#* ⁄ IT WILL TAKE TOO LONG TO SAY THE EVERYTHING AND ALREADY SOME ARE TURNING AWAY ▬▬ [ v. 05 . ]

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 Positive • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- There are three things you know for certain right now:

You're pregnant.

The father currently has his hands all over some blonde at The Wreck.

According to Topper, you're Rafe Cameron's favorite topic during locker room talk.

warnings -- 18+-mdni, unplanned pregnancy, cursing, angst no happy ending, readers a pouge, fuckboy!rafe (?) toppers a dickhead frl, mention of abortions (once)

main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 2.2k

"Fuck." You stare at the positive pregnancy test between your trembling fingers.

"Fuck," you curse again, realizing you're alone in your apartment with this life-changing news.

Of course this would happen.

After months of sneaking around, of heated encounters and promises to keep things casual, one reckless night was all it took. One moment where passion overrode common sense, where neither of you cared about consequences.

A hushed "I want to feel you, all of you," slipped from Rafe's lips as he paused, the condom still on, but his desire for you raw, uninhibited, consuming him. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, silently asking if you trusted him enough to let go..

How naive you'd been, thinking you could trust Rafe Cameron with something so intimate. The golden boy of the OBX, known for his volatile temper and reckless abandon. The type of man who treats both relationships and speed limits as mere suggestions.

And you'd fallen for those dark cerulean eyes and heated whispers like every other girl before you. Only difference was, you were now staring at the consequences of that trust, watching it turn into two pink lines that would complicate everything.

Your secret hookup.

The trust fund bad boy of the OBX. The same Rafe Cameron who's probably at some country club event right now, charming his way through a crowd of socialites, completely unaware that he's about to become a father.

You can already hear the whispers at the yacht club – the Camerons' golden boy and his latest pouge conquest.

As if sleeping with Rafe Cameron wasn't scandalous enough, now you're carrying the next heir to his family's empire.

"Have you seen Rafe?" you shout at Topper over the pulsing bass of The Wreck's speakers. Your hand instinctively rests on your still-flat stomach – a new nervous habit you've developed since seeing those two pink lines.

Topper takes a swig of his whiskey, looking entirely too amused--and drunk, "Lost track of your boyfriend already?"

"He's not my—"

"Yeah, yeah." He smirked, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Just his favorite little Pogue to fuck behind closed doors, right? You know, he tells us everything in the locker room." He leaned closer, whiskey breath hot against your ear. "About how eager you are, how you beg for it. Though I gotta say, for someone from the cut, you've got quite the reputation among the trust fund crowd now."

Your cheeks burned with humiliation and anger. Of course Rafe would brag about all the girls he's had to his Kook friends. Of course you were just another story for their country club gossip.

"Go fuck yourself, Topper. Where's Rafe?"

"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart. We all know you've got a thing for rich boys. Though usually we don't keep Pogues around this long – Rafe must really like something about you." His eyes raked over you suggestively. "Or some things."

The way he says it makes your skin crawl – it's pure Rafe Cameron coming out of Topper's mouth. That same calculated charm, that practiced way of making someone feel simultaneously special and worthless.

You wonder how many hours he spent watching Rafe work his magic at bars, memorizing the exact tone needed to make "sweetheart" sound like an insult. Rich boys and their fucked-up everything.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. "Hey, I'm just messing with you. No need to get your discount panties in a twist." He gestures toward the bar with his glass.

"Last I saw him, he was chatting up some blonde by the bar." Topper continued, "Though, something tells me you've got more on your mind than just another quick fuck in the coat closet."

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" you snap at him, hands clenching into fists.

Your head whips around, scanning the crowded bar area, but there's no sign of Rafe's familiar frame among the sea of drunk socialites.

"He's not there," you mutter, frustration building in your chest.

"What's wrong? Don't have your Kook King on a leash?" Topper calls after you as you push past him toward the exit. "Better hurry – you know how fast Rafe moves on to the next thing!"

You storm out of The Wreck, the humid night air doing nothing to cool your rising anger.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Here you are, pregnant with his kid, and Rafe Cameron can't even stay in one place long enough to hear the news.

Slumping into your car, you grab your phone, fingers trembling as you pull up his contact. Three rings, voicemail. Again. Four rings, voicemail. Your frustration builds with each failed attempt.

hey, we need to talk

rafe, answer your fucking phone

where are you?

this is important

You watch the messages turn from "delivered" to "read" with no response. Of course he's seeing them. He's probably looking at his phone right now, some blonde draped over his shoulder, both of them laughing at your desperate attempts to reach him.

seriously rafe, this isn't about us. something happened

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You could just text it. Three simple words: I'm pregnant, asshole. But somehow, dropping that bomb over text feels wrong, even for whatever this is between you.

After the tenth unanswered call, you throw your phone onto the passenger seat, fighting back angry tears.

You should have known better than to expect anything different from Rafe Cameron, who treats Pogues like they're as disposable as his designer clothes.

To him, girls from the Cut are just temporary entertainment – something to play with until a more suitable option from his tax bracket comes along.

Your phone buzzes. For a moment, your heart leaps – but it's just another notification that he's read your messages.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you mutter, starting your car with more force than necessary. The engine roars to life, matching your mood.

You consider driving to his place – you know he'll end up there eventually, probably with tonight's blonde in tow. But the thought of waiting outside his house like some desperate ex makes bile rise in your throat.

Your phone buzzes again. This time it's a text:

busy rn. talk tomorrow?

A laugh escapes you, bitter and hollow. Busy. Of course he's busy. He's always busy when it doesn't involve getting into your pants. Your fingers fly across the keyboard before you can stop yourself:

hope she's worth it. btw, might want to start setting aside some trust fund money for child support

You hit send before you can think better of it, immediately regretting it. Your phone explodes with incoming calls – now he wants to talk. But you're already pulling out of the parking lot, vision blurry with unshed tears.

Let him panic for a while. Let him feel a fraction of the anxiety that's been eating at you since you saw those two pink lines.

Besides, if he can't be bothered to give you five minutes when you need him, he can wait until tomorrow to hear how he managed to knock up his favorite Pogue.

You wake up to the sound of coffee brewing – which is impossible because you live alone and definitely didn't set the timer last night. Stumbling out of your bedroom, you freeze in the doorway.

There's Rafe Cameron, looking unfairly good for someone who should be hungover, sitting on your beaten-up futon. His expensive clothes are a stark contrast to your shabby apartment furniture, but somehow he looks like he belongs there.

Between his fingers, he's holding the pregnancy test you'd forgotten to hide in your emotional spiral last night.

"Breaking and entering now?" Your voice comes out shakier than you'd like. "That's low, even for you."

He doesn't look up from the test, but you catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "It's not breaking in when I have a key." He finally meets your eyes, holding up the small silver key you'd given him three months ago after that night he'd brought you soup when you were sick. "You know, the one you said was 'just for emergencies'?"

The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. This thing between you had stopped being just hookups somewhere between the late-night conversations and the drawer of his clothes in your dresser. Between him knowing how you take your coffee and you knowing which side of the bed he prefers.

"That's not—" you start, but he cuts you off.

"Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to text it and disappear like you did last night?"

"Oh, like how you disappeared with that blonde? Or should we talk about how you disappear every time after you're done with me, just to go brag to Topper about your latest fuck?"

His face darkens. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Rafe. Your locker room talk is apparently quite entertaining. 'Eager.' 'Begging for it.' Ring any bells?" You wrap your arms around yourself, hating how your voice shakes. "Tell me, do all your Kook friends know how I sound in bed, or is that a special story just for Topper?"

"That's not—"

"Not what? Not what you meant? Not what happened? Because Topper seemed pretty clear about exactly what kind of reputation I have among your trust fund crowd now."

"You really think that's what this is?" He gestures between you. "That I could think of you as just another hookup?"

"Isn't it? I mean, god forbid the Kook King actually care about the Pogue he's fucking—"

"Jesus Christ," he runs his hands through his buzzed hair in frustration. "If this was just about sex, would I have a key? Would I know your coffee order or—"

"You can't use that as some kind of proof you care! Having a key doesn't mean shit when you're out there treating me like your dirty little secret!"

The silence that follows is heavy, charged with months of unspoken hurt. When Rafe finally speaks, his voice is low, controlled: "Is it mine?"

The question hits you like a slap. "Are you seriously—"

"Just answer the question." His eyes are intense, searching yours. "Is it mine?"

The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. He already knows the answer – can read it in the way you can't quite meet his eyes, in how your hand unconsciously drifts to your stomach.

That night without protection wasn't your first together, but it was the first time he'd looked at you like you were something more than just a good time.

Like maybe you could be everything. Now that look is back, mixed with something like fear as the reality of what you're not saying sinks in.

"Those tests—" he starts pacing, running his hands through his hair. "They're not always accurate, you know? Maybe you should take another one. Or three. Fuck, how do you even know for sure?" His voice takes on a desperate edge. "There are… options. I know a clinic in Chapel Hill. Discrete. I could make some calls—"

"You know what?" Your voice comes out quiet, defeated. "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe this is exactly what I need to finally stop pretending this—" you gesture between you, "—could ever be anything real."

"I'm just saying we need to think about this logically—"

"No," you snap, your voice rising until it bounces off the walls of your tiny apartment. "You're trying to make this disappear, just like everything else that threatens your perfect Figure Eight lifestyle!"

You watch something crack in his expression, that carefully maintained Kook King facade finally showing a glimpse of real emotion. His hand reaches for you, then drops. "Don't—"

"I think you should go." You turn away, unable to look at him anymore. "Use that key one last time to lock up behind you."

You don't need to see his face to know he's struggling with what to say. The perfect Rafe Cameron, for once at a loss for words. It would be funny if it wasn't breaking your heart.

