#the best way to get a feel of a character is to fill a page with doodles of 'em

[inkchwe]

so high school | 𝖑𝖍𝖘

୨୧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 6.8k ୨୧ genre: fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: basketballplayer!heesung, nerd!reader, tutor!au, high school au, oral (f + m receiving), penetration (all characters are of age!), light choking ୨୧ synopsis: You and your boyfriend are complete opposites on paper—you, the girl hidden inside a book, and Heeseung, the star of the basketball team—but it feels so right every time you’re together.

Heeseung at the free-throw line, certain he will make the basket and win the championship, turns to look at you in the stands. The sounds of his coach, taunts from the opposing team, encouragement of his teammates, and commotion of the final game of the season all fade into the background. To him, all that matters besides the ball in his hands is you.

You, amongst the others in the crowd with their hearts in their mouths, have no fears for your boyfriend. The star player who’s going to make history has never given you doubts before in his talents. All you can do is smile, incredibly proud and incredulous at the thought that he is all yours and nobody else’s.

It’s almost unimaginable how the two of you found each other, coming from completely different worlds. But like all stories, similar to the ones you’ve read since childhood, the story of you and Heeseung has a clear beginning…

AUGUST

“Do you ever stop to—I don’t know—not read?” Jungwon asks, jotting down notes in his notebook.

You giggle and flip the page. “It’s the last book on Choi’s summer reading list. Besides,” you retort, looking directly at your best friend, “how else would I be able to read and still remember what you just said to me if I didn’t practice?”

“Fuck off.” You lightly knock his shoulder with yours.

Even though it was still very early in the school year, you still had a lot to concentrate  on with the month coming to an end. Like the first novel Mrs. Choi selected on her extensive reading list. You planned to discuss it with the members of the school’s book club, your notes already tucked in your backpack for today’s Friday meeting.

Now, sitting with Jungwon in the hallway as you eat your lunch, your focus is solely on finishing the last fifty pages of the last book in the list Mrs. Choi created. Jungwon closes his notebook and gets up from his spot next to you. “Alright, I gotta head to Chem.  I’ll see you after school!” With a wink, he runs down the hallway and disappears down the corner.

Who you don’t expect to pop up next to disturb the sudden quiet of the surrounding area is Lee Heeseung, star shooting guard for the school’s basketball team. You never spoke to him before, but his reputation and family’s legacy preceded him. His brother was the shooting guard for the team years ago, breaking numerous records before he graduated. Now, Heeseung’s definitely filling his brother’s shoes and then some.

As a person, however, you know nothing about the boy at all. This year, though, you shared the same English class with Mrs. Choi. She cared little for his extracurriculars or persona around campus; what mattered to her was the effort of her students and the quality of the classwork.

Heeseung passes you by on his way towards his destination, not sparing a glance. You sit attentively as he knocks on Mrs. Choi’s classroom door.

She answers after a moment, a somber smile on her lips. “What can I do for you, Mr. Lee?”

He clears his throat and asks her, “You saw my message and I—“

“I am aware, Mr. Lee. My response still stands. Is there something else you need?” Mrs. Choi sees you out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t acknowledge your snooping.

“I will do anything to correct my last assignment. Please,” Heeseung begs.

“Mr. Lee, the cutoff for submissions was last week. I’m sorry, but your grade is final.” She sighs and looks at her watch.

“There’s nothing I can do to bring it up before the first game?” Heeseung asks, his voice growing thin from his frustration. He’s not rude, but clearly disappointed he isn’t getting his way with his big eyes and pleading words.

“How about this? I’ll tell Coach Sung you’re working on a paired project to make up the grade.”

“Perfect.” Heeseung breathes a sigh of relief before he takes in the rest of her sentence. “Wait, who’s my partner?”

Mrs. Choi extends her arm out to point in your direction. Immediately, you want to tuck yourself in your book and hide. You did not intend for your interest in their conversation to put you right in the middle of it, and now you wish you hadn’t feigned curiosity at all.

“She’s one of my best students, so you’re in great hands.” She turns her head so both you and Heeseung can hear her. “I’ll send both of you the information for the project later today.”

You didn’t notice Heeseung had kept his focus on you until you broke your stare-off with Mrs. Choi. Her lips are upturned in a secret smirk when you turn your attention to him.

Heeseung isn’t bad to look at, the definition of his muscles peeking out of his shirt in multiple places and his brown hair falling into his face. Each piece of his physical being represents the epitome of a Greek god’s form. But the fact neither of you had ever interacted up to this point is what scares you more than his intimidatingly good looks.

When Mrs. Choi gently closes the door, Heeseung awkwardly walks over to your position, towering over you. Ironically, his presence physically embodies your feelings towards him, this stranger now being shoved into your life.

“I’m Heeseung.”

You give him a close-lipped smile and extend your hand out to him, your name leaving your lips immediately. Displaying fake confidence, you hope he can’t tell how terrified you are.

His eyes brighten when his hand touches yours. You stand up, hand still in his, and the feeling of his palm against yours causes you to fumble your next words. “S-so I guess I should give you my number. I mean so once we get the assignment—“

Heeseung smirks. “Usually girls flirt a little more before asking for my number.”

You scoff and tuck your book closer. “I was offering to give you mine, actually. For educational purposes.”

The noise of his laughter fills the small corridor. “Right.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly feeling annoyance creeping under your skin. “Well, if it’s that hard to swap information, you can find me after school in the library.” You walk away, but Heeseung follows quickly behind.

“I have practice once the last bell rings.”

You look at him with serious eyes, not bothering to stop your stride towards the stairs. “Tell Coach you can’t make it.”

“Are you nuts?” Heeseung says, eyes wide.

You smirk. “You have to get your grade up to play, right?”

You watch the clock in the library with scrutiny. Members of the book club have been gone for half an hour, but you chose to stay behind. School let out an hour ago, and yet you’re still holding out hope Heeseung will come. But every minute that goes by proves you have to face facts: you’re now forced to collaborate with a stereotypical jock.

Mr. Kim, the head librarian, puts the disorganized books on the shelves as you tap your pencil on the table. “Waiting for someone? You don’t usually stick around this late,” Mr. Kim says with a smile.

You grin back, the sentiment not reaching your eyes. “You could say that.”

After another ten minutes of silence, you give up. You begin packing up your belongings, shaking your head and mumbling to yourself the entire time. Curse your interest in the guy and his lack of care for his academics. No wonder his grade was in the tank already. What was the point of athletics if he didn’t have other prospects to fall back on?

Just as you’re walking out of the library, Heeseung runs into you. Sweat’s dripping from his forehead and his breaths are labored. Clearly, he chose basketball over your project. You want to punch him for putting you both in this position.

“I swear I was going to blow off practice,” Heeseung says, but he can see your doubt in his words on your face.

“Sure. How about this? Figure out how to do the project on your own.” You press your body into his to push him out of your way. He follows in suit and rubs the spot you shoved, pretending to be wounded.

It only fuels your ire. You’ve only spoken to the jerk twice and you’re already tired of him treating every word you say and feeling you have like a joke. “Is failing that amusing to you?”

Heeseung’s expression immediately goes cold. “I’m not failing.”

“Sure. So Choi’s just doing this to torture you.”

He weighs his response in his mind before answering. “I may not be perfect, but Choi is really hard on grading.”

“That first assignment was just about what your future looks like after high school.” You push your backpack over your arm. “Excuse her for thinking you had plans outside of throwing a ball around a field.”

That laugh of his may just be the end of your life. He chuckles hard and puts a hand out to stop you. “First of all, that’s football.” He tries to make you look at him directly, but you refuse, too angry to give into what he wants. 

He continues anyway. “Second, basketball is my life. Past, present, future, okay? Without it, I don’t even know where I’d be.”

His voice is sincere, more honest than it’s been before. Regardless, your understanding and disappointment is evident. “Don’t you think that that’s the problem?”

“It hasn’t been one before. Suddenly I say it out loud and it’s an issue?” Heeseung’s voice raises a decibel, clearly agitated and back to his cold exterior.

If he wants to fight about this, you’re game.

“No,” you say, matching his vocal level. “The issue is that your focus is solely on basketball when there’s more important things in life than a dumbass court and sweaty guys trying to make touchdowns.” 

“You’re mixing up your sports analogies, angel.” Heeseung steps closer, testing your boundaries. Your chest heaves up and down, your breath labored. You may just slap him if he gets closer.

“You know what I mean.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” A fraction of his expression slips. His eyes challenge you in both irritation and anxiety. The bravado’s merely a mask for the fear that he’ll lose the one thing he wants the most in this world. And did you have it in you to be the reason he couldn’t have it?

You sigh and rub your palm across your forehead. “Tomorrow, meet me at the marketside pier. 8 AM. Take it or leave it.”

He releases a humorless chuckle. “You’re not gonna make this easy are you?”

“Not on your life.”

Heeseung is there at one of the pier’s wooden picnic tables with his materials sprawled out when you arrive at 7:45. You weren’t expecting for him to be there on time, much less earlier than you. The sun reflects off of his hair, turning the brown curls almost orange. Like the first time you saw him, you can’t help but be reminded that he is painstakingly attractive.

You give him a shy smile and put your backpack down next to you.

“I can tell you’re surprised,” Heeseung says with a small smile.

“A bit, yeah.” You unzip your bag to grab your English textbook. “I thought on the weekends you typically do…’fitness stuff.’” He laughs at your air quotes.

“Well, to be honest, I wake up at 6 AM every morning for drills with my dad.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Like you said, my sole focus is on that damn ball,” Heeseung says, opening his own textbook. “But I want to change that.”

“So you can keep playing,” you remind him, teasing the poor guy.

“Half true,” Heeseung says. “But I shouldn’t have left you hanging, yesterday.”

You nod. “I appreciate your apology.” You grab a pencil from your bag, pushing on the eraser until the lead pops up. “And I shouldn’t have been so judgmental. You have to be good at stuff besides basketball, even if it’s not studying.”

“Hey! I’m doing well in all my other classes, thank you very much.” You both share a minute of laughter. “But, to be honest, I do like to sing.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Troy Bolton.”

“For real! One day, I’ll take you to karaoke. I won’t make fun of you if you can’t keep up with me.”

“Okay, we’ll see.” You direct his focus back on to the page. “Now, onto Shakespeare.”

SEPTEMBER

Although Heeseung took his sweet, laborious time to translate and understand Shakespeare’s old English, the project went off without a hitch. Mrs. Choi was even surprised herself, in disbelief you pulled such an expansive and well-thought analysis out of the quintessential jock.

Now, it seemed the best next step to keep Heeseung on the right track was to sit him right next to you. Your initial partnership continued to benefit him in both his success in English and focus on academics, possibly for the first time in his high school career.

Better than that, he may have found a new friend in you that he wouldn’t have had otherwise.

By the end of one Tuesday class, Heeseung asks you to have lunch with him and his friends, a request that makes your previous seating buddy in English, Yujin, freak out.

Both her and Jungwon corner you on your way out when you tell them the news.

“No fucking way,” she whispers excitedly, slapping you on the back with vigor.

“That hurt,” you moan.

“Are you prepared?” Jungwon asks, smirking.

“Prepared for what?”

“The lion’s den, dude! You’re gonna be with not just his douche friends, but also the cheerleaders, other sports players…be prepared for the worst,” Jungwon grumbles.

“Oh shut up, Won!” Yujin threatens to hit him too, but he retracts. “Have fun on your pseudo first date.”

“It’s not a date!”

By the time lunch comes around, you hold yours with shaky hands, searching the lunch courtyard for the jock’s table. You usually sat with Jungwon or Yujin in the hallway of the English department to eat. Now, you’re a small fish in a big pond, waiting to be eaten alive.

Was it, in fact, a date, like your friends hypothesized? Did you have to try and impress Heeseung more than normal? Did you want Heeseung to take you on a date, real or fake, to begin with?

"Hey!"

Heeseung waves you over with a confident but over-exaggerated arm, flapping it wildly so you notice. He didn't need to do that, though; you could pick out his voice in any crowd.

You walk over with a smile and sit down, feeling small next to the strangers you had not met until this moment. The basketball team's not unwelcome, but they are awkward at your sudden presence at their usual lunch table, even if Heeseung made it known beforehand that you would be hanging out with them to eat.

He says your name and introduces you to his friends. "And that's Sunghoon, Jeongsong, and Jaeyun." You recognize the last two, Jay and Jake. Jake, the strikingly blonde one, has Chemistry with you this year. He smiles and tips his soda can at you in acknowledgement.

"Hee was telling us you’ve been saving him this term in English. Choi can be a pain in the ass, am I right?" Sunghoon and Jeongsong share a laugh, but you bristle at the comment.

"Not really," you say. "Choi sponsors my book club, so we have a good relationship. I think that's why she wanted me to whip Heeseung into shape in the first place." You elbow Heeseung in the side, and he grins in response.

"She's probably right."

"Book club kid, huh?" Jake asks. "Haven't been one of those since elementary school."

Jake's comments make the entire team laugh. Your cheeks turn pink and Heeseung takes a sip from his drink, his posture stiffening in the process.

"It's not a bad thing though," Jake interjects amidst their laughter. "Books are fun."

"A bit nerdy, though," Sunghoon comments.

A girl next to Sunghoon smacks him hard in the arm, but he just pokes his tongue at her.

Your anxiety spikes sitting there with all of these people, your gut feelings a reminder that they’re all a part of Heeseung’s world, not yours.

You clear your throat and stand up from the table. “I forgot to say, Hee, I have to do something for Choi anyway.” Heeseung’s face turns down at the corners. The only audible response you receive is from Jay and Sunghoon in the form of snickers.

”Run along, pet,” Sunghoon comments with a smirk.

You hope your eyes give the offense you won’t bother saying out loud. Fuck off, asshole.

When you make it to your usual lunch spot, Yujin and Jungwon are surprised to see you walking down the hallway.

”What happened?” Yujin asks.

”Exactly what Won said was going to happen,” you confess, sitting down in a criss-cross position beside her. “Now give me your chips.”

When the end of the day comes around, Heeseung catches you on your usual trek to the bus. “You’re forgiven, by the way.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What did I do?”

”You left me alone with my shithead teammates! I needed you there for backup, y’know.” He smirks and grabs your backpack from your shoulder to put around his arm. “I’m sorry about them. Sunghoon, mostly.”

”Can’t believe you’re friends with that guy,” you mumble.

”He’s the only one who I’m not friends with, truthfully. The others are cool. They’re just not used to new people.”

”I never would have guessed.”

Heeseung’s laugh is hearty, with a dazzling smile to match. You can almost forget the heap of embarrassment you felt earlier when you look at him like this, carefree and youthful.

“Anyway, let me give you a ride,” he offers, pointing to the senior parking lot. His car is freshly washed, its coat of paint identical to the school’s colors of blue with silver accents.

”What will your friends say?” you ask with a fake gasp.

”Fuck them. Besides, you’re also one of my friends. Now let’s go.” He takes your hand to walk in the direction of his car, not releasing your palm until you’re at his passenger side door.

As you give him directions, your mind goes back to the labels you had been running through in your mind all day. Were you Heeseung’s friend? Yes. Did you want to be more? Surely he didn’t just ask anyone to have lunch with him and his friends if he didn’t have other intentions, right? So, in that case, did yours match his?

A part of you wants to say yes, but the rational piece keeps you in check. It’s ridiculous to expect more than a friendship. How could you when it was so obvious your worlds were so far from each other, your friendship a simple fluke? You were grateful for his presence in your life, knowing without him it would be a bit darker, but would it last?

Yet here you were. Sitting happily in his car, hair blowing in the wind as his thumb grazes the outside of your hand, you try to enjoy all the time you do have together.

OCTOBER

”This is ridiculous!”

”Come on, just try it!”

”When did I ever say I was good at sports?” You groan, holding the ball in your hands with nervous fingers. The basketball court at your local park is occupied only by you and Heeseung, but it feels as though there’s a thousand people in the metal stands watching you, waiting for you to mess up.

”You said if I passed the last test you would let me show you how to make a free throw.” Heeseung has his hands in his pockets, his letterman jacket flapping in the autumn wind.

“If I suck at this, you’re never going to talk to me again. Just watch.” You try to dribble the ball across the court, but it falls between your legs before you can travel any further.

Heeseung puts his face behind his hand, clearly chuckling to himself. You scoff at him and the response you saw coming the second he put the ball in your hands. “See? I told you you would think I’m embarrassing!”

He raises his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just cute, that’s all.”

”’Cute’ is probably the nicest way you could say I’m embarrassing.” You kick the basketball in his direction. He catches it without any effort, his face still shaped in a state of enjoyment.

”I said cute because I meant cute, you dork.” He steps to the free-throw line and motions for you to join him. You do, grumbling and grunting the entire way.

”Now, you have to relax. The only way you have half a shot at making the basket is if you stop tensing up.” He hands you the ball again and steps behind you.

He puts his hands on your hips. his palms soft against your hoodie. You can practically feel the heat of his skin through the material of your clothing, and you hope he can’t tell how much your heartbeat has spiked from him being so close to you.

”Next thing is to bend your knees. They can’t be locked up.” You listen to his words, trying not to focus on how his body is making yours react. You may be imagining it, but even his voice sounds a bit breathless from the small distance between yourself and him.

