#you down… I know mine has worn me down.

[reverieblondie]

You know that data-mined line of Raphael declaring that he is at Mephistopheles' mercy?

Now imagine Raphael saying that he is at your mercy. Imagine him saying it and meaning it.

(Whether this involves a battle or a bedroom... I'll leave that up to you 😉)

So I never knew about this quote till you sent this ask and I finally looked it up, and let me say, It is great! I haven't found a Raphael line that I have not completely loved!

Raphael x Fem!reader

Word count- 1,066

You’re both tired and worn, injuries littering your bodies, but despite all the odds, you have come out on top. Splattered in blood, you stand tall as your body screams for you to fall, to finally rest, but you can’t, not now, not when you finally got him down. The game of cat and mouse is over; the cat had miscalculated, and the mouse bit back, taking the predator by surprise. Raphael finally sits up, managing to get on his knees, but before he can fully get back to his feet, he feels the heavy weight of a blade on his shoulder, the sharp edge threatening to dig into his neck. Raphael lifts his glowing, battered eyes to you. You, the one he once saw as weak and malleable, are now about to remove his head. Eyes stern, body bruised and bloodied but still up, still fighting, you look like the definition of powerful…the definition of beauty…

Raphael slightly clears his throat, and you press the sword closer, making him wince from the sting of his skin breaking, the small cut starting to bleed running down beneath his ripped collar. Considering all you have been through, you’re not taking any chances, and it’s completely warranted. Raphael’s eyes meet yours, shining bright as hell’s fire, and it appears as if you glow in an ethereal light. A slight smile curls to the corner of his lips; you truly have impressed him. A part of him wants to call out for his father to save him, but that would be a much crueler fate to be sure; if he dies, let it be with her; at least she is justified for it. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, readying himself, then gives his final statement, “Tav, I am at your mercy.” 

You ponder for a long moment, ready to behead him and be done with it all, but as you look down at Raphael, head hung low, eyes closed in acceptance, you decide that it is your turn to strike up a deal to the lost and downhearted… “Raphael, you are correct; you are at my mercy, and I am ready to offer you a deal you would be a fool to refuse…” Raphael raises his head, eyes locking with yours in surprise, then smirks. Always so full of surprises…This should be good. 

You never would have anticipated this when he took the deal all those months ago. All those days spent arguing, playing his games, having him join you to be your aid…You never thought it would turn into this…

“Mouse..” his hot breath cascades onto your clothed sex as you lay down against the furs on the bed. Raphael presses his nose against your cunt, taking a deep whiff of your arousal, then licking slightly to the damp spot seeping through your panties. His hands are hot, the devil side of him desperate to burst into flames and claw into your hips, painting you with the beautiful color of your blood, but he holds himself back. Raphael has no desire to hurt you..only to taste you…

He slips your underwear off with experienced grace, his shining eyes never leaving your face as he watches it contort, and your hips mindlessly buckle from his teasing. Though the teasing is short-lived, he can’t help himself any longer. With a quick flicking of his tongue, he plays with your swollen little clit. He makes sure you’re dripping before his tongue plunges into your tight entrance, making you moan, and Raphael groans. Sure, you’re the one on the receiving end. Still, he’s the one in complete bliss, getting drunk off of everything about you, from your soft moans and your decadent scent, and with his tongue buried within you, he confirms what he has always thought you taste delicious.  

Raphael’s tongue plunges deeper into you, licking and twisting against your walls as you squirm and arch yourself up. In an act of blind want, you grasp his dark locks and grind yourself on him. His nose brushing your clit, his hands squeezing your ass, his groans and hums vibrating from his tongue and into your slick walls. The feeling is maddening and addictive. Raphael doesn’t even mind your fucking yourself on his face while he stays worshipping on his knees; to him, this moment is perfection. 

“Raph-Rapheal~ ah-” Your cooing voice has him throbbing against his pants as he gets you closer to your orgasm with his sinful tongue. Raphael lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, feeling you tremble against him as he moves to place chaste kisses on your clit. Fucking his eager hips into the bed to release his aching. Raphael’s already thinking of the poetry he will write about this moment while all your thoughts have evaporated into a hazy cloud. You can only focus on the tightening in your lower stomach, which burns your core. Then Raphael’s cruel nature starts to reveal itself as he shoves two thick fingers into your slick, and his mouth sucks hard on your clit. The pleasure was overwhelming; your clit sucked and rolled against his velvet tongue while his two fingers curled into your spongy walls. The tightening in your stomach snaps harshly, and your ecstasy floods through your body, making you scream his name. your body shakes, and you squirt all over his face.  

Drunk on your sweet taste, he licks up your mess before he gives a harsh nip to you’re overstimulated clit making you moan and pull his roots harder. Rapheals lips curl into a wicked smirk, his brown eyes enchanted by you but constantly toying. Returning the smile, you push his face away, your eyes filled with complete lust for more. “That was very naughty, Raphael; what am I going to do with you..” his lips and chin are ruined with your cyprine; he hums for a moment, then he coos those words he told you all those months ago. 

“Well, Tav, I am at your mercy.” 

With that, you let him bury his face into you again, his lapping more desperate and hot, his hands holding onto your hips in a bruising grip as you grind your cunt against his handsome face, all while you chant his name and ride him to your next orgasm. A part of you knowing that you are truly the one at his mercy now…

[shippingfangirl013]

Getting older sucks.

It’s “I made my first friend in that elementary school classroom,”

And “I used to sit on those swings with my first childhood friend, playing make-believe and talking about the newest movie we wanted to go see,”

It’s “I used to get off the bus with you after school and stay at your house every other night because I didn’t want what my parents were having for dinner,”

It’s “We used to have sleepovers in my room, and I remember that I loved going to your house because it meant playing with our American Girl dolls. We’re in the same family, but I saw you more than half my friends sometimes. I miss seeing you now, even though we only live 10 minutes away, it still feels like the years have crept between us.”

And “We met in 4th grade, but I’ve known you all my life. You knew my first crush and I knew yours. You loved Sam Winchester and I loved Dean. We sat on the benches at recess, reading books about Helen Keller and talking about how excited we were to play the violin next year. Gavin always went on about how he loved some tv show with monsters off of Cartoon Network while we read. You loved One Direction, Harry Styles was your first love, I’m sorry for that fight we had in 7th grade, I was an asshole and I hope you know that I love you, I wish you never dealt with half the shit life has thrown at you, I’m sorry that I was too young to understand how to handle the sinking grief that you went through in 8th grade, I promise you that I would take it all away if I could, I’m sorry for ignoring you when you told me my first serious boyfriend wasn’t actually a nice guy. I should have listened to you. I’m sorry I let him get between us.”

It’s “you were mean to me, but I miss you. We were young, but I don’t think that you’re a bad person anymore. I loved your art and I hope you still create wondrous works. You inspired me to start drawing, and I’m grateful for that. I miss watching Dan and Phil with you, and Michael Clifford will always remind me of you. Thank you for sitting next to me in the classes we had together, I’m glad we had lunch together too, I felt less alone eating crappy high school lunches with you before Spanish class. I hope you’re doing okay, and I know we talk from time to time, but I miss seeing your face.”

And “I loved you. You broke me. I have nothing to say to you for what you did to me, but I remember the way that your freckles danced around your face, curving upwards towards the sun when you smiled that lopsided grin at me. We were young and stupid, and I thought that was what love was. I know that I was mean to you too, and I want you to know that I’m sorry for that. I wanted forever with you, I didn’t even know you, I loved you, but even the brightest blaze of fire can turn cold in the dampened wet of winter.”

It’s “I met you in college, but you are someone who has never hurt me. Your laughter is like the musical notes you play on the flute, you are sharp and witty and I’d go to the ends of the world with you, only if you wanted to. We survived freshman year together. You handed me Kleenex at 3 am and held my hair back when I got too drunk. You walked me home with some of our friends, and you asked me to look at a magazine after the party and I said that there were people dancing on a trifle cake. You showed me a photo of a Bundt cake with raspberries on top the next morning. You helped me study, even when I was a pain in the ass, and you’ve made me laugh when I’d much rather cry. We rode horses together on weekends when we had time. You helped me get through one of the worst breakups I’ve ever had. I’ve cried on your shoulder more times than I can count, we’ve had more movie nights with friends in the dorms than I can remember. I’m grateful that I always had a travel buddy when it came time to go home for Winter Break. Two hours goes by much quicker when you’re screaming the soundtrack of Frozen II in the car. You reminded me that I’m a good person. You remind me of that a lot, and even though I know that I can be exhausting and hard to handle, you’re always there to lend an ear or offer advice, and if I just need support, I know I can count on you. We always stayed up late on your birthday, midnights during finals week were never boring when your mom sent you a package to open, every item wrapped with care, because she wanted you to celebrate even if you weren’t home yet. You love dragons, and I’m awful at drawing them, but I drew one for you anyways. I’m glad we had an apartment our senior year. I hate that we live 8 hours away. Thank you for introducing me to Mikayla. I’m sorry about the fights that we’ve had. I’m grateful to you and Mikayla for showing me what healthy friendship is.”

And “I’ve known you since 8th grade but we’ve never met in person. I think about you all the time. I’m proud of who you’ve become. Thank you for being such an amazing friend. You’re such an inspiration to me. I wish we lived closer, I wish I could come visit.”

It’s “I haven’t talked to you in a while. We FaceTimed every day after school in high school. You’re engaged now, and I’m so happy for you. I hope he treats you well, I’m sorry I live so far away, I want you to have everything you want in life. I came to your graduation party, I was so excited when you came to my house and surprised me. I miss you, I hope you’re doing okay. I know I’m awful at texting back, I need to text you more.”

And “I read your eulogy at your service. I hope I did right by you. I wanted to honor your memory, and somehow, the right words came to me after crying over blank paper for hours. I hate that you’re gone. I hate that I can’t talk to you anymore. I don’t know how to live without you.

(How do I live without you?)

I hope I honored you and your memory with what I wrote. . . I hope everyone knows how much I love and miss you. I hope you know how much I love you. If there is a Heaven, say hi to Molly and Monica for me. Say hi to Mavi and Bear and Precious too. I listen to Taylor Swift all of the time now. I listen to One Direction too.

You were my first real friend. And that’s not to say I didn’t have friends before, but you were the first that stuck around. It was like Lilo and Stitch, times two. We found each other and became friends, and then in 4th grade, I picked Sam to become friends with… and then we were a trio. I remember all of the trouble we got into… it feels like yesterday.

(God, how I wish it were yesterday, because then you’d still be here.)

Your grandparents cried when I came over to pick up your stuff. I cried when your grandma gave me your Ron Jon’s hat and that stupid scarf you always wore and damn near strangled me with when we would wrestle with one another. I hugged your cat Harley for you, I wish I had been able to visit your house more. You always wanted to come to mine, and I never knew why, but “your house is more fun than mine,” always came the reply. I never quite believed that, but I didn’t push you.

I started watching Golden Girls, it makes me think of you. Kally is getting older now too, she’s 16, I know that when we were younger, we joked that cats that old went to Star Clan. I hope she goes to live out the rest of her days with you up there, at least I know she’ll be loved and looked after when it’s her time to rest. You were supposed to be in my wedding, but as it stands now, that will be a long ways away.

Life is odd, and it’s always changing, and you of all people, know how much I hate change. (How do I keep living when I’ve lost so many people that I once cared for?)

How do my grandparents do it? Losing friends they’ve known for years? How does anyone do it? Living without the people you thought you’d never lose is the worst feeling ever, and I’m scared to live if it means that everyone I care for could die tomorrow.

I’m glad you were able to love someone and that he was able to love you in return. You deserved a lifetime of happiness. I hope that he knows you passed on, I tried to contact him, but I never asked you for a name.

I can’t sleep some nights knowing that I was the last person you willingly called at 2 in the morning. I hope you can forgive me for not picking up. I miss you more than words can say.

(Do you think if I had been there for you, things would be different? Would you still be here if we hadn’t drifted apart in high school?)

I wish we hadn’t drifted apart in high school.

I wish things didn’t have to end, I wish someone could invent a way to tell when things would come to an end, so I could cling to it more tightly, telling those people how much I love them, how important they are in my life, and how much I loathe change. . .

I wish I never had to read your eulogy. It was the second hardest thing I’ve ever done, missing you, grieving you. . . That’s the first.”

~ a short collection of the people I’ve loved

(This doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of other new friends that I have and love right now, because I’m lucky to have so many people that care about me & I’m lucky to be able to care about them and get to know them as well.

This just… needed to come out tonight.

And I didn’t really include family in this, but I was more-so focused on friends that I’ve had and lost over the years.)

[yuwuta]

AFTERGLOW. — JJK BOYS + JEALOUSY

❝tell me that you’re still mine, tell me that we’ll be just fine, even when i've lost my mind  

featuring. gojo, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu

content. a character study in jealousy, no content warnings, no smut in this version, fem reader

word count. 2.8k

SATORU GOJO You’re attempting to finish getting ready for the evening and Satoru has taken his favorite activity: filing through every crevice of your room like he’d been hired as a private investigator. Even though he knows that you know that he’s nothing more than a nosy idiot, Satoru claims that it’s an important and intimate routine that he should know the ins and outs of your living space just as well as you know his—“You know exactly where I keep my boxers, and I don’t even think I’ve seen the inside of your closet—oh, hey, this is cute,” he grins, sticking out his impossibly long arm to shake a thin, lacy bodysuit on a hanger, “How come you’ve never shown me this, huh? Maybe you should wear this instead, it seems easier to take—ouch.”

He groans at the impact of your hairbrush against his shoulder, then swiftly proceeds to pout and whine about how mean you are to him when you return to ignoring him in favor of applying the final touches to your makeup. Your closet seems to be of little interest to him after that, as Satoru crosses the room to hover around you at your vanity instead. He leans in too closely, as if watching you apply bronzer was a novel sight to him. You flip your brush quickly, barely tapping at his nose and laughing at his scrunched reaction.

“Your reflexes aren’t so sharp today,” you tease. You’re prepared for a witty response, and when you glance, there’s a familiar mischief shimmering in your boyfriend’s eyes; but, then his gaze ventures slightly past you, and all signs of playfulness drain from his face. Instead of getting revenge, or annoying you further, Satoru reaches over your body and into a shallow jewelry dish to pick up the bracelet he’d spotted. It’s a dainty little thing, thin gold with a small heart in the middle glittering with shiny stones, that he threads along his fingers with scrutiny before standing up straight to dangle it in front his face for further inspection, “This is new to me.”

Perhaps you’d spoken too soon, because only Satoru would spot that one piece of jewelry amongst the others swimming the tray. His eyes flutter between the bracelet and you, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head, and the accusation he won’t say outloud—did you buy yourself heart-shaped jewelry, or is there something else going on here?

You sigh and keep your expression and voice neutral, your attention seemingly still focused on the finishing touches of your makeup, “It’s new to you because I haven’t worn it in years,” you tell him, “My ex gave it to me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you occupy yourself with your mascara, before Satoru speaks, “That makes sense, it doesn’t look all that promising. What is it—barely gold plated?” he taunts, sweeping away his air of concern with one of mockery, standing up straight to twirl the bracelet around his index finger, “Figures your ex boy toy had no taste for the finer things in life. You’re worth more than this, my darling.”

You shake your head with light laughter, patting in the remnants of your setting spray before standing. Satoru continues on, rambling about the poor construction of your commercially produced bracelet—holds it between his index finger and thumb like it’ll poison him if he exposes it to too much of his skin, and you can’t help but smile as you reach for the lapel of his blazer to pull him down for a kiss. He has no words of objection to this, pulling you in by the waist for another and another and another, before you finally pull away, “Come, let’s go. I don’t feel like getting lectured by Utahime for your tardiness again.”

You’re too preoccupied for the rest of the evening to notice the item missing from your jewelry dish. What you do notice, two afternoons later, shortly after Satoru has left to pick up Nanami from the airport, is a blue velvet box with your name written in pretty, gold cursive along the top—and inside, a gold tennis bracelet, glittering with diamonds, with a necklace to match. You have no doubt they’re legitimate, if not for the way the sparkle, then by the text that rings through on your phone after you question Satoru:

from: satoruwu 🫧🩵 — only the best for my baby <33

TOGE INUMAKI

Toge knows that the price of coffee has gotten way out of hand, but what bothers him more is the decreasing pace of said coffee getting made and the increase of crazy, caffeine addicted people who feel the need to be loud around him while he’s waiting for his drinks. You, however, seem to take pleasure in his suffering, as you always thank him and coo, saying he looks cute despite his grumbly demeanor, “You always look like you fought a war for two cups of coffee, Toge.” 

He rolls his eyes as he steps into your apartment, not minding the sound of your giggling behind him. He sets the drinks on your island, and pulls out a stool to sit on. You round the marble, reaching him just as he’s pulled down his mask for a thank you kiss to his cheek. He wants to make you suffer for longer, but when you lean against him, he can’t help but to return the hug and kiss your forehead—you’re welcome, always.

Still, he pokes at your head, waits until you dig your head out of his shoulder with curious eyes, before he points to the Keurig sitting in the corner of one the wall-mounted counters, and moves his hands to sign, “Why keep that if you spend all my money on coffee?”

“Rude. I offer to pay all the time,” you chide, poking at his collar bone and standing straight. You make your way back to the opposite side of the counter, and reach to a drawer to fetch a straw, before shrugging, “My ex left it here when we broke up. I keep it for the aesthetic—I’m not even sure if it works.”

A myriad of thoughts runs through Toge’s mind—most importantly: had your ex left other things here, and how quickly could he get rid of them?

“Besides,” you break his murderous train of thought, “None of the pods make good espresso. Couldn’t even make my hot girl latte if it worked.”

“Your ‘hot girl latte’ is iced,” Toge signs.

Under normal circumstances, a comment like that would earn him a flick to the forehead, but you can tell that behind the sarcasm, Toge is actually upset. So, in lieu of teasing him, you walk back over to him; settling yourself behind his stool to give him a back hug. You lean your cheek against his shoulder and press a small kiss there, “You’re cute.” 

Toge huffs, shaking his shoulders for dramatic effect. You laugh, leaning up to give him another kiss on the cheek. “You’re cute and you have nothing to worry about. It’s an old coffee machine.” 

He hums, taking another sip of his coffee before turning, barely bumping the top of your forehead, so you can see his raised eyebrow. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, “You’re cute, and you have nothing to worry about, and I love you.” 

He finally smiles again, content, and grants you another kiss to your forehead. With his mood back to normal, the two of you finish your coffee and carry on with your scheduled study session as normal (normal being Toge leaving you alone for all of twenty-seven minutes, before he starts taking videos of you with various outrages Snapchat filters on).

However, the following day when you return from your classes, there’s four new items on your kitchen counter: a silver espresso machine, a reusable Starbucks cup (already filled with your usual drink), a neatly folded apron decorated with cartoon Shiba Inus, and a small card with Toge’s bubbly handwriting on it: “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay for you $6 pink drinks, but if you wanted to thank me by making coffee in just the apron, then I wouldn’t complain ;)”

KENTO NANAMI Kento is a rational man; he favors using logic to carry out decisive actions, rather than letting his emotions get the best of him. So, the rational part of him knows that it’s not a big deal that the lunch bag and bento-style tupperware you bring to work was a gift from your ex-girlfriend; but there’s a small, ugly, green part of him overrun with jealousy and another bitter-tasting feeling he can’t quite name.

Because it’s not that important. It makes sense that you keep using them—the lunch bag is nice, leather, sleek, and insulated, and the tupperware is sturdy and functional. The whole system is sustainable, practical. It was a good present, one that objectively serves a good purpose whether or not it was given by an ex or not.

Maybe that’s what he hates so much. That this person still has room in your life, even though you haven’t spoken to them since you’ve met him. Kento doesn’t like that reminder—that there are people out there who might be a good fit for you, a better one than him. Those ugly feelings aside, there’s a sour taste in his mouth when he packs your lunch now; knowing that the food he cooked for the two of you—the meal you’re both going to indulge in—sits in a container gifted to you by an ex-lover.

Irrational to the point of being unfocused, he doesn’t realize how close the glass is to the edge of the counter, and when he turns to scoop more rice, he accidentally knocks it over with his elbow. It breaks into tiny pieces on the ground, the small portion of rice and chicken spilling onto the ground. The sound draws you out of your bedroom, mascara wand in hand and robe still on to call for him, “Kento? Everything okay?”

“I… it was an accident,” he explains, setting the spoon down in favor of reaching for a napkin, dropping to his knee with a light sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break it.”

Your laughter surprises him, prompts him to look up at you with broken glass shards pooled in his palm, “You don’t have to worry so much! It happens, we have a million more.”

There’s something about the way you don’t seem to acknowledge it being special to you in any way—Kento’s not even sure if you recognize what broke—that reassures him. Because it really was an accident, but Kento doesn’t mind that he managed to break this particular plate. 