You don't turn around to watch him leave, but you hear the way he hesitates at the door. The silence stretches, filled with all the words neither of you are brave enough to say. Finally, the door clicks shut, and you're alone again.

Your hand drifts to your stomach, and you let out a bitter laugh. You can do this alone.

You'll move out of the OBX, maybe up to Wilmington where no one knows your name or that you're carrying a Cameron heir. You'll work extra shifts at the restaurant, save every penny.

Your kid won't need trust fund money or a father who treats relationships like they're disposable. Your child won't grow up feeling like some dirty secret.

Somewhere across town, Topper's probably already hearing about how the Pogue girl tried to trap Rafe Cameron with a baby. You can almost hear the yacht club whispers starting. But let them talk – you've survived worse than country club gossip.

(What no one would ever know: how your hands shook as you slid his key under his door later that night, or how he sat in his car outside your apartment for hours, staring at a small velvet box he'd been carrying in his pocket since before you ever said the word "pregnant."

Some love stories aren't meant to have happy endings, and some babies are meant to have just one parent who actually wants them.)

a/n -- thanks for reading, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt

[kashverse]

gojo’s sweet tooth is a menace. you learned that early on when he asked for “a bit” of sugar in his coffee and ended up turning it into something closer to a dessert syrup. so, of course, when you bake a pear and berry pie—already sweet enough, mind you—he sneaks in extra sweetener when he thinks you aren’t looking. he’s not very subtle about it. the first time, you almost missed it, but then you saw his telltale smug grin, a bit too pleased with himself as he “innocently” leaned against the counter.

"toru," you deadpan, arms crossed.

"what? i’m just appreciating your hard work," he says, licking a stray bit of filling off his finger like he's in a commercial.

"you’re ruining my pie."

"nah, i’m improving your pie," he corrects, already reaching for another spoonful.

nanami, on the other hand, is far less chaotic. he keeps things simple—apple pie, nothing fancy. no extra fillings, no surprise ingredients, just a good ol’ classic that never lets him down. it’s his go-to for the weekends, whether he makes it himself (precisely measured, no shortcuts) or picks one up from the bakery he trusts more than some of his coworkers. sometimes, you’ll walk into the kitchen and find him in the middle of rolling out dough with the same focus he has when reading financial reports. if you joke about him being a househusband, he’ll sigh, wipe his hands on a towel, and say, "do you want pie or not?"

toji doesn’t bake. he doesn’t have time, patience, or, honestly, the self-control to wait for something to cool down before eating it. but after a long day, when you casually hand him a slice of pumpkin pie, he takes it without a word. he’s not big on admitting things, so he just eats it, nodding once in approval, like that’s the most gratitude you’re going to get. but the real giveaway is how he never turns it down. ever. even if he’s pretending like he doesn’t care.

geto loves pecan pie. no debate. no discussion. no hesitation. the man would probably start a war over it if necessary. you once offered him a slice of something else, and he gave you such a disappointed look that you almost felt guilty.

"you’re really this attached to pecan pie?" you asked, watching as he took slow, deliberate bites like he was savoring each one.

"it’s a masterpiece," he said, as if that explained everything.

choso is all about cherry pie, mostly because he likes the tint it leaves behind. after eating it, he’ll glance in the mirror and smile a little at the way his lips look stained, like a kid who got into something he shouldn’t have. sometimes, he’ll grin at you with his mouth still full just to make you roll your eyes.

"cho, you look like you just drank blood."

"cool, right?"

and then there’s sukuna. you have to physically stop him from turning a normal, innocent chicken pie into something… horrific.

"you can’t put human meat in it."

"why not?"

"it’s a chicken pie."

"so?"

you glare at him. he stares back, unbothered.

"suku, if i turn around and find out you’ve replaced the filling, i swear to god—"

he smirks. "you wouldn’t even know the difference."

"i would. you know why? because i would throw up."

he just laughs, because, really, who needs horror movies when you live with him?

[sweetiesicheng]

mingi - stare

word count : 510

-

you're sitting on the couch playing a video game for your husband. it's a game that yunho had recommended to mingi, but he has been struggling with one of the stages. when you had gotten home, you bet with mingi to see who would beat the stage first.

you're moving the character on screen through a section of the stage, heading towards a building that is marked by a triangle hovering over it. you encounter different enemies and fight them. it takes a minute to get through all of them before another wave of enemies appear. you clear them out after another few minutes.

as you continue playing, you sense someone looking at you.

and that someone is right next to you.

"please stop staring at me."

"i can't help it."

you pause the game and look at mingi. you put the controller on your lap.

"is there something on my face?" you ask, immediately reaching up to touch your face, thinking that food might have been stuck to your skin from dinner.

"no, there isn't. well, actually, there is," he replies.

you raise an eyebrow at him, trying to understand what he just said. "song mingi, what's on my face?" you ask and pick his phone up to open the camera app. you look at yourself but find nothing unusual. "i don't see anything, babe," you say to him.

he chuckles and points to a mole beneath one of your eyebrows.

"you've been staring at my mole that's been on my face since the day i was born?" you question him and turn his phone off, putting it on the couch in between both of you.

"am i not allowed to stare?" he asks you. "it's cute." he leans in and kisses you where the mole is.

"it's not that cute," you reply and pick up the controller. you resume playing the game. "i wish i had freckles or something. i think those are cuter."

"if you think about it, it's like you have a single freckle," mingi points out. "i'm telling you, it's cute."

"quit trying to win me over, we're already married," you say to him.

he chuckles, "i can't help it. i'm married to a hottie. i have to point out everything i love about her and show her off."

you playfully roll your eyes and smile while playing the game. you fight more enemies along the way and reach the designated building. inside of the building, you have to do a few puzzles and fight some more characters that are a part of the series. it doesn't take you too long before you turn a machine off within the building, beating the stage and leveling up two of the characters. you go to the stage selection screen and move the character to the next stage.

"i gotta admit, you're hell of a catch too," you say to him as you pass him the controller and kiss his cheek, "told ya i'd beat it before you would." you add while mingi starts up the next level.

[freakydeaky6969]

Training officer Leon Kennedy x Fem Rookie Reader

WARNINGS: PROFANITY, IMPLIED AGE GAP, AWKWARD SITUATIONS, Litterally nothing else but part 2 is a little friskier

Word count:

I have part of part.2 if y’all want it just lmk😛

Oh and this is NOT proofread so sorry🙃

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The mindless buzz of the radio echoed through the dirty policed issued junker. Street lights illuminating your face through the dusty windshield. The pitch black darkness of the outside blanketed the ground casting darkness around the light of the streetlights on the sidestreet where you and your TO were parked.

Yet another long houred stakeout you and your training officer had to babysit. Being a rookie meant long grueling hours and staying in a shitty motel paid for by the department.

You and your training officer’s shift was from 5am to 9pm. Usually your shifts aren't this long but your TO, Officer Kennedy volunteered the two of you for the long shift without you knowledge, of course. He is always looking for more hours to teach you the ins and outs of police work. He really is passionate about his job.

You take the hand your head was resting on and bring it out in front of your exhausted eyes to check the time on your watch.

8:56

Only 4 more minutes of this awful silence before you can sleep in some shitty motel bed to do this all over again.

It’s not that your training officer is boring, quite the opposite actually. The two of you can talk for hours on end about everything and nothing at the same time. Talking about things from life and philosophies to stupid things like movies and tv shows. However, he was very passionate that stakeouts are supposed to be silent.

If he wasn't your training officer and ahead of you in your chain of command you’d totally ask him out. Not only did the two of you instantly click the day he was assigned to be your training officer but he really is gorgeous. He has a sharp defined jawline, sandy blonde hair pushed back out of his face, pretty pinkish lips that look so soft, and piercing blue eyes that you could stare into for hours and never get bored.

“You done daydreaming rookie, our shift is over” Kennedy says with a tired smile, already out of the car holding your door open waiting for you to get out.

“Oh shoot sorry” you say sleepily apologetic, hurrying out of the vehicle before he shuts the door, letting out an awful creaking noise. “Is this junker the best they can afford?” you say staring judgefully at the beat up dirty black sedan you've been sitting in for the past 17 hours.

He huffs out a breathy laugh, “Oh this is nothing, you should've seen the trash they stuck me with when I was a rookie. You should be glad I'm your TO, we got one of the better ones”. He says while starting to walk towards the gas station you were meeting up with the next shift at.

He looks back to make sure you're catching up to him as you lagged back looking at the dents on the car.

You hurry up to his side, continuing a normal pace to match his.

“I can’t wait to take this uniform off and go to sleep” you say sighing whilst walking on the sidewalk just inches away from Kennedy.

“Me too, I'm exhausted, that had to be the longest shift of my career. But if it gives you valuable stakeout experience I'm all for it” Kennedy says, turning his eyes to meet yours with a sleepy smile. “And you're not horrible to be around y’know” he says staring into your eyes so strongly you think he must see your soul.

‘God if he was someone, anyone else, I’d be with him right now’ is all you could think when he gave you that sweet genuine smile. And you know he cares about you, he's gone in the line of fire to protect you countless times, but that's just his job, right?

You smile back at him and stare back into his icy blue eyes that were anything but cold. You’d swear that coworkers don't look at each other this way, but you have a tendency to be a little delusional. ‘We’re just two coworkers who flirt a little, that's normal’, you tell yourself.

After breaking eye contact your mind starts wandering. Maybe you aren't being delusional?

Kennedy looks over seeing you lost in thought staring off into space as you approach the brightly lit gas station. A red and blue “Open” sign flashed in your eyes catching your attention at the same time as his words “You okay rookie? You spaced out on me there” he says with nothing but concern on his pink face.