His lips are ghosting over your ear when he says, ”Now shoot.”

You release the ball from your hands, hoping the angle of your throw and Heeseung’s directions will prove you’re partially competent. 

And sure enough, the basket makes it in a single whoosh. You turn in Heeseung’s grasp, releasing a happy cheer. “That was amazing!”

You feel the rush of the shot in your veins, but suddenly the only thing that makes your body hum in pleasure is the sudden crash of Heeseung’s lips against yours.

Unsure how to react, you stand there frozen in place as his mouth moves on its own accord. But slowly, surely, happily, you fall deeply into his embrace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and feel the press of his tongue against your mouth, begging for entrance.

You comply, letting the feeling of him and the thrill of this private moment in both of your worlds fill you to the brim with quiet pleasure and happiness.

[LHS] Can we talk, please?

[LHS] Did I do something wrong??

[LHS] IDC if you don’t respond. I’ll keep texting until you say something…

[LHS] Don’t leave me hanging :(

You sigh and throw your phone to the other side of the bed, tucking your comforter closer to your chest. Deciding to stay home from school was probably not the best way to handle your problems, but just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you’re sensible all the time.

This weekend’s excursion with Heeseung was beautiful, no doubt. But the fears continued to creep in with little regard for how happy he made you that day or all the days that came before it. Would how he felt about you last any longer than his basketball season? Did he entertain this simply for the fact that it was entertainment and nothing more? 

The thoughts had been too much when you said goodbye to him on your doorstep with another hasty, giddy kiss and all the hours following it. Maybe you were self-sabotaging, but it was better to manage expectations now than be crushed in the aftermath.

When Yujin calls you during lunch, you have half a mind to ignore it. You answer anyway to avoid your friends thinking something drastic happened.

”Hello,” you mumble, the effects of your late morning nap hitting you.

”Dude, Heeseung’s on a tear today. He even asked Jungwon where you were, and I didn’t even think he knew the kid existed. What the hell happened on Saturday?”

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of your doorbell. “I gotta go. I’ll tell you later.” You hang up, hastily grabbing your fuzzy robe before running downstairs.

You don’t bother looking through the peephole to see who it is, but you curse yourself for not doing so when you’re confronted with Heeseung. He’s a sweaty and panting mess, but he doesn’t care for his appearance. His face morphs into relief when he sees you staring back at him.

”Thank God,” he says before stepping closer to you. He runs his hand over your forehead, frowning. “You’re not sick.”

You shake your head.

”So, you just ignore me all weekend and then don’t show up to school today?”

You sigh. “I didn’t know what to say when I saw you.”

He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing. “So you chose not to see me at all? Was kissing me that terrible?

”No!” You run a frustrated hand through your hair, the spot in your hallway suddenly too cramped. You push him back outside and close the door behind you. “I don’t regret it at all. And I’d do it again if I could.”

Heeseung smirks at that, clearly happy with your response. “So, what’s the problem?”

”The problem is that when you get bored of me, things won’t go back to normal for me like they will for you, Hee. You may think this is a game but—“

Heeseung’s sudden laugh is marked with a bitterness. His eyes grow serious, so much so your words stop short because of his stone expression

”Do you think that little of me?”

Your body tenses at his words, unsure how to respond. You have never thought of him as lesser than once, not since getting to know him. But maybe only looking at your feelings regarding your relationship compromised his own in the process.

He steps closer, your faces an inch apart. “Two months ago, I didn’t realize how much my life was going to change because of you. All I thought about before was basketball. And now, you’re one of the only things outside of that damn game that matters to me. When I haven’t talked to you or seen you for too long it’s like there’s this rock in my gut that I can’t get rid of. I kissed you because I wanted to, not for fun or because it’s this momentary thing.

”So, if you still think I’m going to get bored of you in a few days or weeks or months, then you really aren’t as smart as I thought you were, angel. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Breathless would be too small of a word to describe how his speech affects you. You feel the same buzz of his kiss from a few days throughout your entire body from his words alone. It makes every worry and fear that has plagued you evaporate, replaced with his promises and all the reasons you should jump in headfirst without another thought.

So you do.

You kiss him hard, crashing into his lips and hoping all of the feelings he harbors reflect in the actions of your mouth. You hold onto him with your hands on his neck and the smoothness of your lips in a beautiful rhythm with each other.

Whatever happens next, you know there’s no turning back now.

NOVEMBER

“And Sim, our prime point-guard, passes to Lee. Lee has ten seconds to make another three pointer and win the game. Will he do it? Time to find out!” Kim Sunwoo screams into the microphone, broadcasting the highlights of the semi-final game to the many listeners not attending in-person.

Lucky for you, you have the perfect spot in the stands to watch Heeseung make the winning basket and lead the team to victory.

The crowd roars when your boyfriend secures the team’s spot in the championship game. His teammates lift him up above their heads and shoulders, chanting his name and holding him with all of their strength. Heeseung immediately searches the crowd for you, his excitement fueling his newfound focus.

When he does see you, clapping your hands and cheering with the rest of the bystanders, he kisses the inside of his palm and shoots it in your direction like he’s making another basket. Your heart squeezes at the gesture, but you only blush and wink.

Ever since that day on your doorstep, you can’t seem to separate yourself from him or the feelings he stirs up inside of you. The thought and reality of not seeing or hearing from him for too long immediately dampens your spirits, just like Heeseung described to you when he confessed. Jungwon calls you “lovesick fools” every time you both are in his presence, but it’s not that. The love you feel for your boyfriend is one that strengthens every sense, impulse, and desire. Without it and him, that’s when you feel the weakest. And every time Heeseung smiles at you or holds you close, you can tell he feels the same.

Whether your worlds were the exact same or as different as they possibly could be, you both made your own perfectly fit for just the two of you.

The outside world has to creep in every once in a while, though.

At the end of the night, Heeseung’s arm is wrapped perfectly around you as you walk. You discuss your shared plans for the night and subsequent weekend since your parents are away at a work conference. Heeseung stops short when he sees his father waiting at his car with crossed arms.

“Good job, Hee,” He says first and foremost. “Saw you lost a bit of steam in the third quarter, though. We’ll have to do some more conditioning before the final.”

And there it was. The judgment you saw so often in conversations between Heeseung and his father that made you ache for the boy you loved. As his father, he should’ve been proud to see his sons succeeding, one of them off and playing for a world-renowned team and the other on his way there. Instead, all they received was judgment. It wasn’t your place, but you couldn’t wait for the day Heeseung stood up to him.

“At least I made the winning basket, right?” Heeseung shrugs off the criticism with a laugh and holds you closer. “We have to go eat, so—“

“Of course.” His father moves out of your way. “Lovely to see you again, darling,” He says to you with a small smile as he opens the passenger door for you. You return his greeting, suddenly uncomfortable with how close he is.

On your drive to your house, you try to help Heeseung destress with a hand on his thigh. “Don’t let him get to you,” you say sadly.

He smiles and gives you a knowing stare. “I’ve been dealing with him my whole life. He doesn’t have that power anymore.” He takes your hand from his thigh to hold it tightly in his own palm. “Besides, I’m one step closer to the championship and I got my girl next to me. Nothing’s getting in the way of my good night.”

You set your backpacks down at the door when you step inside your house. Heeseung follows you to the kitchen. While you’re finding the flier with the number of your favorite takeout restaurant, Heeseung presses his lips to your neck. The trail of his kisses going from the back of your ear to the start of your collarbone makes you shiver.”

“Hee,” you warn him. “We won’t be able to eat if you keep distracting me.”

“Food is the second priority,” he responds, lips feathering your skin. “Right now, we need to celebrate the championship.”

“The championship is still three weeks away.”

“If we both know I’m going to win, what’s the point of delayed gratification?” He pulls the sleeve of your shirt down to expose the top of your shoulder, kissing that area too to make your body thrum with pleasure.

“Speaking of that…” You turn to face Heesung, pressing your back against the counter. “I guess we can celebrate something tonight besides your impending win.”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow.

“I got early acceptance to Sky.”

Heeseung’s eyes immediately light up at your announcement. He pulls you in by the waist and spins you around the tiny space between your kitchen island and the fridge.

When the topic of college came up, it was as good a time as any for the two of you to discuss your future plans with each other. As fate would have it, Heeseung planned to play for Sky University’s basketball team next year, and you were waiting on your official acceptance letter when you both started dating.

Now, Heeseung would have the two most important things to him in the next chapter of his life. The boy’s over the moon, as any other person would be.

Heeseung lifts you over his shoulder, immediately heading in the direction of the stairs to take you to your bedroom. He laughs off your mock protest.

He knows for certain he’s in love with you. It may not be the perfect time to say it, especially before he’s about to ravish you, but the perfect time will come when it feels right.

He doesn’t say it when he strips you bare for only his eyes as he kisses you senseless, shocked and grateful your body is for him and him alone to see and cherish. He doesn’t say it as you kiss every inch of his bare chest to send him into a rambling mess of praises and curses.

Somehow, stupidly, the words slip out when your mouth is wrapped around his cock, tongue flat against the underside of his tip as he feels the back of your throat against him.

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

The air stills, both your bodies going rigid at the sudden confession that has just left his lips. But, instead of running scared, you take your mouth off of him and stare deeply into his eyes, smiling wide. “What’d you say?”

Heeseung breathes out a sigh of relief, suddenly taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the second I saw you in that hallway. I just didn’t know it yet.”

You giggle and press another kiss to his lips. He sees a tear leave your eye, and he wipes it away gently with his thumb. “I love you, too, Heeseung.”

You fall back into a steady rhythm of kissing and touching, Heeseung’s hands roaming the skin of your stomach, the swell of your breasts, and the cleft between your thighs, making you moan.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” Heeseung whispers against your lips.

He lays you flat on your back, kissing what areas he hasn’t touched yet with his hands. He needs you to know, in every moment, he chooses you and will never stop choosing to be with you.

If he had to make the choice to either give up the game or you, he would choose the former in a heartbeat. His dad, his friends, and even fate may say it’s young love and you haven’t been in his life as long as basketball has, but they don’t see him the way you do.

Even if he doesn’t say it out loud, he knows he doesn’t have to. 

When Heeseung finally presses his lips to your clit, kissing the nub with adoration, your legs shake at the contact. You instantly run your fingers into his hair. “Fuck,” you curse, the word rarely slipping from your lips save for moments like these.

The first time you had been together, Heeseung didn’t know exactly how to touch you without being terrified it was too much. But now he knows all the ways to turn you into a beautiful mess.

He licks languidly across your center and through your folds, keeping the perfect pace for you to ride your hips against his mouth. He inserts a finger into your entrance after coating the digit in the arousal already pooling at your center. You, typically so put together, are ready to fall apart at the simple press of his mouth against you.

Heeseung knows he can get you off this way, without question. And most nights, he doesn’t mind when you’re the only one who receives pleasure. But tonight, you moan out a request that he can’t say no to.

“Heeseung, please. I want you inside me when I come.” He doesn’t have to be told what to do twice when it’s the best command he’s heard all night.

He takes your mouth in his, holding your jaw in his hand and slightly applying pressure to the side of your neck. A half-empty moan leaves your lips at the sudden contact. To him, the sounds that you make are their own form of poetry, better than anything you’ve read to him all year.

Heeseung quickly grabs a foil packet from your bedside drawer to put on himself, protection being the one thing you can’t forget in the midst of your desire for each other. Lining himself up with your entrance, he thinks you could not look more beautiful with your half-lidded eyes and eager hands grabbing onto his hips to finally push him inside of you.

When he does ease in, he swallows the curse prepared to leave your mouth with his lips. It’s an indescribable feeling, the stretch and pull of your walls taking him in completely. Although you’ve been together many times before this night, it’s still a novelty Heeseung does not take for granted.

He takes his time establishing a rhythm, loving the pants and whimpers you emit because of him and for him. He holds his hand on your throat, his thumb going into your mouth for you to wrap your lips around in a lewd manor.

“Ah, fuck,” you say as he snaps his hips, filling you to the hilt. “Just like that.”

He feels his orgasm in his gut, threading further up his body as he snaps his hips harder and faster, moving in and out at a faster pace than normal. You don’t mind, scratching lines down his back as you cling to him. You’re both reduced to a heap of I love you’s and satisfied sounds, and it could not be more perfect.

“Fuck, Hee, I’m coming,” you say in the form of a promise, one so precious he wants to hear it every day.

The flutter of your walls around him as you fall apart pushes him to his own end, releasing into the condom with a guttural moan. He kisses you deeply before separating from you, running to the bathroom to throw the remnants of your lovemaking into the toilet and clean himself up.

You hold your arms out to him, ready to have him back by your side. He grins and kisses the crown of your forehead.

“Think about all the nights we can do this next year,” Heeseung whispers into the dark.

“I can’t wait,” you respond, pressing a kiss to his sweaty chest. “I love you.”

He grins happily to himself, the words a thousand times more powerful leaving your mouth. “I love you, too, angel.”

With your body curled into his chest, your heartbeats matching in tempo, he thinks no amount of championship wins could compare to the love he’s found in you.

DECEMBER

The basketball feels light as air in Heeseung’s hands, incomparable to the feeling in his chest looking at you. His teammates can tell he’s staring directly at your position in the stands. They wonder how his mind is still so occupied by you, even amongst the sea of spectators waiting for him to either succeed or screw up

Little do they realize, you’re the exact reason he’s going to win the title.

As he looks in your direction, he takes the shot without second-guessing himself. He hears the faint gasps of some attendees and even his coach, but the following swish of the basket in the hoop tells Heeseung all he needs to hear. And all he needs to see is your beautiful, proud face as the gym explodes into cheers.

You’re the best and truest thing he has in this world. He knows he’s a champion, in both the traditional and figurative sense. With you by his side, he’ll always feel like the winner of every game he’ll ever play.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Paging Doctor Novak

Author: Salamitsunami1

Artist: WitchyWorm

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa, past Dean/Rhonda

Length: 40000

Warnings: Graphic and accurate depictions of medicine, medical emergencies, and medical procedures. Past unfaithful Dean. Minor character death

Tags: Rom-com, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Hospital AU, Sexual Tension, Doctor Sexy M.D., Getting Together

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Dean Winchester is many things — a nurse, an in-charge on the medical-surgical floor, and a big fan of the ladies. What he’s not is a commitment kind of guy, and he’s definitely not a night duty kind of guy. Things change when a hook-up-gone-wrong gets him lumped on night duty for an entire month, and to make matters worse, he’s been lumped on night duty with a brand new intern. As with all interns, Doctor Castiel Novak is cocky at best and dangerous at worst, but for some reason, and maybe it’s just the way his ass looks in those teal scrubs, Dean’s got a soft spot for the guy. Or a really hard one. Either way, it’s not long before Dean’s new roster is the least of his concerns; he wants that dorky doctor guy, and fuck, he wants him for real.

Excerpt: Being in charge, Dean’s job is simple — keep on top of any patients coming up from the ER or down from the OR, page the doctor when there’s a problem, and call the doctor when there’s an emergency. That’s how he ended up in Frank Devereaux’s room with the phone to his ear, and because the on-call doctor is almost always an intern this late at night, he’s willing to bet that whoever picks up isn’t gonna know Frank’s ass from his esophagus. “Hello?” “Hello?” Dean questions. “Is this the on-call doc or a Wendy’s?”  “This is Doctor Novak.” “Right. Well, this is Dean from med-surg. I’m calling about Frank Devereaux in bed two. He had a lap-chole yesterday, got back to the ward about six hours ago. His pain’s currently a nine out of ten, he’s just vomited up a whole lot of bile, and I’ve got a real bad feeling.” “Okay,” the intern says, like a question. “Would you like a consult?” Dean sighs wearily. “That’s why I called.” “Of course,” the intern says. “I’m on my way.” The phone call hasn’t exactly filled Dean with confidence, and it only gets worse when the intern stumbles onto the ward — his hair is all over the place, his stethoscope is hanging unevenly around his neck, he’s wearing these teal scrubs that are about a whole size too small and therefore clinging to every inch of him, and he’s wearing them with a pair of fucking Converse high-tops, of all things. All interns are cocky, that’s a given, but the cockiest of all is the surgical intern. Each and every year, guaranteed.  “Hello,” he says. “I’m looking for Dean.” Dean glances down at his own name tag. Unfortunately, it’s still right where he pinned it to his scrub top, so it seems the new intern might not even be able to read. In the interest of being nice, he forces a smile. “You found him.” “Oh. Hello, Dean,” the intern says. “I believe we spoke on the phone.” Dean only nods, waiting for the intern to introduce himself, but he does no such thing. No, this guy just stands there, he runs his fingers through his bedraggled hair, and so now there’s a smear of ink on his forehead where it’s rubbed against whatever’s written on his hand. Pointedly, Dean says, “And what did you say your name was again?” “I’m Doctor Novak.” Dean looks Doctor Novak up, down, then back up again. Taking him apart. He’s got bags under his eyes and cracks in his lips. Doctor or not, this guy’s a fucking mess.  “Well, doc,” Dean says, probably against his better judgment. “Frank’s this way.”

