its eyes, but the child’s will also have an uncanny appearance to Clark Kent.

“What did you say to Clark?”

You look down at your plate of lunch, picking at the pieces of food with your fork. Lois sips her lemonade as you mutter.

“I said yes.”

She almost spits out her drink from laughter. Clark is so screwed.

…

Month Six: Libido highs

You were so soft. Softer than a rose petal. He could tell you liked being cared for, pampered. But you just didn’t open up.

He could tell by the way your heart fluttered each time he got you something sweet from the cafe next door. When he would bring you fresh flowers to decorate your desk each week.

He loved taking care of you, taking you home, asking about your day especially when you had difficulty expressing yourself with anything other than irritation.

A compromise was made as you started dating. A subconscious compromise. He’d take you home right after seven at the latest. Straight home. He’d come in and make you dinner, maybe even let you help.

Then he’d be on his merry way home.

You’d relax and work on your laptop, snug as a bug, freshly showered, and in your pajamas for the night, an oversized shirt and sleep shorts.

You were doing just that tonight, watching reality tv, a hand absentmindedly rubbing over your belly as you zoned out.

But something was different. Your energy finally increased over the past week or so. You move as if your center of gravity wasn’t shifted completely. Like a lioness on the prowl. You turn to stare at him as if he were prey, hands tight against the back of the couch.

You had acted this way the whole day, eyes following him as he made his way through meetings, calls, errands.

“Can you stay the night?” you ask, your head resting on your arms, resting on the back of the couch as you watch him wash the dishes from your kitchen. You bite your lip as his tank top was visible over his dress shirt. You imagine this was how it felt to see a girl's bra through her shirt.

You smile innocently as his eyes roam over the way you're on your knees on top of the couch. He shifts and faces the sink, willing his growing boner to soothe over. The shirt was loose over your shoulders, exposing your collarbones. You weren’t wearing a bra, apparent by the lack of a strap.

“Y-yeah,” he clears his throat, his voice cracked.

You haven’t had sex with Clark. But Clark remembers the feel of your body in hyper detail. He shivers as you make your way over to him, pressing your front to his back as you reach over to the cupboards.

Your belly presses against him, he straightens his back. His hands squeeze the sponge in his hand and he closes his eyes, almost in prayer.

Your hand meets his side as you reach for a mug and your tea bags. He gets them for you, glancing briefly to see the way you rest a hand on top of your belly, fingers highlighting the curve of your breasts by pressing the fabric of your shirt underneath them.

The more your pregnancy progresses the more he wants to tear apart a room, maybe even your clothes. How dare you walk around the editing room with a shirt that pronounces your bump and the breasts that rest atop it, pants that show off your thickening hips and juicy ass.

He grips the sponge so hard it almost rips from the pressure. He wants to touch your soft tits so bad.

“They’re throwing a baby shower for me next week. Wanted to know if you’re coming with me.”

He pauses briefly at the invitation. He wasn’t just invited as a guest. He was invited to go with you. As your partner. He fights a grin of elation.

Your water heater boils loudly. You press a hand to his back, rubbing up and down. You could feel his back muscles. You bite your lip as they flex under your touch.

He turns.

“I’d love to go with you.”

You smile softly, genuinely. He dries his hands with a rag, takes your hand and presses a soft kiss against it.

“Yeah?” you ask breathlessly.

He nods. His hand squeezes yours as you swing it lightly between your bodies.

“You don’t have to. I’m not trying to ask anything of you,” you rush out.

He takes a step towards you, you avoid his pointed gaze. You were asking so much more than a baby shower.

“What if I want to?”

You take a step, bringing your intertwined hands to the side of your bump.

“You want this?”

He bends down to meet your gaze, willing you to meet his eyes. He cups your face gently, tapping your chin with his thumb when you couldn’t quite look up at him.

Your eyes were red, slowly welling with tears. Frustration, anxiety, fear. He cups the side of your belly, thumb rubbing soothing circles over your skin.

“I want this and more.”

You sigh in relief, arms winding over his shoulders, fingers playing with the collar of his flannel as he kisses your cheek and pulls you close into his warm embrace.

…

You sit on the couch behind him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling it back as he types in his laptop, grumbling about the red line highlighting underneath proper nouns.

Your legs were spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders as he sat on the carpet facing the tv.

He was in a shirt and sweatpants. Some of your most oversized clothing items you had on hand. They were form fitting, luckily.

You fight the urge to pounce on him. You didn’t think he could be so large. Tall, yes of course. But muscular and shaped like a Greek God?

Who would have known. Then again, he is from a farm. He must know a thing or two about working with his hands.

His kisses have gotten even more adventurous. The tension is sticky and dewy. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. At least you hoped he did so that he could follow through.

You peed yourself in the morning, after rushing to work and having missed your alarm. The kid kicked harder and harder each day, your organs losing space inside of your body. A hit to your bladder was imminent.

Clark had watched you straighten up from your chair to stand stiffly, hand on your back to handle the weight. You were 26 weeks along, just about to get into your third trimester.

You were waddling to the restroom and he was pretty sure you weren’t waddling the night before as he left you at your apartment door. You texted him SOS.

He had to look through your desk drawers for spare undies. He pulled them out of your drawer to shove in his pocket quickly. They were maternity panties, the ones that stretched over your belly.

He was flustered as he made his way to the bathroom, looking behind him after barging in to the women’s.

He held the underwear between his fingers as he handed them to you, snickering under his breath about granny panties. You pinched his side and used a stall to change.

“You could have asked Lois,” he mentions, completely embarrassed from being inside the women’s bathroom. Even if the door was locked and no one could enter.

“You're my boyfriend, I don’t want her to see my intimates,” you retort behind the stall.

The word repeated in his head over and over again. He couldn’t not think about the casual way you said it. He felt his pants tighten, he grinned as you came out of the bathroom. He was your boyfriend, and you were his pregnant girlfriend carrying his big baby that just made you pee your pants.

He came up behind you and pressed himself against your back. The proximity surprised you, his hands cupped your belly, adjusting the stretchy strap of your maternity trousers lower and lower until it bundled up on your waist.

His fingers press underneath your belly, inching closer to your cunt.

“What-”

He kisses you as you turn your head, holding you in place as his lips moved languidly over yours, his hands wandered, softly at first, resting on your bump but it quickly evolved into passionate fondling.

He cupped your breast, squeezing as you leaned further into him and lifted a hand to caress over the back of his head. The other hand pressed against your hip, pressing you against him to grind on you.

You felt his hot erection press against your ass, you arched your back to press your mound against the bulge.

The knock at the door didn’t soften him, but his groping slowed to a pause. He caresses over your belly, his head buried between your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

They knock again.

“Clark, we need to go.”

He growled, kissing a path to your jaw and shocking you from his possessive hold. His glasses were skewed as he unwillingly pulled away.

He was flushed as he made his way out of the women’s bathroom behind you. Cat stared at you pointedly as you avoided her gaze. She gave a wry laugh as Clark said a quiet ‘excuse me’.

You couldn’t focus the rest of the work day, and now as he sits on the floor of your apartment between your knees, you couldn’t help but feel frustrated.

Your hands travel, smoothing over his shoulders, then over his biceps, squeezing the mass until it hardens with a flex.

He turns his head, the side of his face meeting your bump. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. You tip his head so that you could meet your lips with his.

He must be shy. The bastard.

In his own head, he was thinking if you’d find his body familiar if things continued. He’s visibly nervous. He’s had time to think over the possibility of you somehow remembering the shape and size of his dick from months before.

You shift in your seat. You stick your tongue in his mouth and moan. He suddenly forgets about all of his worries. He turns his body, departing from your lips and kneeling in front of you.

You lean forward to peck his lips.

You wince as your feet meet the ground. He stops, parting from your lips, like a dog straightening up from a rustle in the bush. He’s been noticing you wincing a lot lately.

“What is it?” he asks softly, cupping your cheek.

You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him again. He pulls away. You whine from the back of your throat and you surprise yourself with the noise.

He bites back a smirk. His chest rumbles with satisfaction at your neediness.

“Tell me what’s hurting.”

You groan and slump against the cushion. You lift your foot. Your usual heels didn’t fit anymore, you had to wear sandals. It's been like this for a couple of days now. You could barely bend down to see your toes.

He pushes his laptop off to the side and takes your feet to his lap. His thumb presses against the arch of your feet, a tingle shoots through your leg and to your center. His touch was firm yet gentle.

Your head lolled against the cushion, and you sank deeper into the softness of your couch. You groan as he presses and kneads your foot. You didn’t even notice one of his hands started rubbing up your calf and to your inner thigh.

Your eyes are closed, your leg twitches in a short burst of pleasure as he continues.

He kisses up your leg. You sit up but he pushes you back down against the couch, palm right up against your mound and cupping your belly.

His fingers on the sole of your foot continue to massage into your muscle.

“Let me take care of you. Hm?” he says, mouth parted as he played with the waistband of your shorts.

You gush.

“So good,” he hums against you, tongue flattening over your folds. You cup his head against you pressing his face deeper. You roll your hips.

The lower half of his face was covered in your arousal as he pulled back. He kisses your inner thigh as you lift yourself up on your elbows.

“You taste so good. So sweet.”

Your leg twitches, breath stuttering. You internally squeal. You want to grab your throw pillow and shove your face in it to bite and scream. His eyes narrow and his eyes flicker from your chest, your heart pumping erratically, to your cunt.

He grips your hands pushing them against the cushions as you attempt to reach for his head as he dives in again, you moan out at the strength he displayed. Sweet, shy Clark, holding you down as he ate your pussy like a man starved, not caring for the breathy whines of overstimulation that vibrated through the walls as he pressed the tip of his tongue around the rim of your hole.

Clark loved your attitude. He loved being able to turn you into putty in his hands. He’s sure you didn’t even realize as he maneuvered you onto the bed, over his body.

You were somewhere else, somewhere not quite away but never quite conscious enough to retort or scowl or take the control you so desperately required at work, in public with your colleagues.

Even Superman got you fucked out and stupid, despite your skepticism and cold demeanor.

You were always so warm when he had you like this, underneath him, his cock impaling you, his mouth licking over your skin.

He situated you on his lap, your eyelids were threatening to close completely, and you had lost all of your words. He took your clothes off of your body, hands wandering and squeezing, your hips, your ass, your breasts. His lips praised you as he brought you to ecstasy over and over again with his tongue, fingers, and cock.

“Good girl.”

Your hips stutter, your eyes widen. You look at him as if he held the world in his hands. Putty in his hands. You bounce on his cock, his hand lightly holds your throat, the other playing with your sensitive nipples, squeezing your swollen flesh.

“Fucking me so good, my good girl.”

You lean forward, your round stomach pressing against his. You kiss over his neck, although due to the deep thrusts from below, you often paused just to moan out. You close your eyes tightly as he lifts his hips up into you.

You lose your inhibitions completely to a place he’s never taken you before.

“Daddy,” you blurt out, word coming out as he thrusted and his cock punched the breath from your lungs.

He pauses, he makes you sit up straight again. He teases you, failing to hide his smirk at your completely petrified face. He was a daddy, technically.

“Fuck, I don’t-” you press a hand to your mouth in shock, your eyes were teary from pleasure, you were shaking.

He sits up against the headboard, taking your hands away from your face and kissing your lips softly and slowly. He cups the back of your head, keeping you in place as he moves your hips back and forth, plunging you onto his cock like a sex doll.

He uses your body, you break the kisses to moan, to bite your lip and attempt to contain yourself. That won’t do.

“Who’s your daddy?”

You try to say it, you try to answer him but your shyness prevents you. You bite your tongue, pursing your lips as your face scrunches as if you were in pain. He cups your belly, he kisses down your jaw, coaxing you to let go.

“You’re so stubborn. Who’s your daddy?” he repeats, his pace quickens. You let go with tears in your eyes, you babble your answer repeatedly into the air.

“Fu-You. You, Clark, You, You, You.”

He makes you repeat yourself all night.

…

He was so peaceful asleep, his arm was holding you close by the waist, his face shoved in the pillows, hair a complete mess. He snores a little.

Your finger caresses his cheek lightly, he takes a deep breath in, his eyes fluttering open. It was eleven. You both slept in.

Your stomach growls and he looks pulls you closer, his face gently resting against your breasts.

You didn’t really like being cuddled in bed. There wasn’t enough space to spread out, your body was too hot during the night and now with your pregnancy, the discomfort made it hard to sleep.

You melt into his touch, burying your nose into his hair and smelling your shampoo and a hint of salty musk.

He kisses up your neck, to your lips, making you groan as he attempts to use his tongue to open your mouth.

“Morning breath,” you mumble self-consciously, keeping your lips pursed as you speak groggily. He hums pressing a kiss to your temple, rolling his eyes.

“I’m making you breakfast. You two hungry gals need to eat.”

You don’t say anything as he sits up, you stare at him as if he grew a second head. How did he know? You’ve barely asked your obstetrician for the gender the day before after being so indecisive for months.

Maybe you mentioned it. The confusion is excused as pregnancy brain.

He knows his way around your kitchen, your apartment in general. As if he lived there himself. He serves you from your favorite plate, turns on the tv in the background as you talk because you hated the silence between each shift in conversation topic.

You hated yogurt but you let him feed you a scoop of his.

He had a lot of his things here you notice, some snacks he likes, a Smallville sweater he left. The crib he built, the stuffed cow he bought the baby, up as decoration against your spare bedroom’s window because “it’s a safety hazard to have stuffed animals and thick blankets in the crib, y'know".

“How are you feeling?”

You're ripped away from your inner thoughts. He rests his hand on your stomach. You nod.

“No heartburn?”

You shake your head. He lifts your feet to his lap, massaging the swelling around your ankle. You feed him the rest of the food on your plate, he always serves you too much.

“No bleeding gums?”

Your disturbed expression tells him no. He laughs and you stuff a piece of toast in his mouth.

He was treating you like his baby momma, as if the child growing in your womb was his. But you had to admit, you could see him as a father to your baby. Some part of you already did.

Your chest feels heavy. You sigh. You have to tell him who the father is. One of these days.

…

Month 8.5: Labor

Maternity leave just started, albeit later than usual due to your stubbornness. He hated seeing you in so much discomfort.

You were mentally done with pregnancy at 35 weeks. It was uncomfortable to sit, to lay down, to eat, to shower, to just be.

The final straw was when you started leaking. You were one of the lucky ones to express colostrum. Some cheesy and outdated “mommy” blogs called it liquid gold, stating that the milk was a blessing.

Your blessing made two large wet spots in the middle of lunch, your coworkers avoiding looking you in the eye for the rest of the day as a result.

You had cried that night, completely humiliated. You were leaking all day and Clark couldn’t help but think that this was all his fault. And it was.

That was the final straw. You stayed home.

You were sitting on your couch, staring at the ceiling in deep anger.

“I hate him,” you mutter. Clark leans over the back of the couch and rests his head against your shoulder.

“Who are we hating today?”

You shake your head. You’ve been anxious to tell him. He knows the man, they talk for interviews all of the time. You think they were friends.

You sigh.

“The man who did this to me.”

He says nothing but a short “oh.” and kisses the side of your head. You blink up at the ceiling, having expected him to ask clarifying questions.

He pats the side of your belly, like he would a dog that would bound up to him at the park whenever you wanted to walk outside.

He chuckles at the sound it made, like a hollow watermelon. You grip his hand tightly, head turning slowly to glare.

You stand, wobbly, pressing a hand to your back to steady yourself.

“Are you not going to ask?” you ask accusingly. His visible confusion makes you even more upset. You turn the corner.

“What do you mean?”

You scoff. He was a journalist. You’d think he’d be better at asking questions, that he’d yearn to learn the truth, to know more.

His lack of interest on the topic of the biological father wasn’t going to be healthy in the long run.

“You’ve never asked, Clark.”

Your hormones were getting more rampant, more irregular. You went through emotions quickly. Having a metahuman baby would surely make the effects even more intense. You scowl.

“Asked what?”

You groan lightly, you cross your arms. He was too calm, too genuine. It made you pause. Why did he fit into the father role so perfectly? He never seemed concerned at the prospect of his newish girlfriend having a baby from another man.

“About the father.”

He shrugs. He swallows thickly and smooths his hair back.

“Do you want me to ask?”

You nod.

“You have to know. In case…”

You drift off, your voice trembling. What if he doesn’t want a metahuman baby? What if it’s too much? What if the child looks too much like his buddy?

“You have to know,” you say with finality. He sits down on the loveseat, gesturing for you to sit on the couch, facing him. His lips twitch, as if he found the situation funny.

You huff.

“What- how do you want me to ask? Serious, casual, w-what?” he stutters wittily. You stare at him, unblinking. He nods, pursing his lips at your eyes full of scold.

“Who is the father?”

You swallow thickly. He mimics the action. His leg bounces, ready to hear you say what he already knew.

“Superman.”

His lips twitch, your hands were wringing in your lap with nerves. You look down at your feet, as they shift against the carpet.

He chuckles. He stands.

“Superman?”

You scoff at his tone. His voice was filled with disbelief. He kisses your cheek sweetly, rubbing a hand over your belly before standing up straighter.

“Ok.”

He swallows so thickly that he almost chokes on his tongue as he goes back to the kitchen. His face pales as he faces away from you.

He was panicking. What will happen once that curly dark-haired baby comes out looking exactly like Clark Kent. Will you shrug it off as coincidence? Should he tell you the truth before you figured out Clark and Superman were one in the same?

He chopped some fruit, dwelling in the silence that followed his dismissal. He hears the couch shift, you stand, determined.

“You don’t believe me,” you state. He avoids your gaze. He chops up a mango for you to snack on. He shrugs.

“You don’t think your buddy Superman could ever be an absent father?” you spit out. His hands tighten. He places the knife against the cutting board softly. He was about to retort a sharp no.

Because Superman was not an absent father.

You huff heavily through your nose at his silence. Your body starts to shake with frustration.

“Why don’t you call him up. Ask him.”

He says your name slowly.

“You get an interview from him any other day, I'm sure you could get him alone to ask about child support.”

He turns to face you, your eyes hardened. You turn to your balcony, throwing your hands out. You ignore the slight pressure on your belly. It must be a strong kick.

“You know what? I’ll call him right now.”

You open the sliding doors roughly.

“Superman!”

He follows you outside. He feels his chest ache as he looks around. A sense of nostalgia from stepping into your balcony.

“Superman!” you shout again, a tad bit louder. Clark stands behind you. The sounds outside were deafening, you didn’t think you would be able to hear yourself from the street below

“What are you doing-“

You cut him off, holding a finger up as if his voice was disturbing your call.

“He said he would answer my call no matter where he is, what he’s doing, he could hear me.”

He does. He hears you perfectly well. Superman wasn’t going to come. He looks at you softly, you shout a few more times. Annoyance builds within you, sadness festering with it.

You clutch your belly with a hand, you wince, the pressure around your bump becoming more prominent. You felt your heart in your throat, you groaned at the tightness. Clark jumps to action, hand moving to cup your bump and ask you what was wrong.

You clutch the balcony’s thin metal railing as you lean away from him. Petty and still upset.

He notices the creak coming from the rusty bars. He sees the way it bends forward from your weight. You pushed away from him and suddenly you were weightless.

You yell out as your feet slip from the ledge.

He holds you up by the waist, another hand cupping your head. You stare at him, terrified to fall. Your chest rises and falls, you wrap your arms around his shoulders tightly.

You hear the fence clash against the street below.

A pressure releases from your center, it felt like you pissed yourself, but your bladder wasn’t squeezed by the baby’s kick. Your pajama pants dampen.

He was floating, the soles of his shoes lightly brushing the walls of the building. His curls flop forward as you stare up at him.

Your yell was so loud he flinched.

“Hospital!”

…

Month 6: Family Road trip

She babbles from the back of the car. You could see her from the mirror you set up in front of her seat, biting into the teething toy Clark froze a while ago as he drove.

The drive from Metropolis to Kansas was almost 6 hours long. It was like a family road trip, even though you’re sure she wouldn’t remember a thing about her travels along the state.

Clark has his hand on your thigh, resting there. You place your hand on top of his and he glances in your direction, giving your leg a squeeze.

Driving back to Kansas was annoying, admittedly, but after groveling at your doorstep or whenever you dropped off his Dolly at his apartment, he finally managed to make you agree to seeing him again.

He couldn’t fly you both to Kansas, no matter how much he attempts to convince you to climb on his back.

The car parks right outside the Kent household. He takes little Martha Dorothy, Dorothy mostly your silly little suggestion for a middle name because Kansas, out of the car seat and into his arms. He coos at her, mimicking her slight fussiness from the hot humid air she was blasted with as the doors opened.

She was so small in his arms, she leaned against his shoulder. Clark blew on her face lightly, providing a cool breeze. She sleeps as he rubs her back in circles.

Martha and Jonathan Kent greet you all with open arms.

…

Martha was in Clark’s old crib, she slept peacefully, Clark rubbing her belly as she snoozed.

“She liked the cows,” he says almost in a whisper. You looked over at him and could see the adorable way he was crouched over the wooden crib, his hulking form watching the teeny tiny half human dream of candy clouds and rainbows probably.

You hum, crossing the room and pressing against his back, arms winding around him and palms sliding over his chest.

He’s been begging for you back for months, ever since Dolly was born. You press your face in his neck. His flannel smelled like him. Not like smoke and dust from debris like Superman. Not like printer ink and that expensive coffee that he gets from around the corner.

He smelled like plain old Clark, hot chocolate and firewood.

“I really want to marry you.”

He touches your hand, playing with your fingers. He wasn’t nervous as he told you this. He was surprisingly calm, and his voice was steady. He tips his head lightly to glance at you.

You were surprisingly not freaked the hell out.

“Not right now, though, obviously.”

You nod, snorting at his clarification. You peck his cheek, smoothing back his hair.

“Obviously, yeah.”

You watch the baby settle into deep sleep. She had Clark's hair and his eyes, a slightly darker shade. You wonder if you would have ever realized the similarities.

You tsk. You definitely would have.

—-----------------

Hope you enjoyed anon! This was fun and silly to write. I’ve never written about some of the smut aspects. lol I'm exploring.

Requests will be closing soon (a day or so) because I’m about to move into my new apartment soon and start the semester and lowkey I gotta lock in for senior year. I need that honor chord twins. 😔

Chubby Clark request soon! 😝

Taglist:

@aphroditesblunt @animegamerfox @twizzlelutz

-Alejandra 💋🐇

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark kent x you #superman x you #superman #superman (2025)#clark kent fic #kal el x reader #david corenswet superman #ale's fics <3

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hillbillyoracle · 2 days ago

Text

I want to work on something more elaborate but basically what I want to say comes down to this:

Too many people waste their time staying informed about things they'll never change while ignoring the vast amount they could - and that is only to the benefit of everyone they profess to be against.

My recommendations:

Block ads - they track and sell your data on and offline; they're whole goal is to further capitalism/consumerism

Get off of social media entirely (especially Meta platforms) or move to decentralized platforms; decentralized ones at least aren't optimized to keep you on them

Leave streaming platforms (Netflix, Spotify) limit or avoid endless content platforms (YouTube). They have a vested interest in you not feeling satisfied, tiring you out so all you can do is consume them.

When you do consume, switch to more free/low cost media from collective sources like libraries (books, DVDs, music, Kanopy or Hoopla) and direct from creators (indie books, zines, games, etc). This supports your community and cultivates valuing exchanges outside of commercial factors.

Learn about security and privacy issues - consider degoogling, switching to Linux, using a safer phone OS or downgrading your phone, infosec online, etc.

Mask as often as possible with the best quality mask you can afford. This is not as effective at blocking facial recognition as has been reported but it does limit spread of many deadly viruses and saves lives.

Create an archive and back it up of work you enjoy or find useful. Have ways to access it completely offline. Prepare for an internet that is controlled by autocrats or cut off entirely. Make it so you can share it with friends and family if need be.

When you're less influenced by tech and business oligarchies, you're better able to think critically for your own and other's benefits. When you value spending time and consuming outside of their reach, you aren't a cog in their machinery - spending that time feeding them content they can train AIs on and spy on you to sell you to others. When you care about privacy and security and take measures to protect yourself, you help others who have to take those measure to protect themselves because they're targeted - activists, marginalized groups etc - by making it less easy to flag those people. When you mask you protect yourself and others from disease while the health care system is getting attacked and dismantled.

These are meaningful and concrete ways of assisting others that are getting completely ignored in favor of more performative ways of "helping" or not helping at all. And I just...wish people knew it wasn't all or nothing.

The powers that be are trying to destroy services that were intended to benefit all of us so they can sell it back to some of us at a steep mark up. When you use NWS for your weather or NPR/PBS for your news and television, you care when they're gone.

You do not have to consent to autocracy. You can resist it.

#just getting burnt out #having the same pointless conversations #about shit people can't change #while they ignore stuff they could

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au-bit-lait-yr · 1 day ago

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rb'd for replies and...

real fucking truths: REFUSE needs to be an option.

Convenience by consumers isn't killing the planet! IT'S THE COMPANIES.

In so many industries!! They choose to make single use products, and even for vital steps in manufacturing....

My fucking medicine bottles can only be made into so many MoMa art projects or little bead storage things before... I have to live in a hoarded hell of things I could not refuse, and am pressured to reuse. Beyond what can ever do any good.

