#let's lift some heavy stuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoshigray · 6 months

Text

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 | toji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Your ex-husband bringing the kids over for trick-or-treating is one thing; him wanting to spend the night at your place is another. But it's just for the night. There's no way one night can rekindle some old feelings...right?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader is around their mid-30s - Tsumiki (age 11) and Megumi (age 9) - mutual pining - kissing/makeout sessions - unprotected sex - Daddy kink - breast sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - spooning + mating press - cervix fucking - breeding kink - praise - clitoral play (pressing and grinding) - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - you and Toji have been divorced for five years - cameos: Gojo, Utahime and Mei Mei - mention of drool/spit and tears - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k (....dawg.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: happy Halloween, everyone!! so, randomly missed writing ex-husband! toji bc it's lowkey my favorite, soooo yeah, this is what we're doing to celebrate the end of the month! anywho, happy October, beautiful ppl, and tysm for reading my works!! Alsooo, ty for 2.8k!!!

“Trick-or-treat!!”

“Gasp—Oh my goodness!”

“We came to celebrate Halloween! Also, Megumi forgot his toothbrush here again.”

Opening your door to children at the sunset of Halloween day isn’t out of the ordinary or anything special. However, it’s always a pleasant surprise when it’s two kids you hold dear to your heart. You greet them with a hug, two siblings you know too well to say you’re acquainted with. If anything, you’re practically family.

The raven-haired brother, referred to as Megumi, speaks up. “It’s not my fault! Dad was rushing me last time.”

“Because you had to bring your stuffed animals last time, holding us back for your baseball practice.” Tsumiki, the older sister, snapped back. The two argue amongst themselves in front of you as you try to mediate. It’s no avail until another voice comes to the fray.

“All right, chill out, you two.” The voice belonged to the person approaching the porch stairs, your eyesight capturing the familiar figure walking up with two duffle bags. The one standing tall before you was the father of the children, Toji Fushiguro. Who’s also known as your one and only former husband. “Get inside and finish y’r homework, or else we’re goin’ back home.”

The siblings stop bickering and head inside, taking off their shoes at the foyer and walking upstairs. Now that they’re gone, you turn to the man with the jet-black hair, his viridian orbs focused on you. The weather was chilly, so the man wore his usual dark denim jacket over his plain black sweatshirt, matching his jeans. “You look good, big guy. What’s in the bags?”

He greets you with a curled lip, and the scar on the side of his lip lifts. “Picked them up from their after-school sports, so it’s their sports gear and costumes for tonight. Mind helpin’ me here?”

“Hmmm,” you merge your facial expressions to that of faux pondering, turning your back to Toji. “Nah, can’t. Got dinner to finish making.”

“Hmph, should’ve known.” He makes his way through between you and the front door. “Wouldn’t wanna break your pretty nails carrying heavy shit, huh, princess?”

You glare at him using the nickname, hating his patronizing gaze. “From what I remembered, you would never let me carry the heavy stuff because you thought I was too fragile and easy to break. So how about that, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor?”

“Really? I don’t remember sayin’ all that before. You must’ve put me in a spell.”

“Probably, I’ve been told I’m quite cute~.”

“Mmm, nah, more like an old hag of a witch.” Toji barks a laugh at your offended reaction, and he immediately ducks and heads for the stairs when you throw a sandal at him.

“At the very least, say I’m a cute witch, fucker.” You say the final word under your breath, grabbing the sandal you threw and heading back to the kitchen.

To say you and Toji were acquainted with one another would be the biggest understatement of the century. The two of you met a decade ago, fell madly in love, and married within a year of the relationship. When you tied the knot, Tsumiki had to have been two years old, and Megumi just turned one year old. You two had been together for four years after that, and you could confidently say those were one of [if not THE] best years of your life. You often second-guessed yourself being in a relationship with someone who had children, fearing that they wouldn’t like you or ignore you.

However, those worries were blown right away as the days went by. Every time you spent time with the children brought you three closer than ever; it was to the point that they saw you as their mother. How sweet! And there’s no denying that Toji loved you. The man would break someone’s nose for you — yes, it happened before, and it wasn’t pretty — for you were his sweet little thing that kept him going.

Well, if it was so great, why the divorce? Let’s just say you weren’t Toji’s first love. That title would have to be awarded to the Megumi’s mother. Even in her unfortunate passing, you can tell that Toji loved that woman like no other. It didn’t make you jealous or anything, seeing the man you love still mourn for a dead woman. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were him. But, you can’t lie; it felt like you were cast over a “shadow” when it came to her influence. It was damn near suffocating to bear, especially in those four years of marriage. So, for your sake and his aching heart, you pulled him aside and suggested a divorce. And Toji didn’t fight you on the proposition, signing the papers and setting you free from the thick air.

Although things ended between you two, that didn’t mean things stopped being what they were. If anything, it was as if nothing happened at all. Even if you still don’t live under the same roof, you still make time to hang with the Fushiguros, whether invited to some occasion or exchange phone calls or texts to check up on them. Even now, five years after your separation, it warms your heart knowing that you get to interact with the people you care about.

There are moments you find yourself missing living under the same roof with all three of them and living alone can be pretty lonely. But all in all, as long as they’re comfortable and trust you enough to be around, there’s no need to change things up again. Like right now — the four of you sit at the dinner table eating before the kids go off trick-or-treating.

“Are you going to trick-or-treat with us, Y/n?” The brown-haired child sitting next to you asks while finishing up her dinner.

“Sorry, not this time, gotta be at a Zoom meeting for my job in a few minutes. But I do have someone else to take my place. Gojo will be here at around—Why are you two making that face?” You stop mid-sentence to notice Megumi and Toji at the other side of the table, displaying disgusted facial expressions at the mention of the white-haired other’s name.

“Why him?” They said in unison.

“Why not??” You question their irritation.

“He’s so annoying…” Again, in unison. Proof enough that they’re father and son.

You sigh as you get up to take your plate to the sink. “Oh, come on, you two, it’s not like he’ll be with you guys the entire night. He has a party at a friend’s he’s going to later.”

“Isn’t he too old to trick-or-treat?” Tsumiki questions, noting that Gojo is way past his undergraduate years.

“He is, but whatever gets that prick any free sweets,” Toji answers his daughter before getting up to put his dish in the sink.

You exit the kitchen, head into the living room, and sit on the couch. The laptop you had placed there was ready to open and unlock, and you clicked on applications and windows to look through before your meeting started in the next three to two minutes. He should be here about—

DING-DONG!!

Now.

Right on cue, you motion for Toji to grab the front door, and he follows your command. “Kids, Gojo’s here!” You shout out to the two kids who still sit at the table. “When you’re done eating, you can go upstairs and put your costumes on. But whoever finishes last has to do the dishes.” You can hear commotion from the table as the brunette rushes to put her dish in the sink and dash for the stairs. Megumi groans to himself; you giggle when you hear him mutter an “Aww man…”

You pull out your headphones to connect to your laptop, put them in their respective ears, and prepare yourself for the meeting. Ignoring the faint passive-aggressive tones of your ex-husband when greeting Gojo at the door…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your eyes flutter open, noticing the lighting change around the living room. The orange sunlight no longer decorated the space, substituted with the gradual darkness that overtakes you. The only source of light you can figure out is the flashing from the television screen.

Aside from the TV, there are no other signs of life. There aren’t any signs of Tsumiki or Megumi around playing or causing a raucous. It could only mean the two are still trick-or-treating with Gojo.

One blink, two blinks. I must’ve fallen asleep after the meeting… You hum while sinking to the couch, burying your face into the pillow.

But…since when did your pillow act like it was breathing with a heartbeat? And…I smelt that cologne before…How?

“Ya awake now?”

You raise your head, realizing you are not lying on your couch. Technically, you were; however, you were lying on something else on the furniture with you – more like someone.

It’s then you realize that you were lying on Toji during your entire slumber, him leaning on the end of the couch, one leg spread to make room for you to sleep on him while you sit on the other. And you can guess that you had your head on his chest, snuggling up to his warm figure. He looks at you with his green eyes now darkened by the room, yet you can see their glow from the television light. And that small smile he gives you, the scar on the right side of his lip lifted upward. The familiar butterflies in your stomach flutter like before. Like old times sake…That must be embarrassing, huh?

You frantically try to get off of him, “Sorry about that, I thought—“

“No, no,” Toji places a stern hand on your back, keeping you from moving further. “You were comfortable.”

You stare at him for a few seconds until your face contours to a look, and a smile starts to creep up while you situate yourself back to your original position, pressing your face back on his chest to listen to the beats of his heart again. “I recall having this couch all to myself not too long ago, so where’d you come from?”

“Well, I wanted to watch some sports highlights, but I figured you’d kick my ass if I pulled you off and had you sleep on the floor instead.” With the click of your tongue, he chortles. You bet your ass I would. “So, I decided to have ya sleep on me while I watch TV.”

“What’s wrong with the other side of the couch? It’s quite vacant and enough for a big guy like you.”

“True,” his hand rubs circles on your back, an old habit he did when he used to have you like this. “But then I’d be lonely.”

You titter. “That’s big for someone who said he thrives on being alone.”

“I thrive being alone when I’m working.” You’re glad he can’t see your eyes roll; he’d probably grab you by the cheeks like a child. “Besides, why would I wanna be alone when I have you for myself.”

And there it is, your cheeks begin to warm up. Or was it because you’re so close to him that his heat is transferring to you? That’s probably it, yeah. Let’s change the subject…”How long was I out for? I remember the kids left around 7:30-ish.”

“Mmm, it’s going to eleven right now.”

Three and a half hours? Damn. “It’s past their bedtime.”

Toji scoffs. The abrupt motion of his chest rising is satisfying in a way that makes you even more comfortable. “You still think they’re gonna sleep with all that sweet shit they got?” He snickers some more as you shake your head.

“They know better. When you guys get home, be sure to put their candy bags on the top shelf of the closet for the morning.”

“Still traumatized from that one time?”

“Uhhh, yes??” The memory flashes to you for a quick moment, but the dread from before still haunts you. Megumi was six years old and Tsumiki seven, returning home from trick-or-treating and immediately tasting their labor from that night. However, what you didn’t expect was for them both to eat almost half their bags. Let’s just say, thanks to their sugar rushes, they didn’t drop dead until the hour hand touched two of the morning. “Unless it’s the weekend, never again.”

The way the older man chuckles is so therapeutic — it nearly makes you want to fall asleep again. “You weren’t the one chasin' Megumi all over the place tryin' to get him to sleep. Little squirt gets his speed from me.”

“Awww, poor you~” You can sense the glare as you respond in a condescending, sing-song tune. “You and him are always butting heads. Like father, like son.”

“Tch, hate that sayin’ so fuckin’ much.”

“Why? ‘Because it’s true?”

“Shut up.” The hand he used to rest his head comes down to pinch your nose. You wriggle out of his hold with giggles, but he happily keeps you grounded to him with his stronghold and a leg wrapped around to prevent yours from moving. “He only listens to you. Such a sweet lil’ baby to you, huh? Puttin’ my own son against me.”

More giggles prompt out of tiny guilt, and you bring up a hand to rub on his chest. “He’s such a bright boy now. Growing up so big and fast.”

“Miki, too. That girl is way too smart fr' me to catch up. And she’s becoming so kind and strong, crazy to think she made me play teacups when she could barely go down the stairs by herself.” Toji hums, the vibrations felt on the pads of your fingers. “Think she gets that from you.”

You shook your head. “They’re your babies. They do amazing things because they have a big guy like you to catch them if they ever fall.”

“Hmm, fair…But let’s not pretend I’m the best dad in the world. Fuck, never in my life did I think I’d be a dad, especially with two kids. I didn’t know shit back then — still! I still don’t know shit.” You don’t say anything, just listening to him voice his thoughts to you. Because he knows you’d listen – you always do. “If you weren’t there for them, I don’t think they’d be shining like this. Y’re definitely the thing that brought us up together. They look up to you so much. Ya did so well with them.”

Nodding aimlessly, his black sweatshirt grazing on your cheek. “Thank you. Same to you. Didn’t do so bad yourself, big guy.”

“Mmm.”

Nothing is said between you two after that. The only thing that makes noise is the voices coming from the television. The volume lowered, an initiative you could guess from Toji wanting you to get some rest. The silence was too awkward that it might torture some, but it was fine where it was. There was no need to change it, especially when you were comfortable in each other’s embrace.

That is, until Toji asks, “Do you miss it?” The rubs on your back go slower, his fingertips drawing a ticklish sensation.

“Of course I do. All the time.” You answer honestly, turning your head to rest your chin on him. Your eyes glimpse directly at his, giving him a tiny grin. “Why ask? I know the kids miss me being around; what about you? Miss me nagging and putting you to work all the time?”

He sneers at your comment. “Every day.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it had the power to wipe that smirk right off your face. Your eyes locked in his sight, and your heart tuning to an irregular rhythm. Oh, come on, Y/n, get a grip! “Ahem—Toji, I hope you know that I never stopped missing everything we had — I never will. Those years that we shared were probably the best I’ve had. We had happy moments, others sad, of course. But, God, do I miss it all. I miss it so much. I miss having you guys here. Miki and Gumi and—“

“Me?” Good Lord, if this man doesn’t stop looking at you with those goddamn eyes of his, such captivating orbs that say more than he lets on. Your breath hitches, and so does the hand on your back. “Hmm? Ya miss me, baby?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why’d you have to call me that? And it gets worse when he places his free hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin while the forefinger teases the lobe and tragus of your ear. Goddammnit…

“...Yes,” your voice was down a whisper, which could easily be mistaken with the television. But you know Toji heard you, loud and clear. “Especially you, Toji.” You said it. The words that he wanted to hear from you. They felt so forbidden to say, yet it was the truth. You avert your gaze away from him. But you knew that wouldn’t work, not right now. Toji taps your cheek with his thumb, and your eyes sheepishly return to his.

He doesn’t say anything, and that makes your heart beat at an unbearable rate. It’s all you can hear when you stare into his deep emerald eyes, the sound of it ringing your eardrums as if you could puke. Your throat running dry, so you gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob. If something could just happen to end this anxious torture, that would be great.

And then your prayers get answered: something does happen. Toji slowly brings his face closer to yours — your body goes rigid, and you instantly face away before the inevitable happens. No, I didn’t mean that!

“Aht aht, don’t do that, baby.” His hand slithers from your cheek to your chin, forcing you to face straight at him. “Lemme see you.”

“Toji, wait,” your voice travels out in a shaky breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t cross this line anymore.”

He listens to your pleas, but his body does otherwise. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead while the hand on your back snakes downward. “Why not?” His gruff voice dialed down to a whisper.

“Because—Mmmm…” Toji interrupts you by licking the helix of your ear. Oh, you slick bastard. “We’re supposed to be done…”

“That’s not stoppin’ me from takin’ care of my sweet thing.” Jesus Christ, you almost melted from the way he whispered that to your ear. He’s pulling out all the same old tricks, and it gets more hellish by the second as you try not to give in. “So, y're gonna let me take care of you like I always do, right, mama?”

Both his hands now rest on your ass, groping it while your hips sway as if they have a mind of their own. The leg between yours comes up slightly, making you ride on it. The heat on your cheeks has already blossomed to your ears, making it hard to think straight. Gripping his sweatshirt, your hips ride his thigh to ease the throbbing sensation that grows with every motion. Good God, you shouldn’t be doing this. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. However, it’s been so long that you felt wanted like this — wanted by him. It’s all the same – his voice, his hands, his words, his body, and the names he calls – yet here you are turning into putty.