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[nin-nyan-ve]

i llove guys in situations

thank you @chirpos-pencil for such a cute prompt ! although i feel like i havent done justice to this prompt...

cropped versions under cut

[neil-gaiman]

I know your ask box is probably full, so I totally get it if you don't get to this anytime soon, but I need some help.

I'm a sixteen year old aspiring writer with ADHD and anxiety. My writing patterns are horrible. I go months without writing then spit out a hundred pages. I've been writing since I was eight and I've never finished a story longer than a few thousand words because I physically cannot force myself to write in order, though I can eventually fill in the gaps (if I'm given a few months).

I'm trying my best, but it feels like my best isn't good enough for the world. Do you (or any other successful writers you know) have similar problems? Or is this something you overcome with time? Basically wondering if there's hope of me being successful despite these traits. Thanks!

You're sixteen. The reason why the world isn't filled with successful sixteen year old novelists is we were all (or most of us) trying to figure out how to do the writing thing in bursts and spurts and with dozens of beginnings and not a lot of endings, and we have some characters over here and some story over there and we can't work out how to make them align and work together. And so on and so forth.

You are not a failure if you haven't published a Hugo-award winning trilogy by the time you're twenty. You're an egg that hasn't even finished hatching.

Write. Read everything you can. Write more. Finish some short stories. Read more. Write more. Experience some life. Finish longer things. You'll get there. It's not a race. It's a way to learn.

[yuujispinkhair]

CollegeBoy!Sukuna accidentally knocking you up – Part 2 A

-> Option A: "I'm not ready to be a mom"

You can read Part 1 here

I decided to write two different versions of Part 2 (both are comforting). Option A: Reader has an abortion Option B: Reader decides to have the baby(s)

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff. Light angst with a happy end. 2K words. Unplanned pregnancy, Reader has a surgical abortion. Everything goes well. Sukuna takes good care of Reader. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact. Divider@/plutism + dollsciples + benkeibear

Finding out that you accidentally got knocked up by your college sweetheart was definitely a shock. And it didn't end there because now you are faced with having to make a decision that has the potential to change your life forever.

You sleep a night over it and spend the next day going on a long walk with Sukuna, hoping the fresh air will help you clear your mind. It's when you sit down on a park bench and lean against Sukuna's biceps when you ask softly,

"So what are we going to do, Kuna?"

And Sukuna wraps his arm around you and pulls you against his side,

"It's your choice, princess. I will be there for you no matter what. I'm man enough to handle both. And ultimately, it's your body, so you should be the one who makes the decision."

It makes you love him even more.

Sukuna is usually a very dominant person, someone who likes to be in control. Seeing him hold back and give you the reins fills you with deep affection.

You have contemplated both options, glad that Sukuna made it clear that he won't run even if you want to have the baby. But in the end, there is one option that feels more right for you at this point in your life.

When you tell Sukuna that you want to terminate the pregnancy, he doesn't comment on whether this is what he would have decided or not but just pulls you into his strong arms and hugs you, tells you again that he will drive you to the hospital and be there for you all the way.

You practically melt into the comfort of his strong arms as you add softly,

"It's not that I don't want a baby with you, Kuna. You know that, right? It has nothing to do with you. I just think we are too young. I am too young. I don't want the stress of having to be a mom while I still go to college and have to study for exams and try to find a good job, etc. It already seems so much, and when I imagine also having to take care of a little baby, I don't think I can manage all of it, even with you by my side."

Sukuna smiles at you, not one of his smug smirks or flirty boyish grins, but a genuine smile, soft and tender, a smile that is only reserved for you.

"I know, princess. Don't worry your pretty head about this."

Sukuna is with you throughout the whole journey. He drives you to your doctor and insists on going up to the waiting room with you because he knows how nervous you are. He sits next to you, holds your hand, caresses your fingers soothingly, and grins reassuringly at you. He makes a flirty comment and winks at you when your name gets called, trying his best to make you laugh and feel less nervous.

But you know that he is nervous too. When you get back twenty minutes later, you can see that Sukuna is still on the same page of the book he started to read when you left. His mind obviously occupied with other things, just as affected by the situation as you are.

It makes you reach out and hug him tightly, comforting him just like he comforts you, even though he would never admit openly that this makes him anxious just as much as you.

"My doctor already made an appointment at the clinic for me to have another examination and to sign all the documents and stuff. But it's when you have training, so you really don't have to come with me."

But Sukuna rolls his eyes and shakes his head,

"What are you saying? Stop it, baby. Of course, I am coming with you. If I can put my dick in you, I can also accompany you to your appointment. After all, it's my apparently super-fertile sperm that got you into that situation in the first place! I'll skip training. It's not important. Nothing is as important as you are to me."

The next four days feel weird. You go to the examination at the clinic. You listen to the doctor explaining the procedure to you. You nod, you smile politely, and you sign several documents before you get sent halfway through the hospital to meet an anesthetic and sign more papers. They send you home with a sheet full of instructions on what to do before and after the surgery.

You spend the days until the surgery in a daze. Everything feels unreal.

But you aren't alone. Sukuna doesn't leave your side. It's almost funny how he follows you around like a puppy. The big bad boy, all sweet and doting.

On the day of the abortion Sukuna drives you to the hospital. He walks with you to the unit where the surgery will take place, and his large hand squeezes your smaller one so tightly it almost hurts.

You can see and feel how reluctant he is to let go of you and how worried he is about you, even though he tries to hide it and play it cool so as not to make you more anxious than you already are. But his hug is even tighter than usual, almost bone-crushing the way his strong arms tighten around you, and he pulls you against his tall, muscular body.

He kisses you, too deep and with too much tongue for the location, but you tilt your head to let him push his tongue even deeper into your mouth, craving his kiss and his love and the reassurance he gives you that way.

You leave towards the room where you are supposed to change, looking back over your shoulder one last time and Sukuna is still standing there in the hallway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his grey sweatpants, looking so cool with his tattoos and the pink hair. But you can see the tenseness in his broad shoulders and the worry on his tattooed face.

It makes your chest feel warm, and you can't help but mouth "I love you" in his direction, smiling when you see him say the words too.

Your surgery goes by without any complications, and the moment you wake up, a nurse is already by your side, bringing you tea and something to eat, and some painkillers. But you are impatient, wanting nothing more than to leave and be in Sukuna's comforting embrace, feel the warmth of his body and inhale his scent and hear his velvety low voice murmuring sweet nothings in your ear.

You're glad when you are finally allowed to get up and get dressed again, promising the nurse that you have someone who will stay with you for the next 24 hours.

When you leave the changing room, you see Sukuna leaning against the wall right next to the reception. His tattooed face is a bit pale, and he is playing nervously with his tongue piercing once again.

His maroon eyes meet yours, and he is by your side in a second, a strong arm wrapping around your waist and carefully pulling you against his side, steadying you, holding you securely, making sure you won't fall. His lips press against your temple, lingering there for a long moment, warm and soft,

"Fuck. I'm glad you're finally out of there."

You can hear the strain in his low voice, can hear every ounce of worry and anxiety he felt during the last hours when he was sitting in his room, waiting for the hospital to call him and tell him, you are ok.

You lean gratefully against him, feeling a bit dizzy from the anesthetics, glad that you have your strong boyfriend to hold you.

"I'm so glad you're here, Sukuna."

"How are you, princess?"

"I'm good. Just a bit wobbly on my feet. And I need something to eat. I'm starving!"

And Sukuna laughs softly, sounding so relieved,

"Well, how lucky you are that your boyfriend spent the last few hours in the kitchen to distract himself and prepare your favorite dishes for you."

And suddenly, your sight becomes blurry as tears well up in your eyes and run down your cheeks without you even knowing why you suddenly start crying now that it's over when, in the days leading up to the abortion, you didn't shed a single tear!

But maybe all the stress and anxiety of the last few days finally caught up with you. The contradictory emotions of feeling a bit wistful about letting go of that fantasy of Sukuna and you having your own little family versus the relief you feel that it's over and that you can live your life the way you planned.

But you suspect that, most of all, it is the overwhelming love you feel for Sukuna right at that moment. You are so touched by how caring he is. How mature he was in this situation. That he didn't run, that he didn't leave you to deal with all of this on your own. He is so worried about you and does so much to make you feel okay. He is so strong all the time, so you have someone to lean on.

A sniffle escapes your trembling lips, and Sukuna's eyes widen. He pulls you against him, burying his face in your hair and murmuring soothingly to you,

"Hey, baby, it's ok. Everything's going to be ok. Don't cry."

Your hands are on Sukuna's broad chest, and you feel the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart through the soft hoodie he is wearing, comforting and reassuring.

"I'm ok, Kuna, I swear. It's just... I love you so much."

"I love you too."

His voice sounds tender when he says the words, and you snuggle closer to him, lifting your head to look at his beautiful tattooed face. And Sukuna leans down a bit, enough so he can brush his lips over yours.

That's how you end up standing in the middle of the hospital hallway, hugging your boyfriend and kissing him slowly as if the two of you are the only people in this world.

But you make it to the parking lot a few minutes later, walking there with the help of Sukuna's strong arm wrapped around you.

Sukuna is so gentle, so caring. He helps you into the car and puts on your seat belt for you as if you can't do it yourself. He stops at a convenience store to get some pads for you, jogging back to the car as if he is running from a crime scene because he is worried about letting you out of his sight even for a few minutes.

He helps you out of the car again, once you have reached your apartment, picks you up princess-style and carries you up the stairs. He sits you down on the couch, wraps you in a warm blanket and glares at you when you try to get up.

"Don't be a brat! Just stay right here and rest and let me bring you the meal I cooked for you with all my fucking love!"

He brings you the food and plops down next to you, checking if you really eat something, like some super stern nurse, and you can't help but feel warm, knowing that your bad boy is so amazingly sweet and caring when it comes to you.

The moment your face twists in pain, Sukuna is on his knees in front of you, fear in his maroon eyes, his large hands on your thighs, looking up at you with worry written all over his tattooed face.

"What's wrong?"

You grit your teeth and smile shakily at him, reaching out to cup his cheek and caress it tenderly, touched by how worried he is for you.

"It's nothing bad, Kuna. They told me I would get cramps after the surgery. It's perfectly normal! But it feels like really bad period cramps. They gave me some painkillers for that. Can you..."

You can't even finish the sentence before Sukuna is on his feet again, already walking over to your bag,

"I'll get them for you!"

You thank him, and he sits down next to you again, watching you the whole time with narrowed maroon eyes until you chuckle and reach over to ruffle his pink hair,

"I won't drop dead if you stop looking at me for one second, you know, baby? Eat something, too, I know you are hungry!"

"Don't joke about stuff like that, princess. I am just taking my job as your personal nurse seriously."

And he really does. For the next few days, Sukuna barely leaves your side. And even a week later, he is still acting differently around you, and you begin to realize that this is probably how he will always be now. Even more protective. Even more caring.

The unplanned pregnancy and the abortion didn't drive a wedge between the two of you. Instead, it made the two of you grow even closer. You shared a life-altering experience. Because even though you decided not to have the baby, it still will be something you will always carry with you. And you will never forget how Sukuna reacted. How he was there for you. How he respected your decision and how he cared for you.

You learned that Sukuna is more than just the sexy bad boy you can have fun with. He showed you that you can always count on him, that he won't run when real problems occur. You learned that if one day in the future you actually want to have a baby, you have a wonderful man by your side who would be a loving partner and a damn good dad.

You sigh happily as you lie in your bed with Sukuna behind you. He has become more cuddly since accidentally knocking you up. He wants to spend every night at your apartment or asks you to stay at his. As if he needs to hold you every night, keeping you safe and sound, wrapped in his strong arms, his buff body pressing against your back, and his lips trailing lazy kisses over your neck.

The two of you are living your regular lives again, going to classes, studying, going to training, to parties. No one else knows what happened to you. It's a secret between you and Sukuna because you both want it that way. No one else has to know. This is just something the two of you share.

A commercial for baby food starts playing in between two episodes of the crime show you are watching. A young family, mom and dad, and a tiny baby. And even though it's been weeks, it still makes you feel a bit weird to see it.

Sukuna's arm tightens around you. Maybe he felt you tense up, or maybe he had the same thoughts as you when seeing the commercial. Either way, his hand slips down to your belly, caressing it gently, and there's a smile in his low voice when he says,

"You know, it's not the end of it, princess, right? We can still have one.... when we are older. If we want."

You smile and snuggle against Sukuna's warm, muscular body. Your hand lands on top of his larger one, which is resting on your belly now, and you interlace your fingers with his, feeling the weird tension leave your body again.

"If I ever want to have a baby, it will definitely be with you, Sukuna."

I LOVE HIM 💗😭

Thank you so much for all the love on Part 1!! The story wouldn't leave my mind anymore, and after I got several comments and asks where people asked about a possible Part 2, I wanted to continue the story about College sweetheart Sukuna knocking us up and show how Reader and Sukuna deal with both options, so I decided to write two different versions.

I hope you liked Option A and that it could give you comfort.

Option B will be the version where Reader decides to have the baby (or rather babies lol). I plan to post it next week!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

You can find Option B here

[im-ovulating]

Alright, here me out. CollageStoner!Sero and bookworm!reader having grown close and blah blah blah he's casually smoking while yn is reading, but she's reading a spicy book and the main Male character has a Jacob's ladder and now, she's straight up curious as to how sex would work/feel with that piercing, and how convenient is it that Sero just happens to have said piercing 🤔

(A/n: You're speaking my language, Anon)

(Sorry for the delay; this was supposed to be out the other night but tumblr decided to play with my feelings and sap my inspiration to write...)

(Not proofread)

@bigboomboi @neon-gothicc

Word Count: 3,078

Summary- It helps that you have *such* a helpful best friend.

Warnings: Weed, Non-established Relationship, We believe in Hispanic Sero in this household (<- not warnings, it was just funny that it was "Warnings: Weed")

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Stoner! Sero x Fem! Reader: College Experimentation

-----------------------------

You lounge against your bed, book in hand as Sero reclines against your pillows, joint in hand as he scrolls on his phone; there a haze of smoke filling the room, giving you a buzz. Neither of you speak, but it's a comfortable silence.

Your eyes dart across the pages as the main character's love interest backs her into a wall, his hand snaking its way to the hem of her shirt, his fingers dancing across the soft skin of her waist.

It's not until her hand is down his pants, tracing his length before coming to a stop at the feel of solid metal barbells that your head cocks to the side and you let out a soft, "huh…"

Sero glances up at the noise, peering over the mattress at your hunched over form. "Care to share, princessa?"

You blink, head shooting up with wide eyes as you quickly snap the book shut. Your head feels sick from the sudden movement; the secondhand high urging you to get your movements under control. "It's nothing."

Your cheeks burn as you try to gauge whether or not he was reading over your shoulder.

"Nothing, huh?" He braces his weight on his forearms so he can lean closer, the smoke of his joint curling around as your breaths disturb the air between you. "Then why did you close the book without this?" He holds your book mark up with two fingers, twirling it between his fingers before letting it flutter back down to the floor next to you.

"…" You're silent for a beat before you manage to mutter out, "I DNF'd it."

"You DNF'd it? After ranting to me just an hour ago about how much you loved it?"

He raises a brow at you. "C'mon, babes," you inhale sharply at the nickname, "When have I ever judged you for the dirty shit you read?"

He has a point, you regularly rant to him about the raunchy scenes in your books; why does it feel so different now that he's approaching you about it?

You meet his gaze before sighing in defeat. "Fine… Fine! You win."

"Her love interest has his dick pierced and I was just thinking about what that would even feel like - surely that would be uncomfortable to for the partner, right?" It's a metal bar rubbing against some of the most sensitive skin on the body, it has to rip at you and hurt, there's no way it doesn't.

Staring at you, a slow smirk grows on Sero's face as he thinks about something.

With a huff you start to turn away, "See? You're judg-" "Want to find out?"

"What?" You blink, freezing in place.

"I said -" he takes a drag before dropping down enough that your noses almost touch. He grips your jaw in a steady hand to gently press his fingers into your cheeks to pry your lips open; he exhales it slowly from his mouth, forcing you to shotgun the smoke. "- It's your lucky day. Do you want to find out?"

He leans back up, propping himself against your pillows again with a hand behind his head, ever the picture of tranquility. He lets one bent leg fall to the side, showcasing the bulge in his sweats, extra bumps adorn the side of the print that you can see and your mind finally puts two and two together.

"You have it?" You ask, twisting your body to face him. "Why did I not know this?"

"You want updates on my dick?" He teases. "Okay, fine: update numero uno - I'm hard and would like to do something about it. Update dos - you're curious and can do something about it; let's solve each other's problem, yeah?"

Staring at him with your mouth slightly agape, you think it over.

On the one hand, you have been friends with Hanta long enough that he's seen you naked, so you know it wouldn't be that awkward - hell, you're lounging in just an oversized tee and underwear and it's been fine all night; on the other, though, this could break the easy-going friendship you've built.

"Any day now, princessa. I won't be offended if you say 'no'."

You know he's not lying; you've turned him down before - a very drunken night during hazing week - and he has never once made it awkward…

Deciding Schrodinger can suck it, you make your move. This cat is alive and is going to stay that way.

"Okay," you say, getting up to join him on the bed.