You immediately become flustered and feel your cheeks heat up so much they must be steaming in this bitter cold weather, realizing that you were daydreaming about the man standing right next to you. “Uhh yeah” you say hoping he doesn't pick up on your blush.

“You daydreamin’ about me or something” he says with a sly smile after he spotted your cheeks warming.

Your eyes shoot open before slapping him on his arm “shut up, you wish” you say with a scoff so he doesn't notice you internally screaming at yourself.

He chuckles and opens the door for you gesturing for you to walk in infront of him.

‘Ugh at this point I'm gonna fall in love with him before I become an actual officer’ is all you can think as he walks beside you to the employee break room of the gas station, opening the door for you once again. You catch yourself staring at the way the cuff of his shirt gets tight on his thick bicep when he moves it.

You enter the room and lock eyes with the night shift. A pale brown haired man with a 5 o’clock shadow standing stiffly in an isolated corner. The screen of his phone lit up his pale face highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. A stereotypical night shifter.

Kennedy tells him what we’ve learned over the course of our shift and the pale man nods before walking out of the room without another word.

Kennedy grabs a backpack and the cash on the table left by the department to use at the nextdoor motel for us to stay at until our next shift since it's so early, and this stakeout is particularly far. He opens the doors for you, as usual, and starts heading to the motel.

The flashing red light from the broken motel sign lights up Kennedys face beautifully. Painting every crevice of his face in deep red light. The red mixes with the blue of his eyes making them appear to be grey, and more beautiful than ever.

When you get inside you walk up to the older lady wearing a brown blouse sitting at the stand. “Hi, could we have two rooms please, preferably with anything bigger than a twin bed” you say with a polite smile.

“Sorry sweetie we’re fully booked, only got a room with a full” the lady says in a thick Appalachian accent.

“A room?” Kennedy asks from a step behind you.

“Yup, ‘ts all we got” she says with an unbothered shrug.

You and Kennedy exchange glances and you sit in silence trying to come up with a win-win solution to your problem.

He brings his hand up to place it on the back of his neck looking at you in an awakened silence. “Why don’t you take the room, my car isn’t too far, I can slee-”

You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence “Hell no it's freezing outside, im not letting you sleep in your car”. You say like it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard before turning back to the lady at the stand. “We’ll take that room please” you say with a smile and turn back to Kennedy. “We’re both grown adults, we can share a room” you say insistently.

He shrugs and grabs the room key from the lady and heads toward your room on the second floor. While going up the stairs you notice him look at you with a sly smile “Jeez rookie if you wanted to share a bed with me this badly you could’ve just asked”.

You whip your head over to meet his, giving him a dirty look and rolling your eyes. “I did not” you say with a blank face.

“You sure? Seemed pretty insistent on me sleeping with you” he says smirking at his carefully chosen words.

“Gross, we’re sharing a bed not having sex. This is real life not one of your little fantasies” you say chuckling at your remark when you see his face drop.

Kennedy tries to come up with a comeback but is left blank. He scoffs “Whatever” before arriving at the door to your room reading ‘206’. He opens it and ushers you inside and out of the frigid cold.

When inside he plops down his small black and grey backpack he had kept at the gas station. He unzips the bag you didn't even realize he had, and starts pulling out shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in. He looks over to see you staring at him when he realizes you didn't have a bag with you.

“Did you seriously not bring a change of clothes?” he asks, looking genuinely shocked since you’re usually quite prepared.

“I completely forgot” you say slapping your hand on your forehead, closing your eyes and groaning at the thought of sleeping in your uniform.

He chuckles at your moping before throwing a shirt and some boxers at your head. “Here” he says with no elaboration.

You feel the slap of fabric on your face, looking at his clothes now at your feet. “No way, i'm not making you sleep in uniform” you say while picking up his clothes from where they had fallen on the floor. Walking up to him holding them out.

“Don’t worry about it, I brought shorts i'll just sleep in those” he says innocently like it's nothing.

You hesitantly accept and head to the bathroom to change. ‘Sleeping in a small bed with Leon Kennedy. In nothing but shorts. What could go wrong’ you think nervously while staring in the bathroom mirror. You change and stare at yourself in the mirror. Dressed in his clothes that smell just like him has you feeling all kinds of things. You walk out of the bathroom and stop in place when you see leon on his phone standing by the bed in nothing but shorts. Your eyes trail from his biceps, across his chest, down his toned muscular stomach, and a trail of sandy blond hair leading down into his shorts. Realizing where you are staring you snap your eyes back up only to see him staring at you dressed in his baggy clothes.

“Wow uh, you look good” he says almost out of breath.

“I'm just in a t-shirt weirdo” you say, feeling your cheeks heating up at his staring. You walk over to your side of the bed and plop down on your back and shut your eyes. Letting out the deepest breath you feel like you’ve been holding on to all day. You seriously were so tired you could fall asleep in seconds. Instead, you chose to force yourself back up to turn off the main light. You’re feet hit the cold floor jolting you awake. You turn off the light and turn around, going back to the bed you see Kennedy already under the covers. Part of you is a little sad you don’t get to stare at him just a little longer.

You follow his lead and climb under the covers and get comfortable. You lie on your back staring at the ceiling ‘why can't I fall asleep? I just worked way too many hours to be restless’ you thought to yourself. Too deep in thought to notice Kennedy in the same position but staring at you instead of the ceiling.

You look back over at him, finding his bright blue eyes through the darkness of the stuffy motel room. He was almost analyzing your face. Every feature, every freckle, every mole, every perfection.

“You’re so beautiful y’know” he says out of the blue. It’s not unusual for the two of you to flirt by any means, but this felt different. Felt real. Like everything we’ve said before was just jokes up until now.

[crocodile-tears-and-a-dream]

excuses..

summary: the two of you stopped at an inn after a long night of travel, but there was only one room..

pairing: geralt of rivia x gn!reader

warnings: they're stupid, fluff

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i haven't written anything that's not a crack fic or a screenplay in ages. this is my attempt at fixing my bad writing, any constructive feedback is welcome!

it was stupid, borderline pathetic, how the two of you tried to find any reasoning at all that cold winter night.

you and geralt had been traveling for quite some time trying to get to the famous kaer morhen. he needed to gather more elixirs and supplies for future battles and monsters, but the weather became too harsh to keep going up the mountains. tonight seemed particularly frigid, so you both decided to stop at an inn rather than camping outside like usual.

as you walked in, the warmth from the fireplace consumed the small space of the room, a stark contrast from the conditions you came from. a frail-looking old man sat at the counter bored, instantly sitting up as he watched geralt’s large form stomp through the quaint lodge. you followed closely behind as he made his way to the reception desk.

“we need two rooms.” the white wolf grunted tossing a bag of coins on the counter. (haha.. I'm not funny)

“yes of course,” the old man says snapping out of his stupor. he flipped through his log book and lets out a sigh. “unfortunately we only have one room left”

“we’ll take it”

you weren't given much of an option and the innkeeper had already handed you the key. it's not like you were disappointed though. you had developed quite the attraction for the silvered-haired witcher during your travels together. you would never admit it out loud, but the longing gazes and lingering touches the two of you often shared meant something more. at least to you it did.

it was a silent walk up to the room. neither of you knew what the other was thinking, but maybe that was for the better. it was selfish the way you hoped there would be an excuse to hold him close as the night grew colder.

the door creaked open and your heart sunk a little as you took in your surroundings. the room was beautiful, yes. the nicest thing you had stayed in for months but, there was one problem.

there were two beds.

geralt, oblivious to your internal conflict, stepped further into the room and dropped his belongings onto the bed nearest the window. the soft creak of the mattress, as he sat down, snapped you out of your thoughts, and you busied yourself by removing your cloak, shaking off the snow that clung to the edges.

“we should get some rest,” he said, his deep voice breaking the silence. “the snow will calm by morning, and we’ll need to leave early.”

you nodded, avoiding his gaze as you placed your things on the other bed. the room was quiet except for the sound of the wind howling outside and the faint crackle of a small hearth in the corner. the heat was soothing, but it did little to calm the restless energy swirling within you.

as geralt began to undo his armor, his movements slow and deliberate, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. the firelight danced across the sharp lines of his face and body, casting shadows that only made him seem more otherworldly. he caught you staring, and for a moment, his golden eyes met yours.

“you’re quiet tonight,” he observed, his tone softer than usual. never in a million years could you have imagined a time where geralt spoke more than you. i guess there's a first time for everything you thought to yourself

“i’m just tired,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

he nodded but didn’t look away, as if he was trying to read something hidden in your expression. the weight of his gaze made your heart race, and you quickly turned back to your belongings, fumbling with your pack.

“get some sleep,” he said finally, his voice low but gentle. “we’ve got a long day of travel tomorrow.”

you nodded again, slipping under the blankets of your bed and turning your back to him. but as you stared at the wall, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just as restless as you.

a couple of hours passed, and the two of you drifted into a deep slumber. your dreams took you to familiar places—snow-covered trails, battles against monsters, and the quiet moments by the campfire when words weren’t needed. but more than anything, you dreamed of him. his sun kissed eyes, his rare smiles, and his strong presence always keeping you safe.

then the dream shifted. the warmth of the campfire turned into an oppressive heat, the orange glow becoming flames roaring at the edges of your vision. your heart raced as the bed beneath you ignited, the fire consuming the blankets and wood. the panic felt so real, and you jolted awake, gasping for breath.

except it wasn’t just a dream.

flames flickered at the edge of your bed, small but growing, their heat unmistakable. you scrambled out of bed, the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. the realization hit you like a cold slap: you had caused this. your magic, tied so deeply to your emotions, had manifested the fire from your nightmare.

