Jan 25
Terrapin and Reynard, Marinette and Adrien's hero counterpart (also Marinette and Adrien color adjustments)
seen from Paraguay
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seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from United States
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seen from Maldives
seen from United Kingdom
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Terrapin and Reynard, Marinette and Adrien's hero counterpart (also Marinette and Adrien color adjustments)
Marigami Appreciation
Got this commissioned in reference to an upcoming moment when Marinette gets invited to a high class event by Kagami, but our bluenette felt nervous and out of place to the point she started to go back to their hotel. But Kagami stops her and assures her that everything was fine.
Also the artist @bambieheart444 nailed the synergy between these two ^^
🦭In Honor of the First ever Fanfiction I've ever Read in my Life (out of my own initiative), I've decided to Re-Create Marinette's PowerPoint from Chapter 13 Of @buggachat 's Fic "Open My Eyes" 🦭
🌸Took me an entire Week to make this, I Really Hope you Like it!!🌸
Turn the SoundOn! Warning for LoudNoises!🔉⚠️
YOU'RE LAUGHING. HE'S BEING LORE DUMPED ON AND YOU'RE LAUGHING?!? /ref /silly
I Liked the Fic a lot, I suggest you check it out! Very Angsty, Very Nice, Very Good, Go Read It Immediately🔥
I made the Power Point a mix of what I imagined it to look like, what I think Marinette would do (more or less), what actually looked good in practice and what was happening in the Scene with the characters🙌
Unfortunately It's not 78+ slides like the OG, but we don't really know what she wrote in those other slides and I would've never finished this project if I had started even brainstorming about it, let alone create the slides!! Each one took so long hhhhh🥲
I added a sprinkle of racing hearts, ringing ears for the Stress Peaks and a little bit of Sillying and Memes, because I can never be 100% serious (that stupid Hawkmoth pic, the Dead Family Guy Pose and my own addition of the Constipation Capsules mention, for example)😼
...Imagine Adrien's the one who Vandalized the Alliance Statue in "MisterAgreste" by time traveling with Alix in the Burrow Lmao
[Btw yes I did read "OpenMyEyes" before "MyLove,MyLifeline", but I made Fanart of that one first; now was time for this to get it's own one.. while YOU should read both as well!☝️]
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EDIT: Here's a version of the Artworks that have a face and arms (so they look nicer), but they are actually on separate Layers (faceless and armless), so I could Mix & Match for Maximum Pain in puzzling them together on the Power Point!💞
I actually have another layer with all the Chair variations, but I don't think you need to see it necessarily Lmao 🪑
They should call the Animal Protection Services after this one, Marinette. /jk
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Power Point Files (Canva), to Enjoy it at your own pace!⬇️
-Full PPTx: Link
-NoAdrienettePPTx: Link
One is without Adrienette, cuz maybe you're crazy enough you wanna draw the characters yourself, Bugga? 👀
[Sorry if the characters are blurry sometimes, I basically drew a bunch of different body poses, face expressions and hand gestures on one canvas -on my phone- and then pieced them together like a puzzle on Canva -on my tablet-, so I could have the most amount of variety for each... They're like that cuz I zoomed them a lot, the pixels aren't enough to hold💔 It's a tecnique which was supposed to help me save time, but probably made it more time consuming than actually drawing them whole from scratch.. Also had some issues with the sound coordination of the slides😭]
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I Thought you'd find it Cool to see your Creation come to Life (somewhat), I Hope You Enjoyed it and I Wish you Have a Great Day/Night!❤️✨️
Adrien is experiencing gay panic, and is being eaten up by shame that he's experiencing attraction to someone other than Marinette. He's too caught up in trying to hide his blossoming queer feelings from his girlfriend to realise she's also finding the Brazil-baked Luka pretty, uhm, fascinating.
based off my fic that's currently trending on ao3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chloe Bourgeois’s Poster
Thought I’d wait a lil more till I posted this, maybe till after the second part of chapter one gets released, but i guess u get this lil early
I say she looks just like a doll, wadya think?
here’s the link for ch 1, pages 1-3:
💬 9 🔁 52 ❤️ 352 · I just wanted to add that marinette's designs right, specifically the coloured panels. are not the designs that are set
I will try to post every 3 pages bi-weekly but expect no promises from me!
☠︎︎🎸🎧 ~ ⋆. °
jarren smut with a when did you get hot by sabrina carpenter vibe
oh i luhv this idea 😛
Since When?
pairing: jarren duran x fem!reader
summary: catching up with her old friends led her to a shocking realization. the short awkward boy from high school —who used to have a crush on her— is no longer short or awkward. he’s actually really hot.
warnings: SMUT (read at your own risk), masturbation? kind of, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (smd), choking, overstimulation, porn with a cutie patootie plot, no use of y/n.
a/n: small break in the series bc my smau apps want to test my patience. anyways i love this song so much. never thought this man was ugly, but he def daddy now 😛
It had been a hot minute since she’d been back home. She loved California, obviously, but work kept her from going back as often as she liked. Fortunately, she had a week off to spend in her hometown. She decided to meet up with a couple of her friends from high school for dinner, Meg and Casey. They were possibly the cutest couple she had ever seen. They were recently engaged as well, so that was all the more reason to take them out to dinner.
What she didn’t expect, was the text she got from Meg a couple hours before,
Don’t hate us, but Casey invited another old friend
Why would I hate you guys? The more the merrier!
She sent the text as she was finishing tugging her skirt on. She walks over and grabs her black heels —the ones she always saved for nice dinners—and starts slipping into those. Her phone buzzes with another text from Meg.
Uh…well…it’s one of Casey’s old friends, I should say.
They’ve been out golfing all day and he just invited him without running it by me or you.
I still am not seeing the issue here 🧍♀️
She taps her finger on the side of her phone as she watches the typing bubbles dance in front of her.
It’s Jarren
She freezes. She hadn’t heard that name in years. Last she heard was that he got into some school in Long Beach for baseball then got drafted. Which, was a shock to her. She didn’t really keep up with baseball, so she never really thought about him. Well, until now.
Jarren?? As in Jarren Duran?? That awkward little short kid who was obsessed with me??
Yeah…like I said, please don’t hate us!!
Look, he’s changed. A LOT. And I’m sure he’s gotten over his little crush. Just, please don’t be mad.
She huffs, turning her phone off and shoving it in her purse.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” She grabs her keys and starts heading towards her car.
The restaurant was pretty calm when she walked in. She looked around before her eyes settled on a back booth. Meg waved her down with a big smile. She immediately runs over to Meg and pulls her into a hug.
“Ugh! It’s so good to see you!” Meg says, giving her one more squeeze before pulling back. “Casey and Jarren should be here any minute.” She smiles through her annoyance and sits down. She was hoping to just have a nice dinner without disruption. But, of course, she can never win. She talked to Meg for a few more minutes before Meg’s gaze shifts.
She smiles and flags someone down again.
“They’re here!” She looks over her shoulder towards the entrance. She sees Casey walking over. Then, her gaze shifts. Her eyes almost shoot out of her head as she looks at the man walking next to Casey.
“Who is that?” She says. Meg laughs and looks at her as if it were a dumb question.
“Jarren.” Meg grins as she sees her friend’s flushed face.
“Since when?” Meg tries to hold back her laughter, but ends up letting a small giggle slip out.
“Told you…he’s changed a lot.” And boy did he. The man was now taller than Casey with a lot more muscle than she remembered. He was covered in tattoos and now had some hair on his face. She could tell that he had grown his hair out. He walked with a lot more confidence than she remembered. She immediately turned back to face Meg, doing her best to fix her flushed expression.
“Holy shit…” She mutters under her breath. Casey and Jarren finally make it to the table. Casey immediately greets his fiancee with a kiss and then turns to her.
“Well, look who it is” She finally fixes her face and stands up to offer a friendly hug.
“Hey, Case” Casey gives her a friendly pat on the back, before pulling away and sliding into the seat next to Meg. She turns and nearly runs into the wall of muscle behind her. His hands come up, hovering to make sure she didn’t fall. There goes her face flushing again. He grins, lowering his hands as he gets a good look at her.