When he shoos you back to getting dressed, he finishes picking up the broken glass shards. There’s a certain lightness to his actions now, petty as it may be, he’s happy. Spends extra time writing a note for you to see when you unpack your food before he retires to the bathroom to start getting ready himself. 

Maybe he could do something about that lunchbox next. You don’t seem to mind.

YUUTA OKKOTSU Thursdays are Yuuta’s favorite day of the week because on Thursdays, you two meet up at your spot, which is really just a set of twin benches in the west quad, but it’s your place and Yuuta loves it. You will have reserved a study room in your favorite library, and Yuuta will buy snacks for your study session before you both head to the library in an attempt to finish up your work for the week in order to keep your Friday evenings free.

Yuuta usually gets to the bench before you, a combination of the engineering building being a little bit closer, and his legs being a lot longer. He doesn’t mind waiting for you, as it’s usually his first time seeing you in two days (your Tuesdays are too packed for anything other than a shared coffee break between lectures, and Wednesdays are his hell days), and spotting you through the crowd of dissipating students always brings a smile to his face.

You look cute today, an oversized sweater enveloping your frame that Yuuta can imagine you cozying into and nearly dozing off in your dreaded microbiology lecture. He laughs to himself at the mental image, just as you stop in front of him to ponder, “Something funny?”

Yuuta shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead with a proper greeting. “Nothing,” he reassures you, reaching around to pull your backpack off of your shoulders, and slings it over one of his, “You look cute. Did you mean to buy a sweater big enough to double as a blanket?”

“The oversized look is in,” you scrunch your nose and roll your eyes, letting Yuuta take your hand in his despite his teasing, “I don’t even think I bought this, honestly. It might be Todo’s? Or Toge’s—it might even be Maki’s at this point.”

Yuuta freezes. He feels the world stop and a million different emotions surge through him at once, but the most prevalent of them all is something ugly and green. He could deal with Toge, though he doubts he’s the culprit. While you two shared a penchant for oversized clothing, Toge was more often than not the thief, rather than the lender, and he’s pretty good at keeping his collection of stolen goods under lock and key. Maki was out of the question, too, because you shared a class with Nobara earlier today, and there’s no way you’d have made it out of there wearing her girlfriend’s sweater.

So it probably was Todo’s. And Yuuta had said you looked cute. Though he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, his moment of self-pity is waning, and overcast by something steely, something too-hot bubbling in his chest. The question of why you have it goes over his head—he’s not concerned with that, nor will he fault you for it—the matter at hand is that you’re wearing it. And, sure, Yuuta thought you looked good in it before, but he could name sixteen other things you’d look better in at this very moment.

You’ve gone on to ramble about something that happened earlier, but Yuuta’s not listening. He drops your hand first, then both of your backpacks on the bench behind him, before tapping at your wrists. You don’t seem to understand him, cocking your head to the side with a pensive expression, but Yuuta only taps at your wrists again with a simple command, “Up.”

It doesn’t seem like you understand, but you follow anyway, and Yuuta is pulling the sweater up and off of your body before you can question him. He tosses it onto the bench with little care, then removes his white jacket and places it atop your backpacks. “What are—” you don’t have time to finish before he’s pulled his own hoodie off his body, and slid it over your head.

Yuuta smooths out the fabric under his palms with a satisfied grin on his face. Much better.

“Aw, Yuuta!” you bring a hand to tug at the strings of the hood, a wicked smile replacing your dazed blinking, “I didn’t know you were so possessive.”

You tease him until he’s red up to his ears, embarrassed and borderline bashful, a complete 180 from the looming jealousy that took over him moments before as he shimmies on his jacket again and picks up your back backs. He huffs, as you tease him, circling an arm around his as you begin to walk to the student center. He doesn’t know if he agrees with your declarations of him being a possessive boyfriend, but he does know that he’s your boyfriend, and your boyfriend only.

“So, you think I look cute, still?” you question, picking up a pack of gummy worms. Yuuta lets out a breath of laughter, pressing another kiss to your forehead, “Even cuter than before.”

(Two days later, Todo can be found screaming wildly to Itadori when he comes across a familiar hoodie strewn across a random bench on campus—who considers visiting the Student Health Clinic to make sure an eardrum wasn’t ruptured—because, “Bro, what the hell? I swear I fucking lost this thing!”)

[little-writers-posts]

Keeping You Warm (The Milkman x F!Reader)

Author's Note: It's been a long (LONG) time since I wrote smut, so please excuse anything, plus English is not my native language so I apologise for any mistakes. But I do hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ Smut. However, it's quite light/soft, so to speak. The reader has a female genitalia.

Word Count: 1.957

“Double shift again, Francis?” I asked over the phone.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” I heard Francis’ tired voice say in almost a whisper.

“Is there really no other person who could take the shift? It’s the third time this week, Francis. You’re killing yourself.” I sighed as I rested my head on my hand.

“Not really; everyone has been quitting lately because of the rise in the number of the doppelgangers' sights.” I heard the sound of glass bottles clattering in the background.

“Just… Don’t push yourself too hard, okay? You’re already tired and worn out. I understand that there’s a job that needs to be done, but you’re human.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself. Don’t wait up for me, okay? Get your rest. You need it more than I do. Bye.”

“Bye.” I hung up the phone, lowered my head, and laid it on the table.

It has been nearly two weeks since I last saw Francis, which is foolish since we live in the same apartment. However, due to our jobs and taking shifts, our schedules haven't been exactly the same. It’s actually gotten worse because he’s been taking double shifts to cover the lack of people, and now he has to deliver the milk and stay an extra shift preparing all the packs for the next day, which means not only collecting the empty bottles but also refilling them and sorting them out in the boxes. We only see each other when the other one is asleep since I start my shifts early, and he only gets home quite late.

As I was lost in thought, someone knocked on the window. Steven was waving his papers to get into the building.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, proceeding with my work.

Eventually, my shift ended, and I went to my and Francis’ apartment. While setting down my things, I checked my schedule for the next day, and a big smile spread across my face. It was a day off. I decided to wait up for Francis, so for the next few hours, I occupied myself with getting dinner ready and tidying up the house. When I ran out of things to do, I sat in the living room watching one of my favorite shows.

It was past midnight when I heard the keys to the front door. Francis walked in looking as tired as ever, sighing as he locked the door, the tension leaving his shoulders at being home becoming visible.

“Welcome home, love,” I said, getting up from the couch.

“I told you not to wait up, (Y/N),” Francis whispered as he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me tight.

“I’m not working tomorrow, so I thought I would wait for you,” I whispered back. I held his face in my hands, and he looked exhausted. “Do you want to go to bed? We could cuddle a little before sleep.”

“I would like that,” he smiled.

He followed me into the bedroom and started to get changed. I got in bed while waiting for him.

Soon, I felt his arms around my waist and his lips pressed against my neck. I turned off the lights and faced him. I put my palm on his cheek and caressed it with my thumb. I heard him sigh and move his head closer and I held it between my hands. His lips met mine in a soft and slow kiss.

“I missed you” Francis’s embrace tightened.

“I missed you too, my love” I smiled.

We kissed again, our lips moving slowly, just appreciating each other’s presence. His hand moved from my waist to my hip and down to my butt, giving it a light squeeze. I gasped slightly, and Francis took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside my mouth. What was just a lingering kiss turned into something more pressing. The warmth and softness of our lips, the wet touch of tongues, and the subtle taste of each other only added to my incoming arousal.

Unconsciously, I pushed my hips against his during the kiss, feeling his semi-hard dick. Francis moaned into the kiss. With his hand under my neck, he grabbed a fist full of my hair at the back of my head, squeezing tight and deepening the kiss. His other hand moved back to my waist, slipping under my shirt, caressing my skin, leaving goosebumps all over me.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, breaking the kiss and leaving both of us panting.

Francis rested his forehead on mine, and his hands continued rubbing the skin of my waist and neck.

“I thought you were tired,” I smiled.

“I am, but I want you,” he said hoarsely.

At the same time, his leg slipped between mine, pulling me closer by the waist. I could feel his need pressing against my intimate parts. I squeezed his leg between mine, rubbing my heat trying to ease my aching, but I knew he was exhausted, so I took the lead.

“What if I keep you warm?” I asked.

I spit a bit into my hand and reached for his pants, slipping under the waistband and into his underwear. I took his dick and started slowly moving, feeling him twitch. Francis groaned, and I felt his breath at the top of my head; he hugged me tighter and started to slowly, rocking his hips against my hand. I felt a chill down my spine; my core throbbed, and I felt it was getting wetter.

“Prep me up?” I mumbled.

Francis hummed, agreeing. His hand went from my waist to my heat, massaging my skin lightly along the way, and he pressed one finger to my entrance. I moaned quietly, continuing to pump him. He started to spread my juices around my lips and then pushed one finger inside. I moved my hips along with his finger, Francis kept his movements slow, and with each thrust, he touched a new spot inside me. Soon, he added a second finger, making me moan again and grind my hips in his hand.

“And I thought I was in need,” Francis chuckled.

“Francis…” I whimpered.

He pressed his thumb into my clit and began his scissors movements inside me, also curling his fingers to reach that sweet spot and stroke it, making me roll my eyes and breath heavily. I lifted my head, looking once again for his lips, and captured them in a hungrily open-mouth kiss, our tongues stroking each other rapidly and messy, with spit starting to drip.

I felt my walls pulsing around his fingers and that tickling sensation in my lower belly rushing me to grind faster. But I forced myself to stop. I pulled my hand away from his throbbing dick and grabbed his wrist, moving him away from me. I pushed Francis by the shoulder, laying his back on the mattress, and undressed myself. I lifted my leg and sat across Francis's lap, pulling his clothes down, freeing his dick, making him groan.

I kissed his tip and licked his entire length, from bottom to top, taking him to my mouth next. I took him until his tip reached the back of my throat and pumped the rest with my hand. I bobbed my head, sucking him and pressing my tongue against his flesh. Francis gave a husky groan and thrust his hips, hands tangling my hair.

When his dick was all wet, I raised myself and aligned my entrance with his tip. I slowly sink into him, feeling him twitch, relinquishing the feeling of his dick filling me up until he was all of him was inside me.

I set my hands on his stomach, getting used to the sensation of having him inside. Francis released a strangled breath, his hands resting on my thighs, caressing them with his thumbs.

When I was about to move, Francis took a strand of my hair and nestled it behind my ear, pulling me towards him by the back of my neck right after. He kissed me again, lips moving rapidly, only pulling away when we needed air.

The sudden movement had me squeezing his dick and he grinded his hips against me.

“Fucking tight,” Francis whispered.

I began rocking my hips, Francis matched my pace by grinding into me. Grunts and pants echoed in the bedroom; my hands were back on his stomach for balance, his hands pressed firmly on my waist to guide my movements and leave bruises. Each thrust felt heavenly, his dick sliding in and out, hitting the right spots every time, making me whimper and my legs shake.

The familiar tickling feeling in my lower belly came back, and my movements became erratic, faster, and sloppier, chasing that rush.

“I’m cuming,” I begged.

“Wait for me,” Francis urged.

He grabbed my leg and pushed my back onto the mattress. Settled between my legs, Francis resumed his movements, thrusting deep and fast. The change in position made me whine and squeeze him even tighter; it was bliss, the feeling of his weight on me, his grinding, and his dick rubbing every part inside me and hitting just the right spot.

“Francis, please” I begged again.

“Almost there” he grunted.

I tried my best to delay my incoming orgasm, focusing on Francis, on his short breaths, his muscles stiffening beneath my fingers, his raspy moans in my ear, just everything about him, taking my mind away from the pleasure he was giving me.

I tightened my legs around his body and my nails scratched his back, I was so close.

“Cum with me,” Francis pleaded.

I focused back on the sensation in my lower area. Francis sped up his pace, with chaotic and messy movements, as he began to shake. I felt the buildup of tension that made my back arch and my toes curl, like a clenching feeling. As soon as I thought that I couldn’t take it anymore, I sensed all that tension being released and pulsing throughout my body, an all-consuming release and euphoria. I moaned loudly against Francis's skin.

At the same time, Francis tensed up gave his final deep thrust and his dick throbbed inside me, releasing all of his seed, filling me up.

Francis kissed my lips tenderly, again, again and again, holding my face while supporting the weight of his body on one arm.

“I love you” he whispered between kisses.

“I love you too” I giggled, kissing him back.

He lay next to me, pulling me onto his chest. We stayed like that for a while, still panting and recovering.

“I’ll get you some water and a towel,” he said kissing my temple.

“No, it's okay I’ll get it” I pushed him down and got up. “I have to use the bathroom anyway. Do you need anything?”

“Just some water, please”.

I went to the bathroom, cleaned myself and then got a glass of water from the kitchen. When I came back to the bedroom, Francis’s breathing was deep and slow, suggesting that he was already asleep. I smiled and placed the water on his nightstand, I gave a small peck on his lips and laid down in bed, feeling my muscles relaxing after so much tension and pleasure.

The fact that our lives are regularly in danger because of the doppelgangers leaves everyone on edge, meaning that our time together safe at home is a blessing and a getaway from everything on the outside. Losing ourselves in each other is not only a reminder of being alive but also a reassurance that the other person we love so much is still by our side.

Thinking about all the things we do for each other, and while caressing softly Francis's face, I also fell asleep.

[cripplecharacters]

Facial Differences that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More

[large text: Facial Differences that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More]

As it has been said many times on this blog before, facial differences are a very wide spectrum - there’s thousands of conditions that cause it, and they’re often extremely different from each other! It’s an incredibly diverse category almost by definition. But…

In books, movies, and our inbox, it seems that a traumatic battle scar is the only facial difference that exists. I find this rather frustrating because I would like to see the real life diversity to be actually considered by writers when creating characters - and that’s exactly what this post is for. I hope that by making people just aware of the myriad of options they have, I can help a bit. 

This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t write characters with scars, it’s to say that there’s more for you to consider. Just like not every physically disabled person has hip dysplasia and not every neurodivergent person has epilepsy, not every person with a facial difference has scars! 

Of course, this list isn’t exhaustive - no such list exists, it would be like “list of every disability ever”, it simply can’t be done. This is just a dozen random facial differences that I would like to see incorporated into characters more often!

Facial paralysis Exactly what the name implies. There are many types of facial paralysis - complete, partial, bilateral, unilateral, chronic, acute, and it can affect the whole face, or only part of it.  Sometimes it can cause problems with speech or dry eyes (mostly the latter), but it’s frequently just primarily a visual difference. A person with facial paralysis might be completely unable to make facial expressions at all if it’s severe, or have a lop-sided smile and inability to raise an eyebrow or control an eyelid like me. Causes include cranial nerve damage (especially the 7th nerve, which is called facial palsy), Bell’s palsy, Möbius syndrome, or multiple sclerosis! It can be congenital, like in my case, or acquired, like in most cases - mostly due to stroke. Here I would write something about the current media representation being good, bad, or what tropes to look out for but I don’t know a single character with it. So :-)

Anotia/microtia Microtia is a congenital facial difference that affects the outer ear(s) - as the name implies, they’re smaller than average; anotia means a complete lack of them. This usually will also result in being d/Deaf or hard of hearing in that ear, as the ear canal can be smaller or closed (depending on the “grade”). People with microtia who decide on using hearing aids will usually wear a bone-anchored hearing aid, which looks very differently from the “regular” HA; it’s worn with a headband. Microtia can be the only facial difference that a person has, but it can also be a part of Goldenhar syndrome, Treacher Collins syndrome (mentioned below!), or hemifacial microsomia.

Congenital Trochlear Nerve palsy I have a subtype of this, and because it happens to have the most boring name in existence I have never seen anyone talk about it, certainly not see a character with it. So! CNIV palsy (again, an incredibly catchy name) is a disorder of one of the very-easy-to-damage nerves that allow eyes to move. It causes constant double vision, severe strabismus, and progressive facial asymmetry. A person with CNIV palsy will have a 24/7 head tilt to the side and will have their chin tucked in, which causes said asymmetry - facial features on the side of the tilt will sag down, the eye will “sunk” in, and because it’s congenital, the jaw can grow to be misaligned (like mine!). Over time, it causes neck pain and kyphosis, so add chronic pain to that. Trochlear nerve palsy can be congenital, acquired, traumatic, and even extremely rarely genetic (that’s me! allegedly <1 in a million). However, most acquired cases are only temporary, and “fix themselves” with the passage of time. Again, I would love to write something about CNIV palsy representation, but I’m fairy confident it doesn’t exist : )

Sturge-Weber syndrome The most visible part of SWS - that you might be familiar with - are port wine stains! In this syndrome, they tend to be large and generally cover the forehead-eye area. Around 15% of people with any kind of port wine stain on their face have Sturge-Weber syndrome, and even more when it comes to larger ones. Most people with SWS will have epilepsy since childhood, and many will develop glaucoma (which causes blindness) if the PWS is around that eye. Hemiparesis (one-sided weakness) can also sometimes happen on the opposite side of the PWS. Here is a short article about media representation from a person with SWS!

Cystic Hygroma Also known as lymphangioma, it is a bump that mostly happens on a person’s lower face and/or neck. It’s almost always congenital and a result of a blockage in the lymphatic system (thus lymphangioma). Sometimes, if it affects the mouth or jaw, it may cause a speech disability where the person’s speech might not be fully understandable, or cause an airway obstruction; this generally means that the person has to have a trach tube in their neck to breathe. Here is a short article about living and growing up with cystic hygroma by Atholl Mills!

Congenital melanocytic nevus A complicated name for a specific kind of birthmark! Melanocytic means related to melanin, so it’s a black or brown birthmark that can show up on any part of the body and be of almost any size. Sometimes it can be hairy as well. While CMN doesn’t usually cause any problems, people who have it have a higher risk of skin cancer, epilepsy, and brain tumors. Here is a short article on representation - among other things - by a person with CMN!

Ptosis Ptosis is actually really common - I can almost guarantee that you have seen someone with it - but for some reason it never shows up in media, unless it’s to show that a character is under the influence or vaguely creepy. Ptosis is simply a drooped eyelid. It’s caused by damage to the third cranial nerve, which can be congenital, acquired, traumatic, etc. It’s very common in myasthenia gravis and CHARGE syndrome. In most cases ptosis is a visual thing, but it can sometimes cause problems - for me, it partially obstructs my vision and for some people who acquired it later in life that can cause pain (due to having to constantly lift the eyebrow). Ptosis is often misunderstood, and people tend to make bizarre assumptions about those of us who have it - even Wikipedia cites “looking sinister” as a symptom (not that I particularly trust Wikipedia as a source, but it shows the general public’s view quite well). In real life, we are normal people and all these “drunk/high/rude/evil” associations aren’t true at all.

Treacher Collins syndrome You have probably seen a person with TCS at some point, as it’s not that rare. This is a genetic, congenital disability that affects the development of the face. The bones of the jaw and cheeks are underdeveloped, eyes have a downturned shape, and microtia/anotia is often present as well. A lot of people with Treacher Collins are d/Deaf or hard of hearing. Sometimes, the small jaw might cause problems with breathing, which is why a lot of people with TCS will have a permanent tracheostomy tube in their neck. Similar to ptosis, eyes in TCS are often seen as “looking sad”, but that’s an incorrect assumption - that’s just how they look like. The main and only big representation of TCS in media is that one awful movie from a few years ago, that was literally just inspiration porn featuring an able-bodied actor based on a shitty book, made by an author with some sort of abled-person guilt. Very cool, don’t do that.

Crouzon syndrome Crouzon syndrome is a type of craniosynostosis; a congenital condition where a person’s skull fuses too early. There are other disabilities that can look somewhat similar, like Pfeiffer or Apert syndrome, but they are different!  CS will affect the person's skull - it will be taller than usual, eyes - they will be large and bulging, midface - it's often smaller than average and can look sunk in comparison to the jaw and forehead, and more! Sometimes people with Crouzon syndrome are d/Deaf or hard of hearing (very common with craniofacial differences), or experience long term effects of hydrocephalus, which happens fairly often. Here is a short article by Mikaela Moody about movie representation - and her piece on how it to be trans while having a facial difference, which I relate to a lot and wanted to share:-)

Phthisis bulbi Phthisis bulbi is something that I have mentioned on this blog before, as it logistically should be represented way more often in fiction than it currently is. It's also known as the “end-stage eye” which is a pretty metal name. This is an ocular difference that can result after trauma to the eye. It can also result from a million other things, but trauma is apparently the most common thing to happen to an eye in fiction, so. With phthisis bulbi, the eye shrinks, sinks, and everything inside becomes stiff; this is permanent, and the eye isn't functional anymore - it's blind and unable to move. The only treatment is to have the eye removed, especially if it causes pain. If you're writing a character who got a Hot Sexy Scar over their eye and still has that eye, they probably should have this (and yes, the “shrunk and sunk” part is mandatory, you can't just make the eye lighter and call it a day).