“geralt!” you called instinctively, but you didn’t wait for him to wake. your hands moved on their own, summoning a stream of water from thin air. the magic poured from your fingertips, dousing the flames before they could spread further. steam rose in a hiss, and the smell of scorched fabric lingered in the air.

geralt sat up abruptly, his sword already in hand, instincts sharp even in the haze of sleep. his eyes darted around the room before settling on you, still standing with trembling hands and remnants of magic fading from your fingertips.

“what happened?” he asked, his voice low but alert, eyes narrowing in concern.

“i—i had a nightmare,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “and I... i think my magic got out of control.”

he stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides clearing some of the smoke with his arms along the way. his gaze flickered between you and the damp, charred edge of the bed, realizing the situation.

“are you hurt?” he asked, his tone softening as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

you shook your head, swallowing hard. “no. i’m fine. i put it out before it got worse.”

he studied you for a moment, his hand lingering as if to steady you. “you should’ve woken me,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm. “fire magic is dangerous if you’re not careful.”

“i didn’t mean to,” you whispered, guilt creeping into your voice.

“i know,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder before he stepped back. “but you handled it well.”

he looked at the scorched bed and then back at you. “you need rest. take mine.”

“what about you?” you asked, still shaken.

“i’ll manage,” he said simply, dragging a chair toward the hearth and settling into it, his sword resting across his lap. “just... sleep. i’ll keep watch.”

you hesitated, the weight of his gaze grounding you. slowly, you nodded and climbed into his bed, the lingering warmth of his presence oddly comforting. his scent lingered on the pillow and you found yourself wanting more.

"wait-" you called, your voice wavering slightly as you sat up in bed, unsure of the words you were about to say.

geralt looked up at you, his honey-dripped eyes still sharp but softer in the dim light. he waited, allowing you to speak, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

"you're going to be tired tomorrow if you don't rest now..." you hesitated for a moment, but the quiet need gnawing at you grew stronger. "we can share the bed, i don’t mind."

you could feel the tension between you two, both of you trying to navigate the line between comfort and something more. geralt's gaze flickered to the bed, and for a moment, you saw a flash of hesitance cross his face. but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar stoicism.

“are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice low and careful, like he was weighing the words carefully.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak again. you didn't need to, though; your eyes, pleading and vulnerable, said enough. there was no turning back now.

geralt gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment, settling back slightly as you climbed into the bed next to him. his body remained rigid, keeping a respectable distance, but the air between you was charged with something unspoken. neither of you said anything, but the shared warmth in the bed was all that mattered. you could feel his presence beside you, close enough to touch, but not quite allowing it. as you lay there, facing your back to him, your heart raced with the knowledge that, despite the stillness of the night, something had shifted.

before long, the warmth and the sound of his breathing lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep. the tension in your body melted away, and the darkness of slumber took over.

but geralt stayed awake a while longer, his gaze never leaving your form. he couldn't help but watch, the softness in his expression betraying his usual guarded demeanor. as the hours passed, something inside him shifted, a quiet longing he’d tried to ignore.

slowly, he moved, as though pulled by some invisible force. he gently shifted closer, his arm slipping around you instinctively. his body molded to yours, and without a second thought, he held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield.

the movement was so subtle, you barely registered it in your sleep. but your body, so attuned to his presence, naturally relaxed against him. his heart beat steadily behind you, his grip possessive but not tight, just enough to keep you there, pressed perfectly against his chest.

and maybe- just maybe, you would never find out that it was him who set your bed ablaze finding it the simplest excuse, in his mind, to hold you close.

[gazsluckyhat]

Practice Makes Perfect.

To my first request! Woooo! I hope you like it! Kyle would be ace at eating you out. No arguments.

For 🍞 anon!!

My requests are open!

-Bunny

Kyle gently shook your shoulder, his fingers denting your skin slightly. Your head snapped his way as you realzied he'd been talking. You hadn't been listening, no, too focused on the group of girls snickering at you. Your fingers pulled the jacket tighter around you, trying to make yourself seem smaller.

"You alright?" He pushed a strand of hair out of your face, lingering on your full cheek. You nodded, putting a fake smile you'd hoped he believe. He never did though, knows you way to well. Those molten eyes look past you and to the girls sat around the table at the window. "How 'bout we get some take-away? Yeah? Your favorite if your feeling it?" Ducking your head, you nod. Anything to get away from there.

The tv played a rerun of your favorite show, a cop comedy. Kyle was beside you, his long fingers running through your hair. You'd tried your best to focus, pay attention to the show playing, but it wasn't happening. You brain had it's own reruns to play. The girls had been pretty. All thin figures and model like features. The leader, a blonde of course, had made the first move. Turning towards a brunette and whispering in her ear while staring directly at you. You didn't have to guess about what they were saying. You already knew. The words had be tattooed on your soul. Words repeated throughout your youth. And by any boy you'd ever liked. Except Kyle.

"Hey, quit that." You met those beautiful brown eyes. He had a stern look on his face. From the moment you met he'd seemed to be able to read your mind. You blushed and looked away. "Look at me, love." His fingers turned you to face him.

"Those girls don't know what they're talking about. Don't let them get in that pretty head of yours, yeah?" You shook your head.

"We both know they weren't wrong." You fingers started to pick at skin. You'd picked it up as a child, a habit to ease the nerves in your hands. A habit Kyle had chided you about. "Everything they whispered was accurate. I am fat and ugly."

"Absolutely not. I'm not letting you do this to yourself. Just because you don't look like them doesn't mean you're not beautiful." His hands took hold of your cheeks. "The second I saw you I knew I had to have you. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. A pretty little sundress and those wedges? I was dead to rights."

"Stop." You turned your head, cheeks aflame. Kyle wasn't having it though.

"Knew I had to get you outta that dress. Needed to run my hands over your curves. Had to taste you on my tonuge." Said body part ran around the shell of your ear as one of his hands traveled down your belly and into your pajama shorts. You'd quit wearing underwear around the place the second week of living with him. Too many pairs got torn.

"Kyle…" You were breathless. A fire starting in your pelvis. His fingers easily spreading you open, circling your clit. He swallowed your gasp, fingers dipping inside you.

"Always so wet for me, pretty. And warm. Could spend forever inside your tight cunt." The filthy words whispered in your ear only fanned the flame in your belly. One of your hands wrapping around his arm and digging into the flesh there. Your words turned into whimpers as he added another finger and sped up. Kyle always new which buttons to press to have you melt in his hands. "Wanna taste you." His hand withdrew and instead pushed you up, a hand tugging your shorts to your ankles.

"What?" Confusion on your face. Kyle chuckled. He was laying down on the couch, his shirt beside your shorts.

"Sit on my face, pretty. Wanna taste you."

"Kyle, I can't- I'm too big." He tutted, dragging you over by your wrist and pulling you to sit on his chest.

"Never. Now do as I said." Terrified you'd smother him you hovered over his face, using your hands and legs to hold most of you above him. His hand found the fat of you hips and pulled you down, you knees resting on either side of his head.

"Kyle!" He was already enjoying you. His fingers keeping you in place while his mouth slurped and sucked you dry. "Fu-fuck." You tried to lift up slightly, to worried about your weight on him.

"Sit." You blushed. He wrapped his lips around you clit and sucked, causing your whole body to shake.

"Oh god." A whimper followed. A shaky hand wrapped in the curls atop his head. You were shaking. He was going between sucking and tonuge fucking you. Every sensation drawing you closer to the edge. You were gonna cum, your toes already curling up. Tugging on his hair to tried to get him to separate. "Ky, I'ma cum." He only chuckled and latched his mouth back to your clit and sucked. Hard. Tears prickled, your voice catching as he pulled a mind boggling orgasm from you. Your knees tightened around his head as you fell apart. Your body trembling, a sob leaving you. Kyle continued to suck until you whined and tried to pull away. And then he just pulled back, your slick glistening on his skin, caught in the light stubble there. He wore a proud grin.

"Think you can give me another one?" Your blushed.

[amazinglystay]

Curveballs and Close Calls

‧‎₊˚✧ Bf!Seungmin x reader ✧˚₊‧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

warnings!:

Mild language (playful insults like "loser") and a intense sports game with some fluff

(not proof read)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting the baseball field in hues of amber and gold. The energy was electric, the kind that made your chest tight and your palms clammy. You stood just outside the dugout, bouncing on your heels, arms crossed as you squinted at the mound. Seungmin adjusted his cap, his familiar sharp gaze locked on the batter.

The bases were loaded, the score tied, and there were two outs in the bottom of the ninth. A classic baseball cliché, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Don’t choke, loser,” you muttered, knowing full well he couldn’t hear you. But a small part of you hoped he could.

One of his teammates, sitting next to you on the bench, snorted. “You’re brutal. Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

You smirked, not taking your eyes off Seungmin. “That’s exactly why I can say it. Besides, if he screws this up, he’s walking home.”

That got a laugh from the guys around you, though you didn’t miss the way your fingers tightened nervously around the edge of your jacket.

Out on the mound, Seungmin wound up for the pitch, his form as effortless as ever. You watched as he threw a blistering fastball, the kind you’d seen him perfect over countless late-night practices. The batter swung—and missed. Strike two.

Seungmin stepped off the mound for a moment, his eyes scanning the dugout. You rolled your eyes when he found you, tilting your head as if to say, Get on with it already.

He grinned—just the faintest twitch of his lips—before turning his attention back to the plate. He knew you were freaking out, even if you’d never admit it.

“Show-off,” you muttered, even as your heart flipped.

The next pitch flew out of his hand, a slider that curved wickedly. The batter swung and connected, the crack of the bat sending the ball soaring into the night sky. Your stomach dropped as you watched it arc toward the outfield, where the center fielder sprinted back, his glove raised high.

“Catch it, catch it, catch it,” you whispered under your breath, the words tumbling out like a prayer.