He places the joint between hip lips before reaching to pull you into his lap. "Atta girl…" He murmurs, eyes already lidded as his hand slide up your shirt to trace your sides.

He rolls his hips up and you can feel the multiple metal balls drag against you even through the fabric separating you.

"You sure it won't hurt?"

"Haven't had a girl complain yet," Sero smirks, pulling the joint from his lips and holding it to yours. "Take a hit and relax, Amor, I'll take care of you."

The smoke curls in your lungs as you take his offer. You hold it until you feel a cough coming before exhaling. The effects don't hit yet, but the forced deep breath settles you.

Feeling a bit more confident, you rock your own hips down, letting out a sigh at the friction.

"Do you have a condom?" You ask, bracing your hands on his stomach as you grind down harder. His head is leaned back, watching you dry hump him with blown pupils.

"Backpack, smallest pocket on the front," he instructs.

You quickly climb off of him, and lean off of the bed to find it. "You just keep these with you?" You tease, pulling out a sleeve of at least 7.

"Complaining?" Hanta asks with a lazy smile, dropping the roach into an empty soda can on your nightstand.

"No," You rip one off the end and make your way back to him, tossing it at him when close enough. "But I do think you're a whore, now." He hooks his thumbs under his waistband, ignoring your jab as he shimmies them down with his boxers until he can kick them off the bed, his shirt coming next. He brings the packet up to his mouth to rip the foil open with his teeth.

Just before he rolls the condom on, he glances at you, "You gonna strip or am I supposed to just rip your panties off?"

But you're not even listening to him, too busy taking in the nine neatly spaced bars that peak out from the underside of his penis. Just wide enough for the ball screws to be visible from the top.

"Impressive, right?" He jokes. You nod, breathing out a 'yeah' as you step closer. Kneeling on the bed, you reach out to touch the metal but stop just before you make contact.

"Can I?" You look up at him, hand hovering.

Hanta simply grabs your wrist, "I'm about to fuck you and you're asking if it's okay to touch my dick? Go for it, sweetness."

With that, he drags your hand closer until your fingertips graze him; he lets go so you can explore. You close your hand around him, running it up the length loosely, feeling how the bars gently shift with each pass. Sero's breathing gets heavier when you trace the bottom of his cock with your fingertip, feeling the little ridges of the metal beneath the skin.

You rotate one of the barbells to see how snug they are and suddenly he's yanking your hand away, startling you out of your stupor.

Thinking you hurt him, you rush to apologize but he's flipping you onto your back before you can even start. "Fucking tease…" he growls out, eyes dark as he stares down at your shocked form.

Hanta yanks your panties down your legs, barely stopping to admire the silvery strings that connect your cunt to the cotton before they snap. As soon as the offending material is across the room, he's all but ripping your shirt off as you laugh at his impatience.

He quickly rolls the almost-forgotten condom on and pushes into you in one go.

"Ah, fuck, you asshole!" You yelp, cutting off mid-laugh and shifting your hips to accommodate the intrusion.

"What are you gonna do about it?" He pulls back just enough to slam his cock into you, causing you to grip at his arms as you loose a strangled moan. "Nothing? That's what I thought," He smirks, sitting back to properly see you as he starts thrusting.

You can feel the solidity of the barbells pressing into your sensitive walls. It's a bit odd at first, but as he moves, the drag starts to become addictive; the thick bars adding a ridged texture even through the latex that has you basically panting under him, craving more and more of the delicious feeling.

"Feel good?" He teases. When you nod, he hums, "Told ya so~"

"Shuddup," you grumble.

It's when one of the bars catches and harshly drags against you as it snaps back into place that your eyes are rolling back and your back is arching, the most pornographic noise dripping from you as you shudder. Hanta freezes above you, face scrunching up as he lets out an animalistic growl that shoots straight to your cunt. "Fucking hell…"

"I-I'm sorry…" You don't know what caused the tug, but if you had to guess, it was probably from the way you're cunt is clenching around him, unforgiving.

"Don't be, I'm good" he huffs, recovering enough to resume his pace. "Just- try to relax, yeah? Can't fuck you if my dick's ripped." His joke isn't enough to ease your concern, though, and you shift a bit with uncertainty.

"Are you sure?" Your worry is taken out on your bottom lip until his thumb gently pulls it from your teeth.

"I wouldn't still be inside you if I wasn't," Sero reaches his other hand down to trace firm circles on your clit, "now c'mon, sweetness, relax for me so I can fuck this pretty pussy like it deserves."

"God-" You gasp, "-Stop.. *doing* that!"

Your hips jerk up despite your words, chasing the tantalizing pressure of his thumb as it continues to trace the bud. Tingles shoot through you almost painfully as you start to all but hump his hand and you swear you don't mean to knee him in the hip when he lightly pinches your clit. The muscles in your stomach start to tighten as your cunt pulses out a wave of arousal. The wet noises of his cock sliding home again and again echo with the roaring in your ears around your skull, creating a deafening crescendo.

You vaguely hear him growl out a "That's it- Open up for me..."

You're not sure when you loosened around him, but his thrusts have become fast and rough, crashing with a loud *slap* against your ass as your bed frame slams against the wall. You briefly think about the fact that your neighbor is definitely going to be filing a complaint against you with the Dean, but you can deal with that later, you decide.

"God, look at you, taking me so well, my pretty, pretty princessa..." He murmurs, nosing at your jaw. "Doing such a good job for me; taking this dick like you were made for it."

The pleasure fogs your rationale and with the added haze of the pot, you're uttering words you'll definitely regret in the morning.

"Kiss me," you gasp out, reaching for Hanta. This is supposed to be an impersonal fuck, but oh well; he's looking too good, hovering over you with that damn-near feral look in his eyes as he drinks in the way your pussy all but drags his cock back inside with each drive of his hips. Consequences be damned, you want his mouth on yours.

He apparently feels the same if the way he all but dives to slam his lips against yours in a frenzied, messy kiss. His tongue bullies its way into your mouth to tangle with yours, easily winning dominance and eagerly exploring its new terrain - tasting you thoroughly for all you have to offer.

Your head spins at the multiple sensations bombarding you.

HIs hand is still shoved between you, working you in a way that makes you feel like you're floating, slipping ever closer to release. the cloud fogging your mind is the only thing keeping you from tipping over the edge - time feels like it's slowed down just so the two of you can savor this for all it's worth and you can't tell if you're thankful or if you want to scream in frustration. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you want to live under him, stuck being his dumb little cocksleeve, especially with the way his piercings are caressing you in all the right places. Just when you think it can't feel any better than it does, one digs just a tad harder into you and it makes you reel, convinced you're going to go insane.

There's no way a couple pieces of steel are amplifying your pleasure this much - you refuse to believe it.

But believing or not, Hanta still has you writhing under him with your nails digging track down the smooth planes of his back. You're sure you've drawn blood on at least a couple of passes, but if he feels it, he doesn't let on.

Finally pulling away, you greedily suck in a lungful of oxygen, cursing when it makes your vision swim with black and purple spots.

God you're so close. You're so so close and - oh!

'Oh, that's deep...' you think, stunned at the way he reaches impossibly deeper into your soaked cunt when he tosses your leg over his shoulder. Hanta stretches you to your max as he dips down to suck marks into the column of your neck, his free hand stops holding him up as he drags it to your throat, angling your head to the side so he can suck and bite on more of the delicate skin. His weight presses you into the mattress as he stops rubbing on your clit in favor of gripping your hip and dragging you down with each roll of his hips, forcing you to meet him thrust for thrust.

"Hanta-" You whine out, chest heaving from exertion. "I'm, oh god, I'm close... Hanta, please- Please, I wanna cum!"

You know you sound like a cock-drunk whore, but if that's what it takes to finally cream all over his godly cock, so be it.

"Yeah?" He pants, a drop of sweat rolling down the sharp angle of his jaw. It lingers for a second before dripping onto your chest; it rolls down your sternum, curving around the mound of your breast. "Then cum for me, sweetness. Let me see how good this dick is making you feel." His voice is gravelly as he holds your gaze.

You try to look away if only for your own sanity, but he slips his hand up, holding you in place. "Eyes on me, baby..."

It's all way too much, way too fast and you can feel yourself spiraling - the devastating pace of his thrusts, the almost harsh grip he has on your jaw, the intensity with which he watches your every reaction. You can feel the high coming. You can feel yourself becoming Icarus, but unlike he, you're so ready for the crash; almost begging for your waxed wings to melt so you can feel the rush of the fall.

The sun blazes, getting hotter and hotter; you can feel the scorching rays beat down on you as the hot wax starts to drip, burning into your flesh as you reach the extent of your high. And all at once, your wings break apart and the roaring sea rages in your ears as you cum.

"Oh fuck..." You rasp as your nails dig even deeper into his skin, finally drawing a hiss of pain from Hanta.

"That's it, sweetness, there's a good girl..." He grunts out between clenched teeth as you clamp down in him in a vice. "God-" he growls, hips frantically thrusting into you as he chases his own high; he finds it not long after, burying his cock into you as he fills the condom with his spend.

His head hangs between his shoulders as you both catch your breath. "Fuck, you feel so good, babes," He huffs after a while; looking up at you through his damp bangs, he gives you a shit-eating smirk, "Might have to do this more often~"

"Don't go falling for me just yet, Sero" You chuff with no venom, staring at your ceiling as your heart calms down.

He starts to pull out of you, causing you to hiss at the sudden emptiness. Hanta removes the condom, tying it off and just barely making it when he shoots it at your deskside trashcan.

"One sec," he says, getting off the bed with a soft grunt and heading to your bathroom. After a bit of rummaging and the sound of your sink running, he slips back towards you with a damp wash cloth in hand. "I'mma need you to spread those sexy-ass legs for me one more time, Princessa." He only laughs when you chuck a pillow at him, gripping your ankles to drag you down the bed and spreading them himself.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm oh-so awful and your new nemesis," Hanta mumbles at your protests, lightly wiping away the sweat and cum from between your thighs. "Betcha feel better now, though." He tosses the cloth at your face, making you let out an indignant scream.

He can't help but cackle at your reaction, head tossing back as his deep rumble echos through the room. "It's your own fluids??" He lets out his own screech when you chuck it as his own face. "Now that's just nasty!" He tries to dodge it, laughing. It lands on the ground with a wet thud and he finally climbs back onto your bed - well, he jumps over you, landing on his back before dragging you into his side.

"You never answered me about doin' this again," he mumbles into your hair, chuckling at your answering chest smack.

"...definitely..."

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

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

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

December.

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

You hate every fucking minute of it.

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

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

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

Never mind.

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

“Tommy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How am I holding up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

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

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

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walk me home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

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

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

You don’t?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

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

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

“’n whose fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I’m craving?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

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

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

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

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

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

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

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

And I mean anything. OK?

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

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

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom.

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

Mom. Mom and Dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

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

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

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

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

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

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

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

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

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

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

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

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

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

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

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

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

Let go.

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

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

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

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

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

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

But right then –

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

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

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

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

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

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

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

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

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

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

Your head shakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel.”

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

“You have to go.”

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

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

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

He leaves on Saturday morning.

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

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

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

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

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

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

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

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

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

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

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

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

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

“Hm. Now go.”

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

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

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

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

A one-night stand.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

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

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

[jinxthequeergirl]

The ol Switcharoo (pt1.)

Stan x reader/ Ford x reader

Summary: you liked to assume you knew Stanford Pines better then most, but when you return to him after am extended trip you aren't sure you really do

Warning: NONE, she's looking as all hell and I apologize, it's mess I know but it's a start ok

Chat feel free to tell me is this is a dumb idea

~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~

You where a weird kid growing up.

A fact you wouldn't deny. Even as a child you knew you where diffrent and what intrested you was odd. You embraced it. You loved all things creepy and crawly. While most kids your age had posters of there favorite superheros or cartoon characters while your room was plastered with that of monsters and ghouls.

Things from Dracula all the way to the Mysterious Mothman decorated your room, they were the movies you had on repeat books you stuffed your nose in. You loved it all. As you got older, you loved them more, thrusting yourself into science to prove they could existed in the natural world that they DID!

The supernatural world was out there and you where going to explore it. Even as a kid you would be caught monster hunting always running headfirst into adventure no fears.

Your mother was supportive of your every decision regardless of if she believed it lead anywhere or not. She was more happy you where just passionate about something at all and was eager to send you to college.

That's what led you straight to Stanford Pines. The man you would proudly proclaim as your best friend. You'd met during one of your shared classes in college, quickly finding out you had almost similar interests and ideals, everything he had to say fascinated you. And he was more then happy to have someone so eager to find the supernatural with him.

Soon enough you where inseparable. (Y/n) and Standford there was no stopping the pair of you two through all of college whatever you two went through you went through together ups and downs everything was shared. Adding fiddleford to the mix and your trio was complete.

You where of course the first person he had asked to move into his house in gravity falls to further your research together.

"This place is incredible Fordsie I mean think of how much is actually out there!" You exclaimed gesturing to the untamed woods of Oregon from the roof of the house. Ford chuckled adding the finishing touches to a page in his second edition journal before offering it too you for your stamp of approval.

You gladly accepted the book. "And just think about everything else there is to come once we get the machine up and running!" You took a pen of your own and scribbled something in, nodding in agreement to his statment before sitting down beside him.

You took in a breath of fresh air and exhaled a sigh of relief. Ford copying your action. "To think I almost would have never made it this far." He said staring up at the darkening sky.

"Well let's not think like that fordsie, everything that almost stopped you from coming here got you here didn't it?" You said as if you where asking the stars that began to speckle the sky.

He looked over at you. "Everything happens for a reason sixer. Plus you got me out of it didn't you?" You joked nudging him with your elbow.

"That It did." He mused while watching you stare up at the sky with content. He gave a soft smile. Of all the great mysteries in the world, you became his favorite. It didn't matter how well he though he knew you you still surprised him every day.

That was in the spring.

Everything about your life with Ford felt new, exciting, and perfect. You felt like your bond was stronger then ever, over the summer and fall. The perfect balance of cool and calculates and a fearless risktaker. You filled in for eachother where the other lacked completing eachother perfectly. Making your adventures flow smoothly.

Ford found himself thinking like this about you more often, stealing long looks at you when he thought you weren't looking. Standing closer to you, the trash in his room became filled with crumpled ink work of your likeness.

You had enjoyed the sudden burst of closeness you two had shared over the months you'd been in Oregon together it certainly didn't go as unnoticed as he had hopped it did.

He was a smart man, that was the one fundamental truth about himself no one could deny. But he was utterly clueless when it came to his own feelings

"Oooohwe you got it baaAAD don't you Stanford?" His face flushed at fiddlefords sudden outburst of excitement. "What are you talking about!?" He asked in a sharp hushed tone quickly averting his gaze from you only a few feet away.

"Standford I have known you almost ad long as you and y/n have been friends and I'm no expert but I do think I recognize how you look at them has changed."

"I pfft.. I wouldn't...that's my bestfriend-" He fumbled for his words face flushed a deeper red then before as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Mcgucket! Fordsie! I'm head up to bed for the night! Don't stay up too late." You chimmed in with a yawn.

"Hahah! Yes very good y/n! Very good get good rest for not let the gnomes bite! Ahaha" Ford blurted. You laughed as you continued up the steps.

Fiddleford laughed once where had va ished from sight. "I'm just making an observation...I'm not saying you lay awake at night thinking about her. But your secretis safe with me." Ford let out a sigh of relief at fiddlefors reasuring words they wherent up much longer before both retiring to their rooms. Stanford proceeded to lay in bed that night staring up at his ceiling.

"Oh no."

When the winter rolled around things began to change. All the good memories you had together seemed to suddenly get lost and where instead replaced with something bad.

You remember sitting next to fiddleford staring at your bestfriend fall asleep in the middle of the floor waiting for something to happen. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

You where the first tobask the question both of you had been thinking. "If this thing can offer Ford everything we need to know about starting up this portal...then I say the risk is worth it...right?"

You chewed on your inner cheek staring intently at the man on the floor.

Since the winter rolled around and Ford had met this mysterious "muse" You felt a sense of unease fall over the house, Ford had suddenly become distant always away with the being. "Are you jealous?" Fiddleford pipped up turning away from Ford.

"Jelous?" You chucked. "Of what? There's nothing to be jealous of! Or even a reason to be jealous! If Ford wants to abandon his friends for some interdemensinal being that he wont share much about or even introduce us then fine by me!" You huff out the words folding your arms over your chest.

Everything went downhill pretty fast or at least that's what your memory served, by the time you where ready for the first test of the portal all the way to fiddlefords accident with the machine your new exciting life unraveled before your eyes.

He wasn't functioning the way he used

"Fordsie...I think we need to take a break."

He was pacing infront of you rappedly tapping a pen against his temple. "We can't stop now! We are to close."

You frowned, he was different now no doubt this wasn't the same Ford you had be friened only a few years ago, this wasn't the same Ford you had grown to love. He was far more distant now, all the little things he thought went unnoticed by you completely stopped. He kept his distance now. He was losing sleep because of this now, if it wherent for you he wouldn't even be eating.

"Ford I'm serious! Fiddleford got hurt...I don't think it's a good idea to continue we need time to stop and clear our heads!"

"My head is clear y/n! With bill by my side I know we can-"

"STANFORD PINES."

