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bi-writes · 6 months ago

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the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

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leibal · 29 days ago

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SLVR is a minimal side table created by Los Angeles-based designer David Hwang. White oak forms the table’s primary structure, its grain running parallel to the dramatic cantilever. The material choice is no accident. “I wanted something with warmth that would contrast with the industrial inspiration,” the designer notes. “The oak brings an organic quality to a form that’s fundamentally architectural.” This tension between natural material and engineered form creates the piece’s distinctive character.

#minimalism #minimal side table #minimalist table #minimal design #leibal

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mari-positas · 1 year ago

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flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner.

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair.

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?”

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten.

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home.

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains.

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: snapshots

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research-lighting · 1 year ago

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Modern Glass Table Design Follow Research.Lighting on Tumblr

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kxsagi · 15 days ago

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lmaoo u shouod write rin or someone on 1st date w reader and these 2 sketchy guys in trench coats (Isagi and bachira) following u around spying on the date but they’re so clumsy so they try to be stealthy but they’re js not 😭😭

"𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲"

a/n: omg rin would CRASH OUT 💀

(art credits go to 1954260 on pixiv)

stop #1: the café

rin had planned the day meticulously – well, as meticulously as a guy who refused to acknowledge butterflies in his stomach could manage. café, stroll in the park, then a movie. easy. low effort. high reward. minimal emotional vulnerability.

what he didn’t factor in was the pair of agents of chaos currently crouched behind a newspaper stand ten feet away, dressed in matching trench coats and sunglasses like two divorced dads trying to get custody of the same brain cell.

“target has arrived,” isagi whispered, peeking over the edge of the comic section like this was mission impossible and not rin on a date with his girlfriend.

“they look… in love,” bachira said dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d just been stabbed with a spork of emotion. “ugh. i can’t watch this. but i must. for the data.”

you leaned across the café table to take a bite of rin’s dessert, completely unaware of the way isagi accidentally snapped his pencil out of sheer excitement. “she’s sharing his tiramisu, bro, write that down. that’s soulmate behavior.”

rin paused mid-sip, eyes twitching. “… did you hear that?”

“hear what?” you blinked.

a crash echoed from behind the stand.

rin slowly turned his head. two men scrambled to rebuild a pyramid of chocolate bars they’d just knocked over. one of them tried to shield his face with a potted sunflower.

“… is that–”

“rinnie, don’t look,” you whispered, eyes widening. “just. don’t. the plant’s staring at us again.”

stop #2: the park

you suggested a walk. it was peaceful. warm sun. birds chirping. leaves rustling. very romantic. except for the very conspicuous rustling that followed you at a ten-foot distance.

you turned your head slightly. isagi and bachira had upgraded their disguises. they now wore bucket hats and held hands like confused tourists. isagi had a camera. bachira had a slice of pizza. neither looked remotely normal.

rin’s eye twitched. “do you see them?”

you laughed. “they look like they got kicked out of sesame street for insider trading.”

suddenly, flash.

“ISAGI, WHY DID YOU USE FLASH–”

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT I SWEAR–”

rin stopped walking. turned slowly. isagi quickly pointed the camera at a pigeon. “what a majestic bird.”

“we’re just appreciating nature!” bachira chimed in. “i’m the pizza. he’s the photographer.”

“that doesn’t make sense,” rin snapped.

“neither does love,” isagi said, misty-eyed.

“i’m going to kill you with that camera.”

you tugged him forward, hiding your laughter. “c’mon, rinnie. let the wildlife roam free.”

stop #3: the movie theater

by some divine miracle, they weren’t in your theater. rin was beginning to relax. you were holding his hand. the previews were starting. life was good.

and then.

CRACKLE.

the sound of a chip bag being opened. slowly. painfully. like it was fighting for its life. you didn’t even have to look. you knew.

rin leaned in and whispered, “they’re behind us, aren’t they.”

you nodded. “row G, seats 12 and 13. left side.”

bachira coughed quietly. “pass the nachos.”

rin turned around so fast he knocked over your drink. “GET OUT.”

“this is a public screening,” isagi whispered back. “we’re here for the same movie as you guys.”

“YOU HATE THIS MO–”

“yeah, but i love you.”