Frontonasal dysplasia Frontonasal dysplasia is a congenital facial difference that affects the structure of the face. While it's a spectrum with a lot of variety, most people with FND will have hypertelorism (eyes spread widely apart), a flat and broad nose, and a cleft going through the middle of the nose. Other facial clefts (not necessarily just cleft lip) are also common. Sometimes, someone with it can also have cranium bifidum (meaning a brain/meninges that protrude through the skull, similar to how spina bifida works), or intellectual disability related to the potential absence of corpus callosum. Rarely, limb differences can also be a part of it; absent tibia, extra toes, or clubfoot. Again, I’m unaware of any representation of FND outside of “scary birth deformity” on medical shows :--)

Parry–Romberg syndrome PRS is also known as progressive hemifacial atrophy, which is a much more descriptive name. It’s an acquired facial difference that people just get for unknown reasons, mostly before the age of 20 and usually between 5 and 15. Generally, PRS is considered to be slowly-progressing, but this can vary pretty widely between different people. As the name implies, it causes atrophy in the face, which affects everything from skin to fat and muscles to sometimes even bones. Some people will also experience skin darkening, alopecia (hair loss), or trigeminal neuralgia (very severe nerve pain) on the atrophied side. The difference between the two sides can be very pronounced, with a visible line between the halves showing up on the forehead. Again, no existing rep that I know of :-)

And as always, I recommend this short PDF that in my opinion any writer who wants to include a character with an FD has to read. Additionally, you can also check our #face difference tag, this primer on facial difference, or this piece on making sure you’re not contributing to disfiguremisia.

Also apologies for the amount of “idk what to say about already existing rep because it literally doesn’t exist afaik” but I hope it illustrates the problem :-)

Happy Face Equality Week!

mod Sasza

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. ii

hi. this is max's lawyer speaking. please don't get mad at her for this part. she asked me to let you know that she loves you all and hopes that you trust her. sincerely, jimmy mcgill

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're pregnant with joel miller's kid. he's dating someone else. you deal with it.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy stuff like nausea (none of the v word, y'all are safe with me), ultrasound scene set in a hospital, anxiety and guilt surrounding pregnancy, description of body change/growth, brief and i mean brief discussion of abortion, joel is dating someone who isn't reader, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), reader has no physical description save for hair, cursing, genderless use of buddy when referring to baby, joel kisses someone who is not his partner, mention of alcohol, disturbing & semi-graphic nightmare about being involved in car accident, reader has a panic attack, discussion of dead parents, fluff and the beginnings of angst 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: 9.2k

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

“I know, I know,” Joel holds a palm up, “it’s nine thirty. I know. But I had to lug all this wood over here, and it – You okay?”

You realize when he pauses that you’re gaping at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place behind your front door. Your jaw hinges shut, a gulp like carpet burn down your throat. You didn’t hear a word he just said.

How does he know? He can’t possibly. Did he sense it, from two lawns away? Dream about the binding of cells, the furnace left lit in your body from that night? The embers still floating, just waiting to catch to life again?

Did he do the fucking math, the way you probably should’ve? How does he fucking know?

The minute the question leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Joel’s eyebrows drop. “How did I know what, kid? That you need new closets? Like you ain’t been nipping my ear about ‘em for weeks?”

Your eyes unlock from his and shift to the slats of wood leaning against the balustrade. The toolbox hanging from his fist. The worn jeans and the white dust marks on his thighs. He doesn’t fucking know, you idiot.

Joel steps forward. Takes your wrist. One grounding, steady hand around your thrashing pulse. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s –?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, remembering. The closet. The deal. The fucking – the deal. You withdraw your arm. Hidden up your sleeve, quickly slipping out of his grasp, is the news that his life is about to change forever.

Maybe. You don’t fucking know.

“No,” you continue, blinking the burn of sunlight from your vision, “I just – I forgot. Sorry. Come in. Sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ sorry,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. He lifts a foot and hovers it over the threshold, hesitating. Like the first step across a minefield; instinct telling him to tread carefully.

And you swear an oath to yourself, swear it on your own life: if he doesn’t put the heel of his boot in your hallway, if he turns around right now whether because his instinct is razor sharp, or because he forgot his lucky screwdriver, or purely because he needs to take a fucking leak before he gets started – you will never tell him. He will never know.

If his intuition is that good, he’ll turn around and never show up on your porch again. If he has any sense, he’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal off.

“How’s the stomach?” Joel asks, sole still three inches from wood.

“What?” you bleat, your heel knocking against the bottom stair. It’s a little more panicked than you intended.

“Yesterday,” a crease forms between his brows, “you said you had a weird stomach. That any better?”

Oh, you think, and as you open your mouth to reply, his foot hits the ground. No answer needed. He was coming in whether you tried to deter him or not.

“Oh, yeah. It’s – Well, it’s better than it was. I think I worked it out,” you grimace, tongue curling under the tinge of anxiety and – well. “Thanks,” you add, noticing the brisk cut of your replies.

The heavy thud of his footsteps follows you upstairs, blunt on the carpet as you lead him up. Joel sets the toolbox down and casts your room a quick glance, snapping back to you as soon as you notice him.

You tug on the corner of the bedsheets, a heat bubbling beneath your cheeks. Something shy and self-conscious, all of a sudden. The reality that you don’t feel close enough to this man to share the anatomy of your room with him, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you are, now and forever, bound by the anatomy of something a little more significant than dirty laundry and dusty wardrobes.

A little closer than most humans get, let’s say.

“You want a coffee or something?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning back against the window sill.

“You havin’ one?”

“Sure. Wait – actually –” Can you have coffee whilst pregnant? A woman at work quit it altogether when she fell pregnant with her son. Fuck. “I’m – No. I’m good. But let me go make you one.”

Joel shakes his head, amused. Screwdriver burrowing into a door hinge already. He flashes you a tickled grin. “I’m good just now, kid. Wait until you’re makin’ one. Thanks.”

You lift a shoulder. “Welcome.”

His eyes flit from the twist of silver to your hunched shoulders, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. “You gonna stand there ‘n watch me all day? You my foreman now?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he laughs. You sniff, twisting your foot into the carpet. The plastic test itches against your skin; you can feel the two lines ripping into your wrist like tiny burns. “I can go, if you want.”

His lip turns, musing. A quick flick of his jaw. “You’re good company, all in all.”

Metal clanking against metal; fingers knuckle-deep in the toolbox. You can hear the harsh sound across your body, like the point of screws and bite of rust are actually scoring your skin. The groan of a near-fifty-year-old man rising to rip a decades-old door from its home. The creak of wood as it splits.

Everything so heightened that it’s actually painful.

Joel straightens up and pauses, turning his screwdriver between his fingers. “Are we –? We’re good, right?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You’d tell me if things were weird?”

“Why would things be weird?”

His answer scrawls itself across his face. Your response scoffs from your lips.

“I just,” Joel sighs, “I feel like something might be off with ya. Maybe you just ain’t feelin’ too hot. But you’re quiet.”

“Quiet,” you whisper, palms locking heavily against your biceps. More defensive than convincing.

“Yeah. You usually annoy the hell outta me.”

Over your shoulder, Alice Brown waddles down her driveway, eyeing her flowerbeds. She pauses when Diane’s station wagon pulls up across the street; stands motionless as she watches the round figure climb out and totter to her own front door.

“Just – not in a very annoying mood, I guess,” you offer, staring at the white head of hair fluttering in the breeze. The glint of a trowel in her hand.

Joel’s chin lifts. He studies you, tongue tracing the ridges of his teeth. And then he’s nearing you, turning until you’re shoulder to shoulder, two silhouettes stood against the bright square of blue sky inside your window frame. His arms crossed; his stare fixed.

The words begin to boil in your stomach. Violent bubbles against the wall of your midriff. Rising like steam, fading into nothingness over your tongue, the sting of heat where your voice won’t collect them.

Joel moves from foot to foot. It feels like some kind of merry dance, some choreographed moment between you – like a skit in a comedy show. I know something you don’t know.

“What happened – at the wedding,” he murmurs, addressing the polished gold of your bedframe.

Some small sound passes your lips. An affirmative. You’re on the same page.

“We didn’t use – you know. And with you not feelin’ well, it’s…” A deep breath. Chest full of a ghostly bravery. And then he asks, “Are you –?”

Silence swallows the end of his question whole. You didn’t need it, anyway. The stiffness of his frame, his stare shooting straight ahead. The lack of oxygen between you – both holding your breath for fear that something might tear loose from your lungs. He knows. He knows he knows he knows.

You gulp. “…If I was?”

His head cranes upwards, focusing on the cracked plaster of your ceiling. The realization slowly trickling down over his skin. It hasn’t seeped through, hasn’t bled into his brain yet. “Then,” another breath, “then it’d be a conversation…” His voice is halved, split somewhere between knowing and – what is it? Hoping?

Your eyes slip over to the worn sleeve of his T-shirt, stretched around the swell of his bicep; scaling up to his shoulder, the tight set of his jaw. He’s so much taller, he’s so much older. There’s so much life lived and so many lessons learned behind his eyes that you wonder how much the news I’m pregnant would actually crack him.

Your eyes meet. You whisper, “Then – talk,” and his expression softens.

He blinks away whatever’s left of his trying, his polite attempts to skirt around it. He sheds probably a good three decades – turns back into some doe-eyed boy, wonderstruck and terrified. His voice is quiet, and at the same time, the heaviest with emotion you’ve ever heard it. “Are you?” he asks, and immediately, he blurs behind a wall of tears.

Your sentence gets caught in your teeth. It made no sense to begin with. Tangled between your molars, latching at the back of your tongue. Your hand slowly pulls free from your sleeve, the little white test between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes instantly drop, staring at the pale stick with a fraught expression you understand to mean the message has finally reached his brain. The same words now ringing between his ears: She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant.

You hold the test out, quivering in the daylight. He takes it in his thumbs, instantly soothing its tremble. Everything muted, every movement steady and considered. And suddenly the sight of that positive test feels less scary, in his hands. Feels like a smaller problem, if that were ever possible.

And he says nothing, and it’s almost unbearable to watch the shape of his lips thin, the shadow beneath his brows darken. Agonizing to stand here and wonder what the next words over his tongue will be.

He stares at it a moment longer. You count the beats of your pulse in your throat. You wrap your arms tighter around your body, holding your skeleton together.

Joel’s lips part. Your breath freezes. Whatever he says, you don’t want to miss a syllable.

“Are you –” he blinks, “– are you feelin’ okay?”

You stare blankly. His eyes finally lift.

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Your head jerks. “I’m – I’m fine. I mean, I’m fucking shocked.”

He nods. “How long have you known?”

“Took that right before you showed up,” you say, eyes diving to his hands. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He’s still switching between you and the test. Checking those two lines are still there, as if they might fade to nothing, and then checking you’re still there – as if you might, too. Might be swept off if he’s not keeping an eye on you.

His face pales. He sinks back against the window ledge. “Jesus,” he breathes, a hand down the scruff of his chin.

And it feels like relief, like a mirror sat before you, presenting the honest truth: you’re fucked, and Joel thinks so, too. It embeds the shock into the cushion of your brain, the weight of it absorbed and laid bare for every particle in your body to pay it a visit. What the fuck do we do now?

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Jesus.”

But then his arm wraps around your shoulder, reminding you you’re still solid. Still whole. He holds you to his side, and when you turn into him, he takes you in the other and pulls you flat against his chest. His lips to your hair. His breathing slowing yours.

“We’re gonna work it out,” he says into your hair. “We’re gonna – Jesus, I did not expect…We are goin’ to be fine, alright? You are goin’ to be fine.”

You’re nodding, the prickle of tears flooding across your eyes again. They’re doing nothing, his words – blunt against your skin and insignificant to the fear swelling around your heart – but it feels better to be afraid with someone. Feels better to hold onto something stronger, something bigger, while you feel yourself beginning to shrink.

“What do we do?” you ask into his shirt.

Joel loosens his grip, pulls away until you’re staring at one another. “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t…” Your head’s shaking, lips moving quicker than your voice will offer the words over. “I don’t think I want to get rid of it.”

He nods, a hand coming up to hold your cheek. “Alright. Then you don’t have to. You don’t gotta do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“But,” you sniff, guiltily averting his gaze, “this fucks everything up. Everything’s about to change.”

Joel takes a long, slow breath. “It complicates some things, that’s for sure.” He looks out to the street; Alice Brown now hauling weeds from the edge of her lawn. In his exhale, he breathes a name.

“V…What?”

He looks down. Eyes dance around your damp cheeks. “Vanessa,” he says, clearer now.

“Vanessa?”

A nod. His nose wriggles with an awkward sniff. You push off from his chest.

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Joel lets you go; lets you step back. He watches as you brace yourself against the ledge. Runs a hand through his hair while he fixes the right order of words. He’s thinking. Carefully.

Too fucking carefully. He’s taking too long.

“Joel. Who’s Vanessa?”

“She’s…” He sighs. “She’s my ex. From Tommy’s wedding. Vanessa Hart.”

Your jaw slackens. The purple dress. The hair like silk, a halo around her head where the light kissed her perfectly. Her plump lips; the way her head tipped back to laugh. The amount of air you felt her take up the second you laid eyes on her, the second you saw her, arm on top of Joel’s.

“Vanessa,” you whisper, your eyes descending his frame. The memory feels menacing now: her sweet giggle a sneering cackle, and you’ve no idea why. The bulky jewels around her neck, her clawed fingers on his arm.

Joel’s hand sits inches from yours on the wooden sill. Alice is walking back inside.

“We, uh…we swapped numbers the morning after the wedding, at breakfast. I didn’t think much of it, but we’ve seen each other a couple times since.”

This isn’t the time for another it’s a date, it’s not a date argument. What the fuck does he mean by –

“Seen each other?”

“Mhm.” He owes you better than that. He reckons so, too. “Dates,” he clarifies. “We’ve been on a couple dates.”

“Oh.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Plummets, dragging with it your breath and your nerve and any other words you can think of. Your chest gnaws at the edges of the cavity left behind. It hurts. It stings.

Though you’ve no right for it to hurt or sting: as far as you were concerned, as far as you think Joel was concerned, that night was a one-off. It meant as little as the alcohol draining from your glasses, the vacant buzz of love and hope loose in the air. Equally as intoxicating as each other.

Cataclysmic, for the first little while. So heavily awkward that you would wait to watch Joel head out in the morning, clear of your path, before you’d set off for work. It felt like the aftermath of some natural disaster – the cleanup of debris and mistake.

But oh, it feels like a punch to the gut. Low, unexpected; a foul move by someone who never meant to hurt or not hurt you. Someone ignorant to every move he made, right up to this moment.

Your arms wrap around your body again, as though tending to the bruise left by the sucker punch shaped something like that tall woman named Vanessa.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. “We were…we were seein’ about starting things up again. Me ‘n her.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got you. That’s – I mean, I’m – I’m sorry, Joel, I –”

“Woah, woah,” he’s stepping forward now, “hey, no. No way. This wasn’t you. Well, shoot – it kinda was you. But it was just as much me, right?”

You smile, your face back in the safe hold of his hands. Tears roll down your cheeks, collecting in the corners of your mouth. His thumbs swipe them away.

“This was just as much me,” he repeats, voice soft and soothing.

“But, you know – if you wanted to – just ‘cause I don’t want to get – so if you didn’t wanna have to – that’d be okay, you know that, right?”

His head snaps back, brows low. It’s the first time he looks like his cool has broken all morning. It’s the first time he looks…downright offended. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, and then, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I just – I know this ain’t ideal. It’s even worse if you’re tryna make it work with Vanessa. So if you felt like it was too much, then…”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, edged with some kind of groan. “Stop talking, right now. Stop. You gotta take a deep breath, alright? I’m here, ‘n I mean I’m here. We’re in this together. I am not running out on you.”

“Joel –”

What was a mere crack in his cool before, rips through it now like lightning spreading across the sky. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping between his teeth. “If you think I would leave you right now, to deal with this on your own –”

“I don’t,” you tell him, his vexation powering your sudden animation. You wipe your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m just saying, it’s a fucking lot. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’m giving you an out, man.”

“I am not interested in taking it. Enough. Conversation over.”

“And what about Vanessa?”

“What about her?” he asks, the question dripping in something akin to anger. He catches himself, draws it back in. “She’ll just �� We’ll talk, I’ll explain it. The hell else can we do? One thing at a time, okay?”

“Right,” you nod, “okay. One thing at a time.”

“Let’s just build these damn wardrobes. I sure as hell didn’t lug all that timber over here to not do ‘em.”

“Okay,” you repeat, making for the door.

“Ah.” He clicks, and you turn back. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To get the timber.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, pointing to your bed. “Sit down. Relax. You ain’t getting a damn thing.”

Joel calls it a day at six o’clock.

The skeleton of the closet is up: a smooth, tan frame lining one wall of your room. Much bigger, much sturdier than its predecessor.

You’re in the same spot he left you in: lying across your bed, admiring his handiwork. He’s good at what he does. You told him twice, and the two of you almost heaved both times. Compliments aren’t something you’re used to handing one another.

He left, maybe, three hours ago. Said he had to shower; said he’d be back first thing to finish the job. You sat up to see him out, got struck by a wave of nausea so bad that you fell back to the bed with one hand on your stomach and the other over your lips, and Joel had insisted – demanded – that you stay where you were.

I’ll be back later to check on ya, he assured, setting a glass of water at your bedside. And then he told you to call him if you felt even remotely off – sick, or panicked, or had a tickle in your throat that you couldn’t clear – and that’s when the two of you realized that you don’t even have one another’s numbers.

And you laughed, the both of you; laughed at the absurdity of you carrying his child when you don’t even carry his contact details in your phone. Laughed at how quickly everything has turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the few hours since you woke up. It felt like some form of release, the only way to clear the blockage of tension in both your throats. So, you laughed, until you felt sick again, and Joel swept the hair from your shoulders to cool you down.

The attentiveness is…new. It’s interesting. It’s kind, in the same way that being told to say hi to whoever your grandma is talking to in the grocery store, is kind. Sweet, the same way that answering the door on Halloween to a bunch of kids you don’t know from a street you don’t recognize the name of, is sweet.

Whatever. It’s fucking weird, alright?

You’ve never seen this side of Joel. You didn’t know or even think, in your wildest dreams, that he existed. Let’s face it: you two have spent the entirety of your inhabitance next door to one another, antagonizing each other. Your favorite hobby has always been pissing Joel off – teasing him for having backache, seeing how far down his porch you can launch his newspaper and he’ll still go get it. Playing the same kind of music you heard him playing on his guitar that one time, full-volume from your kitchen window just to fuck with him.

And, likewise: his favorite hobby has always been…well, ignoring you. Doing everything he can not to engage. If it weren’t for that fucking cat lady and her jittery green Chevrolet, none of this would’ve ever happened. She was a catalyst where one was neither needed nor wanted. You would’ve gone about your life, pinning your underwear only slightly more carefully to your clothesline, and Joel would’ve gone about his, doing – whatever the fuck he does.

Sure, it’s weird. But it’s nice. It’s nice to have him on your side, turning to check on you rather than snap at you for something. Nice to have him talk – actual, rounded words in place of grumbles and mumbles and groans and sighs. Nice to hang out with him and watch him work and ask questions about screws and power tools and pretend to be interested just to distract from the weight of queasiness in your stomach.

Your hands trail down, cupping around your navel. Your stomach still feels like your stomach: still soft, still spongey under your touch. If not for the two more tests you’d taken this afternoon, perched on the bathroom counter waiting for Joel to unstick his gaze from his watch and announce, That’s three minutes – both also positive, by the way – you’d have no fucking clue.

You hold the bottom half of your tummy, fingers rubbing gently over the skin that will soon enough grow and swell and protect.

“Hey,” you whisper, staring at the stationary ceiling fan overhead. A pause. An awkward inhale. “…hey, little buddy. I don’t – know you very well, yet. I figure you can’t even fucking hear me, but whatever. Just wanted to say hi. I’m – Ew, no. I’m not Mom, yet. What the fuck. I don’t know who I am right now, so just…maybe go easy on me until I figure that part out. And after, too. Alright? Are we…we cool?

“You can’t tell me, I know. I just have to assume we’re cool. Okay. Well. Keep growin’. Keep…doing your thing. You’re doing great. We’re doing – we’re doing alright.

“Good job, kid. Good job.”

Joel tells Vanessa two days later. She takes it…about as well as you might hope.

He says they talked for four hours. Three cups of coffee and a drive to Taco Bell later, she agreed to meet you. Properly. Not across the cluttered dancefloor of Tommy’s wedding.

