julkaamazing

[julkaamazing]

The Golden Journey #2, The Saturday Evening Post story illustration (detail)

Stanley Zuckerberg American, 1919–1995

[julkaamazing]

it’s not a hear me out, it’s a hold me back

[julkaamazing]

How tommy shelby felt after saying "i dont write poetry yet , only read it"

[julkaamazing]

rewatching the pitt finale as one does and i'm at that scene where hector (the crushed pelvis patient) has been given too much blood and ellis tries to apologize to robby for the mistake and he tells her she can go attend to her other patients. well as parker is apologizing you can see abbot watching her in the background and when she turns around to look at him after robby has told her to leave he's got his head turned away from her and when she does leave he shakes his head. it was a moment i never noticed before and i'm so emotional about it now. bc not once did abbot criticize ellis for the mistake and instead praised her for coming up with the calcium to help hector clot. she's his favorite ok and even if she did need to be sent away abbot wasn't going to be the one to do it.

[julkaamazing]

every time you;re not looking they add another skarsgard brother

[julkaamazing]

I'VE GOT YOU

PAIRING: JACK ABBOT X FEMALE READER

RATING: MATURE

WORD COUNT: 1474

SUMMARY:

Your daughter is perfect, but you are in pain. Not physical, not anymore, stitches healed and blood dry. It starts in your chest, a deep ache that claws at your ribs and your throat, makes it hard to breathe.

WARNINGS/TAGS:

mature themes, angst, established relationship (husband/wife), girl dad!jack abbot, no use of y/n, depictions of postpartum depression/anxiety, mental health, visit to the psychiatrist, prescription medication.

LINKS:

main blog | masterlists | ao3

Your daughter is perfect, all round cheeks and tiny nose and sweet, sweet scent. She knows nothing except love and tender devotion, doesn’t know that when she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep that her mother keeps a vigil at her side, hardly daring to blink out of fear that she might disappear.

Your daughter is perfect, but you are in pain. Not physical, not anymore, stitches healed and blood dry. It starts in your chest, a deep ache that claws at your ribs and your throat, makes it hard to breathe. It leaks from your eyes in the quiet dark, where your daughter can’t see it, but the salt of your wounds drips down onto her perfect, perfect cheek and you feel like a failure.

Jack watches you, keen gaze picking you apart like a raven does a corpse and it makes you want to scream but you smile at him and coo at your perfect, perfect daughter. He offers to hold her so you can shower but handing her over feels like severing a piece of your soul and you tell him you’re fine, you’ll shower during her next nap. 

But the next nap comes and she’s still in your arms. He doesn’t say anything, but his brows pinch together. Worried. He’s worried.

You’re fine. You can do this.

You wake in the middle of the night, your arm automatically stretching across the space between bed and bassinet. You’re not sure how long you were asleep but there’s no sunlight seeping into the room between the crack in the blackout curtains. You realize that the bassinet is empty and panic courses through you, turning you into a live wire ready to explode.

It doesn’t take long to find her. Jack is in her nursery, the Winnie the Pooh lamp on and your perfect daughter on his chest as he rocks back and forth in the chair by her unused crib. You stand in the doorway, watching them. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. 

“She got fussy. Needed a diaper change,” he says. His big hand rests on her small back. “Go back to sleep.”

“You should have woken me up,” you tell him. “Maybe she needed to eat.”

“She didn’t.” His voice is steady, reassuring. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m worried about you,” he admits. “It seems like—“

“Like what?”

He sighs. “You know I’m here, right? I’ve got you. You don’t need to do everything on your own.”

“Are you saying I’m not doing a good job?” You ask. Your lower lip wobbles and your eyes sting.

“Not at all,” he says, gentle. So gentle, like he’s talking to a cornered animal, trying to earn its trust. It makes you feel sick. “I’m just worried.”

“Can you put her back to bed?” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “Please?”

“Sure, baby.”