“Haaahh, Mmmfff…Toji, please,” Toji withdraws his face from your shoulder, leaving him to examine your expression. You must look so dumb right now, with your hooded eyes and shivering lips. But, at this point, do you even care? “Please…Treat me right.”

One moment, you see his gaze narrow with a devious glint. Next, you’re taken aback when Toji slams his lips on yours, kissing and sucking your bottom lip until you give him access. With a moan, you open your mouth for him and sink deeper into the kiss. Your hands come around his neck, keeping him focused on you and you alone. Not that he would have it any other way.

His strong hands continue to knead your asscheeks while you hump and grind on his thigh. Nibbling on your lip, you whimper helplessly for him. It strokes his ego, knowing he’s making you like this, the fucking bastard. He takes in your tiny cries happily, shoving his tongue to play with yours. You give in to him, almost losing your balance riding his thigh, yet Toji’s lips never leave yours.

You break the kiss to get an imperative breath, panting loudly and sweetly for him as Toji kisses and licks your ear. The sounds make your lower region twitch. “Hnnmm, fuck…That’s my girl. So fuckin’ good fr’ me always, Y/n…” You can feel him slide a hand up to the hem of your leggings, forcing it inside for his thick fingers to brush up on the bare flesh of your butt. You gasp sharply. Him squeezing your butt has you biting down on his sweatshirt. “—Hahhh, Oh God, Toji,” With every squeeze, he inches closer to your panty-covered chasm, where you know he’d find a damp spot. Please touch me. Please, please, plea—

CLACK-CLINK!!

The two of you are frozen stiff when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, the foyer lights turned on. “Alright~, we got you guys home. See ya later!” That was Gojo’s voice, indicating everyone was finally back from trick-or-treating. This means that Tsumiki and Megumi are about to see you on top of their father, his hand in your leggings and smacking lips with yours. Your eyes shoot wide with horror — immediately remove yourself from Toji and stand up from the couch to pull your bottoms up. You barely had the chance to peek at Toji because the kids already run to the living room to find you two.

“Y/n, Y/n, look!” The brunette was the first to greet you with her adorable pink Barbie cowgirl costume. She and her brother, dressed as Sasuke Uchiha, cheerfully showcased their pillowcases full of candy. “Look at all this candy we got!”

“Wooow, you guys really went on a haul,” you can only hope they can’t see you sweating bullets through your fake reaction. “Wh–Where’s Gojo?”

“He dropped us off here a few seconds ago and left for the party,” The raven-haired boy answered while scanning his pillowcase.

You only nod along until you frantically wipe your mouth, realizing the tiny trail of spit from the corner of your mouth. “Umm—Ahem, well then, I’m glad you two got all that candy. Now, let’s hurry up and get you guys home so you can get ready for school tomorrow!”

But the children didn’t move an inch. Actually, they looked like they were going to tell you something. You lift a brow. Oh no, they’re going to look at each other. They looked at each other and then glanced back at you. Oh, God, no. “Uhhh, Y/n, we were thinking.” Big sister Tsumiki is always the one who asks the following question. “Can we stay over?”

You inhale a massive breath, yet you do your best not to exhale a heavy sigh. “Kids, you promised to keep the overnight stays to three at max per month. This will be the fifth!”

“Yeah, but it’s dark out. Plus, it’s way past our bedtime.” The younger chimes in with a tiny pout. “We’ll be asleep by the time Dad gets us home.”

And here comes Tsumiki with the tag-team response to add on. “And that means he’ll have to make continuous trips back and forth from the car. Picking me and Megumi up, getting our bookbags, the bags full of candy, the whole thing! We already packed up our PJs just in case.”

You stood there staring at the two in astonishment. There’s no way they thoroughly planned this out. There’s just no way… And to make it worse, they were making valid arguments. You open your mouth to say something, but the two give the best puppy eyes they can. The wave of guilt hits like a train, internally cringing. You turn to Toji, who still sits on the couch, and the motherfucker only gives you a shrug. Wow, what a helpful father he is.

You groan into your hands, shaking your head while looking at the kids who wait for your verdict. “…Alright, you can stay as long as you PROMISE to put those candy bags in my bedroom closet. Deal?” The happy smiles and aggressive head shakes should answer your question. “Good, now go ahead and take your showers before you head for bed.” They rushed to the stairs by the time you finished that sentence, so enthusiastic about staying the night at your house, and you can’t help but smile hearing their footsteps run up the stairs.

With that being said, you turn to the older man again. Your brows are trenched down, but your smile is still present. “So, you legit just sat there and let those two tag-team me like that? In my own house?”

Another shrug with a dumb smirk on his handsome face. “Told you: too smart fr’ me to catch up.” You shake your head before exiting to get the kids and guest rooms ready, leaving him with the television.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The midnight hour has finally danced its way into the darkness of the night. Halloween is finally over, and the month of October is no more. The pitter-patter sound of the rain cleanses the neighborhood of its merits and festivities that partook hours ago, ready for a new phase of the year to take over.

After having the guest room ready with sheets and sleepwear for Toji and kissing the kids goodnight, you rinse your stress off with a nice shower and put on your pajamas to get ready for bed. After you turn the lights off, you drape the comforter over your figure as your body sinks with the cozy sheets and pillowcase. Your eyes close while focusing on the curtains of your window, the only light piercing inside being the lampposts by the street.

…Well, at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. But that’s not the case because you’re not the only one lying comfortably on your mattress. Instead, Toji is here with you, in your room, on your bed, his chest to your back, and his hand roaming inside your oversized shirt. Your lips are now connected with his, sharing your erotic moans with his enticing groans, and you get a little louder as his fingers cup and play with your breast.

“Mmphh…Ahhhh, I thought I told you you’re sleeping in the guest room—Nmmff!” He tweezes your nipple with his forefinger and thumb roughly.

“And I thought you’d be smart enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, drawing near your ear for him to whisper. “Besides, look at you. Still sleepin’ with no underwear on?”

“Hmph, only when I have a man around the house.” That answer got you another rough tweak on your nip and a purposeful gnaw to your ear. You knew he’d react like that, never liking the mention of another man leaving your mouth – especially during an intimate time like this.

“That so? What man you know that can handle all this?” Toji then moves from his side to be between your legs, pulling up your shirt to fully expose your chest. And your breathe hitches while his free hand travels down your abdomen to your bottoms.

“Ahhhh, no one. Just you...” You look at him with half-lidded eyes, taking in his reaction to what you said. The salacious grin on his face becoming broader should entail that he greatly loved that retort.

He brings his face to your other unattended nipple, “Good answer, princess.” The nub of your breast enters his mouth, and the wet warmth of his tongue greets it with lapped motions and grazes from his teeth. Despite that, it doesn’t distract you from the fact your bottoms are pulled down with ease and are thrown to the bedroom floor, leaving your cunt out for him, your erotic fluids seeping and glistening from the outside lights.

Toji plays with your folds until he can stuff his pointer finger into your chasm, the insertion resulting in your body’s jolt. It’s been a long while since you had his thick digit inside you, playing and scraping the inner walls to evoke whimpers. God, it felt so good, this satisfying feeling returning to awaken your body to his touch. He interacts with your body as if he’s the only person who knows how to get you going – and it’s the truth. No one can put you in a blissful haze quicker than this man. And you’d prefer to keep it that way.

The addition of his middle finger into your leaky entrance startles you, the thick digit making its way in with such vigor that he uses both fingers to scrape the velvety texture of your walls. Your eyes are now screwed shut at the growing commotion between your thighs, and the heat within your body flourishing all around gets to your head. “—Khmm, Oh fuuck, Toji. Please, don’t stop.”

With a soft ‘pop’ noise from his lips, Toji replies to your demands. “I’m sorry, what’s my name again?” You giggle with trenched brows. Of course, how could I forget?

“Nmmph, D-Daddy, pleaseee, I’m so clo—Ahhhann!!” He puts his thumb to your clit, grinding down on it unexpectedly. “I wanna cum, pleaseee…”

“Hmmm, good girl,” he teased, laying down kisses, nibbling on the skin of your stomach and inner thighs until he arrives at your leaking slit. Your body jerks up from the bed when you feel the cold, wet muscle slowly lick on your clitoris before ravaging your folds. The sounds of his mouth on your cunt are so lewd to the ear, slurping noises from his lips with the lapping motions of his tongue claiming your come are too much for you. And when he uses his hand to swipe and pinch your clit? Oh, it’s a wrap. Your release comes out without control, biting down on your bottom lip to make sure your cries don’t leave this space for the kids to hear. Their room is on the other side down the hall; tonight isn’t the night for too many risks.

When your trembling body calms down and subsides, Toji withdraws his face from between your thighs. Your essence paints his mouth, and he wipes his chin clean while licking the remnants that coat his scarred lips. “Hmph, missed tastin’ you like that.” You open your eyes when your high finally evades you, watching your ex-husband pull down his sweats. His erection springs out and hits his stomach, your mind going rampant with thoughts as you ogle at his freed limb. Shit, it’s been so long. Will that shit even fit me again?

“Don’t think it’ll fit, baby?” Damn him, he loves teasing you. Toji then discards his black wife-beater, at long last revealing his well-built, brawny physique that has you drooling for him. He uses his hands to maneuver your legs—your knees pushed to your chest as your legs propped up on his shoulders. A position you’re all too familiar with. Your eyes don’t leave Toji’s cock as he aligns his cock to your slick-coated folds. “Take some breaths fr’ me, sweetie. Can’t take care of you when you’re all tense.”

You take up on his advice and begin taking deep breaths, reminding yourself to maintain the steady pattern as he pushes the tip of his dick between the lips of your cunt. Every inhale is where he nudges into the hole of your inner cavern, and every exhale gives you time to breathe out the pain that comes in for a split second. This carries on until the cockhead wedges itself perfectly into your vagina, along with the inches of his girth that stretches until the base kisses your lips, the tip of him kissing your cervix. Tears swell up in your eyes, taking more deep breaths to prepare yourself for what’s about to come.

“Oooh fuuuck…Heh, yeah, that’s my baby right there. Fittin’ so perfect fr’ me, mama…” He puts his weight on you, keeping your figure unmoving under his bow.

“Nmmmf, Daddyyy,” you’re forced to take in all of him, and drool trails down your lips with no hope of taking care of it. “…I’m so full, you’re too much…”

“I know, sweetie, I know.” He wipes your spit after kissing your forehead. How gentle compared to what you’re about to go through. “Gonna move now.” His thrusts start slow for the two of you to adjust to each other; the feeling of his length’s veins coming in and out of your chasm is so euphoric, and the kisses to your cervix want your body to writhe and squirm. But you’re bent into this position for a reason: forced to submit to him no matter what. So you do just that.

Yet your horny haze gets more potent once he picks up the pace, rutting into you with increased speed. Your slit, still sensitive from earlier, gets overstimulated with the constant grazes on your gummy walls and jabs to your tender cervix. It takes everything in your power not to come so early.

“—Hahhhh, Nmmph. Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Toji groans above you, the thrusts of his pelvis increase to an irregular rhythm, grinding deep into your cunt to the point of uncontrollable babbles escaping your lips. His bullying on your insides results in you gripping his length hard, causing the older man to hiss and moan at your contractions. “—Ohhhfuuuckk!! Jesus Christ, baby. Y’re gonna make me go crazy.”

As if that wasn’t already happening now that he pistons his cock into your wetness, your brain turning into mush from the onslaught of ruts to your puffy wet chasm. Tears stream down your face, and more drool follows down with more precise hits to your delicate canal. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think of anything else, the squelching noises and paps of Toji’s balls hitting your cunt making it worse.

“D-Daddyyy, I’m—Ohoooo!! Oh, Jesus, ohhhshit!” You can’t formulate a proper sentence, too engulfed with the electrifying sensations coursing through your body.

“Damn, you feel too fucking good—Hnngh!!” Toji places his forehead on yours, resting his entire weight on you while his hips have a mind of their own. “‘Bout to make me knock you up…”

Oh, good Lord. The mere thought of having a child is the last thing that should be on your mind. But in a time like this, who in their right mind would be thinking straight? “Nnnfff! Oh God, pleaseee, fill me up, Daddyy!” Green eyes narrow with trenched brows. “—Pleasepleasepleaseee!! I want you to fill me up so bad, I want it, I want—Hyaaaaa!!”

How can he deny your desperate, teary pleas when you’re urging him on like this? “Heh, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, mama.” Toji captures your lips with his, your mewls taken by him as you sink further into your pleasurable thrill.

Sporadic thrusts of his pelvis produce more raunchy noises in the joining of your sexes, his heavy balls smacking on your cunt as he drives the base of his cock straight into you. Your slit is now a puffy mess, come and slick form a soapy mess that Toji now harbors a milky ring around his girth. A few rushed, sloppy thrusts heighten your high once more, and then Toji presses his pelvis down to the hilt on one final, harsh thrust, unloading his seed into your aching folds. And your climax follows in a few seconds, the walls of your cunt fluttering on his pulsating dick as your essence soaks him. Your muffled shrieks are received by him, quivering under him until the aftershocks wash through your body.

Once you two breathe at a steady tempo and the nerves of your sweaty bodies fall still, the kiss is broken with heavy pants and a string of spit that links you two together. Toji buries his face between your neck and shoulder, licking and kissing your skin as you’re allowed time to experience your clarity.

“Hmmm…You know I’m not done yet, princess.” Toji mumbles to your ear before stationing your legs off his shoulders for them to rest.

“Yeah, I know, big guy.” You tease him with a breathless laugh, kissing him on the temple. “Always wanting more…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, you’re telling me you had your ex-husband spend the night? Not just the kids?”

“Yup, that’s what happened.”

This morning was different from your usual routine – well, you can’t say it’s different if you have done it before, huh? After five years of divorce, you thought you’d be so used to waking up and getting ready for work without worrying about others. However, this morning proves otherwise.

It felt natural walking into the kids’ room and lightly shaking them awake, telling them to get ready while you whip up something quick for them to eat as Toji showers (using your bathroom, by the way). Watching the kids run down the stairs and eat breakfast puts a smile on your face, reminiscing about the good old days when they were younger and teenier. It sometimes feels surreal doing the same thing for them now that they’re getting older and taller. But seeing them bicker and interact with each other in your presence never fails to warm your heart.

When Toji’s finished freshening up and loading his kids’ stuff in his truck, it’s time to bid them farewell for their departure for school. You give them final touch-ups on their hair and outfits, reminding them to be safe and not get into trouble (especially Megumi, now that the boy’s been getting into fights). And before they rush to the car, you hug them and give each a kiss on the cheek. Here is where the warm feeling inside your heart begins to deteriorate, not wanting to let them go. Yet, for their sake – and education – you release them and hope for the best.

The last to leave was Toji, who came from the kitchen to the front door with a paper plate wrapped in foil in one hand. His name is written boldly by a black Sharpie. “This fr' me?”

“No, it’s for Shiu Kong, for dealing with you all the time.” You stick your tongue out at Toji as he glares at you, not even moving out of the way while he exits through the door. “You better eat that when you get to work, you have a terrible habit of skipping lunch.”

“Whatever ya say, mom.” He pesters you with the title, knowing you’re technically not a mother anymore. Yet it only makes you smile knowing he notices your maternal side.

“Don’t forget to text me when Tsumiki’s soccer game is next week.” You watch him go down the porch stairs.