"TL;DR" Before I go off the rails:

(Unhelpful) It's ALLL... Fuck. A magnitude of FUCK beyond any comprehension of Clusterfuck.

metaphorically

we* are fighting over $20.00* (of ""change"")

while some..one (Bezos literally at the time I am posting) sitting on a pile of

$ 2 0 0 , 0 0 0 , 0 0 0 , 0 0 0 . 0 0

watches, and then with equally proportional power, works to ensure nothing is changed.

More than 7,000,000,000 people versus One guy. ONE. 1 out of 3,028 billionaires.

*we = 99% of the global population LOL, so pretending literally every person is Doing Their Part!

*$20 = some number I pulled out of my ass that just about represents, in any meaningful way, how much power you have when

the entire global population of 8,005,176,000 humans (minus 1%!)

collectively controls ~52.5% of global wealth

(1% owns almost half)

1% owns almost half!

one percent essentially owns half of HUMANITY'S wealth

aka resources aka power aka policy

So maybe one trillionth of a penny applies to you personally, and every generic multimillionaire combined is equal to $1?

You could do the math, but the point is

it's so fucking insignificant, IT DOES NOT MATTER.

Give or take one fucking ATOM, ok?

Back to a realistic and "mundane" scale.....

We're talking plastics but

Y'all need to understand the huge fucking problem of TRANSPORTATION.

Of people, goods, etc.

And the waste! Truck driver protocols. It's actually... not so simple. The dispatchers, the loads, how a driver has to keep the engine running overnight or do a turn over...

Miscalculations or inevitable errors in aviation/Airlines.

My point. As the case. Here is a Personal anecdote &

> It is as meaningful as that trillionth of a penny. Everything I explain statistically meant NOTHING. This is nothing.

( And keeping in perspective, you're arguing over what might affect a couple hundred thousand plastic spoons between all of you over your entire lifetimes. )

So. Two-ish? weeks ago, shitty ATC, pilot trying to squeeze through, airline trying to save money by not canceling a flight that Absolutely Clearly was "canceled" by mother nature -> United flight that never took off spent 3hrs burning fuel on the tarmac (YEP, over the limit but storm conditions didn't allow return to gate) =

All that time, the 142-234 passengers on 757 (the 200, obv. Boeing) used plastic water cups, other single use packagings unnecessarily while the plane burned almost 900 GALLONS of jet fuel. (lmk if calculations are off?)

I am not going to lookup/guess how many other planes were in the same position, also doing exactly that, just that one fucking afternoon in one fucking airport.

And....

REMEMBER HOW DURING THE SHORT GLOBAL SHUTDOWN (relative to time since humans started using fossil fuels) AT HEIGHT OF ATTEMPT TO PREVENT A FULL PANDEMIC, THE EARTH'S ECOSYSTEMS ACTUALLY SHIFTED.

Yay, Anthropause? BUT WAIT!

balance that out with... billions and billions of single use PPE andddddd every plastic seal on every fucking medical item, every IV, every shot, everyyyyy pair of gloves. Plus!

"Greenhouse gas emissions resulting from the treatment process of this plastic waste ranged from 14 to 33.5 tons of CO2 per ton of mask, the largest share being from production and transport."

The time spent even discussing this here is so fucking worthless, you need to personally be degrading/gobbling up plastics like that fungus but at some fantastical rate (like how fast fictional Cordyceps ate everything in The Last of Us) to offset all the pollution that occured while you read this.

Enjoy your time on Earth.

I (alone, at least) am not batshit insane. Reality, the state of things in the human world, is ABSOLUTELY BEYOND BATSHIT. Explaining the batshit is so impossible because batshit^2= ?

and yet, I am writing every word knowing no one is going to read this. /shrug

Nihilism, but in the fun way is... the most accurate way to perceive and exist. imo

But maybe some of you have actionable solutions for everything I wrote about! Maybe miracles exist. Sure, buddy.

Remember "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" ? I feel like there's been a distancing from the "reduce" and "reuse" part and a favoritism towards "recycle" by corporate American.

Capitalism can still thrive with recycling in the mix. You buy Plastic Thing 1, throw it away after one use, and they take that and recycle it into Plastic Thing 2 and sell it back to you. All while continuing to harm the environment.

Reusing puts a damper on things. They can't sell you Plastic Thing 2 when you're still using Plastic Thing 1. Plastic forks, for example- there is literally no reason why you can't reuse plastic forks more than once (aside from maybe microplastics, but it's too late for that)

Reducing is the one everyone wants to ignore. Just don't buy Plastic Thing 1. You don't need Plastic Thing 1. Pick up a set of metal forks and use those for years. Convenience is killing the planet

#ONUS ON THE WRONG 8 BILLION PEOPLE #EVEN MILLIONAIRES. TAYLOR SWIFT?#this is not anti-mask #but we're looking at the full accounts #covid tangent #buried lede: getting mad about personally watching 6000 lbs of jet fuel get burned for fun seems more legitimate. but that. THAT isn't even #WORTH caring about.#I'm so sorry but at this point environmental impact by environmentalists is a religious practice #reduce reuse recycle #is as useful as a prayer

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nefarioushours · 1 day ago

Text

Intertwined

Prologue: Little Witch

[The Saja Boys x F!Reader]

Summary: Rumi thinks she has found a way to give Jinu a second chance through you, a witch. You, however, are sure soulless creatures cannot return, but you still decide to entertain her idea. Things do not go as planned for either of you.

Warnings: Swearing, no use of y/n, reader/you cut your hand for the ritual you perform, no beta

WC: 1.9k

A/N: I had this thought and wanted to run with it! There will be smut eventually. The following parts/chapters should be longer; I just wanted to give you all the gist of the idea! divider by @uzmacchiato

You look at the woman in front of you. Your eyes scan her. You are looking for something, anything, that tells you she is playing a trick on you. That she is just joking. But every part of her looks excited to have met you. She is dripping with hope and determination.

She is not joking.

“Rumi…” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Please, please tell me you are pranking me. That there is a camera somewhere…”

She shakes her head. “No.” She grabs your shoulders. “Can you do it?”

You scrunch your face. “Rumi-” You decide to not argue. Every part of you relaxes. “I’ll do it.”

There is no way this works. Rumi wants a demon back. A thing with no soul. You have never brought anything back, but you are absolutely certain things need souls to return. This will not work, Rumi will leave you alone, and you both go on with your lives like a pop star had not approached you wanting a demon brought back to life.

Rumi pumps her fists into the air and shouts with joy. Her emotions vibrate through you. You feel her excitement. She is radiating enthusiasm, and you are not sure what she will look like when this does not work. You hope that she goes easy on you.

“We doing this in my home?” You question her.

“Can’t do it at my place.” She smiles.

You groan. “Right.” You collect some items you will need, and make your way towards the living room. You begin to move furniture around. Rumi does not miss out on helping you. The quicker this is done, the better. Both of you think this, but for very different reasons.

You blow out air as you draw a symbol on the floor beneath you, taking up a good bit of your living room. Rumi stands back and watches. She is quiet, taking everything in. This is going to wreck her when it does not work. You do not think much about it. Instead, you keep going with the ritual. You sit on your knees in the middle of the symbol. You close your eyes and inhale softly.

You feel a pull, deep in your chest. A pit forms in your stomach. Do not continue. The words ring in your head. Loud and clear. You exhale slowly and open your eyes. You grab the knife lying beside you and do, in fact, continue. Your jaw clenches, and your eyes shut momentarily. Rumi tenses. You practically feel her emotions shift. You ignore it. You have to.

Your eyes open back up and your hand raises, palm facing upwards. You begin to chant words your family has said to never mutter. You were taught that bringing others back was not right. Against nature. Against everything you stood for.

It will not work.

You are sure of it. It is replaying in your head. As you mumble words Rumi has never heard. The knife digs into your palm. Harder, deeper than you had wished for. Your hand moves as if it is being held.

As your blood drips onto the symbol, the whole room tilts. The lights in your apartment flicker and suddenly the chanting is no longer human.

The voices coming from you are not your own. They are angry, primal. The pit in your stomach worsens but you are stuck. You want to scream, and you can do nothing but continue the chant.

Rumi watches as your blood fills the symbol around you and it becomes a deep red. The lights in your apartment blow and the only light left is the glowing symbol below you. Your voice breaks through the others, and while you are stuck chanting, you are obviously strained and terrified.

“Stop!” Rumi screams.

She leaps towards you, but cannot break through. A barrier has formed. She is stuck on the other side, watching you unravel.

The knife has dropped from your hand, and you are now lurched forward. Your nails are digging into the wood floor, scratching and clawing. Fighting for your life. A hiss rattles in your head. One that very much does not belong to you.

Suddenly, your eyes widen and your neck snaps back. The chanting comes to a halt, and you wail. A scream rips from your throat. Tears stream down your face and you fall over, limp. The symbol below you loses its light and Rumi breaks through. She frantically grabs you. She shakes you gently as your eyes lose focus and begin to shut. She yells for you, but it only sounds like a whisper.

“It didn’t work.”

This is the last thing you get the chance to say.

You awake to being soaking wet. You sit, gasping for air. Water wades under you. A large moon lights up the never ending, ever expansive sky above you. Several stars are scattered across the sky. You stand up in the ankle-deep water and huff. You look down at yourself. Your palm stings. It is haphazardly wrapped in bloody gauze. Your brow cocks.

You are wearing black and golden robes. The soft fabric is now only damp. You are not sure which to be more confused by, the outfit change or the gauze on your hand. You look towards the moon and sigh.

“I guess this is my punishment-”

“Do you deserve punishment?”

You jump. High. You spin around and are face to face with the one and only Jinu. Your heart jumps into your throat. The water sloshes as you move and you swallow hard. His patterns light up and everything in you is telling you to run.

You do not.

“Fuck.” You are breathless. “You aren’t… How am I- I’m dreaming.” You answer your own unfinished question.

Jinu reaches out and pinches you, his long claws digging into your skin. “No you aren’t.”

“Okay,” You shut your eyes. “Did I fucking die!?”

“Much worse,” He smirks at you. He lowers himself to your face, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “It worked.” His whisper sends chills down your spine.

Bile rises in your throat and you fall forward. Jinu catches you, steadying you once more. He stands you upright and pulls back slightly, just a little bit away from your face. You swallow the bile and force yourself to speak. “No.” Your voice cracks. “You are aren’t supposed to be-”

“But you did this.” Jinu slowly tilts his head at you. “You brought us back.”

“Us?” Your blood runs cold. Before you can turn around, several hands are grabbing you, pulling and ripping you apart. Claws tear through your robes, piercing your skin. You open your mouth to scream and a hand slides over it. You are being dragged down. As you fall back into the arms of the demons behind you, your eyes hit Jinu.

His golden eyes are brighter than ever. He gives you a wicked smile. He stands there watching as you fall backwards. Suddenly, the hands are off of you, claws are no longer digging into your skin. You feel like you are free falling. The moon and stars are gone, and darkness surrounds you. Jinu is gone. They are all gone.

Your eyes shut tight and your back slams into the pool of water that was once below you.

The world shifts again. You sit up, panicked. Your eyes open and you look around. You are in your home now. You look down at yourself. You are in your normal clothes but your hand is still poorly wrapped in gauze. Your hands pat your chest, down to your thighs as you struggle to catch your breath.

“I’m dry.” You sound confused.

“Uh,” Rumi lets out a nervous laugh. “Yeah? Other than the blood covering you, I guess you are.”

You sigh and look around your house. The lights are back on. Everything seems to be normal. You rub your head and Rumi tenses. She wants to reach out, make sure you are okay, but she only watches you.

“What happened?” Rumi licks her lips, nervously. “Are you alright?”

You shrug. “I think so. I just lost consciousness.” You lie. You look up at her and sigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t think it worked.” You lie again.

You hear someone click their tongue from down the hall. Your hair stands on end. You scramble to stand up and Rumi is close behind you. Her sword materializes in her hand and she moves to stand in front of you.

“Why would you lie to her?” Jinu leans against the doorframe.

Rumi’s sword disappears and she looks back at you. Your eyes are wide and are staring only at Jinu. It really did work. Your stomach flips. Your hands grab your stomach, you cannot look away from Jinu.

“If it worked…” You swallow hard.

Rumi does not get a chance to ask what you mean. Footsteps echo from behind Jinu and four more people make themselves visible. You feel the color drain from your face. You watch in fear and terror as they all stand in your doorway.

“I told you just Jinu!” Rumi turns towards you quickly.

“I know.” You cannot look at her. Your eyes are focused on The Saja Boys. You want to sob. You hold yourself tightly.

You now have five demons in your home. You cannot think straight. You are stuck with the consequences of your own actions. Millions of things run through your mind. You blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind.

“Rumi, send them back!” Distress is taking over.

“No!” They all hiss and growl at you.

Rumi’s sword materializes but she does not approach the demons. She looks at you, your fear and stress palpable. She sighs.

“No.” Jinu sounds calmer. He is not on edge like everyone else. “If you do that, you’re going to hurt the witch.” He looks at you. “That little ritual has bound her to us. If we die-”

“I die too?”

“Not exactly.” Jinu’s head tilts. He steps towards you, “If you lose us, you’ll lose every bit of sanity… Every bit of humanity you are currently hanging on to.”

“Which must not be much,” Baby smirks, “considering you resurrected five demons.”

You gasp, “This was an accident! I didn’t mean to bring back all of you. I didn’t even think I could bring back one of you…”

“You’re stuck with us now,” Romance smiles at you. It is playful and teasing.

It pisses you off. You snarl at him. You have a feeling that you are not going to be holding onto your sanity much longer, even with them here. Especially with all of them in your home.

Rumi looks at her phone. “I’m so sorry.” She gives you an apologetic look. “I have to get to rehearsal. You have my number if anything happens.” She looks from you and towards the demons. “Do not let anything happen.” She is stern with them.

With that, Rumi leaves. You look at the demons in front of you and give them a nervous smile. “So…” You have to figure out how to keep them busy, “do you guys have any hobbies?” You pause. “Other than, um, you used to steal souls.”

“Oh,” Abby muses, “this is about to get fun, isn’t it?”

They all agree.

You have a feeling that it will not be fun for you: the ‘little witch’ that accidentally brought back five demons.

#saja boys x reader #saja boys #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #jinu saja #mystery saja #baby saja #abby saja #romance saja #x reader

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glitch-but-ya · 3 days ago

Note

Can we get a girldad!Sylus fic !! Very wholesome tooth rotting fluff

GIRLDAD!SYLUS HCs!!

A/N: THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST!! I'm not too keen on having children, so I'm not sure if I could do it well enough!! Sorry for taking soo long :( I'm just busy! Not sure if you asked for HCs or a fic, but honestly I don't have time to write a fic rn! I hope you don't mind anon!!

I don’t think fatherhood was in Sylus's plans. The N109 zone is no place to raise a child if you want them to have a happy life. That, paired with the risks his profession poses to both him and his family, makes me believe he wasn’t too sure about being a father either. But when it happens, though? He’ll embrace it with the warmest heart.

I’m confident Sylus cried when he held her for the first time. I know it’s been said before, but I’ll say it again—he’ll genuinely shed tears.

He’ll be hesitant to hold her in his arms, afraid of hurting her in any way. Was he supposed to hold her like this? Was he putting too much pressure on her head? What if she wiggles and falls from his hand? What if she fell? Of course, he’s read books and skimmed through countless articles about the proper way to hold a baby, and he’s practised with dummies and pillows as well. But when the real thing appears? The knowledge vanishes from his brain. And the only thing he can focus on is her. His angel.

He probably doesn’t even hold her until he’s told it’s safe.

At home, he changes everything. He dulls the edges to make the furniture baby-proof, and brightens up some areas with lights and colours. The dim, gloomy atmosphere is almost entirely gone. There are toys scattered across the floor, alongside plushies, pillows, and strollers everywhere. And honestly, he doesn’t mind the change at all.

I feel like he might consider raising her outside of the N109 zone. Although he wants her to be strong, I don’t think he wants her to be like... him, to say the least. I don’t think he wants her to follow in his footsteps. And I believe he would likely keep his profession a secret from her. Even if you don’t mind raising a miniature crime lord. He would rather she took after you. He would want her to be strong, but not from suffering—although despair is where strength is usually born from.

Spoils her, but never spoils her rotten. Of course, he’s happy to give her the world. He has so much—what’s the point of owning it all if you don’t spend it on your family? But I believe he’d teach her the value of things as well. And that sometimes, you don’t always get what you want. She would never lack a thing, but she would also not have the world at her fingertips.

I think that after the inclusion of a partner and a child in his life, Sylus would become... kinder. Not in a way that reshapes his character entirely. But in a way that makes him think twice before pulling the trigger now. He knows what it’s like to have a family. To want to do anything for their sake. Even soil his hands with dirt or crush the world in his palm.

After your daughter is brought home, Luke and Kieran would become big brothers—voluntarily! They’d be more than happy to abandon their jobs to run around their little boss all day, for more reasons than one. The reason why I believe they’d be particularly attached to her is because of you two, of course, but also because they haven’t really gotten to experience a real childhood and would certainly wish that such a fate wouldn’t befall their little sister as well. They would do everything to ensure that she grows up happy, lacking nothing that makes up a normal childhood. One where she wouldn’t have to feed off of scraps and suffer bullets every day, merely to survive. (MY SHAYLAAA)

Sylus probably takes frequent breaks and hands over his duties to the twins just to spend time with his daughter! She could blurt out a little “Ba!” and he would be at her beck and call (she’s not even a year old yet).

Talks to her ALL THE TIME!! Scenario: She’s sitting on his lap as he works or watches TV, and at this point, she’s at the age where babies start attempting to talk. But their words usually come out in incoherent coos and blahs. The moment she opens her mouth and starts blurting out the most random noises, he drops everything to reply to her: “Mmm-maa!” “Oh? Really? Tell me more.” “Aboo!” “That’s a bold claim.” “Gah-bleh!” “Interesting theory. I’ll consider it.” “Paaa!” “A valid point. I’m proud of you.” And you’re just lingering by the doorway, puzzled.

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keeryhours · 1 day ago

Text

we are never getting back together - chapter one

Masterlist Series Masterlist Tag Lists

Eddie Munson x ex wife!reader

Summary:

You drop your kids off with your ex husband, and think back on your life together.

Warnings:

Pregnancy, birth, drinking, drug use (weed), suggestive content, divorce

Word Count: 7k

A/N:

I’m so happy to be back and posting the first chapter of this series! I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much @feral4youu for all your help, ily ❤️

“It’s my weekend.”

You rolled your eyes over the phone. “I understand that, Eddie. Believe me, you’ve said it enough times. I’m just saying-“

“You’re trying to take 3 hours away from me.”

You had a headache coming on. You pressed your manicured fingers against your temple. “I’m not trying to take anything from you. You’re being difficult on purpose.”

“Then you should schedule your shit for your own time!”

“It’s a dentist appointment, and it’s the earliest day they had!” You threw your arm up in the air as you spoke, as if he could see you. “Do you even hear yourself right now? I’m not asking for fun, she needs to go to the dentist.”

“Why can’t I take her?”

“Uh, would you remember?” you scoffed.

“That was one time.”

“Sure,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Look, Ed. It’s kinda non-negotiable. She has to go. We can meet at 6 instead of 3.”

“Whatever.” Silence, nothing but the crackling of the phone line. “Okay. Whatever. I’ll see you at 6.”

Click.

You sighed, putting the phone back down on the receiver. Eddie could seriously be such a pain in the ass. No, scratch that, not could be - he was.

You didn’t always fight like this. At one point, you were just two high school students in love - puppy love, maybe. First love, lust at first sight, whatever you wanted to call it, you were head over heels for each other.

A positive pregnancy test at the beginning of your senior year, when you were 17 and Eddie was 19, threw everything off balance. Before, everyone knew you and Eddie would graduate and get married. They knew you were the kind of high school sweethearts that would lead to marriage - even if you didn’t make it in the end. But a pregnancy sped everything up - way too fast.

Your parents had been furious, of course. They never approved of Eddie in the first place, thinking he was beneath you. He lived in a trailer park, he wore thrifted clothes, he repeated his senior year twice and sold drugs in the clearing behind the school. You’d heard it all before.

It didn’t stop you from loving Eddie.

You found out you were pregnant on your own. By yourself, in the silence of your bathroom while home alone, you took the test, saw the results, and cried yourself to sleep on the tile floor. You just knew Eddie was gonna run. Your parents were gonna kick you out and Eddie was gonna run and your friends were gonna abandon you, you’d be having a baby all on your own, being a single mom, working to take care of a baby-

Your spiraling turned out to all be for nothing, because your parents didn’t kick you out and Eddie didn’t leave you. That didn’t mean the news was taken well, however.

You told Eddie after school, in the theater room before Hellfire. Eddie was surprised when he looked up at the sound of the door opening and saw you walking in. You weren’t usually interested in D&D, you thought Hellfire Club meetings were boring and hated having to wait for Eddie when campaign days and date nights lined up.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, a hint of confusion in his voice. “What’s up?”

“Can I talk to you?” You were getting straight to the point, wringing your hands together and avoiding eye contact. You crossed your arms, uncrossed them, then crossed them again.

“Now?” Eddie asked, looking around the room, at the table completely set up for the campaign. “The guys are gonna be here any second-“

“I know,” you said, looking down at your feet. You were losing your resolve. “I just- it needs to be now. I need to talk to you now.”

“Is everything okay?” He pulled out a chair for you, then sat on the edge of his throne, leaning forward on his knees. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Yeah, well.” You let out a long breath. “Not really. I, uh…I have something I need to tell you.”

“Okay, now you’re really freaking me out,” he said. His eyebrows drew together, looking at you with obvious concern.

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” you said, looking around. “Why are there no windows in here?”

Eddie looked around, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s just…” You were sweating, avoiding eye contact. “It’s hot in here, is all.”

“I…feel like you’re stalling,” Eddie said, focusing back on you. You couldn’t escape his attention now. “Just tell me what’s going on, please.”

You looked down at your trembling hands. “Eddie, I…” It felt like you were trying to make yourself as small as possible, shrinking under Eddie’s gaze. You knew nothing would be the same after you said your next words. “I’m pregnant.”

It felt like time had stopped. Eddie’s throat closed up as panic set in - his skin felt ice cold. Then, he let out a heavy sigh, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I- how? How could this fucking happen?” he asked. He rubbed his palm over his chest, as if he were physically pained. “How- when?”

“I just found out a couple days ago,” you said. You wanted to run, hide, as far away from this conversation and reality as possible. This wasn’t going well, you could already feel it. “I think I’m like- like 6 weeks, or something. I think it was…that night in your van.”

You could see Eddie mentally going back, thinking back to that night, replaying every second of it in his head. When the sickening realization passed over his face, you could see it. “We didn’t use a condom.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t hold eye contact with him, not even for a second. Pushing some of your hair behind your ear, you continued. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do, Eddie.”

“Yeah, me fucking either,” he scoffed. He crossed his arms over his stomach, hunching over, like he might be sick. You knew what was running through his head, because it was the same thing that had been in yours. I’m a fucking idiot. I’ve ruined my life. I’ve ruined both of our lives. I’ve ruined everything. His body felt heavy.

“Are you…” You swallowed. “Are you going to stick around?”

Eddie’s eyes snapped up to your face. “Of course I am. I’m not gonna leave you on your own.”

You nodded. That was good. This wasn’t going quite as badly as you’d feared. “What are we going to do?”

“I just said I don’t fucking know!” Eddie snapped, throwing his arms out wide. He slammed his fist on the table, knocking over a bunch of figurines, and you flinched - you hadn’t been expecting it. You could see the instant regret on his face.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I didn’t mean to lose control like that,” he said. He tried to rein in his emotions, desperately trying not to take out his fear and anger on you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly.

“It’s not,” he said. “You’re going through this too. How…how do you feel?”

A strangled sounding laugh tumbled from your lips. “Just great.”

“I’m being serious,” Eddie said. “I mean, this is…this is…”

“A total disaster?” you supplied. Eddie nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. I know.”

“Have you thought about it?” he asked. “What you want to do?”

“Like if I want to…keep it?”

Eddie nodded. He clenched his jaw, preparing for your response.

You nodded your head quickly. “Yeah. I mean, that’s the only thing I do know. I don’t think I can get rid of it. I mean…it’s ours.”

He dropped his head forward. He was hunched over, buried into himself. He cursed under his breath - he knew you and he knew you’d say that, but he had still been hoping for something different. For you to say you wanted an abortion - that’s what Eddie would have chosen. He felt like he couldn’t draw enough air into his lungs.

His mind immediately jumped to the future - what that would look like. He pictured his life over, no more fun, no more D&D or Corroded Coffin or weed or anything. Dead end job he hates just to take care of the baby. His relationship with you taking a nosedive. He stretched his hands out wide and balled them into fists, over and over.

“It’s fine, it’s gonna be fine,” you said, mostly to yourself. “We’re gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be alright.”

“Should we…” he began, but startled you when he abruptly stood, the throne scraping loudly against the floor as it was pushed back. He started pacing, back and forth in front of you as he raked his hands through his curls. “I don’t know, do we have to…should we get married?”

Your mouth fell open, staring at Eddie incredulously. Had he really just suggested you get married? “Do you…want to marry me?”

“Of course I do,” he said easily. “I just…I imagined it being in the future, y’know? Not right now. It’s not…we’re not ready. We haven’t even lived yet, you know?”

“I know.”

“But…the, uh…” Eddie stopped moving, cleared his throat. “The baby. Should we get married for the baby?”

You turned his words over in your mind. You knew it would be best for the baby if you were together. But did you really want Eddie to marry you only because he felt like he had to? “I mean,” you started, “we could. But we don’t…if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but baby,” he said, coming back over to sit in front of you again. “You know how people are gonna talk. I don’t care, I’m used to it. But I know you care.”