She –? Is – is that a good idea?

I don’t know, kid. It’s the best I’ve got.

Meet me? Like, come kick my ass for sleeping with her boyfriend?

Joel had sighed and deadened his eyes on yours. Not her boyfriend, he corrected, passing you a sweater folded a little slapdash for your liking, and wasn’t her boyfriend when we slept together.

You shook the sweater straight again and fixed his work, muttering to yourself that at least he’s a better builder than he is a folder.

Joel heard you, and let it go. Passed you another – unfolded – sweater to sit in your wardrobe. Let’s just see how it goes, alright?

Alright.

We’re really trying this again. It’s only been a couple weeks.

Okay.

And neither of us have had much luck in that department since we broke it off, y’know?

Joel. I said okay.

He held your gaze a moment too long. Okay.

You’re on your porch when he strolls over, wrist blocking the six o’clock sun from his eyes. Newspaper in his fist, wind licking the corners. “Forget somethin’ today?” he asks, meeting you at the top of the steps.

“Came out to get it,” you brace yourself on the railing, “felt sick. This is me workin’ up to it.”

“You want me to toss it back onto my lawn so you can go fetch me it?”

You smile, eyes screwing shut. “Was coming over to ask what time for tomorrow.”

The reminder snaps him from his happy daydream. He says, “I was comin’ to ask you the same thing. Seven work?”

“Seven’s good. Are we getting food?”

“You wanna get food? I figured maybe you wouldn’t be up for it, what with the, uh…” Joel gestures to your hunched position, your head low between your shoulders, your deep, deliberate breaths.

“Maybe just drinks,” you utter, gulping back the sharp taste of bile.

He nods. “Drinks it is. You okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks. See you guys at seven.”

Four minutes early, there’s a knock at your door. You pull it open, and there they are. Picture-perfect, like they might be posing for a holiday card. A bottle in his arm, a bunch of flowers in hers. A timid but genial smile between her cheeks, a twinkle in her eye. That same circle of shining light around her head, brunette tresses curled into bouncing waves.

“Howdy,” Joel says, stepping into the space you create. He dips his head, kisses your cheek, whispers a brief, Y’okay? in your ear. You nod quickly, gently shifting him out of the way.

Vanessa lingers for a moment in the doorway. She glances from Joel to you again, blinking in the porch light. Her pale skin lit in an ethereal glow. She’s prettier up close.

Joel addresses you, hand brushing the small of your back, “…this is Vanessa.”

“Hi,” she says, and pushes the flowers towards you – a small bouquet of gypsophila and eucalyptus. Bright, polite. Each sprig laden with the burden of appearing simpatico, but important. Meaningful, in the airiest sense of the word. “Hi,” again.

“Hi,” you echo, and then feel stupid for having nothing more to offer. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, hot on your shoulder.

But Vanessa takes the weight from your chest. “It’s nice to meet you – officially. I saw you at Tommy and Maria’s wedding. You looked so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” springs from your tongue sooner than the rest of the sentence. Your brain scrams to find more words. “You looked – you looked great, too. Do you wanna –? I mean – Sorry. Come in. Obviously.”

She clicks over the threshold, her pale dress floating into your hallway like she’s part of a dream. She’s just as beautiful in this light, relaxed form – pastel blue and the glimmer of golden jewelry – as she was in the sleeker, more dramatic form you saw her in before. An aura about her which captures and tends to your attention. Intense, captivating, but not intimidating.

You usher them to the living room, offer them a space on the couch while you take Vanessa’s flowers to the kitchen. Joel follows you through, sets the bottle on the counter.

“Nonalcoholic,” he says, unscrewing the cap.

Your eyebrows jump. “Great. Thanks.”

“She’s nervous,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I know you are, too. Y’all are similar like that.”

You slot the stems into a vase of water one by one, carefully organizing a display. “She seems sweet,” you assure him. “She shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Neither should you.”

“Is this…totally weird for you?”

Joel breathes in deep, filling three glasses. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never lifting from the sparkling peach.

“Sorry.”

He angles his jaw. “Stop sayin’ you're sorry. I’ll kick your ass.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, eyes lifting only to his elbows. “Sorry.”

He scoffs, swiping the glasses and stepping back to let you out first.

“I’m trying not to make it weird,” you offer, slipping by.

“I don’t want you to try anything.” He kicks your ankle lightly and follows you back into the living room.

Vanessa sits forward and clasps her hands around her knee when you sit back down, shifting as though to reach for you before she stops herself. “How are you feeling? Joel said you’re a little…worse for wear, right now.”

“I’ve been better,” you say, smiling. “Just morning sickness. Which lasts – all day.”

She nods sympathetically. “My sister had it rough with her first. I actually…” She twists around, reaches for her purse, fishes out an orange packet. “I brought you some ginger tea. Kate told me it helped her a lot, so.”

She holds it out in almost trembling fingers. Likewise, you steady yours to take it from her, thanking her with a shy nod of the head. “That’s so kind,” you reply quietly, eyes darting to Joel. He’s staring at the pack in your hands, watching as you turn it over to read the back.

“And – listen,” Vanessa continues, the acceptance of her offering clearly fueling her assuredness, “I don’t want anything to be weird – between you and I, between you and Joel. I know this situation is…new. It’s, um…”

“It’s kinda weird,” you say, humoring. “It’s okay. I know.”

She breathes a relieved laugh. “It is. Thank God you said it.” She glances back at Joel, who smiles at her, slips his hand onto her knee. “But I guess,” a deep breath, “I guess it is what it is. And we’re all adults, you know? We can make it work, right?”

Your head switches rapidly between nodding enthusiastically and shaking enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yes. No, absolutely. And, you know, me and Joel – there isn’t – we’re not at all…”

“Oh,” she bats the idea away, “I know. I know that. He told me everything. It’s – You know, it’s just a timing thing.”

Joel’s staring down at his hand locked around her leg. Unblinking. Unmoving. His expression doesn’t shift until the two of you settle back into your seats; until Vanessa asks if he’d mind making you a cup of ginger tea.

You barely notice his absence, the way she takes you up in conversation. Like twirling you off in some kind of dance, each sentence strung safely to the next. There are no lulls, no awkward pauses. She asks about work, asks about your family. She tells you stories about her niece, who’s three now, and compares how you’re feeling to how she remembers her sister feeling.

Then her work, and the IT guy her friend hooked up with, and her class at the gym which she’s trying to convince Joel to come along to, and Kate’s hot yoga class every Thursday night, and the new sushi place which just opened downtown and You gotta try it some day; the nigiri is divine.

And you nod along, and you laugh at her anecdotes and tell your own, and Joel tells her to tell you about the jazz band who were playing at the restaurant they visited a couple weeks ago, and you offer to top her drink up and she says she’ll do it herself and she leaves you and Joel alone for the first time all evening, and – it’s weird.

Because – behind the veil of conversation you’re doing your best to uphold, sits an image of this very night – only, in Joel’s house. In Joel’s house, on Joel’s couch, drinking nonalcoholic wine with Joel’s brother. Joel and Vanessa leant against one another on one couch, Tommy and Maria on the other.

You can’t help it – you’re wondering what Maria thinks of Vanessa. How long they knew each other, if at all, before the breakup. Whether they hung out, whether they discussed sushi and yoga, or the housing market, or their Miller boyfriends and their annoying Miller habits.

Maria would’ve liked her, you think. Would’ve found her as lovely as you do. And the idea, the image of them giggling together at family parties and being Tommy’s Maria and Joel’s Vanessa – presses a firm, bullying finger into the bruise you thought had faded some from the other day.

And once they’re gone, once you’re left alone again – lying in still silence, closed in on yourself by the thick darkness of your room, nothing but you and your thoughts and your unborn child for company – it slips out.

“Fuck her, right?” You hold your hands out, addressing your stomach. “She was so fucking nice. Did you like her? Fuck me, I liked her. I hope they break up.”

And then, realizing who you’re talking to: “No. Sorry, baby, no. I don’t hope they break up. I want your dad to be really happy. But – Goddamn. She was so sweet. I thought she was gonna slap me, and she just – she brought ginger tea! Fuck. They look good together, don’t they?”

It’s just hormones. Just the emotional trip that is being four weeks pregnant. Everybody feels like this when they fall pregnant – sensitive, vulnerable, clingy. Right? Right?

Your words sit stagnant in midair. You swear you can see them, heavy and intruding. Awkwardly lingering someplace they don’t belong. Because none of it even matters – the hormones, the emotions. The weird knot burning a hole in your chest, shaped like a clenched fist, knuckles branded by the heat of longing. It can’t matter.

You’re where you are, he’s where he is. A pillow in your arm, Vanessa in his. Feet apart, bricks and mortar and something like twenty years and two dates too late separating you.

Both staring up at the ceiling, wondering who the other’s thinking of.

“At eight weeks, your baby is roughly the size of a raspberry.”

Your knee bounces, breath coming and going in shaky ripples. The rubber sole of your shoe cries against the sterilized hospital floor. Your chest hums anxiously and your throat catches when you swallow and are the lights too bright? The room too hot? You’re sweating. Why are you sweating? Can you breathe right now?

Joel nudges your arm and your eyes roll to the pamphlet in his hand, his finger tracing the words. “C’mon,” he utters, leaning in, “how can anything the size of a raspberry be scary?”

You squint under fluorescent white. “A raspberry that grows into the size of a watermelon, can break my ribs, make me throw up, make me lose hair, and then tear my vagina apart on its way out? That’s pretty scary.”

He smirks. “Not to me it ain’t. My vagina stays perfectly intact the entire time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you reply, whacking him.

He laughs, swatting your palm away, keeping ahold of your fingers inside his own. “Speaking of – we gotta talk.” He elbows you, waiting until you’re looking again to speak. “We gotta cut the language.”

“Cut the language?”

“Uhuh. Rein it in. And by we, I mean you.”

“Uh,” you scoff, “I don’t think so. When you do the growing, then you can rein your own swearing in. Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Charming,” Joel says. “You know the baby can hear you? You want it to come out swearin’ like a trooper?”

You grin, tipping your head to him. “If it comes out and says anything, we’re rich. So – yeah. Let it.”

He opens his mouth to reply when a nurse emerges from a nearby room and calls your name.

“You’re up, kid,” Joel says, standing beside you.

You turn back, speaking before your brain settles on words. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand. He squeezes it gently, uses the other to keep you facing him. “This is the easy part, right? We’re just going to meet them.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and wander over to meet the nurse. Joel’s hand a vice grip around yours.

She leads you into a similarly washed-out clinic room, only slightly dimmer with the lights turned out, and yanks a roll of paper across the bed. Tapping it twice, she smiles. “Hop up, darlin’.”

You settle into the crinkly paper, leaning back until you’re blinking up at the speckled ceiling. Another door opens and a woman in a white coat floats in, and you swear that if it weren’t for Joel’s Evenin’, ma’am when she greets the two of you, you’d believe she were a figment of your imagination. Another character in this fucking insane dream.

“Not often I do these past five o’clock,” she says, clicking her mouse and typing on her keyboard and fixing a hair grip back into her bun. Casual. It’s not even a thing to her, introducing parents and children. She does this all fucking day.

Joel tosses half a glance to you and then realizes you’re not currently in the room. He pinches your hand again. It grounds you for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “work commitment. I couldn’t get away any earlier, so we’re havin’ to do this a little late.”

“What do you do?” she asks, staring at her screen. Her glossy brown eyes and rich, dark skin.

“I’m a contractor,” Joel replies, thumb stroking your shoulder.

Something bubbles in your stomach, something akin to jealousy, an urgency to tell her that right now, in this room, he’s mine. No more questions. Something which quickly dissipates when you remind yourself to quit being fucking ridiculous and that right now, in this room, he’s someone else’s, and the thumb on your shoulder is merely to hold you back from fleeing. Nothing more.

The sonographer nods. Her name badge reads Freya. Pretty name. Stop picturing what your kid would look like as a Freya. You are not naming them after the first sonographer you meet.

“Shouldn’t be too long, then y’all can get home for the night. You live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes’ drive. Not far, are we?” Joel asks you.

Your eyes shoot down to his. “No,” you push your cheeks up, telling Freya, “not far.”

She flattens her lips against one another, lending you a sympathetic smile. “You got nothing to worry about, honey. Promise. Gel might be a little cold, that’s about as scary as this gets. We’re just gonna make sure everything’s looking good, check your dates, check your measurements. You’re doing great.”

“You hear that?” Joel murmurs, settling down into the chair by your side. His hand hasn’t left yours. His voice is low, meant just for you, when he repeats, “You’re doin’ great.”

You huff a laugh, some nervous release from your lungs.

Freya smiles, face lit by the faint glow of the screen in front of her. “We ready?”

You roll the hem of your tee up when she motions, bunching it under the wire of your bra. She squeezes a bottle over your stomach, which tenses solid when the frozen bite of gel curls right below your belly button. Freya smiles apologetically when you wince. Told you, she murmurs, and your breath escapes in a slightly more comfortable laugh. Lighter, easier. Scariest part over.

She presses the probe to your skin and spreads the gel, coating the bottom of your tummy in a slippery slick which tickles with each inch she covers. Two buttons pressed, and a dark image appears on a screen opposite you.

A gray fan, speckled like the ceiling above your head. Dark, black shapes growing and shrinking at the turn of Freya’s wrist. She pauses, two blobs onscreen: the larger, black, round, home to a smaller, misshapen one. Flecked with white and silver and moving slowly, gently, but – right there.

“Mom, Dad,” she grins, “meet your baby.”

You and Joel move forward at the same time, drawn closer to the crunchy image as if by some kind of natural magnetism. Eyes never blinking, lips agape. The shapes flutter, the smaller dipping in and out of view.

“You see right here, right in the center?” A white cross appears over the blob’s middle. “That little movement? The kinda – pulsing?”

You each nod. Your nails dig so deep into Joel’s hand that you risk drawing blood.

“That’s the heart. Ticking away.”

“The heart?” you ask, watching the rhythmic flicker in the center of the screen.

“Yep. Perfect, too.”

She hits another key and suddenly the room is filled with a muffled thudding; a steady, energetic pulse in your ears. It matches the movements onscreen, the tiny throb of the baby’s chest, the shape of your womb moving like waves before you.

And suddenly, it's real – all of it: the screen and the room and the sonographer and you, and Joel’s hand encasing yours, holding your knuckles to his lips, and –

And the heartbeat. Right there, right in front of you. Shy, probably as nervous as you are to introduce themselves. Feeling your eyes on them, curled up somewhere safe inside you. Right there.

You turn to Joel, and his illuminated face is staring straight at the screen. Eyes soaked with tears, blinking as they form, cheeks dappled with wet. He draws his eyes from his child only to look back at you, only to mirror your stunned smile, your disbelieving laugh, more tears dripping down into his beard. He sits up, presses his damp lips firmly to your forehead.

Freya mutes the heartbeat, pauses the scan where the image is clearest, and sits back. “I’ll give you guys a moment to yourselves,” she says, wheeling back in her chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles for the both of you, sweeping hair from your face.

The door closes on your little bubble – you, Joel, and the grainy image of your baby. The evidence that – yeah, that night happened, and yeah, you’re forever changed because of it. The evidence that you’re about to become a mom, for real, no matter how much the thought makes you feel like your stomach is kicking around at your ankles.

And the evidence that, no matter how scared you might be, how unprepared and unworthy you feel – you fucking adore that little blob already.

Love it as much as Joel does, stood over you, kissing your hair and whispering words you’re only half-listening to. A quiet thank you, a shaky I can’t believe it. Something about showing his brother. And when you look up at him, blinking at one another, inches apart – he takes your jaw in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Different. Softer. No want laced through. No urgency. Nothing needed, nor requested, that isn’t already right here in this little bubble of yours.

He kisses you slowly, eyes closed, holding you until you pull away for breath. His nose bumps against yours and you laugh, heads together, eyes low.

“Still scared?” he whispers.

“Terrified,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he says, and kisses you again.

You lean back against the bed, relief settling your bones and soothing your heartbeat. The notion washes over you that, if you could, you’d stay in this room forever. Staring at the screen, holding Joel’s hand. Whispering fears into his mouth and letting him swallow them in a kiss.

He hands you some paper towel and helps you drag it across your stomach, your eyes still fixed on the little shape opposite. He hooks his chin over your head – the fresh, woody smell of his cologne infiltrating your lungs and throwing you under the haze of something you’re not quite sure how to define.

“Duck,” he says, voice vibrating into your skull.

“Huh?”

“Start saying duck. Make the baby think we’re saying that, then you can say –” he lowers his voice, “– fuck, all you want.”

“The hell would I have to say duck for?”

Joel stands upright and shrugs. “I don’t know. Think of somethin’. A nickname, maybe.”

“Duck?”

He nods plainly, glancing over to the screen.

The pillow beneath your head sighs as you turn from Joel back to the ultrasound. “Baby Duck,” you offer, and he smiles.

Smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile. Eyes glistening, cheeks swollen. Something innocent and earnest about it. Something pure.

He agrees. “Baby Duck it is.”

Joel insists that you spend the night at his place.

“It’s been a big day,” he reasons, fixing the bed in his guestroom. “Just – let me run around after you for a little bit.”

You fight your corner as much as you can be bothered – I gotta maintain my independence, I’m gonna be a single mom soon enough, you know – but, truthfully, you’ll take any excuse to have him rush around at your beck and call. Some days you open your mouth and he hears the wet click of saliva between your lips, and grabs a glass of water for you before you’ve even voiced the request.

He orders takeout, settles shoulder-to-shoulder with you on the couch, and lets you pick whichever movie you feel like putting him through until the food’s gone, he’s out of beer, and you’ve abandoned Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles for an argument about the best part of pizza.

You don’t like the crust?

Nope.

What fuckin’ age are you?

If it ain’t stuffed, it’s just not worth it.

At eleven, you bid him goodnight and wander upstairs, falling into a sea of navy-blue sheets to be delivered to sleep by the serene silence of Joel’s home. It takes no time for your eyes to flutter closed, the soft sheen of moonlight painted across the wall, sweeping from your view to be replaced in a whir by –

Lights. Overhead and all around and so bright and so close that you swear they’re etched on the inside of your eyelids.

You’re in the backseat, watching them soar by in blurs of white and red and amber and green, and your pulse is rattling through your veins and throbbing between your temples and you can’t focus on any one object for longer than three seconds, before your eyes roll and your head dizzies.

A word, slung from your lips in a half-wakened attempt to stop it. A word you barely recognize at first, don’t understand the meaning of. It’s been years. Why now? Mom.

You’re not sure why, or who you’re even reaching out to. There are two figures in the front seats, heads facing forward. She’s not turning around. She’s not even fucking moving, not reacting to the speed or the lights or your voice. Mom.

You scream it, the syllable ripping violently from your throat, and your tiny fingers reach for her swirls of hair. You pause, staring at the chipped polish on your stubby, kiddy nails. Mom, I’m scared.

The distorted blast of a horn scoops the car up in one motion, hurtling over itself along the freeway. You’re thrown to the roof of the car, plummet back down to your seat; the seatbelt throttles you, rips a burn deep into the skin of your neck. Back up again; your head hits the spongey roof of the car. Your stomach somersaults.

Mom, please, you wail, swiping for her hand. It’s lying limp by her thigh, dark droplets on her wrist. Mom Mom please Mom I’m scared Mom please I’m so scared I –

“Baby.”

His voice is low, earthy. It chews apart the high-pitched squeal of brakes and screaming. The glass smashing. The metal crunching.

You lift from the bed like it’s ice water, gasping when you finally surface back on Earth. Your chest heaves, it’s not sucking in enough breath; you can’t breathe you can’t breathe you can’t fucking breathe.

Joel whips the cover from your legs and you roll from the mattress, feet planting on the floor. You bend forward to grip onto the sheets, a choking rising up your throat, closer and closer until it tugs on your tongue.

“Icantbreathe,” you pant.

Joel’s body curves around yours. “You’re alright,” he’s telling you – urging you; one hand between your shoulder blades, the other holding your wrist for fear you might collapse. “I’m here, you’re okay. You’re at my place, you’re safe, but, kid – I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

You work your breathing to the strokes of his hand up and down your spine: in out in out in and out and in and out and in, and out, and in, and…out…and in…and…out.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. You’re good, baby, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In – and out. In – and out again.

The room slowly desaturates back into boring, moonlit blue. Feeling sputters back into your hands, clawing at the sheets once the sharpness dissolves. The cotton pets back, smooth under your quivering touch. Your lips stop tingling, your ears stop ringing. One after another, until your blood settles back to a steady stream and you straighten up.

“Can you sit down for me?”

“No,” you whimper, and Joel nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m gonna get you a drink, that okay?”

You grab his T-shirt. “No. Don’t leave me. Please. Sorry.”