“Will do.”He whistles.

“And Toji?”

The man stops walking to turn to you, his forest green eyes fixed on you so quickly that you almost forget what you want to say. Or what you wanted to do. You place your fingers on your lips and blow a kiss with an outward gesture. It was an old habit you did whenever he left, something you can’t seem to get out of practice with. It’s embroidered in your mind at this point.

And when he catches the kiss with his free hand and places it on his chest, it makes your heart skip a beat. Toji grins, “I’ll be damned if that was fr' Shiu, too.”

You snicker with a shaken head. “Drive safe, Toji.” Closing the front door, you stand there for a while. Your smile doesn’t falter; it gets bigger as you replay the moment instead. Thinking about him, hearing him, seeing him, it all drives you crazy. And that’s a good thing…right?

“I don’t know, sounds like you still kinda care about the guy.”

“Of course I do,” So here you are, sitting in your living room enjoying the rays of the sunset decorating the space, in a video call with your best friends, Utahime and Mei Mei. You reply to the former’s comment. “Just because I don’t have the ring on my finger doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about him. I mean, he’s the father of two lovely children.”

“Shoot, you’re better than me, then.” The dark-haired woman admits. “But you’re kinda proving my point, Y/n. Even when you don’t have the ring on, you two act like the same old couple, and it’s definitely not just for the kids’ sake. Let’s be real here.”

You try to interject, but the pale-blue-haired other, Mei Mei, intervenes, “I agree. It’s one thing if you let the children stay over, but he also wanted to spend the night. Sure, he could’ve been tired from driving all day and such. However, if you’re still seeing a man for the last five years – while legally unbound – and he says he wants to spend the night under your roof, which is rare, that should ring some bells at least.”

“I know, it did…” you nod along with what your friend is saying, throwing your head back with a heavy sigh. “But it’s not like he’s never spent the night here before, nor is he banished from stepping inside.”

“Oh? Then why is this time different from the others?”

Utahime jumps in after Mei Mei’s chirp. “Yeah, you’re telling us about all these nostalgic lovey-dovey feelings as if you’re falling in love with him all over again. What, did you two have sex or something?”

An open mouth, yet no words come out, leaving you in a predicament. You could’ve just lied or swerved the subject to something else. But you didn’t. And the two women on the screen lift their brows with hooded eyes, a look meaning a thousand words. You couldn’t even explain yourself either because a sudden knock on your door captured the attention of all three of you.

You stand up and walk towards the door, your friends still on call on the phone at hand. Opening the door, you’re almost stunned to see in front of you. Tsumiki and Megumi with nervous smiles, and their father at the car collecting the same duffles bags from last night. You’re kidding.

“Hey, kids.” The two of them gulped from not calling them by their names. You bring up the phone to face the screen to them. “Say hello to Auntie Mei Mei and Utahime.” The women on the line smile and wave at the children, who sheepishly wave back.

“Hi, aunties.” Megumi greets them, and then his eyes drift back to you. “So, Y/n—“

“What did you forget this time?” Straight to the point, no room for excuses.

“It was Miki this time! She forgot her soccer cleats.” The older sibling gawks at her younger brother for calling her out.

“Tsumiki, I know you have cleats at home.”

“I do, but these are special! You bought them for my birthday, and I’ve been wearing them to every game ever since! So, I was scared when I couldn’t find them at home.” The brunette was quick to defend her stand. “Also, Dad doesn’t feel like driving up here and then back. So…can we…”

You close your eyes and bring the phone to your face to shield your vexation. Twice in a row, the sixth time this month. You can hear the giggles of your friends from the other side of the phone, adding more fuel to the fire. You don’t look up until you hear heavy footsteps on the porch, seeing Toji holding both duffle bags with a hand and shoulder. He stares at you as you stare at him, a silent conversation on how to handle this situation. And when he shrugs with lifted brows, you realize it’s no use and release the long-awaited sigh.

“….If I see one more thing being left behind here, you guys can’t come back till December, understand?” It wasn’t anything serious, but enough for the kids to know you weren’t joking. They nod their heads in unison while you roll your eyes. “Okay, get in here.” They rushed inside with gleeful laughs, the shuffling of their backpacks following along with them. Your eyes then drift to Toji as he walks up to you. “Did you forget something here, too?”

“Yeah,” you lift a brow when he drops Megumi’s bag to the floor. Before you can register his hand on your chin, you squeak when he brings his lips to yours. It lasted for seconds, but the kiss was sweet and tender, sucking on your lip before letting go with a playful bite. “Meant to give you that when you woke up. Thanks fr' the food, mama.”

Toji picks the bag up and walks inside your home to put the bags in the rooms, leaving you standing on the porch with an astounded expression. You couldn’t appropriately calibrate your thoughts until you heard faint laughs from the phone. Then, you realize your best friends witnessed the entire scene that transpired.

Utahime, with the slyest leer, was the first to say something. “Oh yeah, he laid that pipe on you good, without a doubt.”

“Mhmm,” Mei Mei agrees with a chuckle. “And I'm guessing he’s gonna do it again tonight. Isn’t that right, Y/n?”

You end the video call with a heated face. “Sh-Shut your damn mouths!!” Again, you groan into your hands before returning inside. Thank God I still have those birth control pills...

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

22K notes · View notes

wikagirl · 5 months

Text

the raised on the country side urge to only go to the doctor when shit really hits the fan and not when it is only a mild maybe a bit worrying issue that should maybe get cheked out.

#my hand is being funky #doesn't hurt atm but I can barely bring up the power to curl it into a fist #and when I do it feels like the tendons in my fingers get...idk...stuck? at some point #and then it goes pop and I can curl them in the rest of the way #and it also does that when I uncurl them again #it's just my middle and ring finger on my right hand and it goes away if I let it rest #but it has been like this every day after work and then it recovers after a few hours #but then it is really bad again for an houra after getting up?#I think I've been lifting too heavy at work #also we don't really use spoons or spatulas to portion stuff #we use these little scraper spatulas that are literally just a piece of plastic and you need to grip them so hard to hold them properly #if you're using it to scoop out nutpaste from the mixing bucket

1 note · View note

sttoru · 11 days

Note

Trueform sukuna who never kisses his concubines. EXCEPT he only kisses his favorite concubine aka reader 😞🎀

𝝑𝑒 synopsis. you’re the only one deserving of lord sukuna’s.. direct affection.

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!reader. fluff, suggestive at most. uhh exhibitionism ? kinda but nothing crazy sexual happens, so pda. size difference. reader gets called ‘doll.’

you’re standing at the entrance of the estate, along with some other concubines. four of them. uraume is there with you as well. you’re all awaiting the one person you’re serving; ryomen sukuna.

it’s silent. the women don’t dare to speak up nor do they dare address you in a menacing manner because of uraume’s presence. you’re thankful for them. you really don’t want to have another petty fight with the concubines. not before your little trip to the village nearby.

you’re all accompanying sukuna to meet up with an infamous clan leader. it’s official business, but you’re needed as a sign of your lord’s high status. you’re basically his trophies that he likes to show off.

“interesting choice of clothing,” sukuna finally shows up. you all bow, showing respect. you look up and only then realise that he’s addressing you. his eyes wander over your figure, “who’s chosen that for you?”

you glance down at your kimono. it’s a beautiful red—suiting the color of sukuna’s eyes. your hair is put up in a neat bun, with a matching crimson hairpin that represented who you belong to.

him.

“my lady-in-waiting, my lord,” you say quietly. you cannot see it, yet can easily feel it; the jealous glares from the four women. they’re dressed in the exact same color red, yet their lord hasn’t paid them any mind. not even a glance.

sukuna just hums in response and makes a mental note of your answer. at least his human servants are good for something. he continues to shamelessly check you out.

“lord sukuna,” uraume interrupts carefully. they bow their head once the king of curses looks their way with a stoic expression, “we’ll have to leave now if we wish to make it there at dawn.”

it’s a gentle reminder, but there’s some urgency in their voice. sukuna rolls his eyes—he may have some official business, but he’s not attending that. not before taking care of other more important stuff first. “silence,” he comments to uraume, heavy steps heading your way afterwards.

your eyes meet his. you blink in confusion, eyelashes fluttering. the sight makes sukuna’s hands twitch at his sides. the way you stare up at him with such naïveté is making him want to destroy it.

you’re unsure what sukuna wants from you. as he orders, everyone stays quiet. you watch as his big hands wrap around your body—your waist engulfed by his warm palms. your eyes widen, but before you can question his actions, your lips are sealed by his.

it’s rare that he does this. kissing sukuna is a privilege. one that no one has ever gotten the honour of having, except for you.

you’ve tasted him. you’ve felt his tongue slither against yours. you’ve had his saliva mix with yours. you’ve had him grunting in your mouth.

you’ve had it all.

no one says a thing. even as your feet are lifted from the ground by the sheer strength of sukuna’s grip on your small body. to reach his lips properly, he has to pick you up and hold you against his chest. it’s his favorite thing to do.

“pretty thing,” sukuna coos with a grin. you can feel his lips curling up menacingly against your mouth. it makes you whine. you instantly shut up once you realise that you’re still outside and surrounded by others—who are basically waiting on you two to be done.

you’re embarrassed to the point that you want nothing more than to hide your face against sukuna’s chest. but he will not let you until he’s had his fill. your tongues swirl around each other passionately, followed by him sucking on your bottom lip and biting it with his sharp fangs.

“my lord,” you whine quietly. you know this’ll end up like that one time in the garden. where he shamelessly took you in front of his servants. you’re unsure if it’s a smart thing to do right now. sukuna has an appointment to go to after all.

his mouth doesn’t stop interlocking with yours. his thick fingers tug at the hairs on the back of your neck, causing you to part your lips in surprise. the king of curses takes his chance and explores your warm little mouth. the one that he’s claimed as his the moment you became his concubine.

you tug at his sleeve as a reminder. sukuna grumbles in annoyance, but he knows you’re right; he should let go. his bottom set of eyes dart over to uraume for a second and upon seeing their expressionless yet determined face, he sighs.

all that official business can suck his dick.

sukuna finally detaches his lips from your now wet and swollen ones. you’re breathing hard, trying to catch your breath. you’re flustered to the point you actually bury your face into sukuna’s chiseled chest. you’re sure this’ll be the only talk around the estate for the upcoming week. you’ll become the victim of some more. . . bullying.

the king of curses notices that you don’t let go of him at all. he grins at the sight of you so desperately clinging onto him. he tries to undo the little mess he made of your once neat hair in the meantime.

“what? want me to carry you all the way there, doll?” sukuna raises an eyebrow, teasing you as per usual. you don’t let go of him since you’re still cooling off. you’ve never really kissed outside of the bedroom. it always happens behind closed doors, so this one time took you by surprise.

you shake your head and plop down on your feet again. “no, my apologies, my lord,” you straighten the material of your kimono and don’t even dare to look at the others. uraume would understand, since they’re used to their lord’s antics, but the concubines will cause big trouble once you’re back home.

sukuna nods in acknowledgment. he still got that evil smirk on his face. his thumb brushes the smudged lipstick from the corner of your mouth, cleaning up his mess once again. he’s nice enough to do so today.

“heh.” sukuna lets out an amused chuckle before walking away and ahead of you—the others silently following, as do you. you’re right behind him, on his right side, as he turns his head to yours, “just so y’know, i’m not done with you.”

you know sukuna isn’t. you can easily tell by the way that he didn’t even bother to wipe the lipstick from his own lips. he’s wearing that stain like it’s a medal of sorts. evidence that you’re the only one he’s ever going to show such affection to.

either way; you’re in for one hell of a ride once you’re back from your little business trip.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x you #sukuna x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff

5K notes · View notes

shegetsburned · 1 month

Text

archeology teacher w. kento nanami *ੈ✩‧₊˚

.nsfw. ⁀➷ part II

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who’s your first-semester teacher for your anthropology major.

��˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who was recommended by one of your friends so you took his archeology class.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who’s considerate and kind towards his students, and has an inspiring passion for history although he comes off as stoic and aloof.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who laid his eyes on you the first time when you came after class to his desk to ask questions, leaving a permanent impression on him with your cute demeanour and bright smile. your interest made him question his.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento whose athletic build molded by his tight blue shirt attracted your gaze more than once while he explained roman architecture with his back turned toward the class.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento whose subtle eye contact makes your heart flutter and your thighs clench together. he’ll always find your gaze whether you’re at the back of the class or on the sides.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who won’t hesitate to take overtime if it means being able to deepen the subject with you and help you in any way he can.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who shifts closer to you while showing you slides of ancient artifacts, occasionally brushing your elbow with his.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who’s normally capable of separating sentimentalism from service, but can’t get you out of his head. thinking of you in ways he shouldn’t be thinking about when it comes to his students.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento whose hunger becomes more and more insatiable the more time he spends with you. his focus failing him every time you look into his eyes while he speaks or when you touch his elbow as you get up from your seat at the end of the studying session.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who closes the door behind the last student after a two-hour long class on a friday evening, leaving you two alone. despite his tired figure, he insists that he can still work on some subjects with you.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento whose explanations are unusually incomprehensible and languorous. you ask if you should call it a day but his demanding eyes tell you otherwise.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who leans on his desk, inattentively misplacing his stuff and shifting his weight closer to you, his cologne blesses your nostrils when his neck is to your height, forcing you to look up.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento whose heavy breath lends on your forehead when his hands grab the sides of your chair, pulling you closer, his thumb just slightly caresses your thighs sending shivers down your spine.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who gives up any kind of restraint and self-control that inevitably comes with the job when he lifts you up on the desk, placing a ravenous kiss upon your lips, his hands tracing your curves up and down.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who hurries his movements, skillfully undressing you with little to no regard for anyone that might enter and watch him fuck his student.

“n-nanami. is it okay?” you ask against his lips, already melting into his touch. you were certainly more concerned than him for the consequences.

but he had watched you for weeks, rubbing yourself against your chair, nervously biting your lips and nibbling at your pen while he taught the class. he had enough of your subtle grins and teasing smiles.

“i don’t care.”

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who gets off on your shy moans that echo through the whole amphitheatre. your hesitant whines are blocked by one of your hands until he grabs your wrist, pulling it down against the desk.

“let me hear you, sweetheart. let the whole school hear you.”

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who lowers your pants and underwear before unbuckling his belt and steadying himself right in front of your entrance, a grin on his lips when you ask for him by pulling his tie down.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who mercilessly pounds into you, holding your hands down behind you and bending your body so your back arches against the wooden desk.

you wrapped your legs around him, pushing his weight forward, asking for him deeper, but the sheer size of his member was already enough to completely fill you. whenever he moved, it bruised your tight pussy, completely covering him with your seed.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who places gentle kisses upon your ear and neck despite how greedily he fucks you. your nails dig into the desk to maintain yourself, every time he thrusts in.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who easily but patiently leads you to multiple orgasms, keeping you in his class for more than one hour of overtime.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who lets no part of your body undiscovered, leaving no place for the imagination when you end up completely naked as he eats your pulsating cunt just like you expected he would.

₊˚ପ⊹ archeology teacher!kento who watches you leave his class for the tenth time, but this time satisfied. you left a delicious imprint on his lips and his hands that he’d think about for the whole weekend. he knew he needed to have you all to himself now and promised he’d ask you out for a proper date next time, hoping you wouldn’t say no to a teacher who had taught you so much already.