It was true. You weren’t particularly concerned with popularity and social hierarchy, but you did care what people said about you. You didn’t want to be talked about like trash all over town. And that’s exactly what would happen. “People are gonna say all kinds of shit.”

“Yeah. They are.” Eddie looked at you. “But that’s why we’re gonna go to the courthouse and get married. Like, this weekend.”

“Eddie- what?” Your lips parted, drawing in a quick gasp. “Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” he said. He grasped your hands in his larger ones. “That’s the only way. We have to get married so people don’t know you were pregnant first. Or everyone’s going to…they’re gonna call you a whore, they’re gonna say you’re easy. I’m not gonna let anyone talk about you that way.”

“Eddie…” Tears brimmed in your eyes, your lower lip wobbling as you tried to find the words. “How would we- how do we explain why we got married so suddenly?”

“Just couldn’t wait anymore,” Eddie said, grinning. “Too in love. Had to get married immediately, couldn’t be put off for another second.”

Soft laughter bubbled up from deep inside, pulled from you unwillingly by Eddie’s words. “Really? You want to elope?”

“Fuck yeah,” he said. “Let’s do it. Let’s fuckin’ elope.”

You told your parents the next day. That went…worse. A good hour of lectures, yelling, and crying later, they agreed it was best for you and Eddie to get married. They didn’t approve of him, not by a long shot, but having you single and pregnant at 17 was worse.

Eddie was the most scared to tell Wayne. He knew his uncle was going to be disappointed in him, and that was the worst thing he could think of. He cared so much about Wayne, the idea of letting him down made his stomach sink.

You had cooked a dinner for Wayne and Eddie, something to sit down and eat together before Wayne went to work so you could break the news. One delicious lasagna later and you were sitting the dish down in front of a confused Wayne and a terrified Eddie.

“So…” Eddie started about halfway through an awkwardly silent dinner - you were letting him take the lead and he was just now working up the courage to speak. Wayne looked up at him, his mouth full of lasagna. “There was something I…we…wanted to talk to you about.”

Wayne swallowed, wiping his mouth with his napkin. He was scared of whatever Eddie was about to say, it was written across his face. “Yeah? What’s goin’ on?”

“We, uh,” Eddie cleared his throat, looking at you then back at Wayne. “We just, uh, have some news.”

You were pretty sure Wayne knew what you were about to say from that moment, from the sick feeling that crossed his face. “What is it?”

Silence. Eddie pushed his food around his plate. “We…so, we’re…” A heavy sigh. “We’re…having a baby.”

Wayne just stared at the two of you. Then, he let out a long, weary sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Ed…”

“I know,” Eddie said. “I know.” He had promised not to end up this way. He had promised not to throw his life away. He had promised to live a life that put respect on the Munson name. He didn’t do any of those things.

“What the hell are you gonna do?” Wayne asked. He didn’t say it like he was mad. He wasn’t mad - not really. Just disappointed, and scared shitless for his nephew.

You and Eddie glanced at each other. “We’re, ah, gonna get married. This weekend.”

“Getting married?” Wayne practically choked. “Ed, are you sure-“

“Yeah.” Eddie squeezed your hand under the table. “I’m sure. This is what I want, what’s best for us.”

Wayne took a long sip of his beer. “God, Ed,” he said, once he’d sat the bottle back down on the kitchen table. “How did you let this happen?”

That weekend, December 1985, you wore a thrifted lacy white dress to the courthouse. Eddie dressed in a black button up shirt, tucked into his only pair of not-ripped jeans. His hair was combed and neat, and he was freshly shaven. You held a small cheap bouquet as you said your vows in front of the justice of the peace, then held Eddie’s hands and looked into his eyes as you declared your love for him. You cried. Eddie almost did.

Your parents and Wayne watched on - it was a bittersweet moment for them. They could see the love between you, but the circumstances weren’t ideal.

You graduated 5 months pregnant, but the pride you felt at finishing school was nothing compared to how proud you were to see Eddie walk the stage. Wayne teared up as Eddie was handed his diploma. Your two families took photos together outside after the ceremony, Eddie’s hand possessively on your belly.

Your daughter, Caroline Roxanne Munson, was born September 1986. Your pregnancy was blessedly easy, your birth simple and quick. Eddie held his baby girl like she was made of glass, like she held the secrets of the universe.

“Hi, baby girl,” he mumbled to her as he rocked her in his arms, you asleep in the hospital bed behind him. The tiny baby opened her eyes, peeking around the room but focusing as much as she could on Eddie’s face. Eddie trailed his finger lightly over her chubby cheek, her small nose - his nose. Your lips. His eyes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I love you and your mama more than I’ve ever loved anything.”

Eddie got a job as a mechanic right out of high school, at the shop down the road from Forest Hills. He was determined - it didn’t take long before he was buying a trailer and having it put in next door to Wayne’s. A new double wide, with three bedrooms.

The front door led into a large open living room with a kitchen to the right. Past the kitchen was the door to the master bedroom with a bathroom attached. Down the hall to the left was a bathroom, and two smaller bedrooms.

Caroline spent the first couple months of her life sleeping in the room with you and Eddie, but when she was six months old, you moved her into her own room.

You were happy.

When Caroline was old enough, you got a job as a receptionist for a local doctor’s office. You and Eddie were doing well - you had pulled yourselves out of a bad situation and made the best of it, and made yourselves a nice life. Wayne and your parents were proud of you both.

January 1988 - it occurred to you that you hadn’t gotten your period in three months. You’d been so busy you hadn’t even noticed - you didn’t exactly track it, it came when it came. But when you noticed it had been months? Panic set in. Caroline was only 16 months old, it felt like you’d just had her first birthday party.

You kissed Eddie at the door, took Caroline to daycare, and bought a pregnancy test on the way to work. It sat in its bag in your car all day, weighing heavily on your mind during work.

When you got off you went straight home - usually you got off work at 4, picked up Caroline, and started dinner in time for Eddie to get home at 6:30. But today, you had something to do before you could pick up your daughter.

At the house, you tossed your car keys on the hall table and headed straight for the master bathroom, bag clutched in your hand. 30 minutes later, and you were staring at a familiar sight - a positive pregnancy test.

You had no idea how Eddie was going to take the news. Sure, it was better to get pregnant now than when you were 17. But was it the right time? You and Eddie hadn’t even talked about more kids - you figured he didn’t want more. One was enough for both of you.

You picked up Caroline and got home, starting the meatloaf and mashed potato dinner. At 6:30, Caroline was sitting on the floor, playing with her toys with the Care Bears on the TV while you finished up the last of dinner. You were placing the steaming dishes on the kitchen table when the front door opened and Eddie walked in, oil splattered coveralls unzipped.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you. “Smells great. Is it ready?”

“Yep,” you said, maybe too casually. Eddie gave you a look, but shrugged it off, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips.

“And how’s my other best girl?” he asked, lifting Caroline into his arms. “What did you learn at school today?”

Caroline babbled to him about Care Bears. Eddie smiled at his daughter - he adored her like he’d never adored anything else. Not even his first sweetheart - the guitar currently hanging in your bedroom that still got plenty of love.

“That’s great, baby girl,” he said. He kissed her on the top of her head and sat her back down, where she took off running into the kitchen and straight into your legs. You picked her up, sitting her on your hip.

“How was your day?” Eddie asked you. He grabbed a bite of meatloaf and popped it into his mouth.

“It was…it was good,” you said. “Uh, boring.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Hey, I’m gonna go take a quick shower. I’ll be right back and we can eat.”

“Okay,” you said, watching his form already retreating into the bedroom. The door closed behind him, leaving you alone with Caroline. You sat her in her high chair and cut up her meatloaf, making her plate.

You were helping her eat when Eddie came back out, hair wet and dressed in a white tank top and his plaid pajama pants. He took his usual seat and began piling his plate high with food.

You’d changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants since getting off work. You sat down in your seat across the table, Caroline between the two of you. You pushed your food around your plate.

“So,” you began, after a few minutes of idle conversation. “I, uh. Something happened today.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asked, looking up at you as he chewed his food. “What?”

You bit your lip. Caroline shoved a whole handful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. “My period is three months late.”

Silence. Eddie stopped eating, just staring at you. The only sound was Caroline, oblivious as she squealed and continued eating her dinner.

“…Oh?” he said finally. You couldn’t read him - you had no idea what he was thinking.

“Yeah,” you said. This was incredibly awkward. Things between you and Eddie were never this stilted. “So I got a test today.”

Eddie had lost his appetite, at least for right now. His food sat untouched in front of him while he stared at you. “Did you take it?”

“Yeah.”

“And?” He was getting impatient. “Please just tell me.”

You looked down at your plate. “It was positive.”

A long rush of air. Eddie running a hand through his wet curls, pushing them back out of his face. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, staring at some point on the wall behind you now instead of at you.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Okay. This is…it’s okay. We’re okay.”

“You think so?” Your brow was furrowed in concern. “Can we afford it? Are we ready? Is Caroline ready?”

“We’ll just…have to get ready,” Eddie said. “I mean, financially I think we’ll be okay. We’re alright. But are you…are you ready for another baby?” He was looking at you again. He reached across the table and took your hand, Caroline obliviously blowing raspberries and getting food everywhere. “This is mostly a big change for you.”

It was true. You were the one who’d have to go through another pregnancy and birth, you were the one who’d be at home with a newborn while Eddie only got one week of parental leave. You were the primary parent while Eddie worked longer hours.

“We don’t really have a choice,” you said. “I’ve got to be like, 10 weeks pregnant at least.” Eddie rubbed his hand over his chest. “But…yeah. I think I can do it.”

You were 11 weeks pregnant, it turned out, with a healthy little baby. Eddie smiled at you so big his face hurt at the first ultrasound. At home or out in public, he kept his hand on your belly most of the time, protectively.

This pregnancy was already such a different experience. Eddie was excited. He was extremely involved, stayed by your side every second, constantly had to be touching you and the bump, talked about baby stuff, wished for a son. Of course he’d be happy with another daughter too, but - a son would be cool, he thought.

You decided not to find out the gender. It was going to be a surprise - you decorated the third bedroom in gender neutral colors, a yellow Winnie the Pooh theme. Eddie made a little Hellfire shirt, just like he had for Caroline when you were still in high school.

You went into labor in the middle of the night. It was right on time, and your bag had been packed for weeks by the door. You dropped Caroline off with Wayne next door, and headed to the hospital to have a baby.

The birth was a little more complicated this time. There was some hemorrhaging, so they wouldn’t let you hold the baby right away. But in June 1988, you gave birth to another beautiful baby girl - Janis “Janie” Nicole Munson.

Wayne brought Caroline, who was 1 year and 9 months old, to the hospital to visit. She clung to Wayne tightly until he entered the room and she recognized you and Eddie - she reached for her father, whining for him. He laughed, lifting her from his uncle’s arms.

“Hey, angel,” he said to her. “Are you ready to meet your baby sister?”

Caroline wasn’t sure about Janie at first. She just stared at her like she was scared to touch her. Janie was sound asleep in your arms, wrapped in her hospital blanket with her little hat on her head full of dark brown hair. Finally, Caroline reached out, poking her cheek. That was as much as you were getting from her.

The sisters warmed up to each other quickly. Caroline was so fussy with noises as a baby, but Janie could sleep through the loudest of her sister’s screeches - maybe she’d gotten used to them in the womb.

After his week of parental leave, when you all stayed home together, Eddie took Caroline to daycare every morning while you stayed home for 6 weeks with Janie. You spent most of your days on the couch, cuddled together and watching old sitcom reruns. You were happy and content.

Janie hardly ever cried. She was so different from her sister - quiet and reserved, even as she grew. She was well behaved and kind, while Caroline was loud and in charge (but still a sweet girl).

Eddie adjusted to life as a dad of two easily. He really was a natural at being a father. He’d walk around the house with Janie in his arms, a giggling Caroline hanging on his back with her arms around his neck.

“Did you get her to sleep?” you asked Eddie one night, bleary eyed as you breastfed Janie in bed. He was shutting the bedroom door softly behind him.

“Yeah,” he said. “She went down easy tonight. She’s out.” He laid on the bed next to you with a groan - he’d had a long day at work. “How are my other two girls?”

“Tired,” you said. “She’s almost done eating. She should be ready to lay down in a few minutes.”

“Good,” Eddie said. “You need the rest.”

You did. It was hard to find time to sleep between taking care of a 3 month old and a newly 2 year old. “I’m exhausted,” you admitted.

“You want me to take her?” he asked. “I can finish feeding her with the bottle.”

“No, it’s okay. She hates the bottle.” You smiled down at your baby daughter. “I think she might already be asleep.”

Eddie leaned over. “She’s eating in her sleep?”

“Yeah. She does that.”

Janie finished eating about 10 minutes later, just letting go and turning her sleepy head. She was out. Eddie took her from your arms and down the hall to her bedroom.

When he came back, he crawled back into bed next to you. “Finally alone,” he teased, kissing your shoulder.

You knew he was just messing around - you hadn’t been in the mood for sex since Janie was born, even though you’d been cleared for 6 weeks - Eddie had been patient. But you wanted him - finally, something was coming alive inside you as Eddie kissed across your skin.

“Yeah,” you said. “Finally.” You met each other’s eyes - then your lips crashed together, meeting in a heated kiss. Eddie’s tongue slid into your mouth, pressing against yours, exploring you. He moaned, he was already hard - it had been months, after all.

“God, I need you,” he groaned as your hand brushed over the rock hard erection in his pajama pants. “I want you so bad.”

“I want you too,” you whispered back. You pulled him tighter into you, your sensitive breasts pressed against his bare chest.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to rush you. We really- we really don’t have to.”

“I want to, Eddie,” you told him, grinding your hips against his cock, making him moan pathetically.

Then you showed him just how much.

February 1990, when Caroline was 3 ½ years old and Janie was nearing 2, Eddie came to you with a proposition.

“Let’s have another baby,” he said.

“What?” You nearly spit out your coffee. “Eddie- what?”

“I know, it’s completely out of nowhere,” he said. “But hear me out. The girls are older, a little more independent. We’re financially stable. And I want another baby.”

“You want another baby?” Somehow, you’d still never discussed it. “I didn’t think you’d even be happy about two kids.”

“Are you kidding?” he said. “With you? I’ll have ten.” He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “We aren’t kids ourselves anymore. We’re 23 and 21. We have stable jobs, we’re great parents. We can do this.”

With two accidental pregnancies under your belt, you and Eddie felt like getting pregnant on purpose would be a breeze. You were experts at this point, after all. And the act that led to the making of babies was one you two had plenty of practice at.

But it didn’t happen. You fully expected to get pregnant right away, so when your period showed up the next month, you had been borderline confused.

“I don’t get it,” you said, sitting down on the side of the bed next to Eddie, feeling dejected and sad. “We- I mean, we had sex plenty of times without protection. Why didn’t it work?”

“I don’t know, baby,” Eddie said gently. “Maybe it can take time? I’m sure it’ll happen next month.”

But in April, your period showed up again. And again in May and June. By the time July rolled around, you were scared and discouraged.

“We did this by accident twice,” you said, tossing a negative pregnancy test in the trash can and wiping tears from your eyes. “How can it be so hard to do on purpose?”

“Maybe we should go to the doctor?” Eddie offered. He was leaning against the doorway of the master bathroom, shirtless with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m sure there’s…an explanation.”

“But probably not a good one,” you sniffled. “But…I’ll think about it.”

August came, and with it came an increase in appointments at the pediatrician office you worked at in preparation for school. Between work and the kids, you were kept so busy you completely forgot about taking a test.

When you remembered, you were 2 weeks late.

“Eddie?” you crept into the bedroom after laying down Janie. Eddie had just gotten Caroline bathed and in bed, and was lying in the bed you shared, shirtless, flipping through his D&D notebook with a cigarette between his lips. He had feared his days of gaming were over, but he still found time for Hellfire every other week. He was still the only one of his friends to get married or have kids. You wondered sometimes if that bothered him.

“What’s up?” he asked, looking up from his notebook. He put out the cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed and closed the book, dropping it in the drawer.

“So…” you said, climbing in bed. “I took…a test.”

Eddie’s eyes scanned your face for any hint at how you were feeling. When he didn’t see sadness, a grin slowly spread across his lips. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I did,” you said. You were trying your best to hold your own smile back. You placed the test in Eddie’s hand - he turned it over to reveal the result. Positive.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug while you giggled. “This is the best news. I’m so fuckin’ happy. Another baby.”

Eddie was a little more open with his hope for a son this time around. He reassured you every time that he’d be happy with a third daughter, but - he had his hopes. You didn’t mind either way - you loved being a girl mom, but a son would be amazing, too.

This pregnancy was rougher than the first two. You stayed sick, often ending up in the hospital for fluids after being unable to keep anything down. You were in a lot of pain, under a lot of stress, and were exhausted at all hours of the day. Eddie stepped up a lot, coming home from work as early as he was able and cooking dinner some nights, helping with the girls and their bedtime routine.

Your doctor was concerned, but the baby made it until their due date, April 1991. You were induced, however, because they didn’t want to chance leaving things any longer. The birth went well, and your third daughter was born - Melissa ‘Missy’ Joan Munson.

Having a third child turned out to be a much bigger adjustment than one to two, or even none to one. Everything changed after Missy’s birth. Eddie never said it, but it was clear he felt some regret for suggesting a third child, despite the love he felt for her.

You and Eddie were both exhausted, between work and home, it felt like it never stopped. By the time the girls were in bed - Caroline and Janie sharing, Missy in her own nursery - you were too tired to do anything, both just passing out in your own bed. Your sex life was nonexistent, and you hardly had the chance to say a passing word to one another.

Over the next four years, things were strained. You were struggling more financially than you had expected. The stress over bills was constant, one or both of you sitting hunched over the kitchen table with the mail spread out and your head in your hands.

When Missy was three, she started preschool and you picked up a second job waitressing. You had never been at that level of exhausted before.

It strained your relationship more than anything. Eddie was withdrawing, spending more time at work (which you couldn’t complain about because you needed the money), going out with the guys, and burying his stresses in beer and weed after the girls were in bed. Many nights, you went to sleep alone.

Fights became a regular thing. Whether it be about finances, chores, parenting, whatever - it was always something. It felt like you couldn’t have a civilized conversation with each other anymore.

“You promised you would do the dishes,” you said, dropping the laundry basket full of the girl’s clothes in front of the washing machine. You opened it, poured in the detergent, and angrily started throwing clothes inside. “But they were still there when I got home today.”

“I forgot,” Eddie mumbled. He was drinking a beer in the recliner by the TV. The girls were in bed, and Eddie was distracted by whatever rerun was currently playing.

“You always forget.” The last of the clothes were put inside and you slammed the lid shut. Turning the dial, you started the wash cycle. “Then I have to end up doing it myself.”

“Well, it’s kind of your job,” he muttered.

“Are you fucking serious?” You walked into the living room and stepped in front of the TV, hand on your hip. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Here we fuckin’ go,” he groaned.

“You are such an asshole,” you spat. “What’s your problem? It’s impossible to get you to do anything around here anymore. You just get home from work and sit on your ass and let me do everything!”

“I’m tired!” he exclaimed. “I’m fucking exhausted! I just want to sit down with a fuckin’ beer when I get off work and not get bitched at by my wife for once.”

“Oh, I’m bitching?” you scoffed. “I’m fucking tired too, Eddie! I work two jobs then come home and take care of the house and my apparently four children.”

“Real mature,” Eddie said. He took another swig of his beer then pushed closed the leg rest of the recliner. “Fuck this. I’m going to bed.”

“This is why we can never get through anything,” you threw your hands in the air. “You run away. You’re not willing to listen to anything I have to say. You have no respect for me. You don’t care about making anything better.”

“There is no ‘making things better’ when it comes to you.” He threw his beer bottle into the trash can with a loud clatter. “You’re never happy. Nothing I do makes you happy.”

“You used to make me happy.”

Silence. Eddie stopped, but didn’t turn around. Finally, he shook his head. “Goodnight.” And he disappeared into the bedroom.

This wasn’t new, either. You’d end up waiting until you knew Eddie was asleep before you came to bed yourself, even if you were tired. Or maybe you’d just sleep on the couch. Either way, it felt like things between you and Eddie were doomed.

It was March 1995 when you called it quits for good.

The fighting, the resentment, the drama - it had all gotten to be too much. You and Eddie didn’t even seem to like each other anymore. You didn’t know how Eddie felt deep down, but you knew you’d always love him - even if you felt like you hated him right now.

You moved out and into a three bedroom apartment. Eddie helped you move while the girls were with your parents, but it was extremely awkward. Steve, Robin, and Nancy came over and helped, too, which made it a little less uncomfortable.

It was a bittersweet moment for you - you were happy to be getting out of that house full of painful memories and starting a new life on your own, but watching Eddie walk out the door and leave you standing there alone - it crushed you. It hurt more than you ever anticipated it would. You almost went after him. Almost.

The divorce was finalized five months later.

You and Eddie barely even looked at each other as you signed the papers. There was a custody hearing, mercifully brief since you and Eddie were able to come to an agreement easily. You would keep the girls during the week while Eddie got them every other weekend. He would have liked more time, but he knew with the divorce would come sacrifice.

The girls didn’t take it well. They were 9, 7, and 4 at the time, old enough to understand what was happening and what it meant for their life as a family. For the first few months, they would cry their eyes out at every custody drop off, which made both you and Eddie feel like the worst people on the planet. But with time, everyone settled into the new normal.

You dated a few guys on and off, but never got into a serious relationship. More hookups than anything. It’s like you looked for Eddie in every guy you met, whether you could admit that to yourself or not.

Eddie was a different story. It seemed like he had a new girl on his arm every time you turned around. And it pissed you off. It’s not like you couldn’t get a boyfriend - you had plenty of opportunity to. You just didn’t like anyone. Eddie didn’t care. He didn’t have any serious girlfriends, but he didn’t mind sleeping around. He was single for the first time since he was 17, and he was living it up. It made you sick.

But you were better off apart.

October 1997

Your car pulled into the parking lot of the abandoned Shell station, the designated meeting place since the separation. It was run down, weeds peeking through the cracks in the asphalt. Eddie’s truck wasn’t there yet.

You checked your beeper to see if you had any missed messages from Eddie - nothing.

You sighed. He was always late. The girls were in the backseat fighting over a toy, not bothered at all.

Finally, his truck rumbled into the parking lot. You could hear the music before you saw the vehicle - metal blasting so loud the whole street probably heard. You rolled your eyes, preparing to deal with him.

“Daddy’s here!” Missy yelled, unhooking herself from her car seat and reaching for the door. Caroline and Janie lit up too, grabbing their weekend bags.

Eddie’s truck skidded to a stop in the parking spot one over from yours. You slid your sunglasses on, then opened the door, stepping out just as Eddie hopped down from his side. You could see her sitting in the passenger seat, not even bothering to look at you.

“Daddy!” the girls all yelled, jumping out of the SUV and running to Eddie. He laughed as he hugged them all, tossing Missy in the air.

“How are my favorite girls?” he asked, ruffling Janie’s hair. She pushed him off with a giggle, fixing her braid.

“I thought I was your favorite girl?” Stacy called from the passenger seat. She was joking, but it still made you want to punch her.

“We’re good,” Caroline said. “Can we see Laura this weekend?”

Laura was Jeff’s 6 year old. Jeff was the only one of Eddie’s friends who’d had a kid, too, and she was close with the girls.

“I’m sure we can,” he said. Missy was latched onto his leg, as if she hadn’t seen him in years. He lifted her, placing a kiss on her head. “Okay, girls, go ahead and get in the truck. We gotta go, and I need to talk to your mom before we leave.”

“Bye, mommy!” The girls called, each giving you a tight hug. You waved and watched them climb into the tall truck, closing the door hard behind them. No one in the truck could hear you now.

Eddie took a step closer to you. “You look nice,” he said, his voice low. “You gotta date or something?”

“Or something,” you said. “Not that it’s any of your business. Don’t you have your skank to get back to?”

Eddie nearly cackled, throwing his head back and laughing hard. “You always were so feisty,” he said.

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Take good care of my girls.”

“You know I will,” he said seriously. “You can call any time. If you wanna talk to them.”

You glanced towards the tinted truck window. “I don’t think she would like that too much.”

“She’ll get over it,” he shrugged. “You’re their mom. You can talk to them whenever.” He scuffed his boot against the ground. “How…have you been?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but jumped when the truck’s car horn blared. You and Eddie both looked over his shoulder to see Stacy leaning on the horn, looking out the window and gesturing for Eddie to hurry up.

“Guess you have to go,” you said. “Your girl is calling you.”

Eddie looked sheepish. “I’ll see you Sunday,” he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else maybe, but instead he turned, walking back around the truck to the driver’s side door. You climbed back into your own car, the silence heavy with the kids gone.

You started the car and drove back home.