“GET. OUT.”

bachira started crawling under the seats. isagi followed. both vanished like the rats they were. a kid three rows down screamed. someone yelled, “I PAID FOR THIS!”

you sipped your half-empty soda and shrugged. “i think it’s romantic. you have fanboys.”

rin groaned. “they’re not fanboys. they’re feral.”

final stop: the walk home

you and rin strolled in comfortable silence. hand in hand. the sun was setting. the chaos had finally… finally ended. or so rin thought. until bachira fell out of a tree. like. actually fell. onto the sidewalk.

“holy SH–”

“i was trying to get a wide shot of your silhouettes!” bachira said from the pavement. “for the scrapbook!”

“you’re bleeding.”

“worth it.”

isagi limped into view with a limp umbrella and a bruised ego. “our trench coats got caught on the branches.”

rin stared at them. then looked at you. then stared at them again.

“… we’re getting married in secret.”

“what?”

“amalfi coast. no witnesses. they can’t stop what they don’t know.”

you grinned. “then what would they spy on?”

isagi perked up. “wait, you’re getting married??”

rin turned and ran. dragging you with him.

behind you, the sound of two trench coat freaks yelling “WAIT FOR US!” echoed down the street.

you laughed the entire way home.

best. first. date. ever.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #bachira meguru x reader #meguru bachira x reader #they're behind me aren't they

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ceramiccity · 1 year ago

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Innovative Coffee Table Design 2019

Modern abstract glass coffee table design with wavy texture surfaces on white background. Follow Ceramic City on Tumblr Source: https://www.pinterest.com/theceramiccity/

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feelingdozy · 7 days ago

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IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH - Bob Reynolds

Summary: A mission leads to you getting sick, and Bob having to take care of you on bed rest. when you realize you have to take a pill to make the sickness go away, Bob knows exactly how to make you take it.

Warnings: fluff, fainting, getting sick; a cold, talk of medicine and pills, kissing, hinting at intimate moments, yearner bob, shy yet confident bob

w/c: 1,4k

"Booooob"

"Booooooob"

"yes y/n?" Out of breath and eyes scanning your form that lay beneath a heavy layer of blankets in the fort of pillows that had surrounded you on your bed. "Everything okay? You okay?"

"Yeah-" throat hoarse, the words came out pained and scratchy, revealing the tough facade you had tried to keep up while being bed-ridden for nearly a week.

you lived on soup, tea, and cough medicine, and soon it wasn't gonna be enough to sustain you. The twisting and turning, sniffling of your nose no matter how many times you blew it, being super hot, and then super cold. This cold was going to kill you before you could get over it.

How you managed to make it this long? Bob. The first day the cold had sprung on you out of nowhere, he had been by your side. The two of you had been on your way back from a mission, and everything- surprisingly, had gone well. You had secured the Intel, only engaged in minimal and needed contact with the enemies to not make a fuss and draw attention, and had gotten out of there without a scratch.

That was until you had gotten yourselves back into the quinjet. First celebrating and clasping hands together, you had suddenly felt your vision blur and your surroundings get distant and wobbly from where you were, making your hands fly out to your sides to steady you while everything spun around you. Voice distant and wavering like everything else around you, Bob had spoken out but it had been too late.

"y/n? Everything oka-" was the last thing you were able to catch before you had gone out, Bob luckily catching your fall. What once was a joyride turned into a stressful speeding mess back to the tower, getting you straight to medbay to see if you had inhaled or got impaled with something dangerous along the way you hadn't known of.

Finding out it was just a cold had made Bob immediately relax his tense shoulders that he had held for a whole day, along with the never-ending fidgeting of his fingers that became habit.

He smiled gently at you when you finally exited, with a bag he presumed had been full of medicine and herbal teas that you usually requested when you came down with something to help ease the pain just a bit.

"How'd it go?" He asked as he got up from his seat to walk beside you, heading toward your room.

"boring- told me I had a cold, I mean duh, said to take it easy.. yeah. Put me on bed rest for a week! Said my fall could've been dangerous and I should've been more cautious- this is ridiculous!" Hysterically cursing yourself internally, you stomped the rest of the way until you reached your door, contrasting Bob's grin that was default around you.

You huffed before opening it and signaling him to go in, but he simply said "ladies first", with a tone you never fought with and instead listened. A mixture of tiredness and Bob's natural gentleman charm.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you plopped the stuff down on your side table, piled up on everything else it had to offer. Star-fishing back on your bed to relax after a long day, not caring what you looked like, He huffed a laugh at your pose before joining beside you the same way, now both laughing at the stupidness of each other.