He cups your frozen cheeks. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Just downstairs. You can come.”

He settles you at his kitchen table and shuffles over to the cupboards, rubbing his eyes. You feel the heat of embarrassment and guilt, watching as he settles down with a groan minutes later.

“Ginger,” he tells you, voice rounded by his mug, sliding one of your own over to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, lifting it with two hands. The smell sharp, cutting up the remnants of gasoline and smoke.

“Many times do I gotta say it?” he asks dryly. “Quit sayin’ you’re sorry.”

You gulp nervously. “You got work in the morning. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“And if I hadn’t let you keep me up watchin’ chick flicks, I’d be rested. That’s something I can deal with later. I got you to worry about right now.”

You shake your head; the ceramic hits the table with a sharp thud. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well,” Joel sniffs, “you’re carrying my child. I’ll always worry about you.”

You sit back, the curve of the chair cradling, your heart beating lamely against the wood. Joel’s jaw rests in the cushion of his palm, staring back at you.

“What time is it?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Three. Take a sip.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sip.”

You obey, lifting the tea and swallowing harshly.

He watches every move, every shift reflected in his dark eyes, decorated by a tense, stony expression. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Never,” you say. “This never happens.”

Joel cranes his jaw, cracks his neck. “Alright,” he sighs, “that’s okay. Breathe again. You’re doing fine.”

But you don’t feel fine. The dregs of panic sizzle into something thicker, hotter. Anger. Frustration. “Why the fuck is this happening?” you hiss, fingers prodding into your eye sockets. “What the f–?”

“Easy. I don’t know. Hormones? Stress?”

“You sound like my fucking doctor.”

Joel smiles. Amusement, before concern wipes over it again. “Let’s just give it some time to pass, okay?”

You nod, hanging over your drink, the silhouette of your reflection staring back at you. The steam snakes up, seeping into your skin, bubbling under the surface. Wiping clean any memory of freeway or nail polish, like coating over a bathroom mirror. The shapes still visible behind, but blurred. Gone.

“How’s Vanessa?” you ask, an attempt to distract yourself.

Joel adjusts a little awkwardly in his chair. “She’s good. She loved the scan photo. Showed it to her sister. They’re sure it’s a boy.”

“Ha. Joel Jr.”

“Joel Jr.,” he agrees, and then attempts to distract himself. “So,” he says, “Allandale.”

“Mhm?”

“Wonder if I ever saw your mom or dad. When I was there visitin’ Sam.”

You shrug. “Doubt it. I mean, they always lived right next to the elementary school, if that helps. My mom was a first-grade teacher. The two of us used to walk there ‘n back together, every day.”

“First grade, huh? Best one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and she was the best of the best. She used to go all out for her kids; used to go to Michaels and get all this crafty stuff so they could spend all afternoon making little houses or zoos, or – whatever she could think of. And she’d always keep some aside, bring some home for me to make one, too. One time, she came home with all this blue tissue paper and little foam fish, and we made an aquarium together.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you say again, nodding eagerly. “She was so cool. And fun, y’know? I just remember her being so much fun. I always felt safe with her, felt loved. I actually used to think she hung the sun every morning, just for me.” You take a deep breath, replacing it with a broken sigh.

“What about your dad? What was he like?”

You frown. “He was…fine. Real quiet, reserved. A little grumpy, I guess. I always got the idea he couldn’t be bothered with me, young as I was. Always wanted to be left alone. I think my mom overcompensated a lot.”

Something flashes across Joel’s face that seems to say he knows – or, at least, he understands. Almost imperceptible, a quick flicker of annoyance. “You miss her?” he asks, switching back.

“My mom?” You almost laugh, gripping onto your mug. Staring at the slow swirl of ginger. A shrug which presents more like a flinch; an animal swatting a fly away. “I miss those parts, when I think of them. The aquarium, the walking to school. Miss the memories. But I don’t think I knew her well enough or long enough to miss her.

“I’ve lived way longer without her than I ever had her. Done everything without her, like –” gesturing down, “– this. But, sometimes…sometimes, I bundle the sheets up behind my back in bed, and I pretend it’s her. Pretend I have a mom, and she’s cuddling me to sleep. I dunno. Maybe that’s what missing her feels like.”

Joel soaks in every word you say, letting the shape of each one settle on the table between you before he speaks again. Letting them be spoken into the dead of night, collected by no one, and letting them fade into silence. Secrets sweeping off into starlight. Nothing you would admit in the daytime.

“What was her name?” he asks, voice timid and gentle in the dark kitchen.

You almost choke on your tea. “Shoot – I’m sorry. That was a lot. Sorry. She, uh – Her name?”

It brings the first genuine smile to your lips; the memory of your mom now clear behind your eyes. Her round cheeks, her fluttering earrings. The deep, dark curls of her hair, thick ringlets twisting and lighting in the sun. The gap between her front teeth, the purse of her lips as she kissed your cheeks, your hands, your tummy.

Her name like a melody in your head; a safe word, a calming mantra when the world becomes too noisy, too saturated, too sharp to bear. Two syllables. Two little beats, like a piece of her still lives in the sound of her name.

“Sarah,” you tell Joel. “Her name was Sarah.”

[wintfleur]

Hey gal, I hope you had a good Monday! I saw your requests were open and I’m so in the mood for some super soft Lando like all he wants to do is cradle your head and cuddle you after you’ve both had long days. And when you wake in the morning, he brings you coffee and pulls the duvet round you tighter before he leaves for training 😭 thank you xxx

ꔫ all I want is my sweet lover

°. — pairings ( lando norris x fem! reader )

°. — summary ( a sweet night and morning with the sweetest boyfriend to ever exist )

°. — details ( g; pure fluff. w; kissing and just lando being the fucking cutest. wc; 2k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( omg ahhh my first request! I absolutely love you and your mind, I had so much fun writing this. Lando had me kicking and giggling while I wrote this. I of course had to add my comfort movie tangled into this since I was watching it while writing. I hope you enjoy this!! xoxo but also omg?! I never write this fast, this might be my favorite thing I’ve written )

“And at last, I see the light” you quietly sing along to your comfort movie that was playing on the tv in your room. You had gotten home from work a few hours ago and you were absolutely worn out from your long day at work, it was just a bad day, nothing seemed to go right for you. So, when you walked through you and your boyfriend's apartment, you ate some dinner then quickly showered and got in bed. 

You were very much tired and could happily fall asleep, but you missed your boyfriend so you forced yourself to stay up, watching a movie that you knew would keep you distracted. And it definitely did distract you, you were so caught up in the movie that you didn't notice or hear your boyfriend come home. Lando leaned against the door frame with a big smile on his face as he watched you sing along to one of your favorite movies. 

You looked so pretty, all curled up in your shared big bed. He could see the familiar sight of his hoodie that you were wearing, peeking out from under the duvet. He never understood why you slept in long sleeves, both of you knowing that she would take it off in her sleep; most likely accidentally hitting him while doing so. 

You quickly turn your head to the door when you hear the familiar sound of your boyfriend's giggle. You almost jump out of your skin when you see your boyfriend standing there, you never heard him come in, you hope he wasn't there long enough to see you recite the dialogue. You rested your hand on your hoodie covered chest and gasped out loud “Lando! You scared me!” 

“I’m sorry love, I just couldn't help it. You're just too adorable” Lando said between his laughter, pushing up from leaning against the door frame and walking over to sit at the edge of the bed, by your side. You stop lying on your side and roll to lay on your back so you could face him better, Lando smiles and tucks the duvet under your chin so he could see your pretty face. “That's better” 

“You look exhausted baby” you frown when you see how tired your boyfriend truly looks, and it makes you even more sad knowing that he has to wake up early tomorrow for even more training. Lando always works and trains so hard, you wish he could get more rest. 

“I feel exhausted, but I'll feel better when I get you in my arms” Lando flirts, giving you a cheeky smile as he moves to lean down. He has thought about being in your arms all day. 

“No, no, no “ You refused as you gently pushed his chest back, stopping him from laying down on you. You just showered and you washed the linen yesterday, you were not going to let your stinky and sweaty boyfriend stink up your sheets. You give him a sweet smile and softly Boop his nose “Go shower first stinky then I’m all yours.” 

“All mine?” he mumbles with a pout, having to stop himself from smiling when he feels you Boop his nose. You were right he should shower, and it would make him feel better but being in your arms sounded so much better. 

“All yours” you promised softly, sitting up so you could be level with him. You lean forward and place your hand on Lando's shoulder, pulling him closer to you and locking your lips in a kiss. Your boyfriend lets out a hum of surprise, but he flutters his eyes closed and eagerly kisses you back. You feel your boyfriend slide his hand down your side and gently squeeze your waist wanting to deepen the kiss, but before he could you pull away and whisper with a small smirk “hurry back please.” 

You giggle when Lando mutters curse words under his breath, but nonetheless he listens to you and dramatically stops over to the bathroom. You purposely call him a good boy loudly, laughing loudly and laying back down when he turns his head to playfully glare at you. You turn your attention back to the movie, watching as Mother Gothel and Rapunzel start arguing and, in the background, you can faintly hear the sound of the shower turning on. 

It wasn't long until your smiley boyfriend was jumping in bed and clinging to your side, his arm wrapped around your waist and his face in your neck. You scrunch your nose in distaste when you feel Lando's damp hair tickle your neck, you pull back a little causing him to give you a confused pout, pulling you closer by your waist. You bring your hand up and gently move his damp curls away from his face, your boyfriend's eyes closing at your touch. “You're going to get sick if you go to bed with wet hair lovely.” 

“It's okay, I have you to keep me warm” Lando whispers sweetly, opening his eyes to look into your beautiful ones. You feel your lips curl into a grin at your boyfriend's cuteness, you just want to kiss his face off. Your boyfriend feels the same way when he sees your big smile, his favorite thing is to see you happy, but unlike you he doesn't stop himself from fulfilling his desires. 

Lando sits up a little, leaning back on the arm that wasn't wrapped around your waist. He leans down and quickly starts placing soft but wet kisses all over your face, starting with your nose then your cheeks, then moving up to your forehead before repeating. Dangerously kissing close to your lips, fighting the urge to take your lips in his. His heart fills with warmth at the sound of your giggles and pleads for him to stop, you were always so ticklish. 

You twist your body trying to flee from your boyfriend's relentless attack on your face and now neck, giggles sipping past your parted lips. You don't move far, Lando's hold on you was tight but not painful, he wasn't going to let you get out of his arms. 

“Oh, my baby you're so cute” he cooed as he stopped his attack, he watched as you panted, trying to catch your breath. ‘GAHH YOUR SO CUTE’ he screams in his mind as he looks down at his pretty girlfriend. Lando lays back down and pulls you to his body, basically cradling your head to his chest, his fingers tangling into your hair and softly scratching at your head; just how he knows you like it.  

You close your eyes, feeling yourself melt into his warmth and soft touch. You rest your arm on his midsection and tangle your legs with his, his body warmth spreading over you, making you even more tired. His warmth and head scratches, lulling you to sleep. Lando looks away from the tear-jerking scene that was on the tv and down at you. Your eyes were closed, and you had that cute pout on your lips you always seemed to have when you fall asleep.  

Lando softly kisses your forehead careful not to wake you up, he whispers as he looks down at the love of his life safe in his arms

“Sweet dreams pretty girl.” 

If there was one thing you hated more than your food touching, it was waking up alone. So, when you open your eyes and don't see your boyfriend by your side, a grumpy frown appears on your face. You let out a disappointed sigh and rolled over to Lando's side of the bed, believing that you didn't get to say goodbye before he left for morning training. The smell of your boyfriend coming from his pillow only makes your frown deepen, you missed him already, how are you going to survive all day without him? 

You were so caught up with your depressing thoughts you didn't hear the door of the room creak open. Already dressed and ready for his day, Lando was welcomed by the sight of your bare back as you laid on your stomach on his side of the bed. As expected, you took off the hoodie in your sleep. Lando has to remind himself at that moment that he has to go to training and that he can't join you in bed, he hates early mornings when he has to leave you. 

“Baby are you up?” Lando speaks up, loud enough so you could hear, but not loud enough to wake you up if you were sleeping. He sets your favorite mug filled with coffee on the bedside table, accompanied with a chocolate croissant that he got for you before he came home last night. 

“You're still here?!” You exclaim happily when you hear your boyfriend's voice behind you. You quickly sit up and turn around, holding the duvet up to cover your bare chest with one hand. Your frown turning to a big smile at the sight of your smiling boyfriend, also the smell of coffee and the sight of a croissant helped with your happiness as well. 

“Of course, I am, I can't leave without saying goodbye to my girl” Lando flirted as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching as you scooted closer to him. His favorite sight has always been you when you wake up, you always looked so cute with your messy hair and tired eyes. 

“Good because I can't survive the day without one of your kisses” your tone showing that you woke up a few minutes ago. Your words are true, your days always seemed worse if you didn't get a kiss or cuddle from your boyfriend. Okay…maybe you were a little needy and clingy, but to be fair so was Lando. That's why the two of you were the perfect couple. 

“Well i can't have that” Lando gasped dramatically, moving his hands up and cupping your face with his big and warm hands. A giggle escaping his lips at the sight of your squished cheeks, your lips puckering at the touch. Lando watches as your eyes flutter close, and he leans down, his eyes closing as well as he takes your lips in his in a loud and wet kiss that makes you giggle against his lips at the feeling. 

“Okay, okay one more” You pleaded after your fit of giggles, lifting your head up from his shoulder that you rested it on while laughing. Lando just looks at you with stars in his eyes, he loves seeing you so happy. He mentally took a picture of your smile so he could lock back at it all day. He would need that to survive the day. 

“Baby you're going to make me late” Lando whines but nonetheless he leans his body down to kiss you, slowly pushing you down on your back, his lips not leaving yours. You bring your hand up to his nape, your fingers tangling into his hair. Your lips moved against his following his lead as he led you through a breathless kiss. 

Even though every part of him was telling him to stay in bed with you, he slowly pulled away from the kiss and rested his forehead against yours. You both had your eyes closed as you panted from the breathtaking kiss. Lando opens his eyes and places a soft and loving kiss on your forehead before ruffling your hair and sitting back up. You opened your eyes when you felt his body leave yours, you watched as he brought the duvet up under your chin and tucked you in. 

“Stay warm,” Lando whispered, nodding his head as he tried to keep a stern look on his face. You smile and nod along, leaning your head back against the headboard. You playfully salute him before saying

“Stay safe handsome.” 

Lando smiles at your cuteness and places one more kiss on your forehead and mumbling the words ‘i love you’ before he sat up and made his way to the bedroom door. You watch him go with a frown before shouting “I love you more.” 

He looked back and sent you a wink before he fully walked out of your sight. ‘Fuck’ you thought. You already missed him. 

°. — taglist ( @iloveyou3000morgan @ophcelia )

[stevebabey]

Eddie is beginning to wonder if he’ll ever reach a point where Steve couldn’t reduce him to this state.

This state being… transfixed. Eddie is sure he must look like a lovesick cartoon. In fact, if he could manage to drag his gaze away, he’d probably find red hearts circling around his head in a halo, popping like little bubbles.

But Eddie can’t move his eyes. Can’t even close his mouth either.

Steve’s talking to him too, which is most definitely worse — he’s totally missing every word. He can see Steve’s lips moving, pink plush lips wrapping around words but fuck, that was a total trap because now Eddie is just looking at his lips. He tries to refocus, to listen. His eyes just wander back to what he was staring back at the first place.

Was Steve like this all the time? Just a walking around looking so damn delectable?

Or is it Eddie, just a starved man who’s been living off stolen glances, for as long as he can remember? For once, he’s learning, he’s allowed to look.

And by God, is he looking.

Steve’s not even doing it on purpose either, which probably makes the whole thing funnier. Eddie knows what his boyfriend (boyfriend! he thinks giddily in his mind) looks like when he’s cleaned up to impress. He can spot the way Steve preens beneath Eddie’s lingering gaze.

This is not that. Today, Steve is just cleaning, a usual Sunday morning ritual.

He’s got some old sport shorts on and he’s clearly grown a bit since he first got them— unless Hawkins has always been giving out slutty little shorts to the basketball team (They haven’t. Eddie would know if they did.)

He’s wearing one of his wife-beater singlets too. It’s a little on the scrappy side though, considering it’s nearly see-through with how worn it is.

Honestly, in Eddie’s humble and gay opinion, it’s stupidly hot. The dark hair dusted across of Steve’s chest is visible beneath it, the shirt showing off the shape of his broad chest. Even better, his happy trail is visible and goddamn, if that doesn’t make Eddie happy, he doesn’t know what will.

But it’s not even that.

Quite frankly, Eddie’s rather embarrassed that he’s basically blue-screening because Steve is pulling out the cord out from the vacuum cleaner.

But… but he’s yanking it up towards his chest, slow and strong repetitive motions— that take enough effort to make his biceps bulge with every tug.

Eddie can’t stop watching. The cord must be several metres long and he’s not sure if he should be cursing it or thanking it for the view he gets; Steve’s tan arms flexing and rippling. Try as he might, Eddie can’t help imagining how they must look when Steve’s got his hand aroun—

“—hello? Are you even listening to me?”

Steve’s voice cuts into Eddie’s dangerously side-tracked thoughts and he pauses his tugging at the same time. It’s the thing that finally allows him to break his lustful stare at Steve’s arms. Oh God, he just got all hot and bothered over his boyfriend doing the vacuuming.

“Hello.” Eddie says back, because that was the first word to register in his brain. “I mean- yes. I’m—”

Eddie decides mid-sentence that he’s not getting away with the lie. He pivots. “Okay, no, I didn’t hear that. Would you please tell me what you just said, oh lovely sweet man of mine?”

Ever the butterer-upper, he was. Thank God it works on Steve. He rolls his eyes a little but there’s an adoring grin on his lips.

“Man of mine,” Steve mutters amusedly under his breath. He drops the vacuum cord on the carpeted floor and leans down the grab the handle of the vacuum. “You just kinda froze when you came in. I was asking if everything was okay? I’m just doing this room then I’ll be done, if you don’t like the noise.”

Eddie adores that Steve’s taken his silence as though he might be afraid of the vacuum cleaner or something. He nearly snorts aloud at how far from the truth it is.

“Uh huh.” Eddie nods, not bothering to correct him. He jerks a thumb behind him, pointing at nothing. “I’m just gonna…”

He spins on his heel and exits left stage, fast as he can while still looking normal (he’s unsuccessful, as he leaves a baffled Steve behind him.) As he enters into the kitchen and decides to fix them both a pot of coffee, Eddie lets himself giggle over the pure absurdity of what just happens.

It’s mortifying. It’s hilarious. He can never tell Steve.

Except, when Steve comes to find him in the kitchen and trades a kiss for some coffee, Eddie can’t help it. All he ever wants to do is make Steve laugh.

He decides it’s worth the embarrassment when Steve laughs so hard coffee comes out his nose.

Steve teasingly promises that he’ll to try be less distracting, then rescinds his words at Eddie’s abject reaction (“Don’t you dare.”) looking far too smug— in a delighted sort of way. Preening, in that way Eddie loves.

Their first kiss, as Eddie slides onto Steve’s lap and loops his arms over his shoulders, fingers dancing on those tasty arms, tastes a little bit like coffee. Their mugs grow cold, untouched.

Eddie doesn’t mind — he’s too busy finding out that the rest of their kisses taste like something between sunlight and Steve.

[graphicpepsi]

thunder (nsfw, mdni)

OR: soft morning sex w simon the morning of his deployment :(

You woke up to a hand stroking your back, lovingly, and somehow you could tell he'd been awake for hours already. You hated that you'd woken up. If only you could stay with him, in warm sheets and sunkissed pillowcases forever. If only he wasn't mere hours away from fighting for his life.

"Mornin, love." His voice is gruff from sleep. You look up from his chest to meet his eyes. He looked at you like he mourned you, like he dreadfully pitied your sadness.

It scared him how much you loved him, because it gave him something to live for.

"Don't go, Si."

He sighs, heavy, his chest moving your body as it heaved. You have this conversation every time- every fucking time, and your heart hurts knowing it can only end with one word.

"Can't."

"I know."

He rubs his hand against your back, like he's trying to soothe a child. Your breath is getting caught in your chest, and your head is thick in water, your eyes sting like they've been rolled in salt but you're not going to cry- you're not going to cry. You can't do that to him.

You trace the scratches you left on his chest lastnight with your nails. Simon takes your hand in his, almost examining it.

"Your polish is chipping, love. Get 'em redone while I'm gone, yeah? On me. So you can scratch me up good when I'm back."

You force a small smile. He always insists on paying for everything while he's on deployment. Says it reminds him why he's fighting.

"I'd like that."

You peer over to the alarm clock. 7:30am. He had to leave at 9.

Simon sees the look on your face.