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lunarcowgirl · 3 days ago

Text

Shadow

well well well, anyone care for a little dr robby x f!attending!reader <33

robby is a details man

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author’s note: HELLO DIVAS, tis me, Luna :000

I’ve been up to my metaphorical bawls in university work (i’m a senior help) so this has come together in drips and drags for a while. I was more challenged by this project than I initially realised, but the more i thought about it, the more inspired i became, and i’m really proud of this piece. i also did something CRAZY and stepped from one old white man to another; welcome to the lunarcowgirl canon…dr michael robinavitch.

warnings & content: panic attack/anxious breakdown, bit of childhood trauma for robby resurfacing (emotional abuse from father to son), simp behaviours, age gap relationship, some attempted violence by a crazy patient, medical guess work courtesy of moi

word count: 2.8k (guys I couldn't stop)

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Dr Michael Robinavitch found his tendency to panic humiliating. This was the opinion he gave his therapist, seeking shelter behind a wry chuckle and a slow shake of his head. Being in the room in the first place was a step in recovery he had rallied against like a bit dog. Eventually, Jack had stared a smoking hole in the back of his neck for one too many shifts and Robby begged for the number if only for some peace. His therapist (seemingly taking Jack Abbot’s lead) ducked his head to find Robby’s eye, an perfectly measured look on his face.

“Why do you think it embarrasses you?”

Robby wished more than anything that he could say something in this too quiet room without it getting hoisted up on the autopsy table and split unceremonsionuly down the middle. His own guts felt on display, each miserable inch of rot.

He brought his hands to his face, simultaneously rubbing at the growing scarlet flush and giving his shaky hands something to do.

“Because I’m Captain of the whole fucking ship, I shouldn’t be drowning.”

He felt his voice trailing upwards, gaining that incredulous tone that made him feel 13 again; trying desperately to explain angry tears to an apathetic father. He could never scrub his Dad’s expression off the inside of his eyelids.

“You being in charge does not make you any less deserving of peace Robby,” His therapist said, “In the place where you work, your humanity is your most valuable asset. If you refuse to acknowledge that you have needs, you compromise that.”

Why are you crying Michael? Wipe that pathetic fucking look off your face!

Robby shook his head sharply, trying to dislodge the grating noise running up and down his brain stem.

Robby…we need to take him off the ventilator, the little girl…she needs it

Down came the pressure, crushing his sternum inwards, robbing his lungs of any movement. His blood screamed in his ears, the walls of every cell in his body buckled towards their centres.

Well you’re not my father, so fuck off!

“Robby.”

His therapist’s voice felt miles away, thin and unsteady, something caught between the static on a bad radio channel.

“Robby, you can’t let the wholeness overwhelm you. You need to ground yourself in one single moment, in what you know is true.”

The wholeness was a world bleeding red. It was everywhere; on his clothes, on his hands, all over his heart.

“Just pick a tiny detail, something small, but something real.”

Nothing in this godforsaken mess of a mind felt real, just ugly shape and clanging sound and…blue?

A smudge of powder blue on the very corner of his consciousness, the shade as familiar as the veins on the back of his own hand, a clear Pittsburgh sky.

“Blue…blue fabric,” His voice laboured against the panic.

“Right, good, what kind of fabric?”

“Thin, and pale…soft?” Robby fought to hold the image in his mind, the colour was a blur of motion, bobbing and weaving.

“Don’t overthink it, just find the details, what else?”

He let his head fall backward, opened his lungs, straining at the muscles that yanked him down down down.

“God, uh, the smell of pear…jasmine, something warm…amber?”

The details came pouring in now, filling up his mind, drowning out the roar of panic.

A gentle hum from around a corner, Billy Joel a little off key, Fleetwood Mac with the verses sung out of order, Bruce Springsteen in a dancing, mezzo-soprano lilt.

A soft smile over the heads of a crowded room, the shadow of a dimple on the left side.

A scramble of letters on a chart balanced on his knee, the familiar shapes of loopy ys and identical n’s and h’s that he’d learned to parse with treasured time.

A laugh, open-mouthed and golden, that could only be uncovered when surprised into existence. a rare and precious creature, that filled up the air until the very oxygen tasted sweet.

A tiny birthmark, barely there, in the shape of a star above a right temple. the discovery of it still felt monumental. to be that close, to be welcomed into that careful curated space of casual intimacy. Arms tangled in each other in an effort to hold a life inside someone with all the blood, the panicked beeping of a failing heart that had both the healers’ in empathetic cardiac tandem. In the adrenaline come down of success, the peel away from each other was laborious and painful, and he’d caught that tiny white mark. something that was only his to know.

“Where did you go?”

Robby jerked back to life, back snapping painfully to rigid attention. Breath eased in and out of him in measured breaths, his heart beating in a careful rhythm.

Brows tangled into a frown on his face, he sought for the explanation, “I don’t really—I don’t know.”

“Well you calmed yourself, quicker than I’ve ever seen from any patient, let alone you.”

Robby’s brain sought through the images, their colour and light, the huge array he had found within him without even knowing. Their mosaic had a name.

His therapist was looking expectantly at him again, but Robby was eager to be rid of the scrutiny for now.

“Thank you for today,” He said, leaping from the chair to offer a quick hand shake, “I have to get down to the Pitt before shift starts.”

“Robby…Dr Robinavitch, do you know how you did it?”

Robby was already gone, chasing the blue.

The Pitt was crawling by the time the elevator doors slid open and Robby stepped out. It had been weeks since anyone had commented on Robby arriving at work from upstairs, but he still felt the eyes of half a dozen staff members on him as he weaved through the sea of black, blue and grey scrubs.

Dana, faithful soldier, stood at attention under the board, already drawing up battle plans on her tablet.

“Morning,” she drawled, not looking up, “You had coffee yet?”

Robby smiled to himself, tucking his backpack under the station, “Yeah, triple shot coursing through my abused system as we speak.”

“Good,” She said, “Whittaker has done some kind of unspeakable evil to the machine in the break room, all it does is hiss at you now.”

“Call in Riley,” He replied, eyes skimming over Night shift’s leftovers in all their aching neon colour.

“I don’t know if hospital chaplains can perform exorcisms.”

“You’re telling me Riley is not actually a priest?”

Dana shrugged, glasses perilously close to taking a nose dive straight off her nose, “Never asked.”

Robby looked after her incredulously as she marched away, shaking his head.

The air shifted almost imperceptibly behind him, just the smallest, softest movement. Pear, jasmine, amber.

He moved embarrassingly quick, looking for the shadow that followed that scent around. Sure enough, hovering just below his right shoulder was that soft smile, that little dimple.

You.

The response was immediate, his heart lept up in recognition, pushing against the front of his rib cage as if trying to crawl its way out towards you.

“Hey,” You hissed in a stage whisper, “How’d it go?”

Your eyebrows danced up to your hair line, bouncing in a gesture that he understood as a nod to the ceiling and the floors above it.

Robby’s lips pressed into a hard line to avoid breaking into a humiliatingly endeared laugh. His returned whisper was just as loud, “Fine.”

You settled into a contented nod, knowing that his willingness to play along was a sign he was telling the truth.

“How many this morning?” He asked, doing a bad job at not tracing your profile with his eyes as you slid your arms upward into a catlike stretch.

“Five,” You replied, “Nice and easy, but I’m trying to come down from the weekend.”

“If running 5 miles the morning of a 12 hour shift where you will not sit down is nice and easy, I’m not interested in what you find strenuous.”

Your eyebrow raised once more, this time by itself. A shiver spread through Robby’s system, right down to his toes. He wondered if you could see him squirm.

“You gotta keep the body moving Robinavitch…” A lean in, close enough for him to see the little bit of gold around your irises, “Don’t want it giving out on us.”

Your laugh was liquid sunlight, seeping deep, deep into his skin.

As usual he never had the right words to say; it was never the right time. Somewhere monitors were beeping and people were hurting and a clock told him he was running far, far behind. Get to work, save the day, stay afloat; rinse, repeat.

You smiled through the silence and poked him lightly in the ribs, “Protein bar later? I got a new flavour you are going to hate.”

Any attempt at a frown was thwarted by the corners of his mouth pulling steadily outwards into a smile, “I dread it already.”

You were already moving away, pushing the sleeves of your pale blue undershirt up your arms as you went, “Don’t be scared El Capitan, you know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

No, Robby thought, you wouldn’t. You’ve already put all the pieces back together.

The Penguins had made the playoffs for the first time in 5 years, and it was bringing out the crazies as well as any full moon could.

“Sir,” Your voice was firm and steady above the crashing waves of spit and bile and rage, “You need to calm down or we are going to have to restrain you.”

Despite spending the better part of the last 20 years as a teacher, Robby didn’t really like to hover. There was a careful line to walk between supervision, and sowing doubt under the skin of your senior resident by making them think they weren’t trusted. The line was even thinner with you.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” The patient had whipped himself into a irreversible frenzy, alcohol leaking from his mouth, blood seeping from the cut above his brow.

“Ok, that’s enough,” You said and nodded ever so slightly. Malik and Russ, two of the biggest PAs on the floor leapt to attention, wrestling the flailing arms down to his sides.

Robby’s own arms were crossed tightly across his chest, his fingers - going white with the effort - moulding craters in the skin of his biceps.

There was a part of him, a loud part, that wanted nothing more than to swoop you in and drag you backwards out of the frey, toss in dog-housed Frank Langdon for his crimes. But he couldn’t do it, for the very same reasons he couldn’t take your face in his hands and kiss you senseless. It would be patronising, humiliating and altogether without fruition, for the both of you. So he was content now to hover, even if it chaffed, even if he squeezed the life from his own body in the process.

Ever the saint, you were carefully ordering meds while dodging poorly timed kicks from the world’s largest and hairiest 5 year old, “Let’s stick B52, and Emme can you find some soft restraints for Brock Lesner here please.”

A cheeky glance tossed over your shoulder had Robby’s fingers going all together numb, “Mr Renner, maybe when you’re in a better mood you can tell me where you got that Penguins jersey, I’ve got this friend who has a birthday coming up—”

With a roar, Mr Renner broke free of Russ, his arm snapping into a wild haymaker motion through the air. Gaze still hovering near your attending had your usual lightning reaction time failing and you all but threw yourself backward to avoid a fist to the face; right into Robby’s arms.

It was just a second, half a moment, a single heartbeat - your back pressed against his chest, your forearms in his hands. Undeniably real and solid under his touch. He steadied you quickly, allowing himself just one gentle squeeze of your elbows. Your face turned, ever so slightly to track the movement of his fingers on your skin before you stepped out of his embrace. Your abscense burned. Letting out a slow breath you approached the waning strength of Mr Renner, a sedative now coursing through veins courtesy of a somewhat aggressive needle punch to the thigh.

“Damn Sir, I wasn’t going to steal the thing off your back,” You laughed, but the sound was hollow.

He flexed both hands, letting the skin go taught over long fingers spread wide. You lived there still, the ghost of pressure and scent and real honest to God existence. Closeness, however fleeting, had to be enough.

It had become a more regular post-shift ritual in the wake of PittFest, to gather in the park.

“Eat, drink and be merry,” Shen sang, dragging Whittaker through some impression of a slow dance with him, “For tomorrow, we die!”

The poor resident made save me eyes to anyone who would look at him, but no one could make out the signal since they were too busy trying to breathe through the hilarity of him being swung around like a rag doll.

Samira and Jack were hunched together on the opposite bench, resolutely ignoring everyone, the former laughing at a joke from the latter that Robby knew wasn’t funny.

Santos was clearly trying to rope Jivadi into some diabolical scheme, but Victoria had grown steadily in confidence and shot back something that had the R2 reeling backwards in shock.

“She’s biting back.”

There it was again, that voice. A shadow passed over him briefly, before you came flying over the bench, landing nimbly on the other side.

“You are a hopeless show-off,” He laughed.

“And you’re not? I seem to recall an incident not 3 days ago where you tried to lift a pair of 9 year old twins, at the same time.”

You settled back into the seat, seemingly content to watch the revelry rather than join it. He was content to join you in that silence, but he turned his gaze to your hand on the seat beside you, the lines of your fingers, the shiny silver scar on your pointer’s second knuckle. Another detail of you that was now his to know. Another way that made you entirely… you. Embarrassed by his behaviour, he lent back into the chair, shifting his eyes up to the sky.

One by one, your shift mates made their excuses, fading into the rising darkness. Every time someone rose to go, Robby expected you to join them, brushing off your scrubs, uncoiling into your cat like stretch;

I’ll see you tomorrow Cap.

But you didn’t leave. Instead you sat in comfortable, easy, practised silence. A solid unmoving presence beside him. Did you realise your breath had slowed to match his? Did you know your hand on the edge of the bench was just millimeters from his?

The timing wasn’t right, he never had the words, somewhere a clock was ticking—

“Would you consider it wildly inappropriate if I suggested we got dinner sometime?”

Robby choked, his whole body flinging itself forward with his heart.

You remained still, calm, reaching a hand up to gently pat him on the back.

“You should take comfort that if you were to actually stop breathing, I’m trained to save you.”

Save him. Indeed.

He turned then to search your face for the punchline. Your expression was open, your eyes gentle and patient and trained on him already. Waiting for him to make the move.

“I’d…,” His voice was a feeble thing, “I would like that.”

Your mouth screwed up into a rose bud, a barely restrained smile, “Yeah?”

Yeah. Yes. Always.

He brushed your hair away from your face, achingly gentle, tucking it carefully behind your ear. He felt like an exposed nerve, a breath away from eternal, all consuming sensation - pain or bliss, it didn’t matter.

His thumb found the spot above your temple, brushed across the faint white star of the tiny birthmark, no bigger than any of his freckles.

“I love this.” He said simply.

The perfect, surprised laugh, “How did you even know it was there?”

“Because I know you.”

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That's it! Thank you for reading! love ya!

#the pitt #the pitt fic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #dr robby #michael robinavitch #dr robby x reader #dr robby x you #dr robby fic #michael robinavich x reader #dr robby x female reader #dr robby angst #dr robby fluff #persiewrites

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aestheticpearl · 1 day ago

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✧·˚ “ I SLEEP SO I CAN SEE YOU, ‘CAUSE I HATE TO WAIT SO LONG ” ༘ * ༄

synopsis. dream is very protective of his wife, so when a creature invades her dreams he takes immediate action before it can cast any lasting effects

featuring. dream of the endless (the sandman), wife!reader

a/n. now i know what you’re gonna say “but pearl sleeping in the dreaming makes no sense cause it’s the dream world you have to be sleep to get there” HUSH and just let it happen, it is fan FICTION just let it happen

you would think being the wife of a dream lord’s protects you from the terrifying nightmares, but it seems some creature has seeped into your head and taken hold of your psyche when you sleep. it doesn’t help that you sleep when dream goes to attend to his duties.

this particular creature seems to have taken a liking you messing with your head. you know it is not a nightmare, you know of all your husbands creations and this thing, stalks you in the corners of your mind while you believe yourself to be dreaming, luring you into a false sense of relaxation and then it will purposely show itself in the corners of your vision but when you turn to look at it it disappears, leaving you to feel uneasy until you turn back around and it stands only inches away from you which causes you to startle awake.

this has been going on now for longer than you’d like to admit and you’ve seen how busy your husband as been and do not wish to trouble him with something as trivial as this when he has far more important matters to deal with. unfortunately for you this experience has made you put off sleep for as long as you possibly can and dream takes notices of it.

you sit across from him in the library reading about a lovely dream a mortal has created. you can feel your eyes are growing heavy and let out a yawn before continuing.

“what troubles you dear wife?” dream asks, not looking up from his work.

“nothing, why do you ask dear husband?” you respond back placing the book down.

“you have stayed awake with me for three days now.” he says softly, one might think you could even hear a bit of concern laced in his voice.

“i’ve just missed you, that’s all.” you give him a soft sleep to try and sell it, but clearly dream is not buying. “you’ve just been so busy with your work and i’ve rarely seen you—”

“you have not been sleeping so you can spend more time with me?”

now that it is said out loud you realize how ridiculous it sounds. the wife of a dream lord isn’t sleeping because she wants to see him more.

“…yes?”

dream’s expression reminds flat.

“you are not being truthful.” dream stands and walks over to where you are seat before kneeling in-front of you. his eyes search your own for some actual reasoning.

“i’ve had trouble sleeping when you are not with me…” you confess, looking away as you feel your cheeks burn.

dream’s hand comes under your chin to gently turn you to face him again.

“do you wish for me to remain with you tonight?”

“i couldn’t ask that of you—”

“i will.” he says bluntly, shocking you.

“you will?” he nods.

“what kind of dream lord would i be if my own wife could not get sleep?” a whisper of a smile appears on his lips before he kisses your head gently before standing again. “i must deal with some matters now rather than later. i trust when i return you will be ready for slumber.”

you stand as you watch him start to leave.

“dream.”

you call out to him, he stops and turns to you.

“yes my love?”

you move to where he stands and place a kiss on his lips before thanking him.

“anything for you.” he replies gently.

you smile at him, placing one last kiss on his lips before he leaves.

later on you can truly start to feel the sleep you’ve been avoiding for so long take ahold of you. your actions slow and you take your time, almost struggle, to put the silk sheets onto your bed.

“you need not to waste your energy.”

you turn hearing dream’s voice behind you.

“i know, i just like having a task.”

you turn back to finish placing the sheets but see that dream has already done it for you and you unintentionally let out a small huff.

“tasks distract, you need only to focus on one thing now.” you feel him wrap his arms around your middle and place a kiss behind your ear, earning a smile from you.

“you?”

dream smirks and lets out a exhale through his nose which is the closest you’ll get to a laugh.

“no, sleep. come my love.”

he sits on the bed, his outfit now changed to a more comfortable one to sleep in.

“as you command my dream lord.”

you climb onto the bed and curl into his side, you feel safe here with him, the safest you’ve felt in weeks. you hope that him being here will scare off whatever creature dares to taunt you. you can feel yourself easily drifting off in his arms and his hand moves to hold yours, offering a gently squeeze of reassurance. a simple ‘i am here, you are safe’ gesture that gives comfort.

you find yourself in a different part of the dreaming, a place that you have made in your mind, a beach that soft waves crash onto the shore. you look around for your husband but do not see him. your eyes land on a distant figure, it is not your husband though.

you feel it’s uncomfortable aura even as it stands a great distance from you. it unsettles you deeply as continuously stares at you, sending a shudder down your spine as you feel your chest tighten with anxiety.

“how dare you enter my realm to feed upon innocent people?”

you hear him before you see him, a shadow form in the sky that casts over the land as dream’s eye flicker white, oh he is pissed.

“and to do it to my beloved wife? you will no longer have the freedom you once had.”

dream’s shadowed hand looms over the creature and grabs it harshly. the creature squirms in his grip has he crushes the weak thing in his grasp. you look away from the grotesque scene, not particularly fond of gory aspect of it all you cover your ears to try and block the sickening crunch.

you don’t turn back around until you feel dream’s arms slide around your waist and pulling you close to his chest.

“are you alright my love?” his voice is soft compared to how intimating it sounded moments earlier.

you turn to face him, cupping his face with both of your hands to place a gentle kiss on his cheek and hug him tightly.

“thank you.”

“anything for you my beloved.”

“how can i ever repay you?” you ask leaning into him more.

“by resting properly now.” dream kisses your temple as he holds you close, finally allowing you to rest.

when you wake you find dream gazing at you and moving a stray hair from your face. the moment is intimate and you almost don’t want to break the silence between the two of you. you push his messy hair back and place a kiss on his forehead, then his nose and then his lips.

“did you sleep well my love?” he asks taking your hand to place a kiss on on your knuckles.

“i did.” you smile and move closer. “i dreamt that a hero came and saved me from a nightmare that i was having.”

“oh did you?” he pulls you into his chest.

“mhm, and he was very handsome.”

amount of fanfics for him on this site is so small it made me come out of retirement also this ain’t proof read and the keyboard i was typing with is a little broken so if you see any mistakes no you didn’t

.masterlist

.love always <3 pearl

#pearl’s ❤︎ works #the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman dream #the sandman dc #the sandman x reader #lord morpheus #lord morpheus x reader #dream x reader

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heavenlybodies333 · 4 hours ago

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Almost Caught -C.K

Setting: Kent family farm, Smallville

Synopsis: You visit the Kent farm for the weekend and watch Clark play the perfect son in front of his mom—but he’s anything but innocent when he’s alone with you in the barn.

cw: Rough sex, semi-public sex, exhibitionism risk, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, creampie, slightly bratty reader, dominant Clark, near-caught scenario, suggestive teasing, unprotected sex, filthy language.

You really were trying to behave. You swore you were.

You’d come out to Smallville for the weekend—supposed to be sweet and wholesome, meet-the-mom energy. Martha Kent was everything you expected and more: kind, warm, soft-spoken, with those homemade pies that made you question if she had some magical abilities of her own. The woman adored you, welcomed you like family.

But you were one blink away from throwing all that kindness straight out the barn window because Clark Kent in farm boy mode was something dangerously unfair.

T-shirt sticking to his chest with sweat, biceps flexing every time he lifted a hay bale, that damn cowboy hat he wore backward while fixing the tractor. You watched him from the porch like a woman possessed, thighs pressed together, sipping lemonade with trembling hands.

He’d kiss your cheek sweetly in front of his mom, whisper “you okay, baby?” with that boy-next-door charm like he didn’t fuck you raw the night before in the backseat of his truck with your panties shoved in his pocket.

By noon, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You caught him in the barn, alone, wrench in hand, working on some old farming equipment. Sweat dripped down his neck, his white tank clinging to every ridge of muscle.

“Clark,” you breathed, stepping in behind him and shutting the barn door.

He turned, brow furrowed, wiping his hands on a rag. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you pouted, toeing off your shoes. “My boyfriend’s being way too good in front of his mom and it’s driving me insane.”

He chuckled, setting the wrench down and crossing his arms. “You like seeing me play the perfect farm boy?”

“You have no fucking idea.” You closed the space between you, slipping your fingers under the waistband of his jeans, your voice dropping. “It makes me want to be a very bad girl.” Clark’s jaw tensed—his kryptonite wasn’t green anymore. It was you.

“You know we can’t—”

“I locked the door,” you whispered, licking up his throat. “Unless you want your mom to find out what a dirty mouth her sweet son actually has when he’s knuckle-deep in me—”

“Jesus,” he hissed, grabbing you by the waist and pinning you to the nearest stall wall. The air left your lungs as your back hit the wood, his thigh forcing its way between your legs.

“Thought I was being nice,” he growled against your throat, “but you just don’t know how to act, do you?”

“Not when you walk around like that,” you whined, grinding down on his thigh, your panties soaked through your shorts. “You’re killing me, Clark.”

He popped the button on your shorts like he was pissed, yanking them down with your underwear in one go. He didn’t even bother undressing himself—just pulled himself out, already hard, thick, angry.

“You want to get fucked like a slut in my mama’s barn?” he muttered, hiking one of your legs around his hip.

You nodded desperately, arms thrown over his shoulders. “Want you to—

You didn’t get to finish the sentence—he shoved into you in one brutal thrust, knocking the wind from your lungs as your nails dug into his back.

“Oh fuck— Clark—”

“Shut up,” he grunted, pounding into you with slow, punishing thrusts. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“You’re the one—oh God—fucking me like this!”

He bit down on your shoulder to keep himself from groaning too loud. You were soaking wet, squeezing him like your pussy was made for him, and the sounds of skin slapping filled the barn with every thrust.

“You like being fucked where anyone could walk in?” he hissed into your ear, holding you up like you weighed nothing.

“Yes—yes—fuck me harder—”

He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back, and then—just as you were spiraling, breath caught in your throat—

“Clark? You seen the pie dish?”

Your heart stopped. Martha’s voice came through the window, clear and close. Clark froze, one hand clamping over your mouth, the other still gripping your ass as your body trembled on the edge of orgasm.

Your eyes met his—wild, terrified, turned on as hell. He stayed still, cock buried inside you, both of you straining to hear.

“Check the pantry!” he called back, voice perfectly casual. The man didn’t even stutter.

You wanted to moan, but his hand stayed firm on your mouth. You both waited in silence, barely breathing. Then—footsteps retreating.

Clark smirked. “Told you we’d get caught if you kept acting up.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you whispered, “Don’t you dare stop now.” He didn’t. He fucked you harder. He had you coming in seconds, his hand still over your mouth, soaking his abs with your slick as your body shook. He didn’t stop until he was full of you, pumping you full of hot cum with a grunt in your ear. You gasped into his shoulder, body twitching from overstimulation as he stayed buried inside you, panting against your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” you whimpered when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes blown, sweat dripping off his temple. “You’re gonna make me walk back in there leaking down my thighs.”

Clark laughed, breath hot against your neck, voice low and smug. “Good. Maybe you’ll behave now.”

You scowled, still trembling, tightening your legs around him. “You’re an asshole.”

He nipped your jaw. “Keep it up and I’ll take you right here again after dinner. Bet you’ll still be wet.”

He let you slide off him slowly, steadying you with that absurd strength like you weren’t melting. You wobbled when your feet hit the barn floor, thighs slick and sore, your pussy aching and stuffed full of him.

You reached for your shorts, legs jelly, but Clark caught your wrist. “Leave ’em,” he said, smirking as he pulled your panties from his back pocket—the same ones from last night. “I’ll hold onto these.”

“Clark,” you hissed, wide-eyed. “I have to sit at the table with your mom!”

He leaned in, kissed your swollen mouth, and whispered, “Then try not to squirm too much, sweetheart.”

Back in the house, you sat at the Kent family table like nothing happened. “Everything okay?” Martha asked sweetly as you stepped back inside the house.

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile and ignoring the way your legs wobbled. “Just needed some fresh air.”