“Hey, you” The feeling of tilting her head to look at him was new. But, she can’t lie, it felt good. How was this the same kid who would blush every time he was around her? Now, there was no sign of a blush. Just a grin that showed her he knew how good he looked. He also knew the effect he was having on her.
“Hey, yourself” She finally pulls herself together and offers a friendly smile. He gives her an appreciative once over before crossing his arms.
“Wow. I swear, you got even more stunning.” The words went straight to her core. She internally scolded herself. There was no way that Jarren was having this effect on her right now.
“And you…look different.” She lets out a flustered laugh. He just shrugs.
“Different good or different bad?” He teases. Meg clears her throat and both of them turn to look at her.
“Can you two finish this conversation sitting down?” Her friend awkwardly nods before taking her seat. Jarren slides right in next to her. He doesn’t even think twice before spreading his legs under the table and knocking knees with her. He just leans back and smirks. He knew good and damn well what he was doing.
The night begins and it’s going well for the most part. The only problem is Mr. Sex on legs who was sitting right beside her. Every time he would lean forward, his leg would bump hers under the table. Every time she spoke, his eyes were locked on her face. Every time he made a joke, he would look over at her to see if she was laughing. Meg was so wrong. His crush didn’t go away, he just finally grew up and learned how to make a woman’s thighs clench.
“So, how have you been, beautiful?” Jarren leans closer to her as he asks the question. Here she goes again squeezing her thighs. His voice somehow got hotter as well, making her think certain thoughts.
“Pretty good” She answers simply. “How’s baseball?” She asks, trying to keep a casual conversation.
“It’s good. Not my best season, but I’ll be better next season.” His bicep was now grazing her arm as they lean against the table. Holy shit his arms were huge now. So were his legs. It made her mind go to what else was big…
“I’m sure you did great. I remember how good you were at it.” She smiles, playfully bumping his shoulder with hers. A flash of his old self came back and she could see a faint blush paint his cheeks. Instead of getting quiet though, he leaned in a little closer.
“You should come watch me play sometime. I’m a lot better now than I was in high school” Thank God Meg and Casey were too wrapped up in each other. Because, the way her and Jarren looked, it looked like they were about ready to tear each other’s clothes off.
“I’d like that” He grins at her words.
“Yeah? You finally ready to give me a shot?” He teases. She laughs and rolls her eyes.
“No…it’s just me being a supportive friend.” She looks down at her water glass and traces the rim.
“Mhm…” He leans back a little and looks over her face. He leans back in again, his grin never faltering. “I’m a little different now, gorgeous. I’m sure I’d know how to handle you.” Her face flushes again and she can feel her panties soaking under her skirt. She turns and raises her eyebrows at him.
“Is that so? I don’t know about that…” She teases. Jarren could see it in the way her pupils were dilated. He knew she saw him differently now, and he was going to use the hell out of it. I mean, it’s not every day your old crush eye fucks you.
“How about you find out for yourself” That did it for her. Her confidence didn’t falter, but she knew she needed a second. She suddenly felt claustrophobic in the small booth. She gently taps his arm.
“I need to use the restroom” She motions for him to let her out. His arm flexes under her touch and he just stares at her for a second. He finally gets up and lets her out. Not before “accidentally” grazing her arm with his. She bolts to the bathroom and finds the farthest stall from the door. This was ridiculous, he barely said anything to her and she was clenching her thighs together.
She ends up hiking up her skirt and pulling her panties down to the middle of her thighs. She braces herself against the stall with one of her hands before reaching down to run a finger through her slit. She gasps when she feels how wet she was.
“Fuck” She groans. There was no way that Jarren Duran, of all people, got her this wet from doing so little. She can’t help it though. Her mind kept drifting back to his arms. How big they were, how the one felt against hers, how she would absolutely love if one of his biceps was wrapped around her throat from behind. “God damn it” She mumbles.
Her fingers find her clit before she could even think twice. She starts rubbing slow circles, biting down on her lip to control the noises she wanted to make. She let the thoughts come as they pleased. Thinking about how she wanted Jarren to absolutely ra-
“Are you in here?” Meg had called out her friend’s name from the other side of the stall door. She quickly yanked her fingers away from herself. She tugs her panties back up and pulls her skirt down.
“Yeah! Just…fixing a wardrobe malfunction!” She unlocks the stall door and opens it, finding Meg standing there with a concerned look.
“You okay? You look flushed. Are you sick?” Her hand immediately goes to her friend’s forehead. She’s quick to remove Meg’s hand.
“I’m fine. I just needed to fix my thong.” She lies. Meg laughs and shrugs.
“That’s real” They both laugh as they start walking out of the bathroom. They head back to the table where the boys were waiting. She tried her best to avoid Jarren’s gaze. Though, it’s hard to do that when he’s sitting right next to her. Jarren noticed immediately.
He always had a knack for reading her. Mainly because, that’s all he could ever do for years. It’s not like he ever had the courage to do much else. He knocks her shoulder with his when he slides back into the booth.
“Everything okay, pretty?” There goes her composure. Still, she schools her emotions and nods. She still doesn’t look at him, making him want to press even more. He leans in a little closer, nose brushing her ear. “Anything I can help with?” She had to bite back a moan. His voice was so sexy. And so was everything else, but his voice especially.
The way he would say things and flirt with her made her want to pounce on him. He knew how to flirt with a woman now. Which, would only get her in more trouble. Though, she did always like trouble. She also hadn’t gotten laid in a while. Maybe she should give him a shot…see what all he had learned over the years.
“Probably not.” She finally gains some confidence back and sips her water. She turns to him and smirks. “You know…since you’ve definitely grown out of your crush.” He lets out a laugh and leans back a bit. His eyes take over her and he shakes his head.
“Never said that.” He leans back in, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s actually gotten worse. Especially seeing you in this skirt” She raises her eyebrows.
“Really?” She asks in a teasing tone. He bites his lip and nods.
“Oh yeah. It’s making me feel like a teenage boy again” He jokes. She laughs a little.
“Yeah…a horny teenage boy” It slips out before she can think and she just burst into laughter. “I’m sorry” He laughs a little and shakes his head.
“Don’t be. That was funny.” As she comes down from her fit of laughter, his hand cautiously slides on to her thigh under the table. He hovers for a second, waiting for her to push him away. When she doesn’t, he lets himself touch her, making his grip firm. “And you weren’t wrong” He whispers. He feels the tightening of her legs under his hand and just grins.
“Oh yeah?” She asks. She quickly looks over at Meg and Casey to make sure they were still talking (they were) and then turns back to Jarren. “Where’s that shy kid who couldn’t even form a sentence around me?” She picks, poking his shoulder teasingly. He just shrugs.
“He grew up. He realized that being shy didn’t get him the girl. So, he’s trying a different approach this time around.” Her teasing grin drops to a flustered smile. She tilts her head as she looks at him.
“You could get any girl you want now…and you still want me?” She lets out a soft laugh. He just shrugs.
“Why would I give up on my dream girl?” He says low. Despite all the teasing banter, and even his hand on her thigh, that was the hottest thing he had said all night. It wasn’t because he was cocky or flirty with it. It was because she could tell he genuinely meant it. Deep down, he was still the same kid who crushed on her. The same kid who she now realized…was always kind of cute.
“Did you um…” Her voice drops a bit “Did you want to get out of here?” She noticed how his pupils dilated. He gives her thigh a little squeeze and nods. He leans close to whisper in her ear.
“I’ll leave first” He pulls back and she nods. He pats her thigh one last time before pulling his hand away. He turns to Meg and Casey who were still mid conversation. “Alright, I’m out.”
“Really? I thought we could go find a bar or something” Casey says. Jarren just shrugs.
“Sorry man, you know how it is. Work out in the morning.” He nods to Meg. “Good to see you” He turns back to her. “I had a good time catching up with you, beautiful.” He gives her a little wink before standing up. He gives the table one final wave before walking towards the door. Everyone else just shrugs it off and continues their conversation.
After around ten minutes, she looks at her phone. She starts gathering her things.
“I should probably get going.” Meg’s eyebrows knit together.
“What? Really? You too? What happened to the reunion??” Meg asks her friend. She just laughs and walks around to wrap her arm around her neck.