4K notes · View notes

bettysupremacy · 9 months

Note

Thank you for letting me know:) Could you (if you get the chance) please write Grumpy Rafe x a like really sweet, shy, adorable like innocent reader? But like he finds her really cute? Could be anything else you want! I just like grumpy x sunshine :)

hey babe! Sorry this took me so long to get to, I hope u like! This is my fav rafe trope

“This is such bullshit.” Rafe grumbles.

Of course his plans had been derailed. Big empty house, summertime, pretty girl to himself, of course his friends dragged him away.

Your head peeks from the bathroom wall. “Hm?” It struggles out, your lips coated in toothpaste, your mouth occupied with a dangling toothbrush. You look so cute in your little outfit, he feels guilty for wanting you to get back into your pajamas. To forget your friends ever texted you at 9:30pm on a Saturday with Drinks? ;)

His hand waves in the air dismissively. “Nothing.”

You nod, slipping back into the bathroom to finish your tasks.

He rifles through his drawers messily, unsure of what he’s actually looking for. “Goddamn Kelce.” He mutters, quieter than last time. “Goddamn Topper.”

He can’t believe his perfect plans have been ruined, can’t believe he’ll have to share you. His head shakes in disbelief as he quits with the drawer, moving to wait for you by his bed. He cannot go out tonight.

You pop out of the bathroom, toothpaste replaced by a softer, pinker, shine to your lips. Rafe represses the urge to thumb at it as you walk over to wrap your arms around him tightly. Ear pressed to the warmth of his shirt covered chest, you can hear the aggravated thump to his heart.

“M’sorry.” You mumble.

He pulls back until your face is in view. His fingers work to smooth a piece of your hair. “For what?”

You lean into the touch. “I know you didn’t want to go out tonight.”

Oh. He can’t hide the distain crumpling his features. “No,” he grumbles. “I don’t.”

You smile weakly. “But we‘ll have fun.”

“You will.”

“Not if you’re miserable.”

He sighs, greatly heavy, shaking his head. “I won’t be miserable.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” His eyes roll. “as long as you sit on my lap.”

He nearly preens at the sound of your laugh. “I don’t think the bar stools are big enough for lap siting, baby.”

He deflates dramatically, his head falling to your shoulder. “Than what is the point.”

You smile, though he doesn’t see, his eyes hidden in the softness of your dresses sleeve. “Getting some drinks with friends who wanna catch up.” Your hand comes up to scratch his scalp the way he likes. He does preen this time.

He’s silent, breathing in the scent of the moisturizer he’d bought you last week. He grumbles incoherently.

“Me too.” You nod. You feel him grin against your shoulder.

Lifting his head, he ducks down, eye level with you. “Let’s just stay home, baby.” He whispers, nosing at yours.

Your eyes flutter, the hopes of a kiss working it’s way in. “You know we can’t do that.”

He sighs softly into you. “Why not?”

“Because,” You start with a pout, your hands sliding from where they rest on his waist, up onto his warm grumpy cheeks. “You haven’t seen Top in a month,” his nose twitches. “and he misses you.”

“Please don’t bring up Topper when I want to kiss you.”

You laugh, warm and syrupy, flushing at the insinuation of kissing. “I get a kiss?”

“You always get a kiss.” He breezes, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

It’s soft and sticky, a string of your pinky lipgloss connecting you two obscenely when you’re the one to pull back.

“R’you wearing the sticky stuff?” He murmurs.

“Yes,” you nod quietly. “It lasts longer.”

“So I’m gonna have pink shit all over my lips for the next thirty minutes?”

“No,” You giggle quietly. “a wet cloth will do the trick.”

“In that case.” He shrugs, leaning down to reward your lips with three rapid kisses before a fourth, longer, softer kiss.

You stifle a smile when he pulls back. “What?” He grins.

“Your lips are all sticky.” Your thumb wipes some shine from the corner of mouth. He puckers his lips.

“Maybe it’ll make me as pretty as you.”

Your nose wrinkles at his corniness.

“Or maybe I need more.” He leans in.

You push his face away from yours. “I can’t kiss you when you’re like this.”

“Lovely?” He murmurs. “The nicest boyfriend ever?”

“Corny.” You laugh at his offended expression, shrieking when he tackles you to the bed. “You maniac!”

He pulls your hair from your eyes, the gesture softer than your loud shriek moments before. It’s quiet as you breathe in tandem. His eyes rake over you appreciatively, and something in your belly twists for another kiss.

“I think” he starts,dropping his face down to nose at your collarbone. “I wanna kiss you again.”

Your eyes droop, the warmth of his body and love seeping into you. “I think” you start like him, murmuring into his ear. His ear tickles from the warm air. “I wanna stay home.”

“I did it!” He pops up, his arms caging you in.

Your chest rises in rapid giggles. “Shut up!”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe imagine #rafe x y/n #rafe fluff #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader fluff

4K notes · View notes

catboyieejeno · 5 months

Text

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・★

cw: soft dom! mingyu x slight pillow princess! reader, fem! reader, pwp, oral (fem and male receiving), slight overstimulation, praise, mentions of cum, npr

18+ minors do not interact !

boyfriend! mingyu who is completely obsessed with burying his face in your sopping cunt until your fingers are weaved between his locks and you’re coming multiple times in a row. he won’t let up, not because he’s being mean or punishing you with overstimulation—although occasionally, that is the case—but because you, his sweet, pretty girl, deserves nothing less than his tongue lapping restlessly at your folds. It’s embarrassingly easy for him to get pussy-drunk, grinding himself into the bed as he goes down on you for well over an hour. By the time you plead out desperately for his cock, he’s already left a thick puddle of his cum on the spot in the bed he was fucking his length into.

kim mingyu is a simple man of simple pleasures, some of which include your cries and sputters, your trembling thighs and heavy pants, and the infrequent, though appreciated, indiscernible blabbers of praise you manage to let out through drooling lips. when you can actually manage to form words, that is.

you are his pillow princess, whether you bestowed that title upon yourself or not. The chances of you going down on him? slim. giving him head is a rare occurrence; in fact, you’d have to beg him to let you try, plead with him to stuff his considerably large length down your throat. you’d have to convince him you need him there so bad, that you want him to feel just as good as he makes you feel, but even then, his responses are rehearsed.

“but baby, i don’t need all that, let me treat you instead,”

“‘wanna do all the work for you, honey. you deserve it.”

“you really want me to fill your mouth up baby? first you have to come twice on my tongue,”

“I’d rather come in you, sweet girl.”

“s’too big for your pretty little mouth, don’ wanna hurt you,”

at first, you thought he didn’t want you to give him head at all, or that he assumed you would be bad at it. But, when you finally begged enough, your pretty boy caved and it became apparent very quickly why he was holding off for so long. from the moment he lays back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other pressing his thumb onto your swirling tongue, he knows he’s done for. watching you crawl over him, leaving kisses and licking stripes as you make your way down his torso, makes his pre-cum leak freely from his flushed tip.

mingyu has his lip caught between his teeth, eyes glossed over in a haze. the very moment your velvety lips wrap around his head, he’s groaning out, arms and legs dropping limply onto the mattress. you have absolute power over him in that moment, and both of you are very, very aware of that. all of your insecurities dissipate as you realize he’s falling apart, melting like putty in your hands. his chest that previously rose and fell calmly is now puffing up with air he pushes out through his nostrils and the noises he’s letting out? other-fucking-wordly.

he eventually regains feeling in his hands and they rotate between holding your throat, your cheek, and simply sliding along the ridges of his abdomen. all the meanwhile, it’s him who chokes up on his words, slurring his speech.

“please, please, please…”

“your mouth feels s’good on me, fuck,”

“doin’ so good, so fucking good, all for me…”

“if you do that again, i’m not gonna last—shit.”

“just like that, yes, baby… oh, god, you’re gonna make me—“

when your tongue swipes deliciously over his tip, he drags out a strangled moan, shooting his hot load into your mouth and down your throat. knees locked, toes curled, and hips bucking up into you, he throws his head back to ride out his orgasm.

a few seconds later, his hands fly to your hair to lift you off, but in a small act of defiance for all the times you were overstimulated by him, you grab his wrists and pin them at his sides. he lets you do this because it’s so, so fucking hot to watch you have a sliver of control for once—both of you are well aware he could overpower you if he wanted to. instead, though, he laces his fingers with yours and takes what you give him like the good boy he is. it takes less than ten minutes for him to come each and every time you give him head going forward but thankfully, his stamina doesn’t betray him. he recovers while he returns the favor, devouring you and drinking up your juices as his cock that never fully softened, swells up all over again.

⋆ ★

2K notes · View notes

hannieehaee · 10 days

Text

18+ / mdi

content: bff'sbrother!jungkook, softdom!jungkook, enemies2lovers-ish, he's a lil annoying in this, angst, mentions of rejection, one-sided crush, afab reader, smut, fingering, dry humping, penetrative sex, overstimulation (kinda), etc.

wc: 4076

a/n: another jk fic bc im taking time off work and have nothing to do</3 this went longer than anticipated lol sorry

masterlist

"what are you doing here?", grumbled the man as soon as he opened the door and spotted you on the other side of it.

"can you get out of the way? i'm obviously here for minji."

"she doesn't get here til tomorrow," he responded, though still moving out of the way to let you in.

you were about to snark at him again when he stopped in his tracks, eyes widening when they made contact with the suitcases you were struggling to drag behind you, "why are you carrying suitcases? fuck, don't tell me you're staying here," he grabbed onto one, stopping your movements.

"yes, jungkook. minji told me i could crash here for spring break. what's it to you? your house is big enough. just ignore my presence," you attempted to move your suitcases again, knowing you'd receive no help from the boy even if you asked.

"so you're here to ruin my break?" the complaints were never ending despite having entered the home only mere moments ago.

"stop being a child and get out of my way," you grumbled when the idiot refused to remove his hand from the handle of your suitcase.

he let out a heavy sigh, scrunching his eyes closed in annoyance before speaking again, "okay, move. i'll bring your shit upstairs."

"no, i can-"

"you can't carry all this upstairs. my mom's gonna be mad if i don't offer to help you. just let go," he muttered, pushing your hands away and somehow lifting both suitcases at once as he walked towards the stairs.

without any energy to argue with him, you just followed him upstairs, annoyed he insisted to pretend to do you a favor.

"are your parents home?", you asked, confused as to why he had been the one to open the door.

"no, they went out of town this weekend. they should be here tonight."

"why are you here?"

you knew this was his home, but it was a valid question. this had been the third time you'd spent some sort of school break at minji's house, yet jungkook had never been there during the duration of it, usually only popping up for a day or two by the end of each break.

"you mean in my house?", he chuckled sarcastically.

"you're never here- you know what i meant."

"didn't have any plans this time. why? am i ruining your break?"

the two of you finally made it to the extra guest room in minji's house, with jungkook settling your stuff on the bed and uncharacteristically taking a seat on it, as if planning to hang around. you ignored the thought and went to open your suitcase, planning to unpack a few of the things since you'd be staying for over a week.

"yeah," you deadpanned.

he scoffed, "not like i wanna spend my break with you either, princess."

groaning, you threw a folded shirt at him, "ew, i told you not to call me that."

seemingly pleased at having annoyed you, he chuckled and picked up the shirt you threw, folding it and placing it on the bed. he continued to occasionally grab one thing or another as you unpacked. you always knew jungkook to be quite fidgety, so you didn't question him grabbing your stuff to entertain himself as you unpacked.

jungkook wordlessly stayed on your bed as you went around the room organizing your stuff, attempting to ignore his presence but not entirely able to. you were willing to retain peace without complaining, but then he started making noise.

you usually didn't care for his presence too much, even as badly as the two of you got along, but the constant humming quickly got on your nerves. he hummed and hummed and did not stop even as ten minutes passed by, still taking stuff from your suitcase to fidget with. currently he was entertaining himself with a random shoe.

"jungkook! why are you still here?", you suddenly snapped, confused as to why he'd been sitting on your bed with a blank look on his face despite usually being liberal in expressing his dislike for you.

he looked at you for a few moments, no emotion on his face before speaking up.

"why don't we get along?"

"what?"

"you heard me. why don't we get along? you've been friends with my sister since childhood, but you've always hated me. why?"

"you started it," you murmured, taking the shoe he currently had in his hold and turning around to place it somewhere else.

he got up, walking over to you and turning you around by your shoulders and taking the shoe from you again, "i started it? what are you talking about? you've been rude to me since the seventh grade. i've just been returning the favor."

sighing in frustration, you grabbed shook his hands off your shoulders and stubbornly grabbed the shoe again, "why do you think that is, jungkook?"

a confused look overtook his face at your insinuation of your relationship being his fault, clearly not remembering what you were referring to.

"wha-what are you talking about?"

"god, you're such a dumbass sometimes. i mean, i assumed you didn't remember, but to have confirmation of it just kinda sucks," you chuckled bitterly.

he grabbed onto your shoulders again when you tried to walk past him, "tell me what you're talking about," he insisted.

for the most part, you didn't want to. you still felt embarrassed thinking about it, even if it had been over a decade since it had happened. to know he really didn't remember the source of your dislike for him also didn't really help matters. it just frustrated you at his presence even more.

through the years you had learned not to take the mutual banter too seriously. it was mostly lighthearted, to be honest. but any time you thought back to how it had started, you became beyond angry at the boy who was seemingly nice too all those he knew but you. sure, you had technically been the one to source this animosity, but he bad been the instigator of it after all.

you had been nine years old at the time, having recently moved into town and befriended minji. she had been your salvation, becoming instantly interested in being your friend despite you being brand new. you became quick friends, hanging out inside and outside school almost every day.

minji had the good fortune of being extremely close to her family, which allowed you to bond with them quite a lot. that was when you met her older brother, one of her favorite people in the world.

jungkook had been pure perfection in your young eyes, seeing him as unattainable at the young age of nine. he was two years your senior, which made you come to the quick realization that your crush would remain one-sided forever. except this didn't stop your naive heart to read into his nice demeanor and wishfully believe that maybe he'd like you back.

you crushed on him silently for three years, even coming to befriend him in the process. you wouldn't see him too often, but it was always nice when you did, always getting along quite well. this continued up until you hit twelve years of age, your tweenhood years. unfortunately, jungkook was now into his teens, meaning that he followed the footprints of every other man and had a short-lived phase where he was a bit insensitive to girls his age.

being completely delusional and being on your way to graduate middle school, you took a leap, deciding to invite jungkook as your date to your middle school prom. you had thought you read all the signs right, thinking that even if he rejected you, he'd still be nice enough to go with you as a friend. your hopes were completely crushed when he turned you down with zero hesitance, even patronizing you in the process.

the worst part of it all came later, when you were first entering high school. somehow a few of his friends had gotten word of the situation, dubbing you as desperate and obsessed with him. although the rumors died pretty quickly, and you were able to feign indifference to jungkook and everyone else, the seed of hate began to grow in you. little by little, you stopped speaking to jungkook altogether, eventually coming to proudly dislike him. despite minji's constant questioning about your change in demeanor towards her brother, you never told, not wanting any drift to be caused between you and minji, nor her and her brother.

the gradual change in your feelings for jungkook had been so natural that it made sense for him to not remember the source of the current state of your relationship. he had caught on naturally, simply bantering back with you whenever you gave him attitude. it was likely that he believed it all to be lighthearted at first, eventually becoming accustomed enough to it to not question it.

and now you were here, having to explain a stupid childhood heartbreak to the perpetrator of it all as he stared down at you in absolute wonder.