Clark kissed your cheek like the gentleman he absolutely wasn’t. And under the table, he slid his hand up your thigh again.

a/n: my cat is sick and im writing smut to not lose my mind lmao. i hate adulting. luckily the vet can see us tomorrow morning so im hoping for the best for my furbaby. sorry for ranting like this im losing my mind because thats my baby and if anyone has a cat who stopped eating all of a sudden any advice/comfort would be appreciated<3

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frostytheduck · 6 hours ago

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Going back and adding my thoughts on this. A bit long and it's broken into parts so I'll add a read more

Starting with Canon Characters

If the media is a blockbuster type and I'm never likely to interact with the creator then it's out of their hands and fanfic is inevitable. If there is a popular fan work then I can see shipping characters but ensuring they are tagged appropriately so that the creator can block the tags. If it's a smaller fan work then it feels a bit more scummy to ship their interpretations of the characters and I Definitely wouldn't leave a comment or tag them where they would see the ship they don't want to see. If it's someone sharing a fic one on one (or like to a small group) then I absolutely wouldn't ship the characters they don't want to, I can play with Canon myself if I want that ship.

Fanfiction OCs

This gets into a way bigger grey area. If the OC is an interpretation of a canon character then I feel like I could just make my own interpretation of the character and just, not share it with the one who made the request. If it is a OC that is an entirely new character and the ship is with a canon character then again, just don't tag the creator and don't get butt hurt if they block you. (Creators have just as much right to curate their experience as all of us. If you only post something they don't like, don't expect them to want to see you online.) If the OC is shipped with another OC it feels far weirder to me to ship them against the creators wishes UNLESS the work is already complete and there is nothing to suggest a problematic ship. (More thoughts on this in a moment.) If someone is sharing an OC and their audience is small then it again feels scummy to ship them and post content about that ship because then it would flood the tags for that OC with that ship that the creator doesn't want to see.

Someone sharing an Original Work with a small audience.

I've kinda gone over this already but I want to summarize. If the audience is small the chance of the creator running into your work is much larger. When smaller creators ask not to see a ship I feel like making content for that ship and posting it (especially while tagging the work) can be rude. If the fan base is large and you happen to be handed a copy of a book by the author then once everyone has access to that book that's where I think it's OK. (Not sharing the ship beforehand but mainly spoiler reasons that makes it scummy for a different reason.)

Additional Thoughts and Special Cases

RPF is something I personally would never ship (outside of already established relationships) but that is personally. But knowing that some like to ship RPF my thoughts would be that if the Real Person asks not to be in a ship then Don't Ship. That is another human setting a boundary about themselves and that boundary should be accepted.

Self shipping is something that I admittedly don't know a lot about but from what I know there isn't much content and creators can never control what you think and feel. Just, ya know, don't tag the creator if you do post anything.

Representation! If the character is Gay (not Gay Coded, I'll get to that.) then Don't ship them with a Woman. (There are some exceptions but that mostly involves micro labels and nuance.) If the character is AroAce Don't Ship Them, At All. If I see one more Allo person saying "AroAce people can still date!" I'm going to scream. I have seen exactly 3 Allo people who mean that in a genuine way and not a way that erases representation. I have seen so few AroAce characters in ships that acknowledge their sexuality and romantic orientation. Most treat the character like they can overcome their AroAce-ness as if it is a problem to be solved. You wouldn't ship a lesbian with a man and suddenly make them not a lesbian, right? Don't do that to AroAce characters.

If a creator says "Hey don't ship these two, you'll see why later," then there is probably a good reason and viewers can make the decision after the Reveal, beforehand feels a bit strange but like... Go off I guess? Just be aware that if you are suddenly disgusted by the ship Don't blame the creator.

In general, sharing fan works with a ship that the creator doesn't want to exist isn't really a bad thing. However if you are one of the only people in the fandom and you only post about the ship that the creator said not to ship that does feel way scummier.

Thought Crime is Not Real. Ship whoever you want in your head, even if it's problematic, talk about it with friends or in DMs You can do that 100%. The problem only shows up with sharing fan works in the above situations. It's down to how likely you as the average fan are likely to interact with the creator on a personal level.

A writer asking for something not to be shipped Cannot control you. In general treat it as if the question is "Will you not send me these things?" Because it is an attempt to curate their experience. Larger audiences make it harder to find specific things and easier to filter out things you don't like. Smaller audiences mean that the creator is far more likely to STOP creating because the audience they have won't stop shipping characters they don't want shipped.

I have seen shipping get so bad with some fandoms that the creator stopped writing and stopped interacting with social media because they were being threatened into making a ship canon when the whole point of the story was that the relationship wasn't romantic, the relationship was platonic.

Don't do something that will drive a creator (especially a smaller one.) to decide they don't want to create. That absolutely makes you a scum bag.

If the creator or something explicitly states they don’t want two characters shipped will you respect it?

#Frosty's Thoughts #I won't stop anyone from bullying JKR though...#just saying...

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alyakhq · 10 hours ago

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jealous colonel caleb and his lieutenant because i said so :)

“please!— please colonel! oh gosh—“ your begs and pleads filled the air, yet fell into deaf ears. the man behind you, your husband, was railing you into the large bed, his cock reaching your cervix with every harsh thrust, hands digging into your hips, “fuck—i-i can’t it’s too much caleb—“

“it’s not too much, you can take it,” he whispered in your ear, his hips pressing into the flesh of your ass, making it shake on impact, caleb’s eyes latched onto the jiggle, “damn—late nights at the gym with me has paid off,” slap! “your ass is getting fatter…didn’t even know that was possible.” you didn’t even understand what he was saying, your mind only filled with how deep his dick was going, how much pleasure your being given.

the sounds of skin slapping echoed in caleb’s bedroom, his hips reckless and powerful, thrusting into your wet pussy, his hand pressing onto your upper back to arch your back more.

the sight alone making him groan. your back arched nicely, your curls over your shoulders— fuck you were a masterpiece. grabbing a pillow, you stuffed your face into it, trying to hold back the loud moans which have probably waken up the whole of sky haven. that ass of yours driving caleb insane, shaking with every thrust, it was calling his name.

your ass red and bruised from his assualt earlier, spanking you for talking all cute and submissive for other men in the fleet. his heavy hand, still with his leather gloves on, landing on your flesh with every wrong answer you gave him. his other hand holding you down over his lap, until you apologised properly, which is when he finally rubbed your skin. squeezing the flesh and kissing your sore spots away, before putting you on all fours and fucking you raw.

“who do you belong to lieutenant? tell me,” caleb growled, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips, pulling your ass back to meet his own hips.

your head lifted from the pillow, black tears running down your face due to your mascara, your baby hair clinging to your face.

but nothing came out.

..did he even say anything? definitely not, however, it was too late when you realised he actually did speak, and even worse asked you something.

caleb’s silence sent shivers down your spine, and then his beefy arm went around your neck, pulling your torso up a little, bringing you to his chest. you could feel his muscles against your lower back, and his lips reached your ear, “i asked you a fucking question, don’t make me punish you again. or are you too cockdrunk to speak? can you only moan and beg? pathetic.” his voice was filled with power, commanding, making your pussy clench around him.

“i’m sorry colonel! i’m so sorry—fuck i’m so sorry! please—hah! what was the question? i’ll a-answer!” your hands went to his forearm, digging your nails into the firm muscle, feeling his arms tense. his arm was so muscular, so biteable it was hard not to sink your teeth into his flesh as well. “i’ll be a good girl colonel..!”

his other went to your bruised ass, landing another slap for your disobedience, “my poor lieutenant, can’t even remember what i said? little whore. i’ll say it again. who do you belong to?”

his thrusts picked up pace, slamming into your at an inhumane pace, feeling your tight pussy clench around his cock, your moans filling his ears. it only motivated him more, his cock reaching deeper into your cunt, you could feel it in your throat.

“i belong to you!—mhm! you colonel! only you!—ah! please—it’s too much!”

caleb’s arm removed itself from your neck, his hands. gently lowering your limp torso back onto the mattress. his hands going to your hips. his leg went up, to give him more strength to rail you harder. “too much? awh, little soldier can’t handle it? can’t handle my cock? huh?”

caleb scoffed, “silly girl, i’ll show you too much.”

@ alyakhq, do not plagiarise, copy or translate my work pls :)

i love caleb but i need to leave him alone more

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creamcut · 13 hours ago

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sukuna takes your work struggles into his own hands

“and then she has the nerve to say my presentation lacked creativity, like, excuse me—”

“who is this again?” sukuna interrupts, lounging back against the headboard with his arms crossed.

“jules. i’ve mentioned her a million times — she’s the one who—”

“don’t care,” he cuts you off, his tone flat as his crimson eyes flick over to you. “why are you wasting your breath on her?”

“i’m not wasting my breath! i’m venting,” you huff, turning to glare at him. “it’s called being in a relationship. you listen to your partner’s frustrations, even if it’s not directly your problem.” he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “you’re frustrated over a bug you can squash under your shoe. why let her plague your thoughts?”

“it’s not that simple! i can’t just… ignore her. i have to work with her,” you explain, crossing your arms.

“not for long,” sukuna mutters, a smirk tugging at his lips.

you narrow your eyes at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing,” he says smoothly, but there’s a dangerous glint in his gaze that makes you suspicious.

“sukuna…”

he lets out an annoyed scoff. “look, i don’t see the point in talking about insignificant humans. it’s tedious, and honestly, beneath you. why let them get to you when they’re not even worth a second of your time?”

“because, unfortunately, they’re there,” you snap. “not everyone gets to waltz through life on their own terms, terrorizing whoever they want.”

“that’s your first mistake,” he says smugly.

you open your mouth to retort, but the next day at work, you notice something strange. jules' desk is eerily empty. “weird,” you mutter to yourself. “she didn’t say anything about taking a day off.”

the day after that? still empty. the third day? HR sends an email that jules has ‘stepped down unexpectedly.’ you stare at the screen, slack-jawed. when you confront sukuna later, he’s reclining on the couch like he owns the place, looking waayy too pleased with himself.

“you wouldn’t happen to know anything about jules suddenly leaving, would you?”

he smirks, not even bothering to hide it. “told you she wasn’t worth your time.”

“sukuna!”

“what? i didn’t lay a finger on her.”

“then what did you do?” you demand.

he leans forward, his grin sharp and teasing. “just helped her realize she wasn’t cut out for the job. gave her a little… encouragement to pursue other paths.” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “i can’t believe you. you can’t just go around scaring my coworkers off!”

“worked, didn’t it?” he says, utterly unbothered. “now, can we stop talking about work and focus on something that actually matters?”

“sukuna i swear to—”

“like what’s for dinner,” he interrupts, flashing you a toothy grin.

you hate that you’re already planning to let it slide.

#jjk crack #jujutsu kaisen crack #sukuna crack #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #sukuna headcanons #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you

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antiwhores · 17 hours ago

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Bakugou loves to stare at you.

You wonder if he even gets the concept of staring being weird. Maybe he just skipped that lesson of common courtesy. You hate it.

Truthfully, he loves the way you look back at him before quickly tearing your eyes away. You’ll do this many times, always checking to see if he’s snapped out of his trance.

He’d stare during meetings to make you stutter. He loved staring at you when you walked by him in his agency’s hallways. Every time you were talking to your peers, especially a male coworker, he’d watch you until you excused yourself with a beet red face.

You think it’s sadistic. He had to be doing it just to make you insecure. Was something on your shirt? Does your hair look crazy today? Is he judging the way you doze off? Does he hate you? Does he want you dead?

You actually started to actively avoid him. But everywhere you went, he was there. To be fair, it’s his agency. But you’d think that he has some paper work to do or something. Did he really want to spend his time off patrol watching you type up emails to business partners?

Life at your job was a nightmare. Whenever you thought about quitting he’d stop for a couple days. Just when you were getting comfortable, he would be staring at you as you scarfed down two muffins.

There was a part of you that liked his attention. Everyone knows he’s beautiful, to be fair. But you couldn’t take the constant overthinking anymore.

It was the end of the day. Practically everyone had gone home but you wanted to get ahead on some work so you stayed back. Finally, after you knocked out a decent chunk of paperwork, you packed up your things to leave. But a quiet rumble of your stomach reminded you that you had barely eaten since breakfast. They always have a bowl of fruits out in the cafeteria so you decided to stop by.

Grabbing two bananas and an apple, you turned around to leave. Your heart practically stopped at the jump scare of Bakugou sitting on one of the lounge chairs. He wasn’t there before and you didn’t hear him come in. Heroes are terrifying.

As normal, he was staring at you while eating his own banana. You could’ve walked away, like you always do, but the frustration finally gave you the balls to snap.

You stomped towards him, the only distance being the short coffee table in front of his chair.

“Why do you do that?!”

He slowly drinks out of his “World’s Best Hero” mug.

“Do what?”

His forced oblivious attitude had your face red from anger. Your hands curled up into fists at your side. It wasn’t threatening, even though you tried to be.

“You look at me! Like… a lot!”

His smirk seems purely evil yet it sent butterflies to your stomach.

“I can’t look at you in my own agency?”

“No! Well.. yes. But not the way you do it. You never stop looking at me. It’s rude!”

You were shaking from the adrenaline. It was infuriating seeing how smug he was. He was enjoying every second of this.

“You’re pretty when you squirm.”

It’s like several parts of your brain turned off. There was nothing to say. All the rehearsals of what this conversation would look like could’ve never predicted this.

He stands up out of his chair and stretches.

“You’re pretty all the time but especially when you’re tensed up like this.”

Dropping his mug on the table, he makes his way around to you.

“Wish you could see how you look right now. Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You would rather die than see your face right now.

“You don’t work on the weekends, yeah? I’ll pick you up Saturday night, take you somewhere nice.”

This time he lets you hear his combat boots as he walk out.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki #mha x reader #yeah its me again #ik its been a while #like a looooooooong while

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kaitlyn-imagines · 3 days ago

Note

Your writing is great!!!

Hey, can I request a Saja Boys x Magical Girl Reader. Precure style and I mean pretty transformation, an animal mascot (it would be fun if it was a lion but it's not necessary) and she can fight like this:

Okay so I tried to give each of the boys their own unique little scenario for meeting the reader! So we got some fightin', some flirtin', and some clothes getting ripped off in canon typical fashion HAHAHA Everybody say it with me: I WANT TO BE A MAGIC GIRL, I WANT TO BE A MAGIC GIRL, I WANT TO BE A MAGIC GIRL, I WANT--

Saja Boys w/ a Magic Girl! Reader

Jinu:

Jinu is stalking through the night, making small preparations for the next steps of their plan to destroy the honmoon. He’s just about to finish up and head back, when all of a sudden, a diamond dagger pierces the wall next to his head.

He fully yelps, jumping a little before whipping around to look in the direction of his assailant. What he didn’t expect to see, was an adorable girl dressed in skirts and bows with—was that a tail?

He has just enough time to duck out of the way as you hurl another crystal dagger, a battle cry on your lips. He’s instantly on the defense, waving his hands out in front of body as you come at him, swinging and slashing.

“Hey hey, woah, easy there, no need for the claws, kitty,” he jokes, teleporting behind you as your heel kicks the air where his face had just been. “Seriously though, are you a cat or something? What’s with the tail?”

Him not taking you seriously was beginning to tick you off. “It’s my theme,” you snap back, slicing the air with practiced discipline. And yet, the infuriating demon wouldn’t stay still. “Go back to whence you came from, hellspawn!”

And Jinu laughs—laughs! Despite your attempts to banish him back to the underworld via a sharp blade, Jinu decides to make these little sparring matches with you a nightly routine.

At first, he found the whole thing entertaining, but overtime, he began to admire you. Your beauty, your fire, your dedication to justice…it drew him in like a moth to a flame. Maybe one day your quick slashes will hit their mark…but until then, he’s content to have your company.

Abby:

There’s nothing Abby loves more than looking good while doing things, whether that’s performing or fighting. A little flash of his abs here, a flex of his bicep there, fisting his hand so the veins bulge…Yeah, he’s pretty much perfected the art of allurement, so much so that he can look effortlessly handsome during even the most menial tasks.

That said, he can appreciate a fellow connoisseur of the art. Watching you kick ass in those kitten heels, with bells and ribbons tied around your dress? Finally, someone who’ll put up a real fight!

He’ll definitely pull out the big guns with you. He practically tears off his shirt, so you get two big eyefuls of his chiseled muscle.

Understandably, you are completely thrown off by this, because tearing off your clothing is a bizarre thing to do in the middle of a fight and, frankly, it’s freakish behavior.

But hey, it worked! You’re thrown off your game, and he’s grinning each time you slip up and make small, foolish mistakes. You were distracted by the strangeness of the situation, mortified at his brazen display, and…shit, he was hot.

“Put on your shirt, you weirdo!” you shrieked as you threw a punch with your heavy, golden clawed gauntlets.

“Not my fault you keep looking at me…” he taunted back. “But hey, why don’t you just take yours off too? Make things even.”

Baby:

Baby’s out and about late one night, needing to get away from the guys and be alone for a bit. He’s strolling along the moonlit roof tops, hands in his jean pockets, when all of a sudden, he feels the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

He feigns another few steps forward before his intuition triggers again, and he whirls around. His hands fist into soft pieces of fabric, and with inhumane strength and speed he’s slamming the person down onto the floor of the concrete, a deadly glare on his face.

He expected to see some petty thief or sloppy drunk, but there at his feet was…a girl, dressed up in frilly clothing and…cat ears? He steps back, a little caught off guard. The sharpness in his expression dulls, and he looks at you warily as you rub at your throbbing head.

“What are you doing, stalking around up here?” he asks, taking in your full appearance. He doesn’t miss sight of the sword cast aside near you. You must have dropped it during the scuffle.

He watches you compose yourself, tense and still for a few seconds before you make a lunge for your weapon. But, having anticipated you would pull a move like this, his uses his toe to kick it away out of reach.

You look up at him and fix a mean glare at him, your eyes slitting in a way wholly feline. He feels the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smirk despite of himself. Regardless of your evident hostility…he was curious about you, and intrigued by this turn of events.

“Most would start out with a ‘hello’ and introduce themselves,” he says drily, and at your continued silence, he grins. He wondered how far he could push you before you snapped…

Romance:

Battling with you is like a dance—flowing ribbons and pleated fabric catching the wind as you move with feline grace.

He almost regrets having to fight with such a hypnotic beauty such as yourself…Then again, he has little choice in the matter. Though he does decide to take it easy on you, and tries to have some fun in the meantime.

As the battle between demons and humanity’s defense rages, you both twist around a game of cat and mouse… He’ll drop little flirtatious comments, opting to go on the defense in order to drag out the interaction.

But then the tide shifts, the demons are falling back. And in a moment of distraction, your magical weapon is piercing into his form. He only has a moment to feel surprised before his body bursts into blue ribbons of flame, and he is sent back to the demon realm below.

The next time Romance pays a visit to the surface, the honmoon has been refortified and everything is balanced once more. He’s here purely for pleasure—after Gwi Ma’s defeat, he has no further business to attend to.

Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true…there is a certain leonine girl he’s hoping to run into again… if not to settle the score, then maybe to reintroduce himself under these better circumstances.

Mystery:

People have been disappearing at an alarming rate, no thanks to the boys helping Gwi Ma with his dirty work. In light of this epidemic, there has been talk online of a new, local vigilante who’d recently been taking to the streets at night.

Mystery hadn’t really thought much about it, dismissing the whole thing entirely. There were more pressing things to worry about, like preparing for their next event and trying to stay one step ahead of the Huntrix girls.

Though, it appears the rumors might’ve been more serious than Mystery initially thought. Gwi Ma began to complain that a large amount of his demons were being sent back to the demon world after experiencing altercations with this new vigilante. So, naturally, Gwi Ma made it Jinu’s problem…who promptly made it Mystery’s problem.

Mystery groaned out a soft sigh, prowling the streets in hopes of running into the rumored phantom hero soon. It wasn’t how he’d have preferred spending his evening, but there was no use in arguing about it.

Halfway down the street, he paused, a tingling sensation prickling his skin as he sensed some a nearby conflict. He listened for a moment, straining his ears, before he suddenly made a hard right into the nearby alley.

He moved quickly, rounding the corner of a closed mom-and-pop bakery, arriving just in time to see you swing your weapon into the abdomen of a water demon. The creature screeched and writhed before it was exiled back to the fiery hells below. You panted slightly, wiping the sweat off your brow as you stood up straight, relaxed your taut muscles.

Mystery stared through his bangs, his mouth slightly open as he watched you wipe off your blade on your pretty little skirt and sheathe it into the scabbard strapped at your hip.

After a moment, you catch sight of him in the corner of your eye and yelp, startled. Your eyes were blown wide, a small panicked look on your face. “I-I swear, this isn’t what it looks like!” you said quickly, waving your hands in front of you placatingly.

He blinked, surprised by your reaction…until he realized—you didn’t know he was a demon. You thought he was some civilian who just stumbled upon you stabbing somebody.

…yeah, he could work with this.

#kpdh x reader #kpdh #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #saja boys x reader #saja boys headcanons #saja boys fanfic #jinu x reader #romance x reader #baby x reader #abby x reader #mystery x reader #x reader #saja boys #huntrix #gwi ma #magical girl

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wardenparker · 14 hours ago

Text

Ten Years Later

Joel Miller x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 18k Warnings: Old secrets. Characters were lied to and manipulated by someone they cared about. Insecurities. Arguing. Fingering, cum eating, vaginal sex, protected sex. Summary: Tommy convinces Joel to attend his ten year high school reunion, forcing his brother to take some time off. Little does Joel know, his old flame will be there too. Notes: The poll for which character would get a story this week was a tie between Joel Miller and Marcus Pike, so I let @absurdthirst choose! Here is a little 'one that got away' with our boy Joel.

"You're going." Tommy crosses one arm over the other and leans against the archway to the kitchen, frowning at his older brother.

Coffee cup halfway to his lips, Joel shoots him a glare and shakes his head. "Haven't got the time." He grunts, wincing slightly as he slurps down a sip of the scalding brew. "Gotta bid in on another project, plus we have the Miller project to complete." The irony of having a job with his own last name isn't lost on him, but it was definitely a family from another tax bracket. No kin of his. "And there's Sarah."

"It's four days. A long weekend, Joel. That's all." With eyes narrowed on his brother, Tommy tilts his head. "The project bid will be over before Friday anyway, and the Miller project is right on schedule." He huffs a breath and shifts his weight again. "Sarah and I will be fine for a few days. We'll watch movies you hate and I'll teach her the fine art of grilled cheese. Uncle-niece bonding."

"I don't need to go to a ten year reunion." Joel snorts. "What the hell is that? I thought it was only done at twenty?"

"You need to have some damn friends again." Tommy contends. "See people that aren't employees, clients, or Sarah's friends' parents." Abandoning the wall, Tommy comes and sits down at the table with Joel and picks up his half-drunk orange juice. "Plus?" He shrugs through a gulp of the sunny liquid. "I already RSVP'ed for you and paid. So you're going."

"Goddamnit, Tommy." Joel closes his eyes and sighs, setting the cup down and pinches the bridge of his nose. "How much was it?" Even though the business was slowly growing, money was always tight, especially when he has a little girl that seems to outgrow her clothes every few months.

"You'll never know." Smirking triumphantly, Tommy leans forward in his chair and steals an abandoned bite of toast from the edge of Joel's plate. "I used my own money, it didn't bankrupt me, and you're going."

“Fuck.” Joel hisses and shakes his head. “Tommy.” He groans in warning.

"Take a few days to just relax, would you?" He pushes out of his seat to start loading the breakfast dishes into Joel's dishwasher. "Come on, old man, we gotta work. And when we get home tonight you're gonna pack." Tommy point a finger at his brother and grins evilly. "Because if you don't, I'm gonna pack for you. Speedos and Hawaiian shirts. And nothing else."

“Fuck.” Joel snorts and shakes his head. “I would never wear speedos.” He reminds his brother. “They never fit right.” His own grin flashes. “Not enough room.”

******

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" It's the fourth time this hour you've asked, but you still look to your sister with wide and beseeching eyes. Packing your suitcase for this reunion getaway is proving far more stressful than you expected and you reach for the cocktail sitting on your nightstand. "How did I let you talk me into this?"

“Because you deserve to have a good time, away from everything.” She grins as she reaches for the bathing suit you had taken out of your bag. “You need this.”

"The hotel might not have a pool," you argue, although you can't imagine a resort in Texas not having a pool. Or even more than one. "And I do have a good time! I go out on the weekends and everything!"

“You go out to the same sad little bar, order one dirty martini - which is disgusting by the way – have their Greek salad and come home.” She snorts, rolling her eyes and shoving the two piece into the pocket where all your panties and bras are. “You need another one.”

"They make my martinis exactly the way I like them." It's a lame defense, but it's all you have at the moment, and you frown at her deeply. "This is going to be four days of painfully awkward mingling with people who didn't even like me growing up."

“You had friends.” She huffs. “You just…stopped talking to them when you went off to college.”

"My best friend decided to start dating the guy I was in love with, and then completely cut me off," you remind your older sister quietly. "And it's not like Mom and Dad had enough money to fly me home from college all the time just so I could hang out with half-assed friends. I had to stay in Boston." The fairly recent return to your hometown came on the heels of your father's death, and the decision to stay was a difficult one. "I'm sorry, I just...being home has been weird. And this is going to be weird, too."

“I know.” She softens, knowing how difficult this has been for you and she pulls you in for a hug. “If nothing else, get some vitamin D, drink some cocktails and read the three books I know you will shove in the front pocket.”

Your frown transforms into a pout, and you glance guiltily at your living room bookshelves through the open doorway before looking back at her. “I’ll probably bring four,” you admit, shrugging slightly. “Since the thing is four days long.”

There’s a guilty look on your face and she laughs. “So worst case, you get to read four books while relaxing and not working. Sounds like a good reason to vacation to me.”