"Baby-"

But it's too late, a tear has already fallen down your face. And then another, and another.

"C'mere."

He sits you up, holding you tight in his arms, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

"It's okay, baby, I'll be back soon, okay?"

You sniffle, pulling away to look at his face. You're going to miss that face. Scarred and worn, soft and loving.

You kiss him, softly at first, like you're timid. But then you're kissing him, desperate and hot, salty tears on your lips. He pushes you down underneath him, gently, his hand cushioning your head. His hands glide up your bare thighs and waist, underneath his shirt.

He doesn't have much on himself- just his boxers.

He slides his hand onto your cunt, his fingers rubbing between your folds. You tug at his hair in your hands, telling him you want more.

"Sh, it's alright, love."

He's barely touched you and you're already shaking. You both know this is the last time you'll feel each other for months.

Even Simon, large and strong, trembles as he slips his finger into you. He's almost wincing at your little moans, your breathy little whines, because it fucking hurts missing you before he's even gone yet.

He curls his fingers inside of you, softly, because he's not fucking you. He fucked you last night, the night before that, the night before that. He left you hazy and vibrating, fucked out, cum splattered everywhere, marks on every inch of your innocent skin.

But this, this was something different.

You dig your nails into his back, harder than usual because you want them to last.

"God, Si, please,"

It's like you're begging him to stay.

You whine when he takes his fingers out, your cunt pulsing around nothing.

"I know love, I know."

He feeds his dick into you, slowly, and you're grabbing at the sheets, his shoulders, his back- everything. He fills you so fucking good.

"God, damn." He grunts as he thrusts into you, his head leaning back. Your back arches into him, rays of warm sunlight covering your body in little orange lines as it filters in through the blinds.

"Si, Si, fuck-"

God he knows how to fuck. Knows how to make you cum faster than you do.

His dick brushes your spongy cervix with every time he slams into you. Fucking heaven. Your tight walls on his cock, like velvet around him.

"This pussys all mine baby, all mine," He grunts, bracing himself above you. His breath is hot on your neck.

"All yours, Si, fuck,"

He slams into you harder, his nose brushing against yours.

"'M gonna cum, Simon,"

You whine, scratching his scalp with your nails, fisting locks of hair.

"Cum on my cock, sweetie, please."

You cum on him with a shudder, eyes screwing shut and your head lolling back. He cums at the way you shake on his dick, the way your little body convulses in pleasure like it doesn't know what to do with itself.

God, you're tired.

He fucks you through your orgasm before gently pulling out, holding your hips with his large hands.

Your eyes are still shut, your cunt aching.

You feel him tuck a blanket over you, another pillow sliding under to support your neck.

"Just go to sleep, baby, shh." He strokes your cheek with his thumb. You half-open your eyes to look at him, sadly.

He's crouched next to the bed, looking at you adoringly.

"I'll be gone when you wake up," His voice is breaking, "But only for a little, okay?"

You grab his hand,

"Please come back."

He runs a finger over your knuckles before kissing them.

"I will, love." His accent is thick next to you.

Neither one of you want to move. But he has a half hour to shower and go.

"I love you, Simon Riley." You whisper, shutting your eyes and sighing with the knowledge this is the last time he'll hear those words next to him for awhile.

"I love you too, baby. Just go to sleep."

He presses a kiss to your forehead before you hear him walk away.

Fuck.

A/N: 🥺🥺🥺 first time writing for our boy Simon bc i also want him primally even tho König is my main piece of ass. Hope y'all enjoyed

[tightjeansjavi]

honey pot 🍯

(Mood board is just for aesthetics! Reader has no physical descriptions such as body type or skin color)

A/N: so after watching a very ✨spicy✨ video, I came up with this deliciously filthy idea of neighbor!joel becoming your fuck buddy. The only problem? You have a boyfriend already 🤭 just a disclaimer, I do not condone cheating and this fic might not be for everyone, and that’s okay!

~word count: 2.7k~

Summary: you’ve been fucking your hot neighbor, Joel Miller, all summer without your boyfriend finding out until you end up faking an orgasm with him. You tell Joel that you can no longer see him, and he comes up with a solution that works for the both of you.

pairing | hot neighbor!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut, age gap (Joel is 36 reader is 25) infidelity/cheating (done to the readers bf) dom/sub, daddy kink, unprotected piv, praise kink, pet names: baby, angel, sweetness, petal, fluff, consent, some angst??pussy play, we can’t fuck, but we can do other things! Joel is a real good filthy talker, reader and Joel are down bad for one another, helping hand vibes, fwb/fuck buddy, smut with no plot, reader has no physical descriptions but keeps her genitalia groomed, +18 minors dni!

main masterlist masterlist

You had been fucking your ridiculous, sinfully hot neighbor for the entirety of the summer. It started off as some innocent nonchalant flirting that you thought was harmless. What your boyfriend didn’t know, wouldn’t harm him, right? Besides, you were feeling deeply neglected in your current relationship. The honeymoon phase had worn off, and you were feeling frustrated and lonely on most nights. Guess football and guys night held a higher importance than his relationship with you. Well, so be it then. You could play the good little girlfriend that your boyfriend wanted you to be..and still have your cake and eat it.

That’s why falling head over heels for your neighbor Joel Miller was as easy as sliced pie. It was early June when you found a bouquet of fresh wildflowers on your front porch step with a note attached to one of the stems. It read, ‘Out of all the flowers in the patch, you are by far the prettiest petal.’ -J.M

So, he was hot and poetic? What more could you really want?

It was the following Friday that Joel finally got the courage to show up on your front step. He barely was able to ask you if you’d like to come over for dinner that evening when you blurted out an enthusiastic ‘yes!’

Joel was hot, poetic, and he could fucking cook? Yeah, you were positively screwed in the best way possible. Not only could he cook, but he actually showed interest in you. Your hobbies, your likes and dislikes, and for the first time in months, you actually felt like you were being appreciated.

So, it came as no surprise that after you both indulged his cooking skills, that you proceeded to let him ravage you on the table. Yours and his clothes were practically shredded to the floor as he kissed and licked every inch of your skin like a man starved. He made you cum more times in that evening than you thought was even possible, and my god, his cock? Jesus christ, you’re getting wet all over again just thinking about how it felt like he was splitting you in two, filling you to the fucking brim as you cried out his name and begged for more. Faster, harder, oh please, daddy, don’t stop!

“Yeah? You want more of daddy’s cock? S’that what you want?” He nearly purred as his sweat stained curls lightly tickled your forehead. His eyes were glued to the spot where your bodies were connected. He sucked in a harsh breath as his vision glazed over at the sight of your pretty little pussy tugging his cock right back in with each of his heavy thrusts.

“See the way your pussy is huggin’ my cock so tight? Pullin’ me right back in? Look how fuckin’ pretty she is, baby. Think she is the prettiest pussy I've ever seen in my entire life. She’s all mine, right? C’mon, my petal, I needa hear ya say it.” His nostrils flared as he licked hungrily into your mouth. He was consuming every last bit of you, and you were enjoying every minute of it.

“Yours, daddy! All yours.” You whined as your walls clenched down like a tight fist around his cock.

All good things must come to an end unfortunately, and your little fantasy that had been fulfilled every evening that summer, was going to have to end. That stupid boyfriend of yours was beginning to catch on ever since he caught you faking an orgasm the last time you and him had sex. Oops?

It physically pained you to even think about cutting ties with Joel. He was unconditionally good to you. All he asked for was your company. He didn’t need to ask; it was already his.

The leaves were beginning to change with the seasons as fall was approaching on the horizon. It was nearing five in the evening when you heard the all too familiar sound of Joel’s truck tires grinding over the cement. His driver side door swung shut as his footsteps neared your front steps. He was home from work, and immediately he wanted to see you. Nothing else mattered to him except seeing your pretty face.

You were pacing nervously in the front hallway as you went over the exact words you were going to tell him. We can be friends, right? Right. After you’ve spent months in his sheets, and he in yours, you’re just going to be friends? Fat chance.

You were torn from your thoughts at the sound of his knuckles rapping lightly on your front door as you wringed your hands together, taking a few deep breaths before you grasped the door handle in your palm and pulled it open.

“Hey, baby. Lookin’ gorgeous as usual.” Your fuck buddy drawled with that low, deep, texas twang of his as he leaned his elbow right up against the doorjamb.

Oh, fuck. You could feel a gush between your thighs just from the way he was leaning against your damn door.

Stay strong. Don’t fold. Don’t fold. Don’t–

“S’matter, baby? Everything’ all good n’that pretty head of yours?” He cocked his head to the side as a frown slowly spread across his lips when he saw your eyes suddenly grow glassy as a stray tear wobbled down your cheek.

“Baby–” He started, but you cut him off.

“We can’t fuck anymore, Joel.” You painfully muttered as his hand reached out to warmly cup your face while his thumb lightly brushed away your tear.

“Baby, what’s goin’ on? Somethin’ happen?” He sounded genuinely concerned as more tears began to fall and land on his bronzed skin.

“It’s my boyfriend,” You sniffled solemnly. “He knows, Joel.” Your misty dewdrop eyes met his calm gaze as he let out a soft breath between his parted lips.

“Oh, baby..I'm so sorry. I thought we were bein–’”

“Careful? Yeah, I did too.”

“How does he know?..”

“I faked an orgasm with him the last time we had sex which I think it was a week ago? Well, he grew suspicious after that. I’m so sorry, Joel. I never meant for things to get this messy.” You truly did feel awful for dragging Joel into all of this, and you never had the intention to hurt him.

“Baby, s’alright. Y’know what ain't alright? That stupid boyfriend of yours still not knowing how to treat his fuckin’ girl right. You’d think by now the guy would have some idea of how he should be treating you.” Joel held in a scoff as his hand that wasn’t presently caressing your cheek, dropped down to your waist as he pulled you in close. “I..guess this is goodbye then?”

“I don’t want it to be.” You murmured softly as you leaned into his comforting touch along your needy skin.

“Baby, y’know..it doesn’t have to be a goodbye then.” The gears in his brain were already beginning to twist and turn as he thought of a viable solution to your little problem.

“What do you mean? Joel, i’m serious, we can’t fuck anymore.”

“Sweetness, I know we can’t, and I respect that. I’ll never put my dick inside of ya again, unless you ask. But, I do think I have a solution for our little problem.”

Your pupils nearly doubled in size as the tip of his thumb dragged down across your lower lip as he tugged the soft flesh gently. His eyes bore deeply into yours as your thighs subconsciously rubbed together to relieve the building tension that was growing in the pit of your stomach.

“What is your solution, Joel? I’m all ears.”

“Well, first, I was hopin’ I could get a kiss. Been thinkin’ about these pretty lips and how badly I wanna kiss ‘em the second I walked through that door.” He rasped warmly.

Your immediate reaction was to loop your arms around his neck and close the smidge of a gap between the two of you before firmly pressing your lips against his. You licked into one another’s mouth with the same amount of passion. You could taste a morsel of tobacco along his tongue; must have bummed a smoke off of Tommy, as his hand that was wrapped firmly around your waist, slowly drifted down as he grabbed a handful of your left ass-cheek. A surprise squeak slipped past your lips as your tongues tangled.

“So, we can’t fuck, but there’s somethin’ else we can do..” He trailed off as he slowly detached his lips from yours. A string of saliva was visible between your once linked lips.

“You are not fucking sticking your dick up my ass. Don’t even think about it.”

He stifled a chuckle before stealing one more quick kiss. “Baby, I wasn’t thinkin’ about stickin’ my dick up your ass. I promise. I had somethin’ else in mind. Can I show you what I'm talkin’ about?”

You were weary at first, because what could he possibly have in mind? Going down on you? Okay, sure. You certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it, but if that was the case, why didn’t he just say it?

“Okay, I want you to show me what you’re talking about.” You agreed.

“Good girl. I promise this will be worth your while baby.” He pressed a tender kiss to your temple before he reached for your hand. Your fingers interlaced as he proceeded to lead you up the stairs to your bedroom. Your panties were undeniably soaked at this point, and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Go’n sit on the bed for me, darlin.’” He spoke firmly, yet softly as you padded over to your bed and slowly sunk down along the comforter.

“Now, sweetness, before you start worryin’ your pretty little mind about that silly boyfriend of yours, I promise that he won’t know about this.”

You dumbly nodded as you crossed one leg over the other, awaiting his next request.

“I trust you, daddy.” You softly cooed.

“Good girl. Now, I want you to take your pants off for me, baby.”

You wasted no time to pop the button off your jeans as you dragged the zipper down. You started shimmying the denim fabric down your thighs and legs, but before you could even grasp the band of your panties, he was stopping you.

“No, no, Angel. Jus’ your pants. Keep your panties on.”

Why was that so hot.

You slipped your thumbs out from under the thin elastic band of your panties before you kicked your jeans to the side. Your mouth began to water the moment you heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle clinking open.

“Good girl. Now, I jus’ want you to lay your pretty ass on the comforter. Spread your thighs a little, but not too much.”

You could feel the wet patch pooling through the thin fabric of your panties as you slowly leaned back on your elbows along the comforter and spread your thighs just enough that he could fit between them.

Your pussy pulsed inwards the second your eyes landed on his bare cock that was hanging out of the opening in his jeans. You nearly drooled as he swiped his thumb across his ruddy weeping tip that had a bead of pre-cum drooling from the small slit. He twisted his wrist a couple times before he slowly approached you.

His lips curved upwards in a sly grin when he saw the cock-dumb look on your pretty face. You took your lower lip harshly between your teeth when you felt the rough skin of his thumb brush across your covered aching clit as he gently rubbed the swollen nub in tight expert circles. His freehand was still wrapped around the base of hs cock as he watched your face twist into pleasure.

“Y’know, it makes me so fuckin’ mad that you ain’t bein’ treated right. The only weepin’ you and your pretty pussy should be doin’ is the good kind. Y’got literal honey drippin’ between your thighs, darlin.’ He oughta start worshipin’ you sooner, before someone else ends up doin’ it for him.” He tsked under his breath.

“Joel,” You whimpered wantonly.

“I know, baby. I know. I’m gonna respect your wishes n’not fuck you, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t make ya feel good. I’ll always take care of you, angel. No silly boyfriend of yours can stop me from treatin’ you right.” He murmured as he dragged his thumb down to the inside of your panties. He gently hooked his thumb around the damp fabric before he pulled it to the side. His mouth went dry at the sight of your glistening, puffy, needy little pussy. When it came to women, he didn’t mind their choices to never shave, or to just trim, or to completely go bare. He loved their pussies regardless of how they were groomed, or their natural appearance. They were all beautiful in his eyes, and deserved to be worshiped. But, he couldn’t deny how fucking pretty yours was, and how your slickness clung to the fabric of your panties like glue made his cock twitch in his palm.

He could bite his fist right then and there, but he had a job to complete.

“So pretty, baby. Prettiest little pussy. G’nna take extra good care of her now, okay?”

“Thank you, daddy.” you spoke above a whisper as he slowly slid the tip of his cock underneath your panties. You could feel the slick coolness of his pre-cum sliding across your folds as he rolled his hips forward. A deep grunt rumbled up his chest as he nudged your clit.

“You’re welcome, baby. Y’jus’ sit back and enjoy yourself, okay? Daddy is gonna do all the work for ya.” He promised you with a chaste kiss to your swollen lips as his hands came to rest along your thighs.

Now you fully understood what Joel meant by his solution to not fucking you. Christ, this was almost better than the feeling of his cock splitting you open. How lucky you were to have a man treat you like a princess.

“Oh, fuck.” You mewled as he thrust his hips faster, mimicking the same movements as if he was fucking you. “That feels so good, daddy.”

“Mhmm. I know it does, baby. I told you this would be worth your while.” He took his own lip between his teeth as he focused on the rhythm of his thrusts.

“This is almost better than fucking, almost.” You softly moaned as he increased his pace. Your hands found his as your orgasm slowly began to build.

“Nothin’ is better than fuckin’, Angel. Jus’ so lucky to make you feel good one last time. You’re doin’ so good for me, baby. I want you to cum, okay? I want to see you ruin those pretty little panties.” He urged you praisingly as the tip of his cock continuously bumped against your clit.

He was playing your pussy 100x better than your boyfriend ever could as you reveled in the pure pleasurable feeling one last time.

It didn’t take you long to reach your high as Joel’s hips stuttered forward as he spilled his hot seed right between your slick folds. He slowly slipped his cock out from underneath your ruined panties. He pressed soft kisses to your face, a playful nibble to the tip of your nose before his lips found yours in a searing kiss.

“Better take these for safe keepin’ so your boyfriend doesn’t know I was here.” He stated with a snicker as he gently slipped your soaked panties down your thighs. “I’ll getcha a fresh pair, okay, sweetness?”

Just as he was about to get up from your bed, your hand encased around his wrist, caging him in your grasp momentarily. “Wait, Joel?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Maybe..this won’t be the last time?..”

“Baby..”

“I want you, and if that means I have to break up with my stupid boyfriend? Then so be it. I’ll break up with him.”

“Angel, are you absolutely sure that’s what you want to do?”

“Yes. i’ll call him up as soon as you finish fucking me, and i’ll tell him that it’s over.”

A wicked grin spread across his lips as he situated himself between your thighs once more. “Well, I guess you won’t be needin’ a fresh pair of panties after all, huh baby?” He teased.

“Nope. Not while you’re around, Daddy.”

Banners made by the lovely @saradika ✨

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[yuwuta]

JUST KEEP LOVING ME THE WAY I LOVE YOU LOVING ME — SATORU GOJO

pairings. satoru gojo/reader

content, warnings. non-curse au, doctor au (reader), ceo au (satoru), no real content warnings, fluff, satoru is nothing but a romantic at heart

word count. 3k

notes. this exists in the post-completion au of a larger universe/incomplete fic of mine, that i will hopefully finish someday lololol but this is way easier to write than that so here you go 🥳

“There are four chairs worth a collective seventy-five hundred dollars in this office, so, pray, tell, why is your ass on my desk?” 

Satoru grins at your words, too distracted by taking in the sight of you to take into consideration the underlying threat. It’s been far too long, almost three whole days since he’s last seen you and, god, you look good. He knows if he said that you’d roll your eyes and insist that there’s nothing good-looking about your worn-in business attire and lab coat that was in desperate need of laundering, but it wouldn’t change his opinion: you always look good, and Satoru really fucking missed you. 

Which is why he doesn’t say the words, but makes sure to throw a deceivingly charming wink your way so that you get the message anyway. As expected, you still roll your eyes, but he doesn’t mind; you look good doing that, too.

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” you question, closing the door behind you when you fully step into the room. You make pace towards your desk, attempting to get to the other side, but this is exactly why Satoru chose to lean against it instead of sitting on any one of your very expensive and comfortable chairs—because this way, he’s in the perfect position to intercept your path and pull you to fit neatly between his legs before you can even think about reaching your office chair and ignoring him. 

He pulls you by the loop of your lab coat, but his hands quickly find their way to your shoulders, unpeeling the white layer just enough so that your blouse is exposed to him, and he can slowly rub his palms against your arms and shoulders with just enough pressure to hopefully release some tension. You won’t let go of all of it, but that’s alright, because Satoru’s got other methods for taking care of you.

“Hi,” he calls, smiling gently down at you, “I missed you.” 

This close, Satoru can see the exhaustion clearly in your eyes. There’s more, too: frustration, guilt, worry—and it takes everything in him not to coo and pull you into his chest and do his best to shield you from the world forever. 

There’s a beat before you speak, a small sigh, that’s quickly painted over with a tired smile and a remorseful, “I missed you, too. I’m sorry for being so short, the interim chief has been getting on my last nerves, and—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Satoru cuts in, leaning forward to press a reassuring kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax under his touch. “I know you’re busy. I just missed you.” 

It’s not easy to share you with anything or anyone, but Satoru knows that even on the hardest days, you love your job, and that so many people need your brilliant mind. What he does mind is when people make your job harder than it needs to be, and he’s been getting an earful about this new interim chief from just about everybody—you, Kento, Yuuji, Ieiri, even some of your favorite scrub nurses have indulged him in the gossip about the newest common enemy—and he doesn’t appreciate that someone is putting extra stress on his baby. So, even if it is a makeshift massage in your office and distracting you from your paperwork, Satoru will do what he can to help you relieve tension. 

You reach your arms to wrap them around his shoulders, taking a half step closer to him, peering up at him. Satoru loves when your arms are around his neck like this; he can’t quite pinpoint why—maybe it’s the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him, the way you’re perfectly nestled under his view, the feeling of being wrapped in you. He does his best to close the loop of your intimacy, resting his hands on the small of your back and pulling you impossibly closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax into his touch.