He follows you back to the room, settles your perfect daughter on her back in her bassinet on your side of the bed before crawling beneath the sheets with you. You turn on your side, back to him and eyes on her. Always on her.

You jump when you feel Jack’s arm stretch across the gap between your bodies to circle your waist. He presses his front to your back, legs tucking neatly against your own, his face buried in your neck. You bite back a sob.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whisper. You turn over slowly to face him. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he tells you. Gentle. Gentle voice, gentle fingers tracing your arm. “I’ll talk to Kiara. Maybe see if Paul knows anyone taking new clients.”

Paul, his therapist. You nod. He kisses your forehead, smoothes his thumb over your cheek, pushing away the tears you didn’t even realize had broken free.

“We’ll get through this,” he says. “You and me.”

“Okay.”

A week later, by some miracle and maybe a little bit of name dropping and favor asking on Jack’s part, you’re sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair in a waiting room, trying to make sense of the questions on the clipboard.

You hand the clipboard back to the young receptionist, who smiles kindly and tells you to take a seat, the doctor will be available shortly. You count the cracks in the wall, read through the pamphlets on the small table by your chair, check your phone a dozen times to see if Jack has sent another message but there’s no new notifications, just the I love you he sent when you told him you got to the office.

A door beside the reception desk opens and a woman with a sharp gray bob and a cozy sweater calls your name. She brings you back to an office that feels like an entirely different world than the waiting room. There’s plants along the window sill, the fluorescent lights are off and replaced by several lamps, and a small couch with pillows that sits facing a large oak desk.

She gestures to the couch and you take a seat, hands in your lap. She sits in an office chair, crossing one leg over the other, a clipboard on her lap.

“Why don’t we start with you telling me a little bit about yourself?” She asks, pen at the ready. Her voice is soft, eyes kind. 

It’s a struggle, at first. You can’t think of anything beyond motherhood, which is frustrating, because you were a whole person before this brand new job title. Where did she go?

You admit this out loud and she nods. You keep going, a torrent of words coming free from behind a dam of your own making. You speak until your voice cracks and tears are dripping onto your lap and she silently hands you a box of tissues.

By the end of the hour, she’s explaining the clinical side of what you’re going through. Postpartum depression. Postpartum anxiety. You’ve heard these terms before but in the thick of it, it's hard to see past the storm for what it is.

You stop by the pharmacy to pick up your new prescription. The pills rattle in your purse as you unlock the door to the apartment, feeling drained but also like a weight has been eased off your chest. Not lifted, not entirely, but you have a little more room to breathe.

Jack is on the couch, your daughter on his chest. She’s awake, valiantly lifting her head to see her father’s face. You lean over the back of the couch and kiss his cheek.

“Hey,” he says, sitting up slowly, shifting your daughter to the crook of his elbow. “How’d it go?”

“Good, I think,” you reply. You come around the couch to sit beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I have a follow-up appointment next week.”

“Good, that’s good.” He kisses your head. “You want to hold her?”

You run a finger over the soft skin of her cheek. “No, you’ve got her.”

“I’ve got you, too,” he says. You look up to meet his eyes. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You’ve got me.”

You come back to yourself. It doesn’t happen all at once. Instead, it feels like the sun breaking through a storm cloud. A little bit here, a little bit there, until one day you’re lying on the floor, watching your daughter take in the world around her, and you realize that the ache in your chest isn’t anxiety, but happiness.

About a month later, you’re making breakfast one morning, your daughter strapped to your chest. You cleaned the apartment before bed last night. You got up early and had your coffee and the chance to read one of the long forgotten books that’s been gathering dust on the nightstand. 

You feel a little bit more like yourself. 

Jack comes home that morning, dropping his bag to the ground just inside the door before joining you in the kitchen. You hear him stop walking and turn to find him watching you from the doorway. 

“What?” You ask, smiling at him. 

“Nothing,” he says. “Just admiring the view.”

You roll your eyes. “You see it every day.”

“And I love it every day. Sue me.” He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You look happy.”