“I’m here the whole week, babes. Just text me.” She presses joking kiss to Meg’s head and waves at Casey. “Love you two, talk to you guys later!” Then, she’s bolting for the door. She didn’t think to ask which car was Jarren’s. So, she spent the better half of her time in the parking lot walking around like an idiot. Then, a truck pulls up next to her.
Jarren had leaned over the center console to throw the door open for her. She doesn’t think twice before climbing in.
“So…where am I taking you?” He asks. “I mean…my place isn’t far, but I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” Some of the old Jarren had crept up the second she climbed into his truck. His ears were a little pink and he was fidgeting in his seat. She thought it was the cutest thing ever. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling back.
“Your place sounds perfect.” Jarren’s confidence came back hearing her words and his lips curve back into that mischievous smirk. He waste no time shifting the gears and booking it out of the parking lot. He definitely was breaking a few traffic laws, but he couldn’t care less. He had his old crush in his truck and was taking her back to his place. The man was excited, and he didn’t care how it looked.
They pull into his apartment building and get out of the truck. He takes her hand and guides her up the stairs. When they make it to his door, he has to play off the fact he almost dropped his keys. It’s not like he’s never brought a girl back to his place before. He’s just never brought this girl back. The girl that he literally compared every other girl to (hence why he was still single). When he pushes the door open, he lets her walk in first.
The tension from the restaurant was still there, but Jarren didn’t quite know what her intentions were. She walks around a little, just looking around. Some of his nerves creep back up and he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Sorry, it’s a mess. I didn’t plan to have anyone over.” He laughs awkwardly. She turns to look at him and smiles. God, he was cute when he was all nervous. She felt like an absolute idiot for not seeing it sooner.
“It’s fine” She drops her purse and takes a few steps towards him. “So…what’s the plans?” He chokes up a little, stuttering as she got closer. He wondered where his confidence went. He had enough to get her here, but the closer she got, the more he felt like the same awkward kid.
“Uh…I didn’t really think that far ahead…” He laughs. She smiles at his nervousness. She finally closed the distance and rested her hands on his broad shoulders.
“You sure you didn’t?” She asks, almost as a whisper. His breath hitches and his eyes darken. He was holding back so much out of respect for her. He refused to fuck it up with her. However, the look she was giving him right now made all of that control snap.
“Fuck it” He says before grabbing her waist and pulling her flush against him. He crashes his lips to hers in a heated kiss and backs her into the nearest wall. She moans against his lips as her back hits the wall and her hands trail up to his curls. He bends a little, without breaking the kiss, to hoist her up by the backs of her thighs and wrap her legs around his waist. He pushes her farther up the wall as their tongues tangle.
His lips trail from her lips to her jaw, then, to her neck. He nips at the spot that made her gasp and tilt her head back. He pulls back to look her over. His expression could only be described as pure awe.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed about this” He laughs, she does too. She bites her lip as her thumb runs along his jawline.
“What else did you dream about?” She asks teasingly. He grins and turns to carry her towards his room.
“I could tell you…” He says before pushing the door open. He walks a few more steps before dropping her down onto the mattress. “But, I think I’d rather just show you” He says as he hovers over her. He doesn’t give her any time to respond before his lips are on hers again. His hips started pressing into hers, his erection prominent through his jeans.
She moans against his lips at the friction. Just like that, her panties were soaked again. He pulls back and tugs his shirt off, giving her the perfect view of his chest. She had to bite back the moan that wanted to come out. He was definitely built a little different now. Her hands come up to gently run over his chest. Jarren shivers a bit under her touch before trapping her hands and pinning them to the mattress.
“We’ll have time for that later” He gives her another searing kiss before pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. “I need to taste you” He kisses her again before trailing his lips down her body. He kisses over her top, stopping just at the hem of her shirt and above the waistband of her skirt. He looks up at her, as if asking for permission. When she nods, he waste no time yanking it down along with her panties.
Jarren stands back and just looks down at her. It looks like he was ready to devour her (he was). He slowly kneels down and grabs her legs, placing them on his shoulders. He slowly trails kisses up her thighs until he’s hovering near where she needed him most.
“So fuckin’ pretty” He murmurs before leaning forward and licking a long strip through her folds. She jolts a little at the contact before relaxing back into the bed. He grins against her before doing it again. He starts off slow, testing the waters and learning what makes her moan just a little louder. When he gets it down, he starts going all in. He began to eat her as if she were his last meal.
Her fingers grip his hair as she moans uncontrollably. She started squirming a little as he added more pressure to her clit. His left hand comes up to splay across her stomach and pin her down. She has no choice but to just lay there and take it now. When he adds his fingers, oh it was game over. He plunges two fingers into her pussy, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her scream. He grinned against her when he drew a particularly loud moan from her.
“Come on, baby. Cum on my face. Make a mess for me.” He spoke into her pussy. She was happy to oblige. Her fingers tugged at his hair as she arched off the bed, letting her orgasm take over. He didn’t let up, letting her ride out her high. When she finally came down, he pulled away. He pulled his fingers out, licking them clean as he looked down at her. “That’s my girl”
He helps get rid herself of her shirt and bra before shoving his jeans and boxers down. He kisses his way back up her body before lining himself up with her entrance. He pushes inside of her with a groan. His head drops to her shoulder as he bottoms out.
“Shit. So tight, baby” He kisses over her collar bone as he gives her time to adjust. When he feels enough time had passed, he starts thrusting slowly. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy. Fuck, I knew you’d feel good” He murmured into her collarbone. Soft moans fell from her lips as he fucked her slow. He wanted to take his time with her. He finally got to fuck his crush, do you really think he’d rush this?
“Fuck” She moans out, almost as a whisper. That was his cue to start thrusting a little harder. He begins hitting a little deeper with each hard thrust, drawing more and more sounds from her. He loved hearing the noises she made. It made him want to go all night with her…which, is exactly what he planned to do. He hiked her legs up higher on his waist as he drove even deeper into her.
“You like that, baby? That feel good?” He asks, watching her face contort in pleasure. She nods.
“Yes…” She manages out through her moans. He grins, loving how desperate she sounded. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have been so slow. He’d be chasing his own release and then calling it a night. However, with her, he loved the little whimper she let out right before she came the first time. He wanted to hear that sound all night. So what if he didn’t get to cum?
“You’re so pretty like this. Taking my dick like you were made for it.” He reaches down to rub slow circles on her clit, matching his thrust. For such a slow pace, he sure was making her feel so good. He was hitting spots she didn’t even realize she had, causing her to dig her nails into his arms. “You’re so close, baby. I can feel it. Come on, beautiful. Give me another one”
She only needed a few more of his thrust before she was tightening around him and letting another orgasm tare through. His thrusts don’t falter as she rides out her second orgasm. After she comes down from this one, he pulls out. She was about to ask if he came, but he had her flipped over before she could say anything. He lifted her hips, putting her ass in the air, and knelt behind her on the bed.
“You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?” He pushes inside of her again. This time, a little rougher. “We gotta make up for lost time, baby.“ He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a punishing pace this time. She buries her face into the mattress as he plows into her. This was a world away from the gentle sex they just had. This time, he was harder, faster, and definitely rougher.
He didn’t like that he couldn’t hear her. That was the whole reason he wanted to keep going. He wraps his arm around her neck, pulling her back up to press against his chest. His bicep was around her throat, not squeezing, just holding her in place as he fucked her.
“Let me hear you, baby. Let me know how good I’m fucking you.” He says low into her ear. She was moaning uncontrollably now. She couldn’t form words as he fucked up into her. He reached around and started rubbing her sensitive clit again. “All that time that was wasted. All those years we could’ve spent doing this. Fuck, baby. Why’d you have to be such a stubborn little brat?”
His words only added to the building pleasure. She was close to another orgasm. By now, she wasn’t even sure she could come again. Of course, Jarren had proved her wrong, fucking her through her third of the night. He released her neck, letting her gently fall back to the mattress. He lets her catch her breath again, but that didn’t last for long. He pulled out again and flipped her back over on to her back.