Stan stopped in his tracks. It had been a while since you had referred to him like that. He turned to you watching you pinch the bridge of your nose. Since when did you look so tired? And where you...angry with him?

"Stanford our friend was hurt because of this , it's time to take a step back and to reevaluate before someone else gets hurt...we need to get out of this house...maybe out of gravity falls for a while."

Ford stared at you for a while and you stared back for some reason in only a few months it felt like the both of you where looking at strangers. You watched as the gears turned in Fords head before he spoke up.

"Your right."

You perked up at his words taken aback by them.

"I think it would be in our best intrest if we both went to see our families for some time."

Again you where surprised by the words that left his mouth. He'd never spoken to you about his family you had always assumed they wherent close. At the same time part of you hoped he'd want to vacation with you somewhere warm away from the snow. So place that would bring back the real Ford.

"OK, we can do that." You said offering a warm smile.

That night Ford helped you pack so you could catch the first bus out of gravity falls that morning, he promised he'd be leaving the next day.

It was quiet while he helped. He wasn't joking with you or excitedly retelling one of your adventures from the summer.

Your mind still kept wondering back to how this could be the same person. Maybe this was who Ford was all along and you where blinded by the thrill of adventure.

"Promise to write?" You asked

"I promise."

"I'll see you in a few weeks."

Still you knew things would be better when you both returned from a long over do break. You watched a bundled up Ford wave you goodbye from the snow as your bus pulled away and you sighed.

Ford frowned as he watched your bus drive into the distance. This was for the better right? He could see the worry and pain he had seemed to be causing you which was never his intention. He didn't want to lie to you just to get you away to take care of yourself but if that's what it took to do just that.

You eneded up returning when the snow had melted in gravity falls. You hadn't meant to be gone that long, your family had begged you to stay and your mother needed the help around the house, you had wrote Ford like you promised but it seemed like the mail was eating up your letters. Either way you had been well rested and eager to return to your friend and to work. You took a hopeful deep breath once your feet hit the gravity falls soil.

"StanFord!? Are you home yet!?" You shouted, pushing open the door to the house. You were met with silence.

"Fordsie!?" You stepped further in carefully. You noticed all of the science equipment and creatures you had collected over the past year or so had been moved and almost put on display. You heard a floorboard creek, and you stayed silent, pressing up again the wall by the door, ready to either surprise your friend or scare an enime.

The door swung open and a familiar face appeared yelling welding a baseball bat.

You screamed, falling back onto yours, butt. "FORD WAIT! WAIT, IT'S ME ITS Y/N!!!" You shouted, holding your hands up to shield yourself. He stopped yelling and lowered the bat. "Y/n?...."

"Yes, it's me. Please put the bat down!"

"What are you doing here?" He asked, placing the bat down and staring at you. "I live here with you, remember?"

The man seemed to stare at you like he was trying to figure out why he knew you. "Y/n! That's right!" He helped you up.

"I wasn't away for that long, was I fordsie?" You chuckled.

"Oh uh no no it's not that...uh come inside. we have some uh catching up to do.." You raised your eyebrow at him now, getting a better look at him. Something was off.

But you followed him to the kitchen, hoping your doubt and worry would wear off soon.

"Hey by the way...would you mind calling me stan from now on?"

[x0xomady]

gold rush

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅.𖥔 ݁ ˖

pt.2 - ☁️

(harry styles x female reader)

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, NONCON, housewife kink, corruption kink, spit kink, humiliation, misogynistic themes, cheating (not on y/n), manipulation, no aftercare, harry is an asshole, p in v, oral m recieving, degrading behavior, unprotected sex, it’s just nasty. (all characters are 18+)

summary: during the 1850’s, families moved out to california for the gold rush. it just so happens that harry’s family moved out to the same town as yours. or, an older man cheats on his wife and corrupts the innnocent girl living next door.

a/n: okay this is based on THIS request. read the warnings first, if this isn’t your thing, IGNORE IT.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅.𖥔 ݁ ˖

"y/n." my mother's voice echoed through our small wooden house. "come and get washed up for dinner!"

i was so deep in my book that i nearly missed her calling my name. “what?" i said, snapping out of my reverie.

my mother appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips, looking at me with an exasperated expression. “stop reading and get cleaned up. we're having guests over tonight for dinner, and i need you to look presentable.”

i nod as i mark the page and set my book aside. i knew how important manners and appearances were to my mother, especially when we had guests over for dinner.

“who are the guests?”

my mother raised an eyebrow at my question, as if surprised i even had to ask. "the new couple that just moved into the old cabin down the road. they just had a newborn, and your father asked them to come over for dinner."

i nod as a feeling of dread creeps over me. it wasn't the first time we had hosted newcomers to the settlement, but the idea of having to be on my best behavior in front of strangers was always nerve-wracking.

“okay, i’ll go get ready." i say as i make my way to the washroom.

𖥔 2 hours later 𖥔

the dining room is filled with the tantalizing aroma of roasted meat, which we only eat on special occasions, and potatoes. the flickering flames of the oil lamps dimly illuminate the room, casting a warm glow over everything.

mother is bustling about, making sure everything is just so. the table is set to perfection, with a white lace tablecloth draped across it and sets of our best porcelain plates set atop it.

my father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a perpetually serious expression, sits in his usual spot at the head of the table. he looks up as i walk into the room, and gives me a slight nod of approval. at that, i take my place at the table, my stomach churning with nerves. being an introvert is all fine until you have to meet new people.

a knock on the door signals the arrival of our guests, and my heart begins to race. i straighten my dress and take a deep breath, trying to compose myself as my mother goes to answer the door.

the sound of our guests' voices and footsteps echo through the house, making my chest feel tight. my mother leads them into the dining room, smiling widely with her best hospitality. as the guests enter the room, i lift my gaze and look at them for the first time.

.“y/n, this is mrs. styles, and her new baby elijah.” my mother motions towards mrs. styles. she is a very attractive looking woman, with long blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. i smile politely and stand up from the table to greet her.

“it's lovely to meet you, mrs. styles," i say softly with a smile. i notice baby elijah, who is sleeping soundly in his mother's arms for the first time, swaddled in a blanket. “you have a very cute baby.”

mrs. styles smiles warmly as she looks down at her sleeping baby. "thank you. he's only a few weeks old, but we already adore him so much."

my mother offers to take the baby, and mrs. styles hands him over to her, revealing the man standing behind her for the first time.

“oh yes, and this is mr. styles.” my mother introduces me to him quickly before carrying the baby over to the table and starting a light conversation with mrs. styles.

he is a tall, well-built man with a handsome face, green eyes, and thick brown hair. he is at least 10 years older than me, but at least 10 years younger than my father.

he looks over the room, his gaze finally landing upon me. i quickly drop my eyes and sit back down, feeling my cheeks flush. i can feel his eyes on me, and i'm not quite sure how to react.

suddenly, mother motions him over to the table, and he takes the seat next to my father.

as everyone sits down, my stomach begins to churn even more nervously. i glance at mr. styles every now and then, feeling his eyes on me.

conversation flows around the table, with my mother and mrs. styles talking about the baby. mr. styles and my father discuss work and the town.

the meal progresses, but I am not able to focus on my food. my mind keeps wandering to mr. styles, and i can't help but steal glances at him throughout the dinner.

he seems to notice my glances, and his piercing green eyes keep flicking towards me, making my heart race.

the meal is generally mild with small talk shared between my parents and the new couple.

“y/n honey, would you please take elijah out for a little while? mrs styles would probably like some time to eat.”

my mother gives me a “listen. now.” look and motions for me to take the baby. i nod and stand up from the table, taking elijah from his mothers arms.

“thank you darling, that’s so sweet of you.” mrs styles smiles and squeezes my hand as i take the baby from her and walk him out of the dining room.

once out of the dining room, I make my way to the back porch, walking slowly so as not to wake the baby. the night air is cool and refreshing as i sit down on the small wood bench my father had built for the porch.

I cradle the baby in my arms and look down at him, admiring his tiny, peaceful face. The only sound is the soft crackling of the fire from inside the house, and the occasional chirping of cicadas in the trees.

“you’re a very sweet baby.” i hum and look down at his soft little face.

as i sit there, slowly rocking and cooing at the baby, i hear footsteps behind me. i turn my head to see mr. styles walking out onto the porch, his green eyes meeting mine.

mr. styles leans against the porch and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with a quick flick of his lighter. he takes a long drag, and lets out a plume of smoke into the night air.

he studies me for a moment, his eyes locking with mine before he speaks.

"you seem to have a way with children. he's sleeping soundly.” he motions to the baby in my arms, and I look back down at Elijah, who is indeed still asleep, his little chest rising and falling gently.

"i suppose i do," i replies softly, looking back up at mr. styles.

he takes another hit from his cigarette, the smoke swirling in the air around him as he gazes at me intently.

“hm. you’re a lot better with him then i. when the wife had him i couldn’t even hold him.” he hums and leans against the post, watching me soothe elijah.

i smile softly, watching the baby's eyelashes flutter as he sleeps. "it takes a lot of patience."

mr. styles nods as he takes another drag from his cigarette. "im not exactly the most patient person."

just then the door to the house opens again. my mother and mrs. styles step out the door.

“it was so lovely to have you two over, it’ll be great to have you in the town.” my mother smiles and hands mrs. styles a basket of baked goods she made to welcome them to the area.

mrs. styles takes the basket, smiling warmly at my mother. “thank you so much for hosting us. we really appreciate warm welcome.”

i hand the tightly swaddled baby back to mrs. styles and bid my goodbyes to elijah.

mr. styles snuffs out his cigarette and steps towards the two women, his gaze flickering to me once more before returning to my mother.

"thanks for dinner ma'am." he says to my mother with a charming smile.

my mother smiles warmly and pats him on the shoulder. "it was our pleasure."

mrs. styles thanks my mother again and turns to me.

“you know y/n, if you’re ever free i would love to have you over. you were so sweet with elijah i really appreciate it.”

i’m slightly taken aback by mrs. styles’ offer, pleasantly surprised. “of course, i would love to come by sometime.”

mrs. styles smiles and squeezes my hand once more before turning to my mother. “we best get going. it’s getting late.”

“of course, safe travels home.” my mother nods.

mrs. styles bids us goodbye and she and mr. styles walk down the path, disappearing into the night.

my mother turns to me with a satisfied smile on her face. “i think that went well.”

i nod, still feeling a little bit of butterflies from mr. styles' gaze. my mother smiles and pats my back.

“cmon dear, let’s get inside and wash up.”

𖥔 3 weeks later 𖥔

it's a warm bright day, as it usually is in early july. i walk down the dust path into the town center. there isn’t much in our small town, but we do have the necessities.

i continue past the main square, and make my way down the road towards the ranches on the south of the town. my white summer dress glides across the dirt road as i walk.

a few ranch houses are nestled among the trees, and there are pens full of livestock next to some. i come up to mrs. styles' house, and take a deep breath before walking up to the familiar front door.

since meeting the family weeks ago, i’ve had the opportunity to spend time with mrs. styles and occasionally watch elijah for her.

i knock on the door and wait for a response. after a moment, i hear shuffling from inside, and the door swings open to reveal mrs. styles, holding elijah in her arms.

“y/n! so nice to see you, come inside honey.” she smiles widely and opens the door further, motioning for me to come in.

i return mrs. styles' smile, and enter the house. it's a modest house, but cosy. the living room is filled with natural light as the windows on all sides are open, letting in a warm summer breeze.

“thank you so much again for agreeing to watch elijah. i would have harry watch him, but you know how men are.” she smiles and hands elijah to me.

i take the baby from her, immediately cradling him against my chest. he looks up at me with wide eyes, and i smile down at him.

"of course, i don't mind at all."

she nods and squeezes my shoulder lightly. “thank you again, honey. i’ll be back in a few hours, you’re welcome to the lemonade i made.”

i nod at mrs. styles as she grabs a small basket of laundry from a nearby chair, and heads out of the house. the sound of the door shutting echoes through the small house, and i walk over to the nearby couch and sit down.

elijah is quiet in my arms, and slowly begins to drift off to sleep.

i sit there for a few minutes, the baby’s soft breathing the only thing to break the comfortable silence. i gently rock him in my arms, watching as his eyelashes flutter against his soft cheeks, while he sleeps. the afternoon sunlight pours through the windows, warm and soft against my skin.

mr. styles shuts the door behind him and takes a step further into the house, not noticing me right away.

he is wearing a simple cotton shirt and tan brown pants with a hat perched atop his head. dust follows each step as his boots move across the wood floor. he turns to me, his green eyes quickly find my own in surprise.

“what are you doing here?” his deep voice rumbles through the air, filling the room. i shift uncomfortably on the couch, still holding the baby close to my chest.

i can feel my cheeks flush under his intense gaze. “mrs. styles asked me to watch elijah for her while she does some laundry and runs some errands.” i look down at the sleeping baby in my arms, my heart racing.

mr. styles walks closer to me, his footsteps loud against the wooden floor. he comes to a stop in front of me, his tall figure looming over me.

he doesn't say anything, and for a few moments he just stands there, studying me. i can feel his eyes on me, and my heart starts to pound against my chest.

“well alright then…” he nods and takes his hat off, placing it atop the coat rack.

he stands there momentarily before walking over to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. he takes a few sips before turning back to me, leaning against the kitchen counter.

i assume by his rugged appearance that mr. styles had just finished his work for the day. my mother has told me that he is a cattle rancher, and works on their ranch for hours a day.

my eyes stay on the baby cradled in my arms, keenly aware of mr. styles' gaze on me. he sets his glass down and walks closer, stopping about a foot away from me. he glances at the baby, who is currently sleeping against my chest.

“he’s out like a light. you can go set him down in the crib.” he nods towards the wooden crib on the side of the room.

i nod, and slowly stand. i walk over to the crib and gently lay the sleeping baby down. he shifts slightly, but soon relaxes back into a deep sleep. i look down at him, watching his delicate little face as he breathes slowly.

i turn around to find mr. styles still watching me with a serious expression on his face. his arms are crossed, and his green eyes are intense.

"you're a shy thing, aren't you?" he asks, his voice low and gruff.

i feel my cheeks heat up, and i look down at the dusty hem of my dress. “yeah, i guess so," i nod.

mr. styles nods, and takes a step closer to me. “hm… this is a pretty small town, aint it? must not be a lot of others around your age.”

i nod, still looking down at my dress. “yeah, it is pretty small. i don’t know many people my age.”

he hums and looks down at me for a second. my body freezes up when i feel his rough hands grab my jaw lightly. he tilts my head up so i’m looking at him.

“well you’re definitely a pretty thing.” he says looking down at me.

i can feel my cheeks flush even more at his words. i look away, trying to avoid his intense gaze.

“thank you…” i mumble, feeling my heart race in my chest.

“you don’t have to be so nervous around me, i don’t bite.” he says roughly. i nod, my cheeks still flushed.

“i know, i just…” i trail off, looking away from him. he hums and nods, letting go of my chin.

"uh… is there anything else i can help you with?" i ask quickly, trying to change the topic.

mr. styles looks at me for a moment before nodding. he holds his hand up and motions for me to walk over to him.

“maybe there is… c'mere darling.”

i hesitate for a moment, unsure of what he wants me to do. i look down at my hands, which are still shaking slightly from the adrenaline. i take a deep breath and slowly walk over to him, stopping just in front of him.

mr. styles looks up at me, his green eyes intense. he leans back against the sofa and lets his legs open comfortably. he looks at me for a second, his eyes trailing over me. i can feel my heart pounding in my chest as he studies me.

"you know," he speaks, his voice low and rough. "ever since my wife had the baby, i've been feeling less and less satisfied."

i listen as he speaks. i'm not sure what he means, but his words make me feel uneasy. i look down at my hands, trying to avoid his gaze.

"i don't understand, sir," i say, my voice barely above a whisper.

he chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that makes me slightly uneasy. "i'm not surprised, darling. you're young and naive."

i feel my cheeks burn at his words. i'm not sure what he's getting at, but i know it's not appropriate. i take a step back, trying to put some distance between us.

"uh- maybe we should just wait until mrs. styles gets home-" i say nervously, trying to deflect the tension that's building in the room.

mr. styles raises an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving mine. "oh, i think we can handle things just fine without her," he says, his voice dripping with an unsettling confidence. he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes locked on mine.

i take another step back, trying to put even more distance between us. "i-i don't think that's appropriate, sir," i stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.

he hums again, his eyes never leaving mine. “oh, relax, darling," he says. he holds his hand out and motions for me to step closer to him. “i know what i’m doing, and i know how much you like to help, you’re a sweet girl.”

i hesitate, unsure of what to do.. mr. styles' gaze is fixed on me, and i can feel his intensity like a palpable force.

i nod and carefully step forward again so i’m standing just in front of him. he smiles a little and reaches up to take a hold of my hips, pulling me to stand between his legs.

l my heart pounds in my chest as he looks up at me, his gaze intense. he leans forward, his breath hot against my neck as he whispers, “hm, you’re a good girl, aren't you?"

i swallow hard, my throat dry, and i nod hesitantly.

he hums in approval and leans back against the sofa, his hands still on my hips. "good," he says, his voice low. "now, i want you to help me with something."

his fingers tighten around my hips, and i can feel his thumbs digging into my skin. i try to take a step back, but his grip is firm.