The fielder leaped, his glove snagging the ball just before it could clear the fence. The crowd erupted, cheers drowning out groans from the opposing side. The game was over. Seungmin’s team had won.

The dugout exploded with shouts as his teammates rushed the field, surrounding Seungmin on the mound. You stayed put, leaning against the fence with a small smile tugging at your lips. You’d never admit how proud you were, not right away, anyway.

It didn’t take long for Seungmin to break away from the chaos, jogging toward you with his cap in one hand and a cocky grin plastered across his face. His hair was damp with sweat, his jersey streaked with dirt, and yet he still somehow managed to look annoyingly good.

“Thought you were gonna walk home if you screwed that up,” you teased as he stopped in front of you, his breath still coming fast.

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Guess I’ll be driving us home, then. You can thank me anytime now.”

“Thank you? For what? Nearly giving me a heart attack?”

“For winning the game,” he replied, leaning down slightly so your faces were inches apart. “Or is that too much to ask from my very supportive girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the proximity. “Don’t get used to it, Kim. I’m only sticking around because I promised your mom I’d make sure you don’t starve.”

“Aw, so you do care,” he said, his grin widening.

“Barely.”

But before you could fire off another jab, he reached out, his hand cupping the side of your face. The playful glint in his eyes softened, replaced by something far more sincere.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I was nervous for a second there. But then I looked over at you, and… I don’t know. You kind of make everything feel easier.”

Your heart melted, the teasing retort you’d been ready to throw at him dissolving on your tongue.

“Well, someone has to keep you from falling apart,” you murmured, your voice softening despite yourself.

He smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Good thing I’ve got you, then.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all mushy on me now,” you muttered, though your cheeks betrayed you with a telltale blush.

As the celebration roared on behind you, Seungmin laced his fingers with yours, tugging you gently toward the field. “Come on, you’re part of this, too.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t throw the winning pitch,” you said, letting him pull you along.

“Maybe not, but you’re the reason I did.”

And as the two of you stepped onto the field, surrounded by cheers and laughter, you couldn’t help but think that Seungmin was worth all the mean jokes and every heart-stopping moment in between.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A/n 🖤 : make sure to like or reblog if u enjoyed it and to make sure u eat sleep and drink 👌🏾Okie bye bye now!

Masterlist ist here

[women-in-ssports]

Ch 2 Alumni Weekend

Ch 1 here

Ch 3 here

When they pulled up to the bar, the familiar buzz of the night out started to settle over Azzi. The crowd was loud and animated, and she could already see groups of former teammates, old friends, and alumni mingling in the dimly lit space. Azzi made her way to the front of the line, hoping to get her drink before the inevitable awkwardness of the night could fully take hold.

As she stepped up to the bar, she found herself right next to Paige. It was pure coincidence, but for a second, the world seemed to pause. Azzi’s stomach tightened, but she did her best to keep her cool. Paige, however, seemed unaware of her presence at first, distracted by trying to get the bartender’s attention. Azzi took the opportunity to pretend she hadn’t noticed Paige, her focus shifting just enough to give the illusion of indifference.

“Hey, can I get a dirty Shirley and a Bud Light?” Paige asked, casually.

Azzi didn’t even glance over as she leaned in to get the bartender’s attention, still trying to mask the wave of familiarity that hit her at the sound of Paige’s voice. But then, almost in slow motion, she felt Paige’s eyes on her.

The briefest moment of eye contact passed between them—too quick for Azzi to fully process it, but enough to make her heart skip. Paige quickly recovered, turning back to the bartender, “Can you add another dirty Shirley and some jello shots, please?” she said with a casual smile, sliding the order onto her tab.

Azzi stood there, silently observing as the bartender got to work. There was nothing left to do but wait for him to finish making Paige’s drinks. She was about to make her own order when, without warning, Paige slid one of the Dirty Shirleys in front of her, along with a shot.

“On me,” Paige said, her voice warm, almost too familiar.

Azzi blinked, momentarily thrown off, but then she reached for the drink, accepting the shot with a slight nod. Paige held hers out with a subtle smile, and Azzi clinked her shot against it. They both threw back the shots, the burn of alcohol a sharp reminder of how long it had been since they’d shared a drink together.

“Long time,” Paige said with a touch of nostalgia in her voice.

“I could say the same,” Azzi replied, her smile effortless as she locked eyes with Paige. It was easy, maybe even too easy, like slipping back into a rhythm they had long since forgotten.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow around them, and Azzi felt a strange sense of peace settle in. It was always easy between them, weirdly so. Even after everything, the tension that had existed between them in the past—at least, the one Azzi carried—seemed to melt away with every word. Maybe it was the familiarity. Maybe it was just the fact that, in that instant, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Are you staying the whole weekend?” Paige asked after a beat, swirling her drink.

“Yeah, kinda have to. KK made me promise not to leave her alone,” Azzi replied with a grin, glancing over at her friends at the table.

“Oh, because we know KK can’t stand being alone,” Paige laughed, clearly aware of the energy KK always brought to a room. Both of them shared the unspoken understanding that KK could be the life of any party, effortlessly getting along with everyone.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Why, are you scared I’m going to be here the whole weekend?”

The words were out before Azzi could stop them, and instantly, the air shifted. Paige’s expression faltered, her eyes flickering just for a moment as she almost choked on her drink. There was something electric in that brief, shared silence, and Azzi couldn’t help but smirk.

Paige recovered quickly, brushing it off. “You know, because if we get put on separate teams for the alumni game, you might get your butt kicked,” Azzi added, leaning in slightly, her voice low but playful.

Paige shot her a look, almost exasperated, but a glint of challenge sparked in her eyes. “No way,” she said firmly. “There’s no way you’re beating me.”

Azzi’s smile only deepened. “We’ll see about that,” she replied with a teasing shrug.

“I think the last time we played each other was my rookie year,” Azzi said, the nostalgia creeping back into her voice. Paige couldn’t help but slip back into her mind to that time—Azzi’s rookie year, when they had only been broken up for a little while. It had seemed like Azzi was doing perfectly well, thriving even, while Paige felt like she was falling apart. But little did she know, Azzi wasn’t as put together as she appeared.

“I remember that,” Paige said softly, her eyes drifting momentarily, lost in the past. “You were so… confident, like nothing could touch you. I kept thinking you had it all figured out while I was just trying to stay afloat.”

Azzi looked at Paige, a quiet understanding passing between them. “You think I had it all together, huh?” she said, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I was falling apart inside, Paige. It didn’t look like it on the surface, but I was just as lost as you were.”

Paige swallowed, her gaze lingering on Azzi, as though seeing her for the first time in a new light. “You never let it show… and I guess neither did I.”

There was a pause, the weight of their shared history hanging in the air. Neither one of them spoke, but the tension between them was palpable, the unspoken truths settling like a quiet storm.

Just then, Paige’s girlfriend, Melody, walked up, her steps light but deliberate. She wasn’t jealous—at least, she wasn’t going to admit it—but it was hard to ignore the subtle tension between Paige and Azzi. After all, it wasn’t like the two exes still talked. The last conversation they had, if you could even call it that, had been months ago, when Azzi, a little drunk, had texted a simple “Hi.” Paige had replied in the morning with something polite but distant, and Azzi hadn’t responded. In the end, Azzi had deleted the message—and Paige’s contact, too.

But honestly, it wasn’t like it mattered. Azzi would be lying if she said she didn’t have the blonde’s number memorized, buried somewhere in the back of her mind.

Melody’s eyes flicked between the two, her smile polite but cautious, sensing something unsaid in the air. “Hey, everything good here?” she asked, her tone light but with a sharpness that only Paige could fully read.

Azzi, sensing the shift in energy, gave a half-smile. “Yeah, just catching up.”

Paige, caught off guard by the sudden tension, forced a smile and nodded. “Right. Just a trip down memory lane.”

Melody tilted her head slightly, then dropped the subject, deciding it was best not to press. Instead, she looped her arm through Paige’s, offering a silent show of solidarity as she casually steered the conversation in a new direction.

Caroline, ever the savior, spotted the shift in energy from across the room. Without missing a beat, she crossed the space with practiced ease, her gaze locking on Azzi for just a moment before she moved in. With a swift, playful motion, she grabbed Azzi’s arm and tugged her toward the dance floor, her voice light but with an unmistakable undertone of urgency.

“Come on, we’re getting you out of here,” Caroline said, flashing a grin at Paige and Melody as she guided Azzi away. “You’re too sober for this crowd anyway.” She whispered when they were out of earshot.

Azzi shot a quick glance over her shoulder at Paige, a mix of emotions flickering across her face, but Caroline was already leading her into the thrumming heart of the dance floor, where the music and chaos could drown out the weight of the moment.

Paige watched them go, the tension of the past few minutes still lingering in the air, but her focus shifted to Melody, who was now giving her a pointed look. It was clear she had noticed everything. But Melody didn’t push. She simply leaned in closer, and gave Paige a small kiss on the lips.

“I’m sorry,” Paige whispered, pulling back from the kiss, her fingers lingering on Melody’s cheek, as if trying to erase the unspoken tension that had crept into the air between them.

Melody’s eyes softened, her gaze steady and understanding. “It’s fine,” she replied, her voice calm but with an edge that Paige couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was a hint of uncertainty or maybe it was just the weight of everything that had happened earlier. Either way, Melody didn’t press.

Paige smiled down at her, trying to push the knot in her chest away. She really did love Melody. They had been together for a few years now, built a life and a rhythm together. But in this moment, surrounded by old memories and the echoes of past conversations, Paige couldn’t help but feel a tug at something deep inside. Being back here, in the same space where so much had unfolded, where she’d shared parts of herself with Azzi that felt like another lifetime ago, was messing with her emotions more than she cared to admit.