“One more, baby. I know you can do it” She doesn’t really have time to protest. In a flash, one of her legs is over his shoulder and he’s plunging into her again. She cries out, feeling the overstimulation kicking in. Her pussy was so sensitive right now, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was making her cum again and again. He would stay balls deep in her all night if he could.
He starts fucking her in the same brutal pace that he just did. He doesn’t even need to touch her clit this time before she’s clamping down on him. He still does though.
“So good, baby. You feel so fuckin’ good.” He feels his own orgasm approaching, so he speeds up his movements a little. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. Cum with me, baby. Come on.” She shakes her head.
“Fuck- I can’t” She cries out, he just adds more pressure to her clit.
“I know you can, sweet girl. Give me one more, baby. Then, I’ll cum inside you. You want that? Want me to fill you up? Make you mine?” His dirty words drive her to the edge.
“Shit- Yes! God- Fuck- Please!” She grips the sheets as her last orgasm approaches. When she does finally let go, she swears she saw stars. He fucks her through it, chasing his own release.
“That’s my girl. Fuck, gonna cum. Gonna fill this pussy. You’re fuckin’ mine now.” He only needs a few more thrusts before she feels him twitch inside her. He fills her up with a loud groan. He lets her leg fall off of his shoulder and drops his head to her chest. He trails kisses along her breast and collarbone as they come down from their high. She sighs, letting her fingers gently scratch the back of his head.
Jarren pulls back and smiles down at her. He leans forward and gives her a sweet kiss on her lips.
“So…” He says pulling away. “Do I get a chance now?” She just lets out a laugh.
“I’ll think about it…” She teases. He raises his eyebrows.
“Think about it?” She sees the look in his eyes and immediately regrets saying it (not really). He pulls out of her and flips her over again, giving her ass a firm smack.
“Guess I’ll just keep going until it’s a yes.”
Oh shit…she was in for it now.
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out of left field
summary: jarren duran was supposed to be just a stranger, but he becomes the man who chooses you and your daughter without fear.
word count: 8.4k words
a/n: this was a request, i hope you enjoy!! this is also my first ever jarren fic!! thank you for reading!!!
⸻
The community center smells like popcorn and poster paint, and you're trying to keep track of Layla in the chaos of the spring carnival. She's darting between booths with the fearless energy that she has, her hair bouncing as she runs. You follow close behind, your hand instinctively reaching out whenever she gets too far ahead.
"Mama, look!" She's pointing at the face painting station, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Okay, baby. Let's go." You guide her toward the line, your hand resting protectively on her shoulder. It's a habit you've developed over the years keeping her close, keeping her safe. Not just physically, but emotionally too. You've learned the hard way that the world can be cruel, that people can promise forever and then slowly, quietly, take it back.
The line moves slowly. Layla chatters about wanting to be a butterfly, then a tiger, then a butterfly again. You smile and nod, only half listening, your mind wandering to the grocery list you need to tackle after this, the laundry waiting at home, the bills on the kitchen counter. Single parenthood is a constant juggling act and you're always one dropped ball away from everything crashing down.
That's when it happens.
Layla breaks free from your side, chasing after a balloon that's escaped someone's grip. It's bobbing through the crowd, pink and shiny, and she's running after it with her arms outstretched.
"Layla!" You lunge forward, but she's already collided with someone a tall figure in jeans and a hoodie. You reach them in seconds, your heart pounding, your hands already pulling her back against you.
"I'm so sorry," you say quickly, barely looking at the person she's bumped into. Your focus is on Layla, checking her over, making sure she's okay.
"No worries at all." The voice is warm, amused. "She okay?"
You finally look up, and your breath catches slightly. He's younger than you expected, maybe late twenties, with kind eyes and an easy smile. There's something familiar about him, though you can't quite place it. He's crouching down now at eye level with Layla, holding out the pink balloon.
"I think this is what you were after," he says gently.
Layla looks at you for permission, and you nod. She takes the balloon carefully, her small fingers wrapping around the string.
"What do you say, Layla?"
"Thank you," she whispers, suddenly shy.
"You're very welcome." He stands back up, and you notice the Red Sox logo on his hoodie, the athletic build, the way people are starting to glance over with recognition in their eyes.
"Thank you," you echo, your hand still resting on Layla's shoulder. "She got excited about the balloon."
"I get it. Balloons are pretty exciting." He's still smiling, and there's something genuine about it that makes your chest tighten. "I'm Jarren, by the way."
"Hi." You don't offer your name, don't encourage the conversation to continue. Instead, you take a small step back, pulling Layla with you. "We should get back in line. Thanks again."
You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, but you don't look back. You've learned to recognize danger, and kindness from strangers, especially men feels dangerous now. It feels like the beginning of something you can't afford to start.
Layla looks up at you, still clutching her balloon. "He was nice, Mama."
"Yes, baby. He was." You squeeze her shoulder gently, your throat tight. "Come on, let's get your face painted."
But as you stand in line, you can't help glancing back once. He's at the basketball toss booth now, laughing with a group of kids, showing them how to aim. There's something effortless about the way he moves, the way he connects with them. You force yourself to look away.
You've seen nice before. You've believed in nice before. And you've learned that nice doesn't always stay.
⸻
Three weeks later, you're at the grocery store, Layla sitting in the cart, swinging her legs and singing a song she learned at preschool. You're mentally calculating the total as you add items to the cart, trying to stay within budget. Money is always tight, and you've become an expert at stretching every dollar.
You're reaching for a box of pasta when you hear it.
“Hey"
You turn, and there he is again. Jarren. He's wearing shorts and a t-shirt this time, a baseball cap, but his smile is just as warm as you remember.
Layla lights up immediately. "Mama, it's the balloon man!"
Despite yourself, you feel your lips curve into a small smile. "Hi."
"I was hoping I'd run into you again," he says, pushing his own cart closer. It's filled with protein powder, chicken breasts, vegetables the cart of an athlete. "I never got your name last time."
You hesitate, then decide it's harmless enough. "I'm...we're just doing some shopping."
He notices your deflection but doesn't push. Instead, he focuses on Layla. "How's the balloon? Still flying high?"
"It popped," Layla says sadly. "But Mama said we could get another one someday."
"Someday soon, baby," you add, feeling a pang of guilt. Someday when you have five extra dollars for something as frivolous as a balloon.
Jarren's expression softens, and you wonder if he can read between the lines. "You know," he says carefully, "the team is doing a family day at Fenway next month. It's open to the public free tickets, activities for kids, the whole thing. You can sign up on the Red Sox website if Layla would be interested."
Your walls go up immediately. "That's really kind, but we're okay."
"No pressure at all," he says quickly, seeming to sense your hesitation. "Just thought I'd mention it. The kids always have a great time."
Layla is tugging on your sleeve now. "Mama, can we? Please?"
You look down at her hopeful face, then back at Jarren. This is how it starts, you think. The offers, the kindness, the way they make you feel special. And then, slowly, it all fades away.
"We're really busy," you say firmly. "But thank you for letting us know."
Something flickers in his eyes disappointment, maybe, or understanding. "Sure. No problem. It's on the team website if you change your mind. They usually have passes available at the box office too."
"It was good seeing you both," he adds, and there's a sincerity in his voice that makes your chest ache. "Take care."
He walks away, and Layla slumps in the cart seat. "Why can't we go, Mama?"
"Because we have other things to do, baby." You turn back to your shopping, trying to ignore the disappointment in your daughter's voice.
That night, after Layla is asleep, you find yourself pulling up the Red Sox website on your phone. The family day event is right there on the homepage free admission, activities for kids, player meet and greets. It looks legitimate, exactly what Jarren said it was.
You stare at the registration page for a long moment. You think about throwing your phone aside, about forgetting the whole thing.
Instead, you bookmark the page and try not to think about the way he smiled at Layla, or the way he didn't push when you said no.
⸻
Two weeks pass, and you can't stop thinking about that event. Layla has mentioned it exactly seventeen times, you've counted. Each time, you've changed the subject or distracted her with something else, but the hope in her eyes is getting harder to ignore.
You've been doing this alone for over a year now. After he left after he slowly, painfully pulled away from both of you, you promised yourself you'd never let anyone close enough to hurt Layla again. The engagement ring you'd worn for six months had felt like a promise, like security. But promises, you learned, are just words. And words are easy to take back.