“You’re sweet,” you smile, rubbing your thumb against the shorter hairs at the back of his head. Satoru feels himself melt into you, too. It’s been too long since you’ve been this close, three whole days too long. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, baby,” he smiles, stealing a gentle kiss. Satoru loves this the most, loves the feeling of your lips on his—and it’s definitely been too long since he’s kissed you, so he makes sure to do it again, and once more after that for good measure. 

But it’s not enough. He’ll have to take you home, sit you on the couch so he can kiss you all night and make up for the lack of kisses and touches and youness he’s been deprived of these past few days. But first, he’ll have to pull you away from your work, and that’s not easy work. 

“Come home,” he muses, leaning his forehead against yours, “We can order in, and share your favorite bottle of wine, and watch a movie.” 

You lean up to kiss him briefly. “Every time we share a bottle of wine, we end up making out and not watching anything.” 

“Do we?” Satoru feigns innocence, “I never noticed. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, though.”

“Satoru,” you whisper, quiet but firm, with a smile that lets him know you want to, but you can’t. It’s a tone that Satoru knows all too well, and isn’t particularly fond of. “I have charts to finish.” 

“Finish them tomorrow,” he steals another kiss, “Or pawn them off on Kento,” another kiss, “Or Yuuji. Residents always need more experience—isn’t that what you and Ieiri always say?” 

You let him kiss you again, and again, and again. Each time a little longer, a little warmer, a little less innocent than the last, growing from a little, to a lot, to all-consuming. Satoru hums when he feels your nails raking through his hair; an unfortunate move, as the sound pulls you back to reality and away from him in a decrescendo of kisses. 

“You’re really good at that,” you laugh, voice soft. 

“At kissing?” Satoru dips his head down to taste your laughter against his lips, “Thanks, I’ve had a lot of practice with a very pretty girl.” 

“No,” and you’re laughing again, louder this time, and Satoru counts every little giggle as a victory, “You’re good at... seducing me without saying you’re seducing me.”

“Oh, that?” he grins, tucking his pointer and index finger under your chin to meet you in a knowing kiss, “Yeah, that’s a talent of mine, too.”

You let him steal one more, and Satoru doesn’t take it for granted. “Come home,” he whispers against your lips before slotting them in yet another kiss, “I miss you.” 

And he can feel it when you finally break, sighing into the kiss, and melting into his touch completely. One more, he just needs one more kiss to seal the deal, and then—“Fine,” you concede, “But I get to choose where to get dinner from.” 

“Of course, sweets, whatever you want,” Satoru grins, pulling back to kiss your forehead again, “Now—shall we? If we order in the car, we can probably pick it up on our way home.”

He’s in the home stretch now, but he’s not completely free: if you catch a glimpse of your work, or someone comes in to find you, or your godforsaken pager beeps then all of his plans could come crumbling down before him. The key to transitioning from the “you’ve agreed to come home with him early stage”—if you can count 9:45pm, coming off of a 17-hour work day as early—to the “we are actually leaving this hospital and nobody can stop us phase” is swiftness. This time period is critical, and Satoru is ready for the sprint. 

He shimmies your lab coat all the way off of your body for you, checking for the weight of your pager in your right pocket, before hanging it on the back of your chair. He shoos you to grab your coat, and makes sure you don’t get within three feet of this side of your desk—taking your purse out of your locked drawer and closing an open file folder in the time it takes you to slip out of your heels and into your sneakers, and by the time you’re turning back around, Satoru is already there next to you, with your purse in one hand, and his other hovering on the light switch. 

He makes sure you’re out the door first, and flickers off the light with a satisfied grin. His baby was coming home early with him, and there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend time pampering you. 

You must truly be more tired than you know, because you make no protest when he slings an arm over your shoulder on your way out of the elevator. Usually, you chastise him for any PDA within hospital walls, but tonight you let it be, even leaning some of your body weight against his as you walk. Satoru’s not complaining at all, maybe he’ll try his luck and sneak a kiss on your cheek. 

He decides to go for it, leaning over for a kiss, when you suddenly pull away, turning and patting against your side. Confused, and disappointed, Satoru pouts, “We’ve really got to work on this fear of affection you’ve got going on, sweets. It’s the leading cause of makesatorupout-itis.” 

“We’ve been over this—you can’t just add “itis” to the end of your words to make them diagnostic,” you giggle, “I was looking for my keys.”

Satoru’s frown deepens. “You have the fancy reserved doctor parking space, they can’t tow you. So, we can take my car home.” 

“No, we cannot, because I do not trust you to wake up and drive me back tomorrow morning.” 

“Then I’ll get you a cab in the morning, or—even better, I’ll call Ichiji to pick you up.” 

“Ichiji is still in Paris,” you remind him. Satoru purses his lips. He did ask Ichiji to stay with Megumi. Damn it.

“I have other cars, you can drive one of them in the morning.” 

“And park it where?” 

“In your fancy reserved doctor parking—oh, okay I see the flaw there,” Satoru pulls back. You find amusement in his disappointment, but he doesn’t think there’s anything funny here. 

He shakes his head. He should have taken a cab from his office, but this is okay, a minor setback, nothing he can’t think around. “New plan: we take your car, and I’ll come by to get mine tomorrow. Easy peasy.” 

“Yours will be towed by then.” 

“That’s fine,” Satoru shrugs, “I can afford a tow fee.” 

“Satoru,” you call, reaching your free hand up to place your palm against his cheek, “We both drive home. It’ll be thirty minutes, tops. Forty if there’s traffic, but if you stop pouting and we leave now, we should be fine.” 

Satoru sighs. He knows that’s the most reasonable plan of action, but the simple truth is that he doesn’t want to be away from you right now, even to go the short distance home. He’s already spent the last few days without you, and even though this is calling it in early for you, he only gets maybe four hours awake with you before you’re off again. Thinking about that makes him miss you again already. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care.

“Oh, Dr. (_____), hey!” Yuuji’s voice is an easily distinguishable interruption to your petty argument, and Satoru’s sulking, “Perfect timing—I’m glad I caught you before you left. Is it okay if I ask you to sign something before you go?” 

You easily warm up to the younger boy and agree, fondly making conversation with Yuuji as he scrolls through some documents on his tablet. And just as you’ve finished scribbling your signature along the screen, Satoru has a bright idea. 

“Hey, Yuuji, you can drive right?” Satoru questions rhetorically, already reaching for his wallet and car keys, “Great! Here’s two grand, it’s all yours if you drive this car home tonight.” Satoru smiles widely, shoving his keys and some cash into the pocket of Yuuji’s white coat. 

“What—really? Awesome! But, why—” 

Satoru dismisses his disbelief with a wave of his hand. He steps a bit closer to Yuuji, just enough to lean into his ear and tuck a couple more bills into his pocket, “And between you and me, that’s an extra three grand if you finish up a couple of charts for my lady so she can sleep in tomorrow. Not a bad deal, right?” 

“Sure, no problem!” Yuuji salutes, “I’d do anything for Dr. Almost-Gojo. Plus, if I’m busy working for her, then I don’t have to babysit cells in a dish for Dr. Gakuganji.” 

“Atta boy,” Satoru ruffles his hair, “Catch you later, Yuuji, I’ve got a hot date to get to. And tell Nanamin I say hello!” 

You elbow Satoru shallowly, a silent warning to keep his voice down, and a verbal chastising of, “It’s Dr. Itadori and Dr. Nanamin to you.”

“More like Dr. Nanameanie,” Satoru laments, resuming the position of his arm around your shoulder, “I’ve left him six calls this week! He’s so cruel—he knows I have to leave next week and he’s depriving me of one on one time. I think I’m gonna have to sneak into his office at lunch tomorrow and confront him.”

Despite his crass words and dramatics, you laugh, and so, Satoru smiles. He finally gets that cheek kiss right as you two reach your car, bending down to plant one for you at the same time he steals your keys from your hand and banishes you to the passenger seat. He’s not much of a driver himself, despite his excess amount of cars, but you’re his baby and you deserve to be driven around no matter the case, but especially when you’ve spent all day taking care of other people. 

Plus, on days like this, if he’s real careful and smooth, you fall asleep in the car and he gets to carry you inside. He makes that his goal for the next thirty minutes, and he succeeds in twenty, confirmed by your soft snores just as he pulls into the curbside pick-up spot of your favorite restaurant. He retrieves the take-out as quietly as possible, before making the rest of the journey home, taking the time to glance over at you during red lights. 

Satoru loves the way you look when you’re asleep, loves to see you well-rested, but something even more dear to him than that is a fact that Nanami let slip in the aftermath of a dinner party he’d hosted about a year after you two had started dating: “She never sleeps outside of her bed, for as long as I’ve known her,” he muses, nodding to your sleeping figure on Satoru’s couch, “Not even in the on-call rooms during our 72 hour shifts. She must... she must really trust you, Satoru.” 

(He also recalls the awfully strong grip on his shoulder and subsequent shovel talk Kento gave him a moment later. Not that Satoru ever had anything but pure intentions with you, but the threat of breaking Kento’s best friend’s heart was more than enough to keep his commitments in check).

Satoru peers at you fondly in his arms, held bridal style with the takeout in the grip of a pinky finger, glancing up only to nod and thank his doorman for pushing the penthouse button for him. Satoru prides himself on many things, but the one thing he always holds in his highest regards is you: call him cocky, but he thinks he’s quite good at caring for you, that there’s nobody else fit to look after you the way that he can; and knowing that you feel safe in his arms is the highest honor he could achieve in this life.

He sets you carefully on the couch once he steps inside the apartment, and places the food on the coffee table. He debates whether or not he should wake you up now; he hates to, but he knows you need to eat, and, selfishly, he wants to cash in on those few hours he has with you to hear your voice. 

He’ll dish out the food first, and then wake you up to eat, he decides. He leans down to kiss the crown of your head, eyes flicking to your face, and pausing at your neck, where your engagement ring rests crookedly against your skin. You must have had an emergency surgery today, he thinks; your schedule for today was originally just to round on post-op patients and attend some meetings, but you knot the ring into your chain when you have to scrub into the operating room. 

Carefully, Satoru reaches to undo it from the chain, and slips it back onto your ring finger. It looks pretty against your skin when it’s around your neck, but personally, he thinks it looks best this way, the sparkle of the aquamarine against the halo of diamonds fits perfectly across the width of your finger, just the way he had it made to be.

Satoru bends down even further to kiss the back of your hand, before laying it to rest on your stomach. He might need to bribe Yuuji to take care of some more work for you, you two really should get a move on that wedding planning, and you’re going to need at least a week off to fly and visit his grandma’s pastry shop in Osaka for cake tasting.

He smiles at the thought. He doesn’t feel so bad about waking you up now—wedding talk seems like the perfect way to end the evening if you ask him; there would be no sweeter sound than hearing how you imagine the start of the rest of your lives to be. 

[hoesformatt]

ASSMATIZED

chris smut, I was staring at my fat ass too much nd then came up w this😝

dom!chris • poc!reader friendly

contains: pet names, no use of y/n, touching/groping, cowgirl, doggy style, spanking, oral (m!receiving), thick!reader (ass, thighs, all that’s nice), raw/unprotected (fiction!)

word count: 1.2k

summary: you and the triplet have been friends for a while now and you’ve been making jokes about how you want Chris to fuck you but this time you weren’t playing and he caught on

We ran around the wally-world (walmart), Chris chasing me down the aisles, dodging the people that were there. “C’mere!” My running made my shorts ride up quickly, causing me to slow down and get caught by Chris “Slow ass” I laughed my ass off, still in Chris’ arms after he tackled me.

“I only slowed down cause my shorts were riding up and my ass was flying out” I pulled down my shorts from my inner thighs to the back, thinking, I should’ve worn tights even with the heat outside.

I had caught a glimpse of Chris salivating at my juicy ass and thunder thighs, he licked his lips taking a gulp before looking forward.

Coming around to find Matt and Nick in the chips & snack aisle, Nick had Matt holding the candies and chip bags, looking for more. “Where were you at? Gone to fuck or something?” Chris was stunned by Nick’s comment, taking a step back.

“She said she bet I can’t catch her” he shrugged his shoulders, glancing back having a smile plastered on his face.

Matt rolled his eyes at our constant bickering. “And what do you gain from that? Nothing” Nick finished getting his stuff after we did, walking with urgency to the check-out.

The four of us got situated in my AMG, I sat in the back with Chris, Matt drove, and Nick was the passenger princess. “Nick play, Throw sum mo” Matt requested “yesss, lemme do my one” I hyped as he grabbed aux to play the song, and Matt instantly began singing along with Nicki.

I unbuckled my seatbelt to turn around when Chris started to complain about how I was moving while Matt was still driving “Don’t hate me cause I’m beautiful plus it’s my car” I rebutted. With my hands on the seat, I began to shake my ass the song, making Nick lean to the back and smack it.

Chris stayed playing around, acting annoyed but he was fighting a smile in the hectic car. “Bro sit back down, you’re making the car shake” he pushed to sit “The car shaking because my ass fat like the sun—” I flicked my tongue at him in a sexual manner “—and don’t act like you can’t have this if you want to” I said the last sentence quieter than the first, winking at him. I sat back down for the rest of the ride to their house.

I playfully walked into the house, placing all the snacks on the counter, jumping beside it and a loud clap came from the cold granite against my large thighs. My thighs stung, but I shrugged it off, rifling through the bags of sweets while Chris watched me in the corner of my eye.

Nick ran off to his room and Matt went off—wherever and then Chris walked between my legs, his hands finding themselves on my thighs that were spread on the counter. “What’s up?” This was the closest Chris has gotten to me, and I was loving it.

I wanted him inside of me, tearing me apart. “You know what you were doing to me in the car,” he reminded me, squeezing my thigh and getting closer to my face.

“What are you talking about?" I played dumb with him, licking my lips still keeping intense eye contact. “Do that shit again and see what happens." He leaned in, gripping my neck as we kissed each other. His tongue slipped into my mouth, tasting me.

Chris pulled back, realizing what we had just done. “C’mon Chris, we’re grown.” I saw sudden disinterest in his lustrous eyes.

Our bodies parted as we heard Nick race downstairs, sliding towards us in his socks. “Cool right? I bought them at Walmart, and I think they’re my best investment yet.” I glanced back at Chris, whose eyes had already departed from mine.

Nick found his way to slide away from us and I had finally got Chris alone again. “Chris c'mere." He bee-lined towards me, as I held his hands in mine putting them on my body after he consented. “Chris I could give you all of this if you let me” His cock noticeably grew in his sweats as he nodded hoisting me from my hips and up carrying me upstairs, entering his bedroom, I knew he was strong but not this strong.

He let me get on my knees, between his legs after I slipped his pants down to his ankles.“Relax baby” My pussy pulse once I had contact with his cock. His cum-glazed tip was laid on my lips, twitching once I put it in. I swirled the tip in my mouth making lewd noises.

I spluttered on his cock trying to take all his inches in while I stroked the base, I gazed up at him suggestively, kissing his throbbing tip. Chris’ hands found themselves gripping my hair to push my head down when I abruptly stuffed his length in my throat.

“Choke on it” Chris got me to put my hands behind back while he guided my head. His eyes slipped close and his lips did the opposite; soft and deep moans escaped his mouth “You’re so fucking good at this mama” He praised with a smirk on his face.

A hand went through his fluffy hair. His chest heaved heavier as he got closer to his climax, fitting every inch in my throat and pulling out repeatedly until I felt his cock twitch and liquids spill into my mouth, streaming down my throat. “Get on fours for me” Chris took control and I got up from my knees, before removing my shorts and climbing onto the bed.

“Arch that back, baby” I did as he said waiting for Chris to line up his dick to my tight hole, “I can feel your warmth.” He pumped his cock a few times, then inserted it in. My wetness made it easier to fit inside, stretching me out with his thick length “Fuck yes”.

His cock filled me up to the brim as he began to slide into me. I loved the feeling when Chris entered me, abusing my walls. “I’ve been thinking about you and this beautiful ass—” He smacks my ass watching it recoil “—all day.”

The thrusts only got harder when Chris’ nails dug into my hips, stinging my skin, but I was taken away from the ecstasy. My skin was prickled with warmth as his skin touched mine, the pace of his motions creating slapping sounds.

The moans coming out of my mouth were inaudible while Chris enjoyed how much of a mess he made of me. “I never thought you could make such sweet noises.” Chris kneaded my ass, being hypnotized by the way my ass moved and snapping his hips rapidly to the point that he had tears coming out of my eyes and my pussy.

I gripped on the sheets like my life depended on them; my legs began to go limp and he held my body up.

He was fucking me up from all angles. I was clenching around Chris making him twitch inside and our orgasms were coming close. I felt the pleasure flow from my heat, along with me saying his name in a high-pitched moan. My cum coated his length as he continued to thrust into me slowly, pulling out to push me cum back inside my cunt with his thumb, licking off the rest.

Chris slightly stroked his dick before coming all over my back and my ass. “I love your body, this is mine." He massaged and squeezed my ass, unable to take his eyes off it.

tags: @lunariaxzz @chrissturniolosbitch @leahsbussy @luv4kozume @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @idkwhosnyla @strniohoeee @iiheartstef @nonamegirlxsturniolo @ka1nani @1800chokedathoe @fuzzycupcakebeliever @mattgirly @love4chris @mattslutt @nickgetsmewetter @luhsexcbihh @hearts4chriss @thenickgirl @jnkvivi

[dc418writes]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Ari + pinned down + “Fuck, sweetheart, I love it when you whine so pretty for me.”

*incomprehensible screeching* ok ok calm down self no pressure 👀 lol but thank you Siri for this prompt! And all who read I hope you like what I came up with☺️!

Mine

✨Pairing✨: ex!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader

Summary🪄: As luck would have it, your ex is there to save you from a creep. Some coincidence right?

🚨: 18+ NO MINORS, soft/dark-dark elements, mention of sexual harassment, violence (man-man), unprotected adult happy funny times (please be safe everyone!), fingering, breeding kink, mention of alcohol, a couple bad language words

Your once pleasant buzz has since been replaced by a dull headache as you sit in the middle of your ex’s king sized bed. One of his shirts - smelling a mix of his cologne and detergent - covering your freshly washed body after the small bar brawl left the front of your top and skirt soaked with beer.

Every few minutes your mind wanders back to that moment where the “kind” and charming stranger showed his true colors. His touches becoming unwanted while trapping you against the bar and ignoring your protests. If it wasn’t for Ari, quickly yanking the hazel-eyed man away from you before his fist was soon meeting his cheek, you’re sure you’d be stuck somewhere and missing for God knows how long.

Maybe even worse.

A light knock on the door has a small smile curling on your lips seeing Ari in the doorway. His muscular body nearly taking up the entire space standing in his black sweats and some worn looking band tee.

“Hey, you feel alright?,” he asks and you nod. “Need anything?”

“No, just tired.”

“Get some rest. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

You didn’t want him out there though. In your current state - emotionally vulnerable and unable to get the events out of your mind - you wanted him next to you. To not be alone for tonight at least.

“C-Can you stay? Please?,” you call after him halting any further movement out of the doorway. With that tilted smile you still loved, he was soon removing his shirt and joining you under his sheets.

“Of course sweetheart.”

His thick arm wrapped around your middle with your back against his front, it was like old times how instantly safe and comfortable you felt. How you fit together so well, it was as if you’d never even broken up in the first place. And when his nose bumps behind your ear barely touching one of your special spots, that familiar flip returns to your stomach as well.

“Goodnight.”

“Night Ari,” you whisper, but you already know sleep is a far off concept from your highly active brain still focused on the bar. Trying to force you into reliving every detail as if helping you study for your own exam.

So many minutes pass of just feeling the air from Ari’s nostrils against your neck and hearing cars run by that you’ve accepted you probably won’t be sleeping tonight.

“That pretty head’s going a mile a minute again huh?,” he asks slightly startling you thinking he was asleep this whole time.

“You can tell?” He nods and you can feel the gentle scratching of his beard on your skin.

“Your pulse is a bit high; not to mention your body’s tense. Not as relaxed as I know you wanna be.”

He was always so intuitive with you. Knowing how you were feeling or if you were off without you having to even say a word. It was honestly scary sometimes how he was there with what you needed before it could cross your own mind.

“Why am I not surprised? Spot on as always,” you softly chuckle.

“Because I know you sweetheart,” he replies placing a chaste kiss to that sweet spot behind your ear. “Know all about this body. What goes on in your mind.”

His voice in your ear as his hand slowly drifts from under you and down your abdomen to the front of your thigh has you beginning to squirm. An ache quickly forming between your legs you want him to erase.

His fingertips trace a slow circle just centimeters from that junction as his lips create their own steady path down the column of your neck to your shoulder. It’s a tortuous buildup you wish he didn’t enjoy so much.

“Let’s get you to sleep, yea?”

“Please,” you shamefully beg anticipating his touch where you needed most.