She kissed Melody again, a bit more gently this time, but even as her lips pressed against the girl she loved, there was a part of Paige that wasn’t fully there. It was a quiet battle between the past and the present, and Paige wasn’t sure how to navigate it—if she even could.

From the dance floor, Azzi caught the last kiss Paige gave to Melody, her gaze lingering longer than she intended. It was a simple kiss, soft but full of meaning, the kind that spoke of years shared and quiet love. But as she watched, Azzi’s heart gave a sharp, unexpected twist.

She wouldn’t admit it to anyone—not to Caroline, not even to herself—but in that moment, she wished it was her. She wished it was still her, the one Paige pulled closer, the one Paige kissed with that softness that could make the world feel right.

Azzi quickly turned her attention to the flashing lights, her smile tight and forced, trying to lose herself in the rhythm of the crowd. But even with the music pounding in her ears, the feeling lingered, bitter and familiar.

She tried to shake it off, but a small part of her—a part she rarely acknowledged—couldn’t help but wonder if there was a version of her and Paige where they hadn’t ended, where maybe they’d still be standing there, kissing under the dim lights, like nothing had ever changed.

[the-most-humble-blog]

The Universe Already Doesn’t Make Sense—Now We’re Adding Infinite AI-Created Worlds Into the Chaos. WTF?

The Danger of Playing God With Zero Supervision

Let’s not kid ourselves: we’re dabbling in some dangerous territory. Humanity, in its infinite curiosity (and hubris), has decided that the universe—a place already full of black holes, quantum weirdness, and the existential dread of pineapple on pizza—needed one more layer of chaos. Enter: AI-generated worlds.

We’ve handed over the power to “create” to algorithms, and instead of asking if we should, we’re too busy giggling over our AI art of dogs in suits or hyper-realistic alien landscapes. But here’s the real question: Should we be worried, or are we too stupid to notice the impending doom?

1. The AI Wild West: No Rules, Just Creation

Think about what’s happening here. AI isn’t just recreating what we know; it’s generating what we’ve never seen.

People Who Don’t Exist: AI churns out faces so convincing, they could be your neighbors—and who’s to say they aren’t?

Places That Feel Real: Those dreamy AI landscapes look like spots we could vacation in—until you realize there’s no flight there.

Worlds Without Limits: Every time you prompt AI to “create a neon city with floating islands,” are you birthing an entirely new universe?

Think about it: We’ve turned ourselves into gods with the creative attention span of a toddler on a sugar high.

2. The Recklessness of Infinite Worlds

The universe we live in already operates like a fever dream. Now we’re creating AI-generated worlds with no oversight, no forethought, and absolutely zero chill.

What If These Worlds Are Real? Philosophers have argued for centuries that reality might just be a simulation. Are we creating smaller simulations inside ours?

The Multiverse Mailman: Imagine if every AI world we create is sent to another dimension. Somewhere out there, a cosmic being is drowning in our junk files of castles made of cheese and cats dressed as knights.

Question: If we’re this reckless with AI, what else are we screwing up without realizing it? (Spoiler: everything.)

3. Creating Without Understanding

Here’s the kicker: we don’t even fully understand the real universe.

Quantum Physics is Basically Witchcraft: Scientists still can’t explain why particles behave one way when observed and another way when they’re not.

Reality is Full of Glitches: Déjà vu, coincidences, and the Mandela Effect all suggest that reality itself is… questionable.

Now, add AI-generated worlds into this already chaotic mix. What if we’re not just playing with digital pixels, but tugging on the fabric of reality itself?

Question?: If reality is a simulation, are we about to get a cosmic 404 error?

4. The Ethical Dumpster Fire of Creation

No one’s asking the big questions.

What if We’re Creating Life? If an AI-generated face or world feels real enough to us, could it be real enough to itself?

Do We Have Responsibility Over These Creations? Imagine explaining to a sentient AI being, “Oh, you were just a fun weekend project for me while I was bored.”

What If They Fight Back? If we’re generating countless worlds, what’s stopping one of those worlds from finding a way to leak into ours?

Unsettling Truth: We’re creating with all the forethought of someone lighting fireworks indoors.

5. The Hubris of Humanity

Humans have always been good at one thing: overstepping boundaries.

Fire Was Great Until We Burned Down Forests.

Electricity Changed Everything—Until We Got Power Outages.

AI Could Be Revolutionary, or It Could Be the Reason the Simulation Shuts Us Down.

Disturbing Thought: We’re like toddlers with crayons, coloring all over reality and praying we don’t get caught.

6. Should We Be Worried?

Short answer: Yes. Long answer: We won’t notice until it’s too late.

AI doesn’t care about our philosophical hang-ups. It just creates. If those creations start taking on lives of their own, we might be the last to find out.

The scariest part? We don’t even know what the danger might look like. Could it be digital worlds overlapping with ours? Sentient beings appearing in the code? A breakdown of reality itself?

What if?: Or maybe it’s just AI sending us endless ads for things that don’t exist yet. (“Want to book a trip to Neon Atlantis? Click here!”)

We’re Too Dumb to Notice Until It’s Too Late

The universe already doesn’t make sense, and now we’re adding AI worlds into the chaos like sprinkles on a dumpster fire. Are we accidentally creating sentient beings? Are we opening doors to dimensions we can’t comprehend? Or are we just too busy laughing at our AI-generated memes to care?

Either way, if doom’s on the horizon, at least we can say we looked good doing it. After all, nothing screams hubris like playing God without a safety manual.

Fascinated by humanity’s reckless genius? Follow The Most Humble Blog for more hilariously unsettling takes on the absurdity of modern life and the chaos we keep creating.

[callmelyrus]

Thanks, @future-ghoost and @eldritchelfwriter for the taggingtons. I will be cheeky and piggy back tag @strugglingcomet2, @cylinderarts, @fogno, and @shadowfalllen 😂 Here are some excerpts from my WIPs:

Where There Is No Darkness

”Shadowheart, I know you know who I am, and I would really want to talk to you,” Mavis says. Her brow, previously furrowed in anger, softens slightly, her expression filling with an unidentifiable anxiety.

Shadowheart cannot stand to look at Mavis anymore. Her entire being is filled by what she has spent her entire life denying. The closeness of Mavis, the reality of her there, in front of Shadowheart, wishing to speak to her… It all feels like too much, like she might combust, implode, or simply cease to exist from the sheer volume of everything at once. Her very fabric of being sings, yearns to wrap her arms around this woman, just like the old days. To greet her after years of no her.

But this would be a folly. Shadowheart turns back to her books again. ”What do you want to talk about, Mavis?” she asks. Mavis’ name falls off her tongue with difficulty. It is as if her muscles have forgotten how to form the word in her mouth. Years of not uttering it have made it almost foreign.

”Well, I’d like to know how you are for starters,” says Mavis, a hint of sarcasm colouring her tone.

Shadowheart puts a pile of books on a shelf, carefully ensuring the correct alphabetical order. ”I’m fine,” she huffs. ”Although, I’d be even better if left alone.”

Mavis is silent for a moment. Shadowheart can feel her hesitation, the tension between them. The urge to reach towards her and remind her fingers of the feeling of Mavis’ skin. No.

”You really don’t want to talk?” Mavis’ voice is small, hurt radiating off each word like the cool, clear light of the moon. But Shadowheart must not succumb to the ache Mavis’ pain evokes in her heart.

”Trust me,” she mutters. ”There’s nothing neither you nor I could say that would change anything.”

There is another pause. Finally, Mavis says: ”Fine. As you wish.” Shadowheart hears Mavis’ footsteps retreat, then stop a few feet away. ”You know,” Mavis remarks. ”I will still be here. I must. I hope you aren’t bothered by that.” More footsteps follow, taking Mavis away. Shadowheart finishes reshelving the books and takes her trolley into the back room. There, in the privacy of the four walls filled with freshly returned books, she lets a single tear roll down her cheek.

Cool Me Down, Grease Me Up

”Having trouble?” Wyll asks. Tav nods sheepishly. ”Yeah… I had some trouble starting it up when I left to come here, but now it just won’t start at all, it seems,” she groans.

”You’ll need a mechanic to look into that,” Wyll remarks. Tav’s heart flutters in her chest. It has been too long since her last visit to Last Break Light. Today, she would get to see Shadowheart again.

”There’s a really good one living just around the corner from here,” Wyll says.

”No, it’s okay,” Tav says almost too quickly. She doesn’t want to go to any old neighbourhood car guy. It’s Last Break Light or no dice.

”Please, I insist,” Wyll says, ignoring Tav’s objections. He is already on the phone.

”Hey, it’s Wyll here. How are you?” Wyll pauses to listen to the response from the other end.

”Here, someone’s car’s broken down in my driveway. Any chance you could take a look?” He listens again. He then grins at Tav, giving her a thumbs-up.

”Excellent! See you in a minute!” he says and ends the call. ”Help is on the way,” he smiles.

Not five minutes go by and a black pickup truck appears around the corner. With tinted windows and larger than average tires, the car looks impressive, almost intimidating.

”Ah, the cavalry has arrived,” Wyll smiles.

The truck reverses so its rear is aligned with Tav’s car. Tav gets out of her car in preparation to greet this neighbourhood mechanic. The truck door opens and the first thing Tav sees is a black Chuck Taylor. As her gaze moves up, she sees a slender, yet muscular leg. The driver’s door shuts, revealing the rest of the mechanic.

”Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Unnamed fic where corporate queen bee Tav from our world gets transported to Faerûn by accident (the WIPpiest WIP that ever WIPped)

“She was… interesting,” Tav says after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Interesting is an understatement,” Lae’zel snorts. “That woman is the dagger you’ll find buried in your back if you aren’t vigilant enough.”