He came into your life when Layla was two. He was charming, attentive, said all the right things about being ready for a relationship with a single mom. He'd read her bedtime stories in funny voices, making her giggle until she couldn't breathe. He'd show up at the playground after work just to push her on the swings for twenty minutes. After eight months, he proposed, and you'd believed him when he said he wanted to be a family.
But then things started to change. It started small plans that got canceled. The bedtime stories he was suddenly too tired to read, even when Layla would bring him her favorite book and climb into his lap. He started staying late at work, coming home after she was already asleep. He stopped reaching for your hand when Layla was around, stopped including her in conversations.
He missed her third birthday. Said he had to work, but you saw the instagram post from his friend's party that same night. When you confronted him, he said he "wasn't sure he was ready to be a dad," that he "needed space to figure things out." The man who'd promised to be there forever suddenly couldn't handle a three year old's bedtime routine.
The worst part wasn't the breakup itself. It was watching Layla ask for him, day after day. "Where is he? When is he coming back? Did I do something wrong?" You'd held her while she cried, made excuses you didn't believe, and hated yourself for bringing someone into her life who could hurt her like that.
Now, watching Layla play with her dolls, making them go on adventures she'll never get to have, you feel that guilt like a physical weight. She deserves more than this. She deserves experiences and joy and memories that don't fit within your tight budget and tighter schedule.
You pull up the Red Sox website again, the family day is this Saturday, free admission. You just need to register online or pick up passes at the box office. It's a public event there will be hundreds of families there. The chances of even running into Jarren are slim.
And even if you do...it's not like accepting an invitation from him personally. You're just taking your daughter to a free community event. That's all.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you fill out the registration form, two passes. You and Layla. You hit submit and immediately want to take it back.
But it's done. And when you tell Layla the next morning that you're going to Fenway Park on Saturday, her scream of joy makes every bit of anxiety worth it.
Saturday arrives too quickly. You dress Layla in a pink shirt and shorts with sneakers. You pull your own hair back into a ponytail and try not to look like you're trying too hard.
Fenway Park is overwhelming. The crowds, the noise, the sheer size of it all. Layla grips your hand tightly, her eyes wide as she takes it all in. You show your registration confirmation at the gate, and they hand you wristbands and a schedule of activities.
The stadium is set up differently than you expected. Instead of crowds in the seats, families are gathered on the field and in designated activity areas. There are stations set up everywhere a batting cage with foam balls, a pitching area with targets, face painting, a meet and greet zone where players are signing autographs. Kids are running everywhere, laughing and playing, and the energy is infectious.
Layla's eyes are huge, taking it all in. "Mama, can we do everything?"
"We'll try, baby." You check the schedule. There's a skills station starting in twenty minutes, then base running, then player meet and greets throughout the afternoon.
You buy her a hot dog and a lemonade from one of the concession stands, splurging because this is special, because she deserves this. You find a spot to sit and eat, and Layla is bouncing with excitement, watching the other kids play.
"You made it!"
You look up, and Jarren is there, in athletic gear and a Red Sox coaching shirt, clearly part of the event. He's grinning at you both like seeing you here has made his entire day. The surprise on his face is genuine, he clearly wasn't expecting you.
"Jarren!" Layla practically shouts, and before you can stop her, she's reaching for him.
He doesn't hesitate. He crouches down, giving her a high five. "Are you having fun?"
"So much fun! Mama got me a hot dog and everything!"
"That's awesome." He looks up at you, and there's something in his eyes that makes your breath catch. "I'm really glad you came. I wasn't sure if you would."
"It's a free event," you say, maybe a bit too defensively. "Seemed like something Layla would enjoy."
"Well, I'm glad you're here." He stands, and there's no judgment in his voice, just warmth. "Have you done the skills station yet?"
You shake your head.
"I'm actually helping run it," he says. "Would you want to join, Layla? We're going to teach throwing and catching, and there's going to be base running after."
Layla is nodding so vigorously you're worried she'll hurt her neck.
The skills station is wonderful. There are about twenty kids, all around Layla's age, and four players leading them through basic baseball skills. Jarren is one of them, and you watch as he patiently shows a small boy how to hold a glove, then helps a girl adjust her stance for throwing.
There's something natural about the way he moves between the kids, crouching down to their level, celebrating their small victories, encouraging them when they struggle. He doesn't have the slightly awkward energy of someone unused to children this is clearly familiar territory for him. You remember seeing photos on the team's social media, players surrounded by their teammates' kids at family events, children of family friends at charity functions. He has that same comfortable energy now, like he's spent plenty of time around little ones even if none of them are his own.
When it's Layla's turn, he crouches down to her level, showing her how to hold the foam ball, how to step and throw. She's terrible at it, the ball going everywhere except where she aims, but he just laughs and encourages her, running to retrieve each wild throw like it's the most important thing in the world.
"You're doing great!" he tells her. "Want to try catching now?"
He tosses the ball gently, and she misses the first three times. On the fourth, it lands in her glove, and she screams with delight. Jarren gives her a high five and you feel tears prick your eyes.
This is what you wanted for her. This is what you thought you'd have someone who would show up, who would make her feel special, who would stay.
After the catching and throwing, there's base running. The kids line up, and one by one, they run the bases while parents cheer and take pictures. When it's Layla's turn, Jarren runs with her, matching his pace to her small legs, cheering her on as she rounds each base. Other parents are taking pictures, kids are laughing, and your chest feels tight with emotion.
The afternoon continues with more activities face painting, where Layla gets a butterfly on her cheek, a photo booth with player cutouts, and finally, the meet and greet area where several players are signing autographs and taking pictures.
As the event winds down, Jarren finds you again. Layla is exhausted but happy, her face painted, clutching a signed baseball and a foam finger.
"So," he says, hands in his pockets, looking almost nervous. "I'm really glad you guys came today. Layla seems like she had a great time."
"She did. Thank you for...for being so great with her."
"She's easy to be great with." He pauses, then pulls out his phone. "Look, I know you're cautious, and I respect that. But I'd really like to see you both again. Maybe at an actual game sometime? No pressure, just...if you're interested, I'd love for you to come. I can leave tickets for you at will call, or you can just text me and let me know if you want to come to any games. Whatever you're comfortable with."
He's giving you an out. Multiple outs, actually. You could take his number and never use it. You could say no right now. You could thank him politely and walk away.
But Layla is tugging on your hand, looking up at you with those hopeful eyes, and you think about how happy she's been today. How long it's been since you've seen her this happy.
"Okay," you hear yourself say, pulling out your phone. "I'll...I'll think about it."
He gives you his number, and you save it in your contacts. It feels significant somehow, like you're opening a door you've kept locked for so long.
"No pressure," he says again. "Whenever you're ready. Or if you're never ready, that's okay too. I just wanted you to have the option."
As you walk to your car later, Layla chattering nonstop about running the bases and meeting the players, you feel something shift inside you. Just slightly. Just enough to let in a sliver of hope.
And that terrifies you more than anything.
⸻
The text comes three days later, while you're making dinner and Layla is coloring at the kitchen table.
Hey. Game this Friday night if you guys want to come. No pressure at all. Just thought I'd let you know.
You stare at the message. Layla has asked about him twice since the family day when they'll see him again, if they can go to another baseball thing. Each time, you've deflected, changed the subject, told yourself it's better this way.
But you're tired of saying no to everything, tired of letting fear make all your decisions.
What time? you type back before you can overthink it.
His response is almost immediate. 7pm. I'll leave tickets at will call under your name. Good seats, I promise.
You almost argue about the tickets, about not wanting charity, but you stop yourself. This is what he does he gets tickets to games. It's not charity, it's just...kindness.
Okay. We'll be there.
Can't wait to see you both.
Friday night, you're back at Fenway. The energy is completely different from the family day the stands are packed, the crowd is loud, and there's an electricity in the air that makes Layla bounce with excitement. The tickets are good, really good, and you try not to think about what they would have cost.
Jarren is playing tonight, and you find yourself watching him more than you should. The way he moves on the field, the focus and intensity, the way he celebrates with his teammates. When he makes a great catch in the fifth inning, the stadium erupts, and Layla jumps up and down, screaming his name even though there's no way he can hear her.