"w-what is it, sir?" i stammer, trying to hide the blush creeping up my face. mr. styles' gaze never wavers, his eyes fixed on mine with an unnerving intensity.

"i want you to help me…relax," he says, with an innocent look on his face.

“you know, i wouldn’t normally ask you, as this is my wife’s job,” he sighs and looks up at me. “but, she is just so exhausted with the baby…”

i try to nod sympathetically, but my mind is racing with alarm bells. this is not right. men aren’t supposed to touch me this way- especially since i’m not married.

mr. styles' hands tighten around my hips, and i feel a jolt of fear. i try to take a step back, but his grip is firm. he's not letting me go.

“…how can i help?" i mumble nervously, looking up to meet his eyes.

mr. styles smirks, his grip on my hips tightening. "can you kneel on the floor for me, darling?"

i hesitate for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest. i know this is wrong, but i can't seem to find the words to refuse him. i slowly lower myself to my knees, my eyes never leaving his.

mr. styles hums in approval, his hands moving from my hips to cup my jaw as he watches me.

i feel the nerves run through me as his thumb brushes against my bottom lip. "good girl," he murmurs and looks down at me.

my heart races in my chest as i look up at him, my eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.

mr. styles traces my lips with his thumb as he speaks, "i want you to take care of me, darling. can you do that for me?"

i swallow hard, my throat dry as i nod my head. “h-how?”

“it’s alright," he whispers. "i'll show you." his hands move from my jaw to his pants, his fingers quickly unbuttoning the top of them.

my eyes widen in shock and fear as he does this. i shake my head and try to get up from the floor. “no- mr. styles this is very inappropriate”

mr. styles shakes his head. “oh, darling, there’s nothing wrong in helping a friend. you don’t want my wife to tire out, do you?.”

“i don’t know if this is right.” i look at him nervously and try to pull away.

“oh but you’re so sweet,” he hums and traces my jaw with his thumb. “just try sweetheart, can you try?”

i hesitate, looking into his eyes, my heart pounding in my chest. i feel a mixture of fear and confusion, unsure of what to do. i take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and nod my head.

mr. styles smiles, his eyes lighting up with satisfaction. “good girl,” he murmurs. he pulls me closer to him, his legs spreading wider to accommodate me.

his hands reach down into his trousers as he pulls out his length. my eyes widen in shock, and my face instantly flushes in shame. i try to look away, but he grabs my jaw and turns be back to him.

he spits into his hand and strokes himself slowly, his eyes fixed on mine. i try to speak, to tell him to stop, but my voice is caught in my throat. my mind is racing, trying to process what is happening, but i'm frozen in place, unable to move or speak.

"give me your hand, y/n" he says, holding out his hand expectantly. i hesitate, unsure of what to do, but his gaze is intense, as if daring me to refuse. my heart racing, i slowly reach out, my hand trembling as i place it in his.

mr. styles' fingers wrap around mine, his grip firm as he guides my hand towards him. i try to pull back, but he holds tight, his eyes never leaving mine. my face flushes even more as i realize what he wants me to do. i try to shake my head, to tell him no, but my voice is still caught in my throat.

"come on, darling," he says. "just a little help."

he moves my hand and puts it around his length, his own hand wrapping around mine to keep it in place.

mr. styles lets out a low groan, his eyes closing as he leans back against the wall. "that's it, darling," he murmurs. “move it up and down- just like that.”

i feel a surge of shame and embarrassment as i'm forced to comply, my hand moving slowly along his length. he tugs my hand along his cock, guiding me into a slow, rhythmic motion.

his pupils are dilated, and his breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling with each stroke. i can feel my heart racing, pounding in my chest like a drum, as i struggle to process what's happening.

"oh fuck," he groans out. "such a good girl."

his grip tightens around my hand, his fingers digging into my skin as he guides me into a faster rhythm. i can feel him growing harder in my hand, his length pulsing with each stroke.

"you like helping, don't you?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

my face flushes with embarrassment. “i- i don’t know," i say, my voice barely above a whisper.

he hums, his grip tightening around my hand. “do you want to help me relax even more?”

i hesitate, unsure of what he means. i can feel my heart racing, my face flushed with embarrassment. “h-how?”

mr. styles sees my hesitation and smirks. “oh, darling, don't worry. i'll show you.” he leans back against the couch, watching me with a blissed expression on his face. “can you to take me in your mouth? oh, I know you can darling, you’re such a good listener.”

my heart is racing, pounding in my chest like a drum, as i struggle to process what's happening. i feel a surge of shame and embarrassment, my face flushing with heat. i try to shake my head, to tell him no, but my voice is still caught in my throat.

mr. styles' grip tightens around my hand, his fingers digging into my skin as he guides me into a faster rhythm. i can feel his length pulsing with each stroke.

“yes, be a good girl and wrap your lips around the tip for me, darling.” he moves his hand away from my own and puts his hand against the back of my head. he gently nudges me forward to take him in my mouth.

my nose crinkles up in slight disgust at the thought of doing it, but i don’t want to do anything wrong. what if he’s right? what if mrs. styles really does need me to help? she’s such a sweet lady, i wouldn’t want her to tire out… especially since she just had a child…

i hesitate for a moment, but mr. styles' grip on my head tightens, and he guides me closer to him. i can feel his length pulsing in my hand, and i know that i have no choice but to comply.

i take a deep breath and slowly lean forward, my lips parting as i take the tip of his cock into my mouth.

his thick length pulses against my tongue, and i try to focus on the task at hand, trying to ignore the shame and embarrassment that washes over me.

mr. styles lets out a low groan, his grip tightening around my head as he guides me further onto him. "oh, darling," he murmurs, his voice raspy. "you're doing so well, can you suck the tip for me?"

i hesitate for a moment, my mind racing with thoughts of what i'm doing and the sins i’m committing. i try to think of mrs. styles, of how she needs me to help, but my conscience is screaming at me to stop.

hesitantly i tighten my lips around the head of his cock and suck it into my mouth. mr. styles' eyes flutter closed, his chest rising and falling with each stroke. his fingers dig deeper into my scalp, holding me in place as he begins to rock his hips gently.

"oh, yes," he groans in pleasure, his hips buck up desperately. "just like that, darling. you're perfect."

mr. styles' grip tightens around my head, his fingers digging into my scalp as he guides me further onto him. i try to pull back, to take a breath, but he holds me in place, his grip firm.

"good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "open up that throat for me, just relax." my eyes fill up with tears, and i gag as his cock hits the back of my throat.

mr. styles' grip tightens around my head, his fingers digging deeper into my scalp as he holds me in place. i try to pull back, but he's too strong.

"relax, darling," he whispers. "you're doing so well. just a little more."

i try to nod, but my head is locked in place by his grip. suddenly, he pushes me down further, and i feel his cock hit the back of my throat again.

tears stream down my face as i gag, my body involuntarily trying to expel the intrusion. mr. styles' fingers dig deeper into my scalp, holding me firm as he begins to rock his hips in a slow rhythm.

before i can register what’s happening, mr. styles grabs the back of my head and pulls me off his cock unexpectadely.

“i’m sorry sweetheart, was that too much?” he hums and presses a kiss to my forehead. the sweet gesture was a complete change from the harsh movements he did just moments before.

i gasp for air, my chest heaving as i try to catch my breath.

“you did so well, darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “i’m so proud of you.”

i nod weakly, my throat still sore from the intrusion.

mr. styles smiles at me, his eyes soft and gentle. "come here,"

he picks me up and places me on his lap so i'm straddling his legs. I can feel his cock pressing against my stomach, and I try to ignore the complete embarrassment I feel. everything that just happened goes against everything my mother and father taught me.

mr. styles leans forward, his lips brushing against my ear. “are you alright?" he tilts his head and looks at me with a soft expression.

“i’m okay…” i nod weakly, unable to speak much after the sharp pain. mr. styles' eyes lock onto mine, his gaze piercing as he inspects me.

"you're doing great, darling," he whispers, his voice low and husky. "i know it's a lot to take in, but you're doing so well." his words are laced with a soothing tone, but they only make me feel more ashamed. “you’re being so helpful.”

“hm… is your poor throat all swollen? i’m sorry sweetheart.” he hums and presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “you know what? i think i have something that’ll make you feel better.”

i hesitate for a moment, looking up at him with glassy eyes. maybe he didn’t mean to hurt me…

“okay…” i whisper. he leans forward, his lips brushing against my ear once more.

“i knew you would be a good girl,” he murmurs.

he reaches down and picks me up, laying me down on the sofa. i feel a rush of fear as he moves to sit between my legs. my eyes widen at the vulnerable position, and i instantly shut my legs, trying to protect myself from his prying eyes. he’s not my husband, and i shouldn’t be in this position with him.

mr. styles' eyes sparkle with amusement as he gently pries my legs open, his hands warm against my skin. i try to resist, but he's too strong, and soon my legs are splayed open, exposing me to his gaze.

"shh be good f'me. i need your help, remember sweetheart?" he hums and pushes my thighs apart completely. his eyes darken when his gaze reaches my core.

i feel a wave of embarrassment wash over me as he takes in every detail of my body. his gaze lingers on the most intimate parts of me, and i can feel my face burning with shame. i try to close my legs again, but he holds them firm, his grip gentle yet unyielding.

"no, no, darling," he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. "we're not done yet. we need to take care of you."

his eyes linger on the most intimate parts of me, and i can feel my face burning with shame.

"so fucking pretty," he groans at the sight of my cunt that's now completely exposed to him. "nobody's touched you here before, have they?"

i try to shake my head, but it feels like it's stuck in place. mr. styles' eyes sparkle with excitement as he takes in every detail of my body.

his rough calloused hands run down my thighs and meet at my core. mr. styles smirks and traces his thumb along my cunt.

"hm... what about you sweetheart? have you ever played with yourself before?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

i shake my head, my face burning with embarrassment. i've never even touched myself there before, let alone let someone else do it. “n-no! of course not, that’s wrong.”

mr. styles smirks, his eyes glinting with amusement. “good. this is just f’me to touch, you understand?” he moves his eyes away from the spot between my legs to meet my eyes. i nod hesitantly, unsure of what i'm agreeing to, but too scared to say no.

his gaze holds mine for a moment, then drops back down to the spot between my legs. his fingers hover over my core, and i can feel my heart racing in my chest. i try to close my legs again, but he holds them firm, his grip gentle yet unyielding.

i take a deep breath and try to relax, but my body remains tense. mr. styles' eyes never leave my face as he gently pushes my jaw open with his hand. he then slides two of his fingers into my mouth, and i can taste the salty tang of his skin.

“get them nice and wet, darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. i hesitate for a moment before i begin to suck on his fingers, coating them in saliva.

mr. styles' eyes sparkle with amusement as he watches me, his gaze never leaving my face. i try to focus on the task at hand, but my mind keeps wandering back to the uncomfortable position i'm in.

suddenly, he pushes his fingers back, hitting the back of my throat, and i gag. the feeling is overwhelming, and i try to pull away, but he holds his fingers firm. mr. styles smirks and pulls his fingers out.

“oh, i'm sorry sweetheart, that was mean of me,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "we’re going to have to work on that gagging of yours later, aren’t we?”

he moves his hand away from my mouth to my core. he runs his middle and ring finger teasingly along my slit, nudging my clit for a second. my eyes widen at the sensation, and i sit up. “what- what was that?”

mr. styles smirks, his eyes never leaving mine. “that, my dear, is what it feels like to be touched by a man.” he continues to tease my clit, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles.

i gasp, my body trembling beneath his touch. it feels weird but not bad. it doesn’t hurt like it did before. he presses tight circles against my clit. his gaze is focused on the scene before him.

his fingers dance across my skin, sending shivers down my spine. i try to process what's happening, but my mind is a jumbled mess. i feel exposed and vulnerable, yet somehow, i'm drawn to the sensation. my body begins to respond, my hips subtly rocking against his fingers.

"ah… there we go. you like that?" he chuckles and presses his thumb against my bundle of nerves. i gasp, my body tensing up as a wave of pleasure washes over me. my face flushes with embarrassment, and i look away from his eyes

i can feel my heart racing in my chest as he continues to touch me. his fingers move in slow, deliberate circles. i can feel myself growing wetter, and i'm both embarrassed and confused by my body's reaction.

mr. styles leans in closer, his breath hot against my skin. "you're so beautiful when you're like this," he murmurs, his voice low. "so innocent and pure.”

he holds out his hand to my mouth again and nods his head to it. “spit.”

i hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. but mr. styles' gaze holds mine, his eyes glinting with amusement. i can feel my face burning with embarrassment as i slowly part my lips and let my saliva fall onto his palm.

he smirks, his eyes never leaving mine, as he brings his fingers back down to my core. mr. styles' fingers slide back into my slit, and he begins to tease my clit once more.

i gasp, my body trembling beneath his touch. his gaze holds mine, his eyes glinting with amusement as he watches me struggle to process the sensations coursing through my body.

"take a deep breath, darling," he says before i feel one of his thick fingers push past my tight entrance. i tense up, my body protesting the intrusion, but mr. styles' grip on my thighs remains firm. his finger slides in deeper, and i can feel my walls clenching around it.

"oh, you're so tight," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "i can barely fit a finger." his eyes never leave mine as he begins to move his finger in slow strokes.

"relax, darling," he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. "let me show you how good it can feel." his finger push deeper, and i can feel my core tighten beneath his touch.

mr. styles' eyes stay glued to mine as he watches my body react. my body begins responding, my hips subtly rocking against his hand. the sensation is strange, yet somehow, i find myself craving more.

"that's it, darling,” he hums and uses his free hand to rub my hip softly. “stop resisting."

i gasp as he adds a second finger, my body stretching to accommodate him. my heart races in my chest as he moves his fingers up to his knuckles.

"oh, you're so tight," he groans, his eyes never leaving mine. “i should’ve fucked a virgin a long time ago.”

his words make my face flush with embarassment as he continues to move his fingers inside me. my body responds to his touch despite my mind's protests.

mr. styles' fingers push in and out of me, his movements slow and calculated. i can feel my walls clenching around him, trying to accommodate his thick fingers.

suddenly, he stops moving his fingers, leaving them deep inside me. i feel a pang of disappointment, my body craving more of the strange sensation.

he chuckles and pulls his fingers out to hold my thighs open again. “don’t you worry, darling. i have something that’ll be a lot better.”

his eyes glint with amusement as he moves one of his hands to hold the base of his cock, moving to press the tip of it against my clit teasingly. i gasp, my hips bucking up at the sudden contact. his cock is warm and smooth, compared to the rough cold skin of his fingers.

"oh, you're so sensitive," he murmurs. "i love it." his eyes never leave mine as he continues to tease me, his cock brushing against my clit with every movement.

i try to speak, but my voice catches in my throat. my body is screaming for more, but my mind is still reeling from how wrong this feels. i shouldn’t be doing this when i’m not married- let alone with a married man!

“mr. styles-” i'm cut off by him pressing the head of his length to my entrance.

"shh, no more mr. styles. when i touch you like this you be respectful and call me daddy, alright?" he says roughly and squeezes my hip.

my eyes widen in shock, and i feel my face flush with embarrassment when i hear that. i shake my head, my mind reeling from the demand.

"what?" i manage to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.

mr. styles' grip on my hip tightens, his fingers digging into my skin. "you heard me, darling," he says, his eyes sharp as he watches me. "when we're like this, you call me daddy. it's only respectful."

i feel a surge of defiance rise up within me, but it's quickly quashed by the sensation of his cock still pressed teasingly against my entrance.

mr. styles' grip on my hip tightens, his fingers digging into my skin as he speaks. "say, yes daddy, or else i'm going to have to tell your mother and father what a disrespectful brat you are." he says roughly.

my eyes widen in shock, and i feel my face flush with embarrassment at the threat. i try to speak, but my voice catches in my throat. mr. styles' eyes narrow, his gaze piercing as he waits for my response.

"yes…daddy," i stammer, the words feeling foreign and inappropriate on my lips.

"see? good girl," he nods at my words and holds the base of his cock again, lining it up with my cunt. "deep breath for me…"

i feel my body tense up, my heart racing in my chest as i try to process what's happening. his cock is warm and smooth, but it's also thick and intimidating. i can feel my walls stretching to accommodate him, a burning sensation spreading through my core.

"relax, darling," he whispers, his breath hot against my skin.

his cock inches inside of me, and i can feel my walls stretching to accommodate him. "oh fuck-"

he groans out and closes his eyes for a second as he inches inside of me. his eyes snap back open, and he gazes at me, his pupils dilated with desire.

he pauses for a moment, his cock lodged halfway inside me. i can feel my body trembling beneath him, my heart racing in my chest.

"you're so tight," he moans and presses squeezes my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my skin as he holds me in place. "i can barely fit."

i try to speak, but my voice catches in my throat. "mr. styles-" he cuts me off by giving a light slap to my thigh.

"no. what do you call me?" he demands, his eyes flashing with a mixture of desire and authority. i feel a surge of embarrassment wash over me, but i swallow it back and meet his eyes.

"daddy," i mumble, my voice barely audible.