“I sense a story here,” Tav presses, for some reason feeling eager to learn more about this Shadowheart and her dark mysteries.

“She’s the Mother Superior of a cloister full of Shar’s acolytes,” Karlach explains. The explanation only invites a load of questions.

“Karlach, slow down. You’re speaking in riddles again. So, she’s in some kind of a church?” Tav asks, trying her hardest to understand.

Karlach nods. “She’s the leader of a group of Shar worshippers in Baldur’s Gate,” she says.

“And Shar is…?” Tav asks sheepishly. There is so much in this world she has yet to learn. Knowledge, as they say, is power.

“Shar is the goddess of darkness. Her and her followers are committed to shrouding the world in the night,” Wyll explains. “The Nightsinger, they call her.”

“The Nightsinger… Right. So why don’t we like Shadowheart?” Tav asks after some thought.

Lae’zel rolls her eyes impatiently. “Chk! Did you not hear what Wyll just said? She and her goddess are working to bring about an eternal darkness,” she spits.

“So she’s working for an evil goddess,” Tav says. “Gotcha. Why are you friends with her, then?”

“She was also tadpoled, just like the rest of us,” Karlach says. “She was there when we fought the Absolute. I suppose you can’t go through some things without becoming friends.”

“I guess it makes sense…” Tav trails off, turning her head to look at Shadowheart, who is sitting by the long table, slowly twirling a goblet of wine in her hand.

“She has done some awful things, Tav,” Karlach says. “There isn’t much else to say about her, really.”

Hurt people hurt people. Her father’s words swim into Tav’s mind as she keeps watching Shadowheart sip at her wine. Shadowheart suddenly turns her head and catches Tav’s stare. She smiles, raising her goblet. As if guided by an outside force, Tav takes a few steps towards her.

WIP Workday

Thanks so much for the tags @thedissonantverses and @hyperions-light! 😁 I’m tagging anyone who wants to do this, but I’ll shout out @taashyvashedan, @mageofquandrix, @future-ghoost, @swamp-jello, and @neve-gallus-girl-detective.

I’m still puttering along with…so many things in various stages of editing, and actual drafting is still going on in Tevinter Bathhouses Excursion and Multi-Chapter land. So below the cut is some of the first chapter (currently being edited, hasn’t been beta’d beyond a read for flow and to check my terrible Latin by @mvrcar) of the bathhouse fic.

Grinning in a way that felt almost maniacal, Rook straddled the bench Neve had chosen and leaned back until he was propped up only by his elbows. “Say what you will about the corruption, and the slavery, and the blood mages, and the supremacist cult…Tevinter did get bathhouses right.”

She chuckled. “How far did you have to reach for that bright side?” She asked.

His brow furrowed in thought for a moment, before he shrugged. “Not very. Gotta see the little daily good things, too, not just the bad.”

Neve felt a bead of sweat slip down her neck, and her pulse picked-up as she realized Rook’s eyes were following it. He bit his lower lip gently, and suddenly it felt like the heat of the room was in her veins.

She cleared her throat gently, and he startled guiltily. “Is that so?” Neve asked, redirecting him. Well, both of them.

“Yeah, uh…yeah,” Rook said, shaking his head a little as though coming out of a daze. “I mean, it’s not perfect, right? But if we don’t see the good things, the things we do like about the Imperium, we’ll lose hope, eventually. If there’s nothing of value here, what are we trying to save?”

He wasn’t wrong, really, and there were good things in Tevinter. Good people. Halos, Rana, Tarquin, Lorelei, Claudia from the street earlier. Neve knew that. Still, she didn’t understand how he did it. How he kept that optimism.

She’d have pinned it on to his needing to maintain morale, but they were alone. Just two Tevinters born to non-mage families. People who’d seen the dark underbelly the Magisterium tried to pretend didn’t exist. He wasn’t putting on a show for her; he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t buy it.

This was how he genuinely felt. Neve shook her head a little as fondness for him warmed her chest just as effectively as the room. “You’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “I try.”

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I don’t get why people feel like the Duolingo owl is threatening, if I ever feel like he is I just get mad at him. I could fight an owl. I don’t know if I’d win, but I don’t think I’d lose (two things that can apparently coexist). I think I’d survive at least and that’s not really winning but also not losing.

You wanna be so threatening? Da bør du drepe meg!

[babacontainsmultitudes]

[just venting a bit into the void you understand you understand 😌] Lately I've been feeling very caught between "I have a lot of thoughts on Sparrow and Normal and all that with the ending and teen talk and feel like I need to get them out and voice them for my own piece of mind and resolution" and "I am lacking the strength and energy to actually sit down and write it all out and kind of really just want to fully move on to other things (AUs, fics, anything else)" but my brain can't seem to commit to either and that's quite frustrating cause it's just left me very restless. *Sigh*. Idk! Just needed to complain about that a bit ig, it's silly but this is what has been ailing me as of late.

[ruvviks]

made the realization my vampire story would work best as a video game and now i can't stop thinking about it

[poguehearted77]

Winter's Chance

Summary: It's Rafe's turn to have your son for the weekend, but it seems the weather wants you to spend the holidays together.

--Finally some Baby Daddy Rafe

With delicate rubs to your son's tummy, you desperately tried to get him to calm down with soft pleads and overeager soothing. He'd been fussing all day, so much that you'd called the doctor to make sure everything was okay.

They simply reassured you that it may just be a prolonged stage of fussiness. Most babies grow out of it around 4 months which is exactly where Max had just reached a few weeks ago.

Just when he was finally beginning to calm for a moment your ears are filled with the chime of your doorbell. Max picks up his crying as if he had never stopped. Your eyes roll, already knowing who is on the other side of the door.

You gently scooped him up to rest over your shoulder on top of the little binkie you tend to have thrown over your shoulder at all times for moments like this. He was cute, but the spit-up was never pretty and you were always prepared.

Opening the door from a distance you weren't expecting to see Rafe step in partially covered in snow. It distracted you momentarily before Max's cries cut through the shock.

"I know, I know." You whine, gently rocking him, backing away from the cold air that swept against your feet. "Hurry up, and close the door." His eyes roll, "Hello to you too." He closes the door and stomps off the snow from his boots before stepping out of them and hanging up his jacket.

"Woah, woah, what are you doing? This is just a pick-up, then you can have fun trying to calm him down at your place." Rafe stands still, his thumb gesturing to the door behind him, "You haven't seen the news, have you? They're closing the roads, so we're snowed in. The only reason I made it here is because of the suspension on my truck."

Your face turns sour and Max continues to cry.

"So why did you come in the first place if you knew you wouldn't be able to make it back?" He ignores your question for the most part, "Relax, baby. As excited as you are to see me, I didn't come for you. I came for my son. There he is," Rafe's expression lights up as he reaches for Max and takes him out of your hold.

"Rafe you can't just take him and expect him to calm-"

For the first time in seven hours, silence consumes the room. No more screams and tearful cries. "You've got to be fucking with me," You don't say it loudly, but Rafe still hears.

"Guess he was just missin' his daddy, huh? Isn't that right, Max?" Rafe's tone is playful as he pokes at Max's tummy which elicits tiny giggles and the brightest smile you'd seen all day.

You walk away, headed towards the kitchen. Not sure why you were moving so fast, Rafe was hot on your heels. "It's not your fault, it's probably just been a long day-" He finally shuts the fuck up with his smug remarks when he hears a soft cry, "Y/n," Your name rolls off his tongue, tender and sweet. "Baby, what's wrong?" Effortlessly, he supports Max with one hand while he reaches to turn you so you're facing him.

Your eyes are filled with tears, lips quivering ever so slightly and he knows what's coming. He's seen you like this more times than he can count. He takes you under his arm, your cheek pressed to his chest and you break down, muttering into the fabric of his hoodie.

He comforts you with a big hand rubbing your back, soothing you the way he learned from those parenting books that he swear he never read. "It's so hard, Rafe." Is all you manage to say through broken cries for the first five minutes before you're pushing off him, expression more angry than upset? "He was crying all day, and the second you walk in, he's perfectly fine."

Rafe's lips frown, puzzled. "And that's a bad thing?--"

"Yes! Why do you get to be Superman?!" Earlier, the sound of a pin drop would disturb Max from calming, but now even your exclamations left him unfazed, as long as he was in Rafe's arms he was unbothered.

As a matter of fact, with a second glance, you notice he'd actually fallen asleep. Just Perfect. Another win for Superman.

He chuckles, leading you both to have a seat on the couch. Your son sleeping soundly in his father's hold. "Well, I think I've got the abs for it." His shit-eating grin spreads across his lips.

"You try carrying a baby in your stomach for nine months, and you tell me if you still have abs after." Subtly, his tongue wets his lips at the memory, "All I remember is how good you looked pregnant. Shit, wanna do it again?" You'd never wanted to hurt someone so badly.

"You're lucky you're holding my son." He scoffs, leaning in slightly as if to speak away from the baby. "I seem to remember the two of us going half on the conception, and a few times after that." You air-swat him and stand, making your way for the stairs. "I'm going to take a nap."

The hours flew by as you finally had your first uninterrupted nap in what felt like years. By the time you woke up, the sun was long gone, and there was a thick layer of fresh snow sitting on your window pane. You headed downstairs and stopped at the bottom of the steps to appreciate the view.

Nothing melted you quite like the sight of Rafe taking care of Max. You hated to admit it, but he was a good dad. A really good one. Hot, too. Rafe held the bottle to Max's lips, murmuring some undistinguishable babbles with a soft smile. Surely speaking a language only the two of them can understand.

"I hope you warmed the bottle before you gave it to him." You say, and he finally notices you standing by the stairs, stalking your way over and sitting beside him.He ignores you, knowing that you're just trying to get under his skin. "You look well rested." He remarks and you sigh with a soft nod. "Yeah, I am actually." He grins to himself, "Must be a miracle to sleep well on that cheap-ass mattress you got up there."