After the game, a Red Sox win your phone buzzes.
You guys still here?
You hesitate, then type back: Just heading out.
Wait by the family exit? I'll walk you to your car.
You should say no, should maintain boundaries. But you find yourself directing Layla toward the family exit, waiting with a handful of other families for players to emerge.
When Jarren comes out, hair damp from a quick shower, Layla runs to him. You start to call her back, but he's already crouching down, catching her in a hug.
"Did you see me catch that ball?" he asks her.
"Yes! It was so cool! You jumped really high!"
"I had to make sure I impressed you," he says seriously, and she giggles.
He stands, Layla's hand in his, and walks over to you. "Hey."
"Hey. Great game."
"Thanks." He looks tired but happy. "I'm glad you came."
He walks you to your car, carrying Layla when she gets tired, chatting easily about the game and an upcoming team barbecue. It's comfortable, natural, and that scares you almost as much as it comforts you.
"So, speaking of the barbecue," he says as you reach your car. "It's next Saturday. Just a casual thing players, families, kids. Would you guys want to come?"
Every instinct tells you to say no. To thank him politely and create distance, to protect Layla from getting any more attached. But then you look at your daughter's face, still flushed with joy from the game, and you think about how long it's been since you've seen her this happy.
"Okay," you hear yourself say. "We'll come."
His smile is brilliant. "Yeah? That's great. I'll text you the details."
The week passes in a blur of anticipation and anxiety. Jarren texts you during the week nothing pushy, just friendly messages. A photo of a funny sign he saw that he thought would make Layla laugh. A question about whether she has any food allergies. Small things that show he's thinking about you both.
It's been so long since anyone has thought about you like this, since anyone has made space for you in their life.
You can't help but notice the consistency. Every morning, there's a message. Every night, he checks in. When you mention something in passing Layla's favorite color, a book you're reading he remembers. He asks about it later.
It's so different from before. From how things were with him, how the daily texts slowly became every other day, then just when he felt like it, then not at all. How "I'll be there" became "I'll try" became "we'll see" became silence.
You keep waiting for Jarren's messages to slow down, for the gaps to grow longer. But they don't.
Saturday arrives, and you dress Layla in shorts and a t-shirt, something she can play in. You change your own outfit three times before settling on jeans and a simple top.
The barbecue is at a park near the stadium, and when you arrive, there are already dozens of people there. Players with their families, kids running around, the smell of grilling food in the air. It's overwhelming and warm and exactly the kind of thing you've avoided for the past year.
Jarren spots you immediately and jogs over. "You came!" He grins at Layla. "Hey, superstar. Ready to have some fun?"
Layla nods, but she's pressed against your leg, suddenly shy with all the new people.
Jarren seems to sense her hesitation. He crouches down to her level. "I get it. Lots of new people, huh? Tell you what, how about we start with something easy? See that table over there with all the drinks? Want to help me pick out the best lemonade?"
Layla looks up at you for permission, and you nod. You watch as Jarren takes her hand and leads her to the drink table, talking to her gently, making her laugh.
"Your daughter's adorable."
You turn to find a woman standing next to you, a toddler on her hip. She's smiling warmly.
"Thank you," you say. "So is yours."
"I'm Emma. My husband plays with Jarren." She nods toward the field where a group of players are tossing a football around. "Is this your first team event?"
"Yeah. We just...Jarren invited us."
Emma's smile widens knowingly. "He's a good guy. One of the best on the team, honestly. Great with kids too, as you can see." She watches as Jarren helps Layla pour lemonade into a cup, steadying her hand. "He's always been like that shows up to every teammate's kid's birthday party, remembers all their names, plays with them like he's got all the time in the world. My son asks for him specifically. And he doesn't even have kids of his own. He just has that way about him, you know?"
You watch as Jarren celebrates when Layla successfully pours without spilling, giving her a high five. Your chest tightens. "He seems like it."
"He talks about you, you know."
Your head snaps toward Emma. "What?"
"Not in a weird way," she adds quickly. "Just...he mentioned meeting this woman and her daughter, said he hoped they'd come today. He seemed really happy when you showed up."
You don't know what to say to that. The idea that Jarren has been talking about you, thinking about you, makes your chest tight with something you can't quite name.
The afternoon passes in a blur of food and games and laughter. Jarren stays close to you and Layla, introducing you to his teammates, making sure you're comfortable, including you in conversations. Layla is in heaven, running around with the other kids, playing games, eating too much cake.
You find yourself relaxing, laughing at stories the other wives and girlfriends tell, feeling like maybe you could belong here.
At one point, Layla trips while running and goes down hard on the concrete path. Before you can even reach her, Jarren is there, scooping her up, examining her scraped knee with serious concern.
"That's a pretty good battle wound," he tells her gently. "You're very brave."
"It hurts," she whimpers, tears on her cheeks.
"I know, sweetheart. Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" He carries her to a first aid kit, and you follow, your heart in your throat.
You watch as he gently cleans the scrape, talking to her the whole time, distracting her with a story about the time he fell during a game and had to keep playing anyway. By the time he's putting on a bandaid one with cartoon characters that someone's parent had in their bag she's smiling again.
"All better?" he asks.
She nods, then throws her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Jarren."
He hugs her back, and when he looks up at you over her head, there's something in his eyes that makes you want to run and stay in equal measure.
You remember the time Layla fell at the playground when you were still with him. How you'd called, asking if he could bring bandaids on his way over. How he'd said "sure, yeah" but then showed up empty handed two hours later, saying he forgot. How Layla had waited, crying, because she wanted him to fix it. How you'd learned to stop asking, to stop expecting him to show up when it mattered.
But Jarren didn't hesitate and didn't make excuses. He just acted.
Later, as the sun starts to set and families begin to leave, Layla falls asleep on a blanket, exhausted from the day. You're sitting next to her, and Jarren drops down beside you, two bottles of water in his hands. He offers you one.
"Thanks." You take it, grateful.
"She had a good time," he says, looking at Layla's sleeping form with a soft smile.
"She had an amazing time. Thank you for inviting us."
"I'm glad you came." He's quiet for a moment, then adds, "I wasn't sure you would."
You look at him, at the honesty in his face. "I almost didn't."
"What changed your mind?"
You consider lying, deflecting, but something about the way he's looking at you makes you want to be honest. "Layla. She deserves this. She deserves to have fun, to feel included, to have..." You trail off, not sure how to finish.
"To have people who show up for her," Jarren finishes softly.
You nod, feeling your throat tighten. "Yeah."
He's quiet for a long moment. "Can I ask you something? And you don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"Okay."
"What happened? With Layla's..." He hesitates. "With whoever hurt you both?"
You take a shaky breath. You haven't talked about this with anyone, not really. But something about Jarren about the way he's been so patient, so consistent makes you want to try.
"He came into our lives when Layla was two," you say quietly. "Said all the right things about being ready for a relationship with a single mom. He was great at first showed up, played with her, made promises about being a family. He even proposed." You twist the water bottle in your hands. "But then things changed. Slowly. He stopped responding to texts as quickly. Started saying 'we'll see' instead of 'yes' when we made plans. Stopped wanting to be in photos with us—I noticed that around month four, but I told myself I was being paranoid." Your voice cracks. "He missed her third birthday. Just...didn't show up. And when I confronted him, he said he wasn't sure he was ready to be a dad. That he needed space."
"And Layla?" Jarren's voice is tight.
"She asked for him every day for weeks. Kept asking what she did wrong, why he didn't want to see her anymore." Tears are streaming down your face now. "I brought him into her life. I let her get attached. I let her call him family. And then I had to watch her heart break when he left."
Jarren is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is fierce. "That's not on you. He made a choice. A cowardly, selfish choice. He let a three-year-old think she was the reason he left. That's..." He stops, jaw clenched. "That's unforgivable."
"I should have seen the signs earlier. Should have protected her better."
"You did the best you could with the information you had. He's the one who failed. Not you."
You look at him, at the anger in his eyes not at you, but for you. "I'm scared," you admit. "I'm scared of letting you into her life and then having you leave. I'm scared of her getting attached and then being heartbroken again. I'm scared of—" You stop, swallowing hard.