“I am happy.” 

It’s not a lie, not a deflection. Just the simple truth.

He turns you around so that you’re facing him and you loop your arms around his neck. He kisses you, slow and deep, until your daughter wriggles against your chest and lets out a tiny noise of displeasure. Jack laughs against your lips.

“Let me take her,” he says. You unclip the carrier from your shoulders and he lifts her free, holding her in his arms. “That’s it, I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you. 

Thank you for reading!

[julkaamazing]

I was really gonna finish my Robby fanfic but gosh . . .

@abbotjack destroyed and put me back together in the most gut wretching and heartwarming way possible with her incredibly well written fanfictions about Jack being a dad.

So . . .

Instead enjoy some sketches of Jack as a dad (all of the arts are certain moments in the fanfictions of abbotjack, I HIGHLY recommend you go check it out, no... YOU HAVE TO READ IT. It's INCREDIBLE)

[julkaamazing]

Lizzie | Jack Abbot x Wife Reader x Teen Daughter

Warnings: periods, using that gif bc of his little dad bod belly for his dad energy

————

“Hey dad? Did mom leave yet?” Your daughter Elizabeth called from the doorway. Jack heard the tremble in her throat and his head snapped up immediately. His daughter stood biting her lip, desperate to hide the worry etched in her brow.

“Yeah, she had to leave early. Traffic is backed up on 19. What’s wrong, Lizzie?” He stood, balancing on the arm of the couch while reaching for his crutches.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. Honey wha-”

“I’m fine!” She snapped before turning down the hall back to her room. Shutting the door with a loud slam, the frames on the wall rattling from the force.

As soon as you set your stuff down in the nurses station, your phone buzzed in your back pocket.

Lizzie Abbot 🎀

“Hey honey, what’s up?” You asked while multitasking and checking the nights caseload.

“Mama?” She whimpered, causing you to direct all attention to your little girl. She never called you ‘mama’ unless she was scared or upset. She sounded both.

“Lizzie? What’s wrong.”

“I got my period.”

You felt your whole body relax and you let out an audible sigh of relief. Thank god it was only that, but you’d been in her position before. You knew that to her, this was absolutely the end of the world, and you weren’t there to help.

“Okay, okay. Calm down, you’re okay. Did you check my bathroom?”

“Yeah, you only had tampons. I don’t know how to use them.”

“Okay, that’s fine, does Dad know?”

“No no no! Please don’t tell him!”

“Honey he’s a doctor, AND your father. This is nothing to him.”

“Exactly, he’s my dad. I’d rather die.”

“Dana just left. I can see if she can drop something off on her way home. I’ll text you. But your father is gonna have to find out eventually”

Before you could even hang up, Jacks call came through on the other line.

Jack Abbot 💍

“Hey, Jack.”

“Hey, did Lizzie say anything before you left? She’s upset about something and won’t talk to me.”

You sighed. As much as you wanted to respect her wishes, remembering how absolutely mortifying it was when your father learned about your entry to womanhood, Jack needed to know.

“Yeah um—I just got off the phone with her. Hold on let me go somewhere more private.” You hurried away from the nurses station and into a free room. “She got her period. All I have are tampons in the bathroom. I should have been better prepared for this moment… but it’s hard to believe we have a teenager.”

“Oh— oh uh—right, okay, d-do you need me to run to the store?”

You chuckled to yourself at how flustered he seemed to be.

“Well that’s the problem. She is absolutely dead set on me not telling you, and she’d probably have my head on a stake if she knew we were having this conversation right now.”

“Are you sure it’s her period?”

“Jack.”

“Alright, alright yeah. It’s just weird. I feels like yesterday she was doing ballet routines for me in the leotard we’d have to bribe her with candy to take off and wash.”

“Looking back, she probably knew she’d get a lollipop if she put up a fight. I think we were played, Jack Abbot.”

“By a toddler at that”

“I’m just waiting on Dana to get back to me to see if she can drop som— hold on she just texted back— shit she has her daughter’s basketball game.”