A long groan escapes your throat, but you tip your head back and sigh. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this.”

“You’re gonna have so much fun!” She squeals, happy that you are giving in and going.

"I'm going to drink cocktails and read books," you correct, giving her a good natured stink-eye. She means well, and she's right. You haven't had so much as a tiny vacation since you started your professional career right out of college, six years ago. "Get that bathing suit out of my suitcase or I'm changing my mind again."

“Nope.” She picks up a big straw hat and tosses it in. “Because you need to sit by the pool and read while you drink cocktails. You can’t do that in business wear.”

“Mean sister,” you grumble, but sigh and turn to your closet to find some kind of coverup to put over your swimsuit by the pool. This reunion will be best if you speak to no one, so that’s what you’re planning on doing: Just sun, books, and booze all weekend.

******

“Fuck.” There’s nothing wrong with this place, it actually looks amazing, but it’s also the last fucking place Joel wants to be. Looking around, he expects Tisha to pop out from behind a fucking bush like the boogeyman. Nervous because he knows people will be asking questions, wanting to know what happened and he doesn’t have the mental energy for that shit.

“Checking in, sir?” The cheery young woman behind the desk asks, ready to be snipped and sniped at by another member of this class reunion party, judging by the attitudes she’s seen so far and this man’s approximate age.

“Yeah.” He frowns slightly, for a second wondering if Tommy put the reservation under his name or Joel’s. “Uh, Miller.” He tells her quietly. “Joel? Or it could be Tommy? My brother set this up.” He admits, looking a little sheepish.

“I do have a reservation for a Joel Miller.” She takes his license and clicks through the computer, frowning after a moment. “It appears the room has been double booked,” she admits, worrying her lip between her teeth. This large event was the kind of thing that unfortunately sometimes led to errors and the reservation was initiated by one of the newer employees. “Unless…you aren’t traveling with anyone, are you Mr. Miller?”

"Uhhhhhh, no." He shakes his head and looks around. "Not that I'm aware of, but I wouldn't put it past that fucker." He adds under his breath, wondering what the fuck Tommy had done. "Who is it?"

She says the name carefully, searching his face for a reaction. “I have you booked into one of the cabins.”

"Not a room?" He asks, frowning slightly because he knows a cabin has to be more expensive than a room. Cursing Tommy again for backing him into this corner and making him come.

“No sir, a queen cabin. There’s a dozen of them of varying sizes on the property. Very coveted. It’s an excellent reservation, but as I said…it seems to be double booked.” She can see two credit cards and two names on the reservation. The new employee must have thought it could be split like the larger, two bedroom cabins.

"Well, hell..." he contemplates just turning around and going home but he knows Tommy will have his ass. Especially since he enlisted Sarah to telling him off on how much he needed a vacation. His eight year old girl being her bossy self. "I don't need a cabin. Give it to the other guy and I'll just take a room." He offers.

“I’m afraid we’re fully booked, sir.” The desk agent fidgets and shifts her weight under the desk. Out of sight. “The reunion has booked the entire facility for this weekend. But you do have the cabin. If you would like it.”

"And who is that going to leave without a room?" Joel asks, not wanting to take the cabin from someone who would actually want it.

The other young woman at the next computer over clears her throat gently and politely whispers something in the ear of the agent checking in Joel. A few near-silent whispers and a few nods between them and the woman a few feet away from Joel at the desk fidgets.

“It’s…um…I think it’s us who got double booked.” And you’re instantly sick to your stomach at the thought of it. You’re absolutely going to murder your sister when you get home.

Joel hadn't noticed anyone else coming up to the counter but he recognizes that voice right away. Turning his head as your name comes out of his mouth, he is a bag of mixed emotions as he sees you after ten long years. Twelve if you count the fact that you just suddenly stopped talking to him in tenth grade. Ignored him like he didn't exist even when he was standing beside you.

“Hi Joel.” It’s such a lame ass sentence. Two words with no meaning whatsoever. But they’re all that you can force out of your mouth when he’s standing there next to you looking perfect.

"Hi." He shifts and frowns slightly. "Uh, so we are the two lucky one, huh?" He asks, snorting slightly and wondering how the hell he had gotten into the mess. He is going to kill Tommy when he gets home. His chuckle sounds a little dry to his own ears and he shrugs, motioning to the desk. "Why don't you take the cabin?" He offers. "I didn't really - uh, Tommy pushed me to come anyway."

He didn’t want to come. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t plan this as some big gesture. The exhale you can manage feels crackling and dry. “Can you just send extra pillows and an extra blanket to the cabin? I can sleep on the couch.” This isn’t the desk agent’s fault. They’re both just doing their jobs. But you are going to kill your sister for talking you into this. “I made Evie a promise. To stick this weekend out,” you tell Joel, stricken with the inexplicable need to be honest. “I’ll stay out of your way. Just go ahead and enjoy yourself.”

Joel frowns, still reeling by the idea that you are acknowledging his existence. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” He automatically argues. “Because there’s no way I can go home. Sarah will kill me.”

“Sarah?” Glancing behind him to look for some sign of Tisha proves futile, and now you don’t really know what to expect at all.

Joel looks at you in confusion for a second. “She didn’t even fucking mention her daughter when she fucked off to see you?” He snorts, that familiar feeling of soul crushing disappointment burning in his chest.

Taking the key from the desk agent with tense, sharp movements, you shove the little piece of plastic in your pocket and immediately regret the decision to share space with him. “I haven’t seen or heard from Tisha since graduation.” You inform him briskly, and walk away.

Joel closes his eyes and sighs. “Shit.” He hisses, regret curling in his gut and he takes his own key from the worker and bites his lip. “Sorry.” He offers quietly before hustling to catch up to you.

“I’m sorry she seems to have turned out to be as awful to you as she was to me,” you bite out, facing resolutely forward as you stalk toward the other side of the lobby.

“Wait.” Your pace doesn’t even falter a single step and he starts to jog to catch up to you as he pants your name. “Please?”

It takes a hell of a deep breath and a slight waver when you stop short, but you finally pull to a halt and turn around. Thankfully no one else in the lobby seems to be paying too much attention to you. It’s still too early in the arrival process for people to be excited about drama.

He almost runs into you, reaching out and catching your shoulders so he doesn’t bowl you over. “I- I’m sorry.” Joel murmurs quietly, dropping his hands and sighing. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

"Why don't we get out of the lobby before people start getting interested?" You suggest, shrinking away from his touch more than you're proud of.

“Yeah.” He sees the way you react and he steps back to give you more space. “Sure.”

The path to the cabins is well-marked when you get outside, and the tree-lined path helps protect from the afternoon sun. If you weren’t so fucking upset right now it might even be pretty.

“Listen, I’ll just go.” Joel murmurs from behind you, “I’ll go get a hotel somewhere and just tell my asshole brother I had a great time. You can have the cabin and you don’t have to worry about seeing me.”

Like some edict from the universe, your phone goes off at that exact moment — and rather than ignoring it like you would usually do, you pull it out of your pocket to see what the text says.

From Ivy: Talk to him.

Oh you are absolutely going to murder your sister when you get home. “Joel—” It takes every ounce of discipline in your body not to growl or huff or fuss. Just to say his name. The name of the boy who broke your heart when you were sixteen and you haven’t spoken to since. Until today. “…wait?”

He stopped when you turn around, making sure to keep a good two feet away from you. “It’s not that big of a deal.” He promises. He doesn’t know what caused the rift so many years ago, why you dropped him and your best friend, but it’s obvious you don’t want to be around him.

“It’s…” It feels so immature. So ludicrous. And so wildly past the point of mattering. But you still finish the two word sentence with your eyes trained on your shoes in the dirt path. “…Complicated.”

He huffs quietly, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. “Okay.” He doesn’t know what’s complicated or why, but he doesn’t argue with you.

“Let’s just go to the cabin,” you say, although your nose is quickly back in your phone when you turn around to type a hasty reply to your sister.

To Ivy: Your death will be slow and painful. XOXO

Joel sighs and nods. Walking towards the cabin while you type away on your phone. He’ll listen to whatever you have to say, hand you his room key and get out of dodge. He hadn’t wanted to come anyway and he damn sure didn’t want to hear about how well Tisha was doing without him or the child she apparently never mentioned.

Cabin 3 is only a few yards down the path, set back from the walking route by a trail of flat stones and lively flowers. It would look romantic and picturesque if you didn’t feel like you were walking to your death, and as it is you tap your keycard to the lock and shove the door open with a swallowed sigh.

Joel follows you inside, but he doesn’t go father than the little inside table. Dropping the key on it and waiting for you to tell him off in private.

“You said your brother sent you on this trip?” You’ve barely taken your hand off your suitcase, not even put down your purse. But the door has shut behind him so at least this is private.

“Yeah.” Joel snorts. “Said it would be good for me to catch up with people.”

"Yeah." A vague nod of your head belies the knots in your stomach. "My sister said the same thing. And then sent me a text telling me to talk to you. So I have a sneaking suspicion that our siblings may be...meddling."

“Why?” He asks, looking confused. “You haven’t talked to me since tenth grade.”

"Hell if I know." You cross one arm over the other across your chest. "You're the one who decided to spread a rumor all over school that I gotten the clap from Coach Jenkins. Why don't we start with that fun memory?"

Joel frowns, shaking his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He growls. “I never fucking said that. Never fucking believed it.”

"It's been twelve years," you huff, trying not to seem as hurt as you are. As you have been for all of those twelve years. "Just be an adult and admit it, please."

“Is that what you think of me?” Joel is sixteen again, hurt and angry by the way that his friend had turned away from him. You had told your mom that you didn’t want to talk to him when he called your house after the rumors started. You avoided him in school. He had been bewildered and Tisha had just assured him that you needed to deal with some things and you would come back around, that you weren’t talking to her either. Or any of the people you hung out with. You don’t say anything and Joel nods. “Got it.” He snaps, jaw clenched and his eyes narrowing. “Good to know.” He picks up his bag. “Well, this hasn’t been fun. Enjoy the next twelve years and tell my bitch ex-wife that my daughter never asks about her.” He growls, turning around and snatching the door open.

"I told you, she hasn't spoken to me." Not since all the bullshit started. Not since sophomore year. Not since the rumor that made all of your friends turn their backs on you and left you virtually entirely alone for the last two years of high school.

“Well that’s funny to me, because the day she fucking left, she said she was going to you.” Joel grunts, looking over his shoulder with the door open.

"Then obviously she was lying to you." It's your turn to feel small again – teenaged and immature and naïve but convinced you were old enough to do every single thing in the world yourself. "Look, I– I'm sorry. I don't really–" Pushing out a sigh, the best you can do in this moment is shake your head and swallow back the threat of tears that is cracking through your voice. "Never mind."

You’ve always had the ability to pull on his heart, it’s why your complete icing out had hurt. He sighs and turns around, the door still opened in case you want him to leave and he searches your face. “Tell me.”

"Tell you what?" Shuffling in place makes you feel just as pouty as you probably look, and your sister's text message flashes in your mind again just to make your shoulders sag even more. "Tell you that that rumor ruined the rest of my high school year? I spent two years as a pariah. No one would talk to me, teachers were afraid to be in a room alone with me, and my parents kept me under lock and key at home because even they believed it."

“I didn’t.” Joel snorts. “There’s no fucking way you would have looked at Coach Jenkins. Man was an asshole. But you wouldn’t even fucking take my call when I wanted to tell you that.” There was more to it than that, but you never gave him an opportunity to get to that point.

"Then why did everyone say it came from you?" The decade-old heartache of having him stand here in front of you and call you a liar is something altogether different, but you dig the toe of your shoe into the rug rather than look him in the eyes.

“I don’t fucking know, but I swear on my daughter’s happiness, I didn’t start that rumor.” He insists. “Why would I when–” he breaks off, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter, but I didn’t say it.”

"When what?" Needling him may be slightly immature and more for personal satisfaction, but you're still hurt after so many years, so you ask anyway.

It doesn’t matter now, the past is behind both of you and nothing can change it. He shrugs, “when I had planned on asking you out that weekend.” Joel admits.

"Oh, bullshit," you huff, shaking your head and all but throwing up your hands. "That was right when you started dating Tisha. You don't have to lie to me, Joel."

“I went out with Tisha that weekend when you wouldn’t take my calls.” He reminds you. It was petty and probably a little hurtful, but he had been so hurt by your refusal to even talk to him and the rumors were swirling, so he had taken Tisha up on the offer to go out together. And the rest was history.

“But you…” There is a feeling in your mind like all of your memories are short circuiting. Like things have been out of order with jagged edges and sharp spines and had always been too dangerous for you to touch — but now they start to slip together like a puzzle. “You were just calling to taunt me…?” Wide eyes come with the feeling of being sick to your stomach and you swear you swallow bile in your throat.

"No, I wasn't." Joel sighs and turns to close the door, wanting to at least clear the air before he leaves. "I was calling to check up on you. To tell you that I didn't believe that bullshit rumor and to see if you wanted to go down to the lake. Get away." The lake back then was much more remote and more of a local hangout than it is now. He huffs in amusement and looks around the cabin. "Didn't have these fancy places here back then."

“You were going to…?” The way your mind just about short circuits is comical.

“Yeah.” He sighs softly. “So why would I start that rumor?”

“But Tisha said…” You shake your head as though it might shake a screw loose, and in the process only make yourself all the more confused. “You hated me. That…you were only pretending to be my friend to make fun of me behind my back.” Obviously the thoughts had festered. Had followed you. And though years of therapy had helped you to realize that your teenage years could not define your entire life unless you let them, this hurt had stuck with you deep in your soul. Because Joel Miller was the first boy you ever loved. And because your best friend had known that. “She said…she was doing me a favor…being honest with me…?”

Joel closes his eyes and sighs. “Tisha lied.” His tone is flat and almost emotionless. The weight of the revelation sucking any kind of life from him when he realizes how cold his ex-wife was. “She was jealous of you. She hated you. I realize that now.”

“She was my best friend from the time we were like four years old…” It’s almost too much to wrap your head around, but it’s starts sinking in at your shoulders first. Tisha was the one person you confided in entirely. Including when you both had crushes on Joel in middle school. She had gone on to date someone else during freshman year while you stayed focused on the older Miller brother, and…had she really been so hateful the entire time? So jealous? And how had you been so blind to it?

“I don’t know.” Joel could never figure out Tisha’s motivations. “The day she left me, she said she was going to you.”

“She didn’t.” A lie. Another lie. Which hits you so hard that your knees buckle and threaten to give out altogether. Was all of it a lie?

He shrugs slightly, not able to change events that were so long ago and he has stopped caring about what happened to her when it became obvious that she wasn’t coming back to her infant daughter. “I don’t know where she is, then.”

“I’m sorry.” You wobble again, needing to sit down and collect yourself, and stumble one step backward to the nearest chair. “I’m…I’m so sorry…”

He notices your near collapse into the chair and he frowns. “Why are you sorry?” He hates Tisha even more, the flare of anger reigniting for the woman who had abandoned him when he was a fucking kid with a kid. Leaving him to figure everything out on his own. He had barely known how to change a diaper when she left. Apparently, she had done even more damage than he had thought.

“Because I blamed you…for twelve years.” Just when you thought this whole situation had devastated you enough — when you thought you had internalized and worked past all of it that you could — it feels like your heart is breaking all over again. “But she…she did worse to you than she did to me.” And you wish you had been there for him, like the friend you had claimed to be to him for years.

Your breathing is short and shallow, almost panting. Something that he recognizes from Sarah’s overstressed moments. His guard drops along with his bag to the floor and his frown turns into one of concern as he moves over in front of you. Crouching down eye level and looking into your devastated eyes. “Breathe for me.” He instructs you calmly. “In and out. Breathe baby girl.” He uses the same soothing tone he would use for his daughter, reaching around your body to rub your back. “It’s okay, but you gotta breathe.”

Even in a panic you recognize the term of endearment and feel nauseous. You don’t deserve it. Or his attention. He ought to scream at you and walk out the door for how you treated him. For how you believed her words over his actions. But…you were only a kid. And a naive, trusting kid at that. “I’m sorry,” you manage to murmur again, sucking in a shaky breath with your eyes so wide that the world is fuzzy gray around you.

For a split second, he thinks you’re going to faint. Reaching out and cupping your face in both hands, he shushes you. “Breathe for me.” He instructs. “Come on. Innnnnnnn.” He inhales a deep breath. “And oooooout.” You can talk about all this shit later when you calm down.

It takes a full minute or two for you to calm down, and by that time you have tears streaking your cheeks and not enough presence of mind to do anything about it other than be ashamed. “I can’t believe it…” Is really the only coherent thought you can manage to voice.

“Shusssssshhhh.” He murmurs, shaking his head. “We can talk about all this later.” He promises.

“You should hate me.” The realization makes you sink further into yourself, though you breathe deeply when he guides you through it.

“Why would I hate you?” He asks. “Because you believed a lie Tish told?” He snorts. “Sweetheart, I believed all her bullshit too.”

“But I was awful to you.” That might be what is so unforgivable. Not that you believed the lies — no, you know how gullible you are. You’ve known for years thanks to therapy. It’s that you believed them strongly enough to disappear into a mire of hating a boy you had once adored.

“Because you stopped talking to me?” Joel frowns and shakes his head. “I hated losing you, but you weren’t awful to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur again, sitting up in your chair and wiping your hands down your face like you’re trying to wipe the whole slate clean. “This is…not what you needed today, I’m sure. Just give me a minute to collect myself and I’ll get going. You can enjoy the cabin for the weekend and relax.”

“You should stay.” He murmurs. “If you’re worried about people talking shit, I’ll set the record straight.”

“People will always talk shit.” Finally feeling a little more under control, you drop your forehead into your own upturned palm and sigh. “I care what you think.” You admit after a moment. “Not them.”

It’s odd that you would care about what he thinks after so long. Especially if you believed that he had said those things about you and ruined your reputation. “I think you should stay.” He tells you quietly. “You deserve to stay.”

“I don’t deserve shit.” Of that, you are more than certain. But you do shrug a little, and end up sighing again with a groan. “Especially not you being nice to me.”

“That’s not true.” Joel snorts. “I’m not fucking nice, I’m an asshole.”

“You were always nice to me.” A fact which makes you feel enough shame that your stomach churns. “Even when I thought you weren’t, you were actually just a sweet guy that I was being shitty to.”

“I was nice to you because I–” it wasn’t love. He hadn’t been close enough to you to love you, but it was almost love. He probably would have been in love if you had gone on that date with him. “I cared about you. A lot.”

“I—” Looking up, you still avoid his eyes by squeezing your own shut tight for a long moment. “I cared about you a lot too.” And the problem is — you never really got over him.

“So when Tish told you that I started that rumor….it made me seem like a complete fuckwad.” He understands, he really does.

“And the fact that the two of you got together after…” Crossing your arms over your chest again is almost like caving in, but at least you’re not crying or hyperventilating anymore.

“I was upset you wouldn’t talk to me.” Joel admit, shrugging slightly “She told me that I needed to get my mind off it. I had told her that I was trying to ask you out, so she told me that we should go on that date.”

That expression of crestfallen heartbreak crossed your features again, but this time instead of shock There is a resignation there that you hadn’t expected at all.

She did this. She did this entirely. And she did it knowing full well what it would do to you.

“She knew…” You manage, shaking your head and all but throwing up your hands in utter dismay. “She knew how I felt about you so of course she asked you out instead.”

“How you felt about me?” He frowns, unsure what you mean by that. He had thought you liked him before everything went to shit, but after you refused to talk to him, he hadn’t been sure.

It’s been well over ten years at this point and you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for one day, so you just flail your hands again and throw in the proverbial towel. “I was completely in love with you…for years. And she knew I was too shy to do anything about it.”

Joel sighs softly, thinking about what you are telling him and it clicks into place. The missing piece of the puzzle. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs softly. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s not your fault.” It isn’t either of your faults. The only person in the wrong here is the woman who fucked both of you over and then disappeared. “She did far worse to you than she did to me.”

“She just made your fucking life miserable to get a guy she didn’t actually care for.” He huffs.

“And left you with a daughter to raise all on your own,” you point out. It’s needless, and you aren’t saying he doesn’t love his little girl, but she sure fucking did leave him in the lurch.

Joel nods. “But I think the best thing she did was leave.” He admits. “But I’ll never forgive her for leaving Sarah.”

“She doesn’t deserve her.” The assertion leaves your lips automatically, making you fluster. “Just…if Sarah is anything like you…she’s far too good for Tisha.”

“Sarah is better than I could ever hope to be.” That part is true, and his face shifts to a small smile. Paternal pride radiating from him when he thinks about her. It’s hard raising the little girl by himself, but with Tommy’s help, he thinks he’s getting by.

“Then she is far too good for Tisha.” You can say that with the utmost certainty, especially now.

He bites his lip. “You should stay.” He urges you again. “Listen, I didn’t want to come because I didn’t want to run into Tish.” He shrugs.

“Same.” The admittance comes with a soft, incredulous laugh. “Although…I didn’t know you’d split. It was more like I didn’t want to have to see both of you, and happy together.”

“I asked her once why you stopped hanging around her, and I got my ass jumped so bad I never asked again.” Joel sighs. “She was never happy with me. That’s obvious looking back.”

“I don’t know if she was ever happy at all.” Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that was the issue all along. But you’re starting to understand that maybe the problem was hers and not to do with you or Joel specifically. “Maybe she was just never content with anything.”

“And if she knew that you wanted to be with me, and I wanted to be with you….” Joel sighs. “She decided she would get in the way of that.” He shakes his head, unable to imagine the blackness of his ex’s heart to do that to the girl she had claimed was her best friend in the entire world at one point.

“Well…” The layer of inky awfulness that feels like it is settling into your skin makes you long for a shower or a soak or something, and you’re nominally grateful that your sister made you pack that swimsuit after all. “Maybe we could both stay?” You offer meekly. “Catch up a little?”

For the first time, Joel looks around the cabin and notices that there is a couch in the little sitting room, the studio layout showcasing the bed behind that. “Will you be comfortable with me here?” He asks seriously. “It’s been ten years.” He doesn’t want you to feel like you have to share a space with him.

“Unless you sleep walk or have violent nightmares or something, I think we’ll be okay.” And even if he did, you know in your heart you wouldn’t do anything but try to help him. “Unless…you’re not comfortable with me here?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not uncomfortable.” He promises softly. “We can stay here. We’re both adults.”

“So does this mean we’re not killing our siblings for forcing us here?” Your sister will consider that a win, but you’ll hardly tell her so yourself.

Joel snorts. “Tommy’s still going to get his ass beat, but that’s just for GP.” He jokes.

“Fair enough I guess.” An actual smile cracks through the gloom and you look up at him. Joel Miller has been tucked away in a dark, aching corner of your heart for so long that it feels almost self indulgent and fantastical to even look him in the eye. “I’m glad you’re okay. And that your daughter is too.”

He nods, not sure if he's okay, but he's muddled his way through fatherhood. It's easier now than it had been when she was a baby, that's for sure. "How have things been going for you?" He asks, wondering what path you had taken after being out of his life for so long.

“I’m an architect.” There is no real story to tell in terms of family or close relationships, but that is the choice you made along the way. Your inability to connect to another romantic partner is something you’ve started talking to your therapist about, though it isn’t going well. “For my degree and started working at a firm in Boston, but my dad died a couple of years ago and I came back to Texas to take over his firm instead.” Following in your father’s footsteps is the thing that you’re proudest of, even if moving back home had been a tough choice under a worse circumstance.

Joel's brows shoot up in surprise. "Followed in the old man's footsteps, huh?" He asks, smiling at the thought. He had been interested in architecture at one point until he realized college wasn't in the cards for him. He didn't have the money for that and being a single parent had completely changed the course of his life. While Tommy was off in the Army, he had started working in construction and when he had come home, Joel had actually ventured out and started his own company. "How's that going?"

“Not bad.” There is a brightness in your smile that comes with his praise that you can’t deny but you also don’t want to examine too closely. “We have some really good contracts right now. I’m designing a couple of houses for families around Austin and my partner has some businesses in downtown he’s working on.”

He nods. "That's good." He hates that he wants to ask about the partner, but he doesn't really want to know if it's just business or if it's something more. "The housing market is in a boom right now. Building is up and thank God the price of lumber is staying reasonable."

You tilt your head at him, smile curling slightly into the corner of your mouth. “Don’t tell me we picked the same career?”

"Oh no." Joel shakes his head quickly. "I build the houses, I don't design them." He snorts. "Didn't have the money or time for college." He admits. "Had a baby to feed and take care of. My first construction crew boss let me bring Sarah to the jobsites." He smiles when he thinks about how crazy it looked with a tent erected over a playpen with a sleeping baby inside while the sounds of hammers rang all around her. That crew had helped him become a fucking good dad, steering him on the right path and giving him life saving advice for when he was at home with her.

“I bet she can sleep through anything now.” Having been to enough job sites to know how loud they are, the image of sleeping baby next to an active construction site makes you smile even more.

"Yeah she can." He snorts. "I told her that she could sleep through bombings or the end of the world." He jokes. "Running the vacuum at midnight is not a problem."

“That’s got to be handy, at least.” It’s comforting to think that he’s happy, even if things had been hard. Even if you aren’t the one to make him that way. “My sister and I are backing living in the house we grew up in. It’s too much for two people but it was left to both of us to share.”

"That's a good thing, right?" He asks, wondering if the memories of the past were haunting or helping you.