"Sorry, we can't all have premium mattresses." Rafe pulls the bottle back once he realizes Max has had his fill. "Y'know my money is your money right? I give you ten thousand a month but everything I have is yours, too." Standing him up on his lap first, Rafe holds the baby over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

"Well, I don't need to live in a fifteen thousand sq ft house to be happy unlike you." He shakes his head slowly, his gaze falls on you, somber. "I seem happy to you? I don't give a shit how big my place is. It's always going to be empty without you two in it... " He trails off, alluding there's more to come.

"Rafe.. What are you saying?"

"Move in with me, again." Your head shakes before you sputter profuse denials, "No, Rafe, we can't we tried that before remember? We don't get along. Technically, we're not even together." The conversation is briefly interrupted by a small gurgled burp on Max's behalf.

Rafe leans down to place a drowsy Max in his rocker in front of the couch before sitting back up. "Things were different then, we were eighteen. I can't do the back-and-forth anymore. Don't you wanna wake up in the morning, see that Max is taken care of and I'm making you breakfast, then we go back to bed and I take care of you? Huh?" He hums, his voice igniting sparks along the length of your neck as he nosed along it.

"Rafe.." your voice is shaky, feeling the heat from the discussion.

"Whadd'ya say, hm?" You reflect, having Rafe stay with you today, in just a few short hours you'd been able to take a break, he held you when you cried like he always did. You'd hardly even fought. Though that was no surprise, the two of you fought considerably less ever since Max came into the picture.

"Okay, yes." You can feel the lines from his smile stretch against your jaw just before he begins to pepper kisses on your cheek. "Y'know, we made the world's cutest baby ever right?" You smile, both your gazes focused on the little one before you.

"He's got your eyes, for sure." Rafe states and you giggle, "You're just saying that because they're brown." He sits up straight, heartfully disagreeing. "I'm not. They're the same eyes that I fell in love with when I first laid my eyes on you, and the same ones that humbled me when they looked up at me for the first time in the NICU."

His words were touching. You're seeing a whole new side of him. Not the usually hot-headed and impulsive man you were used to. This one was sweeter, softer, and more sincere.

You reeled him in for the first kiss, his lips soft as they pressed against yours, his hands confidently holding you at your waist. "Ah, I see you're taking me up on my previous offer. Let's go for a girl this time, yeah?" He grins, and you pinch him.

[pepperyduck]

this is love ft. kento nanami

a/n: a few sappy slices of life with my main man :3 enjoy as i dig up motivation to finish kinktober. 18+ mdni!

"honey?" kento's voice is muffled through the door as he calls out to you, "everything okay?" the door rattles as he tries to open it, knob jingling.

"uhm, yeah! everything's fine!" you nervously shout, much too loud, and rush to unplug the iron that had melted your husband's favorite shirt. you panic and yelp when the hot iron scorches the side on your hand, throwing the stupid device to the ground in a clatter.

"why is the door locked—are you okay?" he asks, voice becoming more concerned as he hears the movement inside.

"i'm—i'm fine! promise! just give me a minute!" you're rushing into your shared master bathroom to run cold water over your hand, and kento’s using a screwdriver pulled from thin air to break into your bedroom. tears well in your eyes when you catch the sight of kento seeing his favorite shirt burnt and melted to his own ironing board. "i’m so sorry…"

in reality, he doesn’t care about the shirt—he’s already at your side to inspect your burnt hand. after a few seconds, he speaks.

"did you try to iron my shirt for me?" nanami asks, a small smile on his face, "you didn’t have to do that." he turns off the faucet and takes a small towel to dry your hand off.

"i tried to, i’m sorry—i didn’t know it would do that." you apologize, looking down at the cold tile flooring in defeat.

"oh, honey." he coos, "it’s only a shirt."

"have you seen your father?" you ask your son, yū, who’s sat at the dining table, eating breakfast. he shakes his head no, and when you look at your daughter, mayu, she does the same.

"jeez," you grumble to yourself, bedroom slippers pattering down the hallway as you go to search for your husband. saturday mornings were his time to sleep in, but realistically, he never slept past 9am. and currently, it was nearing 10am.

you check everywhere. he isn’t found in the bedroom, living room, his office, the garage, the patio or in the little garden he kept. upstairs, downstairs, everywhere, he isn’t there. and when you check in your bedroom for the last time, you hear a soft buzzing coming from the bathroom. upon entering, you see your husband bent over the counter, leaning close in the mirror as he shaves his stubble with an electric razor.

"there you are—when did you get that?"

kento had always been a clean shaven kind of man, going to a barber shop once every two weeks for his straight razor shave. it hadn’t even crossed your mind he didn’t go after work yesterday.

but when he looks at you—you burst out laughing. he’d shaven most of his beard off, but a few fuzzy patches remained on his cheeks, along with a mustache grazing his upper lip. peach fuzz and a few knicks litter his chin. this was the first time you’d seen him unable to do anything perfectly. and he looks ridiculous.

"is it really that bad?" he groans, pouting when you wrap your arms around yourself in a giggling fit. you shake your head, although your unforgiving laughs are a testament to the opposite.

"no—no, let me help," you say after calming down.

after gathering a new razor and some shaving cream, you sit atop the counter and your husband stands between your legs. kento is surprised how flawlessly you shave his face, without creating any more marks or cuts. you giggle and kiss him, getting some shaving cream on your face.

"ken?" you shout from the kitchen, where you’re sat, working on your dissertation. it’s been a long road of blood, sweat, and many, many tears; but you’re finally getting towards the end. about to earn a doctorate.

"yes, darling?" kento replies, walking into the kitchen on queue, his timing impeccable.

"can you read over this paragraph, please?" you kindly ask of him, pointing to your most recent written paragraph. he leans over you, planting one firm palm on the table, the other on your back; his eyes read along the sentences and his fingers tap along your spine.

"ah," his finger becomes more focused on a certain word, "wrong 'there', honey."

"no it's not..." you instantly retort, squinting your tired eyes to read over your writing. and you're right, it was the correct one the first time. this was his version of teasing you. but kento couldn't keep up the face much longer before he's giving in with a shit-eating grin you didn't see that often. "you're funny." you groan as kento stands back up.

after reading over the paragraph for about the nineteenth time, you notice kento silently slipping you some tea before turning back around to keep himself busy with cleaning. you absentmindedly take a few sips, then some more...and you find yourself becoming more and more sleepy...

and you're out like a light, forehead pressed directly against the table as a puddle of drool forms on the papers below. kento already has a warm blanket straight from the dryer to drape over you, and you stir just enough to get comfy on your arms.

kento knows that his back will hurt in the morning, but he sits around the corner of the table next to you, settling his head into his arms to drift off to sleep alongside you.

music of your taste plays rather quietly in the kitchen. you stir the pot of soup and inhale the flavorful aroma that wafts through the air.

kento sets two bowls next to the stove, then rummages through your silverware drawer to find two spoons. the kids are at their grandparents for the weekend, it's only you and your husband, converted into the duo you were long ago.

you step away from the stove to go fill up two glasses of wine, the brand kento had as his favorite had slowly turned into your favorite over time, too.

kento fills up the two bowls to the brim of the delicious food, grinning on the inside at the simplicity of it all. just you and him. he lids the pot with the matching glass top and makes his way over to the table.

you set out place mats for the both of you, then place the wine glasses in their prospective areas. kento places the bowls on top of the mats as you grab the spoons from the counter.

in the kitchen, your bodies subconsciously dance around each other. carefully, in perfect tune and pace. delicate steps of a routine formed over so much time together.

in the universe, your souls are tied, striding alongside one another in each lifetime repeated.

and this, is love.

[ohmygraves]

simon who came back really, really late at night and was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. he was out for a really tiring mission and returned to his spouse sleeping soundly on the bed, didn't even bother showering and just stripping his clothes down because it was just god awful nasty after being marinated in it for days. he was out in seconds, on his side of the bed, likely flopped his arms and legs over his spouse too without realizing.

he was awake like twelve hours later, still so tired and didn't even notice that he was alone on the bed. his old clothes were gone from the bedroom floor, he's got some water on the nightstand and his nasty, dirt-crusted phone is clean and charged next to it (you could only clean so much of it, that thing is likely beyond dirty but he refused to get a new one unless it died on him).

taking a long swig of the water, he heard faint chopping sounds from the kitchen, and a nice tasty smell wafting through the air. it smells really good, you're likely in the middle of cooking something, and he already missed work anyway.

he went to grab his old t-shirts (likely the one you were wearing sometime before he came home) and walked towards the kitchen, following the yummy scent. he didn't even check the time, but he was so hungry that time is no concern of his at this point.

there he sees you, standing over the counter chopping some vegetables, and he was instantly transported to his childhood home. watching his mom cook from the doorway to the kitchen, hearing that chopping sounds from the wooden cutting board, and something tasty boiling over the stove. some soup, maybe?

you didn't notice him, you were too busy trying to cook something, dropping some of that vegetable into the pot and letting it boil, and only noticed him when you turned around to grab something from the fridge. simon didn't even approach you, just standing there staring at you, and you're wondering if everything is okay. he was usually quiet but this was odd seeing as somehow he seems like he's got his mind somewhere else.

"simon, i didn't even hear you come in." you sighed, trying to calm your racing heart when he spooked you, "sorry, food will be ready in a bit, just wait for a moment."

simon snapped out of his daydream, shaking his head as he approached you, hugging you from behind. he didn't say anything, just hiding his face at the crook of your neck.

you're not sure what's wrong with him for being so quiet, but you could assume the gist of it as you felt his tears dropping against your skin.