"eighth grade, jungkook. remember?"

he shook his head in confusion, his eyes still wide as his brain wracked itself to remember.

"the dance?"

"the dance? what dan- oh! the- the dance? that's it?"

'that's it'?

he mustve caught the look of annoyance in your face, as he quickly went to retract himself.

"fuck, wait. i didn't mean it like that, just- is that why you hate me? because i said no to you?"

you took a step away from him again, still frustrated, but his arms remained on your shoulders so you would keep looking right at him. it was awkward and extremely uncomfortable considering the context, but you didn't move away.

"it wasn't just that, jungkook," you started, "was it that horrible of a thought to go to the dance with me? i was twelve, you couldve been nicer about it. and to tell your friends about it? i was mocked for weeks after that. and now you wanna act like this is my fault? like ive just been mean to you for no reason?", you scoffed, looking at your feet in favor of not having to look at him.

"wait, who ... who made fun of you? i- i never told anyone what happened. why would i do that?"

"jungkook, stop. taehyung? jimin? they wouldn't stop bringing it up for weeks. it died down after a while, but i was already humiliated."

he shook his head and denial, seemingly at himself. finally letting go of you, he sat back on the bed, look of confusion still on his face before a lightbulb metaphorically manifested itself above his head.

"oh fuck," he muttered, "i- i remember now, but it didn't go down the way you think, okay? let me explain."

you crossed your arms and nodded, signaling for him to continue.

he uncrossed his arms, running them through his hair in a frustrated fashion before he began to explain, oddly passionate as he did so, "i told them right after it happened. i felt so bad for saying no to you, they noticed how down i was about it and asked. i swear i didnt say anything bad. fuck, i never knew they teased you about it, im so sorry," he rambled, "and i didnt- i didnt mean to make you feel bad when i said no. you're my sister's best friend and- and you were so young. i know it doesnt matter anymore, but saying yes felt wrong. it felt like id be taking advantage of you somehow."

"jungkook-"

"if it makes you feel better," he hesitated before continuing, "i, uh, i kinda had a crush on you when we were 17. i- i was going to ask you to my prom, but you picked a fight with me that day and told me to get the fuck out. thats, that's kinda when i started to hate you back," he smiled awkwardly towards the end.

that took you for a bit of a loop. you weren't a heartless asshole. it wasnt like you meant to hurt him through your dislike of him, but rather protect yourself from further rejection. it made you feel bad to know that you'd somewhat done a similar thing to him at some point, even verbally berating him time after time when his intentions hadn't been malicious.

"are you serious?"

"do you really hate me? for what i did, i mean," he interrupted.

did you? for the most part, you had just grown far too used to your animosity with jungkook. due to your own mean behavior towards him, he became equally as rude, creating a vicious cycle of disrespect between the two of you. but did you hate him?

the answer was probably not.

if you did, your heart wouldn't have jumped at the mention of him having had a crush on you back when you were seventeen.

"no, i don't hate you. do you?"

he turned to you, shaking his head, "of course not," he confirmed, "do you wanna start over?", he asked, getting up from the bed and walking over to you.

you couldn't help but chuckle at his sudden proposal. you also couldnt help in nodding in agreement, confirming that yes, you'd be willing to put aside a petty middle school misunderstanding in favor of starting over.

then he opened his arms, gesturing for a hug before asking for permission for one, "hug?"

wordlessly, you accepted the offer of a friendly hug, reasoning that it was only natural considering how touchy he was with everyone other than yourself.

when you went to pull away, his arms tightened around you, head burying itself further into your hair, "just a little longer," he murmured.

with no reason to deny him, you wrapped your arms around him once more, only letting go when he started to slowly pull away.

that's when you made the mistake of looking up at him as he attempted to make himself let go of you.

seemingly, he had made the same mistake, now locking eyes with you at a proximity far too close for two people who hated each other just mere minutes ago. stupidly enough, your eyes predictably went down to his lips, not realizing his own had done the same. the only difference was that he was far more daring than you, allowing his lips to lower down onto yours and envelop them in a soft kiss.

greedy hands dug into your hips before making their way to your waist, holding you as close to him as he could. your own hands wrapped around his shoulders, moving to play with his hair as soon as the kiss turned more heated.

moaning against him, he pulled away for a second, still keeping his lips entirely too close to your own as he breathed through his nose to calm himself down. the following kiss was even more harrowing, causing you to take a step back due to the sheer force of it. he walked you back, pressing you up against the nearest wall as he took advantage of being able to crowd you, allowing his hands to get a feel of your body as you kissed.

despite how pathetically you followed his lips, he still pulled away, throwing his shirt off before going back to kissing you, letting his hands wander underneath your own shirt as he did so. his hands dug deep under your shirt, feeling up your bare breasts and groaning at the lack of bra.

gradually, his lips made their way to your ear and then down your neck, murmuring against your skin.

"fuck, so fucking pretty ... and so needy for me, huh? sound so good moaning for me like that," he breathed against you.

you burned up, embarrassed by how easily he had an effect on you, but you still let him do whatever he wanted, knowing that nothing you did would prevent your body from wanting his touch.

throwing off your shirt, his lips trailed down even further south, latching onto your nipples and groaning into your skin at the way you arched your body, pressing up even closer to him.

but suddenly there was a shift.

jungkook halted his movements, making his way back up to your lips and locking them with his own in a heavy and greedy kiss, resulting in a lack of breath from both of you. against your lips, he whispered something that made your knees buckle.

"i'm gonna pay you back for all those times you were mean to me, baby," his lips moved to your ear, chuckling at your anticipatory shudder, "gonna do whatever i want with this pretty body, yeah?"

nodding pathetically, you gave way for him to do anything he wanted. already drenched, there was no way you could possibly formulate any words that didn't come out as an embarrassing whine. he seemed to enjoy this too, holding a pleased smirk in his face as he easily dragged you over to the bed, pushing off your suitcase and dropping you on it with a bounce.

before you could even think, jungkook had already thrown off his shoes and undone his pants, his hands coming to do the same to you. your shaky hands attempted to help him, but he simply tsk'd at you, letting you know that he'd take care of everything tonight. everything, he emphasized.

"oh, fuck," he groaned once you were fully nude, "this is all mine now, yeah? fuck, been waiting for years for you to stop being a brat and let me have this pretty body all to myself," he kissed your lips between each sentence, "might lose control at how gorgeous and mine it is ..." he murmured as his hands took their rightful place exploring your body.

"kook-" you whined, already wanting him to do something – anything.

"shh, baby," he coo'd, "i'm gonna do whatever i want. and you're gonna take it like a good girl, okay? gonna behave for me for once."

fully crawling on top of you, jungkook went back to making out with you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he began humping against your already soaked cunt.

groaning, he pulled away for a second in favor of nibbling softly at your lip, "oh, this pretty pussy's so fucking soaked already ... thought you hated me, baby, what happened?" he chuckled darkly, giving you no room to answer before shoving his tongue in your mouth.

just as his tongue attempted to suck all air out of you, his hand suddenly snuck between your bodies, finding your cunt with ease and beginning to drag his fingers up and down your folds, not giving you want you needed.

"pretty fucking pussy," he murmured, "gonna play with your clit now, baby. it's gonna cry for me by the time im done."

his fingers found your clit almost immediately, taking turns in rubbing teasing circles over it and hammering in and out of your cunt. he swallowed every single moan, groaning against your lips any time your cries went so high they went straight to his cock.

"that good, pretty? so good that you have to cry for more? oh, baby. you're so lucky this pussy's so fucking cute. lucky i cant control myself around you ..."

"f-faster, please ..."

"faster? oh, like this?", his fingers slowed down drastically, barely stimulating you at all as you cried and clawed at his back, whining for more than he seemed willing to give you.

"n-no! please, just- just wanna cum, kookie. please?"

his fingers curled entirely too well at your cry of his nickname, even making him groan when he felt your own reaction to his fingers. it was clear he liked you crying out for him, so the more you did it, the more of his fingers he gave you, leading you to the verge of an orgasm.

afraid he'd try and deny you just for sadistic means, you cried for him prematurely, begging him to let you cum.

"kookie, p-please, please let me cum, i-i'll do anything. i'll give you anything, just, fuck, please!"

there was not a single care in you about how pathetic and out of character you sounded, not when jungkook's wasnt faring any better at the effect your desperation had on him.

"cum. cum for me, baby. wanna feel that cunt cream around my fingers so i can fill it back up with my own, okay? be good for me and- fuck, and cum ..." as much as he wanted to be in charge and show a dominant side to him, your cunt just kept dragging his fingers back in, making him feel a carnal need to steal your orgasm all for himself and many others after this one.

your hand wrapped around his free wrist, needing it as support as an otherworldly orgasm took over you. back arching and eyes rolling back, you became a sight that jungkook had only ever seen in his most depraved of dreams about you. he was surprised at his cock not bursting upon such an arousing view, making him realize that he needed to fuck you as soon as posible before losing his mind.

despite talking you through your orgasm, jungkook still gave you no time to recover before shoving his tongue in your mouth and grabbing his dick to drag up and down your sensitive folds.

crying against him, you attempted to push him away at first, feeling too sensitive for immediate stimulation, but your body gave up quickly after, melting into the overload of pleasure. tears crowded in your eyes, but your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, needing more of that pressure against your cunt.

taking the hint and far too horny to drag this out any longer, he pushed inside you, groaning against you at the feeling of finally being wrapped around your warmth.

"it's so fucking wet ... oh, fuck. you wanted this so bad, didnt you, baby? fucking soaked and just pulling me in ... it's so- so tight n warm n perfect for me," he babbled, lost in pleasure.

jungkook's hips were restless against yours, an insatiable desire to chase for his pleasure taking over him as the sound of skin slapping made him dizzy. the occasional babble accompanied by a pitiful hiccup that came out of you did not help his situation, making him fear that he might cum before you.

"let- let me just get my finger there- yeah, fuck. just gonna rub that tiny little clit, okay? shit, you just tightened around my cock so fucking good ..." he groaned, thumb circling your clit to accelerate your orgasm.

"g-gonna, fuck, gonna cum ... p-please ... with me? cum with me?" you begged, barely able to get a single coherent word out while jungkook showed no mercy against you.

nodding, he kissed you, promising he'd cum – begging you to cum. counting you down, he whispered against your ear while his hips stuttered messily against your own, now completely overtaken by both yours and his orgasm.

the sounds shared between the two of you were nothing short of shameful, consisting of whines and cries filled with desperation. it was a depraved scene only meant for the two of you to enjoy.

pulling out of you proved to be a challenge, as jungkook would happily remained inside you until his last breath, but the thought of holding you innocently in his arms as you caught your breath was something he did not want to miss out on.

and so he held you against him, crowding your face against his chest so you could lay your head right by his heart.

"that was-"

"yeah," he breathed with a chuckle before turning to you with a boyish smile on his face, "i have a confession to make."

you turned around too, unable to not match his smile, "what is it?"

"i lied earlier. i, uh, i did like you when you were seventeen, but ... i kinda still like you."

it was impossible not to feel your face warm up at this, scrunching up your nose at how cutely he had confessed, "what if i said it was mutual?"

his smile somehow got bigger at that, "then i'd say i'm gonna have to steal you away from my sister," he pulled you into his chest again, enjoying the vibrations of your laugh.

a/n: this was rushed and not proofread sorry</3

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts oneshot #bts scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut

2K notes · View notes

deadsetobsessions · 4 months

Text

Danny no longer has a haunt. So… he decides to find another one. And while he technically has a whole world (other dimensions aren’t an option because he’s going to stay near where Jazz’s grave is, damn it) there’s only a couple of other places with enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain him. Nanda Parbat, Tokyo, and Gotham.

Nanda Parbat had a weird old musty immortal that kept trying to summon him and exchange power for the ability to “take a worthy body and rain as much destruction” as he’d like. As if Danny would need a body to bring the world to its knees.

Tokyo… it’s too far from Jazz’s grave. He could ask Wulf or even open his own portal but when Danny tried it out, Tokyo was too peaceful. Obviously there’s crime, but nothing… nothing big like Danny’s used to.

Danny ends up picking Gotham, even if the sewer zombies and the weird group of rich fruit loops with an adoption problem creeps him out. So, he destroys the portal, packs up his parents’ house and sells it, and hauls ass to the cesspool calling his name. His family’s stuff is stored respectfully in a vault located on the deepest parts of his personal haunt in the Infinite Realms.

And honestly, he’s doing better. Sure, he’s got a shitty apartment near another revenant’s almost-haunt and he feels like he’s drowning all of the time, but Danny isn’t in danger of turning into Dan, he’s catching up on royal paperwork, and he’s got like a job as a barista. In his own coffee shop that paid for using his parent’s money (who, despite their hazardous everything, made a crap ton of money off of their more normal inventions).

Gotham’s got some pretty interesting local gangs, most of which respected the sanctity of Danny’s cafe. Sure, they tried blowing it up and tried extorting money from him in the form of “protection costs” but after three months of failure, they gave up.

(Really, the local gangs gave up when they saw him take three shotgun shells to the chest and continued to work.) (They didn’t know it never hit him. Intangibility is extremely useful.)

The Rogues, on the other hand, just gave Danny flashbacks. Their gimmicks are different, sure, but after years of Box Ghost, Skuller, Lunch Lady, etc., Danny’s more than done with costumed villains. They don’t bother him either. Some of the reason is probably due to Harley and Ivy, who had walked into the cafe and (because they were bruised and scratched up from a fight) triggered Danny’s mother hen tendencies. They were promptly fed and watered and caffeinated and their hyenas were also similarly taken care of. They declared the cafe under their protection and that was that.

Red Hood stops by, and begins to interrogate him. But when Danny met his… helmet eyes? The crime lord paused, paid for his coffee, and sat in a corner table of the cafe for the rest of the day.

And he kept coming back?

But Danny figures it’s because Hood was a revenant and people who had come close to death tends to feel more comfortable around him.

(Considering this is Gotham where people almost die every other day? Yeah, he’s pretty much friends with everyone. Or at least, less likely to get shot.)

(Hood does stay because of the King’s presence and the Pit calming itself, but also Danny’s hot and he’s got a sleeper build and Hood definitely did not imagine himself in the place of the heavy box he saw Danny lift effortlessly onto a table. No.)

But of course, the peace couldn’t last forever. But by then, Danny was so antsy, he welcomed the trouble with open arms.

It starts with a clown. Danny knows who he is. He knows who Danny is.

So, Danny has no idea why the clown thought it would be a good idea to aggravate the owner of Gotham’s official neutral grounds. See, Clovkwork? Danny’s learned how to gauge his own political importance!

“HAHAHAHAHA! COME OUT, DANNY-BOY! LET ME TELL YOU A JOKE!”

Danny comes out and grabs a chair, and with a flat expression, says, “you’re not funny and I hate clowns.”

And then he swings and slams the chair into the Joker’s face. Over and over again until Danny’s sure the clown won’t get back up. The thing about Gotham’s outdoor chairs is that they’re mad out of steel and are bolted down to the ground to prevent undedicated thieves (dedicated thieves can and will steal the bolted down steel chairs). The Joker’s hired muscle just watched this scrawny twenty-something year old yank the steel chair and take some of the fucking ground and the bolts with it and beat the fuck out of their boss who is the literal Joker.

They surrender on the spot and is taken to jail. Danny just smiles at the officers who come by and since he’s got pretty privilege and they don’t want to mess with the guy who, again, owns one of Gotham’s official neutral ground and also beat up Joker without breaking a sweat, the officers just lets him go with a warning.