“I’ll run to the drugstore it’s not a problem.”

“But Elizabeth is gonna make it everyone’s problem when I get home in the morning if you do…”

————

After a brief back and forth with your daughter, about how she’d never talk to you again, you were the worst mother in the world, “Janies mom would never do this”, yada yada, you got a text from Jack.

A photo of the feminine hygiene aisle:

Jack Abbot 💍:

“Why the fuck are there that many pads and tampon choices? Wings? No wings? Scented. Unscented? Why would there even be scented ones? Which do I buy her?”

“You should see the shampoo aisle… just get her some regular and overnight pads for now. With wings. ‘Always’ is usually the brand I go for. Drop them outside her door like it’s a bomb and do not engage with the enemy.”

“Should I be scared?”

“Probably.”

“If you don’t hear from me in an hour, send the search party.”

“Just watch your other leg, soldier.”

“🙄”

45 minutes later your daughter heard the rustle of a plastic bag and her dad’s uneven gait down the hallway. She sat on her bed with her knees to her chest until she heard his footsteps retreat to his bedroom for the night. Her phone lit up.

Dad 💙🦿

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

She crept to the door and opened it slowly, at her feet was the Target bag and her favorite chocolate chip frappe from Starbucks (or a milkshake disguised as coffee as her dad calls it). Inside were the pads but also some candy, her favorite chips, a new book she told him about last week, and some ibuprofen with a post-it note on it that says “take two” in his chicken scratch.

Jacks phone chimed (on full blast may I add. He’s the only one in the family who wont have his phone on vibrate “in case they need me at the hospital”)

Lizzie ⚽️👩🏻‍🦰:

“Thanks”

“When you stop being scary, can I have some sour patch kids? I was in such a hurry I forgot to get a sweet treat for myself from the store :( “

“lol yes”

And then a text from you

Wife 😍:

“You make it out okay? Should I send search and rescue?”

“Survived. Barely.”

“I knew marrying an army vet with hostage negotiation skills would pay off eventually.”

[julkaamazing]

[julkaamazing]

[julkaamazing]

Itsuko Azuma - The Little Mermaid

[julkaamazing]

''i wasted those years'' who cares. you lived the only life you could've lived in those moments

[julkaamazing]

I've been having this around for a LONG TIME but I'm not sure if someone would read it... It's actually a bit long......... would you be interested in reading this fic? lemme know unu

[julkaamazing]

La dolce vita

husband!harry castillo x wife!reader content warnings: none! summary: a random tuesday with your husband wc: 1.9k

masterlist.

The sun always hit your bedroom in gold.

Not the harsh kind that slapped you awake, but the soft, diffused kind that filtered through sheer curtains and painted warm streaks across expensive sheets. It crept along the marble floors, kissed the edge of the duvet, and finally reached the sliver of skin exposed where your shoulder slipped out of Harry’s t-shirt.

His t-shirt. Always his.

Harry was already awake, of course. He always was—one of those rare, infuriating men who didn’t seem to require more than five hours of sleep and somehow still looked like he walked out of a cologne ad. His arm was draped around your waist, thumb stroking lazy circles against your stomach.

He hadn’t moved for ten minutes. Not because he was particularly sentimental—though he'd deny being anything but—but because he liked mornings like this. Liked the way you curled into his chest in your sleep. Liked the quiet. Liked pretending you didn’t have anywhere to be.

But you had somewhere to be.

“Five more minutes,” you mumbled into his chest, voice thick with sleep. You hadn’t even opened your eyes yet, but your fingers tightened in his shirt like a warning. “Don’t tell me the time. Just… five more minutes.”

He chuckled, low and soft. “Didn’t say anything, sweetheart.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was thinking about how cute you look when you threaten me before coffee.”

You groaned, half-heartedly elbowing him in the ribs.

He leaned down and kissed the top of your head, letting his lips linger in your hair. “You’ve got a call at nine,” he murmured. “That client with the launch disaster. You told me yesterday you needed at least thirty minutes to prep.”