“I guess so.” You bob your head in acquiescence. “Pretty soon I suspect she’ll want the guy she’s seeing to move in and then I’ll go apartment hunting. It’s the circle of life.”

Joel chuckles quietly. “I bought this shitty starter home. Needs a ton of work, but I’m slowly redoing it on the weekends.” He shrugs. “The neighbors are good.” He thanks God the Adlers watch Sarah after school until he gets home. It's a comfort knowing she can get off the bus at home.

“Neighbors make the difference.” Shuffling slightly in place, you look around the cabin again and move a step inward. “I’ll take the couch,” you insist, putting your small suitcase next to it. “It sounds like you barely ever have a chance to relax and you could use a couple of nights sprawled out.”

“Not a chance.” Joel snorts, shaking his head. “I might be an asshole, but there’s no way I’m going to let you take the couch.”

“I thought we established you weren’t an asshole?” At least not to you. At least not intentionally and not directly. For the last two years of high school after he’d accepted that you weren’t speaking to him, he’d left you alone.

“Yeah…but I really am.” He promises, flashing you a quick grin. “Just ask Tommy.”

“Your brother’s opinion doesn’t count. Just like my sister’s opinion doesn’t. Siblings are too close to the source.”

“Then I’ll have to track down the guy I cut off on the interstate.” Joel jokes. “I’m sure he knows I’m an asshole.”

"Oh, well sure." You grin, smothering a snort in the middle of laughing. "That guy has all the facts."

“Seriously.” He nudges you towards the bed. “Sleeping on the couch won’t kill me. I do it plenty at home. Damn fine naps on the sofa.”

"If you say so." It seems selfish, but he's insisting, and you shift your suitcase over toward the bed hesitantly.

“You haven’t lived until the baby is asleep on the floor in the most awkward position known to man and you can catch a fifteen minute Power Nap.” He chuckles, picking up his own bag and setting it on the chair you had vacated.

"I'm looking forward to finding out." That, at least, is honest, and a soft smile graces your face effortlessly.

“So no boyfriend or fiancé?” He frowns slightly and feels bad because he’s hoping you say no.

"None at all." For now you'll try to ignore the way your heart clenches hearing him ask that question, and you'll probably stew in it instead of sleeping tonight, but at least you're not fighting or yelling at each other any more. That's a positive. "Did you...ever date? After Tish?"

“No.” Joel shrugs slightly. “I was too busy raising her to think about dating and now….” He sighs. “I don’t want women coming into her life if they aren’t going to stay.”

“That’s fair.” And something you wish your own father had abided by, but that’s not worth getting stuck on thinking about. “She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.”

“Somebody has to.” He reflects, wishing that she had two parents, but she had never complained. She had asked questions when she was younger, but had accepted his answers on why she didn’t have a mother like most kids.

“And I’m sure you’re doing better than you give yourself credit for.” Having wandered over to the bed, there is a reunion itinerary in the nightstand that you pick up and wave slightly in his direction. “Looks like there are activities for us this weekend.”

“Oh yay.” He snorts, rolling his eyes. “I had just hoped to sleep by the pool and drink beer.”

“I brought four books,” you admit with a sheepish grin. “I had no intention of doing too much socializing once I let my sister talk me into coming.”

“Nice to know we had the same plan.” He unzips his back and pulls out a set of swimming trunks. “Why don’t we go lay by the pool then? You can bring your book and I’ll doze while getting sunburned?”

“I bet you didn’t even pack sunscreen.” You did, out of an abundance of caution, but the thought of going out to the pool with Joel and lounging makes you want to wrap yourself up in your cover up and hide in a very teenage sort of way.

You would be wrong and Joel smirks as he grabs a bottle of it out of a side pocket. “Are you kidding? Sarah loves being in the pool and I’ve got to even out my construction tan.”

“No blatant white lines across your arms?” You tease with a grin. “How disappointing.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m so sure.” He snorts.

“I’ll just go in the bathroom and change.” Your swimsuit is in the corner of your suitcase and you pull it out discreetly, wishing you hadn’t let your sister talk you into packing the more revealing of your suits. She had sworn you would be grateful for the tan, but now you disappear into the cabin’s bathroom wondering if you’re about to embarrass yourself.

“Well shit.” Joel glances around and peels his shirt off after tossing down his swimming trunks and the sunscreen. “I guess I’m changing too.” He hopes he doesn’t embarrass himself when you come out on your suit, it’s been a long fucking time since he’s been on a date or gotten laid.

The second you’re behind the closed bathroom door, you pull out your phone and hit your sister’s contact info with a ferocity rarely seen outside devouring popcorn on movie night.

It only rings once before she picks up. “I’m going to kill you.” are the first words out of your mouth.

“No you aren’t.” Your sister cackles and hums. “So I take it that you have received your surprise. How does he look?”

“How?” You demand to know, hissing into your phone as you start to change your clothes. “How the hell did you do this?”

“Tommy found me on MySpace.” She singsongs down the line. “I asked him if Joel pulled that shit back in high school and he swore he didn’t. But you’re so hardheaded, you wouldn’t believe it unless you heard it from the horse’s mouth. So we decided to set this little meet cute up.”

"Oh my goooood." The mortifying part of being so obviously seen through comes with the fact that your sister had known full well how much of a crush you had on Joel previous to everything happening. "Which one of you assholes had the idea to double book us in a room?"

“That was Tommy’s idea.” She admits with a snort and then pauses to hear you curse her out. When you don’t, she sighs. “Joel still has a picture of you up in his living room.” She hisses. ��I don’t think that there’s a downside here.”

"I'm sure that's not true." Carefully setting your phone down on the edge of the sink, you tug your shirt over your head and jeans off your legs in turn before glancing over at the swimsuit she packed for you. "You really had to pick my skimpiest suit, didn't you?"

"It makes your figure look amazing." She scoffs. "No, seriously, Tommy told me that there this photo of you, Joel, Terry, Tisha and Shelia all in the science lab. Joel has his arms around both you and Tish." He had said that Joel claimed it was to keep a picture of Tisha up for Sarah, but she had pictures of her mother and she never looked at them.

“So it’s an old photo,” you reason, hating the way your pulse picks up with hope. “With his ex in it. That’s not up because I’m in it.”

"There are no other pictures of Tisha up in the house." She argues. "Sarah wanted to take that one down, but Joel said no. He wanted it up. Now why would that be?"

“How would I know?” Your sigh as you trade your panties for bikini bottoms is audible. “Maybe Terry and Sheila got married and asked him to be their best man?”

"Just.....talk to him?" She asks softly. "If he's not the same man you've built up in your teenage mind, you can finally move on."

“Well…we’re about to go be boring by the pool.” Tying on your suit top takes a little extra twisting but at this point you’re trying not to look at yourself in the mirror on principle. It will just make you more nervous. “When this inevitably goes south, I will come home early and talk it over with my therapist at length.”

"But what if it goes right?" Your sister asks softly. "Even if it's not exactly what you had dreamed of in high school, being able to close this chapter will be good for you."

“I think the best possible scenario is leaving this weekend with a promise to get together again soon that we both politely forget about when we get home.” You sigh again and stretch, gathering up your clothes in your arms and pick up your phone. “I’m gonna go, Ivy. I’ve been in this bathroom so long he probably thinks I’m trying to climb out the window.”

Joel glances at the door to the bathroom and wonders if you are regretting letting him stay. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, turning when the door opens and you appear in the doorway. He freezes for a second, eyes fixed on you and he knows that he's in deep shit, his mouth watering when he sees your bikini. "Uh," he drops his hand, hovering over his head and shuffles to cover the fact that his cock is hardening. "Ready for fun?"

“Towel, sunscreen, and a book,” you confirm, moving back over to the bed and dropping your clothes in favor of the little stack of necessaries you put together. Your cabin is close enough to the main hotel area that the pool isn’t more than a dozen yards away, and you glance down at your phone in your hand and swallow. “Apparently our siblings were conspiring,” you reveal, deciding not to keep anything from him.

“I figured as much at check in.” Joel admits, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.” The offer is mostly just a platitude, he can’t really be angry at Tommy for this. Especially since he knows now what you had thought of him all this time. “How pissed are you at them?”

“I’ll hold it over Ivy’s head for a while.” Bundling your things against your chest is basically just an effort to do anything but stare at him. Joel isn’t all defined muscles and six pack abs, he’s broad planes and sculpted shoulders and endless hours of physical labor making him strong as well as soft. He’s mouthwatering. “I’m—” Clearing your throat gently, you avert your eyes and move toward the door. “I’m not upset to be able to clear the air, though.”

He nods, understanding that sentiment. “Still, I say we don’t tell them anything for at least two weeks.” He poses, flashing you an evil grin. “Whadaya say?”

The sweet playfulness of it is enough to make you nod your agreement, even though you know there won't be much to say. But you'll go back to your life after this weekend with less of a hole in your heart, so that will be something to be grateful for if nothing else. "Alright. You're on."

His feet are in the flip flops he had dug out of the bag and he grabs his sunglasses. “Do you want to get your sunglasses?” He asks, knowing it will be hard to read without squinting out in the summer sun.

"Right!" Too distracted by looking at him – or trying not to look at him – you had forgotten to grab yours out of your purse. Now you double back and dig into the deep bag, only to frown...keep digging...dig more...and groan. "Shit," you huff, letting your head drop to your chest momentarily in annoyance. "Looks like I forgot them. That's going to be annoying as hell."

It’s not often Joel gets to feel like a knight in shining armor. Mainly reaching something from the top shelf at the grocery store for a shorter woman. Now he gets to be a little more valiant. He hands them to you. “Take mine. It’ll be hard to read without them.” He adds when it looks like you are going to protest.

"It's okay." Any sort of kindness from him seems like more than you deserve considering you had believed him capable of spreading an awful rumor for more than ten years. "I'm sure there will be some kind of shade out there."

He chuckles, “as long as I can throw a scrap of fabric over my eyes, I’m good.” He almost makes a joke about your top, but it’s not like you’ve been on the best of terms for the past twelve years. He might have said that before you stopped talking to him, but he has more couth now.

"I wish I was ladylike enough to carry a handkerchief or something," you joke, knowing how stupid it sounds but maintaining that it would be a nice, genteel gesture to make. "I'd offer it to you in exchange."

He hums as you both come out of the cottage. “That’s alright. I’m sure there’s also towels at the pool.” He feels a little jittery and he tries to keep his steps light.

There are a hell of a lot more people around now then there were earlier. Your old classmates are swarming the patio and the back of the hotel with drinks, chatting away and filling out nametags, mingling on the other side of the pool.

“I think a drink is needed.” Joel grunts as he eyes the group of people. “Wanna open a tab on the room? We can settle it later or I’ll pay for it.”

“Our siblings paid for the room,” you shoot him a grin. “They can pay for our drinks, too.”

Joel smirks, figuring it serves them right for being meddling assholes. “You’re right.”

“Should we get something grossly overpriced to start out with?” All hotel pool bars have specialty and high priced cocktails, and that’s the least Ivy and Tommy owe you right now for trying to force you and Joel into bed together.

“Can you see me drinking a ‘Sex on the beach’?” He asks, almost embarrassed by the name when he says it out loud. He’s not a prude but it was better than the Buttery Nipple shot advertised below that.

The menu looks fairly standard but you catch a glimpse of a bright blue cocktail floating by on a tray beside a tiki glass that clearly holds a Mai Tai inside. “Are the Blue Hawaiians glittery?”

“Yes madam.” The bartender behind the pool side bar is shirtless and obviously in his early twenties. “Would you like one? They are delicious.”

“Why the hell not?” You shrug your shoulders and give him your room number. “Let’s drink some glitter.”

Joel chuckles at your decision and lifts a shoulder himself. “Might as well make it two.” He tells him. “If I’m going to drink girlie cocktails, might as well piss glitter.”

“That’s the spirit,” you agree, smothering a giggle.

He rolls his eyes slightly and turns to lean on the bar while the order is being filled. Glancing out over at the pool so he doesn't stare at you. "Is that Brian?" He asks, narrowing his eyes slightly as he asks. His sight is not as good as it could be, but he refuses to go to the optometrist.

“Brian Turcotte?” Swiveling on the spot, you glance across the pool to see one of Joel’s old baseball teammates with a woman you don’t recognize. “Yeah, that’s him. Less hair, but that’s him.”

"Huh." He snorts in amusement and rolls his eyes. "Glad to see that he is just as fucking loud as he was back then."

“Guess he found someone to put up with him, though,” you say, nodding to the woman beside him as she wraps her arm around his waist.

"Good for him." He hums and considers the old adage that there is someone for everyone. "Look, there's a couple of chairs." He points out. "Do you want to grab them and I'll bring the drinks over?"

“Sure.” But you point to the drinks being made and then to him. “Remember, those are billed to the room.”

"Oh, absolutely." Joel promises, crossing his heart playfully.

“Good.” With a nod, you make your way around the pool to the chairs he pointed out in the other end of the patio.

It only takes a few more minutes to get the drinks and they are very glittery. Signing the bill that charges the drinks to the credit card on the room, Joel smirks as he adds a generous tip and nods to the bartender and turns to take the drinks over to you and the chairs you have been holding.

"Shiny." You grin, reaching for the hurricane glass of swirling blue drink with gold glitter whirling about inside. "What should we drink to?"

Joel straddles the chair and leans back into it. He thinks about it for a moment and then offers his drink up. "To rekindling old relationships." He offers.

"One hundred percent." The clink of your glasses is welcome, and you take just a moment to hope that he doesn't notice the way you fluster before taking a sip of your drink. "Ooo," your eyes open wide. "That is good."

He takes a sip and is actually surprised by the fruity, smooth taste of it. He is still more of a beer drinker, but doesn't mind this at all. "Not too bad." He agrees. "So what book are you reading?"

"Something irreverent." Holding up the black and white paperback in your hand so he can see the cover, you recite the full title from memory. "Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It came out a couple of years ago and I really like Terry Pratchett's stuff."

“Don’t think I’ve read that.” He admits easily. “Any good?”

"I like it so far." Almost as much as you like this drink, and you take another sip with a happy hum. "It's...hard to explain. But it's funny and introspective. Which I appreciate when I spend most of everyday staring at charts."

He snorts. “No, staring at blueprints that make no fucking sense, is the best part of my day.” Joel jokes. “Seriously, this one asshole designer has every door opening backwards and the windows off center.”

“I hate lazy work. Most of my apprenticing years were spent cleaning up senior architect’s bullshit and I hate it.” It has seemed like twice as much crap as any of the other recent graduates had to deal with, but you were the only woman in the office so you took it as a miracle that the partners didn’t want you taking minutes at meetings and fetching coffee.

“Yeah.” Joel nods. “Half the time when I order headers for a project, I have to go back to the plans and call the company to ask if they really undersized the structural support. The engineers have to be called in and it’s a goddamn mess.”

A warm, naive, hopeful part of you wants to suggest that Joel should start taking contracts from your firm instead, but that’s far too intimate of a suggestion for someone you just reconnected with after twelve years. He would think you were crazy. Or worse, think you were flirting and back away from it. From you. Apparently those feelings you always had for Joel Miller really are imbedded firmly as hell in your psyche. “Thank god somebody understands,” you say instead, raising your glass in a friendly salute to him.

“To talking shop on vacation.” Joel snorts. “Our siblings will kill us.” Your laugh makes him smile and he sips the drink again. “I know you wanted to an architect like your dad, but do you like it?” Now that you are talking to him again, he wants to know about the last twelve years. Still finding you just as beautiful as before, maybe more so since you have seem to grow into your skin and wear it more confidently.

“It’s gratifying,” you admit, a touch flustered to find him paying such steady attention to you, but you hope you aren’t showing it. “To be able to look at a building and know it all works and stands and will lay because I designed it just right? That’s…It sounds silly but it’s kind of a rush. Like it makes me wish I could get out there with the contractor teams and actually help build, but I am not good at the practical applications.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” Joel hums. “You just need to work with a contractor you trust and respects you enough to show you around the site without being a dick about it.”

“Well,” you feel brave and warm and ever so slightly cheeky having him sitting here with you. “Maybe one day I’ll work with you, and you can be the magical unicorn contractor who doesn’t look down on female architects.”

“Gotta girl on my construction crew now.” Joel admits with a small shrug. “I’ll work with you, no problem.” Of course you could just be paying lip service to the idea, but it’s an idea that Joel wouldn’t mind at all.

“I’d like that,” you hum, finding your cheeks warm and the butterflies in your belly flapping to life.

He watches you fluster slightly and tilts his head. "Maybe we can find a project to work on together." He shrugs. "If you like my work. You probably need to see it first."

“I have a feeling I’ll love it.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them and you fluster all over again.

Joel smirks slightly but he doesn’t say anything, just taking a sip of the glittery drink that is fast growing on him.

A slight moment of hesitation comes with a press of your lips, but you take another sip of your drink and decide to ask out of an abundance of good memories. “Are you still playing guitar?”

“Less now.” Joel admits, although the guitar is still sitting on its stand in his living room. “Not as much as when I was trying to get Sarah to sleep and she liked the sound.”

“That’s so sweet.” The mental image sticks in your chest and settles inside like it’s giving your heart a hug. “I bet she would still love to hear you play.”

“Only sometimes.” He chuckles, smiling at her sometimes bossy demands for him to play. “But she thinks my music is ��too old’.”

“That seems like your right as a father.” You lean back in the patio chair and set your forgotten book in your lap. He is far more compelling than the novel anyway. “Old music and embarrassing jokes.”

He snorts. “She’s already got a sassy sense of humor.” He admits proudly, “her and Tommy play off each other on who’s gonna annoy me most.”

“Sounds like a pretty ideal childhood if you ask me.” He didn’t. You know that. But it sounds like he’s putting every ounce of himself into raising his little girl, and if that doesn’t make you a little misty-eyed over the man all over again, nothing will.

“Oh yeah.” He sighs. “I just hope that she doesn’t hate me for being too corny.” His tone is morose but he’s smirking.

"She'll have some years of hating it, I'm sure. But that's the beauty of it. When she comes around again she'll cherish it." Without realizing it, you have almost reached the end of your drink already. It's just a warm day and the cold, sweet drink has hit the spot – not to mention it gives you something to do with your mouth besides embarrass yourself in front of Joel.

He might be a little alarmed that you’ve sucked the drink down, but his own is almost gone and he waves down at roaming server. “Hey, can we get another of those glittery drinks?” He asks. “For both of us, please?”

“I swear I’ll switch to water after, you grin, not wanting him to think that you’re here to party or be irresponsible or anything like that. “That was just so much tastier than I expected.”

“All things considered?” Though you don’t explicitly say it, you mean the rumor that circulated about you during school. “I’d rather not add to the gossip at all.”

“Yeah.” His grin slips and he frowns slightly. “You think she started the rumor? Just said it was from me?”

“The more I think about it?” You frown and shuffle backward in your seat. “Probably.”

“That’s fucking shitty.” He doesn’t want to make you think about bad shit all weekend, but he had been thinking about it since finding out that you had thought he had started those rumors.

“It is.” You can’t deny that, and to him you wouldn’t. Tisha did shitty things to both of you and that is an odd sort of bonding point.

“I wish we had this conversation twelve years ago.” Even if you wouldn’t have trusted him enough to date him, he hated you being so heartbroken over the lies. Losing Tisha since you would have seen it as a betrayal that she was dating the boy who ruined your life. Even if he would never wish Sarah away, he wishes you had talked.

“I do, too.” The pit in the bottom of your stomach says you know you should have, and now it’s too late now. Too late to get him back into your life in the way that you want him. In the way that he apparently used to want you.

Both of you seem lost in your own thoughts until the next round of drinks are brought over and Joel signs for them. Handing you the fresh one and taking your empty glass to give to the server.

The lull in conversation seems to be where you both falter, and luckily or unluckily for both of you this is exact time that former class president, class reunion organizer, and all-around busybody Serena Sorenson chooses to butt into the small bubble that you and Joel have created for yourselves.

“Well heeeeeeeeeeeey.” Joel tries not to wince at the almost ear piercing greeting. It seems that over the years that her voice has gone higher, instead of coming out of the baby pitch she had used in school. “I couldn’t imagine I would run into you two getting cozy.”

"Time heals all wounds," you offer, trying not to cringe at the ear piercing tone of her voice. "Isn't that what they say?"

“Is that what you are doing?” She tilts her head curiously, obviously delighted to perhaps get some good information out of this little meet up. “Burying the hatchet?”

"Something like that." It isn't any of her business, and despite having a very strong drink in your system you're not inclined to give away details to someone you wouldn't even trust in fetching your mail.

Joel could almost giggle at the way that she seems to deflate but she turns towards him. “I’m surprised Tisha isn’t here.” She hums. “What is she up to these days?” He huffs and takes a nonchalant sip of his drink before he answers her. “Dying.” He answers dryly.

When she looks positively stricken and confused by that answer, you swallow a snort and look up at your former classmate innocently. "We're all dying a little from the day we're born, aren't we?"

“That’s not funny, Joel Miller.” She hisses but his answer does the trick because she immediately spots someone else to talk to and rushes off.

That suppressed snort comes out full force when she scurries away from you by the pool and you're shaking with otherwise silent laughter when you look back up at Joel. "Well I thought it was funny."

"I thought it was too." Joel laughs himself and shrugs. "Maybe we just need to stand up and make announcements?" He suggests. "I tell them that Tisha ran off to join a cult or whatever the fuck she did when Sarah was four months old and you tell them that they can all kiss your ass if they think you would have slept with that prick."

“Let none of us forget the man was thirty years old the year this rumor hit,” you huff, but shake your head and simply brush it off as best you can. It was a long time ago and you can see now the level of malice and jealousy in what was said.

"So yeah, wouldn't he be like the Crypt Keeper now?" Joel jokes, wrinkling his nose playfully. Sarah already tells him that he's old and he's around the same age as the coach would have been when those rumors started.

“By Sarah’s terms I’m sure he’s older than the universe,” you joke, picking up on his line of thought.

"Ancient." He snorts and shakes his head. "Although she wants a sibling." He huffs. "As if I'm not too old."

“You’re not.” At the mental image of Joel cradling an infant in his arms with his older daughter by his side, your heart seems to clench and your eyes soften to give you an unintentionally dreamy expression. You used to daydream about being with him. Growing up with him and becoming an adult version of yourself with him. A couple. With a home. Marriage. A family. All of it. Now it’s like your foolish heart is making up for lost time. “Anybody would be lucky to have you.”

He doubts that, he's often tired and churlish when he's been working too hard, which is too often lately. Sarah can pull him out of his funk, but it's been so long since he's been in a relationship, he wouldn't even know how to go about one. "I don't—" He turns towards you and sees the almost day dream look on your face, wondering what you are thinking about. "—know about that." He murmurs.

“The Joel Miller that I was friends with would have made a great partner,” you contend, although you nearly mumble it out of flustered embarrassment. “You’re still him. Even if it’s not the Joel that’s in the surface anymore.”

"Now you're just trying to make me blush." Joel huffs, secretly pleased that you would think of him so favorably. "Doing a damn good job of it too."

“I’m just being honest,” you mumble, but you really are just telling him the truth. The fact that the truth makes you feel fuzzy and light is an extra. “Booze makes me honest,” you tell him with a shrug.

"Yeah?" He smirks slightly and leans over towards your chair. "So tell me something else that's honest."

Every single one of your nerves lights on fire when he comes closer to you, and you’re not sure how much of your second drink you’ve had but you’re feeling much more intoxicated than just one or one and a half cocktails should make you. Is that cedar in his cologne? It Smells like a campfire in winter. “You grew up really fucking good,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Joel's eyes hold your gaze, his smirk growing a little wider, daring. "Yeah?" He asks gruffly. "Single construction worker dad does it for you?" He asks, looking down at your lips before back up into your eyes.

“Guess so.” Joel Miller is still what does it for you, apparently. Even after a decade of thinking he believes the worst in you. And you were too gullible to think anything except what you were told. But now? Now with him looking at you like that? You could melt all over again.

"Good to know." He winks at you and somehow manages to make taking a sip of his drink both alluring and ridiculous as he sucks on the straw.

“Christ, Joel,” you chastise, all but huffing at him even though you’re doing it out of attraction rather than annoyance.

Joel chuckles, feeling a little more lighthearted than he had been before he arrived. Nothing will happen right now, he wont let it, not when you are tipsy. Still, it feels good to flirt with you, to be honest with it. "I'll be good." He promises. "For now."

“For now.” The huff is still thick in your voice, but the grin on your face is almost giddy. “Is that a promise?”

"Depends." Joel laughs and shrugs. "All depends on how drunk we get."

“Well…it’s all on Tommy and Ivy’s dime,” you joke and make yourself shrug. Just in case he means the only way he would ever let that happen with you now is intoxicated. Because that’s not going to happen. Not for you. It’s full and enthusiastic sober consent or nothing at all, in your book.

"Yeah." Joel looks down at his drink and decides that he's had enough. He sets it down next to the chair and glances back at the pool. "You know, this place has really changed." He muses, tucking his hands behind his head and leaning back in the lounger.

“I don’t know that I was ever here before.” Just like you were never able to trace the distinct plane of his bare chest and stomach before, either. But you sure as hell can right now, as long as you don’t get caught staring.

“Sure you did.” Joel snorts. “Don’t you remember that weekend we went water skiing in tenth grade?” It was before the rumors started, so you had been with them. “With the upper classmen?”

“Was that here?” To be honest you hadn’t gone looking for any water beyond the pool, so it’s a shock to realize that he’s right as you swivel your head to look around the resort.