And then the bats comes, and wow, Danny’s playing mentor to a formally dead person again!

But before that, the Red Hood asks for an autograph on the Gotham Gazette article with a picture of a tired Danny standing over Joker’s prone body. Then Hood stammers through asking Danny out (which Danny said yes to because he’s tired, not blind, and Hood is built like a brick house and HOT).

Batman interrogates him. Danny, who can tell that this man needs therapy and is Sad TM, tells Bats that Danny’s died before and that’s why he’s like this. He also calls Batman a furry, but like in a nice way. And then he kicks Batman out with a coffee and a file on Nanda Parbat.

Now, Danny’s got a date to prepare for and he realizes that maybe this is what Jazz wanted for him- to be happy and mostly safe and happy. (Or, happier, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been truly happy, but this might be a good start)

#bamf danny phantom #danny phantom #dc x dp #jason todd #Jason takes him to a library and they pick out books for each other #Danny asks him on a second date and they talk about the book over coffee #and then they watch the stars (Danny uses his ghost powers to clear a patch of sky)#but Danny just kind of watches Jason’s face and goes yeah this is just as good #Danny dngasf #Danny will throw hands with a clown #Danny thinks the Gotham Rogues are kinda cute #with their gimmicks #unimpressed bc they’re kind of obvious #and he’s seen worse and better #danny is Gotham’s Mom Friend

3K notes · View notes

macfrog · 3 months

Text

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

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

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

December.

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

You hate every fucking minute of it.

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

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

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

Never mind.

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

“Tommy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How am I holding up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

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

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

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walk me home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

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

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

You don’t?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

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

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

“’n whose fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I’m craving?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

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

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

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

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

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

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

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

And I mean anything. OK?

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

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

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom.

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

Mom. Mom and Dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

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

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

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

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

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

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

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

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

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

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

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

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

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

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

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

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

Let go.

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

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

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

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

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

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

But right then –

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

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

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

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

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

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

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

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

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

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

Your head shakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel.”

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

“You have to go.”

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

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

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

He leaves on Saturday morning.

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

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

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

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

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

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

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

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

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

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

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

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

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

“Hm. Now go.”

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

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

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

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

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

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

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

#i think duckie is my favorite character i've ever written. that fetus has more personality than vanessa icl #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

2K notes · View notes

luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 months

Text

The Husband Effect

Summary: The reader is struck with a love curse that leaves her feeling more than a bit attached to Dean...

Pairing: Dean x reader (eventual)

Word Count: 2,200ish

Warnings: language, angst, love curse, fluff

A/N: Y’all don’t even want to know how old this fic is. Pretty sure it was written during S13. Figured it was time for it to see the light of day!

__________

“Y/N. Y/N. Giggling woman,” you heard Dean say, clapping his hands together. “Hey! Focus.”

“She’s cursed Dean,” said Sam with a smile. “It was some harmless witchcraft. It’ll wear off soon I’m sure.”

“Is she currently trying to climb into your lap? No?” said Dean, pointing at where he was continually shoving you back from him. “Y/N, stop it.”

“I wanna sit with you,” you whined, throwing your arms over his shoulder, nuzzling your cheek against his.

“This is weird,” said Dean, trying to scoot away, Sam biting back back a laugh. “A little help, Sammy!”

“So she’s a little extra clingy. We’ll put her to bed, she’ll sleep it off and in the morning she can be completely embarrassed about this whole thing,” said Sam.

“Why would I be embarrassed about my Deanie?” you asked, squeezing him harder, Dean rising to his feet.

“Come on, Y/N. Off to bed with you. Now.”

“Good morning,” said Sam to you with a teasing smile. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” you said, giving Dean a big hug when he came in the kitchen. “Good morning!”

“Oh no,” said both boys, grimacing as you smushed yourself into Dean’s chest.

“Get the jaws of life for this one,” said Dean, trying to squirm away while you clung tighter. “Y/N, please let go of me so I can eat breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” you said releasing him, moving your hand down his arm to hold his hand. “That was silly. Your arms are huge by the way. All muscle and strong. They’re so...mmm.”

“Uh huh,” said Dean, giving Sam a death glare. “Sam, your harmless little curse don’t seem so harmless right now.”

“She should have slept it off,” said Sam, taking a seat at the table, Dean pulling you over into one, resigning himself to the fact he wasn’t getting the hand you were holding back anytime soon. “It must be a different curse.”

“No shit. Figure it out for me, would ya? It’s weird having Y/N act all...cuddly,” said Dean.

“Well, she is a girl, Dean,” said Sam.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Dean, your head resting on his shoulder.

“It means she likes hugs and you know, human affection...like a normal person,” said Sam. “You treat her like a guy sometimes.”

“Again, what does that mean?” asked Dean.

“It means when you tell her to buck up and kill the damn spider herself, she comes and asks me to do it. Or when you don’t help her with heavy stuff. She’s tough, don’t get me wrong, but I get the feeling she doesn’t think you care about her nearly half as much as she does you,” said Sam. “...Maybe that’s why she’s only sticking to you. It’s got something to do with that.”

“Y/N,” said Dean, your head lifting up with a smile. “You know I care about you, right?”

“Of course you silly boy,” you said with a smile, bopping him on the nose. “I love you different than Sammy is all.”

“See? She knows,” said Dean, giving you a smile that made your heart flutter.

“You’re so pretty,” you said, Sam rolling his eyes.

“Hey, Y/N. Why don’t you eat breakfast and then Dean can spend the whole day with you while I figure out how to fix you, huh?” asked Sam.

“The whole day with Dean? That sounds amazing,” you said, leaning up and giving Dean a kiss on the cheek.

“Please hurry Sam.”

One Week Later

“I want Dean,” you grumbled as Sam brought your dinner by your room. “Please? I need him.”

“Dean’s researching right now, Y/N,” said Sam, locking up the door behind him, spotting your barely eaten lunch. “You need to eat, Y/N or Dean won’t be happy.”

“Why do I have to stay in my room? I’m not doing anything wrong,” you said, Sam sighing as he took a seat.

“You’re making it hard to research out there, Y/N. You...you’re kind of all over Dean,” said Sam. “He’s not used to attention like that and it’s making him uncomfortable.”

“But you love him and you get to be near him,” you said, scrunching up your face. “Tell him I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever he wants. I just want to see him. Please.”

“Sweetie, it’s the curse that’s making you all nuts for Dean, you have-”

“I always liked him and now that I came out and said it he’s scared of me. Tell him I take it back. I’ll really try to be better,” you said.

“If you eat your dinner, I’ll talk to Dean about coming to see you, alright?” asked Sam, watching as you grabbed your fork. “Good girl.”

“Hi,” you said when you saw your door open, a pair of green eyes peeking in. Everything in you wanted to hop off the bed and run over to give him a hug but you said you’d try to keep it under control.

“Sam said you wanted to see me,” said Dean, hanging by the doorway, watching you start to fidget. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine. Are you okay? Can I do anything for you?” you asked, leaning forward and clenching your hands into fists.

“Just give me a hug before you have a heart attack,” said Dean with a sigh, your body responding before your brain, up and over to wrap him up in your arms. “Better?”

“No,” you said. “You don’t like it.”

“I’d rather have a hug because it’s real, not forced,” said Dean, moving your arms away.

“It is real,” you said, cocking your head up at him. “I want to hug you.”

“No, the curse is making you think you want to hug me,” said Dean with a smile. “There’s a slight difference there, sweetheart.”

“But I love you. Everything I’ve said or done, I always want to do,” you said. “I just...don’t have a filter to say ‘don’t do that anymore.’”

“It’s a curse and we’ll solve it, alright?” said Dean. “I don’t want you to get upset about it. We’ll figure it out and get everything back to normal around here.”

“Dean,” you said, moving forward again, Dean already with a hand on the door.

“I promise, Y/N.”

“I don’t know why it didn’t work but you shouting at me doesn’t fix it!” yelled Sam, both boys in the middle of screaming at one another as you sat in the library, doing your best to stay in your seat.

“It’s been two weeks, Sam. Look at her. She’s barely keeping it together,” said Dean, waving over in your direction.

“If I was under a love curse and the other person resented me, I might start to get upset too, Dean,” said Sam. You got to your feet, forcing them to move away and for your bedroom, your movements slowing as you hit the edge of the library. “See?”

“I’m just going back to my room, Sam,” you said over your shoulder, frozen in place with the need to stay near Dean.

“It’s got to be that spell. Figure out what you screwed up,” said Dean, his hand on your arm melting away your bubbling anxiety, replacing it with something soft and warm. Dean didn’t immediately leave when he got you back in your room, instead laying down on your bed, turning on your TV and throwing an arm behind his head.

“What are you doing?” you asked, sitting down next to him, curling into his side with a smile.

“I miss you,” he said, moving his arm around your shoulders, a rush of relief flooding you. “...I’ll take care of you. I know it hurts and yeah I’m not used to all this lovey dovey crap but I’m going to help you through it. If letting you crawl all over me makes you feel better, we’ll do that.”

“Hey, bozos,” said Sam, standing at the end of your bed, stirring you awake. “I didn’t mess it up. It’s on a time delay.”

“Well,” said Dean with a yawn. “How long until it works?”

“Judging by the look on Y/N’s face, it already did,” said Sam. You were glancing at your lap, sitting as far away from Dean as possible. “Are you...”

“I want to be alone, please,” you said, Sam nodding his head and leaving. “You too Dean.”

“It’s okay, it was just a curse,” he said, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I told you two weeks ago, Dean,” you said, turning your head over your shoulder. “I don’t love you and Sam the same way. It was a love curse, Dean. All I was trying to do this whole damn time was to make you feel loved.“

“I do feel loved,” said Dean.

“You don’t get it. This isn’t something I can explain to you, Dean. Either you get it or you don’t and you obviously don’t so please give me some space today,” you said.

“I get it,” said Dean, grabbing your wrist and spinning you to face him. “It’s been very clear to me since this whole thing started. I don’t want you to want me though.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me. It’s my life,” you said, trying to shake him off. “Dean...”

“It’s different when’s it’s staring you right in the face and you can’t run away, right? To know that deep down that what someone is saying is true?” he asked.

“If you got hit with that curse, what are the odds that everything you’re spewing out is bull and you do want me but are too scared to say it,” you said. Dean was silent, dropping your hands as you nodded your head. “So what do you want to do about this?”

“If you want to...try, I guess I’m cool with that,” said Dean, shrugging like you were discussing dinner.

“Cool with it?” you asked.

“I ain’t turning into a Hallmark card anytime soon,” said Dean, holding up his hands. “But...your hugs aren’t so bad.”

“Ah, yes. Your definitely wooing me, Dean,” you said, shaking your head.

“Y/N, I’m trying,” said Dean.

“I know. We’ll...take it one day at a time.”

One Year Later

“Hey, you guys remember that freaky curse that made Y/N stick to you like glue?” asked Sam at lunch one day.

“Yeah,” said Dean. “What about it?”

“Well...I translated another spell that references it,” said Sam. “It was used back in the day to help men find wives.”

“That seems like a douche move,” you said, leaning back against the wall, tossing your legs in Dean’s lap.

“No, no. Not like that. It was meant for when a guy loved somebody but was too shy or insecure to say something. If the person didn’t have a reaction, they didn’t feel the same way. If they did, then it sort of proved there was something there,” said Sam.

“It took you a year to find this out?” you asked, Sam shrugging. “Why do I feel like you’re lying Samuel...”

“You know, we never did find out who put such a strangely harmless curse on Y/N either,” said Dean, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you Sammy?”

“Not a clue,” he said with a smile, glancing back at forth. “Weird, right?”

“I’ll get my fiance to kick your ass you ever pull something like that again,” said Dean.

“I’m really good at kicking ass,” you said, Sam shaking his head.

“I got no idea what you guys are talking about,” said Sam, standing up with a stretch. “I think I’m going to go for a second run while I think about who could have ever done this to you two.”

“Want to destroy him later?” asked Dean, wearing a smirk once he was out of earshot.

“Of course. Not too badly though,” you said.

“Just a touch of destruction for our devious Sammy coming right up,” said Dean with a chuckle. “While we’re at it, it’s been a year since our first date tonight.”

“You got something special planned?” you asked.

“Obviously,” he said. “Mess with Sammy first though?”

“You read my mind.”

1K notes · View notes

ghouljams · 2 months

Note

leaving ghost tied up while you do chores around the house, maybe you’ve tied a vibrator wand to his crotch so no matter how he moves he can’t get rid of it. he’s probably overstimulated as fuck and teary eyed by the time you get back to him

adding to my last ask with him being tied while you go and do other stuff— im imagining him gagged as well. the doors left open so all you can hear are grunts and heavy breathing, he starts to whine when the pleasure slowly turns to pain and tries to lift his hips to get away from the vibrator

Oh absolutely. It takes a lot to get Ghost whining. The man is almost incapable of it in my mind. You really have to break him down for him to whine, and then it's the most pathetic sound in the world. He sits, bound and gagged, with a vibrator strapped to his cock, for hours. He can hear you tidying up, prepping dinner, sees you walk by to turn the shower on(he knows you wouldn't go anywhere you couldn't hear him, couldn't hear him tap out if needed) and he can't escape the buzzing. He growls for a while, tries to coax you in to the bedroom, just so he can see you. The vibrator is on low enough to keep him hard, but not high enough to make him come and it's agonizing.

He ruts his hips against it, bucks to try and get some sort of friction, maybe that will help, but it doesn't. It just adds to the agony, makes him tug at his bindings harder, growl louder. You don't seem to care. He stops growling, hangs his head to watch his cock, to try and will himself to come, to do anything to escape the heat the coils tight in his stomach. His breaths are heavy and purposeful, his body still as he tries to ignore the feeling, mind over matter. He's a sniper, he can hold position for hours, but this is torture. He comes and it's pitiful, it doesn't ease any of the tension in his back, doesn't ease the ache in his muscles. It barely makes a dent in the tightness in his stomach. He feels ruined by it.

Then the whining starts. It's pathetic really. He came, and it feels worse somehow, because now the vibrator is painful against his cock. It pushes him back to hardness simply through oversensitivity. He bucks his hips to try and get away from the feeling, but there's nowhere to go. He whines and feels the pinpricks of tears against his eyes, wonders if you'd take pity on him if he cried.

He's come two more times, two more ruinous orgasms that do nothing to help the gnawing pit in his stomach, before you decide to check on him. "Oh my big strong boy," you coo, settling on your knees in front of him, "you're sure you can't get out of those restraints?" Your breath on his cock nearly makes him come again. He pulls at his ropes desperately, watches you press your lips to the red head of his cock, your tongue darting out to clean the come off him. He throws his head back and whines for you, bucks against your lips without a care for the punishment you'll give him. You wrap your lips around his cock and it's hell, torturous and slow as you ease down to the base and back up. Your tongue burns him, your mouth is a furnace that leaves its lovely mark on him with each wet kiss you press along his length. "Then I guess you can stay in them a little longer," you tell him, standing again without so much as a proper orgasm.

Ghost sits up straight and lunges after you, barking his pleas against the gag. You smile, lean close to bare your teeth at him, and he growls. "Be a good boy," you order, "and I might let you fuck me after dinner."