Another groan. You pulled the duvet over your face.

“You’re supposed to be my husband,” you grumbled. “Not my calendar.”

“I can be both. Multifunctional.”

You peeked out from beneath the covers just enough to meet his eyes—sleepy, annoyed, affectionate. “Remind me why I married you?”

He smiled, the cocky little tilt of it almost too smug for six in the morning. “Because I make really good coffee. And you liked the view.”

“The penthouse view?”

“No,” he said, tapping your nose. “This view.” He motioned to himself.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you muttered.

“I know.”

In the kitchen, sunlight gleamed off the marble counters. He poured two mugs—yours with oat milk and cinnamon, his black—and you padded in behind him, still dressed in one of his hoodies and soft pajama shorts. You were already scrolling through emails, fingers moving fast.

“Put that down for a second,” Harry said, sliding your mug across the counter. “You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

You looked up, softening. “Sorry. My boss is being—”

“Kiss first. Crisis later.”

You rolled your eyes but crossed the kitchen anyway, placing your phone down beside the fruit bowl. He met you halfway, tugging you in by the waist.

“You’re clingy in the mornings,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Only with you.”

The kiss was slow, easy. Familiar in a way that still made your stomach flutter. His hands didn’t wander. He wasn’t trying to start anything. He just wanted you close. That was the thing about Harry—he didn’t need you to do anything other than be.

“Okay,” you said, breathless when you pulled away. “Now I can save a client’s entire career with grace and caffeine.”

He smiled, leaning against the counter. “That’s my girl.”

As you disappeared into the bathroom to get ready for the day, Harry sipped his coffee and watched the light shift across the skyline. It never got old, this view.

But you were still his favorite one.

By 1:12 PM, your coffee had gone cold, your patience was thinner than the straps on your heels, and your inbox looked like it was actively trying to ruin your life.

Another email. Another “urgent” crisis. Another client who couldn’t keep their mouth shut.

You didn’t groan aloud, you were far too composed for that, but your eyes fluttered closed as you pinched the bridge of your nose and let out a quiet sigh.

Your phone buzzed again.

Harry: Look up.

You frowned, glancing toward the glass wall of your office—and there he was.

Leaning against the receptionist’s desk like he was posing for a GQ shoot, in dark sunglasses and an open-collared navy button-down. He spotted you instantly, gave a lazy two-finger wave, and smiled like he had all the time in the world.

Your heart did a quiet little flip.

The door creaked open. “Your husband’s here,” your assistant said with a barely concealed grin. “He says he’s kidnapping you for lunch. Or longer. Should I…block your calendar?”

You blinked. “He said what?”

And then Harry strolled in, sunglasses perched in his hair and dimples loaded.

“You look like you haven’t exhaled since breakfast,” he said, crossing the room and kissing your cheek like this was a normal Tuesday occurrence. “I’m stealing you. Just for a bit.”

“I have a call at two.”

“You rescheduled it,” he replied easily. “Well…I rescheduled it. Told your assistant to say you had a ‘husband-related emergency.’”

You stared at him, half-shocked, half-swooning. “You can’t just—”

“Sure I can,” he said, lacing your fingers with his. “Come on. Play hooky with me.”

"You're lucky you're so handsome."

And just like that, you were both gone.

You ate lunch at a quiet Italian spot in Tribeca, tucked away from the noise of midtown. Not your usual networking lunch. No name-dropping, no clients, no industry chatter. Just fresh pasta, house wine, and Harry’s fingers brushing yours every so often just to feel your skin.

You tried to keep your work brain on. You really did. But he had that smug grin and a soft thumb brushing your wrist and the audacity to say things like, “You always relax after the second glass.”

Which was true.

You finished your tiramisu and reached for your bag.

But Harry didn’t move. He just leaned back in his chair, sipping the rest of his espresso like you had nowhere to be.

“What?” you asked, brow raised.