"Yep." He hums and closes his eyes. "That was a good weekend, wasn't it?"

"It was." You had sat with him at the bonfire that night, wearing his sweatshirt and wishing and hoping that he would kiss you, but it never happened. The disappointment was heart wrenching for a young teen, but you had survived by the sheer joy of being close to him for a while.

“I thought about that night a lot.” Joel admits, his eyes still closed. “I was too much of a fucking wimp to kiss you like I wanted to.”

"Yeah?" The hope in your eyes must be obvious, but you're not sure you care. It was a long time ago. A time that feels like a whole other life. But that teenage girl is still locked somewhere deep inside you and she is so, so hopeful for that dreamy and romantic moment she never got.

“Yeah.” Joel sighs softly. “I never regret my daughter for a second, but…”

"But." You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. "What if?"

“Does that make me a bad dad?” Joel asks, opening his eyes and looking over at you seriously.

"I don't think so...not really." Somehow, without meaning to or even realizing it, your hand has ended up right next to his on the arms of your side-by-side chairs. "You're not saying you wish Sarah was different. You're saying...I think you're saying...that you wonder what about her might be different. If...you know..."

“If she was our kid.” Joel finishes the unspoken comment and nods. “Yeah. I love everything about her. She’s perfect. But I wonder sometimes how amazing she would be, if.” He chuckles. “I guess I hate that I saddled her with a mom who walked away.”

“It’s okay to wonder.” Your pinkie touches his and you wonder if you’re being too forward. “Just as long as you don’t get the wondering mixed up with reality. Keep on loving her just as she is.”

“Never a chance of anything else.” He promises, the proud smile curving his lips. “She’s sweet and kind, funny and sassy.” He laughs. “Amazing smile. Sings pretty good too.”

“Sounds like you have nothing to worry about, then.” The place where your hands touch is warm and welcoming, and feels like a promise somehow. “She’s just like you.”

Joel doesn’t look down, but he turns his hand over and offers it to you. “She’s better than me in every way.” He promises. “She’s made me the man I am today.”

"Too far. Got it." An understanding nod and a wave of your hand are the way you try to brush the sentence away, and you wrinkle your nose, wishing you hadn't said it at all. "Forget I said anything. Go back to triceratops."

“No, nooooooo.” Joel shakes his head and swallows. “No going back from that one.” He would never stop thinking about it. Ever.

"I was just being honest." And vastly oversharing, but you studiously avoid meeting his eyes just in case he can read how much you want him in those orbs. You've already made things awkward enough as it is.

“Yeah?” He abandons the movie and shifts to turn towards you, finding it absolutely cute that you won’t even look at him after admitting something so…personal. “Only certain things or would anything do?” He asks, dying to see how embarrassed you get and to fuel the fantasies that will no doubt be front and center in his dreams. “And how did you discover this particular kernel of knowledge?” He props his elbow on the back of the couch and leans his head against his fist, grinning.

"Certain things," you huff, groaning and dropping your burning hot face into your hands in dismay. "Fuck, Joel, stop looking at me like that before I burst into flames."

“Like what?” He huffs innocently.

If you're honest with yourself, you're actually not entirely sure how he is looking at you because you're too afraid to look up. You just know that if he looks into your eyes you're going to give yourself away. "Like that."

“I’m not looking at you any kind of way.” He’s lying, but he’s dying to know about this sudden revelation more. “I’m just curious.” He confesses.

"You're naughty, Joel Miller," you accuse playfully, finally too curious to not take a teeny, tiny peak at him. He's grinning at you like the Cheshire Cat that got the cream and you know you've been utterly caught out but you just can't bring yourself to care when you see how giddy his expression is.

“Never said I wasn’t, but pot? Meet kettle.” He cackles. “I apparently have nothing on you.”

"I am a modern women and entitled to like whatever I like." It's such a poor excuse for an answer, but it's more like you're trying to do your best to figure out if he's excited by you feeling that way or just any woman feeling that way.

“Completely agree, but did you just wake up one day and decide you wanted to try anal?” He asks, leaning closer. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

"Inquiring minds, huh?" You really can't help but laugh at this point. It's a very male response to be so interested in the fact that you admitted to liking anal sex, but you can't begrudge him being curious when you're the one who opened the door to the conversation. "My ex," you admit with a little shrug. "Was very big on wanting to experiment."

“And you were surprised to find out you like it?” He asks.

"I was actually." At the time you had agreed out of sheer curiosity, when your boyfriend-at-the-time had begged you to try it with him. The results were, as Joel says, surprising. "I liked it a hell of a lot more than he did, which was even more surprising."

Joel hums and pokes his lip out, impressed. “Good for you.” He smirks. “He’s lucky you didn’t want to give him the same treatment.”

"Nah," you shake your head and end up laughing under your breath. "Turned out he was more squeamish than he thought. And I'm never gonna push someone to do something they're not fully on board for."

He nods, "I can agree with that. Let me guess, he didn't think about the actual realities of anal?" He can't say that he's ever wanted to have anything inside him, but at least he understood that if something like that happened, there would be stuff to deal with.

“Let’s just say research and forethought were not his strong suits,” you agree with a smirk.

"Fun." He says dryly, even as he's sharing that grin and he wonders how you would react if you knew he wasn't as experienced as you in that department.

“Yeah, well…” one tiny shrug of one shoulder is just a way to brush off the whole thing, but the expression on your face never falters. “He’s an ex for a reason.”

"How long ago was that?" He asks softly, wondering how long it has been since you were with someone. He knows his own history is woefully bare, but he would tread carefully if you are fresh out of a relationship.

"About..." It takes a second to think back, digging through the history in your head. "Three years ago. Boston. Before Dad died."

"I'm sorry about your dad." He had heard, but he hadn't thought his presence would be welcomed at the funeral. He didn't like them anyway, they were for the living. The dead were already gone. "He was a good man."

"He liked you." It seems like such a small commendation to say it out loud, but your father was an excellent judge of character if nothing else. "When...when everything happened and you weren't coming over anymore and I wasn't taking your calls...we actually fought about it. He was so sure I was wrong and that you wouldn't have started any kind of rumor about me." Your heart clenches, regret filling your lungs so you have to take an extra deep breath just to get a little air. "I should have listened."

"You were told a lie by the person you should have been able to the trust the most." Joel sighs softly. "I'm sorry that you fought because of me. I'm not worth that, sweetheart."

"Yes you are." Of that, you have absolutely no doubt. Not anymore. Even just a day with him as an adult has reminded you of every good thing he ever did for you as a friend. Every good thing he ever said. "You're worth a hell of a lot more than either of us ever gave you credit for, I think. And that's my own fault. Because there was a time when I knew you were worth the world."

"Don't worry about that." He doesn't want you to feel anymore guilt or shame for the past. It isn't worth it. "We are mending things now."

"Yeah." He's still leaning in close to you, and you nudge him slightly in an affectionate gesture. "We are. Sorry to bring the mood down."

"Nothing to apologize for." He snorts. "We are just covering all the topics today."

"Apparently so." You try for a laugh, falling a little short and coming out with a soft huff.

"Anything else?" He asks with a grin. "I'm getting old, you don't want to shock me too much. Might have a fuckin' heart attack."

"If talking about anal didn't do it," you tease, shoving him slightly as if in admonishment, "Then I'm sure you're safe."

"Not like I've done it…" Joel shrugs casually, pretending like he's not giving you a lot of new information. "So yeah."

"Never?" You ask curiously.

He snorts. "No way Tisha would do that." He reminds you, even as a teenager, she had been very vocal about being against that kind of sexual activity. "And it's not like I've dated a lot since. Couldn't imagine asking the few one night stands I've had if I could fuck their ass."

"Fair enough." When he puts it like that, it's obvious. Tisha was never one to do anything but what she wanted. Never willing to try anything that wouldn't immediately benefit her somehow.

He hums and looks back at the movie, less interested in that than the current conversation between the two of you but he also doesn't want to act like a creep.

Even if you hadn’t seen the movie a half dozen times before, you still wouldn’t be too interested in watching it now. Now that you’ve actually talked about sex and no move has been made at all, you’re starting to think you were entirely wrong that he had flirted with you at all.

Joel honestly doesn't know what to say. He thinks it would be really shitty to just ask you if you want to have sex, it would be that sleazy kind of move that plenty of men pull, but he's not most men. But he doesn't know how to move past the end of that conversation. He smirks when he sees the raptor push her head through the brush. "Clever girl." He hums along with the character right before he is killed.

It breaks the spell of tension beautifully, making both of you laugh. When you shift slightly on the couch you end up leaning closer to him by accident, but his arm is right there, stopping you from moving away again.

"You don't have to move away." He offers, turning and giving you a smile. "Spread out."

“You don’t mind me in your space?” You ask quietly, a little awed by the offer.

He almost says something sarcastic, but your expression is hopeful so he just shakes his head. "Not at all." His voice is a little raspy, but he doesn't think you notice.

A small adjustment has you leaning shoulder to shoulder, and you kick your legs up onto the couch to spread out like he suggested. It’s nearly intimate like this, and a warm feeling of anticipation settles over you where the tension used to be.

Joel relaxes as much as he can with you pressed against him. The ache in his groin one that's hard to ignore, but luckily you haven't noticed that he's hard as a rock. Your little blanket thrown over his lap as well as yours, hiding it.

That’s it for concentration as far as either one of you is concerned. It’s all shot to hell but in the most individual and silent ways, dowsing you both in pure torture as the movie ends. If you have one more vivid and detailed thought about shoving the throw blanket aside to swallow his cock you’re going to explode, and he deserves better than your horny nonsense. If only you knew how very similarly he is thinking.

"Break before the next movie?" Joel asks, almost a little desperate. Even if he had jerked off in the shower, he might need to rub one out again if he's going to have you leaning against him for another movie.

“Sure.” Your breakfast was finished hours ago, and you need something to do to take your mind off how badly you want him, so you pop up from the couch immediately and hope like hell your shorts don’t have an obvious damp spot at the crotch where you’re so slick that you’re basically a damn waterfall. “Popcorn?”

"Sounds good." He chokes out and stands quickly. "I'm gonna— bathroom." He makes sure that he doesn't turn back around so hopefully you didn't see the way his basketball shorts were tented out in a very obvious way.

“Get your shit together,” you huff at yourself out loud as soon as he’s left the room. “Fucking hell woman…”

Once the door is closed, Joel hisses, reaching down and squeezing his cock. "Get your shit together." He hisses to himself, annoyed that he is acting like a fucking teenager. This isn't like him, he normally jerks off a few times a week, ignoring his sex drive because of his responsibilities. He closes his eyes and thinks of bills or the goddamn jobsite that is driving him crazy, anything to make his cock go limp. Sighing when he can move over to the toilet and take a piss.

The second movie is just starting when he comes out again, and you’ve assembled cold drinks with your movie snacks in front of the sofa. A quick inspection in the long closet mirror proves that you haven’t made the damp spot in your shorts that you feared and you swear to yourself that you’re going to be calmer for the second movie of the day.

"Sorry." He hates that you have set everything up, while he was trying to get control of his hormones in the bathroom.

"Don't worry about it," you promise him. You've shifted four times on the sofa already, wondering if you're still allowed to lean against him this time, too.

Joel throws his arm back on the edge of the sofa, inviting you to lean against him if you want and looking like he's sprawling out himself if you don't. Wondering what the fuck you are wearing that smells so damn good.

It's worth the chance, you decide, shifting closer to him and tucking yourself into his side to get comfortable. The warmth of him is immense, almost to the point where you shuck the little blanket altogether, although you know the two have nothing to do with each other.

When you settle against him, Joel slides his arm down to your shoulder. Curling you closer to him as he chuckles. "Sarah loves this movie." He admits quietly.

"The second one over the first? Really?" That makes you chuckle softly. "So she's a dinosaur kid, then?"

"She likes the fact that Kelly doesn't look like her dad." Joel admits, shooting you a self conscious smile and shrugging one shoulder.

"Nah." You shake your head slightly, comfortable and settled under his arm. "You're better looking than Jeff Goldblum."

"High praise." He barks out a small laugh. "I have it on good authority that Jeff Goldblum is 'kind of hot', God help me."

"Oh, he absolutely is." Taking a chance, you glance up at Joel and offer him a half-smile. Self-conscious, perhaps, but hopeful and honest. "You're still hotter."

His grunt is surprised and he can't help but look down at your lips. "Am I?"

"Yeah." The heat rises all the way up your body when you realize where he's looking, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. "Without a doubt."

Joel licks his lips and edges closer to you. "Is that right?" He's humming the question but he really doesn't expect an answer, too busy praying that he's reading these signals right.

"Absolutely." It's a miracle you can even hear him over the way your blood in pounding in your ears and your heart is throbbing in your chest, but somehow his words cut through everything. Even through the blossoming fuzzy quality to your vision as you narrow your sights between his eyes and lips. "Cross my heart."

He doesn't pull back, leaning closer and he can feel the slight exhale of your breath against his lips. So close to you and he decides to just go for it. "Good to know." He murmurs right before he presses his lips to yours.

The electricity in the room snaps and crackles as the tension between you pulls so tight that it finally brings you together. Your hand flies up to steady you, fingertips digging into his t-shirt and holding on tight as the kiss deepens without hesitation.

His head fills with you, your scent, your taste. How you feel against him. His other arm comes around you, pulling you closer and dragging you onto his lap.

It all happens fast, but the swift movements are fluid. The blanket hits the floor, your leg swings over Joel's lap, your fingers find purchase in his short curls, and your hips rolls down on his as you deepen the kiss and sweep your tongue through the moan he lets out when he opens up to let you in.

You are aggressive. Not that Joel minds in the slightest. He actually loves that, his hands slide down your back and grip your ass firmly as he twitches against your covered core. "Fuck." He gasps when you pull back slightly.

“I—uh—did I hurt you?” You ask, panting for breath and anxiously searching his eyes to see if you did something he didn’t like

Joel is panting, trying to catch his breath and all he can do is shake his head and grab the back of your neck to drag you back down for another kiss.

Good enough for you, you think wildly right in the second before all coherent thought leaves your head besides the moan in your throat when Joel’s hands squeeze your ass again.

He can't touch enough of your, grunting in frustration when your shorts are too tight for him to get his fucking hand down the back of them. Taking it out on your mouth and applying a little aggression of his own when he bites your bottom lip and tugs on it gentle. "Take your fucking pants off." He hisses against your lips before he kisses you again.

You’ve never taken an order so fast in your entire life. As quickly as you possibly can without breaking the hungry kiss for too long at a time, your shorts and panties are blindly discarded somewhere across the room without ever having to leave his lap.

Groaning, Joel grabs handfuls of your bare ass and moans into your mouth. You are hot, your skin literally hot to the touch and he rocks you on the very prominent hard on under his shorts.

“Yours too, fuck.” You have just enough presence of mind to find the waistband of his shorts when you reach down, groping blindly and shoving your fingers inside his boxers to wrap your fingers around the cock that you swear wasn’t this hard a minute ago.

Joel groans, his head flinging back against the sofa and he rocks up into your grip. "Fuck."

“In a minute,” you admonish, playfully tutting at him like he’s just given you an order instead of groaning out loud.

He manages a breathless laugh, eyes fluttering closed and he shakes his head. "I— fuck, I wasn't planning on this." He confesses. "I don't— I don't have any condoms."

“I don’t either—” But your head tilts as you look down at him, fingers stroking the velvet skin of his cock slowly and watching the way his eyes flutter when you give it a little extra pressure. “But I’ll bet you anything our siblings packed them for us.”

His jaw clenches, stomach heaving and he throws his head back again. "I- probably." His fingers dig into your hip and he manages to slide his hand between your thighs to start stroking your clit. Wanting to give you as much pleasure as you are already giving him.

The way your legs quake at the contact doesn’t escape him, but you’re feeling far too good to even tease him about the sly grin on his face when your head drops forward and you moan sharply into the empty room. “Fuck. We—we should look. Because I need you so damn badly right now.”

"We should." But he doesn't pull his hand away. Instead he is sliding two fingers deep into your pussy and curling them back to make your mouth drop open.

“I—fuck—Joel—” You fall forward in his lap so your forehead presses into his shoulder, holding on to his thick bicep for dear life with one hand while your strokes and his start to find a rhythm together. “Fingers are so fucking thick, oh my god—”

"Pussy's just tight." Joel growls out, cock twitching in your grip as he pants out your name. "You— you gotta let go of my cock if you want me to fuck you." He reasons, even as his fingers continue to pump into your body with the singular goal of making you see stars.

“Under protest,” you admit, huffing a laugh in between moans before putting all of your focus into riding Joel’s fingers and using your now free hands to tear off your shirt and bra. Your tits are gorgeous and Joel has always been a tit man. Lunging up, he captures a nipple in his mouth to start sucking as he finger fucks you until your thighs shake.

The room becomes a jumble of sounds — pants and whines, groans, creaking sofa coils, and the slick wetness of Joel’s fingers being sucked in and out of your pussy at a tempo so furious that you can’t be entirely sure his arm isn’t going to give out. The full effect has your eyes rolling back in your head and your head then falling back, pushing your tits even more toward his face and locking down him entirely as you start to drench his hand in cum.

You are gorgeous when you cum, shaking in his arms and making him groan and feeling like he's about to cum even though you are not even touching his cock.

“Fuck…” The repeating of the word only proves how limited your vocabulary is right now, with your whole world narrowed down to the man underneath you as you float back down to earth in his arms.

He slows his fingers, the slickness of them making him eager to taste your cum and he withdraws them to smirk at your dazed expression as you try to catch your breath. He slips his fingers into his mouth and groans at the tangy sweetness.

The sight of it makes you whine, as though you’re protesting the fact that only your cum is in his mouth and not some other, more substantial, part of you.

"You taste good." He hums, popping his fingers out and smirking at you. He's a little calmed down now, but he still wants to be inside you.

“I’m going to find out how you taste later.” It’s a promise to both of you, and you shiver slightly making it. “First? We need to see if we can find some condoms.”

"You gotta get off my lap, sweetheart." He reminds you.

“Right.” Standing on wobbly legs isn’t easy, but you back off of him and cross the room to where you have your suitcase open on a stand beside the large, comfortable bed.

"Fuck." Joel tears through his own bag, sure that Tommy didn't sneak in some condoms since he hadn't been in the room when he had packed.

“No need to growl, gorgeous.” You hum from behind him. Turning around, you have a full box of condoms in one hand and lube in the other. “My sister either thinks very well of you or somehow knows I’m kinkier than I seem.”

"Thank fucking God." Joel closes his eyes in relief and quickly pulls his shirt off over his head so he is just as naked as you are.

"Thank fucking God," you agree, letting your eyes rake over him hungrily.

He chuckles and he nods towards the bed. "You want to fuck in the bed, or go back to the couch, sweetheart?"

"Bed." Taking a step back to see if the invisible string that attaches you will make him step forward, you grin when your hunch is correct. "We have a hell of a lot more options over here."

"Yes we do." Joel watches you as you back up towards the bed, not turning your back on him. He smirks slightly, enjoying the view and the game as he follows you.

"How do you want me?" The condoms and lube go down on the nightstand beside the bed after you've broken the seal on both items so Joel won't have to waste time fucking with opening the packaging.

"Right now?" He twitches as his cock sways as he moves. "On your back." He chuckles. "Face down ass up is for round two."

"Gladly." In seconds you're up on the bed, tugging a pillow under your head to get comfortable on the bed that had been far too large just last night. Now, Joel's looming frame made it seem just barely big enough.

Reaching for the box, he pulls out a string of condoms and rips one off the length and tosses the rest aside. "Fuck." He groans, watching your thighs part for him. "You are so goddamn gorgeous."

“Been waiting years to hear you say that,” you admit, without even a hint of shame. Everything you had felt for Joel as a young teen was fully justified and you are not going to be shy about making up for all that lost time.

He hums as he opens the condom and enjoys the hungry gaze of your eyes as he pinches the tip of the prophylactic and rolls it down his cock. Squeezing the base and pumping himself lightly. "Been waiting years to say it." He promises as he slides into your welcoming arms.

"Need you, baby." It feels like hours ago that he had his hands on you instead of minutes, and you're already craving him so badly you moan simply at having him near again.

He doesn't answer you, he's too busy settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his arms under your back to pull you close as he lines up. "Have me." He promises, pressing his lips to yours right as he starts to push inside you.

If you thought his fingers were thick, it’s no wonder you’re contemplating reach for that lube after only a few inches of his cock. All of Joel is broad, all of him overwhelming in the best sense, and you whine in deep pleasure as he seats all of himself inside you. It makes all of your senses fuzz over and invades every thought, but that is entirely welcome after so many years of missing and wanting him in the depths of your heart.

"It's okay, sweetheart." He murmurs softly, pressing his lips to yours again as he gives you a moment to adjust to him. "I've got you." He kisses around your mouth and down your chin.

“I know.” Lifting your legs to wrap them around his waist feels like coming home in a way you never knew you needed, and you put everything you have into kissing him back. “I’ve got you too.”

"Yes you do." He groans softly, smirking slightly against your lips. "Feels fucking perfect."

“Bet it’ll feel better when you move,” you tease, feeling lightness and joy swell in your chest.

He rolls his eyes and pouts at you. "So I was just supposed to wreck you the first time?"

“Joel Miller,” you smirk at him and roll your hips. “You can wreck me anytime you want.”

He snorts and leans in to kiss you softly before he grins against your lips. “Okay.”

Despite meaning it, you’re grateful when he starts slow, rolling his hips against yours before pulling back just a little at a time with each thrust. You could drown in his kisses, loving having his lips on yours or on your skin the whole time, and start to match his rhythm with the roll of our own body.

You had told him he could wreck you, but he doesn’t like to start out rough and furiously thrusting like he’s running a race. Especially when this is a moment that is years overdue for both of you.

Instead it’s a slow build up to a pace that works for both of you, letting you indulge in long kisses and long strokes of his cock scrubbing against the walls of your sensitive cunt with every thrust. It’s indulgent. Luxurious. And you hope it never ends.

“Glad I didn’t jerk off in the bathroom again.” He pants, chuckling against your pulse as he holds you close and rocks into you. “Would have been embarrassing if you had pressed against me and I wasn’t responding.”

“So glad.” You can agree to that instantly. “You feel so fucking good baby.”

“You feel good.” Joel groans. “Perfect, just like I know you would be.”

“So fucking good—” That gorgeous repetition drips from your lips with a deep moan as his pace increases.

Joel rocks into in a slow, steady pace that makes both of you feel every second of the slide. He’s thankful for the condom, because if it was any more intense, he wouldn’t be able to last to make sure you cum. “Do you need more?” His voice is raspy and hot in your ear. “Can you cum like this or do you need your clit rubbed too?”

“S’good—perfect—” You feel almost dizzy from it, but the way he grinds down into you with every thrust is hitting things inside you that you didn’t even know where there. “Fuck Joel—”

“So you can just cum on my cock?” He loves the way you respond to his voice in your ear, even if it’s just a grunt, you clench around him. Obviously you like to be praised and talked to in bed. “You’re so good to me, sweetheart. Tight little pussy squeezin’ me. Gonna make me blow my load if you don’t stop.”

“We’ve got all—all fucking weekend,” you remind him through gasped pants. And you fully intend to spend the rest of it naked in his arms if he’s up for it.

He chuckles and his hips snap forward with a sharp thrust. “You read my mind, baby.”

When you can think a coherent thought later, you’ll write yourself a note to buy your sister a beautiful souvenir in the hotel’s gift shop. Right now you’re just focused on hanging on to Joel for dear life.

Gradually the pace had moved from slow to needy. The insistent push of his hip giving away the fierceness of his craving for you and his kisses turn to tiny nips of your skin with his teeth.

When you cum the second time it rolls in like a hurricane, washing over you and rocking through your body like it’s about to rearrange your DNA. You know his teeth on your skin have left bruises under the skin, just like his fingers digging into your hip to hold on tight. You know and you absolutely could not care less as you cry his name into the quiet afternoon.

Joel shudders, a shiver racing down his spine when you body bucks and heaves under him, around him. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes as he feels his own orgasm rocket that much closer every time your walls flutter around him.

“Come on, baby,” you moan into a kiss, nipping at his bottom lip since he seems to like to nip and bite. “Cum for me.”

"Goddamn." He groans, hips stuttering and he pushes deep, your name falling brokenly from his lips as he fills the condom in a better orgasm than he had this morning.

“Fuck.” A sigh and groan of agreement passes your lips with that word, and your head drops back against the pillow which such a solid thunk that you can’t help but giggle.

"We just did that." There's a smile in his voice, his head buried against your throat. "If you're demanding more, you gotta give me a little bit."

You bury your nose in the crook of his shoulder, muffling a snort, and kiss his sweaty skin when you start laughing again. “Smart ass,” you tease, altogether too fondly.

"Got an ass right here." He huffs. "Think you might have dug your claws into it, you she-cat." He's teasing, having loved ever time your nails dug into his skin, urging him on.

“You liked it,” you remind him, not missing the way he bit and nipped and scratched right back.

"Damned right, I did." He kisses your chin and groans because he has to move, has to pull out of you.

“I say we don’t get dressed,” you propose, accepting his silent offer to cuddle closer when he rolls over onto his side and opens up one arm to you.

"That sounds good to me." He admits, having secured the condom before laying back down and he tosses it on the nightstand to discard later.

“Perfect.” Dusting kisses along his bicep, you rest your head on his arm and sigh happily.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x female reader #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x you #The Last of Us #TLoU #TLoU HBO #preoutbreak Joel

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