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #oc: goose #sub!ghost #awwww hes so cute and i just want to ruin him

2K notes · View notes

katsukiizmoon · 7 months

Text

╰┈➤ ꒰🕸🍒┊Explaining | Katsuki Bakugou꒱

Can’t stop thinking about this post by @tired-biscuit and thinking even harder about catching Katsuki one night.

Will this turn into a thing? Maybe— (update from future! me: This is somehow 2.7k. I don’t know if it even makes any sense, mush brain. It’s midnight. Christ. Edited and added a little read more thing)

『♡』 f! reader, best friends to lovers, m masturbation, piv sex, arguing, anxious katsuki for a bit, some praise, fingering, idk guys sex stuff, unedited bc I wrote it half asleep

Katsuki fucks his fist sloppy, chewing on the end of his shirt. Slippery beads of precum well up and spill down the shaft and he circles his thumb over the head.

He chokes back a moan and squeezes harder, slamming his hips forward desperately in need of release. The tension in his body has been pulling like a rubber band for hours. It stretches farther and farther every time.

Tonight was torture for him. You’d worn those stupid shorts and a loose crop top. You never wear a bra under your crop tops, let alone around him.

Every time you’d lift your arms too high he’d get a peek of your pretty tits and jerk his head to the side. Your shorts were no different— showing off the underside of your ass cheeks and tight enough he could just make out the outline of your pussy. Normally both would be fine but, fuck.

His strokes get faster while his mind fuzzes. Lust clouds his thought process as he shoves the guilt to the back of his mind to deal with later. His face feels numb, his lips tingle, the metaphorical rubber band pulls tighter.

Tighter. Like his fist is while it squeezes down on his cock and spreads the precum all over him.

Tighter. Like he’s sure your pussy would be as it was wrapping around him and sucking him with each thrust.

The end of his t shirt is wet and slobbery. A thin sheen of sweat coats his body and the slapping wet noises of his thrusts is getting louder. His brows furrow as he closes overwhelmed eyes. With the sound of the water running in the background he doesn’t even hear you coming.

You’re usually a little loud when you’re sleepy and heading to the bathroom. Your feet amble beneath you without too much sense, body heavy, mind foggy— you’re a sweet little thing when you’re sleepy. One too many times has he woken to you running into walls while trying to get into the bathroom.

But he doesn’t hear you this time.

He pants and whines a little in the back of his throat, sloppily fucking his hand. He’s focused on the thought of you up under him. Sliding your shorts to the side and letting him eat your pussy. Bouncing on his cock in that big shirt you stole from him a year or two ago.

He’s a goddamn mess. The tension and heat in his tummy gets tighter, tighter, until he feels like he might pass out. The world is about to allow him the grace of relief.

And then you sleepily open your bathroom door. You’re still half awake with drool on your face and your eyes hardly open. You’d changed into comfier shorts and kept the crop top, which was now riding up on one side so that your tit was on display.

“Gotsta’ pee,” You blink hazily trying to figure out why your bathroom smells like fresh salted caramel.

He forgot to lock it.

Katsuki is frozen in place. He doesn’t know what to do, say, think— you just walked in on him jacking off in your bathroom. Precum is still dribbling out and all over his hand. He opens his mouth with a red face and lets his shirt drop to cover his abs, quickly shoving his cock into his pajama pants.

And you’re just standing there like you hardly even register what’s going on. Your eyes widen when two and two come together, making four. Watery carmine eyes meet yours as his lips tremble before he’s shoving past you with sparking palms.

He tries to rush out and makes a mad dash to your bedroom to grab his things. Embarrassment and guilt makes him panic, filling his being with a nauseous feeling. And he’s not sure what to do or say.

Does he say sorry? Does he confess? Does he block you and run?

For once, Katsuki doesn’t want to be brave. He is scared and he is tired of being the hero who has no fear. Anxiety makes his fingers shake while tears threaten to spill over his pretty tanned cheeks.

You come rushing around the corner with flushed cheeks and determined hands. Your fingers twist into his shirt and pull him back, spinning him around to face you. It’s a miracle you managed it with how much bigger and stronger he is.

Katsuki’s terrified gaze holds yours with a trembling lower lip. He might be much bigger but right now he feels small.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hey— hey what’s goin’ on?” You coo, pulling him toward your bed to sit. His feet move on their own accord and do as you please. “Why are you leaving?” Fingers twist tighter in his shirt.

The blonde gawks and scrambles for words. Quick breaths leave his lips with little to no time between. Katsuki wants to cry, scream, and just die. You caught him beating his fuckin meat in your bathroom and now you’re comforting him.

“What else m’ I supposed to fuckin do?” He grunts, putting his brave face and frown right back on.

“Get in bed and go back to sleep?” Your head tilts and you say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Katsuki confusedly jerks back with a frown and snort. Thick hands grip his sweatpants for dear life.

“You want me to get in bed with you and go back to sleep after—after that?” The AC kicks on in the background and whirrs to life, sending cool air through the room.

“Yeah? Unless you wanna talk about it now at,” you glance at the clock on the nightstand “, two fourty five in the fucking morning.” You rub your face with your palm.

“I don’t think me jacking off in your bathroom needs explaining.” He spits, flustered and annoyed. His face scrunches up all sour and huffs, the tips of his ears still red.

You sigh and frustration bubbles in his chest.

“What? You can’t seriously want me—“

Your hand presses to his mouth and you shoot him a glare. Exhaustion spreads your features with a huff to shut him up.

“What’s going on? And don’t give me some bullshit. Just tell me what’s going on.” Your tone leaves no room for an argument.

“You and your stupid fuckin— stupid shorts and whiny voice and shit. That’s what’s going on!” He leans in so that his nose is only a few inches from yours and snaps.

“Me?” You mumble, obviously confused.

“Yes, you.” His fingers press near your sternum and poke with a growl.

You squeak and narrow your eyes, moving closer to him yourself and pushing his chest lightly.

“What about you?” You guffaw. You’re not quite wrapping your mind around the situation yet, still tired and not understanding what the big deal is.

And Katsuki nearly loses it. The tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, his mind racing and chest heaving. He’s been dealing with you practically torturing him day in and day out for years— and now you’re asking about him. But before he can speak you start rambling on.

“You run around in these goddamn sweatpants-“ you tug at the grey fabric a little “and you say I’M what’s going on? You still haven’t explained shit!”

Katsuki turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before. He starts noticing your close proximity, the way your breath still smells like toothpaste, your pout. Your lips are an inch away from his and it is taking every little bit of willpower he has to not kiss you.

“Yes.” A puff of air ghosts over your lips and you take in the sight in front of you. Feelings you tried to shove down bubble in your tummy and spread.

The rubber band that’s been winding in his gut and mind for far too long grows tighter. Stretched to the point of which it’ll never be the same.

Heat in your stomach starts to flow and consume your being as things begin to click into place. He was getting off in your bathroom, he said you’re what’s going on.

“Oh..” you breathlessly whisper. Something in you burns. If he feels the same way then.. it couldn’t hurt, could it?

Katsuki jerks his head away from yours and looks to the side. His shoulders tight, grey t shirt with a damp area at the bottoms wrinkling as he fidgets with it. It’s like he’s waiting for the sting of rejection.

You grab his jaw with unsure hands and guide him back to look at you. His big, misty and wide eyes peering into your own.

And then you kiss him.

Snap

All tongue and soft lips, teeth clashing against his from the awkward position. You dig your nails into his chest like he’s gonna float away if you don’t.

And katsuki just might. Because you taste just like he thought you would, your mouth moves against his like he was just fantasizing about before. He soaks in the kiss like it will be his last until you break for air while panting.

“Don’t you ever try to run from me like that again.” You whine and dive back in.

His body acts before he can think enough to stop himself. You fall back against the mattress, plushie beside your head. His thick heavy body presses you into it and weighs you down while big hands travel up and down you. He explores your body like it’s something to be worshipped.

Your own hands push and pull at him. They slide under his shirt and drag nails down his toned, tan back. Your legs open up so he can slot between them with a particularly good suck on his bottom lip.

A breathy moan leaves your lips and it sends fire down his body.

“Fuck— god.” He whines between kisses. The line of his cock presses against you through your thin pajama shorts and makes you antsy. Your fingers grip at Wheaty blond roots and tug.

“Is this— oh,” You can feel him drag against you through his sweats. “ is this what you were thinking about?”

Katsuki shakes his head.

“Close enough.” He gasps, guttural and needy as your teeth nip under his jaw. Your tongue slides down the column of his throat as his clothed cock does against your heat.

“Wanna know what I think about?”

His mind stills and he nods feverishly before diving into the crook of your neck to suck. Pink marks are left in his wake and his fingers slide under the fabric of your shorts to rub little circles on your clit.

It makes you stutter and forget what you’re doing for a moment, your legs shake and squeeze around him.

“Been thinkin’ bout your cock in me—“ your pussy drools all over his fingers and the breath gets punched out of him all at once.

“God you fuckin minx.” He growls and slips a finger into your already soaked core. He feels a little more sure of himself, a little better about it.

Your head throws back when he adds the second finger and curls them up. The pad of his thumb works in little circles and flicking motions rhythmically. You keep making these little noises that send jolts to his cock and make it twitch.

For the second time that night, his cock drools precum. It smears against the inside of his pajama pants and dribbles even more when your eyes go wide.

“Katsuki— god, like that, like that!” You babble until a particular stroke of his thumb has your body tightening and then shaking. Release covers his fingers and he yanks your pajama shorts off your body and throws them to the side.

“Good girl, that’s a good girl.” Thick fingers rub soothing circles over your pussy while he slides his shirt and pants off.

You feel his cock press against your folds and then his face is right above yours. He licks lazily into your mouth, hand coming up under your thighs to guide them around his back where your ankles cross over.

“Shit— y’so wet for me.” He mumbles between kisses and then links a hand with yours, pressing it into the mattress. “You want it? Want my cock?”

“Quit being a tease! Just give me your ohhh” You whimper and gasp, head throwing back and free hand coming to clutch at anything you can get your hands on.

He’s girthy and hot as he fills you up to the brim. There’s not a space untouched by his cock, making you feel so stuffed and out of breath you can hardly move.

“That’s it, you can take it.” He breathes into your mouth.

You slowly adjust to him and as soon as you relax, he pulls his hips back and thrusts. It makes you hiccup and lose your mind. The sheets are much too sweaty, AC be damned, and he looks like a literal god over you.

All tanned muscle and flushed cheeks. His pretty focused face scrunched up in determination not to cum immediately. You’re not sure how much you can take before you tear the sheets apart and scream.

He sets an even pace with his hips before propping your hips up a little and slowing down. It’s slow but it’s deep. His cock head touches something in you that has expletives leaving both your mouths as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-“ he desperately tries to keep hold of sanity. But you taste good, you smell good- better than any of his fantasies. Your pussy wraps around him in ways he couldn’t imagine. You’re really sprawled under him and moaning.

His cock is frothing near the base because of how wet you are, pussy juice and precum sliding between your ass cheeks and onto the bed. Your pink bedsheets are damp and one of your plushies has been thrown off the bed in the midst of your feverish mess.

It doesn’t last long. His face crumples as he cums and he rubs your clit and pussy until you squeeze down on him right after.

His jaw drops into a low “o” when he cums. You thank every lucky star for birth control while you both come down off a high. The two of you lay there and pant for a while before his cock slides out of you and he collapses onto your bed.

“Holy fuck.” Katsuki mutters to no one but himself. Half of him can’t believe it. He feels like icy hot with his back and forth his thoughts are, reeling and trying to take in what happened and what is happening.

“Yeah—“ you roll and press your chest against him. A kiss to his jaw makes his heart throb. “God that was good.”

A thick, beefy arm wraps around you and he hides his face in your neck. He sighs and pulls you in closer.

“I better not be readin’ this shit wrong but..” He mumbles, yanking up the blankets over the two of you. “We’re a thing now right?”

You snort and laugh for a minute.

“Yeah, duh, dummy” You smack his chest and roll your eyes.

The AC finally does it’s job at cooling the two of you off and he grumbles and gets a towel to clean you off. It only takes a few minutes before the two of you are back in pajamas and laying on top of a throw blanket. The massive comforter pulled over the two of you.

You flick on the TV and scroll through some of the go to shows before curling against him with a sigh. When you glance up, you notice a deep frown on his face and grumble.

“What are you looking so pissy for?” You place a peck on his jaw and turn your attention back to the screen.

His big hands run up and down your body, thumbs dragging over your hips. With a look of defeat and a pout, he admits, “Eiji’ bet me a hundred bucks you liked me back.”

That earns him a smack on the chest. “Don’t you dare tell him it’s cause I caught you beating off in my bathroom, Katsuki.”

#[ katsuki ]#i haven’t redone my tags just yet #sorry for another tag biscuit #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x yn #masterlist #bakugo katsuki smut

3K notes · View notes

assassinsblade · 4 months

Text

Heavy Weather

In which yours and Azriel’s mission is disrupted by a major inconvenience: your cycle.

WC: 4.1k

Warnings: Nothing really, just fluff and period stuff!

—————-

Gods, it was cold.

The snow fell down in sheets, covering the forest floor and soaking into your leathers. Azriel was trekking about twenty feet in front of you, eyes scouring the area, although his grip was loose around Truth Teller at his side.

“The Winter Court…” you grouched, mimicking your high lord. “Why couldn’t it have been Day Court. Or Autumn.”

Azriel chuckled. “You wanna spend time with Helion and Eris? I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

The air in front of you steamed as you let out an exhausted breath. You both had been pushing through this snow for hours. You couldn’t even remember what you were looking for at this point. You had only been there for about ten hours, and a little into the cold wilderness, you found your brain becoming foggy and your body fatigued. You really needed a blanket and sleep.

“Helion would never let me freeze. He likes body heat too much. And Eris has fire powers.”

“Something tells me Eris wouldn’t be too keen on helping.”

You shrugged, lifting your foot to step over a snow-covered log. “He’s always been fine to me.”

A muscle in Azriel's jaw jumped, his wings going tight against his back. You could barely make out the pink coloring of his mouth through the snowfall. “I don’t trust him,” he said. “Not after Mor, and not with you.”

“So dramatic.” You attempted to ease the tension in the air at your mention of the soon-to-be High Lord of the Autumn Court.

“I’m dramatic? You live in the Night Court and suddenly you act like snow is going to kill you.”

You did feel like it was going to kill you. You didn’t know what had you so exhausted, why the snow seemed to be soaking through your clothes and seeping its way straight into your bones. You had slept okay last night, hadn’t you? You were wearing weather-appropriate clothing. You had done enough training and exercise that this hike shouldn’t be wearing you down this much.

You hadn’t realized that Azriel had turned around to look at you, stopping in his tracks as he waited for you to catch up.

“Are you actually okay?” His voice was more serious this time, less teasing.

Giving him a nod, you focused on putting one foot in front of the other. “Yeah. Let’s just make shelter somewhere soon. I really am cold.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. You didn’t blame him, you must have looked pathetic. Your teeth were chattering so loud the same spies you came to the Winter Court to track would no doubt be able to hear you if close. Your body felt like you had weights pulling you down under the earth, with each step comparable to trudging through quicksand. And you just felt off - like you could pass out or throw up at any moment.

Azriel waited until you were by his side once again before continuing to move.

“There’s an abandoned cabin not too far from here. We’ll camp there for the night, get you some rest. Maybe a blanket or two.”

The wind burnt your cheeks as you tilted you head to look at him. He seemed completely unaffected. In fact, it was as if he was taking a stroll through the Summer Court, right along the water, basking in the breeze.