“We’re not done yet.”

“Harry…”

“I’m not taking you back just yet,” he said, standing and offering you his hand. “We’re going shopping.”

You blinked. “Shopping?”

“You’ve been running on fumes for days. You need something pretty. Preferably several pretty things. Let me spoil you.”

You gave him a look. “You’re spoiling me just by pulling me out of work.”

“Then let me overdo it.”

Two boutiques and a perfume counter later, you were carrying three glossy bags and smelling faintly of jasmine and something citrusy and expensive.

Harry trailed beside you like it was the best afternoon he’d had in weeks—offering opinions on dresses, joking with sales associates, slipping a hand around your waist anytime you leaned in to look at jewelry.

“You are dangerous when you’re bored,” you muttered, stepping out of the third shop with a new silk blouse and slightly flushed cheeks.

“I’m extremely charming when I’m in love,” he corrected.

“You know you can’t buy me things every time I get stressed, right?”

“Can’t I?”

You swatted him with your bag. “You married a PR manager, not a runway model.”

He stepped in front of you then, palms gently framing your face.

“No,” he said, voice low. “I married you. And when the world burns you out, I get to remind you what you look like when you’re adored.”

Your breath hitched.

A pause. Then:

“You really want to go for a fourth store?” you asked, voice quieter now.

Harry grinned. “That depends. You want shoes or some new skincare?”

By the time he dropped you back off at your office, nearly two hours later, you were glowing. He kissed your cheek and helped you out of the car like he was still courting you.

You waved him off with a laugh and a roll of your eyes, but as you stepped into the elevator, your fingers still tingled where his had laced with yours.

And when your assistant looked up and saw your flushed face and full hands, she just smiled knowingly.

“Good lunch?”

You gave a small, breathless laugh. “Yeah,” you said. “Best one I’ve had in a while.”

The penthouse smelled like garlic and butter by the time you kicked your heels off by the front door.

The lights were dimmed to a warm glow, jazz hummed softly from the speakers in the ceiling, and the windows spilled the city’s golden-hour skyline across the kitchen floor.

You padded in barefoot, one shopping bag still looped over your wrist. Harry stood at the stove barefoot, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a pan with the kind of easy confidence that made you want to melt into the marble countertops.

“You’re cooking?” you asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, without turning. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“I’ve seen you try to use the microwave.”

“I said many. Not all.”

You laughed, walking over and setting the bag on the kitchen island. “What are we having?”

“Scallops. Fresh from that market you like. Some lemon pasta too. Thought I’d balance out all the luxury with something... handmade.”

“You mean ‘last-minute,’” you teased, sliding your arms around his waist from behind.

He tilted his head back just enough to rest it against yours. “Exactly.”

You stood like that for a minute. your cheek pressed to his shoulder blade, your arms warm around him, the quiet bubbling of garlic butter filling the space between.

“I could get used to this,” you murmured.

“I would hope you are,” he said. “This is the rest of your life, sweetheart.”

Dinner was simple. And perfect.

The two of you sat at the long dining table that usually only saw use during holidays or when Harry’s clients came by for dinner parties. Tonight, there were no guests. Just candles flickering, the scent of lemon zest, two wine glasses, and the way Harry kept looking at you like you hung the moon.

You were halfway through your second helping when he leaned back in his chair, wine in hand, and said:

“Today was good.”

You smiled. “It really was.”

“I missed you.”

“I was right there this morning.”

“Yeah,” he said, tapping his glass. “But I missed you when you get to laugh and breathe and forget about everyone else’s fires for a second.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.

“You really are too good to me,” you said, quiet.

Harry reached across the table, linking his fingers with yours.

“I’m just trying to keep up with how good you are to me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him—this man who could ruin you with a smirk but still managed to love you in all the gentle, necessary ways.

“I love you,” you said finally, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“Good,” he said, grinning. “Because I was thinking I could steal you again tomorrow.”

You laughed. “Harry.”

“Kidding. Kind of.”