And he doesn’t disappoint placing your leg over his so you were spread wide for him. His middle finger immediately dipping in your needy core and dragging just right you couldn’t stop the moan that tumbled from your lips.

“Still so tight after all this time. We can work around that though can’t we?”

By the time he was done - having readied you with two orgasms - you were already in a mindless haze only capable of babbling incoherent noises, “please”, and Ari’s name.

Exactly how he wanted you as he pushed your thighs up against your chest keeping them in place with his wide upper half while his hands pinned yours over your head. You were now completely at his use as he slowly began to push into you with a low groan and silent curses how you gripped him so tight.

“Ari please,” you whined. Head lulling to the side to lie on your arm. “Need you.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I love when you whine so pretty for me,” he finishes with a gasp finally pushing to the hilt. For your sake, he tries to start slow, but the feel of you clinching around him and all the sweet noises you’re making, it doesn’t take long for that rhythm to quicken. The squeaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping soon taking over your moans and panting.

“Mm don’t stop!”

He moans nipping at your bottom lip. “I’m the only one that can take care of you. Knows all your spots that make you dumb. Isn’t that right?”

Ari takes your whine as a yes, smirking as his mouth finds yours in a heated and numbing kiss.

“Because you’re mine sweetheart.” His pace quickens and you shriek as your release squirts to the sheets below. It only spurs him more moaning as he feels his own release approaching. “Always have been, shit, always will be.”

You want to whine and push him away with your new sensitivity and puffy folds that feel raw, but that blissed out cloud just keeps lifting you higher and higher that you don’t want to come down.

“And everyone’s gonna know it too seeing you with our little baby bump. Gonna be the best mama to our babies.” The thought of you carrying a mini version of the both of you pushes him over the edge moaning his release as you have one last one of your own feeling him fill you up with deep ruts wanting it to stick as deep as it could go.

Finally meeting that blissful high with you, a tired chuckle leaves his lips as he kisses all along your sweaty face. You’re pleasantly knocked out - mouth slightly parted - as he carefully lifts up so your legs can be stretched out again. Although soft, he doesn’t pull out; instead staying buried deep so none of him can escape.

Plus having you wrapped around him so snug, occasionally pulsing and clinching, it’s better than any blanket he could ever buy.

“Now, if only you weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he whispers before leaving one last peck on your temple.

HiredHelp: I said only one punch! (sent 12:29 am)

HiredHelp: That’s an extra 2K (sent 12:30 am)

HiredHelp: 5K in my account by tomorrow or we meet again very soon (sent 12:30 am)

So for those who’ve read my works over the years, this is definitely a bit of new territory for me (soft/dark-dark and smut) so hopefully it’s not cringe🫣. Thank you @stargazingfangirl18 for this prompt and for allowing me to play☺️! Also sorry if this is longer than a standard drabble lol

[waldau]

hand in mine — lee seokmin | 1,550 words | fluff

slightly inspired by my friend and their partner, i didn't know it was possible for two people to be so in love :') here's just...dk being sappy. sappy dk.

gender neutral reader. warnings: bonus pov?

dokyeom swears you're like a portable human charger.

when he's away, whether it's because he's still in practice or because he's on tour or even when he's at his parents' place, a single phone call from you is enough to lift his spirits to get him through the rest of the day. weekends spent at each other's places together are almost enough to convince him to just become an apartment hermit.

it's been true for ages — and it's true again, tonight.

or it will be, if you'll stop talking to one kim mingyu.

dokyeom's getting antsier the longer you stand there talking to mingyu, nodding along to something he's telling you. can't it wait till tomorrow? doesn't mingyu see he's in dire need of recharging?

now he knows mingyu's not telepathic, but somehow the younger man realizes dokyeom's staring at the two of you, so he finishes whatever he's saying with a nod towards where dokyeom's sitting. you follow his gaze and smile when you see dokyeom, who swears his heart melts a little, right there.

but then you stop to greet joshua, chatting with him for a minute (a whole minute, in this economy?) before you're standing right next to dokyeom.

he stretches his arms out to you. you bend down, letting him wrap himself around you the best he can. it's good, but it's not enough. he lets go only to tug at your hand. "sit down."

you look around. "there's no place, kyeomie. i don't mind standing."

he frowns at you. "i mind. you can sit in my lap."

you give him a look. "in front of your friends? i'd rather not."

dokyeom pouts. "they're your friends, too."

"of course i know that, baby. but they don't ever stop teasing us, do they?"

"ugh. they'll make fun of me, not you. please?"

you run a hand through his hair. "i don't want them to make fun of you, either."

he huffs. "fine. c'mere," he mumbles, scooting to give you some more space. you go willingly this time, settling yourself into the minimal space next to him. it's not easy when there's already thirteen of them in a room, but he manages to nudge chan away to give you some more space.

"hi," you whisper, letting him throw his hand around your shoulder to pull you closer. "missed you today."

dokyeom pulls back to look at you. he feels almost shy to have all your attention on him, silly as it sounds. "just today?" he asks, grinning when you roll your eyes. "you got here safely?"

you nod, leaning up to press a kiss to his nose. "perfectly. there was way lesser traffic than i expected."

"good."

you snuggle into dokyeom's side, stretching your legs out next to his. this is always his favourite place to be — because he can have your words be all for his ears only.

but then he frowns when he sees your outfit — a shirt and a pair of shorts. he takes off his jacket and drapes it across your legs despite your protests.

"you should've worn something warmer," he frowns. you're never good with the cold, and you're not going to be comfortable with the way more than half the members need the air conditioning to be switched on at all times.

"i was almost ready to go to bed, kyeomie," you explain, adjusting the jacket on yourself nonetheless. "i wouldn't be here if shua didn't call me. thank you, though. how was your day?"

dokyeom sighs. he doesn't want to talk about his day when he's been living through it for the entirety of...well, the day, but he has to say something for you. "not...the best," he concedes, resting his head on your shoulder.

"do you want to go home soon?" you ask, your hand finding his, tracing random patterns on his skin. the tingles help ground him.

he shrugs. "i don't know."

it's true, as much as he hates it. he doesn't want to leave because it'll end up breaking up the party — it always so happens that the first person to leave is the catalyst for most others to start wrapping things up, unwittingly. he doesn't want to be a party pooper, but at the same time, he's had a long day. it's like he's been aware of every single second he's been awake, and it's exhausting.

"okay," you say simply. "let's stay for a while more. it's not like we're in a rush. and i know how hard you worked today."

dokyeom closes his eyes at that. he knows he's done well, today being one of those days where he's genuinely looking for the end, but hearing it from you makes it much better. "yeah?"

"yeah," you affirm, hand rising to comb gently through his hair again, left open now that he's discarded his beanie. "i love you, kyeom. so much. it's still hard to put it into words sometimes."

he snuggles a bit more into you at that, slightly satisfied when seungkwan chucks a piece of popcorn at him from the bed, telling you both to stop being so cheesy. he feels even better when you throw it back at seungkwan, letting out a triumphant ha! when it hits him on the knee.

he loves you.

there's no bottom to that endless truth. he's somewhat loved you ever since he first saw you, drawn to the way your sense of humour was so close to his, and the somewhat turned into a definitely the more he got to know you.

dokyeom isn't half of anything — he's all of himself, lee seokmin, content with the way he is except for a few gripes here and there, but you complete him in a way he didn't know any person could.

he's not worried about you leaving him — there's no way either of you are letting that happen. it's more about not knowing who he is without you, now that your lives are so intertwined.

"stop," you mumble, your grip on his hair tightening slightly.

"stop what?"

"thinking. about whatever you are. i told you i love you and i'm not going anywhere."

the haze he's in almost clears a bit at that. "how did you— i didn't—"

"you always get so pensive when you're tired, did you know? i should record you some time. it's like there's a philosopher hidden inside you."

pensive? when he's tired?

"i love you normally," he blurts out, scared at the insinuation that he thinks about how much you mean to him only when he's vulnerable like this.

you're not saying anything back, though. you're just smiling at him.

"what," he asks, breaths a bit shallow.

"i know," you press, hand lifting his to show the ring that sits on his fourth finger. "i love you normally, too."

dokyeom lets out a chuckle. he still can't believe it's possible to love someone this much.

"now let me get you home and help you get some sleep, okay?" you ask, punctuating your question with a tug to his chin. "the others will understand."

as if you have to ask him. he'll go wherever you take him, no questions asked.

joshua can see the change in dokyeom's eyes the moment you walk into the room.

the conversation doesn't stop; mingyu and jun are still arguing about how mingyu should stop taking inspiration from jeonghan when it comes to board games and cheating. jeonghan has a proud smile on his face. wonwoo and minghao have zoned out entirely, too busy with their phones to acknowledge the little fight going on. the others are busy eating or ordering more food or arguing about which movie to watch next.

there's just one person missing from the chaos.

dokyeom's sitting on the floor under the window, entirely in his own world, constantly checking his phone and looking at the door, shutting his eyes for a minute before repeating his actions.

joshua would've poked fun at him if he didn't know how tired dokyeom already was today. a particularly tiring day, especially with a comeback practice they'd just gotten back from, and a going seventeen shoot in which dokyeom had been on the losing team. even though he doesn't like to show it, joshua knows dokyeom is somewhat upset over not winning.

but the moment you walk into the room, it's like a switch has been flipped. dokyeom sits up straighter, the neutral expression on his face morphing into a tired but real smile. he holds his hands out to you and pouts when you stop to greet all the other members first, shaking hands with them or giving them a quick side hug.

joshua pulls you close with ease. "thanks for making it here on such short notice."

"are you seriously thanking me for that?"

"i mean...he really needs to see you. today hasn't been his day."

you look over at your husband for a moment. "i could tell. his texts were pretty dry."

"right? now go get your lover boy. he's been moping all evening long."

you wrinkle your nose at the term, just like he expected you to, but you nod and make your way to dokyeom.

joshua turns away when dokyeom gives you a dopey, lovesick grin. he'll let the teasing go for tonight.

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae

[arachnoia]

guilty pleasure | miguel o’hara

infidelity, p in v, unprotected sex, semi-public, drabble

— everyone has their own guilty pleasure. movies, soap operas, hobbies…

“oh fuck baby-"

you squirmed as miguel held his grip on your ass even harder, feeling his hard dick still thrusting into your tight walls.

fucking your boyfriend’s older brother just happened to be yours. without telling your boyfriend of course.

he leaned towards your ear, whispering breathlessly from the pleasure you gave him, “you need to be quiet, mami. what did I tell you last time?”

“t-to be quiet and t-take it…please miguel oh my god.”

the plan: go to a fancy boutique and get a nice dress for a date gabri was going to take you on.

great! that was the plan until miguel, his older brother whom used to have a crush on you growing up, came along.

when did the affair start: in your opinion, it wasn’t an affair and didn’t have a “start”. it was just something you did when gabri was away. you’ve always had a friends with benefits with miguel, even before gabri asked you out. remember he used to have a crush on you growing up? you told him you did too and one thing led to another.

cliché.

you considered wanting to drop miguel but due to some conversations and convincing from him, you didn’t.

it was just out of convenience. which is when miguel sneaked into your dressing room, you questioned why. it was usually out of feeling horny but now was random.

you bit your lip, peering from your left shoulder to see yourself in the mirror. it was quite a sight; you were sweaty and was standing up in front of miguel who kept thrusting in you from behind as he held your hips to adjust. his hands were all over you, from feeling and pinching your perky nipples and sensitive breasts to massaging at your hips and ass.

you clawed at the dressing room walls, hoping to not make any noise or be in too long to suspect gabri. there were seven dresses so hopefully that was a good enough excuse.

“fuck…you’re so good for me, princesa-“ he muttered before kissing your neck. the odds of getting caught was at 25/75, now that miguel’s need of being quiet affected his thrusts as they were almost painfully slow. it was like he was dangling candy in front of you, knowing you wanted it. and what you wanted was for him to go harder. you slightly frowned as it was almost quiet and all you could hear was breathing and quiet groans which someone could mistake for being injured.

it was in complete contrast to how miguel would fuck you until your ass felt hot and all you could hear were loud moans and the loud sound of skin slapping. better than any symphony out there.

“can’t you fucking go faster?!”

you heard him darkly chuckle which led a shiver down your spine, “whatever the princess wants, she’ll get.”

you closed your eyes as he obliged with a small grunt. you felt your legs almost shake from how good he was fucking you. it felt fucking euphoric.

you whipped your head to your phone which lit up to a notification from ‘gabriel <3’. you leaned over to read the notifications from your phone placed in your purse pocket.

‘almost done?’

fuck.

you shakily tried to reached for it before miguel stopped you. “who is it?”

“i-it’s gabri…fuck!”

he rolled his eyes and held your hand as he thrusted more, making you wanna roll your eyes in pleasure, “déjalo.”

he raised your head to make you face the mirror where he made eye contact with your worn out and tired eyes.

“you’re mine right now, mami.”

[wolfiesmoon]

The TWST boys and their number 1 princess

reader is fem! and is a bit of a bratty princess typa girl😌

i already wrote this on my haikyuu blog a bit back but somehow the song world is mine fits with like every character ever (defo reccomend listening to the song while reading)

seriously it's so fun imagining the song with different characters

Characters featured: Silver, Leona, Riddle, Jack

₊˚⊹♡ Silver

"Siiilver!~ Where aaaare you?" you called out to him in the courtyard. Lilia told you he would be there so you're beginning your search, well, there.

Why you're looking for Silver in the first place? To hold his hand, of course. None of the subtler methods have worked so far, much to your chagrin.

Holding his hand is the first step to making him your prince, you see. You've spent countless nights fantasizing about him kneeling down and kissing your hand while singing praises about your endless beauty.

Oh, how exciting it is to see the future play out in front of your eyes! You even got endorsement from Lilia for the wedding!

You eventually found him laying in the green grass, peacefully asleep. He really does sleep a lot, huh? You just can't get enough of his face, especially when it's so relaxed and at peace.

Wait... now that you think about it, in a lot of fairytales where princesses are asleep, their problem is solved by true love's kiss. Maybe his issue can be solved by it too....

Forget holding hands, you have a curse to break (atleast you assume it's a curse, since Lilia has told you he can't control it at all)! And being the top princess, you can break it, of course!

You kneel down next to him, quickly checking your breath. Probably smells fine. It's now or never!

As you lean in, his eyes gently open and you immediately jump back, pretending you weren't just about to kiss him. Out of all the times he had to wake up, it was now... You were this close!

"Ugh... I fell asleep again...?" Silver seemed to be bothered, like he always is when he wakes up.

"You did! And I was kind enough to wake you up! You should be glad I happened to stumble upon you!" you tried your best to look unbothered and collected. Silver pouted slightly at your tone.

You got up, placing one hand on your knee and extending the other towards him to help him get up. He silently took it, getting up with your help. "Thank you." he said curtly, expression softening at your happy little grin.

Wait... He just held your hand for a moment there! He really did!!!

The wedding dress! You have to pick out a wedding dress, as soon as possible!

₊˚⊹♡ Leona Kingscholar

"Hmph! Won't you just say something already?!" For some reason, he looked nervous when he heard the anger in your voice. His eyebrows creased in worry for a moment before returning to their normal resting position. He's definitely not asleep then.

You finally got fed up with the lack of acknowledgement from Leona. Practically everyone but him complimented you on your outfit today.

You even dressed up all pretty just to impress him and get him to notice your outstanding appearance. Not that you need pretty clothes to impress. Any guy would be begging at your feet even when you're in your at-home shirt and your old worn out shorts.

Leona should consider himself lucky in that regard. You've fallen for him. He has to act fast or you'll be swept away by a much more noble prince before he can place a ring on your finger.

"Hmmm...? What are you yapping on about?" Leona opened one of his eyes, acting like he has no idea what you mean. He definitely noticed the outfit. He's just choosing not to mention it.

"The dress! You're supposed to mention it!" you stomped your foot on the ground, annoyed with him.

"Oh, I don't really care. It doesn't matter if you're wearin' the finest silk or a potato sack when you're a pain in the ass anyways." he closed his eyes again, sighing with annoyance.

"Ugh! You know what? I don't care about you anymore! I'll go find a guy who can appreciate me properly!"

You were totally bluffing, but you might actually start considering it soon if he keeps acting so annoyed around you.

A great princess knows when to give up, too. Unreciprocated love brings tears, and tears ruin cute makeup.

As you turned on your heels to stomp off to Vil for more makeup advice, you felt your wrist being grabbed roughly.

"Stay here. Just stay quiet and you can stay." He squeezed your wrist, his face looking like the very definition of annoyance and... jealousy?

This is certainly a turn of events. "Fine, I'll stay." You huff. "But ONLY if you say I'm pretty in my dress." You smile smugly, watching him sigh and furrow his brows.

"You look... beautiful." He said it as if he was forced to, but somehow you could sense some truth behind those words.

You never asked him to call you beautiful after all, he definitely could have gotten away with a three-quarter hearted 'you look pretty in that dress'.

₊˚⊹♡ Riddle Rosehearts

"Hiiiii, Riddle!~ Hi Silver, hi Sebek." You greeted Riddle cheerily, treating the other two Equestrian club members like an afterthought. Riddle is much cuter in comparison, after all.

You're here for a poetically romantic reason. You see, ever since you learned that Riddle knows how to ride a horse, a certain fantasy has been visiting you in your dreams every night. Ideally, you wish he had a princely white horse, but you suppose a brown one can fulfill its duty well enough. The fantasy of him taking you on a romantic horse ride is the same no matter what his horse looks like.

Which speaking of, you visit the Equestrian club every day so you can convince Riddle to let you ride his horse, to make your dream a reality. So far, no luck. Actually, you've been trying to get closer to Riddle in general recently.

He isn't the most receptive to your flirting attempts but he makes adorable faces of anger when Cater or Trey tease him about you. Truly, a prince deserving of your attention.

"Hello. Have you come to watch us again?" Riddle asked with no particular emotion behind his voice. Surely, he knew what was coming by now. No need to ask such foolish questions.

"No, I came to ride your horse with you. You should know that by now." You are equally calm and collected in your own request. You try to put on your most cute, charming smile to lure him in.

You have been getting close to Vorpal, since you knew some horses are untrusting of unfamiliar riders. You researched every known piece of horse-related literature you could get your hands on in the library just to impress Riddle with horse facts. You're very prepared.

"You..." Riddle sighed.

"Just let her." Silver placed a hand on Riddle's shoulder, probably getting a little sick of your nagging too.

"...Fine, if I must." Riddle said after a short pause and you damn near passed out from excitement right then and there.

"As you should. I cannot believe you made me wait this long." You kept it casual on the outside, not wanting to let your excitement show too much.

Once you were properly sat on the horse with Riddle behind you, you felt like you achieved something great. You still almost can't believe how many refusals it took for this to happen. But a princess always gets what she wants in the end.

"Just don't be tense. Horses can sense that and it puts them in distress." He instructed. When you turned back and smiled cheekily at him, you noticed his cheeks were pink.

"What is it, my prince?" you gave him puppy eyes.

"D-Do not call me that, or look at me like that. It's distracting." His face got even redder. Yikes, even Vorpal can sense that he's panicking right now.

₊˚⊹♡ Jack Howl

"Get me food. Something sweet." You crossed your arms, raising your chin smugly. This is a non-negotiable matter.

"I don't think I'm indebted to you right now." that was his gentler way of saying he's not doing it. Why he doesn't just straight up say "no" to you is a mystery. Perhaps he knows the proper way to respect a princess such as yourself.

You sighed in annoyance. Seems you have to pick up the charm.

"But Jaaaaack, I'm just so hungry!~ And I can't run around in my pretty heels..." you put on your best puppy dog eyes. Surely, you can convince your future prince to do a simple favour for you.

Future prince...

The fact that wolf beastmen have one partner for life has been keeping you up at night, in both a good way and bad way. That means once you get him hooked, he's there for life, BUT! He can easily get stolen away by another and then you lose all your chances.

Truly, a challenge befitting of someone like you. That's why you're hanging around him so much.

"You know, you make it really hard for me to say no sometimes." Jack scratches the back of his head. "Doesn't mean you succeeded this time, though." he smirks slightly at you.

You would squeal (internally) over his smirk if you didn't feel slightly dissapointed right now. Oh well, you suppose you can't demand everything from your future prince. He is your equal, after all.

Upon seeing your slightly sad face, something bubbled up within him. It doesn't look right.

"I'll go get it. Do you want anything in particular?" he got up suddenly.

"Huh? Jack, you don't have to. I changed my mind." He felt a strange sense of unease to see you acting so... gently. It wasn't a bad thing neccesarily, it just felt wrong. And besides, you'd never 'change your mind' about sweets. He knows you enough to know that.

"I'll still do it.... Not because I feel bad, though. Don't get the wrong idea." he huffed, turning away before you could notice the slight pink dusting his cheeks.