"good girl," he murmurs. mr. styles' grip on my hips loosens slightly, and he nods in approval. he inches his cock further inside me, and i feel my walls stretching to accommodate him. the burning sensation intensifies, and i let out a gasp of pain and growing pleasure.

mr. styles' eyes never leave mine as he slowly thrusts his cock to the hilt, his hips pressing against mine.

my body trembles beneath him, my heart racing in my chest. the burning sensation intensifies, and i let out a gasp of pain and growing pleasure.

"oh shit-" he groans, his voice low and husky, "i won't last long with how fucking tight you are." he slowly drags his cock out so just the tip is inside, and for a moment, i feel a sense of relief wash over me. but without giving me much time to recover, he starts pushing in again, his cock sliding deeper into me.

the burning sensation intensifying as he buries himself inside me. mr. styles' eyes never leave mine as he starts to thrust, his hips moving in calculated strokes. i can feel his cock pulsing inside me, and i try to push back against him, but he holds me in place, his grip on my hips like a vice.

"daddy," i stammer, the word feeling foreign and wrong on my lips, but he seems to like it, his eyes flashing with desire as he hears it. he starts to move faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, and i can feel my body responding, my pleasure building despite the initial pain.

“see? it can feel so good if you stop resisting," he pants out in pleasure and continues moving his cock inside me. his words are laced with a mixture of desire and authority.

“so fucking young and pretty…” he mutters under his breath. his hips continue snapping up to meet mine, our arousal and the humidity of a hot summers day leave the skin between us sticky.

mr. styles groans and closes his eyes in pleasure as he thrusts his thick cock as deep as he can. my hips slowly move against his in a desperate search for any pleasure.

despite the rough and painful start, pleasure begins filling my body and i’m left reaching for the sensations he gave me previously.

he notices my frustrated expression and smirks for a second. “oh i’m sorry darlin, can’t leave ya hanging.”

mr. styles chuckles and uses his thumb to rub tight circles on my throbbing bundle of nerves. his gaze is piercing as he watches me struggle to accommodate his length. my walls clench desperately around him, trying to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion.

“fuck darling, you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya? you’re practically suffocating me.” he mumbles and quickens his thrusts as he approaches his own release. his grip on my hips tightens, and he slams into me with a force that takes my breath away.

his cock pulses against my walls and my body responds to his, the pleasure building until it’s too much to bear.

“daddy please-“ i whimper out and grab his shoulders for support as the unfamiliar feelings flush through my body.

“that’s it, cum for me.” he smirks and rubs my clit quicker, his thumb pressing down harder on my sensitive nub. my body shudders and convulses as the orgasm crashes over me, my walls clenching around his cock as he continues to thrust.

mr. styles groans and his thrusts become erratic, his cock pulsing inside me as he reaches his own climax. his grip on my hips tightens and he buries himself inside me, his hips snapping up to meet mine as he empties himself inside me.

for a moment, we stay like that, our bodies still connected as we catch our breath.

mr. styles finally pulls out, leaving me feeling empty and exposed. i watch as he tucks himself back into his pants, his eyes never leaving mine. he walks over to the small wooden table and grabs a cigarette, lighting it up and taking a long drag.

"get fixed before the wife gets back," he says, his voice gruff and emotionless. he walks over to the door, putting his hat back on and going back out to the ranch. “i have work to do.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅.𖥔 ݁ ˖

👀

xoxo

[ozzgin]

Thank you Ozzy for your quick response, your idea just sparked my passion! I got another one, maybe you'll like this one too: By luck, one of the monsters gained access to the human Internet. He can't believe his luck, especially when he finds out that among people there are those who prefer monsters! Or at least interested in trying it! He understands that this is a one in a million chance and, since he has zero social skills and his brain is intoxicated with happiness, he begins to write to people in an attempt to get to know each other. Of course, not everything goes well, but he is determined to find someone who will believe him!.. And who will agree to meet in a dark alley on the border of the worlds, where a person could theoretically end up in the dimension of monsters. Go straight to visit him!

I feel like this could be its own story, independent from the monster author! Here, put on the dealer's trench coat. Go join the kimono anon.

And...connect.

He gawks in disbelief. Did he really just access the human Internet? It could very well be a scam. He clicks on a link, then another, then another. Thousands and thousands of pages, profiles, images, news. No monster could orchestrate such a complex prank. This has to be the real deal.

He rapidly scans the lines of text, overwhelmed. He didn't expect such a colossal influx of information. He wanted to know more about humans, of course, but this...where to start? Where to look? At last, his reptile eyes rest on a particular post:

Am I the only one who finds the monster character hot?

The comments are filled with people agreeing and offering other examples. The term 'monster fucker' is frequent. He hums to himself, a shiver of excitement running down his spine. His thick tail sways from side to side, restless.

Not only has he found an opening to the human world, but there are humans who would consider mating with him? He's almost tempted to ask his fellow beastly friend if he's dreaming or hallucinating, but he won't: this is his secret, a chance too fantastic to be shared with anyone else.

The one problem - to his despair - is that no one will believe him when he introduces himself as a monster. At best, he's accused of having a strange humor. At worst, he's called a creep.

Only one person has agreed to meet him. You. Why not, you asked yourself with ridiculous indifference and calm. If he's lying, you can just go home. If he isn't, you get laid by a nightmarish creature like you always dreamed of.

He paces back and forth, occasionally glancing ahead. You should be here soon. Lord Cthulhu, he can barely contain himself. What if you reject him? You wouldn't. You can't do this to him.

At last, he sees you approaching from a distance. Stunning. Adorable. Breedable. There's no way in the great Hells that he's letting you go now.

[More Monsters]

[ladysisyphus]

Happy Pride from Shousetsu Bang*Bang!

Shousetsu Bang*Bang is a long-running webzine full of original queer smutty stories and art. How long-running, you ask? Our first issue was published in September 2005, and we've been going strong ever since. All our issues are filled with tales of queer romance with steamy scenes and a spirit that encourages happy endings!

All our issues are available for free! Browse our stacks for a complete list of everything we've published. Up until 2017, regular issues contained stories with M/M content, special issues had F/F content, and Yes, And issues were the place for everything else. Since 2018, all issues have been open to all kinds of bodies and combinations!

The best way to start is just to pick an issue and get to reading! But if you're looking for something special, let www.s2b2search.com be your guide! We're in the process of tagging our collection so it's searchable by content.

Maybe you want to see our Steampunk stories! Or the ones with Cross-dressing! We've got Medieval settings and Crime fiction, sometimes in the same issue! Feel like reading about Asexual or Nonbinary characters? Prefer pairs who are Dating or Married? Want something Short (<5k words) or JUMBO LARGE (>25k words)? Looking for some Hurt/Comfort or Friends to Lovers? Weddings? Single Parents? Dragons? Cowboys? Bodyguards? Vampires? Coffee shops? Body Horror? Farms? Knights? Voyeurism? Squirrels? From Academia to Zombies, we've got all kinds of exactly what you want.

Feeling lucky? Click here to get a random story or artwork!

Want to join us? We'd love to have you! Check out our 2024 Editorial Calendar to see what's coming up, and look at our list of Current and Previous Signups to find out how to participate! (Hint: Turn something in by the deadline! It's so easy!) We're always happy to have new authors and artists in our pages. Whether you're just getting started or you've been doing this as long as some of us old-timers have, we welcome your submissions!

Please help us spread the word! Tell your friends! Give us a reblog! We need all the help we can get to get what we've got out into the world. Your support is always appreciated! Thanks for helping to keep this labor of love going strong nearly two decades and counting.

[emoangel44]

The thing I've always loved most about aa4 is how much darker the tone is than the rest of the series in a way that isn't just edgy for the sake of it, but subverts your expectations from the original 3 games in a really interesting way. The trilogy was built upon the trust Phoenix had in others, and it was something we as players could almost always feel certain in. AA4 flips this on its head and makes it so Apollo effectively can't trust anyone but himself.

Your mentor, who the in the trilogy was a paragon of wisdom you could always turn to no matter what, gets revealed to be the culprit and sent to jail in the first trial and by the end of the game his list of crimes has stacked high but you still have so few answers on why he did any of it.

Your boss, the goofy protagonist of the trilogy, is now inexplicably a washed-up, disgraced, cheating poker player with an implied drinking problem who seemingly found a new hobby in evidence forgery and jury rigging.

He has a codependent relationship with his daughter, your assistant, who usually is a completely innocent and hapless victim of circumstance. She sees herself as the provider for the house and will help her father cheat at poker, or forge evidence, or guilt trip the poor attorney they knowingly screwed of out of a job into working for them for dirt cheap.

The detective, the only other returning main character, a previous assistant, is completely changed since we last saw her. In the trilogy she was chipper and bright despite the hardships she faced, and now she's unfriendly and burned out, turned bitter by the world. The scene we're first properly introduced to her in Apollo genuinely spends several minutes thinking his boss is making him bribe her with cocaine.

Every single defendant is a criminal guilty of something other than what they're charged for. Each case centers around an underground black-market poker ring, a mafia family and medical malpractice, a smuggling ring, and a family of forgers and an incredibly shady troupe of magicians. The one thing all of these people have in common is that none of them will tell you literally anything about what's happening, half of them clearly reveling in being as big of cryptic assholes as possible.

The only person who doesn't fit this description is, for once, the prosecutor. Usually your biggest obstacle and the most morally corrupt of the main cast, he's the only person who's both 100% on the side of truth and on the same page as you for the entire game. He's just as clueless as you, being used nothing more than a chess piece just like you are.

But the truly masterful thing about AA4 is how morally grey it is. These characters aren't just one note villains. They're not even villains at all. Most of them aren't even malicious.

Your boss, for all the low levels he stoops to, is underneath it all the same guy he's always been, doing everything he can to bring a criminal to justice and protect his family. Your assistant is a sweet girl who truly cares about you, she's just prioritizing herself and her fathers safety before anything else. The detective is the same passionate and kind woman under everything else. The rest of the defendants are genuinely well-meaning young people who got involved in shady stuff they didn't fully understand.

The game is filled with good people trying to make the best of bad circumstances. The game has just as many fun moments as the original trilogy. For all it's rough appearance, the game has a similar heart. For every unanswered question or unrighted wrong, there's a smile or a hope for a better future. For every bad action, there's usually someone trying their best behind it. The game is melancholic and dark, but isn't afraid to let good shine through. It knows there's no shadows without the light.

[2soulscollide]

Write your book STEP BY STEP

hello hello, it's me again!

today i'm bringing you a step-by-step / checklist to finally get your book done. i know it can be a bit complicated to put everything together to make your idea come to life (you're definitely not alone!)

that's why i compiled some tips and made this post, in hopes to help some author out there :D

let's get started.

PREMISE

assuming you already have a good idea in mind, you should start by writing a premise. to help you with that, try to answer these questions:

who is the main character?

what are their goals?

which troubles will they face / what's stopping them from achieving their goals?

do they have an opponent? if so, who?

now that you know the answers to these questions, it's time to write the premise. the premise consists in a sentence that summarizes your whole idea.

PLOT OUTLINE

there are infinite ways to plot your story. you can do it by writing down ideas and linking them together, following a scheme, or any other method.

the most common plot outlines are these:

synopsis outline: one to two pages, where you hit all the major beats of the story

in-depth outline: outline each chapter/scene

snowflake method: develop the premise into a bigger paragraph, and that paragraph into a page (etc.) until you have the whole outline of your story

booken method: plot the start and end of the story, and the main characters

the novel factory created plot sheets for free, and you can choose from eight different templates. you might want to check it out!

KNOW YOUR CHARACTERS

having your outline defined, you should start developing your characters now. the main character's profile might be more detailed than the others, however, it's up to you. there are many character sheets out there on the internet that will help you create flawless characters.

i have a post with resources that might be helpful when creating a character, check it out!

and here you have some prompts and sheets to create a character:

Quick Character Creator - EA Deverell

Extremely detailed character sheet template - @hawkasss

The Best Character Template Ever - Dabble

Character Twenty Questions Worksheet - The Writers Circle

at this point, you should also define the narrator's voice, tone, etc, as well as the pace of your novel.

LOCATIONS

define the principal locations of your story, the settings, and where the story is taking place. it's important to know how the environment looks, and how your characters feel about it.

for this part, you might find it useful to do some research about some locations, if you're not familiar with them. find inspiration on Pinterest, Tumblr, or even on books, paintings, and art. everything is valid.

if your story takes place in a fantasy environment, you might need to fill out a template to create it or write down the way you imagine it to be. try to get as many details as possible, so there are no holes when developing the novel.

SUBPLOTS

you might want to give more depth to your novel by developing a subplot (or more than one). make sure it doesn't get too confusing or that doesn't take the focus away from the main action.

the subplot can be a romance, another character's relationship, a character's arc, a backstory, etc. this will make your story more real and 3D, more realistic.

develop it as a side story and mix it with the principal plot but don't make it as important as the main story, otherwise, none of the plots will make an impact.

SYNOPSIS

write a synopsis as long as you wish, covering every important part of the story. this will help you to really know your idea, and have a solid structure for it. it can range from 500 to 2,500 words, but you don't have to restrict yourself to a number.

things the synopsis should cover:

the status quo

the complication

initial challenges

midpoint

further challenges

the low point

the climax

the resolution

DRAFT

and we get to the best part which is writing! now that you know everything about your story, characters, locations, and scenes, all you have to do is to put all that together in words. don't feel pressured to make everything look perfect already, just write what comes to your mind. if you have a new idea for the plot, good, write it down! if this character doesn't make sense anymore, okay, get rid of them. just go with the flow, following the structure you've planned, and everything starts to come to life.

i know it's so tempting to go back, read what you wrote, and start editing and polishing, but trust me, don't do that! it's a waste of time, and you will take so much more time to finish your first draft. in fact, i've given up on so many stories because of that...

just when you finish the first draft, you will re-read everything and start editing, fixing plot holes, changing what doesn't fit well, etc. but for now, just write, get the first draft done. enjoy the process, don't rush.

thanks for reading!

i hope this post was helpful!

also, you might be interested in this free workbook with over 90 pages and many exercises! check it out here: THE WRITER'S WORKBOOK

resources for this post:

How to Choose a Plot Outline Method: 4 Techniques for Outlining Novels

How to Write a Novel: A Step-by-Step Guide

[vixen7243]

Undivided Attention: Gaz

Gaz X AFAB!Reader | TF141 X AFAB!Reader

Masterlist | John Price |Ghost

MDNI!!

Y/N was Task Force 141's combat medic, a sweet little thing that barely ever since joining had seen the light of day in a fight, they sheltered you to the base and that was it, the most action you had seen ever was on the rare occasion that Price okayed you to get on the helicopter with Nikolai to pick them up and that was it. At first Y/n was unbelievably annoyed with them when they had started developing feelings for you and started to slowly shield you from the tainted things in the world, or so they say but whenever they would throw that stupidly lame excuse around in front of you a hearty laugh would erupt from you. "Tainted world? Guys, the amount of dead bodies that I've had to leave in my wake before joining you all is enough to fill hell alone. I'm parted of that tainted things in this world."

The angry glances and scoffs that followed your attempt with reasoning with them made you hold your tongue after John's following statement. "You won't ever be apart of that world anymore, not while I'm still breathing."

It had taken a while for the team to warm up to you, the thought that General Shepard was the one to specially assign you to them didn't sit well with them till they had seen the back handed way you would openly shame him and degrade him with annoyance and slight humor gleaming in your eyes. "No wonder you have been working so well with them, rabid dogs always know how to stick together." Barking a laugh at him you made quiet the spectacular come back on his embarrassing attempt to hit on you and get you into his bed, only for you to make an impotent comment to him and his age. After which, with the brightest red face, being sure to always avoid your presence whenever possible. After that, Soap, Gaz and even John eased up on their ignoring and slanted looks, having small talks with you eventually enjoying long chats with you late into the night if you or them, couldn't sleep. Ghost still gave you hard stares every once in a while but he would at least respond back to you when you asked him anything or talked to him.

Somewhere along the way of slowly easing you out of the field and keeping you at the base, the men had even started leaving lingering touches, longing glances and sweet nicknames that would make your stomach flutter. It was one late night in John's office, you were yet again up late with him, mostly keeping him company, he sat at his desk, papers scattered, his bourbon abandoned long ago while you were insisting he drink tea after 7 if he needed to drink something, this being better for his liver. You sat in a chair on the other side of his desk, legs kicked up while you read a book from his mini library, bored mostly but you always were curious of the books he read so you pushed through, a night that was the same as any other when you would sit in his office, the sound of the clock ticking, his pen scratching along the papers and the occasional turn of a page from you. Finishing the last page you slammed the book shut, making John look up at you, stretching back into the chair you groaned loudly, "Good lord Captain, can't you read mor entertaining books? Maybe ones that also have a happy ending, thought I was going to fuckin cry, why do authors always kill the character that draws out the best in other characters?"

John set his pen down as he also leaned back cracking his back as he settled in, "You still finished the book, I would say it was entertaining enough. Would you rather I read one of your books this time maybe?"