You stood, collecting plates, but he was already on his feet before you could make it to the sink.

“I’ve got it,” he said, brushing your hip with his hand as he passed. “Go sit and relax for a while. I'll finish cleaning up here then I'll run a bath.”

You raised a brow. “You’re drawing me a bath and doing dishes?”

He gave you a wink. “Like I said, many talents.”

Later, you’d be wrapped in his arms again, your hair damp from the tub, skin warm and scented from rose oils he poured too much of into the water. You’d fall asleep with your head on his chest and your fingers curled against his heartbeat, wondering how a random Tuesday turned into your favorite kind of day.

And Harry?

Harry would kiss your temple in the dark and pull you closer, already planning what he’d do to spoil you next.

[julkaamazing]

Hii can i request a joel fic where reader is jealous? like her and joel are married and there's this new neighbor that likes joel and tries to flirt with him and he doesn't notice and is just being nice. Pre outbreak! Thank you!! (:

Off the Market

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1280 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You’d always thought your street was quiet,safe. A place where barbecues meant friendly hellos and where the loudest drama was whether the mail got wet in the rain. But the moment she moved in across the street,blonde, perky, with legs for days and a voice like honey,all of that peace disappeared.

Especially when you caught her staring at your husband.

Joel, your sweet, oblivious, ridiculously handsome husband.

You watched from the kitchen window as he helped the new neighbor carry a box up her porch. His gray t-shirt clung to his back in the heat, and he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, completely unaware of how her eyes lingered on him like she wanted to lick the salt off his skin.

You muttered under your breath. “Real subtle, sweetheart.”

She laughed at something he said,full-on hair flip and hand-on-his-arm laugh. Joel just scratched the back of his neck, looking polite and,unfortunately,adorably clueless.

The door opened, and Sarah bounded into the kitchen. “Dad’s still helping the new lady?”

You nodded, teeth clenched. “Mhm. Real helpful lately.”

Sarah tilted her head, then grinned knowingly. “You’re jealous.”

“Excuse me?”

She opened the fridge. “You always do that tight-smile thing when you’re jealous. It’s kinda cute.”

“I’m not jealous,” you scoffed, turning away from the window. “I just think it’s… interesting that she can lift three bags of groceries but somehow needs help carrying a box of throw pillows.”

Sarah snorted, pulling out a juice box. “Right. You want me to sabotage her Wi-Fi or something?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m just saying. I got skills.”

You let out a surprised laugh, just as the front door opened and Joel stepped in, sweaty and smiling. “Man, that girl brought her whole damn house with her.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I bet.”

He gave you a confused look, stepping forward to kiss your cheek. “You good?”

“Peachy,” you said, brushing past him. “Gotta go fold the laundry.”

That night, you lay in bed, back to Joel, arms crossed tightly.

He shifted behind you. “Alright, what’d I do?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s what all women say right before I find out I did something.”

You sighed. “I just think it’s funny how helpful you’ve been lately.”

He propped himself up on one elbow. “This is about the new neighbor?”

“No,” you said flatly. “It’s about the way she touches your arm like it’s a handle. Or how she giggles like she’s in a damn rom-com every time you open your mouth.”

Joel blinked. “What?”

You turned to face him, eyes narrowed. “Joel. She’s flirting with you.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “No she ain’t.”

“Oh my God,” you groaned. “You’re hopeless.”

He blinked again. “Wait,you’re jealous?”

You pushed the covers off. “I’m not jealous, I’m annoyed. There’s a difference.”

Joel caught your wrist before you could storm off, pulling you gently back onto the bed. “Sweetheart. Listen to me.”

You grumbled, but stayed.

He cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb against your jaw. “You think I don’t see you? Every day? You’re my wife. I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you, and I ain’t lookin’ anywhere else.”

You swallowed hard. “But she’s all… pretty and shiny and new.”

Joel chuckled, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “You think I want shiny and new when I got soft and mine?”