His hand grazed yours ever so lightly- yet your skin had become ablaze with nervousness and butterflies and overwhelming feelings that weren't very helpful when you were sick and very much more apparent.

"Hey-uh, not to be rude b-but you're kinda red- do you have a fever?" He questioned when he looked over at you, your eyes returning to his, unluckily wide with pupils drawn. You didn't want to give yourself away, but it wasn't going to be easy, especially now.

"n-no. No just- just hot in here. Yeah."

The next morning had been no different. Except you found yourself bringing his sweetness towards you. In the early mornings of dawn, you found yourself unconsciously drawn to him, calling his name like he might catch it through the long hallways and the heavy walls. But when your door had unlocked and he had been there, hair clung to his forehead, slippers scraping against the floor while he was panting with a pajama shirt that fit just right on his form you thought maybe, just maybe you had been dreaming. Or crazy. Or dying. One of the three.

"yes y/n?" Out of breath, concerned and thoughtful, he stood in the flesh in front of you. "Everything okay? You okay?"

"sorry- didn't think you'd actually hear me, fuck m'sorry-"

"hey, no it's okay. I was waiting for your call in case uh- case you needed something or sick or puking y'know-"

"okay uhm.." you started before trailing off and bringing yourself to sit up, looking through the plastic bag of different cough medicines and nasal sprays.

"What's up? Need my help?" Quiet but sure, he sat on the side of your bed, joining your hands in tandem for what you were searching for.

"I can't take pills.. they- wait it's embarassing nevermind-"

"they make you gag?" He finished for you, not judgmental. Just.. natural.

"yeah.." you admitted embarrassingly, unable to look him straight in the face. The interaction alone reminded yourself of a distant memory, being a child and struggling to down a pill without forcing it and drinking way too much water.

"I can help you.." he murmured, but being close enough to his side you heard the thought come out verbally, before pushing to ask.

"how?" Pondering obliviously to his secret admittance, unable to get it out with a straight face and little splurges of confidence.

"y/n- can.. can I kiss you?" Speedily mumbling, you almost didn't hear him as he twisted a curled up lock of his hair that shaded his eye, distracting him from what he had just asked.

"kiss-" you started, but stopped. "I don't want you to get sick, Bob" pouting, all seriousness before he turned to face you.

"wha- just because your sick? You'd kiss me.. kiss me when your not?

"of course I would, that's kinda like.. a no brainer." you stated causally, making the rosy tint return to his face, the tips of his ears burning up with the confession.

"I know a way to help you with the pill." He commented before scrambling through the same bag and reaching for the bottle, snapping the lid open and attempting to reach one before tipping it and pouring it into the palm of his hand.

"okay. Go 'head" watching as he dug one out, when he placed it on the palm of his hand, he immediately popped it into his mouth, landing on his tongue before you with a gasp of disbelief he had just taken your pill.

But before you could say anything, his hands found their place on your cheeks as he pulled you in unexpectedly, letting out the slightest moan at the intrusion of his tongue slithering into your mouth sneakily with the pill.

As the kiss deepened, that was the last thing in your head. You became puddy in his hands, whining into the taste of his early morning tea and chocolatey aftertaste, warm sensations of his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth sending shivers all down your body. You craved his touch, leaning into him absentmindedly making him groan heavily into the heated kiss.

He devoured your lips with a hunger so strong you hadn't felt before, pulling you in with the strength of his hands gripping your waist to make sure you stayed right where he wanted you. Having to pry him off of your mouth to get a breath of air, a string of saliva still connecting and holding you two together.

Sweaty and lust-filled, you looked at each other and giggled, both with realization and a newfound common feeling you held between each other. Love.

"how'd the pill taste?" He asked, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaning his into yours.

Pushing him playfully, you whined, "Bob! I didn't even notice you fucker."

Both giggling, he pulled you down onto the bed with him, taking a spot beside you and pulling you into the warmth of his body, as he kissed the top of your hair.

"do I have to get sick for you to kiss me like that again?" You challenged playfully, looking up to the spot he occupied above you.

"Why don't you find out?"

#bob reynolds fanfic #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds #bob reynolds smut #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds fluff #robert reynolds fanfic #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #robert reynolds fluff #robert reynolds fic #marvel x reader #marvel fluff #marvel fanfic #feelingdozy

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