"Of getting hurt yourself," he finishes gently.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
Jarren shifts closer, his voice serious and sincere. "I can't promise I'll be perfect. I can't promise I'll never make mistakes. But I can promise that I'm not going anywhere. I can promise that if I'm in, I'm all in. And I can promise that I would never, ever hurt Layla intentionally. Or you."
You want to believe him. God, you want to believe him so badly.
"I need time," you whisper. "I need to go slow. For her sake."
"Okay." He nods immediately. "We'll go as slow as you need. I'm not going anywhere."
You look down at Layla, sleeping peacefully, her small hand curled near her face. You think about the joy on her face today, the way she laughed and played and felt safe.
"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."
When you look back at Jarren, he's smiling. Not triumphantly, not smugly, just...warmly.
"Thank you," he says. "For trusting me this much. I know it's not easy."
You don't respond, but you don't pull away either when his hand briefly touches yours. It's just a moment, just a small connection, but it feels like something shifting. Like a door you've kept locked is opening, just a crack.
⸻
The texts start the next day.
Hope you guys got home safe. Layla's knee doing okay?
You stare at the message for a moment before responding. She's fine. Already asking when we can see you again.
Just her?
Despite everything, you smile. We both had a good time. Thank you.
The messages continue throughout the week. Nothing overwhelming, nothing that demands too much. Just small check-ins, funny observations, pictures that he thinks Layla would like. A dog he saw at the park wearing a Red Sox bandana. A rainbow after a rainstorm.
You find yourself looking forward to them. Find yourself smiling at your phone in a way you haven't in years.
But there's a part of you that's waiting. Waiting for the messages to slow down, for the gaps between texts to grow longer. That's how it started before the daily good morning texts became every other day, then just when he felt like it, then not at all. The enthusiastic responses became shorter, less engaged. "Can't wait to see you" became "maybe this weekend" became "I'll let you know" became silence.
You keep expecting Jarren to follow the same pattern. To start "forgetting" to respond, to get too busy, to slowly fade away.
But he doesn't. Every morning, there's a message. Every night, he checks in. When you mention something in passing Layla's favorite color, a book you're reading, a problem at work he remembers. He asks about it later. He shows up, consistently, in a way that feels almost too good to be true.
On Wednesday, he texts: Game on Friday. Would you guys want to come? No pressure at all.
You hesitate. You've already gone to two games, already accepted so much. You don't want to seem needy, don't want to take advantage.
Are you sure? We don't want to impose.
You're not imposing. I want you there. Both of you.
Friday night, you're back at Fenway. Layla is wearing the Red Sox shirt you found at a thrift store, and she's bouncing with excitement. The tickets are waiting at will call, good seats again, and Jarren waves at you both from the field during warm ups.
After the game, another Red Sox win he walks you to your car like he's been doing. Layla is half asleep on his shoulder.
"She's getting attached to you," you say quietly as you reach your car.
"Is that a bad thing?" He asks it carefully, like he already knows the answer might hurt.
”I don't know yet." You're being honest, at least. "I just...I need you to understand what that means. If you're going to be in her life, you have to really be in it. You can't just...fade away when it gets hard or boring or inconvenient."
"I won't." His voice is firm. "I promise you, I won't."
You've heard promises before. But you nod anyway, because what else can you do?
The next week, Jarren is on a road trip. You don't expect to hear from him much he'll be busy, focused on games, living his life. That's what happened before. Road trips became a relief, a break from the "responsibility" of being around. The texts would stop, the calls would be forgotten, and he'd come back distant and distracted.
But Jarren texts you from the airport. Sends pictures from different cities. A street performer in New York that he thought Layla would like. A funny sign in Baltimore. A video of his teammate doing a terrible dance in the hotel lobby.
Missing you guys.
You stare at the message, your heart doing something complicated in your chest. Layla misses you too.
Just Layla?
You can practically hear the teasing in his voice. We both miss you, you admit.
On Thursday morning, Layla wakes up with a fever. It's not serious, just a cold, but she's miserable and clingy. You call in sick to work, losing a day's pay you can't afford to lose, and spend the day on the couch with her, watching cartoons and giving her medicine.
You don't text Jarren. You don't want to bother him, don't want to seem needy or like you expect him to care about your everyday problems. He's in another city, in the middle of a road trip. He has more important things to worry about.
But around noon, your phone rings. It's Jarren.
"Hello?"
"Hey, is everything okay? You haven't responded to my messages."
You look at your phone and realize you have three unread texts from him. "I'm sorry, I didn't see them. Layla's sick, and I've been distracted."
"Sick? Is she okay? Do you need anything?"
The concern in his voice makes your throat tight. "She's fine, just a cold. We're okay."
“Are you sure? I can have food delivered, or medicine, or—"
"Jarren." You stop him gently. "We're okay. Really. Thank you, though."
He's quiet for a moment. "Will you text me later? Let me know how she's doing?"
"You're in the middle of a road trip. You don't need to worry about us."
"I want to worry about you," he says, and there's something fierce in his voice. "Please. Just text me later."
"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."
That evening, after Layla's fever breaks and she's sleeping peacefully, you send him a picture of her curled up with her favorite stuffed animal.
She's doing better. Thank you for checking on us.
I'm glad. You're a good mom.
You stare at those words, at the simple affirmation, and feel tears prick your eyes. You can't remember the last time someone told you that. Can't remember the last time someone saw how hard you were trying.
The next day, there's a knock at your door. When you open it, there's a delivery person holding a large box. Inside is soup, crackers, juice, children's medicine, and a stuffed bear wearing a Red Sox jersey. There's a small note tucked inside: Hope this helps. Wish I could be there. - J
You stand in your doorway, holding the note, and cry. Not sad tears, but overwhelmed ones. He'd promised to bring soup once when Layla was sick. He never showed up, never even texted to explain why. You'd learned not to count on anyone but yourself.
But Jarren is in another city, in the middle of a road trip, and he still found a way to show up.
Layla is delighted by the bear, naming it "Sox" immediately and insisting it sleep next to her. You take a picture and send it to Jarren.
Thank you. You didn't have to do this.
I wanted to. How are YOU doing?
No one ever asks you that. Everyone always asks about Layla, about how she's handling things, about whether she's okay. No one asks about you.
I'm tired, you admit. But we're okay.
You're doing an amazing job. I hope you know that.
Over the next two weeks, Jarren becomes a constant presence in your life. Not overwhelming, not pushy, just...there. He texts good morning and good night. He asks about Layla's preschool day. He invites you to games, to team events, to casual dinners after games.
And slowly, terrifyingly, you start to let him in.
But then the fear catches up with you.
Layla is asleep, and you're scrolling through your phone, looking at pictures from the past month. There are so many of Jarren with Layla, with you, at games, at the park. Layla talks about him constantly now. Asks for him when he's not around. Draws him pictures. Calls him "her Jarren" like he belongs to her.
She's attached and when he leaves because people always leave she'll be devastated.
The panic rises in your chest, sharp and suffocating. You're making the same mistake again. You're letting someone get too close, letting Layla love someone who might not stay. You should have been more careful, should have kept more distance, should have protected her better.
You pull out your phone and type before you can stop yourself.
I think we need to take a step back.
Can we talk? Please?
There's nothing to talk about. This is just too much, too fast.
Your phone rings immediately. You consider not answering, but you owe him at least a conversation.
"What happened?" His voice is concerned, confused. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No. You didn't do anything wrong. That's the problem."
"I don't understand."
You take a deep breath. "Layla is getting too attached. She talks about you constantly. She asks for you. And when you leave—"
"I'm not leaving."
"You say that now. But people always say that." Your voice is shaking. "He said that too. He said he was ready, said he wanted this. And I believed him. I let Layla get attached. And then he started pulling away slowly, so slowly I almost didn't notice. He stopped wanting to be in photos with us. Started saying 'we'll see' instead of 'yes' when we made plans. Stopped showing up when he said he would. And by the time he was gone, Layla was devastated." Tears are streaming down your face. "I can't do that again. I won't let her go through that again."