Your heart stuttered. “Joel…”

He kissed you slowly, sweetly. “No one’s ever touched my heart like you do. That neighbor could dance naked in the driveway and I’d ask her if she needed a towel.”

You burst out laughing, even as heat crept up your cheeks. “You’re serious.”

He nodded. “I’m real serious, darlin’. You’re it for me.”

You stared at him, vulnerable. “You really didn’t notice?”

He gave a little shrug. “I noticed she was kinda chatty. Thought she was just nervous, bein’ new to the street. Didn’t really care, ‘cause I was thinkin’ about you and that lasagna you made.”

You softened. “That was your favorite.”

“Exactly.” He leaned forward and kissed your nose. “You really thought I’d look at anyone else when I get to wake up next to you?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile curling your lips. “You’re good at this, Miller.”

He grinned. “Wanna know what I’m also good at?”

You arched a brow. “Do I?”

He tugged you on top of him, hands finding your hips. “Let me prove it.”

His hands slide beneath your shirt,his shirt,and his rough palms are warm against your bare skin. You straddle his waist, your thighs squeezing around his hips, and Joel lets out a low groan from the back of his throat.

“You’re serious about proving it?” you murmur against his lips.

Joel’s voice is a rumble. “I’ve been dyin’ to get my hands on you all day.”

Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging gently. “Guess you were too busy bein’ helpful.”

He smirks. “Wasn’t helpin’ her the way I help you.”

You grind your hips down slowly, and Joel’s breath hitches.

“Oh, you mean like this kind of help?” you tease, rolling your hips again, slower this time.

His grip tightens at your waist, and his head drops back with a growl. “Jesus, woman…”

You dip your head and drag your lips along his neck, whispering against his pulse, “She can’t do this to you, can she?”

“No, baby,” he rasps, eyes dark with lust. “Only you. Always you.”

You kiss him deeply, then lift up just enough to reach down and tug your panties to the side, and Joel’s eyes follow your every move like a starving man.

“Tell me who you belong to,” you murmur, positioning yourself over him.

His hands tremble on your hips. “You, darlin’. I’m yours. Always been.”

You sink down onto him, and he lets out a swear so low and filthy it burns straight through you.

Your bodies move together in that slow, grinding rhythm that makes time blur. Joel’s voice is thick with need, moaning your name, calling you his. You ride him until his hands grip your thighs so hard you’re sure you’ll bruise,but you don’t care. You want to wear his love.

And when you both come undone,him with a broken moan of your name, you gasping against his mouth,it’s not just heat. It’s home.

Next morning

You’re still in Joel’s shirt when you pad into the kitchen. Sarah’s got her laptop open and a mischievous grin on her face.

“You look very well-rested,” she teases, sipping her orange juice.

You lift an eyebrow. “You’re too observant.”

She grins. “I learn from the best.”

Joel walks by, gives you a swat on the hip and a kiss on the cheek. “Mornin’, trouble.”

“You talking to me or her?” you smirk.

“Both.”

Sarah spins her laptop around. “Wanna see something cool?”

Joel squints. “Uh oh.”

Sarah clicks a few keys. “So, our charming new neighbor uses ‘puppies123’ as her Wi-Fi password. Can you believe that?”

You blink. “Wait. How do you know that?”

“I asked her yesterday when I brought over cookies. She doesn’t know I’m a tech nerd.”

Joel groans. “Sarah…”

Sarah smirks. “Relax. I didn’t hack anything. I just connected to it.”

You cross your arms. “And what exactly are you planning?”

Sarah grins like a little villain. “I may have downloaded a program that limits her streaming speeds between 6 and 11 p.m.”

You stare.

She adds, “Prime flirting hours.”

Joel facepalms. “You’re grounded.”

Sarah shrugs. “Worth it.”

You blink, then burst out laughing. “I didn’t raise a little genius, but I definitely married one.”

Joel kisses your temple. “God help me, I love you both.”

[julkaamazing]

yall mind if i make them tragic for a second