A blush dusted your cheeks as you thought about your stash of books in your room that you kept locked in a footlocker, they were definitely dirty and maybe more sick minded than what John was used too. "Uh, no, we'll stick to your books, you definitely couldn't handle my books." A small chuckle left your lips, a smile coming up thinking about how John might blush at some of the things you've read, or even are currently reading. You wonder how he would even react to knowing that you read about girls getting absolutely destroyed in bed, so sore they can't even barely move after, even passing out because of how good it feels. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance up noticing that he was watching your lip.

"You don't think so?" You watched has his hand ran over his beard that he hadn't gotten around to trimming, or more or less you haven't, he had you take up the dutiful job of keeping his facial hair trimmed and kept up, you sometimes sitting in his lap, doing your absolute best not to grind near his crotch when seated. "What do you read then? Enlighten me." Looking away from him you tried to think if you should lie or make up an excuse and leave, to embarrassed not to tell him the truth of the filth that you read. Hearing him clear his throat, you glanced up through your lashes watching as he pointed to his lap. You had gotten so used to sitting in all their laps, your ass barely ever sat the seat of a proper chair or couch, especially in the rec room, Soap and Gaz loved to pull you up into their laps, their hands massaging your thighs or back as your fingers massaged their scalps, necks or shoulders. Ghost sometimes would push you to one side of the couch, throwing himself down, resting his head in your lap while your fingers played with his blonde hair, you hadn't gotten a chance to see his face but he does now wear sometimes a surgical mask, black. Getting up you made your way to him, sitting in his lap, feeling like a little doll, you belonged to all of them, you knew that, they knew it. As soon as you straddled his lap, his hands crept up and down your sides and thighs, you were trying to find the words you wanted to use to get yourself out of this but looking into his eyes, you were stuck.

That night, through soft words, guided affection, and encouraging embrace, John set claim to you, later in the morning notifying the rest of the lads you walked out to the rec room Gaz and Soap the first up and right in front of you like puppies. You all had a very long chat about boundaries and limits, safe words and commitment that morning. After all was aired out, you were officially locked down to the base, and eventually, surprisingly fast just accepted it.

Soap was the handsyiest, even around base, he always had his arm wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck, there was no reining him in, this was him holding back. In the rec room, he would beg you to cuddle on the couch, which would lead to cockwarming, then eventually down right fucking, he loved having you around him, you did nothing but praise him, words he barely ever heard but yearned for. You handed them out to him like candy, without a second thought, sometimes admittedly yes, you should have told him to stop, not in public, no PDA but god, his puppy eyes always made your heart clench, you just couldn't say no to that face, the bastard.

Ghost was more reserved, having to be careful do to him being a superior officer, as well as John. That's not to say that he didn't follow you around the base when Soap wasn't glued to your hip, whenever he found his chance, he would stick to you, happy little glances his way making him preen. Getting you to the rec room where you two could be slightly more open with affection, Ghost was almost, almost unrecognizable with his little whispers, your praises making him blush, his softened eyes quietly begging for more of your attention. Once he has you in his room, god, he has you pinned under him, sometimes even holds you above him, just begging for more praise, his voice uncharacteristically cracking from emotion, your gentle hands smoothing over scars that make him flinch, whining as he thrusts into you, body breaking as you just keep giving him everything, telling him that he deserves everything, even forcing him to say he deserves this, as you kiss his body gently, caressing him, handling him as if he was the finest piece of glass that could break from even a breath. You really did enjoy giving Ghost your attention, especially when you knew at times it was helping him heal wounds that he refused to ever heal, he was your delicate flower, even if to all them, you were theirs.

John got you most nights and mornings due to how busy he was, it was unspoken but agreed upon, you slept in his bed, unless one of the others truly needed you after a bad day, or dream. Sometimes when he could spare a moment in the day away from the confines of his office and work, he sauté you out, like his own little personal mission, and you would go back with him to his room, or his office, which ever was the closest. After making sure the door was locked he would hold you, your words ringing in his soul as you held him tightly, whispering the sweetest love you could offer him that wouldn't make him rebuttal that he was too old for you, that he was being selfish in holding you the way he does. That if he was a better man, half the man you praise him to be, he would stop his advances, let you go, close himself off again, but he couldn't he was filth, worse than filth for keeping you so close. You would hush his negativity with kisses, massages and words so sweet you would see the broken captain that tried so hard to stay strong for his team, for you. You held him together as he found the warm and love he didn't believe he deserved inside you.

Gaz, sweet, patient, caring Gaz, he let you be, he never followed you, never looked for you, he gave you space. He knew you would come to him, you always do, you always make sure to divide up your days for all of them, giving them all the attention and love you could possibly offer them while trying to give yourself some in small increments whenever possible. Gaz watched as you would coddle Soap, giving in to the grown mans pleas of just the tip before absolutely destroying your little cunny on the couch, both of you spent and panting when Ghost comes in to lecture Soap on keeping that to his room. While also noticing on the rare occasion when Ghost wouldn't close his door all the way, seeing as he begs under you, quiet tears slipping down his lieutenants cheeks, your sweet words and encouraging praise breaking the man down even more before the two of you flip over, Ghost's head resting over your heart, the both of you taking a short nap in each others embrace. Seeing when his captain would take you to his office, and then hear him confined in you his fears, failures and short comings, all which you counter softly, Gaz would walk away hearing his Captain break down with you as well, before he's sure, as you had done with Ghost, hold him.

Gaz was patient, but to a point. For lords sake, he was a man too, he had needs, desires, problems, and he was apart of this team. Whenever he would notice in the past fortnight that you were making your way to him, his body would tense, a pent up of emotions flooding him, ready to be released into your caring embrace only for you to be dragged off by one of the others. Never, not once did he ever speak up with his annoyance, or aggravation, he kept quiet, waited, but, today was it, he couldn't be patient, or your good boy while Soap was dragging you away from his path to take you to his room. Gaz stood up abruptly and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder, "Damnit no, it's my bloody turn with her, the lot of ya keep out my room for the night." Huffing ignoring their questioning gazes, not quite used to Gaz having that kind of tone, he carried you to his room slamming the door shut and locking it before setting you on his bed gently, he wasn't trying to take his annoyance out on you truly but he was at his limit.

"I'm sorry Kyle."

"Not you that should be apologizing, come here." Kyle got up into the bed after kicking his boots off, waiting for you to do the same as you curled up into his side, resting your hand on his chest, head over his heart listening to it pound heavily. There was a beat of silence as you stayed on his side before pushing up slightly and looking into his eyes.

"Talk to me, you have me all night I won't go anywhere."

Kyle let loose everything, everything he was feeling, had been holding in, the things that had been happening, people that had been pushing him, his desire for you, and finally he broke down to his loneliness of being without you for so long. You listened, unjudging as he started to fall silent, bring your hand up to his cheek you cupped it as you kissed his other cheek lightly, the soft look in your eyes making his heart wrench, he really did miss having you in his arms. You reassured him, changing positions as you cradled his head into your lap, breaking down everything he told you, lifting up his soul with your loving gentle touch, words lighting up his world.

After a comfortable silence befell the both of you, Gaz turned squeezing your thigh, while he moved your body where he wanted, slotting himself between your thighs, groaning as he dragged your body down the pillows. He kissed your stomach as he undid your pants and dragged them down your legs, kissing and nipping your thighs and ankles before going back down and nudging your underwear to the side laying a soft kiss to your clit. "Kyle" Wrapping your fingers into his curls you moaned, feeling his smirk against your cunny as his tongue darted out and dragged up your slit before he started grabbing at your shirt and pushing it up. Taking it from him you slightly pushed up and tugged your shirt off, feeling him moan into you you flinched as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. Feeling your juices start to coat his lips and drip down his chin he sat up and pulled his shirt off, guiding his hand back down tugging on your underwear while undoing his belt and pants. Tugging on your underwear you kicked them off wrapping your legs quickly around his waist when he freed his aching cock, wrapping your arms around his shoulders you kissed him, your tongues sliding into each others mouth, reexploring each others bodies, his hand groping, mapping, feeling your body under him, his cock bobbing at your entrance, pearly beads of precum dripping onto your clit.

Pulling back, he looked between your bodies, gripping the base of his cock before lining himself up, and pushing in slowly, giving short, slow thrusts as you squeezed the back of his neck moaning into his skin. When he bottomed out inside of you the both of you groan, he was slotted in right at your cervix, fixing his position, he set either hand on each side of your head before pulling back just enough to where his tip was resting inside and then slamming back into you. Setting that pace, the neither of you could hold your moans back, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing, carrying out into the hall. Reaching your hand down you skimmed your fingers over your clit rolling it between your fingers, your back arching up, and your walls clamping down onto Kyle's cock, your orgasm washing over you quickly. Kyle fucking you through your first one smirking down at you, "First one, many more to go gorgeous."

Kyle pulled back and grabbed your hips turning you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up before sliding back in, your sensitive walls fluttering around his cock, a whimper sliding out of your mouth, his pace was quick and harder. You were sure that by the end of the night, your cervix had to be bruised but god, it was feeling amazing and you would welcome the arch for the following days. Kyle grabbed a fist full of your hair before pulling back, your back arching deliciously, pushing up onto your elbows you cried out when you felt his tip sliding against your gummy spot making your toes curl and a broken groan fall from you as you gushed around him for the second time, a cry fall out of your lips as he continued to pound into you. "Kyle, fuck, I-I can't..."

Smiling he pulled out and turned you over, pushing your knees up to your chest, both legs thrown over his shoulder and he guided his cock back in, "One more for me gorgeous, I know you can do it, come on." Crying out he relentlessly pounding into your swollen cunny, pushing his forehead against yours, sweat falling from him to you mixing with your own, your skin stuck together, your cum connecting the two of you when ever he pulls out for a moment before he pushes back against you.

Feeling him twitch inside of you, you kissed him, massaging his back and scalp feeling his hips stutter when you started, lifting your head as much as you could, you whispered sweet praise into his ear, your voice hoarse from crying and moaning. Kyle couldn't hold back, slamming his hips back into your sweet spot he pushed the both of you over the edge a groan mixed with a whimper pushed out of his chest while you cried out using whatever strength you could must to hold him as close as possible.

Slowly pulling out, he rolled beside you pulling you into him, both of you smiling exhausted, his hands rubbing your lower back and kissing your forehead. You intertwined your legs, and rubbed the sides of his neck before scratching the base of his head humming. The moment was sweet and quiet between the two of you, content with just the presents of the other. You had fallen asleep after a moment, Kyle figured he would be nice and let you rest for a few before you woke you up with his head between your juicy thighs, and his fingers restuffed deep inside you. Besides, the night was young, you guys could rest for a bit.

----

John Price |Ghost

[katyspersonal]

The best Bloodborne Wiki is a passion project of a single person, is about to get even better + how it can be sustained for years to come!

Hello guys! So like many of you've learned from the post with super good model view of Winter Lantern, recently, on Twitter, Meph announced ( x ) the plan to fill the wiki with very useful, very comprehensive screenshots of the models for bosses, enemies, NPCs and even cut content! The wiki has already been a huge help for lorediggers and artists, but THIS is what we will get:

This page is for Lady Maria and you can check it yourself here: ( x )! It is broken down in the categories of general close-ups of her model, then very high-quality screenshots of every attack during her boss battle and walking, and then raw model!

(I never was able to capture a good look at her using Arcane too like here, for example!)

Winter Lantern page ( x ) is using similar principle!

This is not a secret that very often in Fromsoft games, additional information can be obtained not through descriptions but through visual hints! For example, some people only learned that Winter Lantern's head is made of melted Messengers only now, after a proper look at her model! So, of course getting a proper look at every single character and creature from the game could always be helpful!

This, however, is just a recent highlight for this Bloodborne Wiki! Even prior that, it has been providing invaluable help for the fans! Examples off the top of my head: comprehensive data on what character has what items used or not, great and comprehensive hints and tutorials on upgrades and farming and builds for the players, making every bit of information on Chalice Dungeons and glyphs easily accessible, making datamined NPC sliders of all characters way more accessible and easy to grab and repeat, access to much more obscure models (like Gratia's model), full list of internal filenames and patches progress, making information from physical Bloodborne tutorial book accessible...

There are probably more things to cover that me and others found a great help in, and sometimes we might not even notice! I am sure many people could name at least one way where this wiki has been very helpful, offering raw facts and 100% valid information (and properly sourced whenever someone else helped!) without any speculating, in the most elaborate manner! We should not take it for granted because all this information, found or reshared, was compiled by just one guy out of raw passion for the game! And although this project is not profit-based and Meph is willing to commit to it and pay as much as needed to keep it living, I really still wanted to share the Ko-fi link that exists for anyone who is willing to help sponsoring it!

This is not necessary, and Meph has stated the same, but this project is not only helpful but also really hefty to sustain. The monthly support is only $3 per month, but every little bit not only helps the sustenance, but also knowing how much fans care and simply feeling their support is very significant and sometimes you don't even know how much. Heck, when Meph learned how excited people on Tumblr were about Wiki improving with full compilation of models from every angle.. the reaction was "I am so glad that people still care"! I think everyone who does their best to be useful for the fellow fans needs confirmation that they ARE, for sure, helping!

I just really wanted to get the word out anyways because honestly, none of my super elaborate theories and detailed fanart would've been possible without Meph's Wiki. and also because I am trapped in a clown country where I can't send any international money transfer so the feeling of 'do what I can't' got to me too fsdhfdhs There is no pressure or necessity, but here is the link to anyone who can help and feels the wish to! You've noticed I didn't tag Meph.... since there is no Tumblr account to tag, but again, the Twitter link is also here: ( x )!

[jellyfishandry]

W/ a s/o who paints/draws

Characters: Toshinori Yagi (All Might), Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo

CW: gn reader, established relationships, inseurity, non-sexual nudity in Toshi's part, supportive bfs!!

Toshi

There’s a lot of art of him out there, and he’s always amazed by the talent of his fans. But when he first saw the portrait you gad drawn of him, he was blown away. Your skill was incredible, and he felt like you hadn’t just painted his face, but his soul. Any time he finds drawings of himself in your notebooks, he feels cherished.  If you ever ask if he could model for a painting or drawing, he’ll agree instantly.  Although if you ask him to pose he’ll be a little hesitant, but he’ll still agree because he trusts you.  He never felt great about his body, but seeing your art made him appreciate his body a little more.  You told him once that he’s your favorite muse. That sentence alone made his heart melt. He loves to watch you paint, the process is so interesting to him. He’ll hang as much of your art up in the house as you’re comfortable with.  Anyone who will listen will be told how amazing of an artist you are.  He’s honored to be the focus of many of your pieces, and does get a bit flustered by the attention. He’ll find out what kinds of paints and pencils you use, and will get you more when your run low.  When he’s in public as All Might, he’ll promote your art if he gets a chance. (If you sell or post your art.)

Izuku

He’s an artist himself, but he really only draws heroes and designs for his hero suit.  Though he starts drawing you as well when the two of you start dating. He’s way too embarrassed to show them to you, but were a few times you got a glimpse of them.  He knew you were an artist, but he hadn’t seen your work.  During a casual date at your house, the two of you went into your room, and he was shocked. There was an unfinished painting of Mirko on your desk.  He was amazed to say the least. The open sketchbook on your nightstand caught his eye as well.  There were a few portraits of random people sketched out on the page.  He tried to tell you how good your art was, but his amazement made him trip over his words. If you ever drew or painted him, he’d be over the moon.  His partner spending time, effort, and materials to paint him, made him red.  Any art you give him, he’ll cherish. If he feels confident, he’ll draw you, and give you the drawing.  Occasionally he’ll ask you for tips on how to improve the anatomy or hands of his drawings.  He’ll take notes of any advice you give him.  He’s honestly a little surprised when you say you love his art. He thinks you’re a much better artist than he is, but he’s incredibly grateful for the compliments.  And he does feel better when he sees that you’ve hung up his art on the walls of your room.  Maybe the two of you have a date where you draw each other. If you ask him to model for you, he’ll get a little nervous, but agee.  He’ll try his best to stay as still as possible. Every time he moves, he apologies. You tell him it’s fine, but he still feels bad.  After a few times, he starts to really enjoy it. He’ll talk about anything and everything as your paint, as it fills the silence. When you’re done, he’ll immediately move to look at the painting. He’ll start to ramble about how well you did, and the certain areas you did super well on. 

Katsuki

He’s not much of an artist when it comes to visual arts. “I’ve got better things to do.” He claims. But he is impressed by your talent.  He likes watching you work. It calms him down, even though he doesn’t know why. He believes you’re the best artist, and no one can top you. If you paint him, he’ll be both embarrassed and cocky. “Of course you’d paint me.”  Despite how confident he is, he really love the painting.  He’ll show it off to anyone. He’s very proud of your skill. “Only my face is worth their talent. You extras go find someone else to paint you.”  He’ll buy nice brushes  on occasion, and leave them in your mailbox. But he gets embarrassed when you thank him for them. He’s willing to model for you at almost any time.  He’ll complain about having to stay still for so long, but he’ll barely move until you’re done.  He tries to get you to submit to an art contest, telling you: “You’ll kick their asses!”  But if you don’t want to, he won’t push it. If you post your art online, he’ll like every single one of your posts.  He has notifications on for only your account, cause he wants to be the first one to like your posts. “I’m just showing my support..” He’ll tell you when you ask him about it.  He respects your talent, and loves how much work you put into each piece.  

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