Jarren is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is serious, weighted. "I understand what you're protecting her from. I understand why you're scared. And I'm not asking you to just trust me blindly." He pauses. "But I need you to hear this, I'm not him. I'm not going to fade away. I'm not going to make excuses. I'm not going to let Layla think she did something wrong. I'm here, and I'm staying, and I need you to let me prove that to you."
"That's not fair to you," you say quietly. "To wait around while I figure out if I can trust you."
"That's my choice to make. And I'm choosing to stay." His voice is firm. "I know you've heard promises before. I know words don't mean much to you right now. So I'm not going to make a bunch of promises. I'm just going to keep showing up. Every day. Until you believe me."
"I'm so scared," you whisper.
"I know. And that's okay. Be scared. But don't push me away because of it. Let me prove to you that I'm different. Let me prove that some people actually stay."
You're crying now, silent tears running down your face. You want to believe him. You want it so badly it physically hurts.
"I need time," you whisper.
"Take all the time you need," he says gently. "I'll be here when you're ready. I'm not going anywhere."
⸻
The first few days are the hardest.
You don't text Jarren, and he doesn't push. But every morning, there's a message waiting for you. Nothing demanding or nothing that requires a response.
Good morning. Hope you both have a great day.
Thinking about you two.
Won the game tonight. Wished you were there.
Present without being intrusive, you don't respond. You're not ready but you read every single one.
Layla notices his absence immediately. On the third day, she asks, "When are we seeing Jarren again?"
"I don't know, sweetheart. He's been busy with baseball."
"Can we go to a game?"
"Not this week, baby."
By the fifth day, she's more insistent. "Mama, I miss Jarren. Can we call him?"
"He's traveling right now, Layla."
"But he always texts you when he's traveling." She's looking at you with those big, knowing eyes that see far too much. "Did you have a fight?"
"No, honey. We just...we need a little space right now."
"Why?"
Because I'm terrified. Because everyone leaves eventually, because I don't know how to let someone in without falling apart when they go.
"It's complicated, baby."
She goes quiet, playing with the edge of her shirt. Then, so softly you almost miss it "Did I do something wrong?"
Your heart breaks. "No. Oh, sweetheart, no." You pull her into your lap. "You didn't do anything wrong. This has nothing to do with you."
"Then why can't we see him?"
You don't have an answer that makes sense to her. You don't have an answer that makes sense to yourself.
That night, after Layla's asleep, you sit in the dark living room and think about what you're doing. What you're teaching her.
You've spent the past year protecting her from disappointment, from abandonment, from the pain of people who don't stay. You've built walls around both of you, kept your world small and safe and controlled.
But what is she learning from that? Is she learning that love is worth the risk? That some people are worth trusting? That being brave means feeling the fear and choosing connection anyway? Or is she learning that everyone leaves, so it's better not to let anyone close? That walls are safer than vulnerability? That running is easier than staying?
You think about her father how he promised to be there and then slowly, steadily disappeared. How he taught her that the people who are supposed to love you can just stop.
And now you're doing the same thing. Not because Jarren has given you any reason to doubt him, but because you're so afraid of the possibility that he might.
You're teaching Layla to run from fear instead of through it.
The realization sits heavy in your chest. You've been so focused on protecting her from pain that you haven't considered what you might be protecting her from experiencing: consistency, reliability, someone who actually shows up.
Jarren has been nothing but present. Even now, when you've pushed him away, he's still there. Still sending those quiet messages that say I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.
Your ex made promises and broke them. Jarren hasn't made promises he's just shown up, again and again, in all the small ways that actually matter.
And you've been so busy waiting for him to leave that you haven't let yourself see that he's been staying all along.
You pick up your phone. It's late, but you type the message before you can talk yourself out of it.
I'm sorry. I've been scared and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve that.
The response comes within minutes, even though it's past midnight.
You don't have to apologize for being scared. I meant what I said I'm not going anywhere.
Can we talk? Tomorrow?
I'd like that. I'll call you after practice?
Okay.
There's a pause, then another message appears.
I've missed you both. So much.
You stare at those words, feeling something crack open in your chest.
We've missed you too.
⸻
When Jarren calls the next day, you're nervous. But his voice is warm, familiar, safe.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey."
"How are you?"
"Scared," you admit. "But...I've been thinking. About what I'm teaching Layla. About what it means to be brave."
"And?"
"And I think being brave means letting you in. Even though it terrifies me. Even though I don't know how this ends." You take a breath. "I don't want to teach her to run from good things because she's afraid of losing them."
"You won't lose me," Jarren says quietly. "I know you don't fully believe that yet. But I'm going to keep proving it to you."
"Layla's birthday is next week," you say, your heart pounding. "We're having a small party at the park. Just a few friends from her preschool. Nothing big. But...I'd really like you to be there. If you want to come."
This is the test, you realize. The real one. Not whether he says yes, but whether he actually shows up.
"I'll be there," he says immediately. "What day?"
"Saturday. Two o'clock."
"I'll be there," he repeats. "Thank you for inviting me."
⸻
The week passes slowly. Jarren texts every day, and this time, you respond. You tell him about Layla's excitement for her birthday, about the unicorn cake you ordered, about how she's been counting down the days.
You don't mention that you're also counting down waiting to see if he'll actually show up.
Saturday arrives bright and sunny. You get to the park early to set up, and Layla is vibrating with excitement, running between the picnic tables and the playground.
"Is Jarren coming?" she asks for the tenth time.
"He said he would, baby."
"When will he be here?"
"Soon."
Parents start arriving with their kids, and you busy yourself with greeting everyone, setting out food, making sure everything is perfect. You check your phone. It's 2:15. The party has started.
He's not here yet.
Your stomach twists. Maybe he got held up. Maybe there was traffic. Maybe—
"Mama! Mama, look!"
You turn, and there he is. Jarren, jogging across the grass toward you, carrying a large wrapped box and looking slightly out of breath.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," he says when he reaches you. "There was an accident on the highway and traffic was completely stopped. I tried to text but my phone died." He looks genuinely distressed. "I was worried I'd miss it."
"You're here," you say softly. "That's what matters."
"Jarren!" Layla crashes into him, and he laughs, setting down the present to scoop her up.
"Happy birthday, princess! Are you having fun?"
"Yes! Come see, come see!" She drags him toward the playground where her friends are playing.
You watch him go, something settling in your chest. He came. He was late, but he came. And he was stressed about being late because it mattered to him to be here.
Later, when it's time for presents, Layla tears into Jarren's gift with enthusiasm. Inside is a child sized Red Sox jersey with "LAYLA" printed on the back, and beneath it, something that makes your breath catch.
It's a baseball glove. A real one, sized perfectly for her small hands and tucked inside is a baseball with writing on it.
Layla pulls it out, squinting at the words. "What does it say?"
Jarren kneels beside her. "It says, 'To Layla, the best catcher I know. Keep being brave. Love, Jarren.'"
Your eyes are burning. He remembered. That day at the community event, when he taught her to catch. When she kept trying even though she kept missing. When she was brave.
"This is the best present ever!" Layla throws her arms around his neck. "Can we play catch later?"
"Absolutely. Anytime you want."
After the party, after the other families have left and you've cleaned up, Jarren helps you carry everything to your car. Layla is wearing her new jersey and carrying her glove like it's made of gold.
"Thank you," you say quietly. "For the gift. For coming. For everything."
"Thank you for inviting me." He looks at you, and there's something soft in his expression. "I know that was hard for you. Trusting that I'd show up."
"You did, though. Even when you were late, even when things went wrong you still came."
"I told you I would." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm going to keep showing up, for as long as you'll let me. For both of you."
Layla is already in the car, buckling herself in, chattering about her party. You look at Jarren, at this man who has been patient and consistent and present, and you feel something shift inside you.
Maybe not everyone leaves. Maybe some people actually mean it when they say they'll stay.
"Same time next week?" he asks. "There's a home game. I can get you guys good seats."
You smile. "We'd love that."
He grins, and it's like the sun coming out. "It's a date."
As you drive away, Layla clutching her baseball and already planning what she'll wear to the game, you glance in the rearview mirror. Jarren is still standing there, watching you go, his hand raised in a wave.
And for the first time in a long time, you're not afraid of what comes next.
You're just hopeful.
⸻
MASTERLIST
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