“How are you not freezing?”

His lips quirked up at your angry tone. “Believe it or not, Sunshine, I grew up in the snowy Illyrian mountains.”

You nodded, only half-hearing his response. And then your feet were stumbling over one another, and Azriel had to reach out quickly to prevent you from falling.

“Not too far now,” he reassured. But he kept his hand on your leathers the rest of the way to the cabin, monitoring your movements and ensuring you wouldn’t just topple over. Every so often, you felt him look over at you, as if he didn’t trust his hand and wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen behind again.

It felt like hours before the rickety structure came into view, and by that point, you truly knew something was wrong with you. Had you been poisoned at some point during the trip? Were you sick? You didn’t think you’d ever been sick in your entire life as fae.

Once you were at the landing of the cabin, you realized Azriel had been supporting your weight much more than you had intended or thought. His entire forearm was supporting your back now, pushing you forward until you crossed the threshold into the enclosed space.

You heard the door shut tightly behind you, sucking the sound of the wind out with it. In the silence, you nearly collapsed.

There wasn’t much time to take in your surroundings. You briefly saw a couch, a kitchen area, and a fireplace. There was probably a bathroom down the hall, maybe a bed if you were lucky. Your thoughts didn’t go past that though as you stumbled for the sofa.

Azriel watched as you fell into it, your head tipping back and eyes scrunching closed. You tried to school your features into something less uncomfortable, but you doubted it was convincing.

“I’ll get a fire going.”

You heard his footsteps move toward the fireplace, the scuffling of movements as wood was moved from the keep to the hearth. However, despite his action to get the cabin warm for you, you could still feel his eyes drifting toward the couch intermittently.

Wood began cracking, a light forming in the corner of your vision. Still cold, still weak, you tried to breathe steadily.

You were about to say something to distract Azriel from your odd behavior when you felt fabric being laid over your body. Your hands automatically went to grip the blanket, pulling it up to your chin weakly before peeking your eyes open.

Azriel was already moving away from the couch, but he didn’t leave the room before muttering a quiet, “Get some sleep.”

Sleep, unfortunately, did not come easy to you. You alternated between feeling like you were going to vomit and feeling like you were being stabbed. Your muscles ached, and it seemed to take all of your energy to rise your chest in a breath.

You tried to focus on the fire, on the way sparks flew from the wood, briefly illuminating the dark stone. The warmth of the flames was drifting toward the couch now, and you tried to adjust your body to move closer to it.

In your movement, though, you noticed the way your damp clothes felt different against your skin. The snow had soaked into the fabric, but the feeling you recognized in your core at your movement toward the fireplace had you nearly whimpering.

Azriel was there before you could make it fully off the couch, reaching his hands out to catch you from falling.

“What are you doing?”

“I- I need to-“

“-Lay down,” he interrupted. “Rest.”

You tried to breathe through the pain. Your vision was becoming blurry with each stab through your abdomen, and you honestly did not understand how you missed your symptoms earlier.

“I can’t, Azriel… I need-“

“-I know.” He gently guided you back onto the couch, hands pulling the blanket over you once again. “I know. Just breathe. I’ll be right back.”

Did he know? Could he sense it now? Could he smell the blood? Recognize the symptoms too?

There wasn't time to be embarrassed because he was gone again quickly, and you couldn’t help the tears that escaped at the pain running through your body.

When you had first met Feyre and she had told you the difference between fae and human cycles, you had nearly cursed the Mother for torturing your kind. You had been literally stabbed before, beaten, and burned, and nothing compared to the pain of your cycle.

“Here,” Azriel said, reappearing before you. He laid some sort of steaming broth he must have found in a cupboard on the table in front of you, along with some torn pieces of cloth, presumably from a towel found in the rest of the house.

You looked at the items, tears blurring your eyes again. You felt like you couldn’t move, everything ached, everything hurt, everything felt wrong-

“I need help,” you got out through your tears, your voice sounding weak even to yourself.

“Okay.” Azriel nodded. “That’s okay.”

He gripped under your legs and behind your back, pulling you up until you were on the edge of the couch. "I have changes of clothes for us in my bag. Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?”

You nodded, too embarrassed to look at him. Azriel didn’t say a word though, instead grabbing a few of the pieces of cloth, his bag off the ground, and scooped you up into his arms.

He walked you both to the bathroom, and you kept your face buried close to his chest both so you wouldn’t have to see if you got anything on the couch and so that Azriel wouldn’t see the redness in your cheeks.

When he entered the bathroom, he set you onto the counter before setting the supplies down. From his bag, he pulled out the extra pair of underwear, pants, bra, and shirt you had packed for yourself.

“Do you want to wash off?” He asked genuinely, glimpsing over his shoulder at the antique bathtub.

Did you want to be clean? Absolutely. But your entire body felt like it was going to fall through the floor, weighed down with aches, pain, and exhaustion. You weren’t even sure you could get your arms to move enough to scrub yourself clean.

You whimpered at your inability to do what you needed, at how weak you felt, and the frustration that coursed through your veins.

"Hey, it's okay." Azriel brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, bringing your eyes to meet his own. "What do you need? What can I do?"

You just shook your head, face flushing red. "I can't ask you to help me with this."

Because this was embarrassing and some males thought it was weak and gross and something to be kept taboo. You were quite literally bleeding through your leathers, with your abdomen, back, and legs all twisting and cramping in pain, heat scouring your body, and you felt like a little kid again -- needing to be taken care of, unable to do the basic task of looking after yourself. It was humiliating, but especially in front of Azriel of all people. Someone so composed, so strong.

It wasn't as if your friends didn't know about your cycle or what you female fae went through. On the contrary, they always offered to help where they could. If you missed out on training because of your cycle, Cassian would always bring up some tonics or some extra food and water to make sure you were okay. A few cycles that were particularly bad had Rhys sending after Madja, and Azriel rushing when he heard. He was the one who had advocated for Madja to give you some sleeping tonics to help you sleep through the pain instead of withstanding it.

But here? On a mission? This was too much.

"Why not?" Azriel's question brought you back to the present. He looked genuinely confused, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Azriel..." you pleaded with his questioning, arms wrapping around your stomach as pain hit you again. You swayed slightly on the counter, Azriel's hands dropping from your face to your waist to steady you.

"You're in pain." His voice was serious, and you wanted to hide your face in his chest. "Let me help you. I don't like seeing you like this."

You swallowed, trying to reign in your shame and embarrassment. It wasn't a big deal, you told yourself. This was natural. And Azriel is over five hundred years old, surely he's seen and dealt with cycles and all they entail before. It doesn't have to make a difference being yours.

"Okay," you whispered. "Could you- could you uh, help me wash off? I don't think I can..."

He didn't make you finish your sentence once he realized you didn't know how to explain your own weakness at the moment. He just nodded, bringing his hands to your arms and rubbing up and down comfortingly.

"Of course."

You nodded, more-so reassuring yourself that this was okay. He was okay. Right? He'd say if he was uncomfortable?

Azriel turned and twisted the faucet to the bathtub, fingers resting under the water that came out until he found the temperature pleasing. The water was clear, thankfully, and the tub looked clean as well.

Once that was filling, he turned to the cabinets you were seated on, bending down and looking through them for any kind of soap and towels. Finding the supplies he was looking for, he set them by the edge of the tub and turned to where you were sitting.

"Arms up?"

His question was hesitant, asking more than if you needed help. Did you want to completely undress? Were you comfortable with him seeing you like this?

You lifted your arms, the weight of your limbs feeling heavy. You wanted to throw up, to go to sleep, to cry.

Azriel's gentle hands moved the fabric up your torso, keeping his touch to the clothing only. Once it was free from your form, you nodded at him to keep going.

He grasped your hips and lifted you to stand, holding onto the majority of your weight when you seemed unstable. His hands gripped your own and brought them to his own torso.

"Hold onto me."

And you did, allowing yourself to lean into his strong form as he unbuttoned your snow-soaked pants and began to pull them down. You rested your head on his chest, turning your face into him to hide your embarrassment at the blood that no doubt coated your pants and your middle.

Tears pricked your eyes at how vulnerable this all was, but you blinked them away as Azriel backed up, your bare form now before him.

His casual look over you wasn't one of lust or desire but of care and concern. He was looking for injuries, hypothermia, anything that would need immediate attention before the bath. When he was satisfied, his gentle touch led you to the edge of the tub, grasping your forearm and helping you ease into the water.

You sank low into the heat, releasing a breath you hadn't known you had been holding from your cramps.

Azriel seemed to notice how you had been holding your breath too. He brought a hand up to push some of the sweat-slicked hair back from your forehead. "Make sure you're breathing, sweetheart."

You nod, closing your eyes and trying to relax through the stabbing in your back.

You could hear the soap bottle cap opening, the sound of liquid meeting a hand, and scrubbing. Peeking an eye open, you see Azriel getting his hands wet and reaching for one of your arms.

"Is this okay?" He asked.

Your heart thumped in your chest. He was too good for you. Better than any male you had ever met.

"Yes. Thank you." Your voice was small, weak in your state, but you both could hear the emotion in it.

"You don't have to thank me," Azriel responded, his hands moving up and down your arm softly before reaching for the other. "I'm sorry you have to go through this."

Humming in response, you sat up so he could help get your back. He was mindful of your comfort, sweeping over any vulnerable or inappropriate places lightly to ensure you were clean but never lingering.

While he washed, he told you stories of Rhys' sister. How when they were younger and she had gotten her first cycle, Rhys hadn't known what to do. None of them had. They thought she was dying, and Rhys' mother had to corral them together into the living room to get them to calm down and stop their panicking. He laughed at the story, and you couldn't help the relaxed giggles of your own.

"I can't imagine the stoic shadowsinger panicking over a girl's cycle."

His lips curved into a soft smile, eyes bright with adoration. "What do you think I'm doing now?"

You looked up at him, smiling. You couldn't believe how comfortable you felt, how normal this all felt. You were completely naked in front of him, completely bare to his touch while he sat clothed next to you, but it felt safe.

"You don't seem too panicked," you tried to tease.

He scoffed. "You should have seen me in the kitchen when we first got here. I was borderline scrambling."

You laughed, and he led you to a sitting position, stroking your back with his fingers lightly. "You ready to get out?"

At your confirmation, he scooped you up into his arms, no doubt getting water everywhere on the floor and also all over his own clothes. You squeaked in protest, but he didn't seem to care, only setting you back onto your feet and wrapping you up tightly in a towel.

Teeth chattering at the newfound cold outside of the bath, you gripped the towel around you, staring up into the bright hazel eyes of the male in front of you. He was still holding you tightly, eyes surveying your form. You wondered what he was thinking in this moment, but you wanted nothing more than to lean forward and let him keep holding you.

His hands moved with the towel, rubbing your arms before bringing the fabric down to your legs.

Right. You needed to get dressed.

"Here we go." Azriel grabbed your spare change of clothes, starting with your underwear. He took some of the makeshift pads he had created, placing one in the underwear before leaning down.

He looked up at you from his knees, and you wanted to frame the image. The sight of this angel, his dark hair messy from the snow, hazel eyes shining with care, on his knees for you, hands open to help take care of you. You wanted to jump on him, kiss him, and never let him stop touching you.

But this was Azriel, and he had never given you any inclination that was something he wanted.

You stepped into the fabric, allowing the shadowsinger to pull it up your legs. Once those were on, he bundled you up in your new shirt before holding the pants in front of you.

"Did you want to wait until we leave for these? They are leathers. I don't want you to be more uncomfortable just for the sake of feeling like you have to wear them."

"I'd rather not."

He nodded, setting them aside before wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you back to the couch.

You were feeling a little better now that you were clean and not bleeding down your legs, but you still felt drowsy and like someone was hacking your insides apart. On your way back, your knees nearly gave way with the pain of a particular cramp, and you couldn't help the cry that escaped with it.

Azriel caught you swiftly, hiking you back up into his arms.

When he laid you back onto the couch, now covered in blankets with even more on top of you, you looked up at the exhausted male. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said. He sounded genuine, but you couldn't help but feel guilty.

You gritted your teeth through the pain, gripping your abdomen tightly. "I ruined this mission."

"Nothing has been ruined."

He walked over to the fireplace once you were settled, stoking the logs to get the fire rising again. "Well," he continued. "Except your pants."

You couldn't help but laugh, and the shadowsinger actually cracked a smile at the sound. But then you were grimacing, tears coming to your eyes and your breath hitching in your throat at your body's attack on itself.

Azriel frowned, hands twitching at his sides.

"We'll get ahold of Rhys," he reassured. "Get you to Madja."

You tried to breathe through it, knuckles white from gripping the blankets around you. You could hear his footsteps getting closer, feel his heat as he kneeled down next to the couch beside you, feel his strong hands unravel your fingers from the blanket and grip them in his own.

His other hand came up and slowly stroked your hair back, gently weaving his fingers through the strands. Your eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch, despite how tightly you squeezed his hand.

"I'm okay," you tried to convince him. "It's just a cycle."

You weren't sure why you were trying to downplay your pain so much. Were you trying to come across stronger than you were? To impress him? Did you think he would truly find you weak?

"I've seen fae be out for a full week because of a cycle. Not eating or drinking, just trying to make it through... You don't have to be okay."

And it was as if you needed his permission, because as soon as the words left his mouth, you tilted your head back, eyebrows scrunching in pain, and let the truth flow past your own lips.

"Yeah, it fucking hurts."

He laughed, but the sound was sympathetic. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss there, and you nearly shot up at the action. You tried not to think too much into it but his lips on your skin was something you couldn't just ignore.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

His voice was soft, gentle, reverent. And he was looking at you like he would do anything you asked. Like you could tell him to go sit in the snow for an hour while you basked in the heat, and he would stand up diligently before marching his way into the blizzard.

He looked at you expectantly, and your heart swelled. One day you would tell him. Tell him how you loved him, how you thought that maybe there was something there between you two, something that tied your souls and hearts together.

"I'm still kind of cold," you admitted. "Could you lay with me?"

At first you thought the question was a bit of a risk, something he might not be comfortable with. But then you thought about how you were completely naked before him not even twenty minutes prior, and you felt less embarrassed to ask.

"Are you sure? There's not much room."

You nodded, and he looked down at his own snow-soaked leathers. He grunted in disapproval and discomfort, reaching down and lifting the tight clothing from his body. You nearly gasped at the action, at the toned body that now faced you. Gods, he was beautiful.

He walked away briefly, presumably to gather his other change of clothes. He might have even cleaned up a bit, because when he appeared again, he looked clean and comfortable. And then he was reaching under the blankets to adjust where you laid.

His body sunk into the cushions of the sofa, and he gathered you into his arms until you were halfway on his chest, his soft and clean shirt overwhelming your senses as you curled into him.

You hummed. "This is nice."

His arms were loose around you, but his hand was resting purposefully curled around your side, his fingers inching over onto your abdomen in a protective and comforting gesture. As if he could take your pain away with just a touch.

"Try to rest. We should be able to get back to Velaris in the morning."

You pushed away the pain radiating through your body, the disorientation and dizziness, and instead focused on the warm muscled body underneath you. The way he encased you, the way he made you feel safe and at peace despite your current state. The way he cared for you.

You would tell him soon -- how you felt.

But for now, you buried your face deeper into his chest, your body falling lax against him. For now, you would rest and savor this moment.

For now, you would pretend like he was doing this because he loved you too. And you held onto that until sleep took your pain away.

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fic #azriel fluff

2K notes · View notes